Dear Doodlers,
In order to expand my horizons I like to explore new territory in which to take my death-defying power walks. I have to tell you that, for now, I’ve had to forego my jogging regimen because of my darned knee that I told you about. I need an operation. Makes me wonder. Why couldn’t I just scope the thing myself? After all, I remember listening on the radio when the Amazing Mr. Noid performed dental surgery upon himself. It’s something I must carefully consider.
The other day Rick and I were joined by Lovelyn for lunch at the City Centre food court. Lovelyn, an air hostess for Gulf Air, is of Indian origins (her parents live in Kuwait) but now claims Australian citizenship. But I doubted that claim. So I asked her, “Just what’s the best way to go about tying me kangaroo down, Sport?” She looked at me blankly. So I asked her, “How many waltzes could a wallaby waltz if wallabies waltzed with walrusesabees?” More blank stare.
“By golly,” I thought to myself, “she IS from Australia. “Dumb as a post.” Until then I hadn’t realized that émigré Aussies had somehow managed to get the Penitentiary Mentality gene, which is the birthright of all natural citizens from Down Under. Do you think it could be the strong gravitational pull? I mean, it has to take a lot of effort just to keep from losing your toehold and falling down into space. Just take a look at a globe.
At any rate, it transpired that she too is something of a walker. She lives in Juffair, near the American military base, and told us that the day before she’d walked across the big bridge that goes to Hedd. That’s the same bridge I drive over when I go to Amwaj Island. But I didn’t realize it had an adjacent walkway. But it does, she said, and so I decided to try it out. I also like to call Lovelyn “LoveLAND,” because it irritates her.
I parked the next day in Juffair and started walking in the direction of the bridge. Juffair reminds me a lot of Abu Dhabi when we’d lived there in the ‘80s. Lot of new buildings and apartments going up, some paved roads but many dirt roads. Quite a bit of open space. In Abu Dhabi we could look from our rear balcony and often see both large bulls and camels meandering through a neighborhood, usually on a dirt road. I wonder where they were off to?
But no matter. As I walked along the edges of Juffair, on a paved road, I noticed that about every 50 yards I came to a metal manhole cover and that every one of them said, engraved in the metal, “Foul Sewer.” After passing a good many of them I wondered why I hadn’t come across a “Fair Sewer” or two. Sure a lot of foul territory in Juffair.
But to keep myself from thinking about that, I started paying attention to the names of apartment buildings/complexes. I saw the “Al-Ebrahim Plaza.” There’s the “Majestic.” Uh-oh, that one’s named “Mal Plaza.” Mal means “bad” in both Spanish and French. Not a good omen. I came across the “Oasis 2” and wondered if there was an Oasis 1. Doubtful.
Next I came across “Matrook Stoot.” That’s an extremely ugly name. Even if it does rhyme. But the “Venice Villas” looked and sounded nice. I saw the “Elite 5” and wondered if that had housed the Jacksons when they came to Bahrain. Michael spent a good bit of time here, you know.
Now I was approaching the onset of the bridge incline and a tall building nearest it proclaimed itself to be the “100 Residences Tower.” In order to occupy my mind as I started up the slope, I decided to challenge myself to see if I could solve for X. In a nutshell, could I somehow, against long odds, calculate exactly how many apartments there were in that building? A daunting task, but I set to it.
I scanned the building, figured 19 or 20 floors. Like you, it had a lot of girth. Also lot of windows, lot of balconies. Probably one floor would house a fitness centre and sauna. I noticed that the builder was a British firm. So in making calculations, I first converted all the inches, feet, and yards over to the metric system; so many centimeters here, so many square metres there, so many millilitres for that, and so many kilowatts for that other.
Another problem to consider was that there would be some 1-bedroom, some 2-bedroom, and some 3-bedroom apartments within the tower. Perhaps maids’ quarters. I calculated and calculated. And then, not even halfway up the bridge, I arrived at a total number, which expressed the volume of the building. I had utilized many mathematical theorems (including onagers and complex square roots) to get to this point. The number was immense: 22, 873,202 gurgabytes.
So now it was time to capitalize on a trick that I know. When doing extremely difficult mathematical problems I had learned that it was both helpful and expedient to translate the number from something abstract into something concrete. Something you can see. In my case, elephants.
Fortunately, I know the exact size of elephants and so began to form my mental picture of how many elephants could be housed within the structure. (Stacked comfortably atop each other and allowing for floor divisions.) But should you try this, be careful! It is of utmost importance that the elephants that you visualize must not have their trunks extended. No. The trunks must hang down, so as to be perfectly perpendicular to the equator.
I divided the vast number of metric units that I had accumulated by the number of elephants at which my mind’s eye gazed. I had done it! I now knew the exact number of apartments in the tower: there are thirty-two.
Having arrived successfully at this knowledge put me in such a good mood that I felt like whistling. But I couldn’t. Because I had a persimmon in my mouth. Up ahead, at the height of the bridge I could see fishermen.
And tomorrow or the next day I’ll tell you about them and the rest of my walk across the bridge and back. Some harrowing stuff.
But before I sign off, let me tell you that we played a weak Ettihad team two nites ago. True to our character, we played yo-yo ball. Up for a while, down for a while. We’d go up 20 then, oops!, down to ten. Back up 21, ouch!, ten again. We’re the masters of this genre. We ended up winning by maybe eighteen.
Yours,
Solver of Riddles
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Friday, 29 January 2010
Raise Your Hand
From Dec. 25-09
Dear Fellow Travelers,
Our building lost its Orbit satellite TV capability for a week. What was I to do? First I read Blue Horizons by Wilbur Smith, about the early settlers in South Africa. It was really good. There was no shortage of murder, war, carnage, rape, and personal vendettas that often ended with duels to the death. The bad guys were really bad and the good guys were really good…your two basic teams.
Then my friend Rick returned from the Dubai film festival where he interviewed with both a South African Indian guy—who wants to branch out from Bollywood—and a university that is building its film department and is considering Rick for a position. He worked ten years in Hollywood and knows stuff. There’s lot of new movie equipment/studios in Dubai…where they showed about 45 new films at this fest. Anyway, when Rick learned that I was boobtubeless he loaned me a bunch of episodes of a new series. It’s called “24,” which is sort of a strange name.
At first I thought it was just a random name but after I watched four episodes I figured it out. Pretty clever. What they’ve done is divide each episode up into 24-second segments. And each of these segments is like a miniature play, with a beginning, a middle, and a climax.
This is accomplished through the fact that during this time span exactly 24 words are spoken. So now you have 24 x 24 and come up with 576. I think you see where this is going. Multiply this number by itself and your 331,776 square root quotient forms the basis for the perfect algorhythm; and you already know that it is through the use of algorhythms that scout honeybees are able to communicate information to the other members of the hive. And without honeybees there can be no life as we know it on earth and therefore the battle against terrorists makes sense.
So then each of these 24-second pieces fit together to form the whole, which thus represents the unity of our lonely planet. And I like this particular unity, because it contains plenty of murder, war, violence, carnage and personal vendettas that often end in duels to the death; until now, however, there is a shortage of rape.
You should also know that this program comprises three teams. You have your really good guys; you have your really bad guys; and you have your really bad guys who work among your really good guys in order to thwart their brave and cunning efforts. It would be easy to illustrate this with a pie graph: first group=12%; second group=83%; third group=17%. Then the remaining 19% are just assorted characters called “extras.” I’ll let you know how it comes out. One thing I haven’t figured out yet. The Secretary of Defense is named Richard Heller. But I recognize him and know for a fact that his real name is The Fonz. So this has me temporarily puzzled, but I bet I work it out.
**********
The only good that came from my TV being down was that I didn’t have to watch the replay of our last game, which aired the day after. We lost another heart-breaker, 101-99. One tiny referee, who has a long vendetta of mutual hate with my club, was a big part of our undoing. We were awarded two technical fouls and a flagrant and the 8 or 9 points Ahli Club gained from those was easily the difference.
This little dude whistled a foul against Lamond to foul him out of the game with three minutes remaining and us up one. Ahli’s ex-NBA player was still in the game for them, but our guys managed to hang in until the last play, when we rebounded a missed free throw with 7.2 seconds remaining, down two. Our point guard came down for what I hoped would be a game-winning 3-pointer; he jumped in the air to shoot…and then decided to pass the ball into the corner, where it was batted around until final buzzer. I finally saw replay of the game and they play the fifth foul over and over—it clearly shows no foul.
Back with over 8 minutes remaining Lamond had very uncleverly picked up a flagrant foul by pushing a guy who taunted him after this guy was fouled. When he was pushed the Ahli player pulled a huge flop to the floor, seen by everybody, and that got an immediate whistle and Lamond his fourth foul. Very unacceptable. He had 34 points and 17 rebounds and it would have been nice to have him in the game at the end.
The top four teams are now tied at 7-2 after the first round. The second round starts Jan. 3 but until now we have basically had no practices. Lamond flew home after the game for 12 days, while most of our other players are caught up in the activities of a big Shia Ashoora commemeration that is now in progress and requires their attendance for much of about ten days.
This event marks the major split between Sunnis and Shias, which has to do with the rightful ascension to leadership following the death of Mohammed. His followers had a battle at the time and someone decided to kill a Shia baby as part of the bloody intrigue. This re-enactment is part of the frenetic events that take place nightly, mostly marked by plenty of self-flaggelation.
The other day Rick and I were on our way to lunch near a mall and he had me take a detour and go through an old Shia village not far away. The center of the village was draped in black banners, which isn’t actually as cheerful a sight as you may think. Rick had watched part of the goings-on there last year during this period and the highlight was when someone cut open a large baby doll which had been filled with blood which then gushed all over. This marked the event mentioned earlier. What fun! And followed by the equally comedic procession of marching, chanting, adherents who are beating themselves with chains. Everyone who wants to join in raise your hand!
Speaking of blood and guts, I can’t fail to mention that one of our technical fouls was against my excellent asst. coach, Ahmed. He had also had a technical in our narrow win over Manama. As usual, he can’t resist leaping to his feet and screaming, in order to be the center of attention. All the refs hate him and are looking to T him. Our little nemesis, Fadl, got him this time. Of course Ahmed has repeatedly been told by everyone to sit down and shut up. But he’s Ahmed.
So here’s what I’m thinking: how bout a duel to the death between Ahmed and Fadl the ref? Everyone in favor raise your hand. Look how high my hand is!
Merry Christmas. And don’t hold your breath until I say “Happy Holidays,” cuz I’ll never say that. I’m so politically incorrect. But at least I understand the nuances of tricky TV programs. And I’ll share them with you.
Coach G-Pea
Dear Fellow Travelers,
Our building lost its Orbit satellite TV capability for a week. What was I to do? First I read Blue Horizons by Wilbur Smith, about the early settlers in South Africa. It was really good. There was no shortage of murder, war, carnage, rape, and personal vendettas that often ended with duels to the death. The bad guys were really bad and the good guys were really good…your two basic teams.
Then my friend Rick returned from the Dubai film festival where he interviewed with both a South African Indian guy—who wants to branch out from Bollywood—and a university that is building its film department and is considering Rick for a position. He worked ten years in Hollywood and knows stuff. There’s lot of new movie equipment/studios in Dubai…where they showed about 45 new films at this fest. Anyway, when Rick learned that I was boobtubeless he loaned me a bunch of episodes of a new series. It’s called “24,” which is sort of a strange name.
At first I thought it was just a random name but after I watched four episodes I figured it out. Pretty clever. What they’ve done is divide each episode up into 24-second segments. And each of these segments is like a miniature play, with a beginning, a middle, and a climax.
This is accomplished through the fact that during this time span exactly 24 words are spoken. So now you have 24 x 24 and come up with 576. I think you see where this is going. Multiply this number by itself and your 331,776 square root quotient forms the basis for the perfect algorhythm; and you already know that it is through the use of algorhythms that scout honeybees are able to communicate information to the other members of the hive. And without honeybees there can be no life as we know it on earth and therefore the battle against terrorists makes sense.
So then each of these 24-second pieces fit together to form the whole, which thus represents the unity of our lonely planet. And I like this particular unity, because it contains plenty of murder, war, violence, carnage and personal vendettas that often end in duels to the death; until now, however, there is a shortage of rape.
You should also know that this program comprises three teams. You have your really good guys; you have your really bad guys; and you have your really bad guys who work among your really good guys in order to thwart their brave and cunning efforts. It would be easy to illustrate this with a pie graph: first group=12%; second group=83%; third group=17%. Then the remaining 19% are just assorted characters called “extras.” I’ll let you know how it comes out. One thing I haven’t figured out yet. The Secretary of Defense is named Richard Heller. But I recognize him and know for a fact that his real name is The Fonz. So this has me temporarily puzzled, but I bet I work it out.
**********
The only good that came from my TV being down was that I didn’t have to watch the replay of our last game, which aired the day after. We lost another heart-breaker, 101-99. One tiny referee, who has a long vendetta of mutual hate with my club, was a big part of our undoing. We were awarded two technical fouls and a flagrant and the 8 or 9 points Ahli Club gained from those was easily the difference.
This little dude whistled a foul against Lamond to foul him out of the game with three minutes remaining and us up one. Ahli’s ex-NBA player was still in the game for them, but our guys managed to hang in until the last play, when we rebounded a missed free throw with 7.2 seconds remaining, down two. Our point guard came down for what I hoped would be a game-winning 3-pointer; he jumped in the air to shoot…and then decided to pass the ball into the corner, where it was batted around until final buzzer. I finally saw replay of the game and they play the fifth foul over and over—it clearly shows no foul.
Back with over 8 minutes remaining Lamond had very uncleverly picked up a flagrant foul by pushing a guy who taunted him after this guy was fouled. When he was pushed the Ahli player pulled a huge flop to the floor, seen by everybody, and that got an immediate whistle and Lamond his fourth foul. Very unacceptable. He had 34 points and 17 rebounds and it would have been nice to have him in the game at the end.
The top four teams are now tied at 7-2 after the first round. The second round starts Jan. 3 but until now we have basically had no practices. Lamond flew home after the game for 12 days, while most of our other players are caught up in the activities of a big Shia Ashoora commemeration that is now in progress and requires their attendance for much of about ten days.
This event marks the major split between Sunnis and Shias, which has to do with the rightful ascension to leadership following the death of Mohammed. His followers had a battle at the time and someone decided to kill a Shia baby as part of the bloody intrigue. This re-enactment is part of the frenetic events that take place nightly, mostly marked by plenty of self-flaggelation.
The other day Rick and I were on our way to lunch near a mall and he had me take a detour and go through an old Shia village not far away. The center of the village was draped in black banners, which isn’t actually as cheerful a sight as you may think. Rick had watched part of the goings-on there last year during this period and the highlight was when someone cut open a large baby doll which had been filled with blood which then gushed all over. This marked the event mentioned earlier. What fun! And followed by the equally comedic procession of marching, chanting, adherents who are beating themselves with chains. Everyone who wants to join in raise your hand!
Speaking of blood and guts, I can’t fail to mention that one of our technical fouls was against my excellent asst. coach, Ahmed. He had also had a technical in our narrow win over Manama. As usual, he can’t resist leaping to his feet and screaming, in order to be the center of attention. All the refs hate him and are looking to T him. Our little nemesis, Fadl, got him this time. Of course Ahmed has repeatedly been told by everyone to sit down and shut up. But he’s Ahmed.
So here’s what I’m thinking: how bout a duel to the death between Ahmed and Fadl the ref? Everyone in favor raise your hand. Look how high my hand is!
Merry Christmas. And don’t hold your breath until I say “Happy Holidays,” cuz I’ll never say that. I’m so politically incorrect. But at least I understand the nuances of tricky TV programs. And I’ll share them with you.
Coach G-Pea
Rich and skinny
From Jan. 5-10
The other day as I took my death-defying power walk through a neighborhood not so far away from my place I passed a shop that everyone reading this would be sure and patronize. It was called, simply, “Rich and Skinny.” Why beat around the bush? Expensive gowns being worn by thin mannequins were on display. It was all I could do to resist the temptation to rush in and have a fitting. But Fitness First is my motto, and so on I sped. Besides, I was a little sweaty and wasn’t sure I’d get the warm reception I deserve.
**********
But meanwhile I remain intrigued by this “24” show I told you about. The characters in it are AMAZING! They can go through hundreds (if not thousands) of 24-second periods without sleeping or eating…and they never grow tired nor faint! Their toilet habits are anyone’s guess.
And this one guy, Jack Bauer! WOW! As the story transpires he is obliged, every 24 minutes to perform 24 acts (now you’re starting to understand how clever the title is) from among, but not limited to, the following on a bad person: bludgeoning; eye-gouging; shooting; choking; shooting; knifing; garroting; kneeing; karate chopping; shooting; kicking; blowing up; pistol-whipping; bazookaing; drowning; smothering; disemboweling; pummeling; pitchforking; and on and on. And these folks all deserve what they get!
And these characters! Despite the fact that the fate of America hangs in their hands they still manage to have all sorts of personal crises to attend to! Many of them have been married to someone else in the counter-terrorism unit at one time and many more would like to marry someone in the unit! Plus many of them, at any given moment, lose a parent, spouse, friend, or beloved pet, and yet they fight on!
Don’t worry, I’ll keep you up to date! But right now I have to rush into another episode, where I hope to see Jack cut off a terrorist’s right arm (which perhaps holds a nuclear device) in a sword fight.
**********
You’re wondering how I spent New Year’s Eve. By pulling a coup, that’s how. I refer to the fact that by adding a couple of vowels to a “Z” word I added a whopping 14 points to my Scrabble score! And this at the stroke of midnight! The occasion was me hosting Art and Mariette plus Hubert for pizza (I still have lots of 2 for 1 coupons from Little Caesar’s), followed by a titanic battle on the board. Of course I won, and am proud of it. Never mind that English is the second language for Dutchie Mariette and Ghanian Hubert. I’m pretty sure I could have won had we played in their languages, and just as easily.
**********
My player Lamond was given a VIP ticket by friend Rick to attend a massive party on a small nearby island, accessible only by boat. Four boats ferried some 400 paying guests (tickets about $55 each, plus boat fare) out there and a good time was had by all. How could it be otherwise—a DJ from England had been flown in! There were bonfires along the beach and various food and drinks stalls. A mixed crowd of many nationalities. And Rick mixed business with pleasure.
I’ve told you he’s with a production company and he is pursuing his idea of making of a reality show here. The star of the show would be a young Bahraini prince who, although a little unlikely, is in the early stages of becoming a rock and roll star. Honest. So Rick talked to the prince’s agent and so far all’s on track for a Go. And guess who owns the island on which the new year was ushered in? That would be His Rocking Royal Highness! Right now money is being raised for the project. Rick sees the show as having not only strong Arab interest but even an international following. Will you watch it? I will.
**********
But I got upset the other day. I was lying on my couch watching TV and the light came through a window in such a way as to reveal an unpleasant sight. I noticed that the window itself was covered with grime and dust and the invading sunshine also highlighted a few other unpleasantries, including the fact that everything in sight was host to a layer of dust. Glancing in the corners, I was surprised to see that the remains of sandwiches and other debris on the floor had attracted an unusual amount of cockroaches. And how could the crusts already be green with mold…they’d only lain there a few weeks…or months. At any rate, I resolved that this simply would not do. And so I put my shoulder to the task.
First, I closed the drapes. Then I moved the TV (thankfully it is on rollers) into my bedroom. You see? There’s a solution to every problem if you’re just industrious enough to think of it. I’ve also moved my computer and so now I’m able to lay here and comfortably type. A much cheerier scenario.
**********
On the hardwoods we had another tough battle, but this time came away the victor. We started the game by fullcourt pressing Nuwaidrat into tons of turnovers and went up twelve. But we persisted in turning the ball over ourselves and were down five at the half, as they made lots of 3-point shots. Second half went back and forth but we prevailed in final minutes, 93-88. Our next opponent is Sitra. Last nite I watched them come from behind to beat Isa Town in double overtime. There’s lots of good shooters in this league and not many easy games. We remain in a 4-way tie for first. After Sitra we play two of the teams with which we’re tied. Pressure just around the bend.
**********
I just finished watching my Boise State Broncos beat your Texas Christian Horned Frogs in the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl in Arizona. And my Phoenix running mate from a couple of years back, Bruce Wilson, was enthralling in his role as Tostitos King. Upon making the trophy presentation at game’s end I was captivated by his speech, which tied education, football, and Mexican chip dips into one big tidy mouth-watering package. Some people may have thought it was a little long for national TV, at 42 minutes, but not me! You go, Boy!
The other day as I took my death-defying power walk through a neighborhood not so far away from my place I passed a shop that everyone reading this would be sure and patronize. It was called, simply, “Rich and Skinny.” Why beat around the bush? Expensive gowns being worn by thin mannequins were on display. It was all I could do to resist the temptation to rush in and have a fitting. But Fitness First is my motto, and so on I sped. Besides, I was a little sweaty and wasn’t sure I’d get the warm reception I deserve.
**********
But meanwhile I remain intrigued by this “24” show I told you about. The characters in it are AMAZING! They can go through hundreds (if not thousands) of 24-second periods without sleeping or eating…and they never grow tired nor faint! Their toilet habits are anyone’s guess.
And this one guy, Jack Bauer! WOW! As the story transpires he is obliged, every 24 minutes to perform 24 acts (now you’re starting to understand how clever the title is) from among, but not limited to, the following on a bad person: bludgeoning; eye-gouging; shooting; choking; shooting; knifing; garroting; kneeing; karate chopping; shooting; kicking; blowing up; pistol-whipping; bazookaing; drowning; smothering; disemboweling; pummeling; pitchforking; and on and on. And these folks all deserve what they get!
And these characters! Despite the fact that the fate of America hangs in their hands they still manage to have all sorts of personal crises to attend to! Many of them have been married to someone else in the counter-terrorism unit at one time and many more would like to marry someone in the unit! Plus many of them, at any given moment, lose a parent, spouse, friend, or beloved pet, and yet they fight on!
Don’t worry, I’ll keep you up to date! But right now I have to rush into another episode, where I hope to see Jack cut off a terrorist’s right arm (which perhaps holds a nuclear device) in a sword fight.
**********
You’re wondering how I spent New Year’s Eve. By pulling a coup, that’s how. I refer to the fact that by adding a couple of vowels to a “Z” word I added a whopping 14 points to my Scrabble score! And this at the stroke of midnight! The occasion was me hosting Art and Mariette plus Hubert for pizza (I still have lots of 2 for 1 coupons from Little Caesar’s), followed by a titanic battle on the board. Of course I won, and am proud of it. Never mind that English is the second language for Dutchie Mariette and Ghanian Hubert. I’m pretty sure I could have won had we played in their languages, and just as easily.
**********
My player Lamond was given a VIP ticket by friend Rick to attend a massive party on a small nearby island, accessible only by boat. Four boats ferried some 400 paying guests (tickets about $55 each, plus boat fare) out there and a good time was had by all. How could it be otherwise—a DJ from England had been flown in! There were bonfires along the beach and various food and drinks stalls. A mixed crowd of many nationalities. And Rick mixed business with pleasure.
I’ve told you he’s with a production company and he is pursuing his idea of making of a reality show here. The star of the show would be a young Bahraini prince who, although a little unlikely, is in the early stages of becoming a rock and roll star. Honest. So Rick talked to the prince’s agent and so far all’s on track for a Go. And guess who owns the island on which the new year was ushered in? That would be His Rocking Royal Highness! Right now money is being raised for the project. Rick sees the show as having not only strong Arab interest but even an international following. Will you watch it? I will.
**********
But I got upset the other day. I was lying on my couch watching TV and the light came through a window in such a way as to reveal an unpleasant sight. I noticed that the window itself was covered with grime and dust and the invading sunshine also highlighted a few other unpleasantries, including the fact that everything in sight was host to a layer of dust. Glancing in the corners, I was surprised to see that the remains of sandwiches and other debris on the floor had attracted an unusual amount of cockroaches. And how could the crusts already be green with mold…they’d only lain there a few weeks…or months. At any rate, I resolved that this simply would not do. And so I put my shoulder to the task.
First, I closed the drapes. Then I moved the TV (thankfully it is on rollers) into my bedroom. You see? There’s a solution to every problem if you’re just industrious enough to think of it. I’ve also moved my computer and so now I’m able to lay here and comfortably type. A much cheerier scenario.
**********
On the hardwoods we had another tough battle, but this time came away the victor. We started the game by fullcourt pressing Nuwaidrat into tons of turnovers and went up twelve. But we persisted in turning the ball over ourselves and were down five at the half, as they made lots of 3-point shots. Second half went back and forth but we prevailed in final minutes, 93-88. Our next opponent is Sitra. Last nite I watched them come from behind to beat Isa Town in double overtime. There’s lots of good shooters in this league and not many easy games. We remain in a 4-way tie for first. After Sitra we play two of the teams with which we’re tied. Pressure just around the bend.
**********
I just finished watching my Boise State Broncos beat your Texas Christian Horned Frogs in the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl in Arizona. And my Phoenix running mate from a couple of years back, Bruce Wilson, was enthralling in his role as Tostitos King. Upon making the trophy presentation at game’s end I was captivated by his speech, which tied education, football, and Mexican chip dips into one big tidy mouth-watering package. Some people may have thought it was a little long for national TV, at 42 minutes, but not me! You go, Boy!
A Psychal Conversation
From Jan. 11-10
Citizens,
I was blown away when two different people wrote back that they not only have seen this “24” that I’ve mentioned, but that they also had observations. First, JimKev (whose West Liberty U hoop team is only leading the nation in scoring for the fifth consecutive year) thought it was noteworthy that agent Bauer can, in such a relatively short time span, find himself in and out of love and maybe in again…despite the fact that he’s a pretty busy guy.
Then Steefie, with the wisdom of Solomon, noted that if the government (including wicked overlords and evil Senators and the like) would just get out of Jack’s way the program could be called “12,” cuz that’s all the time Bauer would need to get the job done. Also, if it was just “12” it would be a lot easier to remember which folks Jack has killed and/or tortured. Steefie admits he has Attention Deficit Disorder.
But, in regards to this show, I’ve had a strange ride since last we met. As I continued to watch episode after episode I gradually became aware of a tremendous coincidence: Agent Bauer and myself think and act almost identically; we walk, talk, and dance alike; we like the same foods, though we never have time to eat them; we even look and dress quite a bit alike.
The more that I realized these things to be true, the more that a residual psychal residence within me began to manifest itself. How, you ask? Through the simple knowledge that I had the capacity, should I so choose, to make mental contact with Jack. And so I did. At first I was elated. But then I was crushed.
What happened was, first we talked all about his cases and actions and so forth and then I asked him how he had arrived at certain decisions he’d made regarding a certain scenario that had played out. He said he didn’t know. I was flabbergasted, astounded, thunderstruck, and surprised. How could you not know, I queried.
And that’s when he told me that only the writers know these things. Further (this one put me in the fetal position), he said that his name’s not really Jack Bauer, It’s something else. And that he was an actor.
At first I felt betrayed…and vowed to never watch again. But then a thought struck me: maybe I’M THE REAL JACK BAUER! So I’ve decided to continue watching in order to better evaluate this deep and growing subcutaneous suspicion! Trust me to keep you informed.
**********
Elsewhere, we played Sitra a couple of nites ago and came away with a rather ugly win—the kind we seem to specialize in. We had a bad shooting night and decided to complement that with weak defense. At the end of the third quarter one of their players threw up a shot from 60 feet and it swished right thru the net to cut our lead to one. We pulled away to a 14-point lead but then a good player of theirs made 3 straight very long 3s at the end and the final was 80-76. We again had stinking Fadl the referee and true to his reputation he produced shenanigans. He’s quite a joker, that little guy. But the joke’s invariably on us.
Now our next two games are against two of the three teams we continue to be tied with for first place. Why won’t my players improve, the way I plead with them to? After practice tonite we’ll have a team dinner together, which is what Mgr. Hussain feels is just what the doctor ordered. I hope it agrees with us.
**********
I’ve mentioned Rick to you. He’s a Cali-guy who worked in movies/TV in Hollywood for ten years and recently interviewed in Dubai for a production position there. While he’s waiting to hear from those people he has moved in with me temporarily—since his lease in Juffair expired yesterday.
He continues to push for financing for the rock ‘n rollin prince reality show that he’s pushing, a project that he could pursue from either here or Dubai. He has another deal that he does one nite a week at the Day’s Inn Hotel. He hosts an improv comedy show called, “The Funniest Person in Bahrain.” He currently boasts ten people who are vying for this title and whom he coaches. He has invited me to come and watch before but I didn’t have a chance until a few evenings back.
The first guy up was Ali, who was actually pretty funny but pretty dirty. Another humorous guy is a Brit kid, just 16 years old…can think on his feet. Two of the contestants are girls, one from Finland (who I mostly couldn’t understand) and one from Holland. One local guy was wearing, as are you right now, a Santa costume. It obviously seemed like a good idea to him.
I was impressed with one local guy, Tariq, who pulled off a pretty good imitation of Governor Arnold S, as The Terminator. Near the end of his monologue he said, “…hey, I’m starting to sound like an Arab!” But still, I was pretty impressed with him doing a German accent in English. How many of you could improvise a comedy skit in Arabic, utilizing, say, a funny Bosnian accent? I could of course, but could you? Get back to me on that one.
Citizens,
I was blown away when two different people wrote back that they not only have seen this “24” that I’ve mentioned, but that they also had observations. First, JimKev (whose West Liberty U hoop team is only leading the nation in scoring for the fifth consecutive year) thought it was noteworthy that agent Bauer can, in such a relatively short time span, find himself in and out of love and maybe in again…despite the fact that he’s a pretty busy guy.
Then Steefie, with the wisdom of Solomon, noted that if the government (including wicked overlords and evil Senators and the like) would just get out of Jack’s way the program could be called “12,” cuz that’s all the time Bauer would need to get the job done. Also, if it was just “12” it would be a lot easier to remember which folks Jack has killed and/or tortured. Steefie admits he has Attention Deficit Disorder.
But, in regards to this show, I’ve had a strange ride since last we met. As I continued to watch episode after episode I gradually became aware of a tremendous coincidence: Agent Bauer and myself think and act almost identically; we walk, talk, and dance alike; we like the same foods, though we never have time to eat them; we even look and dress quite a bit alike.
The more that I realized these things to be true, the more that a residual psychal residence within me began to manifest itself. How, you ask? Through the simple knowledge that I had the capacity, should I so choose, to make mental contact with Jack. And so I did. At first I was elated. But then I was crushed.
What happened was, first we talked all about his cases and actions and so forth and then I asked him how he had arrived at certain decisions he’d made regarding a certain scenario that had played out. He said he didn’t know. I was flabbergasted, astounded, thunderstruck, and surprised. How could you not know, I queried.
And that’s when he told me that only the writers know these things. Further (this one put me in the fetal position), he said that his name’s not really Jack Bauer, It’s something else. And that he was an actor.
At first I felt betrayed…and vowed to never watch again. But then a thought struck me: maybe I’M THE REAL JACK BAUER! So I’ve decided to continue watching in order to better evaluate this deep and growing subcutaneous suspicion! Trust me to keep you informed.
**********
Elsewhere, we played Sitra a couple of nites ago and came away with a rather ugly win—the kind we seem to specialize in. We had a bad shooting night and decided to complement that with weak defense. At the end of the third quarter one of their players threw up a shot from 60 feet and it swished right thru the net to cut our lead to one. We pulled away to a 14-point lead but then a good player of theirs made 3 straight very long 3s at the end and the final was 80-76. We again had stinking Fadl the referee and true to his reputation he produced shenanigans. He’s quite a joker, that little guy. But the joke’s invariably on us.
Now our next two games are against two of the three teams we continue to be tied with for first place. Why won’t my players improve, the way I plead with them to? After practice tonite we’ll have a team dinner together, which is what Mgr. Hussain feels is just what the doctor ordered. I hope it agrees with us.
**********
I’ve mentioned Rick to you. He’s a Cali-guy who worked in movies/TV in Hollywood for ten years and recently interviewed in Dubai for a production position there. While he’s waiting to hear from those people he has moved in with me temporarily—since his lease in Juffair expired yesterday.
He continues to push for financing for the rock ‘n rollin prince reality show that he’s pushing, a project that he could pursue from either here or Dubai. He has another deal that he does one nite a week at the Day’s Inn Hotel. He hosts an improv comedy show called, “The Funniest Person in Bahrain.” He currently boasts ten people who are vying for this title and whom he coaches. He has invited me to come and watch before but I didn’t have a chance until a few evenings back.
The first guy up was Ali, who was actually pretty funny but pretty dirty. Another humorous guy is a Brit kid, just 16 years old…can think on his feet. Two of the contestants are girls, one from Finland (who I mostly couldn’t understand) and one from Holland. One local guy was wearing, as are you right now, a Santa costume. It obviously seemed like a good idea to him.
I was impressed with one local guy, Tariq, who pulled off a pretty good imitation of Governor Arnold S, as The Terminator. Near the end of his monologue he said, “…hey, I’m starting to sound like an Arab!” But still, I was pretty impressed with him doing a German accent in English. How many of you could improvise a comedy skit in Arabic, utilizing, say, a funny Bosnian accent? I could of course, but could you? Get back to me on that one.
The Beachcomber
From Jan. 19-10
Dear Fellow Travelers,
You know that I often drive the 8 or 9 miles out to Amwaj Island in order to pursue fitness. But whereas I previously power-walked either through canal-sided streets or alongside the seashore in residential sections, the equation has now changed. In an attempt to become even more fit I have now changed my regimen to one of a combination of walking and jogging (your gasp is a mixture of admiration and shock).
But you know that I had one knee scoped back in ’92 (okay, who’s the wiseacre that just said, “you sure it wasn’t in ’02…1902!?) and must therefore search for a soft surface on which to jog. Sand. Sand was the answer. There’s not so much sand, surprisingly, in Bahrain, but I know a longish cove here that has some.
Which reminds me of couple months back when I went to look at a potential membership with a place called the Country Club. The Receptionist spoke with an Eastern European accent, which I quickly ascertained to be either Bulgarian or Macedonian. Playing it somewhat safe, I said, “I detect that you are Bulgarian.” She confessed that she was and we started talking about her country, since I have taken teams there on three separate occasions for training camps. Twice we stayed in Varna, on the Black Sea, specifically at the resort area known as “Golden Sands.” It is a most excellent place and the sands are aptly named, though the sea, disappointingly, isn’t black. Anyway, she sighed with nostalgia over Golden Sands (though she’s from Sofia) and said that when she found this job online she had dreams of palm trees and deep sands everywhere. Alas, there’s not an abundance of either.
But to console her, as I left, I said, “At least you’re not from Macedonia.” She murmured agreement. I asked, “Does anyone care who gets Macedonia?” She shook her head no. Told ya.
But back at Amwaj Island, I yesterday became more than just a walker-jogger; I also became a beachcomber. In the course of pursuing my route, I came across many fascinating things that had washed up. There’s an empty plastic bottle; what a tale it could tell should it be able to talk. Over there is half of a red Nerf ball—who would ever have dreamed they’re not hollow in the middle? A piece of torn canvas; wow, look at that intricate design. A tomato, sort of shriveled, but with curvature worth studying. Look! A plastic shopping bag! I gauged its dimensions to be eight inches by 16 inches, and I thought to myself that it could hold a lot more individual M&Ms than it could large containers of Tide detergent.
Next, I saw an old work glove. I counted the fingers. “Wow,” I said to myself. “Five.” Then I saw something extremely interesting: an upside down shoe, featuring rubber tread on the sole. This reminded me of crime shows where I’d seen forensic people trace, with computer help, shoe or tire treads to specific culprits. Hoping for the same result, I studied the shoe tread diligently. And my mind, though not technically a computer, raced through an infinite list of suspects until after 45 seconds I had narrowed the list of possibles to three, not the least of whom was Baboo…who works at the laundry just around the corner from my apartment.
Continuing along, I encountered a Pepsi can (pronounced Bepsi here, as Ps are pronounced as Bs in Arabic…leaving me to answer to “Bat”) whose colors remained extraordinarily bright. I knelt and studied/admired them a long time. “Man. Blue and red,” I whispered. Then, look! Another tomato, but this one plumper and redder! Having not eaten breakfast, I conducted an experiement and took a bite. Ugh. All squishy, and salty, and rancid. But wanting to give the super vegetable one more try before racing to judgement, I bit in again. What’s that thing?! Yuck! Do you suppose sea slugs lay their eggs in sea-tossed tomatoes the way flies plant maggots here and there?
I continued along and broke into a jog (it’s sort of hard to breathe while you’re retching) but very soon a bad thing happened. There are many rocks strewn along the beach and I usually avoid them, but suddenly…I lay sprawled in the sand. One of the rocks had got my sneakered right toe. Since I was sweaty, sand stuck to my skin. But at least I wasn’t injured. And no one had seen the mishap, lest I might be made the object of ridicule.
But just to be certain of this second assumption I quickly looked to the adjacent construction site, and, from a good number of workmen, focused in on the backs of the two nearest me. As it happened, this duo of Indian laborers were shaking with laughter—obviously having just seen something acutely funny in the direction of the street. “They’re like children,” I said to the rock that had tripped me. “The poor simpletons.” Just for the record, I recognized one of them as Apu, and the other as a fellow named Baboo.
I was soon back at my starting place and, en route, had spotted even more treasure, including a piece of rope and an orange. I was just starting to walk away and back to my car when I noticed something odd sticking out of the sand. Out of mild curiosity I started digging around and before long had unearthed an old pterodactyl skeleton. It wasn’t very big, probably about 14-feet long, and not terribly interesting, but still I decided to take it home and so started dragging it along. I’m not an expert in archeological dating, but I put the thing at about 4009 years old. Which means an evolutionist would place it at 27 million years of age.
But then as I got next to my car a funny thing happened. A Range Rover with Saudi plates pulled alongside and stopped on the little side street. The bearded driver got out, eyeing my new acquisition. I spotted covetousness in his beady eyes. I knew he wanted the thing. Now you may know that Arabs have a reputation as being the world’s toughest hagglers…and they won’t pay face value for anything. Well, I told myself then and there that this particular Arab had just met way more than his match. He asked me how much I wanted for the old bones and I told him. The game was on.
Thirty minutes later, defeat etched on his craggy face, the guy was strapping it to the top of his vehicle. Not wanting to gloat, I held back the smile of derision that begged to leap from my face. I was granite. He pulled away, the beak of the beast pointed straight down the center of the road. But, friends, he wasn’t in the same condition as when I’d met him. No. This particular gentleman was the equivalent of $14 lighter in the wallet.
So much for Great Negotiators. And here’s to intrepid beachcombers the world over.
Coach Bat
Dear Fellow Travelers,
You know that I often drive the 8 or 9 miles out to Amwaj Island in order to pursue fitness. But whereas I previously power-walked either through canal-sided streets or alongside the seashore in residential sections, the equation has now changed. In an attempt to become even more fit I have now changed my regimen to one of a combination of walking and jogging (your gasp is a mixture of admiration and shock).
But you know that I had one knee scoped back in ’92 (okay, who’s the wiseacre that just said, “you sure it wasn’t in ’02…1902!?) and must therefore search for a soft surface on which to jog. Sand. Sand was the answer. There’s not so much sand, surprisingly, in Bahrain, but I know a longish cove here that has some.
Which reminds me of couple months back when I went to look at a potential membership with a place called the Country Club. The Receptionist spoke with an Eastern European accent, which I quickly ascertained to be either Bulgarian or Macedonian. Playing it somewhat safe, I said, “I detect that you are Bulgarian.” She confessed that she was and we started talking about her country, since I have taken teams there on three separate occasions for training camps. Twice we stayed in Varna, on the Black Sea, specifically at the resort area known as “Golden Sands.” It is a most excellent place and the sands are aptly named, though the sea, disappointingly, isn’t black. Anyway, she sighed with nostalgia over Golden Sands (though she’s from Sofia) and said that when she found this job online she had dreams of palm trees and deep sands everywhere. Alas, there’s not an abundance of either.
But to console her, as I left, I said, “At least you’re not from Macedonia.” She murmured agreement. I asked, “Does anyone care who gets Macedonia?” She shook her head no. Told ya.
But back at Amwaj Island, I yesterday became more than just a walker-jogger; I also became a beachcomber. In the course of pursuing my route, I came across many fascinating things that had washed up. There’s an empty plastic bottle; what a tale it could tell should it be able to talk. Over there is half of a red Nerf ball—who would ever have dreamed they’re not hollow in the middle? A piece of torn canvas; wow, look at that intricate design. A tomato, sort of shriveled, but with curvature worth studying. Look! A plastic shopping bag! I gauged its dimensions to be eight inches by 16 inches, and I thought to myself that it could hold a lot more individual M&Ms than it could large containers of Tide detergent.
Next, I saw an old work glove. I counted the fingers. “Wow,” I said to myself. “Five.” Then I saw something extremely interesting: an upside down shoe, featuring rubber tread on the sole. This reminded me of crime shows where I’d seen forensic people trace, with computer help, shoe or tire treads to specific culprits. Hoping for the same result, I studied the shoe tread diligently. And my mind, though not technically a computer, raced through an infinite list of suspects until after 45 seconds I had narrowed the list of possibles to three, not the least of whom was Baboo…who works at the laundry just around the corner from my apartment.
Continuing along, I encountered a Pepsi can (pronounced Bepsi here, as Ps are pronounced as Bs in Arabic…leaving me to answer to “Bat”) whose colors remained extraordinarily bright. I knelt and studied/admired them a long time. “Man. Blue and red,” I whispered. Then, look! Another tomato, but this one plumper and redder! Having not eaten breakfast, I conducted an experiement and took a bite. Ugh. All squishy, and salty, and rancid. But wanting to give the super vegetable one more try before racing to judgement, I bit in again. What’s that thing?! Yuck! Do you suppose sea slugs lay their eggs in sea-tossed tomatoes the way flies plant maggots here and there?
I continued along and broke into a jog (it’s sort of hard to breathe while you’re retching) but very soon a bad thing happened. There are many rocks strewn along the beach and I usually avoid them, but suddenly…I lay sprawled in the sand. One of the rocks had got my sneakered right toe. Since I was sweaty, sand stuck to my skin. But at least I wasn’t injured. And no one had seen the mishap, lest I might be made the object of ridicule.
But just to be certain of this second assumption I quickly looked to the adjacent construction site, and, from a good number of workmen, focused in on the backs of the two nearest me. As it happened, this duo of Indian laborers were shaking with laughter—obviously having just seen something acutely funny in the direction of the street. “They’re like children,” I said to the rock that had tripped me. “The poor simpletons.” Just for the record, I recognized one of them as Apu, and the other as a fellow named Baboo.
I was soon back at my starting place and, en route, had spotted even more treasure, including a piece of rope and an orange. I was just starting to walk away and back to my car when I noticed something odd sticking out of the sand. Out of mild curiosity I started digging around and before long had unearthed an old pterodactyl skeleton. It wasn’t very big, probably about 14-feet long, and not terribly interesting, but still I decided to take it home and so started dragging it along. I’m not an expert in archeological dating, but I put the thing at about 4009 years old. Which means an evolutionist would place it at 27 million years of age.
But then as I got next to my car a funny thing happened. A Range Rover with Saudi plates pulled alongside and stopped on the little side street. The bearded driver got out, eyeing my new acquisition. I spotted covetousness in his beady eyes. I knew he wanted the thing. Now you may know that Arabs have a reputation as being the world’s toughest hagglers…and they won’t pay face value for anything. Well, I told myself then and there that this particular Arab had just met way more than his match. He asked me how much I wanted for the old bones and I told him. The game was on.
Thirty minutes later, defeat etched on his craggy face, the guy was strapping it to the top of his vehicle. Not wanting to gloat, I held back the smile of derision that begged to leap from my face. I was granite. He pulled away, the beak of the beast pointed straight down the center of the road. But, friends, he wasn’t in the same condition as when I’d met him. No. This particular gentleman was the equivalent of $14 lighter in the wallet.
So much for Great Negotiators. And here’s to intrepid beachcombers the world over.
Coach Bat
I'm a Blogger
From Jan. 25-10
Friends and Neighbors,
In the Uh-Oh Department: I told you last time to have a look at picture/interview with Kharis. But the rascally editors at the magazine have replaced the issue with Kharis in it in favor of a new issue. A stunning development.
So if you’re curious you just need to click on Search near top of magazine page and then under Search Query on the new page type in Kharis Kennedy. Then click on:
The Man I wish I was. An interview with Kharis Kennedy.
**********
Also, new roommate Rick writes a daily blog. It’s called “An American in Bahrain.” In it he now talks a lot about his new cyber-date girlfriend. This particular North Carolina Tarheel will be visiting him here in Bahrain for couple of weeks in February (a month without the full allotment of days). If you google Rick Beeman you can access his blog.
And since Rick is also a computer guy, he told me I need to be a blogger. I told him, “But I don’t wanna be a blogger…I wanna PASS the ball, like Peyton Manning and Brett Favre. Let the big tough guys up front do all the blogging.”
He explained to me that the big tough guys were blockers and not bloggers. And that I still have every chance to be an NFL quarterback (like my brother was for a season…with them Denver Broncos).
He also said he would set me up with a blog right this very minute. And so he did. I had to give the blog a name, he said. So I named it “Sunsets.” Because sunsets are very beautiful sometimes, especially if there is a lot of dust in the air—which is the contributing factor to their red coloration.
The address of the blog is: http://coachpat37.blogspot.com/
He told me to tell you that if you have a friend or nephew then tell them to log onto this blog. The content will mostly describe sunsets. It will be posted from time to time.
Coach Blogger Pat
Friends and Neighbors,
In the Uh-Oh Department: I told you last time to have a look at picture/interview with Kharis. But the rascally editors at the magazine have replaced the issue with Kharis in it in favor of a new issue. A stunning development.
So if you’re curious you just need to click on Search near top of magazine page and then under Search Query on the new page type in Kharis Kennedy. Then click on:
The Man I wish I was. An interview with Kharis Kennedy.
**********
Also, new roommate Rick writes a daily blog. It’s called “An American in Bahrain.” In it he now talks a lot about his new cyber-date girlfriend. This particular North Carolina Tarheel will be visiting him here in Bahrain for couple of weeks in February (a month without the full allotment of days). If you google Rick Beeman you can access his blog.
And since Rick is also a computer guy, he told me I need to be a blogger. I told him, “But I don’t wanna be a blogger…I wanna PASS the ball, like Peyton Manning and Brett Favre. Let the big tough guys up front do all the blogging.”
He explained to me that the big tough guys were blockers and not bloggers. And that I still have every chance to be an NFL quarterback (like my brother was for a season…with them Denver Broncos).
He also said he would set me up with a blog right this very minute. And so he did. I had to give the blog a name, he said. So I named it “Sunsets.” Because sunsets are very beautiful sometimes, especially if there is a lot of dust in the air—which is the contributing factor to their red coloration.
The address of the blog is: http://coachpat37.blogspot.com/
He told me to tell you that if you have a friend or nephew then tell them to log onto this blog. The content will mostly describe sunsets. It will be posted from time to time.
Coach Blogger Pat
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Bluish People
Jan. 27-10
Hipsters,
You remember that several weeks ago my new roommate Rick went to the Dubai Film Festival and saw a bunch of films. One of them was called “Avatar.”
Well, he was so taken with the visuals in this movie that two weeks ago he suggested we go see it. And so we did. It was the second time for Rick to see it, as he had previously seen it in Dubai…a couple of weeks earlier. But for me, it was the first time. We saw it together here in Manama (which in Arabic means: Bad Moon Rising).
The movie was really something. It’s all about these sort of blue-striped people who are really tall. And sometimes they snarl. They are indigenous to a far away asteroid and are called, I believe, the Wafi-Wafis. Not only can they really commune with nature, they also, amazingly, live in a three dimensional world!
And the plot was thick with intrigue, featuring, as is often the case, your basic good guys and your basic bad guys. The good guys of course are Uncle Sam’s finest fighting men and women who are on a noble mission to introduce free market concepts to savages. But these savages are so stupid (they think it’s fun to ride around on large birds and 6-legged mammals, that’s how dumb they are) that they are resistant to progress. And they don’t appreciate that our Uncle is clearing off unneeded trees and underbrush and blue people in order to provide more arable land for agriculture. In short, they just don’t get it.
So there’s this big fight. And there’s almost no end to how pesky these Wafi-Wafis can be. And some of them are inhabited by traitorous Yanks, which is of course totally unfair. Which is why during one spell, when American gunships are layin down a pretty good volley of mayhem and destruction, I felt compelled to leap to my feet and yell, “Keep the pedal to the metal, boys! And remember, the only good Wafi-Wafi is a dead Wafi-Wafi!”
Well, no sooner were those words out of my mouth (in fact I hadn’t even had time to close it) when some obnoxious clown from nearby pelted me with popcorn. Fortunately, it went right in the old pie hole…and the joke was on Mr. Obnoxious: the popcorn was caramel flavored, my favorite. So the movie had a happy ending.
But Rick, who had now seen the movie twice (to my once), still didn’t quite get it either. He kept wanting to talk about the interdependence of all living organisms. I shook my head sadly. Because I had noticed that for the past two hours his only notion of interdependence had been between his perpetual-motion hand and the giant tub of popcorn between his knees. And that made ME a little blue; cuz I kept hoping to sneak a handful or two, but no-could-do. And it was caramel flavored, too.
***********
And then, just when I think I’ve gotten everybody mostly back on track, I receive a crushing blow. I receive an inexplicable response to my last report (about lions and Agent Bauer and stuff) from my old friend Steve. Totally baffling. Leaving me totally baffled. Here’s what he wrote:
“dear coach P-thank you for the update. totally enjoy all analysis of games and life with one exception. if you ever mention "24" again i will personally send 8 small chinese black belt guys to lay in wait for you as you do your power walk. they will be above doorways, behind billboards, underneath parked cars, posing as police and retail salespersons. they will beat you about the head and shoulders and leave you for dead. they have been instructed to stop short of the final blow only to allow you to recover, to be beaten again at a later date.”
This made no sense to me. I’ve known brother Steve since college days…over four years now. And I can vouch for his giant intellect (he graduated, after all, in the top 66% of his high school class there at Long Beach Poly). This set me to pondering. I pondered and pondered. And then it hit me. Steve is also a voracious reader (let me cite the fact than in less than three years he was already through nearly half of his Cub Scout manual…never mind that all his former Cub mates had been Boy Scouts for two years by the time he finally finished the volume).
Having recently read a provocative news report from South Florida, I think I’ve been able to successfully put two and two together. In short, Steve had read the EXACT same Sunshine State news item.
Let me recap. You very well know that my first wife Cynthia and I had lived in Miami for over a year before I came here to coach. She continues slaving away there in Kevin’s eye doctor office and in talking to her on the phone, she told me how incredibly cold (to freezing and below, for days and days) Miami had been last week. And you know that a certain phenomenon occurs in South Florida under such extreme conditions: the iguanas are stunned into unconsciousness.
It’s true. They climb up in trees to roost at nite (and though they roost they seldom if ever cock-a-doodle-doo), but then when the wintery chill set in they became comatose. Which had an interesting consequence, and this is what I, and undoubtedly Steve, both read about.
And it involved a guy named Jack, soon to be known as “Lizard Jack.” He’s a homeless person in that area. And since homeless persons seldom have two-for-one coupons for Chili’s restaurants, they have to make do. Which is what Jack did. He discovered that shaking the freezing trees sent the unfortunate iguanas tumbling to the ground, inert. Then, since he had neither Remington nor German Luger, he would stomp the iguanas to death. And then barbecue them and eat them.
The article quoted another fellow who stayed under a bridge by Jack and this citizen told how in the morning everyone living in that area marveled at all of the iguana skeletons around the remains of Jack’s fire. This earned him the monicker of “Lizard Jack.”
After reading this heartwarming human interest story Steve, no doubt, suffered brain freeze, though it’s never very cold in San Diego. But since he dearly loves all creatures, great and small, he had tremendous difficulty in coping with Lizard Jack’s actions, despite his circumstances. And in his frenzied state of mind Steve made a tiny mental error of juxtaposition, and believed it was Agent Jack Bauer who had committed these culinary indiscretions; both named Jack, right? So what could be more natural or more easily explained? Just took a little pondering.
**********
On a slightly different note, Manager Hussain called me while ago to alert me to the fact that he’s discovered a guy that he’s brining to our practice tonite for a tryout. The kid is 6-5 or better and, interestingly, half Bahraini, half Filipino (a boy from the Philippines). Actually, around the Gulf there are a number of half-Arabs, half-Filipinos. What happens is that there are so many Filipina (a girl from the Philippines) guest workers in these countries that sometimes they meet a local man and…and one thing leads to another…and…and…well, you know.
Coach Pea
Hipsters,
You remember that several weeks ago my new roommate Rick went to the Dubai Film Festival and saw a bunch of films. One of them was called “Avatar.”
Well, he was so taken with the visuals in this movie that two weeks ago he suggested we go see it. And so we did. It was the second time for Rick to see it, as he had previously seen it in Dubai…a couple of weeks earlier. But for me, it was the first time. We saw it together here in Manama (which in Arabic means: Bad Moon Rising).
The movie was really something. It’s all about these sort of blue-striped people who are really tall. And sometimes they snarl. They are indigenous to a far away asteroid and are called, I believe, the Wafi-Wafis. Not only can they really commune with nature, they also, amazingly, live in a three dimensional world!
And the plot was thick with intrigue, featuring, as is often the case, your basic good guys and your basic bad guys. The good guys of course are Uncle Sam’s finest fighting men and women who are on a noble mission to introduce free market concepts to savages. But these savages are so stupid (they think it’s fun to ride around on large birds and 6-legged mammals, that’s how dumb they are) that they are resistant to progress. And they don’t appreciate that our Uncle is clearing off unneeded trees and underbrush and blue people in order to provide more arable land for agriculture. In short, they just don’t get it.
So there’s this big fight. And there’s almost no end to how pesky these Wafi-Wafis can be. And some of them are inhabited by traitorous Yanks, which is of course totally unfair. Which is why during one spell, when American gunships are layin down a pretty good volley of mayhem and destruction, I felt compelled to leap to my feet and yell, “Keep the pedal to the metal, boys! And remember, the only good Wafi-Wafi is a dead Wafi-Wafi!”
Well, no sooner were those words out of my mouth (in fact I hadn’t even had time to close it) when some obnoxious clown from nearby pelted me with popcorn. Fortunately, it went right in the old pie hole…and the joke was on Mr. Obnoxious: the popcorn was caramel flavored, my favorite. So the movie had a happy ending.
But Rick, who had now seen the movie twice (to my once), still didn’t quite get it either. He kept wanting to talk about the interdependence of all living organisms. I shook my head sadly. Because I had noticed that for the past two hours his only notion of interdependence had been between his perpetual-motion hand and the giant tub of popcorn between his knees. And that made ME a little blue; cuz I kept hoping to sneak a handful or two, but no-could-do. And it was caramel flavored, too.
***********
And then, just when I think I’ve gotten everybody mostly back on track, I receive a crushing blow. I receive an inexplicable response to my last report (about lions and Agent Bauer and stuff) from my old friend Steve. Totally baffling. Leaving me totally baffled. Here’s what he wrote:
“dear coach P-thank you for the update. totally enjoy all analysis of games and life with one exception. if you ever mention "24" again i will personally send 8 small chinese black belt guys to lay in wait for you as you do your power walk. they will be above doorways, behind billboards, underneath parked cars, posing as police and retail salespersons. they will beat you about the head and shoulders and leave you for dead. they have been instructed to stop short of the final blow only to allow you to recover, to be beaten again at a later date.”
This made no sense to me. I’ve known brother Steve since college days…over four years now. And I can vouch for his giant intellect (he graduated, after all, in the top 66% of his high school class there at Long Beach Poly). This set me to pondering. I pondered and pondered. And then it hit me. Steve is also a voracious reader (let me cite the fact than in less than three years he was already through nearly half of his Cub Scout manual…never mind that all his former Cub mates had been Boy Scouts for two years by the time he finally finished the volume).
Having recently read a provocative news report from South Florida, I think I’ve been able to successfully put two and two together. In short, Steve had read the EXACT same Sunshine State news item.
Let me recap. You very well know that my first wife Cynthia and I had lived in Miami for over a year before I came here to coach. She continues slaving away there in Kevin’s eye doctor office and in talking to her on the phone, she told me how incredibly cold (to freezing and below, for days and days) Miami had been last week. And you know that a certain phenomenon occurs in South Florida under such extreme conditions: the iguanas are stunned into unconsciousness.
It’s true. They climb up in trees to roost at nite (and though they roost they seldom if ever cock-a-doodle-doo), but then when the wintery chill set in they became comatose. Which had an interesting consequence, and this is what I, and undoubtedly Steve, both read about.
And it involved a guy named Jack, soon to be known as “Lizard Jack.” He’s a homeless person in that area. And since homeless persons seldom have two-for-one coupons for Chili’s restaurants, they have to make do. Which is what Jack did. He discovered that shaking the freezing trees sent the unfortunate iguanas tumbling to the ground, inert. Then, since he had neither Remington nor German Luger, he would stomp the iguanas to death. And then barbecue them and eat them.
The article quoted another fellow who stayed under a bridge by Jack and this citizen told how in the morning everyone living in that area marveled at all of the iguana skeletons around the remains of Jack’s fire. This earned him the monicker of “Lizard Jack.”
After reading this heartwarming human interest story Steve, no doubt, suffered brain freeze, though it’s never very cold in San Diego. But since he dearly loves all creatures, great and small, he had tremendous difficulty in coping with Lizard Jack’s actions, despite his circumstances. And in his frenzied state of mind Steve made a tiny mental error of juxtaposition, and believed it was Agent Jack Bauer who had committed these culinary indiscretions; both named Jack, right? So what could be more natural or more easily explained? Just took a little pondering.
**********
On a slightly different note, Manager Hussain called me while ago to alert me to the fact that he’s discovered a guy that he’s brining to our practice tonite for a tryout. The kid is 6-5 or better and, interestingly, half Bahraini, half Filipino (a boy from the Philippines). Actually, around the Gulf there are a number of half-Arabs, half-Filipinos. What happens is that there are so many Filipina (a girl from the Philippines) guest workers in these countries that sometimes they meet a local man and…and one thing leads to another…and…and…well, you know.
Coach Pea
Sunday, 24 January 2010
A Near Death Experience
Brethren and Sisthren,
I’ve recently had a Near Death Experience. My spirit didn’t actually rise up above my body and look down at the proceedings…but it was that close to happening.
Here’s what happened. A few days ago my power-walk took me far afield from my apartment, over in the neighborhood of Ahli Club, maybe two miles distant. Very near the club itself, suddenly an eerie flash flooded my consciousness. I, at first, thought it only the natural fear accompanying the fact that we have a must-win game coming up with the Black and Gold in a couple of weeks. It was only later, as I leafed through the Bahrain Daily News, that I learned the truth: what I had seen in the invisible realm was nothing less than The Shadow of Death.
The newspaper reported an interesting story. A circus with a wild animal act had recently played a number of performances here. The stars of this act are half a dozen ferocious lions. Well, the engagement ended and it would be a week before the show would move on to Qatar.
So in this interim a good number of terrified citizens near Ahli Club have pestered the police in their frenzied fear and trepidation…because the lions are temporarily housed in cages atop a certain apartment house complex. And the citizens in the near-vicinity report that the angry roars of the beasts keep them awake all night. Others have reported seeing the felines pacing their cages and slamming into their wooden confines. These people are petrified that the lions will escape. And my walk had taken me within just TWO BLOCKS of this scenario. I could easily have had an escaped lion leap from atop the building and crash down on my shaved head. I know: not a pretty picture to contemplate. (Especially the certainty of lion guts strewn all over the place in the aftermath.)
But doesn’t this just illustrate how stupid people can be? I mean, where do all of these complainers think the lions should be waiting, if not atop an apartment building? Do they think they should be housed in Lion Shelters? Wake up people, there ARE NO Lion Shelters!! Except deep in the heart of the savage African jungle! No, nothing could be more natural than keeping the cats right where they were. Or else why would the owners have put them there?
And these people that are so convinced that personal disaster is just a pawsreach away…how many of their friends, family and neighbors have actually ever been eaten by lions? The answer: VERY FEW!! So just chill. The only person in any real danger was me. And I have, as an example to society, complained to the police not at all. So follow my lead if by chance these same circumstances should surround you.
**********
But this “24” program! By chance, I happened to wander into a Video Rental shop in the Jazira (which means“island”) mini-mall and discover a dusty series of these obscure episodes on a shelf. I rent them, never dreaming anyone would have heard of them. But then two people wrote me earlier about this program and now TWO MORE have also chimed in. First, Mike says about Agent Jack Bauer (you remember that he may well be my alter ego):
"Concerning this '24' television program……… there is one thing that Jack has that you might not be able to compete with…… his INFINITE ability to reconfigure the electronic equipment in his SUV to do pretty much anything needed: finger print scanner, fax machine, microscope, ballistic gun powder analyzer, coffee maker, thermal imager, surface to air missile, gastro spectrum analysis – all at the touch of a button or with some simple rewiring."
Mikey, very perceptive! And then guess who I hear from? My very daughter, Kharis! You probably realize that she has just curated an art show in New York City and has been very busy; but not too busy to inform us that:
"…our life remains even more chaotic than the average day enjoyed by special agent Jack Bauer. (Bet you didn’t know that I too have had my fair dose of “24” – spent all of Season 1 desperately hoping that his vacuous daughter would explode.)"
Well, I can go Kharis one better! I voted for not only vacuous self-centered daughter Kim to explode, but also her whining mother right along with her! I leapt for joy when double agent Nina Meyers filled Mom with hot lead!
Kharis also took time from her busy schedule to comment on our “Rich and Skinny” report. She, sagely, writes that:
"I also vote to be Rich and Skinny! Can’t wait to see how stupid those Poor and Fat people feel when they realize that they jumped on the wrong bandwagon!"
Well said! You Go, girl! Most of you will probably want to see more about this art show (the first half of which was her own oil paintings getting a gallery showing last year in the Apple) and see a picture of Kharis and another girl (Kharis is the one without the barbed wire tattoo around her bicep) by going to:
http://scallywagandvagabond.com/
**********
Since my last report on the basketball wars we’ve had three contests. Two happy endings, one very sad ending. The first clash was against Manama, the team that we beat in overtime, by four points, in the first round. This time we were again victimized by bad reffing, particularly from our old friend Fadl (yes, the very individual that deserves to undergo China’s Death by a Thousand Tortures). We were up by one with just over five minutes left when Lamond was quickly awarded dual invisible fouls and had to leave the game with five personals. Their American, a strong post player, was not in foul trouble and so things looked bleak for us. But our all-local squad hung tough and we were up two points when they rebounded a missed free throw with seven seconds left; they raced the ball upcourt and at the buzzer one of their wings hit a fallaway 3-pointer. Heartbreak.
Next we played Hala, who beat us earlier by 3 points at game’s end. We needed to not only win this game, but win it by more than 3 points in the event a tie-breaker may be needed to determine placings at end of league (we hold the tie-break advantage over Manama, by three points). In this game we scored way more than the needed four points, walloping them by six. Interestingly, two of the refs (but not the villainous Fadl) who made critical bad calls against us in the Manama game apologized to me for them before this tilt. First time that’s ever happened to me in the Gulf. The games are re-shown on TV and bad calls are sometimes very easy to see, which was the case here. So, to their credit, they fessed up.
Then last nite we finally had a romp, winning by 30 against the ninth place team. So now we are 11-3, both Manama and Ahli are 12-2, Hala is 10-4. For us to win league we need to win our next four games, beating Ahli by 3 or more in the process; and Manama must lose a game. After league comes a long succession of playoff games, which will be explained later.
But for now just remember: there’s nothing to fear except fear itself…and possibly wild lions on your roof.
The Lion Tamer
I’ve recently had a Near Death Experience. My spirit didn’t actually rise up above my body and look down at the proceedings…but it was that close to happening.
Here’s what happened. A few days ago my power-walk took me far afield from my apartment, over in the neighborhood of Ahli Club, maybe two miles distant. Very near the club itself, suddenly an eerie flash flooded my consciousness. I, at first, thought it only the natural fear accompanying the fact that we have a must-win game coming up with the Black and Gold in a couple of weeks. It was only later, as I leafed through the Bahrain Daily News, that I learned the truth: what I had seen in the invisible realm was nothing less than The Shadow of Death.
The newspaper reported an interesting story. A circus with a wild animal act had recently played a number of performances here. The stars of this act are half a dozen ferocious lions. Well, the engagement ended and it would be a week before the show would move on to Qatar.
So in this interim a good number of terrified citizens near Ahli Club have pestered the police in their frenzied fear and trepidation…because the lions are temporarily housed in cages atop a certain apartment house complex. And the citizens in the near-vicinity report that the angry roars of the beasts keep them awake all night. Others have reported seeing the felines pacing their cages and slamming into their wooden confines. These people are petrified that the lions will escape. And my walk had taken me within just TWO BLOCKS of this scenario. I could easily have had an escaped lion leap from atop the building and crash down on my shaved head. I know: not a pretty picture to contemplate. (Especially the certainty of lion guts strewn all over the place in the aftermath.)
But doesn’t this just illustrate how stupid people can be? I mean, where do all of these complainers think the lions should be waiting, if not atop an apartment building? Do they think they should be housed in Lion Shelters? Wake up people, there ARE NO Lion Shelters!! Except deep in the heart of the savage African jungle! No, nothing could be more natural than keeping the cats right where they were. Or else why would the owners have put them there?
And these people that are so convinced that personal disaster is just a pawsreach away…how many of their friends, family and neighbors have actually ever been eaten by lions? The answer: VERY FEW!! So just chill. The only person in any real danger was me. And I have, as an example to society, complained to the police not at all. So follow my lead if by chance these same circumstances should surround you.
**********
But this “24” program! By chance, I happened to wander into a Video Rental shop in the Jazira (which means“island”) mini-mall and discover a dusty series of these obscure episodes on a shelf. I rent them, never dreaming anyone would have heard of them. But then two people wrote me earlier about this program and now TWO MORE have also chimed in. First, Mike says about Agent Jack Bauer (you remember that he may well be my alter ego):
"Concerning this '24' television program……… there is one thing that Jack has that you might not be able to compete with…… his INFINITE ability to reconfigure the electronic equipment in his SUV to do pretty much anything needed: finger print scanner, fax machine, microscope, ballistic gun powder analyzer, coffee maker, thermal imager, surface to air missile, gastro spectrum analysis – all at the touch of a button or with some simple rewiring."
Mikey, very perceptive! And then guess who I hear from? My very daughter, Kharis! You probably realize that she has just curated an art show in New York City and has been very busy; but not too busy to inform us that:
"…our life remains even more chaotic than the average day enjoyed by special agent Jack Bauer. (Bet you didn’t know that I too have had my fair dose of “24” – spent all of Season 1 desperately hoping that his vacuous daughter would explode.)"
Well, I can go Kharis one better! I voted for not only vacuous self-centered daughter Kim to explode, but also her whining mother right along with her! I leapt for joy when double agent Nina Meyers filled Mom with hot lead!
Kharis also took time from her busy schedule to comment on our “Rich and Skinny” report. She, sagely, writes that:
"I also vote to be Rich and Skinny! Can’t wait to see how stupid those Poor and Fat people feel when they realize that they jumped on the wrong bandwagon!"
Well said! You Go, girl! Most of you will probably want to see more about this art show (the first half of which was her own oil paintings getting a gallery showing last year in the Apple) and see a picture of Kharis and another girl (Kharis is the one without the barbed wire tattoo around her bicep) by going to:
http://scallywagandvagabond.com/
**********
Since my last report on the basketball wars we’ve had three contests. Two happy endings, one very sad ending. The first clash was against Manama, the team that we beat in overtime, by four points, in the first round. This time we were again victimized by bad reffing, particularly from our old friend Fadl (yes, the very individual that deserves to undergo China’s Death by a Thousand Tortures). We were up by one with just over five minutes left when Lamond was quickly awarded dual invisible fouls and had to leave the game with five personals. Their American, a strong post player, was not in foul trouble and so things looked bleak for us. But our all-local squad hung tough and we were up two points when they rebounded a missed free throw with seven seconds left; they raced the ball upcourt and at the buzzer one of their wings hit a fallaway 3-pointer. Heartbreak.
Next we played Hala, who beat us earlier by 3 points at game’s end. We needed to not only win this game, but win it by more than 3 points in the event a tie-breaker may be needed to determine placings at end of league (we hold the tie-break advantage over Manama, by three points). In this game we scored way more than the needed four points, walloping them by six. Interestingly, two of the refs (but not the villainous Fadl) who made critical bad calls against us in the Manama game apologized to me for them before this tilt. First time that’s ever happened to me in the Gulf. The games are re-shown on TV and bad calls are sometimes very easy to see, which was the case here. So, to their credit, they fessed up.
Then last nite we finally had a romp, winning by 30 against the ninth place team. So now we are 11-3, both Manama and Ahli are 12-2, Hala is 10-4. For us to win league we need to win our next four games, beating Ahli by 3 or more in the process; and Manama must lose a game. After league comes a long succession of playoff games, which will be explained later.
But for now just remember: there’s nothing to fear except fear itself…and possibly wild lions on your roof.
The Lion Tamer
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