The Little Similarities

After living here for a year, the massive, undeniable differences one encounters on a daily basis seem to fade into the background of the subconscious without much fanfare. Without exposure to daily life stateside, a new standard for normalcy creeps in, steadily budging out old expectations for how things are supposed to run. Fact: it is normal to open one's door and find a herd of sheep and goats munching on the garbage left by neighbors. Fact: sour milk is delicious. Fact: river water is better for you. This is how it works over here.

So, after being entirely engulfed by such a different set of norms, and embracing what used to seem like a strange set of daily expectations, the things that remind me most of the States are similarities I was too overwhelmed to notice last year; namely, the whole back to school mess. With the beginning (sorta) of school this week kids here have begun to behave just like their peers in the States, especially the recent High School graduates.

Kids, who only three months months ago were taking their final standardized tests, walk around dispersing advice to their slightly younger peers as if there was some sort of chasm of wisdom between them. One group of friends went around saying goodbye to some of their old teachers, despite the fact that they would still be living at home for the next few years. Others took their new found status as graduates to mean that they could complain to me about "these kids today."

My favorite reoccurring source of entertainment, however, are the interactions between three best friends who decided to live together as they attend middle Morroco's version of the University of Binghamton. It's big, it's not too far, and everyone you know goes there. I could listen to these kids discuss the unquestionable awesomeness that awaits them for hours on end.

These conversations are precisely the things that make me feel closer to home. Bootlegged movies and pirate download TV shows don't do the trick because the whole time the cultural divisions between the actions of my computer screen and those outside my window are strikingly obvious. The people in these two scenarios do not seem like they could ever agree on anything, let alone be part of the same society. When these kids discuss their future, however, I recall dozens of nearly identical conversations that occurred not only the summer before college, but also the summers before study abroad and senior year. While this realization may seem obvious to most, it is comforting to know that such youthful idealism is not a western trait, but a wholly human one.

When they joke of how they might put in a hot tub just to attract girls I usually just laugh and silently hope their experiences will not disappoint. I think of how my expectations of college life were initially crushed and then exceeded and wish that they enjoy the next few years. Because while I know that they do not honestly believe that they will have parades of girls rolling through their house on a daily basis (this is Morocco after all), they do have an anticipation that whatever awaits them will be much better than what they've already seen. They believe and hope that this is only the first step to a life that doesn't involve the ennui they as 18 year-olds perceive in this town. They don't really know what they want, they just know they want to get the fuck out of the BZ. If there's something more American than that I don't know what it is.

Seriously?

A couple of weeks ago ESPN declared that Isiah Thomas would be added to the Knicks front office as a consultant of some sort. Clearly, James Dolan is now operating on the principle that Knicks fans are total masochists. Only when you start with the idea that the entire fanbase is a glutton for punishment could you possibly come to the conclusion that this team needs to relive the glory days of the Isiah era. Either that or he must have Alzheimer's and think that Thomas is fresh off his championship seasons as a point guard for the Pistons.

I mean, it's not like his inaugural season as coach for NCAA powerhouse FIU (7-25, second to last in Sun Belt Conference) has boosted his resume in any way. To be fair, however, it is hard to compete in a division that pits them against juggernauts the likes of Arkansas State, South Alabama and Middle Tennessee.

Why anyone would want advice from the man who brought us Eddie Curry, Zach Randolph and Jared Jeffries (played for about 12 minutes total) is a total mystery. He can't coach, he can't broker beneficial deals, and he is a terrible judge of talent (Anucha Browne Sanders? come on man you can do better than that). Not only did his tenures as President of Basketball operations, advisor and coach yield miserable seasons at the time, the effectively crippled the team with salary cap obligations which forced us to spend two seasons shedding contracts just to enter the LeBron sweepstakes.

A few days later, the deal was mercifully nullified and Thomas was relegated back to Florida where he will continue to pretend he wants to coach. If Donnie Walsh has his way though, you can rest assured Thomas will slink his way back into the Knicks organization within a few years. I can't wait.

Summer Chronicles

It is hot as balls. With air temperatures reaching a moist 50 Celsius (look it up, it's hot), water failing to come out of the faucet at any given time, and people generally refusing to leave the house between noon and 5pm it is safe to say the dog days of summer are in full stride. It's pretty telling that one of the most common comments I've been getting these days is commendation for buying a fridge last January. Around here, the benefits of keeping food fresh are entirely and definitively secondary to cooling down tap water to a drinkable temperature.

While I spent much of the last month and a half working at camps at the beach or up in the mountains, the last weeks of in site living have given me enough heat to last a lifetime. Too bad there's still two months left of this crap.

With the only reasonably cool hours being shrouded in darkness a particular pattern of semi-nocturnal man-chilling has developed. Since women are not really allowed outside after dark, my summer scene is a complete and unadulterated sausagefest (up from the normal, year round semi-sausagefest). Highlights from this all-male, all the time atmosphere include a two-part hour long discussion on why poop floats, being treated to coffee by someone who paid with hash, and (my personal favorite) watching that same someone steal a porcupine while high and bring it back to his house.

Also, as I may have mentioned some months back, a friend of mine has a particular penchant for acquiring random, worthless, electronic gadgets and bringing them to me for a class on their use. So far I've dealt with various alarm clocks, an illegal cable box, two beepers, a heart-rate monitor and, most recently, a portable digital picture printer. Those last two, which might stick out as not only pricey but also potentially useful were gifts from my friend's brother who works in Spain.

Nice gifts, you may think. Now that family can not only monitor its cardiac health but also print out all of their pictures and make sweet ass collages n shit. Well sure, except the former is broken and the latter will only be useful once they get a digital camera, a computer, a USB key, photo paper, ink and an adapter to plug it into to the wall. Awesome.

Cafes

Cafes here are not the same breed as their yuppie, trendy beverage serving versions stateside. First off, if you asked for a frappuccino here, and by some miracle the guy actually knew what you were talking about, the response would be akin to "what kind of ass drinks coffee cold?"

If you want to envision a Morrocan cafe, you first have to forget the image of the wifi enabled hipster hotbed with cozy chairs and chilled out blues covers that is your typical starbucks. These here cafes are for men only. Spending time at a cafe is one of the many means this country provides for creating an instant sausagefest. A typical evening sesh here includes watching Barca (or Real if you have no soul) amidst a haze of cigarette smoke while a group of crazy old dudes violently play rummy, shout gibberish and drink tea. Yes, rummy is a dangerous game. Cafes are filled with cursing, inane arguments and random outbursts of noise...but not booze. Still these things are pure, unadulterated man.

Keeping all of this in mind, now imagine sitting at one of these establishments on the first day a new cd player/speaker system has just been set up. Whatever music comes on will surely set the mood for the suspicious crowd mumbling their doubts in between drags. The stereo is turned on and the first songs played are:

"Everywhere" by Michelle Branch

"Respect" by Aretha Franklin

"Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cindi Lauper (2x)

That's right, the third song ever played in this joint was that 80s hit classic, followed immediately by that exact same tune. The only two explanations for the repetition are (a) the owner put the song on the CD twice, in succession or (b) upon hearing the magic that is Ms. Lauper, whoever was in charge decided to play it again. I'm not exactly sure which is more absurd. Upon hearing these tracks I figured we would have a revolt on our hands. What I had forgotten was that Moroccan men are ridiculous. They ate that shit up.

My Favorite Things About North Korea

Now that the most ridiculous team in the tournament has been mathematically eliminated and await their final beating, I present my favorite facts about Portugal's grundle (sp?) towel.

- Their fans at the World Cup are paid Chinese actors

- They have a player nicknamed "the People's Rooney"

- The team could not afford to book private time in a gym...so they trained in a public one...during normal working hours.

- Official sources say no players would ever try to defect.

- They threatened to ban the South Korean anthem and flag at a home game between the two teams so the match had to be moved to China.

- Their coach regularly communicates with Kim Jong-il for in-game advice

- This is done via advanced cell phone technology, invisible to the naked eye

- This technology was created by Kim Jong-il himself

- Kim Jong-il allegedly shot a 38under par his first time on the links.

World Cup Fever

Those of you who know me well, realize that I have a habit for developing irrational hatred towards random sports teams. I have hated the Duke basketball program since they played (and lost) in the 1999 NCAA title against UConn because, to quote my 11 year-old mind, "played like assholes." My parents forcing me to take French in 7th grade logically led to my brief loathing of the French national football team. Most prominent, however, has been my persistent distaste for US soccer.

How, people often ask, could I possibly hate the footballing symbol of my adopted country? Usually I just say, "cause fuck you, that's why" but this being a written piece and all, I shall elaborate. Firstly, the US is possibly the only country in the world that could win the World Cup and collectively not give a shit. Think about it. Were the US to raise the trophy this year, would LA riot like after a Lakers championship? Would people in Chapel Hill rush Franklin? Would dukies light bonfires with their collective douche secretions? Simply put, no. Streets would remain calm, cars would remain unflipped, and Durham's gated community would not remove the sticks from their asses in order to light them. There's always a bit of good in everything I guess. Regardless, it would barely make a blip on the US sports conscience.

The second (and initial) reason is a lot more childish, and a lot more powerful. It dates back to that USA-Colombia game in 1994 where a simple mistake by the one of the generation's greatest defenders caused Colombia fall of the footballing map for the next 16 years and counting. Yes, there were other narcofutbol related issues that contributed (documented in an episode of ESPN's 30 for 30 which sadly doesn't air here), but the 6 year-old who watched that game didn't care. The ensuing news report of Andres Escobar's murder is the first moment I can firmly place in my memory. It is hard to let go of habits developed at such an age where even memory is hazy, and so a deep hatred for US soccer has lived within me for many years now. Was the US at fault that day? No, of course not. Any team worthy of playing in the world's greatest tournament would have seized the opportunity and exploited the deflated opposition. Still, I never claimed to be rational person, let alone a well-informed, football-conscious toddler capable of making valid judgements.

And so we arrived at this year's tournament, with Colombia watching from home, and the US in the same group as local favorite Algeria.

Game 1 USA-England

Going in I knew one thing for sure, I wanted US to lose, and badly. Just because I am supposedly an informal representative of the US here, doesn't mean my sudden hatred for its soccer division would suddenly fade. And so, when Gerrard put one through 5 minutes in I clapped a bit. Fuck you Sam's Army, chew on that for a while.

Then the game stagnated and the US was able to hold ground for an extended stretch. Suddenly, my instinct to always root for huge underdogs wanted to kick in. Don't get sucked in, "it's a trap" I thought, quoting Admiral Ackbar. I let a few digs at the misery of USA's backline loose and figured the matter was settled. Yet, a few minutes later when Green's butterfingers erased the deficit,I felt glad. Not ecstatic or anything, the goal was not gonna make a difference when England regrouped at half and got some 1812 payback in the latter 45 minutes.

But then nothing happened. Much to England's frustration, the game ended in a draw after countless advances fell flat. Also, Tim Howard was a beast out there. I left the game feeling confused. Had I just gotten some sort of pleasure out of a US soccer victory?

Shortly after I returned to my site and everybody was congratulating me on the US's valor. All of my protests against the moral worth of the team were brushed off and I was pegged as a die hard USA fan by most everyone in the community. Uncalled for.

Game 2 USA-Slovenia

My sitemate (a girl) wanted to watch this game and so we called in a favor to a cafe owner who allowed a select few of us access into his place while it was closed for afternoon siesta.* The game began and all present were tauting me with cries of a bitter US defeat. "No protest here," I said, to their undeniable confusion. Why would I go through all this trouble, just to cheer against the country I am supposedly from?

Not too far in the first half Slovenia placed a beautiful ball past the stunned Howard. Suddenly I was pissed. Days of being told to root for the US had taken hold and watching that ball hit the back of the net actually stung a bit. Slovenia hit pay dirt again before half and I was a mess. Who the fuck is Slovenia? I wanted to punch all two million inhabitants in their ballsacks. At least, my confusion would be over and the revilement of USA soccer that was status quo would be allowed return with the team's exit.

Then Donovan scored. Then Bradley scored. The US was back in it and my head was a mess. All sorts of qualification scenarios began to be thrown around just as Edu touched in a free kick from Donovan. Game over, US wins 3-2. Then came Mali's own, whistle happy Stevie Wonder and nullified the goal for some unspecified reason. The group was now a mess, and it would be anybody's game in the final matchups after a 0-0 Algeria-England draw.

The days that followed were entirely characterized by people telling me the US had no chance against Algeria. How could the North Americans possibly defeat the juggernaut that had managed to score exactly zero goals in the first two games? So constant was the barrage of "one, two, three, viva Algerie" and various other inane chants, that the defiant in me rose up. I would root for the US to win, but not because I was a fan or anything, but because I am a giant asshole and this would be great to rub in everyone's face. Yup, totally cause of the f-u effect.

Game 3 USA-Algeria

When Algeria's shot hit off the crossbar 15 minutes in I almost punched the guy next to me in the face. There was no way I could put up with the incessant taunting if the parade of wannabes in red, white and blue didn't pull this one through. We got through half and nothing had happened, USA was slated to fade away into elimination in as quiet a way as possible.

Then came a series of US advances, one could sense a goal coming, but then again one could also sense a cascade of wide shots and missed opportunities in the future. As you all know, the game appeared to be over when Donovan touched in a rebound from within the six and pandemonium broke loose on the field. I tried to convince myself that the same was happening all throughout the US but knew it to be false.

USA would advance, first in its group, and congratulations flew my way for the next few hours. I was happy but weary of feeling so. These were the same people that had brought down Colombian football a decade and a half ago and yet I was treating people to soda** on behalf of their victory. Even worse, were the US to win the next match, they would be closer to the cup than Colombia has ever been (Roger fuckin Milla) and I would have to toast even more people.

I don't know where this train wreck of a post is going, but then again, I don't know where my emotions on this team are going. We'll just have to watch the next game and take it one step at a time. I will admit one thing though, when some kid shouted congratulations at me after the game, my response was "eight, nine, ten, viva mirikan."

peace.

*It is generally not allowed for women to sit at cafes, it is purely an all dude's affair.

** The national high school exam results had come out the previous day, people who pass celebrate by buying others soda and cookies. This is the general custom of celebration.

Things I Just Learned Will Happen to You After Eating Pork

- your body will sprout boils
- you will become adulterous
- you will become apathetic
- you will not care if your spouse cheats on you (sexually specialized apathy)
- your cholesterol will rise


I would like to point out that the final item was billed as a secondary effect with less probability of occuring and little overall significance considering the primary conditions.

So yea, apparently pork is some crazy, demonic hybrid of weed, viagra and the plague.