Undercurrents

Every once in a while life comes to a boil, leaving a person to wonder what had been simmering just beneath the surface all along.

Rarely does a day reveal as much submerged angst and buffoonery as did this past Saturday, when some friends and I journeyed to the capital of our North African country to extend a friend’s birthday celebration.

The beginning of the story can be found by clicking here. To her account, I would only add that I had wanted to hand back the gourd-like object that was hurled at us and tell the youngster that he had missed us. None of my companions thought that this was a good idea. I thought it might have been an interesting way of diffusing the situation if I could just sort of hand back (not throw or do anything whatsoever to escalate the situation) the fruit and show him that he was more important to us than his apparent nefarious intentions.

Let’s change gears for a moment. Shortly after I finished defending my friends’ honor from the man’s misogynistic remarks, we sauntered down the lane and encountered something that reminded me of when I was studying psychology at Northwestern University. My alma mater’s most noteworthy school color is purple, which is exactly what you would get if you mixed the written color with the actual color pictured to the right. Psychological tests have been performed on people with these sorts of signs.

We missed the train we intended to take back to our city. Because it was Ramadan, people were eating breakfast at around 6:15pm, when the train we actually ended up taking departed for our hometown. The ticket counters were closed. No one on the train ever asked for tickets. I was willing to pay for my ride, but no one ever availed himself to take my money.







The next part of the day was pleasant and tranquil. One of my friends cooked an amazing Thai dinner in honor of another friend’s thirtieth birthday. Thai food hasn’t tasted so good since back when I was chasing monks on motorcycles.

Perhaps the most baffling event of the day came as we were returning home from the last birthday celebration.

We saw some things a person doesn’t typically expect to see in North Africa...or during Ramadan...or any more than necessary, really. I think they were advertising the opening of a furniture store or an apartment.

We drove by, took pictures, rolled up our windows and headed home.

Dancing George

George danced less well than other swing dancing partners I’ve had in North Africa. North Africa has, however, seen stiffer swing dancers...

...but that’s not important right now. It’s this guy’s birthday. Have a great one!

Speaking of dancing George...have you seen this?

(My apologies to Republicans and to those working on the aforementioned gubernatorial campaign.)

Technologically…Green?

The miracle of modern technology is that, in today’s world, if you do something dumb, the entire world can know about it within minutes.

Take, for example, the hapless campaign volunteer who telephoned my friend to garner electoral support for a Wisconsin congressman who is running for governor. Ann, the campaign worker who obviously takes her job very seriously, had an unfortunate telephone receiver malfunction and inadvertently stayed on the line a little longer than perhaps she had planned.

Little did she know that the people whom she called were not only nutty, but also technologically savvy, resulting in their posting both an audio clip and a transcript of the entire phone call here.

Thanks for drawing our attention to this, Ben!

Quieted by Love

Tonight, during our weekly middle school gathering, we talked about love. The Good Book mentions unfailing love numerous times. One particular passage mentions that God quiets us with His love.

Attempting to explore this idea a bit more, my co-leader asked, “When does a baby need to be quieted?”

My response: When he poops in his diaper.

I discerned that my response had not fully spurred these youths on toward loving with increased knowledge and depth of insight. Undeterred, I pointed out that we need love most when we really make a mess of things.

What happened next was cool: God quieted us with His unfailing love.

Applause

After three days away from teaching, my students stood and applauded when I returned to the classroom.

I was hoping they were happy to see me.
They weren’t.

They were happy I got married.
I didn’t.




















They said the man who graciously substituted for me was exactly the same as me.
I would never wear knee-length, rainbow-colored socks.

Good Ice Cream

My sister wanted fall colors at her wedding, so my brother bought himself a pumpkin-colored shirt and tie combination to wear. I followed suit and wore a tie that picked up the pumpkin flavor of his outfit.




















Now my sister-in-law wore a shirt that was more of a mint chocolate chip flavor, which leads me to what I did when we went to Young’s Dairy after the wedding.

Young’s Dairy is known for the best ice cream in Ohio. I entered the ice cream line and was torn between ordering a pumpkin milkshake, which is fantastic at this time of year, and ordering a mint chocolate chip milkshake, which is my year-round favorite.




I simply could not decide, so I asked the kind gentleman behind the counter whether or not he could do a half-and-half milkshake, stacking one flavor on top of the other. He could not. He did, however, put a scoop of each flavor onto a spoon and allowed me to sample the pumpkin/mint chocolate chip taste sensation.

Not bad, I decided, so I adopted his “it’s all going to the same place” philosophy and ordered myself a unique milkshake.

Speaking of things that, at least theoretically, are all going to the same place...my worst fears about flying and toothpaste were actualized at the Dayton Airport.

New airport security regulations allow me to carry three ounces of toothpaste onto an airplane. No problem. I had a 6.4oz tube of toothpaste, but it was only about a quarter full—very clearly under three ounces.

They confiscated it, not because of the actual amount of toothpaste in the tube, but because of the “6.4oz” that was printed on the tube itself.

It’s a good thing I brushed my teeth before I left.




















I am thankful that the rest of my luggage from three days in the United States did go to the same place as me: my apartment in North Africa!

Taste of Fall

North Africa offers little by way of fall colors. The only fall colors one is likely to encounter are those that result from dying grass, unless a person lives or works at an American school where grass is regularly watered.



My weekend in the United States fell at a lovely time of year, a curious season when beauty results from the process of dying.




While I was in my hometown, I discovered that the McDonald’s restaurant, at which I worked the summer after I graduated from high school, had been leveled. It was old and needed to be removed from this earth, for only in its death could a new edifice for food, folks and fun be born.

Happy McRenaissance. Good luck and Godspeed.