Marmaduke Explained

I really enjoyed all of the explanations:

Going to the Nairobi Gym

One of the guys who’d driven me about the first week approached me one day a week or two ago and said, “William(s). You have mp3?”

“A few…” I replied. My collection has been closing in on 11,000 for the past few months, but I didn’t want to sound ostentatious.

“You have more than one? Could I borrow one?”

I realized immediately that he was talking about an MP3 player, not my music collection. Now, whilst I am in possession of a shuffle and a 60gig 5G iPod, the latter happens to be one of my more prized possessions. “What’s going on that do you need to borrow it?

“I am driving to Rumbek. It is a 14 hour drive. The truck has no radio.”

I’d rather eat my 60gigger than loan it out, but I couldn’t find a reason not to let him borrow my shuffle. It was falling apart, and new models were just introduced. But it had sentimental value. I let my comrade borrow the 512 mb player, but I had a sinking feeling I’d never see my beloved shuffle again.

- – – -

I had mentioned the luxury of the washer and dryer in my apartment in Vegas, but there was also a little gym with treadmills, ellipticals, a few machines, and free weights. Though nothing compared to some hotel gyms like Vail Cascade and Hammock beach, it was nice to come home and get a work out in every now and then.

I’d only ever used my shuffle for working out and as a back if I forgot to charge my pod the night before.

But I’ve been getting used to running with the full sized.

On Sunday I woke up, walked out my gate, and was surprised to see the Jockey Club bustling with life. Yellow and black balloons lined the car park that actually had cars in it. I discovered later that an antique car show was being held. It was sort of an appetizer event for the races starting october 8th, ushering in the summer.

Yeah, that’s right: my summer is just starting.

When I heard about this car show after the fact, I was disappointed for having missed it. But then I realized I probably wouldn’t have gone to an antique car show in the States, so no big deal. Besides I had plans for the afternoon

But I digress.

I can remember when I lived in NYC I went running once while smoking a cigarette just because I thought I was funny. I knew someone would go home, and say, “Honey, you’ll never believe what I saw today…”

Here, with people milling about my route, I got looks more like, “Why do you need to run?”

My Maasai guards seem to get a kick out of it.

They all probably have cousins who can run marathons barefoot.

So while jogging hasn’t been too difficult, lifting has been a bit of an issue. Weights are really expensive, and traveling around with them would be ludicrous.

So I’ve been improvising:

It’s amazing: the level of depravity I’m willing to share with the world.

The hardest part isn’t curling as much as it’s not hitting yourself in the nuts.

John Basedow, chairs are the real fitness made simple.

- – – -

I still haven’t gotten my shuffle back.

Watch Out For the OLPotW to Start Looking a Lot Better.

Is this right? I mean, like, morally.

HP has just released a camera with a ‘slimming feature.’

Maybe if I used that I wouldn’t look like a land monster at this bar

I’m second from the left.

ExpatInterviews.com

From the Good Lord I Cannot Believe They Actually Posted This News Department, expatinterviews.com just posted my answers to their questions.

Verbatim.

I’m glad they have a sense of humour over there.

McDonalds to Serve Breakfast All Day

From the It’s About Frickin Time News Department, expanded layouts for new McDonald’s restaurants will enable all day breakfast service.

You’d think they would learned long ago from Michael Douglas.

Enjoy this in the states. There are (thankfully) no McD’s in Kenya or Sudan.

Shot in the Dark

I was out late last night.

More on that later.

But at around two in the morning, just as I’d crawled into bed, I was awoken by a loud noise.

No, that couldn’t have been gunfire.

The second shot confirmed my suspicion.

As I found out today at work, it was the armed guards of the Jockey Club in reponse to an attempted break in. No one was injured, but the criminals were not caught.

Whatever.

This guy manages to keep a machete, a bow and arrow, a rungu, and a very sharp stick on his person.

I’m not too worried.

But my mom is gonna totally freak over this post.

Online Personality of the Week: Julius

Julius is not actually Julius.

He’s named Anthony.

He’s gay, drives a Saab Mustang, and likes tai chi podcasts.

Anthony is not actually Anthony.

He’s Bruce Campbell.

Downtown Nairobi: Adventures with a Working Woman

When I was 20, I had a New York State fake ID that a buddy had made in Photoshop.

It was a playing card cut to size using real ID as a template. Inkjet printouts were pasted to the card with double sided sticky tape, the final layer self laminate from Staples. The finishing touch was that one side was carfully dulled by ultra-fine sandpaper. This masterpiece of was then placed in between the pages of a voluminous text with other tomes stacked on top.

I always knew buying the required course material would come in handy.

That summer I’d been employed by a growing Italian restaurant company in Columbus, OH. It was a rotational deal. I worked every position from prep to line to bus boy to server to host to manager. It was the first time I’d ever lived alone.

I spent the first few weeks regretting my decision to move.

To make matters worse, I was surrounded by so many beautiful employees whom I was supposed to manage. The ID I’d bought was confiscated, and my buddy’s barely worked anywhere in Ithaca. I know waht you’re thinking:

“Gosh, this new underwear is bunching in all the wrong places. And why would you try to us a fake ID that is the state in which you’re living?”

It was kind of reverse psychology: ‘No one would be stupid enough to use a fake NY ID in NY…’ There were pretty much two places it would work in Ithaca, but that was good enough for me. Yet after three weeks of being completely miserable in Ohio, I decided I needed to go meet people. Now I suppose I could have joined a church, followed up with some friends of friends, or gone support groups for various terminal illnesses. But the Westerville suburb of Columbus where I lived was on the edge of a dry county and there were a number of bars. I walked into a decent looking place and must’ve looked like a wanted man who happened to be serving hors douvres to be at the Officers Ball. The bartender looked at the ID the window of my tri-fold green corduroy Billabong velcro wallet.

“OK,” he said. “What can I get you?”

“uh,” I gulped. “A Bass?”

“Tall or short?”

“Tall?”

There was a couple sitting near me at the bar. The guy was older, maybe late fifties. His wife, maybe late thirties. “Looks like you just made it.”

I smiled, sipped the malty ale, and replied,”You have no idea.”

After that, I’d party with my servers, but professionalism prevailed I did not date a single employee whom I was managing. After six weeks of training in my first location, I went on to be a manager at three other locations for two weeks each, culminating with the opening of a new store in Atlanta. Upon leaving the first restaurant, there was a little party in my honor, and I promised everyone that we’d hang out. After my stint at the next store, and each consecutive one, I noticed a similar effect: I was armed with a new set of phone numbers every few weeks.

It turned out to be a fantastic summer.

The first casualty of war was a food runner from the my training store. She had curly black hair and drove a red honda and was cute, but more boring an Andrew Lloyd Weber Show. I wasn’t really interested in her, but I was interested in finally hanging out with someone other than my 45 year old roommate.

- – – -

At lunch this past friday, I was enjoying a plate of fluffy white rice and light stew chock full of beans, potatoes, carrots, zucchini and a little bit of beef. The IT guys, the safari agent, and a girl from accounts were all near the shade of a tree and we laughed and ate and enjoyed the warm afternoon sun.

As I offered to bus all of our plates, the girl from accounts asked me what I was doing Saturday afternoon, and if I would like to go see a play. Having been in there before, I wanted to refuse.

But what was I gonna say, that I had to make a fresh batch of sock stew?

I figured I’d be able to say I had a lot of work to do, but if I didn’t act like it was a date, then it wouldn’t be. Besides, I’d enjoyed my little walks around town before, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to go with a local.

At 2:00 we walked out of base camp to Ngong and went to the bus stop. I was excited to take one of the small, crowded buses, but didn’t want to get lost on my own. All sorts of independent buses run through Nairobi, the most legitmate-looking of which are called City Hoppas. and they are green with pink lettering. An unfathomable system of numbers and ambiguous locations denotes to where the hoppa is going.

I was thankful for my guide. We rode downtown, talking about our respective—and disparate—commutes to work. My guide told me she left her place by 6:30 only to ride for over an hour on one of the crowded hoppas. The attendant had this ticker device that looked like the ones train conducters of yore would’ve had. He wore a maroon uniform with brass buttons and looked like a train conductor. He collected our fare and went on chaining the door shut after each stop. We got dropped off near to where I’d adventured about two weeks before. After a little walk and some more chatting we arrived at the Alliance Francaise, which housed the theatre. Tickets were under three dollars. I almost felt guilty not paying more.

At the beginning we all stood to the national anthem. Other than the Start Spangled Banner, God Save the Queen, and the first four notes to Oh Canada, All other national anthems sound, I dunno, like not national. The play was funny, though it took me a little bit to catch on through the accented enunciation. It was a western play, I think, about a widower and his family. The played off each other well, but used obvious devices of character, and often had difficulty covering up when they miffed their lines.

Attending really gave a new meaning to culture.
Afterwards we had a little dinner at a Kenyan fast food joint.

I know, I know…fast food.

I told her she could pick the place, what was I supposed to do? The food was, well, to say the least, different. They didn’t have the fryer nearly hot enough, so the fries were soggy and a bit greasy. The chicken sandwich really didn’t look like it did in the picture. And I don’t think it was a breast.

We walked on and I was joking with my guide about how she was gonna be my official tour guide when I saw a flurry of activity on the approaching block.

“What’s going on over there?”

“It’s the Maasai market.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.”

“Where do you think I was going to take you?”

As we arrived on the parking lot sprawling with tarps and sheets displaying carvings, paintings, tapestries, and trinkets. People were milling about everywhere and as soon as I arrived I was accosted to buy all sorts of wares that I didn’t need. I did end up buying some beaded masaai jewelry for souvenir gifts. It’s a pretty cool thing, and it’s just like the ones all my guards wear. I’m just not really big on mancessories.

Once, in an airport somewhere, a guy with an earing, a bracelet, a watch, a gold chain and a ring or two sat down across from me. One or two of the aformentioned adornments would have been just fine. But all of them together didn’t seem right.

So while I’m wearing the bracelet for the picture, it’s now sitting in a drawer.

After the market we had a beer in a noisy pub. It was called Winker’s, but upon first glance it totally looked like it was called Wanker’s. She had a Red’s cider and I had a tusker. The place was packed and we sat at a smalle table and talked about our families. We were both middle children: myself, the middle of three, her the middle of ten.

We walked along Kenyatta, the main street in town, and chatted some more. I thanked her for showing me around. I took a city hoppa home. At a stop a man got aboard the bus and was obviously intoxicated. When the conductor got to him I heard alot of yelling, and the hoppa stopped. I assumed the man did not have the forty shillings for the ride. After much commotion, he just left in a huff.

At least the hoppa was stopped when he did
I got off at a stop right near the Jockey Club and I walked along the dark road to back to base camp. There were no guards around. Which was weird, but they around the other side laughing by a fire.

“yo guys! It’s me!”

A few moments later they opened the door for me.

As I walked down to my house, I sighed, glad to be home. Though I’d enjoyed my time with my coworker, it was a bit exhausting. Since we didn’t have much in common, I had to try extra hard to be personable. After a few works of just working and blogging it was serious effort.

I was ready to get to bed.

But when I got to my door I noticed something strange.

It was unlocked.

Jonathan Ive

BusinessWeek has a great article on Jonathan Ive, the mastermind behind the look of nearly all of Apple’s hardware in the past 10 years.

As an aesthete myself, reading about the enigmatic ‘man behind the curtain’ was enlightening.

Most intriguing is the look into his team, how they work, and how involved their with every aspect of design.

Microsoft Unfazed Showing off their Ding-a-ling

Zune is not only Microsofts attempt to dethrone the iPod.

It is not only the world’s first brown MP3 Player.

It is not just vaporware.

It is apparently a Québécois euphemism for a child’s private parts.

In addition to being dubbed the Micro Soft Penis, the Zune will have its own closed-system download marketplace, akin to the iTunes/iPod model. The real buzzfeature is the incorporation of wireless capabilities so Zune can access DRMed music from other Zunes, thus bringing social networking to the music download market. What M$ fails to realize, is that to share music via the Zune wireless network, more than one person has to own one.

The Zune was unavailable for comment.
MySpace shrugged.

Creative, SanDisk, URGE, Rhapsody and Samsung, all felt mislead by PlaysForSure.

I put more tape on my glasses.

iPod issued the statement, “Don’t you know who I am? I’m da Juggernaut, bitch!”