Since I got this iPad I've rarely sat down to my computer for any serious writing (or at least as serious as my writing ever gets). Well, that means not as many blog posts. To remedy that, I'm going to start writing Hot Pockets. Just like the frozen food, Hot Pockets will be small and u satisfying, but with the upside of always being one in the freezer, aka, in my brain (have I mentioned I keep my apartment freezing?). The length of such posts will be constrained by how long I can type on my iPad. Please address any information on typos to Apple's Autocorrect department.
To the topic!
I like to have a paper, hang it on the wall calendar. Although they are usually available for free (if all else fails there's the Horses of Wells Fargo calendar my mother can always get from work), I like to purchase the most ridiculous calendar possible. Thus I can be entertained when writing down the minutiae I put on a calendar: doctor's appointments, when I put in new contact lenses, what day I last took a migraine pill.
Two years ago it was a Geek Goddess calendar; pinup girls with nerdy themes like steampunk and video games. It had the added bonus of supporting a small group of young artists. Despite being pleased with the purchase, I didn't buy the calendar again because the young artists in question started plastering my Facebook page with prayer requests and admonitions not to drink tap water because of the fluoride. Young artists I support. Young anti-science evangelicals, no.
Last year was a bust: Retro Ad posters. All because I was too embarrassed to buy the bikini babes riding dragons calendar when shopping with my mother-in-law. I won't make that mistake again.
I thought nothing would ever surpass the sheer ridiculousness of Painted Cats 2003, but this year's calendar may have done it. Without further ado, I am proud to present this year's calendar....Dioramas made of Marshmallow candy!
I know, I know, it's the second week of January, everyone is back at work, and everyone is tired of hearing about the holidays. Well, too bad. This is a holiday post.
Deal with it
Although I've said many times there is no Christmas in Abu Dhabi, that's not true. Not at all. Christmas is so ubiquitous here, you can't go to a shopping mall without seeing a tree and a holiday display. Santa Claus and Mrs. Santarina visited my little mall (a slight cultural difference there). There were penguins in parachutes and an elven village in what I would consider one of more "local" malls. Everyone likes Christmas. It's by no means a national holiday (after all, Islam may recognize Jesus as a wise man, but Mohammad never said to celebrate his birthday), but it's still everywhere. That's because Christmas isn't really about Christ anymore. Instead it's a celebration of family, gift-giving, and the victory of the consumer culture. That's why there's Christmas here in Abu Dhabi, because people love a reason to shop. I have no real proof of it, but I would suspect that there's a December celebration involving trees and presents in Saudi Arabia too.
We had a quiet and enjoyable Christmas with friends, and Dan went back to work the next day. I earnestly tried to drink myself into the migraine I could feel coming on (after all, if no one else was going to drink that chianti, I had to), but was unsuccessful at that time.
New Year's Eve was a different story. It was not quiet at all. We went to a black light party on top of the Aloft Hotel next to the Abu Dhabi National Exhibition Centre (ADNEC). We booked a room so we could enjoy the evening and then not have to fight traffic or search for a cab.
Honestly, I did not expect to have as good a time as I did. Usually when Dan and I go to clubs by ourselves we end up dancing for a bit, then sitting around and staring at each other for a couple of hours. This was different. The club has an indoor dance floor and an outdoor lounge area.
With a splendid view of the ADNEC building
That, along with the free-flowing drinks included with admission contributed to a wonderful evening. So wonderful, that Dan was still intoxicated when it was time to check-out the next morning.
And that never happens. I'm the drinker in this family Dan!
And that migraine I tried to drink myself into on Christmas? It showed up on New Year's Day. But it was still one of the best evenings Dan and I have had together in years. Thanks, Relax@12 for having an awesome deal. There were no fireworks, but we got quite a bit of that at Disneyworld, and I promised Dan if we're still stuck here next year, we'll go to see the show in Dubai at the Burj Khalifa.
Or we could just watch them on TV...
I'll deal with the crowds, but he's not allowed to lose me; that's a standard rule when we go anywhere, ever. Don't lose me, and if I wander off, look for the nearest shiny thing. Here in Abu Dhabi, it's probably a Swarovski crystal display. Once, it was this:
I am in a state of confusion. My brain knows it's Christmas Eve. I've looked at the calendar (which reminds me I need to buy a new one soon, the most ridiculous one I can find). I see that it's December 24th. But I still have to make dinner for Dan and myself. I have to go get bread so he has sandwiches for the rest of the week. There isn't a big meal to plan for and thus I can't just plan on eating leftover ham and mashed potatoes for the next week. I don't have to make toffee for my dad or wrap any other presents. There is a Santa at the mall, and the red and green National Day decorations are still up everywhere. I have the ingredients to bake a million cookies, but I don't have anyone other than Dan to feed them to and he is disinclined to haul them to work everyday. So I am confused. I'm playing Christmas music, so I feel like I should be doing something other than playing games on my new iPad, but I don't need to. It's Christmas, but not like usual.
There's no rush or clutter or drama. Tomorrow we're having dinner with some friends I like very much to mark the occasion. I've already made a rum cake and bought the wine. So the organizational part of my brain is looking forward to New Year's Eve. We have reservations at aloft and tickets to their Glow Into 2013 party, to which we're supposed to wear white. So I need to get something white, but it feels unnatural to go out shopping for New Year's Eve before it's even Christmas. No, I don't own any white clothes. Black is more my style.
Because of exactly this
There's nothing wrong with a quiet Christmas, it's just unusual. It doesn't upset me (OK, Dan, it's on the web, I'm not holiday depressed). Not that my neighbors think I'm having a quiet Christmas; they've been hearing music playing every time they pass my door.
This album, naturally
Maybe I'll mix up a batch of toffee anyway. It is Christmas Eve, right?
Every family has their crazy stories, and I believe that mine has a few more than most. My Granny was a trick pony-rider in the circus. My dad had a pet shark as a kid. I caught a shark, and then we ate it. I that shark was a descendant of my dad's pet. The first thing my sister did when she could crawl was pull my hair (something that set the tone for our entire childhood relationship). Once my dad and Gramps decided to make chicken salad in a kitchen with counters too small to hold the food processor, so they brought in a ladder for extra space.
Editor's Note: Not all details are historically accurate
Here is the tale of how Shawna ended up in the lake and everyone got sick except her:
Months ago, being a manly man, my brother-in-law decided he couldn't be seen driving a VW Beetle and traded it in for a 1990-ish Mustang. The nicest thing to be said about said Mustang is that it's a "project car". It will never ever ever be getting back together with Taylor Swift…I mean, it'll never be completely fixed. Never ever. Did I mention I'm still fighting the flu I got on vacation? Moving on.
Shane is always working on that stupid car. Always going to the auto parts store, always greasy, always frustrated.
Not Pictured: Shane's Mustang
On this particular Wednesday he had rented an expensive tool to put some rubber thing back on some metal thing or some such automobile nonsense. My dad, an expert in fixing lemons having worked extensively on my Chrysler LeBaron, was out on the dock fishing and spending time with his grandson, also conveniently avoiding having to get his hands dirty. Shane, knowing how full of wisdom my dad is, went out to the dock with his expensive tool to ask him a question about it. We all know where this is going, don't we?
Dad fiddled around with the tool, and PLUNK, off came a piece and fell, not onto the dock, but through the dock, into the lake below. What happens then? Every possible idea is thrown out.
Shawna: Do you remember that net we had at the beach house? Dad: That would be perfect, does she still have it? <Shawna calls Cathy who says she will find and bring over the net> Shane: You know what we need, a big magnet. That piece costs $127. Shawna: $127!!!! I'm going in to get that damn thing myself. Dad: You know that water is freezing and filled with deadly bacteria. It's practically a cesspool. Shawna: What's a cesspool? <SPLASH>
"The water's fine"
So Shane is gone to get a magnet, Cathy is on her way with a net, Shawna is in the lake feeling around with her toes in the freezing mud, and Dan and Shaedon head off into the sunset to fish somewhere with less commotion.
"My mom is crazy, Uncle Dan."
Cathy pulls up with the net, looking particularly frazzled (she was interrupted getting her house ready to host Thanksgiving dinner) and with her little dogs too, at the exact moment that Shawna uses her toes to pull up the part out of the muck. The huddled masses (Me and the baby), give her a cheer, then she runs into the bathroom to wash off whatever deadly spores might have been living in that water. Her clothing was destroyed.
And I'm the one that's still sick. So I guess the moral of the story is that holding a baby is more dangerous than jumping in a lake.
The baby was confiscated as a biological hazard when going through security
I have indeed returned from my brief sojourn to the New World, and found my family there thriving and the atmosphere most congenial. Unfortunately, upon my return to the Orient, I seem to have contracted a most virulent case of influenza which has thus prevented me from my regular correspondence. I believe I am fully to blame for contracting this illness, as I had the arrogance to wade into the foul air of a public school (children, as you know, are quite unhealthy to be around, especially in large groups).
The sickness consists of a congestion of the head and chest which no poultice or tablet seems to assuage, and a general heaviness and soreness of the limbs. No consistent fever has been detected on my part, or the part of my erstwhile nurse and husband, and I do feel as if I am slowly recovering, although a brief trip yestereve to acquire rations for the week resulted in a my being unable to rise from my bed for almost a day!
More details about my holiday will be forth coming as soon as I have recovered sufficiently to order my thoughts and daguerreotypes from the trip.
With all the hullaballoo about the U.S. Presidential Election, many of you may have missed the actual Most Important Election of Your Lifetime: The naming of the newest baby panda cub at the San Diego Zoo.
"You had your chance"
The (now) little ball of fur was born on July 29, and yesterday was 100 days old, the traditional time for the naming of a Chinese baby. I guess you don't want to get attached before that; babies are so freaking fragile. Anyway, there was an election for baby panda names. The zoo received 30,000 emails about name suggestions and then whittled it down to a few choices and you could vote online. Did you vote in the baby panda name election? I sure did. I voted for Water Dragon (Shui Long), because that's the best name. I thought it had a good chance to win because it had so much meaning. You see, this is the Year of the Dragon, and the cub was conceived in a rare Southern California rainstorm. Thus, Water Dragon. Well, Water Dragon didn't win because people who love pandas are generally more sentimental than I, so the name Little Gift (Xiao Liwu) won, even though he won't be little for long. Dan and I are calling him Charlie Woo to cover our disappointment about Water Dragon. In the same spirit as the name Water Dragon, I propose all children should be named regarding the circumstances of their conception. Here are a few samples:
Heathrow
Radisson
Cortéz
John
Vicky
Southwest Flight 482 Service to Albuquerque, Junior
Forty-one years ago the UAE wasn't even a country. It was just a little part of the Arabian peninusula with family tribes. Then they found oil, and Mohammed bin Zayed, who must have been a helluva negotiator, decided they should be their own country. I would have thought Saudi Arabia would have had something to say about that, but I guess they looked at their own oil fields and shrugged. Thus, the UAE was born. Maybe Saudi didn't think they'd do anything with this tiny little country on the coast, but then they built this:
Burj Khalifa at night
and this:
Chandelieriest Chandelier in the World (Crystal Category)
and all this:
Even the beach is an award-winning construction
Now they are pretty much the only place in the Middle East you might want to go on vacation.
Even Kim Kardashian Kthinks Kso!
But lets go back to the beginning. When the tribes first got rich, they were living out in the red dunes, tending herds of camels, picking dates, and making rosewater. Then... OIL! And what do you do when you strike oil?
You move to the coast!
Unlike the Clampetts, when the tribes decided to go back to the dunes from whence they came and honor their heritage, they did it in style, building an amazing resort deep in the desert. First-class accommodations, exceptional service, "authentic" arabian experiences, and all self-contained. That's where Dan and I went to celebrate our first anniversary where we didn't have to feel guilty about spending too much money (Abu Dhabi has been good to us): Qasr Al Sarab*
Every room has a view of the sunset. Every room. Dan and I had the cheapest room in the place, and it was still the most amazing hotel room I've ever been in. When you arrive (since there's no where else to go), valets swarm your car, taking your luggage, and offering water and cold towels. Then you're whisked into the foyer to relax with a glass of "welcome beverage," which I later learned was camel milk and dates. I didn't care for it, but Dan loved it. Guess I need to start keeping camels for fresh milk. It was a little overwhelming for me, but I guess when you're building a resort to honor your heritage you want it to be amazing.
And profitable
There's a part of the property reserved in perpetuity and kept always ready in case any of the sheiks want to drop in. You'll know they are there if there's an extra helicopter sitting around. There's always one on hand in case of a medical emergency. This place is in the middle of nowhere.
There are approximately 100 miles of this between you and a hospital
We took a sunrise dune walk (because I'm crazy and plan things like that). It was a bit much for me, a sunset ride, a late night, sleeping in a new bed, then getting up at 5am, but it was worth it to be the only two people on the outing. Our guide was great. He took us to see the gazelle (wild, but they put out food and salt licks so they hang around), and pointed out the tracks of the animals that inhabit the desert: gerbils, scorpions, lizards (no snakes, fortunately). He also told us about a visit he had from a sheik who was showing an American guest around. The Sheik wanted to go dune bashing and thought that the guide wasn't driving fast enough, even though the American was obviously uncomfortable. The Sheik demanded his own vehicle, and the guide refused, as it was against the rules and he would lose his job. The Sheik responded "This is my vehicle, this is my hotel!" He still didn't get another SUV.
Employee: 1, Sheik: 0
I love this story so much, because I do like to think that rich people are spoiled, entitled jerks, and even though that's may not always be the case, at least I know now that sometimes it is.
It was a wonderful weekend, all the photos are up on Facebook now, and now I have a good idea what to do when I find some Texas Tea or win the lottery: Remember my roots with a ridonculous hotel.
Camels NOT optional
*Pronounced kay-sir all sah-rab, and said with the same emphasis and sing-song intonation as Que Sera Sera.
