Wednesday, October 27, 2010

gggggggupcha, ggella gggella....

I’m sure my fans (like Jesus when he first started out, I have a small but devoted following of around 12 people) were wildly disappointed when I missed last week’s blog post.  I was airborne in more than one sense and unable to write.  Flying over the North Pole didn’t make me feel as high as you’d expect (blasted cloud cover) but I daresay the concoction of Excedrin, Neurofen, Antihistamine and several Bloody Mary’s did. God love Emirates Airlines and the near sexual favours I had to perform to secure my emergency exit seat. Verbal striptease I like to call it.

Because there really is a God out there, I was able to rest up my puffy airline ankles (where did my leg end and the foot begin?) overnight in Dubai.  But I need to start with my moment of arrival. After 17 hours of flying - sitting next to a woman from Iran whom I might add, was clearly competing with me for all the vodka and whiskey on the trolley - I was relieved to land on terra firma. Sitting stationary for an eternity left me unsure of whether my wobbly legs were very light, or very heavy.  Gravity I tell you. Gets me every time.

As we queued in the arrivals hall, I gazed round in wonder.  This, I decided, is what heaven must be like.  Every single surface has a sheen to it, the smell of expensive perfume permeated the air and the upright pillars that supported the well-lit ceiling were (I shit you not) white, with sparkly bits in the mix.  It was as if Dubai’s architectural sultan said “find me every shiny, twinkly surface that has ever been made and bring it hither for my construction”. Wait, was that violins I heard? A “NO CAMPING” sign would have completed the illusion for me.

But for the bad publicity that Islam has suffered over the last 9 years, the immigration officials looked almost angelic in their white Thobes and Ghutra’s.  I felt the effect would have been complete if they could have chosen garlands instead of black igals to hold their ghutras in place. I know black and white is classic but the contrast was all too harsh darling, all too harsh.

If French is the language of love, Italian the language of food and Afrikaans the language of clearing-your-throat, then surely Arabic is the language of cussing.  Why do they sound so pissed off the whole time? The noises they make are akin to someone’s last words as they are being garroted. Ggggggupcha gggella gggella gaaaaaa. Their much shaking of hands, heads and fingers reinforces my assumption.  I prayed they wouldn’t find a stray poppy seed from my breakfast roll amongst my clothes. I can’t imagine what they would sound like if they really were pissed off. 

I reflect on the graffiti that someone scratched onto the elevator door.  Aladdin. I wonder how many there are here? I consider scratching “open sesame” alongside but decide against it - hidden cameras are forever on my mind and I'm pretty sure the UAE has a zero tolerance attitude towards vandalism. I get to my room and flick the light switch.  Nothing.  I immediately assume that this is how they enforce “night-time is bed-time”.  After going through a series of stretching exercises that involve keeping the door open with my toe (picture a small shaft of corridor light) and feeling up every wall surface within reach, I eventually find a nifty little box that says “place card here”. Bingo, but how the hell am I supposed to find the dang box in the dark? Now I'm convinced that there are hidden cameras filming me and I am the butt end of some arabic joke. I'm impressed however, that they are realistic about the heat here. The windows don’t open at all. 

En route to the dining hall I stop at the hotel curio shop.  As you may know, permitted images on decor are limited and there's a lot of geometric shit going down on wall hangings and such, though they clearly have no problem with camels. Apparently, when it comes to Dubai men’s fashion, nothing goes better with metallic than metallic. I spot a leather jacket with fur trim for sale and have to wonder WTF? Do locals turn up the aircon full tilt just so they can have a chance to wear winter fashions? Also, from what I’ve seen on TV here so far, I can only say that costume design in Arabic countries must be a very dull career choice indeed. 

I will end my report on Dubai by saying this; they clearly pay no attention to time – 3am is no different to 3pm for them, their toilets have dangerously high water levels (maybe to encourage bidet use?), and if you want to see crushing crowds – go to the 18carrat section at the airport Gold shop. Oh, and perhaps steer away from anything that says "minced meat".  I don't doubt it.

Friday, October 8, 2010

real rack

Obviously, as I arrived in the USA this week, I have stumbled upon a myriad of hot topics for blogging. Probably enough to fuel a lifetime of writing, such is the funniness of the American nation.  That might be a bit unfair really, because truth be told I find lots of things funny about lots of foreign nations.  

OK, so after we’ve gone for a powerful power walk, spotted a dolphin, chatted about crap and had a fiercely frozen smoothie, we end up in Belmont Shore.  At least I think it’s where we were. I’ve been very confused since arriving in California because all the neighbourhoods look so similar to me - probably because they are so similar. Even though I am still wearing my sporty “Wheelchair-man Fetish” lycra leggings (which trust me, is a frightening story for another day), we feel smart enough to cruise the shops and check out what’s happenin’ stateside in the fashion world.  After trawling a few costume shops - remember Halloween is round the corner - and pondering the appropriateness of some costumes (Sexy Harem Girl, Hospital Scrubs Girl and Wicked Nurse Knockout spring to mind) we find a really cool boutique called Saga.  
The clothes were great, but what really got my attention was a screen in the shop. Not so discreetly tucked away, it was playing an advertorial on a loop for a product called Pick-Me-Up breast lift tape.  It starts with showing a woman’s breasts, naked as the day they reached puberty. One is covered by something I later found out is called a “Smooth’em Nipple Concealer”,  which actually looks much, much more tragic than it sounds.  At first I thought it was plastic surgery gone wrong.  You know, like they mislaid the poor woman’s nipple during the procedure and decided to put a piece of flat pinkish fabric there instead, hoping of course that she’d never notice.  Then you see a finely groomed woman’s hand niftily placing a oblong shaped, transparent sticker thing over the other breast.  
The finely groomed hand first attaches it along the bottom of the breast, just below the remaining nipple, hikes the breast up and sticks it to the flesh just under the collarbone. Now, although there is a great improvement in breast perkiness, I have to say that it looks like a bad joke waiting to happen. What happens if you are a sweaty person (everyone is in a nightclub, aren’t they?) and this causes the adhesive to become unstuck.  I can just see the scene unfolding.  Guy notices girl in bar.  Guy goes over to chat her up. Guy notices incredibly perky breasts. Girl notices guy noticing incredibly perky breasts. Girl gets all sweaty and nervous because she knows perkiness is fake. Sweat causes adhesive to stop working. Guy notices one breast dropping down un-nervingly quickly to less perkiness. Guy withdraws offer to buy girl a drink. Girl is so embarrassed that she never regains her normal skin tone.  Really, it’s just to horrific to think about. 
Me being the weirdo I am, I quickly write down the www address and vow to look up this product as soon as we’re home.  The site is called but it should be called Here, very briefly, are some of the products you can purchase. Bump and Jump-a-cup (bigger - always bigger - with more cleavage), Bump-a-Booty (pads to sculpt and shape the derrière - because butts always need more padding, right?), Cover-a-cup (who knows) Gather-the-girls (to gather together wayward tits that are holidaying under your armpits) and of course my all time favorites - Smooth ‘em Non or fully Adhesive’s (to squish and cover nipples).
I cannot imagine a guys disappointment, and a girl’s embarrassment, when they finally get into the sack.  Her spell on him will be broken the minute he discovers that not only are her breasts saggy and wayward, but her bum ain’t nothing butt.  It’s like lying about being clever.  Sooner or later you’re just going to sound dumb.

Friday, October 1, 2010

doesn't taste like chicken...

We went camping this past weekend.  Normally, coming from me, that would be enough said. But camping is a can of worms for another day.  One of the shorties that came on the trip was sick.  He announced it quite loudly when he arrived so I made my kids eat two oranges in quick succession to be on the safe side.  I also threatened them with a fierce lashing if they shared the sick shortie’s bowl, glass or general breathing space. My oldest son got the rotor virus on our first camping trip (who takes a one year old camping? Duh!) and it kind of tainted the whole outdoorsy experience for me.  Again I digress; this is about kids and medicine.

Why do kids need drugs in the first place? Because they get sick. If ever there was a mammoth design flaw, it would be that kids have to get sick at all. Until you’re old enough to read a novel, watch 5 DVD’s back to back and - dare I say - embrace drugs wholeheartedly, you shouldn’t get sick. It should just be a universal truth. Like you can’t get knocked up before puberty.  You know, that kind of a rule.

I feel there’s a big market out there for something like fake medicine for kids.  Something that tastes sort of like medicine, but much, much nicer. The rationale behind my thinking is that by the time the little blighters actually fall ill, taking medicine is old hat. 

The main thing about kid’s medicine is the taste. It seems to be impossibly tricky to make medicine that doesn’t taste like toilet cleaner. Said sick camper confirmed this. He wouldn’t even touch the stuff he normally likes, never mind wolf down the chalky, banana flavoured anti-biotics his poor mother was trying to administer. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure bananas should be banana flavoured. And as for the whole chalky consistency… not really one of the winning textures for oral consumption. Apropos antibiotics, I’ve had a strong feeling for quite some time that they should be made in suppository form. Now that would be a solution. Psst, slip ‘em one while they’re sleeping.  In fact ALL kid’s medicine should be in suppository form. 
As for Buscopan, supposedly for stomach cramps, I have a theory. It tastes so vile that it makes you puke your guts out, so the cramps go away. It’s a no gut no cramp theory. I just know it’s manufactured in Lucifer’s Laboratory and the year it was invented it won the “Most Disgusting Medicine Award”. How they expect anyone to get that stuff down, let alone keep it down, I have no idea. 

And lastly, a word of warning; whatever you do, don’t try Omega 3 in syrup form. It seems like a cunningly good idea but know that it tastes like you’ve’ given a dodgy salmon a blowjob.