roommates, cypriots, culture as it relates to place, beirut and the world over
Oct. 5, 2006
I feel like I'm finally putting a dent in my image as the house dumb-ass, what with last night and all. It's funny, sometimes drinking brings out the smart guy in me. I know, some of you would like to see him more often, all cozied up with his own arms folded across one another, frown upon his face, saying things like "hmph," discussing the implications of race and identity on a global scale, sitting in the corner shelf of my brain. But he's shy and sometimes his ideas in my head find my mouth only to realize that my tongue lacks the scholastic vocabulary to explain such complex ideas. So I remain quiet, (for those of you who REALLY know me this must sound strange) contemplative and observant as my American football men push the line of scrimmage back and forth on the television (that's right, ESPN and FOX sports), inviting such questions from my pretentious/gay roommate like, "sooo…..you're a big football fan?" when his questions to other housemates usually revolve around puns and hyperboles relating to the Q'uran and Sir Isaac Newton's Theory of Gay Men Telling his Roommates that his Girlfriend Lives in France. I mean, France? That's the same country that all gay men use to hide their imaginary girlfriends. Sorry, that is mean.
Anyways, last night I took everyone for their poker money, Marina and I splitting the wealth pretty evenly. It couldn't have worked out any more perfect, except for the amount of Cranberry Finlandia I had to drink. It was BARF-tastic! The kinda' things paisley dreams of toilet water are made of.
After such winnings it was required of me to take all the losers out for more drinks. We went to a bar just around the way (by the way, a Norwegian place actually called By the Way) to meet our new roommate Sathari (Sat-hari), a white American Sikh girl, and the local favorite, a girl named Athena: half Cypriot, half Lebanese. What an unexpected interaction! We talked about this new world her and I live in, where culture seems so place specific, except in the case of refugees and diasporas, and how it all can look like such a flimsy tissue after seeing another one and it's internal workings, making all of it feel more like a game rather than centuries old tradition. The invention of flight has had far more implications than we could ever have dreamed of.
I consoled her on her disappointment that her old roommate's voice over the phone had seemed to change along with her move back to the Bay Area (our mutual friend Jolie, having moved here just before 9-11 and leaving during the big evacuation from the war this summer) reminding me of the moment when one of my Bay Area parent's commented on the accent of the man who gave us the tour of the Oakland A's Coliseum, asking him where he was from due to his intonations. To my ears he was obviously from the Bay, but I guess they haven't heard the ghetto white men speak in such ways, the ways they must speak so as to not be a target while living in the inner-city. Place, in this instance, not as porous as one might think.
I feel like I'm finally putting a dent in my image as the house dumb-ass, what with last night and all. It's funny, sometimes drinking brings out the smart guy in me. I know, some of you would like to see him more often, all cozied up with his own arms folded across one another, frown upon his face, saying things like "hmph," discussing the implications of race and identity on a global scale, sitting in the corner shelf of my brain. But he's shy and sometimes his ideas in my head find my mouth only to realize that my tongue lacks the scholastic vocabulary to explain such complex ideas. So I remain quiet, (for those of you who REALLY know me this must sound strange) contemplative and observant as my American football men push the line of scrimmage back and forth on the television (that's right, ESPN and FOX sports), inviting such questions from my pretentious/gay roommate like, "sooo…..you're a big football fan?" when his questions to other housemates usually revolve around puns and hyperboles relating to the Q'uran and Sir Isaac Newton's Theory of Gay Men Telling his Roommates that his Girlfriend Lives in France. I mean, France? That's the same country that all gay men use to hide their imaginary girlfriends. Sorry, that is mean.
Anyways, last night I took everyone for their poker money, Marina and I splitting the wealth pretty evenly. It couldn't have worked out any more perfect, except for the amount of Cranberry Finlandia I had to drink. It was BARF-tastic! The kinda' things paisley dreams of toilet water are made of.
After such winnings it was required of me to take all the losers out for more drinks. We went to a bar just around the way (by the way, a Norwegian place actually called By the Way) to meet our new roommate Sathari (Sat-hari), a white American Sikh girl, and the local favorite, a girl named Athena: half Cypriot, half Lebanese. What an unexpected interaction! We talked about this new world her and I live in, where culture seems so place specific, except in the case of refugees and diasporas, and how it all can look like such a flimsy tissue after seeing another one and it's internal workings, making all of it feel more like a game rather than centuries old tradition. The invention of flight has had far more implications than we could ever have dreamed of.
I consoled her on her disappointment that her old roommate's voice over the phone had seemed to change along with her move back to the Bay Area (our mutual friend Jolie, having moved here just before 9-11 and leaving during the big evacuation from the war this summer) reminding me of the moment when one of my Bay Area parent's commented on the accent of the man who gave us the tour of the Oakland A's Coliseum, asking him where he was from due to his intonations. To my ears he was obviously from the Bay, but I guess they haven't heard the ghetto white men speak in such ways, the ways they must speak so as to not be a target while living in the inner-city. Place, in this instance, not as porous as one might think.
posted by miguella guerilla at 6:29 PM
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