She's got it m.a.i.d.

The other morning, I awoke to find the maid sitting on our couch in the living room yapping away at light speed on the telephone.

WTF?

Seriously, I'm not paying this woman to come in and use our phone so she can call Kuwait or whatver on my effing tab.

Yo, I'm paying her to do the dishes and to pretend to dust and to take care of the laundry and to empty the garbages and to pick up my socks and the like. You know, maid stuff.

While this might not seem like an issue for you folks back in Canada, in Egypt, land lines (much like cell phones) run on a time scale, meaning the more minutes you use, the more cashola you pay.

Anyways, now she comes in everyday just to use our phone. And yesterday, she told me to get her some tea because she gets headaches when she cleans. Um, who works for who?

In a bit of drunken bravado, my roomate Shane hid our phone in his room, meaning no more phone for the maid.

Anyways, when she came in to use the phone yesterday morning, she freaked out! I had like four people standing over my bed -- including the maid, the doorman and some dusty kid from the street -- asking me where the phone was.

It was funny.

Dahab

My cousin and travel companion Hoddy (pictured) sent me these photos of our recent trip to the Sinai. Windsurfing not included.

Sinbad: The Return

Regular readers of this blog will recall a colourful character named Sinbad who appeared in some posts back in September. Long story short, he was my roommate for about a month before I realized that:

A) I couldn’t live with a bloated, spoiled, obnoxious baby trapped in the body of an obese college frat boy.

B) The apartment was a complete and utter rip-off and Sinbad was paying way too much because he is:

i) stupid
ii) lazy
iii) a college boy in Cairo getting ripped by a sneaky Egyptian landlord

C) I couldn’t live with people that smoked pot constantly.

And…

D) I couldn’t live in a place where more food was on the floor than in the fridge

Well, guess what people. Sinbad is back – and he wants money.

Last week he called me and said, “dude, you owe me LE 280 for last month’s power bill and I need it right now.”

Okay, for those of you back in Canada, this is an obscene amount of money. And guess what, that’s only my share of it, meaning the power bill for one apartment in Cairo was like, LE 780, which is about $156. That’s more than most families live on in a month here. In fact, I think that translates tojust under two percent of Egypt’s total GDP last year. Or close enough.

Anyways, I’m wondering if I should even bother paying it. Really. Maybe if Sinbad didn’t lay in bed all day and all night with the air conditioning blasting at his hairy back, the power bill wouldn’t be so high?

Maybe if he turned an EFFING LIGHT OUT once in a while or didn’t leave the TV on or blast trance on his lap top and take HOT BATHS BECAUSE HE IS COLD FROM HAVING HIS AIR CONDITIONER ON EVEN THOUGH IT’S LIKE 40 DEGREES OUTSIDE, we wouldn’t be having this little problem.

My only reservation about stiffing Sinny is that the other dude, the Belgian roommate, is a cool guy and I don’t want to burn a bridge, because he paid his share.

What would you, dear reader, do?

(Re) Discovery in Dahab – The Red Sea Chronicles

I was skimming along turquoise waters the other day, with the warm wind drying my damp hair and the sun warming my bare shoulders, when I thought, “shit, you know, windsurfing really is the sporting equivalent of Mikey Rourke: kinda big in the ‘80s…fell off in the ‘90s…but making a comeback.”

Windsurfing – much like Rourke in Sin City – is totally on it, people. Pull out your jammers and get ready to jack; Robby Nash style.

All of this came to me during a much-needed sojourn to the waters of the Red Sea last weekend.

The trip started with a nine-hour overnight bus ride from Cairo to Sharm El Sheik, which hence forth shall be known as Sharm El Shit…or (No) Charm all Shit…or Shit El Shit.

We arrived in Sharm at 9 a.m., and by noon, we’d been kicked off three beaches, ripped off by two taxi drivers, ordered two flat cokes at McDonalds, witnessed one near-car crash and paid way too much for a continental breakfast.

Filled with gaudy hotels, pay beaches, fast food joints and thousands of Eurotrash tourists – who fly in direct from Moscow, Manchester and Munich – Sharm is one of the worst places I’ve ever been to. Period. The good news for Sharm is that a Starbucks is opening there soon.

Bitchy from lack of sleep, we hopped on the bus and split to turquoise waters and tropical reefs of Dahab.

While it’s only 90 minutes from Sharm by bus, Dahab is another world. It’s chilled out, cheap and you don’t have to pay big money to sit on the beach.

*****

Along with windsurfing, I also have another new passion – snorkeling. Implicit in this new passion is a new enemy: the arrogant, insular, aggressive, close-minded, bigoted, sexually repulsive infidels of the reef scene – divers.

For those in landlocked locales, you should be aware that the natural instinct of every true snorkel-er is to fucking hate the diver. They took our totally excellent and pure pastime and perverted it with gas tanks and wetsuits…the bastards.

In Dahab, they proliferate in bars and pick fights with each other while looking silly in little Zissou-type toques which aren’t as cool as they sound. These toques are like the little hats that Tour De France dudes used to wear…except way gayer.

My cousin Hoddy (who was visiting from Calgary via Aberdeen via Amsterdam) and I spent a good chunk of our time above water bitching about how horrible divers are. We also drank loads of beers, worked on our tans, ate prodigious amounts of calamari and discussed geo politics – all while relaxing on Bedouin beach sits under a red moon.

Still, even with divers, aggressive touts who harass you constantly and the specter of the bombings which killed 23 people here six months ago, Dahab was a dream.

Sentori times indeed.

BOOM!

“DANCE BARTY” IN EGYPTIAN POSTAL WAREHOUS INJURES 134
POLICE ARE BAFFLED BUT HAVE A CANADIAN LEAD

November 9th, 2006
Associated Press

CAIRO: An impromptu dance party which exploded in an Egyptian mail warehouse yesterday injured 134 people, officials said.

The party exploded when an envelope from Canada was opened by mail workers and the CD contained within was played on the warehouses’ PA.

“We weren’t use to beats that were so slamming,” said one mail worker, who declined to be named out of fear.

“The bass was so heavy. I’ve never experienced anything like that before…It was so, so, so….German.”

The collapse draws increasing attention to Egypt’s aging infrastructure and the fact that people in this developing nation really like to party hard and get down.

Also, this is the latest embarrassment for the Egyptian government. In the past few months, train collisions and Suez accidents have plagued the nation’s transportation system.

Investigators, speaking on the condition of anonymity, believe that a young woman from Canada sent her brother, who is living in Cairo, the CD in the mail earlier this month.

However, given that Egyptian postal workers are poor, corrupt fuck holes, the mail was opened and the CD was stolen and confiscated.

“I guess the mail workers dug the artwork of the CD and started to play it on their PA or whatever,” said the investigator, who added that the CD was a German techno compilation called Total 7.

The label couldn’t be reached for comment because they don’t speak English.

However, German officials were regretful about the whole thing.

“We are sad that this happened. Really, we are,” said German Trancellor Angela Merckel, during an interview at a techno club in Berlin yesterday.

“Techno is our greatest asset – and our most dangerous weapon, apparently,” she said.

(Thank God) Everyday is (n't) Halloween

Checked out a halloween party at the American Embassy last night, which was basically the same experience one would have at any club on Richmond Street in Toronto ... or at a club on Whyte Avenue in Edmonton .... or at any frat house wherever English is spoken and rohypnol is available.

I went to the party with three friends: my scumbag roomate Shane, our English friend Paul and another Canadian named Grace, who works with refugees and has a serious thing for Egyptian deserts (make that desserts – thanks Shane)and digs Liquid Liquid.

Anyways, we stood in line with a bunch of hostile-dude types. Then we marched through three security checkpoints where our passports were checked and re-checked and re-re-checked. Finally, we made it through the metal detectors and then dished out LE 20 for cover. (Grace didn't have to pay, of course.)

The music all night was bad hip hop with a bit of reggaeton thrown in for kicks. Ugg. I mean, shit, I like hip hop as much as the next guy, but with the exception of some T.I., Biggie, Tupac and a few other classics, the DJ played total shit.

Still, it was fun hanging out with my hommies and making fun of drunk college kids. Sample convo:

Me: "Hey, I really like your costume...So, are you dressed up as a trashy college girl just tonight or do you just usually look like shit?"

Random college chick: "What?"

There was also loads of sexually aggressive men in attendance. It was practically a date rapist convention. Seriously, dudes were standing behind their girlfriends on the dancefloor and literally holding them by the neck. How romantic.

Oh, and I downloaded some new tunes yesterday. Here's a top 7...ok, fuck it, a top 8:

1.Siskid, Architect - Like Superpitcher and Ulrich Shnauss making out.
2.SOOOO, Self Loathing Rules (Malente Mix) - Bangs like Ricky Martin on poppers.
3.Ame, Rej (Pastaboys Mix) - Trancey techno monster.
4.Justin Timberlake, My Love (DFA Mix) - JT and DFA = OMG.
5.M. Craft, You Are the Music (Playgroup Dub) - Smooth disco a la Metro Area.
6.Rodamaal, Insomnia (Rej Remix) - Future tech.
7.Basement Jaxx, Everybody - Better than anything on the overrated Kish Kash.
8.Klaxons, Magick (Simian Mobile Disco Mix) - Not much of a Klaxxons guy, but SMD can do no wrong.