As I’m on the verge of embarking on my 29th rotation around the sun, it has dawned on me more than ever this past year that I’m getting old. older. whatever. I’ve started noticing it in the little things. Like, the fact that I can’t go run
10k , 5k, 2k, climb a flight of stairs anymore after a night of drunken debauchery that ends with a 7am falafel and a luke-warm beer. Or maybe it’s the fact that instead of having my annual birthday rager that usually keeps the whole neighborhood awake for the night and chills our relationship with the neighbors for the coming year, I chose to spend it with friends dressed as a retired Scottish groundskeeper this year.
I have a very vivid memory of something that happened during the summer camp in my third year of scouting and that often pops back up when the centigrades reach the upper echelons of the thermometer and I’m caught in the middle of it. The sun was blazing down on our tents, peppering down on those helpless green tarps. These tents were usually poorly situated in the middle of some wide-open, cowdung-filled, bee-infested field. At noon, when the sun radiated heat that would have sent Pharaohs weeping, we holed up in the tepid shade that the tent provided, focusing ourselves on directing all our of remaining, unevaporated bodily fluids to our brain, biting down and trying not to pass out from the heat.(slightly exaggerated for dramatic narrative purposes). The entire camp came to a stop and a mandatory siesta hour-long was instored.
Rest assured, the rest of this article won`t be as illegible and serious as this New York Times-worthy headline, and will be accompanied by the usual logorrheic levity of my other blogposts about the slightly surreal experience that is touring Cuba in 2016.
As I sit her typing on my iPad in the lobby of the Aeropuerto Jose Marti, waiting to board the
8mm thick aluminum tube that separates me from explosive decompression plane back home, I realize the extent of my disconnection from modern civilisation the instant I notice that my iPad is still on Belgian time, and that it hasn’t automatically adapted to the timezone applicable in Cuba, which it usually does automatically when first reconnecting to the internet. iCloud is prompting me for the umpteenth time to connect to the internet in order to back up my iPhoto collection, of which it warns me more and more that failing to do so soon might result in ‘lost files’. I don’t know if it’s a legitimate threat or a clever way for Apple to find out where I’ve been hiding for the past two weeks, not that they’d care.
Lately I’ve been vacillant as to what amuses me more when it comes to news from Saudi Arabia. And by ‘amuse’ I mean ‘whose irrationality scares the living shit out of me’.
Electing a country notorious for its relentless violations of the most basic of human rights as the leader of a UN Human Rights Watch panel on human rights-violations just doesn’t strike me as being a good idea. Kerry’s mannerism in that photo even suggests a pre-emptive apologetic speech. ‘I know, we done fucked up now, but they’ve said they were really, really gonna try you guys. Give em a chance. Plus, they got us really cheap oil, so they cool.’
It’s basically the same thing as telling a recovering coke-head to guard a stash of cocaine, but also instructing him not to touch it. ‘No man, I swear. I’m done with that shit, it ruined my life’. You wouldn’t even have the time to turn around that he already would’ve blown through that pile of white powder faster than a pastry chef during ‘Croissant Week’ in Paris.
But hey, at least they obtained it fairly.
The other thing is this : I don’t know if you’ve been following the news lately but on the 21st of January the Financial Times opened up with a banger, showing that there does in fact seem to be an monumental discrepancy in between how Saudi-Arabia interprets the word ‘irrational’ and how the rest of the world interprets it. Anyone could have thought that already, given the constant stream of irrational behaviour originating from there, but this takes the cake.