Good Morning.
I say, where did this last week go?
Then I found this photo on my camera:
To the Arabs, I’m not sure what this room is called. But to you and I, it’s the Hubbly Bubbly Room. Some kind of fisherman’s terminology I ain’t yet familiar with.
Yet here I sit, while the cat lays on my keyboard bathing what’s left of his / her genitalia, trying to piece together what once seemed like solid prose about a week in Dubai, all I can muster up is that they’re pretty solid folks who know their way around the kitchen.
A week making new friends from Jordan, Egypt, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Oman, U.A.E., Yemen, has left me with pleasant memories of why all those nationalities shouldn’t be in the same room debating in their non-native language. Lively. Fiery. Intellectual. Like your humble narrator all hopped up on the Hubbly Bubbly smacking around a late-20 something Latino girl for “misremembering” the correct family lineage of Cortes and La Malinche in the story of La Llorona.
Jesus. Could you imagine?
Then we all had dinner. On a boat.
Which took us out up to opening of the Gulf. That didn’t suck.
Then we drank. On land.
With one of the more pleasing backdrops of the trip.
Except if you were to go into any restaurant dominated by all Pilipino women servers. Which isn’t everyone’s thing. Like the Gays. And the French. Do I smell Astroglide?
I say, where did this last week go?
Then I found this photo on my camera:
To the Arabs, I’m not sure what this room is called. But to you and I, it’s the Hubbly Bubbly Room. Some kind of fisherman’s terminology I ain’t yet familiar with.
Yet here I sit, while the cat lays on my keyboard bathing what’s left of his / her genitalia, trying to piece together what once seemed like solid prose about a week in Dubai, all I can muster up is that they’re pretty solid folks who know their way around the kitchen.
A week making new friends from Jordan, Egypt, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Oman, U.A.E., Yemen, has left me with pleasant memories of why all those nationalities shouldn’t be in the same room debating in their non-native language. Lively. Fiery. Intellectual. Like your humble narrator all hopped up on the Hubbly Bubbly smacking around a late-20 something Latino girl for “misremembering” the correct family lineage of Cortes and La Malinche in the story of La Llorona.
Jesus. Could you imagine?
Then we all had dinner. On a boat.
Which took us out up to opening of the Gulf. That didn’t suck.
Then we drank. On land.
With one of the more pleasing backdrops of the trip.
Except if you were to go into any restaurant dominated by all Pilipino women servers. Which isn’t everyone’s thing. Like the Gays. And the French. Do I smell Astroglide?
