A Brave New World - Dubai, UAE

All I can say is WOW! I have lived pretty much all over the USA in great cities of the world like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, & Washington DC and let me tell you Dubai is right there with each and every one of them. What an amazing place! Huge.. Massive Skyscrapers (we went up to the top of the Burg Kalifa..very cool). Great hotels, restaurants, golf, beaches, etc. To think this modern paradise is right here!.. More to come on this later!

February 14, 2010 – “The Minority Report”

Today is Valentine’s Day, kind of an auspicious date to restart blogging but I did have an unexpected bout of inspiration from an erudite and erstwhile source.

Having been “in Kingdom” for over six weeks now, I can say without hesitation to all my good black and Latino friends, “I get it.” It’s tough to be the minority. Living over here has been much better than I expected. Let me state that one more time for the record, “it has been good, very good.” Most if not all of the Saudis I have encounters are genuinely kind, good-natured people. The men that I work with, the guys at the gym, the fellas, all of them are a great group. But they are still a DIFFERENT group.

Do I feel like an outsider? Yes. Does it bother me? A little. Will I get over it? Probably. Will it take some time? Sure. Everything worth doing takes time. Let’s face it, this is a very different place than the good ol’ US of A, and I have never spent any time outside of my homeland. But I do feel like I am trying… I try to meet someone new every day. Strike up a conversation with a person on the lunch line, in the gym and at the office in a sincere attempt to get to know each individual as people.

Unfortunately, there is a reason stereotypes exist, because at a very basic level there do contain some “truth.” I guess I would define a stereotype as a standardized and simplified conception of groups, based on some prior assumptions. Now few of us would knowingly bases our opinions of others either individually or collectively on "prejudice" but in reality that’s exactly what we do.

I will simply use myself as an example; I have often been accused of being an “Ugly American” and a “WASP” (for those playing the home game that stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant). My people’s “gifts” to the world come down to two areas: we can make a mean Martini and we keep retail economy afloat. (Come on, stores like The Gap, The Bombay Company and Starbucks were made for people “like me.”) But just because it’s true for me, doesn’t mean it’s true for everyone that looks like me, acts like me and has a similar background.

My grandmother said never judge a book by its cover. Nowhere has that axiom been truer than here in the Middle East. Good friends and fun acquaintances come in all shapes and sizes here and closing yourself off to new opportunities because you ignorantly and shamefully cling to “old world” stereotypes would be stupid. After all, I am the guest in their homeland. I am the minority living in their culture. I should not (or cannot) expect them to change; while a little bit of well-placed change will do me good.

December 31, 2009 – “Springtime for Hitler and Germany”

All I can say is curse Mel Brooks and his hilarious musical “The Producers,” because as soon as I stepped off the plane into Frankfurt that song just got locked in my head. (I know it’s extremely offensive to the German people, but the mind does what the mind wants, at least I wasn’t goose-stepping around the airport.)

I immediately took note of the vast size of this facility. No I realize this little excursion was my first experience outside the Western Hemisphere, but this damn airport looked BIG! I mean I thought O’Hare, LAX or Atlanta was big… this collection of runways and buildings in Frankfurt should most definitely have its own area code.

It took 45 minutes to walk from my plane to the Business Class lounge (and I walk pretty darn fast, since I am from the NYC area). And as great as the service and experience was FLYING Lufthansa, it was equally disappointing on the GROUND. The club was just plain awful, nothing of substance to eat, a horrible selection of drinks (both regular and alcoholic… and let’s face it I was in the mood to drink since I was counting down to the arrival in my new, dry as teetotaler workplace.) The capper on the whole thing was….drum roll please… no FiWi at all? WTF?!?! Did Europe just miss the last decade of the wireless internet revolution?

My mistake was not trying to catch a some shuteye and sleep through the whole disappointing experience, but I was too afraid that I would sleep right through my flight and make a wonderful first impression the folks flying me over 10-thousand miles to work for them.

Finally, I have to say that German friendliness is kind of like English haute cuisine, it hasn’t been recorded in the over 10,000 years of human existence. They are polite, but as you know being polite doesn’t mean you are being friendly. Just ask any woman who has ever shopped for cosmetics at a department store. The young ladies (using the term loosely, like their boyfriends hope they are) behind the counter are polite, but not really nice. Where else does the spoken word “ma’am” seem to sound more like “bitch?” As in, “Yes, ma’am (bitch). Of course you look like a summer ma’am. (dried up wrinkly bitch). These colors work well for more senior women with a winter complexion ma’am (stupid old bitch).”

December 31, 2009 – “Up in the Air”

My mother always told me to make a good first impression (well her and that stupid Head & Shoulders shampoo ad, “you never get a second chance to make a first impression”), so I have always considered them pretty important. My first impression of Lufthansa was “Damn these Germans sure know how to run an airline!” (Of course flying business class didn’t hurt either).

Boarding the plane at O’Hare was like stepping into Disneyland for adults. I was greeted with champagne, some nice cheese and crackers and then seat for the next nine hours that reclined flat and included a delightful massage feature. Now a smarter man than I would have simply eaten and gone to sleep, but alas I am not that man. It was my first trip outside North America; yes I had left the country (several times) to visit Mexico, Canada and several Caribbean islands (face it, those places count too). Besides, it was New Years Eve and since I was headed east, I could celebrate pretty much every hour along the way.

Dinner was served on fine china with polished silverware, the wine selection was wonderful and the food was simply superlative, and for more than a moment I forgot what I was doing and where I was heading. After polishing of my second glass of a delicious Portuguese red wine along with dinner and dessert, I glanced out the window just in time to see the Labrador coast disappearing off in the distance. So as Canada slid into the rear view mirror I scrambled for a map to try to determine our flight route. (Yes, the pilot had announced it but I was too busy listening to my iPod, drinking and eating to have paid close attention.)

I found the Flight Progress feature on my personal entertainment center which when you think about it looks a lot like how Indiana Jones used to get around in the movies. And hey if flying around the world by line segment and red dots was good enough for Mr. Arc of the Covenant himself then it was fine by me too. This luxurious five star hotel in the sky was headed over the tip of Greenland (cool), then just south of Iceland, through over Scotland and on into Germany. Now this was exciting stuff!

December 31, 2009 – “Superfriends”

Standing there in the freezing cold weather, I paused to consider why Chicago really SHOULD be called the Windy City (that whole “urban legend” about their politicians is a crock) and went to grab my jacket, but alas it was stowed in this story’s central character, my carry-on bag.

But here’s where it gets rather interesting, because just when you think you have people figured out to the point where it justifies your cynical approach to life, someone will go and do something that will shock the shit out of you. The pilot of the plane, a woman no less (a point I make not to be sexist, yet again, but because deep down I am just not sure a man would have done what was to follow. See that ladies, I just threw my whole gender under the bus. The guys are going to “pull” my man card for this…)

This wonderful pilot, let’s call her Captain Shara, spent the next 45 minutes on her personal cell phone tracking down my carry-on. She called back to the Indy airport only to discover my bag had been left right where I put it, at the end of the jet way At one point in the conversation, she had to power down the commuter plane and then physically push up the jet’s door stairs. (I helped her with that, and boy is that door heavy to lift over your head!)

She walked into the terminal with me and stayed with me until they completely remedied the solution, all the while giving the baggage handlers back in Indy a real earful. My carry-on would be flying American Airlines to Chicago and catch up with me in Frankfurt, Germany. Sounded like a plan for sure, but as any frequent (or even non-frequent) flier knows, a promise made by an airline isn’t always a promise kept.

But United made me a believer that day, because while my bag didn’t quite catch up with me in Frankfurt as planned, it was there on the carousel at my final destination in the Middle East. It was truly remarkable. What I thought was sure to be a negative turned into quite the positive, and along the way renewed my faith in humanity-that people at their core are inherently good.
Oh there are villains out their wanting and needing to do evil, (you know Justice League versus the Legion of Doom type stuff). But today was not their day, this time Aquaman got into Wonder Woman’s invisible jet and helped return a precious carry-on bag back to its rightful owner-me. At least that’s my story and I am sticking to it.

December 31, 2009 – “It’s a Small World After All”

After my not-so-tearful goodbye, things immediately got better starting with a very helpful United Airlines check-in attendant helping me with my four huge pieces of luggage. (Seriously, my golf bag was so big I could have been hiding the body of Jimmy Hoffa in there. Who by the way might finally get a proper burial when they tear down the old Giants Stadium at the Meadowlands in New Jersey and find his corpse beautifully preserved in the concrete.)

Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worst when United reverted to type and promptly lost my carry-on bag. Now, I am sure you are wondering how can a carry-on bag get lost, when you CARRY it onto the plane? Inexplicably, these sorts of things always seem to happen to me, especially when luggage is concerned. Here’s proof, I am the only person you will ever know that lost their luggage while flying on the private jet. Somehow my bags got sent with some executives headed to Mexico for a corporate retreat, while I went to off with the CEO to meetings out in Silicon Valley. Well, at least my Samsonite enjoyed a few killer margaritas while I was bored off my butt in San Jose.

Now back to our story, anyone who has watched the evolution (and I use that term loosely) of plane flight in this country over the past 20 years can remember the first time they boarded a “commuter” jet. Simply put, it’s a vehicle that a few Smurfs and most Garden Gnomes (they do have those tall red cone hats) would have to bend over to enter.

So now that we have established they are SMALL planes, you won’t be surprised to find out you can’t so much as store an iPod in the overhead bins. Therefore, anything larger than a plus size tampon has to be checked and stowed in the cargo hold under the plane.

Here is how the whole process works—a gate agent walks around the waiting area before boarding begins handing out little green luggage tags. My fellow passengers received these little items with all the enthusiasm one might muster up for a pink slip from HR. Attach it to your carry-on bag, rip off the matching stub (which I almost didn’t do, but this would become critically important later) and then carry it down to the end of the jet way for a baggage handler to retrieve and place in the belly of the flying metal beast.

Touching down in Chicago a mere 45 minutes later, my bag was nowhere to be found and let me tell you I was PISSED. Once again, how can you lose a goddamn carry-on bag?

December 31, 2009 - “Gone in 60 Seconds”

So how did this all start? Don’t worry I’ll cover all of that in due time. Rather than simply starting at the very beginning (a very good place to start), let’s cut to the end of the beginning (which hopefully won’t turn out, in retrospect, to be the beginning of the end).

Outside the new-ish Indianapolis International Airport, I said goodbye to my family with getting too emotional, which is odd since I am more than capable of crying. Evidenced by my need for tissues at the end of “Saving Private Ryan,” whenever Syracuse loses during March Madness, and of course when I stub my toe. (Have you ever slammed your bare foot into the bottom of your bed? Those metal mattress frames really can leave a nasty bruise!)

So what does it say about me that I shed more tears hugging my 11 year-old black lab than when I kissed my son and daughter goodbye? I guess it means I know I will see them again, but with Bonnie at her age, you just never know. God I love that dog!

Anyway, Brayden (age 7) gave me a big hug, and then realizing he was bored jumped back into the car. ShaiAnne (age 9) looked deep into my eyes as if to determine if I was ever coming back at all, decided that in fact I was, and hugged me tight. Then realizing she was too cold jumped back into the car to join her brother.

Finally, as predicted my wife pretty much lost it. Kitty after all, cries during Grey’s Anatomy and movies like “Desperately Seeking Susan.” So without acting too much like a sexist pig, the crying “game” actually gets worse, MUCH worse when her monthly “friend” comes to visit (thank God I have a penis, they work much better). When it’s that time of the month, a sappy episode of “Family Guy” might cause quite the waterworks show.

After checking in with my buddies, I realized my wife isn’t the only one, reported to have this particular affliction. Apparently, many if not most husbands have to suffer through this condition with their wives. So much so in fact, we are banding together to petition the church to amend the wedding vows to read, “in sickness and health, through long sobbing phases and silly crying spasms often brought on by “chick flicks” or inane primetime dramas.” (But don’t worry ladies once we open this thing up for editing, I am sure you can think of a few items to add too.)