Tuesday, 8 February 2005 (Fat Tuesday), Casablanca, Marrakech: Miss Understood and I first touched ground in Morocco in Mohammed V International Airport in Casablanca and ate at Café Café there during our long layover. We knew we had plenty of time and stayed lounging too long. We had to run to our gate to catch the flight to Ménara International Airport in Marrakech, and although we were late, we still made it on the plane. There was a flight attendant beaten down with make-up; it changed her complexion so thoroughly she had a severe line on her neck where the color changed abruptly from light to dark. When we finally arrived in Marrakech, we discovered the larger of Miss U’s bags had not made it with us.
A taxi driver charged us too much money to take us to our apartment complex in Daoudiate. There was no one there to meet us, so we dragged all our luggage to a téléboutique and then to a cybercafé trying to contact the people involved with our rental. Miss U had left the middlewoman’s and the local contact’s telephone number at home in America, so all we could do was send them (and Polly Grip) e-mail messages and hope they’d respond promptly. We dragged our luggage down Boulevard Âllal el-Fassi to Hôtel Redouane, booked a room and fell fast asleep due to our jetlag.
When we awoke, we went to another cybercafé, read their replies and discovered the owner had given the middlewoman the wrong building designation (building J instead of F). We were given the correct address and made an appointment to be picked up at the hôtel the next day. We were late for a unilateral appointment Polly suggested in an e-mail message, but luckily bumped immediately into Polly and Glamamore in front of the post office upon our arrival at Djemaâ al-Fna in the médina.
Since my last visit in 2002, all of Djemaâ al-Fna and two streets leading to it (Moulaï Ismaîl and Foucauld Streets) were essentially closed to traffic, the asphalt replaced with stone tiles! Tour buses no longer roll past Djemaâ al-Fna, taxis no longer clog the street going past the Hôtel CTM and N’zaha. The four of us walked without dodging traffic to N’zaha and had lunch, delighted to see Zoubair works there again. I received greetings galore walking amongst the foodstalls, barely being able to take a few steps without someone from my three prior visits recognizing me. Miss U bought figs and almonds on the square, and we walked to Polly’s and Glamamore’s riade on Derb Snane (“Teeth Alley”) next to Pasha Glaoui’s palace. They showed us around the place, and there we chatted until rather late eating Miss U’s fruit and nuts. Derb Snane winds a bit, so they walked us back out to Djemaâ al-Fna. Miss U and I returned to Hôtel Redouane.
Wednesday, 9 February 2005, Marrakech: While Miss Understood and I sat eating our complimentary breakfast at the hôtel, the lady who would bring us back to Résidence Narjis showed up to meet us. We rode a taxi there, and met Mr. Bachir who is what would be called the building’s bawab in Egypt. The apartment is lovely, but no amount of beauty can make up for the location so far from the médina. We briefly visited Petit Prix on Avenue Âllal al-Fassi. We shopped for food and other household items at the nearby Aswak asSalam hypermarket where Miss U promptly accidentally rammed the shopping cart into a wall and a space heater tumbled to the floor from its perch. Then we went down to the médina and eventually met Polly and Glamamore after unsuccessfully looking for them at Snack Sahara on Rue Bab Agnaou. After having repeatedly heard about them but never seeing them in person, I finally saw and tipped and taped the Djemaâ al-Fna drag performers. We saw the flirtatious man in a turban in the souk, then had drinks at l’Étoile on Rue Bab Agnaou where we bumped into Polly’s and Glamamore’s gay French next-door neighbor Pierre and had a poor man approach our outdoor table and attempt to pour some of my bottled water into my empty Coca Light can and walk away with it but was shooed away by l’Étoile workers and my calling him a thief. The turban man even walked past us. We ate dinner at Moha (#117) with Yacine repeatedly hugging me and pronouncing my name properly. We walked around Djemaâ al-Fna and saw the sexy orange juice man. Back at the foodstalls I spent time at Maslouhi with my old friend corkscrew Youssef while he taught his co-worker ÂbdoulFatah some English while other co-worker Muhammad (stressed on the last syllable in the Berber manner) looked on. I was invited to mint tea by Si Muhammed from Charaybi (#25) but was touched by his middle-aged co-worker rather than Muhammad himself. While the others lounged at Moha, I saw the lovely new bathrooms at N’zaha, then rejoined them and sat a long time by Moha, temporarily running away to Maslouhi again to hear Youssef’s wild story and bump into Mr. Kebir. Youssef had been on a road trip outside Marrakech with friends when he realized he had left something behind in a cybercafé in another town. He got in the car alone and sped back in the direction of the café. Somehow, so he claimed, an old man abruptly appeared before him, and he swerved to avoid hitting him. Instead he smashed a huge hole in a retaining wall in a small Berber village where no one spoke Arabic. (He knew no one spoke Arabic because the whole village came out to see.) His head hit the windshield, and he lost consciousness for at least a little while. Now I think he’s finished paying for the medical bills, and is very slowly working on the payments for the car he destoyed. I brought Mr. Kebir over to Moha to see Polly. Later, Hafida painted my right hand with henna, which meant I hot great difficulty using my video camera and couldn’t put my hand in my pocket when it started turning blue from coldness.
Thursday, 10 February 2005 (Hijri New Year), Marrakech: (AM) The four New Yorkers ambled over to Café Kebir, originally named after Mr. Kebir, with Hafida for drinks. There was a crazy man sitting near Alex who was snorting and talking to himself. Miss U and I managed to pay for a taxi ride back to Daoudiate and get the keys to our apartment building from our pockets without completely destroying Hafida’s handywork. Our apartment with its tiled floors is very cold, and we were freezing at night despite our butane-fueled space heater. (PM) I ran out to Café Kebir to meet Polly while Miss U went to the airport to try to get her luggage. Polly walked me to her home, and I met her houseboy Muhammad. Eventually the French gays from next door arrived (Pierre [Vanilla Ice], Luc [Roddy McDowall], Lorique [Jack Gilford/Mel Tormé], Alain [Desi Arnaz Jr./Rosemary Clooney]), as well as Muhammad from the Moha restaurant at Djemaâ al-Fna. Houseboy Muhammad served us the most amazing food on the roof, course after course. Miss U telephoned in a panic because her telephone card would soon expire, but she spent most of her time complaining Polly was yelling at her rather than expediantly exchanging information. When told to go to Bab al-Oucsour, she replied “I don’t know how to spell that!” The Frenchies really abused houseboy Muhammad, being familiar with him from having stayed in Polly’s riade in the past. Luc was grabbing Muhammad’s crotch, and then a bunch of them were pushing themselves up against him all at once like a big erotic dance. After everyone else had left, Polly, Miss U and I went to La Maîson du Kaftan Marocain on Rue Mouassine, and Miss U tried on clothes in her “fixin’s,” i.e. in drag from the neck down to ensure the dress she was buying would fit properly. She was really a sight, her fake breasts and rear end as well as her tremendous shoes made her head look disproportionately tiny. One staff member was loudly having fun with the ludicrous situation, yelling compliments at her, but yet still responding to one of her requests by saying "Yes, sir." We went to the French gays’ place for drinks. Their place is decorated much more sparsely and with a heavy handed modern or avant-garde touch. Pierre, Luc, Lorique and Alain were there plus boyfriends Tony [Ming the Merciless] and Moroccan Hicham who live together here in Morocco. We had a very loud time, especially since the last thing a normally boisterous person like Pierre needed was to get drunk. He would frequently burst out into song whenever he was reminded of one (not unlike myself actually) even when he didn’t know the words, which were usually replaced with “na na na....” When he left the room to change his clothes, he returned before he’d finished, wearing nothing but a towel, and proceeded to dance for us. Later he turned over a chair and started drumming on it with his hands. Hicham has the most adorable high voice. The Frenchies kept trying to kiss us four New Yorkers much to our horror, but we still managed to make humorous conversation, like coming up with the concept of Polly Holliday and Billie Holiday teaming up as a singing duo; their big hit single as the Hol(l)iday Sisters would supposedly be “Kiss my strange fruit.” We saw Si Muhammad at Cyber Internet Iris when we checked our e-mail.
Friday, 11 February 2005, Marrakech: (AM) I ate shwimps at Moha at Djemaâ al-Fna without Yacine, and Si Mohamed from M’barek (#114) said someone had given him money to help pay for some medication he needed. Would he ask me next? (PM) This was our first day without Glamamore. I ate an oversized fried egg sandwich lunch at Tortilla Âsise in Daoudiate with Miss U and purchased a telephone card on Avenue Âllal al-Fassi. We walked downtown intending to visit the Dar Si Saïd Museum, but as its closing time drew near, we instead toured the surrounding neighborhood seeing the Place des Ferblantiers, and the little shopping area in the mellah. Miss U noted locals seemed to know we’re Jews (referring to it as “spooking our t”) and attributed it to people’s recognizing me from prior visits. However, in the spice shop where Miss U bought saffron and other stuff, they asked if we wanted to see the local synagogue but also presumed we’d never been to Morocco before, so it seemed we simply looked Jewish, the connection being helped by the fact we were in the mellah. We visited a quaint tailor shop on Rue Riad Zitoun el-Qedim and visited Boutique Ahmed. We sat having drinks at N’zaha and saw Youssef with the corkscrew curls in next-door Café Toubkal, and he later briefly visited and sat with us. We walked to Polly’s riade but barely stayed a moment because we needed to rush to al-Fassia réstaurant on Avenue Mohammed V for our reservation. We entered the telephone kiosk on Place de la Liberté. Cyber Internet Iris; went home around midnight.
Saturday, 12 February 2005 (Abraham Lincoln’s birthday), Marrakech: (AM) I bought sweets at Dépôt Lait on Avenue Âllal al-Fassi. Miss U was sensitive about my saying she eats often. Sleep. Neither cybercafé on or near Avenue Âllal al-Fassi was open at 09:something. I ate a hard-boiled egg sandwich breakfast on Âllal al-Fassi. Miss U and I walked to the Majorelle Garden, the street in front of which was also tiled over and closed to automobiles. “Pretty little fountain” sung to the tune of “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” We continued walking downtown and went to the cybercafé opposite the Koutoubia. We met Polly at Café Kebir. Polly and I temporarily left Miss U eating at N’zaha and looked around the shallow souk. We saw Rachide (who used to work with ÂbdoulÂli) in his new store and returned to N’zaha and then wandered the deeper souk. We saw Moustafa in his usual shop on Rue Souk Semmarine and Moulaï at his usual carpet store. Miss U bought a tagine for her sister Esther from Hicham, and also bought shirts. The tagine was carried around and around with a shirt inside. Juice at Djemaâ al-Fna. Left tagine at Moha. Cyber Mohamed Yassine on Rue Bab Agnaou. Formally met Akshash/ÂbdourRizac. Walked up to Guéliz. Saw crazy queen Moustapha at Café les Négociants at Avenue Mohammed V and Boulevard Mohammed Zerktouni. Visited crowded Atika with screaming children. Ate at la Sirène. Saw Mr. Fouad at Star Food and saw drunk Mr. Hassane at the same intersection. Saw Bagheera for the first time this visit. Âsise and ÂbdourRahim asked for whiskey at Charaybi (#25). Walked in small circles around Djemaâ al-Fna. Saw drag queens removing veils (five o’clock shadow). Polly turned in(to gryphon).
Sunday, 13 February 2005, Marrakech, Igri el Khemas, Setti Fatma, other municipalities in the Ourika Valley: crêpe breakfast at N’zaha, bee fell into Miss U’s coffee. Ourika Valley with Jawad. Muhammad in Berber house in Igri el Khemas. Setti Fatma with Muhammad. Lantern shop where merchant gave price so low he had to vomit in adjoining room. Taxi ride from Derb Snane to the Marjane. Cutting in line. Djemaâ al-Fna around 22:00. Day we saw Âli in Cheese Man’s store? Corkscrew Youssef does not appear to be working. Getting up from one restaurant to sit and drink in another. Si Mohamed from M’barek wore turban and sang us song to the tune of “Hôtel California.” “We love Bagheera.” “Mina from the médina” to the tune of “Copa Cabaña.” Chunky Muhammad at Charaybi (#25) who studied English.
Monday, 14 February 2005 (Valentine’s Day), Marrakech: Alex left dry cleaners without paying to fetch new, dirty clothes. Breakfast at Tortilla Asise again. Bumped into Bert and Youssef. Shopped at little mall on Rue Bani Marine. Passed Youssef ben Tachfine’s tomb en route to Bert’s riade. He spoke French to us despite hating the language. Youssef kissed my cheek and wanted twenty dirham. He also showed us his penis upstairs. Bert is a Macintosh enthusiast. “Paris is best without the French.” Houseboy Âbdoulla is adorable. La Maîson du Kaftan Marocain with changing, topless male tourist. Tour of souk. Nourdine Fouay in his new shop. Lovely fountain opposite lovely Le Diaffa restaurant (1 Rue Jbel al Akhdar). Dar Si Aïssa. Souk sebbaghine/Souk de teinturiers. Sexy young masseur by herboriste. Souk de tailleurs de pierre. Cute ÂbdoulLatif’s shoe shop. Souk âttarine cuivre. Wandered through little streets. Souk feld. Probably near Marrakech Museum, definitely near tanneries. Hôpital Cheikh Daoud el Antaki, Collège ÂbdoulMoumene. Wide open area with coubba and sport center. Taxi to crowded Djemaâ al Fna area. Walk through calèche park. Bougainvillea Café. Cute “fondouc” (market) at Place Bab Ftouh. Ibrahim’s (Ben Affleck’s) flirting with Miss Understood. Miss U bought lanterns, the adhesive tape used to wrap them cut with a Fatima hand. Corkscrew Youssef horsed around with ÂbdoulFatah. Lounged at Moha again drinking whiskey and Fanta with Yacine. Shoes shined.
14 February 2005
20 December 2004
17 December 2004
11 July 2004
03 July 2004
26 June 2004
27 May 2004
Gay and Lesbian Arabic Society (GLAS) social gathering and Queer Immigrant Rights (QuIR) Project panel, the Center, Manhattan, Thursday, 27 May
The Gay and Lesbian Arabic Society [جمعية المثليين العرب]
The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center
DJ I.Z.
Queer Immigrant Rights (QuIR) Project “Queer Arrivals” panel
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Emack & Bolio’s
The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center
DJ I.Z.
Queer Immigrant Rights (QuIR) Project “Queer Arrivals” panel
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Glenn D. Magpantay
Emack & Bolio’s
26 May 2004
23 May 2004
15 May 2004
09 May 2004
27 April 2004
Miss Understood’s birthday at Vegetarian Dim Sum House and 茶坊 Green Tea Café; “Scott Nevins Presents” at Therapy, Monday, 26–Tuesday, 27 April
Vegetarian Dim Sum House
Therapy
Miss Understood
Raven Snook [רבקה]
Chris Sieber
Chi Chi Valenti
Johnny Dynell
Alligator Boy
Alligator Boy
John Sánchez
John Sánchez
Andy Whyland
Linda Simpson
Therapy
Miss Understood
Raven Snook [רבקה]
Chris Sieber
Chi Chi Valenti
Johnny Dynell
Alligator Boy
Alligator Boy
John Sánchez
John Sánchez
Andy Whyland
Linda Simpson
03 April 2004
30 March 2004
25 March 2004
21 March 2004
David’s/Dovid [דוד]’s birthday dinner and party, Dish, Manhattan, Saturday, 20–Sunday, 21 March
Before I tell the story of David’s/Dovid’s dinner, I should recount my experience in the deli and convenience store near Lucky Cheng’s before work: A woman entered with her dog on a leash that was too short for the close confines of the store. Often, she was on one side of the store while the dog was wandering on the other, the leash taut like a barrier preventing anyone from passing them. The cashier at the store could see my avoidance of this dog because of my having no idea if it were dangerous. After the dog and its owner left, I approached the cash register to pay for my sandwich, and the cashier seemed to sympathize with me. He was however under the impression I had avoided the dog because I couldn’t pray if the dog touched me.
After work, I made the short walk from Lucky Cheng’s and Waikiki Wally’s to Dish Restaurant. I was of course the first to arrive and sat in the waiting area reading the menu. A taxi eventually pulled up in front of the restaurant, and all I noticed was the sexy South Asian driver. A lady I didn’t recognize stepped out of the taxi, but David came out after her; when they entered, I was introduced to David’s friend, Cynthia. We sat in the waiting area, and I presented David with a birthday gift: a statuette of “heretic phara‘oh” Akhen’atun. (I felt it an appropriate gift because [a] Akhen’atun was a political reformer who promoted equality between the sexes, [b] he was a religious reformer who attempted to abolish all the old gods, [c] he was usually portrayed in an almost intersexual manner with both masculine and feminine features, [d] he was usually portrayed with a cat by his feet, and [e] I wanted to remind Dovid of his Near Eastern roots.)
After work, I made the short walk from Lucky Cheng’s and Waikiki Wally’s to Dish Restaurant. I was of course the first to arrive and sat in the waiting area reading the menu. A taxi eventually pulled up in front of the restaurant, and all I noticed was the sexy South Asian driver. A lady I didn’t recognize stepped out of the taxi, but David came out after her; when they entered, I was introduced to David’s friend, Cynthia. We sat in the waiting area, and I presented David with a birthday gift: a statuette of “heretic phara‘oh” Akhen’atun. (I felt it an appropriate gift because [a] Akhen’atun was a political reformer who promoted equality between the sexes, [b] he was a religious reformer who attempted to abolish all the old gods, [c] he was usually portrayed in an almost intersexual manner with both masculine and feminine features, [d] he was usually portrayed with a cat by his feet, and [e] I wanted to remind Dovid of his Near Eastern roots.)
19 March 2004
My visit to Florida, 15–19 March 2004
Monday, 15 March, New York City, Tampa, Hudson: Having looked at my itinerary’s arrival rather than departure time, I arrived at LaGuardia Airport late and missed my flight to Tampa. I was given standby tickets and departed about six hours after I was originally supposed to do so. Those six hours in the airport included spending US$10.21 on a small, bland sandwich and a soda at the wildly overpriced Figs snack and sandwich outlet. My flight was uneventful, and the man sitting next to me was clearly uninterested in my mild, half-hearted attempts to be friendly.
Rather than allow me to ride a taxi or jitney upon arrival at Tampa International Airport, my mother and her boyfriend Irv drove all the way to Tampa and surprised me at the airport. We rode to Hudson together in his flashy convertible. The weather was wet, and my mother and I ate dinner at home rather than brave the rain.
Tuesday, 16 March, Hudson, Spring Hill, Bayonet Point, Port Richey, New Port Richey: (My father’s birthday on the Gregorian calendar.) My mother and I went to China Garden(?) in Hudson before going to visit my father in the memory center at the Residence at Timber Pines (Spring Hill a/k/a “Tel Abib” [תל־אביב]). Perhaps because it was his birthday, he was ever so slightly more cognizant than usual. He seemed to recognize me in some manner and even uttered a word (“yeah”). A staff member asked me about my clothing. Trying to find some perspective she might understand, I compared being a Jewish-American who wears Near Eastern and South Asian clothing from various cultures to Afrocentrism and African-Americans’ wearing African-inspired clothing not specific to any one African culture. The clearest indication she hadn’t at all understood me was her followup question: “So you’ve been to Africa?” Luckily, I could just answer “yes” and end the conversation right there. While my father ate lunch and attempted to eat his napkin, I met Elva, his roommate Glen’s wife. They are Michiganers. The staff presented my father with a piece of chocolate cream pie and sang “Happy Birthday to You” to him, but he didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on. My mother and I left to go “antiquing” at the Hospice Store in Bayonet Point and the Goodwill shop in Port Richey. I picked out plenty of phonograph records in the Hospice Store, because the sign on the wall said they were 25¢ apiece, but when we got up to the cashier, her notes said they were 10¢ apiece. We went to Chili’s in New Port Richey for dinner, and the manager there is a nut. She approached our table and asked if everything were all right. Since it was before any food had arrived, we were a little confused, but it soon became apparent she was referring to my videotaping. She asked if I were taping her, and after I replied in the negative, she said not once but twice that if I were taping her, she’d break my camera. Not knowing whether I should interpret this as a threat, I calmly reiterated I would not tape her. When I continued taping various things other than her, my mother noticed her getting bugged by it. She returned to the table with a smile and told me she’d have to ask me to stop taping. She claimed a customer had supposedly complained about it, and it was supposedly Chili’s’ policy to prohibit videorecording anyway. I didn’t believe her for a moment, especially since she herself had so clearly become spooked by the taping when in truth I had not the slightest interest in recording her image. Perhaps she’s wanted in another state and afraid of her cover being blown, because I can’t figure out any other reason to act like such a mental case. Having pretty much recorded all I wanted to, I complied with her fabricated rule so as not to have trouble. I had extensively videotaped in restaurants in various Muslim and ‘Arab countries, yet it was in “free” America (albeit Bush’s Florida) my touristic activity is censured. Afterward, my mother and I wandered around Books-a-Million for too long a period of time.
Wednesday, 17 March, Hudson, Spring Hill, Weeki Wachee, Port Richey: (St. Patrick’s Day.) Similar to what happened at the Goodwill shop the day before, the Salvation Army shop in Spring Hill advertised phonograph records would be US$1 apiece, but upon bringing them to the cashier, the price went down to four for a dollar. My mother and I went to Applebee’s in Spring Hill for lunch and encountered numerous folk she knew, including Noel and Gloria. Noel’s friends at his table and those who visited his table before leaving were by far the loudest people in the restaurant. In the parking lot, I met my mother’s friend Rosalyn whose red fingernails perfectly matched her car. We returned to the Residence at Timber Pines for the memory center’s St. Patrick’s Day “party.” One worker made my father laugh by pulling a big balloon sculpture that had been standing quietly in the corner closer to him and saying Saint Patrick had come to the party and was praying to God for some thing or another I can’t remember. Another worker was certain there’d be no snakes present thanks to Saint Patrick’s being there. On closer inspection after the religious şpil [שפּיל], I saw it wasn’t even Saint Patrick but a lepruchaun standing on a pot of gold. The hired help were shouting in their high, strained voices and making every attempt to simulate a wild party, but the residents remained sedate despite their silly hats, noisemakers and smiling-face stickers. My father was even less lucid than the prior day, this time attempting to eat a noisemaker. Though mildly entertaining, the whole affair was pretty pathetic. Afterward, my mother and I went to Weeki Wachee to visit their Goodwill store. The shopping center was across the highway from a fairly famous service station shaped liked a large dinosaur (likely a brontosaurus). Again, we found big sales: The phonograph discs and audiocassettes here were also four for a dollar, and most books, magazines and clothing were “buy one get two free.” I bought some old National Geographic magazines, their fifty-cent labels making them six for a dollar under the sale’s rules, two waistcoats and a whole slew of records. This year in Florida, I found a goldmine, buying music by Anita Bryant, Barbara Mandrell, Barbra Streisand, Bonnie Prudden, Carmen McRae, Carole King, Chér, Connie Francis, Diana Ross, Dinah Washington, Doris Day, Dorothy Kirsten, Édith Piaf, Gisele Mackenzie, Grace Moore, Jane Morgan, Judy Collins, Kim Carnes, Lena Horne, the Lennon Sisters, Linda Ronstadt, Liza Minnelli, Mindy Carson, Nona Hendryx, Patsy Cline, Patti Page, Patty Duke, Shirley Bassey, the Supremes, Teresa Brewer and Miss Vicki Benêt. Then we went to My Cluttered Closet, a consignment store (and according to the business card, a “boo-t’ek”) in the same shopping center. The place was pretty, but the prices were high, and the merchandise was nothing in which I was interested. The lady in the store said the dinosaur had been there for as long as anyone could remember and was probably some marker for the entrance to Weeki Wachee. (A little research on the Internet showed me it was actually built as a service station in the mid-1960s.) Then we returned home to Hudson to relax, so I put on some relaxing music: Tana mana, by Ravi Shankar (or “the Ravi Shankar Project,” as the cassette insert says). My mother said the music made the house sound like a “smoking den,” presumably an opium den. Eventually, Irv returned in a yarmlke [יאַרמלקע] to spend some time with us before dinner. While I was in another room, she referred to the “crazy music” and recounted the story of meeting friends in Applebee’s, telling Irv “they’ll think he’s a terrorist.” We left in Irv’s convertible for Carrabba’s in Port Richey, a far better restaurant than I’d anticipated. The staff was oddly adamant about it: When we entered, a busboy asked us something like, “Are you ready for the best food you’ve ever eaten?,” and our waiter (Chris, I think) was encouraging me to travel from New York City to Syracuse or Niagara just to visit the Carrabba’s restaurants there. Afterward, we went to Irv’s house in Hudson where he showed me around and let me pick what I liked amongst the (mostly 10″, 78 R. P. M.) phonograph discs in his collection. He was very anxious to please his girlfriend’s son, but he assured me he’d never listen to them again whether I took them or not. (He had Doris Day, Dorothy Claire, Ella Fitzgerald, Helen Forrest, Helen O’Connell, Helen Ward, Jane Harvey, Jo Stafford, Judy Garland, Kate Smith, Kay Weber, Liza Morrow, Louise Tobin, Marion Hutton, Marion Mann, Peggy Lee, Peggy Mann and Shirley Jones.) Then we drove to my mother’s house and had xaziray [חזירײַ].
Thursday, 18 March, Hudson, Port Richey, New Port Richey: (Scott’s/Şmuel [שמואל]’s birthday on the Gregorian calendar.) This morning, my videocamera broke (unrelated to the threat from the manager at Chili’s), and I don’t have enough time to have it repaired until I return to New York, so I’ll have to do without images of the façades of whichever stores I visit today and the butts of whichever attractive men I see. Azoy geyt es in Florida. [אַזױ גײט עס אין פֿלאָרידאַ܁] Thank goodness, if it had to break, it did so on the day before I return to New York rather than in the middle of my trip to Egypt.
I went to bed late this morning and slept all day, until after 15:00. My mother and I went to Hops restaurant in Port Richey and ate too much because we had skipped lunch. The lady who brought our food to the table asked me if I were from Kenya! We went to Gulfview Square Mall in New Port Richey in part to see my friend Furqan Muhammad [فرقان محمد] who works there (or so we thought). Because my camera was broken, my mother actually brought her still camera to take a picture of Muhammad and me together. Some sexy young man who may have been Muhammad’s brother told me Muhammad now works elsewhere (and also asked if I were Muslim). I was very disappointed because I hadn’t seen him in about two years, but at least I got to see his brother who is almost as cute. There was also another nice-looking Pakistani-looking worker at another store who gave me a big hello. Because my camera is broken, I have no images of them to share, so please go to Gulfview Square Mall and gaze upon them yourselves. We returned home early, around 20:30, so I could pack. On the telephone, my mother told Irv how personable I am and how much all her friends liked me, but made sure to add, “I get embarassed with his dress and everything.”
Friday, 19 March, Hudson, Tampa, New York City: Having packed absolutely everything I had bought into a bag to be checked and a carry-on bag, I embarked back to Tampa International Airport with an acquaintance (named Barbara, I believe) hired by my mother (definitely named Barbara). This lady was friendly but kept grilling me about transportation and how often I visit my mother in Florida and how I had gotten to Hudson from Tampa on Monday. I think she wanted to know if we had hired anybody else or whether we’d hire her again. I was horrified to discover that because my suitcase weighed eighty pounds, I’d have to pay fifty dollars to have it transported up to New York. I felt all my bargains melting away, but considering how very cheap this particular bunch was, fifty dollars was not very much money. My flight on American Airlines was greatly delayed but was otherwise uneventful. There was a flight attendant named “Gabriel” who had a really sexy nose.
Rather than allow me to ride a taxi or jitney upon arrival at Tampa International Airport, my mother and her boyfriend Irv drove all the way to Tampa and surprised me at the airport. We rode to Hudson together in his flashy convertible. The weather was wet, and my mother and I ate dinner at home rather than brave the rain.
Tuesday, 16 March, Hudson, Spring Hill, Bayonet Point, Port Richey, New Port Richey: (My father’s birthday on the Gregorian calendar.) My mother and I went to China Garden(?) in Hudson before going to visit my father in the memory center at the Residence at Timber Pines (Spring Hill a/k/a “Tel Abib” [תל־אביב]). Perhaps because it was his birthday, he was ever so slightly more cognizant than usual. He seemed to recognize me in some manner and even uttered a word (“yeah”). A staff member asked me about my clothing. Trying to find some perspective she might understand, I compared being a Jewish-American who wears Near Eastern and South Asian clothing from various cultures to Afrocentrism and African-Americans’ wearing African-inspired clothing not specific to any one African culture. The clearest indication she hadn’t at all understood me was her followup question: “So you’ve been to Africa?” Luckily, I could just answer “yes” and end the conversation right there. While my father ate lunch and attempted to eat his napkin, I met Elva, his roommate Glen’s wife. They are Michiganers. The staff presented my father with a piece of chocolate cream pie and sang “Happy Birthday to You” to him, but he didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on. My mother and I left to go “antiquing” at the Hospice Store in Bayonet Point and the Goodwill shop in Port Richey. I picked out plenty of phonograph records in the Hospice Store, because the sign on the wall said they were 25¢ apiece, but when we got up to the cashier, her notes said they were 10¢ apiece. We went to Chili’s in New Port Richey for dinner, and the manager there is a nut. She approached our table and asked if everything were all right. Since it was before any food had arrived, we were a little confused, but it soon became apparent she was referring to my videotaping. She asked if I were taping her, and after I replied in the negative, she said not once but twice that if I were taping her, she’d break my camera. Not knowing whether I should interpret this as a threat, I calmly reiterated I would not tape her. When I continued taping various things other than her, my mother noticed her getting bugged by it. She returned to the table with a smile and told me she’d have to ask me to stop taping. She claimed a customer had supposedly complained about it, and it was supposedly Chili’s’ policy to prohibit videorecording anyway. I didn’t believe her for a moment, especially since she herself had so clearly become spooked by the taping when in truth I had not the slightest interest in recording her image. Perhaps she’s wanted in another state and afraid of her cover being blown, because I can’t figure out any other reason to act like such a mental case. Having pretty much recorded all I wanted to, I complied with her fabricated rule so as not to have trouble. I had extensively videotaped in restaurants in various Muslim and ‘Arab countries, yet it was in “free” America (albeit Bush’s Florida) my touristic activity is censured. Afterward, my mother and I wandered around Books-a-Million for too long a period of time.
Wednesday, 17 March, Hudson, Spring Hill, Weeki Wachee, Port Richey: (St. Patrick’s Day.) Similar to what happened at the Goodwill shop the day before, the Salvation Army shop in Spring Hill advertised phonograph records would be US$1 apiece, but upon bringing them to the cashier, the price went down to four for a dollar. My mother and I went to Applebee’s in Spring Hill for lunch and encountered numerous folk she knew, including Noel and Gloria. Noel’s friends at his table and those who visited his table before leaving were by far the loudest people in the restaurant. In the parking lot, I met my mother’s friend Rosalyn whose red fingernails perfectly matched her car. We returned to the Residence at Timber Pines for the memory center’s St. Patrick’s Day “party.” One worker made my father laugh by pulling a big balloon sculpture that had been standing quietly in the corner closer to him and saying Saint Patrick had come to the party and was praying to God for some thing or another I can’t remember. Another worker was certain there’d be no snakes present thanks to Saint Patrick’s being there. On closer inspection after the religious şpil [שפּיל], I saw it wasn’t even Saint Patrick but a lepruchaun standing on a pot of gold. The hired help were shouting in their high, strained voices and making every attempt to simulate a wild party, but the residents remained sedate despite their silly hats, noisemakers and smiling-face stickers. My father was even less lucid than the prior day, this time attempting to eat a noisemaker. Though mildly entertaining, the whole affair was pretty pathetic. Afterward, my mother and I went to Weeki Wachee to visit their Goodwill store. The shopping center was across the highway from a fairly famous service station shaped liked a large dinosaur (likely a brontosaurus). Again, we found big sales: The phonograph discs and audiocassettes here were also four for a dollar, and most books, magazines and clothing were “buy one get two free.” I bought some old National Geographic magazines, their fifty-cent labels making them six for a dollar under the sale’s rules, two waistcoats and a whole slew of records. This year in Florida, I found a goldmine, buying music by Anita Bryant, Barbara Mandrell, Barbra Streisand, Bonnie Prudden, Carmen McRae, Carole King, Chér, Connie Francis, Diana Ross, Dinah Washington, Doris Day, Dorothy Kirsten, Édith Piaf, Gisele Mackenzie, Grace Moore, Jane Morgan, Judy Collins, Kim Carnes, Lena Horne, the Lennon Sisters, Linda Ronstadt, Liza Minnelli, Mindy Carson, Nona Hendryx, Patsy Cline, Patti Page, Patty Duke, Shirley Bassey, the Supremes, Teresa Brewer and Miss Vicki Benêt. Then we went to My Cluttered Closet, a consignment store (and according to the business card, a “boo-t’ek”) in the same shopping center. The place was pretty, but the prices were high, and the merchandise was nothing in which I was interested. The lady in the store said the dinosaur had been there for as long as anyone could remember and was probably some marker for the entrance to Weeki Wachee. (A little research on the Internet showed me it was actually built as a service station in the mid-1960s.) Then we returned home to Hudson to relax, so I put on some relaxing music: Tana mana, by Ravi Shankar (or “the Ravi Shankar Project,” as the cassette insert says). My mother said the music made the house sound like a “smoking den,” presumably an opium den. Eventually, Irv returned in a yarmlke [יאַרמלקע] to spend some time with us before dinner. While I was in another room, she referred to the “crazy music” and recounted the story of meeting friends in Applebee’s, telling Irv “they’ll think he’s a terrorist.” We left in Irv’s convertible for Carrabba’s in Port Richey, a far better restaurant than I’d anticipated. The staff was oddly adamant about it: When we entered, a busboy asked us something like, “Are you ready for the best food you’ve ever eaten?,” and our waiter (Chris, I think) was encouraging me to travel from New York City to Syracuse or Niagara just to visit the Carrabba’s restaurants there. Afterward, we went to Irv’s house in Hudson where he showed me around and let me pick what I liked amongst the (mostly 10″, 78 R. P. M.) phonograph discs in his collection. He was very anxious to please his girlfriend’s son, but he assured me he’d never listen to them again whether I took them or not. (He had Doris Day, Dorothy Claire, Ella Fitzgerald, Helen Forrest, Helen O’Connell, Helen Ward, Jane Harvey, Jo Stafford, Judy Garland, Kate Smith, Kay Weber, Liza Morrow, Louise Tobin, Marion Hutton, Marion Mann, Peggy Lee, Peggy Mann and Shirley Jones.) Then we drove to my mother’s house and had xaziray [חזירײַ].
Thursday, 18 March, Hudson, Port Richey, New Port Richey: (Scott’s/Şmuel [שמואל]’s birthday on the Gregorian calendar.) This morning, my videocamera broke (unrelated to the threat from the manager at Chili’s), and I don’t have enough time to have it repaired until I return to New York, so I’ll have to do without images of the façades of whichever stores I visit today and the butts of whichever attractive men I see. Azoy geyt es in Florida. [אַזױ גײט עס אין פֿלאָרידאַ܁] Thank goodness, if it had to break, it did so on the day before I return to New York rather than in the middle of my trip to Egypt.
I went to bed late this morning and slept all day, until after 15:00. My mother and I went to Hops restaurant in Port Richey and ate too much because we had skipped lunch. The lady who brought our food to the table asked me if I were from Kenya! We went to Gulfview Square Mall in New Port Richey in part to see my friend Furqan Muhammad [فرقان محمد] who works there (or so we thought). Because my camera was broken, my mother actually brought her still camera to take a picture of Muhammad and me together. Some sexy young man who may have been Muhammad’s brother told me Muhammad now works elsewhere (and also asked if I were Muslim). I was very disappointed because I hadn’t seen him in about two years, but at least I got to see his brother who is almost as cute. There was also another nice-looking Pakistani-looking worker at another store who gave me a big hello. Because my camera is broken, I have no images of them to share, so please go to Gulfview Square Mall and gaze upon them yourselves. We returned home early, around 20:30, so I could pack. On the telephone, my mother told Irv how personable I am and how much all her friends liked me, but made sure to add, “I get embarassed with his dress and everything.”
Friday, 19 March, Hudson, Tampa, New York City: Having packed absolutely everything I had bought into a bag to be checked and a carry-on bag, I embarked back to Tampa International Airport with an acquaintance (named Barbara, I believe) hired by my mother (definitely named Barbara). This lady was friendly but kept grilling me about transportation and how often I visit my mother in Florida and how I had gotten to Hudson from Tampa on Monday. I think she wanted to know if we had hired anybody else or whether we’d hire her again. I was horrified to discover that because my suitcase weighed eighty pounds, I’d have to pay fifty dollars to have it transported up to New York. I felt all my bargains melting away, but considering how very cheap this particular bunch was, fifty dollars was not very much money. My flight on American Airlines was greatly delayed but was otherwise uneventful. There was a flight attendant named “Gabriel” who had a really sexy nose.
14 March 2004
Lucky Cheng’s/Waikiki Wally’s, Garth’s and Charles’ apartment, Saturday, 13–Sunday, 14 March
Carla’s spreadsheet made my life a trillion times easier. Come 17:45, I couldn’t find the printer’s USB cable without calling Garth, so the night sheet was late anyway, but Jamie actually called the office to compliment my improvements to it and thank me. I met Salt’s new employee, Alejandra’s friend Leandro who teaches Spanish and will work in the office early Fridays. Mel cut his foot and wrapped it in part with duct tape. I stayed at work until maybe between 20:00 and 21:00, going out to get a sandwich and eating in the office with Rich. I chatted and giggled with Garth on the telephone.
I walked to their apartment, they showed me their wonderful new DVD-RW recorder, a gift from Garth’s mother, and we went to some local restaurant. I had just finished my two huge sandwiches, so I ate nothing until I started to get lightheaded, more likely from insufficient sleep than food, so I nibbled some of Charles’ fries. I talked a lot about my trip to Egypt.
We returned to their apartment, ostensibly before going out again, but we never made it out again. We watched some things Garth had recorded from télévision, and Charles commented I had lost weight. Eventually, we were all falling asleep on and off like old ladies, and I left around 05:00, avoiding the late night suspension of ⑤ train service (or is it ② service?).
I walked to their apartment, they showed me their wonderful new DVD-RW recorder, a gift from Garth’s mother, and we went to some local restaurant. I had just finished my two huge sandwiches, so I ate nothing until I started to get lightheaded, more likely from insufficient sleep than food, so I nibbled some of Charles’ fries. I talked a lot about my trip to Egypt.
We returned to their apartment, ostensibly before going out again, but we never made it out again. We watched some things Garth had recorded from télévision, and Charles commented I had lost weight. Eventually, we were all falling asleep on and off like old ladies, and I left around 05:00, avoiding the late night suspension of ⑤ train service (or is it ② service?).
12 March 2004
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