I Ain't Fonda Nincumpoops and Guns
Woah! Where have I been?! Forget about the past, and back to the present. Where am I now? One minute I am in Silsoe, the armpit of England, dealing with an anally retentive, conceited and deprecating little man (that would be my thesis supervisor) and the next I am in Washington DC schmoozing with Angelina Jolie (and let me tell you, she is none of those things).
First let me tell you of the five days I spent in England with my 82 year-old granny… Basically it entailed one too many visits to Yeovil City Hospital, sitting by a hospital bed in a ward full of pasty, frail octogenarians. My granny had had a couple of mini heart attacks, and was duly put into hospital for observation. And so my nights were spent trawling through my granny’s underwear drawer (wincing all the way I might add) in order to give her clean clothes the next day. All in the midst of packing all my stuff and counting down the days before shipping all my worldly possessions, and ultimately myself, to the capital of USA where things were heating up on the political front.
It was apt that within three days of arriving in DC in February I found myself in front of the AFL-CIO (American… F…. Labor…. Ach, I don’t know what it stands for but it’s one of the largest labor unions in the US) office where there was a John Kerry rally. It was an event to endorse Massachusetts Senator John Kerry in his bid for becoming the Democratic nominee who will ultimately oust Bush (honestly, he will. You must BELIEVE). It started off like any other mundane presidential rally… with people waving banners and chanting ‘KERRY,’ KERRY.’ Then the music started. First with some indescribable rock ballad, then “Taking Care of Business” which could, I think, be misconstrued… i.e. taking care of business interests, rather than the “people.” But the ‘coup de grace’ was the booming “Born in the USA” that ensued as Kerry finally came out to address the boisterous crowd. Bruce Springsteen??! Cheesy; pure Camembert. I gagged uncontrollably, almost falling off the newspaper dispenser I was sitting on in the process, and left tout suite.
Anyway, enough about politics; it infuriates me. We have a new place! Jillian and I reside in a two-bedroom flat in Library Courts Apartments in Arlington, Virginia (within the Metro DC area I must add). I keep telling myself that, because Arlington is also the home of the National Rifle Association (NRA) headquarters, the dreaded Pentagon, the USA Today newspaper, not to mention that Virginia is south of the Dixie Line making it ‘the South!’ I mean, their county flag has a Roman standing over a ‘tyrant’ as if he has just killed him… ‘nuff said. Anyway, as you walk into our lobby you feel as if you are entering a South East Asian porn star mansion. Unfortunately there is no plethora of hot naked women with tassels on their breasts draped on leather sofas… well, that’s not quite true; we do have leather sofas. The place is a true reflection of US colorful diversity: our manager Aasma is Pakistani; Candido, the cleaner is Nicaraguan, and handyman Victor is from Chile.
Funny thing when I met Victor for the first time. The toilet got clogged up after I had just emptied my incessantly active bowels in it. I had to call Victor, as I didn’t have a plunger. A knock on the door revealed a small Latino man with a boiler suit, bucket in one hand and plunger in the other, complete with a mask on his face! I wish I had THAT mask on when I was defecating, let me tell you. Anyway, HOUSEHOLD TIP NO.1 – Put a cup of laundry detergent (not fabric conditioner) into toilet allowing for…well,.. for the effective discloggation (a new word!) of the defecation residue…
Talking about colorful diversity… there was this fruit loop of a man walking around the neighborhood, particularly in and around the public library, when we first moved. He dressed in a shiny green silk-type robe with a long overcoat and a T-shirt that read something along the lines of: “Support the Salvation of Satan.” The little red devil horns he sported on his head really were the proverbial “cherry on the top.” He walked (and drove) around with his right arm up pointing to the sky, with his fingers in the V sign, saying “God Shall SAVE Satan! God Shall SAVE Satan!” Yep, oooohhhhkkkk.
Back in our new flat, we have been fixing up the place, making it our own. We are the epitome of domestication. I catch myself complimenting people’s lovely curtains or sturdy and sharp knives during parties. “My what a lovely pair of end tables you have. Crate & Barrel? OH, Ikea. The beveled edges are very Crate & Barrel, not to mention the fine rosewood finish. Oh, and those shelves! Delightful.”
Case in point: I reupholstered an antique chair someone gave us. In fact, two. HOUSEHOLD TIP NO.2: When offered old chairs (or any other item of furniture) from friends, be prepared to say NO! If you are a flake like me and get lumped with random old chairs, and have not thought twice before reupholstering, have all the tools at the ready, and above all…LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS. Better still, dump them and buy a new pair.
I had a lot of time on my hands as the security clearance for work took just over six weeks to be completed (there must be more dirt on me out there than one can find on a Vietnamese potbellied pig…or Jack Abramoff...). And so I took the opportunity to play golf with a family friend of ours: Bob Garvey. I hadn’t played in years; in fact, since I narrowly missed murdering some nesting waterfowl in Costa Rica a couple of years ago. After the game, Bob left a message on Jillian’s mobile: “Well Jillian, I hope David is better in bed than on the golf course.” ‘Nuff said.
But I finally started working at the World Bank. My first week entailed some mild brainwashing. Actually they like to call it ‘Orientation.’ I met some very down-to-Earth people actually; and still meeting them. And my estimation of the Bank’s work has actually gone up. I was featured in a book called 'Getting to Know the World Bank: A guide for Young People', and cornered into saying something about the Bank. Couldn't quite give it glowing remarks, but definitely positive vibes. Working at the Bank is SO strange for me. Every day I have a ‘what the hell am I doing here’ moment. For example, in the infancy of my tenure at The Bank I was up in the 13th floor of the Main Complex in some high vault-ceilinged function room drinking a Cuba libre with Johnny Boy (that’s President Wolfensohn to those not in the know). In a couple of days time, I will also be doing a presentation on youth and environment to the Prince of Monaco! And recently I really did wonder what the hell I was doing there after the World Bank was said to be a potential target of dreaded TERROR. Exactly what unnerved me/pissed me off/frustrated me/saddened me was the shameless tactics the Administration was using to instill fear in order to ultimately get the vote (and is still using). On the flip side, the gullibility that people showed at that time was equally saddening. And all because of information that was collected on financial institutions up to FOUR years ago!! Well, to keep people happy the Bank has since put Jersey Barriers (reinforced cement barriers) around all its buildings in DC, heightened security in all areas, diverted warehouse deliveries off-site, is in the process of putting shatter proof film on all windows INSIDE the building (in the atrium, where my office actually gives onto), put guards at day care centers, closed circuit TV system on 24/7 (usually on for Annual Meetings to catch anarchist protestors…), has a police bus permanently parked in front of the Main Complex (MC) where I’m based, sniffer dogs, and even screening trucks, vans and limousines blocks away from the MC Building (yes, it seems that American “Intelligence” has caught on to the new terrorist’s mode of transportation: limousines and helicopters…(Abdullah, can you pass me the champagne please? Sure Hamid, but stop playing with the sunroof controls).
Ah politics… reminds me, we were in a bar watching the NCAA Basketball Final and some weirdo wearing a cowboy hat (yes, for all you not in the US, people actually WEAR cowboy hats in public) sits down next to us and starts chatting up Jillian. Cut a long story short: he purports to be cousins with George W. Bush Sr.…. he had a lot of intimate details about George Junior’s family, which equates to mindless drivel in my eyes really, and so not even worth the sweat off my wrinkly family jewels. Ahem, pardon me.
Speaking about family jewels, we were in the US Department of Labor picking up Jillian’s second cousin’s four-year old son (what would that make him??!) Jordi from the day care center. I was waiting by security when I heard, “DAAAVIIIDDD!! DAAAVIIDDD!! I am so excited to be going to your house. We can play with your BALLS! I LOVE to play with your balls.” Juggling balls, he was speaking about juggling balls. The security guards looked like they were about to pounce on me, arrest me for conspiring to pervert a child, and send me to Guantanamo Bay. Oh dear...
We went to the inauguration of the World War II Memorial on the Mall recently. Jillian’s grandfather was in Germany
“We Ain’t Fonda Kerry.” “Jesus is the rock that never rolls”…. No mixed messages (or as Bush said during one of the presidential debates: “mexed missages”) coming out of THESE slogans let me tell you. They were painted on sides of barns we came across while driving through rural Pennsylvania. The rock that never rolls….Oh ho! Yessssirrreeee!! Talking about rural Pennsylvania, this reminds me…. I shot my first (and my last) gun ever! Now before you get on your high horse and GideeUp into the other room, I haven’t become a redneck American, or redneck Brit for that matter. This was in a controlled environment – in fact, it was clay pigeon (skeet) shooting. Now, why the hell do people call it ‘clay pigeon’ shooting, when in fact it’s a 20cm wide, fluorescent orange, ceramic disk…Regardless, I was good at it; who would have thought?! SO, if the world were to suddenly be attacked by suicide clay pigeons, have no fear; I AM HERE! Hhhmmm….
Well, I was going to wrap this installment up, but I forgot to mention my run in with the delectable Angelina Jolie. Ooh she is jolie indeed. I wouldn't mind being the fly on the wall of her changing room… the fly which then proceeds to land on her boob. As you may know, she is a UN Goodwill Ambassador, and has taken on the issues of land mines and sex slavery. She came to speak at the US State Department on the latter issue. Jillian was going for work and extended the invitation to me. As to what sex slavery has to do with biodiversity conservation... we won't delve into. Needless to say, she is as sexy on the big screen in a tight shiny silver top and hotpants as she is in a blue dressy suit in a conference room in DC! I must admit that my attention span at THAT meeting was pretty small indeed. About as small as a fly's in fact...
Ooh, I also met Farrah Palavi, the last queen of the last Shah of Iran! A very interesting and elegant lady. A Middle Eastern Lady Di you might say. Jillian's work has provided me with some very interesting moments. I am hoping that somehow they get Monica Bellucci to come to the Woodrow Wilson Center (where she works).... one can dream right?!
Until the next installment.
First let me tell you of the five days I spent in England with my 82 year-old granny… Basically it entailed one too many visits to Yeovil City Hospital, sitting by a hospital bed in a ward full of pasty, frail octogenarians. My granny had had a couple of mini heart attacks, and was duly put into hospital for observation. And so my nights were spent trawling through my granny’s underwear drawer (wincing all the way I might add) in order to give her clean clothes the next day. All in the midst of packing all my stuff and counting down the days before shipping all my worldly possessions, and ultimately myself, to the capital of USA where things were heating up on the political front.It was apt that within three days of arriving in DC in February I found myself in front of the AFL-CIO (American… F…. Labor…. Ach, I don’t know what it stands for but it’s one of the largest labor unions in the US) office where there was a John Kerry rally. It was an event to endorse Massachusetts Senator John Kerry in his bid for becoming the Democratic nominee who will ultimately oust Bush (honestly, he will. You must BELIEVE). It started off like any other mundane presidential rally… with people waving banners and chanting ‘KERRY,’ KERRY.’ Then the music started. First with some indescribable rock ballad, then “Taking Care of Business” which could, I think, be misconstrued… i.e. taking care of business interests, rather than the “people.” But the ‘coup de grace’ was the booming “Born in the USA” that ensued as Kerry finally came out to address the boisterous crowd. Bruce Springsteen??! Cheesy; pure Camembert. I gagged uncontrollably, almost falling off the newspaper dispenser I was sitting on in the process, and left tout suite.
Anyway, enough about politics; it infuriates me. We have a new place! Jillian and I reside in a two-bedroom flat in Library Courts Apartments in Arlington, Virginia (within the Metro DC area I must add). I keep telling myself that, because Arlington is also the home of the National Rifle Association (NRA) headquarters, the dreaded Pentagon, the USA Today newspaper, not to mention that Virginia is south of the Dixie Line making it ‘the South!’ I mean, their county flag has a Roman standing over a ‘tyrant’ as if he has just killed him… ‘nuff said. Anyway, as you walk into our lobby you feel as if you are entering a South East Asian porn star mansion. Unfortunately there is no plethora of hot naked women with tassels on their breasts draped on leather sofas… well, that’s not quite true; we do have leather sofas. The place is a true reflection of US colorful diversity: our manager Aasma is Pakistani; Candido, the cleaner is Nicaraguan, and handyman Victor is from Chile.
Funny thing when I met Victor for the first time. The toilet got clogged up after I had just emptied my incessantly active bowels in it. I had to call Victor, as I didn’t have a plunger. A knock on the door revealed a small Latino man with a boiler suit, bucket in one hand and plunger in the other, complete with a mask on his face! I wish I had THAT mask on when I was defecating, let me tell you. Anyway, HOUSEHOLD TIP NO.1 – Put a cup of laundry detergent (not fabric conditioner) into toilet allowing for…well,.. for the effective discloggation (a new word!) of the defecation residue…
Talking about colorful diversity… there was this fruit loop of a man walking around the neighborhood, particularly in and around the public library, when we first moved. He dressed in a shiny green silk-type robe with a long overcoat and a T-shirt that read something along the lines of: “Support the Salvation of Satan.” The little red devil horns he sported on his head really were the proverbial “cherry on the top.” He walked (and drove) around with his right arm up pointing to the sky, with his fingers in the V sign, saying “God Shall SAVE Satan! God Shall SAVE Satan!” Yep, oooohhhhkkkk.
Back in our new flat, we have been fixing up the place, making it our own. We are the epitome of domestication. I catch myself complimenting people’s lovely curtains or sturdy and sharp knives during parties. “My what a lovely pair of end tables you have. Crate & Barrel? OH, Ikea. The beveled edges are very Crate & Barrel, not to mention the fine rosewood finish. Oh, and those shelves! Delightful.”
Case in point: I reupholstered an antique chair someone gave us. In fact, two. HOUSEHOLD TIP NO.2: When offered old chairs (or any other item of furniture) from friends, be prepared to say NO! If you are a flake like me and get lumped with random old chairs, and have not thought twice before reupholstering, have all the tools at the ready, and above all…LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS. Better still, dump them and buy a new pair.
I had a lot of time on my hands as the security clearance for work took just over six weeks to be completed (there must be more dirt on me out there than one can find on a Vietnamese potbellied pig…or Jack Abramoff...). And so I took the opportunity to play golf with a family friend of ours: Bob Garvey. I hadn’t played in years; in fact, since I narrowly missed murdering some nesting waterfowl in Costa Rica a couple of years ago. After the game, Bob left a message on Jillian’s mobile: “Well Jillian, I hope David is better in bed than on the golf course.” ‘Nuff said.
But I finally started working at the World Bank. My first week entailed some mild brainwashing. Actually they like to call it ‘Orientation.’ I met some very down-to-Earth people actually; and still meeting them. And my estimation of the Bank’s work has actually gone up. I was featured in a book called 'Getting to Know the World Bank: A guide for Young People', and cornered into saying something about the Bank. Couldn't quite give it glowing remarks, but definitely positive vibes. Working at the Bank is SO strange for me. Every day I have a ‘what the hell am I doing here’ moment. For example, in the infancy of my tenure at The Bank I was up in the 13th floor of the Main Complex in some high vault-ceilinged function room drinking a Cuba libre with Johnny Boy (that’s President Wolfensohn to those not in the know). In a couple of days time, I will also be doing a presentation on youth and environment to the Prince of Monaco! And recently I really did wonder what the hell I was doing there after the World Bank was said to be a potential target of dreaded TERROR. Exactly what unnerved me/pissed me off/frustrated me/saddened me was the shameless tactics the Administration was using to instill fear in order to ultimately get the vote (and is still using). On the flip side, the gullibility that people showed at that time was equally saddening. And all because of information that was collected on financial institutions up to FOUR years ago!! Well, to keep people happy the Bank has since put Jersey Barriers (reinforced cement barriers) around all its buildings in DC, heightened security in all areas, diverted warehouse deliveries off-site, is in the process of putting shatter proof film on all windows INSIDE the building (in the atrium, where my office actually gives onto), put guards at day care centers, closed circuit TV system on 24/7 (usually on for Annual Meetings to catch anarchist protestors…), has a police bus permanently parked in front of the Main Complex (MC) where I’m based, sniffer dogs, and even screening trucks, vans and limousines blocks away from the MC Building (yes, it seems that American “Intelligence” has caught on to the new terrorist’s mode of transportation: limousines and helicopters…(Abdullah, can you pass me the champagne please? Sure Hamid, but stop playing with the sunroof controls).
Ah politics… reminds me, we were in a bar watching the NCAA Basketball Final and some weirdo wearing a cowboy hat (yes, for all you not in the US, people actually WEAR cowboy hats in public) sits down next to us and starts chatting up Jillian. Cut a long story short: he purports to be cousins with George W. Bush Sr.…. he had a lot of intimate details about George Junior’s family, which equates to mindless drivel in my eyes really, and so not even worth the sweat off my wrinkly family jewels. Ahem, pardon me.
Speaking about family jewels, we were in the US Department of Labor picking up Jillian’s second cousin’s four-year old son (what would that make him??!) Jordi from the day care center. I was waiting by security when I heard, “DAAAVIIIDDD!! DAAAVIIDDD!! I am so excited to be going to your house. We can play with your BALLS! I LOVE to play with your balls.” Juggling balls, he was speaking about juggling balls. The security guards looked like they were about to pounce on me, arrest me for conspiring to pervert a child, and send me to Guantanamo Bay. Oh dear...
We went to the inauguration of the World War II Memorial on the Mall recently. Jillian’s grandfather was in “We Ain’t Fonda Kerry.” “Jesus is the rock that never rolls”…. No mixed messages (or as Bush said during one of the presidential debates: “mexed missages”) coming out of THESE slogans let me tell you. They were painted on sides of barns we came across while driving through rural Pennsylvania. The rock that never rolls….Oh ho! Yessssirrreeee!! Talking about rural Pennsylvania, this reminds me…. I shot my first (and my last) gun ever! Now before you get on your high horse and GideeUp into the other room, I haven’t become a redneck American, or redneck Brit for that matter. This was in a controlled environment – in fact, it was clay pigeon (skeet) shooting. Now, why the hell do people call it ‘clay pigeon’ shooting, when in fact it’s a 20cm wide, fluorescent orange, ceramic disk…Regardless, I was good at it; who would have thought?! SO, if the world were to suddenly be attacked by suicide clay pigeons, have no fear; I AM HERE! Hhhmmm….
Well, I was going to wrap this installment up, but I forgot to mention my run in with the delectable Angelina Jolie. Ooh she is jolie indeed. I wouldn't mind being the fly on the wall of her changing room… the fly which then proceeds to land on her boob. As you may know, she is a UN Goodwill Ambassador, and has taken on the issues of land mines and sex slavery. She came to speak at the US State Department on the latter issue. Jillian was going for work and extended the invitation to me. As to what sex slavery has to do with biodiversity conservation... we won't delve into. Needless to say, she is as sexy on the big screen in a tight shiny silver top and hotpants as she is in a blue dressy suit in a conference room in DC! I must admit that my attention span at THAT meeting was pretty small indeed. About as small as a fly's in fact...
Ooh, I also met Farrah Palavi, the last queen of the last Shah of Iran! A very interesting and elegant lady. A Middle Eastern Lady Di you might say. Jillian's work has provided me with some very interesting moments. I am hoping that somehow they get Monica Bellucci to come to the Woodrow Wilson Center (where she works).... one can dream right?!
Until the next installment.
