Well, here is what you haven’t missed: I moved last week, out of the house in Round Rock that I lived in for ten years. Although Ray and I ‘officially’ separated in January, in many ways this was the actual physical manifestation of that separation, delayed four months. And it was hard. I’d really rather not talk about it, so I’m not going to. There was some weeping on my part, and Wednesday, the day of the actual move out, was a very hard day. So was the next. But the day after that was a little better, and I had a good weekend, and slowly, I’m moving in a generally upward direction, and that’s really all I can ask for right now.

The place itself is coming together very slowly. Not surprisingly, the days until my phone and internet got turned on (Saturday) were significantly more productive in the unpacking department than afterward. I’m pretty much down to the point where I’m suffering from the double-whammy of needing one more bookcase in the office as well as a similar sort of storage/display thingy for the dining room, plus the fact that just about everything critical has been unpacked and what’s left is inspiring this process:

• open box
• move top item to look underneath
• sigh
• replace top item
• close box
• open beer
• turn on television

As for the photos of my new place that some folks have demanded, those will have to wait. My friend Kristi, who is a designer, has absolutely forbidden me from hanging any photographs without her expert opinion.  I’m inclined to believe her, too, since right now I’m not too thrilled with the arrangement that I had in mind originally, so I’m gonna let it go until she comes to help me with that.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, let me tell you about the play.

Oh! I got A’s in both of my courses this semester. Not that it’s any huge surprise, but it’s always nice to be vindicated – somehow I did manage to get through this semester successfully, emotional turmoil and all.

So, I’ll try to be a better blogger this summer.  We’ll see how I do.

I may have just finished my final paper for the semester. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I had such bad writer’s block trying to squeeze this puppy out that it’s a wonder it got midwifed at all.  The fact that I’m now flirting with the upper page limit (bless you, Dr. T, for telling us you’ll stop reading on the 17th page!) is either a sign that I really did have something to say or that I suffer from chronic diarrhea of the word processor.  I’m pretty sure I know which, too, but I’m going to pretend otherwise.

So, that’s it. One 28 page behemoth that I turned in last week, much to the ire and irritation of classmates who can’t believe I turned it in well before it was due, and one that needs to be off my desk by noon tomorrow when I set off for a 24 hour trip to Fort Worth.

Oh, and I’m moving next week.

For those who were wondering–it’s OK if you have–I’m still in the guest bedroom in the house I share with Ray (because referring to him as “my now-ex” is just weird and invites all sorts of questions I’m kind of sick of answering).  I saw a bit by Carrie Fisher on a plane once where she talked about being in that place where all of your friends develop heavy hair on one side and appear to be incapable of talking to you with their heads fully upright:

<tilts to the side>How are you? Are you doing OK?
<bobs head> Yup.

Actually, that’s the part that really annoys me–I’m giving myself whiplash bobbing my head so much in response. Because the side effect of heavy hair is spring neck.

I’m still paying my therapist a lot of money to process my feelings about everything, but it’s definitely weird. I kind of wish I could just fast-forward about three weeks and be in my new place (much closer to town and work) and have all of my furniture (long story. Here’s the short version: when I bought my new sofa they told me that they wouldn’t have it in stock until May 15. I’m moving on May 9. But when I got the e-mail to go online and select the delivery date, they let me choose May 9. So far, it (still) says everything is confirmed. But I have this sneaking suspicion I’m not actually going to know until May 9 whether I’m going to be spending a week–or two–sitting on the floor Moroccan style because otherwise I’ll have all of two chairs. Count ‘em: one-two.  I have a dining table that seats eight. I haven’t bought chairs for it yet. I should close this parenthesis now.)

As for being single and dating again?  <shudder>  I was never good at being single.  I have no idea how to be single.  I certainly have no idea how to be thirty seven and single.  There’s a twenty-two year old guy in my history program who gets laid on the hour.  I … can’t do that.  To begin with, I have a job, and secondly … well, it’s easier when you’re twenty-two and cute.

The other thing is that I probably need to figure out how to be on my own again before I can figure out how to date.  So.  This summer on “Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga,” me figuring out how to be on my own again.  Also, buying chairs.

Stay tuned.

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Congratulations!  You managed to find your way to my office.  I am not Dr ___.  You can tell because she’s about fifteen years older than me, has long hair, and doesn’t cultivate facial hair like me.

You proceeded right past Dr ___’s office to get to my door to ask where Dr ___’s office is located.  You might have noticed the poster with the Arabic alphabet hanging on the door.  Since Dr ___ teaches Arabic, this might have been a clue. I would hope, given that it’s now March, that you would recognize the Arabic alphabet, but just in case, you might notice the large English lettering that says ARABIC ALPHABET beneath it.

Also, you may have noticed the helpful sign with Dr ___’s name in both English and Arabic, just in case you’re not advanced enough to read her name in one language or the other.

There is also, on this very same sign, a number.  You may notice that, if you consult your syllabus, the very same number appears where Dr ___ has indicated the location of her office.  This is not entirely a coincidence.  I’ll leave it to you to put it together.

Now, since you’ve managed to come into my office to ask for the location of Dr ___’s office, please allow me to inform you that I am not Dr ___’s secretary.  I do not know when her office hours are, nor do I know where she went or when she’ll be back.  Nor am I the person to inform that her office hours conflict with your class / study / workout / field trip / masturbation schedule.  It’s up to her to arrange appointments outside of her own office hours.

You might, for example, not whip out your cell phone to text your badminton buddies the moment class is over and engage her in conversation about this topic instead.  I realize that this is a revolutionary idea, but give it some thought.

Finally … oh, look, you knocked on the door!  And she’s in there!  Well, aren’t you a smart fellow?  I can now rest comfortably knowing that the next generation of American university graduates can operate a door.

And you’re welcome.

Sincerely,
Rambling Khowaga

What does tend to stick out from time to time is the conversations that one overhears.

This trip’s installment came over breakfast. Picture it, he says, in his best Sophia Patrillo: a mass-produced hotel lobby sitting area trying to look mod. Widescreen TV showing Fox News’s latest outrage over something that Obama did, said, thought, may have done, said, thought, or might possibly have once considered saying or thinking, with volume at ear drum rattling level.  No one actually watching the television.  Rows of mid-level hotel chain foods out: coffee (probably not fresh, certainly not freshly ground), cereals, yogurt, “fruit,” and various baked goods that will almost certainly keep your bones from rotting after you’re dead for another six months or so.

I’m sitting there eating what was labelled “Special K” but tastes suspiciously like Frosted Flakes, and trying for all that is good and holy to concentrate on what has to be the world’s dullest book for class.

And I overhear the phrase, “and that’s how I usually pick them up.”

Well, this is WAY more interesting than Arab Political Ideology.  Commence eavesdropping.  I identify the source of the conversation as two middle aged men standing in the middle of the room.

“Yeah,” said the other one.  “It’s tricky at first, but you learn how to get past people’s defenses.”

Interesting.

“Like, sometimes, I’ll go spend some time in the parking lot down at the Home Depot or over at the grocery, and I’ll wait for someone to come out. Usually, like an old lady or a single mom with kids.  Someone who needs help loading things into their truck.”

Um … okay?

“And I’ll go over there and offer to help them out. And they’re usually really grateful. And that’s when I’ve discovered they’re at their weakest and most distracted … ”

WTF?!

“…and it’s real easy to start a conversation about Jesus right then.”

It’s probably pretty good that they didn’t notice me eavesdropping because I’m sure my mouth was hanging open.  I mean, right up until the last part, the whole conversation was starting to take on a To Catch a Predator vibe.  Sitting in parking lots?  Scoping out people based on their distraction level?  Following them to their car?  What kind of religious message is this??

I’ve known plenty of people who are involved in religious work-charity, missionary, what have you.  And if I see you in that context, I’ll expect you to want to strike up a conversation about religion.  (Heck, it’s happened to me in other contexts, too.  If I\’m in a mosque and someone wants to talk religion with me, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming).  But this?  This … was a first. This was downright creepy.

And now I’m going to have to remember which town I was in so that I never, ever go to the grocery store … or at least try not to look like I’ll need help carrying my groceries.  <shudder>

I’m not talking about The Separation (although it applies there, too).

Some days just … suck.

Transcript of an actual phone call I had today.

Me: Hello, [name of colleague]
Colleague: Hi, it’s  [says her own name].
Me: Yes, I can see that from the caller ID.
Colleague: Right.

{long pause}

Me: And what can I do for you today?
Colleague:  Have I met [name of person in another department]?
Me: Yes.
Colleague: The one who works in [name of department]?
Me: Yes.  With that name, I can’t imagine there are two of them running around.
Colleague: And you’re sure I’ve met with her?
Me: Yes.

{long pause}

Me: But why do you ask?
Colleague: Well, it’s just that … I was looking at her picture on their Web site, and the person in the picture isn’t the person I remember meeting.
Me: Uh … huh.
Colleague: You’re sure it’s her?
Me: Uh huh.
Colleague: And you’re positive I’ve been in a meeting with her before.
Me: Uh huh.
Colleague: Because that just doesn’t look like her.

{long pause}

Me: OK, well, um, this has been fun. I’m in the middle of something right this moment, so … I’m sorry that the picture I didn’t take of a woman in another department isn’t a good likeness?

You’ll have to believe me when I say that this was actually one of the more reasonable and sane interactions I had today.

Some days … suck.

And here I was planning to try to be more positive.  Perhaps I’ll start tomorrow.

I’m more bemused than anything else. Valentine’s Day has always been a bit of a contrivance (oh, hush, Ray, you know perfectly well that you were always much happier going to shop for Valentine’s Day stuff on the 15th), being that for five out of every seven years it falls during the week. So, you gotta go out and make reservations at a restaurant and wait in line with everyone else and eat a bunch of fancy rich food — and then, let’s be honest, who feels like going home and getting all romantic with a belly full of surf and turf?  (Not to get graphic, but for gay guys that’s a particularly problematic place to be in the pre-coital phase).

I’ve never really ‘gotten’ Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t our anniversary (that was in September), and it falls three days before my birthday, but it’s not like you can do a combined party for Valentine’s Day and a birthday because that would be weird.

So, relax, folks. I’m fine. I’m not going to crumble and melt over Valentine’s Day because I’ve always found it kind of a silly holiday. Every day should be Valentine’s Day. And to those who are running around like mad trying to procure cards, candy, and other trinkets, allow me to remind you all that I can go in tomorrow and scoop up those same items you’ll pay through the nose for today for 80% off.  Bwa ha ha.

In other news, thanks to those who’ve written in to say hi or offer condolences (and, in many cases, congratulations on my new singlehood — an interesting reaction that I’ll come back and re-assess in about six months).  As separations go, I’ve seen much worse before.  I don’t know why, but I seem to be resisting the term “Break-up” because in my head it seems to imply more acrimony–we’re still friends.  Granted, it would probably be healthier if I weren’t still in the guest bedroom, but see: previous post re: academic suicide.  As it is, I pretty much spend every weekend with my nose in my iPad reading books and articles and trying my damnedest to form opinions about them.  (Steve: “I almost had an opinion about that one.”)  This past weekend, I had to compile my nominees for the 5 greatest Hindu Temples. You know you’re jealous.

Anyway, it’s shaping up to be a beautiful day here in the ATX.  I hope you’re enjoying yourselves, wherever you are.  Congrats to Matt and Scott on your engagement!  And, for those to whom it is significant: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Then I found myself at IKEA yesterday shopping for various supplies and some of the old snark came trickling back. Partly because I specifically chose to go to IKEA on the afternoon of the Super Bowl because I expected no one to be there and found the place overrun with people who had the same idea.  And partly because of the reason I was there.

You see, my partner of eleven and a half years and I recently decided to end our romantic relationship. In other places–certainly not the Lone Star State–this would be termed “divorce.” I’ve been using the more benign sounding “separation” but it is, in essence, the same result: we have, after several months of agonizing, come to the conclusion that, while we are good friends, we are not good as a romantic couple, and that it was time for us to admit that and move on.

Hence the trip to IKEA. The issue is that I’ve played it out a number of different ways in my head, and there’s no way I can move out of the house before the semester ends (beginning of May) without committing academic suicide. So, for now, I’m making the guest bedroom more comfortable, and trying to make it “my” space.

This is probably why Habermas keeps coming into my head. I only vaguely remember him from last semester as the public sphere guy (we didn’t read him, we read a critique of him–is this the same thing? Is it different? News at 11), but this first weekend following my move into the other bedroom kept describing itself in my head in heavily academic terms: Renegotiating the private and shared in formerly communal living space. Renegotiating roles and expectations.  Winning a post-apocalyptic paintball war.  (No, wait, that may have been from the numerous episodes of Community I’ve been watching lately).

So, maybe I’m not done with this blog yet.  There’s a few life changes ahead of me … or in progress, I suppose … and perhaps we’ll try to turn the engine over and see if she still has any juice left in her.  Or if there’s anyone out there still reading.

*taps.  Is this thing on?

I spent more time over the winter holiday than I probably should have playing Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception on the PS3 (I actually forbade my partner from taking the PS3 with him when he went to visit his family so that I could keep going).  If you’re not a gamer, you might just want to skip this post. Unless you’re a history geek like me.

Kill the bad guys, but stop blowing up the historical treasures!

This third installment in the Uncharted series, an Indiana Jones-style series of adventure games that follows anti-hero Nathan Drake and his companions as they venture off to the far corners of the globe in search of lost treasure, has earned stellar reviews and several awards, including the top spot on several “Best of 2011″ lists.

Drake’s Deception puts players on a trek to find the real lost city of Ubar—believed to be Iraam of the Pillars of antiquity, mentioned in the Qur’an and 1001 Nights–deep in the Empty Quarter (Rub’ al-Khali) in Saudi Arabia.  On the way, the story takes a surprisingly accurate voyage through a few Middle Eastern locations.  And, being the history nerd and Middle Eastern-ist that I am, I thought to myself, “Wow, someone should put together a resource guide to all the stuff in this game.”

And then I realized that I’m probably one of the best qualified nerds for the job.

Making allowances for the fact that this is a video game and that the action has to move forward in a suspenseful manner–not every dark alley in Sana’a leads to a secret chamber of secrets waiting to be discovered–the overall plot outline incorporates an impressive corpus of research on topics near and dear to the Middle East historians’ hearts: Players read through excerpts from T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom and learn about his career for British intelligence in World War I; explore nearly every inch of a crusader castle in Syria (clearly based on the Crac des Chevaliers near Homs); chase bad guys across rooftops in an painstakingly accurate digital re-creation of a Yemeni souq (complete with locals who engage you in Arabic); solve puzzles that incorporate old Sabaean script and pre-Islamic South Arabian civilizations; and finally find themselves on a sun-baked trek across the sands of eastern Arabia before finally landing in what is the least accurate part of the game for the climax: the lost city of Ubar itself (fortunately, this most fantastical part of the plot resolves itself somewhat satisfactorily for the nit-picky among us, but I won’t spoil it).

Below, I’ve compiled some resources to offer up for anyone else whose curiosity about the people and places visited may have been piqued over the course of game play.  Naturally, this effort came entirely out of my dedication to research <he says, looking innocent>.

This isn’t an actual walkthrough — there are plenty of those out there if you just Google it.
On with the nerdening!

Ubar / Iram of the Pillars
Ubar–the real one–was a city in ancient Arabia. Legends speak of a fabulously wealthy trading center, active from around 3,000 BC to around 1,000 AD.  The city was identified as Iram of the Pillars in the 1001 Nights. According to Arabian tradition, the city was founded by the grandsons of Noah (he of the Ark), and cast into the sands by God after failing to adhere to warnings by the Prophet Hud, whose tomb lies in the nearby Hadramaut region of Yemen.

The ruins of what is believed to be Ubar were found in the 1980s, using geo-sensing technology and photographs taken by the space shuttle Atlantis.  The quest was the subject of an installment in PBS’s NOVA series (unfortunately, the video isn’t online, but the transcript is). http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ubar/

The discovery was further discussed in the New York Times: “The Frankincense Route Emerges from the Desert” (April 21, 1992)

And (at least) two books have been written about the discovery of Ubar:
Nicholas Clapp, The Road to Ubar: Finding the Atlantis of the Sands, Mariner, (1999).
Fiennes Ranuph, Atlantis of the Sands: The Search for the Lost City of Ubar, Bloomsbury (1992), ISBN 0747513279.

Arabian/Indian Ocean Trade:

Ubar grew wealthy by serving as a trading center for goods coming off of the Indian Ocean, as well as the trade in Arabian goods, notably incense and scented woods.  The first stop for anyone should be Indian Ocean Trade resource developed by the Sultan Qaboos Cultural Center: http://www.indianoceanhistory.org/

In the November/December 2000 issue of Saudi Aramco World, Eric Hansen discussed the trade in scented wood such as frankincense, which was one of the commodities that made Ubar so wealthy “The Hidden History of Scented Wood.”  Saudi Aramco World is a cultural magazine put out by the Saudi state oil company. As long as they’re not talking about modern Saudi Arabia (which they tend to depict as the most fun place in the world except maybe Disneyland), the material is pretty good. Subscriptions are free, and the entire backlog is online.

More on the trade routes across Arabia can be found in “The Roads of Arabia” article from the March/April 2011 issue of Saudi Aramco World.

The Rub’ al-Khali desert was the subject of “The Living Desert“, which appeared in the March/April 2010 issue of Saudi Aramco World.

Ancient Arabia:

Not much is known about the kingdoms of ancient Arabia (in comparison to, say the period immediately preceding and after the advent of Islam), although it is known that Yemen has been populated for millennia.

An article from Saudi Aramco World: Norman M. Whalen and David W. Pease, Early Mankind in Arabia.

The British Museum: The Kingdoms of ancient South Arabia online exhibit.

Sana'a, Yemen. Photo by Ai@ce

Yemen:

My biggest nitpick of the game (other than the magical/fantastical Ubar) was the lack of specificity in the Yemen portion. Yemen is a country, not a city, and the designers did such a great job creating a digital version of old Sana’a that it’s kind of amazing that they let other details drop. Plot required a coastal city, though, and Sana’a is in the mountains–so it’s just “Yemen.”  Complete with “Yemen International Airport” (which, for the record, does get service on real planes, not just rickety second hand DC-3s and Antonovs as in the game).

On the other hand, I don’t think I could have dealt with the characters trying to say “Sana’a” properly. Elena’s “Arabic” ability when she asked someone to open an iron gate … well, it was a nice try

Fotopedia freaking loves Yemen. Check out these photo essays:

• Yemen through the eyes of Marco Becher
• Sana’a, The Well-Fortified City

Some articles:
Eric Hansen: Sana’a Rising (Saudi Aramco World, Jan/Feb 2006); see also Tim Mackintosh-Smith in the same issue, The Secret Gardens of Sana’a, (Saudi Aramco World, Jan/Feb 2006).

Another piece by Tim Mack-Smith: Moonglow from Underground (Mar/Apr 1999).

Richard Covington, A New Light on Old Yemen (Saudi Aramco World, March/April 1998).

G. Lankester Harding, Inside Arabia Felix (Saudi Aramco World, Jan/Feb 1965):

Crac des Chevaliers, Syria. Photo by Bernard Gagnon.

Syria’s Crusader Castles:

The part of the game set in Syria was clearly inspired by the Crac des Chevaliers, a well-preserved castle in the Syrian mountains on the highway between Homs and Lattakia. Drake’s castle is a might bit larger and more rambling, but the influence is there.

Check out the UN World Heritage entry on Crac des Chevaliers and Qal’at Salah El-Din: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1229
Robin Fedden, The Castles of the Crusaders (Saudi Aramco World, May/June 1970): http://www.saudiaramcoworld.com/issue/197003/the.castles.of.the.crusaders.htm

T.E. Lawrence:
Seven Pillars of Wisdom, quoted at some length, is in the public domain in Australia: http://www.wesjones.com/lawrence1.htm

The T.E. Lawrence home page (maintained by his official biographer): http://telawrence.info/telawrenceinfo/index.htm

History geeks of the world, unite!

My parents decided to take me to Puerto Rico for Christmas. We missed by a day, but no worries there. My job, in turn, is to make sure they don’t spend the entire trip eating at Outback or Applebee’s (because without firm intervention, they would).

This was kind of a ho-hum year for Christmas shopping — did you feel it, dear readers? I really couldn’t think of anything I had to have to put on my wish list, and most of the people around me seemed to feel the same way. Hence this trip.

Oh, and Delta is offering thirty free minutes of in flight wifi. Even I’m not enough of a sucker to pay for it unless I really, really have to be in touch during the flight, in which case it goes down as a business expense for reimbursement.

Anyway, Feliz Navidad, y’all!