one month to holiness
alright, i do suck. it's true. especially at this blog thing. but, after actually looking at tonight for the first time in a good week and a half and seeing that 11 whole people cared enough to leave me a message, i'll try and do better. to my credit, i have been in the mountains for the past week. without a computer. so if you get restless that you haven't heard from me in a while; you can't sleep because of it or your day just doesn't seem to go as well without my wisdom in your hearts, be of good cheer, i will return. no, i haven't been savegly murdered or even better, taken hostage (although i pray for it every day) but i have found some nice people who i'm sure wouldn't mind helping me contract aids. thanks for taking the time to comment, those that did. it's nice to hear from people i know. to get my fix i've been listening to colt's cd. which my brother loves, by the way coy. so what's my life been like? let me tell you, and use paragraphs. oh the novelty.
america should care more about soccer. morocco had a world cup qualifying match against tunisia the other day. all day long people had been singing in the streets and driving around with moroccan flags on their cars honking their horns. i live above a café and when it came around to game time i happened to be there, drinking some coffee and reading The Autobiography of Malcom X (someone tell tyler). well the waiter told me to go upstairs and packed into this tiny café were a few hundred moroccan guys about my age. well, being the only white guy there i was somewhat of a novelty and so they all gave me their drinks and made me sit with themand that sort of thing. i told them tonight, for the game, i was moroccan and oneguy kissed me. and when morocco scored, they picked me up in the air and tried to teach me the national song. sadly, it was a draw and even though morocco was the only undefeated team from africa, they didn't qualify and tunisia did. one point. so there was no party in the street and everyone went home crying. and the white guy just sat there, drinking his coffee.
it's also very strange being in a muslim country during ramadan. at about 5:30 every evening (it gets earlier every night) the streets become deserted and stores that are normally open close. except the cafés. they've been closed allday so now they open. well, if you don't have a family to go home and break fast with, you do it in a café. it's the moroccan way at least. (oh, and have i mentioned the café i live above is known as a place to pick up hookers? it's a nice little side buisness for a guy alone in a 2 bedroom apartment.) so you'll see outside these cafés, guys who have an entire meal layed out infront of them, just waiting for the call to prayer. and they just sit there and stare at their food. and stare. and, well, i guess i don't have a cool ending for this story. they stare some more and then eat. but, i was invited into this dirty little café the other day by a strange moroccan who spoke english. he even bought me a drink. of coffee. and then we talked about his family for an hour. it was really weird. so that's my life here. trying to get out to the mountains as much as i can. befriending strange men in cafés and moroccan whores. trying to get lost in the old city. those sort of things. with luck, none of you will ever hear from me again. that's the goal at least. oh, i willalso mention that i'mgoing to the sahara in a couple weeks. sohopefully i'll meet some nice desert people who will take me in and raise me as one of their own, roaming the desert and hearding camels. what a life. those lucky bastards.
america should care more about soccer. morocco had a world cup qualifying match against tunisia the other day. all day long people had been singing in the streets and driving around with moroccan flags on their cars honking their horns. i live above a café and when it came around to game time i happened to be there, drinking some coffee and reading The Autobiography of Malcom X (someone tell tyler). well the waiter told me to go upstairs and packed into this tiny café were a few hundred moroccan guys about my age. well, being the only white guy there i was somewhat of a novelty and so they all gave me their drinks and made me sit with themand that sort of thing. i told them tonight, for the game, i was moroccan and oneguy kissed me. and when morocco scored, they picked me up in the air and tried to teach me the national song. sadly, it was a draw and even though morocco was the only undefeated team from africa, they didn't qualify and tunisia did. one point. so there was no party in the street and everyone went home crying. and the white guy just sat there, drinking his coffee.
it's also very strange being in a muslim country during ramadan. at about 5:30 every evening (it gets earlier every night) the streets become deserted and stores that are normally open close. except the cafés. they've been closed allday so now they open. well, if you don't have a family to go home and break fast with, you do it in a café. it's the moroccan way at least. (oh, and have i mentioned the café i live above is known as a place to pick up hookers? it's a nice little side buisness for a guy alone in a 2 bedroom apartment.) so you'll see outside these cafés, guys who have an entire meal layed out infront of them, just waiting for the call to prayer. and they just sit there and stare at their food. and stare. and, well, i guess i don't have a cool ending for this story. they stare some more and then eat. but, i was invited into this dirty little café the other day by a strange moroccan who spoke english. he even bought me a drink. of coffee. and then we talked about his family for an hour. it was really weird. so that's my life here. trying to get out to the mountains as much as i can. befriending strange men in cafés and moroccan whores. trying to get lost in the old city. those sort of things. with luck, none of you will ever hear from me again. that's the goal at least. oh, i willalso mention that i'mgoing to the sahara in a couple weeks. sohopefully i'll meet some nice desert people who will take me in and raise me as one of their own, roaming the desert and hearding camels. what a life. those lucky bastards.
posted by Justin at 3:51 pm
2 Comments:
Justin - it's about time! No, really I'm happy for you; or maybe I'm not, I mean, come on, Malcom X? Your life is turning pitiful because of that alone. And just so you know, you can't go off getting lost on purpose or any of that crap. I mean it. I will slash my way through as many of those bastards as I have to in order to get you back (I wouldn't last long, maybe I'd kill one or two...) Jimmy Banks is married, I guess you know that though... I guess I'll go back and do some grad work now....And you have to let us know what the food's like there too!
Being "the white guy" in Morocco sounds like alot of fun. It's alot different than being "the black guy" in Kentucky. But be warned; if you are taken captive, one day your novelty will wear off. And then you will be begging Rob to slice his way through bastards to redeem you. Speaking of slicing your way through hordes of bastards, I saw the movie Serenity two weeks ago, and in it this 90 pound girl slices her way through hordes of zombie bastards with an axe and some other bladed weapon. It was crazy. We should care more about soccer. One time on spring break, my picture was taken with Malcolm X. That's all I've got.
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