The funny man

“Ian, do you want to listen to the funny man?”

A very prepubescent response “sure Dad.”

There were many Saturday evenings that went like that when my father would turn on the radio. We were generally driving back from dinner or a movie, and then I would hear that voice…

It was a voice that taught me many of my foundational things: republicans were bad, the church was good, and life was a little slower on the lake. After the news was finished with the line “all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average” I would be transported to a dark mystery of Guy Noir. There was something rhythmic and soothing about the voice, which made me laugh at some of the same jokes my father laughed at, thus making me feel smart and connected.

I had no idea what that voice looked like for a long time. I filled in the character. In Sunday school we would hear stories about God talking, I assumed God sounded like the voice I heard from “the funny man.”

Years later when the movie A Prairie Home Companion was released I saw what that voice actually looked like. Yesterday, I got to shake that voices hand.

Drake hosted Garrison Keillor yesterday for the Bucksbaum Lecture, a time every semester when we play host to some of the most influential people of the day. Maya Angelou, Ambassador Pickering, Ken Burns, Bill Bryson have all graced the Blue stage. Keillor is hilarious, in a kind of comedy that is unmatched. He started out singing and then went into poetry, and finished off as he does so well with telling stories.

I like his stories. I like stories. I take a great deal of joy from being able to tell stories, and one of the tenants, the foundations of my life is to have good stories. Upon leaving Oman I made a list I keep on my mobile for when I am bored or when people ask, of stories that I was a part of in Oman. Drake allowed me the chance to create story after story for myself, and yesterday gave me the chance to meet and listen to the master.

OccupyDSM (This Land is Your Land...)

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings:

This land is your land, this land is my land

From California, well, to the New York Island

From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters

I tell you, This land was made for you and me

As I went walking down that ribbon of highway

I saw above me that endless skyway

Now I saw below me that golden valley

And I said: This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking, they try to stop me,

They put up a sign that said, it said "Private Property."

Well, on the back side, you know it said nothing!

So, it must be that side was made for you and me.

One bright sunny morning, well, in the shadow of a steeple;

Down by the welfare office, I saw my people.

You know, they stood hungry; I stood wondering,

I was wondering if this land made was for you and me?

This land is your land, this land is my land

From Riverside, California, to the Staten Island

Well, oh, down to Modesto, Georgia, don't forget to say Philadelphia, oh

we moving on down to Mississippi, Houston, Texas, ah LA,

you know,This land is your land, this land is my land.

This land is your land

You've got to believe, This my land

This land was made for you and me

Steve

My relationship with Steve Jobs started like most good relationships: introduced by a pretty girl. I had an mp3 played (called an Iriver-no affiliation to ipod) which was more or less an AA battery holder and a headphone jack. Long strands of grass stood no chance between me, my mower and my music. However one time I went driving with a gal who had an ipod. This was the size of a large cell phone, black and white text, but contained countless songs. I was fascinated. I then went home and went in on one with my father for our road trips (no more mixing tapes or trying to burn CDs from .wav files for us!) I think we might still have that ipod wired into his car.
One of the collections my father has is CDs. He has multiple shelves, full of floor to ceiling CDs with almost every artist and genre one could think of. (This created interesting conversations when we saw what it took to make a CD as he has, and I was all for Napstering/Kazaa/Limewire-stealing of music) When we bought the Ipod, we had to set up our itunes account. Which meant while working on homework on one computer, I was uploading every CD he had (insert, rip, eject. Rinse, repeat. ) over and over and over. Nowadays, Jobs has created jobs for companies who will do that process for you. My father had a high school kid with a lack of desire to complete math homework.
I got a little older, and met an even prettier gal. This meant long trips driving, and I had a need to set the mood from time to time. Thank you Steve Jobs for enabling to do so, with my own ipod (which just died this weekend-more on that later)
We spent so much time listening to music that for one of the obligatory gift giving holidays I saw it fit to get her an ipod (she did not have one) engraved with her name on it. My line of thinking was that every time she listened to music I would cross her mind. We don’t talk much anymore, but the ipod still works. I remember the gift being a huge deal, and feeling great pride for having worked the extra hours to enhance someone’s joy of music.
On every big race I have ever run, I have had my trusty ipod helping me keep smiling and keeping time. I always felt excellent when Living on a Prayer” was timed just right in my playlist to hit at the “halfway there” mark. I also am notorious for singing that song in (hopefully) the middle. It also made me smile during the doldrums (the 60 to 87% of the race.) I remember distinctly listening to the Army Strong song as I finished Des Moines Marathon last year, shortly before passing out.
I had a real sweet place list for chicagos marathon last Sunday. At least I thought I did. I got through a few miles only to figure out that my playlist had not uploaded correctly. No biggie though, I was still using my DSM one. Then just after the halfway point (bonjovi has passed me, as I was much slower) silence. Fittingly matching the creator, my ipod just stopped working. I tried to fix it (no small feat while running a marathon, trying not to run anyone over) much like the doctors probably did. Then I said forget about and proceeded to look for the two people I knew in the race (to no luck.) I sang songs in my head, lots ot songs, I took in the sights, and smiled at the cheer squads. I ran free and true, just as I imagine Steve Jobs is doing now in Apple Heaven.

School Days

Yesterday was the first last day of my undergraduate education. Many of my friends are PMACs (first year mentors) who guided groups of less than 20 around campus for the welcome weekend activities. I was a little envious of their position, knowing they have four years left here. I only have until the beginning of summer before my career starts.
There is a vibrancy around campus with the new first year class. Much discussion can be overheard about Greek Life (Rush Pi Kapp!) dorm life, classes and from the guys, the rather enjoyable and higher percentage of ladies than in previous years. New faces grace campus, along with some old ones I haven’t seen for a long time. There were a few folks who went abroad the semester before I did, and therefore I haven’t seen some of them for over a year. Drake students tend to be a very open bunch, so from halfway across the commons or down a hallway someone will scream “Hey, your alive! What’s it like to not be getting shot at?” This generally causes mass confusion in whatever group (they still are in groups) of first years that are in between me and my greeter.
I have my first politics class today, which I am excited for. The politics and IR department profs kept a close eye on me and my travels so I have been looking forward to seeing them. On Friday I have my favorite professor, who is from Egypt. In the class is also my travel companion Amina. I imagine the jokes the professor makes will be pretty good.
I adjusted well this summer. I spent much time, including my last evening before the sun went down on my free summers, sailing around Gray’s Lake. I am ready to take on the year, and then the fleet.
-A Future “Bulldog at Sea”

Impacts

A fair amount has happened since returning to the US. My brother graduated from high school. I have caught up with many of my friends including many opportunities to experience the 21+ libations Oman failed to include. I haven’t done the whole reverse culture “it’s so much better over there” feeling that my colleagues sometimes express upon returning from Norway, France and Spain. It is not better in Oman, and many times is downright frustrating, but it is different.
That difference, and my knowledge of has probably been the hardest part. The other evening I met up with one of my friends from the trip at a place which boasted a large selection of beer. He is the foremost expert on the Dhofari insurgency, and I think I am pretty well versed in most of the country. This woman still proceeded to judge us and imply we lacked culture because of the particular beer we chose. We both have a massive wealth of information about a subject which I don’t want to say is useless, but rather dormant right now. However I have gotten to use it briefly at lunches and graduation parties when I feel fully confident giving an opinion on the Arab Spring. It is an odd feeling though, going from full immersion in a society to almost entirely turning it off.

Most of my blog posts were still saved in a folder called Egypt blogs (even when I was in Oman.) All things must change, and having been stateside for 3 weeks now (Had I stayed in Egypt, I would have returned this past weekend, and still would probably be jet lagged.) Now I get to start a direction for this blog.

Today is the first day I start work, without a car...

Last day in Oman

I am writing this looking at my backyard. It is green. This morning I went to breakfast with my father. We ran into our preacher and other church friends. I had to wear a jacket because it was cold. On the last day in Oman, is was 102…
I got up early to say goodbye to folks. I went one last time to my barbers, who on a weekly basis had a razor to my neck. They also continually gave me the best shaves of my life. The little things like that keep us sane.
I wandered over to the beach, and put my feet in until the rolling tide was up to my shorts. 20 minutes in the salt water listening to Iz-Over the rainbow, Eagles-Take it to the limit, and Jimmy Buffett’s Take Another Road. On my way back I stopped at my Baskin Robin’s and had a long chat with the man who works there. I had seen him every week for my indulgence in Americana and he was genuinely sad to hear I was leaving.
I ended up with our friends from Salalah, Amina, and our director Issam at a shisha café on the beach. I was able to watch the sun drop into the Arabian Gulf and say my final goodbyes to friends and leaders who I will treasure forever.

Which begs the question now what?

There were women at the café this morning. It wasn’t rude that I did not wish peace upon all of the breakfast goers when I entered. I had a beer for dinner last night, I told stories and talked of politics. I started laundry and packing for my next excursion (a lovely French sounding city called Des Moines.)

I miss you

There are always the basics I am excited to see when I return: friends, family, the important things.
However I have given some thought to what else I am excited for which in turn is things I appreciate about where I hail from:
The ability to drive. I have not driven a car since January 18th, 2011. This in turn means my mobility is limited to the kindness of others, or the mood I am in to negotiate with taxi drivers. (Driving is also insane here, and no one has the insurance to back me.)
Being in shape. I know traveling abroad is not an excuse to get out of shape, and I haven’t gained a lot of weight. However I had completed a marathon shortly before I left, and had been in pretty solid condition. Here it is either annoying difficult to run while conservatively covered in the heat, dangerous to do it at night lacking running trails. At Drake I also have a gym, which is easy to get to. In my area there isn’t a ton of possibilities, and I have been doing pushups but it will be nice to get my heart rate up again.
Food. Specifically knowing I am going to get what I ordered. The food is good here, though the variety lacks unless you are willing to pay big bucks and most importantly ordering is the equivalent of Russian roulette. I am ordering off of an Arabic menu, to a hindi waiter who may be talking to a Malaysian cook.
Alcohol. Okay maybe not specific tastes but the ability to have a beer at night is nice, and now that I put in my 21 years of time, I can do it, whenever I want in many states. It is a nice social setting, and one that you can have here only in a hotel (expensive,) but most of the places are rather shady and contain women (not the kind I mention below) of ill repute.
Sleep. My sleep is generally interrupted by a sun that bakes the flat roof above my head. This is fine when the average day includes a nap (I don’t generally get to take) and then restarts and goes till 2 am. My bed and I will undoubtedly have a great reunion.
The other gender. Are there women here? I think so. I mean there are these creatures in black that wear really nice smelling perfume and pretty colors on their heads. I see them interact with each other, but they are off limits to me. I imagine the first time I see a woman back home that I can interact with I will be at a loss for words and probably just stare. Greg and I were living in Salalah and took great joy that a fully covered woman asked us how we were (kaifick?) That has been the extent of my female communication with women I am not living or studying with.