The Cairo Complex

I have always felt a deep connection to my desk spaces, whether they’re at home or at work. A lot of stuff goes on (and goes on at) that surface that we go to whenever we have an idea or a thought that needs to be wrangled into the real world from out of our mental ethers.

Needless to say, I always thought this was just one of my crazy notions and that verbalizing the importance of a desk would only get me strange looks and chuckles…

But I am not alone :)

Cancelled my subscription to GQ.
It was getting tired and repetitive, and I still haven’t really forgiven Glenn O’Brien for ignoring my letter [quiet sobs]. More over, it used to be the case that I would find a handful of interesting facts (whether about clothes, cars, recipes, or whatever), but for about the last year there was nothing really interesting in the magazine that I didn’t already know. Oh well, maybe GQ is the introductory text and I’m just ready for the masters class.

Listened to a special Halloween cast of This American Life.
This week’s acts, revolving around scary but true stories, were entertaining and pretty engrossing. David Sedaris closes out the show with big laughs, and I’m now officially a little scared of bats.

Renewed my membership to Netflix.
I’ve got some extra time now that I’m not commuting across the tri-state area every day so, with the gentle guidance of some friends, decided to start watching movies again. I’m interested to see how long this lasts, though, as I don’t think I’m very adept at sitting still for very long anymore.

Considered picking up a new hobby.
It was either going to be karate classes, drum lessons or a pastry making course. Though the appeal of combining the three was exceptional, I think I’m going to settle for just the drum lessons. Nunchuck éclairs just seem like they might be too messy.

Decided to join a new gym.
There’s a new one opening up close by with a pool, and now that I know that I stink at soccer I have to try and aim for another ideal sports body. The new place opens in February, so I’m frantically Googling techniques for how not to sink like a brick.

Got sick of politicking friends.
Don’t get me wrong, I think tomorrow’s elections are incredibly important and will no doubt be glued to the news for the next couple of weeks to see what comes of all the madness, but what I most certainly don’t want is over-zealous political partiers besmirching friendships in the name of (loud) opinionating (MS Word seems to think this is a word, so I’m going with it). For the record, I’ve got no issue talking about who I’m going to vote for and why, but if it can’t be kept civil and polite then it’s not really democratic is it?

Last week was pretty eventful, so let me give a quick overview: I met with my new project team and officially called an end to excessive driving in the name of gainful employment, I pulled a few computer programming all-nighters reminiscent of my college days, I met Dave Grohl and his mother Virginia, and I made a wicked tuna salad.

But, enough of all this brief summary nonsense! Let me get into the details of what everyone is surely most interested in…

So this tuna salad had just the right amount of mayonnaise in it. I sliced up a tomato and a cucumber to give it some extra crunch. A boiled egg provided some nice flavor. Served over some toasted whole wheat oat bread. And then, to really give it some kick, I added a touch of awesomeness… Dill.

Perfect

That there are rather lengthy articles in Wikipedia about the interjections Eh and Huh makes me laugh and laugh (out loud).

That there is an anchor point on the Eh article for Egyptian usage makes me fall on the floor.

Who will support me in my endeavour to write an article about “yahni”?

I went to the mall the other day, for the first time in a long time, and walked into Abercrombie and Fitch more or less out of force of habit.

I looked around at the clothes for a bit and before long I had a few items in my hands and was walking to the dressing rooms.

I tried on a few different color polos: ash, pea, mustard and navy. I also tried on a pair of low-rize, boot-cut, semi-destroyed, light-wash jeans.

Once I was done slipping out of my clothes and into the ones I had picked out, I lifted my head and took a look in the mirror.

It hit me pretty quick… I looked ridiculous. It’s not so much that the clothes looked bad, or even that they looked bad on me. They just looked wrong. They looked tragic. They were a symbol of failed attempts to look a part. More over, a part that was obviously not me.

The image staring back at me, with it’s slouchy denim and tweaked-just-so collar, wasn’t me at all it seemed. It couldn’t have been. I felt like one of those refrigerator dolls that come with different magnetized outfits that look humorously out of place. It felt like the clothes were wearing me.

Now, all of this is not to bash on the clothing at Abercrombie, which I’m sure is of a high quality and no doubt portrays a certain aesthetic. But the whole affair was certainly disconcerting enough to make me question everything from the definition of youth and maturity, and the strange mechanisms with which people form their identities to my ideal waistline. 

The disconcertion was exacerbated later by the realization that I had just had an existential moment inspired by an end of summer sale.