red_sea_rose's Open Salon Blog

A Re-Post Of My M J Post From Last Fall

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 18:06:02 -0400

Here it is, and I could't say it any better today. Except that summertime and the song "Beat It" are forever entertwined. Goodbye '80s.

Michael Jackson Mind-Melds With The Middle East

I, for one, could have told you this was going to happen. I realize it’s sort a of non-event, and yet more evidence of Michael’s descent into wacko-land, but this conversion has been a long time coming. You see, the Arab world has never stopped loving Michael Jackson, he had us at Thriller.

It’s a quirk of the culture I guess, maybe even an embarrassed hiccup, but an anthropologist would find a gold mine of material in the Arab world’s total adoration of the King of Pop. He was one of the three big stars on everybody’s lips in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia circa 1983: Madonna, Prince, and Michael. Madonna was downright taboo because of her Catholic name--my cousins were forbidden to even utter her name at school--Prince was too sexy, not to mention gender-bending; Michael was a perfect fit for the culture; groomed, stylish, and asexual.

That year I was especially popular, as I’d smuggled in from America the VHS of Thriller, wrapping it in my underpants to throw off the government inspector when he searched my luggage. The tape made the rounds, it was the highlight of any event. The video would pop in and we were spellbound, then we screamed at his transformation, and then we’d be on our feet dancing with the zombies because, how could you not?

My tenth birthday party, all girls of course, was a dress as your favorite MTV star party. I attempted a Madonna-in-the-jeans-jacket look from the Borderline video, but was too much of a tomboy to do more than throw on a jacket. A “Reckless” Bryan Adams came, Boy George with the hat and braids, and a friend’s sister arrived fashionably late--even for an Arab--as Michael Jackson. And Oh My God she had on the Thriller jacket. You couldn’t, and can’t, trump that. I’ll never forget how similarly she looked, with her dark skin and curly hair; the high cheekbones and all red leather ensemble. The jacket could so easily have skewed gerbil-eating alien from V, but she was Michael and she knew she had us beat.

Over the decades, as Michael’s star faded in the West due to his secret habits and bizarre behavior, back in the Kingdom rumors flew that Michael Jackson was in the ‘hood. For a time, I heard it weekly: Michael is in Jeddah, he’s in Riyadh, he’s giving a concert at so-and so’s compound, he’s converted! He’s here on Haj….and on and on, the rumor was endemic. One of the many reasons I love the film The Goonies, is because of a scene early on in the film, where the character Chunk dashes into his friend’s house and blurts out something like “ Guys, you won’t believe it, Michael Jackson’s in town” His friends all groan and roll their eyes like they’ve heard it before. This is a hit line in my family because, clearly, Chunk is a secret Arab.

Eventually the rumor came true, and Michael merged with the Gulf, he moved to Bahrain. Bahrain, like Saudi, has seen a lot of American corporate foot traffic, and has a familiarity with American pop culture/products. It seems a good fit for the deflated star; not repressive, and blossoming into a fantasy style construct of towers and super islands, a la Dubai. Just his style, don’t you think? Certainly, they seem really proud to have him there, as if they one upped the rest of the Gulf States. Just this year, in Dubai, I walked along the open beach near the Burj al-Arab, and spotted graffiti all over the low walls that wind along the sidewalk. I could easily see the loving hand of the scrawny teenage kid, perhaps one-gloved or in red leather, as he shakily sprayed “Bad” “Man in the Mirror” and yes “Thriller” next to the name of his favorite pop star, Michael Jackson; the icon himself, at the foot of the Arab world’s iconic hotel.

What makes him timeless to us? As in Peter Pan's Neverland, time doesn't seem to affect the Arab world. Maybe Michael Jackson represents a more innocent era, before the rise of fundamentalism brought on by the first Gulf War, and the American presence thereafter. I’m willing to bet that the Arab world took to Michael Jackson because he is the man in their mirror: the glitz, the dreams, the power; the unapologetic eccentricity.

Welcome to the faith Michael, we’ve been keeping it for you.

5 Word Friday, An Exercise That Induces Poetry

Sat, 21 Feb 2009 00:02:48 -0500

The Saturday edition!! Read more about this exercise here, here, and here.

The following is an example of how I developed the 5 words into a comprehensive piece. It's polished but true to the narrative that sprung out of the following five words:

Sing; Apple; Tin; Forty; Matchstick.

Below tin roofs and tilting rain, the air sings

with the impact of drops. There is no bare

space between water, sky, and ground in

this tightly furled place. A garment, striped

through with metallic shimmer; “forty!”

he cries “my best price, only for you”

His smile curls with matchstick sulphur;

And smoke stutters through tinted teeth.

Bizarre is bazaar. The shop’s red tea

takes my tongue, takes the lead “forty”

I agree, for cloth and gifts already given.

Friday the 13th's 5 Word Friday

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 17:02:35 -0500

The first two 5 words exercises can be found here and here. Do try all 5 words, it's meant to warm you up so be bold and don't edit. Lord knows I don't beyond striking out a word or two. And today's exercise didn't feel "final" so I know there's work to be done on this, but I'm posting it anyways.

Happy Friday the 13th! Go hug a black cat while walking under a ladder, or something like that.

Possessed, atmosphere, ink, tangerine, volume

Possessed by nocturnal

atmosphere and Ian Curtis’ croon

the volume cranks as the sunset

streaks by like tangerine butter—

let’s spread it thin, make it last

as we whir through traffic-lights

and over streets that wriggle like

squid-ink.

25 Things pt. 2 and a Grand Finale

Sun, 8 Feb 2009 12:02:33 -0500

Part 1 is over here.

14. I spent a good part of the ‘80s travelling/transiting through Europe, and went to Boarding school in England. I used to have an English accent because it was drilled into me; it was just that kind of school. We played lacrosse in the snow with bare legs! We also spent an entire year of O level prep studying World War 1. That’s how I fell in love with poetry; from reading Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon. I do use British slang and expressions. My time there changed me forever; the culture and the music made me who I am today. Both my sisters live in England so I still visit. I hope to move there one day.

15. My parents live in Dubai, so that city is my other home. Dubai is very English, and the English language that is spoken is British English. You’ll definitely hear locals speaking with the exact cadence and tone of the English. In Dubai I can watch Manchester United live, have a fry-up and order spotted dick for desert. Yum!

16. At the age of 11, my family and I were eating in a Swiss restaurant in Leicester Square when the IRA phoned in a bomb threat and we, along with the entire square, had to be evacuated.

17. Although I grew up in the Middle East I graduated from American High School, so I chose to spend my gap year in the place I considered home, and that was Saudi. Sadly, my gap year coincided with the Gulf War. I spent the last part of Desert Shield and ALL of Desert Storm in Jeddah. My kid sis learned to walk during the air campaign, under the rumbling of b-52s and the sonic screeches of f-15s. Those sounds raise massive anxiety in me, they are all I heard twenty-four hours a day for months. I don’t like air raid sirens either. I still have my gas mask.

18. My mother is American, blonde and blue-eyed, from a working class German-Catholic family, she’s also one-quarter Choctaw. My father is dark skinned with black hair, and is of Arab, Turkish, and Indian descent. I grew up using both the Turkish and Indian endearments for grandmother, not the Arabic. I did call my father the Arabic for father.

19. I have struggled with racial identity my whole life. I regret that I was not born with my father’s dark brown skin, or his coal black hair. I’ve dyed my hair black—with time out for pink, and purple, and red—since the age of twenty. With black hair I think I look more Arab and less hybrid.

20. My mother’s uncle was part of the D-day invasion and landed at Normandy. Back in Germany, my mother’s great-uncle, a Catholic monk, spent the war in multiple concentration camps. He was a Holocaust survivor; the only one of his brothers who did not immigrate to Chicago after WW1. Is war ever sane?

21. My great-grandfather was the commander of the last Ottoman garrison in Jeddah, that’s where the Turkish comes from. My Indian ancestor was wanted by the British for being a leader of the Mutiny in the provinces; he was both a Sufi scholar and a mystic. He escaped to Makkah where he changed his last name to the family name that I have today, I’ve seen the copy of his pardon, signed by Queen Victoria. So my family is from Makkah, and I’ve been to visit our old homes on a hill overlooking the great mosque.

22. In the summer of 2005, my best friend Jill moved from DC to LA and kindly allowed me to make the trip cross-country with her and her cat Emo. That was one of the biggest adventures of my life, and I loved every minute of it except for Phoenix, AZ. The leg from Phoenix to L.A. was actually equally as hot as Death Valley that day. The AC was useless in such extreme heat, and our sun block melted off us seconds after we put it on. We developed salt cravings from sweating so much and had to pull over on an Indian reservation for French fries.

23. July 2006 I stayed the night in a yurt at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. I was running away from a broken heart, a heatwave and an ex in London. That was an incredibly meaningful moment for me; climbing the mystical hill at sunset, then sleeping under canvas while doves cooed above me. I’m not bedouin, but that yurt healed and nurtured me in ways I have yet to understand. In so many ways I relate to “primitive” culture, and to the folkways of traditional cultures. I’ve been studying Mythology since the age of 16.

24. I was a virgin until the age of twenty-three. It wasn’t a religious choice, but culture had a lot to do with it because men and women are segregated in Saudi Arabia. I never really felt like I could relate to American men, but in the punk world I developed close friendships with guys and eventually slept with a man who was a good friend. I have no regrets because, in actuality, inside I was a girl well into my twenties. I suspect most women are, regardless of cultural origin. I still have a hard time relating to men unless they are gay

25 . I’ve been vegetarian for sixteen years, and have been vegan. In fact, I eat mostly vegan because I’m lactose intolerant and mildly allergic to eggs. I react to lactose free milk as well so I suspect it’s actually an allergy. I experimented with both goat’s and camel’s milk, but react just as badly so no milk for me. I will eat frozen custard though; I can’t deny myself that because even with the pain it’s worth it.

Grand finale here, thanks to whoever made it this far, please rate! Ok, the BBC once interviewed me. I was a Goth/Punk DJ in DC in the late nineties, and the father of a kid who’d committed suicide while listening to Marilyn Manson came to Capitol Hill to testify before Congress. The BBC rang up my club and my boss gave them my number. They interviewed me from their DC offices for the international bulletin that beams out across the world. My caption was DJ M____, Club Asylum. I prayed no one in the Middle East was watching, but figured I was safe as my family mostly watches the news in Arabic. I was never an MM fan, and never DJ’d him, but my realm of expertise was Goth/Industrial culture. So, off I went in all my gear: Siouxsie eye makeup; a studded dog-collar that I’d taken off a pit-bull; ripped fishnets and a patent leather miniskirt; Doctor Martins, freshly shaved black Mohawk, and a black biker jacket covered in pins for bands like Vice Squad, Anti-Pasti, The Damned, Blitz, Violent Society, and The Pogues. I was probably wearing my Motorhead t-shirt.

Damn! I’ve led a weird topsy-turvy life; good, bad, and weird. I do hope for continued goodness, along with a healthy side of weird. I'm really a very eccentric person who is comfortable with tradition and at home in multiple cultures. I still feel like an alien in America though! Remnants of Bush, sadly. That's a whole post on it's own. Do most Americans care about the marginilization of its Arab/Muslim population? We are bitter, and last year's campaign showed us how outside of the American mainstream we are. But yes that's another post becuase I'm still angry.

25 Things pt. 1

Sat, 7 Feb 2009 22:02:39 -0500

I'm breaking this down in to two parts, it just seems more digestable that way.

1. I have the ace of spades tattooed on my middle finger. I love Motorhead, I love their song Ace of Spades, and the Ace of Spades is the death card. Enough said.

2. I still have my Star Wars sleeping bag from 1977. In fact, it’s on my bed right now as a footwarmer. I also still have my Star Wars sheet set from that era, it’s not on my bed because I’m not 5 years old anymore.

3. My favorite condiments are sriracha, which a friend calls cock sauce, Tabasco, mustard, and HP Sauce. I use the hot sauces every day. Also, I couldn’t live without cumin or tahina.

4. I’m a dual citizen of Saudi Arabia and America. Perfectly legal; perfectly strange.

5. I rode in a hotel elevator with A-ha once, back in ’93. I almost passed out because I was so thrilled. I may have been hyperventilating. Sadly, Morton wasn’t in the carriage with me, just the blonde ones Mags and Paul. When we all got off at lobby level I oh-so-casually followed them, and saw Morton waiting for them outside the hotel restaurant. The 14-year-old inside me never got over this. I saw them on their famous ’86 tour and still have the ticket! Their music still tugs at my heart.

6. I have a twin sister who is three minutes older than I am. For a time, four years maybe, we were color-coded; she was dressed in blue and I was dressed in--wait for it--red!

7. I was born in pre-civil war Beirut, and spent the first eighteen months of my life between Beirut and Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Like so many others, my family had apartments in Beirut; it was considered the Paris of the Middle East. My 1^st birthday party was held in Beirut. There’s a picture of my twin and I from that day, wearing paper crowns while teething on our toes. The cake was really for the adults I think. Those apartments no longer exist.

8. In my twenties, I had a pet rat named Prudence and she was the light of my life. I named her after the Siouxsie and the Banshees’ cover of “Dear Prudence”. I’m not a Beatles fan, but when she was given to me I started singing that version to her, and Prudence she became. She was a doll, very loving and loyal. I miss her every day

9. I spent part of New Year’s Eve ’98 trying to coax beer from shirtless, kilted Scots under the Sydney Harbor Bridge. The evening did get better from there, but those men were SO tight-fisted! What kind of woman can’t charm beer from a Scotsman? My self-esteem took years to recover.

10. I have a sister who is eighteen years younger than I am. She is currently the light of my life, and I helped raise her. I counseled her through her first period, took her bra shopping, and last year took her shopping for her prom dress, why I even did her make-up for prom! She’s currently snowed in, in a part of Devon, England.

11. I used to study forensic science so I know how to lift fingerprints from almost anything, process a crime scene, analyze blood spatter, profile, and excavate a shallow grave. I also know the basics of wounds and anything else involving Forensic Pathology. Creepy stuff. After watching police video footage of the Goff murders crime scene for class, and analyzing the scene, I changed my major.

12. The first concert my parents ever took me too was John Denver. The first concert I CHOSE to go to was Howard Jones in 1984.

13. I slam-danced for the first time at a 5 dollar Fugazi/Sonic Youth show in DC, April 1990. “Repeater” had not yet hit the stores, but they sang Repeater. I remember Ian McKaye yelling at the crowd to stop slam dancing. There were some massive circle pits at that show! DC was famous for them. The first time I stage dived was at a New Bomb Turks show.

14. I’ve had Mohwaks, most recently a neon red and black Mohawk just three years ago. It took extra hands, a rat-tail comb, and a can of hair spray to get it up; then repeat applications of hair spray to get through the night. I couldn’t drive well with it up because it hit the car roof, and the back crunched up against the head-rest. I also had to bend under doors and make sure not to poke people’s eyes when talking close. It was a very long Mohawk. For the record, Mohawks make you snarly.