Most of the buildings at the University don’t have signs yet. For the first few days we just wandered around trying to decode the makeshift system by which the classrooms were numbered. Then, handwritten signs popped up over night. “The English Department is this way. Please don’t turn right until after the staircase.” Some professors tacked the numbered plaques that were above their office doors on the old campus to the doors to their offices on the new campus, maybe as amulets with which to remind themselves of the past pure, their membership in the pre-phantasmagoric University. Or maybe, they just wanted to be identifiable in some way, even if their old numbers have no meaning within the new system. Now, official green and white signs line the interior walls of the hallways. My department’s sign is wrong, but I think the mistake might be a message from the Universe.
Today I was standing in line for coffee and Kareem came up and stood next to me, smoking a cigarette and looking ahead. I laughed and we did the Egyptian teenage-boy handshake; it’s like a soft high-five that you catch in mid-air. Egyptian teenage boys also kiss each other on the cheek but we didn’t do that. “My first class was cancelled,” he told me. “My teacher, I think… she is, uh, a foreigner? So maybe she is still traveling.” He shrugged. “This line is so long,” I said. “Yes,” he said, “That is why I do not wait in line.” It is probably true that boys who blow kisses at the policemen they’ve bribed in order to park in front of the Four Seasons do not wait in line for coffee. “So tomorrow night, we will go out?” he said. “I think so,” I said. “We should do something else. I am thinking, Friday, maybe I will go to the Citadel, do you want to come?” “Maybe,” I said. “Eshta,” he said, and he held up his hand for me to catch again . “Kareem,” I said. “You have to stop text-messaging her. You have to stop text-messaging her. You’re driving her crazy.” “Was she studying?” “She said she didn’t want to go out.” “Why didn’t she say she was studying?” “Kareem, you have to stop.” “Meshi, meshi. Okay. So I will, uh, see you tomorrow?” “Eshta?” “Eshta.” More hands.
I already recorded today's song but Vimeo's upload function is down so I will put it up later.
Most of the buildings at the University don’t have signs yet. For the first few days we just wandered around trying to decode the makeshift system by which the classrooms were numbered. Then, handwritten signs popped up over night. “The English Department is this way. Please don’t turn right until after the staircase.” Some professors tacked the numbered plaques that were above their office doors on the old campus to the doors to their offices on the new campus, maybe as amulets with which to remind themselves of the past pure, their membership in the pre-phantasmagoric University. Or maybe, they just wanted to be identifiable in some way, even if their old numbers have no meaning within the new system. Now, official green and white signs line the interior walls of the hallways. My department’s sign is wrong, but I think the mistake might be a message from the Universe.
Today I was standing in line for coffee and Kareem came up and stood next to me, smoking a cigarette and looking ahead. I laughed and we did the Egyptian teenage-boy handshake; it’s like a soft high-five that you catch in mid-air. Egyptian teenage boys also kiss each other on the cheek but we didn’t do that. “My first class was cancelled,” he told me. “My teacher, I think… she is, uh, a foreigner? So maybe she is still traveling.” He shrugged. “This line is so long,” I said. “Yes,” he said, “That is why I do not wait in line.” It is probably true that boys who blow kisses at the policemen they’ve bribed in order to park in front of the Four Seasons do not wait in line for coffee. “So tomorrow night, we will go out?” he said. “I think so,” I said. “We should do something else. I am thinking, Friday, maybe I will go to the Citadel, do you want to come?” “Maybe,” I said. “Eshta,” he said, and he held up his hand for me to catch again . “Kareem,” I said. “You have to stop text-messaging her. You have to stop text-messaging her. You’re driving her crazy.” “Was she studying?” “She said she didn’t want to go out.” “Why didn’t she say she was studying?” “Kareem, you have to stop.” “Meshi, meshi. Okay. So I will, uh, see you tomorrow?” “Eshta?” “Eshta.” More hands.
I already recorded today's song but Vimeo's upload function is down so I will put it up later.
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