Balls of Steel And Blind Faith: Crossing Moroccan Streets

I am here now in Morocco, I'm sitting in a french styled cafe drinking black coffee (or café noir or kahua kahul, if you will). I've crossed probably ten or fifteen streets in getting here and each one was an experience.

I've also crossed an ocean, a sea, state lines and spent an hour and a half on the Moroccan Rail system.

My trip started at 12:50 PM in the United States. I had just finished lunch and jumped in Nick's car and he drove me to Concord Trailways where I boarded the Portland-to-Logan bus. It was a direct route and very convenient and comfortable, I can't recommend it enough. Plus, it was cheap! $44 round trip.

That got me to Boston Logan airport in plenty of time to check in and have a meal at my leisure. I also had (several) beers. I had the beers to quell my unease about flying.

OK, so here's the thing. Flying is really cool. It's a magical experience to board a plane and sit still for six hours and wind up on another continent across an ocean. It's easy. I don't get motion sickness and the seats are... well, they're not so good. But it's magical.

My problem is the physics of it. I don't like strapping myself into a metal tube that weighs hundreds of tons and being hurtled at 500+ miles an hour over a cold ocean filled with sharks and octopuses, aiming to hit the earth at more than a hundred miles an hour.

And we're aiming for a very small patch of earth 2500+ miles away. And we're aiming to hit the earth in a very specific way so we don't wind up an ugly stain on the pavement.

That said, I also know flying is just about the safest way to travel, statistically speaking.

But we did it, we landed at the post-modern Madrid-Barajas airport at 7:20 in the morning. 7:20 their time. It was 2:20 AM for me. Which means I'd been up for 14 hours. Not too bad. My only complaint is that my sinuses did not take kindly to the change in pressure as the plane landed. It sort of felt like they were trying to squeeze out my eyeball.

My next flight would leave Madrid at 1 PM. Airports are boring. Luckily, I managed to busy myself by getting lost in the Barajas airport and then taking a bus to my terminal, which seemed to be miles away. Fortunately, this afforded me a view of Madrid as the sun was rising. It's a gorgeous city. Snow capped peaks rim form a half circle around it and the rest of the landscape is pure spaghetti-western. And set against a sky that is half rich blue and half salmon red... it was lovely.

So I'm waiting in the terminal to catch my next plane. Nothing amazing happens. Just waiting. By the time I board the plane, though, at 12:30 I'm starting to drag. It's now 7 AM back home and my body is used to that.

So the flight to Casablanca was punctuated by knock-out microsleeps. One minute trying to focus on the words in the Moroccan guide book in front of me, the next picking my groggy face off the windows and wiping the drool off my chin.

I land and exit quickly - one of the beauties of fitting all your luggage into a carry-on - and hunt down Liz. Or she hunts me down. We were both hunting and we found each other.

And she was more beautiful than I remembered. We rushed for each other and embraced and Liz reminded me that the Arabic world is no place for excessive displays of affection. So we hugged for a bit and walked to the airport train stop and hopped a train that would carry us to Rabat, where she has an apartment and where her study is based.

On the train I got a solid twenty minutes of napping in. It was delightful.

We walked from the train station through the Medina, which is the old part of town built before French colonization. It's an open market area. Picture the streets from Aladdin but with more hustling and less Robin Williams.

On our way to The Medina I crossed my first Moroccan street. There are no crosswalks in Morocco, no lights to guide you and no clear system of telling you when it's OK to go. You just step into the street.

Well, don't just step into the street. Step onto the side of the street and look at oncoming traffic. Drivers know you're there now. Wait for a gap between two vehicles and step into that gap.

Moroccan city traffic isn't going that quickly, they'll brake when they see you in the road. But they won't stop. Step into the gap and keep walking. Good, you made it across one lane. Keep going now, you've almost made it to... the median.

Wait there. Look the other direction. Wait for the gap and... go!

Do not run across a Moroccan street. This will afford you no extra safety. Just walk sure and straightforward. This is your street, you own it.

Besides, the cars aren't going that fast. If they strike you it's a sprained ankle at the worst.

Do this at all street crossings, roundabouts and just in general walking through the Medina. There are no cars in the Medina, but there are hustling vendors and speeding scooters and bicyclists. They will take advantage of your hesitation.

Liz recommends a body guard. Find a local who is also crossing and walk next to him, downwind of his crossing.

I don't think Moroccan drivers want to hit you. I imagine even here the paperwork is too hefty to consider. But they don't like waiting. They'll honk. Do get out of their way, remember, they're in a car in the end and you're just a person.

Liz's apartment is down from the Medina, but the hunger in my gut was craven and would take no more time. We stopped in a little restaurant and ordered Paninis. Mine was made from chawara, that meat-on-a-spindle behind the counter. It was delicious. Moroccans put mayo on everything. It was off to the side on my plate.

So I ate.

Sated, we walked to her apartment. Right on the ocean. Looking out her kitchen window I saw a side of the Atlantic I'd never really seen before. Waves crashing up on the rocky shore give it a general stormy air, though the sky was blue.

Liz's apartment is small, neat and simple. A lot of light comes in through the many windows and the living room is surrounded by long couches, I think called "farra." But I'm not too sure.

But, after 28 hours of travel and time change, most importantly it had a bed and I slept. For twelve glorious hours I slept. I slept like the progeny of Sleeping Beauty and Rip Van Winkle.

It was delightful.

I awoke and ate breakfast (eggs and toast!) and Liz and I crossed more streets and she's now studying Arabic and I'm sitting in a café, drinking coffee and avoiding the water.

Later we'll go to a Mausoleum. Only practicing Muslims are allowed in Moroccan mosques. So well go to an old Mausoleum. Later in the week we plan on heading up the coast and visiting a sleepy coastal village and looking at some Roman ruins.

And we'll be crossing more streets.

Eve All Around

I've been struggling with this for a bit. I'm a little embarrassed to acknowledge my source for this anguish. But the source is irrelevant, the material is real, to paraphrase an intelligent bomb.

Half of you as you sit here reading this started off as an egg inside your mother. Your mother was born with every single egg she will ever have inside her. Those eggs all formed inside her ovaries while she was inside her mother, your grandmother. Your grandmother was born with every single egg she will ever have inside her. Those eggs all formed inside her ovaries while she was inside her mother, your great-grandmother.

And so on.

It's one non-stop chain all the way back to Eve. Further, even, if you're an evolution-believing monkeychild, as I am. This goes back hundreds of millions of years. Billions maybe even.

Your mother (perhaps even you, good reader) is a direct part of the most successful propagation of an organism on Earth.

Every woman represents an organic copy, a regenerated form of the Universal Mother. Men are ejecta, called upon to fill code. The genetic material that comes from men suffers for decades under environmental strains before being reintroduced to the Original Strain.

It sort of weirds me out, frankly. I mean... the implications of this revelation are so mind-bogglingly huge. Humans, apes, monkeys, furless mammals, cowering in branches, dinosaurs, reptiles, amphibians, fish, arthropods, multi- and single-celled organisms and that first rocky mutation that figured out the best way to propagate.

Ever grow crystals in water?

It's crazy.

So I guess it all comes back to my theory that the atoms in the universe aren't perfect. That they keep screwing up in some way or another that allows for little mutations to occur that feed life-as-we-know-it and evolution. That if you look deep enough inside an atom, beyond electrons and protons and neutrons and what not, you'll find this little part that's screwing everything up and keeping us all together at once.

There's a hunt on now for this "God Particle." I don't know if it has any answers, but I likes the sound of it.

ANYWAY... I know it's the early morning hours when I'm worrying about existence and whatnot.

I apologize.

But tell your mother I love her the next time you see her.

And I love you, Mom. You've always been my most dedicated reader.

[dog] and [pony]

Readers!

I invite y'all to accept the dog and pony challenge:
http://canusetcaballionis.blogspot.com/

It's not the website in full, but it's a blog to get us going until the website is up. And give an idea about what [dog] and [pony] is all about.

The band is Dead End Armory. They rock.

Enjoy.

Let me see those glasses

David Caruso, a monument to America's finest television actors, delivers a series of scalding one liners that no doubt lead to arrests, action, thrills, intrigue and excuses to put on glasses.

David Caruso wears his sunglasses indoors because his future is so bright.

Dan Auerbach - Keep It Hid

I was in Boston to see a show. Allow me to detail my day for you:

Wake up at noon horribly hung over. My friend had a seventies party the night before and I got trashed on Schlitz and PBR. Talked with my lovely girlfriend for an hour, went back to sleep because I was still miserable.

Wake up at three. Miserable. Try eating. Makes me nauseous. Dry heave while cursing my life, hoping I'm OK for the show.

Five o'clock. Get in the car. This is the latest we can leave to make doors at 8PM. Better, still headachey. Nausea replaced by cautious optimism.

Five Thirty: Interstate coffee, water and ibuprofen. Recovery is mine.

My roomer and I arrive and board the T at Oak Grove and ride into town. We make a couple switches and get to The Paradise right at 8. Those Darlings aren't playing yet. My roomer has a friend there we meet. Have a beer.

Go in for Those Darlings. Energetic dirty southern country rock. Three ladies playing guitars and bass and a dude on drums. Best served with chicken and whiskey. See their song about getting drunk and eating a whole chicken for further evidence. Watching them I got the strong impression they should be playing at a bar in a Rob Zombie movie. At the very moment I was saying that, a friend said "They should play at a bar in a Quentin Tarantino movie." Which of us is right? Only time will tell.

The blonde singer guitarist from Those Darlings really impressed me. She can solo and belt. I didn't think of it too much until she switched over to bass. I hadn't noticed the bass playing before, except that it had been a tiny little girl. Blonde lead took over and really filled out the sound.

The drummer has an interesting thing going on. I feel like he's working in an fairly unique way.

Overall, I give them a thumbs up.

Hacienda sets up. I hadn't seen them before and only heard snippets and that was months ago. So it was a fairly fresh experience for me and it blew my hat off.

If I had a hat, that is. I don't.

Bearded Dr. Who on guitar impressed me right off the top. He's got a pretty good sound coming out of that thing PLUS he seems to have chops. The Freddie Rodriguez looking bassist was superb. His doubled over, high-neck throbbing bass playing and enthused singing carried well across the room. I've never seen a bassist use the cutaway so much.

I love the sounds that organist makes. I don't know much about ivory-tickling, so I can't judge his skill. But those were some sweet sounding instruments.

The drummer was cool, I guess, I didn't really pay a whole lot of attention (during this set) except when he sang. Yes, Hacienda has a singing drummer. Has a singing everyone.

I was quite impressed. They seem to be skilled, music-loving guys. They're sound, while amplified, is organic and raw. At least live it is. The mic on Dr. Who could've been louder.

They finished, setup began for the headliner. One of the kids I was with knew the bartender. We indulged to the tune of several PBRs.

Dan Auerbach took the stage and I didn't stop grinning for the rest of the night.

He came out and started under a single light, Hacienda standing in the dark around him. Dr. Who's arms crossed over his guitar. Dan plays Trouble Weighs A Ton and silence falls over the crowd. For a bit, anyway. By and by, Dr. Who sings backup.

Hacienda changed their clothing from when they had played twenty minutes earlier. Dr. Who now looks more like a sailor.

Then they kicked off I Want Some More and lit up the room.

I'd like to point out that apart from being skilled musicians, Dan has a talented stage artist. Whoever programs lights for his shows does a bang up job of being engaging and working with the music while not being flashy and over the top. Very good at ferreting out the mood and amplifying it with different gels, footcandles, movement and light quality.

So of course I Want Some More was electric and amazing. And I was wondering if they were going to play everything in order. They didn't, but they did play everything off the album plus three covers.

I don't know what the last tune was. It was excellent. The covers all surprised me in their excellence. Money and Trouble was a particular favorite.

At some point, Freddie Rodriguez was so into the music he lost his hat. That was a highlight. When I Left The Room explained the song for me. It swells and explodes and contracts and holds with such precision and delicate ease.

After seeing the show I couldn't tell you which song on the album I hold above any other. Or below.

But here's what really amazed me about it, and maybe because it was their second day of playing and they weren't tired of the tour yet, but the energy, the love and the connection these guys had on stage was absolutely incredible. I felt a bit like an emotional vampire because the passion they were channeling into their instruments, through their amplifiers and drumskins was in turn energizing me. Even though I slept terrible drunk sleep and had been unhungover for all of four hours when they took the stage, I was re-energized. I was awakened. Every atom jangled with the joy of the music.

These guys were in tune with each other and they were loving every second of the music. Scanning the stage you're struck by six sets of glistening white teeth as the band members grinned through beat and note.

The sounds produced and the emotional depth and breadth of this set-up is absolutely staggering. I went in knowing I was going to love some parts, and those parts did not disappoint (The solos, for instance, in Streetwalking) but I was dumbstruck by how the entirety of the show floored me.

In the car ride home (more on that to come), my roommate pointed out something that's actually fairly depressing. He said he couldn't get that into it because he knew they weren't 'A band.' Everything about them resonates like a band, but the fact that the set-up was Dan Auerbach supported by Hacienda detracts, I guess, from their bandiness.

And while I didn't feel the same way, I did feel depressed. Because they aren't a 'band' in title, they could fall apart at any moment, I think. That would be a great disservice to the music world. These guys were so on their game and into it... it would be a shame to allow such a partnership to dissolve.

So I think they should do it. Jack White has his Raconteurs, Dan Auerbach should have his other project that is also extremely awesome.

So the concert had to end. And it did and I was left with my ears itching for more (an actual itch, too, I can still feel it).

The rest of my day went like this: Grab a bite to eat and a beer to drink at a nearby restaurant (The Sunset, maybe? Good burgers, lots of beer, many tequilas), leave only to find out the T is shut down. Take the longest, most expensive Taxi ride of my life out to Malden ($35 dollars!).

And then the drive from Malden to Portland. It's about 100 miles of interstate. Normally that part of it takes no more than two hours. But because of the snow, we were stuck going 40 MPH on I-95. Blinded by-and-by by roaring semis.

We got home at 04:00 AM. And it was worth every god damn penny. It was worth being hungover that day so I could go from being cripplingly miserable to profoundly ecstatic. It was worth paying $35 dollars and riding in the back of a taxi driven by a man who needs more practice on snow. It was worth white-knuckle driving as a snow-twister kicked up by a passing tractor-trailer truck envelopes the car in whiteout conditions. It was worth getting five hours of sleep because I got called in today.

The energy, the precision, the emotional range. The depth of the talent and love for that music on that stage should send everyone home happy.

I still can't decide if it's worth comparing to The Black Keys. Both are sublime, superlative, even. But it's not really the same style of music. It is a bit of an apples and oranges situation. The concert left me wondering if I prefer apples to oranges or vice versa, though.

Excellent concert. Truly inspiring.

Incomprehensible

Maxx

My dog is dying. We're taking him to be put down Thursday.

I got Maxx when I was 12. He was a year and some change old. He's now 15. He's lived a long and happy life on easy street. Although he himself was never an easy dog.

But his end has been coming for a while. As a Jack Russel Terrier, he never slowed down until he got arthritis. And then congestive heart failure and the meds he had to take for that slowed him down and fattened him up. He still had an attitude and he still loved to run around. He just couldn't do it as well.

Over the past two years his eyesight and hearing have started to leave him as well. He can't even properly chase the cat anymore. He has to follow her by scent and that doesn't always work.

About three weeks ago he stopped keeping down food. Luckily he's had a fairly large amount of fat built up to live off of. The vets think it's his liver and that fixing him up would only push him on for a few more weeks. They think he's miserable now and the 'solution' would only make him moreso. It's cruel to drag it out like that. Cruel and selfish.

And he doesn't even know what's coming, you know? We'll offer him to go for a ride and he'll hop in the car and that'll be his last ride. But he won't be suffering any more.

I feel bad for my mom. He's always been My Dog and I've always had a spot in his heart. But when I left for college six years ago, he and Mum adopted each other. He's more Mum's dog at this point than he is mine. I mean, I'll always be his Boy and he'll always be My Dog... but they're the pair now.

It's difficult.

So on Thursday Mom and I will say goodbye to Maxx.

New Posts Elsewhere!

Hey hey hey.

I invite y'all to check out my recently updated grungynoir blog.

Also, Nick and I have started a Portland based music/video project. The slash in that phrase is important, any sucker can make music videos. We're trying something (slightly) different.

Ben, it might resonate with you. ...once we get the videos up.

But we've decided to ape some other projects except give it direct focus. Nick and I are working on a project called [dog] and [pony] and we film local acts in their practice spaces.

We will be doing other things to bring in money, as well.

And now at work they've got me editing as well. Which is OK. I get more time to write and such. You can find a post on Dead End Armory at that link. There'll be a post on Highway Jackson on that page tomorrow and another on Sam James by maybe Friday.

There's also a chance I'll write something on D. Gross. You won't see video of that until we reshoot it, though.

So... yeah. Go check out other crap I've been doing.

Obama Thoughts

I'm going to say something here and it might offend the other people of my generation... I've never really been that into Obama. I've always felt he was a bit too "politician" and not enough "person." I think that he's not as left as people say he is.

I really like him as a symbol, though. Everything that his election represents is incredibly powerful. And I'm not just talking about the election of a minority to the shittiest most powerful job in the country. I'm talking about electing someone with moral standards, someone who represents change. Someone who represents America for the People and not America for the Corporate.

Obama has always represented Change. That's something that interests me.

And I must say I'm incredibly impressed.

His precedent-setting first 100 days are off to a great start. America is working on redefining stances on torture, terror, the environment and human rights. We'd developed a draconian image in a lot of ways there. We're becoming a moral, upright nation.

I'm still not certain he'll live up to "the hype." But I am certain he'll provide change. And I don't think anyone seriously expects him to live up to "the hype."

Hrmm. This post is poorly written. Maybe I'll edit it. I have a poor track record at that, though. So, I'm posting it.

Just some thoughts.

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Rock on, you crazy diamond.