Funkengroovin Wednesday - Around Town in Connecticut

Yes, VB knows it's late, but it is still Wednesday in the US of A.

According to Boston.com, the Boston Jewish Film Festival (Nov. 5-16), will be showing, Yishai Orian's "The Beetle." Yet, when VB went onto the official site, she could not find the film listed nor the director. What gives!? VB would appreciate any information on this, as she will be back in the area, and would love to see a viewing.

(Below): This is a farming community. Everyone (okay, almost everyone) parks their cars on grass.

(Below): While VB was taking pictures of shade tobacco, this little thing buzzed by.


(Below): Vanagon L, as seen at Suffield Auto Sales. It's been there for awhile now.







NEWS:

You may assume there are photos at every link, but there may not necessarily be.

Anyone keeping up with MadMen already knows the answer to this question: What Should Don Draper Drive? Well, he bought a Cadillac, tried to keep it immaculate, and then his wife puked in it.

ARE TOWNS REALLY SAFER WITHOUT TRAFFIC LIGHTS?

Top five redneck baby-daddy cars

We're gonna have a safety-data party tonight!
"As of today, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has launched a database of serious accidents involving possible product or equipment failure. That information, known as Early Warning data, has been in use by NHTSA for five years but until today was not available to the public."

Maybe if Bristol Palin and her baby-daddy saw this (beware, more of the Rotten), they would have "abstained" (For real. This car would turn anyone off)!
New VW minivan helps you make a virtual baby
"A more intriguing angle is the Routan BabyMaker 3000, which -- contrary to how it might sound -- is not a handsome, virile android but a mini-website where prospective parents can input digital photographs of themselves. The software then melds their pixels as if they were genes, resulting in a picture of what the fruit of their union might look like.

In an ideal world, there would be a link to the BabyMaker 3000 site, but it doesn’t go live until later this month. And the intrepid Dan Neil will soon be testing the VW Routan, so keep an eye out for that too, all you fertile folk."

Don’t Box Me In, Double-Parker (Full article at the link.)
"Then right before alternate side ended, the driver showed up. Emboldened, I got out and made cranking motion so she would roll down the window."

'“Thanks for boxing me in,” I said. “Because of you I had to wait an hour.”

She gave me a shocked “who, me?” look.

“How was I supposed to know?” she said.

“Exactly,” I replied. “You didn’t leave a phone number on your car.”

Now she looked indignant. “A phone number?” she said. “What do you mean? Everybody does it.”'

From Jalopnik, with amazing photos as usual: 1987 Volkswagen Vanagon Synchro

Flower Power: Run Your Ride on a Wild Weed (Cool Bus Photo)
"The folks at Biodiesel Magazine say stinkweed is an ideal biodiesel feedstock because its seeds yield 36 percent oil when crushed. They should know: After all, they work for Biodiesel Magazine. John Fox, president of Innovation Fuels, says the company is testing the plant and its seeds and so far things look good, even if they smell bad. "We're really pleased with the oil," Fox said, adding that stinkweed oil has excellent cold-flow properties."

Carbon Footprints and Vintage VWs. Being Green is No New Thing.
"Vintage VWs:
Instead of plopping down $23,000 for a new Prius, find an original VW Bug (http://www.airheadparts.com/page.asp?recid=28) that has been completely refurbished for a few grand. And in four to five years guess what, the Beetle will be worth more than the Prius. The Prius's "new technology' will get old quick while the Beetle is an appreciating collector car. Or find one and fix it up yourself. Use to be the American way, to refurbish and maintain our own things. I recently restored a vintage VW. Parts where easily found (an outfit in my own little town - Airhead Parts (http://www.airheadparts.com) had everything) and the satisfaction of doing most of it myself was the best part. But any high mileage used car is better than new (and my "Love Bug" gets very good gas mileage)."

Snail Car Is Born When Math, Dreams Collide
(Quite funky. Many photos.)
"OAKLAND, California -- In a project that would make Franz Kafka grin, a 40-year-old bug has metamorphosed into a snail."

Car Talk: Here's the Thing: Short-lived VW car is a rolling death trap
"Tom: The Bug was not a safe car to begin with, and the Thing was basically a Bug without the added structural protection of a roof. So it was a death trap, in my opinion, Bradley. And I agree with your mom. I wouldn't want any of my kids driving around in this Thing."

Interlochen man bitten by Volkswagen bug
'"My peak is right now, I have over 60 Beetles in various shapes. Some are drivable, some need to be repaired, but a lot are just for parts," said March, who says his wife claims if he had a dollar for every part, he would be a millionaire.'

What Happens to Reno's Iconic VW Bug?
"The City of Reno decided to remove a sculpture of a giant bug- made out of a VW Beetle from an old city building."

Break-up of the Beetles: Mexico City ends affair with VW minicabs

VW Beetle taxis on way out in Mexico City
"In Cuba, the Volkswagen Beetle is called the "little egg." In France, it's known as the "ladybird." Here, the vehicle is called el vocho, converted into tens of thousands of green-and-white taxis that have filled the capital's congested streets for at least half a century. But if the city government has its way, the emblematic vochos will drive off into history."


Tomorrow VB returns to Egypt for a month, with one week involved in entertaining relatives. VB doesn't recall where she spotted this video, as it's been quite a while, but it is hysterical. Does it remind you of anyone you know? Whenever VB has to return to expat status, leaving this bucolic town along the Connecticut River, always makes her queasy (for more reasons than just one.) In addition, since she's blogging she don't hang out with the "Wives Club" anymore. They apparently all know VB's business, her husband's rank, and all the company business and gossip, to boot! Getting caught up in all that can make your life one miserable hell. Blogging is much more fun.

French and Saunders - Expatriate Wives #2

Funkengroovin Wednesday - Road Trips, Road Food, and TV #3

Jamie Oliver aka The Naked Chef

Gino was an Italian that went to Mexico. Jamie, in his Great Escape, is a Brit who went to Italy. Both drove classic VWs.

(Below): Photo from The Star Online (check out the article).


Jamie's show premiered two years ago in the UK, when VB was living, back in the States. It then showed in the States, 2007, when VB was in Egypt. Such is the luck of an expat's wife. This often happens, when you travel between international homes. You'll see an episode or two, leave country, and miss the rest of that series, or vice versa. That's where the Apple TV helps out - sometimes. But Apple TV does not offer BBC shows, UKTV shows, or any cooking shows of substance, unless you count the ("fuck me," "fuck all," "...fucking..." blah, blah, blah...) Gordon Ramsey shows, Hell's Kitchen, and Kitchen Nightmares (which VB loves, BTW.) VB does have Jamie's Italy book albeit, more has been written, on the Internet, about his actual road trip. All that's said about his VW Bus in his book, is a thank you to all the folks who helped soup it up, and built the trailer. VB loves Italian food, and one of her favorite TV chefs is Molto Mario Batali, although The Boss Man favors Giada De Laurentiis (most men do - what's not to like.) Jamie is fun to watch regardless, more so for his enthusiasm.

(Below): Photo from Jamie's Book.

VB was, again, quite impressed by Jamie's choice of transportation. And as she stated in her last post, Jamie did have a trailer full of cooking supplies, which he (literally) towed, from the back of his Bus (see photos and video.) Jamie's Bus, although ancient, had been renovated into a lean, mean lovin' machine (that's what it was actually built for.) But even then, VW Buses have a tendency to break down, at the worst times. It has been reported, that expletives were used (OMG!) by Jamie towards his beloved bus, during the filming. Apparently, this cursing chef syndrome has become quite popular.

(Below): Again, from the book. All broke down, and with a Porsche engine, no less! Just goes to show, that nothing you do to a VW Bus or Beetle, will guarantee that it will actually run when you want it to. It's a fucking curse! (But some of us, masochists, refuse to change.)


The article: Pukka set of wheels: Jamie Oliver's VW campervan has a short bio of Jamie's van, and how he came to acquire it.
"This van has had a chequered history. According to Campervan Crazy, the definitive work on these vehicles by David and Cee Eccles, it was discovered in a scrapyard in 1991 by Matt Keene, an enthusiast, who set about a four-year restoration. This involved sandblasting the shell and chassis and replacing all the metalwork, including parts fabricated specially if spares couldn't be found. Matt fitted front-opening "safari" windows, pop-out windows all round and an opening rear window for the ultimate in cool. The purple and white paint-job was Matt's as well."

"In 1999, it passed into the ownership of a London music-video producer. During this time, it was stolen by a woman who locked it in her garage and polished it every day. It was returned unharmed, and shinier. Oliver saw it while riding past on his scooter, knocked on the window and asked to buy it. More upgrades followed."


That passage is just an illustration of how, an infatuated Jamie, misunderstood man's relationship to an older VW. It's not a law, not in the manual, it's an attitude, like karma with your machine (and no one has that kind of karma.) As cool as Jamie is, it sounds like he expected a bit too much from his Bus - perfect performance, all the time (like a workhorse in a kitchen?) Here's the general rule for old VWs: They always break down at the worst times; They have their own idiosyncrasies, and don't even try to fuck with them!; And never, ever, rely on one to work when you need it most (they have a mind of their own!) It's not at all like the dreamy comment from Jamie's wife, Jools, "It's a campervan. Every boy's dream," she claimed, in the first video. They are temperamental, eccentric, and can be downright cantankerous! Hey! Number One Son is 19 years old, and he knew enough not to drive the van across country (USA) late March, on his way to Oregon! Yes, he loves the van (and the girls (some verbotten) who love him, for his van - it's not really his.) But he was practically born in it (literally.) He has a true understanding of how "awesome," or "sick" they can appear ( they're like a fucking drug), and of how frustrating they can be to the owners (like a dominatrix - she gives you pain, but way too much pleasure too, but not regularly, only when she feels like it.) That's what owning an old VW (not just a Bus) is like (and our family has two!)

Instead of VB going all around the Internet reinterpreting everyone else's assessment of Jamie's trip, and pretending she knows what she's talking about, and mucking it up, let's watch Jamie explain it himself. Below, Jamie's journey in his own words, plus views of his VW Bus, with trailer attached, and scenes from the trip.





From CTVNews
"Great escape to Italy afforded celeb chef the opportunity to shake off stresses

Oliver said his two-and-a-half month Volkswagen-bus road trip around Italy -- the subject matter for "Jamie's Great Italian Escape' -- served as a break from the chaos and an opportunity to leave the stresses behind.

It's certainly not a relaxed Jamie who curses at the van when it breaks down and leaves him stranded on a windy Italian road -- all on camera -- but he says the experience was good for his soul despite a few stressful moments along the way.

"It was my chance to escape. My chance to sort of fill up again, shake off any stresses. And to have a two-and-a-half month span in that country was just brilliant."

"The Italian people, if you're keen and you're polite and you've got a smile on your bloody face, they're just so open-minded, they really are."


(Below): Photo from Channel4.



about jamie, questions and answers
"Penguin: What inspires you to create new recipes?

Jamie: Books, people, stories, markets, locations, scenarios - you know, like coming up with the best hangover recipes when you're hungover, or coming up with great portable food recipes when you're living out of a tent or a VW camper."
(Jamie, where's the portable food recipes? Or maybe, the next article answers the question.)

(The engine description in the following two articles does not jibe with Jamie's claim in the Top Gear video below.)
The Good Oil: Jamie Oliver's mobile kitchen for sale
"Saturday May 26, 2007
British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver is selling his Volkswagen Kombi, the van he used while filming his TV series on food in Italy. The 1959 model is being auctioned in London tomorrow and is expected to fetch upwards of $100,000. The van has had VIP treatment since Oliver bought it in 1999. It's fitted with satellite navigation, a Play-Station, TVs and a high-spec audio system. Driving the rear wheels is a 2.4-litre VW/Porsche 914 engine. A specially built trailer kitchen Oliver towed around Italy is part of the package."

From CamperVan Confessionals
Nice little earner for Jamie
"Fame, money but no longer with a camper van! Has Jamie Oliver lost his senses?!!" (Hmm, yes!!!!)
"CELEBRITY chef Jamie Oliver sold the Volkswagen camper van he drove around Italy for one of his TV cookery shows for £41,500 yesterday. It had attracted interest from all over the world.
The 1959 Samba had a 2.4litre engine and many gadgets. Nick Wiles, of car auctioneers COYS, said: "This was any Volkswagen camper van enthusiast's dream, coupled with a touch of fame."


And, for those of use who actually have a collection of stackable cookware for the road, all we need is something, you know, recognized (like the crap you can buy from Rachel Ray - gawd, does VB hate that girl.) Jamie, as with any celebrated chef has his own little empire now, including his own line of cookware for the road:
Jamie Oliver reinvents the collapsible kitchen
"It's called the Tefal Survival Kit and it is a set of cooking equipment that fits together into single, nice, neat stack. When taken apart it contains a wok, frying pan, sauce pan, two glass lids, and a universal handle so that you don't burn your fingers."

Take VB's word for it, you can buy these (at least in Europe) anywhere Tefal is sold. Below, pieces we bought in Baku. They reminded us of the camping cookware we had, and there were many separate covers, cooking pieces, and handles to choose from. VB's pretty sure, they're probably cheaper than the "Jamie Oliver" brand.

(Below) Two pieces we bought, with a detachable handle.



About the rise in VW Bus popularity:
The Big Spend: Camping it up...
"More recently, the iconic roadster has become a must-have accessory for the armies of post-war baby-boomers who hanker after former glories, as well as for younger drivers keen to buy into their aura of cool.

Popularity is driving up prices. Ten years ago, a decent second-hand van could fetch £21,000 on average; today, the figure stands at £29,000.

Celebrity is in on the act: chef Jamie Oliver recently sold his VW Camper for £45,000, while a yellow van was given a starring role last year in the hit US film Little Miss Sunshine."

Celebrities love caravans
"Even the rich and famous are getting into a lifestyle long snobbishly regarded as somewhat downmarket. Blazing the trail was Jamie Oliver, who is a member of the Caravan Club and spent thousands of pounds converting a 1950s VW bus into a modern mobile home complete, of course, with a cutting-edge kitchen. Last September Oliver shunned airports and limousines when touring the UK to promote a new book, choosing instead to travel with his wife in the Porsche-engined caravanette.
>
Others who have been spotted perusing the latest models at caravan and motor home shows include Tara Palmer-Tomkinson and comedian Peter Kay."

Ahhh, and also Terri Hatcher. (Photo from Celebrity Cars Blog.)



More on Jamie's Italian Adventure:
Jamie Oliver: Real Guts


From Top Gear - Don't try this at home! (so-to-speak)
Jamie Oliver cooking on circuit



It would have been nice to see Jamie's little adventure. Perhaps when they decide to repeat it, VB will actually be in the right place (geographically), so she can enjoy the trip too. (There are no DVDs available, anywhere in the world for this. They are all sold out, except maybe in China.)

Profiles of Expats - The Sexually Strange, Creepy and Totally Naff - or - Would you like a happy ending with that?

This is the thirteenth (I went back and counted them all - okay, some are referential type posts) in a series on Profiles of Expats. I hope to show the good, the bad and the ugly side of expat personalities. You may know them, you may have seen them or you might be one yourself.

Disclaimer: I have lived as an American Expatriate for more than 10 years in several locations and come across numerous “characters” in my travels. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Sexually Strange, Creepy and Totally Naff

Example: The Cuckold aka Hotwiffer – A nerd, stuck in the office all day, bored out of his mind, works with numbers or picks rocks. Is not that appealing himself, unless you are really desperate. Divorced and re-married to a younger wife. He thinks second wife is a trophy (you may disagree). Is upwardly mobile in the company or has “connections” to future fast tracked C.E.O. Practically has sex with wife over the table, during dinner at local jazz club (inappropriate mouth to mouth food swaps – or at least that’s what you think you can see.) Also enjoys rubbing her ass like a fetish, in public, but only just for show or to make everyone else so disgusted they leave. Let’s face it, they flaunt it and it’s nauseating! They created the reaction that led to the “Get a room!” quote. They both go into bathroom at parties, forever, hogging it up, doing who knows what, while making everybody else practically piss in their pants - obviously the quote was taken quite literally. Vain, whores out wife to get his own mojo working (what’s with that?) Not to be trusted, anally consumed with his own importance and status, but still naff. Will and has used wife to help get him out of internal corporate investigations; as bribes; and, quite possibly as “insurance.” (Don’t be surprised if she shows up at your hotel room one of these days.)

Has had plastic surgery and arrives at the office looking like a raccoon, but is at a loss to explain why. Has nudes of his wife strewn about the walls of the villa, even in the dining room (now that's really naff.) Eats out regularly. Shits where he works – or has his wife do it for him. Has been caught by wife in bed with the maid. Always home earlier than the others, packing up the S.U.V. for “family weekends." Makes movies, labeled “family holidays” of wife shagging other men, which he watches with friends. Friends think hotwife is about as friendly as a frozen Norwegian salmon. Takes trips to Thailand to sell said videos, to make even more interesting ones and to get “professional” help. Most recent skin flick set in desert tent with Bedouins and camels. Sexually harassing at work. Gets up close and personal. Says, “did you miss me daaling” and pecks female staff on the cheek. Female co-workers think he’s “creepy.” Has to reassess affectionate, but disturbing attitude towards Muslim female staff out of fear of a family revenge killing. Can be seen on the balcony, roof terrace, back-yard, anywhere, anyplace showing off his artistic abilities filming his wife engaging in sex with other men.

Favorite saying, “I would like you to shag my wife... but I get to watch.” (No sloppy seconds here – he carries a treasure trove of rubbers with him.)

Favorite spectator sport: fornication.

Sexually Strange and Creepy Wife aka The Hotty aka The Tart aka Hotwife - whores for her husband, a “Class Act,” and vain to boot. Has had a boob job and plastic surgery. Trots her yin-yang around all over town. Spends more on her underwear than she does on her overwear (La Perla’s her favorite). Habitually outfitted in “chemise” style dresses (possibly commando), 4 inch stiletto heels and has the calves to prove she’s experienced at street walking in them (that or she had calf implants during her ex-pat days in South America); and has a skinny droopy ass (gravity works that way). Unmistakably a skanky hussy, in need of "what not to wear" advice. A streetwalking past is highly suspected due to her taste in men, her attire, and the fact that she can be heard humming, “Don’t Cha (wish your girlfriend was raw like me).” Not to be trusted, class sensitivity even though she may not be British- (Euro trash – or possibly, American y'all.) Sucks up to anyone she thinks can help her husband be more suckessful (oops!). Kids too young for her to be considered a “MILF”. What a “Happy Ending”.


Hotwife's Famous saying, “darling, does fucking this Arab make my bum look bigger?”

Favorite sport: Cali-fornication.

Profiles of Expats - You Find It!

This is a series on Profiles of Expats. I hope to show the good, the bad and the ugly side of expat personalities. You may know them, you may have seen them or you might be one yourself.

Disclaimer: I have lived as an American Expatriate for more than 10 years in several locations and come across numerous “characters” in my travels. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Actually this episode is not fictional, but a true personal experience. It's a taste of what many expats go through when hiring domestic help. There are many Emily Gilmores out there (Gilmore Girls) who dispose of their household help regularly. Most of us try to maintain a decent relationship with the people we hire, but there are times when it does not work out - for a variety of reasons. This is my latest experience.




YOU FIND IT!

I fired my maid. No, she quit. No I fired her. No she quit.

She quit.

I couldn’t deal with her anymore; or the Boss Man’s complaints; and then she did something that pissed me off; and when I asked her about it, she said something that sent me through the roof, then ....

History:
We hired her just as we were moving into our apartment. I was going to be leaving about a week after she started. We received a call from another expat who knew we might need a maid. She took the maid we were thinking of hiring (“J”) and referred us to the maid they were replacing (“R”). Their excuse for replacing R was that they had moved into a larger apartment and needed someone who could work more hours.

R is a younger woman, with 2 children and was accompanied by her mother for her interview. She came with three written recommendations, as well. She and her mom must've known we were somewhat desperate and came in demanding this amount of money, this amount of bonus, this and that; “my daughter does not do that,” and on and on. I thought the amount they wanted was outrageous, but she was a Coptic Christian and I was told that they were honest and good workers. Actually, I should add, there's a bit of bias against Islamic Egyptians within certain parts of the expat community. You hear quotes like, "they steal," "they're untrustworthy," and it goes on and on. That had little to do with our decision, since we knew of no other maids available at the time, and yes, we were rather desperate.

It’s dirty here in Cairo. I even brought weather stripping back last month to seal all the spaces in the sliding doors and windows that don’t shut properly (nothing here is square.) If a bug can fly through it, you know sand can too. Just on a daily basis the miniscule specks of sand you find on a table that you cleaned the evening before are everywhere. Unless you shutter up your home, depriving yourself of daylight and any other minute intrusions, you need to clean every fucking day. Dust does not build up gradually here, it accumulates second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour and the next thing you know, you’re neck deep in sand.


Back to R:

A few things sent off alarms about her:
1) Their demands and how pushy they were about them.
2) Her mother’s eyes popped open, as she gasped, ”this is a very large apartment!” (It’s not really.)
3) Her mother seemed to be overly involved.
4) The second day she called in sick. (She would only work Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 / 9:00 AM – 12:30 / 1:00 PM.)

A Record of what went wrong and when: (And possibly of my State Of Denial.)

(1) First day, a mirror broke. I brought a fisheye mirror from the States. We got it from Target, so it was not an expensive item. Workmen were here and she was cleaning in the same room, in the corner where the mirror was laying on a table. I heard a crash, something like glass breaking and walked in to see what happened. All the workmen looked over at her and she was bending over the table cleaning. Since she was leaning over the mirror I did not see it broken, until later. I suspected it was her doing, but really doubted my memory, as it was a chaotic day and there were workmen finishing things all over the apartment.

(2) Then the second day she called in sick (looking back now I wonder if this was guilt / worry over the broken mirror.)

(3) She came with shining recommendations, two of which were from male employers and one from her most recent. They stated that she was more than willing to purchase groceries, cook, etc if need be. So when I was away, the Boss Man left her a note with some money and asked if she could replenish a few items – nothing major, mostly light bulbs. The store is one block away and they even deliver! (All she had to do was call!) She probably could’ve asked the boab (doorman). She refused. I brushed it off as a result of fear due to the awful rumors about the “Maadi Serial Killer.”
(4) Then she washed his white tee shirts with his black socks using bleach, in hot water, when I explicitly showed her how to use the washer and how to wash differently colored items. It was actually a review since she was “experienced” at doing laundry. I even fucking told her “cold water” for clothing! So the Boss Man told her “no laundry, I do it myself.”

Most of this time the apartment was virtually empty, except for three beds and a few chairs, futon sofa and tables in the T.V. room. While I was gone, the Boss Man got his metrosexual freak on and furnished the living room and dining room. The furniture arrived about a week before my return.

When I returned five weeks later, Number 1 Son came with me along with Doggie. We were pretty much recuperating the first few days from jet lag, and then off venturing about town the rest of the week. I really didn’t care, since the apartment appeared to be clean, but I hadn’t really seen her in action, or taken a good look either. I was of the mindset, “relax - don’t get anal about the housekeeping.”

(5) She’s supposed to work four hours and usually works three and half max. When she’s already changed her clothes she comes to ask me if there’s anything else I need. This is so typical; our maid in Baku pulled this shit too. They go change into their nice street clothes and then ask you (dare you) to ask them for further work. “Finish. You needing anything else?” I started to get overly suspicious that she was just a princess. She just had that attitude.

(6) When she said, “Mr. says not to do laundry.” I told her he preferred me to wash the clothes. She had been folding the laundry for me and then decided to quit, quite suddenly (something that I noticed - like a “fuck you” statement?)

One morning I was lining the kitchen cabinet shelves with adhesive white lining paper. The cabinets were hand painted white and from experience I knew, with all the shifting of plates, etc., the paint would scratch. I decided to line the shelves with white contact paper. Besides it's easier to clean and doesn't seem to accumulate as much dust, or maybe just looks cleaner. Whatever - I'm all for it. R sees me doing this and says, "you working?" I just let that one slide.

I’m a hands off type of person with some people – if you’re gonna dig a hole, do it yourself.

(7) Boss Man says R was washing dishes and I told her upon my return not to hand wash anymore dishes. Just put them into the dishwasher and we would run it after dinner. As I was getting dishes and some other items out of the cabinets for dinner, I noticed an oily residue on them, screaming “botulism!” After further investigation, I ended up putting half the china, silverware, glasses and bake-ware back through the dishwasher. This is standard procedure in Baku as well, where people worry more about microbes than mold; where the driver sticks his black nailed finger into some yogurt at the bazaar, sticks in your face and says, “you like try?”

(8) The week before last, we were getting ready to hang posters that we had framed (and which I had lugged back from the U.S.) The Boss Man suggested I get the vacuum out. When I looked in the broom closet, the vacuum had a huge rip in the hose, where it meets the suction foot coupler. So we taped it up, with duct tape, shoved it back together. (I love duct tape.) Then the Boss Man showed me where R had actually broken part of the body (floor nozzle – go figure) while I was gone, and that too was duct taped up. This was a new vacuum mind you – hardly a month old, when she originally broke it. So then when she came into work the next day, not only did she re-break the hose joint we fixed the night before, she broke the hose in another area. It looked like someone sliced into it with a razor blade (several of which we had lying around because we needed them for other work, like scraping paint off of tiles and sinks.) I just decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, as the vacuum was made in Egypt and let’s face it, it’s not a Bosch or Siemens – it’s a cheap copy of a Kenwood. Who’s to blame – the maid or the manufacturer? This is a toss up, but I suspected she was abusing the equipment.

(9) Then I noticed a hazy white gloss atop my parquet floors. This was disturbing. I wasn’t sure it was her method of cleaning, which I guessed was slopping all the dirt around from one room to the next, a reaction of some sort or the fact that she did not wring out the mop enough and left too much water sitting on the floor. The floors had been re-sanded and re-finished before we moved in, per our request (something they call "scraping de floors" around here). I specifically told her to use vinegar and water. I never smelled the vinegar, but the water started to reek. Now my guess is, she thought if it looked drenched, it must be spotless. And another guess is, that she might be using bleach; or that she was not even using a cleaning agent at all. It was annoying to have beautiful wood floors looking like shit. Just because the water here is highly chlorinated, does mean you can skip the soap.

Then this past week, after she demanded the whole week off for Easter week (Coptic Orthodox ceremonial days), she also demanded half of her bonus with her pay in advance (cause that was another holiday where she would be absent.) Her bonus was not due until Christmas. I thought something was up: like she’d take it and call in saying she quite. No such luck. But I feel like a fool trying to please her and ignoring all the crap that was going on. Maybe I let it go too far, but shit, I was hoping this would work out.

She shows up last week, for her one day so far this month and is friendly, but for some reason, all of her friendliness reminds me of a certain cousin of mine who is a compulsive liar. She reminds the Boss Man of his late sister. That’s one psychotic combination!
Then she gets down to cleaning and as I told the Boss Man before, I am so unhappy with the way this has turned out - I couldn’t train her properly due to lack of time, she doesn’t listen anyway, unless you take away responsibilities, and while I’m on chat with the kids or working on my blog she just gives me the evil eye. Oh and btw, I do change out of my pajamas for her.

The curtain guys came to install the drapes for the living room and dining room on Saturday. I had lilies on the table making the whole room smell like a funeral parlor. They were drooping and dropping and I was actually embarrassed as I had not noticed it earlier. So after they left, I threw out the flowers, put a small clock in its place and positioned a small sheesha pipe by one of the kid’s photos on the table.



So on Tuesday (R was off Sunday – another freaking Holiday) I have her translate to the gardener for me. He and I have already discussed, in broken English and broken Arabic, what we're going to do. I ask her to ask him a one sentence question. She starts talking and the conversation goes on, much to my dislike. More on that some other time. When I ask an employee to translate, that's what I expect, and from the little Arabic I know, common courtesy (Salaam, kefel hal?) was not involved. It's R-U-D-E! It's a major anger trigger for me. How do I know you're not asking him what I pay him? huh? (Like it's any of your business.) One major rule: Just Don't! Don't fucking do that! Do I speak Greek in front of you or to you? Fuck no! Don't do that.

I think I need to start meditating.

Later R is in the living room doing something around the table and looking at me strangely. I just brushed it off – again. Then later I find a small, tiny sheesha pipe with the lip end posed up against the wall in a very strange situation. It’s a small pipe Number 1 Son and I picked out together at the Khan. I distinctly remember placing it on the table, unbroken after the curtain guys left. She was the only person who would’ve touched it and the Boss Man would’ve said so, if he had done it. It was a cheap little Khan trinket; nothing to write home about, but something Number 1 Son and I both liked.

You can tell when something’s askance – it just does not look right.



(10) So I pick up the pipe and it literally falls apart, into three pieces. There were two pieces to begin with and now three. So I was upset, but not overly. I was upset that she hadn’t said anything to me about it. Again it’s a cheap little trinket from the bazaar, but Boss Man says call her up and get to the bottom of this. He says, “fire her ass! She’s broken enough in this house.” I was upset, didn’t want to call her that night, waited 24 hours to get rid of my immediate anger and called her the next afternoon.




I Wanted to get it over with before Thursday as she said she’d be in church that day (“all day”), getting all oiled up per tradition and it’s the week before Easter (Holy Week). This is the time if you have not confessed during the year, when you now get down on your fucking knees, in front of the priest and literally beg for forgiveness; the time you owe up to all the shit you pulled this past year; the time to cleanse your soul and rid your mind of guilt, while your body has been exposed to a Lenten diet; so you can partake in Holy Communion (bread and wine: we do it right in the Greek Orthodox Church where you get wine from a spoon that’s got germs on it from everyone in front of you in line and a piece of the driest bread - so dry it gives you cotton-mouth. Yeah, we do it right, cause at that point you’re high and dry.) This is the time to come clean.



(11) So I call her on Wednesday late afternoon, thinking maybe she’ll own up to it. I go through all the cordialities and then ask if she forgot to tell me something that happened the day before. She acts like she’s oblivious. Then when I tell her, she says, “yes, but you find it.” She denies breaking the cheap little sheesha pipe regardless of how much I reassure her it’s no problem. All she repeats is, ‘Yes, but you found it.” “You find vacuum, yes? You find it.” “I not break any thing, you find it.” In other words - fuck you! Fuck me!

Okay, so I reassure her that if she breaks anything in the future to tell me – it’s no problem. We had a houseboy in Abu Dhabi who continually broke things with his elbow when he was vacuuming, but he was worth his weight in gold. R is not and as the weekend passed and I noticed corners with sawdust from the curtain guys that had not been vacuumed and pieces of furniture positioned to cover it up; stuff like that. It became apparent to me that I was a fool, and that this was not going to work out. It just pissed me off more and more as the week went on.

I started getting really annoyed, angry and vented. One day I was going to fire her ass, the next maybe not, until I came back to reality and decided I needed to come up with a non-confrontational way to get rid of her. I was originally going to ask for her key to the apartment (pretending to check my lock) and then tell her to get her ass out of my house. I just can’t do that. I’m Greek. We start shaking when we get highly emotionally charged and it is not a good thing. I think that’s what makes us so damned crazy. I personally did not want to go through the emotional upheaval getting into a hissy fit with a maid. I did not want "a scene.” Maybe it’s because I’m pissed off at myself, as well, for letting it get this far; and I’m avoiding or in denial.

Boss Man says I can’t call her a lair. I think it’s because maybe she can come back and sue me, like that judge who plagiarized some Egyptian websites, they showed him up as the plagiarist he is and now he’s suing them?! So I had to watch my mouth. No someone tells me. It’s not that at all. For every auto accident in Cairo, they need not only a tow truck, but a psychiatrist, since everyone here is also very emotional.

I decided I would not discuss the damage she had done to our possessions. With the excuse of needing full time help; help that can cook, shop (for the Boss Man when I’m away) and care for Doggie. I would give her 30 days notice. (Actually we do need more help.) This gives her time to look for another position and for me to find a new maid. Plus, she would get paid for her week off and I think that’s a good deal.

Tuesday, after her week off she arrives, sees me on the porch (Doggie just went out for her morning constitutional) and wow, was that a dirty look. She comes in all happy and so I tell her we need to talk and explain how we need someone who can put in more time. She says maybe she can come in for two hours on the other days. I say, “no we need someone all day, someone who is willing to shop and care for the dog.” Blah, blah, blah, back and forth the discussion goes. For each new idea she has, I have one that is more difficult for her to match. I tell her, “you have thirty days - one month. This gives you time to make money and also find a job. This gives me time to find a new maid.” She asks if it’s about something “you think I broke” and I tell her no. I am not going there with this crazy bitch. Just not gonna do it, cause it will get ugly. Think about it: a Greek bitch and a crazy Egyptian girl, who feels rejected – just more stuff to get broken.

She’s disappointed and after much back and forth, agrees. She goes in to change her clothes, which she keeps in the laundry room. On the counter, in the laundry room I left two clay candle holders from Baku. They had been on the front porch, which I spent the two previous days sweeping, hosing, moping and thoroughly cleaning along with the accessories. It was a hint and maybe it worked, because she came out with her work clothes in her hands and said, “I think I just give you key now and leave.”

I said, “are you sure you want to do this?” I was unemotional, since I didn’t care what she did at this point, but she’d be throwing away money. She became slightly hysterical, points her finger in my face, blaming me for her son’s education and most likely everything else wrong in her life.

She wanted half a month’s pay (including the one week holiday) and then called the Boss Man at his office demanding such. Wow – the nerve. I have no idea what exactly was said, but I think she figured out that she had screwed herself – message received?

Now I have a spanking brand new vacuum, because the old one just expired, coincidentally about an hour after she stomped out of the apartment (co-dependency issues?) I moped the floors doing a mop / vacuum thing, which was a major pain as I had to rinse the freaking mop out after each section I moped, dip it in slightly soapy water and do another section. Low and behold, that glossy white haze that she continually left on my hardwood floors was now gone and I could finally see the sheen from a nice parquet. It’s fucking amazing what a little soap and water will do.

Expat Profiles - Jumeirah Janes

Jumeirah Janes

While we’re on the subject of expat profiles, it would be careless of me to leave out this category. While I’ve never lived in Jumeirah, these women are all over the globe and the name has always fascinated me. I think I've actually seen a few of them at the Spinney's in Jumeirah when we stopped there occassionally on our way back to Abu Dhabi (that samll town mentality.)

Since I couldn’t possibly do them any justice, I found some sites that seem to cover the whole lot of them. You could probably replace the names with Baku Betty, Maadi Mary, Heliopolis Helen, Khalidya Kate and so on. Unfortunately, there’s now a category known as Jumeirah Johns – trailing husbands who’ve taken on a quite lonely Jumeirah lifestyle.

JUMEIRAH JANES:

This site offers a trailer of a documentary about the expat lifestyle in Dubai, called "Hello Dubai" (check out the link at the top of the page for the trailer.) The beginning offers interviews with non-expats voicing common misconceptions about living in the United Arab Emirates.
jumeirahjanes.com


A now defunct blog confessional from a Jumeirah Jane.
Little Yellow Duck

Another inactive site which breaks down the Jumeirah Janes into various categories.
desertidleness

A funny take on what a Jumeirah Jane is, with links to articles about things actually named "Jumeirah Jane."
onebigconstructionsite

Actually a review for the Lime Tree Cafe mentioned elsewhere in the Jumeirah Jane links.
the economist

Photos taken at The Dubai Cup - with one of a Jumeirah Jane! My guess is, most of the ladies in these photos are Jumeirah Janes too.
Elktownblogspot


JUMEIRAH JOHNS:

An article about the lonely Johns of Jumeirah.
7days

expats

Profiles of Expats - The Class Act

This is the third in a series on Profiles of Expats. I hope to show the good, the bad and the ugly side of expat personalities. You may know them, you may have seen them or you might be one yourself.

Disclaimer: I have lived as an American Expatriate for more than 10 years in several locations and come across numerous “characters” in my travels. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.


The Class Act

She won’t associate with anyone who’s not at her husband’s level in the company, consequently no one knows much about her, but she’s infamous throughout the expat community. She’s the one you call on to offer help when she first arrives and she snidely turns you down (cause you’re not good enough for her). Of European descent (AKA Eurotrash), true to form claiming lineage from some obscure royal family - the French and Northern Italians are brilliant at this. She’s extremely pretentious, haughty and overly concerned with prestige. Usually Naff and doesn’t realize it – but aren’t we all now? Demands service at once! Picked up bad habits from British lower middle class hubby, of snapping her fingers whilst calling out “serviettes here” at the dinner table, instead of just asking for napkins. Hyper concerned about table manners – but still doesn't know how to hold a knife and fork per continental (AKA neo-British) rules. Other pathetic habits she picked up are, referring to parties as “functions” and whispering inaudibly at the dinner table. Her husband wears a Rolex, which he fiddles with a lot (show off). She will kiss up to anyone she thinks is at her level or above, even if it’s the business’s main competition. Agrees with executive wife non-stop constantly repeating, “quite right” like a broken record. She might start dressing, doing her hair like and hanging out so much with the executive wife, they become known as “the twins.” She’s a career climbing whore, but not for herself, for her husband. (This is getting perverse.)

The expat community is small and petty. This includes the domestic staff who’re just as gossipy and the best people to go to when you really need a good scandal to get you through the day. And so what you hear is thus: She’s impatient; has a habit of firing staff at rapid speed, often going through several maids per year and dozens of drivers during the same period. Maids are never allowed outside the villa and drivers stand outside, regardless of weather, all day long awaiting her next command. Workers are highly expendable. Uses a variety of excuses for worker firings, none of which are true. Has a habit of verbal abuse if riled. Is easily annoyed with the trials and tribulations of daily life and “running a proper household”. Very private, yet due to her sackings and behavior, through whispers mind you, she becomes something of an expat urban legend – rumored to have affairs with tradesmen because she has grown to like it on the rough side, but career oriented husband is just too busy. Still, God help the poor plumber who tries to unplug her pipes. Sightings of her may strike fear and loathing (and possibly but more likely just nausea) in the beholder. Seen only in public when out with the Excutive Wife, who is mortified of her presence (and the fact that they look like misfit twins).

Affects a British accent when trying to get her point across. Will stab you in the back, in front of you, with no reservations. Can be very aggressive, particularly if she's near the Executive Wife. Warning of attack: crunching of the nose along with vivid snarled sneer, and stiffly talking from one side of mouth. Has not only helped husband shove his head farther up bosses rear, but is intimately familiar with how much sherry and quiche went into Executive’s wife’s digestive system that A.M.


Favorite saying: “You are dust,” and “quite right!”

Favorite sport: Hiring new help.

Profiles of Expats - Executive Wives

This is the second in a series on Profiles of Expats. I hope to show the good, the bad and the ugly side of expat personalities. You may know them, you may have seen them or you might be one yourself.

Disclaimer: I have lived as an American Expatriate for more than 10 years in several locations and come across numerous “characters” in my travels. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.


Executive wife –
American Executive wife likes to run most of the fund raising events at the school, which she uses as a guise to make more contacts for Executive husband. Usually wears twin sets, high-waist tightly belted khakis or capris with a split potbelly (aka front butt), sports a camel-toe, has no lips, no ass and flipped hair. Thinks she’s a modern day Jackie O, but doesn’t have the foggiest idea of what Jackie would really do (or wear for that matter). Can be very bossy, appallingly judgmental, gossipy and spiteful. She’s a taskmistress with a snippy attitude. She does not like to be disappointed and will let you know how much so, she is in you. Public humiliation of others is her forte. Just ask if she'd like to join Democrats Abroad. You're lucky if she just gives you the fluttering eye muggin. She’s utterly devoted to her husband and kids. Because of her and her husband’s involvement in the school (did I forget to mention they practically live there), their kids could get away with murder and still be praised as role models for other students. No special school event goes without the presence of one of their children in performance; no awards are given without their children receiving the highest honors; no student speeches (plagiarized, of course) are given, unless it’s their child. Every occasion is a chance for this family to bask in their own magnificence. Submit to the fact that you and your children are always in the presence of greatness. Be in awe (and pick that flabbergasted jaw up off the ground!)

Favorite sport: Making herself, her man and her family look like they are just so much better than yours.

Favorite saying: Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, I’m honored, thank-you.


British Executive wife, at a loss as to what to do since the kids were sent off to school, holds monthly informational meetings for the company wives (otherwise there’d be no reason to have coffee with her). Always trying to impress the wives with her abundant knowledge (possibly an ex-educator, but certainly not an Oxbridge degree; usually a grammar school girl, "no uni for the girls in our family") she organizes discussions such as, “What is Ramadan”, “A Visit to Mecca during the Hajj,” and of course after each session the spouses are made aware of new medical policies or diet and exercise tricks. Wives drink tea, coffee or sherry and munch on quiche, fruit and a selection of British cheese. She always praises the servants in public, but has a tendency to sack staff on a regular basis. A firing in a Gulf country includes immediate deportation and 6 months blacklist from working anywhere else in the Gulf States. Quoted as saying, “I wouldn’t possibly know the first thing about housekeeping,” a facade to feign a high born status (no Martha Stewart, no Nigella Lawson, nor a Delia here.) She’s very proper in her performance – and hopes that someday her husband will be on the honours list – "perhaps an O.B.E., a C.B.E. or even a knighthood . . . . Well, bligh me, I'd be Lady . . . !" oops showing that lower-class background again. Often involved in volunteer activities when seconded to Third World countries and judges you on your volunteerism as well. She likes to organize parties, but is not all-inclusive. Don’t worry you too will eventually be a reject. Very class aware even though she doesn’t have the pedigree. Can become alcoholic due to the demands of – drinking sherry at coffee mornings, gin during ladies' lunch at the British Club, burgundy, and port at accompanied business dinners with the Executive husband.

Favorite sport: Tennis (but on her terms – she never looses and no, you cannot take a water break. Yes, that racquet is a substitute for a whip!)

Both American and British Executive wives never have a “clique”, but do have an in-group with whom they secretly consult - typically a spouse higher up on the corporate ladder, so as to endear herself and help her Executive husband shove his head further up his boss’s rear – who says that buggery is a "lost British art" particularly when it becomes a family affair.

Who wants to be bothered with the banal advice they seek, you might ask? As retarded as it sounds, this crap works. Yes, for you aspiring management wannabe wives, just get down on your knees, kow-tow, hold your nose and then shove.

Ladies--------let the games begin!

Ladies, behave yourselves!

From Yahoo News is mention of a book written by the Malaysian foreign minister's wife, Sharifah Aziah Syed Zainal Abidin, on how expat women, particularly diplomat wives, should conduct themelves.

A few article quotes will give you an idea of where this author's coming from:

"Don't be snide, don't gossip about the ambassador's wife and make sure your toilets are spotless." - I'm sure the ambassador's wife has a maid and she herself isn't running around with toothbrush in hand scrubbing up all the piss her errant husband dripped down the front of the bowl.

"Maintain a clean home and pay extra attention to your toilet/bathroom/powder room and the kitchen. This is yours and your country's image." - okay, she's also redundant.

"When your husband is posted to a difficult post, support him and do not give him unnecessary stress by complaining about the place." - I say misery loves company.

"Wives should be happy to be with their husband and their children wherever they are assigned." - no duh.

"Do not speak unless spoken to" and "Do not sit cross-legged," are quotes in reference to conduct at the royal palace.

I'm biting my tongue!