The Prodigal Friend Returns

The Book of Ruth does not talk about the return of disappeared family members but rather about the union of people with their new families. The way my life has been going lately (and for the past few decades, come to think on it), I might be better served by a different moniker - but was the prodigal son ever named?



I left Cairo two weeks ago. I came home to California just in time to head back east for a whirlwind tour of New York, DC and the bus route between the two (New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland - freeways look the same wherever you drive). It was my first visit to New York and with my college friends in five years - I came to attend my college roommate's wedding. I stayed with another college friend, and visited several other people I haven't seen since the early years of the Bush administration (ah, memories). This has made my past three weeks an exhausting series of hellos and goodbyes, punctuated by extended transportation time. Tomorrow I will have to say goodbye and hello to a whole new group of people when I enter jail.

Still, I did not experience the expected culture shock until I left California for New York (although Berkeley did put me into weather shock - I went from 104 degrees in Cairo to 48 degrees here, but still managed to get a sunburn).

New York, in comparison to Cairo, struck me as endlessly clean and quiet. There are signs threatening drivers with $250 fines for honking their horns, and equally pricey censures for not cleaning up after their dogs. People on the subway let other riders exit before elbowing their way onto the train. But the biggest shock I experienced was a political one: on one sunny Sunday afternoon during my stay, New Yorkers gathered for a well-publicized pro-Israel parade.


I missed the parade, thankfully, but did see various signs strewn by messy parade-goers (what's the fine for littering political propaganda?) that held slogans like: "We support Israel!"

I tried not to think too deeply about this parade and hurried on my merry way to a vegan restaurant with my Host and Hostess. Delicious! (The food, not the company, although they are also delightful.)

Other events on my NYC agenda included museum day: I revisited the Cloisters, the Met, and then met Number Two, the Hostess at the MOMA, where we watched a series of silent films featuring animals - many of which wore shoes and coats and acted out bizarre dramas involving aligators kidnapping babies and elephants napping in people's beds.

Number Two's other half took us on a behind-the-scenes tour of the MOMA's curatorial building, where were breathed the air of important artistic decision-making.



After dinner, Hostess, GC and I explored Central Park in search of a specific lilac bush, but we failed to find it.



The next day was the wedding, at which I cried on several occassions. The ceremony took place at Columbia's chapel, and the chaplain quoted from The Book of Ruth (among other scriptures) so that I felt special, although I don't suppose this was her primary intention.



I hurried over to Washington DC to visit The Roomate and participate in some more Important American Rituals, such watching baseball while drinking Budweiser and complaining about humidity.



The Nationals beat the Giants in a stirring late-inning run-fest, so I suppose that my Giants shirt is not especially lucky for San Francisco. Nor is it lucky for Teddy Roosevelt: one part of the evening's entertainment included a presidenital race around the field, run by mascots with over-sized heads and comically serious expressions. I am told that Teddy never wins.



Baseball was an excellently patriotic way to round out my last week of freedom, for tomorrow I will begin my prison sentence. The institution is better-known as Middlebury at Mills, under whose aegis I will live on the Mills campus in Oakland for the next nine weeks and will be required to speak, listen, write, watch and think in only Arabic. If I stub my toe I will be expected to produce the appropriate Arabic explitive, and I won't be able to listen to Solomon Burke, Frank Sinatra or Cher again until August! Hopefully these draconian strictures will produce an improved level of Arabic fluency in me that I will then translate into another series of goodbyes as I move to whatever region of the country/world offers me gainful employment. In the mean time, I will be sure to check my bed for elephants before settling in for the night - some mistakes can't be unmade!