The Angryman Memoirs - Chapter 2

God is a DJ.
Caucasian Chaos and Cultural Cringe.

I am getting a jump on the next ‘Dubai is losing its tolerance’ meta tag landslide.

It seems that a local radio personality (and I am desperately trying to locate the sound bite of this) took it upon himself to let the nation know what he thinks god would have said if subpoenaed in the case brought against him/her by a yank loon. Revin John, the DJ in question, spoofed a phone conversation with god. Needless to say that his attempt at humour was about as well received as a kick to the groin by conservatives.

This is the second high visibility mortar that Dubai’s Western Expat community has managed to throw at itself in recent months (see my post dated 21st October for the ‘Sex on the Beach’ bombshell). This has incited the Emirati and parts of the Arab Expat population into a controlled frenzy wherein chants of ‘Learn or Leave’ have been bandied about.

I think, and this is just a personal opinion, that it is pretty unreasonable to expect people from different backgrounds to confirm to alien laws overnight and without cultural sensitivity training to guide them, this does not excuse what our two champions of cultural understanding have done, but the increasing scrutiny that everyday actions are coming up against are making things uncomfortable.

My theory is (and you will need to pay me royalties to quote this) that the combination of global economic strife, increased media sensationalism and recent misconduct have cemented the foundation of potential for a Nationalistic resurgence (I felt the beginning of this movement earlier in the year).

What strikes me as odd here is the fact that the last decade has seen the UAE nationals, particularly the youth; relax their attachment to their social constraints in a way that was truly admirable and terrifying at the same time. Adopting ‘Western’ attitudes to life facets including entertainment, relationships, language and clothing. To the extent that any given club, bar, social gathering or club would invariably feature a number of Emiratis aged between 21 and 35 and would do so in English to the beats of Paul Van Dyk.

This is changing. Regressing some would say, others see it as a necessary reclamation of the local cultural landscape in the face of the vicious expatriate tides. And each argument is open to extensive debate.

‘How can you throw the book at someone if it hasn’t been written yet?’ – Me.

The Angryman Memoirs Chapter 2

They Spent $700 billion and we're in trouble?

I am not an economist, I don't understand how the fortunes of one market affect others and what the implications of the consumer confidence index (which presumptuous bastard gets to decide how optimistic people are at any given time?) are on bank lending rates.

However, I do know a couple of things, and they are bred of logic and common sense, which is worrying, because I have not seen these matters flagged in any of the global publications. Am I really smart, really paranoid or is everyone else just brain dead?

Number one. The Americans started ongoing economic SNAFU , not that they meant to and not that they ever mean anyone any harm (chorus: Oh no no no no), just as we would never conceive of wishing ill upon their inspired leadership. They are obviously leading the global pack in terms of post-party mop size requirements due to the fact that the guest list comprised of 900 baby boomers, a quart of sunshine juice and a rather undisciplined fiduciary system providing the party beats.

My question is, simply, if the yanks we responsible for setting off that firecracker in the Napalm factory, why is everyone else suffering? As of this morning, the British pound, the Euro and a truckload of other currencies had lost a bunch of decimal points against the dollar. 

How does that make sense?

A follow up to that question is how the hell oil prices seem to still be slipping even though the dollar has fortified. Logically, if you are buying something in a currency and that currency got more expensive, wouldn't the item being purchased also get more expensive, at least in the very short term?

My head hurts.

Oh, and advance congratulations to all the normal citizens of the UAE and Dubai anticipated decline in diesel prices. This may be the first time in recent memory where the price of anything would have dropped in our beloved city. Although, the gracious decision makers did pick the only commodity which the average ex-pat male is less likely to consume apart from the heavy flow tampon.

Ho hum...

The Angryman Memoirs – Chapter 1

I’m back, and I have not mellowed (wouldn’t want to disappoint you).

There have been a lot of words written of late about the state of affairs in Dubai, few of them have been flattering. There’s the Michelle Palmer ‘Sex in the City, Literally’ saga, the ‘Free the gender confused whale’ debacle and the never-ending tarot card reading that has been soothsaying the collapse of the 7 star bubble for the last decade. If there were any sort of a consumer confidence index done for cities, the Dubai needle would be just slightly under E (which denotes excrement in this case. A lot of which, coincidently is floating around the beaches).

Despite having being born in Dubai and reared, through a mix of comparative GDP statistics and sensationalist media overload, to appreciate what we have here, I have no great affinity for the city. This apathy is second only to my hatred of the monolith media machine.

Did anyone fail to note that the local stock markets have taken a gazillion point parachtuteless dive or that the price of oil (the primary source of federal income) has been digging its way to the South Pole with a nuclear shovel ? Has there been a single water cooler debate on the fact that maybe, just maybe, that there is a large amount of shit heading towards a very large fan?

This brings me to the subject of today’s rant.

Dubai is, on paper, a fantastic place to live. People pour in here from every single global nook to partake of the weather, the purchasing power parity and the ability to strut their professional stuff in a talent pool as deep as a flash shower puddle. Nothing wrong with that, as a matter of fact, it is great.

What people fail to mention is the effect that this has on your psyche and the re-orientation that takes place.

Let me sketch it out.

Meet John, he is a Midwestern (as in U.S.) white collar worker with all the accessories, mortgage, taxes, an average IQ and a phobia of frostbite. He catches the bus to work, lives in a renovated loft apartment (perfect for the upwardly mobile) and dates occasionally (dinner and a movie followed by thinly veiled pleas to consummate). Is the reception clear?

Let’s move John a few thousand miles to the right and a few hundred down. John drives a Range Rover sport, pays no taxes, rent’s a bitch, but who cares. John takes his dates to 5 star restaurants and has forgotten how to order the house red. He now lives in a 2 story villa and claims he does 20 laps in his pool before he hits the office. This is Dubai, where never-never land meets the red light districts.

So, where’s the problem? On the surface there isn’t one, but inside John’s head, things are starting to change… (Insert ominous music here). He is beginning to forget what it was like to face the, now relative, hardships he had to face back home, to take his material possessions for granted, to avoid thoughts and topics that may cause him to worry or to empathise, which is made easier by the strict demarcation of social class in Dubai and its gated communities which ensure that you never have to see anyone sweat unless it’s in a swanky gym. So begins the transformation and allow me to coin the phrase ‘Dubai descent’.

The Descent begins to wreak havoc as our upbringing and our desire to live the high life come into conflict, this paradox forms the basis of the ‘People are so fake’ Monologue I hinted at in my last post. So we work in our ubertowers, party in our megaclubs and drive our supercars, but we just can’t feel good, because we can't see what could be our lot.

A call to sociopathic behaviour if there ever was one (and among the news you never see are the abundant examples of anti-social and downright dangerous behaviour).

“To court the devil is to romance your own mind”. – Me.

The Angryman Memoirs - Prelude

Let’s count off all the things that you are currently basing your self worth on; your car, your job, your designer (or designer rip-off) shades and how much money you and your friends effectively deep sixed pursuing a hangover last weekend. Don’t argue with me, you know it’s true, you are, probably more than a little bit shallow. It’s not your fault, you are a sheep.

I find it amusing, in an ironic, homicidal tendancy inducing, kind of way that when ever you get to second meeting level conversation (don’t get me started on the first meeting, ’so, what do you do’) it is invariably some version of the self-righteous monologue entitled, ‘People are so fake’. This normally takes place at the highly marbled bar of the flash in the pan, uber-trendy, place to be seen hotel. That will be 73 Dirhams for a plate of lightly battered leftovers.

I know, I am just another random who can string together 5 words into an insulting sentence. But. And I stress, there need to be more of me, the world demands it. I am the peer pressure anti-Christ and I am here to lead you into dark of your living rooms where introspection, inner peace and blissful weight gain, my holy trinity if you will, hold court.

So, with this I will begin a regular distribution of abuse, derogatory commentary and self-serving pontificating that is guaranteed to have your begging for more. And if it doesn’t, well, you know that really big flag pole?

Here’s to me.