Great, now they're destroying my past too

My first post-college job was as an editing intern at the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. Just for a summer. But it was great: I was surrounded by great colleagues, great interns and great sausages. I learned a lot and had a remarkable amount of fun. As you can probably gather, for a variety of reasons I look back on that summer as being pretty freaking awesome.

But times have gotten hard in the newspaper world. The bean counters have fewer beans to play with; publishers think Twitter is the answer to plummeting ad revenue; design gurus think that readers have the general intellect of a toddler.

And so it's more than a little painful to hear, from thousands of miles away, about the departure of my former boss there, an excellent editor and all-around cool person. She took a buyout and is at the moment filling graduate students' heads with good journalism. Hers is one of about 70 exits, both of the voluntary and involuntary type.

So, crap. I know the people still there will work hard and do their best to produce a great paper. But it's always sad to see this kind of thing happen. And it's doubly sad when you consider the poor business decisions that got it to this point.

So for now, I'll just focus on the good memories.

Proper documentation

Abu Dhabi so far has been an interesting and occasionally frustrating blend of the alien and the familiar. It's hard to explain sometimes. You say, "Hey, I passed a bunch of guys huddled around a TV shop on the way home from work last night, and they were watching WWF"* or "I'm drinking a mocha on an indoor ski slope," but can words really convey the vast, fascinating seas of information inherent in those situations? No. No, they cannot.

So I try to take pictures. But I hate being that guy who carries around a camera all the time. So I use my cell phone for impulse photography. The problem, though, is that my phone is barely a good phone... and it's an awful camera.

In conclusion, that's why I'm not posting the otherwise funny picture of guys watching pro wrestling on the sidewalk in Abu Dhabi. Blame Nokia.

*reliable sources tell me it's now the WWE. I have no idea what the E would stand for.

I can see clearly now

... the sand is gone. Mostly. But I see here in this morning's The National that more sandstorm--direct from northern Iraq--is on the way. Guess I better enjoy the sun (and 113-degree heat) while I can.

Now it's just a matter of getting a million things done, not to mention fight a couple of additional running battles against both state and company bureaucracy, before I return to the land of Target, barbecue and redheads. Fortunately, I have found a place that makes a decent margarita.

Demasiado guacamole

I followed through on my threat to go find Mexican food.

Just like madre used to make.

I had guacamole (which turned out to be made tableside) and what was basically steak fajita meat marinated in tamarind sauce and served with rice. Nary a burrito to be seen on the menu, but whatever. I had guacamole.

In case you're wondering, and I know you are, Abu Dhabi tableside guacamole is, well, just OK. Certainly not up to the standards of a Harvest Time or La Cocina Gunnison-Talman. For one thing, they don't use garlic. For another, they use oregano. And instead of lime juice, which besides the avocado is arguable the key ingredient, they used lemon juice. Yeah, I don't understand it either.

But those oddities didn't make it any less of a fiesta de driver's license. It tasted like... victory. (and oregano)

Let's take a moment to praise the Abu Dhabi Traffic and Licensing Department

You know what? Despite the huge pile of paperwork I had to amass, and even though the office was closed yesterday when it should have been opened, when I actually made it in there it was the smoothing bureaucratic experience of my life.

Two guys with oddly puffy hair.

Total time from when I walked into the lobby--the comfortable and easy-to-navigate lobby with a snack bar, I might add--to when I was handed my shiny new card was about 20 minutes. In the interim I took a "vision test" (identified three numbers with one eye closed) and answered a couple of questions. And that was it.

How shall I celebrate? I'm considering tracking down some comida Mexicana.

My eyes! My eyes!

Someone snatched my sunglasses off my desk at work. It's the only way I can explain their complete and utterly mysterious disappearance from my general vicinity last week. But whatever. They cost $15 at Target.

You know what, though? There are no Targets in the Middle East. And that, for the most part, means no cheap sunglasses. I spent a bit of time prowling through the Marina Mall this afternoon (thanks to a sandstorm that made doing anything outside a little hard on the lungs) trying to track down a replacement. But the cheapest pair I could find was Dh360, or just a hair under $100.

I'm reluctant to spend that much, because, well, something always happens to sunglasses I own. Getting stolen off my desk, for instance.

I did find a Dh10 pair in the market in Dubai, and they seem to work fine, but there is this paranoid voice in the back of my head telling me that these otherwise harmless-looking shades are going to burn a hole in my retina.

Alas, though, "mid-range" doesn't seem to exist here. It's either Dh1,000 Ray-Bans or their Dh10 market-stall brethren, Roy-Bans. Good thing I have a flight back to Target-land next month....

The plot thickens

And by plot I mean sandstorm.

Air so thick you could cut it with a shovel.

The grit was definitely more noticeable in my mouth, too. Coming out of the gym I almost wanted to cover my face with my shirt. By comparison:

Friday: tall buildings still visible.

But hey, I'm not going to let the sand defeat me. I set out, sheaf of bureaucracy in hand, to get my driver's license. Somewhat ironically, there is no easily discernible address for the Traffic and Licensing Department. Somewhat fortunately, I ran into a kind and helpful Co-Worker of the Blog who not only had her driver's license, but was on her way to Dubai--she offered to drop me off at the correct office.

And so she did. But it was closed, despite assurances to the contrary on the Police Department website. The result, of course, is that I will be getting my license (say it with me!) after tomorrow.