It's a Werewolf Bar Mitzvah / Spooky, Scary / Boys Becoming Men / Men Becoming Wolves

So while I started this blog to chronicle my year in the Middle East, my large percentage of introspective time leads to lots of living inside my head.  I day dream and write a lot of weird stuff.  Sometimes this needs an outlet, like a blog, for example.  So if you only want to hear about Jordan and my life here, you can stop reading and wait until the next post.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a love song about zombies (which I've posted along with a few covers and originals at drop.io/tedssongs).  Generally speaking, I like zombies a lot more than werewolves.  I mean, compare Dawn of the Dead  to Teen Wolf.  Filmwise, I don't think it's really even a contest, no matter how great Michael J. Fox is.  The zombie oeuvre is much stronger, spanning genres from comedy (Dance of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead, Zombieland) to horror (Night of the Living Dead, all of Romero's work) and action (28 Days Later [look, I know rage zombies are not traditional zombies, but it's a pretty good movie]).  However, writing the song got me thinking why there aren't more songs about zombies in comparison to the fairly large number of songs about werewolves.  The conclusion I reached is that  becoming a zombie is a pretty simple experience.  First it's fear, then it's hunger.  Specifically for brains.  While running away from zombies for two hours leads to good action and lots of witty repartee, it doesn't necessarily translate well to song.

Becoming a werewolf is a far more complicated issue.  Due to the cyclic nature of werewolfism, the transformation involves fear, hormones, anger, personality changes, guilt, and a loss of control.  It's kind of like being a teenage boy.  This mess of emotions often leads to musical awesomeness.

So without further ado, here are my top five (and one extra) songs about werewolves:

1. TV on the Radio - "Wolf Like Me" YouTube

"Wolf Like Me" gives the impression that turning into a werewolf is an exhilarating experience that makes you feel alive.  With the pulsing bass drum like a heart beat and the guitar cutting through, the transformation they sing about is one of power and embracing one's wildness.  Key lyrics:

My mind has changed my body's frame 

But god I like it
My heart's aflame, my body's strained 

But god I like it

2. Blitzen Trapper - "Furr" YouTube

I only got into Blitzen Trapper this past year, but I really like a lot of their stuff.  I think this is their best-known song, and it's a more emotional view of becoming a wolf.  Interestingly, they sing about both turning into a wolf and coming back to humanity, a side of the werewolf experience that isn't often explored.  Also there's a great harmonica solo.

For my flesh had turned to fur, yeah
And my thoughts, they surely were, turned to
instinct and obedience to God.

3. Warren Zevon - "Werewolves of London" YouTube

Probably the best-known werewolf song on the market.  Warren Zevon was a weird guy who wrote some pretty amazing songs, and both his awesome howl and sense of humor come through on the track.

If you hear him howling around your kitchen door
Better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again

4. Cat Power - "Werewolf" YouTube

Everything Chan Marshall sings sounds haunting, so when she sings about werewolves in a slow minor key number, it's killer.   She sings about the werewolf's pain, a kind of counterpoint to TV on the Radio's fist pump of a song.  It's a song about resignation, about the return of a known hurt.

Cryin' nobody know, nobody knows my pain
When I see that it's risen; that full moon again

For the werewolf, for the werewolf has sympathy
For the werewolf is somebody like you and me.

5. Five Man Electrical Band - "Werewolf" YouTube

I'm not sure how I came across this Canadian werewolf jam.  But it's awesome, in a ridiculous Canadian '70s rock way.

I know he's my own flesh and blood
But he makes my blood run chilly
Cause I saw him from my window
And he was on the heel
Just screaming at the moonlight

****BONUS****

Tracy Morgan/Jordan - "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" YouTube

This appeared briefly on an episode of 30 Rock, but apparently they recorded a full version, which is hilarious.

Then my teeth turned into fangs and my nails into claws

And I nearly dropped the torah when my hands turned into paws

I growled and I roared and my rabbi did as well

It was a rocking werewolf zoo at Temple Beth Emmanuel

I promise I'll get back to talking about the Middle East and Iraqis soon enough.

Mistake

"Teacher, there is mistake on your shirt. 'Socks' is spelled s-o-c-k-s, not s-o-x. You should buying new shirt."

I think my final few weeks of teaching Iraqis will be spent on baseball. Cultural education, as it were.

Baby, that's all we need

[ed note: I don't think I've written about my students enough lately, so here is one short snippet and some predictable shenanigans.]

After church yesterday evening, I went to the house of "Abu Miryam" and his wife, who are students in my class at the Chaldean Church.  Like most of my students, they're getting up there in years, but they both have great senses of humor.  While we waited for Umm Miryam to arrive, Abu MIryam told me more about his life in Iraq.  In the 1970s, he owned a hotel/restaurant complex in Baghdad.  In the 1980s, he sold it for what I figure to be about $500,000 and traveled to Sweden and Hungary to get away from the Iran-Iraq war.  He returned, only to see his fortune get reduced to practically nothing as the Iraqi dinar fell off a cliff during the First Gulf War.  He came to Jordan with his wife last year, leaving behind their house in Baghdad.  Their daughter, "Miryam," finished medical school in Baghdad in 2008, and is now in the U.S. studying for her boards.  They hope to join her soon.

In addition to English, Abu Miryam is also studying Chaldean Aramaic, which most Chaldeans know a bit of.  If you meet a Chaldean, he or she will almost certainly remind you that Chaldean Aramaic is "al-lugha Yesua," the language of Jesus.  Abu Miryam can speak it, but had never learned the writing, which is very different from Arabic.  He showed me his notebook, which was filled with an assortment almost-Hebrew letters and their Arabic equivalents.

As Umm Miryam prepared the food, Abu Miryam, with his dentures now removed, asks me, "Do you like Djani Wallllker?"  I answered in the affirmative, and while he got the glasses, I pondered whether my project should've had "Drinking with..." before the "Endangered Communities in the Middle East" in the title.  Soon, Umm Miryam emerged with a feast, including homemade spicy pickles and olives along with the usual Iraqi meats.  After another glass of "Djani Walllker," I told them I had to go.  Abu Miryam had a concerned look on his face.  "It's not safe out there at night.  You shouldn't travel alone."  This wasn't the usual Arab invitation to stay the night; he was really worried.  Umm Miryam quieted him down.  "This is Amman, not Baghdad."

I wandered down the hill to get a taxi.  When I got in, the young driver asked if I was a foreigner.  Yes, I replied.  Do you like foreign music?  Of course, I answered.

Then a familiar bass line kicked in, and I knew it had been a good night.  In the streets of Abdali, I sang along as the music played:

"Colt 45 and two zig-zags, Baby that's all we need..."

Mother of Camels!

After an emotionally-impactful but blog-inappropriate (death and mourning, Iraqi-style) evening on Friday, I traveled to Northern Jordan with a friend on Saturday.  I've previously written about how much I like riding buses in the country.  I should amend that to say **moving** buses.  Once underway, however, I enjoyed each part of our trip to Umm al-Jimal (Mother of Camels, the Bedouin name for a Nabatean city).  Stopping in the sleepy market towns of Az-Zarqa (home of Al-Qaida leader Abu Musab al-Zarqawi) and Mufraq (home of nothing that I know of), we made it to the two thousand year old city just after noon.

Thumbs up to Northern Jordan.  Thumbs down to the Red Sox offense.

It sits about 10 km from the Syrian border, on the foothills of Jabal Druze, the Syrian region on which I did the bulk of my undergraduate research.  All the rock here is volcanic, so the buildings are made of an amazing black stone.  And thanks to the desert, the city is pretty well intact, including a castle, Byzantine Churches, lots of houses, and water storage units, which still contain some dirtywater.

Some of the churches were quite incredible.  The one that really stood out had a Latin inscription above the right aisle portal, which is unusual, because most of what I see here is in Greek, even in Roman cities like Jerash.  Umm al-Jimal was  built from the 1st century BC to the fourth century AD, and I would guess that the church was towards the end of that time.  The right half of the lintel was faded and had something growing on it, but I could spot VALENTINIAN in the top line, who Wikipedia tells me was Roman Emperor from 364 AD - 375 AD and a Christian, which would make sense with the timeline for the site and his patronage of a church here.  There's also a reference farther down to the consul and the magister equitum, possibly listing all of those responsible for the construction.  Then again, this lintel might have been reused for a later Byzantine church from an earlier Roman one since this site was occupied even after Roman authority waned.  In any case, the church was quite beautiful, with a small set of steps at the back of the apse leading to nowhere (heaven?, cue beginning of song).

Lintel on the right portal of the church

Also quite interesting for me was what I found inside this church - a boatload of mosaics.  A couple fragments in the nave had been uncovered, but dirt covered most of the floor.  I walked to the apse and started brushing it away, and sure enough, there were floral patterns and crosses underneath.  While the good ones are probably long gone, having probably been on the walls, there is a lot here and no one looking.  I didn't see anyone else in the three hours were were in the site.  Realizing that brushing off mosaics with my bandana was not the best way to preserve the site, I let my guilt win out over my curiosity, and I stopped.

I did find one lone tessera in the altar area, which was probably one among millions that once filled this church.

After galavanting around the ruins for another few hours, we began the journey back to Amman.  We didn't get far.  After flagging down a van to get a ride back to Mafraq, the Bedouin man driving said he had to stop at his house for five minutes.  Arriving at his tidy house next to a small olive grove, he invited us in for a drink.  While I have some criticisms of Greg Mortenson's Three Cups of Tea, the titular concept is spot on.  That is, after one cup, you're a stranger.  After the second, you're a friend.  After the third, you're family.  Well, I could write a sequel called A cup of tang, a cup of water, and a cup of Diet Pepsi after our visit to this guy's home.  If I thought back to another experience with Bedouins, it could easily be called 7 to 10 cups of tea.  Anyways, over various drinks and a huge platter of eggplant, fried potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers, we relaxed in his diwan.  With my friend dozing off on his cushion, I was quite content.  Sitting in a friendly stranger's (sorry, family member's) home and making small talk is what I find so incredible about my time here.  While I'll always remember the incredible things I've seen and will see in the months ahead, what will stick with me are the people I've met, even for just a couple hours, who have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome in whatever town I find myself in.

After our "delay" in his living room, we got back to Mafraq, then Zarqa, then finally Amman after sunset.  Getting out of the city is something I need to do to stay sane, and the people I meet in the great unknown that is the rest of Jordan are a great asset in understanding the country.

Artifacts

My wanderings in the last few weeks have led to some awesome discoveries.  On one walk from my house to Downtown via Wadi Saqra, I found three things of note.

First, I saw a bra in the gutter.  Having recently attended an American college, my first thought was, "Ouch.  Someone had a rough night."  Then I remembered that I'm in Jordan so it probably just fell off a clothes line. 

The second thing I saw was a lonely UNO card.  Considering that children don't wear seatbelts here, I'm shocked that the whole deck wasn't littered along the road.

Finally, I happened upon a car with a peculiar license plate.  Did they take a wrong turn en route to North Carolina?

And then yesterday, it rained!  Apparently, it had previously rained while I was in Dubai, but this was my first rain in Amman, and it was quite a sight to behold.  The streets aren't really designed to handle the water, so huge lakes form even from a thirty minute storm.

So that wasn't a real post, but I thought I needed something positive to counteract the negativity of my last dispatch. 

Trapped in the Closet

The previous week here has been a bit of a down note.  Friends leaving, meetings cancelled, and the newness of Jordan wearing off has been an adjustment for me.  I'm still quite happy to be here, but the ratio of jaw-dropping awesome moments to everyday life has decreased considerably.  This also accounts for the decreased blog content.  Anyway, a few things happened yesterday that are worth noting.

I was meeting a guy, let's call him "Creepy McSketch," to do a language exchange.  My Arabic is getting a lot of work here, and I'm improving, but I figure, if I have the free time, why not force myself to speak more Arabic.  However, when I arrived to meet him, it became clear that neither Arabic nor English were on his mind.

We sat down at a bench in a square, and he brings over a cup of mango juice.  This is a good start, I figure.  Many of my best experiences here involve food.  So we're talking, and I ask what he does for a living.  Creepy says, "I'm in the mukhabarat."  That's the secret service/intelligence group in Jordan.  He says that in a whisper, leaning in close.  Oh, I realize, he doesn't want the people around to hear what he's saying because he's mukhabarat.  This is exciting.  A minute later, he asks, "Can I message you?" with every word except message in Arabic.  Sure, I say.  I mean, the guy has my phone number.  Then he starts squeezing my leg.  LOLWHAT?

It turns out that he meant "massage" when he said "message."  This conversation is taking a dangerous turn.

"Are you married," he asks.

"Ummmm....YES.  I am most definitely married.  My wife is in America.  She works in a business."  (I speak like an intro to Arabic textbook)

"America is very far away," he says.  "Are you alone in Jordan?  Would you like to sit with me at my house.  I hope we become friends."

"I am sorry, my friend.  I'm not gay, and I'm married."

"But America is very far away.  We should be friends," Creepy said as he leaned in closer.

Then he grabbed my crotch.  I elbowed him and called him ibn kelb, son of a dog.  I didn't want to make a scene in front of a street full of people, so I stayed, which was really uncomfortable, but also when the conversation got really interesting.  After propositioning me for sex, Creepy McSketch then tried to convert me to Islam.  I've experienced both of these things in the Middle East, but never in succession, which must be akin to a Larry Craig/Ted Haggard/Every Other Republican Closet Case experience.  After being groped by this aggressive officer, I was obviously a bit upset.  In our conversation, this manifested itself in my being extremely difficult.

"Do you know Muhammad?," Creepy asked.

"Well, not personally," I retorted.

A few minutes later, I made up an excuse to leave, and then walked around Jabal Webdeh until I had somewhere to be an hour later.  I spent a while thinking about what happened, and I really blame it on the closet.  I know a few gay guys in Jordan who are personally (if not professionally) out.  And the thing about out gay guys is that they don't really hit on straight guys.  It's a waste of time.  But when someone is so far in the closet like this mukhabarat officer, his sexual energy is so repressed by Arab culture that when his sexuality comes to the surface, it is aggressive and willfully ignorant of the other party, namely me.  Combining that with the religious stuff, and you have a barrel of issues in one creepy man.

After going to the Chaldean Church for mass (Who knew a Catholic Church would be a bastion of not-creepiness?), I went to the bar with a few friends, where a couple of pitchers brought the world into balance again.