Walk Like An Egyptian

Interesting times in Cairo. Journalists are getting harassed and detained by “not-cops”, pro-government suppporters who just happen to be walking around with billy clubs, handcuffs and keys to police vans. Every photo and video clip looks like a mob scene from a Danny Boyle movie. And poor Anderson Cooper’s been beat up more than a Chicago quarterback, to the point where he seems intent on covering the rest of the protest from the curtains by his hotel bathroom. Can’t say I blame him; I would’ve been out on there on the first thing smoking, eating chicken cordon bleu on Brian Williams’ and Katie Couric’s laps.

Got mad respect for Brian Williams and Katie Couric. They’re the first prominent journalists I can recall having the sense to know when it’s time to step back and send in the interns. I don’t know why so many reporters think we need to see them bleeding, wearing a flak jacket or sitting in a rowboat to take the story seriously. Significant government buildings are engulfed in flame dude, we get that’s it’s a big deal. How bout you run those wrinkle-free Dockers back the hotel room and avoid making an orphan of the cameraman’s son?

I learned something important about myself over lunch yesterday. If I’m browsing online and see a video title featuring some famous journalist’s name, followed by the words “punched”, “attacked” or “attacked again”, I WILL click on that link. Immediately. I will watch that link and all the related videos I can find for no less than thirty minutes. CNN had a link to one video saying a reporter was “beaten like hell”; I watched that one with cookies. The next time I post a comedy set online, am going to title it “Comic gets kicked in face” and see how many shots of drain cleaner I can down in the twelve minutes it takes to go viral.

Poor Mubarak. He had a good thing going until Tunisia. And then like any jaded girlfriend or overpaid athlete, the people started getting antsy.
“Mm. I see Tunisia’s getting rights and change. America’s been had rights and are getting themselves some change. When do we get some rights and change?”
“In thirty years or so my dears, after I’ve grown bored with having all the power and not having to care about what you want.”
“Mm. You know what, we think we want to give your friend Omar a try. He listens to us.”
“Hah. That is as cute as my mustache. You want to try Omar? Over my dead body.”
“K.”

Cue large groups of angry citizens shouting and burning stuff. Cue army who referees without refereeing. Cue large group of aggressive Mubarak “supporters”, a curious number of whom seems to have access to billy clubs and handcuffs and keys to police vans. Add to that a soon-to-be burned out square, along with a seemingly limitless supply of rocks and gauze eye-patches and you’ve got a bona-fide liberation party. Except no party is a party without cocktails; Molotov, anyone? Hold the Vermouth...

Have a special admiration for the commitment to the Molotov cocktail as the weapon of choice in this transitional soiree. Gas is $3.15+ here in the States, so I know it can’t be readily available in Egypt. Sure the oil is right there, but who’s got spending money when no one’s worked for two weeks? Plus, from what I saw in the “Anderson Cooper attacked” videos, some of these Egyptians’ aim is really REALLY bad. Can’t put a number on how many flaming bottles I saw launched with a valiant Tom Brady-quality throwing motion, only to end up setting an unimportant piece of unoccupied sidewalk on fire, or better yet, already burnt grass. Whatever the number, it was embarrassing, like watching your gym teacher try to teach you how to play basketball, only to shoot brick after brick after brick, finally claiming the hoop was oblong. I’m nine man; I don’t know what oblong means. But I do know someone else should be teaching me basketball.

Can’t be too hard on those guys I guess, I mean who practices throwing Molotov cocktails? I’d be lucky to get one off without setting my favorite coat on fire, no man’s last words should be “Why’d I wear a fur lining?”

The prayer breaks are inspiring. I thought I loved God, but I don’t know that I’m disciplined enough to stop throwing rocks and setting strangers on fire once I’ve started. You have to admit to yourself, as long as you’re not the one getting hit, throwing rocks at people sounds like a little bit of fun. That’s a terrible thing to say, I can feel your judgmental gasp, but I think once you get past throwing the first rock, it probably gets really good to you. It has to be fun, how else did stoning mobs in biblical times get started so fast? No one ever turns down an opportunity to throw rocks. Your next-door neighbor would come by
“Hey you wanna come throw rocks at a hooker?”
“Absolutely. What did she do?”
“She’s a hooker.”
“Good enough.”

I can’t get myself revved up for some proper rock and cocktail throwing and then stop to pray. If I do pray, it’s probably going to take me at least three or four minutes to start praying for anything besides “awesome aim” and “some crazy sweet headshots”. Then I’ll start to feel guilty and apologize. Then I’ll focus and start really praying. As I’m praying, I’ll become aware of the amazing oneness I feel with everyone around me, all of us prostrate in one direction, all taking time out to take stock of our priorities. I’ll remember how no matter our differences we are all bound together by our love of life, our love for our families and our esteem for the Higher Power that put us here. As we finish, I’ll stand up feeling unspeakably grateful for the opportunity to have experienced this life-changing kinship with my fellow man and woman. And it’ll be just then, while I’m still in my spiritual euphoria, some wanker will bloody my kufi with a well thrown chunk of asphalt while his buddy sets my tunic on fire. Well played “non-cops”; next time I’ll stick to praying for crazy sweet headshots and the presence of mind to “stop, drop & roll”.

I hope this tumultuousness in Egypt works itself out soon. The situation is starting to distract from my stressing about the possibility of an NFL lockout, and that’s just not a good look for me. I hope Egypt succeeds in establishing itself a quality democracy, one that doesn’t take two-hundred-plus years to refine itself to the sometimes-stupefying-but-still-marginally-promising level of dysfunction we enjoy today. I hope the Egyptian people aren’t going through all this heroism and bloodshed just to put in power a new de-facto dictator who will eventually have to be run out of office himself a few years from now. When all’s said and done, Egypt’s going to need some time to replenish its supply of gauze and flammable landmarks, just hope everyone can stay off the cocktails long enough to finish the job.