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All the News About Hal that Hal Deems Fit to Print
=====================================================================
NOV/DEC 1994 ~ Ite in Orcum Directe ~ Volume 3, Issue 7
_____________________________________________________________________
The Best Non-cooking, Non-Gardening, Self-Published Newsletter
in New England - Some Guy at the Boston Globe
Publisher: Harold Gardner Phillips, III
Editor-in-Chief: Hal Phillips
General Managing Editor: Lou Gorman
Deputy Managing Editor: Don Knotts
Virtual Editor: Dr. David M. Rose, Ph.D.
Paranoia Editor: Howard Giske
Production Manager: Quinn Martin
Weapons Consultant: Kirby Dar-Dar
Spiritual Consultant: William Bennett
Editorial Offices: The Harold Herald
30 Deering St.
Portland, ME 04101
Satellite Office: c/o Golf Course News
38 Lafayette St.
P.O. Box 997
Yarmouth, ME 04096
ARCHIVE SITES:
fir.cic.net (pub/Zines/Harold.Herald)
etext.archive.umich.edu (pub/Zines/Harold.Herald)
Subscription requests to drose@fas.harvard.edu
Submissions welcome
THIS ISSUE: Bob Dole Becomes a Moderate!
The Herald Seeks 1000 Points of Light!
Housing Subsidy Subsides in Cambridge!
READER SURVEY: You're a Statistic!
Morocco/Orland Junket!
And, of course, your letters...
/-/ \-\
NEWT WORLD ORDER
By MARK SULLIVAN
A flood of post-election commentary has been devoted to the "precision
surgery" voters administered on Nov. 8 to the American body politic.
Democrats great and small were put to rout, like first-born sons
targeted by a noxious Old Testament plague that stopped at every home
with an "R" swabbed in lamb's blood on the door. Republican incumbents
were spared, and the GOP captured both houses of Congress.
Yet voters were discerning enough, pundits observe, to reject certain
big-spending, high-profile Republican newcomers - Iran-Contra felon
Oliver North and vacuous, cult-connected California millionaire
Michael Huffington - who were patently unsuited to positions of public
trust.
This talk is all well and good.
Perhaps Maine voters, who for the second time in a generation elected
an Independent to the governor's office, were demonstrating their
surgically precise-mindedness when they rejected the bid of an obscure
third-party candidate named Plato Truman for the U.S. Senate.
Perhaps civic religion was thereby served. But think how much fun it
would have been to have a member of the Senate named Plato Truman.
Voters in Massachusetts' 3rd Congressional District may have acted
short-sightedly, from a cosmic perspective, when they took a scalpel
to the candidacy of Dale E. Friedgen, owner of a Maynard auto-parts
store and candidate of the Natural Law Party, founded on the
principles of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
The bespectacled 45-year-old Friedgen, who looks rather more like a
stamp collector or Baptist Sunday School instructor than a dealer in
brake pads and CV joints, cited studies showing that violent crime
decreases significantly in cities where large numbers of people
practice transcendental meditation. He called for government funding
into further studies of this phenomenon.
The mantra-and-levitation approach was lost on blue-collar voters in
the 3rd District, an oddly-cobbled swath of bleak Central
Massachusetts mill towns jokingly called the "Ivy League District"
because it stretches from Princeton to Dartmouth. Friedgen received
2,382 votes, to the 116,286 garnered by the victorious incumbent,
Peter Blute, a hail-fellow Republican whose Joey Heatherton-esque
wife, Robbi, does a mean Marjorie Claprood imitation and gives Hal's
favorite drunken misanthropic Marlboro newspaper columnist, Ed
Bridges, the hots.
Discriminating Bay Staters, in returning the Republican team of Gov.
William Weld and Lt. Gov. Paul Cellucci to office with a hefty 71
percent of the vote, rejected an arguably more colorful alternative,
the wild-eyed, beam-weapon-loving ticket of Jeffrey Rebello and Howard
Giske of the LaRouche Was Right Party.
The oddball, intensely paranoid cult followers of millionaire crackpot
visionary Lyndon LaRouche are big on conspiracies, seeing the world
abound with evil international intrigues involving Swiss bankers,
Freemasons, the genocidal World Wildlife Fund, Prince Philip and his
drug-smuggling wife, Queen Elizabeth.
My favorite campaign-year LaRouchisms: The ominous 1984 headline in a
LaRouche cult newspaper, "John Glenn visits Pittsburgh, noted hotbed
of Freemasonry," and the 1980 charge by LaRouche, a perennial
presidential candidate, that he was being targeted for assassination
by a sinister cabal consisting of the Ayatollah Khomeini, The Boston
Globe and then New Hampshire Gov. Hugh Gallen.
Weld, who as U.S. attorney prosecuted LaRouche for financial
chicanery, is particularly despised by cult members, who have accused
the Massachusetts governor of inheriting a family fortune made in the
19th century opium trade, and maintaining current drug-smuggling ties
with the queen of England.
While the 37-year-old Giske lists a chemical engineering degree from
Penn, the would-be lieutenant governor claims to have worked full-time
the past 15 years as a LaRouche activist, which presumably entails
spending one's days handing out pamphlets to unwitting travelers in
airport terminals and baiting Trotskyites at the adjacent table in the
BU student union.
Giske and Rebello, for the foreseeable future, will continue in this
line, having logged just 3,930 votes in the recent election, to the
1.5 million for Weld and Cellucci.
Surgical precision? Conspiracy is more like it.
Mark Sullivan's family fortune was made smuggling wide-wale
corduroys out of Winchester, Mass., where he still resides. A
freelance writer and devoted Whig, Sullivan has contracted with
Putnam to publish the unauthorized biography Massachusetts
Congressman Peter Torkildsen, due out when ex-con/congressman
Nicky "Pockets" Mavroulas decides to run again.
/-/ \-\
HAROLD NOTEBOOK
BY HAROLD GARDNER PHILLIPS III
Hey, kids! How 'bout a little political humor to lighten the mood
following a most rancorous political season? All in good fun, of
course. We're all friends here in America - that is, if your white and
believe in the one, true God:
- National Public Radio's "All Things Considered" (known to my father
as "All Liberal Things Considered") has been shortened from 90 to 60
minutes. Seems there just aren't enough liberal things to consider
anymore... Budda-boom.
- What's the difference between Denver International Airport and the
White House? Well, you can land a plane at the White House... Hoo-Hoo!
I got a million of 'em.
- Come 1995, Sen. Jesse Helms will chair of the Foreign Relations
Committee and Al D'Amato will head the Senate Banking Committee...
AAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
But seriously folks, as a member of the media, I have to call a spade
a spade: For months, we heard Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw and all of
mainstream punditry drone on about the strong "anti-incumbent" feeling
among the electorate. Well, not a single incumbent Republican was
voted out of office.
Hard to refute those Republicans who've complained for years about the
left-leaning, liberal-sympathizing media.
I've just returned from Phoenix and Scottsdale, where many of golf's
luminaries gathered at the tony Scottsdale Conference Resort for Golf
Summit '94, a biennial strategic planning seminar. Pretty boring
stuff, but I did play a fantastic golf course - The Boulders in
Carefree, where managed to shoot an 83 while three-putting five times
(!?!).
Anyway, the course is carved from a bizarre landscape where condos
reminiscent of suburban Bedrock blend surprisingly well with tractor-
trailer-sized boulders that sit precariously atop one another. All
manner of fauna skitter back and forth across the immaculate fairways.
We saw a family of four coyotes on the 12th hole, while the rabbits
and lizards were too numerous to count.
On that same 12th hole, I happened upon another rare species: The
Octogenarian Wesleyan Grad.
I had just hit my second shot on the par 5 when an elderly couple
interrupted their walk to say hello. This old dude noticed my Wesleyan
golf bag on the cart and smiled ear to ear.
"John Andrus '33," he said.
"Hal Phillips '86," I answered, quickly adding: "Andrus of Andrus
Field?"
"The same."
We chatted for a while, as he seemed genuinely pleased to find a
fellow Cardinal so far from beautiful Middletown, Conn. He also left
me with some advice.
"Don't ever go to your 60th reunion," he warned. "I just went to mine.
There were about seven of us, and all we did was talk about who died."
I was upgraded all the way to Phoenix. So, in the plush confines of
first class I enjoyed a knock-down-drag-out political argument with a
middle-aged conservative female from San Francisco's East Bay.
Basically, we didn't agree on a damn thing. But the banter was
reasonably good natured, as I bludgeoned her with the full weight of
my multi-faceted libertine/liberal philosophy and she retaliated with
her "that's not government's role" mantra.
"I don't meet too many people with your political views in first
class," she observed after two hours of defending Clinton.
"Well," I responded, "Feinstein bought me the ticket to prove you
wasted your vote on Huffington."
/-/ \-\
PAY UP
By HAL PHILLIPS
PORTLAND, Maine - In keeping with the rising tide of conservatism, the
management team here at the Harold Herald has come to a troubling but
nevertheless monumental decision. In stark contrast to the millions of
deadbeat orphans and welfare mothers who selfishly drain the country's
coffers of your tax money, the Harold has chosen to refuse all
government assistance and appeal directly to the charitable conscience
of its readership.
We're serious. Give us some money.
The Herald has been published for the better part of three years with
the shaky financial backing of Editor/Publisher/All-Being Hal Phillips
(that's me) and a handful of readers who've sent me stamps. Don't get
me wrong. Nothing in life, save a cheese steak and fries from
Genovese's, has given me more pleasure than sharing the riveting
details of my life with you, my loyal, fawning readership. But the
Herald's growing circulation costs are breaking me.
This is one of those classic "good news, bad news" situations: While
it's gratifying to see the circulation list expand, the larger it
becomes, the more it costs me.
Internet subscribers aside, the Herald readership has tripled this
year. More than 110 folks now receive it via the U.S. Postal Service,
which I refuse mock. [In terms of public opinion, the Post Office gets
a raw deal. If you discount its slow, discourteous service and the
rather aggressive behavior of certain employees in fast food joints,
the Post Office does a creditable job. I mean, you can't buy a
freakin' Hershey bar for 29 cents in this day and age.]
Anyway, do the math. It costs me a bundle to send this finely crafted
newsletter to every damn one of you. But don't think of me. Think of
the lovely Sharon Vandermay, who is showered with gifts and finery on
a scale inversely proportionate to the Herald circulation list.
The central question is, "What's the Herald worth to you?"
Consider your narrow, hopeless life; then consider it without the
Harold Herald, your monthly ray of clever, free-thinking sunshine. Can
you afford to let your pathetic existence become any more dreary, any
more... common?
While there will be no mandatory subscription price, any contribution
of $3 or more will earn you a lifetime subscription to the Harold
Herald.
As God is my witness and the Democrats keep control of the House, I
assure you the Herald will never force readers to pay for each
scintillating issue. However, any contribution to the Herald's newly
formed Circulation Endowment - be it money or stamps - will be
graciously accepted... well, the Herald staff isn't big on grace. In
any case, you can rest assured we'll take the money and run.
/-/ \-\
SURVEY SAYS!
By DAVID ROSE, PhD
BOSTON - As our loyal readers will recall, the Harold Herald began
world-wide distribution via the Internet in spring of this year. Since
then, 40-odd souls on four continents have requested electronic
subscriptions; hundreds less committed folks have casually browsed
through the Herald at various archive sites; and many millions of
people have ignored us entirely.
The birth of the electronic Harold Gardner Phillips III, or e-Hal as I
like to call him, marked a turning point in the publication's
evolution. Our audience, once comprised entirely of friends, family
and unwitting Boston Globe columnists, expanded to include... well, we
knew not what.
Who were these people? What were their interests? What did they look
for in an electronic, quasi-monthly monument to self-absorption?
Hell-bent on finding out, we planned a reader survey, a list of
questions so painstakingly crafted that it would both entertain our
readers and lay bare their deepest and most embarrassing thoughts,
fears and aspirations. Unfortunately, our work on the survey consisted
almost entirely of drinking beer, smoking cigarettes and repeatedly
chanting the mantra, "Boy, we should really work on that survey."
Well, we may yet write a survey that will shake our readership to its
very foundations, a survey that will force them to question their most
strongly held precepts. But to fill the gap in the meantime, I sent
out a mini-survey to our electronic subscribers to get some hint of
with whom we are dealing. The answers were most revealing:
Some numbers: Interestingly, 66 percent of Herald readers don't
respond to even the most witty reader surveys - meaning that only 12
people wrote back. The math is quite complex, so I'll just ask you to
accept my assertion that this gives our survey a .000023 percent
margin of error. In other words, it's pretty fucking accurate.
Geography: The whole point of going electronic was to go global, so
it wasn't surprising that responses flew in from far-flung locales
with exotic names like Swansea, Jacksonville and Minnetonka. What was
unexpected was the preponderance of responses from that green and
pleasant land, Great Britain; a full 41 percent of respondents are
citizens of that once-great nation. There are several explanations for
this result. First, we've stacked the deck by employing three British
contributors, one of whom is named Trevor - you don't get much more
British than that! Second, relieved of such tiresome burdens as
learning to cook or playing a meaningful role in world affairs, Brits
may simply have more time on their hands than citizens of other
nations. Finally, having been schooled in the finer points of
etiquette such as throwing their cloaks over mud puddles, they may
simply be too polite to ignore correspondence of any kind.
Occupation: It's difficult to discern any pattern in the occupations
of respondents. Such wide-ranging trades as computer technician,
computer officer, computer programmer, software designer, software
engineer, quantitative systems analyst, and programmer were
represented. Other disparate job titles included student, law student,
high school student, student and high school teacher. With such varied
demographics, it won't be long before we're selling our mailing lists
to advertising agencies for big bucks.
Music: Hal's single contribution to the survey was probably the most
interesting question of all*: "What was the first album you purchased
with your own money?" What could be more revealing? Unfortunately, no
clear picture of our readership emerges from the responses, which
ranged from the cool ("Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars,"
Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited") to the embarrassing (Poison, Tom
Jones) to the cryptic: Kylie Minogue's "Kiley," and "I'm alone with
clubhouse" (?!?). Interestingly, exactly 50 percent of our respondents
expressed remorse over their selections; 25 percent made wise choices,
while the remaining quarter expressed no remorse but should be very,
very ashamed.
The Herald Itself: I couldn't resist asking (somewhat snivelingly)
for our readers' assessment of the Herald itself. A full 33 percent
had not received the Herald yet; had received it but not read it; or
could not remember. Another 25 percent responded positively, if
vaguely. The remaining readers break down as follows (8.3 percent
each): Offered us dinner if we are ever in London; noted that the
publication is free; remarked that the Herald is "bombastic and
infrequent"; found it "different"; and "Corn Flakes," which I
interpret as a somewhat obscure Young Ones reference.
Hazel: Perhaps the most shocking result of the survey was that 83
percent of respondents had never heard of the television show, Hazel.
One is tempted to attribute this anomaly to the high percentage of
Europeans surveyed, but when you break it down the incidence of Hazel-
literacy is just 17 percent in the U.S. and abroad. Shocking.
We look forward to querying a better-informed readership in the mega-
survey to follow.
- Not surprising really- ed.
/-/ \-\
Hal, Ink.
(A regular feature chronicling the media frenzy surrounding our
Editor. - V.Ed.)
Slow period on the publicity front, but my ever-growing cult of
personality did receive a pair of influential shots in the arm:
- Readers of The New York Times on Saturday, Oct. 22, may have noticed
an anti-golf piece on page 3, "FORE! Golf in Asia Hits Environmental
Rough." After trashing the Asia-Pacific golf industry for 15
paragraphs, reporter Philip Shenon saw fit to "balance" the story with
a quote from yours truly:
"Because golf is seen as a rich man's sport, it's an easy target for
environmentalists," said Hal Phillips, editor of Golf Course News
Asia-Pacific, an industry journal. "At least with golf, it's open
space that's being developed. Would you rather have a golf course or a
strip mall? A golf club or a 400-room hotel? If you want to compare
the environmental impact, it's really no contest."
My interview with Shenon, the Times' Bangkok bureau chief, lasted some
45 minutes and he complimented GCN Asia-Pacific on its lack of
industry sycophancy. Nevertheless, I could tell he was preparing to
write what we in the trade call "a hatchet job," which he delivered.
"You won't like the story," he called to tell me, before the story was
published. "But you come out sounding pretty good."
Hey, I wouldn't have it any other way.
The reaction here was somewhat mixed. My mom, a Times devotee, was
well pleased. Poor Tim Dibble woke up Saturday morning in San
Francisco and nearly wretched. "I can live with your inherent
arrogance," Dibble explained to my answering machine. "But getting up
on a Saturday morning and reading you quoted in the Times - that's
more than I can take."
Full-time anti-golf zealot and sometimes Boston Globe columnist Alex
Beam read the piece and called asking for names of stupid,
inarticulate golf industry pundits he could quote for his forthcoming
anti-golf piece in Forbes FYI. This guy's got a lot of nerve. First,
he steals the story idea from the Times and Wall Street Journal. Then
he pitches it to an unsuspecting editor at Forbes, where they've
probably no idea how many times they've already been beaten on the
story. Then Beam wants me to do the legwork for him.
That's it! He's off the masthead!
From the highest highs...
A story and accompanying column I published in Golf Course News (Aug.
'94) was reprinted by the Biwabik Times, a weekly newspaper serving
the Iron Range Region of Northern Minnesota, near Duluth.
The story details the bureaucratic hoops a golf course architect named
Jeffrey Brauer has jumped through to gain approval for an 18-hole
project called Giants Ridge. Basically, Brauer's project is caught in
a cat fight between two agencies - one state, one county - both of
which feel they have environmental jurisdiction.
The column was a fairly inspired bit of government bashing: "It's easy
to get discouraged when a conscientious, quality project like Giants
Ridge can by stymied by a bunch of hypersensitive DNR engineers who -
had their turf not been infringed upon by county counterparts - might
instead be fumbling around their St. Paul offices, admiring each
other's pocket protectors and obsessing over the office shortage of
four-color pens."
The good folks of Biwabik reprinted everything word for word, even the
headline, one of my personal favorites: "Red tape in Minnesota...
Weenies on parade."
When I toiled for the Town Crier, Hudson Sun and Marlboro Enterprise,
we entered piddling little newspaper contests sponsored by the New
England Press Association (NEPA), the trade group for piddling little
newspapers like ours. The big boys (i.e. the Globe, Herald and
Courant) belonged to the New England Newspaper Association, or NENA.
So it gave me great pleasure to draw a mention in NENA's September
Bulletin under the headline, "All about himself." Much of story -
actually, it was more of a blurb - was reprinted from the Portland
Press Herald feature that ran in August. However, the NENA folks did
write the Herald is "funny, irreverent, cutting and opinionated."
I would never have known about the NENA mention had seven association
members not subsequently asked for Herald subscriptions.
What price fame? Well, it's $2.03 per month in stamps.
/-/ \-\
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Dear Harold,
Alex Beam selected Owens as the premier self-published newsletter in
New England, giving the Harold Herald second place, for valid reasons:
- Self-absorption. I am a Baby Boomer and you are not. Do you think
that you or any member of your generation in your wildest dreams could
be as self-absorbed as I am, or anyone else born in the golden years
after World War II? You lack a complete focus on your own navel. You
betray yourself by writing about other people as if they mattered.
I and fellow Boomer Alex Beam, well, it's an extremely uninteresting
day when we even notice that you exist. To think that you have
something to say is preposterous, unless you were writing about us.
But, of course, I can't explain this - you weren't there.
- Compare the two titles, Owens and the Harold Herald. Repetition is
for losers. A simple "yes" will do if you know the truth.
Consequently, it's Owens because I don't need to say it twice. Owens
is Zen. Harold Herald is mumbling.
Suppose you asked Bridget to sleep with you. If she answered, "Yes,"
would you ask her a second time, or would you start removing your
shirt and head for the bedroom?
"Yes" always means yes, and "no" can mean anything... but now I'm
talking about women.
Good luck and don't quit.
Fred Owens
Newton, Mass.
Ed. Self-parody is always the most cutting, so I defer to Fred on this
count and thank him for doing my bidding. As for Bridget, I find it
heartening that a man of Fred's advanced age still exhibits such a
healthy sexual interest, at least in print. The implication that he
prefers a partner (at least metaphorically) tells me that self-
absorption has its limits, even for Baby Boomers.o
/-/ \-\
The following appeared on the Reader Bulletin Board in The Highly
Esteemed Howl (vol. 4, no. 5), a Portland, Maine-based newsletter
published by a remarkably articulate but nevertheless thoroughly
adolescent group of, well, adolescents:
The Howl is proud to announce... Immortalization in someone else's
publication!
The Harold Herald calls it, "Interesting;" and it has "Literary pluck
and plain ol' enterprising spirit;" and "The Howl is well ahead of us"
(taking things out of context is fun).
Thanks Hal, except for the part where you called us "little fucks."
It's a good thing I don't have PMS right now. I might have to crank up
my raging "Boomer Envy," listen to "Helter Skelter" a couple times,
head over to the building where my parents lived when they were first
married, and kill you (tee-hee).
Elise Adams
Portland, Maine
Ed. I took liberty with the attribution here. The above entry was
unsigned. However, because of the PMS reference, it's almost certainly
the work of Elise, the Howl's distaff co-founder. Two questions: Did
your parents really live in Thomas Brackett Reed House? If so, were
you conceived there?
/-/ \-\
THROW THE BUMS OUT
By JOHN LAMONTAGNE
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. - As too many commentators and reporters have pointed
out on too many occasions, Election Day 1994 signaled an end to the
policies of the 1960s.
Mario Cuomo, the eloquent spokesman for old-fashioned liberalism and
progressive government, tossed out of office by an unknown. Anne
Richards, Texas' popular governor, sent packing by a man whose sole
qualification for office is the fact that he is son of a former
president and owns a notoriously bad baseball team. Hundreds of
Democrats thrown our of Washington and (gasp!) Newt Gingrich to be
installed as Speaker of the House.
But more telling, still, is the death of rent control in
Massachusetts.
For most, Election Day '94 was either a terrible end to Democratic
control of Congress or a glorious conservative victory.
For me, it means I look for a new home.
The last vestige of left-wing, 1960s housing policy in Massachusetts -
rent control - died a narrow death here on Nov. 8. Now I'm homeless,
as of Jan. 1, 1995.
Yes, I'm a rent control tenant and not ashamed to say it. I've got a
nice little one-bedroom apartment just outside Harvard Square, here in
the home of counter-culture elitism. I pay a relatively paltry $545 a
month rent, heat included.
Sure, it has a few drawbacks. It's admittedly not huge; the traffic on
Massachusetts Avenue is a little loud; and parking is pretty
impossible to find. But heck, for $545 a month, I can deal with it.
As of January, however, it's history. Now my landlord can charge
whatever he wants, and that will run somewhere in the range of $800 a
month.
Gulp.
By casting their votes for the evil landlords who control our lives
and checking accounts, the voters of Massachusetts effectively tossed
thousands of elder Americans from their homes and evicted scads of
young, immigrant families.
Worse yet, I may have to live with my parents for a few months.
You bastards!
So, now I scan the Want Ads and hope the whole process is held up in
the courts. The mayor of Cambridge (who, by the way, has a $400-a-
month, two-bedroom rent-control apartment) swears he'll fight to pass
a Home Rule Petition, which would effectively keep the 1960s system
alive and well in the People's Republic.
But chances are slim the petition would give young people with jobs
and a decent income (i.e., me) much of a break. Instead, the elderly
and low-income families will get them - truly an outrage, if you asked
me.
Sadly, Cambridge will be flooded with even more yuppies and the multi-
cultural flavor of this unique city will be squelched. But in today's
age of liberal-bashing, an old and somewhat unsuccessful policy like
rent control was doomed.
Anyone need a roommate?
John Lamontagne, a.k.a Paul Lefreniere, is yet another Marlboro
Enterprise refugee who's discovered life outside daily journalism. He
now works for Massachusetts Attorney General Scott Harshbarger, one of
the few liberal Democrats to survive the purge of Nov. 8. So while
Lamontagne is a lame duck renter, his job is safe.
/-/ \-\
PEJORATIVE CORNER
BY HAL PHILLIPS
THIS ISSUES TARGETS: MOROCCO AND ORLANDO
Morocco is a bad place to be a sheep.
First and foremost, you're liable to be eaten at any time. During my
week-long visit to North Africa's sole remaining monarchy in early
November, I was served lamb on at least 12 occasions. I love lamb, but
these people need to diversify their eating habits. Because sandals
are popular in this desert climate, it's apparent that nearly two-
thirds of male Moroccans have developed cloven hoofs.
Further, I wouldn't want to be a sheep in Morocco because you'd never
be sure when some horny Bedouin would lure you away from the herd for
a cross-genus quickie. Having picked up on several sly references from
natives, I gathered this peculiar form of inter-office romance is all
too common in Morocco, a Muslim nation where women don't sleep around
and men are forced to find alternative, oftentimes woolly outlets.
Come to think of it, this may explain the cloven hoofs.
Other observations:
- Third-world or otherwise backward industrial status tends to spill
over into popular culture, and Morocco is no exception. Night after
night, various lounge singers at the Hyatt Rabat paid homage to a
series of 1970s relics, Eric "I can't live" Carmen foremost among
them. When feeling particularly hip, they might throw in some
Christopher Cross. The situation was no better at an otherwise hoppin'
party thrown for and by the young, idle rich of Morocco. A quick
survey of the CD collection showed an unhealthy preponderance of
French disco, not to mention (gasp!) Barry Manilow and more Eric
Carmen.
- Virtually nothing in Morocco has a set price. One must haggle for
everything, including cab fare. Further, nothing is complementary,
especially if you happen to be American. If you want to take a picture
of a snake charmer, for example, it'll cost you 10 dhiram (8.5 to the
dollar). Young men are always eager to guide you around the shopping
area - called the medina - in exchange for 10 or 20 dhiram. They're
very persistent, dragging you to one tannery after another. When you
can't get rid of them, you can be sure it's gonna cost you a bundle.
Always a pleasure to visit Orlando, the only city in America where
surly behavior can land you in the slammer on misdemeanor charges. The
sickly sweet, vacuously pleasant ideology of Disney World has
permeated Greater Orlando. Oh, to have the lithium concession in this
town! Every restaurant is filled with families of four, shamelessly
decked out in Mickey Mouse garb, smiling relentlessly. We had dinner
one night in a place called the Crab House, a seafood place complete
with substantial salad and raw bars. My meal was good, but the
atmosphere was marred considerably by legions of kiddies high on
Disney smarm, rhythmically banging their crab mallets on the tables.
Fuck the raw bar - this place could have used a Ritilin bar.
copyright 1994 the harold herald all rights reserved for what it's
worth