Ferekeeko Lives & Conquers!

The dangers of idealizing a place include the overesteeming of men and the exoticizing of their attributes. It was an exhilarating time to be in Tbilisi. Young researchers, mainly from the United States and Europe, older practitioners and inquiring minds from the world over had flocked to the city. Change of every kind abounded, with academic niches just waiting to be carved out and political glory there for the taking. Though I had had trouble finding my place, I was eager to learn from and praise the higher-ranking members of the growing expat community. Then came a singular stroke of luck. An enlightened friend, himself an entrenched expatriate, called to say that he was throwing a party that very night. He insisted on my coming and mentioned that all of Tbilisi’s renowned rays of light were due to attend. And even the Big Yin would be there. Now, my main interest in the country was originally the Georgian tongue. The Big Yin, said to be from Iowa or Indiana, speaks ...

“INITECH” —  The minor play that follows is an actual e-mail exchange, which speaks to the rigors of office life .  Be afraid because you know that it could occur at an office near you.  (The e-mails are unabridged; anything in square brackets represents my own insertions meant to clarify the exchange.  Names and offices have been changed.) Characters ( in order of writing ) BARRY Strongchin, our fearless and erudite leader JOHN Doe, yours truly, former über-eager lackey ALEX Wildeyes, former asst. dir. RITA Careerist, new asst. dir. [Initial e-mail to all, 24 Aug.] John,  Just looking at the Pew publications, I realized that actually they do use the % -- do you have any strong views on this issue? I'm happy to take my cue from you guys. All the best Barry [24 Aug.] it was alex's suggestion back in the day. i have absolutely no preference [John] [E-mail forwarded 24 Aug.] Alex,  any suggestions fr...

Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it last for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. — C. P. Cavafy, “Ithaka” Time to idealize another place. Road trip to Laramie to secure a flat so that Iphigenia can start law school there next year. We career through the striking Columbia River Gorge, a two-faced monster, one cool and leafy, the second desiccated and wind-blown.  Then it’s up and over the Blue Mountains, where wolves haunt the slopes once more, only to find ourselves in dun and drab southern Idaho before having to traverse the north-east corner of a certain religion’s welcome mat. At last we enter the Equality State.  Next day, after Evanston, the high plains! Visions of a cranky wizened Eastwood and his trusty horse on the sun-scorched steppe are mar...

( Cont’d from Part I ) . . . V. E.’s size works against him.  He is unable to lower his center of gravity and thus has to grab Rhappy around the chest rather than lower down — that is, what would be beneath Rhappy’s center of gravity.  This makes V. E.’s task of getting Rhappy into the dumpster hard going, and, as such, Rhappy at length wins the struggle.  Winded, V. E. shifts his attention to our fourth character, the proud and poised Giorgi, “Gio” for short. Giorgi, the energetic young go-getter working his way out of hard times, is as stark a contrast to his peers as it is possible to be.  Each morning Gio brings delicious-looking baked goods to the supermarket.  Sober and walking tall, he delivers the delights with a quip and a smile not only for the drunkards but also for the ladies working in the store.  He even tosses V. E. a warm treat for free.  Thunderous lip-smacking and finger-sucking — and the jelly doughnut is promptly reduced t...

I have a drinking problem.  That is, I have a problem with drinking in Georgia. At least five times a week I am awoken at various early morning hours by the so-called street boys.  It is usually a youngish crowd in their twenties barking in the street outside my flat. Some, admittedly, come home with an honest boozy glow about them: though their wits are dulled, they seem good-natured and maintain a modicum of respect for their sober sleeping neighbors. Others lack this restraint.  They yell at their friends’ windows ten storeys up.  Hanging all over one another, they cry out their friends’ names in drunken exuberance at the top of their formidable lungs: “Avto-o-o!” and “Lu-u-uka-a-a!”  They finish the lively conversations they must have been having earlier indoors, and they turn up their car stereos to the point where the bass grabs my window and throttles it like a can of paint in a mixer. Surely, all must be stolen away from dreamland at the...

To my dad My intestinal fortitude can be summed up in one basketball game fifteen years ago.  It was my junior year in high school, about halfway through the season. I was supposed to be improving and readying myself to play full time on the varsity squad the following year. On to glory. But my will failed me. And to think of my actions now makes my heart hurt. The ankle had been sprained but was undoubtedly on the mend. By half-time, though my body felt as light and nimble as it ever had, I was defeated. Barlow, the lively bastards, had us down big, and were showing no signs of slowing. The full-court press was kept up in spite of the lead. We had spent the first twenty minutes watching their guys take the ball from us and drop in easy lay-ups. They seemed to have sprouted wings. Instead of talking to my teammates and suggesting a strategy, I would take the inbound pass and delude myself into thinking I could break Barlow’s press single-handedly, dribbling ...

Intense summer heat makes my sweaty feet itchy.  This is mostly because I will forever associate the most aesthetically pleasing walk I’ve ever taken with the midday heat in one of the hottest places on earth.  Dála (in Greek ντάλα) is when the sun has warmed the land so much that it then commands it.  The heat dances riotously over the pavements, and brows become sore from squinting.  But try not to wilt on me.  This is the best time to strike out to collect the dust from the streets on your face and clothes.  My best dála goes like this: As we walk down the quiet main strip, the vineyards come into view.  Their vines have crept up and over the trellises of the open-plan dwellings, giving families a precious defense, even if it is perforated here and there by arrogant rays of sunlight. The dust indeed collects, and we sweat even while strolling leisurely.  But we are impressed, delighted and alone.  Cold white water rushes ...