Lusty Men are Early to Rise in Kuwait

Its 6:30am and your favorite crazy white lady is out running the Gulf Road seaside walking path that passes in front of her Salmiya, Kuwait apartment. This brick sidewalk follows the beach front and is home to some of the few living trees in the country. It sounds lovely, right? Jealous much?

Well, let me fill in a few more details that flesh out the complete picture. The beach is covered with trash: broken bottles, fast food debris, grocery bags and picnic left-overs, old rugs (that I assume were used for the picnicking), shoes, dead fish that perhaps choked in the raw sewage contaminated waters, and other random junk.

From time to time the elementary schools will organize a clean-up mission, but their efforts are quickly thwarted by the next round of irresponsible weekenders. The high-dollar beach front property that should be home to 5-star restaurants and grossly overpriced apartments is occupied instead by Burger King, Pizza Hut, McDonalds, and one hip Hollywood themed restaurant/sheesha bar named Divas. Alas, it is a run/walk trail and I am a runner.

Back to my story; it's now 6:37am and I'm out for a jog with my new and first ever iPod. I'm rocking out to some Rob Zombie wearing Doug's huge workout pants, and XL long sleeve Robotech t-shirt and mirrored shades. This is not a sexy image. If the guys here had long hair I could have easily been mistaken for a dude.

Rounding the corner at the Pizza Hut outdoor seating area, I see a man in matching sweatshirt and pants walking towards me. As soon as he notices me he reaches for his junk. And I don't mean the shit that's scattered on the beach. No, this guy is definitely man handling himself for me to witness. As we cross paths I give my best "you're f*cking pathetic" scowl and keep moving. I'm thinking it's a bit early to be prowling for play, but I suppose the Desprate House Wives re-runs don't air on KTV until after noon prayers.

I reach the end of the trail and double back. About half way down I see Mr. Gray Sweatshirt Grabby Pants. Again, I spot him before he spots me and as soon as he does, there he goes... hand to crotch. This time it is serious, and I think I am supposed to be flattered or impressed. I make a long loop to give myself time to grab the pepper spray in my pocket and make sure the nozzle is pointed in the right direction, take note of the wind, and catch my breath in case I need to spray and sprint.

Now, I see like 5 gray sweat suit dudes. Which one is the cock jockey? Although I would love the chance to finally use my pepper spray, I figure it would be best to avoid confrontation. I headed for home zig-zagging and dodging, Frogger-style, across the sand, through parking lots, scaling the sea wall and jumping fastfood restaurant drive-through barriers.

Avoiding early morning perverts is such a great workout.

The Mango

Introducing Kuwait's finest contribution to the world of fashion hair styling... The Mango.

What exactly is a "Mango"? This very distinct and all too popular male "up-do" is the result of too much free time, an unhealthy dose of vanity, and the complete lack of bitch-slap-your-dumb-assness going on in this spoiled country. Mangos are the over styled Fred Durstified knockoff of Hollywood's outdated bedhead look.

Typically seen engulfing the heads of cocky pre-teens, full on teen angsters, and post teen prime I'm not 25 yet dudes; this hair style is usually accompanied by two or three of the following fashion accessories:

1) Huge Beckham style mirrored sun glasses
2) Prayer beads. Not for praying, mind you, these are twirled and twisted to look coolly unamused or possibly impatient with whatever service person is currently ruining your day.
3) The latest model mobile communiqué gadget complete with dangly charm.
4) Enough clothing layers to outfit an extra person or two,
5) A bedazzled belt to match your bedazzled jacket, and/or a bedazzled, name-brand fanny pack (yeah, I guess Sean Jean finally found a niche market for his overstock of man purses).

In America these walking clichés would be a rare jewel roaming suburban malls and high school partying lots, but here in the land of zero fashion consequences, the Mango reigns supreme.

Upon closer inspection we began to decipher separate species of hair styles and it was decided that like the icon of hairstyle anomalies, The Mullet, we needed to organize The Mango into categories. The following list is a work in progress. We hope to be adding real live photo examples of Mangos in their natural habitat for your viewing entertainment. This is what we have so far:

Mohango : mohawk mango. Growing in popularity among the emo bands as well.
Fanmango : fan mango. The front fans straight off the forehead in a glorious crown.
Mullango : mullet mango. This is real beaut! The fusion of two legendary hair styles on one head.
Frango : afro mango. Reserved for Afro-Arabs and those rare but lucky redheaded afros.
Animango : animae mango. This guys is ready to Dragon Ball Z fire ball you - any time, any place.
Porcupango : porcupine mango. Self explanatory, although points are lost (no pun intended) for neglecting the lower hairs just above the neck line. If you're going to Porcupango, you have to commit.
Stillango : stilletto mango. These guys deserve their own category just because of the amount of time and care that goes into arranging their hair into perfect spikes somewhere between Animangos and Porcupangos.
Hurricango : hurricane mango. One of my favorites; this specimen looks like the result of 120 mph cross winds preserved by flash freezing.
Badabango : Bada Bing Baby! Picture Elvis after a turbo blow-dryer and a round brush.
Pompadango : pompador mango. More old school than the Mohango, and more Fonzerelli than the Badabango... this guy could be the upright bass player in a gay Mango Mash airport lounge band with Badabango on keys.
And a Mango Gango : any group of two or more Mangos traveling together. Mangos are a pack animal; forming tight social bonds grooming rituals.

Stay tuned for updates and photo evidence of the life and habits of the Kuwaiti Mango.

Oh Hold Me Back: Your Ear is Blinking

This is dedicated to all of you cyborg Bluetooth ear piece wearing mega-men. If only women were moths...

I couldn't help myself. I saw a tiny blink of blue from across the room, like a lighthouse beacon calling in this thirsty ship. The paradox of the sea: in the midst of all that water, dehydration is your bedside nemesis. Like a weary captain, I navigate through bar scene of familiar waters: the old guy with his Asian girlfriend, the group of Arab dudes more interested in each others hair than the few big-eyed girls looking like yesterday's news, the sex tourists and ATM bait. Scanning the bar reveals a horizon silhouetted with old, familiar foes.

>Blink<

Hold on... The tide has shifted. There. It was there.

>Blink<

Oh my god.
I think my London Bridges wanna go down... Wait, what did I say? No that's just the crappy song they're playing in this crappy dive. How did I get on the ship-at-sea tangent anyway? To the drinks! Social anesthesia is required.

>Blink<

Pretty. Oh my god. There's a pretty blue fairy in here? How do they survive in the desert? I always thought of them as adorable woodland critters that make champagne from dew drops and Persian rugs from mossy logs. Little fairy, come here, little fairy, I'll help you back Neverland. Dammit! You dirty lost boys... stop humping my leg. This is a dance floor not the freakin' tree fort. No, I don't want to hold your marbles. Why did I walk out on the dance floor anyway? To the bar!

>Blink<

Ooooooooh. Blue light of destiny so magical. Your beam has me like an alien night light glowing through the darkness, scaring away closet monsters and hallway noises, letting me know where the wall is. I have been known to walk into a wall before. But not tonight... no way. I have you, Alien Nightlight, to guide me. Where did you go...
>Blink<
Oh yesss! I clap my hands and peddle my feet like the fluttering of retarded moth wings. Who needs 4th of July when I have you Blinky Blue Alien Nightlight. Beam me again.
>Blink< Yesss! (More fluttering moth wings) Oh hold me back....

Does that thing have vibrate mode?