Well, another lovely work day is drawing to an end (it is currently 3:56 am, local time...maybe I just really wish my job was in Vancouver...or LA, or some other city where now would be a dandy time to be finishing work.)
Whenever I leave my office I call the 24-hour security that patrols the the offices at the Baha's World Centre because all of the alarms are turned on, so whenever I, say, go to the bathroom after 10pm I must call the security and let them know that all the alarms going off are just me having a pee. I feel like I'm in elementry school again:
ring ring
"Hello?"
"Hello 24 hour security dispatch office, I'm on my way to the toilet now. Please disregard all alarms that will be going off in about 1 minute."
"Ok then."
"Bye"
"Bye"
Luckily all the alarms are silent, otherwise I'd pee in a jar in my office.
And of course, I never actually tell them I'm going to the bathroom, that would be too embarassing. My new pee euphamism is "I'm going to make myself some tea". Though, there are also security cameras all over the building, so they know that I don't always make tea. They probably think I'm the most forgetful guy in the whole world.
"Look, he's on his way to make tea again, and I bet you a dollar that by the time he gets out of the bathroom he'll forget why he came upstairs!"

Now, I could simply not call them and they would see me on the security cameras like they do every night and just ignore me (or wait and see if I remember to make that cup of tea that I obviously have come upstairs for), which I suppose is fine for pee breaks (though the security guards would hate me because everytime the alarm goes off and they don't get a call they have to check the building and write a report), but I'd still be sure to call them every time I leave for home. Because some of the outside guards are Israeli. And you don't mess with Israeli security. Especially when they're armed.
Must go, time to make a phone call...

I work in my own little world here in Haifa. In a little office underground where I edit video all day (or night). It doesn't really matter when I come into work, as long as I'm putting my hours in. And so, I have decided of late that my optimum working hours are from about 2pm to...whenever. Unfortunately, the "whenever" part has gone from midnight to 2am to 3am to 4am to the point where I'm just hoping to get home before the sun comes up. And then I stumble back up to the office just in time for lunch... It's nice. And this way, I can play my music as loud as I like and dance around my office barefoot.

I've been teaching a photo class for the last few weeks here in Haifa. It's been quite an experience. I decided to do it mostly because people asked me to, but I also had visions of a bevy of beautiful photographettes following me around and telling me how my work "spoke to them on so many levels."
Mostly that last part hasn't happened, but I have actually been reminded how much I love shooting pictures. And how much video is a sorry substitute. There's no whirring and clicking with video cameras for instance.
Anyway, so I've been getting all into my photo lately (my "craft" as my old photo teacher used to refer to it) and have been shooting all sorts of ridiculous things. And maybe I'll actually share some of what I'm shooting these days, but mostly I won't cause it's silly and a little bit...uh...lame. In a very "I'm teaching a photo class and these are my lame examples" kind of way. But I have been posting some of my older photo things here. So feel free.
(This is another shameless plug for my photo-y blog. Because I really don't think anyone ever sees it.)

I really thought that when I started this blog, I would be able to abstain from linking to horrid shlock like this but really, I thought you all should know. Cause you know, it's valentine's day coming up and maybe all you boys could give her a call. Take a shot. You never know.

Earthquake!
At first I thought I was sleepy, and then I thought it was a bomb going off (funny how that's the first thing that pops into your head here). But it was just a little rockin' and rollin' around the dead sea.
So how's that for excitement?

apparently the above is a map of all of the countries that I have visited in the world (13%. neat-o). Kind of a fun way to kill a few minutes.
I'll have to keep it updated...

Oh, you can make your own here.

This isn't really for anyone except my sister. But I'm sure some of you might get a kick out of it.

Race doesn't exist?We're all part of the same big family? wow. big surprise. Maybe we can all start getting along now. Is that too much to ask?

One more little tidbit for the evening. This is a little song performed by a couple of guys that I work with. Babu is from Nepal. Ishmail (as is mentioned) is from Ghana.
* Please note, this song contains overt references to religion and the Baha'i Faith. If you are offended by the Baha'i Faith, peace and/or unity, I know a great guy in an alley here in Haifa that you can talk to about it. If you aren't (and really, who is?) please enjoy this little song.

I got a great email from my father today. He wonders why is it that in spite of meeting various unbalanced individuals in dark alleys and trading stories with my Cameroonian friends, I can sound like I'm so bored.
He invited me to return to my home town of Kelowna, BC, Canadia for a much needed reality check.
...
Funny, just the thought of a return to good old K-town sobers me up like a brisk Canadian breeze, like polar bear breath straight off the iceberg strewn waters. Cold enough to freeze your nostrils shut.
...
Now don't get me wrong, it's been far too long since I've seen the dear members of my beloved family, but couldn't they all just meet me in India or something?

Ok, last blog of the evening (call it a blog-u-copia if you will):
I had a strange run in with an odd fellow last night. I was on my way to a dinner party and had stopped to stick something in my bag and a older, uncle Walt crazy-eyed and bearded mad man stopped and asked me if I needed some help (he asked in Hebrew, I looked confused, he asked in English) and I replied that I was on my way to a dinner. The following is a heavily paraphrased account of the resulting conversation:

He: So where are you from?

Me: Canada

What brings you to Israel?

I work up at the Baha'i Centre.

Oh, (talking a little step back) you're one of those...

Ummm...yes, I'm a Baha'i.

I see. And how did you get involved with those people?

Well, my mother is a Baha'i. So I was raised as a Baha'i.

Aha. And how did she get involved with those people? What church did she used to go to?

(At this point I was beginning to think that I should excuse myself but my curiosity got the best of me.)
Well, she used to go to the Unitarian Church.

Oh, another bunch I have a problem with. I see.

And what church do you go to kind sir?

Oh you know, Pentecostal, Baptists, a few different ones.
You see, in the Bible it talks all about this, (it was here that he launched into a 15 minute dissertation about the biblical prophecies regarding Babylon and Jerusalem and many other ancient cities that are now buried in sand. He also mentioned that Saddam Hussein had tried to rebuild Babylon "and look what happened to him! Living in a hole under a hut in Iraq! Ha!". Any attempt of mine to interject anything during this time was met with uncle Walt raising his voice and soldiering on undeterred. I again contemplated excusing myself and running for my life, but again, curiosity got the best of me and I stuck with him until finally he lost his train of thought and asked me another question.)
And your religion believes that Mohammed was a prophet doesn't it? And compares Mohammed to the Lord Jesus doesn't it? (after speaking Jesus's name, he dropped to one knee and uttered a short prayer under his breath)

Well, yes it does.

How can you compare anyone to Jesus! Jesus is the Lord! There is no difference between the two! The first born of God is God! (at this point he was actually yelling)

And Mohammed?

Mohammed? Mohammed?!? Mohammed is from Satan! The Koran is simply stolen from the Bible! We have proof! Manuscripts from two hundred years before Mohammed was even born!

Wha...

And your religion is simply another perversion of the Bible! A deviant form of Islam! And when I tried to go up to the Baha'i Centre to talk to someone, no one would talk to me!

(gee, I wonder why...)
Well, I don't think you understand what the Baha'i Writings say about Jesus and Christianity. You can find Baha'i books at the library here in Haifa, maybe you should check them out. You might find them very interesting.

What? I don't care about your writings! I don't want to read about your Faith! It's you that needs to understand!

Wait. Hold on one second. You expect me to stand here and patiently listen to what you have to say, but you won't take the time to find out about my religion? The one that you're so vehemently attacking? I'm sorry, if you're not at least going to do yourself the favor of investigating something for yourself, then I really need to go. Good night. (My curiosity satisfied, and my dinner getting cold, I decided to move on.)

Wait!...er, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just trying to help you. You need to find Jesus. I'll pray for you.


That was pretty much the end of the conversation. I told him something about me not being offended and that I appreciated his concern and thanked him for the prayers, but really I had pretty much had enough. I mean really, what's the proper reaction to being called a deviant Satan worshipper? Very odd. Though I really wished I had have asked him what he thought of the Jews. In whose country he was living. That would have been interesting.

I am presently attempting to sort out the technical complexities of a photo blog (this actually involves me stretching my ample patience to it's absolute limit by trying to post things here. Cause it's free. And I'm cheap. (As opposed to it being cheap and me being free...)
I'll be posting all sorts of old photos up there (and some new ones as I feel like it) so feel free to drop in. Oh, and my new secret I-wonder-if-anyone-reads-this-hooey email is now somewhere on this page (I believe) so if you can find it, drop me a line (to those who know where to find me already, don't drop me a line there because I'll assume that everyone dropping me a line from the pseudo anonymous email on this page is a stranger. And I will regard them with the wariness and trepidation that my parents instilled in me...)
love you all. Strangers included.

Sitting in a coffee shop the other night, sipping our Afouks marveling at how much the man seated a few tables down resembled a young Paul Newman, we began discussing the social oddities encountered when the entire community of remarkably international souls that constitute your daily interactions encompasses a mere 700 people that you live, work, eat and socialize with. Especially when you realize that as many as 35 of them can change every month. Where you recognize everyone and really know a few. And think you recognize the majority but can't remember from where. It leads often to a form of group gathering small talk exhaustion. Kaz summed it up thusly: "I hate people, I like persons."

It's not that I find being in Israel boring exactly, it's just that a blog about traveling the world that doesn't involve any actual traveling kind of sucks.
But I have to say, being with a group of 700 people that represent 150 different countries is fairly cool and provides plenty of opportunities to pretend that I'm traveling. My roommate is from Uganda. My workmate grew up in Malawi. The people in my office are from Hungary, Australia, Singapore, Canada, the US, Bulgaria, India and South Africa. The women that clean my office are from Kenya and Bolivia. The people I hang out with are from...everywhere. Anyone want to know the hot places to hang out in Florence? I can get you a colour-coded map. Or Lusaka. Or Lima. Or Moscow. Or LA. Or Istanbul. Just let me know.
If only I could enjoy crappy food and PG in-flight movies on the way to work in the morning instead of walking through the little alley that smells like pee and houses a dozen stray cats that look at me like I have tuna-fish in my pockets...

Dear faithful blog readers:
I apologize for my protracted blogging haitus that no doubt caused you all very much worry and speculation about my current whereabouts and unbloggably boring adventures.

I'm still in Israel, which is kind of a kink in the old "write-a-blog-about-traveling-around-the-world" plan, but Israel does have its charms, no doubt about that. For instance: the other night as I was on my way up to my office at 2:30am so that I could pick up my big sack of cameras that I would be using for camera related mischeif later on that very day, I happened upon an elderly russian woman pressing slowly on through the night pushing an old pram that was filled to the top with sad little bottles, all individualy wrapped in little newspaper suits.
It was all the more remarkable that I should encounter such a sight on a short stretch of level ground between two rather long staircases. And as I stopped and stared, mouth agape, she turned and hurled some tart russian phrases over my shoulder to her late-night companion who, just at that moment, shuffled out of the mist.
I stared at him too.
And watched as this ancient russian, bottle-loving duo pressed on down the hundred-odd stairs to Hillel street wih their creaking bottle mobile. creeee-clink. creee-clink. creee-clink.

And all of you may wonder why I didn't offer my able-bodied assistance to the russian bottle walkers. Well, the truth is this: as I stood, alone in the dark, listening to their creee-clink cree-clinking away, I wasn't entirely sure that I hadn't imagined the whole thing.