Reflections

(This post was orginally written on September 13th, 2008)

Well, it was about this time one year ago that I had bid New York good-bye and made L.A. my lady, albeit a brief fling. I remember cruising the strip with Malcatraz on our way to Mirabelle's for a dry martini; the sun had not yet set.

"So Malcatraz, how's L.A. today," I asked, palm trees breezing by.

"Mellow, man," he replied under his shades and Marb red cigarette. "We got a nice, smooth L.A. today..." And with that he started blasting M.I.A. like it was going out of style, though ironically it had just come into style.

We hit up Mirabelle's and a few different spots. There were some good folks at all of them, although a fair share of your run-of-the-mill L.A. garbage too. At the end of the night we were driving back to Malcatraz's place, where I would crash on his couch. We passed La Cienaga, then he turned to me and said, "So Selby; first the O.C., then Palm Springs, tonight L.A. and tomorrow you're headin' up to the Bay area? Sort of a victory lap before you go off to God knows where for two years?" I hadn't thought of it that way yet, but Malcatraz has a way of calling things like he sees 'em.

"That's right, bro. And not a moment too soon, either..."

About one month on from then I'd packed up and shipped out. Fresh meat, that's what I was. In-country three days and I was as green as they come. The country director at the time was Mr. Bill Bull. True to form, he was a hulk of a man, standing at 6'5 with a bulky build. For sure intimidating at first, but easy to get comfortable around. He requested a brief interview with all new trainees, so I stepped up to bat first. He asked me to give him a brief synapse or "elevator speech" on my reasons for wanting to join Peace Corps. I'd been through it so much just before in the states that it should have rolled off my tongue, but I froze up a little. I felt a little something like Wynona Ryder must have in "Reality Bites" when her job interviewer asks her to define 'irony', at which point she chokes. Fortunately, shortly afterwards in the film we have a young dreamboat named Ethan Hawke to inform us that irony is when the literal meaning of something is the exact opposite of its actual meaning. In my jam, however, there would be no Ethan Hawke to save me. So I just took a deep breath of composure, recalled my "elevator speech," and gave it to him as I had given it to so many before.

Finally, now in the present day, I look back at all and laugh. What was there to be so nervous about in the first place? There's plenty around to laugh about everyday in this place. for example, we are currently in 'circumcision season,' which as far as I can tell is similar to duck season. I believe it's every three years, in my community particularly, from June through September. If you happen to be a male who was born just then, they circumcise you. If you happen to be a male who is two and a half-three years old and "missed" the last season, they circumcise you. I feel for those poor little buggers; yeesh! It literally goes on all summer (or winter, for us ;-) and as each family completes it they conduct a parade where they dance and sing about town for a half hour or until whenever they tire themselves out. It is interesting to watch, to be sure. My dear friend and counterpart Dr. Mamy performed many of the circumcisions (none botched) himself. But the final and hilarious part of the story is as follows: the aftermath of all this, is that there are tons of boys at once who have just been circumcised, many of whom are three years old. The custom, due to sensitivity, is for these walking, talking, human beings to roam nude from the waist down day-in, day-out for weeks on end! I find it humorous. So I continue my service, and the band plays on. World keeps on spinnin'...