Think Tanks, Two Places

I'd like to set up a think tank in the Emerald City. You might find it in your interest to fund it. What do you think about that?

Command and General Staff College

College. Kickapoo. Salmon patties. Files. Photos. Golf and trip to the Ozarks with Farouk. Dinner with Paul.

Starting to ring a little bell?

At The Boltons

My guess is that you didn't know I'd been to your late and blessed mother's house in The Boltons. You know, the one next door to the late Saudi King Fahd's. The gigantic chandelier in the living room was beautiful, but, of course, ostentatious, as it belonged more suitably in a hotel or theatre lobby. (That's the problem with choosing interior designers who look only to the size of the budget rather than taste.)

Danny took me there the first time. I went with my daughter the second time. I wonder if the security video was kept. What do you think?

Shaheen

Houbara.

Whatever happened to Hamad Schway?

Oh lookie here! Another photo from 1965. Remember Hamad Schway? Little Hamad? Great sense of humor. What did he become when Khalid and Khalifa pushed him out of the way?

Hamad Schway, also known as Little Hamad

Shaikh Isa at the Beach

How about another entry idea for The Isa Campaign?

Imagine this great bit of the Shaikh Isa period:  photos of him sitting in his little chair under a large umbrella on the beach in front of the palace in the summer, his gold phone sitting on a tray, holding his binoculars in front of his eyes to gawk at the European and American women in their teeny, tiny bikinis playing in the waters of the Persian Gulf. No Bahraini women, no locals, for Heaven's sake. Forbidden. Caucasian, okay.

Next up, servants bring to the ladies who've made themselves comfortable under beach umbrellas (and to their families, if the ladies brought their children) individual trays of tiny slices of Sara Lee cakes, usually banana cake with icing, almost cold, probably sliced while near frozen, and bottles of cold Pepsi and Fanta sodas with moisture beads rolling down them. Cold soda and cake, gifts from the Amir. Some of the ladies got watches and some, pearls. The Amir got his kicks.

I was so impressed with the spectacle the first time that I saw it as a 16 year-old girl in her own not-so-tiny two-piece swimsuit. American cake.

The Isa Campaign, oh yes

Right there in my inbox today came the news from the BNA of the Isa campaign with aims to collate photographs, testimonies, or videos from the general public documenting some special moments with the late Amir of Bahrain, may God rest his soul. http://www.bna.bh/portal/en/news/709090 

Prescient? I was so delighted to see this news. I have plenty to contribute to the Isa campaign. I would not mind winning the award, either, since there were definitely some special moments with Shaikh Isa that I could share. Do you remember when he figured out who I was? At the old racetrack? Those were some good times. Mother took lots of photos and even some movies.

Who Are The Collaborators?

Do you not see the irony in putting people in Bahrain prisons for allegedly collaborating with foreign powers? Is that not what the Al Khalifa have done since they've been in power? Is that not what you still do? Is that not what Uncle Khalifa and the Khawalids do?Do you not collaborate with the Al Saud to oppress people not in agreement with you? 

Another Day Older

Happy Birthday. Make a big wish, a really big wish. Perhaps the birthday fairy will grant it.

Meanwhile, seriously think about what you're doing and how it could end. It's long past time for you to face up to what you've done or not done and do the right thing. You should free Sheikh Ali Salman and the rest of the political prisoners. You should abdicate.

KNIFE-WIELDER AT THE DOOR

Someone with a knife tried to break into my part of the house around 3 PM this afternoon WHILE I WAS HERE. I was reviewing a project due tomorrow, sitting at the computer and heard something at the door. The sound seemed familiar, like a flyer being attached to the door handle with a rubber band. Since I'm upstairs, I went to my window to see who was going down the stairs. A package delivery? No vehicle. Must be an ad.

Nope, I was across the room from the door, at the window, when I heard someone trying the door handle, some urgent scraping or clawing noises and then someone trying to get the easy door-handle lock open. My stomach dropped as I saw the knob on the lock twist. I raced over, twisted it back and held it as I called the police, but the person kept trying to effect an opening. I had the deadbolt and the clasp locked and after about five minutes of me fighting to keep the lower lock actually locked, perhaps realizing that I was on the phone because the 911 operator had asked me to speak up, he got away before the police got here.

I'd thought he couldn't hear me because the outside noise of the freeway on the other side of the trees and local street is very loud. Even with double pane windows, it's always noisy in here. I'm sure that he didn't hear me whispering, but when I was fighting the lock and "speak up, please, ma'am" is the 911 operator's command, well, a break in traffic tells him that I'm on the phone with the police. Escape is what he did.

Police said it was obvious that I was home, that someone could not have missed the Christmas lights on in the afternoon and could see the telly on from the porch. The first question was whether I have any enemies in the area! Uh, no. They're far away, if any, in the Middle East. I made a joke about not having to worry about ISIS here.

The police could not get evidence from the pieces of the door that had been hacked off with a knife trying to get at the lock. I took some photos of the carving and pieces of gouged out wood to send to my landlord, but they cannot show my fear at knowing there was a person with a knife outside trying to get in. 

Also, this is not the first time that someone has tried to break in here. The last time was in the summer one afternoon while I was out of the house. I came home to find that the lower lock had been tampered with, was sharp where it had been bent out of its place, the door unlocked and a big piece of tape over the lower lock spot IN THE DOOR FRAME. I didn't find anything missing but there's nothing here of interest to normal thieves (or even those in high places.)

Obviously the perp was a very good frightener since the attempt to get in here was hardly that of a professional. Three locks did not seem enough, not even in the middle of the afternoon.

Think this is baloney? Have a look.

Stockholm Syndrome, A Twist

You know, Bill, (and you should definitely be reading this, double O-J) it was a mystery to me as to why you left in the bathroom of the "grotty garrett" where I lived in London, a white terry cloth bath mat (slightly frayed in the middle around the identifying Dorchester name, therefore not in likely use at the hotel), several small soaps favored by the Arab men who stay there and two in lovely cobalt blue plastic soap savers from the Stockholm Hilton.

It was the Stockholm Hilton Soap Diversion Syndrome.

And it worked, too.

Upcoming

Went private for a bit. Going to compose very kind birthday greeting for the 28th. Before then, after that, different story.

It has been suggested that the upcoming material be more suitably placed behind a paywall, perhaps in a different form. Chapters. That appeals, especially because one can move about in time more easily and who wants to begin with pedestrian teenage diaries? Some more photos of photos, sure, a few more posts until spring. By then me and my new best friend Scriv will be ready with some chapters worth the 99 cents each. It could be fun.

Here you are at age 15, horsing around

H and a beautiful Arabian horse

A photo of a photo isn't as good as the original, but the originals are not readily located any more. You know why.