Election Day

It's election day in Jordan today.  Posters and signs are plastered all over Amman, advocating for the various candidates.  The pictures below are of Tariq Sami Khoury--a candidate for one of the seats in the legislature reserved for Christians--who has been staring up at us from the street for several weeks now.

Can't Go Home

*Some friends of mine recently celebrated the 20th anniversary of their graduation from high school. My 20 year reunion is next year, which, thousands of miles away, got me thinking about the subject of going home.

I am from a small town in central Minnesota. I was not born there; I was born in Illinois. However, my parents are both from Minnesota, and their parents are from Minnesota. My parents just happened to move to Illinois before I was born for my dad's job, and then they moved back to Minnesota when I was three. After a few months in an apartment in town, we built and moved into a house in the country at the end of a mile-long dirt road, where I spent all of my childhood, and where my parents still live to this day.

While this house was still being built, I met a boy a year older than me who would be my friend all throughout my youth, and soon met two other boys around my age who would be long term friends too. We spent our daylight hours riding our bikes back and forth on the dirt road, running through the woods, climbing trees, sledding in the winter, eating popcorn, watching Scooby-Doo on TV and playing football and baseball in our big, green yards. Although we each eventually also acquired a group of friends in our own grade, when we got older we stayed friends, and sang in choirs, ran track, hung out at church youth group, occasionally went to movies and even got into a minor car accident or two, one of which was on a different dirt road.

It was in junior high that I first made a few of these other friends. For instance, on the first day of seventh grade art class, the boy I was assigned to share a desk with turned to me out of the absolute clear blue and asked--I'm not sure what was going through his head at the time--if I had seen the 1983 NCAA Basketball Championship Game between North Carolina State and the University of Houston. I had. He would become my best friend growing up, and we spent our time watching basketball, playing basketball, hanging out in his basement, playing tennis all day in the heat of the summer, going to a Twins game instead of Prom and running, running, running. We went our separate ways after graduation, but we remained friends, visiting each other at our colleges, playing and watching more basketball and doing shameful things like attending a Bryan Adams concert.

There wasn't much to do in my small town. There was a dilapidated movie theater of sorts where I remember seeing a Billy Graham movie once, which should tell you all you need to know about the number of new releases that came to town. I went cruising once or twice with some friends, but even that required going to the next town over, as our town only had one stoplight (there are more now). There was the occasional party with the usual underage drinking fiascoes, but I wasn't much interested in that. I mostly spent my time running, especially my last two or so years of high school.

Growing up, I saw the same people day in and day out. You could find most of the kids in my kindergarten class picture in my high school yearbook too. The adults at church I thought were so old--Sunday School teachers, friends of my parents--are still there, and not altogether that old. Some of them came to my wedding--12 years ago today--which was held in the back yard of my parents' country house, the same house we moved into when I was three, the same house where my parents still live.

It would be a shame if I couldn't visit my home town again.

And this, to me, is the crux of the matter in the Palestinian/Israeli conflict: so many people can't go home.

Like the recently retired shop owner up the street from our apartment. At the same age as I was running around in the woods and watching Scooby-Doo, he was running from his home in Jerusalem, dodging explosions and making his way to Amman with his family. He has never been back. Or, like the guy I know who runs a pool hall here. As I left my hometown and went off to college, he also left his--I can't remember which one--to cross the Jordan River and study at the University of Jordan. Unfortunately for him, though, that was in 1967, and the Six-day war broke out soon after he left. He has never been back.

These are just two stories, of hundreds of thousands more, and if you find yourself on the fence on this issue, or unwilling to voice anything but support for Israel, you should think about the people who can't go home. There are around 700,000 from the 1948 Arab-Israeli War and around 300,000 from the 1967 Six-Day War, not to mention their descendants. Because like me, these are people who were raised in a place, made friends in a place and went to school in a place. They ran around the historic, cobble-stoned streets of Jerusalem, played in the waves on the beaches of Jaffa and tended sheep on the lush grass of the Galilee. They saw the same shopkeepers day in, and day out. I even bet some of them, like me, got married at the house they grew up in. Sure, the political leaders of the Palestinians may not be angels, but neither are the Israelis. And once you strip away the political shenanigans and the emotional response to the failed and depraved tactics of suicide bombings and katyusha rockets, as well as the reflexive response by so many in my country to support Israel no matter what the situation, and get to the core of the issue, what you find are people who were forced out of their homes or who fled in fear--villages sometimes razed in the process--and who now can't go back.

I live a long way from my home town right now. I would miss it, though, if I couldn't go back. I would be angry if someone else lived in my home there, after taking it from me. I would be sad that all I had left were the memories. Wouldn't you be?

Wow, Water is Great

Water is scarce in Jordan. In fact, I just read today that Jordan is the fourth most water poor country in the world. It's the complete opposite of where we come from in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where we can shower morning and night, wash the tiniest load of laundry whenever we want, leave the water running while we brush our teeth or shave, hold car-washing fundraisers and run through sprinklers all summer. There, the water flows, well, like water. Here in Amman, though, it does not; it flows like mud. As opposed to a constant supply of water that seemingly will never run dry, most people have a water tank on the roof of their building which holds their weekly supply of water. These tanks are filled once each week when the government turns on the tap, and when the tap is turned off, that is your water for the week. In our neighborhood, this happens on Wednesday.

So, on Wednesdays everyone does all their water intensive projects, while the water is coming in and filling their tank: laundry, all types of cleaning, gardening, maybe an extra long shower. We even flush our toilets more often. Because of this, water day is visibly different from all the other days of the week, with color coordinated laundry flying from all the area rooftops, and people outside hosing down their sidewalk and watering their gardens, all while a stream of water runs maddeningly down the sides of the buildings and down the street, a product of water pipes and tanks riddled with holes. Water day is also audibly different than any other day, with the day-long drain of water sloshing into the metal tanks, the rain-like splashing sound of all the first floor gardens being watered and just the general sound of everyone using water all around us. Below are some of the water tanks on the roof of our building:

Because water is so scarce here--and because we have to work with a weekly allotment of it--from Wednesday to Wednesday we must be careful to conserve. Also, I like to keep an eye on our levels, and every few days I trudge up to the roof to check the progress of our tanks. We've only actually run out of water a handful of times, like when we've had guests. We also have occasionally had problems with rocks in the pipes--thus preventing our water from coming in--and there have been a few times when various problems at the local water station have affected water delivery for the whole neighborhood.

This latter problem happened just recently. Usually on Wednesdays I also like to head up to the roof in the morning to see if the water is coming in, to make sure we can perform our weekly water tasks. This particular Wednesday, though, I did not; I got complacent. Instead, I sauntered up in the early evening after work to discover everyone's water day worst nightmare: a nearly empty tank and a tiny trickle of water dripping in. Our water day was over.

We stopped doing our laundry and just let our tanks fill up. By the time the tap was turned off a few hours later, we had about a third of a tank and the whole week in front of us. So, we spent that week with water conservation dominating our thoughts. We took fewer showers (I got one, maybe two). While showering, we soaped our bodies with the water turned off (just like with shaving, you don't really need the water on the whole time!). We flushed the toilets less. When we did use the faucets, we were aggressive about turning them off quickly. And--in a move that worked out well for me--towards the end of that week, we let the dishes go ("sorry, honey, we just don't have enough water").

In the end, we made it to the next Wednesday, with some sediment in the bottom of our tanks to spare. Below are two pictures of what we had left. As you will see, the water does really flow like mud.

Water is scarce in Jordan, and water was scarce in our house that week. Admittedly, having so little of it for that short time was a little stressful. As a result, when the water came rushing through early the next Wednesday morning as it normally does, relief came rushing through as well. Wow, water is great.

Wadi Zarqa Ma'in

Last week I went hiking in Wadi Zarqa Ma'in (wadi means valley in Arabic), which is one of a series of cavernous valleys in the mountains just to the east of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea, many with streams that lead directly into the Dead Sea. Our journey started on a bleak, dusty plateau, before descending into the circuitous path of the valley, where we followed a stream cut through the mountain past enormous boulders, one or two rock slides, pools up to my chin, the occasional palm tree and two abseils off of cliffs about 50 meters high, finishing at Hammamat Ma'in, a famous hot spring just above the Dead Sea popular with tourists and Jordanians alike. Below are some pictures from the day.

Near the beginning of our hike.

The first abseil. There's a waterfall on the left.

Me going down.

Behind the waterfall.

Looking out towards the Dead Sea above our hiking trail.

The second abseil.

Me going down.

The pool at the bottom.

Another pool near the end of the hike

The hot springs of Hammamat Ma'in, where our hike ended.

Blue Power

Although I thought the movie Avatar was utterly boring, I guess somebody liked it; I hear it made a fair amount of money at the box office. People love good guy/bad guy stories. I wonder, though, how many people who saw it are aware that it mirrors so many actual events from history, or even current events today. I, for instance, immediately thought of the similarities between the plot--such as it was--and the experience of Native Americans in the United States. Others I talked to thought of European colonization in Africa. These are past events. For many people here, though, the movie spoke to a current event: the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. To them, the blue Na'vi people represented the Palestinians, and the cartoonishly evil marines or contractors--whatever they were--represented the Israeli army.

I was reminded of this connection that some people here in the region made to the movie today when I saw the below pictures, from the British Sunday Telegraph. In them, some protesters in a village near Ramallah are dressed up like the blue Na'vi people, as part of a weekly protest against the separation wall the Israeli government has built. The pictures are from February, so it's old news, but I thought it interesting enough to pass along. I just put a few of the pictures below; to see the rest, click here.

Lies, Lies, Lies

A few days ago a friend was over and gave us some startling news: Jordan's King Abdullah said he regretted his father's 1994 decision to make peace with Israel. He had made the announcement, she said, in a Wall Street Journal Article, which was summarized in an article emailed to her from a friend from some news outlet called "Israel Today." Such news was shocking to me, as it went against what I believe is the king's overall desire for peace and stability in the region, and represented a totally new direction in his sentiment. In fact, I didn't really believe it, so I asked to see the Israel Today Article. So, here it is, pasted below, complete with the headline, "Jordan's King Abdullah Regrets Peace with Israel."

Headline News
Tuesday, April 06, 2010 Israel Today Staff

Jordan's King Abdullah regrets peace with Israel

Jordan's King Abdullah II, widely regarded as the most moderate of Arab leaders, indicated in an interview with The Wall Street Journal published on Tuesday that he regrets his father's decision to make peace with Israel. "Our relationship with Israel is at an all-bottom low. It hasn't been as bad as it is today and as tense as it is today," said Abdullah.

He noted that Jordanians do not see any real tangible benefit from the peace with Israel: "There is no real economic relationship between Jordan and Israel. So economically we were better off in trade and in movement before my father signed the peace treaty."

What Abdullah didn't mention was that according to the peace treaty between the two nations, Israel provides Jordan with a large portion of its annual water needs, and that many Israelis do business in Jordan, even if their Jordanian counterparts choose not to reciprocate.

Abdullah went on to say that recent tension over Jewish building in Jerusalem is highly relevant to Jordan, since it is still recognized as the custodian of Muslim and many Christian holy sites there. However, Abdullah again left the picture incomplete, failing to note that when his country illegally occupied Jerusalem from 1948-1967, it summarily denied Jews and often Christians access to their holy sites.

Abdullah concluded by warning Israel that its future would be at stake if it did not make peace on Arab terms in the very near future. Such saber-rattling from a leader considered Israel's best friend in the Arab world is further evidence of the increasing radicalization of the region, even its more "moderate" elements.

Now, there are a lot of things one could say about this article, but let's start with the most obvious: King Abdullah never said he "regretted" his father's decision to make peace with Israel. He said the relationship between Jordan and Israel is at an all-time low, and he said that Jordanians don't see any economic benefits as a result of the treaty. Regret, though, never entered the conversation. The headline, and the conclusion drawn by the Israel Today staff, is false.

Now let's skip to the last paragraph. Here the staff at Israel Today reports that the king said Israel's "future would be at stake" unless it made "peace on Arab terms", said he was "saber-rattling" and becoming more radical. The paragraph has an ominous feel to it, and Abdullah is portrayed as threatening the very existence of Israel. There's one problem, though: the article provides no proof that he actually said these things. And, after reading the original Wall Street Journal article, I discovered why: he didn't say them. What he did say--when asked the question, "What is your message when you meet with the Israelis?"--was this: "I think the long-term future of Israel is in jeopardy unless we solve our problems." He explained that 57 countries still do not recognize Israel, and that a solution to the Palestinian issue would facilitate recognition, and thus give Israel more stability. He also said that Israel will only find it more difficult to negotiate a solution in a decade or so, when--because of birth rates--the Arab-Israeli population will constitute half of the population of Israel, meaning Israel will no longer be able to negotiate from the position of relative strength that it does now. Nowhere in the original article, though, does the king make any kind of insistence that Israel make peace "on Arab terms," and nowhere does he do anything remotely close to "saber-rattling". In fact, as seen in the above quotation, he referred to "we" solving "our problems."

What he did say in the original article--although not mentioned in the Israel Today recap--was this:

"The extremists around are saying, hey look, nothing is happening, dialogue does not work, communicating with the Israelis is not the way to go forward, the idea of resistance, the spread of fear and hatred is the message they put forward, is the way to go. Even in the Arab Summit in Libya, you had to be careful where some countries were hinting, how long are we going to give you moderates a chance to pursue peace. Because really, look everybody, their way of doing it is not right."

Far from running down the road to radicalism, he was speaking against and warning about those who wanted to forgo a more peaceful peace process. What was asserted about the king by Israel Today was nowhere near what he actually said. It was, instead, lies, lies, lies.

So what does all this matter? Why am I writing about this? According to the Israel Today website, Israel Today exists to provide a "biblical perspective" to Israel based news. Also, a quick Google search revealed that scores of similarly focused websites, blogs and news outlets picked up this story, and ran it whole. I am writing this because the authors are Christians, and they are lying. And their lies are being picked up and swallowed by other Christians. This may sound harsh, but that is what this is. It is lying. As a Christian myself, I find it maddening. It is maddening to me when ideology trumps Christian faithfulness. Unfortunately, if you pay attention to politics at all, you know that this is far from the only example of Christians lying, other Christians swallowing the lie and still other Christians defending the lie.

The situation between the Israelis and Palestinians is complex and tragic. Many people have died, many more have lost their homes and livelihoods, and no one on either side is living the life they could be living as the result of the absence of peace. Telling lies is not helping anyone.

Nothing Wrong with Sleep

So often here in Jordan it is tempting to focus on the bad. We're thousands of miles from home, in a culture different from ours, with rules and expectations we're still learning--yes, still--which are far removed from the rules and expectations of our own culture. In fact, just the idea that there are rules and expectations at all might be considered a difference in itself. So, as we have written before, it's easy to twist various cultural differences into cultural negatives. Different doesn't always mean bad, though; some things are just different, neither good nor bad, better or worse, than our own culture. Having said this, sometimes we do have bad days--bad days that seem to be related to the culture. And, to be honest, there are some aspects of the culture that we just don't like.

So I've said it; we don't love everything about Jordan, and the Middle East. Some things drive us crazy. Some things make us mad.

Some things we like though. And it is at this point that I feel obliged to give it up for Jordanians--and Middle Easterners in general--for an aspect of their culture that I think they beat my culture on hands down. Simply put, Middle Easterners value sleep more.

What does this mean? Let's start with a quick review of my American culture. In the United States, people talk reverently about what we call the "Protestant Work Ethic." This concept equates working hard with fulfilling ones calling from God, and even worldly success as a sign of salvation. Subconsciously, maybe--or maybe consciously--it places a spiritual value on the idea of work. It also, I think, makes us feel guilty about sleep. One of our most famous idioms is "the early bird gets the worm." In this case I suppose the worm represents our goals or our work, and the moral is that our success in reaching our goals or at work depends partly on our getting out of bed early. And, anecdotally, I think being a "morning person" and waking up early is regarded as a great virtue--especially by those who are morning people--as if a greater blessing was present in the early morning air than in the air at night.

Suffice to say, all of this is not the case in Middle Eastern culture. Middle Easterners (not everyone is an Arab) in general like to start their days a little bit later and end them later, and in between, maybe grab a nap. I have two examples from my life that illustrate this point.

Last week I was in Beirut for a work related training. Everyone involved was from the region, except for me and one other person. It started at ten. Ten! In the States when we have meetings like this, we start so much earlier that ten o'clock is nearly lunchtime. I've been to a few like that myself. Middle Easterners, though, value sleep, and I valued the chance to wake up casually and be wide awake for the meetings.

Also, a few months ago we had our annual meetings here at work. The meetings lasted for three days, and during the last few minutes of the final day when next year's meetings were being planned, the board chair stood up and announced that next year an afternoon snooze would be incorporated into the schedule. I can't remember exactly, but it was planned to be either between 2 and 4pm, or 2 and 4:30. Two hours to sleep! Americans, imagine trying to add a nap to the schedule of your next conference or training. I can't see it. Here, though, it's to be expected. According to the chair, the nap time was being added "because we are in the Middle East." I look forward to next year's meetings, and to being well rested for them.

So, Middle Easterners value sleep. It is fair to say, though, that this cultural characteristic may slowly be dying. Global corporations have brought to Jordan a napless 8 to 5, 6 or 7 workday, and many Jordanian businesses are starting to follow this example. Most everyone I know who runs their own business, though--like the barber down the street, the lamp salesman who just replaced a faulty table lamp we bought from him (who is actually open from 3pm until 1am) and the owners of any little corner store--start late, end late and try to take an extended break sometime in between. It's a cultural trait I value, and one I hope isn't replaced.

The Face of an Assassin

In 1997 two members of the Israeli intelligence agency Mossad attempted to assassinate a prominent Hamas leader in broad daylight on a street in Amman by injecting him in the ear with a kind of poison. Tonight, I turned down an offer to portray one of them in a television documentary.

This strange story began a few days ago at Cozmo, a large western style grocery store in West Amman. On this day as I was standing in the checkout line, quietly minding my own business and getting ready to leave, I started to notice sort of in my peripheral vision the woman in front of me looking in my direction. But then I noticed that she wasn't just looking in my direction; she was looking at me--right at me. There was a man with her, and she started to make a small commotion, turning excitedly to him, then back to me, back to him, and back to me, all while chattering dramatically to him.

"Perhaps there's someone behind me that she knows," I thought. There was, however, only empty space there.

Then, she started walking towards me, with purpose. "What in the world is about to happen here?" I thought. It was a very suspenseful two seconds.

Now, in Jordan, strange women do not stare you down and then approach you, much less say what she said upon reaching me: "I have been looking all over for someone who looks just like you!"

What exactly my response was, I can't remember; I never was very smooth with the ladies. It's possible, though, that I said nothing. What could I say? Without hesitation, however, she proceeded to tell me that she was a journalist and was involved in the production of a documentary for Australian public television on the aforementioned 1997 assassination attempt, and that I resembled one of the Israeli agents who were involved. It was my shaggy face that had attracted her attention. "That's the beard I've been looking for," she said.

She wanted me to play the part of the assassin.

I wasn't going to say yes or no right there; I would think about it. So, we exchanged numbers, and I thought about it. At first it seemed very fun. Hilarious in fact. What a great story. Me on the set of some documentary, playing a figure who is part of an organization that is universally hated and reviled throughout the region. As far as an evil bogeyman is concerned, you cannot get any worse than Israeli Mossad. Well, except maybe George W. Bush. I had to do it.

But I had some misgivings. Beyond the fun factor, there were some issues that needed to be worked out. Materially, I wondered about compensation for my time. Existentially, I wondered if it was appropriate for me to be spending my time playing assassination. I wondered also what the angle of the documentary would be. Would it glorify Hamas? Let there be no doubt that I support the cause of justice for the Palestinian people. However, I don't support many of the means used by Hamas to achieve this goal. I couldn't lend my face to a production I might potentially disagree with. Then, there was the security issue. In a later phone conversation with this journalist she told me that the documentary might also be shown on Al-Jazeera. Now, contrary to what a lot of my fellow Americans might think, Al-Jazeera is a decent television network with some good shows, but if the program was indeed shown on it, that would mean a lot of people--a lot of people--would see me, on their televisions, playing the part of an Israeli Mossad agent, a figure who is, as I said, hated and reviled throughout the region, trying to kill someone a lot of people view as a kind of freedom fighter. And, as paranoid as it sounds, there was no guarantee in my mind that some crazy person might not see the documentary, see me on it, and not understand that it was a reenactment, then see me on the street at some later date and who knows what. After all, I have had taxi drivers months or even a year after taking me somewhere, tell me where and when they took me. I have, apparently, not just the face of a documentary assassin, but a memorable face as well. This concerned me, and it concerned everyone from whom I solicited advice on the issue too.

So, I said no. In fact, I called her from Cozmo--the supermarket where it all began--to tell her the news. In the end she offered me 50 bucks for my time. It was, after all, just public television. It wasn't really about the money, though; I did have security concerns, and before I agreed to participate I would have wanted to know exactly what I would be asked to do, and find out the angle of the show, perhaps even look at the script. I'm sure this would have been much more hassle than she thought was necessary for some guy she found in a supermarket, especially for what she said would be a total screen time of about 20 seconds.

Would my answer have been different with a more lucrative financial enticement? To be honest, I don't know. It's been an interesting question to think about. At what price would my security concerns dissipate? How much would I need to feel better about playing assassin, or to be a little less concerned about angle? She called me later during the time she said they would be filming, but I was busy and couldn't answer it. I called her back when I had time, but this time she didn't answer, and so far, she hasn't called back. Maybe she was calling to revise her offer; it was only public television, though, so I doubt it.

Taxi Talk

I ride in a taxi nearly every day, and sometimes several times each day. Because I do this so often, it's always tempting to get in, announce my destination, and then turn my head towards the window, forgetting about the driver on my left and letting my mind melt away into the blur of white buildings on my right. Sometimes you just feel like zoning out. However, some time ago I made it my goal to engage all my drivers. I decided I would at least greet them and ask them how they were doing; if they wanted, they could then continue talking to me. If not, I would leave them alone. Inevitably, this is our conversation.

"Hello. How are you?
"Praise be to God... And how are you?"
"Good. Praise be to God."

Sometimes, this is it, and the driver just drives, and I start staring out the window. More often than not, though, he reciprocates.

"You speak Arabic?"
"A little. I try."
"You try? No, you speak very well." (Or, if he's given to extreme hyperbole: "You try? No, you speak better than me!")
"Thank you." This is said simultaneously with a sheepish grin, because I really don't speak that well.

Of course by this point the driver's interest is usually quite piqued.

"Where are you from?"
"I'm from America." (Or, if I'm feeling playful: "Where do you think I'm from?" At which point, the driver guesses Germany, Sweden, France, England, Australia, Russia, Switzerland, but almost never America. This means, I guess, that I don't "look" American; sometimes, this is just as well. And yes, I have a few times actually made them run through a litany of countries like that.)
"Ah, America... Texas?" (Or, instead of this simple guess of home state, a statement or expression of wistful envy. You can read about this in a previous post here.)
"No, Minnesota." This answer is followed by an immediate expression of great confusion on the driver's face or a rapid shaking of his head--as if he was knocking the cobwebs out--calling for some clarification.
"It's in the north, on the border with Canada."
"Oh, on the border with Canada."

And then, unavoidably, something it seems everyone I've ever met in Jordan can say.

"My brother/sister/father/mother/cousin/aunt/uncle lives in Texas/California/Chicago/Florida/New York."
"Oh. Have you visited?"
"No. I want to, but getting a visa is very difficult." Occasionally, they tell me they applied for a visa, paid their nonrefundable application fee, and were denied. Sometimes I do hear they have visited.
"Yes. It's very difficult these days." Post September 11, that is.

At this point usually the ride is over. But I always want to know if they are of Palestinian or Jordanian origin, because--either way--I want to hear their story. So, if I have time, I begin a new query.

"Are you Palestinian?" This is the best alternative I can think of to "where are you from," since they are, of course, from Jordan, and most likely they're Palestinian anyway. The usual answer is:
"Yes. I am Palestinian. But I am Jordanian. I have Jordanian citizenship." Always this explanatory note is added, as if attesting to their citizenship status. I do know Palestinians feel defensive about their citizenship from time to time around non-Palestinian Jordanians.
"Oh I know. But were you born here?"
"Yes. I was born here."
"Where is your family from?"
"They are from Jerusalem/Hebron/Jaffa/Haifa/Tulkaram/Ramallah/." (Or any number of small villages near those places.)
"Oh. Have you visited there?"
"No. I can't. It's not allowed." (I don't know exactly what the policy is, but I've heard over and over from drivers that they're not allowed by the Israelis to enter the West Bank. It might have something to do with being men of a certain age.)
"Oh."

And with that, the ride is definitely over. Sometimes they ask me how long I've been in Jordan, where I work, or how I like Jordan. Sometimes other topics come up. Yesterday a driver asked me if I liked Clinton, Bush or Obama, a topic that was, of course, much more popular a year or so ago. However, the preceding represents a standard conversation I have with taxi drivers on an almost daily basis. It's a conversation that, despite its repetitiveness, never gets old, because although the words may be the same, the people uttering them aren't.

Our view today