Tonight, September 19th, 2009, marks the end of Ramadan, and tomorrow is the beginning of Eid, so everyone greets each other with Eid Mubarak, which means "blessed festival."
To us non-muslims, this means that the rest of the year opens up...we can drink water on the streets, we can eat during the day, we can smoke, and if called upon, we can have sexy-time during the day. The funny thing about Eid, Ramadan, and the rest of the Islamic calendar is that the entire edifice is based on the lunar cycle.
The Middle East (or at least this part of it) has been a repository for astronomic knowledge for centuries, but the end of Ramadan depends, not on the calculations of men but, on the eye-witness event of the actual crescent moon (called hilal). In Dubai, the only official "expert moon-watchers" reside in Saudi Arabia, which means that if I spotted the crescent moon two days ago, it wouldn't count, because I am not A.) expert, nor 2.) in Saudi Arabia.
Obviously, this follows a grand tradition of moon based religious festivals: Easter, Chinese New Year. But, what is the point of this? I don't know. Today is today, regardless of if you call it September 20th or Shawwal 1st. Don't we all have the same date in our bones, the same sun on our skins, the same night for our dreams? Ramadan is the month the Prophet received the Word from Jibrail (Gabriel), so why is there a fast? Lent marks the 47 days before Easter, and it also contains an element of fasting. Why? Where is the joy? I think that's what is missing from the religions of the sun: the joy in a revelation, the joy in a resurrection, the joy in the freedom.
Broke Ass:
After my 11 hour day of GMAT and SAT work, I went to Champs bar to have a beer in celebration of Eid. My own personal celebration of Eid. There I was, enjoying a haraam beverage
(and yes, Dorito's are haraam...there is pork fat in there...sorry vegetarians), sitting in the darkened room, when I accidentally made eye-contact with a prostitute who was sitting at the bar. She smiled, I smiled, and she started to get up. I made the universal sign of "Don't come over here," which involved me grabbing my throat and falling to the floor, convulsing. She understood, so she stayed at her seat. After a few more beers (it's Eid, people...don't judge me), I made eye contact again, and she obviously smiled at me. I had no idea what to do, so I wrote something on a napkin and made a paper rose out of it (Thanks, Brian Chapman!).
On the napkin, I had written that I couldn't enjoy her company, because 1) I would fall in love too easily, and B) I was a Broke Ass M*****F*****. I watched her open the rose, I watched her read it, and I watched her drop my rose and follow me to the elevator. She caught up with me, and started talking about love and such, so I had to ask her if she knew what "broke ass" meant. She said "You like broke?" I just started laughing and said I could afford to get her a taxi to take her home, but nothing else. She was aghast, slapped me, and said "don't ever take me away from my bar seat unless you afford sexy." Hahaha. Brilliant. I love making those kinds of mistakes.
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