South Sudan is it’s own country now.
Now there are TWO shitty countries named “Sudan.”
I’m kidding. I’m sure South Sudan is…er…um…lovely this time of year. Actually, I don’t really know that. Certainly it’s war-torn, dry, dusty, poor, arid, kinda miserable, probably beautiful on a good day or through the right lens or to someone who has recently had corneal implants. If nothing else, I hope both Sudans are filled with plenty of redeeming examples of humanity, but again, I wouldn’t know.
Oddly enough, my mother lived in Khartoum with her family in the late 50′s, shortly after they became a country. It doesn’t sound like whole lot of fun (and back then, white women like my grandmother couldn’t go to the market: not to mention there wasn’t really any food to buy anyway), but I wish the new Sudan a lot of luck.
I mention this only because I’ve been thinking about what it takes to be a country lately for no good reason other than sometimes I like to muse about stupid or pointless things. It’s just a little something I call “self-entertaining.”
So anyway, have you ever had a moment where you’re pretty sure you’re being whimsical and perhaps even delightful, and someone else experiences it as annoying?
Yeah. Me too.
In fact, just a week or so ago, I was kind of sick of someone’s endless political talk, and tried changing the conversation to a discussion of how I might form my own country. First off, they weren’t taking me seriously.
“What country? You?”
“But what country? What are you talking about?”
“Suppose I buy an island. That’s my country.”
“You have an island?”
“No, but I suppose I did.”
“Supposing I buy an island. In that case, I’m talking about my new island nation I’m going to form. All the money is going to have pictures of my pets – living and dead – on it.”
Anyway, after enough pushing and insisting I really needed to know the answers to these questions, I was informed that becoming my own country would require the okay of the United Nations, which doesn’t sound that unreasonable or unachievable, in the big picture. And it got me wondering: is there some kind of dinner party beforehand where I could get the deciding nations – which I was informed were the US, Spain, France, Japan, Russia, and maybe somebody or other I forgot (probably forgotten because I do remember digressing a little by noting that nobody from Africa nor Australia had any voting power) and there was something about how the US didn’t have to vote for there to be a majority vote. I don’t know. Rules and regulations make my mind wander. I’ll look up the thorny details later once the island nation is ready to roll. I think I’ll call it Utopia. Or is that too arrogant? Maybe a bunch of know-it-all types I don’t really want around will be attracted if I name it Utopia. Scratch that. I’m naming it Soleil.
Wow. I got a little offtrack there. All I was saying was, if there’s a little soiree where I can get the deciding parties liquored up and get their ear, I can be a pretty compelling little lady. Trust me on that one. You don’t want to end up on the opposite end of the sheer force of my will.
In other news, here’s a moment at the grocery store earlier today that made me laugh:
Check-out guy: “That looks great!”
Me: “A raw chunk of pork looks great?”
Check-out guy: “Well, are you going to slow roast it?”
Me: “I am, actually.”
Check-out guy: “That’s what I’m talking about!!!”
And that’s all I have to say about that.