Miranda Rights: or is the fifth amendment?

Just got back from Dubai. Stayed four days, didn't go out of the hotel even once. So, it was airport-hotel-airport, literally. I'm back exhausted and exhilarated. Someone pointed out this bright star one evening, and said, this is venus, and it's the brightest it's ever been. I literally looked at the sky, and said, "oh, nice, so when are we going for dinner? I'm hungry" all in the same breath.

First, update. Afghanistan position is looking more real than ever, after two sets of interviews, and maybe as soon as August. I'm happy, sad, eager, apprehensive, everything. But there's no doubt in my mind that it's the right move (if I get an offer, fingers crossed). I need a fresh start, like most of my friends.

Now onto my thought for the weekend. The title refers to this Sex and the City storyline where Miranda, a Harvard Law School graduate goes on speed dating session, and she can't get anyone interested about her high profile career. Finally, she lies and tells someone that she's an air hostess, and finally gets to know someone in a biblical sense.

The last two times I succeeded in "getting biblical" amid my dry spell, I obfuscated the truth. To the first one, I pretended to be still attached to my old relationship. To the second, I pretended to be too inebriated to use my judgment. I succeeded because I projected to be immoral, stupid and not in possession of self control. Ironically, I was being immoral, but to myself.

People who tell you that intelligence or honesty are aphrodisiacs are either high on their own pheromone, or bold faced liars. Nobody wants a smart human rights advocate who rescues seals from poachers, spends free time feeding the homeless and challenges your beliefs on first date.

People actually prefer to spend inane hours in front of the monitor looking up the daily musings of Cyndi Margolis, Paris Hilton, Mallika Sherawat, LonelyGirl15, Pam Anderson, and the like. The ones who reinforce our ego that we are the most intelligent being on earth and should be worshipped without contributing anything. We bask in our own hotness, as Paul says. So what if the wattage is low.

And while I'd like to chastise the rest of the world, I spent two afternoons in Dubai by the pool, conversing on interesting topics like capacity development, and challenges to the third world, while eyeing this glowing-orange-tanning-salon-going-eurotrash-looking-thing-in-a-thong that looked like Lyn Shaye in There's Something About Mary, and wondering if I had the nerve to throw my accompanying laptop into the pool and generate a conversation about pedicure tips.

Luckily, in that Dubai heat, the pheromones quickly evaporated, and my sanity precipitated back to where it was.

In my Rapunzel castle.