MikeLortz.com/JordiScrubbings.com » Jordi’s Journeys

Video of Camp Bedrock, Bosnia

Jordi Scrubbings — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 06:22:47 +0000

Yesterday I posted an article I wrote about my time at Camp Bedrock in Bosnia in 1998-99. While I was posting it I googled “Camp Bedrock” and found this really cool video. While not as cool as “Flash vs The Aliens” (humble brag), it is pretty awesome and brought back some very cool memories.

Afghanistan and the number 39

Jordi Scrubbings — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:49:41 +0000

I’m starting to read things about Afghanistan in preparation for my upcoming trip. Apparently in Afghanistan there is a huge stigma against the number 39. It seems some people of Afghanistan are more frightened by 39 than Americans are about the number 13. 39 seems to have more of an insulting connotation, whereas 13 is more or less “unlucky”.

Interesting.

Going to Afghanistan in 2012

Jordi Scrubbings — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 11:49:21 +0000

Let me get right to the point first and foremost:

I am going to Afghanistan for a year. I am leaving sometime in late January or early February.

Now that I have the summary out of the way, I want to write about why I am going and a few of the things going through my head in regards to this trip.

First, the financial side. This is easy. I got a job, which is great news. After nearly a year of floating around, working at jobs that didn’t fit, or trying to make ends meet with freelance gigs, I figured it was high time I got a job that would allow me to make some money. With all my experience working with the military, a job in Afghanistan allows me the ability to make up for lost income and save money for when I get back, since who knows what positions will be available and how the defense budget will look when I get back.

That said, I am not going just for the money. There is a scene in Star Wars: A New Hope after Han and Luke rescue Princess Leia when Princess Leia denigrates Han for thinking only about the cash and not for the deeper meaning of his actions.

HAN: It is for me, sister! Look, I ain’t in this for your revolution, and I’m not in it for you, Princess. I expect to be well paid. I’m in it for the money!

LEIA: You needn’t worry about your reward. If money is all that you love, then that’s what you’ll receive!

She angrily turns, and as she starts out of the cockpit, passes Luke coming in.

LEIA: Your friend is quite a mercenary. I wonder if he really cares about anything…or anyone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this scene and how Han Solo went from mercenary rogue in A New Hope to leader of a community and man with a purpose by the end of Return of the Jedi. Although I was never a smuggler living life on the lam, I can see how I had few of the wrong things in common with Han.

(Yes, that was a weird Star Wars tangent, and I apologize, but it was relevant to me.)

While I was not steadily employed I did a lot of thinking about my life and career and whether or not I was happy with its current direction. Looking back, I definitely was not. I wrote about this before, but although I was making money and that made me successfully happy, I never could envision long-term happiness until I found something new. Many of the people I talked to called this “following your heart” and I like that term. Not everyone gets to do that, but because I don’t have anyone currently depending on me for their life essentials, I think it’s time I gave it a try.

(Another quick aside: My friend Andrea has a really good post on her blog about following your dreams. She is also trying to figure it out.)

But there is a big problem with following your heart and making a career change: I have to start at the beginning. I have to work my way up from the bottom and I have to network all over again. That’s not easy, it takes time, and odds are I won’t be making much money while in the nascent stages of a new career. Going to Afghanistan and making a year’s worth of tax-free income will provide a nice economic cushion for whatever route I choose.

Maybe my new career will be in writing. If you are familiar with this site, you might know I’ve done quite a bit of that, whether writing about the Tampa music scene, sports, or other miscellaneous projects. I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to continue to write in Afghanistan during my time outside of the office. I’m sure I could work on my short stories and maybe even write a book review or two. My writing network might weaken a bit from time being out of the loop, but it won’t disappear. And there are several projects I am sure I’ll be able to step right back into when I get back to the US.

One of the other thoughts I have had upon my return is a tour of various minor league baseball parks. I talked to a few people who did this during the 2011 season and although costly, they found it fun. And it would fall in very well with my work with Bus Leagues Baseball.com.

I could also take the money I make and use it as the backbone of life as a road comic. This would be much more difficult, but I do have some experience on stage. Not much, but some. And I could travel around the US doing open mics and attempting to network and make a name for myself. Maybe I could go to New York City or Los Angeles for a year and submerge myself in their respective comedy scenes and not have to wait tables like many struggling beginning performers do.

I’ve also visited and exchanged emails with the professors of the University of South Florida’s anthropology department in regards to starting PhD work in August 2013. I am especially interested in working in media anthropology, or the study of media-based creative culture to include fan groups, wide-spread social media usage, and being what Professor Henry Jenkins of University of South California calls an “aca-fan”, or academic fan. Some of the writing I have done on this blog has leaned slightly in that direction in an amateur way, and I think further pursuing that would be a great fit for me. Of course, PhD programs are not cheap, and the money made in Afghanistan will help me pay for this venture.

Am I scared about being in one of the worst places in the world, in a place where there are people who likely want to see me dead? Of course. But that fear is tempered by the fact that I know there are people there who are trained to protect civilian workers such as myself and they are very good at their job. I am also reassured by the dozens of people I know who have been over there already and have come back healthy, wealthy, and wise.

Also comforting is the fact that I will not be there alone. There are friends of mine, some from my career and some from college, who are there right now and some who will be showing up during my time there. As of this time, I am not sure exactly where I am going as there are many US bases in Afghanistan, so I don’t know if I will run into anyone I know, but I’m sure they will be going through many of the same experiences I will be going through.

I am also reassured by the fact that I have gotten emails and even Facebook comments from friends while in Afghanistan which leads me to believe that I can stay in touch, albeit not as often as when I am home. It won’t be the face-to-face, but at least it’s communication, which is a good thing. I’m not sure how my access will affect this blog, my other blogging endeavors, or my ability to post on twitter, but there are strings available to keep me in touch. And I will be sure to share my physical address when I find that out.

Will I miss my family and friends? Definitely. There is no doubt I will miss seeing my parents, my brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and my 4-year old nephew. They are a big part of my life and being away from them for a year is going to suck, point blank. But when I was in the military years ago, I would only come home for Christmas and this is not much different than that, although the me back then was a 19-21 year old me, a less mature me, a more adventurous me, a less-family conscious me, and one that didn’t value the connections as much as I do now. I’ve also been thinking that various people go away all the time, such as military members of course, and inmates. And I have a leg up on inmates, they go away longer and don’t get paid as much if they do at all.

On a sorta related note, like having to start over professionally, I am a little worried about how this trip will affect me socially. Although I have plenty of friends and people to hang out with, I’ve been single for a long time and lived by myself for most of my time in Tampa and am just now realizing how kinda silly that was and is. While I am sure I won’t have my own tent or room or whatever other living arrangements there are in Afghanistan, I am also pretty sure I won’t be doing any dating over there and the odds that I meet a woman over there that becomes a friend stateside that I could hang out with regularly is probably pretty low. So the social life that I want to work on to has to be put on hold for a year. But like any other goal, as long as I keep what I want in mind and remember not to fall into another social rut, I should be ok.

Sorry this is so long, but it is my blog and this is what I am thinking about in regards to going to Afghanistan. It’s going to be a lot of work packing, putting things in storage, and preparing, but I am sure I will be ready when the time comes. I’m planning on putting a few more posts on this blog between now and the end of January, so I will be around for a little while longer, but I wanted to tell everyone what I know now so it’s not too much of a shock when I do take off.

A Trip to the Dade Battlefield State Park

Jordi Scrubbings — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 16:28:21 +0000

Thursday I finally visited the Dade Battlefield State Park. Although I have passed it dozens of times, I never had the chance to stop by. With my personal history in the US Army and my growing interest in Seminole Indian history, the Dade Battlefield was a place I needed to go.

While I visited I brought my video camera and recorded my walking tour of the park. Feel free to check out the video.

My latest Bus Leagues Baseball video

Jordi Scrubbings — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 07:52:00 +0000

Last Sunday I saw the Dunedin Blue Jays play the Daytona Cubs in Dunedin, Florida. The media folks were cool and let me bring my video camera. Check out my video:

I thought it turned out rather well. It’s not too long, has some good action shots, and not too much of me. Which is always good, considering I need to work on my stage presence.

The ties that you have with your friends is the prize – Presence

Jordi Scrubbings — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 21:29:36 +0000

Someone I know mentioned me in a blog last week, and I was so moved by their blog that I felt the need to respond. This reply is too long to be a comment, so I figured I would write it here. Sorry if you don’t get it, I’ll get back to the random musings and baseball writing soon enough.

I remember that night:

That was the night I didn’t think I would see you.

That was the night we were recovering from yet another fight.

That was the night you saw me walking to the ATM – you told me you thought about turning around or running me over.

That was the night we both went to the concert by ourselves.

That was the night I saw you rocking out by yourself.

That was the night you wore purple when everyone else was in black.

That was the night I noticed how into concerts you really are.

That was the night a mosh pit broke out right near you and I was not surprised at all.

That was the night you tweeted constantly about how cool Maylene was.

That was the night I tweeted about how impressed I was with them.

That was the night you texted me to say “I’m still giving you the silent treatment, but I am texting only to say I told you so.”

That was the night we texted and twittered back and forth during the Maylene show.

That was the night I was glad I had my friend back.

That was the night you told me to pay attention to the band.

That was the night they played a song that you said reminded you of us.

That was the night you punched me in the side as I waited by the bar to get a beer.

That was the night you grabbed my hand and led me outside.

That was the night I saw how absolutely flushed you were from screaming along to one of your favorite bands.

That was the night you told me a good concert turns you on more than sex.

That was the night I left where I was standing during the first bands to hang out with you closer to the mosh pit.

That was the night you weren’t into one of my favorite bands.

That was the night you pushed several guys into the mosh pit.

That was the night you tweeted that you protected me so I could watch Clutch in peace.

That was the night I retweeted most of your tweets about me.

That was the night you took off your purple shirt and rocked the sports bra.

That was the night you walked out before Clutch’s encore.

That was the night I thought you were walking out and leaving me at the show.

That was the night you told me I could stay, but I was too curious as to what adventure you were looking to get into.

That was the night we found dubstep at Fubar.

That was the night you made fun of me for ordering an Anchorsteam at a dive bar while you ordered a PBR.

That was the night you told me “when in Rome”.

That was the night you were overjoyed to find a local spot for dubstep.

That was the night it was insanely crowded in Fubar.

That was the night that one of the local DJs called one of the highlights of the St. Pete dubstep scene.

That was the night the bass moved the entire crowd.

That was the night the DJs had the dance floor in the palm of their hand.

That was the night we moved up and sat by the stage because you wanted to be closer to the action.

That was the night I learned how much you enjoy people watching.

That was the night the whole bar was hot and sweaty.

That was the night I told you that at that moment you looked very attractive.

That was the night you quickly grabbed your purse and walked out of Fubar.

That was the night my words got me in trouble again.

That was the night I tried to catch up with you.

That was the night I told you I was walking you to your car.

That was the night I didn’t ask if you would like me to.

That was the night you stopped and told me to go away.

That was the night I heard that line for the first time – it wouldn’t be the last.

That was the night I was worried you would get mugged on the streets of St. Pete.

That was the night I tried to play Prince Charming.

That was the night I forgot you are a Warrior Princess who doesn’t need protection.

That was the night you pulled out your phone.

That was the night my first thought was that you were calling the cops on me.

That was the night I thought you were going to have me arrested for stalking.

That was the night I walked away and let you be.

That was the night I couldn’t find my truck.

That was the night it was taken by a local towing company.

That was the night I frantically texted and called you, praying you would come back.

That was the night I feared I would be sleeping with the homeless.

That was the night you turned around to help me out.

That was the night I felt hopeless.

That was the night I remembered how much I hate feeling hopeless.

That was the night you came to the rescue.

That was the night you told me to get in the car.

That was the night you told me to shut up and tell you where to go.

That was the night we pulled next to a crazy warehouse and some lady asked us where we were going.

That was the night we stopped right across the street from the tow place before finding it.

That was the night I was out 121 dollars for parking in the wrong spot.

That was the night you got out of the car to tell the tow truck people how much of an idiot I was .

That was the night I said “I love you, too.”

That was the night I said that I don’t say that to too many friends.

That was the night you said I should say that more often.

That was the night I got my truck back.

That was the night you peed behind a creepy dark building.

That was the night we talked for over an hour in the parking lot.

That was the night you sang “Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don’t” by Brand New to me.

That was the night I was glad to be where I was and with who I was with.

That was the night I thought the secret was about me.

That was the night there never was a secret to start.

That was the night I told you how frustrated I was that nothing was coming easy.

That was the night you asked me what my friends would think about you.

That was the night you wanted to take a nap in the tow truck parking lot before driving home.

That was the night I said I wasn’t going to leave you alone in the parking lot.

That was the night I should have sat in my truck and hung out while you slept for a bit.

That was the night I sat in your car and you couldn’t sleep.

That was the night we finally left the tow truck place at nearly 4AM.

That was the night you pulled out of the tow truck place and turned west, away from the highway home.

That was the night I followed you for a bit to see if everything was ok.

That was the night you went to pay tribute to a lost friend.

That was the night I turned to head home, confused.

That was the night you texted me when you got home and told me to stop worrying.

That was the night I texted back, “Good Night, Keri.”

That was the night you followed with “Go fuck yourself (that’s Keri for sleep well).”

That was the night I wrote about – twice. Once with mentions of you, and once where you play a very minor role.

That was the night I told you that I was sorry.

I’m still sorry.

I’m sorry I suck at apologizing.

I’m sorry I worried about you in situations I wasn’t familiar with.

I’m sorry I was a bad distraction.

I’m sorry I struggled to see things from your point of view.

I’m sorry I analyzed way too much.

I’m sorry I bruised your ego.

I’m sorry I said some terrible things.

I’m sorry I couldn’t let things flow.

I’m sorry you felt the need to “break” me as often as you did.

I’m sorry I think about control and power as a concept in human relations.

I’m sorry I don’t always write with heart.

I’m sorry it took me so long to write about that night.

I’m sorry we concentrated on falling apart.

I’m sorry I wanted to believe in us.

I’m sorry we can’t find a reset button.

I’m sorry I made you push me away.

I’m sorry you wrote about me again.

I’m sorry we aren’t friends anymore.

I’m sorry I ruined your Maylene song.

Clutch, Tow Trucks, and T-Shirts in St. Petersburg

Jordi Scrubbings — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 17:31:25 +0000

There are certain rules I abide by on the day of a concert. These are simple rules, acquired through years of seeing almost every genre of music from blues to hip-hop to death metal.

Rule one: Don’t listen to anything by the band within 24 hours of the show. If you don’t know the songs by the day before, you won’t know them. Concerts aren’t college, there is no cramming. And you don’t want your ear influenced at all by the studio recordings. Enjoy the show for what it is.

Rule two: To quote the Wu-Tang Clan, cash rules everything around me. Merch vendors, bars, and some ticket stands don’t take Visa, Mastercard, or American Express, so “if you don’t have dollars, it don’t make sense”. Hit the ATM before you get to a show. It allows flexibility and convenience.

Rule three: Dress the part. Never wear a t-shirt of a band you are going to see. Wear a similar band, or someone of the same genre. But always dress to fit the scene. Don’t wear a Parliament-Funkadelic shirt to see Slayer.

There are two exceptions to rule three. The first is that you can wear a shirt from a festival featuring the band you are seeing. That’s simple enough as it shows community and that you have seen other bands. The second exception is the seldom used “memorable slogan clause”. If your t-shirt has an overly funny, clever, or all-round bad-ass slogan, you are accepted into the community of the performance.

In my time going to concerts, there have been two memorable slogan t-shirts that stand out among the masses. Both are engrained in my cerebellum not only because of their cleverness, but because of the stories associated with them. The first, a black t-shirt that proclaimed “Fuck You, You Fuckin’ Fuck”, was worn by a man named Manimal who I wrote about nearly three years ago. For those who missed it, Manimal was a bad-ass biker dude who forbid moshing in his general area during a 1999 Metallica concert.

The second most memorable slogan tee that stands out for me is a black shirt with the devil’s face and the words “God’s Busy, May I Help You?”. This shirt brings back memories of a concert adventure I had on my 23^rd birthday when my college roommate Zheke Snow and I traveled from Tallahassee to Orlando to see rock bands Isle of Q, UPO, Full Devil Jacket, and Nickelback (after their first album, and before they jumped the music shark). It was a night of obnoxious cops, tire problems, good rock ‘n’ roll, and driving around the Disney World Complex with the bassist of UPO as he yelled at his drunk bandmates who left him and didn’t tell him where the hotel was located.

It’s a classic story perhaps I’ll tell in full here one day.

Even though I have been to dozens, if not hundreds, of concerts since, I hadn’t seen either of those slogan t-shirts. Until a few Tuesday’s ago, when the devil’s question made another appearance.

And of course, I had another interesting night.

——————————————————

The flyer stared at me from beside the keyboard at my work desk, a simple reminder that time was moving far too slow. Every minute dragged on with the full power of 60 seconds of might, as I fidgeted like a child who refused to dream of sugarplums and candy canes on Christmas Eve. Finally at 6:30 I flew out of the office like Meatloaf’s bat out of hell, sped down I-75 at 90mph, daring the Florida Highway Patrol to stop me, and cruised into St. Petersburg.

On the docket that night was one of my favorite bands, Maryland-based groove-metal band Clutch. I’d seen Clutch five times prior to last Tuesday, the latest time being with Black Label Society in October. Opening for Clutch was GroundScore from Washington DC and the Florida/Alabama-based Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. I was totally in the dark about Groundscore, but I had heard a few good things about Maylene and the Sons of Disaster, and I was also looking forward to seeing them.

Into St. Pete I drove, finding a spot in a parking lot a few blocks from the club. Needing money for a ticket, beer, and a new t-shirt, I walked over to a local ATM and pulled out some cash. On my way to the club from the ATM, I found two 2011 pennies with the new backing. One was heads up and the other was tails up. Although I usually think money is money and finding two cents gets me that much closer to retirement, I was struck momentarily by the symmetry of the yin and the yang.

After I bought my ticket, I walked into St. Pete’s State Theater, ready to finally get my rock on. One of the best things about a Clutch show it that it is usually attended by veteran rock fans. Fans who proudly sport their shirts of quality metal bands, such as Slayer, Danzig, or Judas Priest. Shortly after entering, I received a compliment on my shirt, the tour shirt from the aforementioned BLS/Clutch gig from a few months back.

Even though my shirt was highly regarded, I quickly hit the merch stand for a new Clutch shirt. To my amusement, the merch vendor was wearing another shirt I hold near and dear to my heart: an “Arm The Homeless” tee from a punk band called Tree who toured with Clutch in 2003. That was one of the few times I didn’t buy a shirt from my favorite band and opted for the opening act. I couldn’t resist walking around with a picture of an AK-wielding old lady on my back.

Now dressed to impress with a brew in hand, I walked into the theater and closer to the stage to check out Groundscore. They weren’t bad, a mix of 311 and Sublime, with elements of punk and metal blended in. They were definitely Warped Tour material or the soundtrack to a new skateboarding video game.

(Speaking of interesting t-shirts, the drummer for Groundscore had A Tribe Called Quest shirt on. I wonder how many metal fans caught that?)

During the Groundscore show, I perused the crowd, checking out the environment and doing a little people watching. No matter the type of music show, people watching at a concert is always fun, especially if the band isn’t entirely up my alley.

But that’s when I saw it: “God’s Busy, May I Help You?”. I’m surprised the guy wearing it didn’t ask me what I was looking at I paused for a moment when my eyes hit his shirt. It was if Satan himself was telling me the night was going to be interesting. A warning from Lucifer for me to heed.

Second on stage was Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. Like I said, I heard good things from a few friends about this relatively new band. But because friends can sometimes have music tastes that don’t always jive with mine, I turned to my brother for his valued musical scouting report. That morning, his review came in: “Heavy southern rock/blues sounding”. Nice. My kind of music. I was excited.

Maylene didn’t disappoint. Although I couldn’t understand their lyrics on occasion, I was impressed with their sound. Throughout their set, I pulled out my phone and tweeted comparisons to Corrosion of Conformity, White Zombie, and Black Stone Cherry, all bands I hold in high regard. I closed my tweeted review with the simple phrase, “I like”. I’m going to have to buy some Maylene and the Sons of Disaster.

After the usual downtime between bands, the mighty Clutch came on stage. As to be expected (for me, at least) Clutch was absolutely spectacular. They played many of their most popular songs, from Big News I & II, The Regulator, Electric Worry, and the trace-like Spacegrass. As compared to the last time I saw them in October, Clutch didn’t have to worry about set limits, so they threw in a few jams between songs.

(Here is a youtube video of Clutch playing Escape From the Prison Planet and here is the concert review from the Tampa Bay Times.)

Being a long time fan, seeing Clutch brings out a sense of community for me. Other Clutch fans and I compare times and places we’ve seen Clutch, admire each others’ concert shirts, and no matter what song, we sing along, even if Neil Fallon’s lyrics are sometimes far too complex to understand (Songs about anthrax, redcoats, and elephants?).

Following an extensive set, Clutch ended their show with a mellow encore. And with that, the show was over. But little did I know the rest of my night was just beginning.

Across the street from St. Pete’s State Theater is a row of hole-in-the-wall bars and pubs. As I discovered after a recent House of Pain show, one bar, Fubar, usually has a band on the stage late and capitalizes on the crowd from State Theater to relax and buy some cheap beer. After House of Pain, Fubar featured a local death metal band, so I was curious to see what they had on stage after Clutch.

On stage at Fubar was a DJ playing “dubstep”. I’m not normally an electronic music fan, but last year the Wu-Tang Clan put out an album with dubstep DJs and I was curious, so I grabbed a beer, unwound for a bit, and enjoyed a few tunes.

After my beer was finished, I made my way out Fubar. Shortly thereafter, I noticed something was missing.

My truck wasn’t where I parked it.

To my surprise, I parked in a lot guarded by a local towing agency. In a panic, I called the number on the sign and inquired as to whether they had my precious pick-up. After they confirmed it was in their possession, I frantically called my friend Keri, who I briefly saw at the show. Fortunately, even although she was well on her way back home, she turned around to bring me to the wrecker lot so I could get my truck. Thank goodness for friends, or I would have been sleeping with the homeless on the streets of St. Pete.

Did I mention I hate late-night towing companies? I think they are spawns of Satan, brought to Earth only to make life difficult for people. No one is going to use the bank at midnight, so why can’t I park there to go to the bar? I promise I’ll move my truck before the bank opens in the morning.

Anyway, 121 dollars later, my truck was back in my possession and my night was finally over. I should have heeded the t-shirt symbology and been more careful in the presence of the smiling devil t-shirt.

Opening Day Tropicana Field 2011

Jordi Scrubbings — Sat, 02 Apr 2011 09:00:44 +0000

Here is a video I made about going to Tropicana Field to see the Rays take on the Baltimore Orioles on MLB Opening Day 2011.

As I summarized on YouTube:

“My trip to Tropicana Field for the Tampa Bay Rays home opener on April 1, 2011. I like to think this video fully captures the essence and environment of the Rays faithful both before and after the game. Special appearances by Tug Haines, Santa Rays, Chris Harris, the fiddler, Ferg’s Sports Bar, lots of folks with crazy hair, the guy who gave me a beer, and hundreds of Rays fans.”

A Return to Baseball’s Winter Meetings

Jordi Scrubbings — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 23:20:50 +0000

Four years ago, I ventured to Disney’s Swan and Dolphin Resort to check out Major League Baseball’s annual winter meetings. My post on that trip was one of my most popular over at The Serious Tip.

This year, Major League Baseball again hosted the Winter Meetings at the Swan and Dolphin Resort and again I made the trip over there. This time, however, I was “on assignment” from Bus Leagues Baseball. My write-up on the trip is over there, so please swing on by and check it out.

An Outsider’s Return to the Winter Meetings – Bus Leagues Baseball

They’re gonna play football in Qatar

Jordi Scrubbings — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 05:17:05 +0000

" src="http://www.jordiscrubbings.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/SD531210-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" />On December 2nd, the powers that be in world soccer (football) named the locations for the 2018 and 2022 World Cup. In 2018, the greatest football tournament in the world will be held in Russia, where the women are cold, the vodka is colder, and polar bears and penguins run wild.

To be honest, I have never been to Russia. I know they have bears and Red Squares and they lost to the US in hockey in 1980. That’s all I know.

However, following Russia in 2022 is a country I have been to. One of the three countries I have visited outside of the United States. A country I went to last year, Qatar.

Because of its diminutive size and lack of sports infrastructure, a lot of people are disappointed in the selection of Qatar.

(Here is NY Times writer Nate Silver questioning the pick.)

Others even went so far as to use buzz-word heavy, search-friendly terms for their headlines.

Now, I don’t know enough about soccer and the World Cup to know if Qatar will make an acceptable host. But I do know some of the neat places in Qatar. Such as:

local suks where you can buy jewelry for dirt cheap prices
pearl dealers who get their goods directly off the boats
a Chili’s right outside the Doha International Airport
the amazing mall with the gondola inside and fascinating ceiling artwork that made it look like night and day depending on the area of the mall you were in
and finally, the absolutely fantastic Islamic Museum of Art

So in an effort to educate or inform people or some of the sights of Qatar, I decided to post a lot of my pictures on Google Picasa. Feel free to take a look.

Jordi’s Qatar pics

Not to be outdone, here is National Geographic’s web photo album of some of the other beautiful areas in Qatar.