I am cursed with Beautiful Friends- I am blessed with Unusual Acquaintances

A friend of mine has offered me a place to stay if I'm still in Tucson in January.

His name will change from Shahid to Zishan to Shawn, depending on the temperment of the speaker (including how he refers to himself). There's no real rule to this, it's just something that you get a feel for as you get to know him.

Shawn's putting in a bid on some property near the University. He has an Uncle that comes to Tucson from England every year from January through June, and I think the idea is that he will be staying in one of the rooms in the guest house while Shawn rents out the front building to students. It's a pretty straightforward business investment that keeps Uncle from having to stay in the spare room of the office Shawn rents to run his businesses out of.

I know that Uncle has at least one other name. I was given one of them when we first met last year, but was imediately told to call him Uncle. Everybody calls him Uncle. Old cab drivers, young mechanics, every member of Shahid's family that I've met regardless of generation, every other employee and business contact Shawn has brought through the office calls him Uncle.

Uncle is 6' 4" tall with dark skin and a hawk's nose. Born in Pakistan, he spend the last several decades of his eighty plus years in England, which has given him an accent that lands somewhere between Sean Connery and Morgan Freeman. He is a devout Muslum.

Uncle is one of those interesting people who walks into a room and dominates it with his age, height, and silence. For six months last year I would be at my desk working on projects for Shahid, and Uncle would just wander in and out of the room throughout the course of his day. He managed to do this in a way that let you know you were noticed and not ignored, even though he would often not say a word to you in passing.

Not that silence is bad. More than once I've gone through the scenario where Uncle would stand in the doorway of the room, having just gotten up and come through the kitchenette some morning. Like some monstrous middle eastern Willy Winky he'd be standing there in his nightshirt, barefooted. The image would be vaguely incomplete because there was no long tassled cap like in The Night Before Christmas, and instead of a candlestick, he'd be holding a bowl of fish curry.

He's come in and sit down on the couch in the office and eat his breakfast. Halfway through, his meal he would stop after chewing and say from out of nowhere something like, "So tell me, you are a Christian, if the Jews say that Moses wrote the first five books of the Torah, why is it that God takes him to heaven before entering Palastine at the end of the second book?"

I'd usually have something clever to say like, "Well Uncle... I'm not Jewish,". A clever answer like this would make him nod and finish his curry.

My lease in the studio is up in December. Zishan would like Uncle to have a roommate. Aparently he's already called England and made sure it was okay with Uncle. Uncle is very excited.

I like lists. They provide focus and give clarity through inventory of accomplishments and actions. I make them out of habit. When I was told that I would be rooming with Uncle I composed the following list.

In the past 5 years, my roommates have included:

(In no order)
An ex-wife
An Iowa Farmboy
A wolf hybrid
A very grumpy cat
6 teenagers (who didn't actually live with me, but seemed to always be there)
A retired Pakistani guerrilla turned London shopkeeper; veteran of Kashmir

I think I have a better idea now why I only sleep about 5 1/2 hours a night.

gargh =:]