I was listening to Five Dollar Suit’s Kingdom In the Sky and on my third cup of Kronung German coffee (a high caliber balls to the wind brew that makes me think of Nazi Germany. I ditched the popular Nescafe instant shit 2 days ago.) I often listen to Kingdom In The Sky these days, a well crafted bluegrass piece, not only because it’s written by one of my favorite humans on the planet (Will Fourt), but also because it reminds me of what really matters, vicerally and immediately. It’s like divine nectar dripping into the basal ganglia.

I was staring into the northern peaks in a hazed wonder when Brain buzzed from downstairs. We had arranged to meet this morning for him to update me on any progress and further Brainstorm for this evenings meeting with Saydonlu et al. The last news I received from Brain was that he had spoken to an affluent Imam and to a media contact about the project, two high leverage peeps. Upon opening the front door, I noticed there was a little guy with Brain. “Well, here we are. Only 1 other child went to school today so I decided to bring him along… Apparently, the other children went on an early vacation,” which is common this time of year he explained. A shy 1st grader huddled around Brain’s legs.

We set him up with a Paint program on the computer while Brain and I sat down at the Santa Cruz Diner style kitchen counter. Brain explained that the higher up contact he needs to get a hold of in the MFA is out of the country, according to the Imam he spoke to yersterday and “ that there is simply nothing we can do until he returns. In fact, don’t bother doing anything until after the new year.” I chugged the rest of Nazi Germany. This means 15 days, I thought.

He proceeded: “There is a joke we have in Iran. Once, an Iranian guy was sent to hell and found himself among a bunch of Americans. In hell, he decided, this is pretty awful, but at least I’m among more civilized people. After a while, he decided he wanted to check out the Iranian section so he found the hell guard and gets approval to get transferred since he wanted to be with his own people. In the Iranian hell section, he finds that there are several tubes connected to people taking turns to ingest various unhealthy substances, from the mouth, the bottom, etc. The new arrival notices a variety of more healthy substances that are within reach. He asks, “what’s going on here? if its mandatory to be taking stuff in, why don’t you try taking the more healthy substances.” The others respond, “The chiefs on vacation. So we can’t.”

Brain ties this into the fundamental nature of progress in Iran’s government. Even if there are answers and solutions are within reach, there’s never any progress until that one guy is located and makes the decision. Apparently, finding who that one guy is is the first main challenge. Then, finding someone whose within his intimate social circle to influence his decision is the next challenge. Well shit I thought, here I am nearly $1400 down and halfway around the world. I’m not giving up until this run begins.

Little guy then walked out of the computer room and sat on the sofa, watching us converse and making various requests. I decided to put an end to distractions and popped in the Harvey Birdman Attorney At Law adult swim DVD for him.

Brain went on to explain that there’s nothing he can do for the next 15 days. I then informed him that I had made a few calls yesterday and discovered that Saidi, the original intelligence officer/ run thwarter at the MFA is also “out of the country.” Brain outlined a few questions to ask Saydonlu tonight and did some coaching in this respect. He also confirmed the reality that Saydonlu “has been for the most part repeating the same thing in different ways for the last year.”

He then went on to discuss at length the hermeneutics and psychology of politics in this country. “Whatever you do in Iran has political implications. Everything.There was a time many years back, when Khomeini first came into power, when he felt that the government and its operation were being compromised. Khomeini then threatened to ban all worship, mosques, and prayers for the purpose of refocusing political intentions and making this a priority….All actions in this country are somehow construed as political. It’s the way it was set up….”

Meanwhile, a few feet away, the Apache Chief Superhero had lost his superpower of “growing large at will” after spilling a cup of coffee on his member. He was explaining to Harvey that the diner had willfully and negligently served him a hot latte. Little guy was intently engaged.

Brain then proceeded to describe government workers as “pasteurized personnel” and elaborate on the web of forces we’re dealing with. I processed dense information, taking notes, and drinking more Nazi coffee. I then described to him my experience last nite in a nearby city.

I was at a 2nd grader’s birthday party in Karaj, a nearby city with my father. It was the child of a cousin. He has short curly black hair and is either laughing in a corner or posturing at innocent bystanders. His name is Arson. ( I call him Arsenal b/c of his warrior like life commitment. Arsenal laughed heartily when we first met then punched me heartily in the stomach. I mean real hard.) Anyhow, after taking child abuse, I ended up meeting a man who turned out to be a relative of the “director of the Ministry Of Foreign Affairs.” I immediately thought,  insert WTF!? Is the Ministry Of Foreign Affairs the size of Disneyland? You have to be kidding me!? (I accidentally mumbled “WTF” to him. He didn’t get it.) Everyone seems to know someone or be related to someone in that office. As I recall, the MFA office was the size of Homewood’s mid mountain ski hut (at Lake Tahoe in the 90’s.)

He said his last name was Bagheri. (There was loud Iranian pop/techno blasting from a plasma screen nearby and everyone sat in the perimeter of the large living room in Victorian style chairs. About 30 people). I immediately recognized the name because I had seen it on a document while in the MFA office a few years back and remember wondering how to get a hold of him. This “relative” turned out to be real excited about the project. We swapped numbers and he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what he thinks.” I took a bite of banana cake. MFA relative immediately jolted and began dancing alone in the center of the living room, and rather passionately.

He was wearing thick rimmed black reading glasses and a black striped purple shirt with long skinny black tap dance looking shoes. I quickly noticed that he was moving in a way that reminded of Planet Earth’s birds of paradise, where a blue bird is courting another bird via what appears to be a flamboyant series of super stylized dance moves.

The Victorian drone of a living room perimeter began cheering and whistling. There was a lot of hip and fancy shoulder motions, generous footwork, and a great sense of rhythym. This was real talent. It wasn’t the usual finger snapping, blood drawn body swaying I was used to seeing among men that are yanked up against their will to dance at gatherings. I was impressed. A few other ladies got up, followed by little children, and finally, a 1 yr old girl in a tutu that was walking in circles for over 15 minutes and was surprisingly still standing.

MFA relative was raising the roof and had successfully revved up the crowd.

I revealed all this to Brain (minus the dance tangent). He then suggested I contact MFA relative and stay in touch, fishing. He said he would be arranging to meet with his MFA contact when he gets back in the country and suggested a plan for getting himself in on the Saydonlu meeting tonite. It was tricky. A few months back, when Saydonlu met with my father outside his office for the first time, he brought “a friend,” a large dude that didn’t say much. My father tagged him as the bodyguard.

There were many variables involved and my mental capacity to strategize was being taxed to the limits. Action plans were being laid out. Diagrams, graphs, utensils  utilized, dates being consumed, pistachios, Dixon tyconderoga pencils, multi colored sharpies, feta cheese, slices of lavash bread, Nazi coffee, English tea. I thought of Chuck Norris. Miami Vice. Magnum PI. Britney Spears and Charles In Charge and Silver Spoons and Out Of This World, and then finally my father two days ago standing in the sunny living room of his Tehran apartment in his tightie whities as I walked by after a run, “That mother %^%$er. I’m gonna get him good this time.”

Meanwhile, a few feet away, I heard Shaggy laughing and immediately turned around. It was episode 3, People v. Rogers and Doo, where Scooby et al are seized by State Highway Patrol Officers, and found to be in possession of a suspicious substance . Norville “Shaggy” Rogers was describing his pursuit of “Green Monster” in an “unofficial capacity as paranormal investigators.” It was almost lunch by now and I wondered how many more episodes this kid will watch. Their were a total of 11.

I threw some marninated chicken and veggies on the grill and Brain volunteered to make the rice. Jafari, the enginner of the building and devout fruit nut, showed up on the scene suddenly with a tray of olives, a small bowl of “12 year old garlic cloves dipped in goodies,”  a generous portion of saffron rice, and of course varied fruit. I wondered if the apartment was bugged. It was perfect timing.

After lunch, little guy tried to take my Harvey DVD. I sternly refused.