Sunday, April 09, 2006

One Lucky Winner Becomes An Apostle!

Fine, I get it. I've been really lax on the blogging. So lax that the universe (inexplicably having noticed) has decided to just go all out and present me with my own special, personally customized Post-On-A-Plate. If you can't be fucked to blog this, the universe is clearly notifying me, you just really need to pack it in and stop swanning around, flaunting and preening with all the airs and graces that so naturally adhere to the status of Lefty Blogger in contemporary polite society.

So what am I gonna do, not post the contest the NYT is sponsoring to win an all-expenses-paid trip to Somewhere Dirty TBD with none other than Nicholas White Christ of Cambodia Kristof, the good lord's gift to copygenically-suffering women everywhere? Please. I may be a completely fucking crap blogger, sirrah, but withal I am a blogger still.

Without further ado then, I'll step aside and let 'Nick' describe it himself, as only he can:
Over the next month, I’ll be holding a contest to find a university student or two to accompany me on a reporting trip to the developing world. I’m not sure where yet, and that will depend partly on what’s in the news at the time. But to give you a sense of the kind of travel I’m thinking of, the possibilities include a jaunt through rural Burundi and Rwanda in central Africa, or an odyssey from the coast of Cameroon inland to the heart of the Central African Republic.

Don’t expect comfort so much as diarrhea. We’ll be on the go from dawn to late at night every day, interviewing anybody from peasants to presidents (usually the peasants are more interesting). We might visit a clinic, an AIDS program, a school, a factory.
Isn't he wild, like some kind of amazing Free Spirit? Isn't the whole thing just outrageously, titillatingly devil-may-care? You could go anywhere, so long as it's adequately sufferingful. You could wake up not knowing whether come evening you'll be dining with dull diplomats or fasting with far-more-interesting farmhands. Yeah. Are ya scared? You could get exotic parasites! Don't be so squeamy-square, man, with your western notions of hygiene!

You could meet unforgettable yet apparently interchangeable Real People from Somewherepooristan! But most of all, young one, you could be changed. Yes. Truly changed.

And all of it, all the joy, the ache, the laughter and tears and heartical lesson-learning, the wisdom will be immortalized in a multi-media webstravaganza for the vicarious changetastic edification of Times readers.

What you won't get to do, nIck assures us for legal reasons, is buy any Cambodian prostitutes (I note he doesn't, however, rule out sex slaves of any other nationality). So that's lost 3/4 of you right off the bat. As for the rest:

- you must be 18 or over

- you must be enrolled in an American university

- it doesn't say actually this out loud, but I'm betting it helps a lot if you're a nubile co-ed. Although to tweak WCoC's particular brand of cryptoneopatriarchal compensatory kink you'd most likely need to be the kind with long dark hair, a white buttoned blouse and studious spectacles who talks so impassionedly about global injustice, development theory and the work of Paul Farmer that one could almost fail to notice her boomin body and firm ripe young nectarine of an ass. Almost.

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