Tuesday, February 17, 2009

He Doesn't Make Me Bitter.

Last movie I watched: Vicky Christina Barcelona.

My reaction: It was entertaining, but made me feel weird.

How I wasted time today: I spent at least half an hour at Blockbuster but I left with nothing.

But: I almost left with "W", "Changeling", or "The visitor". I actually considered renting High School Musical 3. I was desperate. But not that desperate. (or courageous).

I made myself feel better by: Listening to a Bill Simmons (ESPN's page 2) interview on the radio. I hate his Bostoniousnous Boston-ness Boston-acity but he's entertaining and funny.

I'm currently looking forward to: Lost. Tomorrow night.

Back to Sports: We were right in not trusting A-Rod. Maybe before it wasn't for the right reasons (like-COUGH-MadonnaGate-COUGH), but now, well...it's mighty polite of him to prove our instincts right. Thanks A-Rod!

BTW: It's easier to hate him the more I know him.

But really: I'd hate him even if he adopted kittens (and was clean).

Listening to A-Rod: Makes me want to stick sharp objects in my ears. Cause that would feel better than listening to him.

I just realized: I sound like his ex-wife.

So: I'm moving on.

Transitions: Aren't easy to come by.

McDonalds: always makes me feel sick when I eat it.

Transitions: See?

Latest Buy: Victoria Secret's PINK body mist. Smells nice, but not so strong. That's ok. You know what I mean? Not like that crazy stuff. I'm talking about the people who buy and wear the perfume or cologne created to mask the apparent stench of death they fear others will detect on them. We call them the Michael Phelps of Cologne wearers. They have a gold medal in the cologne swimming event. They come out of that event drenched. Let's just step away from the pool of shame. A simple mist should suffice.

Latest thing to buy and regret: An extension cord for work. It was the wrong kind.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Getting Shoed On

By: Sadiqua Hamdan and Badia Ead

Shoes are thrown at people for different reasons. If you were born in a Middle Eastern family, it’s tradition to have a shoe thrown at you when you are between the ages of 5 and 80. Research indicates that the risk of getting one thrown at you goes down as your age goes up.

Former President Bush was recently the recipient of this cultural “gift” from an Iraqi news reporter. It was more like a random act of “shoe-on-you, Mr. George”. A big ordeal was made out of this incident, and it brought embarrassment and mockery to him. I will explain why this was really a form of “I’m doing you a favor. I don’t want you to repeat the same mistakes when you get older” lesson. It’s tough love.

First, let’s talk about the history and purpose of throwing shoes.

Cultural Awareness

Like PMS, the gift of the “shoe throwing” gene has been passed on from great grandmother to her daughter, and so on. Of course, any person in an Arab family has the ability to throw a shoe, but tradition states that “one must be a grandfather, father, grandmother, mother, or making a lot of money before one is allowed to throw a shoe at another household member.”

Purpose of Shoe Throwing

As you may have already guessed, shoe throwing is a form of discipline. Everyone knows that Arab men work many hours and it’s up to the women to keep their kids in line. Over the years, mothers have fine-tuned their ability to throw with precision, speed and when you least expect it!

The precision is especially admired when the target is stricken running outside of a straight line. Long thought by experts to be a proven measure of thwarting an attack, i.e. gun shots, the Arab mother has perfected the art of hitting their moving target running in zig-zags.

It is also common knowledge that the number of shoes thrown is directly related to the ratio of mother to child. For example, any more than three children involved in the debacle will exponentially increase the number of shoes thrown in their direction. In this case, the old adage “strength in numbers” supports the number of shoes and not the number of children.

Anthropologists are not entirely certain when this practice began, but they theorize it was perfected some time before the emergence of the cordless telephone. It is believed that at this time, the mothers were forced to discipline within the boundaries of the telephone cord. Once removing the shoe and chasing the target with it ceased to be affective, the shoes began to fly.

There are many forms of discipline, like the fathers’ favorite, “It-foo” or “fake spitting on you”. It-foo really translates into, “I can’t believe you did that (insert silly reason why you pissed off your dad here). I can’t believe your mother gave birth to you and you are acting like a son-of-a-donkey.” Later in life, the therapist tells you that this is the Middle Eastern way of saying, “I’m disappointed in your actions, son.”

Other forms of verbal chastisement involve more of a self loathing approach, with the father exclaiming, “Damn your father!” and the mother exclaiming, “Damn your mother!” This usually causes confusion on the receivers’ end, who questions this approach before finally succumbing to the temptation to mock the parent for doing so. This, in turn, earns a thrown shoe.

So it brings us back to why shoes?

Shoes, sandals, pumps are easy to access. They’re usually on your feet. You reach down, pick up, and throw. It’s that easy. If your mom is really upset and throws a “foul” the first time, the other sandal is a foot away. She will hit the target. Her arm just wasn’t warmed up the first time, or she was being generous with a warning.

Now, the first time a shoe is thrown at you, it’s typically a situation you had no idea you were about to get into –you didn’t see it coming. I mean, your mom is in the bathroom dumping out the bucket of grayish colored water and replacing it with clean water to finish “Operation Clean Kitchen Floor” and you walk across that floor with dirty shoes on…very quickly…to grab some chocolate pudding out of the fridge. You have every intention of staying out of her way, so you head towards the living room to relax. A couple of minutes later, a sandal comes flying at you and hits you in your right shoulder. “Akhhh!” That means “OUCH!” Supplementing that action is a series of words that make you feel like you’re about to be pudding.

When Bush had a shoe thrown at him, it was the reporter’s way of saying, “Hi step-brother. Long time no see George Abdul Bush. I’m sorry our father insisted on sending you to boarding school for four years, but you repay us by shaming the family? You expect us to roll out the red carpet during this visit? How could you even think to give support to those our bullies? You were not raised this way.”Bush instinctively knew something was coming at him, and was able to dodge the dose of “tough love” thrown at him. Luckily, he thought it was kind of funny.

We hope he learned his lesson.

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Bitter Sweet Dreams

Ok, so last night I had a dream that there were zombies. And they weren't old fashioned black and white movie zombies that can barely move 4 feet in 10 minutes. No-no, they were the fast "28 Days Later" kinds of zombies who chased us like hell in order to eat us.

This Zombie dream had me thinking of Michael Jackson's Thriller music video, despite the difference in Zombie speed. The zombies were really slow there and when they converged on Michael's girl, they seemed to only want to hug her or something. I literally remember thinking, "Just let them get you. They just want to touch or hug you. This will all be over soon." This all stems from my defeatest attitude that occasionally surfaces. My line is, "If my life were a horror movie, I'd play the extra. (yes, even in my own horror movie). And I'd be one of the first extras to die."

Anyways, contrary to the Thriller Zombies, there was no mistaking what they wanted to do in my dream. I saw them take a bite out of one of the people running away with me. Man, that sucked. And then, if I remember correctly, I was cornered by one and I thought, "ok, this shouldn't hurt. This is just a dream. They can't really bite me." But no, they bit me, and it hurt. **sad face**

I've been having weirdo dreams for as long as I could remember. They're always vivid. I know some people who barely remember any of their dreams. I, on the other hand, remember my dreams amazingly well and often. At times, I even experience physical pain. I remember having a dream when I was a kid, younger than 9, and Freddy Kruger was chasing me. At the end of the dream, I remember running towards a white door, because apparently that door meant safety. Just as I reached it, he slashed at my back-which hurt like hell- and I woke up with my back hurting. I asked my sister to look at my back and she saw four scratches across the part of my back I couldn't have cleanly scratched myself. I know most people would say I hurt my back (somehow scratching myself on my mattress) while I was sleeping and the Freddy Kruger dream resulted from that. Blah blah blah. And it's not like I really believe Freddy Kruger was attacking me. It's the mystery of the scratch marks that freak me out more than anything else.

My dreams have been disturbing in other ways. When I was 13 and living in Palestine, my dreams revolved around religion and the End of Times for months. I still have my journal that I used to write in documenting this craziness. I guess it's then that my sleeping problems first started. I was 13/14 and did not want to sleep at night because my dreams felt too real. I was so frustrated that I couldn't just dream about stupid things like Freddy Kruger any more. No, I had to dream about the end of times night after night. And if you believe in them, that's scarier than anything else-or any monster- you can dream of.

But of course I have my amazingly stupid and pointless dreams. Those are my favorite. There are two that stick out in my head. In one dream- my friends and I call it the infamous "Fruit of the Loom"dream-the guys dressed up as fruit from the Fruit of the Loom commercials are chasing me. They were angry. I'm laughing even as I tell you this because it's so amazingly funny even til this day. And the fact that my friends and I know what I'm talking about when I say, "The Fruit of the Loom" dream also tickles me.

In amazingly stupid dream #2 there's a chicken-man. His head is a man's head, his body is a chicken. What does chicken-man do? He takes a bite out of his own wings. I'd like to think that if any of us had delicious chicken wings for arms, we'd do the same. Anyways, I remember this being so funny that I laughed WHILE I was sleeping. Upon seeing my sleep-laugh, mom woke me up asking, "what's so funny?" The chicken-man dream still cracks me up, even if it sounds lame to everyone around me. Come on! The guy ate his own chicken-wing arms!!! That's hilarious!

Those are enough dream revelations for you, Cyber World.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Scatter Brained

  • I'm so scatter brained, I don't even have a clear way of beginning this blog.
  • Sometimes the Palestinian-Israeli issue seems so frustrating and overwhelming to write about, I just avoid trying. Sorry.
  • I bought new brown boots (?) or something of that nature. I'll probably own them for 5 years. I used to a gift card, so don't give me that look.
  • I bought the soundtrack to "Slumdog Millionaire" and then regretted it. The soundtrack is ok, but I cursed myself for not being like the rest of the world and just downloading key songs. I could've used my gift cards towards the Harry Potter recording of book 7 that I wanted. I wanted it and should've just saved up money.
  • I enjoy Award shows like the Golden Globes and Oscars way too much. I need a life.
  • Banan's talking to me right now cause she's sick of sitting in Bread Co. She sounds like she's about to go crazy.
  • Kurt Warner is the model of someone who's good and keeps working hard and God keeps rewarding him. I can't help but sound religious here. But I really believe it! Leave me alone!
  • I had a dream last night that my mosque's Imam was preaching about how we idolize Pujols way too much. Then he proceeded to tell us an Albert Pujols story to impress us. What does that mean!?

To Be Continued....

P.S. Banan is now talking like Elmo. It's REALLY time to go...

Monday, December 29, 2008

Americans have NO IDEA

About the seige, before the bombardment... Israeli academic at Ben-Gurion University, Neve Gordon, has described the Israeli Siege of Gaza as an "experiment in famine". He says the siege is "not really about the bombardment of Israeli citizens or even about Israel’s ongoing efforts to undermine Hamas. It is simply a new draconian strategy aimed at denying the Palestinians their most basic right to self-determination. It is about showing them who is in control, about breaking their backs, so that they lower their expectations and bow down to Israeli demands. The Palestinians understood this and courageously destroyed their prison wall while crying out into the wilderness for international support. Instead of the expected outrage, the only response they received was a weak echo of their own cry for help."[3] (http://www.inminds.co.uk/end.gaza.siege.9.feb.2008.php)

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Watch.

Palestinians have learned much from their Israeli neighbors. When it comes to the Palestinians, the world is just as prejudiced as the Israelis.

The life of a Palestinian is worth as much as how it could protect an Israeli. If the Israeli government has done one thing without prejudice, it is in choosing their victims.

Step right up to the amazing circus known as the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. Come see the way the Palestinians are forced to evacuate their homes, which will be bulldozed in order to make room for Israeli settlers. Genocide is a way of life! Come! Come see how the animals in this show dare to scream at the injustice! Who knew they could talk, let alone scream!? Come watch the blood flow in the streets all in the name of security! Remember kids, you must sacrifice your humanity in order to gain security! Do not fear the wrath of God in response to your killing of innocent people, for God has promised you this land, thus giving you the green light to kill. Kill. Kill! He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Right to defend themselves? Bah! That’s only a phrase we know! Like retaliation. Ours. Like terrorism. Ours. Like homeland. Ours. Like diaspora. Ours. Like security. Ours. Like rights. Ours. Like Palestine. Ours. Ours. Ours. It’s all ours.

Let them tell you how the world would be a better place without Gaza entirely. Destroy!Destroy! Destroy! It must be gone. Be done with them! They must disappear because they practiced democracy! We told them lies. We told them we supported democracy. Then we took away what little freedom they had left. Freedom to eat! Freedom to drink! Freedom to live without stewing in their own filth! Filth. Filth. Filthy lies!

Come give these sheep pats on the head for taking it all in stride as we tear them limb from limb. They musn’t complain, musn’t argue, musn’t fight. Musn’t. Musn’t. Musn’t.

Now watch the children cry. Watch them all die. Watch them be buried alive. Watch from the comforts of your towering skyscrapers and soothing sandy beaches in Tel Aviv. Watch from the comfort of the homes you stole from the people who still carry the keys to their doors in Jerusalem. Watch from the holiday light strewn houses in America, where we complain that we can’t afford another cup of Starbucks coffee today because of, you know, the bad economy and all. Watch. Watch. Watch.

Now be silent. Kill. Ours. Destroy. Filth. Musn’t. Watch.

Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words – the words live on
for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is
immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.
-J. Michael Straczynski

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