Friday, March 06, 2009

Flex Your Muscles

Go Ahead. Flex those muscles. I meant your creative muscles. That's right.Now get your creative juices flowing. Very nice. Alright, ready? You have an assignment for tonight. In my poetry class a few years ago, we were given a series of words that we had to include in our poems. We could create whatever poem we wanted as long as we used each word listed once and only once. (That's right, don't repeat any of the words.)

Anyways, it's been a few years, so hopefully I'll have every original word listed and you can work your magic. After you're done, you can read my original poem that I created from the list of words.

  1. O’ Clock
  2. vole
  3. politics
  4. candle wick
  5. blue jay
  6. phone
  7. tenacity
  8. bowl
  9. pears
  10. stetson
  11. west wind
  12. interstate

Ok, scroll down for my poem!

.

..

...

....

.......

...........

.................

........................

.................................

...............................................

................................................................

..............................................

................................

.....................

............

.......

....

...

..

.

Sundays at Mr. Boulderfield’s (2006)

Using the phone only once a week, four O’ Clock to be exact Mr. Boulderfield calls his grandchildren to come hear stories about the runaway vole who bolts across his kitchen, stuffing stolen crumbs with a wee hand into a make believe pocket.

And they love to come, as soon you’ll catch my drift. Despite their parents’ drawn out conversations about politics, which they patiently endure in the long drive along the interstate sitting as stiff as a candle wick that knows it’ll soon be lit

They know it’s only time before they’ll run through the doorway, begging their grandpa to join them on the old porch, a practice which has become law, with the hope that a blue jay will mingle in their presence as they picture the tiny mouse in the comfort of their imaginations

And they always believe their favorite storyteller Who gives out peeled pears to accommodate his audience. And wears the stetson hat over the shiny baldness of his head a smooth, glistening bowl surrounded by stark white hairs

Yes, they always believe their favorite storyteller Who hugs them with the tenacity of a west wind And because the slight curve in the bill of his hat always gives credence to his stories

Oh yeah, It's Poetry Time!

I know what you're thinking...

"Oh maaaan. Poetry? Who does she think she is? Why is she doing this? Doesn't she know how much she sucks at this?"

Well, here's what I'm thinking, "I don't care. I'm puttin' these badboys out there cause I got a blog and I got time. Oh yeeeeeah **Kool-Aid Man breaks through my wall**

First up:

Concrete Wall (2006 )

Oh hideous wall, sprayed phrases and pictures yearn for significance Ushering for the world’s ear, begging for attention to their plight, a red alert to the insanity of it all

“Freedom”, “truth”, and “occupation” cover the grey concrete, Concrete that reminds me of sloppy wet days when I can see my breath. The rusty steel juts out in all directions, wild and apathetic Just as the wall juts out between generations of homes and olive groves

The words are in all sorts of colors, Yet it’s always the red that stands out. Whether on grey concrete or punctured clothing, Red haunts those left to mourn the pale and silent faces.

The wall moans in indignation, trash piles up closely beneath it With the stench of rotten vegetables and thorny weeds. Flies circle in lazy indifference and can’t make up their minds. All they know is misery loves company

Such a slow death for an already wilting nation, Draining the light, it eats at the life of all who see it Cancerous and vile, separating all from loved ones Making it harder to breathe in without exhaling in grief

Their hearts break over and over again, Withering away, harden and crack to become ashy and grey. Like the remains of some burnt up corpse Once lively, now kept hidden in a misleading vase Just like the color of concrete

Torturous in its taunting, embarrassing in its existence, Promising a life filled with remorse and pangs in their stomachs from disgust. Deceptive in its purpose, walls never keep us apart They’re meant to be torn down, not embolden our distrust. Separate never makes equal, but ignorance makes it tall. Oh hideous wall

Thursday, February 19, 2009

TOPICana

Baseball Dear Joel Pineiro, I am not happy with you totally bitching at The Secret Weapon through the media. Let's spell this out for you...He is The Secret Weapon. He is beloved. You are not. Therefore, you are not allowed to complain to the media. You're kind of a punk.

Dear Skip Schumaker, I really, really hope second base works out for you. You're kind of awesome. **hearts in eyes**

My Immune System I have now been sick for 10 days. I have officially titled these last 10 days as The Sickness of '09. I honestly don't know what's happening. I've gone from a virus to a cold to a lost voice to a worse cold to the coughs. Why is this happening? Why won't it go away? Come on immune system! Get your act together!

Babies I met my cousin's new daugher and she is absolutely adorable. I seriously miss her and I only met her once. Talk about a good first impression.

Laziness

I wish I wasn't too lazy to get up 10 minutes earlier so I could go to Quick Trip at 6:30 am and buy some of their delicious and very affordable coffee. I've grown a liking to their Caramel Machiatto with pumps of butter pecan. Man, that's awesome. Darn you, laziness! Darn you!

Waiting... too long:I finally got an alarm clock. Why did I wait so long to get this? Bad judgement on my part for going with my cell phone's alarm for the last 8 years instead of just investing in a nice alarm clock like I should have. I like waking up to Mike and Mike in the morning on ESPN radio, or to NPR. This is how it was meant to be.

the right amount of time:I finally got a calendar. I knew if I was patient enough I could get the cheapest possible calendar. How much did I get it for? $1. Yes. High five to myself. And it's a "30 Roc" calendar-not a kitten or dog calendar. Double high five.

Television Congratulations television. You're back on my good list. For a while there, I just didn't watch television. If I watched anything, it was DVDs. But thanks to an end to that strike and some awesome shows having a good year, I am back on the television bandwagon. Here's my TV Guide for you. It's very simple and wonderful, but addictive. Doctors insist that a healthy dose of the following shows will help lower your cholestrol and reduce stress. However, side effects may include laughing, happiness, a feeling of immortality, and flying.

If you experience an erection lasting longer than 8 hours, please call a doctor.

Monday: Heroes. The Daily Show.

Tuesday: American Idol. How I Met Your Mother. The Daily Show.

Wednesday: American Idol. Lost. The Real World. The Daily Show.

Thursday: The Office. 30 Roc. The Daily Show.

Friday: Starting tomorrow night...finally...Real Time with Bill Maher.

This Sunday, enjoy the wonderfully girly/gay Oscars. I'm leaning towards it being gay-ish since Hugh Jackman is hosting. Maybe it feels gay (wow. I just said "maybe it feels gay") because he's already hosted the Tony's-the ultimate gayfest...well, second to the gay pride parade...anyways...I'm excited. I love the fancy dresses and emotional acceptance speeches. And this year we've got a special treat! Jen and Angelina in the same room with television cameras! Yes! Drama! Love it!

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...

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

Powered By Blogger