tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43836846699961736912024-02-08T02:23:42.711+04:00rewa'z pageRewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-5636419304223627882013-02-20T17:08:00.000+04:002013-02-20T17:08:19.148+04:00Emirates Airline Festival of Literature- Sukoon Magazine!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://emirateslitfest.blog.com/2013/02/20/sukoon-literary-magazine-launched-in-dubai/">http://emirateslitfest.blog.com/2013/02/20/sukoon-literary-magazine-launched-in-dubai/</a></div>
Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-58664375433581899882013-02-13T18:11:00.001+04:002013-02-13T18:11:13.432+04:00Sukoon Magazine Issue ONE is now ONLINE!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="userContent">The first issue of Sukoon Magazine- now
online! Check it out- Art, Poetry, and Prose from a variety of excellent
artists living/working/or just hanging out, in or around, the Arab
world. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">Sukoon is also very proud t<span class="text_exposed_show">o
announce that the first issue includes previously unpublished poems by
none other than NAOMI SHIHAB NYE, as well as an interview with her! <br /> <br />
Poems by Frank Dullaghan, Zeina Hashem Beck, Hind Shoufani, Helen Wing,
Hajer Abdulsalam, Farah Chamma, Dorian Paul D, Steven Schreiner,
Kenneth E. Harrison, Emer Davis, Becky Kilsby, Dana Sleiman, Louay
Khraish, Nicholas Karavatos, The Amazin' Sardine. <br /> <br /> Prose by Marian Haddad, Helen Wing, Nour Ali Youssef. <br /> <br /> Photography by Arz Azar, Omran Ali Alowais, Marie Dullaghan. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">Calligraphy by Majid Alyousef!<br /> <br /> <a href="http://www.sukoonmag.com/responsive/" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.sukoonmag.com/responsive/</a></span></span></div>
Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-66067579920670944912012-12-21T12:39:00.000+04:002012-12-21T12:39:15.998+04:00In the Beginning Was... The World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span>My toddler nephew has an obsession.<br />
<br />
His "zizi."<br />
<br />
In other words, the male organ of copulation, also used for urine excretion.<br />
<br />
Well. Not entirely. All he wants to know is whether or not everyone
else, including his mother, father, aunt, grandmother, uncle's fiance,
baby cousin, the gardener, the car down the street, or the neighbor's
bicycle has one too.<br />
<br />
So he inquires, of course, rather randomly, and persistently, and of
course, the answer is always ready, as well as the subject that is
supposed to come right after the answer that came after the inquiry,
nicely prepared to move the attention away from the question.<br />
<br />
Discussing the weather for instance is a fairly weak subject with
which to distract a two-year-old. Fondling a brightly lit Christmas
tree, with breakable ornaments hung from its thick plastic branches, on
the other hand, is not.<br />
<br />
Apparently, say the experts, (actually I'm totally making this up),
the idea is not to give too much attention to this fixation. The
experts; you know, those faceless entities that write fancy articles
with the intention of sounding like they know particular things. They
also tend to enjoy defining the word "normal." And its antonym,
"abnormal." From a scale of 1, to a zillion and three.<br />
<br />
Ah, the empowerment that male children can't help but arrive at, thanks to the world's endorsement of it.<br />
<br />
So anyway, the idea is not to dwell and just move on.<br />
<br />
Just like when he playfully utters the word "shit" or "fuck," thanks
to mindless adult rhetoric, it is fundamental that the adult not give
any attention to this "mishap" and carry on with the day, like the
miracle that it is. Apparently It is very important to communicate that
the toddler's genitalia, this organ he finds absolutely fascinating, is
really NOT the most important discovery in this whole wide, and
reproductive-fixated, world. It is a good idea, psychology implores, to
tell the toddler, rather gently, that no, his "zizi" is really not that
incredible or shocking, nor is it for public inspection.<br />
<br />
The toddler will, of course, look up at you, with his big round eyes
of Spring (kindly refer to Note #85 ), find you dull and stuffy, feel
sorry for you for a few minutes, at which point he will decide to humor
you for a couple of hours or days. Until the next round of further
inquiry.<br />
<br />
If you ask me, I don't think it's a big deal really. It's not like it's the end of the world, is it?<br />
<br />
Actually it is. And as I sit snugly in my Lazy Boy seat, popcorn bowl
in my lap, I wait patiently for all things to fall apart. Then I
faintly recall Achebe's novel title, the plot of which I remember
nothing. That's how thrilled I am about this event.<br />
<br />
Luckily I live in Dubai. Where I can watch the whole thing crumble
from the safety of my own cushy corner. No batteries or duct tape
necessary. I can sit here and rock the damn seat back and forth and
observe, while the festive tree laughs its blinking lights off at the
sheer anticipation.<br />
<br />
And then I come across this yesterday in the news:<br />
<br />
"Cultural entropy, which is the level of dysfunctional, toxic or
destructive energy people feel in a country, was at just 12 per cent in
the UAE compared to 72 per cent in Venezuela, 63 per cent in Iceland
and 60 per cent in Argentina. The UK, France and the US witnessed
cultural entropy levels of 59 per cent, 57 per cent and 56 per cent
respectively. Elements that contribute to cultural entropy, according
to the service was people’s view of bureaucracy, blame, corruption,
materialism, environmental pollution and aggression in their country."<br />
<br />
Something about "shared values connect human beings beyond race,
religion, politics and gender. And "human societies" that "grow and
develop to the extent that we are able to reduce fear, build trust and
increase love by reaching a common understanding of our shared
values.” And that "the low level of cultural entropy and high level of
similarity currently experienced signals that people in the UAE feel
that the society is on the right track."<br />
<br />
V. insightful.<br />
<br />
Thanks to "shared" values, apparently, we've been able to reduce
fear, build trust and increase love. In Dubai, where an anonymous
artist randomly sprays lines of graffiti on concrete walls. Thoughts
like, "All these lights, and nothing to display."<br />
<br />
Amen is what I say to that.<br />
<br />
Yes, that's us. As opposed to the rest of world, right? The one that
will end today, goodness knows at what hour and in which continent the
conclusion will begin, I think we've also achieved these three things.
Only not in that order necessarily. I think we've managed quite
brilliantly, thanks to the shared value of: consumerism, to reduce:
love, increase: fear and build: a lot of skyscrapers.<br />
<br />
And speaking of "zizi," the organ which we keep telling my curious
nephew women don't have, I think it's high time we changed that
response. At least women have balls. If nothing else.<br />
<br />
Which is more than a lot of us can say about the men in this Arab speaking region, post Arab "spring."<br />
<br />
Like Egyptian activist Alia Mahdi, today, who stripped naked in
Stockholm, in front of the Egyptian Embassy, and used her body as a
medium to write her thoughts about a reformed Egypt. She used her naked
body to prove a point, if nothing else. Which none of the Arab world
will of course get. They will only see a publicly naked woman, which to
them, means a whore who deserves slaying and raping and plundering, and
an outrageous and scandalous initiative, which means, well, an
outrageous and scandalous initiative.<br />
<br />
The Arab speaking world will use their eyes only to see that yes, the
world definitely ends today, there's that whorish Arab woman again,
whose naked body is all over the news.<br />
<br />
I think the world begins today. There's that stubborn Arab activist
again, whose naked body that speaks volumes, is all over the news.<br />
<br />
I hope my nephew will grow up to be half as courageous as women like
her, and with the help of the right level of "scandalous
behavior-supporting" family, he'll get over his fixation, and by the
time he's her age, this penis-obsessed world would've grown new eyes.<br />
<br />
</span></div>
Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-68738903032798029982012-08-10T17:12:00.001+04:002012-08-10T17:15:55.588+04:00Spark- company credentials<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LtN8REGkN8">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LtN8REGkN8</a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-28088332773752465302012-07-26T11:29:00.003+04:002012-07-26T12:10:55.537+04:00Yet another Lebanon-inspired cliche<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
What's the point of bikinis and Jack Daniels in my closet?</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Rave parties for teenagers and Miriam Klink for the tired?</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
What's the point of bars and clubs and champagne at the pool</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
before noon? Secret lovemaking and certain types of cigarettes</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
that burn like the inner thighs of the earth? What's the point of clapping</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
in airplanes and getting along during turbulence?</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Festivals and music halls and dim bars in Hamra where the bartender</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
is my cousin. What's the point of eighteen religions, let's just stop calling them</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
sects shall we, and five different languages tap dancing</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
along a toddler's tongue? Gorgeous mothers swinging</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
high heels and men who never age. Switzerland or Paris twin sisters</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
to a few streets. Only a few streets. An old chapel rubbing shoulders</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
with an ancient mosque. Elderly balconies of stone houses as grey as wars</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
and peace treaties. What's the point of a nation conceived</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
along a Mediterranean coast where the blue glitters</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
like the eyes of young fishermen? Apple trees or orange blossoms</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
silver green olive leaves or almond flowers</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
blushing like newborn brides? And rows and rows and rows</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
of oleander trees? Have you seen the oleander trees? I bet you never noticed</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
like me. I bet you never noticed.</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Like me. Busy keeping my head down, my blistered feet skipping the broken bits</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
in the streets, I'm watching out for the holes, like bullet scars</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
in the body of a war torn building, like open wounds in a body that never heals,</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
but instead invites more disease. More and more and more disease.</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
How else will it know it is still alive?<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-8225973760469775742012-03-05T12:23:00.000+04:002012-03-05T12:23:45.267+04:00MOTOROLA Middle East, RAZR phone Launch event- Creative Copy by Rewa Zeinati<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLnR_vaV2PHv9dFY-MbvdjMtjm4Qd9L65Cuq0Ph1i1c37uhCbgKt0zXeBQm7-todRTkuLIdZbrRrmO0GlGPOfHftcloSsa7hbz8yajwNr9QIsojxsUxWVIbYzMHxEvjTCDNRaE5L1SOBI/s1600/speed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLnR_vaV2PHv9dFY-MbvdjMtjm4Qd9L65Cuq0Ph1i1c37uhCbgKt0zXeBQm7-todRTkuLIdZbrRrmO0GlGPOfHftcloSsa7hbz8yajwNr9QIsojxsUxWVIbYzMHxEvjTCDNRaE5L1SOBI/s320/speed1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkV2EfLLVsj0nEvosi65SEHs7WU8tZ7KIfelSoJmBL7qT_2O_wfXnlhCl6KRnSQHBw8RYw3cSQF3aSjr4QN2GsAvrTDhe53fjNbmBteV-lSY16Ct30pw3nSTwCcINpZ9HkyDMlT9svIGc/s1600/superthin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkV2EfLLVsj0nEvosi65SEHs7WU8tZ7KIfelSoJmBL7qT_2O_wfXnlhCl6KRnSQHBw8RYw3cSQF3aSjr4QN2GsAvrTDhe53fjNbmBteV-lSY16Ct30pw3nSTwCcINpZ9HkyDMlT9svIGc/s320/superthin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHj3wH569vGe16tBZD8TMVrh9dODFNdUIbxWTLrjbRJ7UjIixB9c2jOH2r7WYBm-jFLETWcIQjML0ylFukJsf2w1OiAWLHCd6QqvQjwdei-TCa0FyP9V8MWxxgZbl4R_VQ5uPcRsL4kv8/s1600/desire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHj3wH569vGe16tBZD8TMVrh9dODFNdUIbxWTLrjbRJ7UjIixB9c2jOH2r7WYBm-jFLETWcIQjML0ylFukJsf2w1OiAWLHCd6QqvQjwdei-TCa0FyP9V8MWxxgZbl4R_VQ5uPcRsL4kv8/s320/desire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ5eevfnWgaSNf1HmPVpXkEFudcAVjCaKQcnugT_Yz9ovuApqntG75q-0Rr2I5udn49Y7oRMBgnR76cMjNbRhzmXHGqcdok-2KS9ubBtuShQDfDPxE5IJgkmE0niPgZ7kyIPhk9gETJm9/s1600/dropdeadsmart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ5eevfnWgaSNf1HmPVpXkEFudcAVjCaKQcnugT_Yz9ovuApqntG75q-0Rr2I5udn49Y7oRMBgnR76cMjNbRhzmXHGqcdok-2KS9ubBtuShQDfDPxE5IJgkmE0niPgZ7kyIPhk9gETJm9/s320/dropdeadsmart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-49279763319011662752012-02-08T10:56:00.002+04:002012-02-08T11:45:51.157+04:00CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 15px;"><b>Sukoon is an (English) online literary magazine reflecting the diversity and richness of the Arab world.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Sukoon is an online literary magazine, the first of its kind in the Arab region, where accomplished and emerging poets and writers of short stories and personal essays publish their original work in English. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Writers need not be Arab or of Arab origin, but all writing must reflect the diversity and richness of the cultures of the Arab world.</span></b></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">Sukoon is an Arabic word meaning "stillness." By stillne<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ss we don't mean silence, but rather the opposite of silence. What we mean by Sukoon is the stillness within found only when the artist follows his/her inner calling to express and create; a calling that compels the artist to continue on his/her creative path for the sole reason that she/he doesn't know how not to.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"> <br />
<u><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> WE ARE NOW IN THE PROCESS OF COLLECTING SUBMISSIONS for our first issue out in Spring 2012!</span></b></u><br />
<br />
<br />
<b> For poetry please send up to 3 poems to poetry@sukoonmag.com</b><br />
<br />
<b> For short stories and personal essays please send one story and/or essay to story@sukoonmag.com</b> <br />
<br />
We look for compelling, unique pieces that surprise and amuse.<br />
We prefer poetry that does NOT rhyme.<br />
<br />
Don't be afraid to make us uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*All submitted work must not have been previously published elsewhere, unless it is part of an already published book or anthology.*<br />
<br />
(website still under construction)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sukoon/264882470250524?sk=info">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sukoon/264882470250524?sk=info</a></span></div><div><br />
</div></div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-60654883827349384282012-01-18T17:33:00.004+04:002012-01-22T15:25:47.824+04:00Oops I did it again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"></span><br />
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;"><div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>(Lunch hour, corporate life, somewhere in Dubai)</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"I'd met this girl who really changed me. I've become a better person. I've never been the same since I met her."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"Oh, wow, great, are you still together?"</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"No."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"Oh. Well, I hope you'll find someone like her soon."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"There's no one like her. I'll never find anyone like her I know it."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Silence. Nobody at the table says anything. More salad chewing and water sipping.</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"So... Why did you break up? Sorry I know I'm nosy like that, but you can totally refrain from answering,"</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"There was no future."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"What do you mean?" I ask, and I already know what's coming.</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"We're not the same religion. There's no future."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Everyone at the table nods in agreement. All I manage is, "Oh."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>But then of course, I couldn't shut my face. I had to say something more.</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"So you left each other because of religious differences? But you love the girl right?"</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"umm.... well... lovED. Not anymore. We were together 5 years. I was 17 anyway. Too young and then after 5 years we realized, what are we doing?!"</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"ahuh... I see.. loved. ok." Of course I wanted to ask if he regretted it, if he thinks what he did was the stupidest thing he's ever done, if he'd rather go back in time just to have one more moment with her, if he could go back would he do it all differently. Of course I never asked those things. But somehow maybe he read my mind. My very loud and (apparently) awful, liberal mind.</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>"She's gotten married. So anyway it doesn't matter anymore."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Of course. Too late. And there's really nothing worse than too late.</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>I did it again. I found myself yapping on and on in the middle of a conversation about relationships and break ups and, here it comes, the r-word: religion. That man-made fictionalized invention that is supposed to make us "better" people. </b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Like a traffic light makes us better poeple because there's no way we could figure out our own safety and what it means to be organized, on our own. Like stoning women makes us better people, like confessions at the church makes us better people, only till the next time we mess it all up again. Like punishment and fear and separation makes us better people. </b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>J. Swift said it best when he said, "We have enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another."</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>And my rant will go on.</b></span></div></div><div><br />
</div></div></div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-79570954780116093912011-12-30T23:50:00.001+04:002011-12-30T23:50:28.014+04:00'Tis the Season to be... Horrified?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For the longest time Christmas, to me, felt like Valentines for singles. Why? It's not important. Lately though, I've moved away from this grumpy sentiment to more jolly-ness and ho-ho-ho's. Why? It's not important either. <br />
<br />
What's important is that Christmas comes around once a year, every year, as is the tradition, only to remind us, that more churches will be blown apart in some parts of the world, more people will refuse to say Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and more will be killed for that thing called faith. <br />
<br />
But of course that is not why I am jolly.<br />
<br />
A friend argued the other day that he doesn't believe in religion. As in, he doesn't believe they need to exist because apparently, their existance is what is making the world a horrid place to live in. If no religion existed, he believes, people would live in peace and harmony forever AND EVER after.<br />
<br />
True? I wouldn't know. Religion has existed since time immemorial in some form or another. Plus, people manage to find something to squabble over anyway. If not religion, it's politics. If not politics, it's economics. If it's not economics, it's gender roles, if it's not gender roles, it's cuisines! Yes, cuisines. Some of us argue over the concept of Lebanese cuisine and whether this "cuisine" is actually a cuisine and how dare them Lebanese sloths claim something is Lebanese when it's clearly a descedent of some Greek, Turkish, Arab or Jewish dish. Plus, why are Lebanese acting all exclusive about it? It's Arabic food isn't it??<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so we don't actually blow each other to pieces (as much as we'd like to) over cuisines. Fair enough. But what is it about religion truely that makes us lose our minds the way we do? And then there are those faithful ones who blame the people and not religion itself for being the culprits. You know, the whole a- knife-is-not-a-knife-it-depends-on-how-you-use-it metaphor. To peel an orange, or a person's skin?<br />
<br />
ouch. where did that image come from.<br />
<br />
And then somehow I found myself in the middle of a conversation about passports. About whether I would do away with my Lebanese passport if I was forced to in order to keep my other "western" passport. I immediately found myself saying yes! I would! I would give it up in a blink!<br />
<br />
And a minute later, of course, the guilt set in. I never thought I'd say that. Never thought I'd give away my very own homeland "identity" for another. After all the good things that my homeland has provided me with, as a citizen with "rights" and "long-term goals", the best one was the airline to leave. But we all know it's not that simple.<br />
<br />
And then I woke up this morning and read this (about stoning an iranian woman but then changing the punishment to hanging):<br />
<br />
Mohammad Javad Larijani, secretary-general of the Iranian High Council for Human Rights, argued in December that stoning should not be classified as a method of execution but rather a method of punishment which is actually more "lenient" because half of the people survive, the U.N. quoted him as saying.<br />
<br />
Ok, so I'm not Iranian, but as long as they survive, right? I mean who wants to be hanged if they have the option of survival after being stoned (almost) to death? "Good quality living," that's what I say. And thank goodness I work in advertising or else I wouldn't have been able to come up with that snappy line, huh?<br />
<br />
Huh??<br />
<br />
Sweet America, on the other hand, took in Yemeni Mr. Saleh for medical treatment. Don't it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Such noble moves.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what I'm trying to say in this note and perhaps you've already noticed. So I'll try to wrap up.<br />
<br />
We have a long way to go before we get back to living under the laws of the jungle where all things "savage" and "offensive" were nothing but harmonious and natural and sure as heck makes more sense than whatever it is we like to call our civilized living.<br />
<br />
The cherry on top: In Texas, a man dressed in a Santa Claus suit apparently shot six relatives and himself on Christmas.<br />
<br />
Amen. </div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-10288977591639649722011-11-14T15:09:00.002+04:002011-11-14T15:18:51.545+04:00O is for OSHO<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I think I'll start blogging about my journey with Osho.<br />
<br />
Who the hell is Osho? Good question. I've been reading his books for almost two years now and I remember being HORRIFIED when I first began. A good friend lent me "The God Conspiracy." That was the beginning and, I thought back then, the end. A few pages into it and I was done. Thank you very much. I was done because I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to have everything I ever believed in or thought I believed in shot down and contradicted one paragraph at a time. And I thought I was "open minded!" The irony of that "belief" still cracks me up.<br />
<br />
Osho made me very uncomfortable because that's what he wanted to do, make every single belief system seem outrageous. It's also exhausting to read his books, not because they are hard to decipher, on the contrary they are very plain and simple, but because sometimes you just want to sit there and believe, and defend your beliefs because you believe in them so very much, because it's that much easier not to keep questioning.<br />
<br />
It's exhausting to keep questioning, and doubting, and contradicting. But it's also divine. And a must. Simply the science and art of the inner.<br />
<br />
My ultimate question though is the following: Why can't it ALWAYS be Autumn in Dubai? <br />
<br />
Not relevant? Why not??<br />
<br />
Ok, so I've read a few books after "The God Conspiracy," and have yet to go back to it. I will.<br />
<br />
I'm now reading "freedom- The Courage to Be Yourself." Notice the "f" in freedom is not capitalized. hmmmmm?????????? It's a wonderful third eye opener. And I'll be sharing my wonder with you soon.<br />
<br />
So here we are. Beginning in the middle. Jump. </div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-51199925595814699732011-09-30T17:03:00.006+04:002011-09-30T19:23:11.974+04:00Tosbe7oon 3ala watan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So anyway, all up in arms about sexuality around these places. sek-sho-ality? What on earth! Yes, the divine concept that has brought us forth into existence to begin with. Thank you.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ahmar bil khat el 3areed (Thick Red Line)- funny once translated- a controversial Lebanese talk show that makes our mothers (and fathers) squirm in horror, for its courageous topics, and even more courageous, but very sober faced, talk show host, malek maktabi. This week's theme was targeting teenagers and those younger souls that have no more innocence left in them, according to the latest polls in Lebanon. Sex apparently has begun at the tender age of 8. No details provided. Several warnings and threats later, the show was broadcast and I was very amused. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And horrified. Not because it's a subject no one should ever discuss, ha! but because there were parents who insisted that their teenage kids should not know, would not care (that's the funniest), and WILL be FORBIDDEN from knowing the story of the birds and the bees up until they are knocking on marriage's door. Mama, take this gun from me, I really (want to but) can not use it anymore. Dot dot dot.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maktabi dealt with a lot of hell before the episode was broadcast, and right now he's probably dealing with a little more, the poor bespectacled soul.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was full of mixed feelings while watching. There were the awesome inquisitive kids, boys and girls, some awesome parents, some deeply moronic parents, a not very humorous Gynecologist, and a twelve year old girl (or was she eleven? Or nine? I can't remember now) who was supposed to get married soon. Religion be damned. She was very "well informed" says her spooky but proud father of five girls. Not sure what to make of his rather discomforting persistence upon knowledge but I'd rather not think about it one bit. His daughter is a child for hell's sake!</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What I want to inquire about, very politely indeed is, WHAT'S THE BIG FAT DEAL? About sexuality I mean. I'm not trying to flaunt my (geographically unacceptable) liberal thoughts in anyone's face, but come on, for how long are we going to keep our heads stuck in the desert sands? The world is moving at such a speed and to such elevated levels (not always but sometimes), that we cannot keep thinking we're all high and mighty with our "values" and our "morals" and our "proprieties" and our "gender roles" and our sanctimonious battles in the name of what's "holy" and "scared" and "untouchable." </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She's eleven for crap's sake. Well, as long as she can wash dishes and set the table straight, right? I am green with nausea. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The problem that was very clear throughout the episode was that those who were against the "enlightenment" feared that this sort of knowledge will promote, instead of put the breaks on, the said activity. What they cannot see (which baffles me because weren't these large children, teenagers at one point in their sorry lives?), what they cannot fathom is that sticking a candle in the face of their confused but very hormone-driven adolescent might actually have the desired effect of abstinence and/or responsibility! Just mention private parts falling off due to contracted disease and voila! a job well done.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">ok, I joke. But seriously, for how long will this sort of stupidity last in our "holier-than-thou" mentality? Things like ignorance is bliss, or what you don't know cannot hurt you ladee da cannot apply here, can it? When you don't know about TV and you're a woman or a house cat in the 1950's, yes ignorance might be bliss. You just don't know what you're missing. No genitals will fall off from this gap in information. When you don't know your girlfriend is cheating on you, some might say ignorance is bliss, but I beg to differ. Not for loyalty or honesty or any of that nonsense. It's for what's hygienic that the poor boyfriend might want to know. On a completely non-sentimental level. So no, ignorance is not bliss, not in this day and age, where the internet is a raging flow of images and false learning. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sexuality aside, what about perspectives? Finally, the frowning Gyno decided to utter a word or two about that towards the end of the episode, highlighting the idea that not only is sex education a MUST, regardless of religion and morality, there's the notion of how the man views the woman and vice versa, on a different level, when the mind and the heart might want to play a role or two. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">How does the man view the woman? We all know. And guess what? The woman views him the same way. OMG. She has desires? No way!! ok, enough melodrama. If we don't know how to view each other beyond the physical, how do we expect to move beyond the physical in everything we do? Something about the spirit and the mind. hmmmm... the spirit and the mind. Minus metaphysical dogma PLEASE. Maybe that's not relevant in some communities. A child! What would a child know about respecting her body and mind and spirit if all she's been born to do in her wretched little life is grow up, get her period and then get hitched to some idiot who's either too young, like her, to know any better, and will with time and further misogyny, bring home a myriad of STD's or too old and silly to know any better too, and will, with more time and even further silliness, bring home a myriad of STD's, or some domestic violence while he's at it. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I'm being offensive. Perhaps I don't care that I'm being offensive. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So you want to be like the West?! is the sharp response of course. No. I don't want to be like anybody. I just want to be the best version of myself. Imagine I am a society. As a society, I would like to gather around the camp fire, think about what I've collected from all the exposure I've gotten over the years, wars, travels, and the Mediterranean, and put it all under a heavy magnifying glass and try to improve upon it. Not throw it over the cliff if it feels mildly unfamiliar, and be all "Eastern cliche" and categorical about it. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank goodness for souls like Marcel Khalife and Nadine Labaki who try to find the diamond in the rubbish. Once they find it, they try to brush it clean. Our problem is that we want to either throw the rubbish, diamond and all, or expose only the rubbish, loud and clear, without looking for the jewels. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Malek Maktabi was trying to shed some light, not only on our physical being-ness, but also on the roles we play in each others' lives and the lives of our children, who are raised in a completely different time and space, whether we like it or not. Okay, I'm 33, I'm not that old. If the mother won't teach her son to respect his body, mind and spirit, and that of his partner, I see little hope for anything in this sad little place of broken electricity and minefields. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This eleven-year old will probably raise men and women of the same caliber of progressiveness. Clap clap clap. Much, muchhh, to look forward to. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-66399510715975215482011-09-21T09:29:00.000+04:002011-09-21T09:29:22.649+04:00Head, Shoulders, Knees and Totes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm stuck in Beirut with a tissue box up my nose. Up my left nostril to be exact. Not a whole tissue box but it might as well be. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be back where my "real" life takes place. This, here, is a figment. Of someone else' real life.<br />
<br />
Not mine, no. I don't even get the red, white and green idea anymore. I remember in fourth grade we were told, during Art class, that the white represented the snow that falls upon the majestic mountains of Lebanon, the red signifies the blood of the martyrs sprayed upon the white, and the green, oh the green was none other than the magnificent cedar tree of course. Which usually lived high up on the mountains, and FOR WHICH the blood of the "martyrs" was spilled.<br />
<br />
I look around me later, yes it's been a while since fourth grade, so many years later I look around me and find that the whole damn thing was pointless. The mountains are quickly becoming barren, there's hardly any snow in winter, there are a couple of cedars left, and the blood continues.<br />
<br />
But I'm stuck here with a tissue box up my nostril because I'm ill and I shouldn't fly. You know who else is ill? Every single body.<br />
<br />
Yes. Everyone. I don't want to complain about the people who live here, how rude, or obnoxious, or corrupt they are. Minus my friends and loved ones of course. That's getting old. I'll just complain about our parents. Yes, our parents if I may.<br />
<br />
May I?<br />
<br />
I don't get them. I've been sitting around with a few pairs of parents lately, you see, I didn't have much to do but sit around and listen to adults talk about, well, here it comes: politics. That's what happens when you're sick and stuck at home. You also drink a lot of caffeine and then take panadol night (cold and flu) and sleep the hell out of it all.<br />
<br />
So anyway, parents. Those awesome individuals who gave so much of their time, energy, finances and youth to raise us ungrateful personalities. We won't get into that right now. The point is, they've given up so much so that we follow (or lead) a better life path, right? Yet! Yet, they sit around and follow up on so and so's annual memorial for the millionth year, and watch it on television, and talk about it, and stick their heads out the balcony so as not to miss a single tear drop. They pick out the faces they recognize in the crowds gathered to give their "condolences," they check out the tailleur and the hair do, the daughter and the son. And they give excuses for the offspring who is/are unable to take over the leadership. The poor thing is still young. The poor thing lived outside all his life, he doesn't know better. The poor thing is not as involved in politics as was his father.<br />
<br />
The poor thing is soooo not a poor thing, first of all, is what I want to say. Second of all, if the "poor" thing can't handle it, get out. and frankly the "poor" thing doesn't need to be around to take over anything to begin with. There are other individuals in the nation.<br />
<br />
Nation? Who said anything about a nation?<br />
<br />
So when everyone is done crying over spilled milk, and I laugh a little, everyone looks at me very very disapprovingly. So you're with the other party huh? Their expressions are hard and accusing.<br />
<br />
umm, no? I'm not with anybody.<br />
<br />
A brief moment of relief arrives before they find something else to scratch at. So why aren't you with them? You just want to oppose!<br />
<br />
umm, no? I'm just not impressed with the lack of initiative, I say. I say the dead guy might have had a good idea for about five minutes but he's been dead for so long I can't even remember, over 20 years! and since then, what has anyone done for the nation?<br />
<br />
That n-word again.<br />
<br />
Oh a lot, a lot. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for them. We would be extinct.<br />
<br />
Like the species that we are. Extinct. And I think about all the other things that are extinct because of people like them in power.<br />
<br />
Many parents don't see that so many are living abroad because of what's extinct, because of people like those still in power. I want to complain about the parents who still don't see it. Who get offended if we crack a joke about Catholics and pedophilia. How dare you say all Catholics are pedophiles?!<br />
<br />
umm, I didn't!<br />
<br />
And what the eff is up with those Longchamp totes? Seriously what is up! EVERYWHERE. You can't be Lebanese without one it seems. It's hysterical! And very very VERY boring. If you're reading this, and your Longchamp is snuggled by your side, well I guess I should apologize a little.<br />
<br />
But really?<br />
<br />
And just like the Longchamp totes spreading like a virus, making everyone sick with imitation, and dis-originality, our parents are sick with their own distorted memory of what happened in the last 30 years, hanging on to what's widely (i.e. neighborly and socially) acceptable, and "in."<br />
<br />
They can't seem to find a better bag. They just don't want to find another brand.</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-88107275682586342042011-09-02T13:06:00.003+04:002011-09-02T13:19:30.855+04:00Birthdays and Ordinary Ones<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_vhsex4="122"><div closure_uid_jvw1od="124">(July/Aug. 2011)</div></div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="122">I left my favorite song playing in the car when I left. </div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="122">Mistake?</div><br />
<div closure_uid_jvw1od="121">The time has come for the dancing girls to begin their fasting. Here, things take too long to happen. </div><div closure_uid_jvw1od="121"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jvw1od="121">God: a weary obstacle. </div><br />
The time has come for the drinking boys to begin. <br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jvw1od="123">Here, things take too long to happen. I close my curtains and cook a heavy lunch. The gardener outside my window, a disappearing image. I boil more coffee for breakfast.</div><br />
<div closure_uid_cq4z9q="121">London burns and Libya burns and Egypt is thrown behind bars. And the same old man wakes up in the morning like nothing ever happens and wears a suit and tie. The same suit and tie. The same morning. His beaten wife asleep in the next room. </div><br />
Mistake?<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jvw1od="134"><div closure_uid_cq4z9q="123">Jesus was thirty three when everything began. And the bleeding continues since then. </div></div><br />
Sometimes, she said to me, you find yourself married to the same man you left behind, in the car where your favorite song was playing. All over again.<br />
<br />
The two have nothing to do with each other, except the rising between their legs. Always the rising.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_n0fj6y="121">And the beaten wife gives birth to children.</div><br />
Eventually the children, no longer children. Some of them have some of their own. Always the rising between their legs.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_vhsex4="138">The man gets up and wears his suit and tie. A country on his mind. </div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="138">Sometimes a city.</div><br />
<div closure_uid_vhsex4="137">And I leave </div><div closure_uid_vhsex4="137">the song playing in the car. No children to claim.</div><br />
None to ruin.<br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-90129498157671694702011-07-21T00:23:00.003+04:002011-07-21T00:38:30.395+04:00Leysen and registration<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> (not) an imaginary setting. (not) an imaginary experience. <br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
"Leysen bleez."<br />
<br />
You hand over the license. The driver's license. You want to pay the traffic tickets. You need to go back to the OTHER CITY, to finally get the registration done. But they force you to come back. Somehow there are tickets that MUST be paid here before the other violations are paid. So you're back to where you began. <br />
<br />
You don't have enough cash on you. So you go home, get the cash, come back. Beaming. You pay. <br />
<br />
Then you go to the OTHER CITY a couple of hours away, and you are ready to get the registration done. <br />
<br />
"No, you cannot do it here, before you pay the violation found on your driver leysen."<br />
<br />
So you react-naturally- with, "ARE you kidding me?! So what do you suggest I do now? Can I pay the violation found on my driver's leysen here and now and move right along?"<br />
<br />
"No, you cannot pay it here because this was found to have been charged in the OTHER CITY."<br />
<br />
So. You drive to the other city. The one you were at 2 days back. You march right in. The money is ready.<br />
<br />
The lady at counter 5 says, "There doesn't seem to be a problem here. Are you sure you have a violation on your leysen?"<br />
<br />
"Ummm, YES. The OTHER CITY insisted I come back here and do this here. PLEASE kindly check again."<br />
<br />
You are slowly fuming by now. <br />
<br />
"What's your leysen number?"<br />
<br />
"It's on the card. That's in your hand." You are now grinding your teeth.<br />
<br />
Some more fumbling. Some further inquiries. She disappears somewhere. Comes back. Slowly tap tap tap on the keyboard. Really deep focus.<br />
<br />
"Ah, yes. Here it is. Yes you owe this much. Please go to counter 8 to pay it."<br />
<br />
"Umm.. okay. Can you please check if I have to pay any other violations? I really don't want to keep driving back and forth for the same thing, if I could only do this once and for all, and you know the OTHER CITY is not so close as you know."<br />
<br />
"I cannot help you with the OTHER CITY. I only show the ONE CITY."<br />
<br />
You walk over to counter 8. The dude is talking on the phone. He closes reluctantly but not quickly enough. The money is shamelessly dangling from your fingers. Please let this be it. Please please please. You still have to drive again to the OTHER CITY and do the registration.<br />
<br />
"I cannot help you with this. You have to pay this in the other building, not here."<br />
<br />
You want to scream and tear your hair out. You want to run around the building. You can't believe this. So what do you do when this happens? <br />
<br />
You smile.<br />
<br />
And then you ask a question. THE question. "So... is the building open right now? Can I go now?"<br />
<br />
And the answer of course. "No, it's closed now. Come tomorrow at 8."<br />
<br />
His phone rings, he picks up, and turns away. The lady at counter 5 is yawning. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-9721537414594367462011-07-10T12:36:00.001+04:002011-07-10T12:41:51.810+04:00Beirut vs Dubai (or the country vs the other country)Leb 1- You must not write a text message or bbm while driving, unless you are, in a way, wanting to commit quick suicide<br />
<br />
Dubai 1- You most certainly CAN write a whole essay while driving, especially if you're on the right-ish lane and there's no police mister in sight <br />
<br />
Leb 2- You must not talk about religion, sex and/or politics with a bunch of people who disagree with you<br />
<br />
Leb 2.5- unless you're ready to be very angry, or to make someone very angry, and you must bear the consequence of either<br />
<br />
Dubai 2- You must not talk about religion, sex and/or politics with a bunch of people. Full stop.<br />
<br />
Dubai 2.5- unless your bag is packed and at the door. <br />
<br />
Leb 3- You must not smoke while on AUB campus grounds<br />
<br />
Dubai 3- You must not smoke while on AUB campus grounds, because there are no AUB campus grounds.<br />
<br />
Dubai 3.5- and yes, this whole point was unnecessary to mention.<br />
<br />
Leb 4- Picture this: the designated parking space is empty next to the CAFE, you can choose any spot, but NO, there's a bored man called the valet who simply MUST take your car and park it himself<br />
<br />
Leb 4.5- and make you wait till you get your keys back when you want to leave, and then you pay for all this unnecessary situation.<br />
<br />
Dubai 4- You find a space, you park, you pay at the machine.<br />
<br />
Dubai 4.5- unless you're fancy, then you give the keys away because you can't be bothered, and you CHOOSE to do so.<br />
<br />
Leb 5- You must NOT watch a TV CHANNEL that doesn't politically appeal to those in the same room, regardless of the program. Even if it's something stupid and unfunny and unpolitical like the program "LOL." <br />
<br />
Dubai 5- If you're Lebanese, point Leb 5 applies here too.<br />
<br />
Leb 6- You must NOT believe that Lebanon is NOT a healthy society. You have the poor and the not so poor, and the rich, and the disgustingly rich, and somehow you're supposed to think that this is real and healthy because you naively believe that you're "exposed" to all of these. <br />
<br />
Dubai 6- You must NOT believe that the UAE is NOT a bubble society. You have the poor and the not so poor, and the rich, and the disgustingly rich, and somehow you're supposed to think that this is bubble-like because you are not "exposed" to all of these. <br />
<br />
Dubai 6.5- if you simply look around you a little, trust me, you will be very "exposed." And very heart-broken.<br />
<br />
Leb 6.25- I guess what I'm trying to say is that Lebanon is THE bubble society and on so many levels. <br />
<br />
Leb 6.5- Because once there's an old WOMAN who could be anyone's grandmother or old aunt found on the streets begging for money, then there is something very very very unhealthy, and very very very unacceptable, going on.<br />
<br />
Leb 6.75- And if that's not a bubble society, then I don't know what is.Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-48822073414366912692011-07-09T10:29:00.002+04:002011-07-09T10:33:49.227+04:00CUBICLE THINKINGTry writing a poem<br />
While sitting at your desk,<br />
Headset like a pilot,<br />
No music flows though,<br />
You’re just pretending,<br />
<br />
With four guys in the same space,<br />
Gentle guys yet,<br />
You really don’t wanna hear<br />
About what’s her face again,<br />
Or the way she walks in the hallway,<br />
Hips swaying like she means it,<br />
Like she knows they watch:<br />
Hunters by heart, brothers by mind.<br />
<br />
Try writing when there’s lunch and gardening and missing<br />
Winters on <i>your</i> mind, stilettos and that Sudanese<br />
Woman, her sobs still pushing against your chest,<br />
Punished with god knows how many slashes, for wearing pants for god’s sake!<br />
Cops ogling like they’re getting off, a microscopic leader<br />
Relentless because this, he says, is <i>religion.</i><br />
<br />
Try writing while surfing the net for jobs because you know<br />
Yours is suddenly temporary, waiting on a king-<br />
Dom’s mood swing or power<br />
Nap. So you surf the net, but instead type<br />
Angelou or Darwish and remember how long it’s been<br />
Since you’ve written anything. So then you try<br />
A poem but you fail, because your love life’s too perfect<br />
A good friend once said, she said, when things are well<br />
Down there it becomes difficult to write,<br />
And she’s right.<br />
<br />
Or when you know your co-worker’s mother won’t last,<br />
She has cancer, he said quietly, and shook<br />
His head. Well, not really, but I know he meant to.<br />
When you know he doesn’t believe in god or anything<br />
Beyond what can be felt with the hands what do you say,<br />
In Arabic, about his dying mother? God is in everything<br />
When your tongue is Arabic. <i>Insha Allah</i>, God willing, or forbid, or forgive,<br />
May God heal or listen or help or show any sort of illumination.<br />
<br />
You wonder about this idea, as old as waiting, and why we need it so much,<br />
And where is it when Libya burns and burns under its own<br />
Sort of god, the right amount of massacres and finger wagging<br />
Qualifying for the title; no white beard necessary for the job.<br />
<br />
Where <i>is</i> the merciful, when a mother suffers<br />
Tumors or a nation or a people, he said<br />
His mother is in chemo now, and he doesn’t look you in the eye, he fiddles<br />
With his laptop, so you nod and look serious while your heart<br />
Breaks at the way he tries to work, and by now you<br />
Can almost touch his atheism, hard crystals forming<br />
By the minute.<br />
<br />
Try writing when you feel your words are just words, writ and read<br />
For a night of poetry, for a book of poetry, for nods and applause<br />
At this universal nuclear instant- a spiral movement towards loss-<br />
But you’re still in the office,<br />
Looking for words as close to explosive as divinity<br />
And end up with what looks to you<br />
Like god:<br />
A teenage skinhead with pierced tongue, shoulders shrugging,<br />
Legs staggering away.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.everydaypoets.com/cubicle-thinking-by-rewa-zeinati/">Link to EDP website </a>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-70669910971393993452011-07-05T15:26:00.008+04:002011-07-07T16:34:27.730+04:00WTF<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #351c75;">"We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another."- Jonathan Swift </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">So there's a law already being drafted by activists and awesome people alike in Lebanon, to protect women from domestic violence but it's still under discussion in parliamentary debates. I find that hilarious. That it's still being debabted I mean. What I don't find hilarious is the heavy offense some are taking over this law. Specifically Dar el Fatwa. Read more details </span><a href="http://www.dailystar.com.lb/News/Local-News/2011/Jun-23/Dar-al-Fatwa-rejects-draft-law-protecting-women-against-domestic-violence.ashx#axzz1QZnSWLyC"><span style="background-color: white;">here, the Daily Star article</span></a><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></div><div style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;">(Notice how no one decided to comment on the article in the DS.) At least when I read it.</span></div><div style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;">Motran George Khodr, bless his heart, wrote an article a couple of days ago, in Annahar, criticizing how Lebanon shall soon become a country divided between two parties in conflict, not based on political fronts or confessionalism as we know it, but on those who are WITH progressive domestic and social attitudes and those who are against them. The former group is, thankfully, made up of all religious sects. Amen to that. </span></div><div style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;">Now I'm no religious freak by any means, and feel a bit awkward discussing this, for the sole purpose of not wanting to offend any "body." But when I read the article in the DS all courtesy went to the dogs. </span></div><div style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;">What's unbelievable is that some think that implementing the law would "break the family" or that it's "too western." TOO WESTERN?!! How is crying against beating a woman up too WESTERN? </span></div><div style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">(In the U.S., the Violence Against Women Act was brought forth as part of the Crime Bill of 1994. Well, they took their time to get there now didn't they!)</span></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">What ticks me off even more about this MAJOR issue, is a Lebanese series I began watching (please don't tell anyone)- last night was episode one- called el hob el adeem (old love). The girl left her husband because apparently he used to beat the crap out of her, out of love of course, and jealousy of course, because he "loved" her so much, and she still "loves" him, and can't forget him but is willing to marry another guy who is actually wonderful to her and not nearly as psychotic, but she can't tell her ex-crazy-husband because the guys are cousins and best friends, NEVERTHELESS, she can't get her ex-husband out of her mind, and he can't either. Because- and here it comes- they LOVE each other. </span></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">How does that work? Where love is accompanied by violence and humiliation and possessiveness and distrust and misogyny?</span></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">What makes me nauseous is not that I actually sat there and shared the plot with you guys, but that the notion of love is being used so loosly and so ignorantly, that we, the Lebanese overly-exposed-to-violence-in-and-out-of-the-home viewer, are supposed to somehow identify or be sympathetic towards the woman who still "loves" her ex-husband. Hence, the name of the stupid show, el hob el adeem (old love). Excuse me while I throw up a little.</span></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"></span></div><div style="background-color: transparent; border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; color: #20124d; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;">honestly, wtf. </span></div><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"></span></div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-2776497640831498842011-06-29T22:39:00.002+04:002011-06-29T22:50:16.173+04:00Clapping After Arrival<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello clapping after arrival. Hello arrival. Hello not giving a shit about seat belt signs </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">in or out of a plane, and wanting to always get the bag out first,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">while the hostess hollers from the other end of the aisle, sir, please, </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">sir close, sir fasten, </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">but sir turning so</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">exceptionally</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">deaf. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello baggage claim and walking out to meet my mother. Hello summer blue sky healthy and detached. Hello cab driver honking and I, ignoring, and him, honking and stubbornly slowing down, and I walking on and stubbornly chatting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello honkinghonkinghonking. Hello traffic jams, Christmas lights, oh wait those are traffic lights. Hello not giving a hoot about those either. Hello idiots throwing crushed empty beer cans out the car window. Hello smoking. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello lunatic driving. Hello lunatic road structures and bridges and exits. Hello inhaling exhaust fumes in long dark tunnels. Hello speed and impatience and unsafe families. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello old dirty public buses. Hello no bus stops around.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello breath-taking shades of green and blue during the day. Hello glittering lights in the nightly distance. Hello large statue of the Virgin Mary blessing this all at once. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello gorgeous stone houses and grandmothers dressed in black. Hello Turkish coffee a million times a day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello large gold crosses hanging against hairy chests and serious tattoos of Kalashnikovs carved across a teenager’s neck.<br />
<br />
Hello lingerie billboards and lingerie billboards and more lingerie what? billboards. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello weddings and random late night plans and staying up way too late. Hello trusting someone or something out there is watching over you.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello knefeh. Hello long shouldered mountains and skinny winding roads to get there. Hello almost heart attack or nervous breakdown to get to the very top. Hello hazy green green summits.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello beach. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello old universities and over-sweetened Nescafe and broken down cab drivers who suddenly decide to park on the side that’s not really a side but a whole road lane and people behind him cussing and puffing and sticking their heads out the window because there’s no such thing as patience. Or courtesy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Or losing hope of renewal.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello foreign tourists who are just locals who know nothing about the way this whole thing works. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-74917682512347360162011-06-16T10:50:00.000+04:002011-06-16T10:50:20.451+04:00THE SCIENCE OF PLAYBOY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC98h5ZyOI8swK43luPF-laHhb0pf8NuVhbmpAaTUoCUsHSnCgXscUr5RHvrYiG6Qvns58nzmOd7atCq0-gJZn-ekdvt03kif8wDk6JwiunphGaZvok9W3oDpNScSAU7z8PgFza3VTb-X/s1600/Playboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC98h5ZyOI8swK43luPF-laHhb0pf8NuVhbmpAaTUoCUsHSnCgXscUr5RHvrYiG6Qvns58nzmOd7atCq0-gJZn-ekdvt03kif8wDk6JwiunphGaZvok9W3oDpNScSAU7z8PgFza3VTb-X/s320/Playboy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Made ya look!<br />
<br />
Yep, that's science and technology for you, a terribly interesting subject! you couldn't wait to come over here and read all about it eyyy?<br />
<br />
I just thought I'd share this moment with your eyes. Came across it this morning while doing my usual snooping for news, and voila! right under "The Latest from Science and Technology," poor Hef was dumped (by his 22 year old fiance) at the alter! He must be devastated and inconsolable, the poor old old old man. <br />
<br />
Did I mention he's old? <br />
<br />
And the 22 year old, what was she thinking? She had "a change of heart" they write in the news. That's beyond.. I don't know what that's beyond.. but it's beyond something... very very funny. And very very confusing.<br />
<br />
After laughing long and hard about this for so many reasons, I HAVE to mention the following though:<br />
<br />
Ready?<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
"Hef, has championed sexual freedom and civil rights, published stories challenging McCarthyism and the Vietnam War, and backed gay causes and the legalization of marijuana." (LA Reuters)<br />
<br />
hmmm......gotta give the old man some credit I guess(?) <br />
<br />
yep yep.<br />
<br />
Oh, and the lunar eclipse that happened last night, yah, that was fundamental too. </div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-6505275723583912302011-06-14T00:00:00.000+04:002011-06-14T00:06:40.805+04:00Suddenly Cont'd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">1- the place is far too messed up to fix, <br />
<br />
2- defend? <br />
<br />
4- this won't be written in paragraphs or complete sentences that necessarily make sense or have a point<br />
<br />
5- so what, it's my blog, and <br />
<br />
6- there are over 48,000 "likes" for the group "beiruting.com" on FB<br />
<br />
6.5- a website about beirut's nightlife/clubbing/eating scene (w jeen) <br />
<br />
7- /they/we/you couldn't get 10,000 people to join an anti-confessionalism rally the other day(s) however many times /they/we/you tried<br />
<br />
7.25- or did /they/we/you?<br />
<br />
7.5- he's just not that into you! is the brutal message<br />
<br />
8- i think she needs to keep trying though. he obviously doesn't know what's good for him, right?<br />
<br />
9- "Water is something you cannot hold. Like men. I have tried. Father, brother, lover, true friends, hungry ghosts and God, one by one all took themselves out of my hands."<br />
<br />
-from <i>Diving: Introduction to the Anthropology of Water</i> by <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/anne-carson">Anna Carson</a>.<br />
<br />
10- like country. or homeland. or national. identity. <br />
<br />
11- recently sickened the most by the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEp29GS1VXI">Dabke skit/flash mob </a>at the Duty Free of Lebanon's Airport <br />
<br />
11.5- yes, <br />
<br />
12- far too much time has been wasted on. the fixing stuff. the tv won't shut up. it is physically incapable. too many men in suits. where are the women <br />
<br />
13- getting botox-ed<br />
<br />
13.5- or dancing in flash mobs<br />
<br />
14- no wonder the nightlife is supremely active. how else can /they/we/you cope?<br />
<br />
15- leave the suicide to the foreign domestic helpers<br />
<br />
16- . <br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com4Dubai25.2644444 55.31166669999993225.0723919 55.062508699999931 25.456496899999998 55.560824699999934tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-10264116195856504122011-06-10T15:28:00.000+04:002011-06-11T00:22:05.200+04:00Lebanon Would be Better: with Less Salt and Pepper (wink wink)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A couple of months back, a couple of boys (almost 20 yrs old, well they ARE young!) Karim Badra and Sherif Maktabi, decided upon a project where they tried to "make Lebanon better in the best way they can."<br />
<br />
I came across this SUPER FANTASTIC idea of theirs in a couple of blogs I've been reading <b><a href="http://thisisbeirut.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/the-writing-on-the-wall/">here's one</a></b> and <a href="http://whatishedoingnow.blogspot.com/2011/06/would-be-better-if-under-attack.html#comments"><b>here's another</b>,</a> and then I read about it in the <b><a href="http://www.dailystar.com.lb/News/Local-News/2011/May-28/Wall-provides-outlet-for-Lebanon-improvement-tips.ashx#axzz1OTyIhpQf">Daily Star</a>.</b><br />
<br />
The dudes, bless their young hearts, decided they would make a sort of "huge suggestion box for Lebanon" which wasn't really a box at all but a spray painted line saying "Lebanon would be better" on a wall in Ras Beirut, under which they wrote “Lebanon would be better if I” in black spray paint 25 times and added below each heading an equal number of black lines, leaving a cup full of chalk near the wall.<br />
<br />
Of course, any one passing by would be curious to write what he or she thinks is the way to improve Lebanon in his or her opinion. How else can we arrive late everywhere? But at least this time it's for a good cause, right?<br />
<br />
<br />
Lebanon is known for its many varied and contradictory opinions. We all know that, and somehow we seem to find that a lovable trait. If only it didn't lead to wars, displacement, corruption, elitist attitudes, ethnocentric mentalities, dogmatic souls, and things of the sort. <br />
<br />
Anyway. Some people decided to take the initiative and remove the "I" from the "if I" and suggest a way Lebanon could be better. Some took it seriously, and some didn't, and some came a couple of days later and scribbled all over the suggestions like the immature pissing dogs that they are. Excuse my Arabic.<br />
<br />
So to make a long and sad story, short and hopefully resuscitated, I would suggest that we start our own little wall over here.<br />
<br />
Shoo?<br />
<br />
Yalla?<br />
<br />
O kay.<br />
<br />
Tfaddalo.<br />
<br />
I will etfaddal awwal shee, and suggest my 2 cents. or dirhams, or liras, or whatever.<br />
In my humble thirty-two-year-old opinion, I believe Lebanon would be better if <strike>I</strike> <u style="background-color: yellow; color: red;">politicians AND the PEOPLE (i.e. the public) actually understood the meaning of public service. </u><br />
<br />
Shoo ya3ne? eh shoo <i>ya3ne</i>??<br />
<br />
ya3ne, service OF the people. Not the other way around like we've had it happening for generations. And all for personal benefits and re-"elections" of the same darn faces. Politicians thinking the world owes them something! "za3eem" oo kaza. It's nauseating.<br />
<br />
(Perhaps Camel milk will help?)<br />
<br />
Abu el Khel (Gibran Khalil Gibran) said it about a zillion years ago, I'm not trying to invent the wheel, he said in the <a href="http://4umi.com/gibran/frontier/#ask">New Frontier</a> <b>Are you a politician asking what your country can do for you or a zealous one asking what you can do for your country? If you are the first, then you are a parasite; if the second, then you are an oasis in a desert</b>, and JFK took the credit for it of course, but being the Gibran-mentioned parasite seems appealing to most if not all of the Lebanese suits out there.<br />
<br />
Sigh... <br />
<br />
So what does yourself think? And please refrain from mentioning unicorns, fairies, getting laid, more asians, burning Lebanon down and starting over.. These have all been said, so let's try to be a little original, and mature. Not in<i> that</i> sense buddy. Mature, as in the opposite of immature. <br />
<br />
And this post is not written in chalk, so no one can erase or scribble over it. Ha! <br />
<br />
(come to think of it, having unicorns wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. Phallic symbolism aside, they're said to signify grace and healing.)<br />
<br />
We could certainly do with a pinch of that.</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-10700737793140060132011-06-09T12:21:00.000+04:002011-06-09T18:13:11.612+04:00Angry Elephants and Camel Milk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Ok so she wasn't banned after all. The hoohah was over nothing and Lady Gaga, who I guarantee was never affected by the charade to begin with, is back, long and strong. And blonde. <br />
<br />
Ah my dear Lebanon, you scattered, clueless piece of land. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile "wild elephants trample one person to death in a three-hour rampage in the southern Indian city of Mysore."<br />
<br />
And I, at home, noisily sip on my filtered coffee, with camel milk and honey. yes. You heard right. About the milk I mean. Apparently it's the thing to do in Dubai.<br />
<br />
No?<br />
<br />
Well then it SHOULD be the thing to do in Dubai. It is much lower in fat compared to cow's milk, high in natural vitamin C (5 X higher than cow's milk), high in potassium, it reduces cholesterol, boosts over all immunity, natural pro-biotic, and positive effect on Diabetes 2, and apparently good for impotence. Like scary good. <br />
<br />
Bet you didn't know that. <br />
<br />
And no you won't find camel milk in the organic store, the dude there kind of gave me a funny look when I asked. You'll find it in Spinneys.<br />
<br />
Spinneys should pay me for this ad. As should the dudes who sell the Camel milk brand, Camelicious, <br />
(v. creative name huh?)<br />
<br />
and so should Lady Gaga gddamit.<br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com2Dubai - United Arab Emirates25.2644444 55.31166669999993225.0723919 55.062508699999931 25.456496899999998 55.560824699999934tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-77331334395037163382011-06-05T14:15:00.000+04:002011-06-10T15:38:11.774+04:00Don't be a drag, or Lebanese<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm not getting what the big deal is really. What's all this hoohah about Lady Gaga's new single "Judas"?? <br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_2110296293"><br />
</a><br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/wUY-HNHXNSA">(check out the Judas clip here)</a> <br />
<br />
Lebanon, all holier than thou, decides to ban it on the radio or sell it in stores. Because apparently the brilliant Sabah-lookalike is offending Jesus. She's banned "for being offensive to Christianity." <br />
<br />
Ummm... how exactly is what I would like to know. So she's in love with Judas. The guy she's in love with is called Judas, so what? It could've been Ali, John or Maximilian. Ok, so his name isn't exactly Judas and she IS referring to the biblical J, but have the Lebanese "authorities" read the whole song lyrics? If they have they would realize what the chick was hollering about. She's simply admitting that she's attracted to liars and traitors, or anything sinful, because it happens to be very attractively sexy for some unfair reason, but ultimately Jesus is her virtue. She literally says that, "Jesus is my virtue," like she's apologizing to JC for her sinful relationship with the other J.<br />
<br />
What's wrong with that? Also have they not seen the track "Alejandro?" The video I mean. All crosses and leather and S & M? Is that cool with the "authorities?" I, for one, really don't mind, but I find it hysterical that they've waited for a song like "Judas" to go nuts over. <br />
<br />
FUUUUUUURTHERMORE, has anyone paid attention to her "Born This Way" track? It's all about rejoicing in yourself, and accepting your body and the way you are, and that phrase "I'm beautiful in my way, cause God makes no mistakes." Yah, and she reiterates the capital H-I-M. Guess who that is?! <br />
<br />
Nothing? No bells ringing in the churches of righteousness? If anything, the dudes who DON'T believe in God and the afterlife should be up in arms about Gaga's consistent biblical references. They should be like, enough already sister, we get it, you're truly and quintessentially a nun, but you choose to dress up as a prostitute (or as a meat wearing weirdo). We GET IT. And we still love you. <br />
<br />
PLUS, she even refers to Lebanon in the track! Finally! A celebrity who knows there are countries in the world that exceed the US, France or Italy (the cliche of New York, Paris, Milan). She says "Whether you're broke or evergreen/ you're black, white, beige, chola descent/ You're Lebanese, you're orient" etcetera etcetera etcetera. We must send her big sweaty hugs from across the shores!<br />
<br />
Lebanon, my dearest home, is a feisty old place and she takes her time to come around. I don't think the track is really the issue, I think Lebanon, forgive me please, is just a bit uncomfortable with the idea that there is in fact a blonde<br />
<br />
who is not in fact dumb. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-36646112519863160582011-05-29T08:38:00.001+04:002011-06-05T14:31:38.051+04:00Names and Tags<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">His name is Mohammed and they want him to change it. Consequently, he decided to sue their butts. <br />
<br />
Did you hear about that one? He's working at the New York Waldorf-Astoria so apparently Mohammed is a very scary name for the very delicate W-A clientele. He represents the T-word. They wouldn't be able to finish their caviar salad if they'd known his name was Mohammed, right? Of course<br />
<br />
not. <br />
<br />
Mohammed has been working as a waiter at the Fox-News-behaving hotel since 1984 and is disgruntled because he was given a name tag that had "edgar" written on it. I wonder about two things when I read this:<br />
<br />
1) Why is he STILL a waiter since 1984, and 2) Edgar, seriously?? Like Edgar Allen Poe? Have you READ his poems and stories! If that's not terrorism right there I don't know what is.<br />
<br />
Moroccan-born Mohammed has been working under the name John for the longest time before they decided Edgar would be more appropriate. I wonder why they bothered to change the name. Maybe there's a deadline on being a fake John.<br />
<br />
Surely there's a deadline on being a fake anything. The media, though, hasn't recognized that yet. </div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383684669996173691.post-33257532810142246702011-05-24T11:32:00.000+04:002011-05-24T11:43:38.361+04:00Pass Words and Things for the Memory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sick of it. Sicksicksick of it. This whole password business. How many passwords is one supposed to memorize in a given lifetime? And they, whoever they are, people who use passwords apparently, suggest to have only one. A hacker's dream dontyathink?!<br />
<br />
There are about 700 million social media networks to join. Something close to that number I AM SURE. I am also very irritated right now because each time I try to log into a damn social media venue I've (forced myself to) joined I find myself having already forgotten the damn password.<br />
<br />
Am I missing something? How does one remain on top of it? Ok, I'm gonna stop talking in the third or fourth person. How do I stay on top of this?<br />
<br />
And while we're discussing overwhelming situations, how does one listen to Jose Gonzalez without feeling like suicide is the only way to get over the feeling his sad sad voice brings of a world quietly collapsing?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Rewahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14458367514032222898noreply@blogger.com1