The month of March has witnessed many transformations in my personality, most notably in the self confidence department, a far cry from what I have been experiencing for the latter quarter of the past year of unemployment (a post to celebrate that is due 1st April, stay tuned!). March has been, for the most part, the biggest harvest of the first wave of labour I have put into becoming an extrovert (though, deep down, I am still good ol’ shy me) and extending my social circle and exposing myself to the more uncomfortable situations I would normally try to avoid.

Except clubbing.

Enjoying my 15 minutes of fame aside, back home I have been battered repeatedly due to my decisions, or lack thereof in some regards. On one hand I have the source of two lifetimes of wisdom – my parents – advising me on what to do (rather, what not to do) or pursue. On the other hand, as I told my unofficial therapist (more of a confidant really, as there is little therapy involved): “I have been give this one chance in life with the perfect set of circumstances to do and exploit anything I want. Yes, I will run out of money pretty soon. Yes, I might look back and say I should have done things differently. But what scares me the most is in the future looking back at my time now and say I have missed out. I am unemployed, I am studying, I am not married, not committed to a girlfriend, and the only two things I can utterly lose is money and an old personality I have been trying hard to get rid of but have never had the chance. So yes, it’s the stupidest thing I might do in my life, but chances are the next time I am unemployed and have the time to do things, I would have other variables bringing me to a halt.”

And she nodded in agreement (adding, of course, that I am one really odd person).

Now that part of my rationality is set, though whether or not it is a manifestation of other underlying problems is another post (and yes, there is truth in that).

The other part of my rationality pods along the same way of thinking as my parents’: The one that says KJ, tuck your hallucinations under your bed and wake up to the reality of 2010.

And here is where the confusion is: Both arguments are equally powerful in my head, being the genius of a thinker that I am. And as human nature says, when such cognitive dissonance exists you try to rationalize and justify. Think of it as the ego defense, when, if you get a good grade, it means you’re a terrific genius, and if you got a bad grade, then the exam is unfair. You pep talk yourself so your brain can calm down. Now try to apply that line of thinking into what I have been talking about. If you’re becoming schizophrenic just thinking about it, you’re a step closer to where I am now.

But I have come to accept it. Now it’s up to others to accept I am crazy and wanna do what I do in life!

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I was very excited when I stumbled upon the trailer by accident on YouTube. One of my all time favourite Disney films, finally remastered into 3D, with Depp as one of the main characters.

But I was in for some surprises.

The movie is not a re-imagination of the story, and though as much as Tim claims it is not a sequel, it’s not a self-contained story either. It’s taken for granted that any human being who is likely to go watch the movie has prior knowledge of Alice and all the characters that are involved in the story, so the 2010 film does very little in re-introducing the characters and does even less in character development, except for Alice, the Red Queen, and the Hatter.

As far as the story goes, Alice this time around is older and, odd marriage theme aside, has to slay the Red Queen’s pet the Jabberwocky and return the crown to the White Queen. It’s literally as simple as that, but the journey is still entertaining though there are some questionable design elements. The gore, specifically, is an odd addition to the story. Though there is no blood, you will get to see chopped heads, chopped fingers, and pins thrust into eyeballs – several times. These elements contrast heavily with the humour derived from the former Disney’s flick as well as the humorous character designs.

The new Underland is a wasteland of its former self, but the art direction is truly fantastic. It’s quite clear that the overall tone of the film is more mature than the cartoon, especially the Red Queen’s struggle of being ugly but has the need to be loved. In all honesty I felt terribly sorry for her, and the story goes all the way of punishing her for that (but of course she was doing it in the wrong way).

The movie, however, is a bit better than the sum of its parts, and while some elements don’t really add up, it’s taken for granted that the familiarity with the characters, the nostalgia, the art direction and seeing Cheshire Cat’s grin again is what you will likely be taking with you out of the movie by the time it ends.

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On that day, like many other days, I’ve written a fine article of childish humour where I looked back on one of the unforgettable days I have spent in the greatest city in the world: New York City.

But on that very same day, I wrote something else, usually the type of writing I keep to my notebooks instead of here. I am often asked “how can you come up with such posts?”, though usually referring to the more insane Moogle, but a feasible general question nonetheless.

Difficult to answer through explanation, I will allow myself this time to share what else I wrote on that day that I kept to myself, and you can form your own links to what’s below and what I posted here on that day. Indulge! (and don’t forget to check out the horse!).

Dust covered my book of memories. This very book that is a testament to my existence. Covered in dust, neglected for months and years on end.

My handwriting gets poorer with every passing day. My English is but a former shadow of itself.

Here I sit at 10:03 PM in my new apartment. A one bedroom apartment that I would have only previously dreamt of living in and probably avoided those who did. Street and house lights shimmer in the distance; people stroll the streets below and others ride their expensive cars.

Life goes on.

But it changed a lot, it moulded different personalities into different people and even myself. I do not know who anyone is anymore. And to a larger extent, I do not distinctly recall who I am anymore.

But my fingers firmly press against the pen, aching my wrist, only affirming to me that some habits don’t die. Or, probably, that I am still, as always have been, tense. Perhas even sad, or angry. A combination, for sure. One emotion cannot control all five fingers.

My handwriting is aweful.

And I hate myself for caring as much as to note it. Why would I care if my handwriting, in this very book at least, mattered? Who is to read it, and if there is one, reading these very pages, what would he or she think, that, here I am, discussing my handwriting?

Or perhaps, rather, it is not the matter of handwriting itself, but the cultural attention and effort that is put into making all letters flawless, comprehensible, but, as all concentrated efforts poured into perfection go, is nothing but a ludicrous task that only makes this very script wors than it actually is.

And what of all the uniformly black colour? And odd page or so in blue, written in a state of urgency, or, perhaps, neglect. Where do I go with all this rambling.

I sit here, fragile, hungry, thin, alone, lonely. These appearances and states only clouded my vision. My strive to own, possess, and execute everything perfect had only made me hollow to the fact that beauty lies in the imperfections of things.

I forgot what I love. I can only focus on what I hate and don’t like. When I am confronted with something I love, it appears novel, and brilliant, so much that I grab on to it so hard, I often lose it.

I cannot loosen my grip on the pen. I only momentarily wake up to my hurt hand’s calls. No sonner than I acknowledge the euphoric relief of my muscles that they are stressed again with my subconscious vehemence.

I lied. I stole. I said the truth. But all was not worth this. Perhaps a little. I cannot be certain. All blessings are curses and vice versa. Humans do nothing but come up with convoluted explanations to every problem. Others blame God. I don’t know who to blame but myself. Blaming adds nothing worth any value.

A turned page with absorbed ink and oil. I look ghastly in my reflection on the window. A pathetic, hunchbacked, slim indivudal, with success that is not shared with anyone nor attributed to any virtue present in the self. Goodwill, good fortune and God are all active roles in my success. My success is only realized when I see how I failed in so many other things. Things that were worthwhile.

Things that were me.

My fingers grow weary.

And I don’t like this black pen anymore.

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I’ve always wondered if it is possible to fall in love with two people, not necessarily at the same moment, but have the two overlap. I am not talking about the kind of love that it physical, or is a crush or infatuation. I’m talking about the type of “complete love” that is “scientifically defined” as possessing the three qualities of intimacy (sharing exclusive information, emotional connection and closeness), physical attraction (sex, to be blunt) and commitment (not necessarily marriage, just the notion of the couple’s commitment to maintain the relationship long term).

Now from an evolutionary standpoint, it’s to humankind’s advantage to have the answer as “yes”. Considering the ultimate goal of any living organism is, regardless of its complexity, to pass on genes, then as many men and women cross-loving as possible is the best way to go about it. But we’re not animals (in a sense) and we are more inclined to parent our offspring with someone we are intimate with, definitely have sex with (till love takes its course and waxes and wanes anyway) and be committed to each other and their kids.

So the little Darwins in us would compel us to do our best to fall in “complete love” with as many partners as possible.

But society doesn’t always endorse polygamy, and those that do allow it don’t normally have that high a specimen as expected. Somehow we are told, no rather, we feel wrong/guilty about being intimate with two partners at the same time, having sex with both (hopefully not in the same bedroom) and being committed to both. I don’t have the stats to back me up but it is very difficult to find someone who is totally in love with two partners and is completely fine about it. And if there are numbers the ratio will be very small. What I believe is the case is that men (or women) would be seeking out “what’s missing” in the first partner in the second. It’s usually the physical attraction or some intimacy – another person is often easier to talk to about personal problems than a partner who just can’t take your shit anymore.

So what gives? Darwin vs society? Just like… almost everything! We are wired to do things but not keeping within the constraints of society suddenly makes us outlaws. Probably for the better, sometimes.

But hey, two out of three ain’t bad, right?

post inspired by a psychology podcast

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Scammers have come a long way since Nigerian business lords or headless limbless orphans looking for that $1 donation by Microsoft.

They’ve now hit the Facebook Marketplace! Here is the listing:

As you can see it’s too good to be true. And indeed, it is. They’ve hit the consumer’s soft spot – those shiny, exorbitantly expensive Apple products – and offering them for a very good price. They’ve listed their email for further inquiries (a .org) and I sent them an email. I thought they may harvest my email but took the little risk anyway. They replied to me with all the specs but here is what was fishy in their reply:

Right, cuz other than fixing their grammar I will be willing to give someone my full name, full address, phone number, email, and PO Box, probably about all security questions to gain access to my bank records! AAAAND I pay them 850 bucks for it LOL!

Apparently the same item is being listed by several people across several locations (Qatar, KSA, UAE, Oman). Sure, they’ve got an infinite amount of MacBook Pros and iPhone 3GSs to give with the Valentine promotion!

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As I grew up I suffered the humiliation from a thousand assailants with regards to my prim and proper boyish look with a bad case of malnutrition. I have been called many names, by strangers, friends, and family, and the names include almost every single thing you can think of. Mock my weight as you might, I have heard it all.

Not one to give up, though, I held the belief that one day, Fate would favour me once in my lifetime and I will emerge from my ugly caterpillar husk into my handsome potential.

And, many years later, I got a nice taste of handsomeness. I gained considerable weight, became part of normal human society, and became accepted and approved amongst my peers and strangers alike. All good, I thought to myself. Finally, instead of being mocked, I am praised. People applauded me for my efforts, and years of mockery have been replaced by a sense of profound achievement.

But alas, Fate sensed my pride and decided my potential was to be fully reached another day. My short lived bliss has reared its ugly end. I now sport a little belly I have no hope of ridding myself of. I haven’t been eating properly for the past two months, I haven’t been sleeping properly either.

But worst of all, karma chose a trait I used to mock people with when I was being mocked at: That they snored.

And now, I do.

Unaware and turning a deaf ear to my own snoring, I didn’t care. My sister, however, keeps waking me up several times every night so I can stop snoring. Oblivious to all of this of course, I carried on, thinking my sister was over exaggerating. Everyone snores at one point, from a weary day or a bit of extra dust in the air and clogged air passages.

Brief background: My most common nick name is “Nani”.

So my sister calls me by the name of Nani whilst I snore. Now all was well until I noticed, during my waking hours, that hearing the words “Nani” agitates me! It eventually caught on – I wake up every morning slightly agitated, given that my sis “wakes me up” several times a night by shouting Nani. So my brain formed a link between Nani and feelings of shoving a fork into someone’s eye.

And so it has been decided that until I visit an ENT, I am to sleep on the couch. It’s been great so far. The couch is quite wide and comfortable, I get a full night’s sleep (and so does sis), and my response to “Nani” is returning to normal.

Well, mostly anyway!

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Who would have reckoned that it’s quite enjoyable actually? For the past few months I have been visiting art galleries around Dubai and Abu Dhabi, getting inspired by the hundreds of brilliant pieces of artwork that I come across. Whether they’re photographs, paintings, sculptures, or some other odd form of art, there is always something interesting to see.

Of course, attending The Lost Fingers exclusive concert in Dubai (and they were an arm’s length away) was the highlight of the whole lot. There have been some off galleries here and there, some of them in ungodly places even, but at the end of the day it’s a good escape from an otherwise over industrious city.

I will be leaving you with some photos. And yeah Twitter is consuming a lot of my time, I will return slowly to blogging. Sorry about that!

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Alright, so here we are, me not blogging as much, for no excuse at all but laziness on my side, preoccupying myself with senseless things more often than sensible ones. Closing in on the 9th month of unemployment does wonders to the brain! Nevermind the fact that I have to entertain four other characters in my head (yes Moogle isn’t the only one), my being a social person (online and off) does little justice to what’s truly in my head!

True, I make people laugh, the ones who are into my kind of humor anyway, but when the PC is off and I sit on the balcony sipping anise and eating something distastefully low carb my mind wanders off  to a sea of dreams. Lots of the time they’re insensible, but more often than anyone would like to I do have something intelligent to say about me, others, and life in general.

Of course, I try to turn mundane events into a comic show. Surely, calling someone a fucking whore in front of a school bus is anything but amusing, but at least the lead up would have been funny.

But I sometimes want to talk about something serious, and from my own reading habits, reading serious posts takes quite a chunk of energy. No matter how in reality I do care about what I am reading, or the person behind the post, I cannot get myself to finish reading the post. Or if I do indeed finish, I really have nothing to say.

Which is why you don’t find me commenting often.

And here I go again losing track of what I want to say, which is: give me inspiration. My blog isn’t as good as it used to be. Of course it might be because I constantly seek to  improve everything when I should enjoy them.

But a little reader input wouldn’t hurt.

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The Grasshopper Incident

Me: O_______________________O
Sis: *walks in* what’s the matter?
Me: *points*
Sis: O_______________________O
Sis: Ok KJ we need to kill it.
Me: NO WAY! I am NOT going to kill that thing!
Sis: It’s in OUR BALCONY and I don’t want it IN MY HOUSE!
Me: FINE! But I am not going to squish it.
Sis: Whatever.
Me: *gets room scented spray*
Sis: What the HELL are you doing?!
Me: What if it smells when it dies!
Sis: It’s a GRASS hopper, it will just smell of GRASS!
Me: Psht! well then, I have an idea
Sis: What?
Me: You know cans, if you keep pressing, they get cold, and the spray gets cold
Sis: aha…
Me: so we will just FREEZE it! Then throw it outside to thaw and resume its life.
Sis: you want to freeze a grasshopper with a scented spray…
Me: think about it! It will not harm us, it will live, AND it will smell nice!
Sis: suit yourself…

the grasshopper died.

Finding a Home

Me: look what I bought! *points to brand new bicycle*
Sis: Where on EARTH are you gonna put it!
Me: here, in the kitchen
Sis: no no, no no no no no, this goes downstairs in the storage
Me: But it’s DARK down there and COLD!
Sis: KJ this is not the time for you to be you.
Me: What if Charlie gets -
Sis: Charlie? It has a name now?!
Me: What if Charlie gets a cold and he breaks down while cycling.
Sis: It’s a STUPID BIKE!
Me: O_O
Sis: And what the heck is THAT! *points to green ribbon*
Me: It’s a ribbon.
Sis: Why did they give you a ribbon!
Me: I asked for it.
Sis: O___O
Me: Well they didn’t wanna give me a discount so I said the least you could do is give me a ribbon!
Sis: Just… put it in the kitchen…

Plumbing Lies

Sis: *after 15 minutes of driving* um KJ
Me: yup?
Sis: I think the flush in my washroom is not working
Me: What?!
Sis: yeah water is always running it’s not stopping.
Me: You’re telling me this NOW?
Sis: I forgot I am sorry! Anyway it’s ok.
Me: What do you mean OK!
Sis: Well it’s not gonna flood the house!
Me: Well even if it doesn’t we will just waste gallons of water till we come back!
Sis: Ok “Mr Environmentalist”
Me: gsdkuhfspiuy! *drives back*

back at home

Me: It’s fine! It’s working fine!
Sis: Oh, sorry then, my mistake..
Me: *notices something different*
Sis: what?
Me: Did you… just change your shoes?
Sis: huh? Oh… tee hee!

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I was a genius!

A friend of mine came across an email I sent to my friends that many years ago. I, myself, keep emails, some that go back to 1997 (those were printed, even), and the others happily residing in digital form on my computer. In that email, I wrote words that resound in my head as I read them today. “Did I write that?” I tell myself in disbelief.

No matter how many books you read or how many pills you take or how many sessions you sit through, nothing is as effective as reading your very own words – the you that you miss as you grow up.

I for one know what that KJ was talking about. And despite the stolen but paraphrased last paragraph from a Danielle Steele novel (let’s not comment on that, but if you need to know, the book was called The Long Road Home), and the typos, I think that KJ is still around and kicking!

Thank you, me!

This is a break of my tradition of sorts, but I would like to share it with you regardless.

It’s hard not to get the “I Am Going To Make A Resolution” urge on New Year’s Eve. There’s that sense of renewal, of rebirth, and the guilty awareness that you ate your own weight in chocolate during the holidays (or in case of some people I know [me], quite a lot of hot dogs). Sure, last year’s resolutions didn’t make it past the fifth of January, but hey, this year’s going to be different, right?

Most of us don’t have a clue how to make a reasonable resolution, which is why most of us fail to keep the ones we make. We set high goals for ourselves, and then wonder why we never attain them. So we either stop setting goals (saying something like “Well maybe next year I would make a wiser one”), or make resolutions that are ridiculously easy to keep (like the other one I made, “I Promise To Be Good To Everyone”. I mean, seriously…whom am I kidding).

I reign as the undisputed king of the broken resolution. Gain weight (imagine, people). Exercise. And, of course, the invariably stress-inducing “I Must Relax More” (as in be in my own shoes). They all failed, and not because I wasn’t sincere when I made them. I’d say it, I’d mean it, and then I did . . . Absolutely nothing. Oh sure, the resolution stood firm for a few weeks, and its memory returned throughout the year, mostly to make me feel guilty and ineffectual. Except for the Russian accent. I want to keep it.

Once I realized this I made a prompt, if somewhat tardy, New Year’s resolution (Okay, really tardy. It was in the summer semester, June). This year was going to be different. Only this time, my resolution was to figure out a way to keep resolutions.

This year witnessed two major events that occured and, ultimately, altered my life. The first of them was my unintentional [metaphorical] destruction (and I emphasize the word unintentional for those who know what I am talking about). The second of them was the “Phoenix Effect” – my recreation. True, I was the architect of both, perfectly orchestrating both symphonies – while opposing by nature, but necessary to complete the circle.

So right now I am looking back. I have reach the summit of this mountain. Looking back, I discovered that, although I have had many difficulties climbing it, the road doesn’t seem as twisted, rocky or scary from up here. And with that, I have decided on my New Year’s Resolution.

Breathe.

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You read that right.

And I am just as bewildered.

[obvious note: 'adult' content follows. Kids interested in learning about sex should go here]

It happened yesterday, as I was waiting for my friend to arrive. I decided to kill time before lunch by going to the beach (in Ajman) in the middle of the day to enjoy a true winter’s noon – chilly winds and a burning bright sun. My body was perplexed by that very combination, but it felt comfortable to be BBQed at a deceivingly cool temperature.

As I admired the seagulls being chased by a species of roaches I had nightmares about during the night, a portly short man in his 40’s strolled by and commented on the weather as an ice breaker. Having been single for a while I missed the whole point of this cheesy introduction. From his accent I deduced he was Lebanese.

Indeed, I replied, it’s quite nice. The one thing people seeking solitary retreat hate is having someone adulterate the experience with a conversation. The epic battle of mechanical roaches and the majestic griffins (the ancestors of seagulls) that was waging in my head had to be put on hold. The man found it perfectly reasonable to sit at the other end of the bench where I was sitting.

Life is tough, he reminded me, which is why I find the sea relaxing. I have imagined, like countless times before, that a tsunami arrives at that very moment from which a form of Divine sea serpent emerges and swallows the nuisance that arrived in the form of that man. I remained silent. He continued, I got fired from my job and I am taking them to court because they refused to pay me.

It’s not a story I have not experienced myself in one of the agencies I dealt with in my previous job, so I was not interested in hearing it. But the man went on anyway, describing the details of a case and the court hearings and the paperwork and the disputes at the Ministry of Labour, most of which I have blocked out of memory.

Being a nice person that I am, I let him talk, giving him half an ear while my attention was diverted on more important matters, like the fallen commander from the griffin army and the rolling out of the Mass Griffin Annihilator  by the mechanical roach army. But the griffins were an orderly bunch; even without a commander they would follow The Order as has been dictated to them by the Battle Plan. The Mass Griffin Annihilator, however, was unaccounted for, and after a brief moment of confusion, the griffin flying the highest was elected as the new commander. The ritual was a quick one with each griffin giving up a feather, rendering the sky a white confetti flying up in celebration of the soaring new commander.

… and then I knocked on the door and my friend opened it and he was naked. I was snapped back to reality by his shocking switch of topics. He and my Egyptian roommate were sleeping with a Romanian woman at the same time. His C-grade 2 minute porn flick did not interest me in the least but he was far from done. He described to me in detail the times he caught his roommates sleeping with other women or, often, even with another men they brought in. I have no idea why I did not tell the guy to stop. My facial expression was that of disgust and I expressed it verbally but did not manage to explicitly tell him to stop.

He went on describing how his friend got fooled by someone else in a job interview, where the interviewer took his friend to the “site location” where he coerced him into sex and paid him 10,000 AED. Taking people to “site” and forcing them into sex is a cliche story line right out of a 1987 porn movie remake of 1937 Disney’ Snow White.

Then he said something that finally made my brain click: His friend was coerced by the interviewer easily because the interviewer has been talking about sex earlier in order to arouse the man, so that he reaches a state where he will do anything just to experience the pleasure. Not aroused in the slightest, the man sensed it and thought if he let me talk about my sexual experiences I might get aroused and probably succumb to him later on.

With nothing but disgust and disbelief on my face I still did not know why I just didn’t beat the shit out of the guy. Disappointed in my lack of response, he opted for a last resort: to entice sexual feelings through bestiality. As soon as he started to talk about him taping cats mating, even the mechanical roaches told me enough is enough.

You know what, I said, finally, I will leave you to your porn and quickly left. My car was close by but I didn’t wanna risk him knowing what my car is and its number. I feigned hailing a cab until the guy went back to his car and left. A good 20 minutes later I decided to leave.

Recalling the whole scenario, it was karma. Back in college I went out with the guys and did what all guys do: make fun of whores (and some of the guys did a bit more). We hollered from the car asking them how much? before we left them to their devices to grab a bite and head back to the dorms.

Oh dear, what does the future hold!

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Thank you Lord for blessing humans with creativity, the technology to make it happen, and my eyesight to see it.

I don’t know how the movie would look in a regular screening, but getting one of the best seats in the IMAX theater and enjoying the movie like it was envisioned in Cameron’s mind is something truly extraordinary. I feared that I may have been too over-hyped about the movie given the buzz surrounding it, but believe you me I have read nothing on the movie and have had it, for a long while, mixed up with Avatar The Last Airbender movie, coming out later.

So yes, you could say that I was entering the movie knowing that it was in 3D and that it featured blue people.

And I was SHOCKED!

I need to get this out of the way: though the IMAX gigantic screen really did help in the immersion into the movie, like all other movies shown in 3D (IMAX or not) there is this general fuzziness and softness to textures that degrade the quality (if you’ve seen it and seen the trailer below, you’d know what I am talking about).

Still, a loss in quality was a small price to pay, for it is a beautiful world of the Navi-inhabited Pandora that Cameron created, too beautiful to not allow yourself to be sucked in. To thoroughly enjoy the movie you either need to be a tree hugger or truly let go of rationality. And unlike many sci fi flicks out there, the characters that are out of place are the humans. Avatar’s world is rich in history, nature, lore, culture, and even language. It is blatantly apparent that a lot of effort has been put into the realization of the world, yet at the same time you do get the gut feeling that some stuff had to be cut out to fit the movie, like the Lord of the Rings flicks.

What’s beautiful about the movie is that it takes everything ordinary and turns it into extraordinary. Lots of rituals, beliefs, animals, plants and landscape exist in reality and are recognizable in the movie, but they’ve been made into truly magical elements.

The overarching story could become preachy at times, and there are many subtexts you can indulge in (terrorism, invasion of other countries, colonialism, the whole mother Earth narrative), however, the face-value story isn’t something that has not been done before, even the tribal wars and the inter-species love stories. What accentuates the typical, however, is the immersive magical world that makes everything endearing and breathtaking. As for the acting – thankfully most of the movie focuses on the animated Navi, which animated beautifully, and the human counterparts do a pretty good job, with Sigourney Weaver throwing in dry humor here and there typical of her Alien experience. Worthington’s Terminator experience helped with the grunt work too.

If there’s anything to say to people who are to see it, the movie is about the experience, much like the Matrix and Lord of the Rings when they came out. You can read into the story as deep as you want, but like the previously mentioned movies, it’s the experience that will keep you talking for a long time to come.

Now enjoy the HD trailer!

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The Christmas of 1988 is an unforgettable one, as hard it is to remember how a single day was when you’re only four years old, but it is still unforgettable.

I still lived with my family back then and Saudi Arabia was pretty much like it is now, only friendlier to live in, I am told.

There was no hope of a white Christmas, so we all decided to dress up in white. Our neighbors were Christian, and with my dad being a fresh convert (to Muslim) it was a good time to enjoy some form of celebration in the conservative kingdom. Up went the Christmas tree and the decorations were lighting up the whole tiny apartment.

I can only remember the name of the lady, which was Denise. My memory has no recollection whatsoever of her husband’s name or her two daughters’ names – which is an embarrassment for me as one of the was my first girlfriend.

Ah yes! Young love! Pure and innocent, two young lovers exploring the never ending sea of… well… I’d leave the photo below to tell the story

Apparently I still have my “handy” habits. Have a great Christmas everyone!

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Don’t you just HATE people OBSESSED with grades and ONLY grades?! 

Those self proclaimed geniuses must be peed upon and dragged through a pool of poo before being ignited and burnt to death. Yes, I am talking about them treacherous, imbecilic excuses of human beings who claim they have the God-given right to dominate the class through their “intellect” and memorization abilities.

And, typically in this part of the world, they’re the Hijabi girls with attitude problems. You typically see them boasting on how much they pray on time, how everything should be prim and orderly and proper, and how dedicated they are to their studies and predestined schedules.

Admittedly, there could be found some admiration in their determination to be achievers. If only they could drop the self centered attitude, and their obsession with grades.

There is one in my class, and, for better or worse, I am with her in a group project. The course is on management (like pretty much else in this degree), and therefore I am exercising my managerial skills in utilizing her OCD and grade obsession by giving her the green light on handling the “tough jobs” – because, according to her, she “doesn’t want to be blamed for the other potentially sloppy parts”. Apparently her sense of team work has eloped with her understanding of achievement and fled to someone else. With two more people in the project, my role typically transforms to the Negotiating Diplomat.

Now here is an example that truly pissed me off. After a midterm – which of course she had been preparing for for two weeks (while I on the other hand found out about the exam a week prior) – she came up to me to ask about how well I did. I told her I did the best I could do given the amount of material I had to cover in a week. She discussed all the questions with me – 3/4th of which were numerical – and her grin widened with every incorrect answer I gave.

The next week, when the grades were out, she was appalled that we both took the same grade. She told me explicitly that it is illogical and unfair that she should study more than I did, get all answers correct, and we both end up with the same grade. I sympathized with her, myself wondering the same, though I knew the case study questions had something to do with it. She was so upset about it she kept reminding me of her disbelief at 10 minute intervals.

For the record, I was given a good grade because as I was solving I knew the numbers I was giving were incorrect and have explicitly stated how the trends should be, and noted some error in the calculation somewhere (through question marks and sad faces, of course). So the professor knew, at least, I understood the material.

Just yesterday I was telling her that we are putting too much effort researching on supply chain management (we read over 30 papers), especially that people do their PhD on the wide-open subject while we were doing a mere introduction to it. She simply answered “no we put the right effort, we will get FULL MARKS” shortly followed by “inshalla”, in case she ends up jinxing herself.

Now I understand grades are important, if you’re factoring in scholarships, future admissions to universities as well as the “excitement” in being called a “Cum Laude” (what were they smoking!). But there’s more to passing courses than grades – namely understanding the material, interpersonal relationships as well as appreciating other human beings on the same boat.

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The UAE has been the media spotlight – both positive (Abu Dhabi F1) and negative (Dubai World hiatus) – heralding a new era of Dubai Bashing (see my thorough how-to here) as well as justified criticism and the typical market flux a la Pelham 123 (so who made $300m now?).

But today is the 38th UAE National Day, and these special occasions, like Eid and Thanksgiving and Christmas, are here to remind us of the greater good that we keep tucked in the shadows. For it is easy to dwell on our miseries and use them as our crutch to move forward, but it takes a movie scene, an Oprah episode or a family-feud-free-family-gathering to remind us that we have it good.

What has the UAE given me? A good beating! Yes, and I am thankful for it. Tough love is what everyone needs, and tough is what Dubai is about. Being exposed to so many cultures (and, seriously, there are just so many nationalities here) teaches you to be tolerant and respectful to people around you. It teaches you how to collaborate and communicate effectively in teams and with individuals. It gives you pleasure when expats greet you with “Eid Mubarak” and inform you – genuinely – that their perception of Arabs has significantly changed through their stay in Dubai. And it lowers the barrier of the “them vs us” concept, when we all hold hands together for a cause, raising awareness through marathons and walkathons around town.

On the sombre days, Dubai teaches you patience. It teaches you to network, to use your wits, to appreciate the value of money (and damn this city is expensive!). It shows you who your true friends are and how much value do you have in people’s lives, and they in yours. With Dubai’s every-changing population, and the tough competition – both on personal and career levels – it becomes quickly apparent who you should place your trust in.

But most of all, what I am truly thankful for is to be part of this “movement”, to celebrate the rise of a nation, no matter how much it stumbles on the way. When I have visitors over and show them around town, not all of them are impressed. “We have tall building in NY, so?”. Indeed, NY is a class of it’s own. But you won’t appreciate Burj Dubai unless you have seen it being built over the years, floor by floor. It’s difficult to appreciate or imagine that the 25km stretch of land between Dusit Dubai on Sheikh Zayed Road and Jebel Ali was a desert only 7 years ago. It won’t make sense to an outsider as you describe how Garhoud Bridge was only three lanes, and how the 7 lane roads were 2-3 lanes only a few years back. It’s sounds ludicrous as you describe how one thing was here a few months back and now it shifted in its entirety to another location.

Yes, Dubai functions and looks like a living being. It evolves and changes – too rapidly sometimes – but you, too, grow with it, and grow to love it. I don’t know about you, but I feel a deep sense of pride when I show someone around town or talk about the city. There is a sense of awe as I drive around town at night or take a trip on the metro just for the heck of it, to see the city from a slightly higher altitude.

So yes, you can bash Dubai or the UAE as you like, come up with rhythmic news titles and call yourself an expert in laughing at Dubai’s constant stumbling about, mediocre media, censorship, and the cult that is known as Etisalat.

But what has your city done or achieved in 30 years? 10 years? Last year?

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The car engine hums gently as I drive the long winding road on the stretch of desert between the city and my new home, a concept that my mind does not appear to grasp. Home, what is home?

My journey home starts as I tune in to what I, in my humblest of opinions, consider a musical masterpiece, Fields of Coral by the legendary Vangelis.

The lights dim as the road in front of me melts into despair. Despair soaked in evil, spawning dark wakeless waters where I set sail. Tempestuous winds billows the sands, molding them into mountains before whittling them into voiceless cries.

I enter the borderless waters of insanity. A black canvas with blots of cracked paint and torn fragments of skin and decaying double faced overweight demons. A mad world where the artist holds a brush, soaks it in water instilled with fear to mend the cracks of broken canvas with an idea that may save it from utter oblivion. To save it from the demon with the flaming hair and the halos around the wrists.

Jellyfish-like monstrosities glow in the deep, yet serene and peaceful the ambient, muted light they provide. It’s the fear in the cell, the genetically coded nonsense we code ourselves. Fine wonders, artistic fiends with tentacles gripping the truth and feeding on the obtuse, the very artist.

And yet I pass with no fear here. I am welcomed, lauded with a fiery display of magnetic winds and sands, an aquatic dance with thoughts and desires, lustful intimation and an ardent embrace of letting go.

It is in this insanity, that I can feel home.

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It’s like a biological clock that mothers have. Though most women have their brains wired up quite loosely and everything is interconnected (and I am probably the only male like that), all women are born with an agenda that they stick to, regardless of everything. Items on the agenda include, but are not limited to:

• dreaming of the Big Day with the White Dress
• driving all guys insane until Mr. Right comes along
• driving Mr. Right into financial/mental crisis
• having kids from said man (career women can donate children to Brangelina)
• tormenting kids through emotional blackmail throughout their lives

Now, I am not saying mom is a horrible person. Indeed she isn’t. Like all mothers, she is the best cook in the world, and the best mom in the world. And like all mothers, she wants to have her son married. Now.

Two years ago I avoided this bride shopping business by claiming that I just started my “career” path (which led me to the Forgotten Chapters of the Abnormal Psychology textbook) and that all the girls I knew were either hitched or a bit too young for me.

Last year, mom didn’t have the time to open the topic – to my surprise – though she repeatedly hinted through the mention of grandchildren or moving into a bigger apartment when I get married or, most importantly, growing up (ie getting rid of Moogle and my Xbox).

Mom was here (woohoo!) and that was the topic I dreaded most. Now that I don’t have a girlfriend it was quite a ripe moment to open the marriage topic. As usual I had to be eating first.

“Mama,” she said, “I need to talk to you… something serious.”

She caught me off-guard, with two weeks without her opening the topic, I thought it was something to do with dad’s diabetes or some terminal disease I have had since childhood. Reluctantly I swallowed what could be my last meal and gave her all my attention (that’s 5% brain capacity, 95% daydreaming of my funeral).

never discuss marriage over kibbeh

“I am just worried about you,” she said in a sombre tone. This was it. I must have been born with a pacemaker of a discontinued model and which batteries were obsolete. My 25th birthday was in a month. It was just like the manual said.

“Lifetime warranty” except that by lifetime they mean the product’s lifetime, not yours. This device’s lifetime was linked to mine and unless I am Iron Man with an extra pacemaker lying in a vacuum chamber somewhere there was no way out of my deathbed.

I shouldn’t have broken up with my girlfriend. At least she made my heart beat!

“Yes mom, everyone is worried about me,” I replied. I wasn’t lying – since I got unemployed everyone was worried about me. Oh dear, all my friends and family and acquaintances knew I was dying in a month and they were worried the post-getting-fired depression (which I didn’t have until everyone’s worrying rubbed off on me) would just stop my heart completely.

That also explained why my trainer did not want me to do lots of cardio. Even HE knew!

This must all be dad’s work. I dunno why or how but I need someone to blame and since my sis didn’t contribute to my birth, dad’s just easier to blame than mom.

“Yes well, I wanted to talk about your love life… are you still with that girl?”

She could have said “Are you still on life support?”

“No, we broke it off…” I gulped. Memories of the breakup rushed back. You know that site, Fuck My Life? If you read it you probably came across an entry that read “Today, my boyfriend called me to celebrate my birthday. Turned out he called to dump me. FML”. That was probably my ex right there posting it.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” mom said, “well that puts you in a tough situation…”

I’m dead anyways, what do I care? Right? Let me enjoy this last month of my life and let me be!

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Hmm, well, see, now that you are jobless,” she started, “no girl will ever consider you.” Then she gave me the Traditional Look of Exasperated Mothers. The one which says I cooked for you and raised you all these years so you can be jobless and unmarried!

“huh?” no this isn’t happening! Not again!

“I think you need a job. So we can find you a nice girl to get you married to.” She was quite enthusiastic at this point, equating job with marriage. I thought marriage is a job. Something to add on your CV. Marital status: Single (ie independent, confident); Marital status: Married (ie walkover, may ask for more money constantly to please woman).

“Look at you! You’re handsome, successful, charming, witty, weird, and intelligent. WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!”

O_O

“Well anyway it’s something for you to consider. You should get married as soon as possible, like in two years or so.”

“Well mom,” I said, nonchalantly I might add, “that’s just brilliant, as I would have justfinished my Masters and would qualify for a better job, ergo, I would qualify for better girls.”

“Oh wonderful! It’s all settled then. Looks like I forgot to add black pepper to the kibbeh, I am so sorry! Is it OK? Should I do another batch for you? I need to freeze for you some. How does it taste like?”

“Wonderful!”

“Oh, and, of course this is between you and me. Nothing on the internet like last time.”

“Of course!”

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Or buckle up, whichever you prefer – I am gonna force my way back into your lives and cheer you out of your mundane, boring daily routine.

And if you don’t have mundane, boring, daily routines, why do you have a blog? In any case I would make them even better!

I will go into details on what I have been doing in separate posts (the next post, scheduled in 36 hours, is epic and hilarious), but here’s your “quickie”: I moved out of UAE’s local parking lot (Sharjah) and into the jungle (Dubai), mom was here, went and had a nice Eid in Syria (and met Batoul and Qabbani too!), some of my photography would be put in a “zen clinic” (woohoo!), became a contributing blogger to Shufflegazine, gained some weight, changing my style a bit, and I just noticed I am awesome (allow me to indulge in some vanity here!) and lots more.

Oh, and I like doodling.

Remember! 36 hours!

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I have always loved the way children behave and think. I have always believed that they possessed an irreplaceable spirit, one that would carry them through the hardships with a smile, one that would offer forgiveness to other friends if a mistake has been made. They have the ability to absorb and endure emotional and physical pain more profoundly than older people do, and most of the children manage to solve their conflicts with a candy or a symbolic game where they are taught that friendship is the most valuable treasure a human soul can acquire and possess in his or her lifetime.

It is sad that many of us abandon these ideologies as we ‘mature’ into adolescence, an age marked by inner and outer conflicts. I have always wondered why such simple techniques to resolve a conflict are abandoned as well. Hatred evolves and grows, jealousy becomes more profound, and our ego becomes consumed with a marked selfishness. We resolve our conflicts with more conflict, and we endlessly spiral around in a vicious struggle between our wants and our needs, between what we expect and what we are offered, until we miraculously ‘grow out of’ adolescence and emerge as young adults who have [reasonable] control over our attitudes. We grow older, and spread into the many wings of society, gaining painful and pleasurable experiences. We love, we marry, and we re-experience the burden of our youths with our children. We grow old, remain seated in our grandchildren’s houses, and resolve our great grandchildren’s conflicts with candy and memories. We are then confronted with the inevitable thoughts of death, we fall into denial, and then we accept our fate. We spread whatever love we have to offer onto the people around us. We give them part of our spirits so that they would live on fond memories of us when we depart into the immortal realm of souls, where we are born anew.

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I do not know how to describe it now,
Beautiful nature limitless that night;
The cascading gold at the mountain peak;
The shimmering silvers against the stars;
Emanating emeralds ethereal
Blessing the sights whose eyes lay upon them;
A ruby cave silent, but whispering
“Forever I seek you, Purple Iris”.

Moonflowers sway in the caressing wind
Chanting the whisper across silent lands.
Lavender buds scenting the atmosphere;
The Wild Roses hear the Moonflowers’ chant,
They channel the message to the river
To carry it where winds would never reach.
The ruby cave awoken; now humming
“Forever I seek you, Purple Iris”.

A humming bird quenches from the river,
Took off to relay the message across
This distant, foreign land where trees swing free.
From a flowering tree, the bird seeps his
Nectar, humming a song to the trees’ veins.
The trees listen, and swing to call new winds.
The ruby cave hopeful; deep in prayer;
“Forever I seek you, Purple Iris”.

Above the woods, a mountain rises tall.
An olive tree grows at its dark-rocked peak
Protecting a treasure only one seeks.
The other mountain, its soul channeled through
The vast lands of nature, always seeking,
To give up all the treasures it contains.
The ruby cave, silent, no more longing;
“Eternally bonding, Purple Iris”.

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A friend of mine did this and put it up on dA…. I can’t stop laughing! ROFLMFAO!

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It’s hard to be a fan of an overpriced, often mediocre service you’re forced to use over the years. Add insult to injury by throwing in another telecom provider with limited jurisdiction (you can’t get a du net connection unless you’re living in specific locations) and limited coverage (limited is a euphemism for choppy&sloppy).

I’m charged $67.66 for a 1mb connection that feels like a 512 modem. I won’t even bother talking about the iPhone services as Zaher did a pretty good job in it.

The last three days I have been without internet connection, which isn’t a catastrophe per se as I can quickly adapt to the offline world, except that I needed to do some online research for my courses and upload the lectures for my classmates. Not to mention I needed to tweet that #etisalatsux but couldn’t.

picture break!

I call up customer support, tell them my problem, get a trouble ticket number and play the waiting game.

I call back two days later (see, I am not addicted, though I used the wireless connection in the mosque during Qiyam prayers to download my emails). And here is what happens:

Support IVR: All our customer support personnel are with other customers. Please hold as your call is important to us… *20 second break* … Dear customer, are you having internet connectivity problems? (me: huh? she knows?) Are you having difficulties opening websites or connecting to the internet? (me: she’s on to something!) Etisalat would like to introduce to you X software for free, to help  you diagnose and resolve your connection problems (me: here it comes!). Please go to our website at blablabla to download it.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

Then I get a human customer support[er] who’s not that much better:

Me: Hi, I don’t have connectivity for the past yada days, and I called yada yada and my ticket is yada and my problem is yada
Support: Oh, sir well as you know it’s Saturday.
Me: So?
Support: Well the ticket was issued Thursday night and as you know Friday is off.
Me: I called in Thursday morning.
Support: But I have it here issued at night sir.
Me: *mumble* so when do I expect the connection to be back?
Support: Your request is now with the technician he will come any moment sir.
Me: kthxbye

So basically the guy from Thursday didn’t issue the ticket till night, probably so that he doesn’t have to keep following it up or something on the last day of the week. It’s partly karma cuz back in the previous jobs there were days where I finish a task at noon but didn’t feel like getting anything new on the last few hours of the week so I would send in a “YAY I JUST FINISHED!” email moments before I left the office.

And the guy didn’t come.

picture break!

Sunday, today, the techie came.

Techi: Mr. ;skdujfhpsudfh?
Me: huh?
Techie: Are you Mr. ;skdujfhpsudfh?
Me: No.
Techie: *hands over paper with all my details on it, except the name is incorrect*
Me: Yeah, the, uh, info is mine but the name is wrong.
Techie: Oh, sorry, I can’t fix your line.
Me: *gasp* WHY!
Techie: Cuz without the proper paper I cannot proceed working.
Me: huh? *gazes down on “how-to-fix-this” list* oh noes
Techie: plz call support
Me: yeah, sure, whatever, thx

How can they get this wrong. My account is in my name and is tied to my apartment and phone number and insurance and bank account and organ donation files and my contract with God. Exasperated, I call support. Evil Test : BTW it’s my birthday, just to make sure you read this to the end, stick “HB” letters in the middle of your replies.

IVR: Would you like to be a millionaire with our Rama-
Me: *bloop bleep bleep bloop bleep bloop* << I memorized the key sequence for the support guy
Support: *introduces self*
Me: Yeah, ticket number yada yada, I called yada yada and yada yada happened and this guy came in today and yada yada
Support: I’m sorry what’s the number you gave me?
Me: *breathes in* the trouble ticket number
Support: hold on sir *20 seconds* I’m sorry sir what ticket
Me: *recalls sections of don’t sweat the small stuff manual*. The t-r-o-u-b-l-e t-i-c-k-e-t numberrrrrr
Support: hold on sir *20 seconds* thank you for holding sir, just one moment sir *20 seconds* are you still with me sir? just hold a moment more please *20 seconds* yes sir wait please *20 seconds* I am logging out sir wait please (logging out of what?) *20 seconds* (are they on a friggin timer?)
Moogle: beye yaya ye beyombo bayaya
Support: Sir?
Me: nothing
Support: Ok sir, sorry for the inconvenience, I escalated this to management. Your new ticket number is blabla
Me: I appreciate the escalations and the ticket numbers but I reeeeeeeeeeally need the internet.
Support acting like an AAA offcial: It’s ok sir I understand we will send you help ASAP.
Me: So when do I eXXXXXpeKT this? *twitching lips*
Support: Oh well sir you know, it’s a process that has to go through the chain till it reaches the tech guy.
Me: riiiiiight. Ok bye *click*

Now I sort of sympathize with them because I came across a job offer for such a position in that company and if I took it I would be as grumpy as they are. Customer support is the first point of contact between customers and the company itself. They represent the company and its value and therefore I believe it’s important to keep the customer support staff happy.

picture break!

Now those are an unhappy bunch with unhappy customers. But, where else can we go?

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Yesterday, over a great Iftar prepared by non other than revered chef in Dubai moryarti, I discussed with a friend of his the power of social media and how it’s slowly phasing out conventional media as a mechanism of delivering news to people locally or around the world.

The Iftar, by the way, was absolutely fantastic. If you’re desperately hungry, moryarti won’t disappoint (except that he didn’t prepare chocolate shots and is currently holding my camera hostage).

Anyhow, for those not in the know, today marks the historic opening of the troubled Dubai Metro. Though metros are nothing new in other places of the world, it has been the talk of residents here for 4 years – not in a good way most of the time. Laying out the infrastructure led to often catastrophic temporary (as in 1-2 year) diversions and new road layouts. Trips into the heart of the city (Deira and Bur Dubai) have become a daily nightmare – and if it were not for God’s gift of patience to me I would have left the country a long time ago. 24/7 construction next to residential and commercial areas didn’t help either, nor did the protests and numerous Dubai Bashing articles highlighting the cheap labor, the ridiculous traffic congestion, and of course the ever increasing doubts that Dubai Metro won’t function as planned nor on time.

Though only partially functional (10 of 50-something stations are operational), the 09/09/09 grand ceremony is still to take place a few hours from now. So this morning I woke up, did my business in the loo, didn’t prepare breakfast, opened my Management book to read and signed into twitter to check something. Then I was sucked into what I would call the New Opium of the Masses – the trending topic that is Dubai Metro.

Within a couple of hours, as Dubai residents woke up, smelled the coffee they wouldn’t have, got on with their business at work and read the local papers, everyone started tweeting their excitement (and of course a “bit” of spamming) over the grand opening of the metro. I joined in, my excitement driven by the bandwagon effect, and within a couple of hours lo and behold – the metro went from a blip outside the radar to the number one trending topic on twitter, leaving Apple’s and the Beatles’ also historic announcements “less important” in twitter terms.

And of course I took the screenshot for this historical feat achieved by none other than Dubai residents! So yes, a small group of people can actually outdo continents (though, to be fair, they’re probably sleeping now). Now that we KNOW we can do it, maybe we can use this power to bring forward other important social/political/humanitarian topics to light.

Don’t you think?

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Living abroad? Craving the shawerma back home? No local shawerma places?

Fret not – I present you a simple, do-it-yourself guide to making shawerma in the comfort of your home. Of course, it’s not really shawerma, but it’s the closest thing. And you better stop complaining alright? Eft! You can replace the meat with chicken breast in the recipe, but the garlic creme you gotta ask someone else for it!

So here’s what you’ll need:

- Repeat to yourself: If it’s not good, it’s my fault, not KJ’s
- Clean hands, preferably Dettol clean
- A frying pan, a spoon, a knife, and some sort of heat source (no, your thighs won’t cut it)

Seriously though:

- 1/2 kilo tender, slender, hammered meat (if it’s thick)
- 1 onion
- 3 cloves of garlic
- 1 hideous cardamon (7ab heil)
- spices (pepper, mostly)
- 1 coffe-cup (not mug) of apple vinegar. We’ll get to how much vinegar later, but this is the most important ingredient.
- 2 table spoons of yogurt
- 2 table spoons of tahini (67eeneh, bachelors, it’s the liquid one, not flour)

How to:

- Begin by praying something. Like not cutting or hammering your fingers

- Hammer the meat if it’s not hammered. Bachelor guys, please do not use a hammer. Get the butcher to do it for you. If it’s already thin you don’t really need to hammer it. Just look at the photo and get something similar.

- Cut the meat using a very, very sharp knife into thin slices. If bleeding occurs, place dismembered digit in ice and consult physician.

- Dice the onion and the garlic into nigh-invisible pieces. You can use a mixer for this if you’re not proficient with the knife.

- Place the diced onions and garlic onto the meat. If you only have pepper, go ahead and sprinkle. If you’ve got mixed spices, just make sure they’re harmonious with what a shawerma would taste like. If you’ve never eaten shawerma in your life, just stick to the black pepper.

- Lather the meat with all the above whilst avoiding licking your fingers. Make sure all the spices, onions and garlic is spread evenly across all the sliced meat.

- Now, pour in the vinegar and mix everything together again. Make sure there’s enough vinegar in the bowl to cover 3/4th of the content. So it really varies how much vinegar you may use here, but typically something along the lines of 100-125ml should be sufficient

- After everything is settled, don’t fry it. Cover it and put it in the fridge.

- THE NEXT DAY, take it out. Or leave it another day if you want extra flavor.

- Get a frying pan and add a little bit of oil. Remove the meat from the vinegar and throw it into the frying pan. If you want you can put in the vinegar too. It gives a nice texture and the kitchen will smell nice.

- Keep frying until the vinegar evaporates and fry it to your liking. Some people like it hard and dark, others like it lighter. I on the other hand was talking on the phone and they got a bit burned but no biggie.

- For the spreading, mix 2 table spoons with 2 table spoons tahina. If you want a stonger tahina taste, add another spoon of it. The ratio between the two is up to you but I found 1:1 is best.

- Spread the mixture in the bread, add tomatoes, pickles, fries, whatever you want, and then throw in the meat.

- Grill the sandwiches and enjoy!

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Airport woes are nothing new to anyone who’s traveled, and frequent fliers are always susceptible to baggage losses, canceled flights, wailing kids and the Bitch at Passport Control. Like my management professor says, they’re commercial smiles, nothing is for free. Apparently Passport Control Bitch (PCB for short) doesn’t get paid particularly well.

fig 1.2.3 – PCB concept art v1

Mom’s been over for a month long visit, feeding me a generous amount of yummy noms, and if  you’ve been following me on twitter or Facebook or marginally know me then you know food is the only thing I love unconditionally (third to mom and granny). Except eggplants and hideous fruits (tart and blueberries on cheesecakes exempted). But more on mom’s visit in another post.

Yesterday, we bid a teary farewell to mom at the airport, but only after I made sure she finished cooking wara2 3enab (stuffed grape leaves) before dropping her off there. 30 minutes later of driving back home and depressing music, mom calls me and tells me that the flight has been rescheduled till later that evening. Apparently the clause where flights may be rescheduled and/or canceled without prior notice has been placed there for a reason. But come on, people! It’s 2009. We book and give out contact details – emails, phone numbers, underwear size – and what does the PCB tell mom? You should have checked our website before coming to the airport.

Right. Cuz I am flying Syrian Airlines in the 1980s. Except Internet didn’t exist in Syria back then (there are rumors we have internet now, can anyone confirm please?)

إيه اهلا وسهلا فيكون عالسورية تابشوني

But it was a good thing. Mom can have iftar with us and I can drop her at the airport later. So I picked her up, we had a nice final iftar, then took her back to the airport again. This time, I made sure I washed my car in the nearby gas station, you know, just in case the flight was canceled without prior notice.

Mom calls back and tells me that she was charged 300 AED for overstaying. WTF!

For those not in the know, if you’re here for a visit and overstay beyond the visa allowance you’re charged 100 AED per day. Maybe it’s now 150.

BUT!

I triple checked mom’s passport when she first arrived – the visa is for 30 days and it is explicitly stated that she leaves “by September 7″, which according to my atomic clock is tomorrow.

The PCB explained to mom why she was charged: “Well, you arrived on August 5, and August is 31 days, and today is September 5 and you’re travelling on it’s 32 days.”

Ok, fine, she’s a smart ass PCB. I counted the days manually and indeed, between August 5 and September 5 (both inclusive) is 32 days. But on the passport it was written she should leave by 7th. It’s a friggin official statement, imprinted on an official document (thereafter referred to as The Passport), written by a friggin official official (referred to as The Company).

So not only have I not checked if the flight schedule has been changed without prior notice, but I also failed to do simple math and took the word of The Company. Mom was upset because if I knew the flight was postponed I would have finished the ironing. I was upset because I have a creased blue shirt which would probably stay that way till I get invited to a wedding, not to mention mom would have had more time to do a cake.

The PCB made me feel like the most horrible, starving son in the world with a creased shirt. I hate her. I hope she eats eggplants with a fruit salad for iftar. BITCH!

fig 1.3.4 – PCB concept art v6

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