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One of the joys of having a site meter is that you can see what search terms people enter to find your blog. Two of the more noteworthy ones for this week are:

flies bites pants

Islamic militant websites list

To which I answer: Whaaaa?

I had two hour nap today, and it’s all Sven’s fault. Sven is an 18-year old German boy, and if he hadn’t kept me up until three in the morning then I might not have crashed into bed at 4 pm today and woken just an hour before Maghrib. That was the nap I took to make up for the sleep that I missed last night due to the computer infected with the Sasser worm that Sven built.

This afternoon, my sleepy self and I sat with a computer guy for two and a half hours trying to undo the damage. The computer guy politely said, “You should be more careful about what you download, there are a lot of dangerous viruses and worms about these days.” I wanted to tell him that this was the worm that Sven built, not me, but I didn’t thing he’d buy it, so I hung my head in shame.

This evening my father walked into the dining room and said, “Beta, is this some new fashion to wear your clothes so wrinkled?” I wanted to say that was Sven’s fault too, because if he hadn’t created the worm that infected the computer that kept me up all night that made me sleep in and wake up a mess then I wouldn’t have been this wrinkly. I couldn’t say that, so I just said, “Sorry dad, I slept in my clothes.”

After lunch I made horrible coffee, and that too was Sven’s fault. If he hadn’t messed up my computer and stressed me out about all the files I hadn’t backed up then I wouldn’t be so preoccupied that I’d forget to put sugar in the cup. After I got home from work I parked the car crooked due to haste and frustration, and if someone hits the tail-end that’s poking out just slightly past the driveway then that will be Sven’s fault too. *nods* I know that no one understands how it’s all Sven’s fault, but I tell you, if I ever get my hands on Sven I’m gonna wring the skinny little neck attached to the malicious head that contained the brain that wrote the code for the worm that Sven built.

Changes made, html cleaned up just slightly. It’s a work in progress I spose. In the mean time, everybody go read wakeuppakistan’s most recent post. It’s better than mine. 🙂

We now have DSL. Please form a congo line on the left and everybody dance. Also in tech news, I’m looking for some way to streamline the html of my blog. Benevolent and helpful volunteers may leave suggestions at will. In the mean time, I’m going to go hog-wild with the bandwidth and do something really unheard-of, like check my email in under ten minutes. Fasten your seatbelts folks, this thing goes fast!

-twenty minutes later-

I think we’re cursed. Whatever evil spell someone cast on our phone line has migrated to the DSL line, so after fifteen minutes of confusing the tech-support guy on the phone (“you got it today? And already you’re having problems?”) it’s still not working. I’m waiting for them to call me back with some brilliant idea to explain why things aren’t working the way they’re supposed to be working. My guess is that they’ve convened a council of computer guys and where they’re all munching samosas and hoping I won’t call back.

Little do they know that I’m going to call them back, and I’m going to hope that the contagious curse from my phone line infects their phone line. Mwahahaaa…

Oh wait, luckily for them it’s working now. I guess I’ll just have to save my bad phone vibes for someone else. Like the cable guy.

Dear Blogistan, we’re all connected in the circle of errr…blogs. Which means I got this list of questions from Amir’s blog, and he in turn got it from Anju’s. And for that I thank Anju for this easy…err…interesting update. 🙂

Twentiesh Questions…

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says:

He liked the loyal capo Gotti and displayed his affection for him.

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?

The wall. But I don’t want to, it looks dirty.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?

A Playstation game, if that counts. We haven’t had tv in months.

4. WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is.

2-ish

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?

1:50

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?

Nasheeds, the Hadi-Al-Ruh remix. 🙂

7. When did you last step outside? what were you doing?

An hour ago, coming home from work. I flagged down an ice-cream man and then took two popsicles to Aniraz’s office.

8. Before you came to this website, what did you look at?

Amir Brook’s blog.

9. What are you wearing?

Sandals, scarf, jilb. Moon & star ring, chap stick, cheesy grin.

10. Did you dream last night?

Yes, and it had something to do with my dog. Honest.

11. When did you last laugh?

Earlier this morning, reading Roald Dahl’s Matilda with one of my students.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?

a few world maps, some newspaper clippings, I’ve hijacked a computer in Aniraz’s office. 🙂

13. Seen anything weird lately?

My car was full of lentils the other day. I wish they had been in a bag, but as it were, they were free-range and travelled nomadically between the front seat and the back.

14. Last movie you saw?

Ice Age.

15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?

Jannah. 🙂 Masjid anyone? Then another ice cream.

16. Tell me something about you that I don’t know.

I drive better backwards than I do forwards, and that doesn’t mean I drive badly, that just means I’m pretty damn good at backing up! :p

17. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?

Khilafah! Visualize whirled peas!

18. Do you like to dance?

Does the pope wear a funny hat? No, I don’t think his hat is very funny.

19. George Bush: is he a power-crazy nutcase or someone who is finally doing something that has needed to be done for years?

I pick C. Brainless, power-hungry, oil-rich moral leper.

20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?

Sabira. InnAllah ma’as-Sabireen.

21. [Same question for a boy]

Saabir.

22. Would you ever consider living abroad?

Dude, I AM living abroad.

There are two words for ant in Urdu, chunti and chuntaa. Chunti, with the cute little ‘i’ sound on the end of it means a little ant, an inconsequential and harmless little ant that sometimes floats to the top of your chai.

Chunta, with a big fat ‘AH’ sound on the end, is the kind of ant that carries your cup of chai away on its back and then comes back to tote off your biscuits. They’re the big black ants with the big black pincers. They’re not harmless. They bite, and having bitten, they latch on and refuse to let go.

The unassuming little chunti is most commonly seen in homes and kitchens, foraging for crumbs or sugar crystals on the floor at night. The chunta, however, is not usually seen in homes, so you can imagine my surprise when I found one in my fridge today. And he had brought along three of his friends.

I don’t know how the ants got inside of the fridge. Judging by their size, I’d say they stood on each other’s shoulders to reach the handle on the outside and just let themselves in. If they came seeking Nirvana then they may have found it in a way. If not, then I hope they get reincarnated as something nicer- something that I won’t have to chase out of the fridge and then dispatch with my sandal.

It’s amazing how this is not even unsettling to me. True, I am offended that the ants refused to honor the sacred precincts of the fridge, but I’m not paralyzed with the heebie-jeebies. Life in Pakistan does this to you, it teaches you to deal with things that you never thought were normal. When Aniraz and I came to Pakistan four years ago we had to reevaluate the way that things had been dealt with before. For example, in the US, if an ant had been in your food, you threw the food away. If you did that here you’d starve to death. So Aniraz and I came up with two golden rules of living in Pakistan, two ideals by which to live and coexist with our new surroundings- Rule number one: If it looks like an ant, don’t eat it. Rule number two: If it looks like a roach, run away.

Thank you and goodnight.

Ok folks, here’s the deal. In two or three days we’ll be getting DSL.

WHEEEEEEEE!!!

and Alhamdulillah.

But in the mean time, I’ve run out of internet hours and don’t want to buy any more. See my dilemma?

Alright, now that we’ve voted to vote on something, we’ve got to decide on something to vote for! Any suggestions? :p

I say we put something to a vote. All in favor say aye. All opposed say Nay.

I must be a sweet person.

I know, I know, it’s difficult to accept, and I always thought that I’d taste something like Iodine, but no, I must be sweet. How else would you explain why it is that the mosquitoes love (to eat) me so. Just yesterday they tasted both of my feet, and when I tucked them angrily underneath my legs, they bit both of my knees. Aniraz wasn’t bitten at all. Apparently she wasn’t on the menu.

When I lay down at night they sing me to bed and then bite me in my sleep. My roomie, however, goes untasted. While sitting at the dining table the mosquitoes nip and whine at my feet from beneath the cover of the table cloth, and Aniraz laughs at me when I groan and wrap myself in a shawl despite the heat. She’s not as sweet as I am apparently.

*flutters eyelashes*

She catches mosquitoes with her bare hands and then holds them out for me to see. I tell her than unless she catches them with chopsticks, Mr. Miaggi, I’m not impressed. I never crush mosquitoes with my bare hands. It’s uncouth, it’s not something that sweet people do.

We sweet people, we just sit and meekly take our licks, and then when the mosquitoes aren’t looking, we sweetly blast them out of the air with bug spray. And if we can’t find enough mosquitoes left in the house , we take the spray out to the back veranda where we know they are hiding in the cool, dark eaves, and we poison them by the hundreds and watch them float down through the air like sweet orange blossoms on a breezy spring day.

*GERONIMO!!!*

Sometimes we close mosquitoes in cabinets because the violence of a physical attack goes against our sweet nature. Sometimes we slap them across the room and watch them fall to the floor stunned where we hope they are having sweet dreams.

Revenge, it too is sweet. :p

Quick info on the minor changes made recently:

Links alphabetized

Stars added to ones that deserve stars

Red Crescents for Islamic Blogs

Green Crescents for blogs in Pakistan

Eyes for blogs that are eye-candy

Questions or comments?

I’m trying to write a blog, I really am. It’s just that my knee won’t stop bouncing and my head is going –zingzingzing- from the Turkish coffee that I just used to wash down a fudge-dipped oreo (singular).

Another English Night is coming up. That’s where I have all my students over to play madlibs and eat munchies and use their English skills on someone other than me. Depending on how many people there are I may have a game of Scrabble or two, and hopefully there will be a delectable slew of various ethnic dishes. I have high hopes for one of my Egyptian students- she’s already proven that she has delicious baklava and sinfully sweet Basboosa, who knows what she’ll come up with next? (hopefully kunafa)

Back when I had six or seven Turkish students, English nights were full of Lokum and samosa and hummus, and it was gooood. Wait, that’s not enough o’s. It was-

gooooooood.

There we go. This time around I have one Egyptian, 3 Kazakhs and hopefully one last Turkish student will be able to make it. I’m also inviting Chai over cuz she maintains she’s ESL too. I let her believe that and pretend like her Urdu’s not as bad as mine. She’s going to hit me the next time she sees me now.

Oh well, I have a house to clean and a menu to plan. (Btw Chingiz, any requests?) I also have Asr to pray and Aniraz to wake up. For what it’s worth I think this blog is done.

I had a great time yesterday evening, and I spent much of it in the company of Hindus .

I’m not saying that to be funny even, though my irreverent intention is to get a giggle out of a few of you. I did spend this evening chatting with a bunch of Hindus (and some Jains too) and just to shock you further, they were Indians. *gasp!* You know, those evil people from across the border that lurk in dark places waiting to sabotage our national interests and scare our children at night.

There weren’t any Sikhs though, that much they assured me of. But still. I hung out with Hindus. I have hung with Hindus before. My best friend in eight grade, Yama Patel was a Hindu, and she was one of the sweetest people I ever met. Then in ninth grade I met Priti, whose mother was always happy to have us over playing in the living room, who knew I was a Pakistani Muslim and loved to talk about the food that was similar between the two cultures. (A Common Ground for Interfaith Dialogue: Parathas)

In high school I met Nipun, who in spite of his cool-guy veneer, managed to be a genuinely nice and honorable person. This doesn’t sound very impressive as far as adults are concerned, but it’s different when you meet a teenager with a developed sense of chivalry, someone who will actually stand up for others even when they don’t have to.

The Hindus I hung out with last night were equally high on the ‘Genuinely Nice Human’ scale. They were part of the Cricket For Peace 2004 tour that’s currently being played in various cities of Pakistan, and unlike other cricket series played between India and Pakistan, they two teams were not divided along national lines (the teams were mixed), and more interestingly, they were composed of children rescued from the streets in both countries. The most interesting thing though, was what the Hindus looked like- Pakistanis.

I was reminded last night of what I sometimes forget, that all people come in only one model (human) with the occasional variations (male/female) and are basically the same, Muslim or Hindu, Christian or Jain, Pakistani or Indian. And though I may not agree with India’s stance on Kashmir (and pigs may not fly) there is no reason why I should hate an Indian solely for their nationality. And I may not believe in Hinduism, but I have no reason to hate all Hindus as a matter of principle. Religion and politics can sometimes make us enemies, but it was Allah who made us all human to begin with, and I think that as long as we remember that, we can save ourselves from spiraling into the type of hate that fuels ethnic cleansing and massacre, two acts that are morally reprehensible no matter religion or nationality.

Peace.

I went out to commune with the dog last night. Don’t laugh, that’s not the funny part of this blog. I try to hang out with her (the dog) just before I shower and change my clothes, that way I fulfill both the Islamic rules of Tahara (dogs is dirty beasties) as well as the social rules of dog ownership (dogs deserve belly rubs).

Anyway, I went out to commune with the dog last night and found her reclining happily in a pile of what appeared to be formerly-clean shirts. This would be funny except that they weren’t any clothes that I recognized. I was puzzled. First of all, where did the dog get two men’s dress shirts, and second- why would the dog choose to wear them both at the same time? The dog drooled happily in my direction as I stood scratching my head and trying to figure thing out.

At some point a raindrop hit me on the nose and I looked up to the second floor balcony where our upstairs tenants sometimes hang their laundry, and then beyond that to the cloudy night sky. I’m sorry to say that it took me a few minutes to come to the proper conclusion.

Obviously it was raining shirts.

Hallelujah, amen.

I accepted the shirts as divinely bestowed and rescued them from the dog. As I walked back into the house and began down towards the basement, my father called out to me. “Beta, did those shirts fall into the driveway?”

“Yes,” I said excitedly, “Aren’t they nice!”

“The man upstairs said they fell there this morning and we weren’t home.”

I thought it was rather presumptuous of him to pretend like they were his shirts when they fell onto our dog, but since the shirts were too small for my father and too big for us, I let them go. I don’t know our new tenants very well yet, but I wasn’t expecting them to go around claiming other people’s shirts from heaven.

The nerve.

It’s been an interesting 36 hours folks. I got food poisoning, and this time it wasn’t even my fault. I ate Rasmalai from a bakery that apparently does not believe in expiry dates and within an hour I was feeling a-mighty bad. When I went to the tabib, (hooray for Dr. Sohail!) he greeted me with the usual, “So, what did you eat this time?”

It would be a running joke except that half the time I eat things that aren’t even funny. One time my doctor really scolded me. “You got sick from eating pani-poori for lunch so you went out and had limka for dessert? Are you trying to kill yourself?” He scribbled a prescription vigorously on the paper and said, “Now you can’t have anything but yogurt, white rice, and bananas for three days!” I hung my head in shame and left his office that time promising that I would take better care of myself in the future. I resolved to follow his orders and to be a better patient.

When I went to the doctor this morning he prescribed antibiotics and ordered me to eat a ‘soft diet.’ I said thank you, collected my prescription and went to work.

On my way to work I picked up a pop, which is liquid, and liquid is soft.

When I got home for lunch I had mashed potatoes and gravy, which were mushy, and mushy is like soft. I also had a little bit of Salisbury steak that had been pressure cooked for a long time. It was tender, and tender is soft.

For dinner I had leftover pizza, and microwaving it made it all floppy and soggy. It was definitely soft.

After dinner I had some nice soft chocolate ice-cream that had nice soft cookie bits in it.

I’m feeling better already

I don’t really sound like a Gora Saab. (White-man) At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all these years of speaking Urdu as a second language, and I would like to believe it, honestly I would. But I admit, my Urdu’s not perfect. –sigh- I’ve never studied Urdu before actually, not beyond the basic introduction to Urdu writing that I got back in sixth grade. (Alif say Allah, bay say balla…)

So is my Urdu good or bad? Well, that depends on how I introduce myself. If I tell people that I am an American, they say my Urdu is wonderful and they compliment how far I’ve come in just four years. If I tell people I’m Pakistani then they tell me my Urdu is disgraceful, especially for someone who’s been back in Pakistan for four years. But if I don’t tell people anything about where I’m from and just jump head-first into Urdu conversation, do you know what they say?

“So, how long’s it been since you left Afghanistan?”

And that’s how I know that I don’t sound like a gora saab. I sound like an Afghani, or perhaps a Pushton, specifically one from Peshawer. Case in point:

When I had my appendix out in Karachi a few years ago I was rushed to the emergency room wearing shalwar qameez and an ajrak (traditional Sindhi chadar). I was later changed into hospital clothes but kept the ajrak to cover my head. I got to keep the ajrak until I was wheeled into surgery and it was time for the anesthesiologist to shoot me up. They always talk to you while they’re putting you to sleep, and they decide that you’re out cold once you stop responding. Well, my anesthesiologist decided to ask me where I was from, and just as he pushed the needle into my IV tube he said in Urdu, “So Abez, you’re from Peshawer?”

“Peshawer?” I replied sleepily in English, “I’m not from Peshawer, I’m from Chicago.”

The anesthesiologist did a double take and the last thing I remember before passing out was hearing the surgeons and the nurses laughing at him.

I know my accent is funny. If you’re ever heard a pathan speaking Urdu then you know what I sound like. It gives my cousins a good laugh every now and then, but it’s not that bad. I can say Khyber you people, and I can open my mouth without making people crack up.

Most of the time anyway. <:(

When you change cultures, the cultural rules change. You do things differently depending on where you’re staying and who you’re talking to. Like prank calls. In the US, a prank call begins with Hello, and goes something like this.

Hello?

Hey, is your refrigerator running?

Yeah.

Well go catch it then! Haw haw!

Pakistan, however, is a Muslim country, so we begin our pranks calls with the tradition Islamic greeting- AssalamuAlaikum. For example:

Me: Jee?

Caller: AssalamuAlaikum

Me: Walaikum Assalam

Caller: (In English) Do you want to talk about &@*?

Which brings me to another rule. If you want to say something inappropriate on the phone, you say it in English, and you pronounce it badly. And maybe since English isn’t your first language you recite the pre-practiced line deliberately while reading it off of a piece of paper. Or at least sound like you are. And there’s a good chance that your pronunciation may be a little off, so when the person you’re prank calling goes ‘wha?’ you repeat it a little slower and a little more nervously. And when they hang up on you, you hang your head in shame and lament having paid more attention to eating paste than doing your English lessons as a child.

Or you could just spare yourself the hassle of trying to be filthy in another language and go with your mother tongue, Urdu. (but don’t forget to say salaam first) For example:

Me: Hello?

Caller: AssalamuAlaikum

Me: Walaikum Assalam

Caller: Aap soi nahin? (you’re not asleep yet?)

Me: Kia? (what?)

Rule number three, don’t call English teachers at 2:55 am. They’re likely to scream at you, like the time when you put a live lizard in the teacher’s desk and the reprimand left your ears ringing till recess.

Me: Kaun ho? (Who is this!)

Caller: (sounding less confident) Um, Waseem?

Me: Kahan say? (From?)

Caller: Islamabad?

Me: Kyoon phone kia? (Why’d you call?)

Caller: (meekly) Mujhay neend nahin araha tha… (I wasn’t sleepy)

Me: Kya tum pagal ho? Baysharam! (are you nuts? Shameless person!)

-click-

And, although a follow-up phone call may be considered polite in most cultures, it isn’t always necessary with a prank phone call. After the fifth time you call in three days, you are likely to be greeted by a less-than friendly male, possibly a father or brother, possibly very over protective and given to profanity. On an interesting cultural side-note, it is possible that you may be sworn at in either Urdu or English depending on:

-the education level of the angry male

-the time of day, English being the language of work and therefore daylight, Urdu being the language of socialization and therefore night-time.

-whether you begin you call with hello or AssalamuAlaikum.

:p

Here I am with sporadic internet access again. Oh well. Seeing as how this is more like the norm than the exception I can’t complain about it any more. So right, Blogs away.

Funny thing about living in a proper neighborhod, you get proper neighbors. I mean ones that aren’t goats or buffalos or gawking villagers. And even funnier is that they visit you, weird! Like when you’re sleeping on the sofa and then suddenly people walk in. And you have to go from zero to sixty (zero being bed-head and sixty being hostess) in the half second you have before they realize you look all logy.

We’ve met some very interesting people though, MashaAllah, ones I’m actually going to call back and invite over to lunch just cuz we like em so darn much. Like Maryam number 4, (as compared to Maryam no.s #1-3) who we’ll probably introduce to Blogistan and hey won’t she be surprised to find out she’s already been mentioned and is now world famous! :p haw haw

Well, not all of our visitors have been as great though. Our first visitor was actually a lizard. Our second was a large toad that made its way to the middle of the living room floor. It sat there rather expectantly, and I think it might have been miffed when we didn’t serve coffee and cupcakes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the toad hopped back to its house and then lambasted us for our poor social skills. Now we’ll never be able to show our faces in the neighborhood again!

*runs away sobbing*

But yeah. New neighborhood, new neighbors. New episodes of “My Insane Life” coming soon to a blog near you.

He came. It finally happened. The man I’ve been waiting for forever… the phone guy. YAY!!!!!

But there’s a catch. After waiting three weeks for a phone line, we found out that the computer’s modem was damaged in the move, so now the computer has to be repaired. But the shop is closed till Monday for remodelling. And the damage will take a few days to fix. So by the time I get both a working computer and a working phone line together under one roof, it will have been a month.

And I’ve typed up various blogs since then, and designed at least four new layouts (yours too, Hijabified) and written pages and pages of letters which are now stale and probably shouldn’t be sent anyway. I’ve also had a very blog-worthy few weeks, having received a proposal for a paper-marriage, witnessed a major accident, been attacked by a car seat and sat in a pile of biryani. Good stuff folks, good stuff. And there was the earthquake last night too, and the various testimonials people have told me of their experience with it.

Me: woke up and thought the house was swaying

Aniraz: woke up and thought she might be getting sick and having a dizzy spell.

Dog: woke up and barked ferociously at all and sundry

Dad: Slept through it (no surprise)

Student: woke up and thought someone was underneath of bed and shaking it.

It was a scary earthquake too, lasted for at least a minute, and as the newspaper says, it was 6.8 on the Richter scale. Fortunately the epicentre was rather far away, somewhere in Afghanistan, and no casualties have been reported. Man, I would like to go back to our old house, the one we just left three weeks ago and check up on it. As we were moving, we took down the curtains and wall hangings and furniture discovered cracks, huge cracks in the walls and stairwells from the last earthquake, which was just about a month ago, and far less severe. That house was rather shoddily constructed actually, just bricks and cement with an overly large quantity of sand mixed into it. How do we know that there was too much sand in the cement? The corners of the walls had started to crumble off in some places, and water from a single drippy faucet upstairs caused water damage all the way down to the ground floor.

Alhamdulillah, our new house is made out of RCC, Reinforced Concrete-Cement, which means there are steel rods in the cement, holding it all together. And things are mostly unpacked and looking relatively normal, so yeah, it’s all good. 🙂 I will end this hodge-podge blog with a joke,

A man joins a big corporate empire as a trainee.

On his very first day of work, he dials an extension and shouts into the phone – “Get me a coffee, quickly!”

The voice from the other side responded, “You fool! You’ve dialed the wrong extension! Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“No,” replied the trainee.

“I’m the CEO of the company!”

The trainee shouts back, “And do YOU know who YOU are talking to?!”

“No!” replies the CEO indignantly.

“Good!” replies the trainee, who puts down the phone.

Frustrated incorporated.

Still no phone line, and additionally, my mobile phone has been on the fritz. I have blogs typed at home but the disk drive isn’t working so I can’t save them and bring them to the net cafe. *sigh*

But hey, Alhamdulillah, life here in SensoryDeprivationville isn’t as bad as it could be. At least we have gas. 😉

Sincerely,

Sensei

Desert Island #123

Isloo, Pk

Dear Everbloggy

AssalamuAlaikum & Happy Jumah! I personally, am quite happy about Jumah because the people from Owlie’s Office are gone for prayers and I have free reign of their computers, mwahahaaa…

-ahem-

Right, well the house is looking pretty good. Most of it anyway. Or parts of it. Specifically those areas where the carpenter hasn’t left tools and woodshavings and nails all over the floor. What can I say, some of this house is a work in progress. The work will be somewhat on hold now though, since my poor Daddy-dearest has caught bronchitis from all those cold showers before the gas was hooked up. 🙁 He’s asleep at home on the sofa right now, that’s how we left him anyway. I hope he stays there because he needs to get some rest. He’s really run himself ragged with trying to supervise what’s left of the house contstruction as well as run a restaurant, scream at the phone company people and be the CEO of the house, all while coughing. 🙁

The last time my dad had bronchitis (a few months ago) he was so out of it that he accidentally took his entire course of antibiotics in one day and then spent three days sleeping it off. Ah, the irony of Owl & I making sure he’s taken his medicine, sleeping with a blanket and trying to keep him from getting sicker. It’s a bittersweet reversal of roles when a child takes care of a parent, and even though I’m glad to be able to help my dad when he needs me, it’s a depressing reminder of my own father’s mortality. 🙁

Hug your dad today.

And make sure he’s wearing warm socks.

-Sensei

#321 Quarantine Quarters

Sector Eek 14/1

Isloo, Pk

Dear Everybloggy

I never thought I’d be happy to announce this kind of thing but….WE HAVE GAS! ‘0_0’

(har har)

Pardon me. Last night the stove worked for the first time in a week, and you know what I did? I made fried chikken, glazed carrots and macaroni and cheese. And you know what? It was delicious. We should have gas more often. 😉

InshaAllah the phone line should be connected soon, and that was I can get back into blogsurfing and spewing nonsense online as usual. In the mean time, I’m days behind in my email and haven’t been blog-surfing in what feels like forever.

-cough cough- JUNKIE! -cough-

Right, well I look forward to reading your replies even if I don’t seem to be responding to them. So write me back ok?

Peace!

-Sensei

Dear Blogistanis

AssalamuAlaikum

I thought I’d write y’all a letter to let you know how things are going. We’ve put away most of the boxes and clutter, but the house is still not ship-shape. This may have something to do with the oven in the middle of the living room floor. I might be happy to have an oven in the living room, seeing as how baking and lounging could be a great combination. You could be sitting on the sofa, and then you just reach over to the oven and pull out a tray of fresh cookies. But since we still don’t have the gas in our house hooked up, the oven in the living room isn’t all that much fun.

Today is actually Day 8 in the new house, and for all it’s downs (notice how I left out the ups) it’s been a learning experience. Never take basic utilities for granted. And, never tip a seven-foot wardrobe until you know what’s on top of it. There could be something hard and pointy on top, like the carpenter’s measuring tape. And when you tip the wardrobe it could come sliding down at terminal velocity and then bang into something soft, like your head. And then you could get a purple welt on your forehead, just like mine.

But basically we’re doing ok. We’ve learned a lot of things, like how to make scrambled eggs in the microwave, and how to turn an old kool-aid container into a sea-worthy teakettle that can be nuked for ten minutes. We’ve learned that restaurant food every day makes you feel fat, and that we’re better off microwaving Chinese noodles in pyrex loaf pan for twenty-five minutes instead.

Well, it’s time to go now. I’ve got work in fifteen minutes and have to cut this letter short. Hope you guys are doing good, and don’t forget to write back!

Sincerely,

Sensei Abez

#321 Clutter Street

Sector Eek 14/-1

Isloo, Pk

Day Five: Still no gas, no phone, and no hot water.

You know who good friends are? Those are the people who show up in your cluttered, chaotic house, navigate through the cardboard boxes and find you to take you out to dinner. They’re also the people who let you shower in their house. Good Friends Zindabaad!

PS: Lil Grey, we miss you already. 🙁

Day three:

Have been accessing blog by sneaking into Owl’s boss’s office when he’s not in. I don’t have much time, the other employees could return at any moment and then I would be discovered. There’s not much time, only enough to type up another short blog, stuff it into this little green bottle and then throw it out to sea.

*splash*

Day two of roughing it. Still no gas, no phone, and no hot water. Environment contains toxic levels of dust and cardboard. Native population unhelpful. Home PC damaged in the chaos.

SOS

Alright blogistanis, this is it. Tomorrow morning we move into a house that is so new that the phone, gas, and hot water have yet to be hooked up. Which means no internet, no cooking and no bathing.

Pray for us. Please.

*dies*

Chuck Chiselface: Good morning folks, and welcome to another edition of “Extreme Home Obstacle Course!”

Greta Grinstoomuch: Hiya folks, we’re coming to you live from this week’s crazy course, precariously located in the home of Abez, our contestant for this week.

Chuck: And what a contestant she is Greta, have you seen the battle scars on this one?

Greta: Oh yes Chuck, they say that Abez is an experienced obstacle-course runner, having over a week with this difficult course, and the bruises to prove it!

Chuck: That’s right Greta, and let’s take a look! This 3D image of Abez shows you just how many hits she’s taken while trying to navigate her way through this cluttered house, look at the shiner on that elbow, and the huge contusion on that shoulder!

Greta: Yep, that’s a big one Chuck. She got that one in the Bedroom-Doorbell Rally held last week when she took a turn too quickly and slammed into a stack of boxes she wasn’t expecting.

Chuck: Ouch! And look at the scratch on her knee, that one’s from the furniture that was pushed out of the way to make room for more obstacles. They say it snuck up on her in the middle of the night and got her good!

Greta: It may have, but she may just get the furniture and boxes back! They’ve been strewn about in a pre-move madness that can thwart even the toughest of obstacle course contestants. Not only are there narrows passages, hairpin turns and stacks of dangerously balanced boxes to stand in the way, but the marble floors present of slickness factor that would upset the balance of a cat!

Chuck: That’s right folks, and today is Abez’s chance to prove herself in the ultra-tough, hyper-extreme course, the Phone Call Challenge!

Greta: Boy that Phone Call Challenge is not for softies. Our contestant will have to start all the way on the second floor, and then when the phone rings down stairs, will have only thirty seconds to rush down and answer it before the caller gives up!

Chuck: But that’s not the hardest part, the hardest part is the course, a wicked staircase cluttered with boxes and crowded to a hairpin turn at the bottom banister. Then there’s a quick left to right switch as you have to juke past the refrigerator and then the computer table in a matter of seconds, then skid quickly left and make it to the telephone across the treacherously slippery marble floor!

Greta: That’ll be quite a task Chuck, and to think, she’ll be working without a net!

Chuck: Well, it’s T minus five second until the phone will ring, let’s watch!

Greta: Five, four, three, two-

-ring-

Chuck: And she’s off! Our cameras have her leaping from the upstairs sofa and rushing to the top of the stairs!

Greta: Oh, and now she skids to a stop just before falling headlong down the stairs, that was a quick save, these marble floors are killer! Wait, she’s flying down those stairs!

Chuck: Oh, and a brilliant save there, she just grabbed the banister and is swinging around it to avoid smashing into the wall at the end of the stairs, what a pro!

Greta: Oh no, look she’s clipped the side of the computer table and she’s losing her balance…

Chuck: She’s been turned about 180 degrees and oh no, not the fridge!

-smash-

Chuck: Oh, that’ll leave a mark, but wait, she’s still going!

Greta: I can’t believe it, she’s picking up speed and approaching the last turn! There she goes, and oh I can’t look!

Chuck: She’s sliding out of control, she’s heading right for the dining table and-

-wham-

Greta: She’s down! She’s down!

Chuck: I don’t like the look of that, see how she’s sprawled out on the floor, and there are only seven seconds until the phone stops ringing…six, five, four…

Greta: Get up! Come on, get up!

Chuck: Three, two- I can’t believe it, she waving away the paramedics and getting up!

Greta: There she goes, she’s limping towards the phone, oh this is amazing, I’ve never seen so much dedication in an athlete with such severe injuries…

Chuck: The phone stopped ringing two seconds ago but she’s still going on…

Greta: She got it! She made it to the finish! What a run Chuck, what a run.

Chuck: She might not have gotten the phone but I tell you folks, with a performance like that’s she’s a winner in my book!

Greta: Wow, that was amazing folks.

Chuck: It was Greta, this’ll be one for the records. Well folks, that’s it for today’s episode. Tune in next week for another episode-

Greta: And another exciting obstacle course, with “Extreme Home Obstacle Course!” Bye!

Chuck: Bye!

-end transmission-

Out of the chub that covers me

Though soft I sit from pole to pole

I thank forever the Lord that Be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the sweet clutch of circumstance

I have not pinched nor snacked around

Under the bludgeoning of chocolate chance,

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of fat and fears

Looms but the horror of the shade

And yet the menace of these years

Finds, and shall find me, unweighed.

It matters not how great the plate

How charged with condiments the roll

I am the Master of my fate

I am the captain of my…stomach.

-Abez

(Author retains full intellectual property rights of above literary masterpiece. No substitutions, exchanges or refunds. Offer void where prohibited. For external use only.)

Monday…looms menacingly at me with bared teeth and claws. I am inspired to yet another poetic masterpiece: (It’s a chant)

Eeek Eeek Eeek!

The beginning of another week!

Thank you. I’m feeling poetic in a cosmoplanetary hypermagnificent way, do you dig daddy?

Alright folks, this is it, the final three days of our move. You know what that means? Anything that hasn’t already been taped into a box now has to go. I’m holding out on the computer, they can box my toothbrush before I let them put the computer away, so I’ll be blogging until the very last moment when they shove me into the cardboard and wrap tape around me head.

Fortunately, with this move and my blogiversary being at the same time, I can be lazy…err…brilliant and just revisit my first week of blogging while I’m busy packing and unpacking. And I have a request too, will the on-going discussion about Islam and education and science and whether Mimi is single please move to Tora’s blog? I’m sure he’ll be able to handle it better than me for now. And it’ll save Tora the hassle of coming to my blog, he can defend from his own fortress. 🙂 Yay Tora!

And now, for something completely different.

March 7th, 2003

ZZZZZZZZZaaaa! That’s a Japanese comic book sound effect. I’m not sure whether it’s for wham, boom, or whoosh. But I think you know what I mean. English Night rocked! (roxtu? yes, it rocks too.) I’m too old to be saying things rock, but who’s gonna stop me eh? Filthy English pigdogs…

Today I got my (insert heavenly music) PAY CHECK. I ran out and commissioned: Four suits. They’ll be back from the tailor tomorrow. Now that’s service eh? This is low-season for him, so he’s churning my suits out lickety-split! Zza!

Shame be upon me and my materialistic ways, but when you work you gotta have a wardrobe. Otherwise people think you’re a filthy slob with no clothes. I actually AM a filthy slob with no clothes, but I can’t let my students know that. Every single one of my students is older than I am, with better paying jobs than I have, and the only thing I have on them is this *rockin* Amreekan accent and a reasonable grasp of da English language. He he. (so I can’t let my wardrobe slip, otherwise they’ll realize their teacher’s just a doofus in disguise!)

I have decided that I am not allowed to have a haircut until I lose ten more pounds. Needless to say, my hair is looking kinda shabby. (who cares? I wear Hijab! The Holiest Hat of Them All!) I think that’s it for now. I wonder if anyone but Amira is reading my blog? Not even my sister reads it…sniff…

See, this is what happens when you’re honest. Hmmph, see if I ever take a quiz truthfully again! :p

Power Rangers Movie!

What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
brought to you by Quizilla

Today is my one-year blogiversary, isn’t that amazing! Not amazing in the sense that my blog is amazing, but amazing in the sense that my attention span has permitted me to keep up with something voluntarily for this long. Where am I again?

(*sniff sniff* And I’d like to thank my producer, and my director, and my mother, and my producer’s mother…*bawl*)

But seriously though, I’d like to give props where props are due, to Amira who made me start a blog, to Tora who designed my first template, to Usman who helped me when I messed up that template (and subsequent templates after that). To eXcalbur who designed my second and most lovely layout, to Sahar who taught me stuff and tolerated my silly questions like “I made the text go invisible, how do I put it back?” and to Ahmed, who was kind enough to offer free image hosting. 🙂

And in honor of this one-year blogiversay, or maybe in honor of my terrible laziness, Sensei presents:

My first Blog entry!

Thursday, March 6th, 2003

This place is quiet, too quiet….the house is clean, the children are nestled all snug in their beds while visions of English Night at my house dance in their heads. English Night is all my ESL students coming over and playing Outburst, Pictionary, Scrabble, etc and scoffing little triangular sandwiches and secretly comparing their English levels to the other students’. So I had to clean the house, and now I’m taking a break and wasting time and brainpower typing this thing up. For who? Je ne sais. What fun!

The master has become the pupil, I learned something new from my students. I can now say the word lizard in five different languages.

Russian: Yareshitsa (YAH re-shee tsa)

German: Eidechsa (AYE dex ah)

Persian: Marmolak (mar MOE lack) Sooratat misal marmolaka! Your face is that of a lizard’s!

Turkish: Kertankele (care TON kuh luh)

Urdu: Chipkali.(CHIP kuh lee)

Break’s up. I bid this entry farewell and launch it into outer-cyber-space. Maybe someone will read it and tell me how to say lizard in five other languages? It’s really important you know. What with me being a citizen of the world, cosmopolite extraordinaire, I need to be fluent in such things. You understand of course. Peace!

Ever have one of those days when you get onto the computer to type a blog and all you can come up with is Aaargh?

Oh look, it’s 1:30 am again…

Aaargh.

Goofy Teenage Poetry

dig yours up today!

Can you find my donkey?

Can you find my donkey?

He’s wandered off, y’know.

I’ve never really met him

So I’m not sure where he’d go.

I don’t think that I’ve seen him

Or even know his name,

But despite this, he’s valuable

And needed all the same.

You’ve got a donkey, too

Whether you know it or not,

But he may not be four-legged,

He may be a lamp or pot.

Everyone’s got a donkey,

It’s something that they seek.

Not an object that you’ve lost

And will find again next week.

Your donkey is what drives you

In search of all your dreams.

It’s pursuit is what leads you

On a life of heady schemes.

Some donkeys are ambition,

And others- zest for life.

Either way your donkey can

Cause happiness or strife.

So can you find my donkey?

If you help me I’ll help you,

And together we will search

For my donkey and yours too,

Or for my donkey and your trophy,

Or my donkey and your soap,

For my donkey and your dreams

Or for my donkey and your hope.

June 30, 1997. 4 am.