Johnny Ob-Knoxville

There are SOME valuable lessons to be learned from the Jackass videos. We have only to dig deep, to look beyond all the asshole-isms. This group of grown-ass men acting like total jerks, abusing themselves and those around them, is a fun and quite accurate example of the kind of men our MTV generation has produced. Forget dignified, educated leaders. Forget hard-working, compassionate, ambitious individuals. Those were our fathers. We are a generation of beer-bellied, vomit-eating, fart-smelling, physically destructive hee-haw machines. THIS is art for us. This is creativity: taking extreme sports to a whole new Jackass level.

Sure, they inspire me. Hey, just because they're disgusting doesn't mean they don't pull at my heartstrings. After watching the whole lot of them defy all sense of reason, I felt a surge of spunk, of bravery if you will, almost recklessness. How am I from this generation when I'm such a sissy? I can't even ride a bicycle, and I'm terrified of water.

They made me want to at least TRY to push my limits, to step out of my comfort zone. Those amusement park rides don't seem so scary now in comparison to their madcap stunts. I envy them their carefree dispositions.

Of course, most of their adventures were just so repulsive I could SMELL them through the TV screen.

And because I am (and will always be, no matter what I say) a member of our uptight, judgemental society, one question nags me:

"Where are their parents?"

Johnny Knoxville, Bam Margera, Party Boy, Ehren, Steve-O, Dave England, Ryan Dunn, Wee Man, Raab Himself (*salutes* what an original name!), all of them remind me of my cousins, my brothers, our friends, all the guys I hang out with. They are SOMEHOW charming because they are REAL.

"Hi, I'm Johnny Knoxville, and this is Jackass."

Birthday Greetings

I've missed too many birthday greetings. Not that it's THAT important to me. But birthdays are the perfect excuses to shower the people you care about with presents and attention. Unfortunately, they usually come around at a time when you are broke, or otherwise hanging by a very thin financial thread.

For the record, I acknowledge Kaka Nora, Kaka Khai, Kaka Amic, Alla, Al-Nemery, Emil, and Kaka Reham.

Albom's Law

Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet In Heaven is a brilliantly tight-weaved piece of work. It does lean towards romanticism, but thankfully not to the Coelho extent. Having read it in less than 24 hours brought me back to my One Night Stand with By The River Piedra I Sat and Wept. Once again, thank God for the absent mysticism, forgive the pun.

So, romanticism. I don't just say that for snobbery's sake. I can understand the significance of the four people Eddie met in Heaven, except for that one. I mean, okay, the Blue Man saved his life (by getting killed), the Captain saved his life during the war, Ruby indirectly caused his death (seeing as how the whole amusement park business wouldn't've been made had it not been for her glorious self), and then there's the little Filipina (might I add) girl he "killed".

So where does the wifey come in? I think she only served as the mood-light to set the tone of the story. She was the focal point of love, that phenomenon without which the world would not 'go round'. Hey, I love romance. But I abhor sentimentality. Even more than that, I abhor sentimentality disguised as romance. It's like when the unreal parades itself as the surreal. Thin lines, people. Thin lines.

So what's a good book (or movie, or any work of art) without a one-liner, eh? The less it makes sense, the more profound it seems. The more contradictory, the more meaningful it becomes. Some highlights:

"All parents damage their children. Neglect. Violence. Silence."
I can write a book on this one. You know, do a La Toya Jackson.

"Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them."
I can write a sequel to the one above with THIS one.

"We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the people who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. ...Forgive."
So much easier said than done. To forgive someone would take incredible strength. We see it as a sign of weakness, a symbol of giving up and submitting oneself to the enemy. Pride has a vise-like grip on people's subconscious. I have a long way to go before I can even think of forgiving certain people.

This novel can be likened to a single piece of embroidery picked out from a huge pattern; it's not the beginning of a story and it's definitely not the end. It continued from five people and it will continue on to five more people. Very not unlike Friendster and MySpace.

It might be a good idea to start taking notice of the people you meet on earth, to stop taking things and people for granted, and to stop complaining.

Life is good.

A Blast From The Past

Talk about the best of both worlds.

At the risk of crude sentimentality, I'd say I had an amazing time last night.

On the blue corner, my old friends.
On the red corner, my new friends.

All of them are now, officially, friends-in-law.

My old friends:
a) Sheriff Ahmed (of Who Shot The Sheriff fame), an old classmate
b) Muneer Taleb, also an old classmate
c) Ahmed Selim, an old classmate of my brother Zen
d) Dudut, a very good friend of my whole male posse

Muneer was quoting an old saying, "Mountains never meet, but people do." Mother of all surprises, I AM NOT A MOUNTAIN. I haven't seen Muneer and Sheriff in 9 years. We used to spend N hundred hours couped up in a Filipino-dominated classroom. Introducing them to my new friends was quite the experience. On the one hand, these are people who know everything about me; I do not have a single memory of my whole childhood and tweenhood that didn't have them in the background somewhere. There is no space or need for any kind of pretension with them. We shared high-school teachers, lame jokes, minor discrimination, and eggheadism. That's enough to sustain a relationship.

On the other hand, my new friends are just beginning to see other sides of me. Incredulity is not uncommon. Yes, I was a monster. Yes, I used to beat up boys and girls. Yes, I used to laugh at peoples faces. No, I wasn't always nice and all-brown-sugar-ish.

We all met at the Serafi Megamall. The little impromptu reunion started with the boys calling me to fetch them at the Danube supermarket. I was their only ticket to that glitzy glamour-world called Malling. As per contempo-Saudi tradition, young men are not allowed into the malls without the supervision of their female counterparts. After the prerequisite gasping and you've-gained-so-much-weight comments, the walk down memory lane commences. We talk about dorky days and even dorkier school-people, laughed at former red-faced moments, and tsk-tsked about how we turned out.

Yeah, it's funny how things turn out. And funny how things don't.

People do change. But how much of us has changed?

The Bacon

Sometimes, I feel the urge to explore further my growing obsession with KEVIN BACON, the biggest factor to this being the fact that my brothers practically forbade this occurence by laughing at his unusual nostrils and wimpy built.

They know nothing of his deep, blue eyes.

***
No one can fully comprehend my propensity for watching... watches, given my tendency towards wasting-time. I have a digital watch by my bed that gives me the exact time - down to the seconds, and I have a clock directly across my bed, positioned so that it's the first thing I see every morning when I wake up. It is also visible at every conceivable point in my room.

And yet, each time I awake, I go through the same motions: check the digital, then the wall-clock that's 5 minutes late, and finally, as if to make absolutely sure, I check the time on my mobile phone.

***
What's the world come to when a person goes for a smoke not because she wants to, but because she CAN?

I'll go for a smoke because I can. Never mind the pain in my throat, or that queasy feeling I have before a fever sets in. I CAN. Therefore I WILL.

***
A line in this rap song moves me.
"You silly girl, you better start talking."

Nothing profound. I know. But still.

***
People gasp in horror at the incredulity of our non-existent relationship, my mom and I. I will allow them to. It's the perk of ignorance: to be allowed certain reactions.

The Great White Overhaul

In honor of the new year, ladies and cats, welcome to this blog's Great White Ass-Haul.

Predictions:
1. Less pounds.
2. More responsibility.
3. No more Marlboros (and less Davidoffs).
4. Less pretentions.
5. Maturity.
6. Shoes.
7. No. More. Lies.
8. More Action, Less Talk.
9. But more words.
10. Possibilities.

Who Shot The Sheriff?

Whod've thought that I would see an old friend after what, 500 years? I don't know who he is anymore. It's disconcerting, the changes, time, the now-gone similarities, no common ground anymore. What did we have in common anyway? Half a nationality? Mr. Basman? A school building?

There's a certain level of out-of-bounds curiousity; of wanting to know what goes on in his head, how he turned out, how different or alike we are from each other considering our similar backgrounds and experiences. More like trying to understand my predicament, what brought me here, what pattern I followed.

The important question here is, is it fair to use him as a mirror? Maybe there are more differences than likenesses.

*****

Maybe I wasn't as mean to him as I remember, but knowing myself, I know I was to some degree, quite the bully.

The truth is, the Sheriff shot me.

To all the people I bullied, whose opinions and points-of-view were unimportant, non-existent to me; what gives me the right to contemplate their (newfound) intellects now? Their senses of humor? Their rugged features, their grown-up ways?

I do not have a right to claim them as my friends now. I have NOT EARNED IT.

I have no right talking to them, listening to them, introducing them to my other friends.

In so many ways, I needed the people I bullied. I did it for acceptance. I wanted to be funny at their expense. I'd lure them with the silhouette of friendship, kindness, generosity, so that they end up trusting me and thinking I'm their only friend. And then BAM. The Mighty Mighty Turnaround. The Poking-Fun. The Locking-In-Bathrooms. The Laughing-At-Faces.

I'm probably beyond karma. I am fortune's fool.

Because We Love Metaphors

Friends may be likened to songs.

Some are catchy, like pop songs; in the moment, fashionable, a sign of the times. You make friends with people around the same age as you.

Some are like hip-hop beats with a good hook. They make you want to get up and dance or nod your head. They are smooth and cool, almost savvy.

Some are old-fashioned; not necessarily classic, but more unimaginative and common.

Some are annoying and high-pitched, repetitive.

Some are seasonal, like Christmas carols, or novelty songs.

Some songs, like some of your friends, you like especially because they reflect your background, your roots, your origins, where you're from.

Some friends you just get sick of because, like a song that's over-played, they've become too familiar and you just want something new.

Some friends would remind you of a collaboration between two musicians of different genres, a duet. You might come from opposite points of a spectrum and yet be in harmony. Aerosmith and Run DMC. Jay-Z and Linkin Park. Sting and Craig David.

Some are just forgettable in their shrillness. They hurt your ears.

The friends I like most are those that inspire me to be a better person, musician, writer. They stretch my imagination and pull me up to their level. I strain to keep up, and in so doing, unknowingly go through a certain amount of growth. They are like those brilliant songs by ingenious musicians that I look up to. Sergio Mendez. Lauryn Hill. The Beatles. Pharell Williams. Marvin Gaye. The Red Hot Chili Peppers.

What song are you?

Twenty Oh Seven

New Year's Eve

Where I Spent It: Friday's, Andalus Street

What I Was Drinking: Pepsi

What I Was Wearing: My new abaya with the crimson spots on the sleeves that looked like cheese gone baaaaaad. Oh, and blood red nail polish courtesy of Linzi.

Who I Was With: The Ghamdis, the Noordin girls, Nadia, Linzi, Rami, Asmaa & Esraa, Yanni, Rami, and Squeek (briefly).

What I Was Thinking: How I wished it was a mixed crowd with more people; how it's my first New Year's party sans alcohol; how I could negotiate with my dad to pick me up much later than the 12:10 am that he did; and how my brothers were having a blast with my cousins sans me.

What I Was Reading: Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo

What I Last Watched: Just Like Heaven starring Reese Witherspoon and Mark Ruffalo, which I loved to pieces and watched twice in 24 hours.

What Song I Loved: Please Baby Don't by Sergio Mendez featuring John Legend

Last Magazine I Read: Newsweek and Time

Major Local News: Hajj updates and Saddam Hussein's execution

Ho-Hum

Tis the season to be married, fralalalala lalalala.
Congratulations to the brides and grooms of 2006. See y'all next year.

***

Filipinos are gaining popularity by the second.

***
Mr & Mrs Smith (the movie), in the scene right after Mrs Smith tried to unknowingly kill Mr Smith..

Brad Pitt: I didn't see who it was.
Vince Vaughn: Maybe he was Filipino.

***
The Break-Up, starring Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston (the jilted Mrs Smith)..

Jennifer Aniston: Look at yourself! You're a mess!
Vince Vaughn: And you? What, you don't wanna talk about your family? About that Filipino exchange student?

***
Boston Legal, the courtroom drama TV series...

Lawyer Whatshisface: Extortion is so popular that even Filipino street-gangs are doing it!

***
Those aren't accurate quotes. But that's the gist. Oi.

HWY

It was one year ago today that my friend Nhurzy passed away. She was a victim of a drive-by shooting; both she and her father were shot as they were making their way to a pharmacy. I have not come to terms with her death; I still feel that she's there somewhere, making a fantastic ruckus, cracking taboo jokes, hoping for a better future. Her blogsite will be forever locked.

We're HERE WITHOUT YOU.

I'm NOT A QUITTER

Everyone tells me to quit smoking.

Maggie*: "Why do you hate yourself? Don't do this."

Ingrid*: "It's NOT gonna help you lose weight."

My boss: "Try the new Smoke-Less thingamajig."

My boss: "No smoking at work when kids are around."

My parents: "Stop smoking."

My friends: "Stop smoking."

Dully (7 years old): "DO YOU WANNA DIE?!"

My cigarettes: "Smoking is dangerous to your health."

***

The thing is, it is man's nature to SEE FOR HIMSELF.

I give people all kinds of advice. I don't mind when they don't listen. It's also man's nature to give advice.

***

I want to meet Al-rajul Al-3ankaboot. I have said his name approximately 63 times just the past week; averaging 9 times a day.

A Lot Like Love

As people, as human beings, we often feel the need to romanticize our states-of-affairs, to make ourselves feel the heroism that we most probably never possessed in the first place.

"I do everything I can for you, I put you before myself, I spend all my money, time, and energy on you, and this is the thanks I get?!"

*****

Why do we cry at movies? At weddings? Because we mourn for what we don't have, what we never had, and what we probably would never have. I don't believe those tears shed in happiness or joy for another person.

Tears are a lot like love - SELFISH.

*****

"Sadness is everyone's secret."

Writers Block

Would you marry a writer?

Writers and their overrated blocks. Would you be able to live with someone who would shut you out every so often? Who would have prolonged bouts of depression and extreme mood swings: one minute overjoyed and the next sullen and silent? Someone who'd constantly feel the need to detach himself from you, clear his air of your presence, push you out of his personal space? A writer and his perpetual delusions?

I would. If he were hot enough. LOL.

Would it work if you were BOTH writers, attracting and repelling each other at the same time, bouncing literary quotes off one another? Would you be threatened by the other's success? Or held back by the other's lack of?

"On the other side of attraction lies repulsion."

*****

Is there guilt attached to feeling lucky?

Absolutely. Now that I think about it, it's probably my Numero Uno Problemo. I am guilty of being much more fortunate than my peers or family members. I feel so guilty that I hold myself back and strain against full-fledged success for fear of crossing over the line from Loser City to Great Rewards Metro. I repress myself and put my destructive mode on turbo, and then, when I've damaged my affairs enough, I secretly tell myself that I deserved it for even THINKING I could rise above anyone I know. In a sick way, I still want to be a member of that bitter community that does nothing but sulk and complain about pre-destined misfortune. Most of all, I am afraid of the person I migh turn into if I do become successful, the person I see myself turning into even now. The question now is that, if I do manage to let go of this guilt, would it be of any help?

*****

When did you have your first sensation of the passage of time? Of progress?

I don't remember the first, but I know the moments. It's when I see an old picture, or when I smell a scent that I used to wear, or hear a song I used to dance to, sing-along to. More specifically, when Princess Diana's death anniversary comes around. I remember that day so vividly: my father coming in from work with his newspaper under his arm, smelling of the sun; my mom doing the laundry in the small bathroom of our old house; the smell of the newly-mopped dining room floor; the electric fan in the living room. And yet, this was 10 years ago. There's no telling if THEN was better than NOW. But it sure does remind me that I am 23 and not 13 anymore.

In the words of the unlikely intellectual in that annoying film Tokyo Drift...

"Life is easy. You make choices and you don't look back."

I am tempted to take his advice. It seems like a good idea, if I am to move forward and break the stillness.

Families At Work?

Whoever said that companies are like families? They're as different as different can get.

There's no place for feedback forms and evaluations in families.

There are no monthly meetings, no motivational speeches, no reward systems.

Emotions are unchecked and vicious words are flung with reckless abandon.

There are no efforts to make the environment pleasant.

Most importantly, there are no hirings of potential employees and no firings of incompetent ones.

In my family, at least.

Thank You India**

** Remind me again why Alanis Morisette was thanking India in that song?

Anyway, I'd like to thank MY India:

~ Sally and Summer, who coerced everyone in our circle to give us the fright of our lives in Linzi and my surprise birthday party. We couldn't've asked for a better party!!

~ Everyone at work who turned up at Friday's.

~ My good Bumbum friends and their better halves: Suzann, Sharifah, Sheri, Sara Grace, Nadia, and Dina.

~ Everyone who went to the party: Mum Debbie, Ali, Sara (Minute!!), the guy whose name I forget, Aiman and Dulli.

~ The people who called me and greeted me on my birthday.

~ The people who gave me birthday presents, as if their presence in my life wasn't enough (cheesy cheesy).

*****

The thing about birthday presents is that we LOVE receiving them, never mind what they are. I was lucky enough to receive presents that I loved just as much. Thanks for the books, the perfumes, the CDs, the earrings, the flowers, the bags, and the wallet.

So that there's no confusion in the future, those above-mentioned are just some of my favorite things. I am also not above accepting cash. Haha.

*****

Ramadhan Kareem to everyone. May Allah accept your prayers and bless you on this holy month. Salaams!!

Doctor Doctor

In other parts of the world, doctors have a good - if not excellent - command of English. Here in Jeddah, forget your English and you'd better learn the localese.

Imagine, if you can, the blank look on my doctor's face while I was explaining the pain I felt.

"I have this pain right here," were my exact words as I pointed to my tummy. "It started this morning as a little discomfort, and it grew to a steady hammering pain that would last about 30 seconds and recur within 5-minute intervals ... " At this point, imagine my voice trailing off as I realized he was smiling at me with incomprehension written all over his face.

It was almost as if the doctor pressed this huge, imaginary red button under his desk that prompted to raise a sound-proof, bullet-proof invisible wall (otherwise known as the Language Barrier), locking him safe from my attempts at medical-English. I imagine him hearing only muted elevator music on his side of the barrier. ARABIC elevator music.

Oi.

*****

That traitor Pepsi. After years of my undying loyalty, after all those mornings I chose Pepsi over a healthy breakfast, after all those praise and homage I paid it, this is the thanks I get. A gaping hole somewhere inside my stomach.

This Guy

I love This Guy for so many reasons that I'll say YES in a NewYorkMinute if he ever asks me to marry him. The reasons?

1. I trust him completely.
2. He knows everything about me; there is no need for pretensions or lies.
3. Not to mention he's HOT.
4. He gets along famously with everyone in my family (maybe except for my Dad with whom he has a very interesting history HAHA), and my brothers respect him.
5. He's multi-faceted.
6. He's artsy without the fartsy.
7. I can always show him off to my friends because he's incredibly HOT (all my friends think so), and he has fantastic people skills. There is nothing he can and could do that would make me embarrassed of him.
8. He's funny as hell.
9. He educates me. He's that smart.
10. He's not filthy rich, but amazingly, with him it doesn't matter.
11. He let's me be myself. I can be stupid around him and tell him lame jokes and he doesn't make me feel stupid.
12. There is no Language Barrier, no Cultural Barrier, because we meet right in the middle.
13. He's streetsmart.
14. He's an incredible friend.
15. I know he loves me. I just know it.

If you see a ring on my finger, it's because I've bullied him into getting me one.

*****

Of course, this is the result of watching Gone With The Wind.

How can you resist a man who loves you unconditionally?

Easy. Women only want men who don't even know they exist. So the question should be:

How can you resist a man who DOESN'T love you?

And the moral of this story is:
Stop whining, and stop watching those gotdamn movies.

Shape Of An L...

... on the forehead.

If a guy doesn't have the proverbial Asshole Streak, then he most definitely has the Loser Streak. To quote the Eraserheads,

"...there's a B-Side to every story..."

Now, it's not as bad as its asshole-y counterpart, but it's very annoying. It's very easy to detect, too; a guy's little habits, his humor, insecurity, paranoia, a hot temper, lame jokes, or general eggheadism.

So, how do we define cool, anyway?

The opposite of "Loser"?

Laissez-faire?

Sangfroid?

The ability to be quiet without shutting up?

Case in point: Fonzie of Happy Days fame. He was so cool that he practically crossed over to being a loser. You know, like when something is so sweet it becomes bitter? But what was it about him that was so cool? The exaggerated hand gestures, the pauses for applause or ooh-ahh?

I think it's cool when a guy is knows what he is capable of and is not ashamed of what he's not.

It's cool when he can take a joke or two and laugh at himself the way he laughs at other people.

It's cool when he cares, and yet, just doesn't.

I don't know why it's such a big deal. I have one of those streaks myself, especially visible when I lie about such obvious things as my weight. Or my paycheck. My question is, are Loser Streaks tolerable? To what extent?

What's YOUR loser streak?

The Fear Factor

There are a lot of things that I am afraid of on account of plain ignorance. I'm afraid of my mobile phone because it's smarter than I am, and I'm not sure how to use it to my advantage. I read the owner's manual, and, much as I hate to admit it, I still don't understand exactly how it works. It's no less amazing, of course, how everything is now "intelligent", how it's all connected: the PC, the phone, the camera, the music player, all of them in sync with one another. And standing right smack in the middle of all this magnificent networking is the clueless schmuck (myself). I can almost hear my gadgets soothe me, "Hush, now, we'll take care of it." But how condescending.

I'm also afraid of the gym. The gym people with their muscular calves and trim waists would tell me to step onto some machine that would judge me for being overweight, or, if it changes its mind, obese. But how condescending.

Machines telling me what to do.

*****
That Night is a film about a little girl named Ally who followed the turbulent love story of her teenaged neighbor Sheri and her bad-ass boyfriend Rick. Ally would look out her window across the street into Sheri's room and watch her every movement, emulating her, buying the same perfume she wears, listening to the same records. At one point, she says,

"I wonder if someone will ever look at me the way Rick looks at Sheri."

When I was a little girl, I hero-worshipped my sister. I would watch her write in her diary, and while she was in the shower, I would sneak peeks into it, then copy them into my own diary. I was 8 years old when I went to the supermarket and bought a deodorant exactly like hers; 10 when I wished I would have my period already so I could use the same brand napkins she did. She is seven years older than me. Now, we're like old friends; I don't feel any age difference, but I still hero-worship her.

*****
On the one hand, there's Hero-Worship.

On the other, there's The Evil Eye.

Arabs, especially the Saudis, believe in the Evil Eye. When a person looks at something or someone beautiful or desirable, and that person feels even the tiniest of envy, the Evil Eye is cast, and that object of desire is destroyed, or marred. Unless, of course, one says MashaAllah. Even people without an inkling of bad intention might be unconsciously giving off the Evil Eye. To protect oneself from such a misfortune, one should recite the Ayatul Kursi.

A couple nights ago, at a late-night dinner party, this lady that my family has known for ages kept looking me up and down, head to foot. Whenever I'd meet her stare, she'd turn away. Now, I'm not saying that I'm beautiful or desirable (but I'm not saying I'm not, LOL), but she freaked the sh*t out of me. After all, I was wearing my best abaya and tarha at the time. Earlier this morning, I noticed a couple of zits dotting my left cheek.

Evil Eye?

Or my new facial cleanser?

*****
I wouldn't be surprised if my internet connection gets cut yet again. My phone bills have been skyrocketing the past year; I NEED to go DSL. It's just such a hassle to go through applying for DSL, and I don't even know where to start. My father has no time for this nonsense.

In the meantime, I'm downloading all these lovely songs from years ago.

~ The Incidentals by Alisha's Attic
~ Beauty On The Fire by Natalie Imbruglia
~ It's Gotta Be Love by Color Me Badd

Once a slave to the mainstream, always a slave to the mainstream.