Monthly Archives: February 2006

An open letter in which I indulge in the blasphemy that is supposedly my forte

Rockstar and Crescent

Dear God,

Have I told You lately how awesome I think You are? Well, You are. I’m sure You already knew that, but I just thought I’d reiterate it. I mean, You’re so awesome, You approach our relationship in the best way ever, which is to say You leave me alone. You let me screw up and figure stuff out on my own and find my way back to You in my own time. Just for that patience and mercy on your part, I’m grateful.

And now that we’ve gotten all the mushiness out of the way, let’s get right down to the point (because You know I can’t handle mushiness).

So, God, I’ve always thought you have a sense of humor. I mean, going back through my email outbox and chuckling at this article every few months makes me feel horrifically guilty, but that still doesn’t stop me from laughing. I know it’s horrible of me, but I can’t stop finding it funny.

And since You (hopefully) have a sense of humor, please take the following request in the most lighthearted manner possible, alright? But pay attention. ‘Cause I’m serious.

The point of this letter is to tell you how much I disapprove of this seriously cracked-out weather you’ve decided to bless Northern California with recently. I mean, Dude, what’s going on? All I see is rain and clouds and rain and mini pieces of hail showering down everywhere, and then more rain. This is California, God! Land of sunshine and oranges and happy cows and Real California Cheese! But most importantly, SUNSHINE!

Yeah, the sunshine. Where’s it at, God?

Here’s what I think You need to do: You need to send the rain elsewhere. Like, to Ireland or Washington state or England or wherever else people are excited about the damn incessant rain. Even Greenland; Greenland sounds like they would need a whole lot of rain in order to keep their green land green. Yessiree bob – err, I mean, God.

But California is not Greenland. We don’t want to be Greenland (even if people in Greenland – at least, the jailed ones – are having way more fun than us right about now). We don’t like green, either. We like red, orange, and yellow: sunshine colors! No one in California is excited about the rain, that’s for sure. Except, perhaps, my very own father, who saw the storm outside his bedroom window yesterday afternoon and gleefully remarked, “It’s raining! That’s wonderful! I was starting to get tired of the sun and warmth!”

Tired of it. Did You hear that, God? (Of course You did.) That was blasphemy, right there. You know it.

So, yeah, You need to calm down with that infernal rain, Dude. Ooh, “infernal” – that makes me think of “furnace.” Yes, that’s just what we need to be feeling in California: nice and toasty warm. But not like Hell, alright? I mean, 75F-ish is all I’m asking. Okay, okay, today’s the last day of February, I know. How ’bout 65? I can handle that.

Tomorrow. That’s what this whole thing is about. I need sunshine tomorrow. Come on, God, get with the program! Beginning of a brand-new month and all that. Let’s start it off on a nice, sunshine-y foot. You know I don’t care at all about the rest of that drama, as long as it’s nice and sunny and warm. That’s all I ask. Also, sunshine on Friday would be rocking of You, too, because Friday is also important. So let’s get the sunshine started for Wednesday and Friday, and that would make you my favorite Rockstar ever. Seriously.

Basically, I will be pissed if you let it rain tomorrow. Don’t make me shake my fist at you, God.

Just in case You don’t find all this as amusing as I do, and decide You need to smite me down, I won’t be free tomorrow. But I’m pretty sure I’ve got next week all open and clear for smiting purposes. Thanks much.

And, just so You know (which of course You do), there are plenty of other people besides me whom You could focus on smiting instead. Like, all the crazy extremists and politicians and bad people in general who are helping this world go to the dogs. And the California DMV, which decided I can’t use credit cards to pay for my driver’s license renewal. Really, God, You think I walk around with wads of cash all the time? Come on, now.

And especially smite-able are those mean people with fat, pudgy feet who try on all the pretty, 80%-off flip-flops at department stores and stretch them out so that when I – with my skinny feet, thank You very much – come along and try them on, all I do is slip ‘n’ slide down the aisle because my feet won’t stay in the sandals. That’s right, those are the people you should be smiting, is what. I mean, do You understand how many pairs of flip-flops I coulda bought today, God? Seriously. A lot, is what.

Oh, except Somayya has pudgy feet, and she’s my favorite partner-in-crime, so I’ll have to re-think this smiting business and get back to You, alright?

(You know I love You. I just have a weird way of showing it, is all.)

Don’t forget, now! Sunshine tomorrow!

In gratitude for Your light,
-yasmine

[Thanks to HijabMan for the Greenland link. Way to start a day with laughs.]

I just roll through town and my window’s got a view

All-Star Crackstar Squad, Hit the Road, NineToFive outside the 925


Driving home, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

Generally, I will be the first to admit I’m a horrible friend. I rarely manage to pick up my phone when it’s ringing, and then it takes me a week (or two?) to return calls. I don’t respond to emails in a timely manner. I’m always right, and you’re always wrong. Those are just a few examples.

I think I have a few redeeming qualities, though. First and foremost, I can be counted on to do or say stupid things, so that you remember it – and remind me as well as the rest of the world of it – for years. Like the time I retorted, “I wake up looking cute!” Or the time, during freshman year of college, I loudly (and quite justifiably, I believe) cussed Somayya out in the middle of general chemistry, in a lecture hall filled with hundreds of students. Or the time that – check this, this is a crazy story – driving to school one morning, I stopped for gas halfway, only to realize I had literally no money on me. And neither enough gas to get to school (thirty miles to the east) nor enough to get back home (thirty miles to the west). So, basically, I was stranded. After a few minutes of “Oh, shit!”, I frantically called Somayya to brainstorm what I should so. Thankfully, brainstorming was not required; she drove thirty miles to come rescue my sorry ass, and enough gas was pumped into my car to not only get me to school, but also back home that evening.

Basically, if nothing else, you should keep me around for amusement purposes. I’ll have lots of stupid stories to tell my grandchildren someday.

I got so sidetracked on my stupidity, I almost forgot to mention that my second redeeming quality in terms of friendship is that I will drive to the end of the earth, to have lunch with you. As long as I have gas money, of course. Lunch money, I’m not so concerned about; that part always has a way of working out.

Last Wednesday, I drove sixty miles to have lunch with some friends. Oh, I also had to return books to both the Women’s Resources & Research Center and the University library, but we’ll ignore that part. After all, I’d kept those books seven months past their due date. Returning books is just a convenient excuse to have lunch, as far as I’m concerned.

[For the bookworms amongst you, who are curious about such things, here are the two books I loved enough to have kept more than half a year past their due date, plus the third book that I had simply forgotten was still in my possession:

1 – A Life Removed: Hunting for Refuge in the Modern World (Rose George)
2 – Peace Begins Here: Palestinians & Israelis Listening to Each Other (Thich Nhat Hanh)
3 – Her Mother’s Ashes 2: More Stories by South Asian Women in Canada & the United States (edited by Nurjehan Aziz)

You should definitely read the first two.]

When I returned the last book and apologized profusely to B at the WRRC for keeping it so long, she blinked and said, “Don’t tell me you drove all the way up from the Bay Area just to bring this back!”

“Well, kind of,” I grinned.

She looked horrified.

“Don’t worry!” I laughed. “I’m sure I’ll find a few other things to occupy myself with while I’m here!”

And I did, indeed. A few minutes later, I found the Lovely L Lady, and in no time I was lunching it up with L and surprise guests H#2 and Somayya. After that, a free hour, wherein L and I headed over to Borders. You know you’ve got a good friend, when her idea of hanging out includes bookstore trips. While L found a chair, I wandered aimlessly around the store and then settled down on the floor in a pool of sunshine by the front windows, with a copy of East West Woman magazine [Sheetal Sheth‘s on the cover! And there’s an interview with VH1’s Aamer Haleem, whom L – who is Sudanese – instantly recognized while this Desi girl didn’t] and Who’s Afraid of a Large Black Man? in hand.

Then I was off to Sacramento to stop by and stalk some old co-workers. I managed to find a parking spot on Q St., and had a quick moment of nostalgia for all the times my co-workers and I used to fight over the 2-hour zones along that specific block. The ecstatic greetings I got from everyone were both beautiful and mind-boggling. (They: Where have you BEEN?!, I: They really LIKE me?!). I was there long enough to gush over Z’s stylin’ hair, tease K about how tall he had grown in my absence, make fun of H#3’s hair, laugh at A’s bluntness (“I called you?”), and coordinate future plans to hang out with my girls (first week of March!). Perfect.

Half an hour later, I rushed to meet up with my buddy S at Cosi in downtown Sacramento, its only California location. I nearly walked right by him without recognizing him, because he had just gotten off work and was still dressed in his button-down shirt, dress slacks, and a tie. A TIE! “Lookit you lookin’ all spiffy!” I crowed.

I love hanging out with S, simply because he is, to put it mildly, on crack. Anjum will back me up here. I was supposed to do a second lunch with him, but I wasn’t really hungry by that point, so we stopped by Cosi to get some light food and sit around. I ordered a mint-flavored arctic latte, and then nearly picked a fight with S at the register because he busted out with his card and insisted on paying for both of us. Now, to be honest, I have absolutely no shame about letting friends cover my meals when I’m feeling broke. But when I do have money, I’m highly stubborn about paying my own way.

“Aww, let him pay!” said the girl at the register, who thought he was a sweet kid.

“No!” I said. “Take the damn five dollars, S.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he said to me, handing his credit card to the girl.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a day late and, also, I don’t care about Valentine’s Day. Here’s your five dollars, buddy.” I practically had to throw the bill at him, and then escaped to the huge red armchairs in the corner.

I tried to convince S to come visit the Bay next week. I even picked a day for him, a day he’s off from work.

“Oh, wait, I can’t come; I have work the next day!” he whined.

“So?”

“So I can’t come to the Bay, then. I’m working the next day.”

“Child, that’s why I’m asking you to come on the day that you’re off from work!”

“But I’m working the next day!”

At this point, I figured out he was just trying to give me a hard time. I felt like throwing something at him, but I pointed out reasonably, “It’s not like you’re going to be doing anything important on your day off, anyway. What’re you gonna do, sit around and watch movies on your laptop?”

“Basically,” he laughed. “I do that at work all the time.”

“What, watch movies on the computer?”

“Yeah.”

“And no one notices?!”

“No, I just minimize the movie screen when someone walks by.”

“Dude, you need to calm down with that, seriously.”

He gave me a scornful look, and uttered the best lines of the entire day: “What are they gonna do? Fire me?! You can’t fire me. I’m Employee of the Month, b*tches!”

I collapsed in laughter. While he continued muttering about his “Employee of the Month, b*tches!” status, I promised I’d photoshop him something about that convincing argument of his. [Check it, here!] I also added, “You’d better calm down, buddy, the month’s almost over.”

“What’re they gonna do? Fire me?”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re Employee of the Month, b*tches!”

Ahhh, it was a good day.

After gathering my laughing self up out of the huge red armchair, I bid goodbye to S and hightailed it back to the Lovely L Lady’s place, where I modeled for and played with her shiny, new digital camera. And, then, time to head home! And, man, you can be sure all those miles (that’s nothing!) were damn well worth it.

So… Anyone wanna do lunch?

Bastages! (Stealing words from Baji)

Blogistan and the Wide World of Webs, Resident Rockstar

Nothing brings one’s (read: my) mood down like logging into an old Yahoo! email account and realizing it was deactivated because I hadn’t logged in for four months. Yeah, like your 1GB of space helps me now, Yahoo!, when I’ve been using GMail as my primary email account for nearly two years.

Thanks a lot for deleting all my emails. BASTIDS!

I can get over losing other people’s emails. What I really hate is the thought of losing my own words – all those hundreds of emails I CCed/BCCed to myself at the Yahoo! account in question, using it for nothing else except as an outbox of sorts.

It’s equivalent to what I’d feel like if I were to lose my childhood journals or everything I’ve written on this weblog over the years (which reminds me that I should figure out a way to back up all these posts). Fittingly enough, that email account was exactly like this weblog, if this weblog were updated compulsively: It was a daily “sent mail” chronicle (in some cases, a multiple-times-a-day chronicle) of my life over a period of perhaps the most difficult eighteen or so months I can recall, through a series of emails to selective friends, but mostly to one friend who, at the time, probably knew me better than friends I saw more regularly.

If you’ll forgive the self-pity and over-dramatic tone of this post, it’s a bit devastating to know that all those emails I sent are irrecoverable, gone forever. It’s one thing to live life without documenting it. It’s quite another – in my opinion – to put so much time and effort into sharing stories, amusing anecdotes, quick bursts of inspiration, and then have it all disappear one day without having a say in the process.

You could point out, I guess, that if those pieces of writing really mattered all that much, I would have made a conscious effort to check up on them more often. Who doesn’t log into an email account for four months? (Truthfully, it had probably been closer to a year.) Well, I don’t, when friends move on and lives change and friendships shift and new things take the place of old and life is neither necessarily better or worse, just different in a good way. I don’t make it a point to obsessively check in on my writing – I just like knowing it’s there. There are three years worth of archives for this weblog, for example. I haven’t revisited most of those old posts, but I like knowing they’re there.

So, yeah, I hate losing my words. Gotta back up this weblog damn quick.

Somedays I’d rather be a spectacular spectator

Rockstar and Crescent

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 0px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; }


Shadows while sitting on the sunshine steps, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

The above photo was taken last Friday, while D and I relaxed on the steps of MLK Hall at UC Berkeley after the traditional post-jummah [Friday congregational prayer] lunch at Julie’s Cafe.

D was waiting for her housemate to pick her up, and I was waiting with her because when the sun is out in full-force like it was that afternoon, you can be sure there is nowhere else I need to be. I stretched out my legs and squinted into the sun. We talked about lots of things I can’t remember now, although I do recall regaling D with lots of stories about my childhood. I can talk about my childhood all day long, just so you know.

Once in a while, I would say, “The sun’s gone!” and we’d move over to another sun-splashed spot on the steps.
“You don’t have to stay,” D would say.
“No, I want to!” I said, because I was enjoying this – sitting on the steps, sitting together in the sunshine. And, besides, I had nothing else to do (as far as I was concerned).

Somehow, the photo reminds me of things I’m grateful for today, and, oh, everyday: My family, my health, (my relative wealth?), my friends who make such efforts to stay in touch even though I suck at returning phone calls or replying to their emails. All my jummah buddies – D, and my fellow headwrap fanatic M, and the crazykids W&F and their never-ending crowd of cousins – who make the Fridays spent in Oakland/Berkeley so much fun. The sunshine – and friends who will sit with me in the sunshine, and patiently scoot over with me when I obsessively follow the sun’s warmth as it shifts even if it means the sun will be directly in their eyes. Also, my brand-new super-flare jeans. (Yep, they’re so worth adding to the list.)

“When you were a kid,” asked D last Friday on the MLK steps, “what did you want to be when you grew up?”

After the slightest of hesitations, I answered, “A professional frisbee player.” D laughed and said that was the best answer she had ever heard.

I was completely serious. It’s true; that’s exactly what I had wanted to be. I remember throwing frisbees so far, and so hard that I would blister my father’s palm; he used to grimace in pain and drop all the frisbees he’d catch from my end. I used to dream about growing up and becoming a professional frisbee player and receiving accolades for my amazing frisbee skills. I had such grand ambitions, I laughed to D.

Since frisbee’s been out of the running for several years now, I seriously need to reevaluate what my next grand ambition should be once I grow up. This adulthood business is such a process.

[I’ve just gotten back from running errands. The girl at the bank wished me a “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
I almost rolled my eyes, but instead smiled and said, “Thanks! You, too!”
Besides, I was wearing red, so who was I to be making faces about Valentine’s Day? Must point out, though, that I was wearing red simply because it’s my favorite color, and not because I particularly care about St. Valentine and all this drama he’s created.

But it’s not worth antagonizing the Valentine’s Day-lovers, I’ve decided, because the bank was giving out free chocolates, and I’ve made it a sincere policy to be nice to those who have chocolate to offer.]

And a fitting end to this random post –
Just received an email from my other friend, D, who concluded with:
“One of these days we should just run away and do things we used to do, like look at a damn tree and start cracking up.”

"Daniel…with an L"

Casa420 and Familia

A few evenings ago:

I have to go to the mechanic’s shop to drop off one of our cars. This means that we have to drive over in two cars, drop off one of them, and return home in the other. It’s about 10 p.m. already, and the mechanic’s shop is fifteen minutes away. Also, intriguing spy maneuvers are apparently involved, such as juggling the lock on the mechanic’s gate and then sliding open the gate in order to park the car inside. Finally, the mechanic’s shop is on some dark, narrow street filled with warehouses (aren’t they all?). The daddy-o is therefore quite reasonably – in his opinion – concerned for my safety.

He insists on going with me. I attempt to placate him by pointing out that the sister and I will be going together. He continues insisting.

“We’ll be fine,” I say.

My belief that the daddy-o is worrying far more than the situation calls for is demonstrated when he retorts emphatically:

“No! You haven’t had your karate lessons yet!”

(How could I argue with that? Mr. Miyagi ends up accompanying me.)

And I know it’s pretty damn funny how simple it can be

Blogistan and the Wide World of Webs

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 0px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; }


That’s me! And, err…you?, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

[Since I seem to be on a roll with posting about blogger meetups and such, here’s another story.]

So, once upon a time (early last summer), I somehow got totally hooked on reading a whole bunch of weblogs written by law students and recent law school graduates studying for the Bar Exam. In retrospect, this is really funny considering the fact that I never was, nor have any inclination towards being, a law student. (My father, by the way, has recently resumed his mission to convince me to apply to law school, but we’ll ignore that for the time being.) Regardless, the weblogs were fascinating – and I think this is the point where all those erstwhile law students stab me for using the word “fascinating” in conjunction with the Bar Exam.

Anyway, last week, I decided to stop being such a lurker and comment in reference to the Muslim parking garage and Mission food places mentioned in a post by maisnon, one of my law stalkees. To keep things even, and in line with my brand-new, shiny-clean Screw the stalking philosophy, I also commented on the Cheese Grater rap-related post by another one of my favorite law stalkees, Chai of the Chat&Chai weblog.

In reply, Chai sent me an email that afternoon that started off with, “Hi Yasmine, I know that you just started commenting, but I’ve been lurking on your site for a few months now.”

I stared at my computer and burst out laughing in amazement. What are the odds? In closing, I was invited to dinner with Chai, maisnon, ads, and brimful. I recognized all the names, since not only had I been reading Chai’s and maisnon’s weblogs, I’d also been stalking the other lovely ladies for a long while now, having originally come across everyone’s weblogs through ANNA‘s, I believe.

I was honored to be invited, and this was too good a meetup opportunity to pass up. So, last Friday evening, off I went to dinner at Lime in San Francisco.

Finding parking was such a process, but I managed it after circling the block several times and finally seeing the side of a building emblazoned with “PARKING FOR LIME LOUNGE & RESTAURANT.” Oh, okay. Well, why didn’t you say so? I parked my car and glanced around.

Ditzy Moment #1: I figured the parking lot must obviously be adjacent to the restaurant, but a few minutes of confusedly walking up and down the street made me realize that I had figured incorrectly. Obviously. So I gingerly crossed the random left-turn lanes and walls and tracks lining Market Street and made my way to the other side.

Checking out the numbers on this side of Market, I realized this was where Lime should be. A few more steps led me to Lime, or, at least, a glass window with the restaurant’s name, and then nothing but a wall. Ditzy Moment #2: I stopped in confusion, not sure where to proceed. The guy standing in front smiled at me. I smiled back, and said sheepishly, “Umm, I’m looking for a way to get in there.” He grinned, stepped aside, pulled on the door handle that had been hidden behind his back, and opened the door with a flourish. The door that looked like a freakin’ WALL. I muttered my thanks and darted inside, where I found Chai and ads already waiting. We were soon joined by maisnon and brimful.

Re. Lime: The food was amazing. We ordered a whole bunch of small plates, and then passed them around, sharing, which definitely gave a dinner a lovely, close-knit feel. The place had LOUD music, colorful lighting, and a bar lined with mini televisions screens. Oh, and mini TVs in the restrooms also – something I kept exclaiming about, because I just couldn’t get over it. Pretty inter’sting.

The waiter asked if we were ready to order. Enter Ditzy Moment #3: When my turn came, I glanced down at the menu, glanced back up at the waiter, and announced, “I’ll have the zucchini, umm, fri-iiii-iii – ?”
“Frites,” said Chai helpfully.
“Yeah, those!”
It was hilarious. And now I know how the word “frites” is pronounced (clue: Not like the word “fries,” apparently). Good lookin’ out, buddy!

Re. Bloggers: The lovely ladies were totally friendly and welcoming. I remember lots of jokes and laughter, which is always a good thing when you’re meeting people for the first time. I initially felt a little bit out-of-place and a lot over-awed, not only because I was surrounded by a corner of Blogistan I would never have imagined I’d even have a chance to meet in person, but also because they’re such smart and successful women that it only reminded me I still need to do something constructive with my life. When Chai turned to me with a wide smile and asked, “So, what’s your story?” the best I could do was sputter in embarrassment, “Umm, I don’t really have any interesting stories.”

Sadly, I didn’t get to join my fellow bloggers on their quest for dessert (I know, it’s INCONCEIVABLE), but it was a beautiful evening spent in the company of inspiring women, nonetheless.

So, the moral of the story – at least, for my future reference – is: Stop being such a stalker. Lurk less, comment more, make your presence known when you appreciate someone’s writing. Who knows, the bloggers whose sites you’re lurking on just might be lurking on yours as well. And then they’ll invite you to dinner! (I’m a big fan of food. And bloggers. And blogger meetups involving food.)

Oh, and I never did get to see Chai reenact her “I HATE THE CHEESE GRATER!” rap in person. Blast!

Addendum

Blogistan and the Wide World of Webs

As a closing commentary of sorts to previous post [which you should perhaps scroll down to read first], I should add that I got plenty of teasing from my buddy S about “blobs” and “blobbing” in the weeks following our hangingout session with Anjum.

It’s difficult to explain to those who neither blog themselves nor read weblogs (blog-lurkers, or blurkers) that I find blogging extremely fascinating and addicting, that it allows me to organize my thoughts, celebrate the mundane that makes up my life, hone my writing, and share my stories with an audience that probably doesn’t even know what I’m doing (or not doing) with the 80-90% of my life that I don’t even blog about – an audience that seems to appreciate my little stories nontheless, even if I don’t share anything of consequence most of the time.

Recently, I mentioned that I have been blogging for three years now, and, again, it would take too long to discuss why exactly I’ve kept at this when I’m usually so easily bored and distracted that I end most projects even before fully beginning them. Suffice it to say that I don’t maintain this weblog as some form of self-centered aggrandizing just because I have the power to click a button and suddenly “self-publish” my thoughts to the web – but, yes, sometimes I do think I have something amusing or pseudo-profound to share, and you crazy people out there actually take the time to respond to it.

Which is my point: For me, the weblog is all about the people it’s brought into my life. People like you, and you, and yeah, you over there in the corner who never comment but I know you lurk around here, yep. I’ve never met most of you, but that’s okay, although it does rock my world when I do meet some of you. The weblog’s brought a lot of sweetness, and countless beautiful people, into my life. I still haven’t forgotten the outpouring of comments and emails after this post, for example. Oh yeah, and the random little emails once in a while, too, for which I’m massively sorry if I still haven’t responded to yours. I’m getting to it. Like, a year late. Or something. And, sometimes, we catch each other on AIM or MSN or your instant messaging stalking devices of choice, and then I get fun opportunities to underscore why exactly my screenname is crackfiendserene.

I was thinking recently of all the people I’ve been privileged to meet in person, simply because I have a weblog. Anjum, of course, who is wonderful to hang out with, and I wish she lived in California all the time. HijabMan, who came all the way across the country simply because, and who leaves random songs on my voicemail. Through his vast network of friends, I’ve been blessed to meet other amazing people as well: D, my jummah buddy extraordinaire, who makes going to Oakland every Friday something to look forward to all week; SI, one of the sweetest and most genuine people I know, who sends me texts and emails exhorting me to come to DC for cherry blosson season; M, who appreciates headwraps like few others do.

There’s 2Scoops, one of the rare people I actually love talking to on the phone, even though it takes us weeks to get ahold of one another. Maria, who is beautiful and brilliant and yet so humble. Baji’s sister, LB, who laughed so much and was so easy to connect with that I told her it felt like I had known her for years. When my friend, the lovely L lady, went off to DC for a semester-long internship, I was quite comfortable sending her off with Baji’s contact info; that she returned to California with stories of hanging out with Baji and Najm and the rest of the East Coast crew just made me appreciate Blogistan even more.

And, of course, through the same sort of online presence, although it wasn’t through blogging, I also met my favorite “psychopathic maniac” SS, which, in turn, allowed me to eventually meet Mark, Dipti, Nipun, Viral, and Guri – people who are so beautifully inspiring on a daily basis that my words will never do them justice.

The “internets” have widened my world considerably, while simultaneously allowing me to realize what a small space the world really is.

The other day, I read something by Goethe that made me think of this weblog:

To know someone here or there
with whom you can feel there is understanding
in spite of distances
or thoughts expressed –
this can make life a garden.

I’m grateful for all of you. Here’s to gardening, kids.

California skies got room to spare

All-Star Crackstar Squad, Blogistan and the Wide World of Webs

S felt it was necessary to add to the glorious architecture
S felt it was necessary to add to the glorious architecture, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

It’s a sad testament to my slacker tendencies that not only have I neglected to write about my Blogistan meetup with Anjum about a month ago, but she has updated about her first California trip a couple of times already, and then she was back in the SF Bay Area on a second business trip, and I still haven’t gotten around to writing about our hanging-out sessions from a month ago. Talk about major laziness, man. Stab me already.

But I had long ago promised Anjum I’d post my version of our meetup(s), so here it goes, in all its rambling glory thanks to hastily scribbled notes and bullet points, but organized into paragraph-form so late that I’m probably not doing it justice.

[Oh, and in case you haven’t figured it out already, check out Flickr for some of the photos from our Berkeley/SF hanging-out sessions.]

TUESDAY, JANUARY 3rd: Anjum arrives in the Bay!

This is after about a week of us exchanging emails and phone calls. At one point, Anjum left me a voicemessage that ended with, “Umm, what’s going on with all the flooding out there?” I sent her emails warning her to bring whatever clothing she considered suitable for rainy weather, because it damn well wasn’t sunshine-y at this end. Oh, and in regards to phone calls – to be honest, I must confess I can’t recall even one single time I answered my phone when Anjum called. This was not deliberate; the reception around here sucks. But I bet it started to seem highly suspicious after the first, oh, four or five times.

The first thing that happened after I parked my car at the Oakland Airport (to pick up Anjum) was that I somehow set off my car alarm. You’d think, after owning the new car for four months at that point, I’d have learned all these fancy schmancy nuances regarding car alarms and such by now. Apparently not. The first week I got the car, I set off the alarm an average of three times a day. I guess setting it off just once in January (so far) was progress then. While I was pressing all the buttons on my keychain and cursing under my breath, a guy walking by called out, “Try locking your car, then unlocking it with your key!” So I did. And it didn’t work. But then the alarm inexplicably stopped blaring ten seconds later while I was still pressing the keychain buttons at random. So I breathed a sigh of relief and continued on my way inside the airport to wait for Anjum, who took a while getting out, but that was okay, because I highly amused myself by reading the warning signs regarding what one should absolutely positively not take on planes while one is traveling. Sadly, all I remember is the fact that paint-thinner is a no-no. Just don’t do it, kids.

While driving Anjum to her hotel in San Ramon, she glanced out the window at one point and exclaimed, “Palm trees!”
“Where?!” I said. “We have palm trees in NorCal?”
So we had a good laugh over that, because apparently there are palm trees around here, it’s just that I never notice them unless they’re as abundantly in-your-face as the palm trees in Southern California.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 6th: Jummah in Oakland, Hangingout session in Berkeley

PrincessPrettyPants picked up Anjum in San Ramon, and they drove up to meet with me and my sister in our hometown, where they jumped in my car and we raced through Highway24 to my favorite masjid for jummah in Oakland. While driving through Oakland, my sister turned to the backseat and asked Anjum, “So, how’re you liking California so far?” Anjum mused that California folks don’t seem to be in as much of a hurry as East Coast-ers, rushing around less.
My sister misheard rushing as washing. “You mean, like, hygiene?” she exclaimed, horrified.
I started laughing. “Not washing less, buddy, rushing less!”

Jummah [the Friday congregational prayers] were rocking, as usual. Afterward, we headed over to Berkeley for lunch at Julie’s Cafe (where PPP had wayy too much fun with the hot sauce), then to the Oddball store down the street (where I saw gems like this and this), then to the Berkeley Hat Co., where I was totally busted for taking photographs of – among other things – PPP trying on funky purple beanies with pom-poms attached. Somewhere in between, I saw a store display of children’s rain boots, and exclaimed, “I want those! Galoshes! That would be so awesome!”
PPP shook her head. “I never want to see you wearing a pair of those, you hear me?”
“Whaaat? I could totally pull it off!”
“No, Yazzo, even you couldn’t pull that off.”

Props to Anjum for putting up with our mass craziness, because when we crazy Cali kids hang out in a group, we are insane.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 7th: Hangingout session in San Francisco

This was the best day ever. I invited my friend S to come hang out with me and Anjum in San Francisco – basically, because I had originally invited him to Jummah the previous day and we planned it out a week in advance, but he overslept on Friday and then sent me an apologetic text message (“Good morning, I just woke up looking at the time, I don’t think I will make it to the Bay but can I come up tomorrow or Sunday to make up Friday please”). I laughed at the sheer audacity of flaking out on people at the last minute through text messaging, then called S to yell at him, made him feel sufficiently guilty, and then graciously invited him to hang out with us on Saturday, because I am so kind and forgiving like that.

S drove down from Sacramento and met me at the BART station so we could take the train into SF together. He had never ridden the train before, and professed to feeling freaked out about this. I told him to suck it up. “Man up!” as Somayya says. Besides, he was wearing his Superman t-shirt, and Superman is not supposed to be afraid of measly things like trains. Once on the train, S busted out with his Treo and started photographing the interior. I told him to calm down with that a bit, since brown people taking pictures these days is cause for such drama, mygod. Then I took the Treo away from him and started checking my GMail, even though I had done that right before leaving the house. Once I figured out how the tiny keyboard worked, I teased him, “Oh, so this is why I’ve been getting text messages in complete sentences from you lately! I thought maybe you were just turning into me, or something.” I may never pick up my phone or return calls in a timely manner, but at least I’m famous for text-messaging in full sentences, with perfect spelling and grammar.

After that, we commenced bickering about phone calls – S accused me of never returning his calls, while, in my defense, I explained that if I’m in a “not picking up the phone or returning calls” mood (which is most of the time), I’m ignoring not only his calls but also everyone else’s. This cheered him up considerably. “Oh, okay,” he said. “So it’s not me, then. You just have psychological problems.”
“Yeah, I think that sounds about right.”

We met up with Anjum outside the Powell St. BART in San Francisco, and from there made our way down to Union Square. I was delighted to see how quickly S and Anjum got along – S, like Somayya, has a habit of making fun of people as a way of showing his love, and Anjum not only took it in stride with good humor, but she dished it right back, so that in no time the two of them were all making fun of one another as if they’d been friends for years. A recurring theme of conversation throughout the day was S’s Superman shirt, ironic because Anjum and I kept accusing him of being “SO SLOW!” Anjum, fearless East Coast-er that she is, would surge right ahead and cross the street in a split second, while S and even I hesitated and looked both ways and checked the lights and signals before proceeding. Clearly, we need to work on our jaywalking skills. Pedestrians need to take back the streets!

At one point, Anjum and I ducked inside the Mocca cafe not only to check out the pretty food but also for old time’s sake because this was the spot where Baji‘s sister, LB, and I had met up for chocolate mousse cake and a little bit of hanging out at Union Square back in September2004. However, we decided to move along to the Ghirardelli store for ice cream sundaes, but S and I were really in the mood for root beer floats, and no one seemed to have ’em.

We decided to skip the food for the time being and move on to a bookstore, where Anjum browsed postcards and I found a wombat book that would be perfect for DeGrouchyOwl. I was super excited about this, and had to take a photograph. As Anjum and S continued their own browsing, I wandered down to the lower level of the bookstore, where I was delighted to find the Glamour magazine article on WOMEN WHO BLOG. While I was skimming the article, Anjum and S came by, so I gleefully pointed out the article to Anjum, who had heard about it already, too.

“Blog?” said S confusedly.
“Yes, you know, weblogs,” we said. “That’s how we meet, through our weblogs.”
“What?! I thought you were two were related or something!”
We burst out laughing and explained about the weblogs a bit more, but S wasn’t feelin’ it. He just gave us Why would you do THAT? sort of looks.

At the register a few minutes later, while Anjum was paying for her postcards, S patted me patronizingly on the head. “It’s okay, Yasmine, you’re a nice blob.”
“A what?”
“Blob. Blog. You know. What you guys do. Blobbing.”
I rolled my eyes.

We wandered around some more. Anjum was on a quest to find a post office, of which there is apparently one in the Macy*s department store, of all places. Every time we went up and down from one level to another, S, who was quite comfortable chillin’ in one spot, kept asking “Why do you keep walking on the escalators?” to which I would retort, ” ‘Cuz I’m not a lazyass like you.” To which he told me how short I am, because this is his favorite thing of which to remind me.

While Anjum stood in line at the post office, S and I went off to amuse ourselves with the plethora of other stuff available at Macy*s: disgustingly expensive fresh-baked bread in animal shapes, Mango-A-Go-Go smoothies from Jamba Juice, and vending machines that dispensed quite another form of (eye)candy altogether: iPods and their accessories!

More walking: We ducked into Anthropologie, where I decided that any store that sells a pair of pants for $165 is damn overrated. Also, I got Anjum and S to take pictures of me with Anthropologie’s humongous shopping bags, which seemed almost as big as I was.

Back out to the street: we witnessed the cablecar turnaround, some street dancing, and a reminder about how much Jesus Christ loves us.

We stood waiting in the long line for our turn on the next cablecar, which took us to Fisherman’s Wharf, by which time we were hella hungry and dying for some food. S supposedly knew of a good clam chowder place, so Anjum and I just followed his lead. Along the way, we passed some monkeys who made me think of Baji, and an earring shop at which Anjum and I did double-takes, waffled, and glanced at each other uncertainly before deciding, “Alright, let’s go in!” So we checked out all the gorgeous dangly earrings to our hearts’ content while S waited patiently, then we went and got some clam chowder from Boudin’s and saw even more animal-shaped bread.

At the end of the meal, I offered Anjum some of the orange-flavored Trident gum that I love. She chewed it for a second and exclaimed, “This is what your car smells like!” I remembered I had been chewing it the evening I picked her up from the airport. Well, if my car had to start losing the new-car smell, as far as I’m concerned the next best thing would be for it to smell like oranges.

We walked around Fisherman’s Wharf for a while longer, taking pictures of each other taking pictures, checking out the lazy sea lions, marveling at the ships and ferries and the little white sailboats. Soon, I had to leave, so S and I said our goodbyes to Anjum, leaving her at the wharf because she wanted to stay for a view of the impending sunset.

S and I walked back to the cablecar stop, and I did some bread-watching from the street along the way. Also along the way, while I was walking along and in mid-conversation with S, a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk shoved a potted bush in my face while screaming, “YAAAAAHHHHHH!”

I jumped in surprise, then yelled, “What the hell!”
S was doubled over in laughter. So was the homeless man.
I was not amused. I punched S in the arm. “What kind of damn friend are you? That wasn’t freakin’ funny!”
“It was!” he gasped, still chuckling. “You totally didn’t see it coming. He made you jump!”
“Well, he freakin’ scared the hell out of me! God!”

We got on the cablecar heading back to Union Square. The car was crowded and I had no handhold, so I reached up and grasped the closest thing I saw – the wire above my head. “Don’t pull that unless you want to get off!” said the cablecar man quickly.
“Here,” said S, “hold on to this.”
I looked up at the metal bar he was gesturing to, and laughed. “Do you seriously expect me to reach that? There’s no way I’m going to be able to reach that!”
He offered his arm as a handhold, but I stubbornly stood my ground, and somehow we made it back to Union Square – with glorious views along the way – without me falling off the back of the cablecar. Then we descended the escalator at the BART station, got on the next train to the East Bay, and then drove back to our respective homes.

The end!

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark

Links to love, Rhymes and unrhymed lines, Rockstar and Crescent

Sorry, my wannabe English/Comparative Literature-major tendencies wouldn’t let me bypass all this drama without making use of such an obvious pun. Apparently, I’m not the only one.

Truthfully though, I’m damn tired of the drama – of the emails, the articles, the conversations with friends regarding this mass chaos and fury all over the world. Also truthfully, I’m pissed off at Muslims who feel that engaging in such acts of violence (hurling gasoline bombs? smashing windshields? throwing missiles? Thanks, buddies, you’re really helping yourself and the rest of us look good) is justifiable. Calm the hell DOWN, people.

[For those of you who’ve been living under a rock lately, check this, there’s a wikipedia entry already, with a description of the cartoons in question here.]

So, not only because I’m tired of it all, but also because I’m not smart, analytical, and articulate enough to write up a real deal post on this topic, I’m sending you off with links yet again. Many of the weblogs I regularly frequent have already written about this, so go visit.

– Basit’s post is my favorite, because I’m feeling quite desensitized myself

– Yaser’s post is succint and to the point, something I always find admirable about him because I don’t have that quality, sadly

– Abhi at Sepia Mutiny: The Danish cartoon controversy: A contrast in protests

– Baraka at Truth&Beauty: Merry Go Round

– Safiyyah: Stupid Cartoons, Even Stupider Reaction

And for you slackers who are too lazy to click over to the weblogs I highlighted, here’s a beautifully apposite Rumi poem that Baraka appended to her abovementioned post:

When you see the face of anger
look behind it
and you will see the face of pride.
Bring anger and pride
under your feet, turn them into a ladder
and climb higher.
There is no peace until you become
their master.
Let go of anger, it may taste sweet
but it kills.
Don’t become its victim
you need humility to climb to freedom.

-Rumi

Off you go, children. Real post(s!) coming soon.