just another blog

Moved

2008-09-24T10:07:00.003+03:00

I've moved to wordpress. Cross over and meet me there.

http://hanan.wordpress.com/

Silver of the White Heart :)

2008-09-17T18:04:00.002+03:00

Adil is married 15 years, has two daughters, and a wife who epitomizes all that is perfect in a Kuwaiti wife: looks, motherly affection, devotion to husband’s family, and an amount of love that is not weathered by circumstances. The Adil meets Sahar. And Adil falls in love with Sahar. Sahar, pregnant and abandoned by a man who married her but never authenticated the papers (thus leaving her with a possible bastard child), and lacking in motherly affection (her mother is more attentive and caring for the mentally challenged daughter of her old employer than to her own daughter), finds herself, in the midst of this roller coaster, naturally clinging to a stranger’s affection, and loves Adil back.
So far not a bad plot line, in spite of the absurdly annoying acting of almost all characters, and in spite of the lack of insight into the human nature that results in this exchange of love, and in spite of the perfect goodness of Dalal (Adils’ wife) and the perfect evil of Faika (Huda Hussain, another story, another family).
But today the plot thickens. Now Adil’s brother Adnan (a pilot who has two daughters from two separate ex-wives, one of which international) discovers his brother’s infidelity. And Adnan, who up to this moment was portrayed as the drunk playboy who was almost willing to give up his daughters, is now attempting to steer Adil back to the path of righteousness by … can you guess? Trying to win Sahar’s heart in a challenge he put for his brother: If I don’t win Sahar within a week, I will personally facilitate your marriage to her. His certainty is bewildering. What is it saying about Sahar? That her love is fake and she can easily be won by any man? Or is it showing us viewers that Sahar is indeed a woman in distress, and as such, has been vultured upon by Adil who, finding himself in need of love, grabs at the easiest prey?

Pardon me, dear readers. I find myself drawn, in Ramadan, to the essential duty of viewing at lease one badly-written, worse-acted Kuwaiti show.

More KU Grumble

2008-09-09T12:37:00.005+03:00

As the school year approaches, KU deserves a dedication:

This one is found around Shuwaikh Campus, mainly by the entrance gates:
New Comers Club announcing "We are in your service"
In? As in they are indebted to the new comers? And then again, what kind of name is that? New Comers? Is it just me or is the title rather awkward?

And this next one is found in a book quickly becoming a favorite of mine:
This is just not right. Such desecration! Why claim to teach art when we can't teach art? Why implement a new course "Literature and Arts" when the textbook ends up being mutilated like this? Poor Venus. The Goddess of Love deserves much better treatment.

Always and Forever

2008-09-01T14:41:00.003+03:00

Such beautiful concepts, as uplifting to the spirit as listening to ABBA songs. So romantically bewildering even when rationally impossible. Or maybe because they're rationally impossible, they can be so romantically enchanting.

In preparing for my Literature and Art class, I am reading on Greek and Roman civilizations. Whereas the Greeks excelled because of their insistence on upholding the principle of reason (Plato's ideal Republic that is built on reason alone has long been a central argument in my theory classes where most of the students are 'romanticly' inclined to love literature, a world of emotions and passion), the Romans excelled because they were like a sponge, ready to absorb other cultures and ideas, ready to be open for others to assimilated with. When you're in love you allow the other person's ideas to be part of you, to absorb you.

When you're in love you throw reason out of the window, you throw Greek order out of the window (ironically Greece was the setting for that ABBA movie that tells us to throw away reason and succumb to passion.) And it is only when you're willing to do that that love works. Rationalizing a concept as romantic (pun intended) as love would naturally lead to its destruction.

The Romans also excelled because they saw themselves as rulers of the entire world, an impossibility as history has continuously proven. And when you're in love you believe in the impossible, also much like the Romans. You believe in Always and Forever, and you're happy to believe in them, you want to believe in them, and you can't help but believe in them.

I know I'm in love because I believe in the Always and Forever. And I'm not even a romantic person.

the hills are 'still' alive

2008-08-27T14:00:00.003+03:00

It used to be our family's all time favorite musical. Used to be? I think it still is. 3 years ago when my mom and dad treated us 3 sisters to an unforgettable road trip covering Germany, Austria and Italy, we, always infatuated by this musical, and encouraged by our dad's relentless (romantic?) appreciation of music, took the Sound of Music tour and relived our childhood singing their songs in the tour bus (memorized by our family and by all the 'oldest' members on that tour).

If you're an avid fan, you'd wonder, like us, what happened to those kids.
Liesl's deep blue eyes are gone.
Friedrich is not so German looking anymore.
Louisa? Oh well. I never liked her, in spite of my sister's undying devotion for blonds.
Kurt still has that crunched up face :)
Brigitta is still the same.
Marta used to be so cute. She's just a woman now :)
Gretl is not as ugly now as she was then. Used to be the ugliest kid. Again, in spite of being a blondy.

Enjoy

Women in Art

2008-08-05T10:45:00.003+03:00

Teaching a course in Literature and Arts next term and this is as much research as I've done so far for that (or rather, one that Sou did for me:) Thanks)

Horton Hears a 'What?"

2008-07-28T21:04:00.004+03:00

So the kangaroo goes to an eagle called Vlad - one who has an accent that stresses his Vampire status - and Vlad promises to 'deflower' the spec .... a kid's movie? Really? Is it just my mind that associates a vampire who deflowers a spec with sexual connotations?*

Wii Fit: my new addiction. It started with Wii Sport but now moved to Wii Fit. They have to come up with a new game soon before this one wears me out.

*Horton Hears a Who

Peace

2008-06-26T12:08:00.002+03:00

The Kuwaiti Peace Group (MsK)
is honored to invite you to
"The Peace Operetta"
Sunday, June 29th 2008, 7pm at Shamiya Theatre

Home is where the heart is?

2008-06-05T16:05:00.004+03:00

The prospect of leaving is becoming more attractive each day. It's not that the grass is greener on the other side or anything. I know for sure that the grass won't be greener. I know for sure that there might not even be grass on the other side. But the other side is not home. Deficiencies in a strange land can be tolerated. But when it's your own home that's faulty, when it's your own house that's not so grassy, you just can't handle it. The mess in someone else's house is not your mess. It is annoying. It might even prevent you from finding your way around the place. But it's not your mess. It's not in your own house. So no matter how it bothers you, you are in no way responsible for it. But when it's your home that's messy you can't just ignore it. You can't just try to find your way around it. It hits you in the face around every corner. You see it in every nook. And you can't turn a blind eye. You can't say this isn't my shit to deal with (pardon my French). It is my shit and I can't deal with it anymore so I'd just have to go where I don't constantly see it. Where I'm not constantly reminded of it.

* And of course, I would love to be in a place where the grass, even if not greener, minds its own business and lets me live my life the way I want to live it.

Voting ... again

2008-05-17T18:05:00.005+03:00

Not even 2 years have passed since the first time I voted. I didn't think I'll be doing it again so soon.

June 29th, 2006: 10 a.m. I went with my cousin to vote. Waited 2 hours before I was able to go in. The line was long. The heat was terrible. At night, I, sisters, cousin and brother went to a tent pitched in Sa7at Il-Irada to keep an eye on the votes being counted in the company of a few people I've grown to admire during the Nabeha 5 days. We stayed there till around 2 am.

May 17th, 2008: 10:30 a.m. I went alone. Took half an hour to go in and tick. It wasn't too hot. I know I won't be spending the night at any tent, with other people whose aspirations are similar to mine. This election day is empty of those feelings of patriotism I had last time. More hope before? More stress this time?

Now back to my book. Conference paper won't write itself, unfortunately.

English Day

2008-04-19T08:19:00.010+03:00

The English Department feels a duty to display all the budding talents of its students. The works of our poets, playwrights, artists and researchers all culminate in the annual English Day, and everyone is invited to share our success!

Join us ...
April 30th @ 12:30 pm
Otaibi Building, Kaifan

May 1st @ 4:00 pm
Othman Abdulmalek Theatre, Shuwaikh

Angry

2008-03-21T22:51:00.000+03:00

What do you do when you're too angry to do anything?

Day...Night...Poison

2008-03-15T08:35:00.004+03:00

Do you ever wake up in the morning on a totally different note than the one that left you at night? My minds wanders into gloomy and doubtful areas at night time and as soon as morning comes, I'm all chirpy and optimistic again. I'm quite a skeptic at night and extremely gullible (not to demean optimism in anyway) by day. Would it help if I reverse my sleeping patterns?

The following piece is the last to be published here for Disturbed Stranger who decided to grow her own wings (or blog)

Poisoned Mind

The air was damp. A misty cool breeze blew… causing diminutive waves to crash on jagged but softened rocks at the bottom of the cliff. The sun’s vicious beams refracted off the rock’s tarnished yet gleaming glaze. Seagulls sang as they glided over the sea… fluttering against the waves. She leaned back against one of the rocks, focusing her weight on the center of her back. Her blouse felt moist and cold. She gripped hard at the papers in her hands… twisting them firmly in her clutch. Her rheum eyes started to burn as she stared across the infinite blue… and with a single blink tears ran down her face. why? she thought. A strike of pain shot in her chest and flashbacked several diminished slides in the screening of her mind “WHY?” she yelled. Her voice echoed in the empty space not quite as empty as her heart. But there was no answer… for there never is an answer to pain. Whimpering… she gradually loosened her grip… and the papers hovered into the sea. The writing started to fade as the ink merged with the water causing a dark blotch near her feet. She was free. Free from her pain. The papers were completely drenched now, unlike her body however, they did not drown…

Charlie bit me, and it hurt.

2008-03-05T19:41:00.006+03:00

Been hooked on Charlie for a while now. Aren't they cute?

If Charlie bites you, and in your peaceful (or lazy) nature, you decide not to take action, do you want your significant, or not so significant:) other, to defend you? In other words, do you value this interference into your life meant to stand up for you or do you see it as an act that sees you incapable of caring for yourself. Do you want your beau to be your knight in shining armor (hmmm. or your lady in a Joan of Arc armor?)?

update: I just heard that Dr. Ahmed Al-Rubie passed away. My condolences to his family and loved ones. My condolences actually go to everyone in Kuwait. His optimism and love of life have always been much admired. Rare to find, and maybe even idealistic, but certainly something to be missed.

A Stone in My Chest

2008-02-23T23:08:00.004+03:00

Disturbed Stranger honored me with another one of those poignant pieces of writing. I leave you to enjoy (or be pained by) this piece:

A Stone in My Chest

There is a cold stone in my chest. I can feel it. Buried deep… ripping and tearing through my warm soft flesh. There is pain. No bodily pain…just mental pain… mental annoyance; my cognizant awareness of its existence inside me. Deep inside me. It cannot be removed, no surgery will rid me of it, no surgeon will agree to it. A curse. A burden. A burden I must carry with me to my grave… where a stone naturally belongs… where I belong. The pain it afflicts is on those closest to me, those who suffer the most. I cannot seem to help it. I cannot seem to want to help it. I do not seem to care… all symptoms of my disease. My sole disease… soul disease. There is no cure. I must coldly shudder off every shred of emotion as I slip into a circle of darkness…almost as dark as that stone.

Happy Holidays

2008-02-22T12:38:00.006+03:00

Happy Liberation/Independence Days

Is it just me, or does patriotism diminish with age? My 13 year old came back from school in this:
demanding that flags should be on display this month. I personally think it's a bit tacky and in bad taste. But my mother obliged (as she always does with her grandkids) and we now have a huge flag hanging from the 2nd floor balcony all the way down to the 7osh, blocking the sun from my plants on the 1st floor. Patriotic acts destroying nature again.

There's a small stand selling KU cups, pens, shirts, and office sets in Shuwaikh's Students Bookshop. Not a bad idea and about time. Unfortunately they're not good quality. Here's my key chain and pens:

Thinking of switching from Aramex to DHL. Any input on that?

O Jerusalem

2008-02-02T23:04:00.000+03:00

Evacuations. Concentration camps. Racial and ethnic segregation. That was my TV for today. Watching O Jerusalem and Snow Falling on Cedars in one day isn't good for the soul. Two movies about friends forced by politics to be enemies. Good movies but ones that gave me some sort of gloom. I leave you with the beautified version of Ben Gurion and Golda Meir from O Jerusalem.

Atonement

2008-01-26T22:39:00.000+03:00

If lies are prettier than truths, would you still want the truth?

Plato banished the poets from his Utopia because they tell lies. Sidney brings them back because these lies paint a more beautiful truth. The funny thing is (not the DeGeneres' version) that Plato's banishment of liars was really more beautiful that Sidney's defense of them. The truth is more beautiful after all. Or is it?

Mona Lisa

2008-01-16T19:24:00.000+03:00

School:

There comes a time, every term, when I have this sense of waiting anxiously for the final papers to arrive while simultaneously dreading the many P’s I have to assign for plagiarized papers, the many redundancies I read, and the pure loss of focus that is common in most papers. However, almost every term, there are a few papers that make the time spent on the other 30-40 papers worth my while. This year was no exception. Some students still surprise me by their ability to interrogate theoretical articles and work them within the folds of their literary analyses. So gratitude goes here to those few students who have made the long task of correcting papers quite enjoyable. The highlights this year were those papers on J.K. Rowling, Paulo Coelho, and Tsitsi Dangarembga.

Mysteries:

“All doubts about the identity of the Mona Lisa have been eliminated by a discovery by Dr. Armin Schlechter.” And once its mystery has been solved, its greatness is no wonder lessened. Why is it that we always need to find answers to problems only to discover that answering them takes all the magic out of life? Mysteries should remain mysteries. Otherwise, life would just be too dull.

And more mysteries:

Newspapers announced that Saturday exams are postponed till Tuesday. Since faculty members haven’t received any official word, I called to inquire, only to be informed that the director is in a meeting with the deans now (11 am today) to decide on it. We must be really technologically advanced when the newspaper, printed the night before, can predict the outcome of a meeting that was still ongoing during the day :)

A Tribute to Nouriya Al-Sabeeh

2008-01-09T07:55:00.000+03:00

When she spoke, Nouriyah did wonders. She countered all Dr. Saad's false allegations with solid proof. Her presence of mind was something to be admired. Her ability to argue was something that Kuwaiti officials should emulate, especially since most of them lack the simplest ability to debate logically.

يعطيهم العافية شيخة وعنود على مساعدتهم للأخت نورية (يمكن أكون غلطانة بالأسماء) كانوا مستعدين بالأوراق المطلوبة بأسرع ما يمكن

Certain MP's, if it was left to them, would've burned that 12 year old girl on the stakes. We can have our own Salem here in Kuwait. The girl scribbled some nonsense on a school textbook, be it a religious studies textbook, and suddenly she's the talk of politicians.

من طرائف الجلسة سالفة القلب المكسور

والسكرتيرة المسكينة اللي غلطت بالنموذج سموها مزورة

وأحد النواب ابتدى كلامه ب"وقرن في بيوتكن" يعني أشكره انتقاده لنورية أسبابه واضحة وما لها شغل بكفاءتها أو حسن إدارتها للوزارة

It was an enjoyable session most of the time, in spite of the hunger and headache that began to seep on us towards the afternoon.

*Kuwait Times referred to her today as the Iron Lady. I don't know if that's gonna take its intended positive sense within Kuwaiti society.

On the beach

2007-12-24T19:43:00.000+03:00

The beach in summer is an amazing place. To swim. To tan.
But the beach in winter is just breathtakingly exquisite.
Especially when you're at this pier that extends into the water, almost lost to the world.

Chris Rea - On the Beach

Scattered thoughts

2007-12-15T21:04:00.001+03:00

In the process of moving to a new place, remodeling needs an effort on my part that I am not willing to make. Excited about moving closer to my family (that's absolutely funny if you know how close my current house is), but not so excited about the actual moving day. So I make my choices in a rush. This color's fine, this bathroom fixture's fine, this piece of furniture's fine, this wall's fine. Just get it done with.

My eldest brother just moved into his new house. His first house away from the family. While excited about their new home, I can't help but feel things changing. And I'm not sure I like the change. It isn't anything negative. It just feels like the beginning of a new type of life for them, and by extension, for the rest of their family: us. Not willing to completely let them go, our visits to their house extend longer than we plan. We seem to agree that there is a certain amount of comfort and relaxation during the time we spend there. We're making their new home our home somehow. At least I am. (I've long claimed a certain corner to be mine, and I am not joking about that)

Deciding to enjoy the weather, pushed to do so by an invisible book club member, I decided to take my book club to Shuwaikh Beach. The weather was enjoyable. Talk about the book was scanty. Leo the African seems too historical, and maybe too dense for my current book club members. They demand lighter books. But I am not anxious to take it a notch down. Thinking of dismantling this book club.

My eldest is coming home for a visit. It's his first year away from home. His first time to leave 'the nest'. Luckily we have the Eid vacation coming up just in time so I can spend time with him. Of course that is assuming he'd actually give his family any attention :)

Is culture officially dead in Kuwait?

2007-11-30T15:30:00.000+03:00

الفهيد يرضخ لضغوط نيابية ويلغي اليوم الثقافي في الإدارية

Should we worry? Preparations are already under way for our English Day activities. Auditions started. Certain plays already approved.

My last post was about a cultural activity held by NCCAL, and about the scarcity of such activities in Kuwait. Now a simple student activity at the College of Business Administration is canceled, and I'm beginning to worry that our department activity might be the next target.

It seems Soug El-7amam hamsters and kittens are indeed as much culture as is allowed in this country.

A dream I had last night about losing a loved one is still haunting me. Why is it that emotions provoked by a matter of pure imagination stick to you like reality no matter how much you tell yourself it's just a dream?

رفيق علي أحمد

2007-11-28T00:25:00.000+03:00

Lately I've been away from the cultural scene in Kuwait. Not that we actually have one in here, but I just used to tune in to more of these meager activities. Tonight, as I canceled a movie outing, I decided to make up for it by attending this monologue. Going to the theatre, I didn't really expect much. It's one of those activities organized by NCCAL, and although I am sometimes entertained by their choice of material, it's been a while since they brought something that really interested me.

That is until tonight. This is not one of those elaborately maintained shows. As with most monologues, this is a simple act that depends mostly on the actor himself. Rafik Ali Ahmad did a wonderful job entertaining his audience with a flare of comedy that hides behind it the dismal situation in Lebanon, among other tragedies (aging and its effect on men was a dominant theme).

Dinner at Le Notre after the show was the perfect ending to my night.

(An early trip to Soug El-7amam, in spite of a flat tire on the way there, was how my cultural experience started today :)

I'm too sleepy to read what I wrote. If you don't like, dont continue.
~~I'm also too lazy to add pictures. Use your imagination to fill them in. :)~~

Update: I just received a picture of a friend we made at Soug El-7amam.

Why I couldn't Mac

2007-10-31T18:31:00.000+03:00

I'm now back to Windows. This is such an ugly interface. I miss my Mac.
Now let me list my reasons for going back, retreating, downgrading to Windows:
1. Though iWork, NeoOffice and other Mac programs have a more advanced looking interface, they lack a simple feature: You can not choose to automatically save a portion of the sheet every time you save the file. How am I to keep updating my students' grades?
2. Though Frontpage is becoming obsolete (or so every one is telling me), I was not able to find an easier to use publishing program that allows you to save your webpage on your harddrive and, again, to automatically save as information there is updated.
3. The edit feature in other programs conflict with the word programs my students send me. As such, I see mistakes in format that are not there in the original, Windows files created by my students.
4. Video-conferencing, though more advanced with iChat and Skype, does not work on Mac with Messenger. Most people still use Messenger.
5. networking Mac with Windows does not seem easy. I could not access other computers and once that was managed, I had trouble accessing the printer on my PC.

So now I'm a Windows person again, regretfully, unfortunately.

I hate Windows.I'm liking Jack Savoretti. Thank you Sou. Here's one of my favorites: Blackrain

بيان (أو جابرية - كيفكم) ... ملييييييييقة

2007-10-24T20:03:00.000+03:00

القبس - اليوم - صفحة ٦٧

الوالد العزيز - المصحح اللغوي بالفطرة - كان لازم يعلق
المشكلة إن البيان صادر من مؤسسات تعليمية
بس يللا - نبلعها .... والا ما نبلعها؟

Leaving to Ohio, with a quick stop in Texas, next week. Taboon shay?

p.s. when did we start using maleeqa o halagah? new in our vocabulary, aren't they?

و بعد ب. س. مو عاجبني البيان

The Insignificant Somebody*

2007-10-10T21:16:00.000+03:00

I woke up on a gloomy Monday morning with one side of my face pressed on the cold interior of a dumpster I called home. It was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Pigeon feathers, apple cores and sweet wrappers littered the edges decoratively while old toys lay higgledy-piggledy among the tangled rags of worn-out clothes, and a mess of newspapers, partially covering me, sat in a puddle of light coming from a lonely, stray ray of sunlight. The rats of the night scurried off for cover while I, the dominator of the garbage heap, heaved myself on two weak legs, each the size of a slightly overgrown chopstick, to start a new day.

By midday business was booming. I had stationed myself near a famous café where most middle-class people would have breakfast before hurrying off to their diverse jobs. Numerous individuals took pity on me and spared me a few round coins and on rare occasions crumpled bank notes were sometimes whipped out. However a certain individual's picture stuck out as clear as glass in my mind, though it was not very pleasant. I had, unfortunately, chose the wrong day to walk up to a man who seemed extremely agitated, grinding his teeth as he stood there steaming. He looked up at me as I approached, his face was beaded with sweat although it was quite a chilly afternoon. He wiped his eyebrow with a white-gloved hand, pushing along as he did so, some of long greasy hair out of his face. A pair of thin spectacles sat upon his crooked nose, his nostrils flared at the sight of me. I extended my arm, without really expecting anything, to produce a chipped mug that was stained with dirt and gently rattled it. Without realizing what had hit me, a split second later the man had jumped to his feet, and had spat a relatively large amount of saliva in my direction, which hit me directly in the face and started dribbling downwards like cold, raw egg-white. He had then stalked off at a quick pace muttering furiously under his breath.

Night swam across the sky, as I huddled up in a corner, covering myself with filthy rags that had a sick grey tinge with striking resemblance to the colour of my unshaven and exhausted face. I rested my head on the window of the shop where I had decided to sleep. Minutes later, my head lolled over as I gave a huge grunt and my face was pressed against the window. The misty fug my breath had left on the window sparkled and reflected the glare of the orange street lamp, casting me into a world where I was not known, but just a ghost, just a nobody, just a beggar.

*story by Disturbed Stranger

forgive and forget? really?

2007-10-06T13:21:00.000+03:00

I've been neglecting this blog lately. I used to be more of an avid blog keeper before, back when I was blogging incognito. But Kuwait is small, and now everyone knows everyone in blogger. To top it all, many of my readers are students of mine. So social decorum had to be kept if only for that purpose :)

But enough of that. Kaify. It's my blog. I can write whatever I want here. Personal and disgruntled writing is part of the reason I started a blog anyway. So to my dear readers, I implore you, what you read here is personal. I am indeed 'airing my laundry' here. And though you are privy to my blog airing of that laundry, don't be complete asses and take it out of blogger. And to my dear friends and family (and students?), if I lash out on you here, you are only allowed to lash back here. Schizophrenics have always fascinated me. And in light of that, I am inventing for myself a schizo personality here on blogger, separate from my real identity. Don't mix up the two.

Now that the lengthy intro has been dealt with (shda3wa kil hatha. Just get to the point already), we move to the topic of this post: forgiveness (quite a Ramadaani topic, won't you agree?)

Now watch this for a break (and animated rendition of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado":

I'm always haunted by my inability to forget injury. And it haunts me most when I find it in others. I can't accept it then.
يعني حلال علي وحرام على غيري؟

What if someone told you they forgive and forget (your injury to them), do you believe them? If I hold a grudge, why would I not expect it from others? If I hold a grudge, how can I understand other people's ability to let go?
كل يرى الناس بعين طبعه
And 6ab3ee is that I can't forget, even if I act as though I've forgiven.

I won't go as far as Montresor and burry my Fortunato alive in my wine-seller (come to think of it, I don't have a wine-celler. Will have to settle for a basement that is no basement at all), but I am known - if only to myself, a few friends, and the blog community :) - to hold grudges. I'm not totally proud it it. But it's human nature; my human nature. As such, I am not ashamed of it either. Of course this is blurred by my 'other' human nature: keeping pretenses. So if you ever cross my path, I'd be as good as Montresor in acting civil with you (but only to lure you into my cellar and bury you alive maybe?).

How's Ramadan treating you? Giving rise to any of your demons? Amazing what repression can do.

One more laish

2007-09-16T22:48:00.000+03:00

Why are all Kuwaitis presented in our TV shows as these vulgar, hailag, difasha people? Constant portrayal of these vulgarities as the norm, even if meant to criticize such behavior, is promoting a behavioral pattern that is already in the rise here.
Working on my syllabi and other minor preparations for the term, I've been sitting on my *** (see!!! It's already rubbing off on me) for the last 3 hours with the TV on: 2 shows in AlWatan (Al-wazeera & 3ers Al-dam) and 1 in Dubai TV (Al-Kharraz). The result: here I am using *** in my blog. Point well-proven. Now let me move to the next point.

I just finished reading Middlesex, and here's my two-cents:
Middlesex is the story of a boy who was born a girl, or rather, born with his male parts 'tucked in' remaining un-noticed by the family's old doctor until the girl turns 14 and discovers she's a he.
Now aside from the interesting psychological and gender perplexities presented here, the novel presents a new look at Greek Americans, an ethnic category that I have so far escaped in my literature (Aside from the glimpse in the recent, hilarious My Big Fat Greek Wedding). But aside also from the informative nature of a novel that is both cultural and psychological, the author (same author for The Virgin Suicides. ٌٌٌYou might have seen the movie. Coppola's daughter directed it) manages to create a narrator whose voice is really captivating.
If those Kuwaiti shows leave you on the verge of craziness, pick up the book. I promise you similar juice (there's a brother/sister marriage in there to keep your perverted interest peeked :) Anyone here remembers the Flowers in the Attic series?)

ليشات رمضانية

2007-09-15T16:50:00.000+03:00

ليش الصلال مو راضي ياخذ فلوس من بنته عشان دراسة بناته الباقين؟ يعني كرامته أهم من تعليم بناته؟
ليش عالية شعيب قاعدة تمثل؟ ملت من التدريس؟
ليش فيمتو بيتنا وايد حالي؟
ليش آنا ليلحين مو قادرة آضبط برنامج دريم ويفر على الوب سايت مالي؟
ليش فرح ما تحب اللحوم الحمرا؟ شايفة ألايف لما كانت صغيرة؟
ليش الكتب اللي طلبتها للكورس الأول ما وصلت لحد الحين؟
ليش الواحد مرات يحس بغلقة حزة المغرب؟
و أهم ليش فلسفية جننت قلوب العذارى و الغير عذارى: ليش الدياية عبرت الشارع؟

هذي مو فوازير رمضان. هذي ليشات رمضانية تراودني (حلوة هذي تراودني؟) وأنا ناطرة الفطور عشان مشتهية رهش.

وسلامتكم ومبارك عليكم الشهر

Segregation again...Diwaniya

2007-09-12T19:58:00.000+03:00

Al-Onaizi: “men should always come first, then the woman.”

I didn't hear this one myself when I watched the re-run of Dr. Ghabra's Diwaniya yesterday. I wasn't able to stay tuned as Al-Onaizi kept going around in circles, failing to answer questions directly, and swaying away from the main topic (If this was one of the papers my students present, I'd have OFF-POINT written all over the pages)
Did he actually say men should come first? or is this taken out of contest?

School's starting soon, and segregation will again present itself as a hurdle in assigning classes to teachers. I just had to add a boys only class to our schedule to cater for the need of probably 2 or 3 students when I have other classes that hold 10 students over the limit with some still on the waiting list. In a department that is predominantly female, it becomes almost impossible to maintain segregation. Our literature male students are even fewer in number than our linguistics ones which means that many of them have to spend more years in college that they should just to be able to find the classes they need.

As we promote classroom discussions and student interaction in the knowledge-learning process, classes of 2-3 students seem to be a barrier hard to cross. Small classrooms are usually easier to handle in terms of discussions, with everyone given the chance to participate. But 2-3 students is not a classroom. It's private tutoring. And the rules for private tutoring do not hold for classroom discussions that should promote an interactive, debate-based discussion. 2-3 student classrooms means teachers have to resort to lecturing, so we're back to students listening, teachers speaking, exams being proof of the students ability to memorize what the teachers says in class.

So much for liberal/creative thinking.

Coming soon ...

2007-09-09T00:04:00.000+03:00

... to a blog near you

Check it out ...

Howdy

2007-08-17T02:20:00.000+03:00

I am sitting in the porch, waiting for my chicken to cook so we can eat. Waiting for time to pass so we can go to the movies. It’s humid after the rain. We’re having two more days of rain according to the weather forecast so my mornings by the pool have to be postponed.
And as I lazily sit here killing time, I decide it’s time to post something here.

My first-born “ice-ice-baby-boy” leaves the nest for the first time. I accompany him to the place he will call home for the next four years. And as I launch him into his new life, as I help him prepare his new home and get familiar with his new school, I am left with some not-so-typical emotions.
I am not worried about him. I am not worried about what might happen as he lives on his own in a place miles and miles away from home. I am not worried about missing him. My joy at seeing him reach this stage overshadows any negative feelings that might come with his approaching vacant spot in my house. I am happy for him.

I am often asked how I feel about this, with the expected answer being something along the lines of “I can’t believe my boy is leaving the house, living on his own. I am gonna miss him so much. I don’t know how I can handle his absence from the house and I am so worried about leaving him to tend for himself.”
And occasionally, I fake such answer (I am, when the occasion demands, quite good at...hmmmm...faking it?)
But the truth of the situation is that I am simply happy for him, with no worries whatsoever (Overconfidence that I raised him well enough to be up for the challenge? Lack of proper motherly emotions? Inability to come to grips with the actual situation? It didn’t hit me yet?)

So for now, my worries now are 2:
1. Chicken here is so damn huge, will it cook in time? (why did I decide to cook tonight? What’s wrong with the restaurant food we’ve been munching at for the past 10 days? Playing mother?)
2. I hope I don’t get bored out of my mind as the boys and I go watch Superbad tonight. (Another fake attempt to be motherly maybe?)

OK enough of that. I am not a fake. My mere acknowledgment of the fact that I ‘fake’ it is proof that I am a very very honest person ;)

Ciao y’all.

Food & Movies

2007-07-27T13:01:00.000+03:00

Can you think of a movie that doesn't include a food or drink scene?
In a lazy family hangout yesterday, after a brunch of fool (which explains the thickness in the head) we spent hours trying to come up with movies that do not have food/drink scenes.
Our search was not successful.
صج ما عندنا سالفة

I think I have an obsession with food, among my other obsessions of course. But at least my food obsession is justifiable. It runs in the family. Even among my friends food is a constant topic of discussion.
ناس فجعانين كما يقول الوالد العزيز

My sister just proved me right in the middle of writing this post when she asked for dessert in the same breath that she's telling us she's leaving to have lunch with friends. faj3aneen indeed.

Now this cheesecake is right in front of me and I'm finding it hard to resist. I'm hoping my mom wouldn't offer me a piece. I know I wouldn't say no.

Are you often trapped into saying yes when what you want to say is no? Why would you say it? Why would you agree to do something when you wish to disagree? Or are you one of those unyielding people who never bend?

A day at Om ElMaradim

2007-07-19T20:16:00.000+03:00

Weather was great. Company fun. Music just right.

N looking for shells

Y enjoying the water

Feet bathing in the sun/sand :)

Thank you Y & A for lending us your boat.

Galatea at Mishrif

2007-07-18T22:21:00.000+03:00

I just came back from Mishrif, where a group of young men and women performed an adaptation of the Pygmalion/Galatea myth. It was a fun show; light, humorous, and entertaining. The music was well-chosen and lively at times. This is a group of amateurs who seem to have put a lot of effort to present us with this show.
I forgot to take my camera so these here are not good quality pictures.
The show is on again tomorrow, Thursday, at 8. if you get the chance, go watch it. It's a 1 hour show worth your time.

Unattainable Freedom

2007-07-15T14:32:00.000+03:00

Stillness and silence drenched the atmosphere. The only sounds that broke that silence were the pounding of her heart and her uncontrollable panting. Her chest heaved and fell restlessly. Shaking on the outside but frozen on the inside. Her eyes were fixated on the innate figure that lay unconsciously before her. She did not dare blink, in case she lost sight of him. Is he dead? Not a chance. Was this her chance? Her chance for escape? Can she escape? Possibly. But…. Did she really want to? She wasn't panicking but she was utterly confused.
After a while of thinking…'processing'… she finally built up the courage to take a step forward. Nothing happened. He did not move. Another step. She was close now. Closer to her freedom… and closer to him. Her chains clinked as she moved slowly. She kneeled down beside the motionless figure with a single thought on her mind… keys. She noticed his bulky pocket and could not help but feel a chill of excitement! Reaching for his pocket her heart sank. She could feel the keys… clutching them, she withdrew her hand gently with a jingle and quickly retreated to her former position.
She fumbled with the keys hesitantly until…Click! Unlocked. Freedom?! Immobile, she gazed at the door…then the corpse. Should I tiptoe? Not wanting to waste any more precious time thinking…she rushed for the door…the exit…the opportunity. And as she was passing, the figure unexpectedly seized her ankle and toppled her over. Still clasping her ankle, he pulled her underneath him and lay on top of her.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say you didn't like it here"
He smirked.
She squirmed.
"You're not going anywhere…I promise you that."

*story by Disturbed Stranger
Part I: Reluctance vs. Submission
Part II: Subconscious Desires
Part III: Not Surrender

Higher Ed Coaster

2007-07-10T16:47:00.000+03:00

Sometime in April, I contacted Higher Ed to process my son's papers. They tell me the admission letter is not enough and I should contact them again when his High School diploma is out so they contact DC to get the final approval.
Early June. Diploma ready, I submit all his papers, only to be informed that they could've contacted the Cultural Office in DC with his admission letter only (Now did they not know that before?). I am told to wait a week or two for a reply from DC.
After 2 weeks of constant phone calls to a line that is mostly not answered I find out that there is still no word from DC.
Doubting, rather too late, that they might not have even sent the papers, I call the Cultural Office in DC only to hear that they have not received anything regarding my son. I ask whether I can fax them the papers. But of course they need an official cover letter :)
I contact High Ed this morning ready to flip at them (I hold my peace knowing that would only get them even less cooperative) and they confirm that fax has been sent, showing a paper with a stamp "faxed" as proof. Yup. Proof indeed.
It's almost mid-July and we leave the country early August.

This is the easiest chapter of my life on a roller coaster.

The rest is too roller coastery for a blog :)
So I leave you with silly jokes.

~~Who~~ Why do the French eat snails?
Because they don't like fast food.

What do you say to a dead robot?
Rust in ~~peace~~ pieces.

And a by-now family classic:
Why is six afraid of seven?
Because seven eight nine.

Not Surrender

2007-07-05T16:22:00.000+03:00

Surrender. Is it an option? She would never consider it. She never gave up on anything. But being there… in his arms… so close. The closeness… It was different. NO. It didn't matter, she was held there against her will. A prisoner. A prisoner of her own thoughts. A prisoner to her own feelings. A prisoner.
He looked at her blank face staring into the distance behind him. Her pupils dilated. Her lips slightly quivering.
"What's on your mind?"
Nothing. No reaction. She did not budge.
"Hey," he gave her a light nudge, "you look at me when I'm talking to you".
Again, nothing. She did not respond…or did she choose to ignore? He looked at her and smirked. He knew how to get to her. He knew how to provoke her. He knew he knew her. He moved his lips closer towards her, she flinched abruptly. He stopped for a moment… then slowly moved closer, shifting his lips previous aim for her lips, to her ear. She froze. His hand lay on her waist, pressing her closer against him as his other hand clutched one of her frail arms. Then he started his despicable game. Whispering.
Minutes passed… she grew unstable. Twitching. Wriggling. Struggling. His hand released its firm clutch of her arm and decided to tame her, finding its way through her upper body… and finally resting on her neck. A firmer clutch. His thumb stroked her cheek caressly. She was uneasy and his whispering was getting to her… trying her patience… she couldn't take it anymore…Enough! Suddenly she gave a loud cry and pushed him back with all her might… And with a loud thud he hit the stone wall and fell to the ground…

*story by Disturbed Stranger
Part I: Reluctance vs. Submission
Part II: Subconscious Desires

A Shallow Post

2007-06-17T18:01:00.000+03:00

Summer started. The heat tends to kill those few brain cells I have left. So my summer posts will/shall be as shallow as can be.

After having debated on whether or not to buy a Mac, and after being encouraged, insisted upon, nagged upon, continuously convinced that I should go for it, I decided to go for it. I will be Mac'ed soon.

My one Lit class got bombarded by my presentation of course info and other technical details for 2 days. Tomorrow I move to more mind-numbing details regarding writing skills.

I saw Shrek a few days back. Did they actually cut the kissing scene between an ogre and his ogre wife?

Exams and Desires

2007-06-05T18:59:00.000+03:00

My last creative post was caused by my inability to function (i.e., my being dry and unable to create my own post).
This post is here now because blogging is just more interesting that writing exams and correcting papers.
So here's part two of my last creative post (not mine as in my creation, mine only by means of me publishing it here, but mine either way)

Subconscious Desires*

The dark figure seemed satisfied. Pleasures of domination. Staring at her with the utmost superiority, he smirked. She looked up at him helplessly. But there was something not quite reassuring about the look she gave. Speculation.

"What?" he inquired.
And without further warning she jerked back her head and let out the 'liquid' she had refused to swallow, onto her 'target' successfully. Revenge. The dark figure grew impatient, however, still maintaining his awkwardly false smirk.

"What did you do that for?" There was a pint of anger in his tone yet no hesitation whatsoever. He moved closer towards her. That agitated her. She started to shake uncontrollably…Not out of fright…but tension. She moved backwards until her back was hardly pressed against the cold stone wall. Clinking, her chains tangled as she wriggled her feet feebly.

"stop it" she finally managed to utter under her breath, "don't come any closer".

The figure let out a monstrous laugh that echoed through the stony hallways. The voice shook her. Her heart sank…but she did not panic. Not for a moment. Instead, she looked at him boldly and with such confidence that intensified his fretfulness.

He made a grab at her. She did not struggle as he pulled her closer to him. She could feel the heat given off by his body and as much as her mind told her she detested him… it aroused her subconsciously.

"Don't come closer?" he whispered callously in her ear, "But you're mine…"

*Check out Part 1: Reluctance vs. Submission

My Magna Cum Laude

2007-06-03T21:45:00.000+03:00

12 years ago, he wore his first graduation gown at his KG graduation.
Last night, he wore a similar gown for his high school graduation.
Bader, I am so proud of you.

"Thus spake my Zarathustra"

2007-05-27T17:39:00.000+03:00

I'm Running dry. No ideas for new posts. So I decided to consult a muse from among my recent blog visitors. The name Disturbed Stranger seems to go well with my latest disturbed movie post. So here's a disturbed stranger's story:

Reluctance vs. Submission

It was dark. It was quiet. It was cold. It was damp. It was dead. The touch of the cold iron chains against her smooth, sensitive skin sent shots of shivers up and down her spine. Quivers. The rattling of the chains echoed back and forth on the thick 16th century stone walls, other than the crawling and squeaking of unknown varmints…that…was the only sound heard 50 feet underground in the cellar: The Dungeon.

But there was no one there to hear but her. Alone. Sinking in her sorrow. Alone. Her warm tears flushed down her cheeks. But she made no sound, for it insulted her to cry. She was not crying. Was it an involuntary necessity to discharge excess liquid? Perhaps. Suddenly, a lonely overhead light bulb lit. However, it was still dim. Rattling of keys came from behind the massive wooden door. There was a jolt at the huge metal lock. Unlocked. The door opened with a creak, sounds of footsteps were approaching her. Her heart started pounding with each step. She clasped her knees to her chin. The footsteps stopped. She looked up, squinting. There stood, blocking the light, the silhouette of a well-built figure. The dark figure stretched out his arm and murmured, “Drink this.” She was frightened. Very frightened. But confident.“Take it,” the voice insisted.“No,” she fired back and turned her head to the side.

“No?” The voice mocked. The figure bent down, supporting his weight on his feet and brought his face close to hers. He lifted the cup closer to her lips. She gave a rejecting sound and turned her face to the other side. The figure gave a grunt and made a sudden grab at her hair, pulling it back, exposing her face and neck.

“Do we have to do this every time?” Her eyes were tearing up. He brought the cup close to her lips, again. She drank.“Good girl” he whispered and planted a kiss on her wet lips. A tear ran down her cheek.

Submission.

Perfume & Dust

2007-05-19T00:05:00.000+03:00

I just watched Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. A recommendation from Purg about 4 months ago. It took so long to get to watch it as I was distracted by Octavian and Grey and Sawyer and Gabrielle.

Now Perfume. A brilliantly grotesque movie that told me you need to kill 13 beautiful women to get people to worship you and eventually devour you. All it takes is a sense of smell equal to a hound dog.

Quite disturbing. You gotta watch it.

But then if you want to be publicly disturbed, I would suggest Disturbia. Not half as good. But worth a watch if you feel like braving the crowds and going to our noisy malls. A movie about a 'disturbed' man being watched by a voyeuristic teenage neighbour.

With the semester coming to an end, I'm dreading the lengthy summer. Spoiled by teaching every other day, the summer daily teaching load is always a hassle. But after 7 weeks of daily torture the vacation arrives (and with it, another kind of torture).

How are you enjoying the dust this weekend?

Shisha-induced Thoughts

2007-05-07T23:10:00.000+03:00

I smell like shisha. I used to really hate that stuff. (Relics of an ex-relationship that is only now fading away) Now I'm finding it easier to handle spending time with shisha smokers. The minty flavor of tonight's shisha actually appealed to me. I hope this doesn't develop into a smoking habit. I hate smokers :) (Not my sister of course, she can indulge all she wants in her phallic symbols, I still love her)

Reading Morrison's nobel lecture in class, and forcing a deep analysis of a bird in the hands of kids, I finally agreed with a student that sometimes Ignorance is bliss.
Who came up with such atrocity? Ignorance is never bliss. Now knowledge might be a disaster. You might not accept that knowledge. Hell, you might even hate that knowledge. But does that make ignorance such a bliss?
I would always prefer knowing to not knowing. Even if knowing can cause a turmoil within me.
Besides, I'm a caring (or is it curious?) person by nature. So naturally I always want to know.

A simple lunch with sisters and cousins is never a simple lunch :) Laish il fathayi7? And why is it that we seem more willing to talk about our lives in the midst of crowds of people while in the comfort of each other's houses, with no eavesdroppers, we tend to be reserved? (We is my cousins and I, so if this doesn't apply to you, my dear reader, mo lazim) It is as though we believe that the noise will dim our secrets and distort the full image we are presenting into a distorted, fragmented one, more easy to accept than a full and unified picture.

English Day

2007-04-12T07:14:00.000+03:00

الصبيح من دون ملفع أوحجاب

2007-04-02T17:22:00.000+03:00

the paternalism that claims woman for hearth and home defines her as sentiment, inwardness, immanence. ... when one offers the existent no aim, or prevents him from attaining any, or robs him of his voctory, then his transcendence falls vainly into the past--that is to say, falls back into immanence. This is the lot assigned to women in the patriarchate. ... To identify Woman with Altruism is to guarantee to man absolute rights in her devotion, is it to impose on women a categorical imperative. (Simone de Beauvoir)

Imagine what would've happened if the minister of education walked into the parliament with her head 'forcefully' covered.
Imagine being told that you have to cover your head to walk into your office, to walk into your classroom, to go shopping, to go out for dinner, to walk on the beach ...
Imagine being told that you can't go into your office because it is shared by a male colleague, you can't go to class because it is not fuly segregated, you can't go shopping or walk on the beach because your place is at home.

Why imagine? It does not seem so far-fetched at this stage, does it?

I salute our Minister of Education for her refusal to give in, for taking the oath with her hair revealed (the shame! the disgrace!), in the midst of yells and screams of those ignorant MP's

Due Date (the approved version)

2007-03-19T16:36:00.000+03:00

I still haven't finished the book which I postponed our meeting to finish. Over 300 pages left to read in 2 days. Doable, but unlikely.

I have to go register to the NBK marathon but driving into Salmiya at this hour is not an attractive idea, so I'm procrastinating by blogging.

I'm hungry and my stomach makes very loud demands when I'm hungry. That can be a real annoyance at times. I fed it a damn peanut butter and jelly sandwich but it still groans and moans. So I decided not to submit to it. If it throws temper tantrums to get what it wants, I have to teach it a lesson. No food for you until you hush.

I would satisfy it by a visit to my favorite restaurant, except that lately the service at Le Notre has been deteriorating noticeably. Food is still good, but those waiters are clueless.

So it's patience my noisy stomach. You shall be fed once I'm done doing what I'm doing.

I can eat cereal any time of the day. Can you?

Due Date

2007-03-01T11:16:00.000+03:00

Dearest Swair already posted on this act of KU dumbness. And I plead guilty of this act.

Unfortunately, this poster, brilliant as it is, will not be on display on the esteemed walls of the Faculty of Arts. The reasons: It will cause tongues to wag, eyebrows to be raised, drawing unnecessary attention to our day. I wasn't told not to use it, but I was adviced to choose my battles wisely. Not all publicity is good publicity. And I caved in.

Personally, I still fail to see the big deal here. It's a pregnant woman. Women do get pregnant occasionally. What's controversial about that?

* Poster was done at KU printers and picture shot by my phone camera. So quality isn't as good as the one I received from the designer.

The Time Traveler’s Wife

2007-02-17T18:57:00.000+03:00

We read The Time Traveler’s Wife this month. The whole boy meets girl scenario is confused here. 36 year old boy time travels to where 6 year old girl lives with her family. (The actual difference between the two is 8 years) He tells her that in the future she will be his wife. During the next 12 years of girl’s life, boy keeps ‘visiting’ her from different time frames and by the time girl is 18, she is totally into boy. Now you tell me how messed up is this?

My reading group was split. Some saw boy as the Romeo of our time, while others thought our Romeo was manipulating our Juliet. I thought it was a fun book to read in terms of how the writer arranged the chapters and kept us captivated. The dialogues are at time boring, but mostly appealing and rather significant in their simplicity. But I thought boy is one messed up kid who started time traveling at the age of 5 and by the time boy is 15, we read this:
“I’m in my bedroom with my self. He’s here from next March. We are doing what we often do when we have a little privacy, when it’s cold out, when both of us are past puberty and haven’t quite gotten around to actual girl yet. I think most people would do this, if they had the sort of opportunities I have. I mean, I’m not gay or anything.”
And our messed up kid decided to mess up another kid in the process.

But think of the potential this would offer. If you know your future husband/wife, you would time travel to when they were kids, and mold them any way you wish. So by the time they are old enough to be ‘enjoyed’ (because our noble hero is no pedophile and he refuses to touch our girl until she turns 18), they have been totally shaped the way you want them. What a delightful idea.

My travels plans aren’t coming through. I think I will just end up using the holiday to relax. I am in dire need of this. These last few weeks, or months(?), were rather hectic. Were? Are. They are still going. But I like hectic. I like busy. Between classes, preparation for English Day, book club, and timetable hassles, I am left with barely enough time to watch my current TV addiction: McDreamy meets McSteamy is where I’m at right now. And Lost is back so we have that as well.

I am still on the look for keyboards that we can rent for use during our rehearsals for and at the actual English Day. These things are not so easy to come by. But the rest is going smoothly. Plays are being rehearsed, stage being checked and everyone is doing a wonderful job preparing for this day.

Piano...Books...Paris...Rome

2007-02-01T00:26:00.000+03:00

There’s a piano somewhere at KU that I’m trying to locate. I heard we had some kind of a tiny music room somewhere in the hidden niches of our esteemed university. But finding it might be a problem. Can you actually lose a piano?

University policy dictates that new orders on books have to go through department council to actually be approved, after which an order is submitted, and pending the university budget, I might or might not be getting the books by March which is when I’d be needing them. Our department is on vacation now so nothing can be done till February 10th which would definitely be too late. Now you might ask why I haven’t done that before. And the answer would be that I’m a procrastinator. Lazy and laid back and always leaving things till the last moment. So what to do? I might have to ask students to either get the books online or make copies of them, which I really hate doing.

.....Paris or Rome?

Solitaire, hair, rain and work

2007-01-16T17:17:00.000+03:00

I forgot to take my coffee mug to the classroom to entertain me during those most dull 2 hours of my teaching: exam time. So what does dear teacher do? Use the class computer to play solitaire and minesweep. Well it's an essay exam anyway so I don't really have to watch them like a hawk :)

The rain makes my hair look frizzy. And sometimes, just sometimes, I like that. Frizzy hair is hot. Just like long legs. Any relation between the two? No relation needed.

Spring terms resolution: less writing assignments, more time to work on my own projetcs. I pulled a similar resolution this fall: Less playing with the syllabus, stick to some old material so there will be more time to work on my own projects. But then I drowned myself with committees and other administrative jobs. When will I learn? More me time, less them time. ( I should learn from an old friend of mine. Me time is really limited in my life)

Have fun with this. Test this file out with a few people. Who can hear it? Who can't? Click here

3 days in luxor

2007-01-09T13:04:00.000+03:00

Luxor was beautiful. Family was amusing. Trip was relaxing.

Exams … Papers … Timetables … Class notes … Council minutes … Conferences … Publications …

And that’s not to mention all the personal havoc in between. So what to do when jammed, when squeezed, when pressured? …

BLOG

Enjoy Luxor. I did.

الكرنك

النيل

الترزي

المكوجي

كشري بندق

الشاااااااااااي

Let Veronika Die

2006-12-28T22:59:00.000+03:00

Coelho’s Veronika was the topic of discussion in today’s book club. I’d have to say that I’m surprised at the fame this author’s getting. The book was made of one cliché after another. A group of people in a mental asylum come to enlighten us to the fact that “all of us, one way or another, are mad.” Self-help, inspirational, spiritual how to appreciate life books are boring. Where’s the juice?

Veronika decides to die. Dr. Igor steps in and shocks her into wanting to live. Now what gives a person the right to decide for others? She made her choice. Who is he to intervene?
If someone you love or care about wants to do something that you think is harmful, how far would you go to stop them? Do you have the right to interfere in other people’s lives based on your own way of deciding what’s good and bad, what’s right and wrong? What if that’s not how they see things?

Eh ... too late to continue this post.

Now I have to decide on our book for next month.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-25T13:54:00.000+03:00

NO COMMENT

Poster seen all around Kaifan today.

Thursday

2006-12-22T00:29:00.000+03:00

Play dough figures.

Omar continues to prove his artistic talents (while his younger bro's obsession with balls continue)

Their mother's talent shows itself here. Pecan pie was amazing. I'm craving a piece to end my day.

I like massages. Do you? Foot massages are probably my favorite (or maybe the most effective turn on ... that and hand massages. But hey, a full body massage always makes my day as well :)

What's your favorite, most erogenous body part to be massaged?

--------------------------------

My mother's occasional heart pain frightens me :s

Notes and Thoughts on Film Week

2006-12-07T12:37:00.000+03:00

This has been a very enjoyable week. Tiresome, but very enjoyable. I offer a few comments on each day:

Day 1: Frontiers of Dreams and Fears.
A touching movie, as all movies are that involve children struggling in a hostile world. Mona and Manar, in their open display of emotions, naturally perplexing for teenage girls, made even more so by the complexity of life in the camps, succeeded in touching the heart of every member of the audience. A dilemma in itself, as one viewer commented, since in an age when struggles between Palestine and Israel are intensifying, in an age where we are becoming brutally aware of the futility of this struggle and of the need to find a way that enables the two nations to live in peace, in an age where younger people are drawn into this unfair struggle, it is important to remember that over the past 50 years of conflict, Israel has been winning, and Palestine losing. Maybe a movie like this should touch our emotions in a more subtle way, reminding us that what these children, what all children need, is a peaceful environment.

Day 2: Rachida.
I fell in love with Rachida. Her face, her sadness, her joy, her fear… It was an overwhelming film. Being a teacher myself, films about teachers always attract me. But the attraction to this movie goes beyond Rachida being a school teacher. ‘Thugs,’ as they were aptly termed by a viewer, attack the streets randomly and with no apparent motive, with the mere intention to hurt. And they hurt. Boys with guns. What a dangerous combination. Add to that the element of despair, and the combination becomes deadly. Rachida the teacher, Rachida the woman, however, continues her life, in spite, or maybe because of, these thugs’ incessant attempt to ruin life.

Day 3: Women Who Loved Cinema.
Egypt in the 20s. Such a long time ago. Such glory it had. What happened to it all? Where did all this go? What a wonderfully enlightened place to be at, this Egypt of the 20s. Democracy, social reform, whatever you want to call it, it always damages culture. The Egypt of Kings was a more cultural, artistic, intellectual Egypt. Why does art conflict with humanity?

Day 4: The Circle.
The first reaction to this film was from an Irani woman, angered by the ugly picture the film seems to give of Iran. To her, the picture is distorted and false. To her, Iran is not a prison for its women. But to the rest of the audience, this is indeed the case with Iran as it is the case with most, if not all, Islamist countries. Women without men just can’t do. The Circle intensifies this as it presents us with women who escape prison, women who give birth in prison, women who are pregnant without a husband. There seems to be this utmost denial towards admitting that we hurt. That we might be unjustly treated. That we might be oppressed. We are a nation who refuses to ‘air our laundry’ it seems. We do not have our Oprah and our Springers (such stark comparison). We do not seem to be ready, yet, to admit our own weaknesses.

Day 5: Lebanon: Bits and Pieces.
An interesting exposition of the mentality of a few Lebanese living in the early 90s when the Civil War has just ended but people’s morale were still not very high. Optimism was still a dream. Religious identity and national identity become a debate as we meet those Lebanese men and women who do not yet know if they are Muslims or Christians. If they are Arabs or Lebanese. If they should speak Arabic or French. If they should instill Western liberal ethics in their children, or Eastern traditional ones. Identity became an interesting debate in the discussion that ensued and our film week director ended with what I thought was an insightful and challenging argument, insisting that this holding on to one’s identity needs to be questioned. This need to assert I am Lebanese, I am Kuwaiti, I am Muslim, I am Christian, should all be debated as to its purpose in a global world where we are all mestizas*.

* Gloria Andalzua’s La Frontera/Borderland is an interesting text to read around this issue.

Film Week at KU

2006-11-30T15:42:00.000+03:00

The Department of English Language & Literature

Presents

Film Week

Featuring

Middle Eastern Women in Film

2-6 December, 7 pm

Abdullah Al-Otaibi Bldg., Basement

Kaifan Campus, Kuwait University

2 December 2006

Frontiers of Dreams and Fears

Directed by Mai Masri

Featuring Mona Zaaroura and Manar Majed Faraj

Palestine, 2001, 56 minutes

3 December 2006

Rachida

Directed by Yasmin Bachir-Chouikh

Featuring Ibtissem Djouadi and Bahia Rachedi

Algeria, 2002, 100 minutes

4 December 2006

Women Who Loved Cinema, Parts I & II

Directed by Marianne Khoury

Featuring Nadia Wassef

Egypt, 2002, 116 minutes

5 December 2006

The Circle

Directed by Jafar Panahi

Featuring Fereshteh Orafai, Nargess Mamizadeh, and Maryam Almani

Iran, 2002, 91 minutes

6 December 2006

Lebanon: Bits and Pieces

Directed by Olga Nakkas

Featuring Various

Lebanon, 1994, 60 minutes

*Free Admission

**English subtitles

Ali Zawa

2006-11-27T01:14:00.000+03:00

Ali Zawa is a wonderful movie. If you get the chance to see it, my advice: don't dare miss it.
Childhood is presented in such a fierce, possibly even grotesque light. These are children abandoned to their own whims, forced by this abandonment to grow beyond their young years. Kwita, Ali, Boubaker and Omar would touch your heart for sure. Trust me.

It's amazing what a few cans of glue does to those kids :)

....................

Selections for our English Day are approaching and I'm already dreading having to turn a few people down :( "No" is not the easiet word for me to say.

....................

OK now for more personal matters. If your friends repeat the same attack on your personality, does that make that attack valid? Does that mean you have to try to change? And if you do want to change, is that even possible? But then is it also possible for you to expect your friends to take you as you are (ya3ni no refunds or exchange here)?

....................

Been craving Salzburg lately: that restaurant next to that museum up above the clouds, rain drizzling slightly, wine teasing us like that drizzling rain, and the company of my 2 favorite sisters and my 2 favorite parents (yes I only have 2 but I swear they would be my favorite still), and my Nunu:

Kuwait CineClub

2006-11-13T14:15:00.000+03:00

نادي الكويت للسينما
Kuwait CineClub
برنامج ديوانية الأفلام
Film Diwaniyya Program
**********
19th of November
الجنة الآن
للمخرج : هاني أبو السعد
فلسطين
about the film
Paradise Now
Directed by: Hani Abu-Asaad
Palestine
**********
26th of November
علي زاوا
للمخرج : نبيل عيوش
المغرب
about the film
Ali Zawa
Directed by: Nabeel Ayoush
Morocco
**********
3rd of December
خمن من القادم للعشاء
للمخرج : ستانلي كريمر
أمريكا
about the film
on wikipedia
Guess Who's Coming for Dinner
Directed by: Stanley Kramer
U.S.A
**********
10th of December
البطل
للمخرج : زانج يمو
الصين
official site of the movie
Hero
Directed by: Zhang Yimou
China
**********
17th of December
في الخامسة بعد الظهر
للمخرجة : سميرة مخملباف
إيران
about the film
At Five in the Afternoon
Directed by: Samira Makhmalbaf
Iran
**********
24th of December
عطر الحب
للمخرج : لي جيونج
كوريا الجنوبية
about the film
Scent of Love
Directed by: Lee Jeong
South Korea
***********
So basically its every Sunday
Screening starts at 7:00pm
In Al-Qibliyya School

Schedule and links taken from 2 6 8. He also has a map of the place there if you're interested. Thanks antihero.

On warriors and what not

2006-11-07T15:36:00.000+03:00

This is the sequence of events if you're new to this:
رسومات إباحية في مقرر الأدب الإنكليزي في الجامعة
الفهيد يمنع كتاب الأدب الإنكليزي ويحيل مسؤولين إلى التحقيق
العنزي يدعو الطبطبائي إلى التحقق من كيفية تدريس كتاب في الجامعة يحوي تجاوزات أخلاقية
الفهيد: لا رسوم إباحية في مقرر الإنكليزي
بلقيس النجار: الإرهاب الفكري

What started as a response to individual comments in my previous post began to spread into its own post. So following up on the previous post, I choose to insert my reply here:

Action needs to be taken. But that does not diminish the effect of whining and bitching on this blog. I think whining and bitching can lead to action, or even compliment action.
With that said, I agree with the sentiment that calls for action. What would you like to do about those censors who are blind to culture?
At a time when our faculty, among other faculties, is working towards being internationally accredited, we have these forces of darkness who can and will put a stop to any progressive thought. The censoring of art is only one part of this. There is an even more dangerous censoring of thought. If we are not permitted to think freely and without fear, then the matter of banning a book because of some indecent paintings is just the start. What's next?
Kuwait university is not a shitty institution. I have met quite a few enlightened minds among my students and fellow faculty members. It is true that their voices are usually low, but that is the unfortunate result of this open-mindedness that puts me at a position of accepting the oposing thought even when this opposing thought disagrees with my basic rights. We are not quiet because we are passive. We are quiet because we are not aggressive. Politics demands aggressive action. I am not an aggressive person. And I refuse to be an aggressive person, even realizing that my apparent passivity makes my voice hard to hear. I strongly believe in allowing the other to voice their thoughts. How would I raise my voice when I know that raising my voice would shush other voices?
I know most of you disagree with this. I know that most of you think that passivity is not accepted at this stage. But I cannot change what I believe in just to win a cause, no matter how important that cause is. I might have made that mistake before, and I might make it again in the future. But I refuse to knowingly make it now.

I cannot yell and mute other voices. I cannot scream that my opinion is the only right opinion. I simply cannot do that. I have always thought that was because I didn't have enough strength to do that. But I have lately come to realize that my passivity is part of my nature, a nature that refuses to allow me to enforce my thoughts on anyone.

If you're a warrior, go ahead and grab your sword. I am no warrior.

The Norton Anthology of Pornography

2006-11-02T20:11:00.000+03:00

القبس 1 نوفمبر 2006

رسومات إباحية في مقرر الأدب الإنكليزي في الجامعة

اثارت بعض الرسومات الاباحية التي تضمنها كتاب مقرر الشعر في اللغة الانكليزية في كلية الآداب استياء بعض الطلبة الذين ابدوا ل'القبس' اعتراضهم على مثل هذه الرسومات التي تتعارض مع قيم المجتمع الكويتي.

القبس 2 نوفمبر 2006

الفهيد يمنع كتاب الأدب الإنكليزي ويحيل مسؤولين إلى التحقيق

وقالت المصادر ان الفهيد - الذي لم يكن يعلم بما يحويه الكتاب من رسومات اباحية - سيحيل عددا من الاساتذة في الاداب وهم المسؤولون عن تدريس الكتاب للتحقيق ايضا لتدريسه رغم علمهم بالرسومات
العنزي يدعو الطبطبائي إلى التحقق من كيفية تدريس كتاب في الجامعة يحوي تجاوزات أخلاقية

متسائلا: ما علاقة الشعر والأدب بالرسومات الاباحية؟

وأكد ان الأدب يعني ارتقاء في الفكر والسلوك والقيم بينما احتواء هذا الكتاب على مثل هذه التجاوزات الأخلاقية تدمير للقيم وهدم للمبادئ، متسائلا: ما علاقة الشعر والأدب بالرسومات الاباحية؟فضلا عن منافاته لقيم ديننا الإسلامي الحنيف

The problem is that the dean has my copy now so I can't post those pictures here :(

Now tell me seriously, where is this country heading if art is now seen as pornography, and if the Norton is a book to shock?

---------------------------------------

UPDATE

exhibit A, B, and C (Click to enlarge)

Todo Sobre Mi Madre (All About My Mother)

2006-11-01T00:27:00.001+03:00

"They call me “La Agrado” … because I’ve always tried to make people’s lives agreeable. As well as being agreeable, I’m very authentic! Look at this body! All made to measure. Almond-shaped eyes – 80,000. Nose – 200,000. A waste of money. Another beating the following year left it like this. It gives me character, but if I’ve know, I wouldn’t have touched it. I’ll continue. Tits – two, because I’m no monster. 70,000 each, but I’ve more than earned that back. Silicone in – Lips, forehead, cheeks, hips and ass. A pin costs about 100,000 so you work it out, because I’ve lost count. Jaw reduction – 75,000. Computer laser depilation … because women, like men, also come from apes. 60,000 a session. It depends how hairy you are. Usually two to four sessions. But if you’re a flamenco diva, you’ll need more. Well, as I was saying … it costs a lot to be authentic, ma’am. And one can’t be stingy with these things … because you are more authentic the more you resemble what you’ve dreamed of being."

This is how Agrado, one of the many interesting characters in Almodovar's movie, captivated her audience. I fell in love with Almodovar when I watched Hable con Ella (Talk to Her) a few years back. Todre Sobre Mi Madre is another of his masterpieces.

Thank you Coquette for giving me the movie, and since ne habla espagnol, thank you also Attiya for providing me with the English version.

ROME

2006-10-27T21:23:00.000+03:00

I'm becoming quite a TV junkie. My latest obsession is Rome. Here's one of the interesting dialogues in the show:

Titus Pullo: What are they. Stars?
Lucius Vorenus: Stars. They're holes in the celestial spheres. Holes through which the light of the heavens shine
TP: How big are these holes?
LV: They’re big. They only seem small to us because they’re hundreds of miles away.
TP: Big enough for a man to climb through?
LV: I suppose. A man would never be able to get up there in the first place.
TP: I don’t see why not?
LV: How?
TP: He could hold on to a giant bird.
LV: It doesn’t work like that.
TP: Why not?
LV: It’s philosophy. Hard to explain. (At which point, short for an answer, LV escapes into sleep)

Titus is becoming a favorite of mine. If nothing else, he seems to know his way around women. But that's another matter. This is Titus debating 'philosophy'

Babala ... Salamat Po

2006-10-18T20:14:00.000+03:00

Remember this:

Now we have this:

And at futoor today nunu bint valencia did this:

And finally I leave you with this:

My Eid starts today since my students decided not to attend on Saturday. And since my Eid break begins today, my Eid greetings are sent out to you today. Have a wonderful week y'all.

Lost is Back

2006-10-11T21:36:00.000+03:00

I say it again: Lost is back. Throwing more questions our way.
What the hell's going on?

But at least Jack, Sawyer and Kate are back. And the new addition, Juliet, seems promising.
What happened to Hurley? And what about the other survivors?

On a more delightful, yet equally puzzling note, I just ordered pizza from Papa Johns (my son recommended it as better than Hut and Domino's). Do you think I'll like it?

Have a nice weekend everyone.
Mom. Dad. Have loads of fun.

halfway through Ramadan, are you bored or hungry?

2006-10-07T16:11:00.000+03:00

I'm not hungry. Just bored. 2 weeks of Ramadan is enough, wouldn't you say?

I loved the change in the beginning; I get to stay at work longer than usual, not worrying about going home to catch lunch with the kids; Fu6oor time is less rushed than lunch and we get to hang out after we eat as opposed to everyone scattering to their rooms to rest; we are more easily satisfied with one meal aday as opposed to the breakfast, lunch and dinner of off-Ramadan days; you get to stay out real late at night which can be fun for a while ...

But bs. Kafy. Let's go back to regular schedules where you can go out for a cup of coffee in the morning (or tea, or juice, or whatever); where you can order junk food whenever you feel like it; where you don't have to have sweet sweet syrupy desserts that leave you full and heavy for the rest of the day; where you can drink water when thirsty (now isn't that just a natural thing to do: you hunger, you eat; you thirst, you drink?)

Two more weeks ... Yalla shensawee ba3ad?

Two very dear friends threw me this breakfast a while back. I miss one so very much, almost as much as I miss having breakfast :P

Happy Gergay3an everyone.

Toni Morrison: Tar Baby. 1981

2006-09-26T22:40:00.000+03:00

People in town go inside because the sky weighs too much at noon. They wait for hot food with lots of pepper so the day will feel cooler by comparison. They drink sweet drinks and swallow bitter coffee to distract their insides from the heat and weight of the sky.

How very much like home. But this is not the heat of our Kuwait. It is “The End of the world” as Morrison calls it, Isle des Chevaliers, the setting for her third novel Tar Baby, where “clouds and fish were convinced that the world was over;” and where “champion daisy trees …, part of the rain forest already two thousand years old and scheduled for eternity, … ignored the men and continued to rock the diamondbacks that slept in their arms. It took the river to persuade them that indeed the world was altered. That never again would rain be equal, and by the time they realized it …, it was too late. The men had already folded the earth where there had been no fold and hollowed her where there had been no hollow.”
The setting in this amazing novel is more than just vivid. It speaks louder than the characters.

The clouds looked at each other, then broke apart in confusion. Fish heard their hooves as they raced off to carry the news of the scatterbrained river to the peaks of hills and the tops of the champion daisy trees. But it was too late. The men had gnawed through the daisy trees until, wild-eyed and yelling, they broke in two and hit the ground.

This discomformity in the setting is reflected in Morrison’s main characters. Here are some of them:
Jadine: lost her mother at an early age so was raised by her uncle Sidney and his wife Ondine who work for a wealthy white man, Valerian Street. Valerian provides for Jadine’s education and other expenses, so she lives a more privileged life than most black Southern girls.
Son: escapes from a ship where he is forced to work, and lands in Valerian’s house where Valerian attempts to ‘civilize’ him. He meets Jadine but their relationship does not succeed as Jadine realizes that they come from two opposite backgrounds and the savage in Son conflicts with the more polished Jadine.
Margaret Street: married 38 year old Valerian when she was 18. She used to abuse her son Michael. Ondine told on her when Michael was an adult, during a Christmas dinner party. Margaret blames Ondine for not stopping her then, claiming she was young and needed guidance.
Sidney and Ondine: raise Jadine like their own daughter but are disappointed when in the end she does not ‘pay them back,’ to which Ondine remarks “She’s not a savings account, … You don’t get interest back.” Ondine tells Jadine that “if she never learns how to be a daughter, she can’t never learn how to be a woman.” But Jadine insists that Ondine’s definition of womanhood is not the only one available.

This is Morrison at her richest in terms of the complexity of characters. It is also one of her richest novels in terms of presenting faulty character without allowing the reader to indulge in passing judgment, a strength in all Morrison's novels, but one that is more evident here.

Read Tar Baby. It is worth your time. It is also worth the possible headache you might get in trying to put the events together.

Alice Walker's "The Flowers"

2006-09-23T21:55:00.000+03:00

It seemed to Myop as she skipped lightly from hen house to pigpen to smokehouse that the days had never been as beautiful as these. The air held a keenness that made her nose twitch. The harvesting of the corn and cotton, peanuts and squash, made each day a golden surprise that caused excited little tremors to run up her jaws.
Myop carried a short, knobby stick. She struck out at random at chickens she liked, and worked out the beat of a song on the fence around the pigpen. She felt light and good in the warm sun. She was ten, and nothing existed for her but her song, the stick clutched in her dark brown hand, and the tat-de-ta-ta-ta of accompaniment,
Turning her back on the rusty boards of her family's sharecropper cabin, Myop walked along the fence till it ran into the stream made by the spring. Around the spring, where the family got drinking water, silver ferns and wildflowers grew. Along the shallow banks pigs rooted. Myop watched the tiny white bubbles disrupt the thin black scale of soil and the water that silently rose and slid away down the stream.
She had explored the woods behind the house many times. Often, in late autumn, her mother took her to gather nuts among the fallen leaves. Today she made her own path, bouncing this way and that way, vaguely keeping an eye out for snakes. She found, in addition to various common but pretty ferns and leaves, an armful of strange blue flowers with velvety ridges and a sweet suds bush full of the brown, fragrant buds.
By twelve o'clock, her arms laden with sprigs of her findings, she was a mile or more from home. She had often been as far before, but the strangeness of the land made it not as pleasant as her usual haunts. It seemed gloomy in the little cove in which she found herself. The air was damp, the silence close and deep.
Myop began to circle back to the house, back to the peacefulness of the morning. It was then she stepped smack into his eyes. Her heel became lodged in the broken ridge between brow and nose, and she reached down quickly, unafraid, to free herself. It was only when she saw his naked grin that she gave a little yelp of surprise.
He had been a tall man. From feet to neck covered a long space. His head lay beside him. When she pushed back the leaves and layers of earth and debris Myop saw that he'd had large white teeth, all of them cracked or broken, long fingers, and very big bones. All his clothes had rotted away except some threads of blue denim from his overalls. The buckles of the overall had turned green.
Myop gazed around the spot with interest. Very near where she'd stepped into the head was a wild pink rose. As she picked it to add to her bundle she noticed a raised mound, a ring, around the rose's root. It was the rotted remains of a noose, a bit of shredding plowline, now blending benignly into the soil. Around an overhanging limb of a great spreading oak clung another piece. Frayed, rotted, bleached, and frazzled--barely there--but spinning restlessly in the breeze. Myop laid down her flowers.
And the summer was over.

Poor Myop grew up a little too soon :)

Short stories can be so packed. Can you see the little red riding hood in Myop? Can you see the big bad wolf's teeth in the skeleton's teeth? I wonder if my Intro to Lit class can see all this.

Oh and that was my too-lazy-to-blog-but-wanna-blog post. Enjoy.

My Shop around the Corner

2006-09-14T12:36:00.000+03:00

When I was studying for my Masters in Pennsylvania, there was a cozy little bookstore near campus where I found pleasure browsing through its row upon row of books scattered in a seemingly random fashion. The intimacy of this small, non-chain-style bookshop made it a frequent hub for a few students, like myself, who, though awed by places like Barnes and Noble and Walden books, nevertheless found this friendly place more appealing to the mind/eye.

A few years later Meg Ryan reminded me of that place in her own Shop around the Corner. I was again lured by the idea of a small, snug, selective bookshop that serves its customers both books and expertise on these books. A cup of tea of coffee accompanying that expertise would make it more inviting for customers too, allowing them to ‘hang out’ while looking for books.

And then Shurouq introduced me to Qurtas. Being mainly a reader of English literature, I was not previously familiar with the place. And though I went there only once or twice, I find that this store does seem to offer a more or less similar version (if in Arabic) of what I want in a bookshop as it provides a few seating arrangements for its customers. The difference is in the atmosphere that Arabic books provide, different from that of English prints.

I want my own little shop around the corner, more intimate than Virgin and Jareer, more international than Qurtas, and feeding both brains and taste buds.

This post is dedicated to Shopa who reminded me that it's time for a new post. And what better than a post about a shop for our very own Shopaholic?

Jetlagged much indeed.

2006-09-05T20:53:00.000+03:00

Following Jacquie's extra long travel journal, here's mine:

I leave the hotel at 6:20pm, arrive at JFK 7 as per the airline's instructions to be at the airport 3 hours prior to departure. Well, guess what? Our check-in line was not in the least bit crowded and we checked in in 30 minutes. Entry through the gates was also swift (another 30 minutes tops). So by 8 we're ready to board, but plane leaves at 10. We shop, eat, drink, shop some more.

7 hours to Amsterdam. I have my sleep aids and an intention to sleep the 7 hours. Next to me sits a lady heading to Cyprus. She is a talker, a snorer, a chewer, a breather, a mover ... and she does all those things continuously and loudly. Needless to say, I barely slept for 3 hours.

3 hour wait in Amsterdam. Sleepy but hungry. So we eat. Always a good way to kill time at airports. Amsterdam has a comfortable airport. I manage a 30 minute nap on the chair.

5 hours to Kuwait. Couldn't sleep at all. Those stupid personal TVs can be harmful at times. I am one who loses sleep when watching TV. I flipped chanels, watched TV, music, played, disregarding my bloodshot red eyes.

10 pm, I'm home. 12 I'm in bed. 1 I'm up again. Stay up till 5:30. Sleep till 1 (causing mommy and daddy dearest to worry when I didn't answer the phone after promising them to have breakfast with them)

Second night. I hit the sack at 11. Wake up at 3:30. Decide to watch 24 (episode 1 of season 4) to put me to sleep (knowing fully well that TV keeps me up rather than lulls me to sleep). I stay up till 6:30 when the alams goes off waking up an already wide awake me. I see the kids off to school and by 7:30 I manage to sleep hoping for a phone call from mom to wake me up around 9 (our usual breakfast time). Well, mommy dearest decides to let me sleep in today and I wake up at 10:30 on a call from NBK.

Tonight's plan. Take the damned sleeping aids again hoping they won't cause me to dream about noisy lady from Cyprus.

Long post. Don't blame me. It's my inspiration's fault.
Will you forgive me if I leave you with the soothing sound of the fountain trickling by the Lake at Central Park?

Meryl Streep in Central Park

2006-09-02T05:52:00.000+03:00

Meryl Streep & Kevin Kline in Mother Courage, part of the Shakespeare in the Park productions.

Regardless of the weather turning cold and the rain getting heavier, the audience continued to pour in.

Then it started raining heavy, we took out our umbrellas, they had to stop. Streep wasn't too happy about that and raised her fist up towards the rain, cursing it?

I have to give these actors credit. They continued acting in spite of the rain. It is us, mortal subjects, who were bothered by it. Meryl Streep, needless to say, was amazingly energetic, rolling around in the mud, jumping and singing on stage. I fell in love with her all over again.

Tomorrow night, I say goodbye to New York City. Though it's been treating me good (these past 12 days), I miss home. I miss my boys and my bed and my shower.

Most of all I miss my blogger friends (not really most of all but since you'd be reading this I thought I'd play to your ego)

Manhattan: A City of Architecture

2006-08-30T16:36:00.000+03:00

Flatiron Building

St. Patrick's Cathedral

NY Public Library

Building from Will&Grace

Carrie Bradshaw's from Sex and the City (Perry St.)

Apple Store

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Brooklyn Bridge

NY Stock Exchange

WTC (what used to be)

This post is inspired by my visit to the Zaha Hadid exhibition at the Guggenheim's yesterday.

Chicago feat. Usher

2006-08-28T23:57:00.000+03:00

Sorry if I haven't been replying to your comments on my previous posts.
Thanks for all who wished me a happy stay.
mini r. apollo theatre, not yet. i packed some mini replicas of some paintings from the metro. good enough?
ayya. i read your central park poem when you first published it and i thought it was quite a coincidence, or maybe القلوب عند بعضيها
white wings. mariah is half naked coz she can :P, big sale at BCBG, and here's one modern art example: Robert Rauschenberg's The Tower (1957)

Metropolitan Museum of Art

2006-08-26T07:28:00.000+03:00

Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein

Gustav Klimt Mada Primavesi

MC in NYC

2006-08-24T07:55:00.000+03:00

Mariah Carey at Madison Square Garden

"We Belong Together"

"My All" an all-time favorite of mine

I Love New York

2006-08-23T14:59:00.000+03:00

I am such a Dory ...

2006-08-20T16:57:00.000+03:00

Remember that cute blue fish in Finding Nemo?

Here's my Dory story:
I packed. Said my goodbyes to some. Went back home for a nap before my flight scheduled for tonight.
I double-check the ticket to confirm just one more time ... and lo and behold ... my flight is scheduled for tomorrow, not today.
Now tell me, isn't that the clumsiest thing you have ever heard?

I think my last post is early signs of my dory-ism. A comment meant to appear in another blog, somehow became a post in my blog!!! I don't understand how that happened. But hey ... I'm Dory :/

If I wasn't always blessed with this absentminded and forgetful nature, I'd blame it on nearing my big 4-0. But alas, I can't even blame my dory-ism on age.

But then again, I can also blame it on giving myself very little time between one flight and another, getting sick the last day on my previous trip, having to do some unpleasant legal errands today, worrying about the kids' school starting while I'm gone (with my eldest a senior this year), among a list of other minor disturbances that I have been having lately. Egh, when did life become so complicated?

The Ultimate

2006-08-19T15:11:00.000+03:00

Just dropped in to say hello.
Miss you girl :*

Chinese Film Week

2006-07-30T23:05:00.000+03:00

Day One: (which does not necessarily mean there will be a day 2 or 3)

We arrived a little before 7. The room was half full at that time, mostly Chinese (or East-Asians). More people started filling in and we continued waiting for the film to begin, or for someone to explain to us the reason for the delay. Organizers were nowhere to be found, not even to assist the newcomers into finding the few empty seats.

7:35 the show begins. Or so we thought. The presenter speaks in Arabic for an audience mostly made of non-Arabs. Then he translates his words to English. 6alib Arefa3ee speaks for another 5 or 10 minutes, no translation follows, then manager of cinema club, whose name I forgot, speaks for another 5 minutes. Presenter translates his speech into English. Chinese ambassador (or was it cultural attache?) speaks for yet another 5 minutes, with his speech interrupted occasionally by the cutest Arabic translation ever in an accent I almost never heard (Chinese reading Arabic amazes me. Why can't I read Chinese?). When that's done, we assume it's time for the movie. But no. Presenter speaks again.

At this time, 8 pm already, my sister and I decide to leave ... coz ... are you kidding me? You start late. You don't apologize for making your audience wait 35 minutes. Then you give your audience a sarcastic remark about their mobiles providing background music, totally inappropriate and a little bit demeaning. Regardless of the audience's lack of consideration in keeping their mobiles on, it is uncalled for when the presenter addresses this issue in such a sarcastic tone. Just tell our audience to please turn their mobiles off. I mean they've been patiently waiting for you for 35 minutes. Give them some courtesy.

So anyway, if you happened to watch the movie, fill me in :)
Details are found here.

لبيروت

2006-07-25T09:55:00.000+03:00

لبيروت

من قلبي سلامٌ لبيروت

و قُبلٌ للبحر و البيوت

لصخرةٍ

كأنها

وجه بحارٍ قديمِ

هي من

روحِ الشعب خمرٌ

هي من

عرقِهِ خبزٌ و ياسمين

فكيف صار طعمها

طعم نارٍ و دخانِ

لبيروت

مجدٌ من رمادٍ

لبيروت

من دمٍ لولدٍ حُملَ فوق يدها

أطفأت مدينتي قنديلها

أغلقت بابها

أصبحت في المساء وحدها

وحدها و ليلُ

لبيروت
من قلبي سلامٌ لبيروت و قُبلٌ للبحر و البيوت
لصخرةٍ
كأنها
وجه بحارٍ قديم

أنتِ لي أنتِ لي

آه عانقيني أنتِ لي

رايتي و حجرُ الغدِ و موج سفرٍ

أزهرت جراح شعبي أزهرت

دمعة الأمهات

أنتِ بيروت لي

أنتِ لي

آه عانقيني

update: blogger gave me trouble when I wanted to add more pictures. I gave up and published without the bread and smoke pictures. Flickr wasn't as user-friendly as I expected and I didn't realize that the URL is found when you click 'all sizes.' Now I know, so now I add two pics

To Meriam wherever she may be.

2006-07-16T14:08:00.000+03:00

Back in the 80's my sister and I were introduced to Meriam. Her brothers Jameel and Muhammed worked as electrician and plumber for my father. Seeing that we were almost the same age, they suggested bringing her over to play. Sis and I were more than willing. We loved that girl. I think it is around that time that I started loving the Lebanese. Took me a while to actually love the country since it's been in turmoil throughout my childhood so never got the change to be taken there with Mom & Dad. Thanks to my other sister's apparent magnetism towards that country, she was invited to take part in a show in 2001 and she chose me as a companion and that's when I met the country and fell in love with it instantly.

I think I knew Remi Bandali through Meriam. I'd leave it to N to correct me. She'd remember better. Listen here.

update: my bro bugs me about my spelling mistakes in these posts. so i had to edit. corrections, as per my fashion with student papers, are made in red.
ما عندي سالفة

Veni, Vidi, but not Vici

2006-07-16T00:56:00.000+03:00

Saw this while visiting Purg. I liked. I used.
Too many white spots that need to be red-ed. Why red? I simply visited the country. I didn't invade it. I didn't kill anyone. Well, maybe a few fish, chicken and cows. But other than that I didn't kill.

Within the U.S.

create your own visited states map

Too noisy to work ...

2006-07-09T13:15:00.000+03:00

Dana's rendition of Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily"

Saoud's rendition of Mansfield's "Miss Brill"

Sara's rendition of Head's "The Prisoner Who Wore Glasses"

Hussain's rendition of Hemingway's "Soldier's Home"

After each member of the group presented their part, he started wrapping up by saying that Defoe's Robinson Crusoe is considered the best work of literature at the age, at which time she jumped at him to say that she strongly disagrees on that. Being as we have often seen brother and sister competing in class, we thought they were actually having an argument within their group, especially after she pointed out that he, due to his disability, being short, fails to appreciate Swift's story about giants. It turns out this play was part of their presentation. Thank you S & S for livening up our summer course with your act.

She approached me after class to ask if her participation is a little over the top. I reluctantly answered her by admitting that she does have a habit of interrupting people in the middle of their sentences all the time. At which point, she promised to be careful about this next time and wait for me to call on her in order to give the other members in class the chance to talk as well. Today A proved that she cannot help being A :)

I occasionally stay in the office to get some work done. But it seems that as long as my neighbor is this adorably noisy colleague, I can never get any work done. His voice is so loud that you can hear him speak from across the building. This post goes for Dr. H, my neighbour.

لنسمعهم صوتنا

2006-07-05T16:35:00.000+03:00

نبي حكومة بلا عناصر الفساد والتأزيم
نبي مجلس برئاسة وطنية تمثل الشعب ولا تمثل عليه
وهم نبيها خمسة
لنسمعهم صوتنا كما أسمعناهم من قبل
ساحة الإرادة - مقابل مجلس الأمة

الجمعة ٧ يوليو2006
الساعة الثامنة والنصف مساء
البس البرتقالي واحضر

For those who mistook my last post as a sign of surrender, I add this here to show that I haven't given up. I received a blow, a strong one, but I haven't given up on Kuwait and never will.

3 wise monkeys

2006-06-30T15:14:00.000+03:00

When we went into the Criminal Investigations Building this last Wednesday the 21st of June we were met everywhere with this statue.
Now I know what it means exactly.

The 3 deaf, blind and mute monkeys are indeed very very smart. So smart they're gonna lose this country to other monkeys.

حسافة على الكويت

جمعية الشفافية الكويتية

2006-06-25T20:16:00.000+03:00

تدعو جمعية الشفافية الكويتية الراغبين بالتطوع للمشاركة في مراقبة إنتخابات مجلس الامة يوم 29/6/2006 إلى التسجيل لديها على ان تقدم لهم دورة تدريبية بعنوان (المراقب الإنتخابي) للخبير الدستوري د. محمد المقاطع و سيمنح المشاركون شهادة مراقب إنتخابي.

عنوان جمعية الشفافية الكويتية
اليرموك ق4 مقابل شارع المطار
هاتف : 5358901
5358902

الدعوة موصولة الى مدونين الكويت خاصة ان تساعدوا في نشر الدعوة ولنتصدى بها الفساد ولنكن درعا نحمي إرادة الشعب من التزوير. ان الامل كبير

ليعلو صوتك ... مارسي حقك

2006-06-23T20:05:00.000+03:00

For more/clearer info visit Ayya

وهم نبيها خمسة

ripped to pieces

2006-06-17T18:25:00.000+03:00

I didn't have the chance to take a picture of the posters yesterday. And now they are all ripped to pieces.
Posters in Surra, scattered around, not too many. They say something like "We can't be bought by the Dinar," and "We're not for sale" (rough translation).

Now who would rip such posters?

Toni Morrison: Sula. 1973

2006-06-17T00:31:00.000+03:00

"Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind but wise." Or was it an old man? A guru, perhaps. Or a griot soothing restless children. I have heard this story, or one exactly like it, in the lore of several cultures. Toni Morrison. Nobel Lecture.

Two girls, raised in two different matriarchal families, finally realize that the bond that unites them as friends is stronger than other societal bonds that kept them apart.

Eva’s husband walks out on her leaving her with two girls and a boy. Her house becomes a place where many seek shelter. But the house lacks proper order, an attribute Morrison reserves for those who are not willing to allow a space for differences among people. As part of her illogical, disorderly fashion, Eva takes in 3 boys and calls them all Dewey, against everyone’s quizzical inquiry as to how to distinguish between the 3. Her daughter Hannah also loses her own husband when their daughter Sula is only 3, leaving Sula to be raised in an a-typical matriarchal family.

Helene Wright is raised by her grandmother away from the Creole whore who gave birth to her. When Helene marries a seaman who is constantly away and bears her daughter Nel, she raises her in such an orderly fashion that makes this matriarchal family the opposite of that of Sula.

It is this opposition that joins the two girls and leads to a friendship that becomes the main focus of the novel, even when Morrison crowds her novels with many more interesting characters and stories:

Eva herself kills her own son when his war trauma leaves him too attached to his mother, but then throws herself out the second floor window onto her burning daughter in an attempt to save her life.

Sula sees her own mother burning but doesn’t move to save her, partly because of hearing her mother in an earlier occasion admit that she loves, but does not like Sula, her daughter.

There is also Shadrack, the shellshock veteran who celebrates National Suicide Day every year, and who finally leads some townfolks into a tunnel, and accidentally, to their death.

Another one of Toni Morrison’s successes. If you haven’t touched a Morrison yet, what are you waiting for?

The old woman is keenly aware that no intellectual mercenary, nor insatiable dictator, no paid-for politician or demagogue; no counterfeit journalist would be persuaded by her thoughts. Toni Morrison. Nobel Lecture.

update on shuroq

2006-06-15T10:59:00.000+03:00

This isn't my own post. But I found the comment stretching a bit too long in Shuroq's blog so I chose to include it here.

الشاب اللطيف في أثناء الحديث قال هذا أبوي وإذا أبوكم نزل نفسه بالانتخابات ما راح تساندونه؟ فردت عليه عالية: إذا كان شريف. فقام الشاب اللطيف بإعطاء عالية تلك الخزة الطويلة الظاهر مصدق إنه ريّال ويخرع. كان قبل شوي قايل حق شروق إنه لو كان متزوج كان عنده عيال قدها وقايل بعد إن احنا من نكون عشان نقعد نربي ونهذب بأخلاقيات الناس واحنا يهال وما نفتهم (كلمة يهال صايرة تنقال لنا وايد هالأيام بس أول مرة أسمعها من ريال عنده 17 سنة. بس الداهية شروق عرفتله وقالت إي طبعا أنت أكبر منا لأنك ريال) وأعتقد أن هذا السبب اللي خلاه يتوجه حق شباك شروق لأنها فاهمته تمام.

وسألونا ليش تبونها خمس ترى الخمس مو عادلة (شافو الشريطة البرتقالية بسيارتي ما شاالله عليهم نبيهين). وقالوا شلون توزعون فتاوي الطبطبائي مع أنه ضد المرأة. وقالوا عادي ماهي رشوة لأن مرشحنا طول عمره يحب يعاون وسألوا الوالد عن أفضال المرشح على المنطقة (الوالد ضحك لين قلناله، وشر البلية ما يضحك) و بينما شروق قاعدة تحاور المأسوف على شبابه دخل بالسالفة ثالث من أهل الدار يقول لنا أنتو ليش قاعدين تحاورون وتقنعون، بس وزعوا منشوراتكم و خلاص (طبعا الأخ واصل عالسالفة من الآخر وما يدري ولا حتى يبي يسمع أننا ما طلبنا نحاور أحد) لا وبعد كاسرين خاطرة يقول أنتو بنات و ما له داعي تكلمون صبيان بالشارع. يعني يكون ضميره صاحي على هالموضوع وايد.

المهم أن ولدي لما قلناله السالفة قال إي ما عليكم منه هذا كلكشي معاي بالصف و

he's messing with you

وهذا مرة جمع كم دينار من الطلبة بحجة أنه بيرتب لهم حفلة وطلع بالأخير قاص عليهم. الظاهر الابن البار كان يبي يعاون الوالد بحملته الانتخابية ببعض الدعم المادي. عفية عليك يابو عمر. والله عرفت تربي كثر الله من أمثالك.

وسلامتكم

My blood is boiling

2006-06-13T23:34:00.000+03:00

What happened tonight is beyond anything I ever expected. My blood is boiling and my hands are still shaking. I never believed corruption could run so high and in such an open manner.

Distributing flyers with a message against buying and selling votes ended in one of the most aggravating and disturbing conversations ever when 2 men directly offered us money to shut up and/or sell our voices.

I will leave Shuroq to fill you in on the details. She's a more prolific writer with a better memory. And she has already been threatened to publish something by noon tomorrow or else.

Toni Morrison: The Bluest Eye. 1970

2006-06-09T19:43:00.000+03:00

Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow.
This is how 9 years old Claudia begins telling us the story of Pecola that she and her sister Frieda, 10, were witness to. In this story, Morrison takes her readers into the world as seen in the eyes of two black girls whose fortune is only a little better than the distressed Pecola. Pecola, influenced by the seemingly happy life displayed on the screen of this pretty blond with blue eyes, decides that what happened to her could be prevented if she had Shirley Temple’s blue eyes:
It had occurred to Pecula … that if her eyes … were different, … she herself would be different. If she looked different, beautiful, maybe Cholly would be different, and Mrs. Breedlove. Maybe they’d say, “Why, look at pretty-eyed Pecola. We mustn’t do bad things in front of those pretty eyes.” …Each night, without fail, she prayed for blue eyes.
But Pecola is not that lucky. Her eyes aren’t blue. And her father Cholly rapes her. And her mother Mrs. Breedlove breeds no love on the girl.
So it was.
A little black girl years for the blue eyes of a little white girl, and the horror at the heart of her yearning is exceeded only by the evil of fulfillment.
We saw her sometimes, Frieda and I—after the baby came too soon and died. After the gossip and the slow wagging of heads. She was sad to see. Grown people looked away; children, those who were not frightened by her, laughed outright.
…
All of us—all who knew her—felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness.
…
She, however, stepped over into madness, a madness which protected her from us simply because it bored us in the end.
It is only when Claudia grows older that she realizes that the town and she herself were wrong when they acquiesce to life’s unjust treatment to one of their own, saying the victim has no right to live.

I love Morrison’s multiple narrators. I love her refusal to allow her readers to classify good and evil. I love the fluidity of her style. But most of all, I love this, her first novel, and to me, the most gripping of all her 8 novels.

My aim is to begin some sort of a book review here. Not a very typical one, just my own thoughts and observations of a few of my favorites books. Toni Morrison being my favorite author, I will begin with this, then follow with the rest of her 8 novels before I move on to other writers.

That, my dear reader, is the plan. But I am generally not one to follow through with her plans :)

الهارون & النيباري

2006-06-06T16:22:00.000+03:00

And if you read this before 8:30 tonight:

الفساد... الى متى؟

Tuesday 6 June 2006

8:30 pm

المقر الإنتخابي للسيد عبدالوهاب الهارون

ضاحية عبدالله السالم

دعوة خاصة لشابات وشباب نبيها خمس وكل من مل الفساد ويريد الارتقاء للكويت ولاهلها

Vote for Dad

2006-05-29T23:55:00.000+03:00

عبدالمحسن تقي مظّفر
مرشح المنبر الديمقراطي الكويتي عن الدائرة العاشرة

لانتخابات مجلس الأمة 2006

Inspired by Alia

Away from politics

2006-05-22T14:11:00.000+03:00

Away from politics 1:
Today is the last day of class, the worst day of the year for me. I hate saying goodbye to students. Every semester I get to know a number of students. Some are old students from my days as a school teacher. Some are interestingly bold and original in their way of thinking. Some are a raging volcano of emotions and thoughts under a quiet facade. Some are still learning to gain a voice. Some are struggling with balancing family and school. Some I enjoy teasing and some take pleasure in teasing me. But all are such a pleasure to teach and an honor to know. To my 475 class and to those who graduated before, I dedicate this post.

Away from politics 2:
The maid I borrow from my sister twice a week to clean the house has to go back home. After finding a suitable candidate, I went to apply for her visa armed with the necessary papers only to be told that they need a recent divorce paper, not more than 6 months old. What's the logic behind this? 6 months? I'd understand, or can pretend to understand, 3 months, as a woman cannot remarry within three months of her divorce. But 6? What would happen in 6 months that can't happen in 3?

Away from politics 3:
I was supposed to join Walk the World with my friend yesterday. She couldn't take the day off so I decided not to go alone. But later on I decided to go to release some stress (not caused by the latest political events but by personal matters). Is it still supporting Child Hunger is my cause was a fresh walk on the beach for exercise and for stress release?

I leave you with pictures of the event:

وهم نبيها خمسة

Kuwait Political Database

2006-05-19T08:15:00.000+03:00

Coming to terms with my ignorance regarding the current political situation, getting tired of having to refer to my little sister for information, and being in a state of perpetual confusion as to each MP's position regarding this and other debates, I decided to google Kuwait Politics and came across a very interesting and informative site for those political novices like myself. Check it out.

I just spent the last hour surfing through the various levels of information presented there. I found out that there are 44 registered voters sharing my family's last name, 4 of whom live in Jabber :)

التجمع القادم
وتستمر الإرادة
بمشاركة نواب الأمة .. نلتقي معاً في ساحة الإرادة
أمام مجلس الأمة - شارع الخليج العربي
يوم الجمعة 19 مايو - الساعة الثامنة مساء

pooh fellow bloggers/nabeeha5 fighters/ شباب الياسمين : Seeing your faces at those political gatherings has been part of the pleasure I derive from my meager political activism. I find myself insisting on attending in spite of my busy work schedule (semester nearing its end, exams not yet written) partly in excitement over meeting with you again. Our political struggle will hopefully continue beyond our struggle to approve the 5 constituencies. However, I would love for us to be able to meet on a more social ground. Are you interested? I wasn't able to contact all of you by email so I chose to spread my call here and in some of your blogs. Email me if interested.

هم نبيها 5

2006-05-12T22:27:00.000+03:00

Let's not give in now. Sunday at 6. See you all there facing the Parliament.

I'm repeating the call of my fellow bloggers. It's time to make a stand. It's no longer about 5 or 10 or even 25. It's Kuwaitis showing they care about their country, showing they are involved, showing they are politically aware, or at least, politically interested in what's going on around them.

Please please please be there. Don't be passive. Don't say it's pointless. Don't say one person won't make a difference. If you care even a little bit about making this a better place to live in, start now. What harm would come to you? A few hours gathering with a bunch of devoted, interesting, fun, energetic and patriotic group of people (blogville is filled with those, as I have come to find out) can do you more good than harm.

Sunday, 6 pm, Facing the Parliament: See you there.

Let them eat cake!!!

2006-05-10T16:32:00.000+03:00

Isn't this similar? I don't write political posts. This isn't politics. I write about food. So here's food for thought:

Isn't approving 10 when you ask for 5 similar to suggesting cake when you ask for bread?

Well, not quite. Offering cake is an indication of ignorance. Offering 10 is one of not giving a damn. Or is it not so?

Sunday: 6-8 PM

Parliament

5 for Kuwait

2006-05-05T22:05:00.000+03:00

Rallying for 5, I met the following wonderful bloggers today:
Zaydoun: His was the first orange shirt I saw.
Papillona: Lovely and beautiful but feeling a little hot tonight.
Nunu: I seem to have confused you with noony (Judy Abbot currently I believe). Nice meeting you nevertheless.
iDip: Spotted through a women's plot to find the mysterious iDip.
Ayya: Meeting you made my night. I felt like a teenager meeting her idol.
The Stallion: Who thought we were gathered to celebrate cinqo de mayo :)
Walladah: Another one of my idols. To see that a real person exists behind those poetic visions is always baffling.
Nibaq: Nice meeting you again. Didn't have the chance to chat this time.

Seeing the enthusiam behind this rally tonight made me feel very optimistic. I'm hoping for the best.