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Archive for October 2005

Electronic memoir of a dysfunctional progressive

In Bits & pieces on October 31, 2005 at 12:54 pm

If this be a time of confessions then I must tell you upfront that I am in a precarious mood. I am glued to this monitor of mine without any protection. God help us should there occur any mishaps. In actual fact, now I see a small dysfunctional progressive dancing on my purple bag. How do I know she is dysfunctional and a progressive? I don’t.

I am in a state reminiscent of many ex-ones where I would write things that very few people understand. And I never really met anyone who understood them but I entertain the minute possibility that someone did.

Why do I put incomprehensible word puzzles down then? “Because I want to” is a cliché all too used. I put them down because I find them highly amusing and informative. This condition is somewhat like being placed inside a humungous balloon and trying all the time to jump up and touch its circular roof. You never really touch the roof, knowingly, because you are incapable of registering the success per se. Or perhaps you do touch the roof but since you have no “record” of touching roofs and you do not “know” what the roof feels like, because you have no other precedent to match it to, you remain unaware of your feat.

I will launch this entry as a pure experiment. I wish to learn of your interpretations of it, such an exchange of views, no matter how exotic they come, is always a pleasure.

Truth be said and pictured

In Opinion, Picturesque on October 30, 2005 at 4:30 am

If truth be a woman I imagine this is her.

Is the reader always right?

In Literature, Opinion on October 29, 2005 at 8:06 am

The title of this post is designed to mimic its “commercialized” sibling that sustains that “The client is always right”. You will learn my motives behind choosing this title, and topic, shortly.

During one of my musings I stumbled across the idea of the relationship between the writer and the readership. I asked myself why people write in the first place. Some write because they feel the need to express themselves, others write for a living, and some other people write because they are simply addicted to writing. Now these reasons may or may not register with you are being entirely correct or inclusive of every cause behind a written piece. It is not my intention, however, in this piece, to detail why people write. This is simply a verbal illustration of the paths my mind trod to arrive to the following thoughts.

Let us discard the first and third reasons that I mentioned above behind people’s writing. If a person writes for a living, meaning that one makes money out of the words he or she writes, does that necessarily make one a hypocrite?
The discussion arose in an Italian Literature lecture. My professor argued that many best-selling books nowadays are not worthy of being read. In his estimation, it is not the number of copies a book sells that determines how “good” the book is. I do agree with him on that point. Perhaps you find that he and I are romantics in this age of mass production even of thoughts. Perhaps we believe in the martyr-writer, a figure that forsakes all for the love of the written word? But no, I find myself obliged to dismiss that assumption at once.

I argued with my professor that a certain “criterion” for what is “good writing” and “bad writing” is totally subjective. If a writer produces a piece and this piece scores popularity, it is perhaps because the thought in the piece beats to the rhythm of current life. My professor then replied that a writer should not write for the sake of “selling”, but for a higher, more personal cause. He mentioned a number of writers who did not receive any fruits of success during their lifetimes but were discovered to be brilliant after their death, it was then that their words found reading eyes. He also followed to a number of writers who knew how to juggle their own “flow of creativity” that may or may not sell, and the “market” that is hungry for a specific type of the written presentation.

Having established that bestsellers are not necessarily of a fine quality of thoughts, I must come to the question of “why” they were written in the first place. This also brings to mind the figure of the writer who “checks” the market first, then proceeds to jotting down whatever ideas are popular then and there. Do not mistake this for a generalization, I am examining my own reflections and I am by no means labeling any writers, be they famous or not.

Now, if a writer succumbs to the temptation of the market, does that make him or her less of a genuine writer? Or does it mean that the writer is genius because he or she “knew” what to write to appeal to the masses?

T Play Box VII

In T Play Box on October 28, 2005 at 9:37 pm

Welcome to yet another session inside T Play Box. I feel like posting a tilly putty thought but I do not really know what will pop in my head in the next few seconds.

One day I discovered something absolutely delicious about myself. I found out that I can reach some supernatural elevation when I consume the nectar that is orange juice.

Anyone who knows me well enough understands perfectly well what orange juice does to me. It has a strange effect on my being; it makes me a different person. I become extremely “high” and liberated to the degree that I would cross any boundaries of common rules.

I do not know what is it in orange juice that triggers this temporary insanity ( or is it sanity?) but I do know for a 100% fact that it does something to me. This is one of the reasons why I love orange juice, especially in the company of a pleasant person. It does wonders. As I type these words I hope someone would come up, someone who knows how I am like under the effect of that nectar, and tell of how I am transformed into a Tololy closer to that within, a Tololy unleashed.

In retrospect, I can sum up how the juice worked its magic on me on various occasions. I would start laughing and I would become nothing short of naughty , I am such a fun person after drinking orange juice. Why that happens, again I tell you I do not know for sure. Orange juice makes me get my freak on, now that is twisted.

Rumi the Sufi

In Literature on October 27, 2005 at 6:02 am

I thank the person who brought the works of Jelaluddin Rumi to my attention. Rumi is a famous Persian Sufi who lived in the years 1207-1273. He was a ” saint and mystic, inspiration for the Mevlevi Order of the whirling dervishes, highly revered for the great Mathnawi which is a majestic tribute to the depth of spiritual life.”

I shall leave the rest for you to discover. Bear in mind though, that you need to approach the works of Sufis with delicate care and no prejudice. Prejudice, or preconceived ideas, will only serve to make your refusal of the texts hasty. Do not be tempted by effect of what you have thus learned to pass a ruling and dismiss the works of Sufis, denying yourself the pleasures of exploring them.

In the orchard and rose garden
I long to see your face.
In the taste of Sweetness
I long to kiss your lips.
In the shadows of passion
I long for your love.

Oh! Supreme Lover!
Let me leave aside my worries.
The flowers are blooming
with the exultation of your Spirit.

By Allah!
I long to escape the prison of my ego
and lose myself
in the mountains and the desert.

These sad and lonely people tire me.
I long to revel in the drunken frenzy of your love
and feel the strength of Rustam in my hands.

I’m sick of mortal kings.
I long to see your light.
With lamps in hand
the sheikhs and mullahs roam
the dark alleys of these towns
not finding what they seek.

You are the Essence of the Essence,
The intoxication of Love.
I long to sing your praises
but stand mute
with the agony of wishing in my heart.

– ‘The Love Poems of Rumi’ By Deepak Chopra

Parks strolls away

In Bits & pieces on October 26, 2005 at 12:16 pm

The news of the passing away of Rosa Parks is splashed all over the internet, and for no unobvious reasons. I studied about Parks in school and I came to read of her later on in some Italian class.
I learned of her death through muppetlord’s blog. I did not have the time to listen to or read any news recently, and that explains my tardy learning of Parks’ death. I was struck by a shade of sadness and pain. A feeling somewhat shallow, because as I read the news bit on the BBC site, I noticed that Kwame Kilpatrick is still mayor of Detroit.

It is odd what the human mind captures of seemingly important matters. There I was, reading about the death of the prominent spark behind the modern US civil rights movement and I noticed that Kwame Kilpatrick has won the elections in Detroit. He was running for the position, to resume his previous round, against Freman Hendrix during the final days of my stay in Michigan. The issue was big at the time, and it looks like it still is. Kilpatrick seems to have a knack at having scandals glued to his name.

Kilpatrick’s reelection takes the “wow” out of the current political situations of Arab and Muslim countries, I’d say.

October 27th note: I need to brush up on my news. Kilpatrick is still in office because the elections are scheduled November 8th. Should Kilpatrick win, my entry will be valid as a comment on that victory. Should Hendrix win, it would serve as a critique on Kilpatrick’s time. I do apologize for the errors in dates.

Kleercut

In Bits & pieces on October 26, 2005 at 4:35 am

I received my last Greenpeace Activist News on October 15th. This is the content that I want to share with you. Take a minute to read it :

Kimberly-Clark and Kleenex: Stop clearcutting ancient forests

Did you know that it takes 90 years to grow a box of Kleenex? That’s right, every time you use a Kleenex tissue, you are blowing away ancient forests. That’s because Kimberly-Clark, maker of Kleenex and other toilet and tissue products, all but refuses to use recycled paper in its products. Instead, Kimberly-Clark is clearcutting some of the rarest and oldest forests on Earth – just to create disposable paper products.

Take action now to tell Kimberly-Clark to Stop Clearcutting Ancient Forests

You can voice your protest, should you desire to, by sending an e-mail to Cheryl Perkins,Senior VP & Chief Technical Officer of Kimberly-Clark, and to other company seniors. All you need to do is follow the link I provided above.

Rita

In Bits & pieces on October 25, 2005 at 11:12 am

Another blast from the past comes your way. This is an entry I took from my former blog. Posted on Friday,October 29th, 2004.

She had long curly hair, the color of the night. It swayed over her waist as she walked. Smooth dark skin, generous dark brown eyes that shone with care.
She often told us stories of her life in the german convent. To her it was her only “home”. She never knew any other form of belonging to a place, or a person.
She was one of the most important female figures in my life. She touched my entire being, and she taught me so much. I am forever thankful that I got to know such an amazing muse.
Some people go through life never meeting someone who is “true”. She was true, and real. She never ceased to amaze me, she was a role model to me and she still is.

Where are you Rita?

current mood: curious

Adiga Xabza

In Bits & pieces on October 25, 2005 at 4:31 am

In Adiga tradition, now practiced less than before, respect is fundamental.
Respect for the elderly is a custom highly emphasized and taken into consideration at every occasion.
It has come to my knowledge, either through close personal observation or word of mouth, that Circassian youth take every measure possible to ensure that their behaviors are harmonious with the wishes of the elderly and regulations of tradition.

I will provide a few examples that should portray what a youngster can and cannot do in the presence of his seniors in age. A young Circassian person does not sit down, if in a gathering, before his elderly do. He or she does not smoke in front of an older person, nor does he or she speak before that person.
When a senior enters the room, all rise to salute him or her and the young offer their seats, taking care not to rest before that person is at ease.

At weddings, the bride and groom would remain standing as long as seniors are dancing in the Jagg. This particular is the “reduced” form of the real custom that states that the bride and groom should remain standing throughout the wedding party. And that in return is a “less extreme” custom, I should say, compared to the one that prohibits the groom from attending the wedding. Chechens still largely abide by that rule.

I was once in the company of a Circassian friend of mine, who was enjoying a hubbly-bubbly, also known as “Argileh”. He suddenly panicked and hid the instrument and all of its components, and I soon discovered that the reason behind this rush of adrenaline was the passing of an older Circassian fellow, an absolute stranger.

Quoting Einstein on Religion

In Quoting on October 24, 2005 at 12:29 pm


Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.

-Albert Einstein

Commenting Policy

In Bits & pieces on October 24, 2005 at 11:45 am

Since individuals find it appealing to test their freedom boundaries, I find it essential to make things clear for the curious and the troublesome alike. Democracy is an illusion unless it is enacted properly; asserting that, allow me to inform you of some simple codes to follow should you desire to comment on entries in this site. I, at all times, reserve the full right, inclusive of and not limited to, deleting comments posted to my blog in conflict with the rules stated as follows.

Relevance to topic:
Comments that are dramatically off-topic will be removed as they could confuse readers. Comments that do not contribute to the discussion of the entries, or to the debates introduced by comments relevant to topic will be removed. If you have a special opinion that is not necessarily related to the entry in question, do not hesitate to email me at tutunai@gmail.com.

Language:
I will not tolerate the use of offensive language. It is almost always unprovoked and provocative. Any comments inclusive of any such improper use of language will be removed. Repeated abuse of language could result in a permanent ban for the individual behind such conduct. Hate speech, racist remarks and discriminative statements all come under the same flag.

Misuse of commenting space:
Some entries may have the commenting option enabled and others may not.
Do not comment on a post using another’s commenting space. This is considered as misuse of commenting space, any such comments will be removed.

Personal attacks:
Personal attacks against me, my family, friends, or other commentators are not acceptable. Comments of such genres will be removed and the individuals behind them banned. Along the same line is the disclosure of personal information about me that I wish to remain private.

Trackbacks:
Trackbacks are considered comments and they follow the same rules.

Sweet Oblivion

In Bits & pieces on October 23, 2005 at 5:50 am


I have been approached via email concerning Samara. Some wanted proof of its existence and I bet some denied that I, by custom and not by choice, belong to it.

I found the content of the email rather amusing. Because I humored the notion that perhaps Samara does not really exist. Maybe I imagined it all and I wrote of this fabrication to entertain a group of anonymous and semi-anonymous readers.
After thinking of that I followed to a former time of my life when I doubted the existence of anything and everything.

I once played with the thought that if I am limited in my perception, if I know only what I can receive through the incomplete faculties of the senses and if every individual hosts a different version of what lies around us then, nothing really exists. Each imagines the world in his/her own way.
I never really spoke of that to anyone, I put it to test and I discovered that it is simply too “extreme”, I should say.

For the dubious out there I post a picture of a road sign that salutes one when one first enters Samara. If that does not convince you then I advise you head to the south of the kingdom, find Karak then look for Samara. And if you embrace my former skepticism then I do not think you would voice it.

Mr. & Mrs. Who’s Who

In Literature on October 22, 2005 at 8:15 am

The man did not expect to find his true love while dancing. He just wanted to have some fun and not think of work for the night. So he headed to the nearest disco and there he drank until he could no more. He found himself dancing with girls he had never seen before. Girls varying in size and looks, some old enough to actually be called women.
“I think I like you”, said the woman. “I think I could learn to like you”, said the man.
The two danced on. Drunk and ecstatic.

The couple walked to his house, he opened the door and his cat rubbed its head against his foot.“Oh! That’s a nice cat!,” exclaimed the woman. “Yeah. That’s Oliver. I just got him fixed”, said he. “Poor thing! Here Oliver. Come here, that’s a good pussycat”.

Significant each other’s other or not, the man and the woman had a steamy lovemaking session, a no-strings-attached-one-night-stand.

The man said: “That was good”, and she nodded, too tired to speak.
“I am really a man”.
“No way!”
“Yes way. I should’ve told you but I thought you’d freak out.”
“Freak out? Are you kidding me? What the!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this in the first place. I don’t know you, you don’t know me. And this is a one-night stand for god’s sake. I’m sorry I’m just really stupid sometimes. I should’ve just shut up about it”
Now looking at the ceiling and not knowing what to say, they both lay there, silent. Oliver curled up on the floor and closed his eyes in sweet sleep.

Then someone said “Well OK. I was a woman once”.

The Grand House

In Jordan on October 21, 2005 at 1:35 pm

In Samara, where my father was born, I was educated to find my roots. My memories of the place are simple and rich. I remember the old two-room house on the top of a hill overlooking the village, I remember the graves scattered in the yard of it that we called a home, and the bathroom that stood some 50 meters away. Electricity had not reached its glowing fingers to Samara when we stayed at that house, and so we depended on my father’s creativity to generate light in the dark.

Those hardships are not the subject of my entry, however. A while back, I took a good number of pictures of the Grand House; that is the house of the family in the past. By family I mean my grandfather, his two brothers, and their offspring and wives. I decided to share a few pictures with you, readership.

What I can gather from the imprints coined in my memory about the Grand House is largely formed in my childhood. Many a time my father would sit by the fire and narrate a story starring my grandfather,whom I never got to meet. The narrator would trace the lineage of the family, and emphasize the fact that we are Christian converts to Islam. He would speak of the horses and the cattle, the women and the trade, the field and the harvest. All sounded, and still sound, absolutely surreal.
The storyteller would follow to the mystical tale of how the family moved from their original place of residence in another village, to Samara, after a man’s desire in a woman.

Accounts of dramatic personal injuries of long ago are also often cited. I clearly remember a story about a certain individual of the family having to live with a broken jaw for quite some time, simply because it was harvest time and his father was not about to lose a worker to a broken bone. Another tale told of how a little girl lost a finger in a hay stack while playing with her friends, the narrator of this particular story traced the life of the girl and always reassured us that her losing that finger did not hinder her abilities to snatch a husband.

I would sometimes wear an awkward looking hat and walk through Samara to get to the little area of land owned by my father, and old men would stop me and ask ” Who’s daughter are you?”, and I would proudly produce my father’s name and the name of the family. I was a foreigner to them who lived in the village, I merely visited every once in a while, therefore I was always under close inspection.

The pictures you will see shortly were taken at the Grand House, I hope they could convey a little of the charm the place holds. I do not have the keys to the house and so I had to literally break into the premises. All pictures are of the external parts of the house.

This here is the gate of the Grand House. The keys that unlock the doors of the Grand House are giant in size, I remember seeing them dangling from the hand of my uncle. They are heavy, rusty, and bound together by a chain.

In the following two pictures you see a path dividing the Grand House in two parts, one for living and the other for work. The first picture captures the visual representation of what meets you upon entering through the gate, the second is basically what you see should you walk through the path and reach the end, then look at the gate.

The multiple rooms were divided into sections, one for each family. A door of one of the rooms looks like this:

A general, beautiful view of the terrace of the Grand House. Sitting in that place, you can see most of the old structures of the village. It is a wonderful view, at all times.

Stairs are used to get to my grandfather’s section of the Grand House. You first enter the main gate, proceed forward then enter through the first door to your right. There you come into a vast, dark hall called “Al Khan”. I was told that this is where the family kept the sheep and cows(in Jordanian that’s “Halal”) right under the living quarters. I did not live that era, and so I never saw any livestock in the Khan.

I personally have always found the Khan to be an amazing location, it is always dark, and there is a part of it that I never entered. It was never empty, but full of antiques at all times.

In the end of the first section of the Khan, you find stairs to your right, you climb the steps up to the terrace, surrounding which you find the actual rooms once inhabited by my grandfather and his family. I took a picture of the stairs from above and one I took from the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

Samara’s old structures are well-knit. The roofs of the houses interlace, you can move on them and get from one house to another with ease. That is what I enjoy doing every time I visit the Grand House. From the roof, I took pictures of neighboring houses.

I should probably note that nobody lives in the Grand House anymore. Families visit, stay for a day, and leave. I pass by and, realising that without the keys to unlock its doors I will be unable to enjoy it fully,I walk on. The Grand House remains adorned with magic and mystery. The amazing simplicity springing forth from its stones intermingles with history.

Quilabelled

In Bits & pieces on October 20, 2005 at 11:36 am

When I resolved to build up a new blog, I decided to keep it clean and simple. I did not want to clog it with a dozen links on each side, and I still do not want to do that. However, I read a bit about blogs and “exposure” and I realised that I probably would need an additional link or two, maybe even more.

An interesting site that I came across is blogthings . I was lured in by a quiz, and I was a bit thrown back at the result. I was labelled!

Some might ask ” What were you expecting?”, and they have every right to pose that question. But I find it rather ironic that on the same day that I choose to post about labels and such, I get labelled by a quiz. The end result is amusing, nonetheless.

Your Blogging Type is Logical and Principled

You like to voice your well thought out opinions on your blog.
And if someone doesn’t like what you write, you really don’t care!
Serious and blunt, sometimes people take your blog the wrong way.
But you’re a true and loyal friend to those who truly get you.

To be or not to be

In Bits & pieces on October 20, 2005 at 5:20 am

Again the question of identity and multiple facades surfaces. I had mentioned in a previous post, quoting Pirandello, how one is sometimes unable to identify with the host of masks and people that are one. Pirandello’s form and life are simple concepts that lead to complications as they try to explain similar complexities. I realize that some members of my readership possibly find this redundant, however, I feel it is evergreen and I can relate to it in particular more than I relate to many issues.

By admitting that one has many faces, one is hardly being schizophrenic, one is being honest. This all boils down to saying that label sticking is hardly ever correct or appropriate, basically because, as I stated above, one has many faces, and because there is not ultimate knowledge possessed by anyone. Think of truth as a puzzle, some have more pieces than others, but none have the whole set.

I should note that the crusade of my life revolves around fighting labels, because I find this issue to be both central and vastly misapprehended, therefore a probable foundation for trouble. And in retrospect, I can rationalize many a behavior of mine based on my fresh and transparent understanding of what, in reality, I had set out to do.

I have always refused being classified like I am some sort of a product. I follow no specific genre, and I would like to think no label could be forced upon me, not even nonconformist. And I strongly believe that I cannot categorize people, neither do I wish to, because it will prove to be a waste of my time and intellectual faculties, to no good end. Labeling is another form of the fatal error of attribution or generalization. You seldom get away with it, and if you do, it will catch up with you.

By labeling people one limits them to that specific category, and limits his/her self to only seeing them through that narrow perspective. Hence problems arise. Let me break things down for you.

If one judges another based on appearance as being, say, narrow minded, then one has miscalculated. This seemingly harmless act of tagging people, in my opinion, is the reason why many feel rejected and looked down upon by others. This feeling of being “outcasts” could lead them to improper conduct, not to mention the generation of closed classes of individuals who throng together, social classes, the so-called peer pressure and what not.

Some may say that I overdrammatized things in that example, but I am not convinced of that allegation. I personally have been in such situations and I have closely observed what labeling can do, and what it does in reality.

In my reading of The Writer’s Idea Book by Jack Heffron, I came across chapter five entitled “I yam what I yam and other lies”. Writer’s Digest Books published the book in 2003. Heffron writes:

Getting at how we are is tough to do, and who we are changes depending on day,
time, location and circumstance. We are parent, boss, motorist, son/daughter,employee, mate, shortstop, tourist, reader, writer, expert, novice and many other identities. We are “the chameleon poet” and we “contain multitudes.”
There is a famous anecdote about the poet James Dickey nervously waiting
backstage before a national television appearance. Someone told him,
“Relax, just be yourself,” and he answered, “which one?”

Pierce it

In Body Art on October 19, 2005 at 11:46 am

Body Art is assuming an increasingly important position in Jordan. It entails the modification of the body, be it superficial or profound, using colors, jewelry, or factual restructuring or “modification”.
Notwithstanding religious and social conventions, I am greatly engrossed in this form of art. I have multiple piercings and I intend to increase their current number, god willing, very soon.

The matter that I wish to discuss now, again discounting religious and social restrictions, is the lack of body art studios in Jordan. I have been shocked at this when I first resolved to practice my passion and get pierced. I must admit I did not look the matter up beforehand to educate myself on the ways in which piercing in certain areas should be performed. Therefore, I am partially to blame for the outcome of events.

I believe it is absurd not to find a single professional body art studio in Amman. If one desires to get pierced, one will have to settle for an unhygienic and a hit and miss service provided by untrained individuals at common accessory stores or pharmacies. This certainly depends on “where” one wishes to be pierced, but as a general rule, the earlobe can be pierced with a gun without problems. Any other area should be pierced at the hands of a professional piercer using a needle and/or other utensils.

This is precisely the problem. Such professional piercers do not exist, to the best of my knowledge, in Amman. This is why I, in my former inexcusable ignorance, underwent a wrong procedure to obtain the precious hole in my nostril, later to be adorned with various sparkling jewels.

The lady who conducted the “operation” was pleasant. She, however, had no idea what she was doing. I came to learn this afterwards, when I discovered the methods applied for piercing the nostril and what precautions should be taken in the process.
She told me that I can remove the present stud after a day or two, and went so far as to telling me that I should clean the newly acquired puncture with alcohol. Luckily, I looked the matter up as soon as I got home. Lo and behold! It turns out that one should never pierce the nose with a gun, and one of the ultimate sins to commit after any piercing process is to apply alcohol to the puncture as it causes inflammation and a dozen other problems.

By reading up, I learned that ear cartilage, as well, should not be pierced with a gun and it follows the same no-alcohol-after-piercing code. I was given similar incorrect instructions after my 6 novel cartilage holes, this time by a pharmacist.

I then went to a certain store that I heard performs belly button piercings. Only this time I was well informed and understating of most aspects of the practice. They told me that they pierce the area just above the belly button with a gun, and place a regular earring in it. Later on, after a week’s time or so, the client returns to have the earring removed and a proper belly button jewel inserted in its place. In other words, they expand the fresh, unhealed hole. Needless to say, this is painful and unsanitary.

A belly button piercing should never be performed with a gun. The jewelry itself should not be removed before six months or so, the period of time required for the fresh wound to heal. Or one would risk ending up with a black belly button and a hideous scar. I would never submit myself to such a risk, let alone have a non-professional handle a serious piercing operation like that.

It is indeed funny to find great numbers of Jordanian youth being pierced at local accessory stores and pharmacies, ignorant of the fact that what they are doing greatly enhances the chances of their catching one disease or another. Or, at the very least, the risk of their obtaining scars and numerous skin problems.

It is also unacceptable, in my opinion, not to find a single professional piercing studio in Amman. This is what forces people to resort to inexperienced individuals, sometimes to themselves or their friends, to get pierced. I think it is time something is done about this.
I apologise if my narration of certain unpleasant details did not come to your liking, the affair could not be avoided.

On love and such

In Opinion, Personal on October 18, 2005 at 8:08 am

This is by no means a serious post, as the title may suggest. I will not delve into the many meanings of love, the painful pleasures love brings, or the ways it touches our lives.
I will simply quote a little conversation I had had with my 3 year old niece. Her name is Leen.

Tololy: How much do you love me?
Leen : I love you this much. (stretches her arms on her sides)
Tololy: Well I love you..ummm…bigger than Florida and Jordan and America!
pause
Leen : I love you bigger than Marj Al Hamam*.

You see, love does not have to be complicated.

*Marj Al Hamam: An area in Amman, it so happens that Leen lives there. To her, it is the biggest love measuring tool available.

Arabic Entry : بالعربي

In عربي on October 17, 2005 at 11:17 am
ضمن دراستي للغة الايطالية , تعلمت العديد من الكلمات التي ترد في أحاديث بعض الأردنيين اليومية, و مما أثار اهتمامي القرب الشديد بين معاني الكلمات الأصلية و معانيها المتبناة في اللهجة الأردنية. سأوضح معاني هذه الكلمات بالانجليزية و عليك عزيزي القارئ مقارنتها
بقريناتها في العربية . و توجد بطبيعة الحال كلمات أخرى مستقاة من الايطالية و كلمات لربما تكون أكثر عددا مأخوذة من العربية الى الجهة المقابلة

Emettere fattura : to invoice, to bill فاتورة
Parruca : wig باروكة
Bravo: good, clever, fine برافو أو في بعض الأحيان براو
Scarpa: shoe سكربينة
Calza: sock, stocking, tights كلسة و جمعها كلسات, و أنا شخصيا لا أستعملها

The Prophet by Gibran

In Literature on October 16, 2005 at 4:26 am

Of Gibran’s “The Prophet”, one of my all-time favorite reads, I bring you the following lines. The book I quote is a Wordsworth Classics of World Literature, 1996 edition published by Wordsworth Editions Limited.

And a woman who held a babe to her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Mass Death

In Bits & pieces on October 15, 2005 at 8:20 am

Ninety-one militants eliminated in Nalchik – minister
NALCHIK. Oct 14
(Interfax) – Ninety-one militants have been eliminated during a special
operation in Nalchik, according to recent reports from Kabardino-Balkarian law
enforcement agencies.
“We continue to revise the number of eliminated
militants. which currently stands at 91. Another 36 militants have been detained
on suspicion of involvement in the attack. Charges have already been presented
to nine of them,” Kabardino-Balkarian Interior Minister Khachim Shogenov told
Interfax on Friday.

Mass death, once more, claims the lives of Adiga and Chechen people in Nalchik, the Caucasus.
I search for adequate words to vent out this suppressed anger and sadness within me, and I find none. I am grieved and in mourning. The sight of my mother, upon her reception of the news via TV, touched me so that I almost cried. Those murdered are her kinsfolk and mine. They’re your kinsfolk too, since we are all variations of the same seed. I came to know some good people from Nalchik, the thought of the possibility that they are now no more saddens me profoundly.

I believe in peace, but I also am convinced that people often take the wrong steps towards it. Chechens want independence, like Adigas before them, and Russia does not want to give it to them. I just wish there was a simple way to solve this, to end this war, but it seems as though there really isn’t one.

Perhaps Russia is counting on a sudden evacuation of Chechnya. An exodus mimicking that of the Adiga population forced to depart more than a hundred years ago. It is always unjust, regardless of the race or religion of the individual in question, to have to flee one’s country because of oppression or war.
It is time this bloodshed halts, it leads nowhere.

Personal Entry: Hectic

In Personal on October 14, 2005 at 12:55 am

I am without a diary because my third one ran out of paper and I still haven’t bought myself a new one. This means that I did not record my having gotten a “normal” job and such, I feel aweful about this.

I have a highly selective memory, and I do not know what criteria it uses to store certain events and dispose of others. That is a great chunck of the reason why I need a diary; if I do not jot things down I am likely to forget them. And I hate forgetting life events, it makes me feel so confused and lost when someone mentions something later on in time and I fail to recall anything about it.

So back to the point of the post’s title. This has been a hectic week, I am exhausted. I think it’s been like that because of my starting a new job as I still, frequently, attend to university lectures. It is probably more psychological than physical since I do not really involve myself in physical, manual labor, anywhere.

It is possible that I think too much about the two major balls I have in the air, without realising that I am infact managing superbly. I am not lagging behind as far as studies are concerned, even though I am a bit detached. And I am perfectly able to do my job the right way. What is this recurrent stream of thinking set to do, then? and more importantly, why should this interest you and why am I telling you about my week?

T Play Box VI

In T Play Box on October 13, 2005 at 9:30 am

Midgets, or to be politically correct, small people, are just amazing. I have been asked by Jameed to post a tilly putty thought about midgets and trampolines. I hope this doesn’t come across the wrong way for I hold the utmost respect to all people regardless of color, size, race or religion. This is just a tilly putty thought, no more, no less.

There’s almost always a circus in Amman and you can bet your beans that it’s almost always Ukrainian. I wonder why that is. Are Ukrainian people keen on performing twisted tricks in front of peoples of other cultures? I really don’t know the answer to this question, and frankly I have never been to a commercial circus in my entire life. A commercial circus is the typical mental image of a circus everyone has, a gigantic striped tent housing animals in captivity, clowns and ladies in skimpy latex clothes.
I am always in a bigger circus. You know what that is, and if you don’t then you’re not witty enough, dear. Do not take offense at that, I can understand that maybe you are not in the mood to be witty. It’s fine, you are not ill.

I know someone who fears clowns. He was shaken up as a child after seeing a black clown doing a usual trick. I am not sure what scared him about that, I know that clowns can come in a variety of colors. My favorites are Arab clowns, simply because I meet so many. Now you can exercise your wits, dear.
I like jumping on beds and mattresses. And to my great amazement this hobby is widely adopted by circus people in a slightly modified way. But that does not satisfy Tololy’s picky taste. I will try to depict a verbal picture of my ideal circus.

First of all, it will have trained people who jump into fire rings once Mr.Lion snaps his beautiful black leather whip. “Snap!” they jump, never hesitant and never rebellious. A group of Siberian tigers monitor the scene.
It should also have an Iguana for presenter, and a good number of talking seals ordering the captive people around. Several chimps will usher the audience into the big tent and others will provide food for the trained people. Now certainly this magical circus must have a trampoline, with midgets jumping up and down on it until their brains spill out and cover the circus floor. On second thoughts, that’s awfully bloody, I don’t want that. I want the midgets to be part of the recruiting crew, they choose which normal sized people to be trained and for what tricks. It’s their moment of glory, look at them in that circus, ordering normal sized people about and forcing them into jumping on the trampoline wearing banana leaves.

“You, the 6 ft blonde over there, jump until your legs fall apart”

Circus midgets like to enjoy cinnamon rolls and mango juice as they watch.

Upcoming posts

In Bits & pieces on October 12, 2005 at 10:39 pm

Since I did not post anything today, up until the present moment, I figured I could shed some light on the upcoming posts to be featured in the box.

We will start with another episode of T Play Box, only this time my Tilly Putty Thought to be presented is inspired by Jameed, a frequent reader of the box, who submitted the participation by email. The post will revolve around two words; midgets and trampoline.
I think I will also re-write my review of The Knights Templar by Sean Martin. I misplaced my previous review and I am less than pleased with that fact. I do not know when I will be able to record my impressions and/or arguments concerning the book.

In addition to that, I will probably post a quote, perhaps even a poem or a literary passage from a favorite book. I might even publish a pictures’ post talking about Samara, Karak. I remember taking a good number of pictures of the village a while back. I should also post something in Arabic, it’s been long enough since my last Arabic post.

I am always trying to recognise what should go where and when. I respect your intelligence and time.

Paradoxical Philosophy

In Literature, Opinion on October 11, 2005 at 11:24 pm

I had wanted to post this entry in Italian but, realising that it will reach a wider audience in English, I changed my mind.
I would like to share with you the essence of one of my lectures, Italian Literature in the 20th century. We are currently studying Luigi Pirandello and I realised that his paradoxical philosophy touches the very core of every individual’s life.

Pirandello contrasts “form” and “life” in an intriguing fashion. He maintains that each and every individual has a multitude of “forms”. Those are the ways in which people perceive this person. There is also the form that one has of his/her self which could be extremely different from all the other forms that people have.

He also adds that “life” is forever changing; it never rests at a point. Every minute an individual is different from what he or she was a minute before, and is different from what he or she will become in the next few moments. Then Pirandello asks, if I am not the same person that I was a moment ago and not even the exact replica of myself a minute from now, if I see myself in a way and every other person sees me in a unique way according to his or her reception of me, then who, in reality, am I?
Pirandello is convinced that every choice in life means the loss of another because one can not be everything at the same time. He states that our paths in life decide what we will encounter and even how our life will turn out to be.

I have read La Carriola yesterday, and this short story happens to clearly manifest Pirandello’s philosophy of the absurd. It tells the story of a university professor who is at the same time a lawyer, a loyal husband, and a father of four. He is stuck in a vortex of the life he lives, his work, his teaching, his demanding wife and children. Then he suddenly looks at things in a slightly tilted scope, he realises that the forms imposed upon him by the demands of a “proper” social and professional life are not really his. He sinks in his thoughts as he does his usual legal work in the privacy of his home office, and he loses himself entirely. His line of reasoning leads him to believe that he has never been alive. He takes the back legs of the household pet, and makes the dog walk on the front legs for some 6 steps. He feels that by doing that he has done something he himself really wanted to do, regardless of customs and obligations and labels. Then he resumes his customary work and returns to his previous prison.

“ Perché ogni forma è una morte” , for every form is a death. This is one of the deductions that the troubled professor arrives to. “ Solo si conosce chi che riesca a veder la forma che si è data o chi gli altri hanno data, la fortuna, i casi, le condizioni in cui ciascuno è nato. Me se possiamo vederla, questa forma, è segno che la nostra vita non è più in essa: perhcé se fosse, noi non la vederemmo: la viveremmo, questa forma, senza vederla, e morremmo ogni giorno più in essa, che è già per sé una morte, senza conoscerla. Possiamo dunque vedere e conoscere soltanto ciò che di noi è morto. Conoscersi è morire.”
Here is a rough translation of the above passage taken from La Carriola:

“The only person who knows is he who manages to see the form that others have bestowed upon him, he who understands fortune and chances, and the conditions in which every individual is born. But if we can see this form, then this is a sign that our life is not in it. Since if our life was in this form, we wouldn’t be seeing it, we would live this form without seeing it and we would die more and more everyday as we live it. This form is, in itself, a death. Therefore we can only see and know that which is dead from us. Knowing ourselves is dying”

“Il mio caso è anche peggiore. Io vedo non ciò che di me è morto; vedo che non sono mai stato vivo, vedo la forma che gli altri, non io, mi hanno data, e sento che in questa forma la mia vita, una mia vera vita, non c’è stata mai. Mi hanno preso come una materia qualunque, hanno preso un cervello, un’anima, muscoli, nervi, carne, e li hanno impastati e foggiati a piacer loro, perché compissero un lavoro, facessero atti, obbedissero a obblighi, in cui io mi cerco e non mi trovo. E grido, l’anima mia grida dentro questa forma morta che mai non è stata mia: — Ma come? Io,questo? Io, così? Ma quando mai? – E ho nausea, orrore, odio di questo che non sono io, che non sono stato mai io: di questa forma morta, in cui sono prigioniero, e da cui non mi posso liberare.”

“My case is even worse. I see of me that which is dead. I see that I have never been alive; I see the form that others, and not I, have chosen for me. And I feel that in this form my true life has never existed.
They have handled me like any other material, they took a brain, a soul, muscles, nerves, flesh, and they kneaded and molded them as they pleased so they can complete a job, commit acts and abide by obligations in which I search for myself and I never find it.
And I scream, my soul screams inside this dead form that has never been mine: — But how? This is me? This is how I am? When ever did this happen?
I am nauseated and horrified. I abhor that which is not me, that which has never been me, that dead form that imprisons me and from which I can not liberate myself.”

Tololy Hired

In Personal on October 10, 2005 at 4:07 am

I think a good number of my readership read a previous post concerning my job hunt, so it follows logically, and out of respect for my readers, to update you on my status in that regard.

Tololy is hired. No more details will be provided as I do not see the need for additional particulars. Thank you kindly for taking a minute out of your day to jump in the box.

Mysterious Beginnings

In Personal on October 9, 2005 at 5:53 am

On October 13th,2004, which happened to be a Wednesday, I posted this to my previous blog. I am amazed at the way my writing style has changed. It is fascinating to see how I moved from Miss.Uppish Angry to,well, the present. I leave the title blank because I do not wish to speculate. Mood: Cheerful.

10:37 p.m.
Crippled Ideas

So people keep asking me this question : what does tololy stand for? what does the word mean? who came up with it?and to all the curious folks out there , i say : BLEH.

Like when i tell someone, a new friend of mine for instance : “hey! people who are close to me call me tololy, i’d like it if u called me that too.” why,oh why, does that person HAVE TO dwell on the fact that such a word doesn’t exist in any language she/he knows? lol doesn’t that person
see the flag ? i am telling her/him that i consider her/him to be a close friend and that i want to
reward her/him by letting her/him call me sth special.

As time passed by, and i got to know more people, and had to live with numerous questions concerning the ever mysterious “tololy”, i developed an answering formula. I’d always reply to those who ask me what it stands for :
“OH, it stands for ME” . and I’d have this arrogant smile on my face, because i am telling them that i have 2 names that have absolutely nothing in common. Therefore, by some twisted formula, i am better than all those who only have one name. And i am also better than those who get called “common” names. as in, say, Mohammad becomes Hammoudeh. what is that? it’s not unique.

Someone once asked me to elaborate on the “it stands for me” statement. so i said : ” Tololy is me, and I am Tololy. This word exists with a single meaning only, me. in the whole world there exists one tololy and that one tololy is sitting right here with you. this word represents me as an individual and you will hear it nowhere else”. that person drooled.

Another interesting question i hear alot is this: ” so who came up with the name? who invented it?”. I always say : ” I dont know”. Oh but I do know.

As far as i can remember it was my eldest sister,i was still at school at the time, probably 5th or 6th grade. and she kept singing a catchy song from a TV ad, the ad was about some sort of chocolate called Tivoly or sth similar. Then, by some odd chance or game or call it what u may, she called me Tololy. The 2 words rhyme. not funny at all, so wipe that smile off your face
you!
The name caught on, and by time everybody in the family started calling me Tololy or Tolol. And i loved it. Coz well, HELLO!, my real name is a true legend in length. lol very unique though.

There came a time when nobody called me tololy, then it was brought back to life by me.
Nowadays everybody who knows me well enough knows what to call me when they want
something. Tololy. that’s the key to my heart. One last thing before I stop blurting, I think they call a super fast train in Japan tololy. and some other thing in turkey, i forgot what that thing was. hehehe i always stay updated about what happens with my UNIQUE name, it’s been a while though since i last checked it out. oh well… im still super kewl. cheerz

T Play Box V

In T Play Box on October 8, 2005 at 4:45 pm

Roba was kindly the first reader to suggest “pixie dust” to be transformed into a Tilly Putty Thought. This is what became of the two words.

A pixie is one type of a supernatural being that just flies around and does different things at different times. It is somewhat like the tooth fairy, in my head. Now the tooth fairy leaves no trace but a modest amount of money for a child who lost a tooth. I think that’s just pathetic. Why, you ask me.

Teeth are vital parts of the human mouth. And not only do they play a major role in grinding food and thus helping humans ,and other animals, digest that food, but they also make one look nice when one smiles. This is naturally conditioned by one’s having nice teeth, because it is logical to deduce that if one has damaged yellowish teeth then one’s smile wouldn’t be exactly attractive. So now that we truly know the value of the human tooth, let us look at the situation of a seven year old losing a most crucial part of her face.

Let’s say, in hypothesis and I wish this was true, that I am seven. One of my teeth starts having a mind of its own to the degree that whenever I eat a carrot it does a tribal dance. I wonder what could possibly be wrong with that tooth of mine and I rush to my mother to inquire about it.
Overwhelmed with fear and curiosity, I cry a bit before I disclose the matter. My mother reassures me that this is normal, she even starts telling me all about teeth and providing me with information that I did not really seek. This puts me in a state of constant wonder and I think it even traumatizes me for the rest of my life. As I do not comprehend the technique in which humans lose parts of their bodies and new parts come out in their place.
One day as I am brushing my teeth, the unstable tooth falls out. I hold it in my hand and run to my parents to show it to them. Still traumatized, I am promised a tooth fairy’s visit. They say she will give me money and, provided I carry out the ritual correctly and place my tooth under my pillow, will take the now useless tooth away.

I try to stay up in order to be able to spot the fairy, maybe even imprison her and ask for a ransom, but I am lulled into sweet sleep by a pixie. This pixie sprinkles some dust on my eyelids and they become utterly heavy and relaxed, and I sleep like a log.
The next morning I find a humble sum of money under my pillow. Whoever placed it there can not be serious. Only this much money in compensation for all that I have been through? I mean, even if I were to sell my tooth I would get more than this. My parents act all excited about the money when I show it to them, knowing fully well that they are pretending to be excited and are actually the comrades of the miserly tooth fairy.

I invoke the curses of heaven and those of the darkest hell to descend upon the tooth fairy. You must understand that I am only seven and I have lost a part of my body, and well, I am less than satisfied with my settlement with the tooth fairy. I raise my hands in prayer, I am about to voice my wicked supplication, but I am lulled back to sleep by the dust of that kind hearted pixie. Her magical dust sends me to worlds beyond this one and makes me forgetful of my previous temper.

Tech Support

In Bits & pieces on October 7, 2005 at 4:45 am

This I received via email. I imagine it was created by a man.

Dear Tech Support:

Last year I upgraded from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0. I soon noticed that the new program began unexpected child processing that took up a lot of space and valuable resources. In addition, Wife 1.0 installed itself into all other programs and now monitors all other system activity. Applications such as Poker Night 10.3 , Football 5.0, Hunting and Fishing 7.5, and Racing 3.6
I can’t seem to keep Wife 1.0 in the background while attempting to run my favorite applications. I’m thinking about going back to Girlfriend 7.0 , but the uninstall doesn’t work on Wife 1.0. Please help!

Thanks,

A Troubled User.

______________________________________

REPLY:
Dear Troubled User:

This is a very common problem that men complain about.

Many people upgrade from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0, thinking that it is just a Utilities and Entertainment program. Wife 1.0 is an OPERATING SYSTEM and is designed by its Creator to run EVERYTHING!!! It is also impossible to delete Wife 1.0 and to return to Girlfriend 7.0. It is impossible to uninstall, or purge the program files from the system once installed.

You cannot go back to Girlfriend 7.0 because Wife 1.0 is designed to not allow this. Look in your Wife 1.0 manual under Warnings-Alimony-Child Support. I recommend that you keep Wife1.0 and work on improving the situation. I suggest installing the background application “Yes Dear” to alleviate software augmentation.

The best course of action is to enter the command C:\APOLOGIZE because ultimately you will have to give the APOLOGIZE command before the system will return to normal anyway.

Wife 1.0 is a great program, but it tends to be very high maintenance . Wife 1.0 comes with several support programs, such as Clean and Sweep 3.0 , Cook It 1.5 and Do Bills 4.2 .

However, be very careful how you use these programs. Improper use will cause the system to launch the program Nag Nag 9.5 . Once this happens, the only way to improve the performance of Wife 1.0 is to purchase additional software. I recommend Flowers 2.1 and Diamonds 5.0 !

WARNING!!! DO NOT, under any circumstances, install Secretary With Short Skirt 3.3 . This application is not supported by Wife 1.0 and will cause irreversible damage to the operating system.

Best of luck,
Tech Support

Quoting Abraham Lincoln on Stupidity

In Quoting on October 6, 2005 at 8:42 am

‘Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.

Somewhere I have never travelled by E.E. Cummings

In Literature on October 5, 2005 at 3:23 am


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Link

T Play Box IV

In T Play Box on October 4, 2005 at 12:10 am
I am nibbling at my fingertips because they have been teasing me non stop for more than an hour and I think they’re delicious.
And now an idea is born. Since I am trying to decide what tilly putty thought to play with, I want your opinion. Why don’t you email me about a certain topic,idea or just send an inspiring word and see what I have to say about it? I think it would be more fun if we could play together and I love interactivity.
Bringing you my tilly putty thought for this episode of T Play Box:
If I say, like Bob Marley did, “I wanna jam it with you…and I hope you like jammin too” please do not take it the wrong way. By jamming I mean playing with tilly putty thoughts. Speaking of taking things the wrong way, this is a bit of a conversation in which I was an active participant:
X: Do you want it?
Tololy: If I say I do, will you give it to me?
X (smiles) : Yes…
I was wondering if they give out those black plush hangers that usually come with intimate apparel, that’s lingerie for minimalists. I was euphoric to learn that I didn’t even have to pay for the sexy strap-decorated hangers. But looking at things in retrospect, I am not perfectly positive that I did not mean something naughty by that question. It so happens that I like experimenting with words and I love subliminal messages to a degree that I transmit them, so to say, almost all the time.
Playing with words is no joke though. I remember its having gotten me in trouble. And now as I just typed that, the diabolic enchantress within my frame suggests: “But trouble is inevitable so you might as well enjoy your little games.”
Enough of that, I don’t want to end up exposing more than I should. Ironic, that’s actually a bit suggestive as well. Is there no cure for this syndrome? I discovered that once you know your way around words, there’s very little you can not mould in a playful capsule. I will not delve more into the matter because I do not want to succumb to the temptation of heterodoxy.
Trying to be cohesive I say again that I would absolutely love it if you would email me suggesting something to be played with and posted in T Play Box. This could be as simple as a word deemed inspirational by me,naturally. If I were you and I wanted to send Tololy a suggestion I would send something such as ” Intergalactic Radio Station” and watch as she and others play with it. Think of it as a game because it really is one,and you have a say in what toys are chosen. It is of course up to you what to suggest and the way you present your suggestion. I did not wish to limit you when I gave that example.
Let’s play. Fin.

Aqaba II

In Jordan, Picturesque on October 3, 2005 at 12:39 am

Presenting the second half of my account on Aqaba. At this moment I clearly see that my decision to split it in two was a wise one, for if I hadn’t done that I can imagine my readership finding it difficult to maintain interest in such a lengthy piece.

Shopping in Aqaba obtained a new meaning after declaring the city a special economic zone as many citizens from other cities find good bargains there. This has added to Aqaba’s vitality and increased the city’s revenue from local tourism.
.

I am not an expert on cigars but I figured this was an interesting sign. I sincerely hope nobody imagines I am promoting smoking or anything of the sort.

Enticing displays luring people in with antiques, accessories, souvenirs, belly dance costumes, wooden chests, Argila’s, spices, and monster seashells.

This is a detailed picture of a collection of spices.

One antiques store had a model wearing some amazing accessories displayed in its window. I zoomed in and took a shot of the head as it was the most remarkable thing I saw that day. I love the metal coins on the rim of the face cover, I believe this accessory is called a “Borqo’”, that’s “Borgo3″ for those of you who can distinguish the eighteenth sound of the Arabic alphabet written as a number. I could be wrong about the name but I desperately need one similar item. It is so exotic.

Books about Jordan are also popular merchandise. They come in a variety of languages, there are even some that detail recipes for Arabic or Jordanian cooking.

“Sand Art” entails the usage of delicate tools to fill up transparent glass bottles with colored sand and fashioning various shapes inside the bottles. It is an exquisite art form that is very much in demand by tourists. Take a look at this beautiful sand art store.

Thanks are due to this sand artist who kindly agreed to be my model. After asking around I was told that sand artists acquire their polychromatic sands from nature or, if they want to use a color unavailable in nature, they use special pigments to dye the sand prior to use. The price of sand art bottles varies depending on the store and the size of the bottle.

Larger bottles usually are pricier because artists dedicate more time and patience to them. A shopper’s tip, ask around before you buy sand art bottles. I have found some places in Amman to sell them for less.

A famous five star restaurant in the heart of the city called Ali Baba hosts hordes of people every day and night. It has been in Aqaba for as long as I remember. Should you feel like enjoying a dish there make sure you can afford it. A picture of the restaurant at night.

This is a picture of a humble sidewalk cafe. Such places are populated at night by Jordanian men and Egyptian workers looking for a cup of tea or coffee and a nice gathering with fellow workers. I have seen that some sidewalk cafe’s in Aqaba have put up TV’s to attract more clientele. And since the majority of workers live in poor conditions and do not own TV sets,this comes as an offer they can not say no to.

I went to a local marketplace called Souq Al Rowaq. The goods sold there are primarily cheap and made in China. I do not speak of quality because I do not know.I liked it at the market because it is very traditional and down to earth. Here is a heap of slippers. And a general view of the market.

There is hardly any notable perfume that you can not find a duplicate for in this place. The people behind this trade can technically mimic any perfume you tell them of, and indeed they already have a vast collection of scents for any taste. I think this is probably illegal but it is never uninteresting.

Now for a more fun collection of items that I came across in Aqaba. Allow me to start with a gigantic slipper that I found amusing.

And a bizarre seashell made into a scented oil holder, creativity assured.

Here is an intriguing label. The name of this denim trade mark is catchy, as it means “destruction”. I am not sure if the word “damar” exists in the language of the manufacturing company, perhaps it means something else to them. Perhaps they deliberately chose this transliteration, since the slang word “damar” to Jordanian youth denotes coolness and other attributes. I will explain further; when a person comments on something by saying “wow! damar!”, this usually means the thing in question is hip,sexy,or simply smashing. I just thought this was interesting, and the spelling mistakes on the label funny.

Lights by the shore less than a minute away from where I was staying. I shook the camera out of idle curiousity and I adore the result.

On the way home to Amman, I passed by the great Mujib landscape. This is one of my favorite places in Jordan. It lies in the southern part of the kingdom and I believe it is part of Karak. This series of grand mountains overlooking the Dead Sea hosts a number of tales, most notably the story of the prophet Lut and his people.

In Islam, the story -and this is the version I have been taught- revolves around the people of the prophet practising sodomy and other acts frowned upon by Allah. Therefore Lut is ordered to leave his village alongside fellow believers, and as they were warned not to turn their heads and witness the punishment of their people none of them did so, save for Lut’s wife who was not a true believer.

Thus she joined her people in their torture and she was turned into stone. Many people like to make guesses about which rock is actually the woman, and there is one erect stone that some have assured me is indeed her figure. Regardless of the existence of this certain stone,I love the unique formations and colors of the massive rocks in this area. To conserve this beauty, a natural reserve was opened in Mujib and it has come to my knowledge that one could go trekking deep into the mountains and if one is lucky enough he or she may spot herds of deer and other forms of wildlife. Finally, a picture of the part of Mujib right beside the Zara road and a general in-car rear view of that road which connects the Mujib area with Amman.

Aqaba I

In Jordan, Picturesque on October 2, 2005 at 2:06 am

I had a lovely weekend in Aqaba and as promised I am now about to share my reflections and some pictures I took for your visual pleasure. It is a family tradition to stop by Karak on our way to Aqaba to rest and maybe even spend the night there, as that step technically splits the journey to Aqaba in half and makes it more amusing.

I took a good number of pictures in Karak and Samara and I plan to post them some time soon, the thought crossed my mind to post them in this entry but I did not think it passable to mix matters up. Clicking on any image I post will enlarge it, so if you want to see a detailed part of a picture that’s what you should do.

The way we chose to get to our destination was that of the Dead Sea. It is the lowest point on earth and is renowned for the extremely high concentration of minerals and salts in its waters. It was thought that nothing could live in the waters of the Dead Sea, and indeed no fish or plants can tolerate that type of environment, but I read once that a Jordanian researcher managed to prove the existence of some sort of microorganism in those healing waters. People from around the world head for the Dead Sea to be treated for several types of illnesses and discomforts. A thriving industry evolved around the manufacturing of body care necessities composed of the mud of the sea bed. That is not to mention the industries concerned with extracting the abundance of salt and other minerals, mainly potash which is one of the top Jordanian exports to the global market. Nevertheless, it is tragic what has happened to the Dead Sea. It seems to be dieing for real due to draught and the excessive abortion of its resources.

Following is a picture of a refinery by the sea shore and another of the tragic state of what’s left of the sea just by the refinery.

Every time I pass by the Dead Sea I am saddened by its deteriorating state, it is shrinking on a daily basis. I have heard of a governmental project to open up a canal connecting it to the Red Sea, but I have also heard that such a project is financially unfeasible. The case being so, a miracle is needed to save this wonder.

En route to Aqaba you will traverse the exotic Wadi Araba, the beauty of the combination of mountains and sand there is indescribable. Anticipate some road side camels and signs alerting you to their existence. Jordanian road signs are seldom verbal, therefore a sign of that type looks like this one.

Look real hard and you will see some camels in this image.

This is a picture of the suburban part of Aqaba, for my part I adore an image of white houses by the seaside. But the coloring of houses in Aqaba is distinct as it has many houses coated in warm colors like beige and light brown, unlike many other areas in Jordan that are mostly drenched in whitish paint.I realise the picture is not perfect and it hardly supports my point of Aqaba houses being polychromatic, but unfortunately I was unable to get a better shot.

Tala Bay is a project that’s been making the news recently. This is a picture I took of the housing units, it fails to show the yacht marina though.

Another leading landmark on the Aqaba beach is the Royal Diving Club; here is a picture of the club’s private beach.

Many tourists and locals visit the club intending to go snorkeling or diving, some simply like to sunbathe and enjoy the view. Here is a snorkeling couple, I overheard them go on about the beauty of a lionfish they had just seen.

It is not for unknown reasons that Aqaba’s waters are popular amongst divers, look how clear the waters are, this is right off the shore.

I promised myself to go snorkeling the next time I visit, it is just so tempting to explore the deep sea that lies so clear and so near.

And on some seaside rocks I situated myself and took a picture of this crab and this rock with the curious shells sticking to it. I am ignorant to their scientific name but I found them to be amazing and crab to be delicious.

And this is a picture of the clashing of the waves and some ships in the background.

I am relieved at the fashion in which Aqaba is coming to life every visit of mine. Much has changed in the city and what I find most appealing is the fine engineering of casual mid street parks. These are places made right in the middle of two ways streets that provide shelter from the scorching sun to anyone who seeks the shade. At some points they even installed fountains, chairs are always present.

This is also a new park, not located in the middle of a street.

Another important landmark in the city is the Great Arab Revolution’s flag. It stands tall exactly on the seaside, note the humungous size compared to surroundings.

More pictures will come your way in my upcoming entry. I must retire now because I am exhausted.