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Archive for December 2005

New Year: New Look

In Bits & pieces on December 31, 2005 at 9:56 pm

There you have it. The new look of Tololy’s Box, done entirely by Black Cats, without whose help I would have probably messed things up. The header is my work though and I am pretty proud of it, so far at least.

Welcoming the new year, both the Year of the Lord 2006 and the Hijri year of 1427 (in about 30 days), as 2006 coincides to begin in less than two hours, I send out warm wishes for peace of mind, and peace on earth to everyone. 2005/14256was a year of affliction to many, a year of natural disasters to many more, and to some a year of inner growth. May 2006/1427 prove to be more logical and soothing, and may it bring you and your loved ones blessings and joy.

I shall quote Prometheus and think of 2006/1427:
” A child of yours is named as my deliverer “.

Arabic Entry: لأني بيضا و حلوة

In عربي on December 30, 2005 at 6:13 pm

كثيرة هي المواقف الغريبة التي أجد نفسي أتعامل معها, و قد زادت نسبتها و غرابتها في الاسابيع القليلة الماضية. و لعل أشهر هذه المفارقات محاولة البعض تتبع “أصولي” و معرفة أسرار هذا الشكل الذي يوحي و لا يبوح, و اللفظ الذي يحمل حروف ثقيلة و أخرى عادية

كلمات قليلة علقت في ذهني بعد حوار قصير مع احدى الزميلات, فقد سألتني من أي مدينة بالضبط أصولي, و عندما أجبتها كانت دهشتها لا تحتوى بكلمات و أخبرتني أنني أبدو كفتاة من أصول فلسطينية لست أبدو كأردنية من الكرك, فسألتها لم يتكرر على مسامعي هذا الوصف و هذا التحليل, فما كان منها الا أن قالت : ” لأنك بيضا و حلوة”! … لا زلت أحاول فهم هذا الحكم, و لا زال الفهم متمنعاً

هل يعني هذا أن كل الأشخاص الأردنيون غامقو البشرة و “بشعون”؟ علماً بأنني لست كما وصفتني زميلتي, و لست أتحدث بهذا كي أثير نزعات عصبية أو ما شابه فأنا ضد ذلك كله جملةً و تفصيلاً, قلباً و قالباً, لكن التحليل ذاته تكرر و تكرر حتى اشتهيت أن أفهم سببه و لكن الأمر أصعب مما تخيلت

Open letter: At Fastlink, the customer is not always right

In Opinion on December 29, 2005 at 6:39 pm

This is an open letter to all Fastlink personnel, specifically to their Customer Care division, and to the company’s client base in Jordan. I shall write out of personal experience and will not attempt to criticize in empty words. My account is not meant to bash the company or its employees, but to bring back to their attention that I, as their customer, have the full right to complain of lack of professionalism and manners. The name of the Fastlink employee who needs additional training will be disclosed in this account, as well as in the official complaint I shall make at Fastlink HQ, and possibly in other materials.

I had the chance to visit Fastlink’s corner in Jubaiha Safeway stores at precisely 4:20 PM, today, Thursday December 29th, 2005. The purpose of my visit was to finish a transaction concerning the changing of a pre-paid offer into a post-paid one. Had I known any better, I would have saved myself the money, the time, and the patience I lost in this call.

The procedure was pleasant enough, official enough, until the Fastlink employee named Tareq Ershaid handed me two papers to sign. A quick look at the papers proved that the printer was obviously jammed when they were produced, and this caused the very words contained in the contract to be like a game of crosswords. I refused to sign the papers and demanded another copy, and at this point, Mr.Ershaid said nothing. He proceeded with the official steps, took my money as could be expected, and asked me again to sign the papers.

I refused to sign, again, and asked for a proper copy of the contract. It should not be so strange to ask for a copy of your contract printed out properly, no? Apparently this is unheard of at Fastlink. Mr.Ershaid, and praised be his manners, then resorted to another tactic. He literally told me that he has other customers to tend to, and has no time for this. My shock was unspeakable, and he did not stop at that, having a bad hair day no doubt. He added that he would change something in the contract to make my deposit five JDs instead of three, if I do not sign the paper.

Customer Care has no limits. Mr.Ershaid even said that he would take the papers without my signing them if the need be so, and that my signature is not really that crucial. I was scandalized by this. Yet I was very short on time and did not wish to make a scene because things on such occasions get ugly, so I signed with the full intention of filing my complaint anywhere it may be read.

Following is a picture of the contract that I received, I shall be writing about this to any source that may wish to hear of it. Should additional information be needed to prove this case, I will provide any data without hesitation.

I find it hard to digest that a printer is not functioning properly, and a firm as gigantic as Fastlink cannot replace it. The case maybe so, but shouldn’t Mr.Ershaid have known better than to print out a blurred contract and hand it in to a customer? At the very base of professionalism is respecting clients, and I see no respect in what he did. He could have told me that the printer is not functioning as should be expected, and I would have left with no hard feelings. He could have, at the very least, apologized for the mess of words he generated. Yet he did not, and he added to that his insolent comments and semi-threats. Funny how he only said those words after he took my money, don’t you think?

I would have guessed such people undergo certain training courses on how to deal with the public, how to promote the company’s products, or say – and I am just guessing here, how to show some respect to perfect strangers after you take their cash. I was obviously mistaken, and I am extremely unimpressed.

My sister called Fastlink’s customer service number, and the girl who answered was gentle enough. She urged us to take measures to make this known to the company, and by God, take measures I will.

Arabic Entry: الجهل و الجهلاء

In عربي on December 29, 2005 at 9:41 am
ألا لا يجهلن أحد علينا
فنجهل فوق جهل الجاهلينا

بيت “معبر” من شعر عمرو بن كلثوم, ان لم تخني الذاكرة. استوقفني هذا البيت قبل فترة ليست بقريبة و أنا أطالع الشعر, و لمعت في ذهني كلمة انجليزية بسيطة, قد تكون من التناقض مع “سياسة” هذا الصندوق بمكان بحيث يتوجب علي ألا أستعملها. لكنها معبرة يا أخي!
Typical
مما يؤسفني أن هذا البيت يعبر عما هو متعارف عليه في الشارع تحت مسمى “تياسة”. اذا لم يعجبك أسلوب الخطاب الموجه اليك من أحدهم, قد ترد عليه بنفس الأسلوب, و اذا “ظلمتك” الادارة قد تتصرف بأوراق الطابعة كيفما تشتهي, و اذا خانتك حبيبتك قد “تصاحب” عليها “للجكر فقط”, و هكذا دواليك حتى لا نعود ندري من صاحب الحق و من المفتري. لله درك يا عمرو

The love you make

In Personal on December 28, 2005 at 4:06 pm

All for good reasons,and as unusual of her, Tololy failed to publish as (little?) as a word of late. She has been severely sick for the past number of days, call it purification -as she likes to coin it-, it was a purgatory contrary to Dante’s, in her own bed.

The smell of illness still lingers in her three-holed nostrils, the hair, the clothes, the bed. The feel of weakness was humbling, very humbling. That–that indescribable sentiment of insignificance and defiance at once still visits her now as she recovers. She can at least get out of the bed without feeling cold and dizzy, she can walk steady and say a few words after being silent for this past period -something she is not used to and does not practice willingly.

Much time she found at her disposal to think, of many a thing. I would certainly rate it strange had she not spent her time thinking, she did not sleep at nights and stuck to that damned mattress, silent, under the sheets and the Paris wool hat during the day. What else could she have done, really? Mayhaps the fever had something to do with the hallucinations, the so-called visions, it’s your body heat Tololy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Crippled and static she recalled the beggar she did not provide change for, the innumerable sins, The Beloved… Yes, she remembered The Beloved only when she managed to snooze for a bit. It was something like a sweet summer nap, yet she awoke with the taste of humid salt on her lips, shedding precious tears for the loss of her.
Then she felt she was going to join The Beloved in that other realm, a moment of revelation; both tragic and joyous. Fever was at its best at that hour, deep in the garb of dark, and she literally wanted to have her back, as always, but now more profoundly, more solemnly. Proximity to death is healing.

But she was spared and did not turn into a metaphysical notion, a name recorded by a circle of kinsfolk and friends. She was touched by the warm concern of Niwhsa and Sabri Hakim, and she wishes to thank them from the very bottom of her heart for their thoughtfulness and care.

Illness provides one with an invaluable chance to reflect on matters. It gave her a minute of alleged wisdom, a gift it is being able to value health, and not giving mundane affairs more weight than they deserve. A time to read as well, she managed to conclude three works of literature, and she is not complaining.

A wish for Happy Holidays

In Bits & pieces on December 24, 2005 at 8:25 pm

A warm wish for a Merry Christmas to all those celebrating. Throw in another for Happy Holidays, enjoy the beautiful season everyone!

T Play Box IX

In T Play Box on December 24, 2005 at 11:24 am

Alone in the office, never imagined this happening, not in a zillion light years. My chair has beautiful prowess that I unearthed but this morning. I placed it in the centre of the room, and made it go round and round. Round and round it went, my chair.

Humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, responsible, and cautious, but because it has been playful, rebellious, and immature.

- Tom Robbins

I am in a playful mood, and by the same token I take everything to be as playful as I am today. The window suddenly opened and a gush of cold Decemebr air sent a chill down my spine. The door responded by closing instantly, and I had my own little storm, in the office. Just the two of us, alone.

This phenomenal fur jacket adds to the relish of the weather, the black nail polish adorning the very tips of my now-pinkish-now-bluish fingers is out of this world. Controversialist? Mayhaps. Witch? Add wicked.

Tech support

In Bits & pieces on December 23, 2005 at 2:08 pm

Blogging via e-mail. This is something. Introduced to so many technological advancements today, I am overwhelmed.

Southern Encounters II

In Jordan, Picturesque on December 23, 2005 at 12:01 am

As promised, the second nexus of Southern Encounters; pictures taken in Samara, comes your way. The visual representations you are about to see are somewhat of a different taste than those featured before. Some were taken in the city of Karak itself, and some in the Samara, the village. I enjoyed capturing those pictures and I can willingly promise you some more, perhaps of a different city – a different village, once I get the chance to dust my traveling abilities. Brace yourselves, Culture is showing.

The first picture I choose to share is that of prophet Noah’s tomb. Now I am not an expert but word of mouth has it that this is where the prophet lies, undisturbed. The tomb is located on a hill top close to the Castle of Karak, the situation is fantastic. I personally would like to be buried in such a place, wouldn’t you?

The first picture situated below is an image of the old Masjid (Mosque) in Samara. As you may have noticed, the structure itself is no more than a humble room with quite a nice garden.Note the original “speakers” at the top of the Mosque, those are the primitive form of what is called a “Ma’thana” in Arabic. A Ma’thana is the projected erect bit of most Mosques’ buildings, it is the place from which the call for prayer is announced, generally speaking.

Progress comes, and a new Mosque is built. The second picture shows you what the new prayer house looks like, and you can clearly see the proper, traditional Ma’thana.


The two coming pictures were taken in the city of Karak. Those are random houses that sum up the modern architecture of the city. Being placed on a mountain top, there is little room for expansion. Therefore many houses are now built outside the city centre, call the new location the suburbs if you will. Better organization, and better services are found in those areas.


Those are two streets in Karak city. The picture to the left is of an oldish street, note the building to the right and the small chair on the pavement. Old men normally sit by street sides or in front of shops, where they talk and smoke. It is not at all uncommon for a stranger to stop you in the street and relate your family history as you stare with a mouth wide open, that is the magic of small societies. It’s one big family that shares the same history.

The picture to the right is of a more, commercialized -I should say- street. Some sustain that this is the main street in the city.


An eye for random beauty, I flatter myself. Wind blowing and fragile tree branches dancing to its beat, a picture of that moment in time.

Two kids playing in the streets of Samara. I honestly find photography a most thrilling form of Art, you capture time when you take a picture. That’s a miracle. The following pictures were also taken in Samara, one being of the same Arched structure that I do not know the function of, feature previously in Southern Encounters I, the other being of a distant goat herd in some valley.




My Art teacher of some time ago once told me that the donkey was the first engineer. For in ancient times, where the donkey trod it would open a new road. And there you have it, a donkey is an engineer. This animal is very useful to farmers, they use it for moving from one place to another.

One of the most beautiful spectacles to behold is the reflection of old men by that old store. The white textile on two of the men’s heads is called a “Hatta”, and the black ring on it is called a “Igal”. This is traditional men’s wear in Jordan, colors of Hatta vary: Some are pure white in totality, some are red and white, and some are white and black.

In Palestine and Iraq, as well as the Gulf region, men wear the Hatta and Igal as well.

Last but not least, I introduce “Ayzar”. A small patch of land with ruins and a single tree standing in the middle. I do not know to what period of time those ruins belong, but one interesting fable states that there is gold in this area. Many stories have been fabricated about golden treasures and relics existing in various locations in Karak’s rural side, and I do not find the assumption illogical. A great many civilization inhabited the place, it would be safe to assume there are things hidden here or there.

This concludes Southern Encounters II.

The Fox and the Grapes

In Literature on December 22, 2005 at 6:23 pm

“A famished fox crept into a vineyard where ripe, luscious grapes were draped high upon arbors in a most tempting display. In his effort to win a juicy prize, the fox jumped and sprang many times but failed in all his attempts. When he finally had to admit defeat, he retreated and muttered to himself, “Well, what does it matter anyways? The grapes are sour!”.

It is easy to despise what you cannot get.

- Aesop’s Fables, selected and adopted by Jack Zipes, published by the Penguin Group in Penguin Popular Classics 1996.

Republishing Memorabilia

In Literature on December 21, 2005 at 6:34 pm

2005 is drawing to an end, another year; another chapter. The relationship between Man and Time is never exactly clear in my head. Following is something I posted on my previous blog on January 2nd,2005. It sums up the year 2004, and I might just write another one to wrap up 2005. I wrote this at 9:31 PM, my mood was “Thankful”. I hope you will enjoy the read, make it visual.

Hello World, My name is Tololy. I would like to share with you some of my memories of the past year. And it sounds rather funny calling it “last year”,because it is still too close to be believed far enough and worthy of the title.

I’ll try to imagine me and you sitting across of each other on comfortable red sofas, no I will be sitting on the floor because I like that, you may sit with me on the floor if you want to. Here’s my mental image nevertheless, you,world, and I are sitting on the floor in a simple room. And there are two red sofas behind us,and we support our backs against them. Do you have that image depicted in your mind,world? … Very well then, I will start my chronological narration.

Relax.

2004,I say – playing with my hair-, was a year of intense change and thorough explorations. The only clear memory I have of the first five months of the year is a bit blurry, I will not be telling you any tales so remove the thought instantly, I will only tell you what I deem essential. Stop looking on that wall,world. I am talking to you, are you bored already? No wonder we don’t get along so well,you and I. Oh, now you’ll listen? Promise! For your sake, I hope that was a promise pronounced from a sincere heart.

As I was saying,the reflection of that first half of the year is a bit blurry. Notwithstanding the confounded cloud that surrounds it,I will dig deeper in my memories and extract what’s needed. I can clearly remember a mournful day on which I was drenched in black. I will not relate to you what day it was, but it was a melancholy anniversary. Let us not dwell on dark thoughts now,world. Stop pleading with me to relate the details. I won’t, Stop!

The second memory I have of those early months is of a time when I discovered how prejudiced people can be. I had prior experiences with racism,I knew what it meant to be judged and then viciously attacked on basis of race and religion. But I never,in my utopian universe, imagined such false and unspeakably wrong ideas to exist in my own home. I was bitterly shocked. I did not accept that reality at first, and influenced by my young enthusiasm I fostered a personal belief that I might undo the wrong. I tried, and failed. You see,world, wrong had grown too old and intent in their hearts that I struggled in vain trying to eliminate it and wash it off. These series of events obliged me to give up a precious dream and yield to reality,cruel reality.

I did learn a lot from that,I learned to be realistic and measure things beforehand. It also hardened my shell, and nurtured my hatred of racism even more profoundly.

I sigh,then look at you, and I continue : Oh well, I have a conviction that I learn from everything,everyone and every event that occurs. And I am thirsty for knowledge. As far as studies are concerned,I do well. I was on a straight A spree for a year, then summer came and brought watermelons,sunshine and a C+ with it. Here I learned yet another lesson, corruption spreads fast and eats the produce of my country. I learned how it feels when you are degraded,and how a single person can ruin and control your life for a given period of time. I learned that no matter how decent and honest you are, some people could not care less. They are willing to crush you with their feet and stamp on you for daring to raise your head up and for telling them that they are mistaken. Fortunately though,such an ordeal produced little effect on my schooling. I retained my high GPA,but lost a big chunk of my faith in justice. She does exist,but only fully in another realm, in God’s court.

Contemporaneous with that pain, a strange joy introduced itself in the shape of a friend. I was willing and ready to discover my true self,and I did. It was a time of wild caprices,and thoughtfulness all together. It was a sweet sweet journey,short as well. Reality checked back in my hotel,and I gladly but painfully agreed to be its hostess. I learned that it’s alright to break the rules,provided that I have my own to replace them. It also taught me that I am what I think,literally,that all of my virtual mental images I have of myself are real. I don’t need to live in a parallel universe to realise them, I am they.

You’re a good listener,world. Why can’t you always listen like this?

Then I tasted another aspect of human nature, dominance. I had a chance of letting go of my sweeter side,and dragged the curtains away from the dark,tyrannical face I have. I enjoyed it at the beginning,then it struck me as unnatural,and barbarous. I ceased it. This taught me that people can be governed by their fantasies,and whims. And it taught me that looks are deceiving, and that I am not to be blamed for the defects people have.

I met the most special person in the last two months of the year, and he taught me so much. He was like a lantern,a source of illumination. But I was more of a butterfly,and the attraction could’ve been fatal had it not been for another twist of events that conveyed him away as magically as it had produced his presence. I argued with myself,and I questioned many fundamentals. It agonized me, then relaxed me. And I was overwhelmed with the security my faith granted me.

From this experience I learned that time is not a barrier,and neither is age. I learned that all it takes to form a friend is understanding,not time. I learned to be more aggressive towards life,and accept no less than what I deserve. It revived in me the sense of ambition, and realistic optimism. It also made me see and believe how race and religion – or the lack of it – don’t affect my treatment of others, I treat people as humans and humans they are. I don’t care what they believe in as long as they don’t take advantage of this leniency. It made me a better person.

I gaze at my palm for a minute or two,and go on : I got a hint of what loneliness is,be it emotional,mental or physical. I knew all three. My dearest two sisters left me,and I suddenly found myself lonely. This consuming sensation drove me into a careless,naughty mood. And I acted accordingly. I don’t regret anything I did last year, it all serves to teach me valuable lessons.

World,do you nod your head because you understand what I’m saying, or are you humoring me into a better mood? Or a better story? No? I’ll have to take your word for that I guess.

The naming of cats by TS Eliot

In Literature on December 21, 2005 at 12:54 pm

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, or George or Bill Bailey -
All of them sensible everyday names.

There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter -
But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum -
Names that never belong to more than one cat.

But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Personal Entry: Good to go

In Personal on December 20, 2005 at 7:15 pm

An amazing spectacle by the old Languages Centre at the U of J. The names of those who are set to graduate this semester, and mine among them! This is the story.

I’m casually walking by, looking for some buddies to catch cold with on this harshly cold day, when I am dressed in a less-than-satisfactory-manner, and I see two of my friends.

So I smile, I go over to say salam, and they ask me if I had seen my name.

Friends: Have you seen your name on the paper?
Tololy: What paper?
Friends: Your name is on that paper hung on the glass door of the centre!
Tololy: Seriously?
Friends: Yeah!
Tololy: What for?
Friends: Go check it out, and congrats girl!

So I go, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect. Had I not seen those two friends I would probably have not known about this in, say, two weeks’ time. A buddy comes trotting and finds me looking at the wrong paper, they’re all the same -those official papers- you know. He shows me where to look and I see my name, there! On top of the list! My friend congratulates me again and ,again, I do not know why I am being congratulated.

Then I understand it all. I am an honours student, and my GPA is the highest in the Modern Languages Department! Surreal!I am euphoric, absolutely euphoric about this. I set myself a goal in 2002 and I have managed to reach my destination, I really have, that’s the most sensational bit about the whole thing. This is an amazing feeling, I am genuinely proud of myself and I feel a little less guilty about my crazy shopping crusade of yesterday.

I call Mama, my sisters, my friends, and even my lady boss-friend. She tells me additional good news about work and this day could not get any better! (well it could but I just love it as is).

My first goal secured, I am good to go to the next one, two, three… Infinity.

Therapeutic Shopping

In Personal, Picturesque on December 19, 2005 at 7:17 pm


I believe in what my sister dubbed as “Therapeutic Shopping”, that’s a vision in itself. It is amazing how good one feels when one spends so much money on clothes and bags. Fashion victims? Style queens? Not really, all those are labels and I do not subscribe to any, that’s just worn-out talk.

I think there is an immediate reaction in the cells of my body when I go shopping – for therapeutic purposes, mind you. The sheer gladness I feel when I buy a fur hobo with animal prints is surreal. So wild, so sexy – my new bags! I am in love, there’s this crazy adrenaline rush swooping my narrow frame off its severely small feet. It is true that I committed a major budget crime today but that’s OK, I need those things. I really do, I can’t imagine my life without my four-hour-old Quftan. I’m not spoiled, seriously.

Perhaps that was not much of a convincing argument. I can’t make convincing arguments all the time, sad but true. I wonder if there is a real connection between shopping and mood. If there is one that you know of, please post what you know as a comment. I would love to learn something new today, other than the fact that I am not exactly the money-smartest person out there.

Bil 3arabi: Kaman marra

In عربي on December 18, 2005 at 5:02 pm

This is another entry dealing with the linguistic gala that is hosted on Jordanian tongues. Again, employing transliteration. This is not a game, it is a serious study of the linguistic situation in Jordan. It should be noted that this so-coined “trend” does not only exist in the Arabic language. English words seem to be invading other languages as well, such as Italian. If you want to be cool in Rome, say Magazine instead of Rivista. For more information about the first entry, “Bil 3arabi”, click here.

Lamma katabet el entry “Bil 3arabi”, kont bedi ashof keef momkin el slang language t2asser 3ala el seriousness tab3et el box, o iza 3an jad bet2asser 3aleeha ma3nato fi eshe kaman mosh mazboot bil daily messages tab3onna. Keef el wa7ad be2dar ykon someone 3arabi, bas bi nafs el wa2et ma ye7ki 3arabi? Identity crisis at its best.

El youm, a friend of mine sent me the following article, o needless to say, I am thrilled that this phenomenon is being studied. El article bil inglizi, o hada ra7 ysa3ed el nas elle ma be2daro ye2ro 3arabi inhom yefhamo sho 3am beseer 3inna bil ordon. Ana kteer mehtammeh b hada el mawdou3, o inshallah ra7 aktob entries Bil 3arabi bil mosta2bal kaman.

Akeed fi nas ma beshofo addesh had el mawdou3 elo ta2seer 3al lo’3a el 3arabeyyeh, o 3al haweyyeh el 3arabeyyeh, iza 3am ne7ki ino fi eshe ismo haweyyeh 3arabeyyeh in the first place. O akeed fi nas ma beshofo eshe ‘3alat bi hay el “lo’3a” el jdeedeh, bas hada ma byemna3 ino nefham mazbot sho elli 3emelha men el asas, o heyye lasho mawjodeh. Iza btekhdemna, then so be it, bas iza asarha el salbeyyeh aktar men ejabeyyat-ha, I don’t think it’s a good thing.


FEATURE
- In Jordan, the young and hip speak “Arabizi”
By Ibon Villelabeitia

AMMAN (Reuters) – The waiter with dreadlocks and a Bob Marley T-shirt glides among a group of chic Jordanians sipping cappuccinos and smoking hookahs, or water pipes.

A call to prayer from a distant mosque is drowned out by the sound system playing rock band Coldplay and the lively chatter of young customers: “What’s up? Keefak?”, “Thank you, habibi.”

The banter is a form of speech that mixes Arabic with English. It is widely used among Jordan’s Western-educated elites, drawing ire from language purists and exposing a widening social and economic gap in the small kingdom.

Dubbed by some “Arabizi” — a slang term for Arabic and “Inglizi,” English in Arabic — it is also a means of expression for many young Jordanians who have been educated abroad and who do not share Jordan’s conservative values…

Metablog: Up close and business-like

In Metablog on December 18, 2005 at 12:02 am

With what revolution self-publishing is facing the world, and innovating it in the process, a valid inquiry would be: When is a blog too personal, and when is it too business-like?

Bearing in mind the different tastes of readers, and the different aims of bloggers, it would be easier to understand what choices to make and how to make those choices when self-publishing. A set, not fixed -mind you-, idea ought to be the starting point for any individual desiring to express something. This idea, call it intuition if you may, is what would spur that person to keep on blogging, and to keep that blogging experience both enjoyable and informative. It may fall under promoting a business, saluting Sushi, accounts of mall hang-outs with buddies, or supporting human rights. You name it, there’s a blog that talks about it.

So when is a blog just too personal?

Who could tell? It may be the person behind the blog’s intention to post journal-like entries and to focus on placid everyday details. This is an option that is empowered online and that has found supporters worldwide. It could attract readers, particularly if the blogger enjoys a special political or a social status in her society.

Yet the more profound and cosmopolitan value of the so-coined “personal” blogs may lie in just that; being personal. Imagine a person blogging from a distant African country, about the everyday misery and hunger she sees in her neighbourhood. Any such an account would be, I daresay, louder in appeal and impact than you choice of numbers of sophisticated full-of-words-nobody-understands documentaries. It would be more plausible, because the voice behind it is someone like you and me – someone we relate to.

Minding your business?

One of the most important roles blogs play is enabling those distant, almost inhuman, figures behind business projects and firms to appear a bit less like the huge, sometimes metallic, money-generating machines, and a bit more like human beings that can actually talk and (catch) sometimes be funny.

Establishing that blogs offer that option to business people, it would be logical to deduce that, by appearing rigid and all too professional on a business blog, one is quite losing the point.

There is no written code to write a blog successfully. That adverb may not be what the blogger is after in the first place, and is, in its criteria and definition, highly debatable. A blog is in essence a personal experience, even if it talks about your upcoming project, your company’s big night at some award ceremony, an intimate encounter, or your aunt’s cat Whiskers.

Useful links:
Metablog: Blog fashion

Unveiling Metablog

Quoting W. Somerset Maugham on character

In Quoting on December 17, 2005 at 1:42 pm

Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem.

- W. Somerset Maugham

Mistress of the rings

In Body Art on December 16, 2005 at 9:51 pm

A selective array of mostly sterling silver objects, so small you could lose them in a tissue. Choices have varied, some were haphazard and unresearched. But the ultimate quest was a ring, a round one hugging the nostril, wild and tender. Perhaps even a captive bead ring, that’s what got me to pierce my nose in the first place. I went without a tongue banana bell, but not the nose ring, No, Sir.

The gauge not being impressive, I dont like things overdone in the face area, of around 20G or so, one would think I could find a gallery of variants, colors, materials, and styles. Think again, one. I was unable to find my quest in Jordan’s accessory shops, and I did not find it at Claire’s even. Quite depressing.

It should be noted that I ceased the search and settled for a larger-than-usual heart shaped decoration, that in my profile picture. It’s a nose screw actually, which is different from a nose stud because the “stem” is longer and is bent to lie against the interior of the nostril. This saves one a lot of trouble, considering the fact that some nose studs, unless sealed with a final “ball”, tend to fall out of place.

Tonight I found it, or I thought I did. My long-awaited ring! It’s not a captive bead ring, not even a ring per se, it’s a helix! The installation process was complicated enough because one of the ends has a sparkling jewel, and I think I did not really do it right. It isn’t possible that this is the way it should look. Hmmm. Needless to say, pliers were called to my rescue, as usual when I decide what pointy metal object goes where, and I am disappointed by the outcome. I stopped several times and asked myself “Why am I doing this?”. Because I like it.

Italian entry: Le migliori foto del 2005 per Time

In Italiano on December 16, 2005 at 5:49 pm

Da Panedmia:
” I temi delle straordinarie foto scelte da Time come le migliori del 2005 sembrano essere sostanzialmente due.
La vita, rappresentata soprattutto dagli sguardi dei bambini, e la morte, di Giovanni Paolo II, della guerra e di Katrina. Forse non ci sarebbe stata male qualche foto più gioiosa, del resto il 2005 non è stato solo catastrofi e distruzione!”

Credo che ha ragione? no?

Link: Le migliori foto del 2005 per Time.

Saluting Africa

In Literature on December 16, 2005 at 9:03 am

“A slight clinking behind me made me turn my head. Six black men advanced in a file, toiling up the path. They walked erect and slow, balancing small baskets full of earth on their heads, and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black rags were wound round their loins, and the short ends behind waggled to and fro like tails. I could see every rib, the joints of their limbs were like knots in a rope; each had an iron collar on his neck, and all were connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them, rhythmically clinking.”

When description does not blunt reality’s ugly end, read:

” Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, half coming out, half effaced within the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. Another mine on the cliff went off, followed by a slight shudder of soil under my feet. The work was going on. The work! And this was the place where some of the helpers had withdrawn to die.

They were dying slowly- it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now,- nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. Brought from all the recesses of the coast in all the legality of time contracts, lost in uncongenial surroundings, fed on unfamiliar food, they sickened, became inefficient, and were then allowed to crawl away and rest. These moribund shapes were free as air- and nearly as thin. “

- Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. A penguin popular classics book, published in 1994. Pages 22 and 24.

Baby owl

In Bits & pieces on December 15, 2005 at 8:34 pm

This is another reason to blog. This is how you meet your own thoughts, and baby owls. On June 11th, 2005 I wrote :

“They returned with a wounded baby owl. My brother had shot her not knowing it was an owl so they brought her to me. It was only natural for me to want to fix her and keep her, so I took her home with me. We hit the road again: a 1984 Honda crowded with creatures. 4 grownups, 1 baby, 1 kitten,1 baby owl. It was extremely surreal and I couldn’t help but laugh. Who would’ve believed that?So I got back home and the first thing I did was see what’s wrong with baby owl. When I took a close look to clean the wound I just cried I always cry when I see hurt creatures because I imagine the amount of pain they must be suffering from, having cried and all I cleaned her wound and did the necessary and wrapped it with a bandage etc. I had previously feared the bullet rested inside since there was no exit wound. But to my great delight I discovered there was no bullet inside the wound simply because she wasn’t that badly hurt. Apparently she was flying and spreading her wings when my brother shot her,this explains the wound being located UNDER the wing and the wing not being affected at all. Adding to that, the bullet didn’t actually penetrate her body it just shattered surface flesh and flew on. I thought I saw her bones showing through the wound,but later I found out it was just lightly colored and de-feathered skin. I felt so good.”

On June 15th, this is what happened:

“I know you’re probably waiting for some news about baby owl so I will not make you wait any longer. The thing is, I read about owls as pets and turns out that the two words just don’t go together. Owls do not make good pets and don’t want to, they violently oppose domestication and one should never try to keep them as pets. It’s just not right. I also read that no matter how nice you are to owls and no matter how long you keep them they will always want to get away and will never become friendly. They dislike us as babies and when they’re older they dislike us even more. Actually baby owl always hisses at me and spreads her wings and clicks her beak… that’s a fact. Another interesting thing that I read is that if one finds an injured owl (much like baby owl) then it’s suffering from a shock and will not defend itself, which is exactly what happened when I got baby owl. She was very passive and I even had to shove bits of meat down her throat to feed her, at the time I thought I was being Mama Bird and I liked it. The next day she sort of sobered up and started biting the meat bits off the toothpick in a very aggressive manner. I liked that too but by comparison it proved to me that she was traumatized at first.So that same night after the reading that I did,baby owl again proved the things I read to be correct. She kept banging herself against the bars of the cage (it’s a big cage) until she bled. Her blood spattered all over the place, it was a mess to wake up to in the morning. I decided to let her go,afterall that’s what’s recommended. I put the cage outside with the door open so as to let her fly away when she feels like it. She disappeared for 5 hours but returned by midday. Needless to say, I still feed her and take care of her wound…I really want her to stay but I have to let nature take its course.”

June 17th:
“I don’t want to leave tsuki-san and baby owl…”

Your ad in my way: Medianet at odds with potential clientele

In Opinion on December 15, 2005 at 8:34 am

Marketing aims, generally speaking, at attracting potential clients and to “talking them into” buying a certain product or a service as advertised. Marketing is a true art. What you see in the picture positioned above this passage is what I, and all students at the U of J, see upon entering from the Northern Gate. This is a Medianet board displaying an ad. The odd bit about this board is not the red, not even the lightbulb, it’s the positioning of the board on the pavement.

This Medianet board is so skillfully placed on this pavement that it gives one no room to walk beside it, one would have to leave the pavement, walk on the street, and then hop back onto the pavement. All of this is a needless waste of leg energy, and is a tedious mental task when one tries to understand why this board was placed on the pavement, in such a way, without any consideration for the rights of the people who like to avoid being run over by cars in Medianet’s attempt to promote a concept. Some may argue that not many cars use this street, and that the risk of being roadkilled is minute, I can live with that. But I cannot possibly accept any transgression on my pedestrian liberties, it is I who decides where to walk, and not some mute board presented to mock my intelligence in-your-face style.

To add insult to injury, there is more than one board placed in similar positions by Medianet throughout the premises of the university. I wonder permits are issued to such companies without first checking, and controling, where they place their boards. I also find it adequate to wonder that Aramex, whose ad is celebrated in this board, have not checked where the ad will be placed.

Surrealist, the dream

In Bits & pieces, Personal, Picturesque on December 14, 2005 at 7:37 pm

Popular belief has it that when one has a bad dream, one should not disclose it to others, for fears it might come true. What happens when others tell you that you have had a bad dream, then? I had a terrible dream last night, I did. It was utterly scary, and I was injured in it by a movie star. Do not smile, it was very frightful. The pain of the injury was horribly vivid, and my presence in the setting of my dream was perfectly physical, and yet I knew I was dreaming. Towards the end of the dream, that superstar was about to inflict more pain on my dream-foil, and I was desperate to get out of that situation. I wanted to end the dream so badly, and I eventually succeeded.

In the morning, someone told me I was grinding my teeth so excessively, and the sound of it kept sleep away from the person’s eyes. This remindes me of Dali, possibly my favorite artist of all times, a true original. He captures my dreams on canvas.

Salvador Dali: A flamboyant painter and sometime writer, sculptor and experimental film-maker, Salvador Dali was probably the greatest Surrealist artist, using bizarre dream imagery to create unforgettable and unmistakable landscapes of his inner world. His most famous work is The Persistence Of Memory.

Link

What do you do for a living, boy?

In Jordan, Opinion on December 14, 2005 at 7:56 am






This is a painful sight to see, and it is all too commonplace now that very few people actually see it. The boy asked me to take a picture of him, and then begged me not to delete it, and I met both demands. He was with two other boys, more advanced in age than he is, and a man.

Those other three were hunting in the huge trash container for food, probably, or items of use. The man freaked out when he realized I was taking pictures, and I honestly grew scared that harm might come to me so I stopped. This takes place at the University of Jordan’s campus everyday. There is a good number of kids selling gum or tissues to university students, very little or no education, rights that nobody cares to protect, and a life on the streets. They somehow bypass security and enter the campus, and oftentimes spend the day on premises.

I have seen most of those kids smoke and engage in fights. Most of them, I am told, are forced to be out on the streets the whole day to get some money and hand it to their “superiors”. Whether this is true or not I do not know, but it seems logical that abuse does not fall on one by itself, there is a cause.

From Human Rights Watch: The term street children refers to children for whom the street more than their family has become their real home. It includes children who might not necessarily be homeless or without families, but who live in situations where there is no protection, supervision, or direction from responsible adults.

Southern Encounters I

In Jordan, Picturesque on December 13, 2005 at 12:04 am

It has been quite some time since I last posted some pictures from the south, from Samara-Karak to be exact. Now the pictures are back by popular demand, and I hope the briefings accompanying them proves to be useful. All pictures have been taken by me, in September, 2005 and are posted herein in no particular order. Nothing fancy, pure culture, untainted heritage, and personal attachment.

To the right is a picture of an old structure in Samara that I never really got to the bottom of. I do not what purpose it was erected to meet, and I should probably ask someone and return to you on that one. The thing I appreciate the most is that it still stands, that’s A, and B is the way in which tree trunks have been supporting the ceiling, which was made of mud and now is gone. The wood is obviously out of place now, but I have seen a complete edifice built in this way, with tree shafts supporting the ceiling; The Grand House.
On a lighter note, I enjoy visiting the remains of this structure because I like walking on the paths you can doubtlessly see clear in this picture.

Down here are other remains of another structure, the arch is obvious. I cannot tell what sort of a building this was though.

This is a house, possibly two facing eachother. Nobody lives here and I think it tragic that very few people appreciate the beauty of Samara, if for one thing only; it is authentic, a virgin village untouched.

Fire, lit by my father on a beautiful night. The fire itself is lit inside a metal ring, this ring is in turn placed in a metal container called in Jordanian “Mangal”. I cannot begin to relate to you how amazingly beautiful it is to sit by the fire on a cool Samara night, right there on the terrace overlooking the village’s minute lights, and up above the sky so clear you would not dare look away. The corner you’re placed in seems like a remote chapter of some history book, few cars exist and less pollution is there. It is beyond words.

Karak Castle, standing on top of a mountain, so proud. Note the multitude of houses populating parts of the castle to the right. It is said that the castle, in its original form, extended over the whole mountain top. But due to lack of control in years past, houses were built on large proportions of the area of the castle. Some towers were even turned into homes. I am unaware of any government projects to restore the areas once dominated by the castle to the place, indeed, that would mean they would have to shut down the whole city of Karak, since it is mostly stationed on that mountain. A good omen though is that there is a project underway for years now to restore this historical giant, perhaps you can catch glimpses of that project to the left of the picture. Karak Castle played a major role in the Crusades, any book about the Holy Wars in Outremer of your choice would speak of it.


Above these words is an old portal, back at Samara. Below, to the left, is the Valley of Karak – a green patch of agricultural activities to your right hand when you head for Samara or the Dead Sea from Karak city. To the right is a picture of an old tower at Karak Castle, note the “modern” house to the right of the tower, and the little boy who was trying to wave for me, upon request.

The visitors’ centre by the Castle, this is a civilized attempt at attracting toursists, I must bow to that. I loved seeing tourists, as you may see, about to enter the centre. I did not enter it myself, I was in a haste, but I certainly hope it offers quality information.

A positive remark should be made when it is called-for. I value the efforts that have been put to good use around the Castle, many a building has been established with the aim of appealing to tourists. I think there is a restaurant, an antiques’ shop, alongside the visitor centre. The architecture of those facades does not fall out of place, contrasting that of the Castle itself. That is smart.

Another function-unknown-building. How very inexcusably ignorant of me. A lovely aspect about this picture, and I am not entirely sure I should say this, is that the mountain in the background is owned by my family. We do not hire peasants to work for us unpaid, and we dont not enforce taxes on annual produce, so please do not associate that image to my profile. Family history has it that people in times gone would buy land to allocate it for their goat and sheep herds.

Those are simply homes I shot from the car as it was moving. Random houses close by the Castle, I found their positioning amusing. This is also close to the Christian neighbourhood in Karak city,as far as I know, a great number of Karaki people are Christians. My own family converted to Islam not many generations ago. There is also an Armenian and a Syrian minority in the city, and all live in harmony.

I still have some more pictures, but I will save them for later. Patience is virtue, and I like things serial. Abu Sinan, I hope you liked the pictures.

A writer’s block that talks

In Literature on December 12, 2005 at 9:10 am
The plot now completed of some two passages developed into something sensible, and handed in for a midterm to an Iraqi professor I think most highly of, I can proudly share “A writer’s block that talks”. Comments are welcome,if not indeed yearned for, and let the marvel of different tastes have its say!

A writer’s block that talks

I sit to my usual desk, mouse in hand and a monitor emitting harmful radiation my way. I start the ritual with an invocation to all the juices of creativity possibly existing within my frame: “ Oh holy imagination ooze! Come to your suppliant and answer her demand, once more!”

I wait for a minute or two, anticipating a future rush of adrenaline and proposals; I slide to the edge of my yellow chair as a result of this state of acceleration. Nothing happens. “That’s odd”, I think to myself, and I wait some more.

I become a believer in time’s relativity, and I sound my trust in my muses over and over again. But I can’t seem to know what to write, I can’t seem to find a thread to weave the tale I set out to complete.

Better uses of my time come to my awareness and I regret having been placed on that yellow chair and in that state of utter blankness. I feel awkward when I come short of words, and it doesn’t happen so often. My word supply never seems to diminish, it grows and grows, and yet here I sit, wordless.

For a moment I think I hear a hissing sound, then I recognize a chuckle. “Who’s there?”, I demand and look around the room. I receive no answers and I halt the questioning, I go so far as to referring it to the strangeness of the affair.

“You won’t be writing today, you know”, a voice wisely predicts. I take another turn and there I see it, comfortably lounging on the couch; my writer’s block. It sits on the floor, in a lotus position as if in meditation. All I see is a red block, with hands and feet so like mine I could have mistook them for the original articles, had I not taken a closer look at my own, and affirmed the duplication.

“You heard me. You won’t be writing anything today. I am here, and I am going nowhere”.
“Do I answer with a smart get back or do I ignore this audacious obstacle that dares challenge my creativity?”, I ponder privately. I sit silent for a while, looking at the block as it continues producing meditative humming sounds.

After a soundless pause, I resolve to small talk the block. I say: “ Where did you come from?”, and it replies “ Why! Your imagination, no doubt!”. So it comes from my imagination, sweet! Then I can simply think it away.

I say: “ So what brings you here, Oh Block?”, and the block smirks and tells me it’s here because it has nothing to do for the day. It even adds that it’s been quite some time since it last emerged from the folds of my imagination, and a challenge is usually pleasant.

I fix my eyes on the monitor displaying the bare word processor page, the font I chose, the size of it, the toolbar and a mass of other icons whose functions are anonymous to me. Squeezing my head with my two hands, my brain strives for a thought, just one. All I need is one idea, one idea no matter how stupid or irrelevant it may seem. There’s nothing to relate it to, to start with. I just need one idea, and the block will go away.

My writer’s block doesn’t budge. At times it stares at me, and at others it looks at its hands. Its constant humming gets on my nerves, I cannot seem to be able to concentrate. How am I to catch a divine impulse if this- this thing- that violates the privacy of my room and the sanctity of my mind does not cease to hum its way into my imagination?

Now it changes position, oh, it stands. It walks around the room in aimless circles; it probably does this to distract me. I look away and I try to focus all my attention on the PC screen. This resolution works for some five minutes, and then I can no longer resist the temptation of looking at the block as it does its little circular dances.

“Music adds to the magic of the moment, no?”, asks me my writer’s block. It doesn’t wait for my affirmative, it snaps its fingers and voila—music fills the air. The block dances on and on, now clapping, now trotting like a lunatic, all this it does to divert me.

“Oh holy imagination juice! Do not leave your suppliant alone, in the face of this hazardous temptation. Come to my aid, I beseech you”, I once more entreat the forces behind my former creations.

Out of the blue an idea crosses my mind as the block mocks my endeavor. “ So you think your so-called muse will order me away? Think again, writer. I reign over this domain, once I am here, none other prevails”, says my block.

“I would like to see how you would practice your power over me, when I start–”, and I prepare my fingers to use the keyboard, “– writing about, guess who, you!”

Quoting Mario Puzo on anger

In Quoting on December 11, 2005 at 5:35 pm

Never get angry. Never make a threat. Reason with people.

-Mario Puzo

Season’s Greetings: Greenpeace Energy Revolutionaries

In Bits & pieces on December 10, 2005 at 9:19 am

Greenpeace Activist News, Vol 5, No. 10 is out. This volume is loaded with causes, issues that matter to every single one of us. I will cite the message I got, and I urge all interested to visit the links to be mentioned.

Who is Gorton’s?

Whaling is not just the concern of governments and cryptic political meetings. There is big business involved.While whaling is not profitable, you might be surprised to learn of some famous seafood companies’ connections to whaling. We’re asking you to help us make the whaling stop.

With total annual sales in the hundreds of millions of dollars,Gorton’s is the market leader in frozen seafood products in the US. The company even invented the McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish burger. Its frozen battered shrimp, fish sticks and other ready-to-eat foods are sold at grocery stores across the US.

In 2001 Gorton’s was sold to its current owner, Nissui USA, for US$175 million. Nissui USA is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Nissui, Japan’s second-largest marine products firm, with operations in the United States,Argentina,Chile, the Netherlands, China, Indonesia, Singapore and Vietnam. Nissui is closely linked with the annual “scientific” whale hunt in Japan. So, despite Gorton’s clean-cut family business image, it is actually a Japanese multinational company whose parent company is involved in whaling.

Please send a letter to the president of Gorton’s and ask him to help stop whaling. Help stop whaling

Ten thousand Ocean Defenders and growing

There are now over ten thousand Ocean Defenders and more are joining every day. If you have not signed up yet, please get involved now in supporting the most ambitious ship expedition we have ever undertaken.

We will set sail together, you on the web, Greenpeace on the water. We will witness a year in the life of our oceans, we will act to stop the destruction, see the beauty and benefit of those areas still untouched, and we will show where and how ocean parks will work. We want a million Ocean Defenders to sail with us and we want you to become one of those million.

Take action! Be one in a million – sign up now to become an Ocean Defender!

Test the ‘Carbon Condom’

No need to worry, there’s a new way to tackle global warming – check out how the carbon condom works and send your friends this great new solution!
Of course the reality of global warming is far more complex – right now governments are meeting to discuss global warming – tell them to agree real action, not just generate hot air!.

Take action! Write the Canadian prime minister
Send an e-card Tell your friends about the carbon condom

Send Season’s Greetings

Send this e-card to your friends and colleagues and invite them to become energy revolutionaries engaged in the Greenpeace campaign against global warming.

Send an e-card Season’s Greetings

Take action! Signup to be an energy revolutionary yourself

Fancy a moment’s silence?

In Jordan, Opinion on December 9, 2005 at 3:17 pm

Fancy a moment’s silence over the people that died one month ago, some so swiftly and others lingered in suffering’s company? In the midst of that grand confusion, that sad marvel that was, people shone through.

The feeling of vulnerability never really departed from my mind, I think it was the greatest sensation I tasted at that time. I, among many people, I am sure, was tossed in such waves of anger and perplexity that until today, a month later, the bitterness of it all is still fresh. I read what I published, and I am even more engulfed in this sadness.

Delivering me from that shocking misery were my friends, many of whom are people I have never been with physically. Voices I have never heard seemed to call to make sure I was fine, questions poured my way from random faces, characters that were words before, in a blink materialized.

Back then I knew that, as is the case with many another occasion, the scene will fade. Few people would talk about it, and fewer would reflect on what meanings this tragedy it had to teach, if indeed it carried any.

A month later, and old terms renewed dominate that jargon of media and public psyche. I think many do not really know what such words mean, and nobody seems to be enlightening them. A month later, and life is almost the same as it had been. Going to the office does not seem remotely perilous; it is just the office now. What risks I submit to every single time I go there tend to hide somewhere in my head, I do not know what game this is, but I would like to think I am winning.

I want to be silent for a moment, and to muse over what has changed and what has not, during the past thirty days or so. Fancy silence now?

Arabic Entry: حكمة

In عربي on December 9, 2005 at 1:04 am
الوقت كالسيف إن لم تقطعه قطعك. و نفسك إن لم تشغلها بالحق أشغلتك
بالباطل, و إن لم تشغلها بالخير أشغلتك بالشر, و إن لم تشغلها بالطاعة أشغلتك
بالمعصية, و الوقت من ذهب, فإن لم تصنه ذهب

Personal Entry: What happens when things are not happening

In Personal on December 8, 2005 at 11:00 am

This is an introspective entry, to some degree. I am in a most bizarre mood,and I pretend I know what it means. I will skim through scraps of today’s mind.

My Creative Writing professor is ill, he did not show up for class this morning. This pains me, because I like the guy. I think he is pleasant and I was hurt that some girls in class were jolly because of his absence. The poor fellow is suffering and they are celebrating, I do not understand this. But then again, not everybody likes him and it would be silly to expect everyone to have a generic taste in people.

I was casually using the internet at some lab at college, at about 9:00 AM, and some girls walked behind my chair and pushed me. Why they brushed against my chair, and head, I do not know. It was not only one girl who did this, it was a whole bunch
of them. The first brush was, well, understandable. Then came the second, and the girl’s bag was literally resting on my head. A third shortly followed, and I felt an elbow on my shoulder. I am fussy about my personal space, I do not like it to be invaded like that, you know. More hits followed, and I felt like such a pushover so I grew seriously annoyed and, seeing this, one of the girls apologized. No more hits followed. I think I could’ve hurt them girls had they not stopped, but luckily they did and no damage was done.

Is it possible that I was invisible at 9 AM this morning? If not, then why on earth would anyone -who has never, ever, met me before, or at the very least read some sarcastic remark of mine- want to push me as hard as they did?

This is another dilemma. Or perhaps it isn’t so perplexing, I am petite, and size matters. I am no match in size for those females, and they used their sheer size to their advantage.

The third, and most critical situation in this day so far, is my work. I am supposed to be working now, people expect me to be “producing”, generating revenue to feed someone’s bank account, but in all God’s frankness, I do not feel like it. I have this gum, flavoured cinnamon, in my mouth, and it burns. The tip of my tongue feels like a little flame, but I enjoy that. I think it has something to do with lack of desire to do something serious. Cinnamon is just too playful, it’s not for serious people. I love it.

Safety Matches

In Bits & pieces on December 8, 2005 at 9:48 am

At precisely 11:15 PM, back in Tuesday, December 7th, 2004, and on a previous blog, I posted the following. Mood: tired.

3×2 cms,roughly speaking *No, I haven’t measured it for real*, a yellow rectangular box with 3 red stars on it. That’s the brand name by the way : “Three Stars”… under that there is the most interesting phrase : ” Safety Matches”…………..

How is safety related to matches? I wish I knew! moreover, where on earth did they get such an idea??? What wizard invented it? * a weird one,I must say*

In my head,it’s like they are sending a message to all the mommies out there saying ” Oh don’t worry! buy our Three Stars SAFETY MATCHES ,and rest assured that you and your family will encounter no dangers while using them” .. ” Oh, go ahead..go out with your friend, your 4 year old will be safe even if he/she plays with matches..coz ………….*drum roll* ……………they’re SAFETY MATCHES!”

YES! get our SAFETY MATCHES today, and you will never be at risk of burning the house EVER AGAIN!

Quoting Charlotte Whitton on women

In Quoting on December 7, 2005 at 9:11 am

Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily this is not difficult.

-Charlotte Whitton

Breaking News: Tololy a legal Citizen

In Bits & pieces on December 6, 2005 at 9:25 am

Tololy’s Box is now featured on Jordan Planet , which is “a portal attempting to link different Jordanians who share the passion of writing blogs, as well as promote and encourage blog writting in Jordan.”

This technically means that Tololy is a Citizen of yet another semi-nation. I sincerely hope this brings fresh minds and ideas to the Box, and perhaps exports some to Jordan Planet. Much obliged to Jordan Planet team for the trust, and the hard work.

Japanese impressions

In Bits & pieces on December 5, 2005 at 12:17 pm

One of the most enriching experiences I have had with a culture so unlike mine was during my study of the Japanese language, under the supervision of Kobayashi sensei. I am not claiming to possess a high level of proficiency in the langauge, because any such claim would be a lie easily stripped naked. But having said that, I do not think one can have enough of a language or a culture one admires as much as I admire the Japanese face of the world.

At a certain point a Japanese poetry contest was organized by the Japanese embassy in Amman and the Department of Modern Languages at the University of Jordan. Kobayashi sensei informed us, her students so marginal in number, of the event and bid us try to make it.

I made myself ready and off I went to the meeting place, on the appointed rendez- vous, and there so many people were talking in Japanese and English, and seldom in Arabic. I found Kobayashi sensei and it was such a relief to see a familiar face since I had no clue where to go or what to do; the hall seemed so full that I thought I would not even score a seat. Luckily though, Kobayashi sensei eased my uneasiness and motioned me to a spot where I can sit and claim my own with no competition. She even gave me a magazine and a fold of some 20 papers, and I value free prints.

Sitting in my chair, unearthing my fresh treasures and looking about me with eager eyes hunting for every detail. Here a smile there a nod, it was a cultural mumbo jumbo; considering how big my eyes are and how neatly sized those of the Japs are.

I contemplated participating in the contest, but I then thought the matter over and dismissed the notion. Kobayashi sensei tried to talk me into it, telling me of all the great prizes to be won by those who dare perform infront of the Japanese ambassador and a crowd of native speakers for referees, as well as a decent number of humble Arabic-speaking Japanese-learning students and professionals.

During the time Kobayashi sensei was trying to convince me to get involved in the Haiku contest, I was torn up in such a turmoil of thought. I believe I wanted to recite that bit of poetry in Japanese, then explain it in English or Arabic and record my reflections on it, infront of a hungry hall lusting for my presentation. But the conflict lay in the fact that I had not been prepared, psychologically speaking, to “just do it”. I owned the issue required more time for me to gear up and summon my public speaking abilities to my rescue, and the crowd’s demand.

The event itself was pleasant, however. I enjoyed every second of the time I spent there. A graphic designer, I believe this was his profession, won the grand prize. His presentation was appealing,hence he was deserving.

So touched was I, and I still am, by this unique form of art that I shall post about it. My personal favorite involves a cat, it was composed by a poet named Issa. I got this from some one hundred papers that Kobayashi sensei gave me, Arigato Gozaimasu, sensei. Following is the Romaji – Japanese in Roman characters- of the Haiku and its English translation.

nete okite ooakubishite neko no koi

Having slept, the cat gets up,
And with great yawns,
Goes love-making

Tololy’s Box on Blogwise

In Bits & pieces on December 5, 2005 at 9:27 am

I have just opened my inbox to a decent number of emails, one of which informed me that Tololy’s Box is on Blogwise. Lovely!

Some modifications need to be made, and they are submitted already, but the news retains its charm.

Stop posting poetry already!

In Opinion on December 4, 2005 at 12:02 pm

Father: Does she speak English?
Tololy: Yeah, she studied in the states.

This is a “snippet” of a conversation that took place last night. As soon as those words left my lips I realized how ridiculously pseudowise they are. Linguistic proficiency could be aided by your presence among native speakers, but it is not the most definitive factor in your acquiring the language.

Factors such as age, motivation, and environment affect language acquisition. Some theorists – coined Nativists – prefer to allude to the cognitive abilities of each individual to grasp a novel language. They have it that each individual, with emphasis on the early stages of life, is equipped with a Language Acquisition Device (LAD). This built-in mental instrument, if I may call it so, plays a major role in language learning.

Non-Nativists claim the matter is linked to social interaction. To break this down into comprehensible English, they state that a child learns a language simply because those around him or her encourage him or her to do so. Therefore the stress here is on the external elements to supply input in the course of language acquisition. This theory is highly debatable, should we feel like a good argument. Think of the many times parents speak to their children in the same way their children speak to them, yet these children develop a correct linguistic system.

There are a number of theories and schools trying to explain the nature of the somewhat obscure process of language acquisition, I hope this brief entry opens the doors for my readership to look the matter up. I will be posting about language acquisition in the near future, I think the issue highly educational.

Ode to salt by Pablo Neruda

In Literature on December 4, 2005 at 9:48 am

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won’t
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

Link

Metablog: Blog fashion

In Metablog on December 3, 2005 at 12:03 am

I do…

…not yet, but it is always possible

Solo Tees is a project of Tim Grahl and Dane Carlson, who have quite an eye-opening philosophy in life: “Entrepreneurship is the most rewarding and fulfilling lifestyle, but it’s no longer just for the suits among us. Solo Tees is dedicated to promoting the new entrepreneurial lifestyle and providing stylish t shirts that proclaim it.”

Solo Tees is truly inspirational, the guys keep a blog as well as the amazing T-shirt section. I suggest you take a peek at what’s happening over there, and I would also like to thank Tim for the speedy reply to my e-mail and for granting me the power to feature those products, which I find genius.

Feet on grass

In Bits & pieces, Literature, Picturesque on December 2, 2005 at 12:16 am

Those are feet
Polished and neat
Resting after a run-around
On grass trimmed
By a bunch of Mexicans

Let’s dwell on it

In Opinion on December 1, 2005 at 12:06 pm

Since I am so obviously disturbed at the way some firms operate with regards to employees’ freedoms and individuality, I decided to look this issue of dress code up. I googled it and I found this particular page that interested me the most, and made perfect sense.

The article did not add to my former arguments much, save for the “professional” influence it could have on those who have not as yet seen me as conveying that image. I could have appeared to be a typical angry employee to some’s perception. Therefore I resort to an article not composed by yours truly, and posted online for everyone to read. I suppose this step should back my points up, I quote the article now:

” There is one strong argument against casual clothing at work, and it only applies to specific employees. Certainly, employees with client contact should wear business attire, as should those who can be seen by clients in the course of everyday business. Casual dress codes only should apply to employees who cannot be seen, or who rarely are seen, by clients. Professionalism is paramount when it comes to client contact.

It is difficult to find a strong argument in favor of non-client-contact personnel being forced to wear formal business attire. The success of companies such as Microsoft, who have casual dress codes, shows that formal dress is not necessary for success.

If management allows casual attire, it may be viewed as being more caring about employees. Allowing employees to wear casual attire at work may send one or more of the following signals to employees:

Flexibility on the part of management,
A willingness to do things the “new way,”
Management does not seek to “control” employees,
There is a system of promotion in place that does not favor those who have had the good fortune to be born in the more affluent classes. “

What’s new, eh?

Take their cash

In Opinion on December 1, 2005 at 9:38 am

I utter nothing new when I reiterate my strong disapproval of workplace policies that force employees to implement a certain dress code, when, mind you – I speak of logic, an explicit need for this is non-existent.

I have formerly expressed this disfavor, and now I express it yet again because of an intelligence that reached my psyche just yesterday, November 30th. To add insult to injury, a fine is now enacted where I work as penalty for those who dare wear what they please.

The summary of the new code is, to break it down, basically this : “Wear jeans and five Jordanian dinars will be cut off your salary”. Five Jordanian dinars equal around eight U.S dollars or so. When I first knew of this I was utterly shocked, then I grew quite scandalized.

The code is extremely condescending, let alone limiting. And by pure chance, or not, I had a job interview yesterday with a German professor. I could not help but inquire about the establishment’s policies with regards to what the workers have to wear, and to my utmost gladness it turned out they do not mind an employee wearing what ever he or she wishes, as long as the job gets done. I salute that.

I find it such a pity that some local firms and managers amuse themselves by clinging to work-related fashions that have passed. It is not that I am against abiding by the rules, I only request that they make sense. I think it is time those fellows upstairs changed their way, it is old school.

Agamemnon king, Clytemnestra queen

In Literature, Mythology on December 1, 2005 at 1:03 am

This is an excerpt from Homer’s Odyssey, Book of the Dead or Book 11. To make matters simple I will provide you with some information on what is actually taking place. Odysseus, the much-debated epic hero, journeys to Hades’ Kingdom of Decay where he meets the murdered king Agamemnon’s spirit. Agamemnon’s spirit tells him of how Clytemnestra, the former king’s wife, assassinated him upon his homecoming from Troy.

“ I raised my hands, but then beat them on the ground, dying, thrust through by a sword. The bitch turned her face aside, and could not even bring herself, though I was on my way to Hades, to shut my eyes with her hands or to close my mouth. There is nothing more degraded or shameful than a woman who can contemplate and carry out deeds like the hideous crime of murdering the husband of her youth. I had certainly expected a joyful welcome from my children and my servants when I reached my home. But now, in the depth of her villainy, she has branded with infamy not herself alone but the whole of her sex, even the virtuous ones, for all times to come.”

The story of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra is enriching, although not as fulfilling as one would expect. There are no absolutes, never does one seem to settle on an opinion as to who is to blame for the tragedy. Following is what Clytemnestra has to say in the play Agamemnon, of the Oresteian Trilogy, this one by Aeschylus.

“ The guile I used to kill him
He used himself the first,
When he by guile uprooted
The tender plant he gave me,
And made this house accurst.
When on my virgin daughter
His savage sword descended,
My tears in rivers ran;
If now by savage-sword thrust
His ageing days are ended,
Let shame and conscience ban
His boasts, where he pays forfeit
For wrong his guile began.”

Agamemnon, as clarified by the Philip Vellacott in the introduction he put forward for The Oresteian Trilogy as Penguin Classic of the year 1959, had faced technical and moral problems while attempting to get to Troy.

“When everything was ready for the start, the wind changed to the north. The usual fair-wind sacrifices failed to have their effect. Days lengthened into months, and still northerly gales kept the fleet harbour-bound, till food-supplies became an acute problem. At length the prophet Calchas pronounced that the anger of the virgin goddess Artemis must be appeased by the sacrifice of Agamemnon’s virgin daughter Iphigenia.

Agamemnon protested, and was taunted by his fellow-kings with faint-heartedness. In the end he wrote to Clytemnestra saying he had arranged for his daughter to be married to Achilles, and commanding her to be sent to Aulis. Iphigenia came, and was duly slaughtered. The wind veered, and the fleet set sail. In the ninth year of the siege Paris was killed in battle. In the tenth Troy was captured by the ruse of the wooden horse; all adult males were killed, the women and children enslaved, and the city reduced to ashes.”

For a conclusive touchup, I shall quote the Chorus in the tragedy Agamemnon, and deliver a contrast between what they say of the king’s behavior and how they regard that of the Queen’s.

Addressing the king, who had just appeared before them in person after ten years’ absence away from his homeland, the Chorus say:

“ Well, a wise shepherd knows his flock by face;
And a wise king can tell the flatterer’s eye—
Moist, unctuous, adoring—
The expressive sing of loyalty not felt.
Now this I will not hide: ten years ago
When you led Greece to war for Helen’s sake
You were set down as sailing
Far off the course of wisdom.
We thought you wrong, misguided, when you tried
To keep morale from sagging
In superstitious soldiers
By offering sacrifice to stop the storm.
Those times are past; you have come victorious home;
Now from our open hearts we wish you well.”

Yet they say to Clytemnestra after she kills Agamemnon:

“ Vile woman! What unnatural food or drink,
Malignant root, brine from the restless sea,
Transformed you, that your nature did not shrink
From foulest guilt? Argos will execrate
Your nameless murder with one voice of hate,
Revoke your portion with the just and free,
And drive you outlawed from our Argive gate.”