Current favorite music video:
And a good short movie about tattoo artists, all the way from Scotland via the BBC Film Network. Embedding impossible, so click here to watch The Artist and the Canvas.
Archive for December 2007
Elizabeth: The Golden, Manless Age
In Bits & pieces on December 27, 2007 at 10:14 pmI watched Elizabeth:The Golden Age tonight at the movies. While it was an excellent movie, I had some reservations on it as to the dialogue and the general cohesion of the story. In comparison,1998’s Elizabeth was an all-around fantastic, tightly woven picture which both impressed and educated. I thought it was better than Elizabeth:The Golden Age, but that’s perhaps typical in movies that have sequels.
At any rate, my reservations are as follows: I thought the dialogue fell short from conveying that “grandeur” I expected conversations of the period to hold. I noticed there were far too many “slangish” catch phrases that made me cringe at their corniness. Another issue I had with the movie was that some scenes seemed utterly disconnected. I was a pain in the ass due to this, I kept asking my sister questions like “why did he do that?,” “who is that?,” “why did that happen?,” and “what is going on?.” Needless to say, she is never going to a movie with me ever again. Thank you, your majesty.
The story itself was enjoyable. The movie related the story of Elizabeth’s reign over England in the late 1500s to the early 1600s, and in particular the war waged by King Philip of Spain in the name of the Catholic God against the bastard Queen of England. It had this dark, religious, imposing mood to it which I loved and which I always enjoy in movies.
The part of the story I did not enjoy very much was how much emphasis was put on the Queen’s romantic life (or the lack thereof). I felt it was a little too much for my taste and I felt overall bad for poor Elizabeth who was unlucky in this movie with Sir Walter Raleigh as she was in the previous movie with the Earl of Leicester. It was a golden, manless age for the Queen I guess.
I wanted more war fighting, more blood and gore, more torture, and more devilish scheming in the movie. I really like that stuff and although I did not see much of that tonight, I still think Elizabeth:The Golden Age is a great movie you should not miss if you like history and romance and beautiful costumes.
The Three Wise Monkeys
In Bits & pieces on December 26, 2007 at 2:35 pm
I bought this statue in the summer from a Chinese man who was also selling metallic Mao Zedong alarm clocks and little red communist books. He was very anti-bargaining.
I googled the maxim to learn more about it, and here’s what Wikipedia says about it:
The three wise monkeys are a pictorial maxim. Together they embody the proverbial principle to “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”. The three monkeys are Mizaru, covering his eyes, who sees no evil; Kikazaru, covering his ears, who hears no evil; and Iwazaru, covering his mouth, who speaks no evil.
Just for fun I checked the Arabic article on the monkeys. Ironically, the Arabic Wikipedia says almost the exact opposite about the maxim:
رمز القردة الثلاث هو رمز هندي قديم على شكل ثلاثة تماثيل تعكس صورة السلبية والإنهزامية بأشكالها:
لا أرى.لا أسمع.لا أتكلم
There are several explanations listed in Wikipedia English for the maxim “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” Only one explanation is in any way relevant to the Arabic article; “it is commonly used to describe someone who doesn’t want to be involved in a situation.” However, in the Arabic article the only explanation present is that “the statue reflects negativity and defeatism” and none of the original interpretations is listed.
I thought this would demonstrate how much more work we need to do to bring Wikipedia Arabic up to par with other Wikis. A lot of people depend on Wikipedia for general information and many of them do not realize that not everything published there is necessarily true. And most Arab internet users depend on Arabic as they surf, and search for Arabic materials. As it is, the possibilities for being misinformed from something as simple as Wikipedia English are enormous, let alone its Arabic version and the inaccuracies found there.
This Is the Man Who Coined “Weblog”
In Metablog on December 18, 2007 at 12:34 pmHe’s handsome. I like:
Jorn Barger
Wired ran a feature about the 10-year anniversay of blogs. Everyone interested in blogging, citizen journalism, and communications should read it.
“Blogging at its best is deeply personal, and once readers get used to that kind of connection to a writer, it’s hard for them to accept anything less.”
Happy birthday blogs. Keep changing the world, one post at a time. ¡Viva la Revolución!
Bless This Mess
In T Play Box on December 18, 2007 at 12:06 pm
The 16th Hole
In Body Art on December 17, 2007 at 10:39 pmOn June 28th, 2007 (almost six months ago) I got my belly button pierced. This is the story of that day.
I had been in New York for almost a week, shopping and having the time of my life. Before even going there, I had wanted to get a navel piercing done by a professional as opposed to having it done in a random accessories store in Amman. So I researched the procedure and what it involves, and then decided to get it done in NY. I looked for a reputable body art studio in the area where I was living, and found it after sifting through many many names and reading many many reviews.
This was a huge step for me because while it is true that I had 15 piercings (ear, nose), all of these were discovered by my parents. My mother was strongly opposed to my getting a belly ring, but I wanted it so bad that the idea possessed me. When that happens, I know there is no turning back and it must be done.
My mother was set to arrive on June 29th to join me in NY. I stayed up all night on the 27th deciding on the studio to go to, getting their address from google maps, and thinking of a way to convince my brother’s wife to drive me there. If I was going to get my virgin navel pierced, it would have to be on the 28th before my mother comes. Either that or nothing.
The next morning, I talked my hostess into driving me to the studio. I told her that my mother was OK with my getting this piercing and that everyone knew about it (lies, of course). Because she was such a good hostess, she believed me and we headed to the studio at around 11:20 AM.
We got lost for a bit then found it. I was wearing a gray pajama top with an owl on it (didn’t bother to wear a regular top on such a big day), a short beige jacket, and low-rise jeans. My haircut was very new so I looked pretty “femininely boyish,” and my ears were shining with metal and my fingers with black nail polish. The studio, Big Joe & Sons, had an imposing black sign with the letters written in maroon or red and studded somehow. It looked like a real body art studio. I was very nervous.
The weather that day was exceptionally pleasant, I remember thinking how lovely it was on the way to the studio. When we got there and parked the car, I discovered that I would have to go inside on my own. I pretended to be brave and walked towards the dark brown door only to find a note that says the studio opens at 12 PM.
What a bummer! After all that gathering of strength and whatnot I found the studio to be closed. I went back to the car and we spent the next 20 minutes in a Sears nearby. My memories of those 20 minutes are a complete blur. I don’t remember anything that happened during this time, as I was too absorbed in thinking about what sort of pain I will have to endure shortly.
Twenty minutes later, we returned to Big Joe’s. This time it was open and there was no question about it. I walked in and sat down on one of the seats in the waiting area. Three seconds later a heavily tattooed, petite, Gothic girl came out asking me how she can help me. I told her I was in to get a navel piercing.
“Bri-aaan! You have one navel comin’ up!” — she shouted.
She told me to wait a little bit since the artist was busy with other clients. I waited, looking at the flashes covering the walls of the waiting area, watching the girl arrange some in frames, and reading a sign that says “Remember, a cheap tattoo is not a good one. And a good tattoo is not cheap.”
My heart was pounding like an African drum beat. All I could think about was a thickish needle poking a hole in my belly button, and whether or not I will feel it and to what degree it will hurt. I figured that since I have an impressive tolerance of pain then it is not supposed to be a big deal. Then again, that needle is a thick bastard…
Minutes later, the clients who had Brian Demaio engaged came out and it was my turn to go get stabbed. Brian, the artist, came to me and said hello and was very friendly. I expected to be greeted by a human personification of the words “tattoo” and “piercing” but this guy only had his sleeves tattooed and did not have a single piercing that I could see. He asked to see some ID to make sure I am over 18 (I looked exceptionally young with that boy haircut, which was generally good). I gave him my drivers’ license. Then he had me sign a paper which basically stated that the studio has nothing to do with any complications that may occur after the piercing procedure is over.
I signed, we talked a little bit about Jordan and I told him I was only visiting NY for the summer. He complimented my English and then proceeded to guide me towards a glass cabinet full of piercing goodies. I was supposed to pick the “ring” or banana bell that was going to break my skin in a few moments. I picked one with red stones.
At this point I realized there was no joking about this. It was happening, and I was finally doing it. Me. For real. We went into a small room which had a giant mirror on the wall next to a dentists’-like chair where I was supposed to sit. I sat down, asked Brian some questions such as if he was going to give me aftercare instructions, if he was using sterile equipment, if he was certified, and things of the sort. Everything was very comforting and his personality really helped calm me down. He said it won’t hurt any more than my other dozen-plus piercings.
So after the belly button sterilization process, it was time to get pierced. I could not see anything because my head was sort of tilted backwards on the chair and the mirror did nothing to help. That was a gigantic bummer to me because I wanted to watch what was going on,and I wanted to videotape it if possible but I had nobody with me. I felt something clasp my belly button for a moment, and then the artist said he will count to three and it will be over. On the count of three, I felt the needle.
I can’t really say how that felt but it was not painful at first. The needle got stuck halfway through.
Brian: Oh, looks like you have thick skin.
Me: Yeah. I was an elephant in another life.
Chuckles.
I don’t really know why I was being funny but that’s how things happened. When the needle continued its journey, I felt like someone was pulling my belly button tightly inwards. That’s exactly how it felt, and I bit my lower lip and sucked it in. Then it was magically over!
I stood up, looked at my beautiful belly ring in the mirror, and thanked Brian a hundred times. I also told him that my mother will probably kill me because of it, at which point he said “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”
I paid him and left the studio the happiest body art lover that ever walked this earth.
Gossip
In Personal on December 16, 2007 at 2:05 pmIt has been some time since I last published anything in Tololy’s Box. As I had expected several months ago, my “presence” in the blogging scene has dwindled to ghost status. There is a number of reasons, very good reasons, why I have not been blogging as actively as I used to.
Some of those reasons have to do with the recent personal evolution (plenty of people argue it is the opposite of that) that I have undergone. I have had a tough year, (personally, financially, emotionally, everythingally), and the past four months in particular have been quite dark. So dark they have infested me with a trend of masochism that seems to pop up every now and then when the shit hits the fan.
As a consequence for that masochistic seed, my renowned love/appetite for my fingers was rekindled and topped off with a desire to poke and tear any fragment of broken skin on my body. In September, I believe it was in September, I hit rock bottom (or was that reality?) and it was ugly.
I’m inclined to believe that my life is unfolding as a saga of sheer complexity, perversion, and romantic blurs. I think one or two people alone have access to concrete examples supporting this claim of mine, and they know who they are. The funny thing is that only I know the whole story, unfragmented, and I don’t know what to do with it. Other people would, it’s excellent gossip material.
Other reasons why I have not been very active in The Box have to do with the marriage of my best friend Mai. She and I go a long way back and we are extremely close to each other. Her departure to join her husband in another country was a big blow to my carefully-constructed Tololycentric world, and I have yet to make my peace with it. It’s beyond difficult to accept the departure of a loved one. I think I do not enjoy enough mental dexterity to trick myself into believing everything is OK, at least not now. My brain is severely overloaded and tired.
In addition to that, I have been busy planning a move that has to do with my future. I have been acting according to a plan drafted in my mind in September (the irony!), and also plotting counterplans if the original plan proves to be a failure for some reason. All this planning combined with the emotional drama have left me publically speechless. This is why I have not been blogging much.
I would like to write some more and give you details about what I mentioned above but I’m afraid my little depressing, horrorish stories will have to remain in the closet for at least some time until I have understood them myself. They are a work in progress still, unfolding, twisting and turning, and I await their next plot impatiently.
Besides, my exposing myself like that would threaten the rumor circulated in the Jordanian blogosphere that I am paranoid. I can’t risk damaging that reputation or compromising that supposed niche, I thrive on it in my hours of reflection. It keeps me going.
Honor Is Another Word for Vagina
In Culture Arabia, Wonder Woman on December 9, 2007 at 8:51 pmI have come to the conclusion that what Arab men term as “honor” is a polite word for the Arabically-explicit word vagina. I will explain.
When an 18-year-old murders his sister because he believes she has brought shame to the family’s name, he does so because he either knows or suspects that she has engaged in socially unacceptable behavior with a man (who is not her husband, if she is married). That behavior on the woman’s part ranges from talking to this man to fornicating with him.
Since one part of the equation is a man, let us examine that part. When a man talks to, or fornicates with, or takes any other action towards a woman he is more often than not spared any social consequences that result from his actions. This means that the “man” part of the deal does not fall within the scope of this argument.
Now let us look at the other part of the equation for the purpose of this argument. The other part is a woman, an anatomically different human being who is almost always the honor-defaming culprit in any scandal. The woman’s private parts play a vital role in condemning her because they are, in the traditional male chauvinist view, the forbidden yet deeply desired apple.
To illustrate this, think of the worst possible curse words out there in Arabic and in English. About 99% of them involve someone’s mother, someone’s sister, and their genitalia. They might also include explicit references to sexual acts done to these private parts. In Arabic, these curse words are intended to verbally harm the opposite person’s “honor,” a sacred concept referring simply to a woman’s vagina.
Within this context, when someone commits an “honor killing” to wash away the family’s shame, all they are doing is killing the target woman’s vagina who may or may not have engaged in sexual acts deemed socially taboo. By the same token, when a man swears by his “sister’s honor,” he is swearing by her vagina. Fascinating, isn’t it?
The final point I want to make is this: men do not really have honor to swear by or to protect. Anatomically speaking, it is the women that live with these men that do have honor and sometimes pay a dear price for having it. So the next time a man swears by his mother’s honor and thinks he’s macho cursing another man’s sister’s honor, ask him if he likes it shaved, waxed, or a la natural.
Salary, There You Are!
In Bits & pieces on December 3, 2007 at 9:48 amIndian accountant at work, thank you!
This is fantastic! If I had known that blogging about my late salary will have it posted the next morning, I would have done it several days ago. Now on to paying my debts. I always knew I had mental powers, I can will people to do things for me; such as buying me things or bowing when I enter the room or hailing me as royalty. Really, I can do all that just by focusing my mental energy on said targets.
Enough rambling. Good morning Amman.
Salary, Where Art Thou?
In Wonder Woman on December 2, 2007 at 7:11 pmIndian accountant at work, have mercy!
Today is December 2nd and I still have not received my November salary. I am not simpatico with the whole “end of financial year” syndrome which is the probable cause behind the tardiness in cash flow and I am not happy that I am already in debt for the sum of my November salary because said salary is late. This is a vicious cycle that I am stuck in!
Suppose I had to pay rent or had other urgent financial obligations and that I was impatiently waiting for the salary to grace my account, what would I do then? How do people manage when there is no money in the bank and they have to magically produce it at the demand of bills or persistent landlords? What do they do if they have children who need to be fed, and they can’t afford it because they are waiting on their paychecks?
I take pride in the fact that I am pretty much a self-sufficient microcosm, in that I largely depend on myself to get what I want and to do what I want, and in that I have an almost biological loathing of relying on anyone else but myself. But times have been trying, and I found out that I would rather remain broke than ask my parents for pocket money. I felt so little and incompetent every time they offered to give me money this month and, although I often accepted under pressure, I always promised to pay them back.
I find this particularly interesting because I live in a society that sees women as dependent on men to provide for them, and since most bread-winners are men, the rule is so general that even most working women expect to be provided for one way or the other. This puts working women at both an advantage and a disadvantage. It’s an advantage because they can always get effortless cash from their husbands or fathers, and they can demand it too as society and religion dictate. But it is also a disadvantage because of the “laid back” attitude some of these women will definitely have towards their jobs since they know that they will get money anyway even if they did not work. In addition to that, they will always be seen as “dependants” on men by the very same men who fund them, thus their jobs or careers will always be seen as marginal or for recreational purposes only. Again, this is a vicious cycle that prevents women from achieving their worth.
So, dear salary, where art thou?
Promotion Commotion
In Bits & pieces on December 2, 2007 at 10:44 amRejoice, O world! Amino is back in the public eye!
My dear friend Amino, who has an enviable library in her head and a to-die-for attitude, has decided to grace the pages of the Mighty Internet with her words and opinions once again. She had dropped the pen, or the keyboard, for some time and left us all in utter darkness.
But the darkness is no more. She has finally decided to blog again (which is flattering since it means my mediocre begging worked) and she calls her new blog The Bohemian Jar.
When I first met Amino, which was by pure chance (or was it a spin of fate?), she was reading. I interrupted her, of course, and despite the fact that she had told me hours earlier that she does not appreciate shaking hands with people (germs and nasty things), I not only shook hands with her, but also kissed her on the cheeks in true Jordanian ’suddenly-intimate’ fashion.
She didn’t voice any objections but, minutes later, I realized what I had done. I believe that the joining of germs, mine and Amino’s, made us good friends. Read her blog, she’s fantastic.
