comptron*

a pile of baby elephants

2011-07-31T11:09:00.000-07:00

Happy things in Kenya:

jubalation

2011-07-19T11:39:00.000-07:00

From Kampala, took an overnight bus up to (the country formerly known as) Sudan. Birth of a new nation, all that. It was awesome. And hot.

Best dressed kid I saw:

SPLA everywhere. Saw not just one, but several asleep on sidewalks with a stash of RPGs next to them. I love weapon safety practices.

You know it's hot when the Sudanese are passing out. Still, the number of times the emcee was able to get the crowd to pump their fists and wave their flags with a rousing cheer of "South Sudan Woye!" was impressive. I am led to believe that "woye" means "hooray." They woye-ed everything.

A goat market in Juba. Most of the goats were bought up for celebratory slaughter purposes. Goat slaughter (or, goats laughter) woye!

grocery shopping in Kampala

2011-07-19T11:28:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any brains or hooves.

Nairobi by car

2011-06-24T04:45:00.000-07:00

The internet we've been sponging off the UN for the last month stopped working last week. If it starts working again, the quality and frequency of these posts will improve. In the meantime, here's a video of Nairobi that my flatmate made for her job - it's the drive we make every day, rain or shine:

jambo

2011-06-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

I'm in Nairobi for a few months. Doing some legal and advocacy work with refugees, and trying not to get myself killed by wildebeests or matatus on the weekends. More photos to come soon.

apologies

2011-06-18T06:31:00.000-07:00

Law school (and efforts to distract myself from law school) took me a way for a spell. So, here's a goat, asking your forgiveness:

if looks could kill

2010-09-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

On page 76 of Jude Deveraux's A Knight in Shining Armor, you will read this gem of a thought from the story's protagonist:

As she looked in the mirror, she thought that if all women had to confront the world with the face God gave them, there would be a great increase in female suicides.

With the growing gender demographic imbalance in China and all that it portends for a global surplus of men and a shortage of women to marry, it's good to know that Cover Girl and Revlon are doing their part to keep so many ladies away from the precipice of death. Um, better to love the face God gave you than wind up like this:

tradeoffs

2010-09-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

Things people would never think to tell you but that you should nevertheless know about DC/VA/the eastern seaboard before you'd consider trading in your life in CA:

1. Chesapeake Bay is not the Pacific Ocean. And forget nightswimming anywhere, because all the "beaches" I can find close at dusk, or 5:30pm, whichever comes first. With all due respect for the town of North Beach, MD, you have the worst excuse for a beach I have ever ever seen. 30 yards of roped off slimy waters that never come higher than my hipbones, a rank odor, and jellyfish to boot. And I paid $8 for the privilege. Note Em's face below - though it was in specific response to the Wash Pot Style Fat Back Hard Cracklins, I think it encapsulates the way North Beach made us feel inside.

2. The sound you hear outside is cicadas. The drone is constant in the summer. No, it is not bats, like the Motel 6 front desk lady in Mississippi suspected. It is also not the powerlines like the guy at the buffet thought. It's cicadas. These are cicadas:

3. Donuts are as rare as good Mexican food, or Pinkberry. Yes, Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme are available, but the donuts there are pretty bad. The reality of a mom 'n pop donut shop on every street corner in LA is but a dream here. Efforts to satisfy my withdrawals in NY this weekend were met with dismal results: the Doughtnut Plant was closed for employee-vacation-week (suck it), two other normal donut places were incorrectly addressed in Urban Spoon, and the donut I did wind up finding in some tiny deli en route to our DC-bound bus was easily the driest, crappiest donut I've ever, ever eaten. So: SMC and I found a family-owned donut place at the southern edge of Alexandria, 10 miles from my house (let me remind you that this is like traveling to Hollywood from West LA in 5:45pm traffic just for this trivial pleasure). We drove there this afternoon and ran - yes, ran - inside, only to find that all of their deliciously-labeled donut bins were empty. They make donuts but once a day, and all the donuts save three were gone. We bought those three. We'll be returning next Tuesday morning when the doors open.

[enjoying WenDy's Donuts after a night swim. sigh.]

4. The Metro here costs $6ish/day to get to and from school. And people drive idiotically. That said, at least I can read on the bus, and as I walk to school. I have been pumping through books, which keeps me happy (the book list is about the only thing I'm managing to update regularly here).

But:

the trees are beautiful, the frozen custard is good, and law school is interesting, so all is well enough. No regrets.

what a long, strange trip it's been

2010-08-10T09:19:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

August. I've arrived in Virginia. More to come.

no longer "good society"

2010-07-27T01:35:00.000-07:00

This has been July:

I generally want to vomit, I'm so delighted with it all.

just called to say hello.

2010-06-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

I'll be returning from my inadvertent hiatus very soon. In the meantime, random news from the last month, in the order that the pictures loaded:

Chipotle opened on the Promenade! So happy.

My little sister is getting married in two days (we are eating 4 pieces of Sweet Lady Jane's cake and 2 filled churros to celebrate in advance).

Kat and I went out of the country for my birthday, as we are wont to do.
We found many goats, and I was glad.
We had a Communist Cupcake Bake Sale - heir to the Communist Party, if you will.

and, I am moving to Washington, DC to attend law school in the fall.

More soon.

things that last

2010-06-17T17:32:00.000-07:00

December 2007:

June 2010:

Life is curious.

food storage 101

2010-01-11T22:44:00.000-08:00

1. One of my favorite things to do when I'm traveling is grocery shopping. Ask my friends about my giant bag full of Guatemalan Honey Monster cereals, or the borrowed duffel ready to burst with Haribo gummi Smurfs and Jägerschnitzel mix from Deutschland.

2. I have a tendency to collect food. I mean to eat it. Really. But I want the occasion to be perfect, shared with close friends who will fully appreciate the rare and hilarious qualities of the food I've brought at ridiculous spacial expense (hey, backpacks are small) from thousands of miles away. For whatever reason, these moments do not spring up nearly as spontaneously as necessary to keep up with the supply of weird food in my cupboard.

3. Three years ago, amid a rare cupboard reorganization campaign, roommate/photographer Amy hijacked a couple boxes of my foodstuffs. Mesmerized by the bizarre array, she took them to the studio to photograph. Nothing came of the photographic venture save some laughs, though she did send me this image of some of the raw files:

4. I realized that at least half of that food is still in my cupboard.

5. In an effort to be economical, especially since I don't intend to be in Los Angeles for many many more moons, I have decided to make myself eat my copious foreign and otherwise curious food supply. This has meant that in the past week, I have dined on the following:

- gingerbread waffles (delicious. 1 year old)

- Thai garlic noodles, sauteed (llgugll. 8 years old. 8!)

- curry udon (2 years old. I have 3 more packs)

- baba ghanoush (1.5 years old)

- carrot ginger soup (from Erin's aged cupboard, prior to her move)

Up next: the blackcurrent jelly (that's Irish for gelatin) that I bought in Ireland 5 years ago. And if you've any interest in some Guatemalan hot chocolate (made from a giant cinnamon-y chocolate tablet), just come on over.

soulless promotions

2009-12-22T12:50:00.000-08:00

I just vomited inside. Twilight branding, used to sell Shakespeare? Emily found these in the B&N teen section and brought them to me for evaluation. They are now hidden behind English language books on the bottom shelf of the grammar section.

burger redux

2009-12-01T23:52:00.000-08:00

Quite possibly the snobbiest thing I have ever done:

Yes, that's an 89 cent McDonald's hamburger. Yes, I brought a package of herbed Boursin cheese to spread on it. Yes, Mehgan laughed at me.

Winner of BRITISH 2009!!!!

2009-08-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

I believe your congratulations are in order.

I found this in my inbox today:

Dear British 2009 Winner,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been Awarded the sum of
1,000,000.00 GBP in the British 2009 Program.

Contact email:telecom58@9.cn

Names:............
Address:..............
Country:.................
Age:..........
Sex:..............

A million pounds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

somewhere over the rainbow

2009-08-12T21:28:00.000-07:00

24 July, Markleeville, CA. Stars aplenty. One general store in town to buy foodstuffs. Spinning rack of used novels near the freezer section. On the spinning rack, this:
After my initial foray into the romance genre with my Ralph's purchase of The Greek Tycoon's Blackmailed Mistress, I was intrigued. After reading the back of the book, however, I was captivated enough to make the purchase.

HIS FLIGHT OF FANCY
For seasoned pilot David Terrell, nothing seemed more foolish than flying into a rainbow to wish for a wife. But the down-to-earth widower would do anything for his little girl, Jamie, and she would settle for nothing less than a fairy-tale princess as a mother. So to humorhis six-year-old, David flew into the next rainbow he saw - and emerged in 1886 Wyoming.
HER POT OF GOLD
Analisa Ludke couldn't believe it when the man emerged - like a storybook prince - afrom the strange flying contraption. She welcomed David into her home and soon discovered that he was no mere fantasy. And as he struggled to return to his child, Analisa fought to understand the flood of emotions that engulfed her whenever he was around. Until she realized that David's lovecould take her to a place where dreams really do come true...ACROSS THE RAINBOW.

Guys. I had no idea there were so many subgenres in the romance genre. I was sort of captivated by the idea of historical romances, amused by the Harlequin "Babies Galore!" series, but the Timespell Timeswept Romance series blows my mind completely. These fantasies know no bounds, what with time travel an easy possibility and all.

Anyway, here are some select quotes from this fine work of literature, in case you won't take the time to be reading it yourself:

"Standing before him was a young woman who looked like every man's fantasy. Blond, beautiful, tall, with legs that went on forever. Her clothing was right out of a history book on the American West - kind of a Calamity Jane outfit of calico shirt, cotton twill pants, and a wide leather belt. She also held the reins of a huge, pale grey horse that resembled a knight's trusty steed."

"Or, she thought, easing into the chair he sat in each night, she could just leave with him. Forget her fears and fly off into the unknown future - perhaps. What if she couldn't leave her own time? David's presentation of his theories on time travel had made so much sense, and yet even he had to admit that no one knew how it worked for sure."

"She didn't belong with him, she knew, as the wind dried her cheeks almost as quickly as her tears fell, and she didn't belong in his century. They were from two different worlds, two times that should never have met except for a young girl and her belief in rainbows and happily ever after endings. This story would not have that kind of ending. Because as much as she didn't belong in David's world, she didn't belong to him." (you can guess what that's a setup for)

"Riding toward her was someone with dark hair and tanned skin, a plaid shirt that had once belonged to Jurgen, and tight denim pants. Oh, how she knew those denim pants."

"Perhaps she was tense from worrying. Her emotions had taken a beating since making love to David, getting ill, deciding to go with him, then worrying about her ability to leave her world behind. She'd gone through so much recently that she didn't trust her judgment any longer."

"'David, there's no rainbow!'
'We can't see the rainbow from up here. We aren't at the right angle. If everything happens like it did before, though, we should feel a tingling sensation and see rainbow colors just briefly as we pass from your time into mine.'"

On the last page:
"He folded his arms around her. 'I love you to*, my princess from the rainbow kingdom, more than you'll know in a thousand lifetimes.'"

*yes, "to." not "too." Please, someone, let me edit these. There were a few mistaken "it's" strewn about too. I mean, to.

6 weeks

2009-08-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

1. rock climbing.

2. maxine memorial dim sum adventures.

3. a Hitchcock-themed film festival complete with a plane busting through the movie screen and killing a judge. Check out Jessica's entry in which my shoe goes flying at the end:

4. a last-minute superfast road trip to Orem UT, with stopovers in Mesquite for Keno and prime rib, and the Mad Greek Cafe in Baker for hummos and attempts to get pet phrases from The Greek Tycoon's Blackmailed Mistress translated.

5. judging a spelling bee (two ways to spell cockswain/coxswain).

6. roadtrip with Dave up to Tahoe for the Wanderlust festival. Read his account, and watch Gillian Welch and Jenny Lewis:

7. meteor showers with goats.

8. the end of infodesk duties for a young single adult conference which 10k californians attended.

9. actually losing my right flip flop on Batman at Six Flags on Thursday...after the ride was over. Retiring the left flip flop in the late night turbulent waters of Roaring Rapids.

life on the edge of the continent.

2009-07-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

TJ, Mush and I began regular trips to Venice maybe 13 or 14 years ago, and we reunited there today. While we didn't see everyone's favorite boardwalk standard, the turbaned rollerskating electric guitar playing hanger-on, much remains unchanged since the days of our first visits. Flavorburst ice cream cones, two girls shooting up heroin, plenty of medicinal weed offerings, overpriced henna, cheap plastic stegosauri that growled, and these delights:

I need one of these for MazdaTron.

Did the missionaries do this? Nice tailoring of the message to the audience.

Need my palm read so desperately. By Zoltar or the lady whose cat has been telling fortunes since the 1970s. Come to think of it, I didn't see her out either.

A fellow was irritated with me for taking this picture because it infringed upon the rights to his work. I'm sure he licensed that photo of Kobe used in his LA skyline poster above.

Technicolor shemaghs...where were these in Yemen last year?

I am the 1984 Grammys.

2009-06-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

28 February 1984, my mom's 23rd birthday.

The night Michael Jackson won a record 8 Grammys (RIP, MJ. you are not alone.)

John Denver was the host. (note: John Denver was like mother's milk to me. I grew up with "Calypso" on repeat, he provided my first introduction to Placido Domingo, and I wound up working for his publishing company years later. I wore black the week he died.)

Irene Cara won for "Flashdance...What a Feeling!". I wore the LP of this soundtrack thin, running around my living room on my toes like Jennifer Beals had done. Flashdance is why I danced. And a couple decades later, I might have cried tears of joy when I aerobicized with Richard Simmons to this same tune, hearing him praise my moves with glitter and enthuasiasm.

Note: this also led to a ridiculous love for FlashBeagle a year later.

Cyndi Lauper performed "Time After Time." This was one of many staples at 2009's Night of Soft Rock. Sadly, her guitarist did not join us as he did with her at 0:57. Note the exasperated show casting-away at 2:35 as well...a familiar dance, I'm sure.

Pat Benatar also won for "Love is a Battlefield." So, I love Pat Benatar. I do not know the number of times I have gone on manic, adrenaline-purging late night runs to "Heartbreaker" that morph into thrashing and epic dancing in my alley. But nothing really compares to the Very Special Place In The Middle of My Heart that "We Belong" occupies. I also adore whales.

The Cats soundtrack was awarded. For maybe 2 decades, I desperately wanted to play the role of Victoria, the white cat who begins the official Jellicle's Ball. Instead, I find myself Grizzabell.

But Bonnie Tyler's performance of "Total Eclipse of the Heart"? I don't even know what to say. I am this. Or at least have played this on the piano and danced to it quite. a. lot.

25 years later, I am still all this.

call me master.

2009-05-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

Introducing Tron, MPD and Sniar, MPH.

However, my real specialty still lies in self-photography. My arm is long.
Thanks for celebrating with me, guys.

happy birthday, dear wednesday

2009-04-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

This trite little childhood poem reasserted itself in my life recently, causing irritation of the same ilk as Myers-Briggs categorization or Hogwarts sorting:

Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go
Friday's child is loving and giving
Saturday's child works hard for a living
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Note: I was mistakenly born on a Wednesday.

Somewhere in the more correct annals of time, it is written that Wendy is, in fact, a Thursday.
(art by anji one - thank you)

No matter. This time measurement business is an artificial construct anyway.

But if we ARE going to bother measuring it out as we do in days weeks months years, let's get one thing straight: it's happy birthDATE, not happy birthDAY. I have no intention of instigating reform on the thriving card and balloon industry, nor do I expect people to change up the lyrics to that oft-sung "Happy Birthday" song (note: Warner Chappell makes millions in royalties off that tune still; it doesn't go into the public domain until 2030). However, I do plan on wishing people a happy birthday every time their birth day roles around. Which will be once a week. I need more celebration - and more cupcakes - in my life.

one is the loneliest number

2009-04-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

The only human I have seen in the last 24 hours was a woman who just knocked on my door accidentally, thinking mine was the home of the surprise birthday party (nope. that'd be the neighbors across the way, apparently).

I should make use of all this alone time learning how to dance as Ethiopians do. When I was in Yemen last year, I went to an Ethiopian wedding, and the way all the men and women moved their shoulders bordered on unreal. I was expected to dance similarly, and my efforts unsurprisingly provoked giggles. Or pity. I'm not sure.

success

2009-03-24T01:13:00.000-07:00

1. the cathedral in Köln:2. the tree goats in Morocco
and a hint of things to come shortly:

here's looking at you, kid

2009-03-12T03:47:00.000-07:00

my celebrations for
st. patrick's day persian new year the vernal equinox maxine's birthday and other march delights
will take place in germany and morocco this year.

rather last minute, i found flights to frankfurt and marrakesh that were apparently too good to pass up. i'm headed out in 5 hours, returning in 12 days, and dedicated to achieving the following two objectives:

1. seeing the Köln cathedral

2. seeing the tree-climbing goats around Essaouira
so, throw back a pint of guiness on my behalf while i'm away, rocking the casbah or riding a camel or something. i'll report soon on any worthwhile adventures.

you dream big when you live in Barstow.

2009-02-24T00:04:00.000-08:00

I used to live in the desert. I dreamed of being a cowgirl, running horses around barrels, wearing fringy leather jackets with matching boots. And I had too much time on my hands in my first few years of elementary school, which led to writing ridiculous stories pretty frequently.
transcribed (1986): "Magic Boots" (author's note: I used the back [of the paper])

This is how I found out my boots were magic. First thing I jumped into my boots. Next thing I know I'm walking out the door. My boots carried me to the West. I didn't like it there. There were horses running around and one of them kicked me. There were cowboys shootin' [ed. note: I put that apostrophe there when I was 6.]. The sun was hot. After West there was North. North was cold and a walrus bit me. I fell in the snow. Then the badest thing happened and this was it: my boots stopped! I had [to walk] all the way back! I walked one week and then I was home and that is how my boots are magic.

Last week, I finished Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, watched The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, listened to Ennio Morricone's score for a couple days straight, and wondered where exactly my dreams of breaking a wild stallion and riding it west into the sunset had gone. Maybe it was the thought of being bitten by a walrus that did me in. Hard to say.

defined

2009-02-19T23:28:00.000-08:00

1991: age 10, anxious to glimpse the contours of my destiny, I ventured to the Valley Plaza Mall with a friend. The 'unlock the mystery of your name' kiosk had me sold when I saw that I could have the insights printed on a killer whale background.

recent fascinations

2009-01-29T15:26:00.000-08:00

1. Princess Hijab, a young Parisian guerrilla artist who "hijabizes" advertisements in order to "subvert consumer images—especially of women—and to push cultural boundaries".

2. Leila Khaled, a rather foxy Palestinian who was part of a team that hijacked TWA Flight 840 on its way from Rome to Athens in 1969. She's now a member of the Palestinian National Council, as well as the subject of a recent Swedish documentary that I can't get ahold of.

3. The Okapi, a very shy and solitary "forest giraffe" found in rainforests of the upper Congo River Basin in central Africa. This nocturnal animal was one of the last mammals discovered by scientists in the early 1900's.

in the words of Celine Dion, "A New Day Has Come"

2009-01-20T01:32:00.000-08:00

A perfect Martin Luther King Jr. Day concluded with making shirts for the inauguration tomorrow. More on this soon.

America! is the name of a shop in the Washington Dulles airport. The ! means we really really like America.

2009-01-20T00:13:00.000-08:00

2008 was a good year for seeing new places:
Upstate NY & Canada
Vermont, New Hampshire, Montreal and Quebec
Edison Lake, CA
Yemen
Jordan
Jerusalem, the West Bank and the Golan Heights
Syria
Lebanon
Cairo, Egypt
London, England
Zion National Park, Utah
and, bridging the transition from 008 to 009:
Washington DC, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, New Jersey, Delaware

(it was also a good year for concerts, by the way. My top 4:
- Neil Diamond at the Hollywood Bowl
- Beck at the Nokia Theatre
- Amr Diab in Damascus
- Angelique Kidjo at the citadel in Damascus)

Because it's already the middle of January, I'll spare the blow-by-blow anecdotes of the recent road trip to DC and just share some photos of the adventure:

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
A charming city bursting with happiness at the Ravens' recent successes. Also, home to more churches than I could shake a stick at, and plenty of religiously-themed hair salons as well (the sign on the window below says giving your hair everlasting life, through the body of Christ. ?!).

WASHINGTON, DC
Thanks, Dax, for the epic walking tour of the monuments by moonlight. And let it be known that Abraham Lincoln made my heart sing with patriotism and hope.

Thank you, Smithson, for your generous grant to the People of America. The Air and Space Museum, the Natural History Museum, and the American History Museum pretty much blew my mind. Space shuttles! The Hope Diamond! A Giant Squid! Dinosaurs! Quelle delight indeed.

I've been waiting to see the Vietnam War Memorial since I was 11. I was not disappointed.
Arlington National Cemetery also proved to be quite moving.

VIRGINIA AND WEST VIRGINIA
Sing along with John Denver and me in my rented Mustang as I drive from Harpers Ferry in WV all the way down Skyline Drive: "Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River...Take me home, country roads, to the place I belONG! West Virginia, mountain mama, take me home, country roads!"

PENNSYLVANIA
Gettysburg is incredible.

Intercourse, Pennyslvania is also pretty great. But not on Sundays, when the Amish aren't working or selling homemade rootbeer or fresh churned butter. Darn it.

Philadelphia, however, might have been the biggest and most surprising gem of my eastern adventure. A ridiculously fantastic city with a fascinating history, some blend of the vibes of NY and Riga, more community-painted murals than any other city on earth, original King James Bibles, random statues, cheesesteaks, and friends (I love Preethi and Dan) who happen to be the best tour guides east of the Mississippi.

As a bonus, I'll include SAN FRANCISCO, where Jessica and I quickly roadtripped this weekend. Stop at Pea Soup Andersen's next time you're headed north, and ask Jessica about the best taco place in Gilroy too.

Looking forward to more adventures - and better adventure reporting - during this fine new year. Might be hard to beat Yemen, though. I'll see what I can do.

merry christmas, jäger

2009-01-19T19:27:00.000-08:00

Jäger is my dad's dog, a white German Shepherd search and rescuer who responds to commands auf Deutsch and loves chasing sticks (spuchen is what you say when you want him to spit out his stick so you can throw it again).

If you give him a squeaky sheep, it will take him less than 14 minutes to happily disembowel it.

december pleasantries

2008-12-24T14:38:00.000-08:00

These are some things I celebrate this time o' year, aside from the One Overarching Really Important Thing That Christmas Is All About:

Christmases past:

(including a post-white elephant gift exchange Darren's Dance Grooves session a couple years back)

The happiest place on earth:
(finding your names - Tron!, Wendy! - at the top of Santa's list, held by the noblest creature of all, the goat)
(teacups running over)

Grand And Glorious Gatherings:
(with Richard Simmons)
(Sunday Breast: Winter Edition)
(Santa Monica Silvers winning 56-35. 1 TFL for me! amazing!)(Jasminehood)
(Goatmasters)

Christmas music:

(the kind that puts everyone to sleep at 03:00)

And KataTronic Christmas Monsters, of course (with Kristen's invaluable aid):

Christmas eve activities:
As I write, Dino and Mush are combing through the question cards of the Worst Case Scenario Survival Board Game. I have learned the following:

- how to treat someone struck by lightning
- to "smack a crocodile on its snout, and stab a shark in the eye. don't confuse the two," says PapaTron
- how to eat polar bear meat: AVOID THE LIVER! it contains a lethal dose of vitamin A.
- how to eat a frog: FALSE!
- how to breathe during a freefall while parachuting: actually, you do not need to breathe at all through your mouth or nose. you will breathe through your skin. (?!?!)

We also performed extensive psychological evaluations that resulted in effective Hogwarts house sorting for the folks here. Check out this test, or this one for a much shorter sorting experience.

Results:
Dad and Julie - both resounding Huffleclaws.
Mush - Gryffindor, with a strong Slytherin streak.
Dino - Gryffindor with strong Hufflepuff AND Ravenclaw tendencies. Further testing necessary.
Wendy - a Ravenpuff (see me personally for further very strong opinions about all this sorting business).

Essentially: general happiness abounds.

rules to live by

2008-12-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

it's ALWAYS means it is.
it's ONLY means it is.

Example:
It's true that I have devoted my life to goats.
[It is] true that I have devoted my life to goats.

its is ALWAYS possessive.

Example:
Did you see that mountain goat? Its beard was so majestic.
Did you see that mountain goat? [The mountain goat's] beard was so majestic.

what with the flames and water and ice

2008-11-23T22:21:00.000-08:00

a new favorite. thanks, felice.

Tuesday 9:00 AM
Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

from Triptych, 1999
The Commoner Press, New York

löl!

2008-10-26T21:39:00.000-07:00

I decided long ago to embrace Awkwardness. Whether I bring it upon myself, or whether I simply seek it out more because I find it delightful, I do not know. I know only this: I relish a good bit of discomfort.

And I, with the aid of several likeminded friends, have come to see the value in deploying one particular gesture to communicate that sense of awkwardness and delightful discomfort we find around us so readily. Friends, I give you... LÖL!

This extremely useful gesture can easily be performed by inserting the index finger in the high shirt collar (real or imagined, if the cut of the shirt is too low). The finger then extends the (real or imagined) shirt collar away from the neck while the face grimaces.

For written situations that require a transliterated version of the gesture and sound, there are several acceptable spellings: the aforementioned 'löl', as well as 'glllulllg'. Please note here that I am a hater of 'LOL'. I cringe just looking at those three horrid letters I have just typed with my own fingers. Felice explains the lameness of the acronym very well here. But 'löl' provides a clever way to reappropriate the laziness of 'LOL' and turn it into something spectacularly germanic and witty, and loads more evocative and useful than whatever visual you get for 'laughing out loud'. 'glllulllg' is likewise delightful in its palindromatic construction, and it can be extended to visually represent discomfort by degrees (ie, 'gllllllllllllulllllllllllg!').

Opportunities for use are abundant, you will find. You might as well leave your finger in your collar for the entire duration of any given episode of 'The Office', for instance. This week, these were a few of the moments when I found myself glllllullllg-ing:

Scary professionally printed grammar errors in businesses around USC. This is a big one for me, as I am a bit of a grammar and punctuation snob, especially when it comes to signage. I give a couple points for the team spirit and humor appeal, however:

Also not a fan of misused quotation marks, again on signage. Please note, dear business, that we are in fact real students. There's "nothing" approximate or imaginary about it. glllulllg!
And, I recently caught a few gigantically uncomfortable moments in past presidential debates (catch the spirit!). No amount of squirming or löl-ing makes these any more pleasant to watch!

Dan Quayle and Lloyd Bentsen. Gllullg!

Bush v. Clinton 1992. Oh wow.

Now, go! See how soon you too will have a use for this handy gesture. I can say, as a testimony to its viability, that my father's first public gesture (and possible first movement of the right elbow) following his open heart surgery was in fact a 'glllulllg'. It strained his neck and hurt his arm, but there simply wasn't any better or more amusing way to accurately convey his feelings at that time. You'll see.

the passions of Tron

2008-10-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

Three things I feel passionately about, as you'll note on the new list to your right:

1. GOATS.
That's right. A long, long history of goat-adoration bore wonderful fruits over the weekend, as I was officially tried, weighed, and found worthy to now bear the title Goatmaster Tron. More on this to come. In the meantime, please peruse the goatmaster site here.

2. FAMILIES.
Prop 8, folks. I keep my politics pretty private always - but I'm making an exception for this. Please think about it. The decision we make on 4 November is going to have extensive ramifications for the way our society is shaped in the future. I find that thinking of the issue from the perspective of children's rights provides some particularly compelling reasons to vote yes. Have a look at some of the sites below for more info. And check out this video that features a number of my friends:

what is prop 8? - excellent site that examines the proposition from a variety of scholarly, political, and religious angles

preserving marriage - an official page of the LDS church. very pro-family (and NOT anti-gay. let us be clear about this above all)

protect marriage - how to support the proposition

liberal perspective on children's rights - from the LA Times: "children have the right, insofar as society can make it possible, to know and to be cared for by the two parents who brought them into this world. The foundational human rights document in the world today regarding children, the 1989 U.N. Convention on the Rights of the Child, specifically guarantees children this right."

family research council - social science arguments about family construction

3. BLOOD.
the giving of it. Let's be honest, though - if you know me, you know this has been my One Great And True Cause for the last 10 years. But really. It is so easy. 1 hour of your time every 56 days, and you can boldly declare that as a blood donor, you are a healthy, fabulous individual who has just saved 3 lives.

the beat goes on

2008-10-06T00:42:00.000-07:00

A week has now passed since PapaTron's CABG (that's a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft to all the uninitiated), and his heart is happy to finally be at home. He left the hospital Friday evening, delighted to bid farewell to Darvocet-induced hallucinations, catheters, and worn out snappy gowns. He's now crashing on the couch downstairs and may be welcoming visitors (or at least willing dog-walkers) soon.

a CABG:
pre-surgery fun:
Dad was quite the anomaly in the cardiac ward; everyone was surprised to see such a fit and healthy 50 year old young buck in there for surgery. friends, one word: checkups! especially if you have a history of any kind of any disease in your family.
Post CABG, feeling no pain...
We may have snuck my guitar in and serenaded the patient as he puffed on his respiration treatment.
We hijacked him for walks around the fourth floor as well. Yes, this man DOES walk. He'll be back to cycling and canyon rescuing and palm-tree-cutting-down in no time at all.
That's the smile of health!

update

2008-09-30T02:20:00.001-07:00

quickly:

The surgery went well. Just wound up being a triple bypass, no more (al-hamdul'allah!). Finished around 2:30pm (earlier than expected - awkwardly, Ryan and I were in the processing of donating blood when we got the call). He's in the ICU for 24-ish hours with a dedicated nurse who gave us the rundown and then sent us home since she wasn't going to wake him up for a while (we talked to him and gave him lucky squeezes anyways). Had a call a little later that because he was still bleeding more than they liked, the doctor was coming back and taking him back to the operating room in order to put a stitch or two more in. This went off without a hitch, and the doctor says he's doing just fine. I'm in touch with the nurse every hour or two - apparently he's awake-ish right now, and they're taking the breathing and nasal/stomach tubes out within the hour. When we go see him tomorrow morning, apparently he should be sitting up, eating breakfast, and having a generally fantastic, if somewhat immobile, time - what with the new and effecient heart pumping capacity and all.

I'm just glad it was Dr. Pa doing the surgery, not Dr. Nick. I think Dad is well re-arranged now, and fortunately he doesn't have a leg for an arm and an arm for a leg!

-------

Thank you all so much for your words of support and your prayers. Again, if you want updates or anything, please feel free to call my cell phone or send an email. I'm running point on this so that the hospital isn't fielding loads of concerned phone calls from dad's fan club, so really...please don't hesitate to call me.

my heart will go on

2008-09-28T18:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not typically a fan of the movie "Titanic", but I found myself playing its theme song today in the chapel of Bakersfield Memorial Hospital, on an old electric organ with foot pedals that I quickly taught myself to use for an added emotional dimension to the tune. The family was gathered around, laughing.

My dad, the healthiest, most active recently-turned-50-year-old whom I know, went in for a routine checkup a month or so ago...and came out of what should've been an unexciting angiogram on Friday with news that he need triple bypass surgery. That surgery is going to be happening Monday morning, and he's in both excellent spirits and excellent health (minus those pesky arteries) as we all prepare for it. My brother and sister and I are all with him.

Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers. If you have questions or want updates, please feel free to call or text my cell.

We hooked up our TI computer from 1983 and practiced the heart surgery ourselves on the microsurgeon game. hope he's in better hands with BMH's surgeons.

This man is definitely not disheartened!

remember

2008-09-11T10:10:00.000-07:00

How many people died on 11 September 2001?

Approximately 50,000.

Most common cause of death?

Malnutrition.

----

*in memoriam to those who died on that day, all around the world.
*with gratitude that America has not sustained additional terrorist attacks in the last 7 years.
*in hopes that we can broaden our perspectives, rid ourselves of ignorant stereotypes, and reach out more effectively to our brothers and sisters around the globe.

another long road home

2008-09-03T01:46:00.000-07:00

I watched The Dark Knight tonight.

At the Imax theatre.

I left speechless and jittery.

Escorted to MazdaTron by fellow moviegoers, I got into my truck alone, put the keys in the ignition, confirmed that no one had stowed away behind my seat, and reversed out of the parking space.

A black Escalade was speeding toward me. It stopped so I could finish reversing. I told myself not to be reckless; I was NOT in a parking lot chase, NOT in a chase, NOT in a chase.

I found the freeway and tried to shake the feeling that I was driving in Gotham City, that any minute the car next to me would be engulfed in a sudden explosion. I saw a sea of brake lights ahead, so I quickly slowed (quickly slowed? is such a thing possible?).

All lanes of traffic were completely stopped.

I tried to turn my radio on to find out what had happened - but nothing. Well, that was because me radio was stolen a couple years ago, which I remembered as my hand felt around the empty space. I looked up and realized I was parked right behind a huge double tanker truck full of gas. I could see the shot now; an opportunity for spectacular explosion and MazdaTron's imminent immolation, just as soon as someone trained their grenade launcher on said truck.

I switched lanes as soon as I could, though trading the possibility of pyrotechnics for the chance that the side panels on either of the 18-wheelers flanking me would suddenly open to a group of joker-masked villains holding tommy guns was equally unsettling.

Slowly, slowly we made our way toward the Washington Exit, where traffic had narrowed to a single lane as countless police cars with lights flashing eventually gave way to the sight of the most smashed black sports car I have ever seen in my life.

I exited on National Ave., anxious to get home. On the way, I passed another bad wreck that had just occurred moments before. I parked several blocks from my house and began my walk home, taking in my surroundings as if I was on methamphetamines (which, side note, I never have taken) - everything seemed more immediate, sharper, faster. Almost home, I began to question whether I had turned MazdaTron's lights off. About face, walk back. Lights off. Walk home again. Never have I been so prepared to confront evil in my alley.

There's a helicopter flying around overhead as I write this in the dark of my living room. I am certain that within minutes, someone is going to come crashing through my porch window.

The good thing is, I'm dreaming of Christian Bale tonight.

the long road home

2008-08-20T10:40:00.000-07:00

Apologies for another photo blog. It's just the quickest way I can attempt a summary of what my last couple weeks in the Middle East were like.

Early one morning, some friends and I rented a van and hired a driver and set off before sunrise, heading east toward Syria's most famous ruins - Palmyra. These are not the ruins.
These are the ruins.

I walked by this man and saw that he was sweeping. At first I just thought, right, early morning janitor at the ruins. And then I realized, he's sweeping...the dirt. [insert quizzical expression]

Nearby, there are really old tower tombs still standing. Ruth and I climbed up and explored. Ruth was my roommate at the monastery, a delightful British pianist and really lovely girl.
Play dead.

Palmyra is halfway between Damascus and the...Euphrates, I believe. This way to Iraq...
In Damascus, this is my favorite statue - Salah al-Din, very triumphant.
My friend Jen and I thought it was imperative to eat some really excellent Iraqi food before leaving Syria. We went down to Jaramana (home to many many thousands of Iraqi refugees, primarily Christians) and, after buying Ninja Turtle hand sanitizer and cola-flavored toothpaste, decided to eat at the Zarzoor Grill Fallujah Restaurant. It was a feast of epic proportions, and incredibly delicious.
The next night, my last in Syria, was spent at another graduation for Iraqi students - this time, students from beauty school. Several of us performed during the presentation, which was really special and a lot of fun. Usually the pre-graduation presentations are accompanied by Mariah Carey "Hero" or some Celine Dion, so we were pleased this time to switch it up with a few Zimbabwe songs, a little "Lean On Me", and even some dancing. I played piano for a couple and did some (gulp) backup singing for the others. The graduation was great, and afterwards, because I was leaving a little early from the program, I had dinner with some good friends at another amazing Iraqi shawarma place. These are some of the Iraqis and Syrians I worked with
at the Patriarchate:The next morning, I took a shared cab to Beirut (shared with the driver, a sheikh, a soon-to-be-married mechanical engineer named Amar Amar, and a Palestinian-Lebanese-Danish lady who didn't have a Lebanese visa organized). We (minus the Dane) made it successfully, and I then took a bus immediately to Tripoli in the north of the country. There's been a fair amount of unrest there lately. I was surprised as well how much other war damage could be seen as I explored the city:
But I think Tripoli is beautiful.The next day, I took a bus to Bcharre with Swiss friend Michel, and from there we got a cab in order to see the Cedars Of Lebanon. I say "Cedars of Lebanon" in capitals because they've been symbolic of Lebanon and famous throughout the world since Biblical times (sample random verse from Psalms: The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars; yea, the Lord breaketh the cedars of Lebanon.) And apparently whatever was prophesied about the pride of Lebanon being cut like their cedars was true, because the cedar preserve we saw was pretty dismal. The trees are gorgeous, of course, but there aren't many of them around, and a lot of them are kind of hacked up. Well, at least they're preserved in picture on the Lebanese flag.....sigh.
Lots of soldiers around.
I went to Beirut later. I LOVE Beirut. This is the Place of the Martyrs.
And very nearby, I stumbled upon a gigantic tent. Turns out that inside said tent is buried Rafik Hariri, the former Lebanese Prime Minister who was assassinated in a huge explosion a couple years ago. Really really terrible.
I wandered around more and found some neighborhoods that were big Hezbollah strongholds. So many banners and pictures and paintings of leaders, of martyrs.
This is just one picture of many that displays one of Hezbollah's soldiers who died as a martyr.
Fast forward a day - I flew to Egypt. I will simply say that it was an incredibly frustrating and disappointing experience, as, when you fly Egypt Air, apparently you can't leave the care of the airline (which means if you want to go into Cairo, you go with an Egypt Air driver who takes 4 hours to arrive at the airport while you wait wait wait, and then gets you to the pyramids after they're already closed. Boo.)
Well, at least I saw them from the gate, anyways.
After Egypt, I returned to Yemen and saw a few friends in the wee hours of the morning, then flew to London and spent time with friends there as well, watching my first bit of the Olympics and eating some really excellent curry. On the plane home the next day, I wore my black balto and a hijab. I was curious how Americans would respond to it. Most people were perfectly normal, although one lady in line spoke to me really slowly and loudly as if I didn't speak English. I was most surprised, however, that when I went through immigration at LAX, the officer didn't even look through my passport - it was one of my quickest immigration experiences ever. Not that I had any desire to sit for a long interview, but I'm thinking someone should've asked a few more questions (especially considering some of the interesting things I had in my bags, like goat furs that technically should be reported to the Fish and Game dept, and Hezbollah posters). Hmm. Oh well.
From LA, I took a bus to Bakersfield to see family and pick up Mazdatron. I marveled the next morning at simple things like the availability of bacon. Other things I've realized since that were utterly lacking over the last 2.5 months: milk. microwaves. stop signs. I walk and drive like a reserved Yemeni, but I'm trying to readjust quickly.
I came back to my place in LA and found this in my shower (I love Kat):
As I unpacked my bags, I was able to share some of my delights with friends and roommates:
I love the Middle East. I really do. There remains so much more to understand and explore there, but the last 10ish weeks were phenomenal and full of adventure (such that I finally wore through the bottoms of my shoes).
I'm back in LA now, starting up the last year of my masters, but adventures will continue here, as well as better information to come on interesting issues in the Middle East. I am sure I will be going back soon.

Please note:

1. I did not get kidnapped. I did not get beheaded. I never had anyone curse me for being American.

2. After returning to LA and mentioning my work with Iraqis to someone, a remark was made about "sleeping with the enemy". Uh, yikes. No. Iraqis are not our enemy. The Iraqis I worked with were amazing. The situation for the refugees in Syria is heartbreaking.

3. If you look back, you'll note that I posted some pictures from a "friend's" trip somewhere near Jordan. The ambiguity was due to the possibility that Syria's secret police could have legitimately booted me from the country had they connected my name to a visit to Israel. Yes, I went to Jerusalem and the West Bank. Countries visited on this trip, if you're keeping tally: Yemen, Jordan, Israel/Palestine/West Bank/Golan Heights, Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, England.

4. How does it feel to be back? Weird, in a word. I bought a lot of hummus today. We'll see how the transitioning goes.

Ma salaama, rafi'i.

a Damascus assortment

2008-08-06T16:49:00.000-07:00

!سوْريا
I like this place a lot.

Unfortunately, this picture collection is a little too random for my 02:22am mind to piece together a story that connects all of it. So the theme is: Wendy is in Syria. These are some of the things she sees around town. Simple, eh?

This picture says it all. Can you identify these two men? In Syria, I propose that the one on the left may well be more identifiable than Jesus on the right. President Bashar al-Assad's picture, as well as countless photos, paintings, murals, and mosaics of his father, are plastered around the country, present in every home and every office, omnipresent. This cult of personality is a little unreal and amusing at times (see and read more on Bridget's blog here). I particularly love the car window treatments (don't worry, I'm bringing back a few of my own for MazdaTron):
Also revered is Muhadan, of the beloved Turkish soap opera 'Nour' that has taken the Middle East by storm and stolen the heart of many a Syrian lass and lad. This is Muhadan, who was strangely called upon to appear at a concert I attended last night (more on this shortly). Awkwardly, it turns out he is not terribly engaging live, but the Syrian girls were excited to see him nevertheless: and this is the 'I love Muhanad' (or something approaching that in mistranslated English) shirt that I couldn't help but buy. Please note that Grand Mufti of Saudi Arabia has condemned the viewing of the show. Said he, "Any TV station that airs them is against God and His Messenger (peace be upon him). These are serials of immorality. They are prepared by people who are specialists in crime and error, people who invite men and women to the devil.”
Speaking of the forbidden, these are some of the things you should and shouldn't do at Syria's one and only private university:

and if you noted that I was wearing a hijab with my 'Nour' shirt, it was in an attempt to try some of the different Syrian hijab fashions, as drawn well in this picture below. Click on it to see a pretty accurate description of the many styles you see here (I saw plenty of the 'Abu Ramani hijab with veiled Indonesian nanny' at this concert as well).
So, I live in a monastery right now (a monastery bereft of religious personnel, which confused me a bit until I learned that apparently monasteries don't have to have monks to be called such; apparently they can just be hospitable places attached to churches, which is what mine is). Damascus is a city that boasts some really pleasant religious diversity, and it's been most interesting to spend time seeing more of the Christian areas here, after everything in Yemen. Just outside the monastery door, I see this every day:
and last week, I visited a monastery (a real real one, with monks and nuns) an hour or two away, in the mountains.
It's called Mar Mousa, or Saint Moses. This is me (aka Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman) on my way up:
a wonderful monk named Jihad showed us inside (the place is 1000+ years old) before everyone had a hour of silence for meditation and prayer:

Damascus is my paradise. I am eating practically all the lamb my young heart desires, and there are fruit stands on every corner:
and you get watermelon at the end of 98% of all meals:
Sometimes you get to eat dinner at the former prime minister's home. Maybe it's the first birthday of his nephew, and maybe they bake 6 or 7 different desserts and then make you try all of them:But if you're home alone and hungry, don't worry - combining Ninja Turtle cornflakes
with Maxtello chocolate-hazelut-honey spreadis really delightful:
Lots of perfume is sold here:
I'm still enjoying the Arabic studies (our class at a restaurant):
as well as graduations of Iraqi kids in programs run by the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate:
I will say that the Amr Diab concert was a gigantic disappointment/ gigantic Pepsi ad. Amr Diab is the biggest male star in the Arab world. I like his music a lot, but the concert experience was fairly terrible for the price.

I prefer hanging out at the monastery and playing my own music instead:

thoughts from the Egyptian Unique Moustache Association

2008-08-06T16:35:00.000-07:00

from MEMRI, a really interesting site that translates certain articles from Arab media:

Following are excerpts from an interview with members of the Egyptian Unique Moustache Association, which aired on Egyptian TV on July 11, 2008.

To view this clip, visit http://www.memritv.org/clip/en/1829.htm.

Interviewer: "I'm sure many people have pressured you to shave off your moustache, saying, 'What is this? Enough of that.'"

Association head Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "My personality forces people to treat me with respect."

Interviewer: "Didn't your friends, relatives, your wife, or your children say 'Enough is enough?'"

Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "They are all proud of me. My youngest boy, Nader, calls himself 'Nader Moustache.' Get it? All his friends call him 'Nader Moustache.'"

[...]

Interviewer: "Do you respect all types of moustaches - regardless of their size, length, or width?"

Allam Muhammad Abdel Al-Halim: "Of course."

Interviewer: "Even Hitler's moustache?"

Captain Sayyed Shahada: "By the way, I respect the moustache of this Hitler, because he humiliated the most despicable sect in the world. He subdued the people who subdued the whole world - him with his '11' moustache. By the way, that kind of moustache is called '11.' The generation of this Hitler... When I was little, my father, may he rest in peace, grew that kind of moustache, and so did all his classmates. They all had this '11' moustache. That was in the days of Hitler... My father... "

Interviewer: "That was the fashion back then."

Captain Sayyed Shahada: "Exactly. I should know - my father was a barber."

[...]

Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "We have different styles. One style is 'the Douglas.' Then there's 'the Pretzel,' which is rolled like this... The 'Two Swords' style stands up like that... The 'Mafroud' is flat like a ruler. Another style is the 'Carter,' which comes out from here and is very wide."

Interviewer: "What is it called?"

Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "The 'Carter.' We have two special hair designers, Muhammad Salomon and Yasser Imam. They are the association's designers. They designed all these styles." [...]

Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "In the days of King Farouq, anybody who grew a moustache would get a raise."

Interviewer: "Really?"

Fathi Ahmad Mahmoud "Moustache": "Yes, they would get a raise."

modern ruins

2008-07-31T15:22:00.000-07:00

From the BBC,

The Golan Heights, a rocky plateau in south-western Syria, has a political and strategic significance which belies its size.

Israel seized the Golan Heights from Syria in the closing stages of the 1967 Six-Day War. Most of the Syrian Arab inhabitants fled the area during the conflict.

An armistice line was established and the region came under Israeli military control. Almost immediately Israel began to settle the Golan.

Syria tried to retake the Golan Heights during the 1973 Middle East war. Despite inflicting heavy losses on Israeli forces, the surprise assault was thwarted. Both countries signed an armistice in 1974 and a UN observer force has been in place on the ceasefire line since 1974.

Golan Heights facts

Name: Golan Heights
Status: Israeli-occupied. Captured from Syria in the 1967 Middle East war, and annexed in 1981, a moved condemned internationally. Lebanon claims Shab'a Farms area.
Population estimate: 20,000 Israeli settlers, 20,000 Syrians

Israel unilaterally annexed the Golan Heights in 1981. The move was not recognised internationally.

There are more than 30 Jewish settlements on the heights, with an estimated 20,000 settlers. There are some 20,000 Syrians in the area, most of them members of the Druze sect.

**************
I visited the Golan Heights today. Specifically, I visited Quneitra, a city that traded hands between Israel and Syria during the 1967 and 1973 wars. Israel gained control of it during 1973 and completely destroyed it before their withdrawal in 1974. It lies in the demilitarized United Nations Disengagement Observer Force (UNDOF) Zone between Syria and Israel, right next to the Israeli border. It's the area around the faint reddish dot below:

Syria has chosen to 'preserve' the city in its devastated state, as a sort of testament (testament for what? you can figure that out). Getting there is complicated, or at least it was for Jennifer and me this morning. Securing the necessary permissions involved a great deal of walking around and misdirection and sweating. After 3 hours, 5 service rides (services are the minivans that run around the city wildly, crammed full of people, but very cheap), 1 bus ride, 2 hours of walking, several conversations in Frenchabic, and a final long service ride to Quneitra itself, we managed to present our permissions, secure a government escort (freely provided, but required lest you stray into areas you shouldn't go, or photograph forbidden things), and see what remained of the city.

This is what war looks like:
the hospital ("destroyed by Zionists and changed it to firing target!")

Israel in the distance
the Greek Orthodox Church

buildings in town
the border

more ruins

the mosque

Terrible.

I'm enjoying this country, syriasly

2008-07-31T13:12:00.000-07:00

A week in pictures:

En route to Aleppo, the second biggest city in Syria and pretty far north in the country, we stopped to see this giant mosaic church floor that had been unearthed. The church was built around 442AD...and apparently Syria is awash with old mosaics:
We visited the ruins of St. Simeon's church. St. Simeon lived in the 400s as well and became well known as an ascetic who spent more than 30 years of his life living on a pillar, away from humanity in order to get closer to God. I'm not sure how that worked with feeding himself and such, but apparently it impressed (and converted) many back in the day. The church was built around the pillar he lives on (now rather crumbled):
This is me at St. Simeon, looking at Turkey in the distance.
and this is Statue Wendy.
Later in the day, we went to Aleppo's Citadel. Pretty spectacular and imposing, turns out - and apparently it was to would-be invaders as well; the Mongols were the only ones who ever succeeded in taking it:
Aleppo from the Citadel (cool city, eh?):
Aleppo also boasts the Middle East's biggest souq, one that is 12km long. I didn't search through all of it, though I did manage a bit of shopping adventure.
Popular items to buy in Syria include olive oil soap...
...and scarves. Always scarves.
A country awash with mosaics simply must have a mosaic museum. I'm not big on museums generally, but I did like the mosque in which the displays were housed:
The ruins of Afamea were pretty spectacular. This was a city built around 300BC; most of the architecture was Byzantine and Roman, and fairly notable people like Cleopatra took the time to visit in its heyday. Really peaceful - and windy - now.

I attended a graduation for Iraqi students who participated in some of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate's vocational programs. One of the sweetest moments was watching a fashion show at the beginning. These little girls modeled dresses that had been made by students in the sewing classes, and they were adorable:
But it was really wonderful to see how excited everyone was - lots of proud parents and proud friends around, and it was quite touching.
Obligatory food note for the blog is my love of the mulberry squash you can get here (I'm using the British term 'squash' to refer to a really strong fresh concentrate that you can dilute with water) - but more importantly, the best ice cream place in Damascus is just up the road from the monastery where I'm staying, and they have ROSE ice cream there. My favorite. I'm eating it every day from now until I return.
Oh, this is what birthday cake candles look like here - more like a birthday firecracker than anything.
We had dinner with one of the bishops here last night, at the church of St. Paul (conveniently located at the very spot where Saul was stopped by God on the road to Damascus and then blinded). Upon hearing that the bishop goes jogging every morning (and after much frustration with the reality that solo female jogging here is simply unacceptable), I was quite tempted to see if he'd be interested in picking up a jogging partner...but he's off to Sweden tomorrow for the rest of my stay here. Alas!
2 more weeks. More anecdotes and analysis to come before I head out to Lebanon/Egypt/Yemen/London/LA.

medicine, teeth cleaning, maybe a little hope...

2008-07-24T14:14:00.000-07:00

I've been to Jaramana twice now. Located in Southern Damascus, this neighborhood is home to a large number of Christian Iraqi refugees. Most Iraqis exist here in a frustrating state of limbo between the homeland they fled and the fragile hope of either return or resettlement in yet another country. The Iraqis I've spoken with there live in sparsely furnished apartments, woven pictures of the Last Supper and token family photos displayed proudly on otherwise bare walls. Their hospitality is unfailing, despite their altogether too evident hardships.

My visit to Jaramana this morning comprised a tour of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent's Poly Clinic, a joint effort of the SARC and the UNHCR (the United Nations High Commissioner of Refugees, the organization which has registered over 150,000 refugees in Syria to date. The actual number of refugees is much, much higher - somewhere around 1.2 million). At the Poly Clinic, registered refugees can come and receive different kinds of medical care, from dental work to pediatric, gynecology to psychiatric help. All this is housed in one building, and refugees pay only 20% of the cost of the services. At this clinic in Jaramana, in operation for just a little over a year, more than 30,000 Iraqis are registered; 300-400 patients receive treatment daily.

Iraqis wait outside the Jaramana clinic.
A dental technician at the clinic shows off her equipment.

There's a similar Poly Clinic just fifteen minutes away, right down the street from the Shi'ia pilgrimage site of Saida Zeinab. As busloads of Iranian pilgrims head for the shrine, small groups of Iraqis line up for services inside the SARC clinic. This building seems bigger, brighter, newer than the Jaramana clinic, and I wonder at the disparity between the two; I then learn that the Saida Zeinab clinic has been in operation for 10 years, serving Iraqis who fled Saddam's reign after the first Gulf War. This building is one year old, and the 25 doctors and 65 nurses who work there see a thousand patients on average every day.

The staff who showed us around the clinic were quick to let us know that they had the technology, the medicine, and the personnel resources they needed to help these Iraqis. The queues in the waiting room demonstrated the high demand for the clinic's services - and also the distressing situation in which many of the families find themselves. I am told there are 180 cancer cases that the clinic has seen and referred to a nearby hospital; a disproportionate number of these are skin cancer cases due to chemical bomb explosions. These Iraqis are still eligible to pay only 20% of their care, though the expense is often so great that the UNHCR will waive the fees completely.

The personnel manager of the Saida Zeinab clinic has been there 5 years and seen too much misery in the lives of the Iraqi patients. He is proud of the assistance that his clinic is able to provide - but he yearns for a day when the need for the clinic will not be so great. When asked to speak about the situation of the Iraqis, he refuses - go see it with your own eyes, he says. See how hard we work and what we accomplish; see for yourselves the ways in which these Iraqis suffer.

It's hard not to see it.

outside the Saida Zeinab Poly Clinic.

and Wendy journeyed to Damascus

2008-07-22T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm going to grossly generalize and say that the Middle East is beautiful.

My last days in Amman were relaxed and enjoyable. I climbed tall hills in the strong sun...
...and bought DVDs for 1 dinar each in the vicinity of this mosque (that's not actually the mosque - just a sign pointing to it. I like these mosque signs):
And I visited Iraq.
Iraq el-Amir, that is. The word 'Iraq' essentially means 'beautiful place', and that's what this was. I'm sure it was even more lovely a few thousand years ago before it fell into ruin, but it's still gorgeous, tucked away just outside the city and surrounded by farmland and handicraft centers.
After visiting Iraq el-Amir with my friend Rajai, I said goodbye to Jordan and hopped onto a bus heading toward Damascus. Crossing the border became a trial of patience and good humor; the concept of lining up single-file hasn't really taken root in this part of the world, and it may very well be the one thing I miss about America. Seething masses of people smashed together and sweating in the humid room with little air circulation, yelling yelling yelling - but somehow I did emerge with my Syrian visa stamped (the two hapless Argentines who spoke no English nor Arabic and had bold Israel stamps in their own passports were not so fortunate).

I will be in Damascus for the next month, staying in the monastery of St. Elias Church, working with the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate here to assist in some of their Iraqi refugee aid programs as well as to study more Arabic. I am with a group of approx. 15 other like-minded volunteers from the US, Switzerland, New Zealand, and the UK, and we are participating through a Middle East Fellowship program. I will have further stories about the work here in the next few days, but for now, just pictures and a travelogue, eh?

The Greek Orthodox Church of Antioch and All The East (if you think that's a long title, you should see it in Arabic) has a long history in the region (obviously); it claims to be the sole successor church to the original Christian church established by Peter and Paul. Pull out your Bibles, kids, and open up to Acts Chapter 9: ...and as [Saul] journeyed, he came near Damascus, and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven. And he fell to the earth and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And he said, Who art thou, Lord? The conversation continued, and then Saul, now blind, went to Damascus, where he met Ananias; the Lord had said to Ananias, Arise, and go into the street which is called Straight, and enquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul of Tarsus.

Why am I quoting scripture? The Patriarchate is located on said "Street Called Straight", which runs through the Old City, and it's the street by which I travel to the Patriarchate every day.

Every day that I'm in town, that is. We took off for a weekend away up north in Latakia, a city on the Mediterranean. En route, we visited an old Muslim-turned-Crusader-turned-Mamluk castle originally built in 1062. Pretty sweet:

That's the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. The view, once completely green, is now a view of greenhouses. Rather unsightly, but useful if you're in Syria and want to grow vegetables year-round, as these folks apparently do:
Also stopped at Ugarit. You can pull out your Bibles again, read about the Temple of Baal, and rest easy knowing that it was located here. You should also know that Ugarit is the home of the world's first alphabet (or the earliest alphabet yet discovered, at any rate).
Ugarit is also the name of the second-best imitation Coke around (Pepsi and Coke products weren't allowed in the country until a couple years ago, apparently). When in Ugarit, drink Ugarit cola, I always say.
This was my first venture into the Mediterranean, and it was absolutely lovely. Megan and Ruth are 2 great girls in the program as well. Together, we attempted (and I succeeded!) to climb a giant (blow-up) iceberg adrift at the end of the swimmable sea.

Damascus is a remarkable city, possibly the oldest continually inhabited city in the world (though Sana'a vies for that title as well). I have enjoyed exploring it a bit in my free time. Yesterday, I visited a couple souqs - one huge and beautiful and new-looking...

and another one nearby that seemed a little older and more earthy. Abundant supply of goatheads, if you're into that kind of thing, and plenty of brightly-colored pickled products as well.
We went to a concert at the nearby citadel last night. It's quite something to attend a concert in an ancient fortification with a statue of Salah al-Din right outside the gate. It wound up being free, which was even more excellent. Faudel, a super-famous Algerian, was the performer; I knew some of his music, but I wasn't prepared when midway through the concert he began singing a cover of....'My Way'. You know, Frank Sinatra. Delightful.

And tonight we had a feast. Nearly every meal is a feast here - it's the Syrian way, and it's making me large - but tonight was particularly grand. The selection of appetizers is mesmerizing, and the green drink you see in the corner is bola, a mint lemonade concoction that will "change your life", as Kelly frequently notes.

I have a hard time deciding whether I'm more pleased with the quantities of lamb they serve here...or the quantities of sweets (yes, that is a giant platter of Syrian sweet delights that I'm holding).
I am also delighted with signage that I see around. One favorite was the "Miami Saloon" in Sana'a - a hairstyling saLON that was inadvertently posing as a place o' liquor in a city where liquor is absolutely forbidden - haram, haram! These are a couple random English language delights that I've seen around Syria:

"Keep City Clean: he (the bird?) is enjoying the world". On that lighthearted note, I shall close for now - my watch died last night, so I'm unsure of the time, but I suspect it's quite late. Tomorrow I'll write more about the Iraqi families I visited today and the work of the patriarchate here - Syria is a fascinating, fascinating place.

bedouins, christians, mcdonalds - what's not to love about jordan?

2008-07-16T06:57:00.000-07:00

Adventures in Yemen concluded with some fresh Turkish delights, among other things:
I went horseback riding the day I left...for about 7 minutes before the daily rain/thunderstorm began and the horse had to go inside in case it caught cold from the mud. Bah.
I made it to Jordan without incident, albeit quite tired after several plane and car rides. I headed straight to Madaba, somewhat south of the capital and a very important Christian center in the country. In Madaba, there's a beautiful Greek Orthodox church with a Very Old Mosaic Map of important holy sites in the Middle East. Faris showed me some of the Very Old Icons in the basement as well. I returned the next day to attend the service, little of which I could understand. All the same, it was nice to be in a church (there are only 9 total in Yemen, so perhaps you can understand how surprised I was to see so many all of a sudden):
Mt. Nebo is not far from Madaba. Mt. Nebo is a holy place - it's the mountain from which Moses saw the Promised Land, and purportedly the mountain in which he was buried. The view was fairly spectacular - if not because of the landscape than because of the importance of the landscape. This is the staff/serpent combo at the top:
And this is the Dead Sea, the Promised Land, and...if you can see beyond the haze, Jerusalem is in the distance.
This is my head, with the Promised Land in the background. A couple nice men gave me a lift back to town in their pickup, along with some fresh figs which I ate handily. I love this Middle Eastern friendliness...
From Madaba, I journeyed down Jordan's scenic King's Highway (note: they do love the king here - pictures of him smiling down upon you everywhere. And don't worry, I bought a coloring book with his face on it today too so I can share the love with all of you at home as well). Along the highway, I saw a few stunning wadis and canyons that come close to Grand Canyon awesomeness. I also visited the Karak castle, a Crusader castle from the 11th and 12th centuries that Salah Al-Din eventually took over. Pretty awesome:

My destination: Petra. You know, like Indiana Jones Petra. I think it's one of the Seven Wonders of the World (someone correct me on this - no time for fact checking. But while you're correcting me, remind me what the other 6 are, because I was trying to list them last week and doing a miserable job of it). We could subtitle the Petra excursion "adventures with Jordanian men", but I will leave those anecdotes for another time. Suffice it to say that hiking with different volunteer guides, from super-sweet-mullet Ibrahim to bedouin Ahmed, was tremendous and afforded me some singularly spectacular views that I wouldn't have found on my own (along with some very interesting conversation, as you might imagine).After Petra, I headed south to Wadi Rum, not far from the Saudi border. Wadi (which means 'valley') Rum is one of the top 4 most beautiful places I have ever ever ever ever seen. It's the desert of Lawrence of Arabia, and it is big and red and quiet and immense. I rode in a 4WD Toyota for a day with fellow visitor Moroccan-French Najim and bedouin guide Mehdi. This is the view from Lawrence Spring:
and this is the canyon the three of us hiked and climbed in for a bit. Ancient paintings in the wall, that sort of thing.
This is a red sand dune, and my head again.
And this is me on top of a giant rock arch. Ana melika!
Wendy, Mehdi, and Najim all took naps in the dirt in the shadow of a giant rock midday. We woke up happy.
Around sunset, we headed to camp beneath the stars. Zidan, the owner of the camp, joined us and led us to a beautiful point to watch the sunset.

The next day, I headed on to Amman. Amman is not really a city of antiquity like many other Middle East capitals, but I like it nevertheless (and am astounded at the number of Western conveniences here, as well as the presence of many many many an American chain restaurant. Applebees or Carls Jr, anyone?). A view of Amman from the citadel:I also went to the Dead Sea, which was super. I went with one taxi driver at 06:00, and my Jordanian friend was unable to come, so it wasn't *quite as awesome as floating with friends - but I had a great time ne'ertheless. Said great time involved slathering my entire body in black mud from the sea, then floating for about an hour. In this sea, you really feel like you're flying.
And just for fun, I'm going to post some pictures of a city near Amman. Someone I know visited there the last couple days.

I'm off to Damascus tomorrow, insha'allah. With a better internet connection in store (I pray), the updates should be much better and much more frequent. warmth and love to you all...

fighter jets, thunderstorms, and a 4th of july in the indian ocean

2008-07-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

Early this morning, as I was not studying for the final exam I had to take at 09:00, my attention was drawn to the noise of jets flying overhead, repeatedly, loudly. Fighter jets? Katie the small (of my two Katie roommates) thought it might be the only fighter jet Yemen had, and that it was just being flown around and around to give the impression of great strength. A little online research later in the day when the internet was working confirmed that they were fighter jets - plural - indeed. From the Yemen Times,

SA’ADA — For the fourth day in a row, the Yemeni army has been attacking with heavy weaponry and fighter jets several villages in Mirran district and other areas in Amran governorate’s Harf Sifyan district, believed to be another stronghold of Houthi loyalists, tribal sources said Sunday, noting that hundreds on both sides were killed or injured.

“During direct clashes between the army and Houthi supporters, army fighter jets dropped bombs on Saturday, but they missed their targets, instead hitting military positions in the area of Mirran, resulting in an increased death toll involving troops,” the sources continued, pointing out that the same mistake was repeated Sunday morning.

According to the sources, bloody confrontations between army personnel and Houthis have continued for many days in the Mirran mountains as the Yemeni army attempts to score a ground victory and seize control of strategic positions in the area. However, despite backing from fighter jets, the army is facing fierce resistance by Houthis.

In the area of Bani Hushaish, located east of Sana’a, witnesses say fighting between Houthis and the Yemeni army continues incessantly.

Is anyone outside of Yemen aware of this fighting? We talk about the Houthi rebellion here some, but it hasn't affected our life here at the language center much, other than messing with travel plans. But the conflict is significant and affecting the lives of many Yemenis - just last week a 14 year old threw a hand grenade into a group of people in front of Sa'ada's city government complex, and 4 people were killed, including the teenager. Many have been displaced, there's a mounting food crisis in the area, and the army isn't gaining ground. More thoughts on this to come later, but....let this be a preliminary FYI.

I do have lighter thoughts, and many of them.

Bowling in a balto can be fun, kids! Here I am, playing a remarkably dismal game with Majed and Hassan. Pictures were few because the bowling police came by and explained the prohibition on photography (women here are extreeeeeeeemely skittish about being photographed).

and this is Wendy in Shibam (in the Hadramaut). How hard I try to look native. Or native-ish. Really, though, think what you will - it is much more comfortable to wear a balto and a headscarf and feel respectful than to dress like a westerner, however conservative:

When Yemen is mentioned in news articles, two statements are made with regularity - that Yemen is Osama bin Laden's ancestral homeland and that it was the site of the 2000 USS Cole bombing as well. The third topic of interest that might come up would probably revolve around kidnappings. Well, I figured after visiting ObL's homeland, what better way to have a Really Complete Yemen Experience than to visit the place where the Cole was bombed as well?

Please note the sarcastic tone - I hope I'm doing my small part to illustrate that Yemen is much much more than a deep dark frightful home to terrorists galore. All the same, over the 4th of July weekend I did travel with friends to Aden (ie, site of the USS Cole bombing. ooooor, home of what used to be the 3rd largest port in the world, or what used to be the capital of South Yemen, the only Communist country in the middle east before South and North were unified in the early 1990s).

Aden is home to an extinct volcano. Many people live in it now. I slept in it. And we hiked up it at the crack of dawn Thursday morning. The area is called Crater, and this is what it looks like:

Our crack-of-dawn start was warranted by the insane heat and humidity that descended upon the area at, oh, say, 8am. See the island in the distance in the picture above? The Qu'ran says that that island will explode to herald the beginning of the end of the world. So, it was naturally necessary to go pay a visit to it as well as the castle built up on its peak. The views are pretty great, and I decided to claim the Indian Ocean as mine:
Midday, before Katie the Small and a couple others of us headed to swim in said Indian Ocean, we walked around the city a bit.

And later in the day, we visited some giant water cisterns (some original WCs!). Way more awesome than you'd think, and ridiculously old:

These are some of the people I traveled with. Certain problems with our travel arrangements with my Yemeni friends meant that Katie and I wound up going on a bus with 12 other people. Not exaaaaaaactly what I'd had in mind, but it worked out fairly excellently anyways.

We visited a mosque and had a rare opportunity to watch evening prayer (followed by a 2-hour discussion with an Islamic scholar who had many fascinating things to share - but also many off-putting Christianity-is-dumb comments that slightly tainted the presentation). When this was done around 22:30, we went to the fish market, bought 4 giant fish, then took them to a restaurant on the beach and had them cooked up for us.
The drive home on 4 July took us through a different 9-hour route that boasted some amazing scenery (of which I have no pictures presently). I did catch this shot, though - Katie was enthralled by the dirt/mountain combo, and all I could think was, wow....this looks a lot like the drive from LA to Bakersfield.

But more on fish and how we like them so much. Several of us had dinner last night, as the term ends tomorrow and many are traveling away. The restaurant was excellent, and Katie ate this little fella....

...while Mike and I enjoyed a very large piece of goat.
When I learned that Sana'a has a rainy season, I was disappointed to realize that I was probably going to miss it (it usually begins mid-July). The thunder gods must love me, though; we had a huge afternoon storm today, complete with hail and thunder and lightning and flooded streets).

This street is actually a canal street. Most of the year, cars and trucks and bikes and kids can be found in it. When the rainy season begins, it fills with water and becomes a very-undriveable canal. No one told that to my cab driver tonight, though, as we drove in it anyways with water levels near the top of the tires. Fortunately, we did not float away, though I'm still not sure how we managed...I got henna done again too.
Farewell, Yemen. I go to Jordan tomorrow night, late. Many further adventures in store, insha'allah.

death has arrived

2008-07-01T13:33:00.000-07:00

Not really. But I was in the Hadramawt, the name of a large region in eastern Yemen that means "death has arrived". The Hadramawt is referred to in the 10th chapter of Genesis and it's been inhabited since the Stone Age. It's also the ancestral home of the Bin Laden family. Osama was born into a Yemenite family of 58 children; his dad came from the Hadramawt, and his father-in-law still lives there. This is the most religious part of Yemen; the number of mosques in the Hadramawt town of Tarim alone exceeds the number of mosques in all of Saudi Arabia.

Because the security situation is not ideal, we didn't get to take the longed-for 15-hour bus ride through the Empty Quarter, the mother of all deserts or something like that. Instead, we flew. Once there, we traveled from town to town by bus - or, for a certain lucky few of us, in either of the police trucks with armed men who were escorting us.
This is one of their guns. That's the president of Yemen taped on:
Ruined fortresses along the drive:
This mosque in Tarim boasts the tallest minaret in Yemen:
In this desert, all the buildings are made of mud bricks and sometimes coated with gypsum. Not surprising, but seeing this sort of thing really made me feel like I was in a desert in the Middle East. Go figure.
Can you imagine farming in this? These women were herding goats. Taking pictures of women is NOT acceptable; I'm not sure how friend Emily managed this photo, but it doesn't like the ladies were happy about it.
This is a panorama of Shibam in the Hadramawt:
And this is another view of the city. It's often called the 'Manhattan of the desert'. Not because of its nightlife or anything - just amazing tall buildings that are made of....mud.
I'm realizing that since I've borrowed all these photos from various friends, my memory is fuzzy on what is what. Sorry. (note: I was surprised and delighted to find that US-Yemeni cooperation in terms of mail delivery is apparently effective - I did get a new camera yesterday, hamdulillah. Back in business!)

Across the street from our hotel in Seyun, every kid in town seemed to be involved in evening football matches:
I will also note that Euro Cup fever was rampant this last week or so. I went to Zorba's a couple nights ago with many friends to watch the final match between Spain and Germany; half of Sana'a also seemed to be watching the match on Zorba's tv from the street. The level of skill and enthusiasm for football here is pretty amazing.

This is the view from the hotel roof:
and this is the city of Seyun:
And on the flight back to Sana'a, you could see the presidential mosque under construction from the air. Please note that there's a Pizza Hut just across the street. Out of curiosity, I ate there tonight. Please also note that when you're in a Muslim country, your Hawaiian pizza will be served with beef sausage instead of Canadian bacon (haram!).

Final things of note:

1. I bought a goat fur the night before we left. True.
2. I'm going to Aden tomorrow with a friend from school and my Yemeni friend Majed. More on this upon my 4 July return.
3. I really seriously love this country.

adventures, disasters, etc.

2008-06-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

Asdiqati al-azizun,

All is well-ish in Yemen. I will preface further thoughts by noting that we had a giant bedbug problem in our house which is presently being rectified, but it appears that the poisons they used have made my roommate and I a little sick. So, in the spirit of making excuses for not-extremely-well-articulated thoughts, I offer that one up to you.

Last Wednesday (which is the start of the weekend here), I played soccer with some Yemeni women and some girls from our school. When we took off our baltos to reveal matching uniforms, the coach was initially quite impressed and assumed we must have played seriously before. That was....well, not the case - but I did score the only goal for my team when we scrimaged, a true highlight of my young I-really-want-to-play-team-sports life. I also met Altaf, a Yemeni woman who works at the Ministry of Public Health here in Sana'a doing HIV counseling for women. I went to her home yesterday so we could practice English and Arabic; I am delighted to be making many Yemeni friends.

Last Wednesday before the football, I found myself in an old Sana'ani home and, well....

This is one of my teachers, Sayeeda, and me on the roof of said house. Sayeeda is one of the most delightful people I know here. She doesn't speak English, which is great. After the football game, she and I and some others went to this women's qat chew party; everyone sat in a narrow comfortable room, and we were fed piles of cakes and sweets and juices, and then we'd get up 2 or 3 at a time and dance to the Yemeni music cassette tape playing.

The next day, I went on a picnic to Bayt Bauz, a really old village outside of Sana'a that predates Islam and that used to be filled with Yemeni Jews. There are only 13 families who live there now.

I wanted to climb this tree. I discovered that climbing trees in long pioneer skirts can be disastrous and ridiculous looking. I eventually made it up, though, and feel compelled to share the small triumph with you.
Yemen is in the middle of a 3-year drought. In Sana'a, all of the water in the city is brought in by truck and piped up into water tanks in the buildings. This is one water truck I noticed - not really sure if they're referring to that infamous Sadam or some other guy. Speaking of that Saddam, it's funny to see his picture up in random businesses (though pictures of Yemen's president far outnumber posters of S. Hussein). There was a picture of Saddam in the restaurant where I ate dinner tonight as well as a picture of him in the place where I bought fresh sweets. And the deaf guy outside the tunnel near the square where I live sells lighters that also have Saddam and Osama faces on them.

On Thursday, I went to Thula, Shebam, and Kowkaban with friends. You should know, as a side note, that donkeys are a common site here, as are herds of goats in my alley, and the occasional cow wandering unattended through the souk (okay, that only happened once, but still...).
This is a really old water cistern (WC, baby). These are what some of the people I'm friends with look like:
I bought a couple scarves, and a Yemeni woman working at this restaurant tied a black one on for me like a bedouin. This was a quick (and failed) attempt to recreate the look. I had the black scarf re-tied on later, and I wore it on the whole hike up the mountain (I felt like a ninja). Unfortunately, all awesome pictures of me in said bedouin headdress have been lost - I went to an Ethiopian wedding later that night (awesome. the only wedding I've ever crashed, and it was excellent - insane dancing to Ethiopian music for several hours, not to mention the most delicious cuisine). At said wedding, someone decided to crawl into my purse and take my camera. [exasperation, exasperation]
So, from friend Jake's camera, this is a view from the cliffs of Kowkaban:
and this is the entire valley.

More soon. Ma sala'ama, my friends.

just another tuesday evening

2008-06-17T13:38:00.000-07:00

As a demonstration of my good intentions with more frequent postings, here are a few more pictures tonight.

Another Old City picture, just because it's cool:

There's a little shop next door to where I'm staying. The shopkeeper, Abdul, apparently lives upstairs with his mom and her 4 other children. Last night as I was on my way into my building, my roommate stopped me to say that Abdul's sister was going to do henna that night, if we wanted. Homework or henna? I followed Chelsea upstairs above the shop, and for the next several hours hung out with all the young and old women and their friends while Rim basically gave us henna sleeves. Rim does henna sometimes in order to make extra money to buy food for her child; her husband is a bad man who takes all the money for cigarettes and qat and abuses her son.

Tonight, we ate at a different Palestinian restaurant.
You pick out the fish you want grilled up for you...
...and then you eat with gusto.

There seems to be a strange fascination with Jean Claude Van Damme here. He has been mentioned to me several times as an idol by young Yemenis when they find out I'm from LA, and his pictures has been posted or painted on a variety of shop walls. I particularly liked this sign:

Tomorrow, inshallah, I will be learning to play some soccer with Sana'a's first women's league. In preparation, some of us went to a sports store and bought Yemeni Adidas wear. My shorts cost a whopping $2.50.
More soon. Ma salaaama for now, asdiqati.

how do you say in arabic, "do not worry, friends. wendy is alive!"?

2008-06-10T04:03:00.000-07:00

Marhaba! I made it to Yemen last week. Nothing nefarious has befallen me, merely atrocious internet connections. Better articulated thoughts to come soon, but I figured I needed to post something up here 1. to replace Bernard Parks and 2. to assuage any fears that I might have been kidnapped.

Facts, thoughts, pictures, other things:

Yemen is one of the poorest countries in the world, maybe 12th poorest (dreadful internet connection = no fact checking). Definitely the poorest in the Middle East. Sana'a, the capital, has been continuously inhabited for at least 2500 years (there is a school of thought that Shem, the son of Noah - Noah as in Noah and the Ark, built this city. Also, this is where the Queen of Sheba hails from).

This is the alley outside of the place where I'm staying, right near the old city in an area called Bab As-Sabbah (Morning Gate):and this is my school (part of the outside of it, anyways), the Yemen Language Center (those are pictures of Yemen's president on the building):
I have 4 hours of Arabic lessons each day, in a class of 5 with 2 teachers who only speak Arabic. I am able to have small conversations with the many friendly Yemenis who talk to me in the city, which is really the best way to learn the language.

So, Yemen has remained surprisingly immune to western influence; traditional culture is absolutely abundant, and there are NO McDonalds here. Not one. Most men wear traditional dress consisting of a thaub (a long dress, basically) and a belt with a jambiya wrapped around their waist, plus a sport jacket. A jambiya is a special Yemeni dagger that functions to display one's manhood as well as one's tribe, social rank, and other info. Don't worry; people don't actually use them in fights or anything. Usually, that is. Which reminds me that Yemen does have the highest small arms per capita rate in the world (need to fact check this as well - something like 3 arms per capita. The AK-47 is the weapon of choice, but you're not allowed to carry them around Sana'a anymore.). This is a guy with a jambiya:

and these are some guys on a motorcycle, near a camel (not pictured). Both the motorcycles and the dashboards of cars, taxis, and dubabs (buses) are frequently covered in big shaggy goat skins. You better believe that I'm going to cover my own Mazdatron dashboard with the skin of a goat when I get back.

Yemeni food is delicious; we are fed breakfast and lunch every day in a garden with meals that usually include yogurt and honey, bread, pita, fruits, rice, meats in oily but delectable sauces - fairly standard Middle Eastern delights, I guess. I've had several kebabs for dinner, and I often dine in different Palestinian restaurant that are quite amazing - the pita bread with which we eat our bowls of meat is literally the size of the table. And it's all ridiculously cheap.

Qat chewing is ubiquitous here (at least amongst the men), and many fellow students have already taken up the habit (I will not be partaking!). Qat is a leaf of sorts that acts as a stimulant, so men buy up bags of it every day and start chewing in the afternoon. The wad of qat stays in one's cheek for hours in order to secure the full effect, so by late afternoon and evening when you walk around Sana'a, nearly everyone has one cheek full of the stuff, whether they're working or not. Kinda crazy, and also kinda sad - average per capita income for a family is around $860 US, and the average daily qat habit can easily cost $500 a year. It's a homewrecker, not to mention a tooth wrecker (nasty green unbrushed teeth...Yemen is not the model country for pearly whites). This is a qat seller that I see every day:

The old city in Sana'a boasts a great soukh. This is the spice market where I bought some anise:

The people here in Yemen are extremely friendly. I am not going to be kidnapped. Being a foreign woman in Yemen is...interesting, however; I still haven't figured out exactly what my role is, or should be. Most Yemeni women wear black baltos (long loose black dresses) and burkhas (not quite the Afghani version you're picturing - these include a black headscarf covering all the hair plus a black veil covering all the face except the eyes). People here are quite conservative, and the students at my school respect that by making sure their dress is conservative as well - arms and legs covered, nothing tight or translucent or revealing. I bought a balto and am wearing it as I write (I tried on the burkha but as of yet do not intend to purchase, let alone wear one). They are comfortable, particularly in the heat of the day. I've walked around a little by myself, but it's better to walk with a man. I've realized the gender divisions make it somewhat difficult to have easy Arabic conversation opportunities with people - when I'm with others, everyone in the street is extremely friendly and talkative (I've been welcomed to Yemen a ridiculous number of times now), but when I'm alone, people are generally silent.

This is Tahrir (Liberation) Square, with me (wearing the balto) on a horse and Marzouk from the language center on the right:

Weekends here are Thursday and Friday. This past weekend, I visited a hammam, went to a display for a street children's rehabilitation NGO, and wound up randomly at the home of the director of another NGO here where, inshallah, I will wind up doing a bit of work over the next few weeks. It was a classic Traditional Yemeni Cultural Experience (oud playing, sheesha, qat chewing, lounging around in the mufraj [those rooms with comfy cushions on the ground]), but it wasn't contrived at all - just a slice of normal life on a Thursday evening with some Yemeni folks. On Friday, I went hiking a few hours west of Sana'a with some colleagues in an area called Mahweet. People in this country like to find the highest point of land around, then build their houses right into it:

The descent of the mountain was a bit intense, as the guides didn't seem to remember where the trail was. We were in the company of goats and their goatherds who were better at descending than the Westerners:
This is me, on a cliff:
And these are our two guides, teachers at the center. In Yemen, it is very very common to see men holding hands, and it does NOT indicate anything more than warmth and friendliness.
That's the cliff we were exploring:
And these are some of the kids we ran into as we were hiking out:

I have many more tales to tell, and they will be better told when I'm more awake and have less baby powder in my eyes (explanation to come later). Until then, please enjoy toilet paper and shorts on my behalf. Sana'a is grrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat.

ways not to win my heart

2008-05-21T11:47:00.000-07:00

I'm falling asleep reading a book on the beach last Saturday afternoon when I get a call from this man:

Well, it was actually just a voice recording. And Bonnie, on the towel next to me, received the same call 12 minutes later. Bernard Parks is trolling for votes in advance of the 3 June elections. I received two more phone calls from him over the next 48 hours.

While using phonebanks is a really cheap way of reaching potential voters, it's also pretty ineffective for securing additional votes, as studies have shown (Mr. Parks, you would know this if you'd taken Dr. Rhoad's class on persuasion and influence!). My anger at this annoying violation of my Saturday afternoon nap extends to a moody gstatus message - something about how i'm going to HUNT HIM DOWN if I get one more call. This prompts friend Scott to write an email to Bernard:

Subject: You called me at 7:30am Monday morning...

...and have subsequently lost my vote. No one wants to be woken up that early to hear a recorded message on their cell phone when they think it's probably an emergency. Congratulations on alienating your constituency.

SV
Los Angeles Voter

Scott shared Bernard's response:

SCOTT, I am sorry for this inconvenience to you. My campaign received your number from the public files of the county's voter registration records. This the (sic) most common way all campaigns receive voter contact information. I will request that you be removed from my campaign phone call system. BCP

I wrote a similar message to 'BCP' and got this in return:

Thank you for your email. My staff and I will take a look at your message... and do our very best to address your concerns. Thanks, again. Councilmember Bernard C. Parks

Thanks, Bernard. If you hadn't already lost my vote for the series of annoying calls, you'd be losing it over your crappy punctuation.

summer

2008-05-08T17:24:00.000-07:00

if nothing goes awry:

6 June. Sana'a, Yemen
10 July. Lebanon (if things calm down)
17 July. Damascus
back to Cali on 16 Aug.

standby for further details after Monday...

may the 4th be with you

2008-05-04T22:29:00.000-07:00

Sundry items:

1. I should not be writing this blog right now. It is a deliberate technique in procrastination when I have at least 57 (not kidding) more pages of writing to finish by next Monday. However, I just opened my front door to change some laundry and found a beautifully wrapped package left by none other than The Cupcake Bandit. You can guess what was inside. The note mentioned that my attempts to not have fun (in a rare display of extreme but necessary discipline) before 12 May had officially been foiled. And indeed they have, as I sit here writing, with chocolate frosting smeared indelicately across my face. Thank you, Bandit.

2. At church today, a girl sitting behind me asked me to stand up so she could see the sleeves on my dress better. Perplexed and suddenly self-conscious, I acquiesced, but requested clarification. She explained that she'd heard that I tended to do funny things with my dresses sometimes, like wear the same dress 4 or 5 weeks in a row to see if anyone notices (it's true) - so she thought she'd be super-observant and see if I'd done something weird with my sleeves today to test the latest observation powers of my church-going peers. Turns out that wasn't the case this time, but I commended her on her sharp eye. What a reputation I have going...

3. I was in the Utah last week. Good times were had. Good times began with a trip to Pirate O's with the Maxes. Pirate O's is a Draper, UT knockoff of our dearly beloved Trader Joes's. Its presence near Salt Lake was meant to be a sort of moving-to-Utah consolation prize for the gourmet food loving Maxes. Before their move last month, we checked out the Pirate O's website with great anticipation - only to find that the ONLY item they sell online is their Roasted Rasberry Chipotle Sauce. Just try and buy something else! Just try! We were pleased to find that the actual store does have more than just the chipotle sauce in stock...but I fear nothing will ever quite match TJ's for variety and price.
In addition to time with the Maxes, I hiked and hot-springed in Diamond Canyon with friends, then spent some quality time with the grandparents in Orem (introducing them to the art of fine self-portraiture):

Similar story with my brother, sister-in-law, and their puppy Juno:
and later with Ryan in the Maxes' brand-new kitchen:
Playing with the Maxes is always fun. You might say they're the best.
And because I failed to photograph their child whilst in the Utah quadrant, I submit to you a picture of the lad plus Kat and I on their moving day. Just look at that sneer...

And now...back to tales of Orthodox brotherhood and its impact on Russian foreign policy toward Serbia in the 1990s. More fun tales when I surface again in a week.

bad grammar makes me [sic]

2008-04-24T14:48:00.000-07:00

and so does bad punctuation. I am an unashamed, unabashed punctuation snob. That's why this "blog" of "unnecessary" quotation marks utterly delights me. It better delight you too.

smile pretty and heal the world, now.

2008-04-10T15:03:00.000-07:00

Generally speaking, I am all kinds of opposed to pageants.
(*I am NOT in the picture above)
Yes, it's true that I won second place in a most-beautiful baby competition in 1982. And I may have participated in Bakersfield's Junior Miss program in 1998. I'll just throw that out there. Fortunately, the CompTron girls were much more of the talent show/piano recital/dance competition breed than the pageantry type, so there was little danger of getting mixed up in any kind of serious vapidity.

My eyes glaze over as I nod sympathetically. Yes, let's make the future brighter, let's make this world a better place.

But, for all the superficial, hollow posturing that comprises most of these apocalyptic displays, it seems that there do exist at least a handful of pageants that actually attempt to contribute to meaningful social change. I propose the following:

MISS LANDMINE ANGOLA "Everyone has a right to be beautiful."
Organizers say they want the pageant to restore the women's pride and raise awareness about the prevalence of landmines left over from Angola's three decade-long civil war. Undetonated mines still maim 300 to 400 people a year in the country. All the contestants will receive governmental help to go back to school or to start a small business. The winner gets a new prosthetic limb.

MISS TIBET "Women with wisdom from the roof of the world."
Okay, so it's actually just a regular beauty pageant that happens in Tibet. But Tibetan exiles are pleased with the awareness it brings to the plight of the region. When asked if he approved of Miss Tibet, the Dalai Lama replied with a smile and a guffaw: "Why not?" His only criticism was that it was too one-sided. "I think there should be a Mr Tibet."

MISS HIV STIGMA FREE "Kick out stigma - promote tourism."
Botswana has one of the highest HIV prevalence rates in the world (24% of all adults). The Miss HIV Stigma Free reigning queen is expected to challenge misconceptions and stigma associated with people living with HIV/AIDS in the country. The winner travels around the country teaching the importance of testing and how to live positively with HIV. The aim of the competition is to show people living with HIV/AIDS that "even if you are HIV-positive, you can do things like others."

PAGEANT OF THE MASTERS
"Where art comes to life!"
Hail Laguna Beach:Ninety minutes of "living pictures" - incredibly faithful art re-creations of classical and contemporary works with real people posing to look exactly like their counterparts in the original pieces. I'm sure the real thing is great, and I intend to check it out this year. Failing that, I'll stick to my "Arrested Development" reruns, my foolproof prescription for "making the world a better place", or at least happily distracting me from the fact that there's a Miss Teen USA somewhere, talking.

the daily roundup

2008-04-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

tidbits of interest today:

1. two-faced baby born in India:

2. Ukraine is touted as the 'bridebasket of Europe' by the Onion. This got me thinking on the concept of wivestock and where they're best bred. Apparently not in the UK, where marriage rates have hit their lowest point in 150 years. Any thoughts?

3. People might not be uniting in holy joyous matrimony in London, but they are coming together and enjoying some fantastic foods. Well, fantastic in my book anyways (and my concept of 'fantastic' does embrace the meat cake):

4. cryptograms have made their comeback on wordles.com, the site that had me fervently desiring to do cryptographic work for the NSA for a short season a couple years back. Apparently they have something against degrees in music industry, though. Boo.

5. bumped into the top 11 of places I intended to visit in the next 7 years: Moroni, capital of the Comoros Islands. Get out your maps; it's off Africa's east coast, just north of Madagascar. Awesome mosque on the waterfront:

Possessed Gorilla v Batman's Apprentice

2008-03-31T12:10:00.000-07:00

Sunday 30 March, 19:18. I sit next to Jeff as we listen to Robert Millet speak of inspirational spiritual things. We begin to write. The exchange involves the normal amount of rhymes and illustrations...(8 points to anyone who can guess the title of which Boyd K. Packer talk we were rhyming with below)
and then Jeff presented me with this bracket. I postured that the werewolf and zombie would combine into one terrifying undead being and defeat the swamp thing. He called the idea preposterous and forced me to choose a single victor. I did, begrudgingly, but continued to speculate on the unbeatability of a were-bie.
...so he created this.
My money's on the ninja gorgon. Who's with me?

A History Of The Communist Party

2008-03-03T15:15:00.000-08:00

Comrades,

It all began late in the month of September 007. Something about the phrase 'Communist Party' caught my attention one day, and I began to ponder the possibilities. Five months later, my visions of revolution became reality.
With the help of my fellow party leaders, we transformed #107 into glorious Communist Party Headquarters.
Comrade Kulish was commissioned to create the artwork, and we arranged for certain books to be burned.
Cold Wars were fought.
and The People were reeducated as necessary. If you wonder why Papa Smurf is featured on the wall, look here.
The food was modest but glorious:

We raised the Berlin wall once more (and thanks to Comrade Stephens, both Joseph Smith & Che graced it. Only in Tijuana can you find velvet paintings of both in the same frame).
Mr. Atomic also received prominent placement - behold the technological fruits of all our Cold War efforts!
A corner for interrogation was essential.
I had emailed assignments to party members. Some were asked to be agents of propaganda and reeducation. Others were to bring bread. Five received this email:

Comrades,

Yours is a very special assignment on this eve of the revolution. While you will come to the Communist Party dressed as loyal Communists of whatever flavor you choose, you will be stealthily disguising your true identity as CIA operatives. These are the details you must know:

There are five of you.

Your job is to coordinate an assassination attempt on one of the speakers for the evening. Comrade Erin Rains and Comrade Jeff Stephens are both scheduled to give impassioned, volatile speeches at approximately 21:37 and 22:42, respectively. If desired, a nerf gun is available for use and will be hidden within the south wing bathroom.

In order to find one another, you will need to initiate conversations about the hairstyles of some of Our Great Communist Leaders. You will recognize your fellow operatives when the codeword POMADE is used.

Good luck, and may the power of light and liberty be with you (secretly, of course).
Agent CompTron

Five others received this email:

Comrades,

Yours is a very, very special assignment on the eve of this revolution. It is rumored that there may be an assassination attempt on one of the two speakers - Comrade Erin Rains and Comrade Jeff Stephens - scheduled to speak at our glorious party. As KGB operatives (overt or clandestine, as you choose), it is your duty to do all you can to prevent this from happening.

There will likely be several CIA agents in attendance at the party; they must be located and prevented from doing harm to either of our noble party members. Please be vigilant as you watch for any suspicious behaviors as the capitalist spies attempt to organize their efforts. You are empowered to use the interrogation facilities as necessary. All the resources of the party are at your disposal in order to maintain the security and integrity our revolution needs.

Good night and good luck.
Comrade CompTron

This drama began to play out even before the party had begun. KGB Agents Allred and McNett created several false email addresses and sent emails to party attendees, fishing for information. One such email from a comradecomptron@gmail.com fooled many. And at the party, IDs in hand, these agents took their roles seriously, interrogating many.

Their methodology proved effective as they thwarted an assassination attempt on Sandinista Rains after her rousing speech (all en espanol). See the results:

Later, an arms race was held. This particular arms race involved arm wrestling and pullups in order to determine whose arms would be the strongest to include in a revolutionary propaganda shot.
A 2-minute hate focused our attentions before the final speech of the evening. This hate was focused on an easter peep - offensive capitalist fluff!
(Comrade Atom, on the eve of his birthday, led the hate.)
And then - the Rosenbergs spoke. Pandemonium ensued:

The party was attended by a wide cast of characters.
Mini Mao made an appearance,
as did Fidel.
Peasants of all stripes gathered,
including Comrade Bubonichkova.

Sara Elliskova embodied communism itself.
Mr. Rosenberg and Vladimir....
....and so many more.

All hail the glorious revolution!

Sharing is what communists do, and my little red heart couldn't be happier that you all shared so much Awesome with The Party.

008, a little late

2008-03-03T00:00:00.000-08:00

I have meant to write a number of thrilling anecdotes over the last couple months. Realizing I'll never catch up, here's the condensed pictorial version of some 008 adventures so far:

I spent the first 19 days of the Year 008 up in the Great North (aka Monterey and Salinas). Mission: learn Arabic. Mission accomplished, thanks to an intensive program at the Monterey Institute of International Studies. I can read and write and talk now, anyways, at something of an advanced beginner level. [insert Arabic version of 'hooray' here].

Debra The Great, a fellow adventurer with an important daytime public health job, was super kind and let me crash on her couch that whole time. In our non-working, non-Arabic learning time, we enjoyed torrential rains and hurricane winds that knocked the power out but also caused some spectacular crashy waves along the coast:

We indulged in large quantities of crazy creative Salinas sushi, some excellent Chinese hot pot in San Jose, adventurous 99-ranch Asian grocery shopping (how I love thee, taro mochi), and a great Indian buffet. I see no problem with eating 3 large bowls of rice pudding for dessert.
If anyone can explain this sign to me, 42 points. We saw it on one drive along the coast and found it puzzling and delightful. Wild boar crossing?

This is a satellite view of where my truck got stuck in some mud between two fields late one night. I have truly immersed myself in the black earth of Salinas that John Steinbeck loves so much. After repeated efforts to dig, push, pull, and levitate Mazdatron and one rebuffed knock-on-a-neighboring-farm-door-to-solicit-help-effort, I finally just called AAA. The handprints from my pushing efforts still haven't washed off my truck, and that's after at least a couple more weeks of heavy rain.
Shoes I nearly lost to the sticky wet earth:
But, MazdaTron got out alive, as did I.

Leaving Monterey was sad. But I was happy to head back to friends in LA whom I hadn't seen in a month. Friends like the Maxes, who delight me constantly. In this instance, Max and Max were sharing some homemade marshmallows. Yes, you read that correctly. Unfortunately, my Marx hair is hiding Maxine in the photograph - alas!
Also, I officially retired my red fake patent leather pants from high school. Time has not been good to them, though they were good to me. Additionally, my laptop Asterix died a fiery and terribly untimely death, so I had to brave Craigslist in order to secure a new one, quickly. After several aborted attempts and a few overt scamming efforts, I finally got a new-to-me Macbook Pro from a pro-wrestler. Yup.
Little Mushy graduated from the Riverside County Sheriff's Academy at the end of January. She is armed and full of laws and statutes. 21 year olds can't rent cars, but they can rent Uhauls! I helped her move from her Moreno Valley apartment to a pseudo-rest home in Indio, where she had been assigned to work in their maximum security prison.
We did an amazing job of moving fast (even though she drove the whole 70 miles from MV to Indio with the parking brake on). Because it was a few hours before we were able to get the key to the new apartment, we used some over-the-wall, pile-it-up-on-the-lawn tactics. This was the start of the pile:
Rest home lobby? Oye.
[editor's note: Mushy has since realized that working in a prison is the worst job on earth, has since resigned and moved back out to her old Mojave Viper fake insurgent job in 29 Palms].

At the beginning of February, I had the privilege of attending a Slash concert. There are two Slashes in the world, and one of them is Todd Petersen. Todd is the best guitar player I've ever seen in my life.
A few weeks later, I had gathered together some old friends and former bandmates, and we were able to play a sweet set at Lovefest 2008. Drew on guitar, m.Tanner on lead bass, Marc the 19-yr-old from Palmdale on drums, Jonna + Brandon doing vocals, and yours truly on keys. We played Janis Joplin, Doors, Zeppelin, The Who, and Jefferson Airplane, and it was so fun. There are two Jimi Hendrixes in the world, and one of them is named Todd Petersen. Again, his guitar talents amazed and astounded and...well, yeah. Todd is every man's new man crush, and every woman's dream.
so this has been 2008...a bit late. but it's been great. let's take some time to pontificate. (rhyming with the years is something to celebrate, or imitate)

st teresa

2008-02-20T00:09:00.001-08:00

If I didn't have another 4.7 hours of reading, writing, and laborious thought about level II analysis and foreign policy making right now, I would be out for a late-night run. It's been that kind of a day. week. month. Running is a temporary escape, and at night particularly great because I can hop over gates and find empty alleys where I can dance. That 'Three in Metropolis' film Kenny & Sara & I made brought to the daylight something I've been doing in the solitude of late-night runs for a long time.

But, since I'm couchbound, here's a quick alternative. Mushy and I choreographed this piece for USC's dance company back in the spring of 2001. The filmography is crap, but the dance meant a lot to me. We're both performing in it as well; Mushy is the little one, and I am blonde.

the world is my canvas

2008-02-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

Banksy is an English graffiti artist. No one knows his real name, no one knows what he looks like, but everyone in England knows his pseudonym and can recognize his crazy art. He is officially inspiring some of my 008 activities. Those Christmas monsters...just a first step.

Check out some of his work:

At the London Zoo, he climbed into the penguin enclosure and painted "We're bored of fish" in seven foot high letters. At the Bristol Zoo, he left the message 'I want out. This place is too cold. Keeper smells. Boring, boring, boring.' in the elephant enclosure.

In August 2006, when Paris Hilton's debut CD came out, Banksy replaced 500 copies in 48 different UK record stores with his own cover art and remixes by Danger Mouse. Music tracks were given titles like "Why am I Famous?", "What Have I Done?". Some cover art feature her with a dog's head replacing her own, and one of her stepping out of a luxury car, edited to include a group of homeless people, which included the caption "90% of success is just showing up".

This is his graffiti on the West Bank separation wall.

In September of 2006, he dressed up an inflatable doll in the style of a Guantanamo Bay prisoner, then placed it in the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride at Disneyland.

Banksy also repaints different masterpieces with his own additions, then goes to museums like the Met in NY and just hangs them up (then times how long it takes for them to get removed).

Fact: the longest recorded piece of graffiti was painted by a student in the toilets of his college at Changsha, China in 1915. It consisted of over 4000 characters criticising his teachers and the state of Chinese society. After completing this masterpiece the student handed himself in and was paraded in front of the school and threatened with expulsion. The student was a 22-year old Chairman Mao. A graffiti artist was later founded the People's Republic of China and was responsible for the deaths of over 30 million people. Are there parallels here to Hitler's failed art career as well?

I love Banksy.
www.banksy.co.uk

Dr. Virtue and her Prophetic Mythical Creatures

2008-01-19T17:26:00.000-08:00

I was in Santa Cruz a couple weeks ago with Debra (more on Monterey adventures soon), and we popped into a earthy spiritual candle-y world goods store for a moment of relief from the pouring rain.

Imagine my shock and awed delight when I stumbled upon these:

I have been feeling a little lost lately; perhaps these unicorns had some answers for me? Or, I found the whole concept of "magical unicorn oracle" cards so fascinating and ridiculous that I could not help but buy them. The cashier, however, was not amused with my amusement.

We rushed to the car and opened the pack. Before learning my destiny, I glanced at the guidebook. From the back:

Unicorns have the purest energy in the elemental kingdom, which consists of magical beings such as fairies, mermaids, and leprechauns. This purity is one reason why children love and trust them. This card deck is written in an easy-to-read language so that those who are young at heart and pure of intention can connect with the magical unicorns' guidance and help. Many of the 44 cards have words and beautiful paintings that were suggested by young Crystal and Indigo Children, making their positive messages even more magical!

Inside, a bit of clarification: All the cards have positive messages that you can trust, because the unicorns want to help you feel happy, safe, and loved. They also want your wishes to come true. (oh, good. these are not evil, menacing unicorn oracles) Unicorns are angelic helpers who want to assist us in living happier and healthier lives. Just think, Unicorns, please help me with this! and they will work with the rest of Heaven to assist and guide you. By working with these cards, your life will become even more magical. The unicorns hope that you enjoy working with them!

and so I thought aloud, Unicorns, help me! and drew this card:
And indeed, a good laugh is what I got. Here are some of my favorites:

These unicorns sure like cats. But I guess dolphins and killer whales are also friendly with these magical beasts - and now that I think of it, I know Lisa Frank would definitely agree.

Thank you, unicorns. Thank you.

If anyone's interested in their own personal reading, let me know.

right coast adventures

2008-01-07T15:03:00.000-08:00

I was in New York last week. The whole being-there made me glad. I love that place.

The chronology, in pictures and occasional anecdotes:

27 Dec 007: flew to Buffalo, NY. I'd never been upstate before, and I was looking forward to seeing family not seen in 10+ years, along with feeling bona fide winter weather. Great-aunt Betty and her husband Al picked me up from the airport. We stopped briefly at Uncle Al's sister's house - a not-too-shabby 36-room, 7-bathroom, 4-kitchen, 2-bar, 1-laundry chute joint that took my breath away. Made an excursion up to America's Hat (aka Canada) to see The Niagara Falls. This is a picture of a Giant Wendy Head, with the falls in the background.
We headed east the next day, toward their home in the Finger Lakes district. Along the way, they kindly stopped at a few sites that are of religious significance to me. These included the Hill Cumorah in Palmyra, the printing shop where the Book of Mormon was first published, and a grove near the Smith family farm. Betty and I posed beneath a statue of the angel Moroni (Moroni awkwardly not pictured, but you can see the cat I adopted briefly whilst we were on the hill):
And this is Uncle Al (on the right) with Amy's winter coat warming a cold Wendy (on the left):
The grove in winter - looks, and actually IS, just a nice grove of trees. But what happened there was pretty great.
Betty and Al are very educated and wonderful tour guides. While I was upstate with them, I visited the Women's Rights Museum in Seneca Falls (that's where the first Women's Rights Convention was held in 1848, with Susan B. and Elizabeth Cady and all those ladies who, you know, got things started here in the states). We also visited a number of canal locks on the former Erie Canal, as well as the Canal Museum in Syracuse. This is one lock we saw - sadly, they don't use them in the winter. Freezing water. Go figure.
The Irish neighborhood in Syracuse centers around Tipperary Hill, which boasts the only stoplight in America that has the green light on top (see below). Irish kids kept throwing stones at the red light on top to break it until the city finally gave in and let them have it their way. The Byrne part of me raised my figurative glass of Guinness in celebration of how cool that is.
And then I took off for a couple days in the city. Blessed friend Hyeku was kind enough to let me crash on her floor one night so I wasn't stuck on a wet park bench somewhere. I dropped my bag off at her place early Sunday morning, went to church, then set out adventuring. All the requisite foods were consumed (pizza at my favorite place, hot sausages from the street, Grey's Papaya, Dunkin' Donuts, roasted coconut, meaty Russian pastries and poppyseed delights...I could go on).

And I walked a good...240ish blocks, because that's what I like to do in my favorite pedestrian city on earth. While I was walking down Broadway, I encountered a dancing toilet. She was beckoning me to go inside and use these Amazing Charmin Restrooms Set Up Just For the Holidays! I could not refuse. I marvelled. There were photo op areas. There was a huge line. There were dancing bears (dancing because they had to pee, of course). What were they dancing to? Oh, the Charmin NY Bathroom Theme Song with accompanying music video, naturally. Lyrics referenced 'dancing cheek to cheek'. I was indeed amazed enough that I bought a commemorative shirt.
I walked through Chelsea and Greenwich Village, with the goal of eating an early dinner in Little Italy. After buying 2 cannoli from my favorite bakery Ferrara's, I settled on a place to eat. I walked in at the same time a group of 13 folks was about to be seated, and I wound up joining them. Basically, this was one of the best things that happened in 2007; this Italian clan from New Jersey, comprised primarily of families relating to Toni-Ann & Joe, and Joe's best friend of 30 years Mike, and Mike's fiancée Denise, were ridiculously funny and warm. I had the best meal and the best time and the best pasta sauce recipe that Denise wrote out for me to try upon my return to Cali.
Joe also made friends with the restaurant owner and Sicilian wine distributor, a guy straight outta The Sopranos who tossed off phrases like 'fu-ghed aboudit' and had slicked back hair and a wry sense of humor. He gave us a bottle of wine, then told us we had to go up the street to Caffé Palermo, where his brother Baby John made the best cannoli in the world. So, I went. I bought 4. I ate them as I walked through Chinatown in the rain...
...finally stopping on the Brooklyn Bridge to finish the last one. It was really rainy, so the bridge was empty of people. Wonderful!
The next day, I returned to the Brooklyn Bridge. I decided to climb up one of the cables. No one said anything, except for one fellow who, running by after my descent, said it was 'beautiful to watch'. 'twould not have been so if I'd slipped, but I did not slip.
I went to Brooklyn. That's where Aunt Betty & my grandpa come from. They lived near Coney Island and Brighton Beach. Brighton Beach is all Russian now, and I love visiting it, seeing all the older Russians walk along the boardwalk in their furs.
I also visited the Green Wood cemetery in Brooklyn for the first time. I enjoy wandering around graveyards, and this one proved pretty great, not least because as I was walking on one hill, I realized I could see the Statue of Liberty in the distance:
As it was New Year's Eve, I decided to treat myself to a nice meal. Betty had told me of a steakhouse her father had taken her to often, and I found out it was still open. The Old Homestead is apparently NY's oldest steakhouse, and it suited my needs just fine. I dined on the most expensive self-bought meal of my life, but the rare house signature filet mignon on the bone was like....like.....like Pavarotti was singing to my tastebuds, or something. And Whoopi Goldberg came in for her New Year's Eve meal as well, so you just knew the place was good, right?

When I'd finished there, I went walking to find a diner where I could get dessert: red velvet cake (a Comptron New Year's Eve tradition) and a Brooklyn egg cream soda, which I'm sipping below. I did not wear that hat in the steakhouse.
After midnight celebrations watching fireworks on the Brooklyn Bridge, I made my way back to California.
I heart NY.

celebrations of yesteryear

2008-01-07T12:04:00.000-08:00

december was a celebratory month. things i was happy about:

making 17 cardboard christmas monsters with kat,
then climbing telephone poles,
trees,
and even light poles (with exceptionally fabulous stranger Chris) in order to gift holiday public art to some of our nearest and dearest amigos.
merry christmas, indeed.
other pseudo-criminal activities involved having friend jrum kidnapped, bound, thrown in a trunk, and dumped off at the century city mall...
where friends engaged him in a variety of tasks in order to receive the 27 gold pieces he needed in order to get a moustached cab ride home.
happy birthday, indeed.
wearing that red dress pictured here a whopping 8 sundays in a row, and having exactly 2 people notice and question the repetition.
learning the wonders of the magic bullet by blending up a sweet potato pie and subsequent protein shakes with mom.
time with papatron and jäger,
captaining a ship with mushy after failed attempts to prove our athletic prowess on the nearby baseball diamond and basketball court,
having same sister remember aisle antics from years before AND give me memorabilia from previous lion-carcass-slaying endeavors,
but mostly, the glee of a comptron family (almost) reunion. look at that happiness. just look!

Timber! or, How We Do the Christmas Shake.

2007-12-01T13:13:00.000-08:00

A CompTron/Delora family tradition: cutting down a big Christmas tree at the Rosedale Christmas tree farm in Bakersfield.

Here you can see PapaTron, accompanied by little Mush and RyDog, felling our tree in 1992.

Note how shiny and new MazdaTron once was. Also note lanky blond Wendy, second from the right.

Uh, the Rosedale Christmas Tree Farm got axed, so to speak, 5 or 8 years ago. It's gone. We haven't cut down a Christmas tree in a long time. Until 2 hours ago.

Christmas Conifers, Moreno Valley:
a CompTron Sister Adventure.

Miraculously, Mush and I were able to select and saw down a suitable fir-or-pine-or-something-deciduous-and-christmasy, get it up to her apartment and into a stand. We're about to put lights on it. I love December! I love Mush! I love that my hands are covered in sap.

(this is how you do the Christmas Shake)

an aerial burial

2007-11-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

these are my shoes. i bought them around the year 2001. i was wearing these shoes when i ran 2 miles for the first time ever. i wore them in my first 5 & 10k races. i wore them when i thought i was going to be a marine. i wore them when i pretended like i was a marine in the volkslauf mud run. they have served me well. they deserve to be laid to rest with honor.

this is my 'hood. i've lived in palms 90034 for 4 years and 3.5 weeks. these are the streets i roam at night, the nonexistent parking spots for which i'm eternally searching, and the many active dog-walkers milling about.

these are my shoes - and a pair of kat's shoes that were retired as well - which received their well-deserved honorable aerial burial late last night.

everyone will know this is mine and kat's territory now!
enter at yer own peril...

a li'l tribute

2007-11-13T12:18:00.000-08:00

Tamara Joann Delora Crompton is my mom. I never remember how to spell her middle name, but we call her Tammy Jo, and I think she's pretty great.

A woman of many talents, she's gone from sewing matching clothes for the family...
...to being able to bench press 300 pounds. yeah. she's a rock star. she owns her own personal training studio now in bakersfield.
She just had this article thing published on the Bakersfield Californian's website, and because I'm super proud of her, I'm posting the link here.

http://people.bakersfield.com/home/ViewPost/37755

the article discusses her lifelong struggle with weight loss. it's oprah-friendly material.....

life, crashing, dancing. installment #1 of the bad blog series, inspired by real life events.

2007-11-09T10:32:00.000-08:00

preface: earlier this year, sparkle and i both read a dreadful blog posting by a mutual acquaintance. sappy analogies, overwrought emotion...it had the feeling of a melodramatic high school journal entry wherein the relationship between love and the development of a flower is explored. it left us gagging a bit - and then quickly deciding that we needed to do our own bad blog-off.

i detest melodrama more than just about anything. i try very hard to be logical, grounded, pragmatic, and real. so, i felt somewhat chastened this week when, after some particularly trying events, i found myself crying cinematic tears alone in my truck, thinking of the different ways in which my life reminded me of the movie "crash". the calmed-down, rational voice in my head intervened. 'wendy', i said to myself, 'you're starting to think in the style of that really bad blog. pull yourself together. play some of that led zeppelin on your ipod. stop viewing this week in such broad cinematic strokes.'

so i've calmed down. senses have dulled. but, i figured i might as well write the first mini-installment of the long-awaited bad blog-off anyways.

"It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something. "

Crash. That movie touched me soooooooo much. this week, i have felt so low, and so lonely. it's weird how you can be surrounded by people and still feel so alone. on tuesday when i was driving from work to school, i got in an accident on the 10. it was so weird. it should've been so much worse, but somehow the three cars involved - well, everyone was okay. it was frightening, put things in perspective. three different people brought together by an accident that was wholly unremarkable for this city, but that still had the possibility of altering or even ending our lives. i felt a lot of grace, like someone was looking out for me, and for lloyd and raquel too.

i think people are brought together in really unusual ways sometimes. that book, 'the five love languages' - it's so true. i speak two languages - the language of touch and of quality time. and i've been aching lately, for real human contact - nothing extraordinary, just something normal and genuine. and an arm around my shoulder or something. someone who's willing to come into my space, penetrate whatever barriers i must be putting up, or whatever barriers are so common to the people in this city. and...somehow, there was a strange connection b/w us, victims, as the city continued to drive by indifferent to the change that had just occurred in our lives. lloyd and i spent a lot of time talking in his office the next day. he felt like it was some strange cosmic thing that had brought us together. we're friends now. when i left, he gave me a hug. the night of the accident, i crashed - figuratively - into a homeless man name lovell. we shared a meal at burger king. he was amazing, so human, and our interaction so real. we held hands for a moment before we parted ways. i needed that touch, and the universe provided it for me in really unexpected ways.

(cue strings): i think life is like that, you know. full of accidents, full of the unexpected. it looks chaotic and messy up close. but there's someone looking out for us, someone who cares and knows what we need, and we find those needs met by other humans in small ways, in ways they probably don't even realize. humans are messy, and we hurt each other, and we don't get out of our own heads and experiences often enough to see how we affect each other for better or worse. and like garth brooks said, if we knew how it was all going to end, we might have chosen never to get involved because of the the pain we'd experience. but, opposition in all things, right? "i could've missed the pain, but i'da had to miss the dance." life really IS a chaotic, messy human dance, but i'm so grateful to be in it, part of it, dancing.

note: i did get in an accident, and i am okay. i did hug lloyd, and i did hold hands with a homeless man, and i have been feeling lonely. that does not mean, however, that it is ever okay to write an essay on the truth of garth brooks lyrics as applied to your own life. blogs are supposed to be fun, not the sort of thing that could have the 'pearl harbor' music as its underscore. the end.

oktobersbest part 2

2007-11-08T18:40:00.000-08:00

the month ended well. in pictures:

the silver monkeys defeat the litigators handily (77-28) at our homecoming game. AND i get to have a gigantic KISS star painted on one eye.
celebrating rache's birthday at mcdonalds is fun, except when you have to eat the food.
dave is the best of all humans.
girlz in hoodz. hmm. writing with 'z's does not suit me well.
LA caught on fire. terrible, but it made for some really interesting sunsets.
utah trip to see the bro, the sister-in-law, their new house, new apricot trees, new dog. what is most important is that i dominated them in the 2 rounds of scrabble we played.
first trip ever to a DI. wow.
jarom sid's oktoberfest 2007 was a smashing success.
this is hoff/helga. i heart him/her.
courtyard with mountains and flags in daytime.
courtyard with sober reveling, polka-ing students at night.
competing for ms. deutschland, i was thwarted by a ketchup bottle cap that would not come unstuck.
hoff, cody, allie, sparkle's sister rachel, and i break from the polkaing.
provo communism was destroyed, along with this wall. geil.
only one of these dictators was in costume.
halloween festivities were also grand.
todd, oh todd.
self-portraiture at 03:37 with kat.

my sentiments exactly.

oktober 007 = good.

you know, a dream IS like a river.

2007-11-05T21:21:00.000-08:00

When I was in 4th grade, I would get on a bus with a few of my peers every Tuesday morning and head to Quailwood Elementary across town for a special day of GATE education. As much as I loved Mr. Zarra's class - the plexers, the analogies, the algebra! - I always looked forward to the afternoon ride back to my regular school. Why? Garth Brooks sing-alongs in the back of the bus, of course.

Imagine my delight when, upon mentioning this to my friend Bonnie last Friday evening, she immediately launched into a heartfelt rendition of "I Got Friends In Low Places." We sang enthusiastically through several of our favorites - "The Dance", "Thunder Rolls", "Shameless", "Papa Loves Mama", and finally, "The River".

Let it be known. I HATE country pop - and that's saying a lot, I think; my music tastes are pretty varied and open-minded (if tastes can be open-minded. they probably can't). But I love Garth Brooks. I own only one GB cd, and I brought it along for a car ride with Bonnie and Sniar the day after our a cappella extravaganza. As we drove, we sang our little hearts out. It's true that I somehow remember all the lyrics to "The Rodeo". And it's true we all sang with a twang.

The best moment may have been after our stirring rendition of "The River". Bonnie revealed that she had a friend with a giant tattoo of a ship on his back. The inspiration for said tattoo?

"and I will sail my vessel till the river runs dry. Like a bird upon the wind, these waters are my skyyyyy I'll never reach my de-e-stination if I never try! so I will sail my vessel till the river runs dry." Wow.

editor's note: it was actually ERIN'S friend, not bonnie's, who had the tattoo. gigantic public apology, sniar, for the story theft.

[silence]

2007-11-01T18:27:00.001-07:00

the convergence of nuns & ninjas has been discussed in earlier writings. nothing, however, has ever been spoken of the convergence between mimes and ninjas. and that makes sense, in a way, because both, as a rule, tend to be very, very silent.