Pre-Thanksgiving/Competition Stuff...

The following few entries will be describing general craziness in my day-to-day for the last few of them...always culminating in post-competition exhaustion.  For right now, I won't go into what the Competition is, that'll be taken care of in the next blog because it'll make a lot more sense and well frankly I'm a bit lazy at this moment :0\

So Wednesday at work, keeping in mind that this is the day before Thanksgiving when most have mentally checked out from their jobs or in fact have physically made the escape, I thought to myself surely this will be a nice slow quiet 7.5 hours which I can cruise by whilst doing nada.  Um, never challenge fate is the lesson learned here because it decided to come bite me straight on my buttocks.  Dang.  Suffice it to say that I left work at 5, when HR told us we could all leave at 3 and had made plans to go to the grocery store.

As any intelligent person living in the States can tell you, never ever go to the grocery store the night before Thanksgiving.  It's just pure stupid and you are very liable to beat someone senseless in an aisle with a package of stuffing mix somewhere along the way.  Grocery rage is ugly.  I frankly have avoided this trek because although I'm on a total "embracing the stripe" look, I don't think I could pull off inmate stripes.  Just sayin'.  But seriously, all you find up and down the food isles are folks looking slightly panicked and confused with a nice heaping helping of 'what the F' in their eyes, as if they can't figure out what they're doing there.  Um buddy, you're wife or you forgot to get stuff for the big meal that you know is coming for the last year...you're an idiot is why you're presently scratching your head and consulting your phone with the list of things to buy (that are probably out of stock anyhow).  There's a lot of routing of bodies from the potato section to the giblets case to the dessert counter while poor workers try to smile through the crazy.  One old lady nearly mowed me down with her Power Scooter in order to get to the pie crusts shouting "out of my way" as she zoomed past.  Had I not leaped into another poor hapless soul, I woulda been road kill...no really.

I was one of the few lucky ones who not only found a convenient parking spot, but was also able to score my very (small) list of food items then shoot into the self-pay line.  Tops 20 minutes in and out where I thought it would take me about an hour.  Oh also for those who read the snarky line above about those who are in the grocery store on that day being idiots...well I don't fall into that category simply because I found out that I had to make a few dishes at the last second (as in 2 hours before I was to leave work).  I lay the blame squarely on my mothers shoulders and since she doesn't read my blog, I'm safe.  If she finds out I wrote this, I will figure out who told her and find you and hurt you...just a warning.

This year isn't really different then prior ones, Thanksgiving always heralds in competition and therefore it means insanity x1000.  I'm generally mentally prepared that it starts from Thursday but when big bro called on Tuesday night and said, hey there's a private concert at a friends house right near your place on Wednesday night and therefore you should come...well the brain kicks into overdrive trying to figure out how this is going to pan out.  I planned to go home and take my time in packing for the next several days...that in itself was no easy thing but then add to it all the other items I would have to take and my head was doing a nice spinny thing.  Also If any of you have ever attended a classical Indian music program, you realize that these things go onto the wee hours of the morning.  My consciousness kept asking me with a tilt of a head and arching of an eyebrow 'hey Sherlock, where precisely do you have the time to do all these things?'  I told it to stfu and plowed on ready to tackle the night.

I got home with every intention of getting at least half the stuff on my 'to-do' list done (pfft, yea right).  What happened instead?  I spotted my couch...It called to me...I answered the call...I sat...I stared...I zoned...I blocked everything else out for 2 hours...I 'woke up' when P came slamming into the house startling me out of the coma I was in.  *sigh*  What a waste of my time too.  I just wonder why I keep shooting myself in the damn foot this way.  Procrastination is one thing, this is a whole new level of moron-ism (that's a word now).

P got home looking like he too had almost been run over by a Power Scooter, or more like a bus and could barely keep his eyes open though he kept muttering about going to the program.  I assured him that his ass was better off at home because his loud snoring would probably disturb the others while they were trying to listen to the music.  He agreed and disappeared a scant 30 minutes later after hastily shoveling food into his mouth.  I'm not sure if he even chewed.  Oh well...

I called N, my cousin and def soul mate, and told her that she was going to come with me.  Thank goodness girlfriend was down for it and fairly enthusiastically agreed to be my date.  After consulting on what we would wear, I charged up my phone and headed to the bathroom.  She was on time and we were off. 

Side bar:  So I asked my bro to call me and let me know when the program was going to start.  He said he didn't know... :|  okay.  Then he said probably 8:30ish.  I asked him to call me when he was about 20 minutes away and in that way I could arrive when he did.  8:30 came and went and I was left not very surprised that I received no call at all.  I called him and he said in the sheepish voice that most recognize by now if you know him "oh shoot, I'm soooo sorry I forgot."  Um...yeah no shocker there.  By the time that convo happened it was already nearing on 9:30.  Seriously bro, consume ginko...in copious amounts too.

So we N and I went to listen to Shakir Khan produce pure magic with his sitar.  You can check him out here ----->  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2DrC4wzvyw&feature=g-user-u  He's the son of Ustad Shahid Parvez (this is him) ----------> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCK5Kp6ePyU&feature=g-all-u who I have also been very lucky to see/hear in concert as well as meet (in fact in the very concert where this last video was taped) and I was left spellbound as well as curious to see what his son would sound like.  Bhai (older bro) said that he was really fantastic and that I would enjoy it.  Even if Bhai doesn't have great memory he does however impeccable taste in music, I decided to go with his reassurances that the evening would be well worth it.   

One funny thing about the sitar, it's featured in so many places, #1 being Hindi movies as background for sappy scenes or even (most prominently now adays) in  USA commercials (you know, to add that 'mystical' touch), therefore the normal music aficionado probably doesn't really hear nor appreciate the sitar for what it is, an incredible instrument that is worthy of it's own platform, not to be some background nonsense to equal other nonsense.  Having grown up in a musically inclined family and attending countless concerts of legendary artists listening to hour long raags which depict some time of day/night/season or invoking emotions within the soul due to a few notes being played...I mean wow...I have a much keener appreciation for this particular instrument.  I even tried my hand at learning but realized my biceps didn't like that idea at all (nor my nails for that matter).  So I have since then relegated my person to just being an avid appreciator of the art as opposed to the actual artist. 

Anyhow, so we go to the program and have to figure out a maze of passages and secret code words to get up to our friends apartment (I think this is because he doesn't actually want people to come to his apartment) but once there in his fashionable abode, it's a small and intimate group of people we discover who are milling about with  my family (of course) ever present and accounted for (however only the younger adults, not the older).  I am introduced to Shakir (who I met before briefly during his fathers concert and I believe said something to the extent of "oh you're the son of _____ [Insert wrong artists name here]."  Smooth Bina, real smooth.  *smh*  I'm sure he thought "moron" and so now I'm slightly praying for him NOT to remember how epically dumb I was.  I don't think he did (yay)).  My impression of this young man was that he was a great representative of the new generation of upcoming budding artists:  fairly modern, relaxed and clearly  in-tune with the times who also possessed mad skills but at the same time craving normalcy.  No longer does this generation crave the bowing and scraping of their fathers era by devotees...they just want to be looked upon as a human and appreciated for their talent (while being fawned upon by hot women *wink*). 

To say that it was a good concert would be an understatement.  May be it was the small intimate group of folks there, may be it was the dimmed ambiance or the artist who was so young and talented but clearly in love with every string that was played, every fret that he ran his fingers over...or even the way he closed his eyes and fell into the music that wafted from the instrument he held cradled in his arms like a lover...whatever it was, I can assure you that it all came together beautifully and the experience was...magic. 

The night was a rousing success and I found it to be rather poetic, an evening of music heralding in a whole weekend of the same. By the time we left with a round of warm hugs and goodbyes to our fellow music lovers, I was mentally ready for the oncoming challenges of the weekend which would include a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of fun and a lot of work.  I thought mentally, bring it biatch!

Once home though, my body told me to shut the hell up cause whereas I could have been asleep by no later then 2am...I was wide awake till 4 bleedin' am stalking people on Facebook and blinking tiredly at the TV.  Seriously, I was watching Meet Me in St. Louis.  Just don't ask.  And can someone please tell me what's wrong with me?  Why am I so darn hyper sometimes?  What in the world is my problem?  I was perfectly aware of the upcoming storm (read that as "Storm Competition") and the mountain of work I had to do which included packing for Baltimore and then Thanksgiving dinner cooking so why the eff was I sitting on my bed singing "clang clang clang goes the trolley...". 

Yea, so Wednesday...interesting day but that was just the beginning.  I'll post a few more with wondrous details about the next 4 days that proceeded that one.  Sheesh. 

Oh also, for those of you who have NO idea of what a sitar looks like and didn't bother to click on the links above (which seriously you should cause those are darn awesome clips) here is a diagram of one and with descriptions of the parts:

Thanks for Giving

As the streets of DC become hushed and quiet...

As folks pack into mini-vans and overload their trunks with enough things for the next few days of vacation...

As some dream about turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy ladled into the middle, herb-y stuffing and tart cranberry sauce...

As people scope out what sort of Black Friday goodies they'll be scoring or possibly planning to laze away the coming few days on a couch being one with their remote control and indulging in nonstop football...

As parent(s) anxiously await their brood to come home or new couples excitedly pour over recipes to figure out how they'll be cooking their first 15lb bird...

As kids whoop with joy while the last bell rings heralding in the few days break they'll receive...

As a few wipe tears of nostalgia away in remembrance of holidays past and those who are with them no more...

As pies and other sweet treats are being made in busy fragrant-ful kitchens and pumpkin gourds and fall leaves are gathered to make the perfect table scape...

As all these things are happening, I wonder to myself how much contemplation of the bounties that we are blessed with or giving of thanks are we doing?

As some of you know (and a lot of you probably don't) I volunteer at the Capital Area Food Bank.  I started back when I was at the x-firm and have continued religiously since.  The first visit was right around this time of the year and I thought to myself as soon as I got the email, why not.  We got to the big dilapidated warehouse and was shown a video regarding how the food bank helps the community, where the donations come from and what our help meant in the grand scheme of things.

We all tromped down to the main floor and were told that we'd be making 350 brown bags filled with 'staple' goods for the elderly for Thanksgiving.  As we were working I was slightly taken aback.  There were elderly people out there who would not be with family during the holiday?  350 sure seemed like a huge number but nothing compared to the actual numbers of hungry that apparently frequented the food bank on a daily basis...I was shocked.  My mind raced and I couldn't seem to fathom what I was being told, how bad it was even in a country like the United States where it seems everything is about excess...so hunger?  Really?  I couldn't help but wonder at myself also, about how ignorant and blind I was.  Was I so epically ignorant to the plight of my own fellow man?  What world was I living in anyhow?  Of course there are hungry people out there, more then I imagine and more then I would like to believe, that too all around me including in my very own neighborhood.  And the evidence of this was in that one singular space where food was being moved in and out on a daily basis in astounding numbers.

It was an eye opening experience for sure and one which also affected me deeply, pulling at my heart strings in a fashion I could not at that time fathom.  I have gone back every month since then, 5 years ago now almost, only missing if something very important would crop up therefore making it nearly impossible to get away.  I have never looked at it as an obligation or a chore.  Those of us who go together have become buddies, sort of warriors against hunger, except like we volunteer once a month.  Truthfully, I get excited about going as does buddy "F" (again I refuse to take names here), who goes with me and has been doing so for nearly 3 years.  When either of us miss it, we tend to bitch and moan while feeling guilty. 

At the end of the day, we may not be doing more then a few hours worth of work and it may not be considered 'much' in the grand scheme of things but I think it is indeed something, may be more than what most are willing to do or have done? 

No really I swear to you this isn't a lecture regarding giving and community service, you all have heard that before endlessly on TV, from organizations passing out fliers or even friends.  This isn't an effort to guilt you into running out and finding the first charitable institute, roll up your sleeves and start a-helpin'. 

The purpose of this is to simply tell you what I'm thankful for...because I too, like so many others, go through life just taking things for granted. 

Here is what I'm grateful for:

The life given to me to make of it what I can.

Each new day that brings endless opportunities.

Family to care for me, bug me, harass me, fight with me, fight for me, hug me and love me unconditionally.

A mother and father who are still with me (Ameen) and who I can not imagine existence without...a couple who have made more sacrifices in their own lives then I can possibly comprehend just to make it possible that I do not have to do the same.

Friends who have been there for me through it all and who have laughed with me as well as wiped my tears away and caught me when I was falling.

A husband who is about the coolest human being in the world and who, if I weren't married to him, would be a guy I would still hang out with.

A home that represents our success as a family and a testament to our hard work (mine and P's).

The food in that home which fills our stomach and never lets us go to bed hungry.

The fact that I have never experienced true hunger and neither have those that I know.

The simple fact that I have a roof over my head, a real one, and not a make shift lean-to or tent or a cardboard box.

Enough money to buy both the house and the food that keeps me alive.

When I crave to eat something, it's as simple as going and getting it.

Each day I leave the house and have a job to go to (which many of you know I didn't always have a good appreciation for this until most recently).

A bank account with money actually in it and the ability to pay bills.

The small luxuries of being able to purchase whatever I wish no matter how small or big.

The vacations that I have taken and am planning on taking (knowing that I can do so without worry).

The body that I was given which is in fairly good working condition despite some minor break downs here and there.

The ability to be able to go and get care for said body.

The fact that my friends and family are also healthy (for the most part) and happy (for the most part).

The memories of those who have passed away, they are always with me and have heaped upon me many blessings and dua's.

The memories that I create every single day (because I can).

The ability to be able to create new and wonderful memories in the future (again, because I can).

Those things that make me smile and laugh.

Even those things that make me cry because that means I am alive to feel.

A cell phone, a computer, Internet (hey these things are important).

The family that I am now able to call my own through P and the fact that they are fairly kickass in-laws whom j'adore me (clearly) and I them.

My Mom-in-Law and Pop-in-Law who gave birth to the incredible man who I share a life with.

The arms that can pick up a crying baby and comfort it, cook food for those who come over to spend time with me and can hug to bring to a soul who most needs it.

Legs that take me to work, to the mall, to someone waiting for me, to stand upon and run with if necessary.

Eyes that were lasered back to perfection and can see without the need for glasses and which observes the world with incredulity and appreciation (although not always).

A mouth that (sometimes) speaks out of turn but can indeed speak and carry sound and consume food.

Fingers that can type this blog.

A brain that functions (okay, sorta kinda) to the point where that I can figure out the difference between good and bad, right and wrong and act upon those thoughts.

Music to sooth my soul, lighten my heart and make me shake it every once in a while.

God.

My list probably can go on and on and on...I've probably missed many important key things but you get the jist, right?

Just...really stop and truly give thanks?  And if you can, give also (of course I had to throw this in just for the hell of it).  Believe me, it does your soul good.  So even if you're walking by that homeless person on the street again, a person you see every day and ignore, today may be you can give her/him a dollar?  Don't worry about how that person uses it, just give it. 

And also, if anyone at all is interested, there are food banks everywhere and they always need volunteers who care to assist.  Take a large group with you and just jump right in, the reward is simply knowing that somehow you did something good for someone else, that your actions may have counted even if you do not see the results immediately.  Remember, this isn't about instant gratification.  Below is the link to the Capital Area Food Bank...if you can't go in person, how about a cash donation?  At least think about it as you sit down in-front of the bounty you will consume tomorrow?  No pressure :D

http://www.capitalareafoodbank.org/

*Note - the food bank was once located in a terribly old warehouse that surely needed to be condemned but now it has a new home just about half a mile from it's old location...the pictures below are from the new spot.  These were taken during the most recent delivery of food that my new firm colleagues and I made.  I'm excited to say that this firm too is now jumping onto the food bank volunteer bandwagon so this will make it two times a month that I can go!  Woohoo!

Oh, also...everyone have a blessed, happy, safe Thanksgiving : )

 

Let the Hugging Begin

I had a very interesting thought the other day which stemmed from a conversation with someone I greatly care for.  I don't really know why I hadn't thought of this before, I guess you can call it an epiphany and a lot of you may be going 'seriously Bina, you didn't know this???' but I have never been one who goes around thinking I know it all (although at times I can fool people into believing it just fine). 

The whole thing started with a simple question.  A loved one sitting in my car as we were driving somewhere.  This is a person a lot younger then me who is going through the general growing pains of life, unsure of herself, her surroundings, her world.  Everything is about being in angst.  Remember that feeling?  I do.  It was not fun.  I wouldn't give up anything, even the smallest amount, to go back in time to relive that, thanks.  Anyhow to give you a general idea of her age group, she thinks that 20 is 'omg so old'.  Yea. 

So she's sitting in my car and suddenly she says to me out of the blue, 'do you think I'm a good person?'

This sort of stills me as I'm busy navigating the crowded Alexandria thorough fair.  I glance at her with creased brow and ask "why would you think you're not?"

She sort of shrugs as teenagers tend to do and says "well I used to really think I wasn't but I've decided I am, still I'd like to know what you think."  The fact that she wants to know what I think isn't surprising.  She often seeks me out to get guidance, words of comfort or just to vent and I think a lot of it is because she understands that I can identify with her...remember, the whole growing up brown in a white world?  Well not just white but you know what I mean.

We chatted about her need to know whether she's a good person, I assured her that she was pretty darn kick ass and that she was destined to be an equally kick ass woman and human being.  I then reached out to caress her hair following that with a slight squeeze on her left shoulder.  Affection has always come naturally to me, particularly the comforting type which manifests in the physical.  A hug, a smile, a soft touch, a gentle stroke...hence I figured if I would want someone to do that to me, may be she would also?  She did and it showed in the way she closed her eyes for a brief second, softly smiled and released a barely audible sigh. 

Later on that night, I was stretched out in bed flipping through channels finding nothing of interest to watch, refusing to indulge in Christmas movies on Lifetime in fear that I would become burnt out by the time the holiday actually rolled around, and suddenly I thought about "her".  I have no interest in naming names therefore she will be known as "her" or otherwise "she" when appropriate. Try to stay with me.

The first thought was, gosh she sure is unsure of herself although she's working hard to fight it.  Then I started to wonder, why?  She's beautiful and smart, funny and creative, outgoing and fairly level headed even if she does have a temper about her.  She's not so stubborn that she won't listen to good advice although she sometimes is a know-it-all (like teenagers tend to be).  But this deep sense of insecurity?  Where doth it cometh from?

I went back a step and focused on her family.  They are a lovely unit really, nothing to talk about in a negative way, generally like any other family.  They face challenges like everyone else in the world and the parents have made their sacrifices to provide stability and opportunity to their children.  She is a middle child, so may be...middle child syndrome?  I immediately pictured Jan from the Brady Bunch screaming "Marsha Marsha Marsha!"  After a chuckle I added a bit of that to the thought pot and continued.  Teenage angst...of course and she's brown.  So there's a bit more that goes into that pot.  She has fights with her family, particularly her mom and her dad demands perfection and expects success (well whose doesn't?).  That too goes into the pot.  But as I mentally stirred it, I recalled the look on her face when I reached out to comfort her even though it truly was a split second but my eyes are fairly sharp.  I couldn't but help remembering once, a few months earlier, as I was embracing her on another occasion for some random reason, she snuggled into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and saying "oh I like it when you hug me."  Then too she had left out a little sigh, appearing very at peace (at least for that instant).

And then my brain sort of clicked into place (you could probably hear it in India...it was loud and since it rarely happens with me, distinct).  And this is where all this mental stirring and pot filling got me:  This child has not long ago come from the land of my forefathers...she is struggling hard to acclimate to a society which is new and fascinating to her but she is still yet out of place because of her past (mainly that she has not been in her adopted country for long) and her family who cling to the ways of the past.  There is nothing wrong with this, so don't misunderstand me.  The culture she predominantly grew up in (sans the last few years) was one in which signs of affection were not considered 'the thing' to do.  Not that everyone prescribed to this but for the most part, elders didn't embrace the younger.  Actually that's wrong.  Elders would embrace those that were not necessarily super close to them, like nieces, nephews, grandchildren...but not their own children.  Basically a sense of decorum was always well in place.

Personally I think this lack of physical touch is the biggest problem back in desi-land.  Of course there are bigger problems: poverty, corruption, some places class-ism, racial strife, religious wars...these things are in-your-face-can't-avoid-have-to-acknowledge ones but I'm talking about something very underlying when I mean the lack of physical affection.  I'm not saying that where I live presently is the best-est place on earth, we have plenty of problems, cultural, societal (is that a word even?) and emotional not mentioning all the ones listed above, this stuff seems to come parcel and package with humanity in general but for the most part it is acceptable to show affection almost anywhere here.  Now now, I'm not speaking of groping and shoving ones tongue down another's throats in the middle of a toy store (I mean seriously take that home okay?), get your minds outta the gutter.  We're talking about the sort of affection that comes along with what I like to call 'the warm and fuzzies' which could be aimed at nearly anyone/everyone.

And it's not just the physical affection but the verbal encouragement that comes along with it, like positive reinforcement.  Those things are important I tell you!  And I think since society as a whole in South Asia frowns upon that sort of thing (at least the physical for sure) I think it seriously stunts ones growth.  I mean okay so I'm not professing to be a psychologist or a therapist of any sort but these are just things that make sense to me.  If you weren't hugged or told that you were fantastic or you could do anything that you set your mind to, why would you be expected to grow up and turn around to show that same affection to someone else or know to use such loving encouraging words?  No doubt there are plenty of people out there who have broken free from the chains of the society they grew up in and that's fantastic but I'm talking about the general populace here.  Basically you have a whole country of non-huggers who probably are much more closed off and shut down (not to mention quick tempered, less tolerant and angry in general). 

Look we got problems here in the States, a lot of them but some of the basic things that I see wrong with India we just don't have here because societies rules are a bit more relaxed (some may argue a bit TOO laxed but hey whatever) and tolerance is preached in literally every school in every corner of the land (here).  We do fight amongst ourselves but really it's a bit more civil.  You can hate your neighbor but you're not liable to take a bat to them (that too is cause you fear them pressing charges against you).

Here's something I read that I found interesting...

"Virgina Satir, who was often referred to as the mother of family therapy, determined that “We need four hugs a day for survival. We need eight hugs a day for maintenance. We need twelve hugs a day for growth.” Her presumption is backed by research, which consistently demonstrates that our emotional well being is deeply impacted by the physical love we experience and that touch and hugging are primary vehicles in the brain’s development of basic positive emotions.  According to Linda Blair, a clinical psychologist at Bath University, “Touch affects the cerebellar brain system, an area of the brain where basic positive emotions such as trust and affection probably come from.”"

Seriously, that's some interesting stuff right?

Thankfully, my parents, including their families, have always been super loving and verbally affectionate.  I can't begin to tell you how many times I've been accosted by my mother or father for a hug and or a smooch on the forehead and to be honest I've seen how that affection alone has manifested itself in my life.  Since that's all I've known, I am quick to stretch my arms out wide and go 'c'mon, gimme a hug...bring it in' and I've never shied away from giving the quick peck on the cheek or croon out a 'honey' or 'sweetie'.  Good job Ammu and Abbu! 

Back to her.  I also know this girl well and her family along with her extended and I can tell you for a fact that they don't believe in 'the mushy stuff'.  The warm and fuzzies come in the form of 'want something to eat?' or 'you look tired, go to bed'.  As adults we can grasp that these too are forms of affection but as a child it's nothing but irritating.  When she seeks approval, she gets a nod or a few short words while she sees her American counterparts (not all, but most) who get hugs, kisses and fawning.  I believe she's angry about this and I did my best to explain to her that her parents culture played a big part in them being the way that they are.  More importantly I explained that her parents were proud of her but just didn't know how to show it and that may be the way they did was in their grunts and quick 'good job'?  

She is a cool enough kid and nodded her head solemnly post my explanations.  I could see that she tried to understand although I believe completely grasping this is beyond her at this moment of her life.  The concept of 'product of ones environment' is still a bit fuzzy to her.  However she is young and sensitive, there is yet hope and time.

But here's what I understood and what I'm taking away from this:  what we take for granted, something as simple as a smile, an encouraging word maybe a quick hug, goes a long way in bringing someone else joy.  We may not see how it manifests in that moment as they walk away or if it even lingers as a memory but at least, I think, that these things have their benefits.  Like milk, a good education, exercise...the affects are long lasting and only positive.  Then the question becomes, what's the harm?  Nothing that I can see.

So I say, get out there and start a-huggin'.  If you haven't hugged your kid today, go do it for petes sake (who is this Pete btw?).  If your parents are in the other room watching TV or doing whatever, hell go pounce!  If your husband/wife/significant other seems stressed, hug it right outta them!

Basically...Let the Hugging Begin!

 

Does Petraeus Portray Us?

(Catchy title right?  I admit though that this blog has nothing to do with whether Petraeus does in fact portray us or not, I just wanted to use it.  Btw, I did try to find a way of showing the juxtaposition between his actions and general American mentality, whether or not he's a reflection upon us as a whole but no dice...total fail.  I'm not that deep I suppose.) 

Anyhow, since the elections I've been sitting around feeling a bit outta sorts.    No fliers to pick up on the front lawn, no calls to field at odd hours, no gaping at outrageous vicious ads on the tube wondering which advertising genius came up with them in the first place (this is pure sarcasm) and no avoiding answering doors to snot-nosed anxious happy way over-hyped volunteers.  Since then it's been eerily quiet really.  I know down near the Capitol, the building of stands for the inauguration is well under progress but I have no motivation to actually go down there to take a peek.  Things are generally hush here in my fair city and whereas prior to the elections I couldn't wait for the craziness to die down, for the last few days I've changed my mind.  I'm the sort of person who craves some sort of excitement if for no other purpose than for topics of blogging. 

So naturally I've been wondering, what next?  No drama?  No political intrigue?  Forget that we're about to be pushed off some fiscal cliff, been there, done that so tell me something new, something that I can really sink my teeth into (which reminds me, I really should visit the dentist *sigh*).  But nothing seemed to be stirring in the wind. 

Until...Ooooo General!

Okay now this is some serious intrigue.  Heck this is down right Hollywood movie material.  Anyone in the industry already writing a script?  Unauthorized I'm sure it will be but still...one thing you're assured of in the movie is sex and scandal.  Bring it on I say. 

But in all seriousness folks, I have been wondering...so this General who has quite the stellar service record, who has dedicated his life to protecting and defending our country...this gentleman resigned because an investigation revealed that he was having an...extramarital affair?   Ohhh-kay...err...Pardon me for not being more outraged and holding a pitchfork in my hand as well as gasping in shock.  May be I should?  Here's the thing though, I just can't seem to rev up my sense of outrage.  Because possibly, just possibly, the idea that a high ranking government official had an affair isn't all that shocking, huh?  Or equally so that the very thought of anyone in this world is indulging in an improper assignation outside of their marriage just doesn't seem to make me exhale in horror and want to swoon because my delicate sensibilities have been overcome?  May be many years ago as a young kid, sure.  But as an adult I would be ignorant to the brutal world around me and it's truths?  When did such a thing become so very 'unusual'?  Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's right nor defending the action, I'm just asking when the concept of it had suddenly become so foreign.  And when did it become 'resignation' worthy? 

Driving to work yesterday while scowling at traffic I was tuned into NPR where this whole scandal business was being discussed up, down and all around (as in all media) and I found myself rolling my eyes.  And now even Gen. John Allen is being drawn into this whole mess?  Wow.  20,000 to 30,000 pages of correspondence uncovered no less.  That's impressive if you ask me.  I fleetingly found myself curious to know more, possibly Google Image the faces attached to these now infamous names but then I found my self far more interested in not getting to work late (again). 

Although I do understand the public's salacious need for sexy gossip (this includes me, yes indeed) does it always have to get so darn out of hand?  I'm sorry but I don't think that Petraeus needed to resign (nor for that matter Allen's NATO nomination needs to be put on hold).  Do you think this guy regrets his affair?  Hell no people, of course not.  I mean okay sure I bet he just regrets having been caught and is embarrassed more than anything with a good dose of humiliation thrown into the mix.  Imagine how he felt when he tendered his resignation to the Pres.  Phew.  "Hi Sir, I need to um...quit cause well I um..."  How did that conversation go I wonder.   

Frankly, I rather feel sorry for his wife but otherwise, I just don't care about his private business as I do not think the rest of the Umrika should.  Here's what I do care about:  Had this affair affected his job?  Did he do any less of a good job then he had before due to it?  Was he any less dedicated in serving his country?  Was our national security at risk and are legit threats from the outside being pooh-pooh'ed because he was more intent upon boinking this woman?  If these questions are answered with a resounding 'no' then I say give the man his job back (if he wants it).  Let his wife punish him, leave him, take all his money, whatever, it's between them.  If she feels as if he deserves to be drawn and quartered for this, then I say 'go girl' but otherwise who are we to judge his performance and that too based on this alone?  Doesn't his record stand for itself?  What about his dedication and hard work?  No?  Doesn't matter?  Hmm....  

Sort of reminds me of the witch-hunt that the world went on during the Clinton/Lewinsky affair.  At least with the president, the man who does in fact is the representative of the United States to the rest of the world, I could understand that we would be a bit more worried but the main issue for that wasn't because he was canoodling with some intern, it was becausehe sorta kinda lied under oath ("I did not have sex with that woman") but admit it at the end of the day he turned out to be one well liked and respected SOB (affair notwithstanding).  Blue dress be damned.

Oh yea, wondering also why the government couldn't have just keep it quiet?  Was it really that important for us to know?  I fail to see how it really affected/affects us.  I heard there is some strict rule in the CIA governing some 'code of honor' or something?  What a joke.  Does that apply only when you get caught?  Do they do random 'cheat tests' for everyone, like drug tests?  As I said, it's just too bad that Petraeus was ousted.  How much do you want to bet that there are plenty of his counter-parts that are even right now at their computers hitting the delete button (FYI, stays in your servers for quite a while, no point in deleting Sweetpea)? 

For all that I wanted something interesting to be happening, this I guess could fit the bill but at the same time I feel slightly put-off.  Kind of makes me wonder, what sort of hypocritical know-it-alls are we?  Those same people sitting back in judgement of Petraeus are probably guilty of the same thing as well as thanking their lucky stars that the feds aren't sniffing them out.  Public humiliation is so not good.  And forget government officials alone...look around you and tell me if you don't know at least someone who has had or is having an affair.  Does that make them incompetent in their existence as a whole?  Bad people?  Sure may be their judgement is off but okay, that's between them and their consciousness (and God if they believe in a higher being).  But tell me, are they unable to do their jobs perfectly well?  How much would you be willing to wager that even those who you would never suspect ever to be indulging in a bit of side dalliances are right now just masterfully hiding it yet still able to function in society which includes performing their chosen carriers with aplomb?

I say leave the man alone, let's move on.  Give me something better.  Affairs are so last decade.  Just sayin'

 

Elliptical Machine = Devil...Gym = Hell

You know the biggest problem with living in this area?  (And when I say 'this area', I mean specifically a big metropolis)  The problem is that there are ginormous groups of people who think that exercise is 'good' for you and practically scream at you with far too much enthusiasm and endorphins pumping through their skinny-butt selves that you should do it too.  That is the problem right there! 

Okay I said it.  I seriously dislike me some exercising and as of today, I also declare that the elliptical machine is the devil and the gym...well...hell is what it is I say, HELL.  You know the one where there is fire and brimstone's and a lotta sobbing, sweating and tears?  Yea well if you ask me, the description bizarrely fits both locales. 

I found this online and had to share.  This is my general feeling about working out right there:

Here's my question:  Am I the only person on earth who truly hates working out and anything connected to it?  Who cringes at the very thought of putting on stupid outfits to go and sweat in a smelly gym?  Or am I the only mortal who treads upon gods green earth who is willing to admit all this out loud and not give a damn as to who agrees or disagrees with me and not afraid of the judgement either?  Nah, am pretty sure I ain't the only. 

 

But seriously, I only can speak for American and I can say Americans are nutso about their exercise (please ignore the fact that I too am an American but my Desi side is strong when it comes to this). 

 

I remember once several years ago in the middle of a particularly cold autumn, I was driving a newly arrived guest from B-desh to my mothers house.  We were stopped at the light and Aunty (remember every person older than you is either an Aunty or an Uncle in my culture) who was sitting in the passenger seat wide-eyed and in awe spotted and pointed out to me a woman in long leggings, a tight fighting black spandex like hoodie, a puffer jacket and earmuffs go running by.   

 

I didn't think much of it but Aunty looked confounded.  She turned to me and asked in notable astonishment "what is she doing?" while pointing in the direction of the retreating back.

 

I said without turning to look and with a casual dismissing wave of a hand, "oh she's just exercising."  As if that explained it all, and of course it would have...to anyone living here.  Not to those coming from B-desh.

 

She considered my answer for a moment and then said in a voice laced with all sorts of judgement, "In this cold?  What exercising?  No, may be she's running from something or someone?  Or may be she is just crazy?  I think that is the answer.  But then again all of you Umerikan's are slightly crazy.  You will never find a Bangladeshi running around in this weather."  Then after a pause, she added "you will not find a Bangladeshi running around in any weather, we do not have time for such nonsense."  (All said in a fairly thick Desi accent)  (You know you're re-reading that line with the accent now, aren't you?)  heh.

 

I did a mental 'huh' and drove on.  I also liked how she thought.  I had always thought it was insane to be running around in any extreme weather without something worthwhile waiting for you at the end, like a huge cheese steak sub or diamonds...just sayin'.

 

But still society pressure and opinion has even managed to shame me into dragging my miserable bootay to the gym, hating every bloody step and whining endlessly on the way.  Lol...I also confess that if I'm going to the gym, I make sure everyone and their mothers know cause you know, it makes me look like a royal bad ass and like a total health conscious freak!  Anyhow, the general act of working out has never been joyful to me (big shocker) though afterwards I (grudgingly) admit that I do feel good and pretty effin' proud of myself.  I also morph into the adrenaline junkie that other worker-outers are known to become  once I've indulged enough times and have even been eager to flex muscles...no really, I can have muscles...no really!

But again I digress, the reason I'm writing this blog is because today...yes today, I started at my new gym, conveniently located in the basement of my new job.  And what did I learn from this experience?  A few things: 

 

1.)  It's nice and shiny (the gym) which makes it tolerable to go to before it gets sweaty and stinky, something which is bound to happen before long (I pray this will actually happen in which case I can use it as a legit excuse to be outrageously disgusted and not return again, ever).  (The probability is that this indeed will not happen because the facility is actually immaculate and looked after by a seemingly diligent staff...darn it.)

2.)  It's fairly easy to get to (I repeat it's in the basement of the building) and therefore motivation to actually go is a slight bit higher as is the likeliness of taking the steps there cause I'll tell you what, the whole 'go home, get changed, go to the gym thing' was so not working for me. 

3.)  The equipment is new and also shiny but most importantly fancy with even on-demand available so that your workout can be slightly less painful than say...tooth extraction...and the time can go by a bit faster with your peepers fastened to some random television show or movie rather than gazing every few seconds at the clock wondering why only 2 damn minutes have passed by instead of what you had initially thought, 10 productive, sweat-inducing, painfully blinding minutes.  This is nice because I remember the old days of tread milling when your best option was to either have it facing a television or reading a book and make yourself sick in the process.  But anyhow the problem with the television here is that one of the channels available is The Food Network.  Really?  Um...why?  WHY?  My idea of keeping my equilibrium is not to be staring at Paula Dean stuffing a stick of butter into her mouth gleefully while I'm huffing and puffing on a StairMaster that's taking me...NO WHERE!

4.)  It is hot in there.  I mean hot hot hot...like as in earlier reference to the word 'hell' sorta hot.  It's beads of sweat immediately popping onto your upper hairy-lip, under your armpits and behind your knees kinda hot and that too as soon as you step inside the blasted place.  Um, is this done on purpose?  I need to know this because in my prior gyms (yes, I've actually been to other gyms before this one) I never recalled them being quit this stifling. 

5.)  The elliptical machine, without a doubt, 100% is the devil, or the spawn of the devil.  Either way, it mocked me the minute I clamped eyes on it and seemed to cackle in evil satanic glee.  It even jeered to me in a vicious whisper as I stepped warily back onto it, "welcome back...to hell". 

6.)  I still hate, loath, despise, abhor, abominate and strongly dislike working out.  There is no punishment worse in my book and nothing I would more happily avoid.  Enough said.

7.)  I will be going back. :(

 

Okay well off to bed.  I really look forward the fact that tomorrow I'll wake up with a stiff back, achy joints and legs that want to do nothing more than lay in bed rather than move. 

 

Please no one give me encouraging words such as 'you can do it!', 'but it's the best thing for your body' or 'hey congrats, good for you!' and I certainly do not want to hear 'the first step is always the hardest'.  If you do say any of these things to me or anything even slightly similar, I will find you and stab you with a plastic spork.

 

Oh oh, and remind me to post the fantabulous experience I had at the gym which P had signed me up for (his fancy state-of-the-art one) and which I graced only once, never to have gone back since.  Believe me, there is a reason behind that. 

*groans*

"50 Shades of Grey" or should I say ... "Crap"?

**Note:  This blog would be Rated "R" if it was to have a rating so please don't read if you tend to get offended quickly or blush at the mention of something on a more intimate nature**

Should you consider this blog more of a book review than anything else?  Okay yes, it totally is and am glad that I could pull my brain out of this weird sexual haze long enough to write this. 

I'm always late about everything it seems.  Before I had thought it was just mostly time related...like I'm notorious for being late for almost any appointment.  Wait no, that's actually not correct.  I was far more well known for my tardiness as a young college girl (such as when I once walked triumphantly in to a Estates Law class 1 hour and 45 minutes late on a Saturday morning just as the rest of the class was being dismissed resulting in my butt getting chewed out by the professor (who seemed to be looking for a reason to fail me).  So may be he was legit in his anger but seriously, I mean did he have to yell so loud?  Sheesh.  And the fact that I said that he needed to take his blood pressure medicine didn't really go down well with him but I was slightly concerned...no one should turn that weird shade of red and truly I was just giving him a kind reminder...ingrates I tell ya...*ahem*).  I so digress!  

Anyhow, throughout a youth of people assuming I would, naturally, always be late for everything I vowed that as an adult I would break free from this notion and show the world: yes I too can be on time.  For the most part I'm painfully aware of time and well...not messing with it (for those friends who know me well, please stop smirking and shut up, let me live in my own little delusional world, thanks).  But apparently there are things that I am not at all 'in time' for such as sleeping on time, eating on time, and specifically speaking for the sake of this blog...catching the popular books when they are popular and the vast majority of the public is enthralled with them.  Like for instance Harry Potter, Twilight  and The Hunger Games books.  These apparently were released and consumed voraciously by the public long before I discovered them  (and honestly I wasn't cool enough to have stumbled across them on my own but rather I had to be smacked upside the head with a copy of them by some friend).  And for those books, I commend the public for knowing their stuff...

But 50 Shades of Grey...I picked it up with hope that like the others, this would also blow me away.  Truly I think once the last Potter book was written and the final Twilight was released, and the 'games' were over, we as the general public have been looking for the next sensation, almost desperately.   Um...not quite with Grey though.  In fact it's so bad that I felt that a blog dedicated to this alone was necessary.  And my mind keeps asking the same question over again:  why o why is anyone enthralled with this piece of [insert expletive here]??  BTW, let me apologize to my friend who let me borrow this, I don't mean at all to say that you aren't justified in liking the book and I can see why someone would be compelled to read it and get enjoyment out of it...but my problem is a bit different as to why I don't/can't/won't ever 'get' the public fan fair and fascination with this piece of...um...can I really call it literature? 

Here's the first problem...the characters. The  handsome billionaire untouchable rake falling for the rather mousy but actually hot down-to-earth shockingly insightful nubile young innocent.  Bleh.  He has endless funds, she has endless innocence.  He's never ever come across love and she's never ever come across her...fingers (if you know what I mean). OH PUHLEEZ.  How many of you guys know either one of these two types of characters in real, even some part of them?  Sure say to me, 'but Bina, they are characters in a novel, so what if they're slightly unbelievable?'  Yes, I would agree...totally true, but then slap on a 'Fantasy' category/sticker on it and move on.  Non-Fiction is just too mild a word for this. 

The second problem is the plot and this is a biggie.  It's like every Mills & Boons plus Harlequin romance novel plot mashed together except this time you throw in an indecent amount of erotica (actually not erotica, plain old sex) and voila...50 Shades of Porn.  It's like every 3 pages is setting you up for another sex scene.  This much erotica isn't even found on porn sites I don't think.  The fact is, the plot plays a minor roll in this book, the lead character is the sex.  Do not mistake this fact when you pick it up to start reading.  Let me stop there. 

Thirdly, repetition.  This one is endless and endless and endless...as endless as me typing the word 'endless'.  Jesus how many times can an author actually write out (and that too in one book) "oh my"..."tilts head"..."bites lower lip" without referencing the thesaurus even once fearing redundancy?  Where the heck is her editor?  Her publisher?   Oh yes, they're busy getting royalty checks.  Never mind then.  But why didn't anyone, may be a friend, someone who wasn't liable to make a dime out of the book read those very lines and didn't bother to say to her 'hey can you change this up a bit?'  Jeez.

Fourth(ly), the writing itself.  I just mentioned about the repetition but let me also extend that to how simplistic, banal, boring and absolutely horribly written this thing is.  I sound harsh no?  After all here I am an aspiring writer openly criticizing another of my ilk (hopefully I too will be published one day) and may be I should be kinder.  Hell I don't think I'm all that great a writer really, amusing at best sometimes thoughtful and generally connected to reality but I know I make tons of grammar and spelling mistakes and that many probably read me and think to themselves "oh please shut up" but I can assure you that I could never write something this...not well written, and see it published with my name attached to it.  No thanks.

Lastly, the sex.  Boy o boy does this thing have sex in it.  Sex scene after sex scene.  And not just regular sex, no every sort of sex under the damn sun.  So you'd think, hey I'll read something unusual/interesting/stimulating?  Um...well frankly lower those expectations Sweetheart.  So far (and yes, I've only but barely managed to get through 3/4ths of the book and therefore probably am not fully knowledgeable as to what will happen near the end of book 1 or in the 2nd and 3rd books) it seems as if there is nothing really noteworthy to speak of which is a shame because most of the focus is on the BDSM alternative lifestyle.  Yet as in all good romance novels...it appears as if beauty is in fact taming the beast while submitting to him.  Hello...what's special about this?  Even the BDSM is lame...or so it appears to me.  If you're gonna read erotica, please, go find it somewhere else, it's often better written, more imaginative and if you like BDSM, then you'd probably be far more satisfied.

So ask me why I think that this book has become such a sensation even when clearly it is badly written, is mind-numbingly typical and so redundant that you could practically guess what'll happen next (hint:  they will have sex)?  Well...I heard that it's basically categorized as "mommy porn" and to be honest I think that's an insult to mommy's all over the universe.  It's almost as if one is saying that stay-at-home mothers have no discerning taste and could care less about the quality of the writing, just the sex as opposed to the rest of society who may be out in the world working and therefore...what...more sophisticated in their tastes?  Bah!  Sorry, I've had plenty of stay-at-home-to-take-care-of-the-kids-mom friends who have expressed their disgust with the weak writing (although the sex scenes has/can get...um...ones inner core heated...regardless of whether you're stuck to home and hearth or at a desk in some building).  This is just not a legitimate excuse enough for me and the reason this thing is so popular.  So what is it?

Okay here's the real reason as to why I think that it's such an out of control hit.  It's cause right on the front of the book as big as brass is the declaration "#1 on the New York Times Best Sellers List"  (you can't see it in the picture above but if you possess a copy, it's there, at least the one I have at home does) and this endorsement (well okay may be not endorsement but statement) alone almost puts a stamp of approval on it, as if it's legitimate.  It's like saying 'sure you can totally read this out in public because the New York Times said it's okay'.  And so where we can't normally walk around with a book that screams 'erotica' on the front (or frankly a copy of Playboy, or Hustler openly indulging) like we can with books that say are more mainstream popular non-fiction, fiction, etc...lo and behold, it is suddenly okay and accepted (not the dirty magazines, that is still not okay so boys put it away) to indulge in erotica on the metro, at the park, sitting by the pool... Never mind that it's badly written  (I'm talkin' about the book again, let's not mix things up here...and yes I've repeated this over and over again because that's how strongly I want to stress it) or that it has the ability to single-handedly drop your IQ several points by indulging in a few simple lines even...it's OK cause the NY Times Best Sellers List says so!!  Then the added fact that there is a LOT of sex in this book...did I mention this already?  I mean seriously people...a lot.  If you're okay with that, then hell this is it for you just don't expect much an original plot line (yea I know I said that also before). 

Now really, I'm not the snob that I kinda come off sounding at this point.  I do read and a lot.  I do not always stick to serious stuff and yes, I have read erotica.  I admit it.  Some of you may be shocked by this admission but really, grow up.  All of us above a certain age have but if you don't want to admit it, hey that's fine with me Pumpkin.  I enjoy a vast genre of books which include fantasy, non-fiction and a lot of fiction.  I adore chick-books and my heart even yearns for a good romance every now and then.  The thing that I really look for is the writing style itself and the originality.  If those two things are missing, the book is a complete fail and I put it back on my bookshelf until the next book drive/donation. 

Anyhow, you've all gotten my two cents regarding 50 Shades.  Should this "review" deter you from reading it?  I don't think it should because this is purely my opinion and you deserve to slack your own curiosity under your own terms...I honestly won't think the worse of you and you shouldn't care if I do.  Should you go out and buy it for yourself?  Um...go to the library and check it out instead or even borrow.  I'm not sure that the price tag is worth it.  Will I read the next two books?  I really can't answer that question because right now every molecule in my body is resisting but if I do, I promise to make sure to let anyone willing to know, know. 

Thanks for indulging your time on reading this book review/blog. 

Have a great weekend y'all!!!

Music induced Nostalgia

Have you ever been sitting, standing, walking, doing something totally banal and mindless and some song just pops into your head?  It's unbidden, without any reference to what it is you're doing at that moment but somehow affects you?  Brings a smile you your lips or a sudden sheen of tears to your eyes?  You realize how strong music is?  What sort of influence it has upon us, our emotions, our thoughts?  It is so strong that it can either conjure up a memory or create a totally new one that you will revisit every time that particular song is played.  And have you really thought about how many times we rely upon it to get us through sadness or happiness?  Don't tell me that with a simple playing of one up-tempo song your feet hasn't begun tapping all on it's own, your shoulders shimmying or your lips mouthing the words?  And please don't tell me that sometime in your existence, you did'nt listen to a sad song and haven't wondered "how the hell did that person know?  Is he/she talking about me?  God those lyrics are talking about me!"

Lol...or like me, played one song over and over and over again because well...it was 'your' song, meant so much and then subsequently bawled to it.  Wait did I just reveal a bit too much?  Oh well what's a blog for if not interesting revelations right?
Okay so today, I was sitting at my desk trying to catch my breath from the slight asthma attack I've been suffering for the last few days (bet most of you don't know that I have that sorta problem, huh?) when out of the blue this song comes to me, like literally pops into my cranium (below are the lyrics with translation provided by me):

Lag Ja Gale
Movie:  Woh Kaun Thi
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar

Lag ja gale (come let us embrace)
ki phir ye hasin raat ho na ho (because this night may or may never come again)
shayad phir is janam mein (may be in this lifetime...)
mulaqat ho na ho (we may or never meet again)

humko mili hai aaj ye (we have received this...)
ghadiya naseeb se (hour of our destiny)
je bhar ke dekh lejiye (gaze upon as much as you wish...)
humko kareeb se (me from close up)
phir apke naseeb mein (again in your existence...)
ye raat ho na ho (you may or may not have this night)
shayad phir is janam mein (may be in this lifetime...)
mulaqat ho na ho (we may or never meet again)

paas aiye ke hum nahi (come close to me because I will never...
aayenge baar baar (come this close again)
bahen gale main daal ke (I'll place my arms around your neck...)
hum ro le zaar-zaar (let me cry over and over again)
aankon se phir ye pyaar ki  (from my eyes the love...)
barsaat ho na ho (that rains, you may or never see again)
shayad phir is janam mein (may be in this lifetime...)
mulaqat ho na ho (we may or never meet again)

Just in case you wanted to hear the song for yourself...here it is and btw, it's an oldie but def goodie and total classic ---->  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFr6G5zveS8 

Okay so the translation is a bit...well...seems sort of harsh right?  Like 'hey we may or may never meet so like, yeah, jump on this cuz you know, I ain't gonna come back sucker'.  Lol.  Okay that's a funny interpretation and please don't take me seriously.  This song is actually heartbreaking and I needed to share.  It's also been stuck in my head all day long, regardless of what I'm doing.  I suppose this may be my way of purging it. 

Hope y'all enjoy. 

A day in the life of an American Voter...election protecting

3:30am - Blaring alarm startling me into a rude awakening merely hours after falling asleep (no seriously, just about 2 hours lapse) and after scowling with eyes shut tight, I call back into happy oblivion.

3:40am - The scowl only deepens as I smash my fist onto the alarm not caring if I've maimed or injured it beyond repair.  Pulling the comforter up to my nose, I sink into the depths of my bed and decide that election day is like any other day of the year and I could care less.

3:50am - I wonder fleetingly what the alarm clock has against me, finally cracking an eye open to glare at the red digital numbers.  I think 'crap' and lay there in bed unmoving, knowing that I should be doing the exact opposite.  I am staring at the back of my eyelids fighting the urge to give into the ridiculous need to fall back asleep.  I let out a low groan and finally peel myself out of bed, throwing a nasty look at P who was snoring peacefully.

 

3:55am - Stand staring at the shower thinking 'there is no way I'm getting into there today, stink be damned'.

 

4:00am - Peering out the window staring into the blackness of the night seeing nothing at all, I waited for the shower water to run hot and was still thinking, 'would anyone notice if I didn't apply water to my skin that morning?' 

 

4:20am - Out of the shower shivering and unhappy about the ordeal but at least smelling fresh.  Also almost fell on my butt when stepping into a small dollop of liquid body soap that must have completely missed my...err...body.  Okay.  No injuries sustained. 

 

4:30am - Partially dressed while calling C to ask her if she had left her home, which is wayyyyyy in Anne Arundel County.  She informs me that she's 'almost' out the door.  Um...almost?  This woman has no concept of 'almost' and mostly it means she's still in her towel and lotioning up.  I call her out on it while struggling into my socks and she swears that she's 'just about to leave girl!'.  Right, again, 'just about to...' anything is foreign for this chick.  I go 'mhmm' and disconnect after she informs me that she also has to stop to get gas.  *sigh*

 

4:32am - Zip out to the car to get it warmed up and again scowl at the darkness.

 

4:35am - Sitting on the sofa reading "50 Shades of Grey" thinking 'I can write better than this'...Hoping that my running car isn't an easy target for a thief who could possibly score big by snatching my Stella (yes, I have named my car and don't you judge me for it...like me, she too got her groove back when I bought her...or so I tell myself).

 

4:45am - Finally in car blissfully warm thanks to forethought to start Stella ahead of time. With a glum sigh I pull into the empty street and head to Dunkin's because there was no way I could even contemplate taking one more step without adequate amounts of caffeine in my system. 

 

5:00am:  After a stupidly long wait for my large coffee and chocolate glazed donut, I finally am back in the car and head off to Reston VA to the Election Protection Northern Virginia Command Center...and so begins the fun...

 

5:50am - 12:30pm:  Work work work, answer q's answer q's answer q's, follow-up follow-up follow-up, *pant pant pant*

 

12:30pm:  Wolf down food at alarming speeds and work.

 

...2:00pm:  more calls, more resolving complains, fighting exhaustion and an ear ache, eyeing CNN simultaneously trying to figure out what's going on around the country and chugging any caffeinated drink I can find.

 

If you want to know about what I'm doing, go here --->  www.electionprotection.com

 

There are 9 of us at the command center and after the last 2 elections (including the last big presidential election) where I was out in the cold and rain monitoring diligently, I deserve to be inside, warm and dry.  That being said though, if I had to be outside I would suck it up and do so with a smile and plenty of enthusiasm.   Anyhow, I was asked to come to my x-employers Reston office and I admit that it's a real nice spot (new too).  We are all sitting in a large conference room tables shoved together in a large "U" shaped formation with laptops all ready to go.  I was told 'bring a book just in case'.  Well let me tell you, I haven't even looked, glance, nor thought of that book (till now and that too because I'm writing about it).

 

Since walking in the door, we've been scrambling to answer calls as promptly as possible and respond to logged in requests for assistance.  We've had numerous issues with provisional ballots, people being turned away because they were not registered at the polling spot they thought they could vote at and plenty of military people who were unable to cast a provisional ballot even.  It's been a busy, busy morning and I can say I've barely had time to breath.  My girl C plonked down next to me and is talkin' my ear off, squishing into me whenever she can and complaining about how 'honggryyyyy' she is but thank god she's here...she's my partner in crime.  We're both fairly diligent in pouncing on issues popping up on to the screen so that we can resolve and move on.

 

Me and all our counterparts here have been constantly on the phone answering questions, reassuring distraught voters and soothing jangled nerves.   We are calling registrars offices, cheif polling officials and each other trying to resolve issues as fast as they're cropping up.  We're receiving information from the field regarding 1.5 - 3 hour minimum lines in all the counties here in NVa and it makes me so extremely proud of my American brethern. 

 

Young are helping old, able assisting disabled, people (where sometimes dissolving into impatience) for the most part are waiting with un-common patience to tend to their civic duty.  Sitting here answering questions, monitoring and trying to update my blog in-between as quick as possible, I can tell you that watching our democracy at work is truly a beautiful thing. 

 

Don't misunderstand me, I am not naive enough to think that this is a flawless system or that there are not folks out there even as I type this blog who are not forced to face unsavory very un-democratic incidents while simply trying to cast their vote and that this is happening not just here in Va but all over the country.  Yet, regardless of the examples here and there, it doesn't equal countries where people are physically threatened or simply barred from going to the polls, where if they voice their displeasure to their government it's almost looked upon as treason and punishable by death. 

 

No we don't live in that country, we live in one where yes you can in fact loath your present president and wish to god that the last few years hadn't happened (while sneering and spitting) or even love your president and dispise the man who is trying to wrangle the office away from him.  You can sit and shout from your rooftop how much you abhore the system, the politicians and the policies and not worry about being thrown into jail for these views. 

 

Right now as I'm closing in on on 4pm, exhausted, slightly blurry-eyed with my back aching so bad that I don't think I'll ever stand straight again, I look forward to yet still a rather long day.  I leave here armed with my phone in hand prepared to answer any questions that may be directed to me via cell while driving an hour back home to stand in a possible 2  hour line to vote and then go home to watch CNN till the results finally come in. 

 

 I'm contemplating injecting RedBull directly into my veins at this point =0/

 

 

Let's go back a few day: Boo to You

Due to this whole hurricane and natural disaster business, I think most of us forgot Halloween (well those of us living in the States at least) and let me just say, I LOVE HALLOWEEN.  Since I was a kid to adulthood, I just love, love, love it.  I don't care if it's a celebration of the devil, call me evil then because I j'adore it!

Maybe the reason I love this particular holiday so much is because of my childhood.  Yes, this is another childhood story so quit rollin' your eyes and asking yourself 'why me' cause at the end of the day YOU clicked the link.

As you know by now, I'm Muslim and grew up in a fairly liberal home (that is until recently but that's a whole other blog).  Traditional Muslim values ruled the roost in our parental units domain in the iron fist control of Ammu (mom).  Abbu (dad) wasn't as religious and as long as I could remember, he was pretty much about the most liberal human being on earth, determined to make life mostly about fun and more importantly, music.  My family was liberal enough to assimilate to living in this country but that didn't mean we were allowed to run amok and convert completely.  For instance, no shorts, no pork, no dating, no talking to boys (or for my brother, girls) and the list did go on.  For the most part these rules weren't hard to follow but there were some I struggled royally with, like wanting to celebrate Christmas as I mentioned before in a prior blog.  Halloween was another biggie for me.  As a super young child I suppose my mother didn't feel the need to even entertain this particular holiday and if she did, I certainly can't remember.  Not to say that she didn't pass out candy to the lil monsters who approached our homes but we just weren't apart of their clan, much to my distress.

I begged nearly every year for her to let me participate, that my dream to don on a pretty costume and go get candy from strangers wasn't reaching all that high really.  But she would have none of it, telling me that I would get used to disappointment through life (and then she would go get me and my bro a bag of chocolates to make it up to us...of course it did, I mean hey we were like in single digits back then).  But i was still plenty disgruntled and would complain on and on and on (seriously I don't know how she put up with me, i was such a supremely obnoxious child).  Finally though, I tore down her defenses enough to emotionally blackmail her into getting us costumes.  I think it was also partially that she wanted to just shut me up.  Oh well, anything in a storm right? 

Funny how I don't remember the costume but more so the experience of getting it.  I rushed home from school, lunch box clutched in one hand and my big school bag whacking me repeatedly on the back as I didn't walk, but ran home because nothing could hold me back.  No doubt, I was on a serious mission.  I had bragged to all my friends that day that I too would be choosing a costume.  I didn't care if any of them were impressed, it was the fact that I could actually say that fact and mean it.  Once home I bounced around my mother until she snapped that until I ate my dinner we weren't going anywhere.  Boy you never saw a kid eat so fast in your life.  Hoover had nothing on me that day. 

We finally made it to the local Toys-R-Us (I'm sad to say that very same Toys-R-Us has most recently been torn down and is being made into an Asian food market after all these years...really?  What the heck is wrong with this picture?  Where the fudgenuts do people take their kids for toy shopping anymore or is it now all online?  So wrong I tell you, so very incredibly wrong!) walking into what could only be complete Halloween nirvana.  Ghouls hung from the ceiling, scary witches propped in corners, all sorts of fun decorations lining the walls and the crowd was milling around all over the place.  i was so spell bound that my mother nearly had to haul me through everyone to get to the aisle where the costumes were.  Even back then glossy colorful pictures of costumes were tacked to a vast wall and you would chose according to some code.  I really can't remember again what I wore, I believe it was some princessy sort of contraption and my brother went for the superhero look but the one thing that was clear, I couldn't seem to make up my darn mind.  I kept pointing from one costume picture to another, practically bouncing in place while squealing "Ooooo that one! no no wait that one!  OMG THAT ONE!!!!" 

Ammu is nothing if not efficient and after enough of this nonsense she put her foot down, told me to pick something or we would leave empty handed and that was pretty much it.  I made my decision, we ordered the costume (which seemed to take forever to come out to us because the pimply skinned kid working there seemed so over it and had no sense of urgency at all) and once my hands wrapped around the plastic bag, I wasn't going to let go. 

Most of the details post purchasing the costume are fuzzy to me but a few things are still as clear as yesterday...1.)  I slept with the costume next to me in bed, 2.)  I would put it on every single day after coming home from school worried that may be I had grown out of it 3.) I was totally and utterly in love with that silly thing and had finally felt as if I was apart of the 'real' and 'normal' world.  Oh gosh, childhood truly was so simple. 

Anyhow, everything was going fairly smoothly for me.  Not only did I have a cute costume, but I also could participate in the Halloween parade.  In prior years I had been allowed to walk with the other kids even if I was in jeans and a shirt :|  That year would be different and it was!  i wore my outfit with pride, earning impressed looks from my friends and coo-ing comments from the teachers about how precious I looked.  Darn it I really wish I remembered precisely what I wore.  Oh well...

That night I ran home mentally prepared for my first trick or treating.  Dinner was especially hard to choke down but I did it and finally it was time.  I stood at the door with a bag in hand ready to go.  my mother was on the sofa watching television completely ignoring me. 

I finally said 'can we go now?' 

She looked up and responded in a slightly confused voice, 'what?  Where are we going?'

'Ammuuuuuuu, trick or treating!'  (I mentally threw in a 'duh' but had I said it out loud I would have gotten a tanning)

'What?  When did I say we would do that?  Stop being crazy and sit down.  You know you're not allowed to go trick or treating.'  She turned back to the television without a second look. 

I stood staring at her open-mouthed for more than several moments, completely unprepared for that response.  I looked at my brother and honestly he didn't seem in the least bothered.  he just gave me one of those horrid older brother shrugs and went back to watching whatever it was the rest of the family was.  I wanted to throw an epic fit, wanted to scream and shout out how unfair the situation was, how that finally my dreams were in reaching distance yet completely and utterly unattainable.  But I didn't.  Instead, I sat my butt down and sulked, blinking back tears of sorrow.  Shortly thereafter our doorbell bing-bonged and I ran to throw it open and greet about 10 kids in varying costumes.  My mother gave me the basket full of chocolate and gently pushed me in their direction instructing me to give them one a piece (they were full sized chocolate bars).

This was an honor indeed for only my mother passed out the treats.  As I doled out the Hershey and Snickers bars, I received compliments on my own outfit and was thanked roundly for the goodies.  This went on all evening, me constantly at the door greeting kids and giving out candy until finally, exhausted I announced that we were out.  The front porch light went off, the door closed and I finally sat down with a satisfied smile, having forgotten completely about the fact that I had been unable to actually go trick or treating myself. 

Somehow, and I have to admire her for it, my mother managed to make Halloween a part of us without making us a part of it.  Does that make sense?  She had in her own way let me enjoy the holiday without compromising her own rules.  She did so with a firmness that I (now) admire without alienating us from the society we were so clearly a part of. 

I can tell you this much, as teenagers, she finally relented in letting us go out on Halloween night to beg for candy (I mean seriously that's what it is, isn't it?), to the local school fair or parties.  It wasn't because she was suddenly embracing Halloween but because we were older and had her teachings instilled within us firmly.  We knew what Halloween was all about and were responsible enough to comprehend that it was most certainly not apart of our religion.  May be at that very young and tender age, my mom feared a sort of Americanized brainwashing but as we grew, she was more assured of the people we turned into.

Now as an adult I still very much embrace the spirit of Halloween.  In years past I have taken the time to be outside on cool fall days to carefully stretch out cobwebs over the bushes edging my front walk, have thrust cracked tombstones oozing blood into the ground, even stuffed old clothes and propped a pitchfork next to it on a chair on my front porch.  There have been lighted skeletons hanging from hooks swinging in the wind and a zombie clawing it's way out of the ground slightly enshrouded in mist.  There has even been a screaming skull that pours blood down it's face as you approach to ring the door bell.  It is about the scariest blood-curdling scream one can hear for miles around.  And much to my delight people had come from all over the neighborhood to take a look at my handiwork.  On the night itself I have enthusiastically donned a witches hat to hand out candy gleefully, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the little ghouls, super heroes, princesses and whatnot.  Nothing beats hearing a round of 'Happy Halloween!' ringing through the dark clear night as the kids eagerly come to claim their treat. 

It's been a few years though since I've made that sort of effort.  First it was moving homes and I had misplaced the box of decorations, then after that it was work pressure that kept me from really going to town on a house that was just crying out for a couple of eerie looking ghosts, and after that...well Muslim holidays.  My mother would be proud to know (if she ever was curious) that the real reason I never put up all my decorations has been because I respected my own religious holiday and therefore refrained.  This year, a certain hurricane kept me indoors and my beloved possessions safe.  See those lessons of childhoods were well learned and those fears she had, were baseless after all.

Anyhow, I must comment here that this year when I clicked onto facebook I spotted so many of my friends posting pictures of their lil ones in get-ups and costumes and I admit I felt so very...happy.  Not only did I just simply enjoy seeing the kids all made up (and in some cases the mothers and fathers) but also, for many of these people who I knew came from fairly strict Muslim families themselves, I appreciated that they were embracing the occasion and indulging their kids.  I commend all you moms and dads for understanding that when you put more meaning into something then there truly is, that's often when one loses the very spirit of the occasion, an opportunity to share something that's just pure fun with your child, let them be for a moment one of their favorite characters and have a plethora of candy that overwhelms them into squeals of delight.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who probably can and would argue with me about the evils of this particular holiday (whether you be Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Jew, etc...) but please, try to understand where I'm coming from.  I remember so clearly the disappointment I suffered as that young child who sat inside her home unable to join the other kids roaming in big groups with parents clutching goofy looking plastic pumpkins.  I ask you to remember that if you are going to live here, bring your children up to be Americans while exposing your kids to such holidays yet you forbid that they can not be apart of it, please, at least take the time to think how you would have felt if you also had to take a step in their shoes.  In this way, your heart may melt a bit and you can glance into your child's smiling face and say to yourself "okay, so she/he has not joined a coven simply because he/she went to the neighbors place for a tootsie roll".