This bit has a lot in it, but it really caught my attention:
…when after so many long years of sterile illusions he had begun to glimpse that one doesn’t live, God damn it, he lives through, he survives, one learns too late that even the broadest and most useful of lives only reach the point of learning how to live, he had learned of his incapacity for love in the enigma of the palm of his mute hands and in the invisible code of the cards and he had tried to compensate for that infamous fate with the burning cultivation of the solitary vice of power, he had made himself victim of his own sect to be immolated on the flames of that infinite holocaust…
The part that really got me was “that even the broadest and most useful of lives only reach the point of learning how to live”. The other parts talk about what I had mentioned in a previous post, about how he tried to fill his life with power to overcome the feeling of something lacking.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
the saga continues
You thought this would be about Nobel Prize-winning literature, the saga of the Patriarch. But no, it is about something much less impressive, but I just can’t let it go. It’s about what those horrible people did to me at the airport.
I went into the KLM office here to change my reservation. And as she was giving my ticket back to me, I asked her if everything was ok because I had a lot of trouble on my way over. And she said to me- get this- feeling very Elaine in the doctor’s file episode- I know, there’s a note here about it!!
Oh my gosh! And then she gave me confirmation of my change of reservation, and it says on it: “due to own mistake psgr did not pay tkt” followed by “psgr not entitled to hotel psgr missed flight”!!!!
Oh, what I would like to do to them. But all I can do at this point is send in my three page typed (and I’m not talking about super wide margins either) complaint letter. And to say it was Northwest and KLM that did this to me. It may not mean anything, it may get me in trouble, but I have named the guilty parties. Beware because they might not only screw you over, but then they will use their power to put a note in your file that it was your fault, leaving you to cry in the airport, stuck and bored out of your mind, and marked forever. Or at least until your trip is over and they erase that information from their system. It doesn’t matter though- the damage has been done.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
book club session
This may be a good way to have a book club. Anyone who has comments- whether you have read the book or not- please speak! The book of the blog: The Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
In the end, I feel truly sorry for the dictator. For those of you who saw The Fog of War about McNamara (Fog of War), you may know what I mean. Although these guys were very different- the Patriarch being illiterate, a commoner, a general and McNamara being a sharp, well-educated, witty man- in the end, they both do horrible things to people on a large scale, and when you look inside, they are sad, old men.
This is a story on a more personal scale. There was a professor (let’s call him M.) in my department who was known to be quite the jerk- yelling at people when he felt like it, harassing the girls, just overall moody and arrogant. Once we had a visiting speaker, and M. invited us to his lab for lunch. They ordered pizzas, and he laid out a row of fruits and vegetables, which was apparently his customary lunch. And as everyone was talking, he would peel and cut the fruits and vegetables and offer them to the people next to him. He was in his older years at this point, and this gentle gesture, this fatherly gesture, it really got to me. And what finally did me in was watching him eat- chewing his food softly and slowly like an old man, his jaws moving side to side, softly grinding away, in no hurry. He ended up an old man, and his bitterness had faded, leaving his kindness more evident. And now whenever anyone brings him up in conversation, I come to his defense with this story.
The problem is, you know these guys can’t be pardoned just because they are- themselves- vulnerable and weak, just because sometimes they yell out at people to cover their fear or insecurities or whatever. They still are guilty for what they’ve done, but I guess this evil side comes from the same basic human fears that we all relate to. And in The Autumn of the Patriarch, you just feel with this guy who does crazy things for his mother and for his one love, this woman who taught him to read and eat properly at the table. And at the end, he dies alone- lonely and sad.
I could go on, but I guess here’s a good spot to stop. There will be more about this, I'm sure.
In the end, I feel truly sorry for the dictator. For those of you who saw The Fog of War about McNamara (Fog of War), you may know what I mean. Although these guys were very different- the Patriarch being illiterate, a commoner, a general and McNamara being a sharp, well-educated, witty man- in the end, they both do horrible things to people on a large scale, and when you look inside, they are sad, old men.
This is a story on a more personal scale. There was a professor (let’s call him M.) in my department who was known to be quite the jerk- yelling at people when he felt like it, harassing the girls, just overall moody and arrogant. Once we had a visiting speaker, and M. invited us to his lab for lunch. They ordered pizzas, and he laid out a row of fruits and vegetables, which was apparently his customary lunch. And as everyone was talking, he would peel and cut the fruits and vegetables and offer them to the people next to him. He was in his older years at this point, and this gentle gesture, this fatherly gesture, it really got to me. And what finally did me in was watching him eat- chewing his food softly and slowly like an old man, his jaws moving side to side, softly grinding away, in no hurry. He ended up an old man, and his bitterness had faded, leaving his kindness more evident. And now whenever anyone brings him up in conversation, I come to his defense with this story.
The problem is, you know these guys can’t be pardoned just because they are- themselves- vulnerable and weak, just because sometimes they yell out at people to cover their fear or insecurities or whatever. They still are guilty for what they’ve done, but I guess this evil side comes from the same basic human fears that we all relate to. And in The Autumn of the Patriarch, you just feel with this guy who does crazy things for his mother and for his one love, this woman who taught him to read and eat properly at the table. And at the end, he dies alone- lonely and sad.
I could go on, but I guess here’s a good spot to stop. There will be more about this, I'm sure.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
equal shares
Today, I started the day off right- brunch with a good friend of mine at this great place here called Blue Fig- a favorite. This friend happens to be single (only sharing this because it's an important point in the story), and she told me that a friend of hers, who had been divorced, recently got re-married. Her comment was-
She gets two guys and me none! What’s up with these people? They should leave some for the rest of us.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Partly because she was not upset at the luck, she was upset with those people- that they should accept two. Funny. What should they do- throw one back in and say - no, I've already had one?? Like those people who go fishing but throw the fish back. (Don't they think the trauma of having been caught may scar the fish for life?)
She gets two guys and me none! What’s up with these people? They should leave some for the rest of us.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Partly because she was not upset at the luck, she was upset with those people- that they should accept two. Funny. What should they do- throw one back in and say - no, I've already had one?? Like those people who go fishing but throw the fish back. (Don't they think the trauma of having been caught may scar the fish for life?)
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
the patriarch
Could be reading, but the book I'm reading, The Autumn of the Patriarch by Garcia Marquez, is not exactly the easiest read, ie not something you can read to pass the time, without too much energy, he writes in a style where he uses very little punctuation, and he uses almost a free-association kind of writing, but he doesn't just associate freely, he directs it, and you end up miles away from where you started, but you don't know exactly how you got there, because really there are no pauses, and a few pages take you forever because you run out of breath reading them, and when the chapter ends you take a long time out just to stop and orient yourself, because he creates a world that is remarkable, but so dense you need vacations from it to absorb it, an experiment for him, this book, that style, playing with language, seeing what it can do. Quite something.
Monday, January 16, 2006
a picture to warm your day
It was hailing here today. Pretty cold, so I thought about Hawai'i. And then decided to put up a picture, for all of you who are also dreaming about warm beaches and beautiful waters. Enjoy.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
oprah and the 5 million dollar lady
I was visiting my aunt, the tv was on, we saw Oprah interview this woman who got 5! million! dollars! as compensation for her husband's death in 9/11. Wow!! Some of you may have already heard about this because it was apparently in the papers, but I'm pretty out of the loop in general.
So, she spent it. She has this super fancy house with a half million dollar kitchen (surprisingly, after hearing how much some people's things cost, I guess this is not that extreme?), four thousand dollar designer purses, lots and lots and lots and lots of shoes, all sorts of great designer clothes, plastic surgery for herself (I think) and for people she knew and people she didn't (I think she paid for her manucurist to have something implanted), and on and on and on.
I do not have any comment on her spending the money- she says she was filling a void, but in the end, it didn't work. Oprah told her she understood her pain. Why do people think this is true? What I really wonder about is how the people who donated money to help the families feel. If you took money out of your account to help someone, how would you feel if they spent it on luxury items? Would it be alright if you felt that the person did what they could to deal with the situation into which they were so abruptly thrown? Would you consider giving the next time someone needed help?
She did give her mother-in-law 100,000 dollars. Is this adding insult to injury, I wonder?
Human behavior is fascinating indeed.
So, she spent it. She has this super fancy house with a half million dollar kitchen (surprisingly, after hearing how much some people's things cost, I guess this is not that extreme?), four thousand dollar designer purses, lots and lots and lots and lots of shoes, all sorts of great designer clothes, plastic surgery for herself (I think) and for people she knew and people she didn't (I think she paid for her manucurist to have something implanted), and on and on and on.
I do not have any comment on her spending the money- she says she was filling a void, but in the end, it didn't work. Oprah told her she understood her pain. Why do people think this is true? What I really wonder about is how the people who donated money to help the families feel. If you took money out of your account to help someone, how would you feel if they spent it on luxury items? Would it be alright if you felt that the person did what they could to deal with the situation into which they were so abruptly thrown? Would you consider giving the next time someone needed help?
She did give her mother-in-law 100,000 dollars. Is this adding insult to injury, I wonder?
Human behavior is fascinating indeed.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
the birth of a new blog is a beautiful thing
Check out Coco's blog at cocoquiroz.blogspot.com:
cocoquiroz.blospot.com
And notice his excellent, impressive use of the word "though".
He has entered the blogging world. And how colorful the world is- for some reason, a little like Charlie and Chocolate Factory- fluffy and dreamlike. Or is that how I feel just because I saw the movie on the plane on the way here. One of many, many movies. Nothing worth mentioning, really. And it could have been even more if they had shown any movie on the 5 hour trip from Amsterdam to Amman- instead, just a lot of Arabs talking, talking, talking, getting to know each other like they were borne from the same womb. Then, when the plane landed, pushing each other out of the way as though the first one off the plane would win the golden egg.
More anecdotes, you say? I'll have to think of a few more. I could tell stories of ridiculous things that people have said, but that wouldn't be nice, now, would it. And, as usual, my New Years' resolution is to be nice. I wonder if I drew a graph of nice-ness vs. time how it would come out. I need an outside observer to measure, I think. Any volunteers?
cocoquiroz.blospot.com
And notice his excellent, impressive use of the word "though".
He has entered the blogging world. And how colorful the world is- for some reason, a little like Charlie and Chocolate Factory- fluffy and dreamlike. Or is that how I feel just because I saw the movie on the plane on the way here. One of many, many movies. Nothing worth mentioning, really. And it could have been even more if they had shown any movie on the 5 hour trip from Amsterdam to Amman- instead, just a lot of Arabs talking, talking, talking, getting to know each other like they were borne from the same womb. Then, when the plane landed, pushing each other out of the way as though the first one off the plane would win the golden egg.
More anecdotes, you say? I'll have to think of a few more. I could tell stories of ridiculous things that people have said, but that wouldn't be nice, now, would it. And, as usual, my New Years' resolution is to be nice. I wonder if I drew a graph of nice-ness vs. time how it would come out. I need an outside observer to measure, I think. Any volunteers?
Friday, January 13, 2006
the blog world
I have been reading people's blogs- in particular this one from the sister of a friend (I was going to say this sister of a friend's blog, but I couldn't figure out where to put the 's). And she is a writer and provides links to blogs of her writer friends. And they are so entertaining and funny! Love them.
I guess I'm just wondering right now, as I figure this out, what do you do with the sad stuff? I mean, nobody wants to read about anything sad- otherwise you could open the paper or something. Guess you find the humorous anecdotes to share among the sadness (I've learned that much over the past 4 years).
So, here's one:
At the wake (the only sad part of the story- insert here instead an engagement party), people walk around and serve coffee. This is not the Turkish coffee we usually drink, nor is it the American coffee (as we call it) or the espresso, but something we call "plain coffee" that is served at large gatherings. With this, you walk around with four or five little round, handless coffee cups that are stacked up in each other and a thermos, and for each person, you pour them a little- it's enough for about 3 or 4 sips- and they take the cup off the top. And you move on to the person next to them.
One of my younger cousins had been doing this. She was brave enough to continue to do it even when this woman squawked at her- that much coffee! when she poured too much in the cup. How are you supposed to know this? Anyway, she walked up to someone, and it's really hard to balance all of those cups in your hand, and you are supposed to pour with your left and serve with your right, and so she poured, and held out the cups, but the way she was holding the cup, she had her finger on the top cup, and when the woman went to take the cup, she couldn't, so they sort of wrestled for it for a while, while from across the room I was trying to hold myself from laughing way out loud. After the wrestling match seemed to be getting nowhere, my cousin handed the woman the thermos, and there they stood, the guest with the thermos while my cousin, red with embarrassment and shame, humiliated at not knowing how to pour "plain coffee" properly, she held the cups.
This may be a you-had-to-be-there sort of story. But even now as I was writing it down I laughed out loud and ended up telling my dad the story. A few minutes later, he made another comment about it- he was still picturing how it went down, I guess. He said, you should have mediated, told them it was alright, tried to get them to make up.
hehe
I guess I'm just wondering right now, as I figure this out, what do you do with the sad stuff? I mean, nobody wants to read about anything sad- otherwise you could open the paper or something. Guess you find the humorous anecdotes to share among the sadness (I've learned that much over the past 4 years).
So, here's one:
At the wake (the only sad part of the story- insert here instead an engagement party), people walk around and serve coffee. This is not the Turkish coffee we usually drink, nor is it the American coffee (as we call it) or the espresso, but something we call "plain coffee" that is served at large gatherings. With this, you walk around with four or five little round, handless coffee cups that are stacked up in each other and a thermos, and for each person, you pour them a little- it's enough for about 3 or 4 sips- and they take the cup off the top. And you move on to the person next to them.
One of my younger cousins had been doing this. She was brave enough to continue to do it even when this woman squawked at her- that much coffee! when she poured too much in the cup. How are you supposed to know this? Anyway, she walked up to someone, and it's really hard to balance all of those cups in your hand, and you are supposed to pour with your left and serve with your right, and so she poured, and held out the cups, but the way she was holding the cup, she had her finger on the top cup, and when the woman went to take the cup, she couldn't, so they sort of wrestled for it for a while, while from across the room I was trying to hold myself from laughing way out loud. After the wrestling match seemed to be getting nowhere, my cousin handed the woman the thermos, and there they stood, the guest with the thermos while my cousin, red with embarrassment and shame, humiliated at not knowing how to pour "plain coffee" properly, she held the cups.
This may be a you-had-to-be-there sort of story. But even now as I was writing it down I laughed out loud and ended up telling my dad the story. A few minutes later, he made another comment about it- he was still picturing how it went down, I guess. He said, you should have mediated, told them it was alright, tried to get them to make up.
hehe
Thursday, January 12, 2006
a dream
My best friend here in Jordan sent me an email about a month ago. In her email, she told me about a dream she had had. The dream:
My mother was in a room, a small room. My friend and her mother were at the door, asking to come in, but my mother would not allow them to enter. She was folding someone’s clothes. And in the end, she gave my friend a sweater.
My friend awoke to the call of morning prayer- when the top of the sun, as it’s rising, breaks over the horizon. They say here that dreams at this time are special. Her mother told her that folding clothes means getting ready to welcome someone to your world. Whether you believe it or not, it's a good story. My friend has two toes that are fused together, not disconnected- for some reason this makes me think of her as having special powers. I don’t know what the sweater means.
My mother was in a room, a small room. My friend and her mother were at the door, asking to come in, but my mother would not allow them to enter. She was folding someone’s clothes. And in the end, she gave my friend a sweater.
My friend awoke to the call of morning prayer- when the top of the sun, as it’s rising, breaks over the horizon. They say here that dreams at this time are special. Her mother told her that folding clothes means getting ready to welcome someone to your world. Whether you believe it or not, it's a good story. My friend has two toes that are fused together, not disconnected- for some reason this makes me think of her as having special powers. I don’t know what the sweater means.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
the end of the road
This entry has no stories of the ridiculous, no stories of funny bathroom fixtures, no stories of frustration. It is purely sadness.
For those of you who know why I came to Jordan, you may have been expecting the latest news.
Two years and 1 month ago, my grandmother died. One year and 2 weeks later, her daughter, my mother passed away. One year and 2 weeks later, my mother's sister, my Aunt Sameera has, too, passed on. May they all rest in peace.
For those of you who know why I came to Jordan, you may have been expecting the latest news.
Two years and 1 month ago, my grandmother died. One year and 2 weeks later, her daughter, my mother passed away. One year and 2 weeks later, my mother's sister, my Aunt Sameera has, too, passed on. May they all rest in peace.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
photo update
I'm not going to say it (that I'm still here). Anyway, in the bathroom they had this machine, and I took a picture. Who would have thought that the airport bathrooms would be the inspiration for my pictures on the trip. Then again, after 30 hours in an airport, I guess you start to appeciate the details.
Anyway (sorry, I say this a lot), the machine was a tooth brush dispenser. I did not use it- no change and I luckily brought my own toothbrush and toothpaste (thanks, Akiko, it's from your wedding package). But it said ready to use, and something about toothpaste on it. Wonder how it comes out. I'll add it when I connect my computer- eventually.
Alright, that's it, folks.
Anyway (sorry, I say this a lot), the machine was a tooth brush dispenser. I did not use it- no change and I luckily brought my own toothbrush and toothpaste (thanks, Akiko, it's from your wedding package). But it said ready to use, and something about toothpaste on it. Wonder how it comes out. I'll add it when I connect my computer- eventually.
Alright, that's it, folks.
yes, still
Well, this may be getting ridiculous. But be glad I do not have my camera cord to download the pictures I've taken in the airport. OK, kidding- it is only one picture. It's pretty funny, too- the hand dryer in the bathroom has a sign on it saying "do not touch with wet hands- danger of electric shock" or something similar. Funny, really. Actually, that was in the airport in DC. Surprise, surprise! Signs everywhere in the US. Guess that's why that song was written- signs, signs, everywhere there's signs... by ?? but redone by ??
Anyway, had a good night's rest in the little hotel room in the airport- since I'm a prisoner (guess I should watch the Terminal now even though I'm sick to death of Tom Hanks) of the airport. After asking for an extra blanket and sleeping under two comforters and a blanket, I was able to warm up and go to sleep. The only interruptions were a very welcomed phone call followed by a second very welcomed phone call after the first connection died. And then my 8:30 wake up call since I had to be out of the room at 9AM (and I had to pay 100 euro for the place!). A bit early, no? Then a final phone call saying it's 9am- check out time. Ok, ok, already.
So, have been playing around with pictures, uploading my 150 pictures from Hawaii- not kidding- and that was after I went over and over them and got rid of a ton of them. Will put some on here likely- some of my favorites.
That's it for now. I'm sure there will be more (Inshallah).
Anyway, had a good night's rest in the little hotel room in the airport- since I'm a prisoner (guess I should watch the Terminal now even though I'm sick to death of Tom Hanks) of the airport. After asking for an extra blanket and sleeping under two comforters and a blanket, I was able to warm up and go to sleep. The only interruptions were a very welcomed phone call followed by a second very welcomed phone call after the first connection died. And then my 8:30 wake up call since I had to be out of the room at 9AM (and I had to pay 100 euro for the place!). A bit early, no? Then a final phone call saying it's 9am- check out time. Ok, ok, already.
So, have been playing around with pictures, uploading my 150 pictures from Hawaii- not kidding- and that was after I went over and over them and got rid of a ton of them. Will put some on here likely- some of my favorites.
That's it for now. I'm sure there will be more (Inshallah).
Saturday, January 07, 2006
believe it or not
Due to some stupid human error- not mine, I have to say- I am still, still, still in Amsterdam. And will be for another 20 hours more. Not allowed on the plane- the guy in DC forgot to charge my credit card and issue me a ticket. But he did manage to check in my bag, give me my two boarding passes, and wish me good trip. Bastard.
So, I am at a hotel room. I had to pay. The woman who was "helping" me was blaming me for not making sure he did it right when he checked me in. Words I can't say here. And then she was so crass as to say "we'll let you fly for free". Man oh man. I am too tired to even be upset at this point. I'm sure I'll bring it up again tomorrow. Stay tuned.
So, I am at a hotel room. I had to pay. The woman who was "helping" me was blaming me for not making sure he did it right when he checked me in. Words I can't say here. And then she was so crass as to say "we'll let you fly for free". Man oh man. I am too tired to even be upset at this point. I'm sure I'll bring it up again tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Amsterdam- still
I'm still here. How much exciting news can really come up during a 12 hour layover? Nothing exciting. Reading other blogs- one is great- sister of a friend. Realize that a lot of the stories are cute kid stories- discovering life and all that's around. I have my own- niece stories. Nothing sweeter or more fresh.
One phone call, then I think it's boarding time. Enjoying the bathrooms here - stalls with doors all the way down. Saw a guy in the bathroom cleaning while I was in there- he was not sure why I asked him if it was ok to use the bathroom. Nice and free. Like it.
Shaka
One phone call, then I think it's boarding time. Enjoying the bathrooms here - stalls with doors all the way down. Saw a guy in the bathroom cleaning while I was in there- he was not sure why I asked him if it was ok to use the bathroom. Nice and free. Like it.
Shaka
Amsterdam
I'm in the Amsterdam airport for many, many long hours. I got some work done, but overall I am feeling a little bored. I've coffee-ed myself out, and I have very little else to do, although now I feel sleepiness coming on. Of course it will happen right around the time I need to get to my plane so I will be worried I'll miss it. Hopefully not. I need a good night's sleep.
Quick story about Rawan from my sister. The girls learned "shake your booty" from their cousin (other side of the family!), and my sister tells it like this:
I turn my head, and I see Rawan's butt in front of my face. She is shaking it and singing "shake your booby". I laugh, not knowing whether I should correct her. But what kind of mother corrects her child to say "shake your booty"? Then again, she picked the worst mistake to make. So, I just laugh.
You've gotta laugh. And love it.
Quick story about Rawan from my sister. The girls learned "shake your booty" from their cousin (other side of the family!), and my sister tells it like this:
I turn my head, and I see Rawan's butt in front of my face. She is shaking it and singing "shake your booby". I laugh, not knowing whether I should correct her. But what kind of mother corrects her child to say "shake your booty"? Then again, she picked the worst mistake to make. So, I just laugh.
You've gotta laugh. And love it.
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