Pre-Day One: TP, LB, and I battened down our respective hatches, wove our way through the airport full of smarmy, cowboy-wannabe, black-hatted and booted Republicans (in town to celebrate their prez's inauguration), and beat the "Blizzard of '05" that blanketed the East Coast by a matter of hours. We flew over snowy hill and dale and even the Grand Canyon:



Five hours, two snooty flight attendants, and one middle row seat later, we arrived in LAX. It was such a warm day in sunny Cali that we walked from our arrival terminal to our departure terminal outside, shedding our coats and sweaters along the way. We took some perverse pleasure in reading the monitor's announcements that the DC airports were now completely shut down. After a bit of fretting over whether my parents would make the connecting flight (their flight to Cincinnati had been cancelled, the re-rerouted flight through Hotlanta had been delayed, and the United Airlines bozos at the ticket counter couldn't comprehend that someone could fly one airline and then connect onto another airline), we all had a happy family reunion in Terminal 7.

Another five hours, another middle seat, and one crappy movie later, we arrived in KON. It was such a gloriously warm night in tropical Hawaii that Dad and I almost walked to the rental car lot until we realized that walking over a mile away in the dark and on little-to-no-sleep was probably not a good idea. Hopped a shuttle bus to pick up the rental car, swung around and picked up the family and luggage, drove about 45 minutes through the night surrounded by black lava flows and palm trees, and checked into our rooms at the Hapuna Beach Prince Hotel resort. We were given cool, moist towels with which to wash some of the travel grime off of our faces and glasses of passion fruit juice with which to re-hydrate our desiccated bodies. Local time aside, my body screamed that it was 4:00 a.m. our time and well past my bedtime. So, as the waves crashed on the rocks outside, I crashed on the bed inside and sank into some sweet sweet sleep.

Next up: Dad wants to go to Honolulu but his idea is shot down.

Ahoy, mateys! We're back after a wonderful trip to the lovely, tropical "Big Island" where we had lots of fun (stood at the edge of a volcano (yes, it's dormant now, but still!), watched a plunging waterfall in the forest, and contemplated the ocean crashing against lava rocks and our toes), sat in the sun (every. single. day.), and spent a lot of mon (if by "we" you mean "dad"). When I woke up last time, this was the view that greeted me:



I was up and traveling for 32 straight hours and just woke up from a nap of12 straight hours and was greeted by this:



I miss Hawaii. :(

Travelogue and more pix comin' up.

TP and LB and I are leaving for Hawaii! Hot Kona coffee, hot volcanos, hot beaches under a hot sun. Woot woot! Y'all behave while we are gone. I'm off to search for buried monkey pirate treasure.

See ya, suckahs!

Hmmmm . . . highest sense of paranoia (x) tightest security ever for a presidential inauguration (+) hordes of area Muslims attempting to converge for Eid prayers (/) icy road conditions = __________. Yipes! Anyway, Eid Mubarak, y'all!

Guest Post Series: My Grandfather (post published here unbeknownst to him and via an e-mail to me)

When I was in Jeffersonville, two salespersons, a boy and a girl, visited our house [in Islamabad], congratulated [Aunty R] on having won a hi-tech camera in a lottery and sold her some washing powder. We had never participated in any lottery and anyway the "prize" was too "sophisticated" for anyone in the family to understand, so they kept it safely until my return. The other day I noticed the nice-looking heavy camera carrying case and on being told the story, opened it and tried to figure out how the contraption worked. The user's manual was a third-rate production that had crude sketches and diagrams which could not be located on the camera and there were mysterious gadgets on the camera which didn't find any mention in the manual! The camera was dead as the dodo, so I decided to carry out an autopsy, using only a screwdriver and hammer.

In the "morgue" lay the shattered bits and pieces of plastic, wires, toothed wheels, knobs, levers, switches, and other "hi-tech" stuff, but their total weight was only a few ounces, far less than what the manual specified. Yet the body felt heavy, so I pounded away with the heavy hammer to break it further to discover why it was so heavy. Lo and behold, inside each of the three "sinuses" of the camera, moulded and fitted skilfully, were chunks of solid pure lead (Pb). I intend melting them down into one chunk as a paper-weight.

It reminds me of a story I read when I was in school. A man bought a cat and instructed his servant to feed it one pound of meat daily. The servant complied faithfully but only for a week or so. One day the cat was heard meowing and meowing pitiably. The master ordered the servant to fetch a pair of scales.

"Did you feed the cat today?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"When and how much?"
"Ten minutes ago. One pound, Sir, just as you ordered."
"OK, the scale shows exactly one pound. That's the meat. Where's cat?"

The camera manual specifies its weight as 510 grams. The lead chunks alone weigh 510 grams. Where the devil's the camera?

Early Eid Mubarak, y'all!

Just finished The Time Traveler's Wife which I really enjoyed (some time traveling, a love story, some humor, some pathos, some good music discussions) but which I would not recommend to readers with delicate sensibilities (some juicy, racy stuff). It was kind of like Memento meets When Harry Meets Sally. Next up: What The Body Remembers by Shauna Singh Baldwin. The debut novel is about two women married to the same man and the drama swirling around all of the characters in the days of pre- and post-Partition. So far, so good. This excerpt is dedicated to everyone's favorite chooriyan-hound, Chai:

The bangle seller has entered the tunnel, waking Roop from her musing.

He carries two jute bundles, dingy brown, with the promise of sparkle inside. They oscillate from three ropes tied to each end of a long stick with its fulcrum on his shoulders, supporting the fragile hidden circles of bright coloured glass. Rolled tight under his arm, a reed prayer mat awaits his need to kneel before his Allah.

He rests his bundles on the floor of the tunnel and squats. With a practiced flourish, he unties the first bundle before Roop. Colour prisms splash, shoot and shimmer on the haveli's mud-plastered walls.

"Gujri!"

Gujri comes, wiping her hands on a corner of her chunni. Seeing the bangle seller, she returns with three small bruised bananas and lays them on the ground before him. "Give her a dozen bangles," she orders, then retuns to her rasoi. . . .

Vermillion reds, mustard golds, purples and green glass. Red glass, pink glass, glass that has passed through fire, melted, then spun down a wood cone to Roop's size, cooled, till it formed a hot skin that could bear the touch of a paintbrush tip, dotting it with gold, threading it with silver.

Such tinkling, shimmering fragility, doesn't she want a few?

(editor's note: In observance of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, the staff has been given the day off. Today's post is a republished post that originally appeared on Abez's blog this weekend as part of a blog-exchange program. The normal(ish) posts will begin again on Tuesday. Thank you.) *streches arms over head, heaves contented sigh, returns to curled up position on couch for nap*

How to mortally wound yourself around the kitchen - or -

the secret ingredient is blood!

1. Prepare a batch of cookie dough. Be sure to sample the ingredients before adding them to the mix: finger-swipe of melted butter, spoonful of brown sugar, cheekful of chocolate chips until said cheeks are bulging outrageously and you cannot deny the moniker "squirrel nutkins" as passersby shake their heads at you. Blend the ingredients well with an electric or old-timey hand mixer. Just before tossing the beaters into the sink, save time, water, and soap by licking the raw batter off of the metal strips. Scoff at the threats of Salmonellosis and attempt to clean off even the hard-to-reach inner curves of the beater. Pull a muscle in your tongue (possibly the styloglossus if not for the sheer enjoyment of saying "styloglossus") Cry out in pain. Pause. Continue licking the batter off with slower movements and care. Lesson the first: your tongue is not an acrobat.

2. Prepare rice. Assemble your materials by lining up the canister containing the basmati rice and the pot in which to cook the rice. Step back and enjoy your accomplishment thus far. Measure out 1 cup of rice. Rinse the rice out several times and offer mild curses when some grains escape with the runoff water. After rinsing, add 1 and a half cup of water to the rice and set it on the stove to boil over high heat. Add a chunk of butter and a pinch of salt. When the water is boiling rapidly, lower the heat to a simmer, cover the pot, and walk away. Set the timer for 10 minutes. While waiting for the timer to go off, clean up your workspace. Lift the canister containing the rice by its lid. Watch as the base separates from the lid in slow-motion. Wait for the canister to crush your toes and the rice to fly into your hair, your eyes, and possibly your lungs. Lesson the second: let someone else clean up the kitchen for you.

3. Prepare an apple. Wash the apple. Contemplate its beauty. Grab a knife. Recall how your mother would deride such crutches as a cutting board when chopping, slicing, and peeling a variety of fruits and vegetables. Attempt to emulate your mother. Grasp the apple with your left hand. Work the knife gently around the apple with your right hand to divide the apple in half. Put aside one half of the apple and begin to core the other half. When you are sure that you have a good and steady grip on the knife and apple, plunge the knife directly into your hand. Die. Lesson the third: you are not your momma.

Guest Post Series: Abez

Travelogue Bajiland: Day Three

Our third day in the Land of Baj was marked by sun, sand, and salamanders, all of which were present in our hotel room left of the Arc de Triomphe and right of the Basket du Sock. The salamanders, a rare indigenous breed whose taste remotely resembled gelato, earned a C+ for their crunchiness and slightly puckish taste.

The Salamander was a C+

After packing up and checking out, we tarried south towards a charming little cafe on the Coastu Coast that smelled slightly of the sea and strongly of the weed. It reminded me of the creepy little joint in that old movie that no one but myself has seen, Sea-Dive, which starred Johnny Obscure and Jill Oblivion. As I sat there eating crepes and drinking cappuccino, I couldn't help but think of the quote that captured the very essence of the film; "Tartar sauce, the fish that doesn't swim."

Having finished breakfast, Mothra (my travelling companion) and I went in search of a copy of a Washington Post. No other magazine would do, because only the Washington Post allows me to paste links that other people cannot read because they're not subscribers. After visiting a few overpriced shops for tourists, we asked a man who appeared to be local (he was sleeping on a bench) where we could find the 'real' shopping area. My French isn't too good, but I did understand the instructions to a land where the sun didn't shine. We thanked him and went on our way.

We walked along the Boulevard de Boullion for what felt like millions of miles until we realized we were lost and the soles of my hush puppies were yelping for mercy. Mothra thought we needed a rest, and from my place on the ground underneath of a mailbox, I had to agree. We popped into another little cafe for coffee and the house speciality, a mysterious looking blob of brown stuff on toast that the waiter assured me was vegetarian. Or Sumerian. Or valerian. It turned out to be valerian; the root. Quite disgusting. Very much not like gelato. Not even like salamander. D-.

The Boulevard de Boullion

We eventually gave up for the day and Mothra hailed a cab with his index finger extended in the air. Had we known that this was a culturally rude gesture, we might have hailed the cab differently, but at the time we could only wonder why cabs would drive up and then pass dangerously within inches of us before speeding away. We made it back to the hotel, seven hours later, and fell exhaustedly onto the furniture. It had been a long and exciting day, although we never did find a copy of the Washington Post.

The Washington Post's Style Invitational asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are some gems:

• Bozone (n): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
• Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
• Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
• Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
• Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come very quickly.
• Beelzebug (n): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

Abez and I are working on creating a new dictionary with such fantabulous entries such as:

• Beardage (n): Lower facial hair. Used in conjunction with "sporting" (i.e. "that mullah is sporting some major beardage.")
• Blurker (n): One who visits a blog but does not comment upon it and/or maintain one's own. (psst - we still love you, you cute little blurkers!)
• Bowpit (n): The inner side of the elbow (derived from a variation of "armpit" while Gojira and I were sweating and zoned out in a park in Dublin).
• Busticated (which I recently learned is an actual word but will get high honors as a fake word nonetheless).

And those are just the "B"s! Any contributions?

As an apology for tampering with my bank account and switching my social security number with that of another "icubaji" who lives in Virginia and doesn't even have an account with them anymore but for some reason they have her SSN linked to my account and prevented me from accessing my account on-line (and for previously screwing up last year with the same account mix-up so that my checks were sent back for insufficient funds because her account had zero moolah in it) which meant I had to go to the bank in person and talk to no less than three people to straighten it out, I got this:



Apology accepted. But next time (and I sincerely hope there is not a next time) just remember that I'm more of a daisy girl than a carnation girl. Jackholes.

Three days until Counter-Inaugural kicks off its week-long events including poetry readings, student walkouts, and Underground Hip Hop and MC Battle Against the Inauguration and the War.


One week until the feds are going to close about 100 square blocks of downtown DC for Inauguration Day and to restrict traffic on another 100 square blocks.


One week and a day until Turn Your Back On Bush demonstrators will protest by literally turning their backs on Bush as he coasts by on his route to the White House. A.N.S.W.E.R. will be demonstrating on the north side of the parade route. D.C. Anti-War Network will hold their rally at 9 a.m. and will be joined by the Women's March and Funeral Procession (New Orleans jazz style) in the afternoon. CodePink and Billionaires For Bush will host a Black Tie and Boots Inaugural Ball the night before and then return in full force the next day when they will auction off Social Security at 10:30 a.m. and host another ball that night. ReDefeatBush will be holding "the world's first CounterInaugural Ball" that night.

For all of you out-of-towners, you can join in on the festivities/mourning as well! In case you are wondering where I'll be after a full day of activities listed above, perhaps you can find me here, at the NOT MY PRESIDENT! Punk Rock Counter-Inaugural Ball, rocking my broken little heart out.

Now, I love robots as much as the next person. Maybe even more so. But $138 for a Prada Robot Trick Keychain?


Eesh. However, since it IS Marlene's birthday, let's all sing for her and pitch in and get her this similarly priced but perhaps more to her liking keychain. Happy Birthday, Marlene!

Public Service Annoucement:
Dannon's Raspberries 'N Cream, Light 'n Fit, Carb Control Yogurt.
Barftastic.
What was I thinking, you ask?
It was on sale.
Now I know why.

This message was brought to you by your friendly neighborhood tastebuds.

In the never-ending appreciation for free stuff, we visited the Freer Gallery of Art (part of the Smithsonian Museum complex) to attend a screening of the first in a series of films shown for the Iranian Film Festival of 2005 (one of TP's joys in life). We were supposed to see The Unfinished Story, a facty/fictiony film about two documentary filmmakers attempting to make a film about Iranian smugglers and their clients who run into the real deal and help them by pretending they are actors performing in a film. Alas, the reel was languishing in Brazilian Customs.

The replacement film we saw, The Canary, is an Iranian film set in Palestine. This film is about a young boy who is entrusted with the care of the local priest's canary and who tries to protect the canary from loud noises, local bullies, and the war itself (not an easy task in rat-a-tat, constant bombs and bullets, Palestine). Iranian filmmakers seem to enjoy creating stories through the eyes of children (see The White Balloon and The Color of Paradise), but do so by exploring tragedy and humor with sensitivity and subtlety. Not so much with this film. The heavy-handed portrayal of the freedom fighters and the faceless Israeli military was jarring and disturbing which, perhaps, was the director's intention. Next up: The First Letter.

I just ate an entire avacado by myself. Granted, I made it into guacamole first. Then, I spread some of it on a slice of toasted rosemary sourdough bread. Tasty. Then, I did it again. Yummy. Then, there was only a little bit left anyway, so I finished it off. You know, to save room in the fridge. Yep. That's why.




Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?

Just finished reading The Kite Runner (tragic, painful, not recommended bedtime reading unless you want nightmares) and Insomnia (typical Stephen King fare that was less nightmarish than The Kite Runner). Next up: The Time Traveler's Wife (upstairs) and Monkeybicycle (downstairs). But first, going to see In Good Company which has been reviewed as being "sappy, underachieving and weak plot" but which I'm seeing for free and y'all know how I feel about free. In other news, someone warn Yasminay not to behave like this guy if she doesn't get her french fries.

*whisper* shhh. HB is asleep. quick bullet point post before she wakes up.

• The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou was not as good as the other Wes Anderson flix (prolly b/c Owen didn't co-write) but Willem Dafoe's character cracked me up.
• Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter... and Spring was a visually entertaining art film (watching the seasons of man and nature pass by on a little house in the middle of a lake) and with only about 40 lines of dialogue through the entire movie, it was easy to FF a lot. Here's upyernoz's take on it.
• Fort DeRussy is best visited any time of the year as I have yet to see a single other person visiting it when I go there.
• A long walk through Arlington Cemetery is an excellent way to burn off multiple pounds of butter inhaled at Udupi. Mmmmmm. All you can eat holiday buffet . . .
• Getting into fights with belligerent strangers over coveted parking spaces is a wonderful introduction to city living.
• The brand new National Museum of the American Indian: meh. I did like the colorfully beaded Chucks though.

Happy New Year, y'all! And Happy Birthday, Bloggie! And Happy Sixty Degrees In January, DCites!

Since I'm too busy entertaining one cousin (it's hard work sitting on the couch under a blankie, eating a tub of MnMs, and watching "Anchorman"), another cousin has come to my rescue and will guestblog today. Enjoy!

I gave "The Known World" to the book courier (aka your mom) today. Cheap-ass me won't pay for shipping when I know bloody well that you guys are meeting up for a vacation in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, thousands of miles away. But it's just one book... (please notice the sarcasm between those lines).

Pakistanis do it all the time. We brought back dupattas, shalwars, and all kinds of easily mailable stuff from Pakistan. Now jewelry I can understand, as it's pricey and the whole mail insurance thing doesn't really work in Pakistan. But a voluminous bag of plastic kulfi containers? Honestly. There really was a gentleman in Pakistan who showed up at my Khala's house to give my mom a bag of plastic kulfi containers. I had already explained to this guy on the phone that we had too much stuff - we already had an extra bag, AND my mom was traveling by herself back to the States - only to have him drive over with a bag of flipping kulfi containers! And for all the offers of "it's okay; I'll pay you for it" who really wants to say,"sure, I'll lug your kulfi containers across the globe; just give me1800 rupees."

I was out when this meeting went down, but my mom was resolute and politely turned this guy and his kulfi containers away! I'm so proud of her. Chalk one up for tact and good old fashioned common sense. So by me sending a book with your parents, I'm doing the exact same thing! Oh man, I'm so Pakistani. Please excuse me while I go retire to the couch, tuck up my feet, wrap a blanket around myself, and make the "ssssssss"inhale-through-the-teeth-sound while saying it's cold. I'll have a Pakistani accent in two years... you can be sure of that. Of course, I'm really not anti-Pakistani. Indeed this guy's actions had more to do with his age and tact than his ethnicity. It's just that he happens to be Pakistani. While I was there, I really did meet so many extraordinarily polite, accomodating people. It really is a hospitable place. But every now and then, you'll get a guy like that, and he just warrants a funny story...

Ahoy, me bloggers and blurkers! Me blog is turning one this weekend (aw, she's learning how to share her toys and walk by holding on to a table!). As a gift, me beauty Abez, First Mate Extraordinaire, designed a new template worthy of many chests of robot monkey pirate booty. So put yer hooks together and give her a hand or I'll keel haul ye and shove ye into Davy Jones's Locker. Arrr.

Batten down the hatches, swab the deck, hide the snax! H-Biddy sighted off the starboard bow!

Yay, despite the dioxin poisoning, Viktor Yushchenko is leading the Ukrainian presidential election! Poor guy. Look at him! And speaking of elections, y'all get out your mice and elect Yaz's blog for the Asia Blog Awards 2004's "Best Pakistan Blog" (even though *shhhh* she is a Cali girl). I've submitted my vote for the day (one vote per day until 12/31) and now, after driving eight hours through the back roads of North Carolina and Virginia and passing untold amount of roadkill, shuddering at each bright red yet smiling piggy faces advertising the ubiquitous BBQ pits, and deliberately slowing down when roadrage Billy Jacks ride my tail, I'm going to sleep.

[update now that I'm awakish: vote for Abez for Best Blogs in Asia! Now, someone give me the link for voting for Owl and we'll be all set for the election season.]

Hulk been charged with notifying you that Baji gone to Nawth Carolyyynah. Hulk thought he try hand (big and green as it is ha ha) at being blogguest for her until she come back. Hulk mighty hunger distracting Hulk but first Hulk must comment on something. Hulk think. Oh.

Hulk note that it that time of year when people make amends for past, make resolutions for future, and . . . make lists! Some lists are stupid and make Hulk want to SMASH! What wrong with kids today? Honestly! Some not so shabby *Hulk adjust bifocal glasses on Hulk pert nose*. Some very handy with links to other lists. What on your Top Seven List of 2004?

Homemade oatmeal cookies calling Hulk now so Hulk gotta go. Happy (early) Birthday, Baji's Dad! Hulk love you.

Just finished Persepolis 2 by Marjane Satrapi. While the book is not as powerful or compelling as the first, it was interesting to follow her trials and tribulations as a (now) teenager studying in Vienna and struggling to maintain her identity (as an Iranian revolutionist) and still fit in (as a drug-dealer girlfriend trying to be cool). I liked the original story much better and found this to be fraught with cliches. Yes, she is being brutally honest in giving us the raw truth of her youth-on-the-verge-of-adulthood, but so much of it comes off as whining and selfish that I am left unmoved and annoyed. Still, as memoirs go, this one is insightful and intimate enough to sate the eavesdropper in me. Grade: B.

Next up (upon the lavish praise and suggestion of Anju and Sarah): The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Right after I watch Napoleon Dynamite, now out on dee-wee-dee.

Things I learned this weekend:

If the burly guy who fixes your porch offers to help you slide your antique desser out of the car, politely decline before he gets his meaty hands on one side and scratches the veneer right off of the front corner of it and creates a dime-sized dent on the other corner.

If you want to remove a dent from wooden furniture, you can dip a small rag or towel or wad of cotton in water (damp but not dripping), hold it on the the dent and apply heat from the tip of a hot iron for several seconds. The dent is caused by the cells of the wood being smooshed and the steam from the water and heat will puff them out again. Repeat until dent is gone. Science is fun!

Toasted everything bagels with various toppings and several cups of coffee are excellent snacks on a cold, drizzly Sisters' Sunday.

I distractedly watched about 2/3rds of Jean-Luc Goddard's Breathless before I realized I had already seen it. Meh.

An Indiana University student tossed a guinea pig tied to a makeshift parachute out of an eighth-floor dormitory this weekend.

Winter is now upon us, giving us black ice, school closings, and below freezing wind chill factors. I hate winter. I miss summer.

The weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

And since we've no place to go

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Well, it doesn't show signs of stopping

But we've got some corn for popping

And the lights are turned way down low

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Just finished David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim which gave me a couple of chuckles but not as many as when I read Me Talk Pretty One Day which split my sides and made me gasp with laughter. And since 'tis the season, I am reminded of Sedaris' diary detailing his experiences working as an elf in Macy's SantaLand in New York City. My favorite exerpt:

We were packed today, absolutely packed, and everyone was cranky. Once the line gets long we break it up into four different lines because no one in their right mind would stay if they knew it would take over two hours to see Santa. You can see a movie in two hours. Standing in a two-hour line makes people worry that they're not living in a democratic nation. They go over the edge. I was sent into the hallway to direct the second phase of the line. The hallway was packed with people and all of them seemed to stop me with a question: which way to the down escalator, which way to the elevator, the Patio Restaurant, gift wrap, the women's rest room, Trim-a-Tree. There was a line for Santa and a line for the women's bathroom, and one woman, after asking me a thousand questions already, asked, "Which is the line for the women's bathroom?" I shouted that I thought it was the line with all the women in it.

She said, "I'm going to have you fired."

I had two people say that to me today: "I'm going to have you fired." Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume. It doesn't get any worse than this. Who do these people think they are? I want to lean over and say, "I'm going to have you killed. "

To listen to the tale, click hyah. For you "readers," click hyah.

Thx to LamissesPieces for being a lovely blogguest. Let's all give her a hand, folks!

so I ve now added hacking ( not really but it makes for more excitement) to my list of activities post-d.c.

Yes SUPPLIES! this is LAR aka lamushy, lamisil, lasheesha, labaksheesha er whatever u will signing in! its good to be back u know I cant complain...i narrowly escaped the thermals-plus-eight-layers-of-clothing-plus-winter-coat season out there, was welcomed back to CA by Bean, Yaz and PPP- who successfully completed her term Yeuuuhh bwooy- and the rest of the clan should be done by this weekend? inshaAllah! and u can say it s back to the basics, fake sushi ( CA rolls) Tigers' Yogurt, kickin it with friends and blurking ( I really got hooked in dc tho) Forget real work, people in the nation's capital don't know how to relaaax , except for baji the chillest realist person out there mashaAllah, I ve had the pleasure of meeting the fam, even the crazy cousins and adopted chilluns online! Unforgettable...

Highlights: Cornel West at Olsen's, working with A an elder Palestinian who volunteered at my organization, B, my kinda person from so-cal (this a crazy sista) and Miz Nuri, mobility across DC/MD/VA fanks to the wonderful Metro...now what do I do? okayy I'll work on it..., Philly, TBM samitches at Cosi's ( is that only in DC? I won't survive), the crazy weekend where some friends visited and we wisited all the monuments, I m glad they came cuz otherwise its very likely I would have come back to CA without having even seen the White House which was like 6 blocks away from what i stayed...what can I say i m too cool to do the touristy stuff ;P, dinner at Alero's with Baj, TP, LB, Najm, iftar with the gang at the old flat, HU homecoming concert, election night. or not, getting care packages, meeting extended fam for the first time, and all kinds of people from the motherland hehe and a tete a tete with baji b4 I left... alhamdulillah

YO ShoUt OuT to my calis and of course baj, lil baj, giggles, tp for the last minute interview, chai, tahaha, Yamin, Yaseen, 1009, erni, sylvie, lupitita ok buhbye

HAHA

Peace&Love

Just finished Persepolis : The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi. The graphic novella was funny, educational, poignant, and I just wish they taught history via these kinds of memoirs. The narrator, as her 10 year old self, tells her tale of growing up in Iran before and during the Islamic Revolution. I read the book and savored the simple black and white graphics in one sitting. Some parts were hilarious, some parts were gruesome, all parts were fascinating. Grade: A.

In other news: MouseWatch 2004. Thanks to the internets, I learned that although mice do love peanut butter (our bait of choice), they are so light and clever that the traps do not even register their weight as they lick the trigger clean and then go and play videogames and laugh at you. The key is to make them work for the bait, to use some effort and strength, and the resulting pulling and struggling sets off the trap. So with the delicacy of a surgeon, I tied some cheese to one trap and set it. And with the brutishness of Lenny Small, TP smashed some cheese into another trap and set it.

SNAP!

TP: 2 Meece: 0

United Nations on Crack Mix CD for Yaz, LAR, and PPP (but Najm stole PPP's copy).

1. Jaan Pehechaan Ho - Mohammed Rafi (Punjab)
2. Aicha - Cheb Khalid (Algeria/France)
3. Girl from Ipanema - Frank Sinatra and Antonio Jobim (US and Brazil)
4. Dur Dur d'Etre Bebe - Jordy (France)
5. Daydream Believe - Shonen Knife (Japanese band in Engrish)
6. Welcome to India - MC Vikram and Luda Krishna (India via US)
7. Si Senor - Control Machete (Mexico)
8. First in the Gang to Die - Morrisey (England)
9. Jing Jing (Firefly) - Shoukichi Kina (Japanese band in Japanese)
10. Isolda - Cesaria Evora (Cape Verde)
11. Chan Chan - Buena Vista Social Club (Cuba)
12. Darts of Pleasure - Franz Ferdinand (Scootland, blast yer eyes!)
13. Dynamite - Junior Senior (Denmark)
14. United States of Whatever - Liam Lynch (US, just to tie it all up; meant to put the Sifl and Olly version though)
15. California Love - Tupac (represe'in Cali)
16. Suggestion - Fugazi (represe'in DC)

STUPID MICE! First, one disturbs me while I try to brush my teeth. Last night, I spotted it under the grate and then TP trapped it. Under his shoe. When he lifted his "mouse-stomper" (as his shoes will henceforth be known as) to grab the mouse with a garden glove to release it outside, the mouse was stunned and unmoving (TP insists it was dead), and was easy to pick up and lay outside on the grass. Today, I was cooking and I heard some suspicious rattling in the pantry. I swiftly opened up the door and there was ANOTHER MOUSE playing around with the pasta! He smirked at me and disappeared. And then, adding insult to injury, I see that he has been nibbling at my chocolate that I JUST GOT! Rassin' frassin' low-down, yeller-bellied, son-of-a-motherless-goat, AARRGHH!!!!

Poll: which is worse - mice or cockroaches? TP and LB are of the (ludicrous) opinion that roaches are worse b/c they are filthy and ugly whereas mice are kinda cute. I feel that mice are worse b/c they are harder to kill, can bite you, and leave little black rolls of presents here and there. How do you vote?

Mix of tunes for my dad (and, apparently, KK)!

Soundtrack to "Cold Mountain"
Soundtrack to "Buena Vista Social Club"
Aimee Mann - Save Me
Beatles - Her Majesty, Dear Prudence, Golden Slumbers, Blackbird
Beck - Tropicalia
Billy Bragg - The Short Answer, The Price I Pay
Call + Response - Rollerskate
Cat Power - Free
Cesaria Evora - Vos d'amor, Tchintchirote
Cheb Khalid - Aisha
Bobby Darin - Somewhere Beyond the Sea
Bobby McFerrin - Don't Worry Be Happy
Bonnie Prince Billy - The Way
Eels - Fresh Feeling, I Like Birds, Woman Driving Man Sleeping
Elvis Presley/ Stevie Wonder/ Dolly Parton - take yr pick
Geggy Tah - Driving in My Car
James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Billie Holiday - take yr pick
Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah, Last Goodbye
Jimi Hendrix - Hey Joe
John Coltrane/Miles Davis/ Louis Armstrong/ Django Reinhardt - take yr pick
Helium - Leon's Space Song
Katrina and the Waves - I'm Walking on Sunshine
Moby - Natural Blues
Nina Simone - I Want a Little Sugar In My Bowl
Ray Charles - Georgia on my Mind
Nora Jones - Come Away With Me, Don't Know Why
Frank Sinatra - Fly Me to the Moon
Kinks - Nothing in the World Can Stop Me Worrying 'Bout That Girl
Elliot Smith - Needle in the Hay
Nick Drake - The Fly, Pink Moon
Velvet Underground - Sweet Jane, Oh, Sweet Nothing
Tina Turner - Proud Mary
Sarah McLachlan - Full of Grace
Creedance Clearwater Revival - Susie Q, Bad Moon Rising
Chuck Berry/ Buddy Holly/ Johnny Cash/ Cat Stevens-Yusaf Islam -take yr pick
Ween - Loop de Loop

Last night was the first Friday night that TP and I had no city to fly to, no boxes to move (actually, the boxes still need moving but they are not in the urgent pile), and no home improvement projects that demanded our immediate attention. So, how did we go wild and tear up the city? We hit our local bookstore, Politics & Prose. Although we carressed about 30% of the books on the shelves, we left with only two books in our hands: Persepolis : The Story of a Childhood and McSweeney's Quarterly Concern Issue 13. Nevermind that I still have a chunky third of the final volume of the Dark Tower series to complete. Nor that I have my own tower of books to consume before they topple and crush some unsuspecting bystander's toes. I can't help it. I heart books. I really really heart books. Anne Fadiman's collection of essays in Ex Libris : Confessions of a Common Reader gives an accurate account of what it's like to be a bibliophile. So, tell me, my little bookworms, what are you reading these days?

I (webcam) met Abez's and Owl's Abu today! Here's a picture of him!

Let's see.

I was so sleepy this morning that I forgot to put water in for the coffee and burned the coffee grounds, stunk up the joint, and completely ruined my little Bialetti.

Then, with the help of my parents, I had to disassemble my old futon, move my dresser, and shift over all sorts of knick knacks to make room for my new bed, nightstand, and dresser.

While I fretted over the delivery time (call ahead with a four hour window my arse), the guy fixing my porch took the front door completely off of the hinges and started sanding it before I knew what was going on while I was running around the back door to make sure the bulky bulk pick-up guys would pick up our old (heavy, naily, dusty) stuff that we lugged out of the attic last night. (Thanks to Dad's sweet-talking, they took everything even though the rules are only seven items per pick up).

We dodged traffic up to Silver Spring to meet LB for lunch and dodged some more traffic back down to DC in the rain.

We spent two hours assembling the new bed and nightstand, dragged my parents' 60 pound suitcase down the stairs, tiptoed over the running primer that had washed away from the porch steps and into the grass and sidewalk, and got in the car.

We took about two hours in stop-and-stop traffic to the airport (normal commute time during non-rush-hour, non-rain-hour, non-broken-down-vehicle-on-the-highway-hour is 20 minutes) and arrived at the counter only to find out that United screwed up their tix, the suitcase was 10 pounds overweight, and that the flight was closed now anyway.

Drove back into DC to get something nutritious and fast and then tried to go to the hardware store next-door to replace our stolen drill only to find out the store was closed. The humidity gave me mujahideen hair, fogged up my windows so that driving was difficult, and the rain just would not stop.

I just got home and I still have to arrange stuff, perform amazing feats of acrobatics to get from one room to another without tripping, bashing my head in, or otherwise doing myself severe bodily harm, and go to sleep so I can wake up at 6:30 tomorrow to make another airport run. I just knocked down a partially-filled humidifier and soaked the carpet and my sox. And to cap off the evening, a little mouse decided to join me in brushing my teeth in the bathroom. How was your day?

I'm so tired,
I haven't slept a wink,
I'm so tired,
my mind is on the blink.
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink.
No, no, no.

I'm so tired I don't know what to do.
I'm so tired my mind is set on you.
I wonder should I call you but I know what you'd do.
You'd say I'm putting you on.
But it's no joke, it's doing me harm.

You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain
You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane.
You know I'd give you everything I've got
For a little peace of mind.
I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset
Although I'm so tired I'll have another cigarette

And curse Sir Walter Raleigh.
He was such a stupid git.

--The Beatles, I'm So Tired

In an attempt to broaden Dad's musical appreciation while he was a captive audience (painting, putting new panels on the kitchen ceiling, and replacing some fixtures . . . I'm certainly perfecting my handy-woman persona), I played him some Radiohead. His only comment: "What is this guy crying about?"

Spent all day yesterday and tomorrow painting, repairing, and prettifying LB's new digs whilst listening to tunes (Dad, did you know that the Beatles wrote this song to cheer up Mia Farrow's sister because she was so depressed?), eating lunch (Mom, will you make saurday aloo?), and breaking screwdrivers on painted on screws (LB, apparently you don't know your own strength). The only thing swimming around in my kiddie pool head right now are words like "eggnog" and "snowy egret" (eggshell and semi-gloss) and "popped corn" and "tuscan beige." Tomorrow's schedule? Ruby ring and filthy filters fun!

You are feeling velly srrreepy. Veehhhllyyyy srrreepy. Oh. So. Sreepy.



(nod to damomma and shaheen)

My parents came today! We had Afghani food for lunch, went grocery shopping where Mom tried to steal someone else's shopping cart, and watched Mr. Bean. Good times. :)

I never realized how different living with a leftie is from living with a rightie. LB is left-handed (gauche! sinestra!) and I've spent years trying to remember to sit on her right so that our elbows didn't crash into each other during mealtimes. For a while, there was a battle over where to place the mousepad and mouse in relation to the keyboard (this was before she got her own laptop and the battle dwindled away . . . well, THAT battle anyway). When I was cable-sitting for LB yesterday, I noticed that the toothbrush holder AND the toothpaste were to the left of the sink. I guess now that she has her own digs, she can be as lefty-loosey as she wants.

This song goes out to all you freaks on the Metro, on the sidewalk, at the corner, busy with work or busy with nothing but when you see me (eyes down, mindin' my own bidness, trying to give off the strongest "leave me alone" vibes I can muster), you feel compelled, driven, almost honor-bound to try to get my attention with your waves, your tongue clicks, your "heeyyyyyy"s:

"Suggestion" by Fugazi

Why can't I walk down a street free of suggestion?

Why can't I walk down a street free of suggestion?

Is my body my only trait in the eyes of men (in the eyes of men)?

I've got some skin

You want to look in

(well, I guess so)

There lays no reward in what you discover

You spent yourself, boy, watching me suffer

Suffer your words, suffer your eyes, suffer your hands

Suffer your interpretation of what it is (what it is, what it is, what it is)

to

be

a

man.

I've got some skin

You want to look in

(well, I guess so)

She does nothing to deserve it

He only wants to observe it

We sit back like they taught us

We keep quiet like they taught us

He just wants, he wants to prove it

She does nothing to remove it

We don't want anyone to mind us

So we play the roles that they assigned us

She does nothing to conceal it

He touches her 'cause he wants to feel it

We blame her for being there

But we are all guilty

Aloha, Ohana and Hoapili! We're going to Hawaii! Woohoo!
*does a little hula dance*
*eats a little pineapple*
*takes a little nap*

Happy

leftovers-and-tummyaches-and-chai-and-moreleftovers-and-battlingshoppers-and-spongebobsquarepantsmovie-and-evenmoreleftovers

Day!

Happy

Turkey-and-kebabs-and-cranberryloaf-and-haleem-and-pumpkinpie-and-salaan-and-mashedtaters

Day!!!

Still unpacking (boxes o' crap) and packing (stuff for trip tomorrow). So cannot form full sentences. No time. But must blog. Can only provide today's Word-of-the-Day:

panjandrum \pan-JAN-druhm\, noun:

An important personage or pretentious official.

So she went into the garden
to cut a cabbage-leaf
to make an apple-pie;
and at the same time
a great she-bear, coming up the street,
pops its head into the shop.
"What! No soap?"
So he died,
and she very imprudently married the barber;
and there were present
the Picninnies,
and the Joblillies,
and the Garyulies,
and the grand Panjandrum himself,
with the little round button at top,
and they all fell to playing the game of catch-as-catch-can
till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.

by Samuel Foote

Enjoy.

Back from the dentist with whiter pearly-whites, a fire-engine red new toothbrush, and a clean bill of health (with a side dish of compliments on my smile . . . awwww). While I tried valiantly not to drool out of the side of my mouth during the cleaning (it's amazing how much saliva pools up under your tongue when your jaws are wide open for an extended period of time), a song kept going through my head. I remember when I was younger, there used to be a cartoon PSA that was featured in between full-length cartoons extolling the virtues of good health, education, and good hygiene. Kind of like Schoolhouse Rock, but not. One clip was about brushing your teeth and the song went like this (voiced by Scatman Crothers):

They call me Yuckmouth, cause I don't brush. No, I keep my teeth like this.
They call me Yuckmouth, cause I don't brush. How's about a little kiss?
I got some beef in my teeth and some chicken, too.
OUCH! That's a cavity. Hey, that's new!
So if you don't brush your teeth then you can too be a Yuckmouth.

Good times. Good times.

Special Six Degrees of Blogeration Update

Newest Addition to the Second Degree! Baji -- the Zistahs -- Chij Bachee, Niqabified, and (Iman)

Newest Addition to the Fourth Degree! Baji -- Chai or the Zistahs -- Hemlock -- Waleed --Karrvakarela

High-falutin literature here, travel guides there, and hip, cool books here. Comedies here, hi-yah chop-socky flicks there, save the drama fo yo mamma here. Riot grrls here, punk there, and compilations and soundtracks here. Is it wrong of me that the first thing that I unpacked and organized were my books, DVDs, and CDs?

Who knew that a soft, cushy, old friend, pillow-topped, excellent for tv-surfing and napping couch could destroy one's shins so utterly and completely? And then (insult upon injury), I find out there is a blanket of dust layered over ancient objects hidden behind the sofa that would make any self-respecting archaeologist green with envy.

Hee. That reminds me of the time loooong ago when, according to legend, I got a hold of a Whitman's Sampler box of chocolates. I would select a bon bon, take a bite, and the ones that I liked, I gobbled down and the ones that I didn't, I nonchalantly tossed behind the couch. Lucky for all of us, Cybermom is close to godliness with her cleanliness and found the sticky stash while vacuuming behind the couch one day.

Tomorrow, the movers come and, Calgon-like, will take it all away. By tomorrow night, I can finally rest, perhaps play connect-the-bruises, and gear up for the next task: unpacking. So until then . . . um . . . enjoy this oldie but goodie about wonderous archaeological finds! And pray for my and LB's bones and muscles and sanity.

btw, happy 50th birthday, Gojira! (trivia alert: Godzilla's roar was the sound of a resin-coated leather glove being dragged across a contrabass (double bass)).

Baji, over and *collapse* out.

Moving Day Approaches

A river of packing tape,
A mountain of boxes and crates.
High-tech plastic pillows,
Low-tech crumpled up newspapers.

Stereos wrapped in cords,
Computers wrapped in foam,
Shirt wrapped in dust,
Mind wrapped in recollections.

Boxes of letters,
Boxes of pictures,
Boxes of souvenirs,
Boxes of boxes.

Throw out the magazines,
(but this one is a collector's issue)
Donate the clothes,
(but I might wear this next season)
Box up the VCRs, DVDs, CDs, and MP3s,
(but I need some tunes while I pack)
Store away the plates and silverware,
(wait, not yet!)

Change of Address, Mr. Postal Employee,
Change of Address, Mrs. Bank Teller,
Change of Address, friends and family,
Did I forget anyone, or anyone forget me?

Whose is this?
Is it yours?
Do you want this?
Can I have this?

Who knew how much noise
the framed art on the wall absorbed?
Why is this Persian rug
so very heavy?

Good-bye familiar creaky floor
that doubled as a burglar alarm.
Good-bye clanging radiator
that doubled as a headache.

So long, roaches;
you get no forwarding address.
So long, freaky shower;
hope the next tenants figure out your secrets.

Carry the mirrors by hand,
the monitors and jewelry too.
Carry the memories by heart,
the guests and slumber parties too.

Eid prayers in Virginia (hypnotized by the imam's henna'd beard waggling back and forth and impressed with the silence and order of the sea of Desis).

Eid brunch in Maryland (puris, chole, haleem, samosas, gulab jamen, sheer khurma, and chai; all enjoyed during daylight hours).

Eid movie in D.C. ("Bridget Jones II" for Sister's Sunday; shoulda watched "The Incredibles" instead.)

Today's mini-blurb brought to you by Harper's Magazine:

Go balloons, go balloons! I don't see anything happening. Go balloons! Go balloons! Go balloons! Standby confetti. Keep coming, balloons. More balloons. Bring it -- balloons, balloons, balloons! We want balloons, tons of them. Bring them down. Let them all come. No confetti. No confetti yet.

No confetti. All right, go balloons, go balloons. We need more balloons. All balloons! All balloons! Keep going! Come on, guys, let's move it. Jesus! We need more balloons. I want all balloons to go, goddammit. Go confetti. Go confetti. More confetti. I want more balloons. What's happening to the balloons? We need more balloons.

We need all of them coming down. Go balloons -- balloons? What's happening, balloons? There's not enough coming down! All balloons, what the hell? There's nothing falling! What the f*** are you guys doing up there? We want more balloons coming down, more balloons. More balloons! More balloons!

From comments made by the producer of this year's Democratic National Convention while he was unaware that his outburst was being broadcast live by CNN which had microphones in the control room.

Six Degrees of Blogeration

Rule -- degrees are established by one live person actually meeting, laying eyes upon, hugging, or clobbering another live person.

* indicates blurker or guest-blogger status

First Degree

Baji -- Lil Baji*, Cybermom, TP, Chai, H-Biddy, City Nomad, Ismo, Literaunty, Ushi, and Osman*, not to be confused for the Usual Suspect Osman. Hmm. Guess that makes him the 'Unusual Suspect.' Heh. (me relatives)

Baji -- Abez, DeGrouchyOwl [collectively, "the Zistahs"], Chan, Gunnar, Najm, Upyernoz, Amaal* (a.k.a. Gojira), Lamisse* (a.k.a. LaMushy), and Taha* (a.k.a "2 Scoops", a.k.a. spaz who really should make a blog of his own). (me crew)

Second Degree

Baji -- Chai or the Zistahs -- Hemlock and Lil Gray Crayon

Baji -- the Zistahs -- da Momma, Poppie and Vora

Baji -- (LB or Lamisse) -- Yasmine, Somayya, and Chocoholic

Baji -- (Taha) -- HijabMan

Baji -- Upyernoz -- Josh Corey, Cathy, Chuck, Sarah, Jon, Julia, LLCoolP, Anglobaptist, and Atrios

Third Degree

Baji -- the Zistahs -- Poppie -- The [original] Usual Suspect and Anju

Baji -- Chai or the Zistahs -- Hemlock -- Waleed and Chij Bachee

Erm. Did I miss anyone? *hammers "work in progress" sign onto post*

Eid Mubarak, y'all!

Last Weekend in Paris Nibblet: We decided to start our early Saturday morning with a jaunt through the neighborhoods and ended up climbing down 85 steps down a circular, stone staircase into the depths of the Parisian sewer system and mass grave known as the Catacombs. We wove our way through the dark, wet tunnels decorated with skulls and bones and tried not to imagine that the dust on our shoes was bone grit and the drips on our heads were not blood. Since it was our honeymoon after all, my favorite design was of the skulls artfully arranged into a heart:



Awww, how romantic!

We spent the afternoon perusing through the open-air market where we were dazzled by the [radio edit] and the delicious [radio edit] and the scrumptious [radio edit] which we picked up for our picnic lunch at Luxembourg Gardens. After a brief sit-down at Cafe de Flore, we watched a battle of the bands take place when a chanting, finger-cymbal-wielding Hare Krishna parade marched through a lively brass band (complete with crazy dancing lady) playing in front of the Saint Germain church.

It turns out that throughout this particular Saturday night, Paris was celebrating its Second Annual Nuit Blance ("White Night" or "Sleepless Night"), a city-wide contemporary arts and culture festival where you can visit a theater, enter a number of museums, or see exhibits at an art gallery from dusk to dawn. We walked to the riverbanks to experience the "Foghorn Concert" performed by 15 barges sailing down the Seine (recall the honking notes of the spaceship in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind"). People filled the streets either as performers (tiny local bands set up their sets at almost every corner) or audience members (did I mention how much I love free?). Some artists displayed their talents with vegetables. Some artists left their marks directly onto the streets of Paris:



The night was very surreal, made doubly so when hordes of rollerbladers took over the streets for several long moments. We spent the rest of Sleepless Night wandering around the city, taking a nap (but it was artistic sleeping, so it was ok), and by Sunday morning, touring the Louvre for free (FYI, free rules!). Actually, Nuit Blanche aside, the Louvre would have been free anyway because the first Sunday of every month is free. After touring the Islamic Art Exhibit (portions of which were on loan from the NY Met), we walked to Place de Concorde, hung a left, and met our touristy obligation to visit the Eiffel Tower (which had been closed due to a worker's strike earlier). We capped off our last day with ice cream directly from the one, the only, actual Bertillon shop on Ile St. Louis. Final gelatoish report:

Coffee: A
Earl Gray Tea: B+
Grapefruit: B
Extra Dark Chocolate: A+++ valedictorian, best in show, undisputed champion of the world.

In other news, that concludes the travelogue so now what should I blog about? Any suggestions?

10/1 Nibblet: We spent Friday morning taking the metro up to the Arc de Triomph and promenading down the Elysian Fields. Along the way, we passed by the Louis Vuitton shop that was oh-so-stylishly under construction:



We stopped at Pizza Pino for lunch where we shared a pizza with beef, two kinds of cheese, and an egg (whaaa?). The pizza was humongous and could possibly rival our neighborhood's jumbo pizza that made the cover of the City Paper this week. We walked along the chestnut tree-lined boulevard and stopped for some crepes. We continued on to Place de Concorde and stopped for Belgian waffles liberally dusted with powdered sugar. We strolled through the Tuileries, crossed the bridge, and finally made it back to the apartment by late afternoon (just in time for a nap).



Upon waking up from the nap, we learned that several Tunisian guests would be arriving soon for a house-warming party (i.e. excuse to shop in Paris) and were asked if we could help out with the dishes, ironing, dusting, distract the toddler, move the chairs, put out the plates, and greet the guests. The old crew from Hammamet (see Tunisian Travelogue for details) showed up with their finery wrapped around their necks, brand names wrapped around their bodies, and high-falutin 'tudes wrapped around their heads. TP and I escaped onto the balcony for some fresh air and to give the guests some privacy in which to discuss and eye each other's clothes, shoes, and latest acquisitions. The "fabulous set" decided to go to a "fabulous restaurant" and our only amusement came when they could not identify any of the dishes (upon the advice of a friend, one guy ate a whole scoop of wasabi before dashing off to the bathroom to wash out his mouth) or operate the eating utensils. After getting our fill of fakeness, we passed on joining the group for dessert and, in full anti-social mode, took off on our own before calling it a night. Seriously, I chose getting away from those people over getting some Bertillon ice cream. *shudder*

In other news, despite the near freezing temps that are predicted tonight, I'm going out to see Interpol! For free! I heart free.

9/30 Nibblet: Travel Day, so not much happened. We took an early morning walk through the fog around our little village and came across a whole patch of grapes, blue berries, and figs. Free food! Walked a bit more, bid bon jour to our neighbors, scurried past the homes with wildly barking dogs, and took some pix of the cornfields, the houses, and the animals.



Riz picked us up so that we could have breakfast at her house before heading out to Lyon to catch our 11 a.m. TGV back to Paris. Unfortunately, her husband was operating on D.S.T. (Desi Standard Time) and didn't arrive until quite late. We reached the Part Dieu train station at 10:59 a.m., just in time to watch our train (and our reserved seats) slide out of the station. We were assured that we could board the 12 p.m. train (there is one every hour to and from Paris) so long as there was room enough. We found two seats together, tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, and when the conductor came by to check our tickets, we meekly handed them over. He glanced at the ticket, glanced at us, shook his head and said something in French of which I only caught "un probleme." We asked if he spoke English. He looked at us again, took the ticket of the passenger next to us, reviewed it thoroughly, and apparently found un grande probleme with that guy's ticket because he passed our tickets back to us with a curt "c'est bon" and focused his attention and glower on our neighbor instead. Whew.

We arrived in sunny, balmy Paris and immediately hit up La Croissanterie for their wonderful croissants, flan, and cafe creme. TP bought me a cool, orange messenger bag from Mandarina Duck for my birthday. We strolled around the neighborhood, did some window-shopping, and finally returned to the apartment to take full, uninterrupted showers. Stink waves be gone!

In other news, thx to Abez for the great gingerbread punjabis (I got the @-man and the pirate), thx to Najm for the moist brownies (excellent sehri material), thx to Literaunty for the spicy haleem and southern peanut salad (TP had haleem for sehri this morning!), and thx to Chai and HBiddy for the laughs (and not killing me for leading you in a complete circle downtown).

Sigh. I suppose life goes on as must the nibblets. And so.
9/29 Nibblet: After our daily alarm clock went off, we found out that our little pink farmhouse in La Championniere was still sans hot water. My cousin, Riz, picked us up, took us to her house, and there, I tried to take a hot shower. I say "tried" because I managed to shampoo my hair, rinse, and soap up before the water cut off. Not just the hot water; all of the water. So with a thin film of soap rapidly drying on my skin, I bellowed for help. Apparently, there was a notice from the construction crew nearby that they were doing some work that morning and that the neighborhood's water would be shut off for a few hours. Alas, in this sleepy little village, no one really checks the mail on a daily basis and so the notice went unread. Riz came to my rescue by heating up half a bucket of bottled mineral water for me and 10 minutes later, I got to rinse off. The only highlight from that little incident is that I can now say "why, yes, I have bathed in Evian water!"

Since TP needed to wash up as well, we zipped over to Riz's sister-in-law's house which, despite being nine centuries old, had both hot and running water. Alack, we zipped too quickly and Riz kinda crunched up the car against the wall. Oops. Now running even later than we were, we scarfed down our breakfast and drove into Lyon to meet Gojira's mere and chien. The second largest city in France, Lyon is a sprawling metropolis located between Fourviere, 'the hill that prays' and Croix-Rousse, 'the hill that works' and is split in the middle by two rivers, the Rhone and the Saone. Mrs. Gojira's apartment was in a very lovely neighborhood that bore a striking resemblence to Saint Germain with its chic shops, bustling cafes, and spotless boulevards. Mrs. Gojira welcomed us warmly and immediately fed us a wonderful leek pie, fresh and healthy tomato and avacado salads, and all sorts of cheeses. We shared some stories about Gojira (heh heh), saw some family pictures (ha ha!), and eventually bid her and MacDuff adieu.

We drove up to Fourviere hill and worked our way down from the Roman Ampitheater (where TP stole a bunch of grapes) to the Notre-Dame de Fourviere Basilica to the St. John Cathedral. We had a clear view of the city below at each stop.




In other news, check out the front page of the UK's Daily Mirror.

Special Election Day Blog:

See Baji.
See Baji and LB.
See Baji and LB go to vote.
Stand in line.
Wait, Baji, wait!
Two hours is a long time.
Wait, LB, wait!
Almost at the "Festival Center" voting location.
Finally!
Grab Number Two Pencil.
Read carefully.
Vote, Baji and LB, vote!
Good job!

If "Dick and Jane" is not your style, how about a haiku?

Indecision day.
So many choices, which one?
Paper or plastic?

And now back to your regularly scheduled blog.

Update. Daily Show Election Blog. Thx, Julestress!

9/27 & 28 Nibblet: Thanks to Monsieur I-don't-like-to-read , all you get today are pix. Well, ok, a little text. TGV to Lyon. Lyon to Chateau Gaillard. Tour of Chateau des Allymes and Tour de St. Denis. Three hour hike through the Alps. Delicious, familiar, safe, mouth-watering, missed-you-so-much-Pakistani-cuisine. 12th century farm house with cable tv.


Mont Blanc


Mer de Glace


Bustling Rest Stop


Crossing Swiss Border


Championeire Water Pump

In other news, Gojira and I totally have to apply for this position! Because we arrre the best and everyone else is the worrrrst.