Monday, August 20, 2007

حوَش الدولة

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طوبى لكم يا جاسم وبشار



MP3's...

James Lavelle - Revolution

Duke Ellington & John Coltrane - In a Sentimental Mood

Bessie Smith - Willow Weep for Me

MF Doom & Nas - Life We Chose

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Suck My Kiss

at 8:48 AM 2 comments

Thursday, August 16, 2007

You Put Here Okay

“Can you drop the avocadoes at her house on your way home?” My older brother looked up from the magazine he was skimming and nodded. “Bring green vegetable I bring yesterday you know? Like big one it is…” I instructed one of our housekeepers over the phone, “Send in small elevator … Big Brother take to sister house now.”

As soon as I hung up, I turned around and asked my brother, “You know, I really do not know why we talk to our housekeepers in an extremely unstructured and grammatically incorrect way. Is it racist? And if we dumb down the way we talk to them – so to speak – how will they learn the language properly?”

My brother smiled and admitted that he had the same conversation with an acquaintance the other day. “I mean, I think it is almost instinctual no?” I went on. “And it is not only in English but Arabic as well. For example we usually say ‘Jeeb hatha 7i6ee hini’ and ‘Ana roo7 bara al7een…if want anything sawee telephone,’” my brother added.

But seriously, it is an interesting something to think about.


MP3's...
Ike & Tina Turner - Come Together
The Beatles - Blackbird
Mark Farina - Live @ Comics in Varna, Bulgaria
Madredeus - Oxala (Telepopmusik Remix)

at 12:22 AM 14 comments

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Yay! YEAH!!!

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Oh You Know It!

at 9:13 AM 5 comments

Monday, August 13, 2007

Alive, Kicking & Missing a Whole Lot

I miss going to the movies wearing the navy embroidered “bisht” my older brother sent me by mail. I wore it with either my usual sweats or jeans and it always kept me warm in the frosty theater. With my best friend strolling by my side, I would majestically sashay toward the counter and request a ticket for the ten o’clock movie before buying my mandatory medium popcorn without butter and diet coke, both of which would be half finished during the previews.

I miss listening to the hoards of drunken masses at the greasy and rather detestable Greek restaurant underneath my apartment, a joint that I assume profits from people’s hazy taste buds due to downing gallons of belly filling and conscience draining booze. I find it amusing to overhear inebriated individuals speak loudly about rather personal topics including their honest opinion about the Bush administration to calling out one of the group’s members on their rather promiscuous character. Oh the drama of it all.

I miss sitting in front of aged and mumbling war veterans dressed in donated tatters in the public bus. I would carefully observe their scruffy attire before thinking about their life story and ultimately fabricating most of it before someone pulls the thin rope hanging above our heads to leave the packed scene at the next stop.

I miss people’s naïve and intrigued reaction when I mention that I am from Kuwait. I am sure that many people, whether the ones who have studied abroad or have simply traveled the world, have encountered the sundry ungrounded theories about Kuwait that are a cross between scenes from Disney’s Aladdin and Lawrence of Arabia. I have had some rather enjoyable and personally entertaining conservations about my so-called life here in Kuwait, nodding and smiling at the vulnerable bunch of natives who actually believed that I rode a camel to school, dodged a bullet and gratefully collected petrol from the gushing oil well in my backyard. I did not resort to my storytelling mode often, but a tiny selection of people makes it impossible not to make me utilize my imagination and splendidly perform an impromptu narration of living in Kuwait.

I miss sticking my tongue out and eating the soft falling snow on my way to class while stomping around in my big, brown fury boots. They are in my closet right now, collecting dust and I wonder when I will put them on again.

I miss walking down the streets of beautiful Chicago especially – and ironically – during the wintertime. For some reason, the desensitizing cold wind that could make my face break in half if I stayed out half an hour longer is surprisingly refreshing. Even though the weather during December, January and February prevents me from having a normal talk on my cell phone without having to deal with chattering teeth or stiffening fingers, I still miss the winters there.

I miss the convenience of musical events. Instead of boarding a plane like I would do here, I easily walked down the street and listened to my favorite artists play live. I could feel the thud of the bass beating in my chest, the rawness of the guitar’s chords lifting me to the most awe-inspiring high one could imagine and truly feel in their soul…I miss that.

I miss damn good burgers. And please do not jump in and say, “You know, the best burger in the US is In-N-Out.” That little old hyped up dump does not stand a chance against the burgers I have devoured and cheerily consumed. I actually fell into the whole In-N-Out craze. I stood in line for 45 minutes only to discover that I could have done a better job making a burger at home by pounding two pieces of salami into a bun bought from the shoddy 24/7 gas station around the corner run by the mysteriously moody Indian fellow. The burgers I have had – two places which I will keep a secret, for now that is – are not to be eaten out of one’s home. I purposely – and guiltily - order my Butterfinger vanilla shake and double cheeseburger with pickles, mayonnaise, barbeque sauce, lettuce and ketchup to go. I take the juicy thing home, plunk my behind on the floor and dig in before unbuttoning my pants and laying flat on the ground for about twenty minutes or so. Yes, it is that good.

I miss my best friend and the random but deep conversations we had. They mean the world to me since there are very few people in the world who I open up to and who truly know me for me and nothing else.

These are the immediate things that come to mind. I know that they are others buried in my fading memory but hopefully I will ease into the now as gleefully as I did before.

This post is dedicated to error.


MP3's...
Chemical Brothers - Do It Again
RJD2 - Rain
Thievery Corporation - Dirty Little Secret
Kruder & Dorfmeister - Black Baby
Koop - Whenever There is You
Tricky - Ponderosa


at 12:56 AM 8 comments

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Untouched Since Four Months Ago

I saw them a week ago but I hesitated. “Should I get them? No, I’ll just wait it out.”

But I didn’t forget them. I went to Marina Mall after a late day at work. My mother called me at 9:30 while I was parking my car “Where are you!”

“I’m in Marina. I’m going to buy a little something.” I answered. “Well, get home soon, you know how crazy traffic is in Salmiya.”

I hopped out of my car, skipped up the escalator and rushed by the blur of people. “There it is!”

Once in the store, my eyes searched for them. “They were on display…” I frowned. “Excuse me,” I asked one of the workers, “Do you know where the black…” Before I finished my sentence, I spotted them hidden under a row of clothes. I took off my flats and slid into them. “How lovely!” I pranced over to the full-length mirror and modeled the adorable ballerina flats. “All right I’m going to get them.” The worker looked at me apathetically before turning away.

“9:45…it’s getting late.” A young man standing before me must have sensed my impatience, “You can go ahead in front of me…”

“Okay you can’t peek! Hold on, let me try them on…” I arrived home to find my sister feeding her son a bowl of crushed apples. I hid behind one of the couches in an attempt to surprise my sister with my new ballerina shoes.

“Okay!” My feet bounced into sight. I walked around and assumed a ballerina’s character by daintily – or so I thought - pointing my feet onto the ground.

My sister had the same expression as the indifferent worker in Pull & Bear. She looked me over before turning to my mother in the kitchen, “Yoma ta3alay shofay il 3aba6.”

“Why! They’re nice! I like them!”

My mother sauntered in with her plate of organic greens, “Hmm, they’re O.K. They look small on your feet. Do they hurt?”

“No,” I lied, “They’re comfortable.”

“Return them. You look retarded. They actually look like what I wore in gym class in middle school…”

“Yes I remember your scruffy gym shoes, but I think they were white no? And made of cloth?” My mother added.



MP3's...

UNKLE Ft. Ian Astubury - Burn My Shadow

Duran Duran - A View to Kill




Drench your skin with lovers rosy stain…

at 9:18 AM 15 comments