USA & IRAN: Discourse of Love

All in One: Tina's Professional Profiles

2012-02-02T11:45:00.000-08:00

You can find a summary of links to my teaching profiles/students' reviews on this page:

All in One: Tina the Tutor

Tina on YouTube!

2012-02-02T07:26:00.001-08:00

<a href="http://www.linkedtube.com/3NwdI7CWWKA725adbe59e316381cb9c4a60d49016ef.htm">LinkedTube</a>

More Testimonials!

2012-02-02T07:08:00.000-08:00

Read Testimonials Here (1)

Read Testimonials Here (2)

Read Testimonials Here (3)

Read Testimonials Here (4)

"A World Between"

2008-07-14T15:12:00.001-07:00

I just discovered this film, A World Between, which is a must-see for Iranian-Americans or those Americans interested in finding out more about Iran -- not through the typical American mass media, but through a genuine documentary. Here you can read about it and here you can watch samples. You can buy the DVD from the official website or from Amazon.com.

As Delayed as It Is...

2008-03-23T03:43:00.000-07:00

HAPPY PERSIAN NEW YEAR!!!

*سال نو مبارك*

This is the first "Persian New Year" for me out of Iran. To get nostalgic is the least I can do! I am planning to travel back to Iran next year this time, inshallah. It's always the best time to take a trip to Tehran, to mingle with the shoppers and excited people and the smell of the new year and the laughter of kids.

PS. I discovered a tea here, Twinings "Jasmine Green Tea" ... it smells like my grandmother's hair, when she was alive and I was a 12-year-old kid, and the sparrows were chirping on the persimmon tree in the middle of the yard when spring was around the corner. I would pick up the lilacs and put them in granny's hair as she was singing to me, "be kas kasoonesh nemidam, be hame kasoonesh nemidam ... " [I will not let her get married just to anybody...] All grandmothers think that their granddaughters are waiting for a prince to come. Nobody thinks of me like that now, and nobody sings a song to me like that, to make me feel I am the only desirable woman in the world.

Well... My prince finally came anyway.

Derrida: Death, Ghosts, Kafka

2008-02-20T20:03:00.000-08:00

DERRIDA (LE DEUIL)
Uploaded by MELMOTH

Chomsky and Foucault: American Vs. European

2008-02-20T19:51:00.000-08:00

Foucault 13
Uploaded by Paroles_des_Jours

A Note on "Brokeback Mountain"

2008-02-12T17:07:00.000-08:00

"A gay cowboy movie" has been the most unfair label ever attached to a movie as beautiful and deep as Brokeback Mountain . I finally watched this movie (now after Heath Ledger's sad death) and I have to say I was deeply impressed and pleased to see a different beautifully-made movie about love as it is, not as we might expect it to be. There is plenty of information about this movie, its screenplay and the Annie Proulx short story it is based on all over the internet, so I would not repeat them here.

Just as a short note, I think instead of that oversimplifying (and utterly stupid) tag which is attached to this beautiful movie, one can think of Brokeback Mountain as "a movie about love that happens between two souls that [concerning the social/cultural context, unfortunately] happen to be of the same sex -- in a conventionally heterosexual world". This might be a bit more complex than that tag I first quoted, but at least, I think it is more fair.

Indian movies you should (not) watch!

2008-01-25T17:50:00.000-08:00

I will keep it short and sweet:

1. Watch Water
2. Do not watch Fanaa

The first gives you an insight into life from a different perspective, the second gives you headache and (ironic) laughter.

You will find out why the first one is a good movie after watching it, also you will find out why the second one is a waste of time to watch after NOT watching it and reading this brief description instead:

A blind girl goes to a city to find her Prince Charming (I know, but it's ok so far), then a womanizer falls in love with her and after singing couple of songs (as expected) suddenly changes into a loyal personality (reminds me of the Frog turning into Prince, but that was ok and this is not!) Nothing too bad so far, then the guy figures out an eye surgery would cure his beloved (now fiancee)'s blindness, so they go for it. RIGHT AFTER the girl opens her eyes to see this Prince Charming, she is told that he has been exploded in some (political) bombings. If this movie ended here, I still could say it was an average Indian melodrama, but the director feels too creative to stop, and actually adds a so-called twist to the story (this should be illegal): the guy has not died, he has changed into a political organization's secret agent. After a James-Bond-run-and-follow scene, the guy gets shot (and of course manages to survive) and ends up in the girl's house. The girl is a mother now and her son's name is exactly the same as the guy's name (romantic, ha?) After talking to the girl's father and a lot of unnecessary details, the guy finally asks for the girl's hand. They get married (again, I guess) and after doing some Prince-&-Cinderella poses for the camera start their (apparently) peaceful life, until, the father discovers the true identity of his son-in-law, his job as betraying their country, and the organization he is related to. The guy ends up killing the father, and in a supposedly-tragic-yet-really-comic scene the girl finds her father's corpse comfortably laying down in the river, with his face upward (of course for her daughter to identify) grinning under the thick layer of ice. This is the point John said he wouldn't be able to sit to watch the rest of the movie, but actually after couple of minutes, he said, "I'm just gonna see how it's gonna end, just so I can call Ozzie [his Indian friend] and say I'd be down there to kill him, just because he is Indian and this is an Indian movie!" Well, obviously he was joking (we love our Indian friends) but the movie ended up with everybody killing everybody else, so everybody died but the girl (and of course because she was a nice girl, you know?)

Well, I just felt responsible to let you know, the decision is yours. Watch Water's trailer here (don't forget to pause the background music on right margine):

Story of the Month: The Streets

2008-01-11T19:02:00.000-08:00

The Streets

"Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die,
Life would be a broken-winged bird,
Which cannot fly."
Langston Hughes

Darkness has fallen. I'm alone on the street corner. Shabby houses are grinning at me like ghosts in a haunted world. Fog is lurking over their chimneys, rain is teeming down their pipes. My homeless heart leaps in my chest. Would they find me here, rigid and frozen, torn and raped, at this vulnerable corner of the street? I must keep my ass safe. I must live a long life to let my soul ripen, to get prepared. Then Death will come in and pick me up for the after life. There I shall rest in the arms of my heavenly Father. A young lover will wait for me there, to caress my hair, to kiss my feet, to pull the bloody nails out of my wrists. An apparition, dark-faced, tall and lame is approaching. Lord! Help me out! He just passes by, however, thank You! I can hear pulsing in my ears. What had I read before about it all? The lurking cat "on the window-panes"? The insidious "tedious argument"? I should get going, no matter where, anywhere but not here…on this exposed, helpless, stripped corner of the street.

Streets with lamp posts! Streets with the scent of sweet cookies, banana flavor, laughter of lovers, and warmth of a soft bed in a four-star hotel. I can always love the streets. Two little creatures, wrapped up in shawls, are inspecting the toys in the window: the little one is a girl of four or five, the other, as far as I can see, is a boy of eight or nine. I wish they were mine, to keep me laughing in this cold rain. There is nobody around, except for a swarm of onlookers outside the shop windows. Neither a caring mother nor a watching father is around. I can afford taking them with me. I ask them if they want to watch more toys in the next street. They will be back soon. The little girl's eyes glitter. The boy's protruding nose nods in approval. I take them to the next street.

I'm not afraid anymore. Nobody will hurt a mom with two little children at her skirt. My tattered clothes seem to amuse them! They don't "whine and bicker", though, neither do they "tug" my skirt. I have taken them by the hand, so tenderly, with the true affection of a genuine mother. No masks, no masquerades. So why can't they be mine? I will not be alone any longer. Loneliness. "Words I had no one left but God." Should I announce it to the world? They keep twittering melodically. The rain is flowing down that eternal river up there, baptizing all of us -- homeless tramps. The people inside will be dry for ever. Dry and full, like stale dead mice in the sewage.

I feel somebody is after us, in some gruesome haste, scuttling right behind us, with heavy steps of a strong man. I feel dizzy, my hands are cold, my head numb, my eyes getting fixated. The two little angels are squeezing my hands rather painfully. I don't know what they want. I just keep walking, maybe staggering down the street. But I can't walk anymore. I can't keep pace with those tiny cherubs. The footsteps behind are getting louder. I can never stop to see the face. I'm so afraid. So so afraid of getting hurt. I just keep squeezing the angels' hands in return. Maybe they don't know what I want. I never have known. the man is just a foot away from me now. There's an opening there, "a hell of a good universe next door!" Maybe I can slip inside, true! The door is wide open and the man has grabbed my waist yet I rush into the house. Two little angels are gone. I'm alone.

It is shining. The door behind is ajar. I guess the man has gone. Warmth has rushed into my mouth, a thousand flavors into my nose. Where am I? Whose house is it? The floor is soft as marble, yet not cold. There is a fire burning in the hearth, its flames radiating heat. It seemed like a church, then, with no benches, of course. The ceiling is high and painted in bright colors, the walls are adorned with flowers. Candles shed light, there is a smell of wine everywhere. Yet, this is not all. There is a staircase before my feet. It goes to somewhere unknown because I can't see what is beyond that curve up there. I guess there must be one hundred stairs to walk. I don't even know how to start. Maybe I can find the residents up there. Why was the door open, then? Who was that man? Was that a man, after all? I don't know.

The stairs go nowhere. They are just ascending for some fifty or sixty steps, then descending for another fifty steps, then ascending again, then descending again. I've been walking for hours; I've reached no destination. I guess this maze has been built for fun. Yes! Think, just for fun. It is funny, isn't it, by the way? But how shall I return?

There is a door just amid the stairs. There are always doors, always clues, always paths to trace down. I go through it. I feel as if I'm falling softly, very softly on some grass, wet and fragrant. There is a blinding light everywhere. I can't see what's happening. I can't see where my feet are. I can't hear anything, or maybe it has been too loud, too deafening for me to hear. I can just smell it, I feel dizzy. But, I don't know why I'm not afraid anymore.

I am in his arms. He is caressing my hair. His breath smells like fresh velvet violets in the spring. He says my hair is silky, one would love to feel it. He says I shouldn't be afraid of anything, nobody can ever hurt me from now on. I look at his face, I can hardly see his features, it will take time for me to get used to the light. But I can hear him. His voice sounds protective. I can see his Adam's apple trembling under that marble skin covered with innocent golden down. It fills me with wobbling pleasure to listen to his smooth masculine words. I can also smell his shoulders, they smell like my childhood pillow, reassuring and pacifying. I am enveloped by his arms, they look as if guarding me against all doors, all stairs, all streets. They smell like juicy apples, red and luscious, newly picked from an ancient tree. He feels for my neck, he leaves his nose on my breasts like a half-asleep baby who wants more milk; His lips taste wine sweet. I feel his hair, it was just as if I had dipped my fingers in some cool calm water. Beati, quorum tecta sunt peccata. He is happy, I can hear his tender laughter, I can touch his little humid mouth to keep my hands warm forever. I feel fertile as he kisses my cheeks, whispering in my ears: "I have picked you, little tramp."

"Blame it on Fidel" and "Beau Travail"

2007-12-27T10:20:00.000-08:00

I watched two French movies in the past week, La Faute à Fidel! (2006) and Beau Travail (1999).

The first one was a detailed urban story about foreign politics through the eyes of a child, the second one was a modern Billy Budd story taking place in a desert. Perhaps there is no similarity between these two movies, unless that they are both directed by French female directors.

La Faute à Fidel! is a story probably more appealing to the female audience, since it is loaded with subtleties about the children and their relationship with their parents, how they perceive the world and how they react to the adults' ideals like political freedom and equality. The movie is great when it comes to portraying feelings of the main character, little miss de la Mesa, and it is even comic to a certain degree, that eventually makes us ask, as adults, that is it really worth it? Fighting for "adult" ideals instead of focusing on raising happy kids?

The movie is definitely worth being watched, but there is a risk of getting bored (specially for the average male audience), but I think it is mostly worth being watched due to the director's hilarious outlook on politics.

The second movie, Beau Travail is right the opposite: It is made by a female director but there is a good chance that it would appeal more to the male audience due to the subject matter (war, soldiers, morality, decisions), but interestingly enough, this was the first movie I watched with a "female gaze" (instead of the common "male gaze") in it. The scenes regarding the soldiers getting trained or doing physical exercises are filmed in a way that satiate the female audience' curiosity about men's physical features. Almost all the actors have great bodies and the angles adopted by the camera are exactly matched with what the average heterosexual female look probably yearns to catch in a man's body. With the desert as setting, with its warm shining sun, and the exquisite characterization, the whole experience of watching this movie can be an intense visual pleasure to certain groups of audience.

Claire Denis, the director of this movie, is also one of the professors teaching in my school, EGS. I originally wanted to get familiar with her work, that's why I watched this movie, but actually, after watching it, I felt good enough to want to watch other movies by her.

"Innocent Voices"

2007-12-24T13:42:00.000-08:00

Sad, very sad, and poetic. Innocence woven with brutality of war. Sad, hugely upsetting. Poetic. Sad, ugly and beautiful, profound. Try to forget that it is based on a true story, or the sadness will not be bearable.

Do not watch it with someone you love, since it's going to be highly disturbing for both of you. Watch it when you're alone, in a philosophical mood, and want to think about the evil side of human-being, and of course, the innocent side.

That's all I can say about Voces Inocentes (2004).

"All about My Mother"

2007-12-24T07:33:00.000-08:00

After a long delay, I am finally back to report on the movies I've been watching recently.

From my favorite Almodovar series, I watched Todo Sobre Mi Madre (1999) which, to me, was even more fascinating than all the other movies I have been watching by him. This movie is about mothers (as I had correctly predicted even before knowing about this movie, Almodovar is focused on the exploration of this theme: how mothers are related to their offsprings and vice versa). The two mothers here become connected to eachother through their love for a man both used to know: the father of their children. Here, in contrast to Hable con Ella, two women become true friends through their relationship with one man. Again, the apparently absent link is always there, and eventually reappears at the final sequences of the movie.

One of these two women has lost her son right on his birthday night, and the child of other woman loses her mother right after her birth. The story, typically Almodovarian, is about loss, and a hope to regain what is destined to be lost. The subplot of Huma and Nina as lovers, Huma almost always disappointed with Nina, is also about loss and a possibility to regain: Huma goes through all the fluctuations expected in her relationship with Nina to finally find relevant peace without her. The references to other theatrical works (A Street Car Named Desire) and Huma as acting perfectly on the stage also is in contrast to Huma's inability to carry on her real-life role as a woman. She has a messed up relationship with Nina and in ways is unable to free herself. This movie, can be also viewed as a movie about liberation and catharsis. Either way, it is a great movie to watch.

"Talk to Her"

2007-12-09T14:42:00.000-08:00

I watched another Almodovar movie yesterday (now that I'm an Almodovar-addict I can't help it!), Hable con Ella (2002). Well... What can I say about this movie, unless that I fell in love with the concept of love depicted there: A desire for becoming one, eternally uniting with the beloved.

I'm sure a lot of nice reviews have been written about this movie, specially concerning the scene of classical/Freudian desire for returning to the womb, a primitive urge to get back to the origin of life, to a time before us getting born. That would fairly explain the notion of heterosexual love and the mechanism of falling in love, as classical psychology suggests it: a man would unconsciously feel attracted to a woman who is like his mother, and who is totally unlike his mother. Paradoxical, but true. The traditional saying that good sons make good husbands has a root in human psychology: we can love the opposite sex only when we have practiced it as a child in our intimate relationship with our opposite-sex parent. And, in Almodovar movies, mothers are every where, though like shadows, we just see them or hear them briefly, they always end up functioning beyond their traditional roles.

Also, I interpret Lydia's fear of snakes as a symbolic fear of sexuality (snake standing for phallus in both Freudian psychoanalysis and the psychosexual interpretations of the Book of Genesis), so in a sense, Lydia is Benigno's counterpoint: while Benigno is a woman-like man, Lydia is a man-like woman; Benigno can relate to his mother and ends up knowing women and falling in love with a woman. Lydia, on the other hand, tries to relate to her father, though not totally successfully, and ends up being a bullfighter. Since her relationship with her father does not turn out to be as perfect as Benigno's relationship with his mother, Lydia ends up not being able to love men in a consistent and stable way (look at her troubled relationship with the other guy).

The same way, Marco and Alicia are counterparts (and that's why there is a spark of hope at the final sequence for them to join each other): Marco can cry easily and Alicia is a dancer. Both are more into emotions than into words. In spite of the talkative Benigno, and Lydia who, at one particular scene, mentions to Marco that she needs to "talk" to him, Marco and Alicia do not talk a lot. They look at each other a lot and they communicate through their eyes, instead. All and all, I can say these four people have a lot to share.

Another perspective would be: Hable con Ella is about women, and the men who fall in love with them. It is also about men who connect to each other through women. Furthermore, it is about the mechanism of love and the contrast between the social and the personal.

I again enjoyed watching a good movie from Almodovar.

"The Flower of My Secret"

2007-12-07T08:04:00.000-08:00

Excited by my new Netflix membership, I watched a Pedro Almodovar movie titled as La Flor de Mi Secreto (1995) yesterday, right on my laptop's monitor (you have an option to watch some of Netflix movies instantly on your own pc).

The first film I had watched by Almodovar was Volver (2006) which was a women's movie, in my opinion. A delicate plot, full of psychological hints and details, adorned by the beauty of the actress Penelope Cruz. A sweet story of life and death, decision and hesitation, mothers and daughters and daughters and mothers. At times Volver may bother you with details, but does never fail to impress you in its own way. It was a good movie, anyway.

La Flor de Mi Secreto is again about love and death, but death here, is metaphorical rather than physical (in the first sequence, when the actors are talking about a young guy's death and a they argue about donating his organs so that other people could live, physical death and the possibility of life after that foreshadows the theme of metaphorical death and the possibility of resurrection that happens to Leo).

It would be oversimplifying to say that Leo is a passionate, alcoholic, talented woman. She is all of those things plus something more. She is an idealist in its true sense, yearning for perfection in love, literature, humanity and life. A very fragile, embittered perfectionist, though: when she finds out the man she loves, her husband, has no feelings for her anymore, she dies emotionally (symbolically, she takes a lot of pills that put her into a state of unconsciousness -- a long sleep)When she wakes up and throws up, then baptizes herself in the bathtub, she is already on her way to start life again.

If we analyze Leo from a classical Freudian point of view, we can conclude that her dependence on alcohol, is a way to compensate for her dissatisfied oral passion (remember the scene she kneels down in front of Paco, touching him with her lips as she is wrapping him in a towel). She is told by her friend not to act like a "child" and talk to Paco like "adults", which brings an image of an infant Leo to me, in search of a soothing feeding breast (look how her relationship with her mother is portrayed, and how her mother takes care of her after she breaking up with Paco, i. e. Leo returns to a stage from which she has never outgrown).

In the final sequences of the movie Leo says she is determined not to drink alcohol anymore, and that she needs to learn to be alone. Angel (another alcohol-dependent personality who can be taken as Leo's animus, in Jungian terms) is there to share Leo's resurrection. They join together as "flesh" in the last sequence of the movie.

Another interesting point was that in this movie, it's been mentioned that some story that has been stolen from Leo has been set into a film script and a director is making a movie based on that. Now this story, as implied in this movie, turns out to be the plot of Volver which comes out almost a decade after this movie, so in a sense, Volver is based on a stolen plot: Almodovar has stolen the plot from one of his own characters, Leo! I liked that intertextul hint in the movie.

Watch the trailer here (pause the background music on the right margin before watching this):

"The Pillow Book"

2007-12-05T06:31:00.000-08:00

As a Ph.D student at European Graduate School, I am supposed to read certain books and watch certain movies in order to be able to participate in the Media and Communications courses' requirements. My January course would be "Peter Greenaway Movies", so I started watching his movies to get prepared for the discussions.

I had watched The Belly of an Architect (1987) a few months ago, and I was amazed at Greenaway's dealing with psychology and the theme of betrayal. Last week, I got to watch The Pillow Book (1996) and this time I got too amazed to be amazed!

The Pillow Book is a poem-movie-narration about a Japanese girl who is passionately obsessed with calligraphy. She expands this obsession to her lovers: She wants them to write on her body and finally she herself ends up with an English guy who encourages her to write on his body. There is a third person involved, a publisher whom the girl tries to seduce into getting her "pillow book" published, but the publisher is actually the English guy's lover. The love triangle here is not the conventional one, rather it's a man in love with a man who loves a woman... the jealousy and rivalry bring about reactions that go far beyond imagination.

Writing a detailed synopsis can do no good but to ruin the movie. Just watch it if you haven't and you'll admire Greenaway's stylish outlook.(Don't forget to pause the background music on the right margin under "Nuclear Song of the Week" when watching the trailer.)

The Things We Like/Hate

2007-12-02T09:07:00.000-08:00

The other day, as I was thinking of the things I liked, I started thinking of the things I hate, then I started thinking of what John likes and hates. The result was this:

The Top 15 Things I Like:

- Staying in bed till whenever I want
- Not having to wash my face in cold mornings
- Hot tea right before sleep
- The back of John's neck right after he has got a hair-cut
- The Indian food "aloo gobi" that my mother-in-law makes

- The pop song "Sexy Sexy Lover" by Modern Talking (my parents used to listen to Modern Talking when I was a kid and they were just back to Iran after graduation here... Thomas Anders' voice brings sweet childhood memories with it)

- The smart students in my on-line Farsi class (and those from my English class back in Iran)

- People who respect my territory and privacy

- Cuddling up with John in cold weather (or warm, lukewarm or hot weather!)

- Petting the two cats we have, Gypsy and Bastet, and listening to them purring

- When John opens a door for me, or gets me flowers

- Jungian psychoanalysis

- French fries and French language

- Garlic bread

- Relaxing when John is playing the guitar

The Top 15 Things I Hate:

- The smell of dead fish in the sink

- Noisy nagging impolite kids whose parents keep spoiling them

- When I'm in the mood for cuddling and John is not

- Having to clean the kitty litter every other day

- Having to walk on icy roads

- Having to smile in the face of a guest I don't like

- Having to be careful not to hurt the people I love by being me

- Cutting the frozen chicken for making food, and ending up with frozen fingertips

- Having to keep posting on my blog to make sure I'm getting enough traffic

- Crappy songs with the same rhythm being repeated for 3 hours straight

- Abusive people, also men who do not know how to behave around ladies

- Noisy hinges, specially when I try to be sneaky

- People who have no idea of respect and privacy

- The headmaster of my secondary school back in Iran

- The insects that bite me in summer

The Top 15 Things John Likes:

- The Persian dishes loobia-polo and shevid (baghali)-polo I make

- Bach

- Soft clothes

- Mangoes

- Beautiful smart ladies

- Flamenco dance and guitar

- Cats and dogs and frogs and lamas

- The massage I give him when he's back home after a long day of work

- Nice smells

- The way I take care of him

- Violins

- Indian food (specially chicken tikka mesala along with "naan" bread)

- People with sense of humor

- Excellence in everything

- My cheeks

The Top 15 Things John Hates:

- Having to wake up early in the morning

- Being harassed (by me) while playing a computer game

- Crappy music

- Snobs

- Making mistakes

- Plain food

- Loud parties that will take more than 3 hours

- Being touched by my freezing toes when we're in bed

- Getting too creative when it comes to food recipes

- The idea of the possibility of me getting hurt (either emotionally or physically)

- The idea of me not wanting to spend money for myself

- Having headaches or not feeling energetic enough

- Paperwork of any kind

- Blockheads, either pretty or ugly

- Arguments, no matter what

Well...that's it so far :)

From the "Summa Theologica": For Those Who Look for Reasons

2007-11-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

"Saint Thomas Aquinas was a leading theologian and philosopher during the so-called golden age of scholasticism in the 13th century. The following passage from his Summa Theologica provides a good example of the scholastic method, which began with a question, then assembled arguments on the question that were eventually reconciled [...]

3 Does God Exist?
Obj. 1. It seems that there is no God. For if one of two opposing entities were to exist without limitation the other would be totally destroyed. But the word, God, means something that is infinitely good. Therefore if there were a God, evil would not exist. But we encounter evil in the world. Therefore there is no God.
Obj. 2. Furthermore what can be explained by a few causes should not be explained by many. But it seems that everything we see in the world can be explained by other causes without assuming that God exists, because natural things are explained by natural causes, while those that are done for a purpose are the products of human reason and will. Therefore there is no need to suppose that God exists.
On the contrary, God says in the Scripture, “I am who am.”

I answer that the existence of God can be proved in five ways:

The first and most obvious way is the argument from motion. It is certain and evident to our senses that things are in motion in this world. Everything that moves is moved by something else, for nothing can move unless it has the potentiality of acquiring the perfection of that towards which it moves. To move something is to act, since to move is to make actual what is potential. Now nothing can be changed from a state of potentiality to actuality except by something that itself is in a state of actuality. A fire that is actually hot makes wood that is potentially hot become actually hot, and so moves and changes it. Now it is impossible for the same thing to be both in actuality and in potentiality at the same time and in the same respect—only in different respects. What is actually hot cannot at the same time be potentially hot, although it is potentially cold. Therefore it is impossible for a thing to be both the mover and the thing moved in the same way, or for it to move itself. Therefore everything that moves must be moved by something else. If that by which it is moved also moves, it must itself be moved by something else and that by something else again. But things can not go on forever because then there would be no first mover, and consequently no subsequent mover since intermediate things move only from the motion they receive from the first mover—just as a staff moves only because it is moved by a hand. Therefore it is necessary to go back to some first mover who is not moved by anyone, and this everyone understands as God.

The second way is from the nature of an efficient cause. In the world of the senses we find that there is a sequence of efficient causes, but we never find something that causes itself, and it is impossible to do because it would precede itself—which is impossible. Now the series of finite causes cannot go on to infinity because in every series of causes the first cause is the cause of the intermediate cause and intermediate causes cause the last cause, whether the intermediate causes are many or only one. However if you take away a cause you also take away its effect. If there is no first cause among the efficient causes, there will be no last or intermediate cause. But if we proceed to infinity in the series of causes there will be no first cause and therefore no final or intermediate effects would exist—which is obviously not true. Thus it is necessary to posit some first efficient cause which all men call God.

The third way is based on what can exist (possibility) and what must exist (necessity). It is the following: We find things in nature that can exist or not exist, since things are found to come into existence (be generated) and to cease to exist (be corrupted) and therefore it is possible for them to exist or not exist. Now it is impossible for such things always to have existed, for if it is possible for something not to exist, at some time it did not exist. Therefore if it is possible for everything not to exist, at one time nothing was in existence. But if this is true then nothing would exist even now, since that which does not exist only begins to exist through something else that is in existence. But if nothing was in existence it was impossible for anything to begin to exist, and so nothing would exist now—which is obviously not true. Everything cannot be [merely] possible but there must be some necessary being in existence. Something is a necessary being either as a result of the action of another or not. However it is impossible to go on to infinity in [the series of] necessary beings that must exist because they are caused by another, as we have already proved above in the case of efficient causes. We must therefore posit a [necessary] being that must exist in itself and does not owe its existence to anything else, but is the reason that other things must be. This all men call God.

The fourth way is based on the gradations that exist in things. We find in the world that some things are more or less true, or good, or noble and so on. The description of “more” or “less” is given to things to the degree that they approach the superlative in various ways. For example a thing is said to be hotter as it approaches more closely what is hottest. Therefore there is something that is the most true, and best, and most noble, and consequently most fully in being, for the things that are the greatest in truth are the greatest in being, as is said in the Metaphysics. Now the superlative in any classification (genus) is the cause of all the things in that classification. Fire, for example, which is the hottest of all things is the cause of everything that is hot, as is said in the same book. Therefore there is something that is the cause of being and goodness and whatever perfection everything has, and this we call God.

The fifth way is based on the order (gobernatio) in the universe. We see that things that lack consciousness such as bodies in nature function purposively. This is evident from the fact that they always, or nearly always, function in the same way so as to achieve what is best. Therefore it is evident that they achieve their end, not by chance but by design. But things that do not possess consciousness tend towards an end only because they are directed by a being that possesses consciousness and intelligence, in the same way that an arrow must be aimed by an archer. Therefore there is an intelligent being who directs all things to their goal, and we say that this is God.

Reply to Obj. 1. Augustine says, “Since God is the supremely highest good he would not allow evil to exist in his creation unless he were so all powerful and good that he could even make good out of evil.” Thus it is part of the infinite goodness of God that he permits evils to exist so that he can bring good from them.
Reply to Obj. 2. Since nature acts for a given end at the direction of a higher agent, the things that take place in nature go back to God as their first cause. Similarly what is done for a purpose must go back to some higher cause which is not the reason and will of man because these are changeable and can cease to exist. Everything that is changeable and perishable must go back to an unchangeable and necessary first cause that is unchangeable and self-existent (per se necessarium)."

Source: St. Thomas Aquinas on Politics and Ethics, ed. Paul Sigmund. New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1988.
Microsoft ® Encarta ® 2007. © 1993-2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Questioning the Answer

2007-11-27T07:07:00.000-08:00

I just came across some videos on You Tube that include discussions on God: some say "God does not exist", and some say, "F*** you! Of course God exists!" Now, what I have to say about all this is simple and short:

I think the reason we have all these "arguments" about the [non]existence of God in the west is because western tradition is more inclined to objectivity and reasoning (in contrast to the eastern tradition of subjectivity and intuition). Westerners are very fond of arguing about the nature of things, and as established from the tradition of ancient Greek philosophers, a search for "truth" has been predominant in western philosophy. It is interesting to notice that in most eastern traditions, in contrast, this search is mostly focused on "love" rather than "truth". For most eastern philosophers, God is already beyond question, but the quality of methods through which one can attain His love is what they try to find an answer for.

The great persian poet and philosopher, Molavi, also known in the western world as Rumi, clarifies the futility of questioning God's [non]existence in one single line of poetry which can be roughly translated as:

"The effort for finding God is like the effort for finding the sun in a desert by the aid of a candle's light."

Also, he compares the reasoning methods human-beings may use in order to argue about the [non]existence of God, the nature of "truth" or the boundaries of universe, to the way a fish may understand the ocean: As long as the fish is living in the ocean, it cannot have a picture of the reality of the ocean, where it is located, how big it is, or where are its shores, therefore, the fish cannot question the [non]existence of the ocean, the quality of its existence, or its boundaries. (Perhaps we will understand God better after we get out of the limitations of the material world we are floating in -- after death.)

Something I finally like to say to the people who are trapped in the irrelevant question of God's [non]existence:

We cannot prove nor deny God's [non]existence before proving or denying our own [non]existence. I see us as the perception of God materialized. If God decides to stop perceiving us, we will not exist to question God's [non]existence. Hard to grasp, but will be easier to understand if we stop seeing a disparity between God and us. There is no disparity, there is just unity, and not even "unity" in the nice peaceful Christian sense, or Muslim sense, or Buddhist sense, or any other religious sense - "unity" in the utmost reasonable sense possible, unity NOT between God and us, but rather, between God and God, which is us.

One line from this Shiite prayer which I like: "God, do not forget us, not even for one moment, even if we forget You."

Western/Eastern on the Concept of Love: A Casual Conversation

2007-11-26T06:48:00.000-08:00

This is part of my chat with an American friend that ended up worthy enough to be published here. Obviously, these are our personal views and do not signify any truth... yet, It's interesting to read:

[…]
Me: when i think about the concept of "love", i feel most people either dont experience it at all, or just have a shadowy experience of it
Me: most people do not want to spend time and energy for falling in love
Me: they want something quick, ALREADY compatible
Friend: yes...few are willing to work at it
Me: just look at all these match-making websites
Me: even love has reduced to quantity here, instead of quality
Me: everything should be FAST in the western world
Friend: people are always searching for something.. might even be that what they are searching for does not exist
Me: well
Me: you know whats wrong with those ppl?
Me: they're selfish
Friend: tell me
Me: deeply selfish
Me: they want the world to offer them something they want
Me: but they dont want to change themselves in ways to suit what they can find
Friend: instant gratification
Me: thats the core problem of westerners and also modern easterners
Me: yes
Me: they just look for shorter, faster things
Me: but the easy way is almost always NOT the right way
Friend: disposable society.. even people are disposable
Me: exactly
Me: and these people think they are really smart
Me: they are not, in fact
Me: because they are missing the great opportunity of falling in love
Me: it's hard, but it's the most amazing thing in the world
Me: when you start to modify your ways for the pleasure of someone you love
Me: it's a voluntary effort that shows you are mature enough as a human-being to actually be in love
Friend: they don't all want love.. but they all seem to want attention
Me: that's when you deserve the right partner
Me: that's very true
Me: attention-seekers
Me: rather than love-seekers
Me: we have a lot of attention-seekers nowadays, and not enough love-seekers
Friend: it's always been that way i'm sure
Me: love-seekers are left behind in history books or in the graves of ancient time
Me: right...but NEVER in the history of mankind, it has turned into a cultural phenomenon that is prevailing as it is now
Me: love was not this commercial ever
Me: now you look everywhere...it's suffocating everybody to know what man New York will finally choose
Me: or, in the height of their open-mindedness to accept bisexuality... what man or woman Tila Tequila will eventually end up with
Me: that's all TV shows can offer about love
Friend: our society and economic systems are based on competition
Me: everything in the western world is based on competition
Me: worse than survival of the fittest laws
Me: you know what?
Friend: what?
Me: im going to resort to some far spot someday, with my books and my old love letters
Me: far from the madding crowd
Friend: might be lonely there
Me: of course not
Me: God is there
Me: He's not here for sure, since everybody is too busy to notice Him lol
Friend: good luck with that
Me: thanks
Me: thats really my dream
Friend: i like people around me
Me: i need to get out of this comfort zone
Me: of potato chips and computers and busy lifestyle
Friend: you don't have to join the crowd to live amongst it
Me: i like ppl too, but doesnt mean im ready to suffocate myself by being extra-social
Friend: that's what i do..i exist in society...but i don't thrust myself deep into it
Me: it's just... something is really missing in American lifestyle and you cannot understand it, since you're born here, have been living here, and most probably after a nice long life with die here
Me: it's not just that
Me: this is the society that keeps you from thinking otherwise
Me: and you have no choice, because you have a family, a job, etc
Me: you cannot just leave things behind
Me: and that i understand..can be so hard
Friend: i don't want to be in a position where i can just leave everything behind and go off and do nothing.. that isn't fulfilling to me
Me: exactly...you think im talking about "go off and do nothing"
Me: that's exactly why you can't get my point, because as an American you're immersed in this culture
Me: nothing wrong with that, though…most probably, I am immersed in my own culture too!
Me: but just means this communication barrier between us cannot be easily removed..by us I mean between typically-eastern mentality and typically-western mentality
Me: most probably there are concepts I WOULD not understand, either
Me: because im not immersed in the American culture yet
Me: but by leaving things behind, i didnt mean to go off and do nothing
Me: i meant to start facing yourself and understanding yourself WITHOUT the help of all those mirrors around that you call people or friends or family
Friend: that's the thing..you see our culture as a prison where we can't leave.. that's far from it, we are free to leave at any time.. what did you have to go through to leave your country?
Me: i know what westerners are afraid of above all...it's not terrorists, it not nuclear bombs, it's not cancer or AIDS..it's something else
Friend: what?
Me: it's being alone by themselves to face themselves
Me: hence they create all this "busy-ness" which they call "business" just NOT to be alone by themselves, because they have no idea how to handle themselves
Me: it can be scary, to focus on yourself WITHOUT any distraction at hand
Friend: i'm talking about barriers..what barriers did you have to come here?
Me: I am the person who choose to fall in love, forgot it?
Me: I am not one of these comfort-seekers who puts an ad on a match-making site and wait for some magical partner to stop by and knock on their door
Friend: you also chose to fall in love with a westerner
Me: yes
Me: which is even harder
Me: which meant i had to totally consider changing my ways..my familiar ways
Me: which i did
Me: since i know how to fall in love
Friend: why didn't you make him change his ways instead?
Me: he did too
Me: we both did
Me: he knows how to fall in love, too
Me: we both changed our ways to please eachother
Me: as much as we could
Me: and we are STILL doing this… most probably we will be doing this forever lol which is good
Me: I am sure I would have been a totally different person if I had not fallen in love with John… most probably I would have been a bit more selfish, less flexible, more austere, less emotional… with him, I'm sure if he had not fallen in love with me, he could have ended up a bit more selfish too, less of a dreamer, more confused, and of course, less smiling :)
[…]

"A Good Year"

2007-11-25T12:43:00.000-08:00

I just watched A Good Year (2006), directed by Ridley Scott. It was heart-warming and enjoyable, despite the most negative feedback from the film critics (according to the French daily newspaper, Libération : "Appalling from start to finish, A Good Year collapses under clichés of an ochre Luberon made for a loaded Anglo-Saxon élite.")

I do not see any negativity in this movie; on the contrary, I'd say this movie is a good movie exactly because it's simple. The plot is not like a Lynchian riddle, where you have to use all your brain cells to solve it (not to criticise Lynch, since I'm one of his devoted fans :)). A Good Year is simple and delightful, like its title... and extremely tangible. Some may say that the ending (the predictable decision of the main character, him forgetting about the busy English lifestyle and indulging in the care-free, joy-seeking union with the French girl he falls in love with) was so typical, but I'd say, it was so wise, too, since, this is exactly what the film focuses on to convey, as typical as it may sound: life is short, so live it as much as you can. This might be a cliche, but it doesn't change the fact that it is certainly true. Perhaps this is the only thing we can be sure of in the era of relativity and uncertainty, that, no matter what, no matter how life is and how we live our life, either as a bum, or as a philosopher, it is bound to be short. I'd say this movie is exactly about this, hence it's been titled as A Good Year, not as "A Good Life", for instance, for it's all about fleeting, temporary, transient moments that make the life meaningful. There is a possibility that Max Skinner will have a good year ahead, passionate moments with Fanny, nice romantic nights with the woman he loves for the moment, and an appreciation for the sunny land of Provence. Yet, there is still a possibility that all this passion, hope and comfort will fade away after a while, when the fire of romance gradually dies, and Max starts missing his English lifestyle as a businessman. That's why we have this scene of a short phone conversation between Max and his friend who tries to convince him that this is not going to last forever and he needs to get back to England. This scene is pivotal: Max, as he is watching Fanny's back in tight jeans, simply replies, "we will see" and then hangs up. Perhaps without this scene, A Good Year could end up as "a sappy romantic comedy lacking in charm and humor" [Rotten Tomatoes], but this scene changes A Good Year to a lighthearted outlook on life, a movie which is a relish, rather than a romance, which film critics expect it to be, and thus think of it as a failure.

Anyway, watch the trailer here and see if you like to watch A Good Year after all; in case you decide to watch this movie, you will get to hear some nice French pop songs too... bonne chance :)

"Ode to Autumn" by John Keats (1795 - 1821)

2007-11-25T07:47:00.000-08:00

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Autumn

2007-11-23T10:21:00.000-08:00

I went for a walk yesterday... right before the famous Thanksgiving Dinner. The town was quiet, and except for the forlorn birds wandering through the leafy wind, there was not a single soul agitating the utter peace blanketing the earth and the sky above.

I took pictures which I like to share... hope you enjoy.

"The Twilight Samurai" (2002)

2007-11-20T16:04:00.000-08:00

I just watched The Twilight Samurai (Tasogare Seibei) and I deeply enjoyed this beautifully-directed movie. The plot is well-developed and the actors and actresses are all perfect for their roles. The narration technique which includes the voice-over of one of the characters and the flash-back scenes boost the nostalgia conveyed by the theme: the values honored by the people who no longer live, nor even are barely remembered.

This movie is definitely one of the best Samurai/Japanese movies I've watched so far. As the audience living in an era which supports the relativity of values rather than advocating any firm moral standpoint, you will appreciate the strength and delicacy of old Japanese point of view as depicted in this movie.

The brilliant scene of Twilight Samurai's encountering the defying Samurai who has refused committing suicide in spite of his lord's orders poses the ancient philosophical dilemma of persoanl will Vs. destiny. The dialogues are full of nuances here, and the angles camera adopts to capture the critical moments of the one-to-one battle is absolutely well-calculated.

I wanted to write more about this movie, but I'd say just watch the trailer and then decide if you want to watch this movie or not. My suggestion is... just watch it! (Don't forget to stop the background sound coming from "Nuclear Song of the Week" on the right margin, or you won't be able to enjoy the nice Japanese song on the trailer.)

"Rain Man", "Bee Movie", "A Clockwork Orange"

2007-11-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

Well... those movies have nothing to do with eachother, I know, but I happened to watch them one after the other in the past three days. I re-watched Rain Man on TV. The first time I had watched this movie I was in Iran, and it was perhaps three years ago. I used to be quite interetsed in autism in general, and had done a thorough reseach on it, just to satiate my personal curiosity. To me, autism is so puzzling (as it is still a mystery) and I think so far, I agree to Carl H. Delacato's views on it in his book, The Ultimate Stranger: The Autistic Child : A very heart-warming book on autism for those who are not familiar with medical terms and references.

My favorite scene in Rain Man is when Charlie (Tom Cruise) tries to show Raymond (Dustin Hoffman) how to dance. Unforgettable scene. Hoffman has his own little tricks when he wants to seem hesitating and doubtful about a situation. He moves his eyeballs and contracts his face muscles in a certain way. Remember him in Papillon , in the escape scene, and you'll know what I'm talking about. I have not seen any other actor or actress who can do it just the way he does it. Superb.

I watched Bee Movie with John in cinema. He was having nachos and I was having popcorn while watching it, I guess he was bored a bit, but when we were back home he said he had enjoyed it much better than this other movie Hairspray which we had watched couple of weeks ago and had found it boring to death. Bee Movie is fun to watch; it's like a quick relief. It's full of imagination and subtle visual wonders. At least I can say I enjoyed i, if John just liked it.

About A Clockwork Orange ... I watched it with my mother-in-law. She likes weird movies, and I like Kubrick movies in general. After watching Full Metal Jacket and Eyes Wide Shut, I knew that I definitely wanted to watch more movies from Kubrick. I didn't get a chance to do so, until a few days ago, when my Netflix movie A Clockwork Orange arrived. We could find time to watch it together, mom and I. I admit even after reading the plot, I still got baffled, annoyed, excited and delighted by watching this movie. I expereicned all those contrary feelings simultaneously and to a degree, it reminded me of my feelings when watching David Lynch movies. A Clockwork Orange is definitely a masterpiece of psychological comedy/drama and I can simply say, concerning the time it came out, Kubrick was hell of a lot ahead of his time and ahead of all of us!

I am going to keep an eye on TV, since I guess A Beautiful Mind would be on sometime and although I have watched it and re-watched it in Iran, I still want to watch it here in the US. Perhaps that'll make a difference in my perspective, who knows?

Pornography: An Analysis

2007-11-13T13:33:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I read a nice article on pornography. The author had discussed the myths about pornography, offering scientific details. These were the myths:

MYTH ONE: “Obsession with porn is due to a character defect.”
MYTH TWO: “There’s no scientific evidence that porn is addictive.”
MYTH THREE: “Those who suggest porn is harmful are anti-sex and/or religious extremists.”

And these are some excerpts I chose:

"The human brain has never had to contend with such an assault, which is strategically calculated to stimulate this vulnerable part of the male brain. A few short decades ago young men usually got their first glimpses of bare breasts in National Geographic. Then came “Playboy,” “Hustler,” X-rated films, hard-core porn, and now the Internet. In effect, today’s porn viewers are guinea pigs in a mass experiment. It is quite possible that male brains are not well suited to handle this overload of erotica without losing their equilibrium."

"Sex is as natural as sugar, but when we use it in a binge pattern, as many porn users do, then it has the potential for addiction."

"Porn is like junk food. It can easily promote unhealthy isolation or shallow, risky relationships. It therefore interferes with relationships that have the greatest potential to nourish us. In this respect porn itself is anti-sex, even if it is pro-orgasm. Moreover, like junk food, porn can give rise to an unruly addiction."

"The porn industry is similar to the tobacco industry - driven by the addictions of its users. This demand, which both industries do everything in their power to increase, makes it hard to curb porn production. However, there is much that can be done to educate potential users and users about the true risks of using porn, and how to seek recovery once hooked."

If you are interested in reading the whole article, visit Reuniting: Healing with Sexual Relationships.

Story of the Month: All My Kinsmen

2007-11-11T04:53:00.000-08:00

All My Kinsmen
Inspired by a Darling Friend’s Dream (Friday, February 6, 2004)

I woke up. There was nothing in the room. It was abandoned a thousand years ago by its residents. There were no wavy lilac flowers on the curtain, there was no curtain either, no window, no sun far away beyond that window, no sky, not a single cloud on it, nor some flying black figure which might be detected as a bird, a raven, or a dove, a red-breast, or a nightingale. I took the ancient path before my feet; I passed through burnt-out candles, my heels crushing their cold waxed drops on the rug beneath: I could leisurely watch that beauty lying there just like some enticing lass of crimson body all adorned with faded yet enchanting blue flowers. It was as if she had been virgin for a thousand years: not a single soul had raped that innocent dust. However, I had to. I could lucidly hear the groans, see the desperate efforts of that lonely delicate body, but I had to subdue it. The shivering warps and wefts were finally surmounted. The dust had been scattered then, the primordial candle drops felt wet as if crying over the lost virginity, the rug had given up her secrets in total surrender. She was mine. My feet had left marks on her… What was that coiled idol hung from the ceiling, then? It carried some sinister flavor; some gaudy look was emitted from those oval eyes, or I’d better say, bare holes with frills around. The hermaphrodite creature was gawking at me, sniffing the air with capacious holes of that obtruded wrinkled nose, lowering that hulking head to inspect my shadowy figure. I went by promptly to the entrance of the cellar. There was no door. I easily glided down, as in a long-conquered night, or the half-opened arms of some resting lover, gazing forward, fervently.

I wake up. It’s half past eight,
So so late!
Then my fate,
Has to wait!
If only I could get rid of that mental habit of rhyming the entire world! I guess I’m a born poet, supposed to combine all the assumed contrasts in one single stroke of doggerel! I’ve gotta wait, though. Wait for some real inspiration, maybe some muse of silver wings,
Who just sings,
And brings,
Some diamond rings,
Of some quiet kings,
To my sacred soul,
Poisoned and stole!
My mom always says there’s a strain of madness in all of us. It’s in fact some ancient heritage, she declares, from long long ago, when we had to emigrate from Russia to America. My gal also says I’m a bit odd, especially when it comes to romance and such stuff. She says I don’t get into it like other guys, that I’ve got my own particular way, and that she’s quite pleased with having such a distinct chum around. I don’t know what she exactly means by that, but every now and then I feel this strange impulse within me, I get whimsical at times, or I feel a sudden urge to get enormously passionate about something, no matter what. My mother says I used to dig the ground relentlessly, with a little shovel, when I was but five or six years old, to get the worms out so that they wouldn’t get stifled under the dirty stones. Reasoning had apparently been futile. I never gave it up. Poor worms must have dried up to death under the sizzling summer sun, but I must have had a faint understanding of that all.

The stairs were unsafe to rely on. There was a thick layer of damp earth on each, and a smell like that of fresh mould, but I had to trust. I had no other choice but to keep faith in that treacherous prostitute with flatulent worn-out body and perilous flanks: My trembling nude feet groped down forty curved stairs, a rash pulse of heart dedicated to each limb of the whore. Down there, my toes revealed the ground sure, but soggy. I stopped to grow some sense of orientation. It was blank, yet full of frenzied echoes of water dropping incessantly down as if on ice, or some other crystal liquid. I pricked my ears. No other signal could be spotted. The low-ceiling enclosure had made me crouch over my knees; I crept toward the sound, my feet numb with frosty earth, my eyes developing fantasies of creatures crawling in the dark, faceless fiends with empty eyes, no tongue to talk, no ear to hear. Yet, I confided in my ears to hear their voice: dancing drops and drooling beasts besieged my soul. Darkness obliterated my sanity. I cried crazily for some cherub of light; however, I got some deafening moan from hell: echoes packed my head. I collapsed at the sight of lame ogres squatting in two-inch recesses of the wall: hundreds of forlorn sighs had got united in beseeching tones: “Help us out!”

It was my twenty-first birthday last night, and I’m glad, this morning, to wake up not as an under-age anymore, but as someone who could vote, drink in banned bars, or be taken as an acknowledged member of Freemasonry! My gal gave me gloves; my dad, socks, and my mom…Guess what? She approached me with a mysterious smile on her thin lips, announcing to all, “I’m going to give you something especial, my little son, and I bet you’ll be absolutely surprised” Everybody anxiously waited to see this unique gift: it was a little shovel! I burst into laughter; I felt a quick shudder in my spine, though. Something disturbed me, don’t know what, and everybody got naughty to utter naive remarks about how sweet I would seem if only I would take them out to the little family garden, and show them how I used to dig a hole when I was a nice small lad! I told them that I didn’t recall anything about such silliness, while feeling a strong desire to dig, though. When the party was over, I sneaked off to the backyard and began to dig,
With hands big,
Under the stars,
Stained with scars!

Light had delved into the wall. The pale door was opened. A soft blow of moist cold wind caressed my face. There appeared a green shape, as if emerging out of some jade miasma. It was not a holy tree as that of Siddhartha, nor some piece of shining emerald; neither a symbol of fertility nor a token of prosperity. It was but a woman. A devastated statue of something once gorgeous. The death-pallid green eyes were staring at me through furrowed ajar lids. The face was that of a princess; the nobility of silhouette and the petite female lines of chin were evident enough. If only my modest look dared to penetrate that dense solid film covering her countenance... I would discover more about her features. She seemed young; much younger than me, yet I had no confidence in my distorted impression. She was poorly attired in some long green robe; it was not tattered, yet torn here and there, as if in a despondent defiance. I could hardly see her trunk in that feebly-lighted cave, yet my eyes detected some ruby outline of a bleeding brand on her left shoulder. I deduced she had been brought there just a few days ago. Surveying me for a brief moment, she uttered some muffled grunt like that of a dying deer. “Hello,” I articulated at last. She was mute. I just repeated my greetings. She walked slowly, very slowly toward me. “You are my kinsman,” she whimpered, clasping both my hands with frantic fingers. I shuddered at the chilled touch. “You are my kinsman!” she squeezed my wrists; pain prickled my palms. I struggled to release myself, but she peeled away my skin with her long blue nails. “You are my kinsman!” she was repeating in arid tones of awe, “Help me! You must help me!” all of a sudden, she let my clammy hands loose, then fell on the ground. The filth-plastered robe blanketed her trim figure. “They’ll cut my fingers,” she groaned, “Hack my breasts,” her face downwards. “Help me out! Help me out!” she sobbed. I could not speak a word. I could only afford to mumble “My Lord”. She managed to stand up, “You are my kinsman,” she said resolutely. “You can get me out.” She glared at me for a long time without batting one bleached eyelash. “You will help me, won’t you?” finally she quivered, her once-pretty face smudged with tears. “Who are you?” I cautiously inquired, my heart hopping in my chest. She parted her withered thin lips, a ghost of a grin on her marble face, “I’m your mother.”

My gal believes there are times when I get stinking peculiar, practicing rituals rather out of order. Last night, for instance, I asked her out to dinner in a Russian restaurant, “to vivify some sense of following my ancestors,” I explained to her. I just wanted to fully surprise her, hence I put on some Russian costume, like that of Russian dancers in ballets, and wore a false beard and moustache to complete the scene. She didn’t recognize me in the first place. I had to partly remove my moustache to reveal my true identity. At first, she softly reproached me for such bizarre shows, but then, she had got truly surprised as I had planned. Arm in arm, we went to the restaurant in a far corner of a dark street. There were no neon or light bulbs as you can see in a typical urban restaurant; instead, there were candle lights everywhere right from the wooden door to the rug-decked tables. As a matter of fact, I had never dined in a Russian restaurant before, and I was as amazed at the uncanny ornaments there. My gal was gaping all the time at the coming and going lads clad in gaudy apparels, damsels in blue,
Just pure and true,
Their heads adorned,
Tout le monde,
Their hands bright,
Their feet light,
Their aprons torn,
Their babes not born!
We sat at a small table with short legs and soft skin.
My gal was all the time looking around, and I was about to get mad, and even sad, ‘cause not a single one of those
Russian-babbling souls,
Looked at me in downright doubt,
Or sent my gal and me out!
Instead, we were brought a long menu of scribbled odd names which part French, part Polish, part Russian, was managed to make sense in awkward English. We ordered at random, and my gal resumed staring at the empty air behind my hairy head. I just got annoyed by her hypnotized half-closed eyes, and asked her if she would prefer me to get rid of all the false hair on my face, but she replied she wouldn’t care about it and I might keep it there. Her curious eyes were glued again to the air behind my head. I got impatient and turned back to share her look. “That face seems familiar, doesn’t it?” she asked in tones of triumph. I mused for a while, trying to figure out
What she was exactly talking about,
Then out of blue,
I saw a clue!
The waitress came to our table, and put a large bowl of some green liquid before us. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but her face was dazzlingly similar to my mom’s! She was younger, though, and more appealing. I don’t know why something smelt queer at her presence; some repelling odor like that of mould or fetid wet soil filled my nose. I looked at my gal: she seemed absolutely indifferent to the smell; rather, she was breathlessly listening to the girl’s prattle. After the waitress’ departure, my gal told me how excited she was, of being there, of being with me, and of having me as her pal. I asked her why she was so keyed up about it all, and she enlightened me by a thorough description of what the waitress had just told her about the chow we had ordered: that was a very special Russian dish, made of a young goat’s breasts, and was perfectly seasoned with the powder of dried up plants grown only on Russian steppes. She looked at me, like an old adventurer, and dipped the large spoon in the bowl. I don’t know why I felt sick, but anyhow, I excused myself and came out. She just wanted to come with me, but I requested her to keep her seat, and eat her meat. I don’t know why I felt utterly abandoned when walking from candle lights to lamp posts. I guess it’s the effect of that old lunacy strain. It’s looming out, every now and then, as some sordid fetish of antiquity, some insane desire to dive into nameless passions. I do believe in night’s wonders, though, in her
Cuddling cures,
Gentle gasps,
Lulling lures…
I feel weary and cold,
Yet brave and bold,
For you to save,
Out of that cave.

Back from Delaware

2007-11-06T04:26:00.000-08:00

John and I spent the weekend in Delaware... To be more exact, in DoubleTree Hotel in Wilmington. John is apprenticing with a famous German bow-maker, Mr. Joe Regh, and he and his wife are vice president and president of VSA (Violin Society of America). We travelled to Wilmington to attend the VSA 2007 convention (held annually since 1974). There were seminars on violin-making, commercial exhibits where you could buy violin [or viola/cello]-making stuff from vendors from around the world.

This was the first time John and I were in a VSA convention. The people there were so friendly, and since they were all into arts, we had a lot in common. We also went to two concerts, one was David Bromberg and his Big Band's performance which was held in Grand Opera House and was truly spirit-lifting. This guy is a genius entertainer and if you want to laugh a lot and enjoy the music too, just go to his shows! Interestingly enough, he also has a very rare collection of fine violins that everybody in the seminars referred to. We got to see very beautiful pictures of some of those violins, but unfortunately we couldn't make it seeing the real collection.

The next concert included violin/piano pieces performed by Robert McDuffie and Charles Abramovic . As a classical-music fan, I totally enjoyed the smart selection and the brilliant performance of these two guys. An unforgettable evening it was.

After the VSA banquet on Saturday night (Nov. 3) John and I decided not to wait for the next morningand leave for home right away, so that we could have more time to rest on Sunday. On our way back, John started explaining to me that I should not pronounce the words "student" or "script" as "estudent" or "escript", or the words "wall" and "water" as "vall" and "vater", one exception, however, was German names, like "Weiss" (his favorite composer) or "Wolfgang". Those names were supposed to be pronounced as "Veiss" or "Volfgang". Then in the middle of all this, I heard John shouting, "DAMN! WE MISSED THE GARDEN STATE!" and well... after missing the right exit, we ended up in Manhattan and got stuck in the crazy traffic there for ever. We arrived home 2: 24 am, old time.

(The enigmatic picture you see here is not a work of Modern or Postmodern Arts, rather, it is Manhattan's lights in motion! I took this picture as I was sitting in the car -- bored.)

Long Argument about Sex Roles!

2007-10-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

While reviewing the saved text chats of John and I, I found this which I think is both funny and interesting... already sounds like a scene from a play!

12/23/2005

Tina: i believe in perfection
Tina: nothing
Tina: just know how crazy i am
Tina: then decide
Tina: im not really the kitchen type
Tina: or the bed type
Tina: or the motherly type
Tina: or any type
Tina: im something hard to live with
Tina: im kind
Tina: loving
Tina: giving
Tina: protecting
Tina: yet hard to live with
Tina: i can drive you mad
Tina: i have the potential to drive you mad
Tina: and also to make you feel so happy
Tina: the happiest man on earth
Tina: generally
Tina: i can be a better friend .. or a lover than a nice wife
Tina: that's the truth about me
John: so what type are you?!
John: we need to eat!
John: i dont cook!
Tina: i cook
Tina: surely
John: we have to be realistic
Tina: i adore food lol
John: i know a few dishes
Tina: sure
John: but with my hours
John: i wont be able to cook
Tina: ill cook
Tina: i love that
John: thats your job sweetie! lol
Tina: sure
Tina: its settled
John: so youll have to like the kitchen
John: otherwise
John: we are eating McDonalds!
Tina: cleaning is yours.. cooking is mine
Tina: shopping is mine too
John: cleaning?
John: you want me to clean too?
Tina: too?
Tina: lol
Tina: that would be your sole job in the house
Tina: ill do the rest
John: well
John: i dont like to dust
Tina: cooking and shopping and dishwashing is mine
Tina: then what do you like to do?
Tina: sitting and playing games?
John: i have sentimental attachment with dust
John: becuase i know my skin particles are there
John: we can play the guitar
John: music
John: creativity
Tina: then well need to hire a maid
Tina: an old one
John: and i will wait anxiously for the food
Tina: so that you cant get romantic around her when im not there!
John: sure
Tina: lol
Tina: shell be over 50 anyway
John: noooooooooo
John: she has to be a french maid
John: 22 years old
Tina: over 50
John: nooo
Tina: thats it
Tina: not even 49
John: hell no
John: hell no
Tina: hell yes
John: 22
Tina: sure yes
John: from france
John: with that cute outfit
Tina: 50 from morocco
Tina: lol
Tina: 50?
Tina: nice then
John: depends
Tina: i see im going to get married to a man with a terrible taste lol
Tina: bad taste
John: now that i think about it
Tina: common taste
John: how so?
John: i love beauty
Tina: 50-year-old moroccan maids have ugly spots on their face!
John: forget about it..i can fix the things around the house
John: light bulb
Tina: lol
John: i can paint
John: do stuff like that around the house
Tina: so you expect me to clean the toilets?
John: ill clean the kitty litter thats all
John: i do that all the time
Tina: do you think its gentlemanly for you to let me do that?
John: everytime i sit down
John: i spray it with lysol
Tina: ok then
John: and wipe it good before using it
Tina: thats your job still
Tina: not mine
Tina: lol
John: so... it gets cleaned automatically by me very often
John: but women usually do that you know
John: you can get the tub and sink
Tina: not me
John: moping and sweeping all you
John: cleaning and cooking
John: all you
Tina: thats not fair
John: well
John: we can say its my duty
John: but im like a stubborn teenager
John: ill say ill do it
John: but i wont
John: dishes is you too
John: but youll be yelling at me to do things
Tina: then we leave it at that.. dishes can pile up
Tina: lol
John: and youll end up doing it yourself
Tina: im used to see piled up dishes everywhere
John: because i get into my creative modes and i cant be stopped!
Tina: and im used to live in dust
Tina: lol
John: i wont do dishes
John: because my hands wont fit in cups
John: soap will damage my hands
Tina: ill do them despite my hatred
John: and there are knives and forks
John: men arent supposed to do dishes
Tina: so you need to be a bit more cooperative
John: our hands are too big
Tina: women arent supposed to do toilets
Tina: or sinks
Tina: or tubs
John: but youll be home for 6 months
Tina: your dad used to do the tubs lol
John: thats not true
Tina: not your mom
John: here they do
John: and indian women do
John: indian women are the best cleaners in the world
Tina: not how ive been raised up
John: the bathroom is the ladies area
Tina: its all my dad's job to do here
John: it has a mirror
Tina: my dad cleans the sinks and tubs and all
John: and women like things to be tidy and clean
John: not men
Tina: ok then
Tina: im not a woman then
Tina: you're going to marry Tina
Tina: not a woman
Tina: TINA
John: i just spray the toilet seat with lysol because i have OCD and i dont like germs
Tina: so i dont care
John: oh stop it
John: its not that bad
John: after all that
Tina: i wont do the cleaning
John: we can make love
John: and read books
John: stop that
John: are you on strike already?
Tina: i wont turn into a housewife
Tina: yes i am!
Tina: you can get maids
John: thats what you will be for 6 months
John: dont get all feminist on me
John: that crap doesnt work with me
Tina: neither with me
John: you dont want to do the dishes... fine
John: ill do them
Tina: so we can happily live in dust
John: but if theres a problem with the car
Tina: i dont have a problem with that lol
John: when there is a blizzard outside, and we are stuck on the highway...
John: guess what
Tina: i know
John: you're getting out there and under the car and under the hood to fix it
Tina: but its not just practical
Tina: im going to both work and go to school
John: ill stay nice and toasty in the car.. and file my guitar nails
John: thats different
John: thats why we might need another wife!
John: lol
Tina: no
Tina: we need another maid
Tina: and a bit more cooperation from you
John: screw maid
John: you want me to get the bathroom
John: and do it as my chore?
Tina: no
John: i can
Tina: in fact
Tina: i dont want you to do anything
Tina: ill do them all myself
Tina: really
John: i will clean the bathroom
John: ill do it
John: no problem
Tina: you can if youd like to
Tina: but no problem if you dont like to
Tina: thats it
John: but when theres a problem with the roof in the winter, and there is ice on the shingles, you have to go up there on the ladder and get on the roof with the hammer and nails
John: ill get the bathroom :-)
John: no problemo
John: should i cook too?
Tina: its just..if i were a man.. i couldnt see my lady bending down over the bathtub cleaning it with her little hands
Tina: her weak arms
John: lol
Tina: but i think maybe we're different in this
John: women clean the bathroom here
John: in fact
John: they dont let the men
John: and
John: walking in the bathroom
John: with your lady bending over
John: is the best time to have some nice spontaneous loving making.. just when she isnt expecting it
Tina: yes
Tina: sure
Tina: but still
Tina: after that
John: i just cant see you on the roof when its ice cold out with a hammer in your hands!!!!!
John: hmm
John: depends
John: its just
John: i believe cleaning the house
John: is the woman's job
John: decorating it
John: its hers
John: even if the man pays for it
John: its like
John: my cats.. are mine really.. so they are my responsibility really
John: feeding them, their litter.. i will do that
John: thats mine
John: my car
John: our cars
John: is my responsibility
John: to maintain
John: i could leave it for you
John: but i wont
John: its a man's job
Tina: i thought you were a bit more flexible with the idea of sex roles
John: the garage and tool shed
John: is mine
Tina: just that
John: sure
John: i am
John: but im talking about housely responsibilities
John: now..
Tina: then what is all this about? lol
John: if you go to work and school
John: we will face a problem
John: ill be doing most of the house stuff
John: and im going to be cranky
John: but ill have to deal with it
John: you can bet.. that the house wont be so clean
John: and the quality of my cleaning will be low
Tina: i wouldn't care
Tina: its alright
John: if there is any cleaning done by me at all! lol
Tina: its ok
John: ill try
Tina: i just dont want to feel limited in certain ways
Tina: neither of us
John: isnt this all complicated?
Tina: it is
Tina: we need to do things on a schedule
Tina: and share things
John: sure
Tina: when im not home..youll cover for me.. when you're not.. I'll cover
Tina: besides
Tina: you're a man
Tina: dont forget
Tina: you're stronger than me
John: its just..
John: kind of gay to be doing dishes
John: a man does it when he's alone
John: but when there is a woman there
John: and she's not doing them
John: it looks bad for both!
Tina: i see you're obsessed with this senseless gay stuff
John: the man's parents say
John: why are there so many dishes there?
John: and
John: you are skinny.. is that wife even feeding you at all?!?!
Tina: i see you have the same crap over there..sex roles!
John: why is the house a mess
Tina: the same crap we have over here
Tina: the hell with parents
Tina: literally
Tina: and the hell with all
Tina: i care about us..you and I
John: but it is my money that funds our life
John: so traditional women have their duty
Tina: so you feel you're going to hire me?
John: it is hard work
Tina: im not traditional
John: but you feel good doing it and having your man come home.. busted from work... and complimenting you on the amazing food and clean house
Tina: you know that
John: well
Tina: sure
Tina: if i have the damn time
John: just dont get feminist on me.. cause ill beat that right out of you
Tina: ill do it twice a day
Tina: cleaning and cooking and all
Tina: but i know i wont have time
Tina: ill be busy
Tina: so we need to be practical
John: right
Tina: and
John: well
Tina: im not feminist
John: if you want
John: youll have work and school
John: i can just stay home
John: and be a housewife myself!
John: LOL
John: have a baby
Tina: i have no idea
John: and ill raise it
John: dont worry!
Tina: maybe i should not get married
John: LOLOLOL!
John: hahaheheha
Tina: and im not feminist
John: that was a good one!
Tina: youre like all other men in this respect
John: you know it!
Tina: as i can see
John: id be such a sissy man at home
John: with the cleaning gloves on
John: and the mop
John: yes
John: men want their wives to take care of them
Tina: i thought you were realllly more flexible with all this stuff
John: its fundamental
Tina: sure
Tina: ill do
Tina: like i said
Tina: so stop this
John: im flexible
Tina: listen
John: very
John: its just
John: i have lunch now!
Tina: i dont care about all this
John: LOL
John: me either
Tina: im just trying to be me
John: just do the damn dishes and their wont be a problem!!! :-)
Tina: ill do them
Tina: like i said
John: i have to go sweetie
John: i have to go now lol
Tina: and ill do anything else as long as i can
John: relaxxxxx
John: you're appreciated
John: and i have hope in you
Tina: just wanted you to stay flexible about all this and dont think that traditional
Tina: ok
Tina: go take care of your business
Tina: take care
John: well
John: we will talk later
John: Muah
Tina: ok
John: im having indian food
Tina: muah
Tina: very nice
Tina: enjoy
John: and im taking extra time so i have to run!
John: bye
Tina: bye

John is away at 9:29:59 PM.

For Those in a Similar Situation: American wants to meet Iranian for Marriage

2007-10-29T03:44:00.001-07:00

I recently received an email from a friend, a member of Meetup.com for Farsi speakers, asking me a question about the situation his friend in NY is facing now: This guy has an on-line girlfriend in Iran whom he wants to eventually meet after 4 years, possibly to see if they would end up in love after meeting in person. He would like to convert to Islam to make things easier (well... concerning Iran's laws, the only way a non-muslim man can marry a muslim woman is for the man to convert to Islam), then he wants to travel to Kish Island (a "free zone") to meet his girl there.

I responded promptly, advising him not to do things the hard way. For those in a similar situation, my advice, concerning all the hardships John and I unnecessarily went through to figure out the best way to meet, is:

1. Meet in Turkey. Anywhere in Turkey would be perfect. My personal suggestion is Istanbul, since the city is beautiful and there are a lot of tourist spots to visit, too. Hostels are cheap, and some are as good as a hotel, so do not feel bad looking for a hostel instead of a hotel. We stayed at Marmara Guesthouse in Istanbul, the price was reasonable, and the staff so friendly, plus it was close to the famous Aya Sofia. Why I suggest Turkey? Simply because first, neither of you, American or Iranian, would need a visa to travel there. For Americans, though, to be more exact, "currently, holders of all types of passports can purchase a 90-day sticker visa at the port of entry for $20 cash if they are traveling to Turkey as tourists". So no visa paperwork anyway! You will just need to have your passport on you. There is a non-stop Turkish Airlines flight right from JFK, NY to Istanbul. The price is reasonable compared to other airlines, and this is the only non-stop flight connecting the USA to Turkey. There is a cheap reliable Iran Air flight from Tehran to Istnabul, too, which would be non-stop on certain days of the week. Both flights would end up in Ataturk Airport, which, for one thing, is much less confusing than both Mehr-Abad and JFK airports! You can simply meet your beloved by the conveyor belts :) The second reason why I suggest Turkey instead of Kish Island or anywhere else within the borders of Iran is that nowhere in Iran you and your beloved will be allowed to stay in a hotel or hostel or whatever as a couple. They are very strict about this, and they would ask you for evidence to show that either you are related to eachother as a parent/child, brother/sister, or as a spouse. Since it's not the case, you wouldn't be able to stay anywhere. Yet, there is a possibility that your beloved one's family would like to invite you to stay with them as a guest (which is rare, since most Iranian families are totally uncomfortable with the idea of a foreigner guy sleeping under the same roof with their daughter! If you are an American woman wanting to stay with an Iranian man, the case would be a bit different, though :)), or simply, your beloved might have an apartment somewhere (again, it's rare, since most unmarried people live with their parents in Iran), still my suggestion is: do not go through unnecessary paperwork for an Iranian visa! The only place within the borders of Iran an American can travel to without having a visa is Kish Island, but this should not lead you to think that you can be free there! In fact, I had the same assumption, till I practically called up several hotels for making reservations for John and I, and they all said that they were not allowed to let a man and a woman who were not related (as I explained) to stay in the same room together. Since the whole purpose of the trip is evaluating eachother as potential life partners, how can you decide if you do not have a chance to observe eachother in a natural environment, how you eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, wake up, what you will do when you get bored, etc.? If you just want to go to a cafe and have tea, the story will be totally different, though. You can travel to Kish Island, stay in separate rooms (even separate hotels), meet eachother somewhere outside, do not hold eachother's hands often, and definitely NEVER kiss in public (nor in private, since you are staying in different rooms/hotels anyway!)

I'd say no person in their right mind would want to spend all this time and money to travel somewhere, then act as a handicapped lover! So, consider both of you travelling to Turkey, where you can freely stay together anywhere you want, nobody would be nosy about what you're up to, you can hold eachother's hands and kiss and laugh in public, and above all, you can enjoy the many tourist spots and the multi-cultural atmosphere of the city of Istanbul, the border of East and West, in case you choose Istanbul. DO not forget about the Whirling Dervishes Dance! It will be unforgettable both for you and your beloved one.

2. About conversion to Islam, again, the easiest way to do this is to go to any local mosque in the US and just let them know that you would like to convert. Usually the Imam there would have the authority to issue a document for you, signed by couple of muslim brothers, that would show you have converted to Islam. You can get a certified translation of this copy anywhere in Iran, or simply, just send a copy of this document to Iran and ask your beloved one to get it formally translated for you. He/she would have to take the document to an authorized translation institute and they will give him/her a certified translation in less than a week. But again, I'd say, if you have the English document, that'll be enough. Going through getting it translated is absolutely redundant, since all you need to get married to a muslim person here in the US and then register this marriage in the Iranian section of interest in Pakistan embassy (Washington D. C.) would be the English document of your conversion. This way, your marraige would be legally recognized in Iran, and either of you can travel there with immunity.

3. The fastest/safest way to get your beloved one inside the US if you guys end up wanting to get married is filing for a K1 Visa, also known as Fiance(e) Visa. My friend Rene, and I have enough experience with that, since I am an Iranian married to an American, and she is an American married to an Iranian, so if you guys have any question concerning this, please feel free to ask us. Rene is even more experienced than me, and she helped me all through this long complicated process. Still, whenever I have a question concerning immigration/visa laws, she is the only person whom I can totally trust and feel comfortable with asking these questions from.

I hope this post can help the people in the same situation as John and I once were in: Americans and Iranians who want to marry the enemy! lol This is obviously a joke. Nothing can stop human-beings from falling in love and wanting to be together for a life time. Nothing not even politics.

Venezuelan Piece

2007-10-27T15:00:00.000-07:00

This is one of the first guitar pieces John ever recorded for me... He sent this to me in April 2005, where we had not met eachother in person yet. I actually recorded a video for him of me dancing to this piece as he was playing it. It came out nice, and he recorded more video performances for me in the span of 10 months before us meeting in Istanbul, Turkey.

This is still one of my most favorites, though: Andrenia Valse by Antonio Lauro. Hope you enjoy it as I did (DO NOT forget to pause the background music being played on the right margin under "Nuclear Song of the Week", so that it won't distort the music from this video):

music

My Father's Village: Beauty Naked in North of Iran

2007-10-27T14:34:00.000-07:00

A few months ago my father made a long video clip of the village where he and his siblings were born in. This is part of that clip: The beautiful village in the northern region of Iran, Mazandaran, a region known as Savad-kooh, where the natural beauty and tranquility are combined to enchant visitors. I specially liked my father's choice of music and the visual effects he had used to edit this sequence. Hope you enjoy it, too. (DO NOT forget to pause the background music being played on the right margin under "Nuclear Song of the Week", so that it won't distort the music from this video.)

Two Biographies: Mary Stuart

2007-10-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

These days I am reading Mary Queen of Scots by Antonia Fraser . I cannot help constantly comparing it with this other biography of Mary I had read years ago: The translated (Farsi) version of Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles by Stefan Zwieg who is one of my most favorite authors of all times.

Both books are well-written, full of details and appealing imagery. Yet, the major difference is that Zwieg has mostly focused on the relationship between Mary Stuart and Elizabeth I of England, either's motivations and speculations for what they did, exploring the psychological aspects of their decisions and reactions. On the other hand, Fraser's book, so far as I have read (not finished yet), seems to be more focused on Mary, offering a rich-in-nuances picture of her life and the many adventures taking place in it. Here is a passage which I like:

"But for all Mary's enthusiasm for her native country or its customs Scottish clothes were by now for her definitely a form of fancy dress. Patriotism, wilfulness or the desire to please might lead her to don them: nothing could alter the fact with passing of every year, the progress of Mary towards becoming a French woman -- a child of the smooth land of France rather than of the rugged land of Scotland -- became still more marked."

This is how chapter 3, The Most Perfect Child, ends. Now I am moving forward to the next chapter, Betrothal. Sounds quite interesting :)

[For those who are lazy when it comes to reading books:] Check out this link for a quick insight into Mary Stuart's life. Reading these two great historical biographies by Zwieg and Fraser would be always rewarding, though.

Spain: This Time Three Years Ago

2007-10-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

It was on October 2004 when John travelled to Spain. He was 23 at that time -- full of passion for visiting his ancestors' land. He also wanted to meet a luthier to ask him about the methods of building a guitar.

I remember he was very excited about the whole idea of traveling outside the States for the first time. This is our correspondence about this trip:

Date: Wed, 20 Oct 2004
Title: i am excited!

Dear John,
It is midnight here ( 11:53 pm !) and I can't sleep. I am so excited. Just think! You are going to Spain ! I feel as if something is going up and down in my stomach. It is like when I have to pass a difficult exam, but it is far more exciting! It is as if I am going with you too! I surprised myself. I cannot possibly manage to stay awake at this time of night, but I AM awake! lol! Thinking of you! I really feel as if it is my own trip as well. I just wonder how I would take it if after twenty years of our married life you had to go somewhere without me! LOL! I shall again feel excited for you! Just like now… I wanted to make it a bit more pleasant for you, so I tried to attach this audio file (I guess it would take me an hour to do so! My internet speed is low. My brother helped me modify the file, though. It was 6 mb first, but now it is 2 mb or so) and also I'm sending you the lyrics and Loreena Mckenith's explanation about the way she was inspired to compose this piece. She wrote it in Morocco , and when it was Ramadan…Just like the way you are going to experience it! I hope you like the piece.

Yours Ever,
Tina

John sent me an email from Granada, Spain, titled as "Espana!!!"
The date is Sat, 23 Oct 2004:

Dear Tina,

I made it through the flights. The worst is getting on, and taking off.. And maybe the take off. Flying in the atlantic also gets rough, cause every now and then they tell you tp pùt on your saftely belts, (because it gets bumped ) this scared the shit balls outta me! But other than that, it was no big deal. The second flight was a breeze. It was less than an hour long, and it was a smaller plane. It was much easier. I think the night flights are scarier. But I should be ok.
Other than that.. I am LOVING IT. It is 100 times more beautiful
than I had thought. Granada is such a breath taking city. Ive got plenty of pictures so far. My god.. the views. the history, the beauty is endless!!
Right now I´m at a internet cafe, and they are charging me an arm and a leg. so I have to make this brief. But I´ll write again.
My dear, I´ve been thinking about you a lot lately. YOU SHOULD BE HERE. Thats just about the only problem. This place is magical. The Alhambra... oh my god. There is also a renaissance cathedral. It is all very stunning and overwhelming. I love it here. I want to be here forever!!! AHHH!! But again. .. it would be nice if you were here. I will write again.

P.S.. please leave me your number. I forgot to bring it with me, because I left in such a haste. What was the correct country code again? I remember the one you gave me was wrong, and I had to correct it.

-Much kisses
-John

Sat, 23 Oct 2004
Title: bon voyage!

Dear John,

IT WAS WONDERFUL to read your letter from Spain ! I was checking my mail every two hours from the very moment you departed, so that I could discover any trace of you, and finally it was there! THANK YOU!
I am so cheerful you have found Spain that amazing! I knew you would enjoy it a lot…so you could make it, dear! The flight over the Atlantic and the rest!! And you talked about the "breath-taking" beauty of Granada . That's just marvelous to know that you are there to experience it all… I DO WISH I were there with you…maybe some day we would make it together (for a honeymoon, maybe, LOL, how's that?) I'm happy that you feel happy there, my love. I'm looking forward to seeing all the pictures you've got so far, and you will get later!

Take care,
Your own Tina

PS: [I had provided my phone number here] I'll be home everyday (except on Sundays) after 1 pm here, that means after 10 or 11 am your time in Spain (I guess we are 3 hours ahead here in Iran)…so, I'll be glad to virtually talk to you…well, almost everybody here knows you're going to call me up from Spain ! lol! So, feel free with anybody who may pick up the phone, and ask for me, dear. I'll be right there for you (as quickly as the jinni in the The Arabian Nights!!)
PSS: I keep praying for your happiness and joy. Enjoy doubly dear! *muah*

Date: Mon, 25 Oct 2004

My dearest John,

It was such a blessing to talk to you this evening. Your voice was comforting as ever, and a bit tired. I am sorry if I got that impatient, I was waiting to hear your voice all day long and then Yahoo was on my way! I couldn't let it deprive me from talking to you! Thanks for your patience, with Yahoo and with me (lol!) as well… I felt you were exhausted trying to find a laundry and all. I wished I were there to wash your clothes with my own hands. I know how to do it, when there is no laundry around! Imagine it! I would love doing that for you, darling. Washing my little Johnny's clothes! lol! I would enjoy it, I'm sure, from time to time… Now, here is the good news I guess: My dad suggested that I call you up from here! I told him about the probs with Yahoo, and that it costs you a lot to call me from Spain , and that you can't use your phone card and all, so he said I can call you up with my own phone card. He gave me money to buy one! So, I guess we can do it this way, if you want to, of course. Let me know your phone number in the hotel you stay in …or the hotel in which you will stay in the next days…I don't know, any number which can connect me to you!

Take care my love,
Tina

Dear Tina,

Thank you once again for a lovely letter. I found a laundrymat... however, its a place where they wash it for you, and charge you a lot of money. 20 Euro! I was in shock, but had no choice. At least it should come back in top condition, all folded and such. (It better for that price!) But it is sweet of you for offering to wash my clothes by hand. It would be hard where im staying right now, because my bathroom is so small. ths sink alot is so tiny, there would be no room, and no where to hang the clothes. I´m staying at a hostel. A hostel is a budget hotel. I am by myself, and paying for a fancy hotel room could get costly. If i was with someone else, it would be easier. I have no bathtub in my current room. I have to share one with the one down the hall from me. (Bath in Spanish, is tina! lol) Also, I didn´t see any phones in the hostel. But I will look. I have a phone in my room, but I believe its just for call room service, and for room service to call me (they did yesterday, because i was supposed to be out of this one room (with a tina!) at around 11, it was 1, they called up when I got in from buying the guitar, pretty pissed off! lol.. However, maybe I can use that phone to call the outside world, which just dawned upon me. I haven´t retried using my calling cards.. But now that I had just thought that my phone might be able to call outside, I´ll try it, but no gaurentees. Ill be back on here to let you know. Dont buy a calling card, Ill try my best to contact you.
Thank you very much my dear. You should be named, Tina the kind.. or Tina the marvellous, or Tina the beautiful. But here in Spain.. they know you as Tina the bath.!
Just kidding. Take care sweetie.

Muah,
-John

There isnt much to do today it seems. And it also seems that I might be grounded in Granada for the rest of the time here.

***********************************

Well... reviewing all these emails after three years brought back the sweet memories of me being fresh in love, so energetic. The same about John.

Hopefully, next autumn John and I will be able to travel to Granada -- this time together.

Hudson River and Memories

2007-10-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

John and I spent our Thursday evening by Hudson River. There was a twisting trail, trodden by many, from where we parked our car up to the rocks facing the river. The trail itself seemed to be impenetrable at first, but it was not. John helped me walking it up to this semi-flat area, where we finally sat and enjoyed the autumn-scenting breeze and the serene scenery agitated every now and then by the Metro-North train's howling under the rocks, carrying the exhausted people back and forth.

I took this picture when it was roughly 6 pm, the sun was about to melt away behind the clouds, but still a couple of rays were piercing through the thin fluffy layer of moist, showing off their unparagoned beauty spreading all over.

It took one hour for us to shake our minds off the grandeur surrounding us, I curled up by the warmth of John's body, he put his arm around my shoulder and held me close to his chest. He showed me a dusty guitar's pick on the ground beneath our feet. I thought of all the people who had been sitting exactly on the same spot as us, feeling peaceful, thinking, dreaming, and some of them playing the guitar to the wind.

This short visit rekindled a desire for poetry in me. It was a long time I had abandoned either reading or writing poems. Right after we got back home, I went to the "middle-room" (the small room betweem the bedroom and John's violin-making workshop), where we keep our books on tiny wooden book shelves, and picked up The Complete Poems of John Keats. This book brought a flow of memories with it: On the first page, I had written in black ink:

Istanbul, Feb. 2006/ Marmara Hotel

I remembered the very first time John and I had met eachother in person: It was on Friday, Feb 10th, 2006, 10: 40 am where I met John in Ataturk Airport, Istanbul, by the conveyor belt of Iran Air passengers' baggage.

I remember the first moment we met was truly magical, as it happens in Hollywood's movies. He seemed to be a lot more enchanting than I had always imagined, he had more stars in his eyes, his skin was more fair, and his smell was more familiar than what I had imagined. When he saw me, he said, "Tina," and then gently embraced me -- affectionately, as if sending a message: "feel safe, I am here." He said I was more beautiful and taller than what he had imagined. We had seen eachother's pictures and had been chatting on webcam for long hours, but nothing could compare with that moment we held eachother "for real". We took a taxi to "Marmara" hotel, and finally when we arrived there, the first thing John wanted to do was giving me gifts, because my birthday was on Feb. 14th, the Valentine's Day, and he was all excited. He had birthday, Valentine's, and "firts-meeting" gifts for me. This book was one of the gifts I received that day.

I layed down on the single bed we have put in middle-room to provide for the time either of us wants to be alone. Sometimes I sit there and read books, sometimes John sits there and plays the guitar.

I opened the book where I had left a marker. This marker came with the book on the day I received it. It was John's ticket stub for a visit to "De La Alhambra" in Spain. The date on it was 23/10/2004. I thought to myself "the same month, three years ago". I wonder if John could guess, as he was walking through the Alhambra Palace' chambers, in three years he would be married to this girl from Iran. I guess not.

The poem I had marked was "The Endymion". I re-read the opening lines which I had recited in silence for hundreds of times:

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

I thought of the beauty of Hudson River which had triggered all these sweet memories -- all after a short visit on a Thursday evening.

Open Mic

2007-10-18T09:56:00.000-07:00

Last month John and I went to "Open Mic" in our city, where singers and musicians from everywhere gather together and sing and play for the audience.

John has been learning, teaching, and playing the classical/flamenco guitar for years and he wanted to share his passion with the people who appreciate music. So he picked up his pretty guitar with maroon flamenco strings (he has three guitars... one of them he bought in Granada, when he had travelled there couple of years ago), and finally we went to "Open Mic".

People were friendly there, and of course, very encouraging. Some talented lady performed pieces on harp and fervidly sang, then there were couple of guys playing the guitar, singing nice old American songs to it, and finally, there was John, who played pure music, focusing on the classical and flamenco pieces. He played the famous "Spanish Romance" composed by an ananymous composer, "La Grima" by Francisco Tarrega, a piece by Weiss, an improvisation on Arabic/Persian/Indian themes, and of course, some hot flamenco pieces which set the souls on fire.

At one point, when this guy was playing the guitar and singing to it, John went on the stage to accompany it with drums, then another guy went to the piano to accompany them, another guy picked a Turkish doumbek and started to play along with them too, then in the middle of all this one of the guys there gave me a tambourine and smiled, meaning "go ahead, you can play too!" So I played along with everybody else there, and it was just us playing for the sake of our own pleasure. John looked at me from the stage and smiled in a very cute way, as if saying, "Wow Tina! You're playing with us!" It was a lot of fun... we went there 8 pm, and finally we left at half past 12. The guys there were still playing and singing, and I thought to myself: "Wow... I had real fun after a while!"

Gorgeous Song, Gorgeous People, Gorgeous Movie

2007-10-17T08:12:00.000-07:00

It was a delight to finally watch this movie, Fire Over England, after years of looking for a copy of it back in Iran. Yesterday, I accidentally discovered it on:

http://stage6.divx.com/Viaggio-nel-cinema-internazionale/video/1714571/Fire-over-England-(1937)---VO

Here is an excerpt where Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier sing a beautiful Renaissance song, "The Spanish Lady's Love".

In this movie only the first part is really sung, a bit altered, though:

WILL you hear a Spanish lady
How she woo’d an English man?

Garments gay and rich as may be,
Decked with jewels, she had on;
Of a comely countenance and grace was she,
And by birth and parentage of high degree.

... Don't forget to pause the autoplay background song ("Nuclear Song of the Week" on the right margin) before playing this video. Hope you enjoy:

Women in Art

2007-10-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

Eid-e Fetr Mobarak!

2007-10-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

This is a great day for muslims. They feel spiritually strong after 30 days of fasting for God. They feel nothing in the world can upset them, since they have trusted in God and His Power to bring the best for them. The solace and the happiness felt in this day is just beyond every-day expereinces: Nothing can surpass you, since you have yielded your human will to God's will, who is ultimately more loving to you than you are to yourself.

Happy Eid!

Story of the Month: The Silence

2007-10-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

I am going to publish my own stories gradually on this weblog. This will be on the 11th of every month. So, here is the October story:

The Silence
Inspired by an evening dream after watching Ingmar Bergman's The Silence

St. Margarita was striking twice, just after St. Nicholas. The latter was a big giant clock with E flat sound, the former, a delicate one with shrilling G sharp. We were asleep, yes, my brothers, my sisters, and me. It was our childhood home. The big bed was in the second floor. The heat of the afternoon was beyond tolerance. I could hear the summer's sounds outside. The room was lightly furnished with a table, two chairs, a closet for boots and clothes and underwear. There was no picture on the wall. I used to play the piano, though. My sister used to write. My brother, well, it seemed that he just wanted to watch over us. Father had died years ago, leaving a big empty house for our summers and so forth. It was a three-story apartment; the third floor was locked and empty. We were on the second floor, and our husbands on the first floor in mother's room. Mine was a big hairy man, with the broadest shoulders one can ever imagine; hers, was a tiny one, with pretty mouth and chubby lips. She used to tell him that from all parts of his body she loved his mouth better. They were both dark-skinned -- mine a bit more tanned. We had travelled there to spend a couple of weeks and return. No children, thank God! We had just arrived that morning, then we took a bath and went almost naked to our beds. It was 2 pm then and I woke up to wash my body again. Intolerable heat of the afternoon. My two siblings were asleep, and I could manage to walk on tiptoe toward the bath. The floor felt cool beneath my naked feet. I filled the tub with lukewarm water, and soaked my body in it. I don't know why, but I could hardly breathe, well, maybe because of the hot weather, but it wasn't really hot. It was lukewarm. I felt I was in a dream. I bet there was something odd in the situation. All of a sudden, I felt I wanted to go out. I came out of the tub and without slippers rushed into the room. The orange evening was spreading out in the room. The fading sunrays were penetrating the worn-out curtains. I remembered when I had been but a child, I used to play with those curtains' flowers, treating them as real flowers.
Brother was out. He had set the music though. We danced and danced in the yard. The morning breeze was the same as my childhood's. She was busy with hers, I was busy with mine. I told him from all parts of his body I loved his chest most. When he had pressed my breasts against his for the first time, I could feel his heartbeat under my skin, I could feel the hairs and the limbs and the warmth all in one single stroke. He knew how to do that. I asked him to do that again. We were half naked. He pressed me against his body and we rolled and rolled and rolled, as if in an eternal strawberry-flavored merry-go-round. I couldn't see his face, I didn't care for that. I just wanted to be pressed by him, to smell his sweat, to hear his fast breathing.

Brother: don’t be afraid…I'll go check it out

The trace of blood on the floor…scarlet drops on the stairs…

There was some otter hiding in the attic. I don't know how on earth there can be an otter in this house!

They were both on my father's bed, their face on the pillow. I couldn't believe it. Were they dead? My sister just shrieked and shrieked. My brother was motionless outside the door. I couldn't utter a word. But, something happened. Mine moved and yawned. "What time is it?"
We just wanted to dance again. It was another morning. Another childhood breeze. It seemed that there was no time in that house. The clocks were still. Brother went to check them out. I felt everything was on the verge of getting repeated, exactly as it was, as it is. We danced. She with hers. I with mine. Two dancing couples in the yard. The trees seemed motionless. The garden flowers, too. She shrieked. I couldn't stop to see why she was shrieking. Her voice got mingled with the wavering words of the song, fading in the air. It made the music rich – marrowy is a better word. We stopped, though. Mine was out of breath. I looked at his shoulders. They tended to bend. "Where is your tongue?" my sister yelled. I looked at them. Her mouth has been open. His lips were on her mouth, but he was silent. She brushed him away and got up. He got up too. All of a sudden, his mouth opened wide and blood rushed out. He fell down on the floor. We ran to him. I opened his mouth to have a look. There was no tongue there! It seemed it had been hacked away. I fainted back to my husband. But… I felt warm and tacky under my back skin. I turned around and looked down at his chest: It was open. He grinned weakly at me, and fell down. I stared at his chest. The chest I used to love so much was a flat skin then. I removed it: there was no heart beneath.
Brother came to us. It was so hot. We took a bath. The bed was large enough for three of us. That night I woke up by a sound from the yard. I went to the window. My naked body began to shiver in the cool breeze of the night, just as when I was but a little girl. A pair of eyes glittered out of sheer darkness. The sound got louder and louder, the sound of chewing with strong jaws. I listened to the crushing bones, and slimy limbs for a while, then I returned to bed. We didn't even need a burial ceremony, I thought as I lied down with my naked body in there. That was ok. I thought I could buy a nice fur coat with the funeral money, instead.

Summer 2004

Want Your Soulmate before Meeting Him/Her

2007-10-09T06:42:00.000-07:00

I have learnt this in life: No matter what, if you passionately, unstoppably and faithfully want something, and pray for it day and night, that thing will be certainly granted to you, and often, this would happen when you do not really feel the need for having it anymore, but you would be gently pleased when it would come to you. Strange, isn't it?

That is one of the laws of universe: want it, put a lot of passion into wanting it, then after you used all your passion and your mind calms itself down, let it go. It will come to you instantly.

I think perhaps this is God's way to inrease our potential for desiring things in our life. It is very hard, though, to start yielding to this law, since but if we are granted with something we passionately want (i. e. need) right away, the very fact of having that thing would appease our sense of urgency, and would stop our lazy minds from appreciating it the way it really is. Perhaps by wanting something passionately and persistently without having it, we naturally increase our emotional capability to accept it when it comes after we have calmed down.

This has worked for me in almost every single area of my life, but the most important one is, being lonely and weird in many ways, I started wanting to find my soulmate 5 years ago. I was 21 when I first started thinking of getting married, or I'd better say, when I first stopped my psychological resistance to the idea of getting married at all -- sharing things with a man on a very intimate level. That had always sounded like the scariest thing in the world, but something happened in my life that softened my emotions a bit: I gradually felt attracted to one of my university professors when I was a sophomore, a half-Persian, half-Austrian guy who seemed not to be threatening as a "man". He was handsome, into classical music, playing the guitar and the cello (it was not really customary for too many people in Iran to play the European instruments). I was (and am) in love with European classical music and also English language, which he could speak with the right accent. Needless to say, despite the fact that he was known for giving "nightmarish tests", I got the highest mark for that course -- for obvious reasons: I was studying those lessons and doing the homework not diligently, but rather, "passionately". All just to announce my affection for him.

I remember when I said to me closest friend that I think "I like Mr. ...", she hugged me and kissed my cheeks, all excited, saying, "You see, my lovely Tina... there can be men to whom you may feel attracted!" That was true. Perhaps before, I had come to the conclusion that I wouldn't want to be with any man, since I had not seen the type of man I could like. I started praying to God to send my soulmate, the man whom He has specially created for me, to me -- and strangely enough, I got this feeling in me that my marriage would not be "regular", and that my soulmate was living in another geographical part... very far from me.

It took me 2 years of passionate prayer, day and night, a lot of hope and tears. I started keeping a diary, talking to my "man", as if he was already there with me, in front of me, holding me. I could visualize our happy life together... almost every single moment of it.

It would be simplistic to say that this huge amount of emotional energy released in the universe could leave it unaffected. Actually, it moved the universe to work for us, my soulmate and me, to meet eachother.

Then there came a period of me losing my passion and being all calm... still waiting, though, in the back of my mind. I kept praying, not frantically anymore -- very gently. That calmness was strange to me, since obviously the desire was still in me, but as if I had already burnt out my passion for it... it was there in a very invisible way.

I graduated as the top student of English Language and Literature Department. I passed the entrance exam for MA, ranked 11 in Iran (English Language and Literature), and continued my schooling in the same university.

It was on September 16th, 2004, 2: 34 pm that John sent me an offline message:

"I apologize if I offended you... but certainly I did not mean to. I'm not even sure if I'm sending this to the rigth person, but anyway, have a nice day."

I was puzzled. I looked at the Yahoo ID and coudn't recognize it. I just replied back: "Who is this, please?" and after 1 minute this window popped out: "This is John, if you remember. We chatted in this conference room a few days ago... three of us." Only then I vaguely remembered him. One of my American online friends whom I had known for couple of years had kept talking about this "coworker" who was a nice guy, loved cats and played the classical guitar, "just like you, Tina!" he had exclaimed. I had not paid any attention, though, since despite of his sheer intelligence, this friend of mine was not mentally/emotionally stable, and I was used to his episodes of getting excited over weird things. After a while, he had asked me if it was ok to invite his friend to this conference room, so that three of us could chat. I had said, "sure, go ahead" while multitasking, editing my essays and so on. He introduced him to me, and we all had a short conversation there, perhaps 5 minutes, and we finally got into a mild argument perhaps, then I had to say bye and get back to my essays. Later John told me he had hurriedly copied/pasted my yahoo ID in the conference room to be able to send me messages later!

And there he was. After couple of months, John once casually mentioend that he had got to this point in his life he had desperately started praying to God to send his woman to him. And he had met me after a few weeks. I was not surprised.

How to Enhance the Romance by any Chance

2007-10-08T09:20:00.000-07:00

It took me a while till I learnt how not to nag about John being chained to the computer, playing "Counterstrike" round the clock. Not only that, it even proved insightful:

I actually decided to join him playing the game in the second week after my arrival here, since I knew that no matter what, even if I moved the heavens and the earth, he would not stop playing his favorite game less than 3 hours a day. So, I decided to use some "IQ" ["Intelligence Quotient" according to Merriam Webster Dictionary] instead of some 4HQ ["Hit-Him-Hard-on-the-Head Quotient" according to me] but for some reason, I ended up actually liking the silly game!

Now I often end up in the "terrorist" team (the red guys), and he often ends up in the "counter-terrorist" team (the blue guys), so we have to kill each other on the monitor (not in real life, at least). It may sound funny, but playing this game has taught me a lot about John and his feelings for me:

When I am in the same team with him (happens rarely), he gets so protective around me. He keeps marching forward, telling me to follow him, jumping up and down on the screen to show me where he is when I lose his track, covering me, shooting any "bastard" who wants to shoot me, typing words on the monitor, warning the guys over there to keep away from CatByte (that's my game ID, John's is MooseByte), and finally, when I get shot (which doesn't take much time), he snaps at the guy who had shot me, and no matter what, he takes vengeance right away by shooting him 957957392 times or more: "You kill my wife, ha? You @$#^%$&"! [I don't want parents to lock my weblog for protecting their kids].

If I end up in the enemy team, he sighs, "Sweetie, you're the enemy", then he tries so hard just to avoid facing me, he maneuvers a lot not to shoot at me, and finally when I corner him and start shooting at him, either he says apologetically, "I'm sorry, my love, but I have to kill you", and when I'm dead, he says, "Oh no, I feel so bad that I killed you", or, he gladly lets me kill him, then he shouts enthusiastically: "Look sweetie! You just killed me! That was good job! I'm so proud of you!"

Well, for some reason (actually, for an obvious reason), I started loving John more after sharing the experience of playing his favorite computer game. Perhaps some of you ladies out there who are fed up to the teeth with the silly hobbies of your men would want to try what I did: Simply go ahead and join the silliness! It will be smart doing that, and besides, you may end up actually liking it.

Our Eclectic Approach to Religion

2007-10-07T15:14:00.000-07:00

When John and I pray together, it's actually like a small private ritual, mostly invented by me. We started this on the internet, when we were away from one another:

we used to do this through mic and webcam, but obviously it was so limited. But now that we are together, it's much better: John has got some nice small rugs from Turkey which can be used as praying mats, so we spread two of them, one for me, and one for John. We turn off the lights and light a couple of candles instead, I wear my white "maqna'e" and "chador", then we face "Qeble". I have a small praying book which contains part of these nice Shiite prayers, including "Doa-ye Tavassol" which is my favorite. Taking one of these candles in a way its light would spread on the pages, I read "Doa-ye Tavassol" aloud phrase by phrase (definitely the original Arabic version) and John tries to repeat it. It comes out so cute, because as an English native-speaker, John has a thick accent when trying to speak Arabic, but one thing he has a talent for, is doing different accents. He can do Hindi and Japanese accents, and he even knows phrases; he also loves Arabic a lot.

There is a part in the middle of this prayer when you're supposed to ask God what you want, and here we both silently ask for our wishes to be granted. My wish is always for John to get rid of depression and be healthy and happy unconditionally. Then I finish that prayer, and we hold eachother's hands and I say things in English like "God, help us be nice servants to You" and John repeats after me, then when we're done with that, we get so close, face on face as we are sitting and looking at the dancing candle flames (kinda spiritual smooching!) We just sit like that, listening to eachother breathing, sharing the peace and warmth for a few minutes. So basically, it's like a mixture of Islamic, Christian, perhaps even Buddhist rituals... but you know what? We just call it "praying together".

The Riddle of Movement

2007-10-05T11:05:00.000-07:00

The reason I could not write sooner is that I tried to stay awake last night and pray (23rd of Ramadan), so I ended up falling asleep here in the middle-room. (For some reason Bastet the cat is staring at me with avid eyes right now) Muslims in Iran believe that any person's destiny for the next year is "sealed" on the night of 23rd of Ramadan, as it is "shaped" and "decided" on the 19th and the 21st of Ramadan.

Since I had a hard time staying awake and praying the nights before, I thought I would stay awake on the last "Qadr" [destiny] night, at least to pray to God to materialize His best decisions for me and my beloved ones throughout the year. I spread my prayig mat on the small rug I have in the middle-room (this rug is the only rug in our house people are not allowed to walk on with shoes... I have made it clear for friends and family that Persians are sensitive about their rugs and want them to be clean), I took my rosary and the book of prayers and prayed for three or four hours. Gypsy co-operated by laying down all over my praying mat and attacking my rosary every now and then (all cats love strings, right?) I guess it was the first time I seriously thought about her beauty: She was a ball of hair, moving around, meowing. Isn't it amazing? How a ball of hair can move around and meows? Sounds impossible... no human-being has the power to make a hairball move. There should be a divine power involved, magically making a hairball called "Gypsy" move. The same thing with Bastet. The same thing with all cats. The same thing with all dogs. The same thing with all animals. The same thing with us. There should be a tiny particle of God in all of us, plants, animals, human-beings, everything that is "alive" and move... there should be a power to make us move around, right? In everything that "moves" there should be a tiny particle of God. This is the only answer I can think of.

New Rochelle on a Tuesday

2007-10-03T07:01:00.000-07:00

Last month I received a letter from USCIS, announcing that I should go to New Rochelle for my biometrics on September 18th, 9 am, to finally get my work permit after 3 months. It was on a Tuesday -- one of work days for John. He took the day off and we woke up with red, puffy eyes around 7, hurried into our black Honda Civic, and hit the road around 7:30.

Now, since I was confident that we could find the right road to New Rochelle using the MapQuest directions I had printed the night before, I figured out we would arrive there at least 10 minutes sooner than scheduled. So, I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery, while John was multi-tasking as usual: talking to me, cursing the bad drivers who wanted to race with us, and of course, driving.

I had the task of reading the directions aloud, and since most Persians genetically ( and thus inevitably) have no idea about timing, I was shouting the names of the roads and streets at least 10 minutes before us actually approaching them. John kept asking me the same question, though, "What's next?" since he is genetically (and again, inevitably) one step ahead of the conventional Newtonian time, as we know of it in this mortal world.

Anyway... I ended up shouting the number of a highway that was literally non-existant. No matter how hard we tried to find it by staring at the road signs from miles away (much like birds of prey), we did not see that particular number anywhere. John got exhausted and we pulled over somewhere, so that he could call his Indian friend, Ossie, to ask him about it.

I guess it was the first time I truly realized what an advantage it was to have an Asian friend in the US. Asian mind-frame is totally different from American mind-frame. Unlike most Americans, Asians usually do not pay attention to road signs and indications, since they can not find any earthly reason to trust someone else' genius (in this case a traffic law-maker) when they themselves have the utmost insight to devise the appropriate law as it is needed at any time. Perhaps that's why they seldom carry a MapQuest document and they almost never get lost.

So, Ossie told John that we could get to that apparently "non-existant" highway by taking a short-cut from the road we were already on. So we set for that... and right in the moment that John was supposed to use an exit, a highly-respectful driver with a red-&-white headband, long black mustache and glittering mercury sunglasses totally blocked us and did not let us pass. For the next 10 minutes John was like a rooster getting roasted on fire: "@&%$@!" [I am censoring his words, since I have peaceful purposes, nothing else).

It took us 20 miutes just to get back to the original road, and it was already 10 past 9. Finally, we arrived in New Rochelle and since John and Tina are the luckiest people on earth, they were blocking some of the streets and were constructing new buildings right in the middle of the town, so my MapQuest directions were sheer useless.

We turned around and around and around, and I made "Nazr" to get my biometrics done with no fuss (It was mentioned on the appointment letter that any delay might cause the whole case to be dismissed): "God, please... show us the right way, and if everything goes fine, I will promise to read the 30th section of Qoran to celebrate Thy Grandeur."

We arrived there finally, 10 minutes to 10. I was (rather un-) kindly greeted at the office's door by an African-American officer (John has taught me not to ever call black people "black", since it may sound offensive... I remember once I innocently asked him, "Is "ebony" alright?" and he laughed, saying that the best term in order to refer to people with a considerably dark skin would be "African-American". But then I thought if that was the case, I would demand everybody to call me "Aryan"; although I may sound a bit racist (even neo-Nazist), it would perhaps protect me better against the [never-experienced-by-me] anti-Iranian prejudice here).

So, to cut a long story short, it was done anyway: Some indian lady took a full-frontal face digital photo of me, and I also passed the 10-digit finger printing process. Now if someday I get stupid enough to commit crimes here in the US, the only part of my body I can practically use to commit that particular crime within the "open-doors-safe-borders" territory of the US and A (as Borat puts is) would be my toes. I definitely need to enroll in this how-to-use-your-toe-to-commit-crimes program, designed specifically for potential Persian criminals who pass the USCIS 10-digit finger printing process 3 months after their arrival here. We were back to the maze of New Rochelle's streets in 20 minutes, anyway.

We stopped somewhere to have our favorite Greek food, gyro and fries. So far, this is almost the only red-meat food John can stand, since it is lamb --hail the King! Villagers like me would be satsified with beef, too.

That was only half of the story, so far. The second half began when John layed back in the car, his sunglasses hiding his dark charming eyes, throwing back his elbows impatiently, groaning: "I don't wanna go back to that crazy road!" The sun was already in my eyes, annoying me, making me want to shout "Let's just get the hell outta here! I just wanna get back home and take a nap" But being the angel-wife I am, I started rubbing his head instead, whispering softly, "It's ok dear... Do you want to take a nap here? I can sit in the back and give you a nice head-and-shoulder massage" He dismissed my suggestion immediately, straightening up in the seat, sighing, "Let's go".

On the way back, we were both so exhausted that we hardly spoke a word. Finally, I saw the familiar road signs, indicating that we were in Dutchess County. How pacifying it was! The closer we were getting to home, the less cars and trucks were racing with us. Finally, we were on this tiny road 3 minutes away from home... it was just us, and possibly a nosy squirrel watching us from the top a tree somewhere. "Thank God...we're back, finally," I said. "We're getting pulled over," John said in response. In the mirror, I saw a police car signalling us to stop. John thought it was his friend, at first, since one of his highschool friends has ended up being a police officer, and apparently, he had let John go once he had been speeding. But that was our lucky day, anyway. "No, it's not him," John said half-relieved, half-anxious, expecting heavenly favors showering him when he was driving 45 miles per hour instead of 30.

He went to the court couple of days ago (Tuesday), and he was fined 140$ for speeding on that road. Now that I think about it, New Rochelle wouldn't be a town I want to visit this soon, again, and I still get a bit anxious on Tuesdays. Somehow, it's all USCIS' fault, sending me all the way there, to New Rochelle on that Tuesday!

Shab-haye Qadr (Qadr Nights)

2007-10-02T20:51:00.000-07:00

This is the 21st of Ramadan. Muslims in Iran believe in the importance of vigils during Ramadan, specially in three nights of Ramadan known as "Qadr Nights: 19th, 21st and 23rd.

Although in Iran it's 7:30 am now and most people are done with their prayers and are often taking a nap after their "sahari" (the food and drink muslims have right before the dawn when they want to fast during the day till dusk), here in NY it's 11:56 pm, and I have just started my praying. It's so silent here in the "middle room", where I am using my laptop. I will tell you about the "middle room" later (and why it is called like that), but for now, just to let you know understand how silent it is here, I should say that the only source of sound is Bastet the cat, who is laying down beside me on the single bed here, purring and yawning (the purring can be heard, but not the yawning, for sure!) Another source of sound, which is considered as secondary, is my husband's snoring, heard through the door of the bedroom right next to the middle room. In the first month after us getting married, I used to get annoyed by him snoring all during the night; I even ended up asking my mother-in-law to buy me earplugs, which she did when we were are RiteAid. I remember that evening when my husband was back from work and saw those small pink plastic pieces he exclaimed, "YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Apparently, he couldn't believe his snoring was that serious. Shaking his head in utter disbelief, he mumbled, "None of my girlfriends ever told me of that... this should be relatively new", and my answer was simple and frank: "Well dear, perhaps none of your girlfriends could stay with you long enough to get to diagnose that." It's strange, but actually my husband stopped snoring loudly right after me getting the earplugs. Anyway... now after almost 5 months being with him on a daily (and of course, nightly) basis, I find it very pacifying to hear him gently snoring every now and then. It indicates that he is sleeping peacefully, and since he has problems falling asleep in the first place, it means that I can sit here and add new posts to my blog without feeling like an uncaring, unloving wife.

OK... enough of back-biting! Tonight is supposed to be a spiritual night.

Right before sitting here and writing this, I read parts of the 30th section of Qoran (Joz'e 30). This section mostly include short chapters (Suras) which are very beautiful in regard to their rhymes and rhythms in the original language, Arabic. I have quite a few favorite ones here, but my most favorite tonight was Sura Al-Infitar.

When John converted into Islam 2 years ago, he bought an English translation of Qoran (which includes the original Arabic text as well), and tonight was the first time that I got a chance to seriously browse through this book. I found the translation pretty decent, and the editor/translator had done a nice job too, clarifying the English version by adding detailed footnotes at the bottom of each page. This version of Qoran is by "Abdullah Yusuf Ali", Amana Publications.

Here is part of the English translation of Al-Infitar as appears on page 1612:

"In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.
When the Sky is cleft asunder,
When the Stars are scattered,
When the Oceans are suffered to burst forth,
And when the Graves are turned upside down,
(Then) shall each soul know
What it hath sent forward
And (what it hath) kept back."

Quite poetic, isn't it?

Cats and Persians

2007-10-02T09:45:00.001-07:00

It is a common mistake, I guess, that everybody associates cats with Persians. It is true that Persian cats are famous, but doesn't mean that Persians are all cat-lovers. I am a cat-lover, though, but not when the cat wants me to share my bed with him or her! Well... I am practically in a situation that I have to share not only my bed, but also my husband, my bookshelves, my praying mat and even my keyboard and monitor with the two cats we have here: Gypsy and Bastet.

It is funny how I reacted to John's two female cats when we first discussed the possibilities of me wanting to be his wife 3 years ago. This is part of the saved text chat...unedited, so you should forgive us for the misspellings or grammatical errors (the blank spaces in front of our Yahoo IDs were smileys, but does not show here) I have cut a large section from the beginning, though, since in that section we were talking about chapsticks, Paco de Lucia, and cherries-- not cats!

Monday, February 21, 2005

John appears to be offline
and will receive your messages after signing in.

[...]
tina r s: did you know cat's hair may cause men to lose their hairs?
tina r s: lol
tina r s: imagine
tina r s: you may be bald!!!!
tina r s:
tina r s: but i would still love you
tina r s: dont worry!
John : LOL
tina r s: but i was not kidding
tina r s: lol
John : well
John : then id be bald!
tina r s: thats the scientific stuff
John : i dont beleve that
tina r s: i guess so
tina r s: well
tina r s: thats your choice
tina r s:
John : well
John : my mothers father lived with cats his whole life
John : he died with a full head of dark hair
tina r s: your mother's father didnt have the same genetic code of you..
tina r s: and
John : well
John : actually
tina r s: neither did he have the same hormones in your body
John : if theres anyone who i resemble most in the family
John : phyiscally
tina r s: ppl's reactions are different
John : it would be him
John : i have the same body
John : and hair
John : he was thin
John : his whole life
John : sleeping problems
John : could eat like a maniac
John : but never gained weight
John : worked nights lol
tina r s: dear...even twins dont have the same genetic codes
tina r s: lol
John : also..
tina r s: i understand how you feel about it
John : did you know that cats steal the breath from babies!?
John : ask Paco De Lucia...
John : its true!
tina r s: i see that youre mixing the scientific facts with the superstitions
tina r s: well
tina r s: take it like that
tina r s: i dont mind
tina r s: i just wanted you to know.
John : im only kidding sweetie
John : well
John : im not too worried about that really
tina r s: ok
John : they always come out with these bogus studies
John : and people seem fine
John : i guess maybe..
John : its because men get stressed out by the cats too much!
John : maybe its men living with women AND having cats
John : thats the combo!
John : only then...
John : will you start losing hair!!
tina r s: i see.
tina r s: ok i guess its time to sleep
John : oh sweetie... lighten up please
tina r s: im fine
John :
John : no you're not
John : you're quite.. with a lack of reaction
John : im sorry if i made you upset
tina r s: i wonder why you feel i may be opposing you just for my being selfish
John : im just.. a total cat lover
tina r s: i know
John : i am not... i know you know these studies
John : im just saying.. sometimes they are a bit bogus
tina r s: but i hate their hair on my belongings
tina r s: on my clothes
tina r s: just that
John : ohh
John : heh
John : well..q
John : i guess there might be a slight problem
John : they arent long haired cats
John : luckily
John : but they still shed a lot
John : i mean
John : its not as bad as you may think
tina r s: i don't know...but let me make it clear: i DON'T want any animal's hair on MY belongings!
tina r s: lol
tina r s: im sorry if i sound too harsh...but thats really what i feel.
John : oh
John : i see
tina r s: my love for animals have NOTHING to do with my sensitivity about their hairs on my belongings
John : well
tina r s: i hope you can understand
John : ill ask my mom if she wants to keep them i guess
John : because.. you will get some hair on stuff.
John : it wont be bad.. but it will happen. i cant deny that
tina r s: darling
tina r s: i dont want to separate you from what you love
tina r s: ill be damned if i ever want to do so!
tina r s: i just wanted to talk about my feelings
tina r s: i don't know
tina r s: lets decide about it later
tina r s: im sorry
tina r s: i guess im too oversensitive about foolish things
John : well
John : we have to compromise
John : i dont want you being uncomfortable
John : i guess
John : i forgot people arent the same like me with animals
John : i mean..
John : i go out of my way for them
John : ill touch them
John : put my face by them when they know me
John : ill sleep with them
John : bastet and gypsy for often come nap with me
John : on my nights off.. i spend some time with them
John : so... they are very near me
John : and my belongings
tina r s: can't we keep them somehow away from my closet?
John : and personally
John : i dont mind at all them being on my stuff.. some people do
John : yeah... just keep it closed lol
John : i dont like them in my room when im not here. or in it
John : so.. they dont come in
John : because i have wires
John : and they like the chew on them sometimes
John : they arent the smartest creatures
John : but they are cute!
tina r s: i dont want you to leave them for me
tina r s: i know!
tina r s: i love them
John : what do you mean leave them for you?
tina r s: lol
tina r s: i meant to leave them behind for mysake
John : well
John : i cant split them up
John : so its both or non
John : they would be devistated not to have eachother
tina r s: maybe our apt would be too small for keeping them...or maybe the landlord wont let us
tina r s: i know
John : heh
John : well
John : im getting an apartment that the landlord will accept animals
John : lol
tina r s: lol
John : and usualy
tina r s: would it be any difference in the price?
John : the kind of landlord that wont let you have an animal
John : is an ass.. and a difficult landlord to begin with
tina r s: lol
tina r s: i see
John : no. not at all
tina r s: yes
tina r s: ok then
tina r s: lets see what we can do when the time comes
John : then you get Mussolini for your landlord@
John : Hitler!
tina r s: lets not decide about it now
tina r s: lol
tina r s: John
John : i can always sell them to a chinese butcher shop
John : there you go!!
John : ill brb back
tina r s: i never want you to give up anything just for mysake
tina r s: ok
John : OK !>!>
tina r s: OH NO!
tina r s: i didnt see taht!
tina r s: i meant ok "brb back"
tina r s: lol
John : well
tina r s: i didnt see that "i can always sell them to a chinese butcher shop"!!!!
John : i guess you dont love them!!
tina r s: oh!
tina r s: OH!
tina r s: darling!
John : poor kitties
tina r s: OF COURSE I LOVE THEM
John : but
tina r s: i want them to be happy
John : i can gaurentee
John : if you spend time with them..
John : youd grow to love them
John : to see their personalities
John : to have them give you their affection
John : its such a stong connection to nature
John : to have this enegry around you
tina r s: ok ..maybe..but if i couldn't tolerate their hair on my belongings...ooooh!
John : well
tina r s: then i guess i should get out of the apt!
John : i love the hair.. personally
tina r s: i know!
John : heh heh
John : i let pants and shirts stay on the bed
tina r s: but im sure i dont want you to kiss me with THAT hair on your face!!!!
John : and they sleep on them
tina r s: lol
tina r s:
John : well
John : its there for like 2 minutes
John : lol
John : they are fine hairs
tina r s: HFDKJFHDVI HKHVB RTKHVKHB RTJKH!
John : it goes away lol
John : !
tina r s: dfjhv iuy iu6vyhbiht rut ortiuvi4jlivt 6 o68 yuv4ij6 v45iojvo!!!!!!!!!!
John : it seems Tina is unexperienced with kitty cats
John : lol
John : they arent nasty hairs!
John : calm down!
tina r s: ldksfjg lidig jk!
tina r s: ok
John : oh no!
tina r s: ill try to
John : lol
John : its not bad at all
tina r s:
tina r s: oooooooooooh
tina r s: please
tina r s: stop talking about cat's ahir!
John : ok
John : well
John : im sorry
tina r s: no problem
tina r s: no
John : ill talk to my mother and see what i can do.. she loves them too
tina r s: thats alright
John : so i dont want to be unfair with you
John : you have to live with me too
John : theres going to be plenty to have to put up with..
John : heh.. so ill see
John : i have to go to bed sweetie
tina r s: sure
John : its getting late
tina r s: yes
tina r s: john
tina r s: John*
tina r s: I love you very much dear
John : i love you too
tina r s: don't forget it.
John : get some rest
tina r s: goodnight.
John : heh.. i mean... ill rest too. well forget it
John : im tired
John : bye bye now
tina r s: im sorry if ive been to oversensitive.
tina r s: bye bye.
John : bye
tina r s: sweet dreams.
John : its ok
John : bye bye

Now that I read it after all this time, I felt how silly it was of John and I to ever argue about cats...since, well, I ended up loving them anyway (Not at first, though, but recently) and right now that I am posting this blog, Gypsy is laying down over my night gown, on John's chair beside me. She is sleeping and now that I look at her, I feel I love her in a way that I can never let her go anywhere :)

I just took a picture of her. I'll try to post it right away.

Right Before This Point..

2007-09-30T12:27:00.000-07:00

Here is what I wrote in the past week... Chronologically, it goes like this:

26 Sept, 11:51 pm :

Why Ahmadinejad is in Manhattan?
The answer is simple, but since it's a long story, I'll keep it for later.

For now, my American husband John has woke up and is cuddling with Gypsy the cat, instead of Tina the wife! So, I have to go I guess, but I will be back soon :)

26 Sept, a few hours later:

The answer to the question :)

OK... 6:41 pm now. John is in his workshop sanding the wood. He's been apprenticing with a German violin-maker, Joe Regh, for the past 2 years. That is his passion: Making musical instruments.
Now the answer to the question, "why Ahmadinejad was in Manhattan?"
Here it is:
John works Sundays (as well as Mondays, Tuesdays, and every other Wednesdays), so it was just me, my parents-in-law and the cats wondering what to have for dinner. Dad suggested us go to this nice Chinese "buffet" restaurant... well the good news was that no matter how many plates you could eat, you were supposed to pay a fixed amount of money per person, so I thought, "WOW...I'm gonna try them all!"
I started by vegetables, those green things that are good for your body, then chicken in any form and color and size you can imagine... so I put all these different versions of chicken and stuffed mushrooms together, then brown rice and shrimps together and since my plate was loaded with food, I had no other option but to sit and eat it! That took 8 minutes... I was back to the heaven... of having an option to choose from among 48 different types of food!
This time I tried noodles, a variety of seafood, and this red-and-brownish marvel which I didn't know about, but thought I would try anyway. You can imagine that there is no such a thing as a buffet Chinese restaurant in Iran, not even in the capital city, Tehran -- where I used to live (and I miss like hell!), so I was over-thrilled by the whole idea of having the opportunity just to try (and not even get to taste!) anything right out of any dish there. I sat back with my second plate, and probed at any single item by my fork. Dad was sitting in front of me, enjoying a large cooked sea creature with legs and claws...perhaps a lobster? Not sure. Mom was sitting beside me, having her insatiable appetite for broccoli appeased, she was enjoying some pastries.
As I was focused on my red-and-brownish item on the plate, I thought to myself I should try some pastries too, and as I was chewing that tasty "item", mumbling, "hmm..delicious!" both mom and dad exclaimed, "That's pork, Tina!" Well... it took me half a second to reply back, "I know" while I had just decided to know that it was pork I was having! Dad burst into laughter, mom too, and I guess they both got very surprised. I said, "Every now and then I decide to go against myself, just for the sake of it", and they kept laughing.
Well, as a muslim I was not supposed to have pork. Always before that, I had announced that I had not had and would not have pork under any circumstances, and now there I was, enjoying pork knowingly and amusing my parents in law by making them think this was 100% pre-planned!
"Well..dad...I am muslim, but look at me, sitting in a restaurant, enjoying pork at Ramadan!" I laughed and made them laugh, too, but deep within I felt like a coward, with my faith in Allah fading away the more I was trying to "go against myself".
Anyway, the next morning dad said to mom, "You know the Iranian president is in Manhattan? Guess what? He is here looking for Tina, because she had pork yesterday!"
Well, if you don't believe this, you can go ask Ahmadinejad, but please do not let him know I had pork!

27 Sept, 4: 56 pm :

Hanging out with friends...hmm...why not?
John just asked me if he could take the laptop with him to hang out with his friend, Lee. I'm just out of showers, planning to enjoy myself as much as I can.. being nice-smelling and happy, I will light candles, I will lay down and read poems, Now this is typical man/woman stuff, I guess, but it is also American/Iranian stuff: I'll be reading Khaje Abdollah Ansari, while John will be enjoying himself killing people on the monitor (he is in love with this computer game "Counterstrike", I have played it too, but after a while, you start thinking, "so what?").

27 Sept, a few hours later :

...Well, John didn't end up hanging out with Lee, he ended up hanging up with K., instead. He got back home when I was asleep, but right before falling asleep, I read the first few pages of Deepak Chopra's The Book of Secrets, which was so soothing.
As I was reading it, my sweet mother-in-law knocked on the door, the phone receiver in her hand, wondering like a sleepwalker. She said she was mad at John for leaving me alone and hanging out with a female friend, instead. And now, she was mad at him, because she had tried to call him up, but no answer. I explained to her sometimes he could not hear his cellphone ring, or perhaps he was just in an awkward situation and couldnot answer the phone. She got even more mad, I guess! She was so sweet standing there with sleepy eyes, the receiver in her hand. I wanted to kiss her from head to toe. I told this to her as a joke to make her laugh a bit: "Mom...I'm glad John is not your husband...he would be already dead by now, I can imagine!" Mom is a Leo, with moon in Scorpio. So what does that say about her? A very sweet possessive creature (I LOVE it when people get possessive, because they reveal something of their natural instincts, and I love natural instincts!), super-protective like a lioness, and poisonous like a scorpion if anybody wants to threaten her beloved ones under any banner. She told me straighforwardly that she did not like "this girl". I can imagine why, because it's not really proper for a woman to hang out with a married man, when the wify is left home to read The Book of Secrets by Deepak Chopra.
But anyway, I did not take it as seriously, because I know John never tells lies to me or hides things from me. He asked for my permission, and I said "yes, go ahead and hang out with your friend", then immediately after that I felt bored staying at home and asked him if it was ok for me to join them, he said sure and he could ask K. about that too, I said I did not want to seem intruding by inviting myself, but I was just bored beeing cooped up in this tiny room here, he said he could understand, and he was sure there wouldn't be any problem, so I got dressed-up, all excited and ready to go, but John came in the room after a few minutes and said he had just spoken with K. and she had said she was not in the mood for too many people. I felt bad at first, saying, "Look! I'm all dressed-up and excited! Now you say I cannot come!" But actually he started feeling even worse than me. I did not want him to get an anxiety attack over such a silly thing, because he had already started saying, "now, no matter what I do, I would feel bad..If I go, I'll feel like an asshole leaving you here like this all dressed-up and excited, if I don't go, I would leave her there like that all deressed-up and ready, WHAT SHOULD I DO?!"
I told him now I could see why he was depressed, because he had a tendency to make an issue out of any simple thing. I said it's so easy... I would get undressed, since I was feeling sleepy and wanted to go to bed anyway, and he would go out and hang out with K. He insisted he was feeling awful, so I just had to convince him to go. I said he could take me out the next day (today), instead.
That was the whole story, and now Gypsy the cat is cleaning herself so dilligently that reminds me of myself having to go to do the weekly cleaning-up here!

About Me :)

2007-09-30T12:23:00.000-07:00

I am one of those rare Iranians that get married to one of those rare Americans, specially when this seems to be the dumbest thing to do when everybody knows that Iran and USA are oil and water -- they just won't mix, unless you pour them in a big bottle and shake well for 3 years and heat up for the next 30 years -- that's how it worked between John and I, at least: We waited for 3 years for the paperwork to be done before I got my visa to come here on May, and probably we will wait for the next 30 years for things to naturally get resolved between us, simply because we belong to two different worlds: I am Iranian, he is American. I guess almost the same thing is going on between Bush and Ahmadinejad. The only difference here is first, there is no marriage (thank God!), second, I am a bit more good-looking than Ahmadinejad (he is probably not as nasty as I am, though) and John is definitely much more handsdome than Bush (and much more intelligent, of course), and third, Ahmadinejad does not have to sleep in the same bed with Bush, thus tolerating his ear-splittingly loud snores!

In regard to the similarities between my marriage and Iran/USA relationship, I should say both are replicas of what they clinically call a "love-hate relationship", neither of the two parties is ready to admit that their policy literally "sucks", and finally both parties are concerned about the nuclear issues (since every now and then it gets radio-actively hot between John and I, we need to seriously watch out, but well... you can imagine the interaction between an Iranian girl and an American guy with Spanish/Italian/Arab genes can result in a nuclear explosion!)