And the toppling sand mounds

We are like these things, impermanent and unpinned; originally uploaded by yaznotjaz. [Click here for larger view.]

A few things I have been grateful for, so far this week:

one. ...That so many of you took the time to read my last post about Imran Saithna. And that, for once, my commenting system seemed to cooperate just long enough that I could read your own responses to and reflections on Imran's life. One of the things I love most about blogging is the feedback (I admit it) from those who read, and it meant so much to me that you took the time to comment on the one post that meant more to me than anything else I've written in a long, long while. I'm trying to move beyond posting bullet-points and numerical-lists so regularly, and trying to go back to posting deeper, more meaningful pieces of writing. The last entry was a good start, although I wish it didn't have to begin this way. Thank you all again for the comments, the GMail IMs, and the emails. As Rick said on flickr, No one can say exactly what paths one leaves on this earth. May your friend's path be one of heart. Amen to that.

two. ...That my lovely friend A's fiancé has finally woken up, after being hit by a car and unconscious for two days. After the last two days of holding my breath and being too scared to venture saying the word "coma," I am so relieved about this much. The bad news: Both his legs are broken, and doctors are still unsure about the extent of his back injuries. The fact that A is here, halfway across the world and unable to go see him, makes this doubly difficult for her. It broke my heart hearing her voicemessage on Tuesday, hearing her voice say, "I don't really know what to do...'cuz I'm sick, too, and I'm worried...and I'm just trying to be okay, but it's really hard. [His sister's] leaving tomorrow, and his parents the day after...and I get to stay here...by myself." I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like to be so far away from someone you love. Please pray that he recovers quickly and fully, so that he and A can live happily ever after in the green house in Berkeley that A covets so much.

three. [I don't know why this list is harder than it usually is. Here's a third thing:] ...Dinner last night with B and N, two of my favorite Pukhtu-speakers and Hindku-speakers, respectively. The evening was filled with rocking (Malaysian) food, beautiful company, and the endless laughter that always characterizes our time together. My new favorite quote is a profound statement by B's father: "There's no point in making money if you can't eat good food." Listening, amused, as both B and N regaled us with stories, I promised N I'd make up some drama of my own, so that I, too, can have stories to share next time we hang out. As someone who prides herself on the fact that her life is "gorgeously drama-free, always," this is really going to be SUCH a process. So, I ask you, how does one imbue one's life with drama? Please provide advice, suggestions, and/or examples.

Beautiful things from a Tuesday in the month where everyday felt like Monday

yellowsunshine diptych, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

From Tuesday, January 23, 2007

one. The Howie Day album I haven't listened to in over a year because it inexplicably started skipping just as inexplicably works perfectly again when I pop it into my CD player while driving to work. I spend my commute listening to music that reminds me of college, partly because I once used the opening line of Brace Yourself (So you think/You can hold the world up by a string) as a post title to illustrate the hectic days that marked my last quarter of college. Standing in the Sun and This Time Around are two other favorites (I still distinctly remember having just gotten off work one evening, sitting in my car at a traffic light in downtown Sacramento, head turned, glancing at something to my right, as the line I always knew the sun would burn away spilled out of the speakers for the first time), while Numbness for Sound unexpectedly brings back bittersweet memories.

two. I've got my favorite Desi restaurant on speed-dial! I walk in to pick up the one, single naan (and nothing else) that I've ordered, and the Indian lady at the counter smiles at me. "I'm sorry we didn't have samosas again," she says. "The baba who makes them is out today."

"That's alright," I say. "I always come here for the naan anyway!"

"Your friend didn't come with you today? She was here the other day."

"Which friend? The tall one?"

"Yes! She's so beautiful!" says the woman, wide-eyed. "I asked her where she was from, and she said Afghanistan."

"Oh, did she?" I say, laughing to myself. "She's Pathan, that's probably why she said that." My family and B's are both from the Attock district in Pakistan, but, as a native Pukhtu speaker, she also identifies quite strongly with Afghan culture. I can't wait to get back to the office and say accusingly, "Oh, so now you're Afghan, huh?"

three. In corresponding with a colleague with whom I am working on a project, I send the following note:

Could you please forward this to ______? My email, below, didn’t seem to go through to him. Thanks so much!

His response makes me smile:

Hi Yasmine, I seem to have forwarded it successfully. But, you know, it goes into cyberspace and then what?

four. Scrounging around for writing instruments, I borrow a pen from my co-worker (without telling her) but like it so much that I decide to keep it. This, I guess, would be called stealing, but who cares? My left-handed clumsiness and I are grateful for pretty pens that allow us to write in smooth, streak-free lines.

five. Driving back to the office from the aforementioned lunch, I notice some beautiful yellow flowers planted across the street. I make a u-turn, park illegally, and walk swiftly, camera in hand, down the sidewalk to the corner with the yellow flowers. The image at the head of this post is a diptych of two photos I took that afternoon. Yellow sunshine flowers on a day that feels like Monday are a warm and unexpectedly soothing remedy when spring seems so far away.

Take a glorious bite out of the whole world

Three beautiful things - Friday, Dec. 29th:

one. While walking to my office in the morning, I whistle at a beautiful, furry orange cat sunning itself on the sidewalk, and surprise myself with the clear notes that come out of my mouth. I can't even remember the last time I whistled. Has it been years? I thought I had forgotten how.

two. Getting off early from work (3pm!) and going to the movies with B. Best part: sneaking my bottle of chocolate milk inside and drinking it while watching the film. By the way, I thought Dream Girls was ROCKING. Note to self: Coordinate plans to watch it again with Princess Pretty Pants and D.

three. Personalized license plates seen on a sports car zooming down the freeway: IHAV2P

I want to stay another season/see summer upon this sorry land

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

The heat wasn't working at the office today, which means I spent most of the day being aggravated about the cold and - of course - engaging in monologues with God about how much I disapprove of this winter business.

"It's all in your head, Yasminay," my father would say, but my father wasn't the one who had to sit there with blue fingernails all day long, either. It's enough to make a kid want to turn around and return home, even though it took said kid 1 hour and 40 minutes to get to work this morning. (Californians are idiots when it comes to driving in the rain, apparently.)

Leaving work at the end of the day, I stepped out the front door into the evening darkness and the first words out of my mouth upon seeing the pouring rain were, "Aw, f*ck." Needless to say, I felt a severe dearth of things to be happy about today, but my earlier comment-gone-too-lengthy over on Chai's "Three Appreciations" post forced me to rethink the gloominess. (It took far too long to brainstorm all this, though, trust me.)

Driving home too fast on roads that were too wet, blinded by inky-black asphalt and incessant rain, I turned up both the heat and the music and kept my eyes on the yellow line for guidance, smiling wryly as U2 sang, You got to get yourself together...

Here, then, unnumbered and expanded, is my list of rocking things about today, in spite of the freakin' rain that makes me shake my fist at God:

Co-workers who make me laugh so much about pointless things that my stomach hurts and tears pour out of my eyes. We laughed about falafel, of all things. Falafel are funny.

New philosophy, stolen off the incomparable Z: "I like to call things I don't wanna do 'adventures,' to make them suck less."

Deciding that I am going to start bringing cocoa powder and milk into the office, so I can make myself hot chocolate while everyone else stands around drinking their (nasty!) tea. Also, this is just an excuse to warm up my hands on a hot mug. The co-worker Zee offered me tea today while making some for everyone else, and I just smirked and shook my head in refusal. "Yasmine doesn't drink tea," laughed B. "She only drinks cranbery juice, and eats doughnuts and candy and string cheese."
"Hey, I bought some dried fruit from the grocery store yesterday," I protested, but no one believed me.

Friends who check out my gmail status message ["every day is yasmine day"] and IM me with, "Happy Yasmine day!" Another variation:
J: "Yasmine day is today!"
Me: "Dude, what are you talking about, it's EVERY DAY. Get with the program."
J: "I didnt say it wasn't everyday. I said it was today. Isn't it today? And tomorrow I'd say it again."

In conversation with a friend, I make a point and finish it off with my requisite threats of stabbing and an emphatic, "The end!"
He responds with, "To be continued," and I can't help but laugh: "I hate you, no one has ever waylaid my 'the end' line so well before."

Jogging down to the end of the street to grab the umbrella from my car for a co-worker, I'm reminded of how much I miss running. No - how much I miss enjoying running. (Un)fortunately, I am no longer 12-17 years old; now, I'm ostensibly grown-up and I like who I've become, so I don't have anything to run from anymore, myself included.

Male friends who can admit they have "boy crushes."
Me, as a wholly rhetorical question: "How come I don't have any boy crushes?"
MF, generously: "You can have some of mine."

Trying to explain to the buddy Z where to locate the seat-warmer buttons in his car. Seat-warmers on a day like this? Freakin' ROCKING. When I become dictator of the world, I will ensure that everyone has seat-warmers in their cars - and their very own personal blue raspberry slurpee machines, too. So, vote for me, kids - I might even have another discussion with God about the weather, while I'm at it.

Take a breath, feel the beat in the rhythm of my steps

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

[Three beautiful things from October 15, 2006]

- Wearing my favorite red t-shirt - I call it my "sell-out" shirt - and realizing it still smells like the Clinique perfume I spritzed on at Macy's, four days ago. [The shirt reads "Coca-Cola" in Urdu/Arabic script, read right to left.] I have to smile whenever I see the above photo, which taken in San Francisco last July while I was lunching with college friends who are always so delighted to see me that I am constantly humbled when I think of how lucky I am to know such rockstars.

- Asking T how to correctly pronounce the following words:

- diocese
- ecumenical
- liturgy
- licentiate

and having him deadpan, "You're asking the wrong person. I'm a fob."

- Renewing my flickrPro account, two days before expiration. That means yet more photos for you to enjoy on the days when I'm too lazy to write. Which has lately been a lot of days, seemingly. Anyone else missing the long, long posts I was infamous for? Yeah, me, too.

On the side of the highway, baby/Our road is long

Blurry San Francisco, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

Beautiful things:
Bumper stickers I've noticed lately, which have made me laugh -

OUTTA MY WAY. I GOTTA PEE.

EAT BEEF. The West wasn't won on salad.

I LOVE AIRPLANE NOISE.

And my personal favorite - NIRWANA - which reminded me of when my favorite crackhead, Somayya, first moved from Pakistan to the U.S. as a five year old. As a fobby little kindergartener, she became famous for uttering lines such as, "I am vearing a west today and I live in Vest Sacramento." Also, the very first English word she spoke was "cupcake." See, this is why we're friends, even though we're related by default.

Three things: The Halloween in GMail-chat edition

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

I first got an inkling that Halloween this year was going to generate funny conversations when my buddy Z IMed me at the beginning of October with, "I'm gonna go as Ahmedinejad for Halloween." Seriously, I didn't even have a comeback to compete with that. In true Yasmine fashion, I believe my response was laughter and resounding approval: "ROCKING."

The evening of Halloween, I got home from work at 8pm with a pounding headache, crawled onto the sofa with my favorite psychedelic-colored comfort blanket, and watched Dancing with the Stars and Boston Legal while eating Chinese leftovers from dinner with T and B the evening before. In between exchanging text messages with T - who was trying to convince me to 1. invest in orange flares and 2. visit the East Coast - I kept an attentive ear out for trick-or-treaters stopping by. (Un)fortunately, only about half a dozen kids showed up in total - since Casa420 [my home] is located on a narrow, winding, "scary" street, as I had been explaining to Z earlier in the day - which meant I ended up with lots of leftover Halloween candy. I'm not complaining. As the following conversations show, I'm a huge fan of free candy - and so are my friends, it seems.

GMail conversation with A, mid-October:

yasmine: i like halloween
yasmine: well, i like candy, so i jump at any chance to get free candy
A: same here
A: I once got into an argument with someone that Halloween is haram [forbidden/prohibited]
A: it was quite amusing
A: I don't think they got the commercial aspect of free candy
yasmine: "HALLOVEEEN IS...BID'AH [religious innovation]!"
A: hahahaha
A: I was like, "you can make it halal [permissible]"
A: can dress up as your favourite Imam, that type of thing
A: "I'm Bukhari! I'm Bukhari!"
yasmine: that's freakin' hilarious
yasmine: i want to be al-ghazali, in that case
yasmine: al-ghazali was a ROCKSTAR
yasmine: mashaAllah
A: hahahahaha
A: yeah, I'm an idiot
A: needless to say, haven't spoken to that person again
A: they started telling me about how it's all so paganistic
yasmine: oh yeah, i bet
yasmine: they probably think you're all haraam now
yasmine: vat a BLASPHEMER!
A: and then I told them about the days of the week in the Julian calendar
A: and how they're based on pagan gods

A's GMail status on October 31st: "Halloween mubarak!"

yasmine: so, are you dressed as your favorite imam?
A: no, not at all
A: I kinda went the other route!
yasmine: hahaha and what would that be?
A: I dressed up as a devil
yasmine: what're you wearing, exactly?
A: well, got the hair-band thing with the devil horns that light up
A: and then got a mini-trident that lights up
A: wore all black clothes
yasmine: oh dude, you're rocking it up, aren't you
A: and came into work, made a sign in MS Word
A: using the word art font
A: that said "Prada"
A: taped it on my back
yasmine: i am silently laughing so hard at work right now
A: and I became "The Devil Wears Prada" :)
yasmine: you are so freakin' hilarious
A: hahaha
A: I'm just an idiot
yasmine: to steal a line from my buddy hijabman: "HIGHFIVE!"
A: I thought this up last night at the dollar store
A: Oopar paanch! :)

And, of course, the incomparable Z, who started it all:

Z at 4.30pm: Attention: the secretaries have chocolate and lots of it
Z: they are sitting behind it right now
Z: but they leave in precisely T minus half an hour
Z: this is when we strike

Z at 5.05pm: READY YOUR MEN
Z: ATTAAAAAAACK
yasmine: mygod, you're on crack
yasmine: CANDY CRACK!
Z: we had to retreat, the guard hadn't retired yet
Z: which is weird, they're usually gone by 5
Z: but we're gearing up for another pass
Z: and man, is it gonna be glorious
Z: see? i can have fun at work without you
Z: it just takes a little imagination
yasmine: i hate you. stop having fun without me, dammit

Z at 5.43pm: carla took the candy
Z: stupid carla

>CONTINUE READING

Three beautiful things: The transportation edition

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

[From October 11, 2006]

- It takes me two hours to get to work in the morning, because two big rigs collided on the Sunol Grade on Interstate 880 and spilled oil across the freeway. Impatiently listening to the AM radio to pick up on any traffic updates, I hear the newscasters discussing their colleague's fascination with my favorite cookies: "Every week, he bursts into a new realm of snickerdoodledom."

- In the afternoon, I stop by Macy's for a quick errand, opt for street parking rather than the garage, and discover, to my delight, that there are still 42 minutes left on my parking meter. (This, of course, means I spend way too much time doing extra girly things like checking out earrings, spritzing on perfume, and buying my favorite lipgloss.)

- GMail IM from Z: "Yesterday on BART, a little 4 year old girl said, 'I have pigtails and you don't!'"

(More than three) beautiful things: The semi-work edition

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

Okay, kids, so remember that part where I said I was going to post "three beautiful things" everyday? Well, clearly, it didn't work so well, because - once again! - I haven't really updated in nearly three weeks. The good news is, I've been scribbling down beautiful things in my lovely little Moleskine notebook, as I am wont to do with all potential weblog posts. The part where it backfired is the part where I neglected to type things out. But I guess the fact that all you all still stop by means you don't mind reading about things three weeks later. Long live our communal procrastination tactics, rockstars!

Meanwhile, I'm drowning in project plans at work (three of them, kids, THREE!), so I apologize for what'll be continued sporadic posting. But here's some short stuff for you to read:

- Regarding the photo above, I recently posted it to flickr with the following title: "My fax cover-sheet got printed looking like this and I was so tempted to append a note saying, 'Thank you kindly, clearly we appreciate your business/enjoy working with you,' and just send it off like this." I make myself laugh so much, you don't even know.

- Funny subject line on email spam at work: "Hey, our boss got fired?"

- Funny spam subject line #2: "Offices have been closed permanently."

- We received a shipment of new envelopes and brochures at the office, and I couldn't stop going into the back room and lifting the flaps off the boxes and sniffing inside. I have decided I love the smell of new paper.

- Also, there was this work-related event where I had to do quite a bit of talking, and the Board has decided I am a "fantastic speaker," as well as "articulate" and "personable." Who knew? However (in somehow related news, just take my word for it), some Muslims apparently can't handle headwraps, though. Muslims are so annoying sometimes. They needa stop with that drama.

Three Things: The Home Edition

Chukairiyaan, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

1. Waking up at 8am, realizing it's a Saturday, and burrowing back under the warm covers to sleep in until 10:30. Washing my face, and then promptly sitting down at the computer. I check emails and weblogs while my mother pulls up a chair beside me and flips through catalogues and coupon books. We discuss an impending visit to IKEA (she's never been!), and she tells me The Sister is on a newfound campaign to add a cat to our household. A cat would be nice, says my mother wistfully. She fondly recalls our previous next-door neighbor's cat, Daisy, who used to keep my mother company in the garden.

2. I wash and condition my hair, then actually take the time to comb it out, too - albeit abruptly, top to bottom rather than the other way around, so that my impatient tugs result in lots of gnarled hair in the wastebasket. Still, it got combed. Since I'm a firm adherent of the "I don't believe in combing my hair" philosophy, today's effort is highly newsworthy and must be mentioned, especially considering I have conversations about hair quite rarely anyway (my favorite conversation is still that latter one, with a four-year-old, no less). I then sit in a pool of sunshine on the living room floor, willing my hair to dry while reading the last few chapters of John Knowles' A Separate Peace, a book I love but have never reread since finishing it in one evening for my tenth-grade English class, eight years ago. In one passage that makes me smile, Gene says:

After the lights went out the special quality of my silence let [Phineas] know I was saying [prayers], and he kept quiet for approximately three minutes. Then he began to talk; he never went to sleep without talking first and he seemed to feel that prayers lasting more than three minutes were showing off. God was always unoccupied in Finny's universe, ready to lend an ear any time at all. Anyone who failed to get his message through in three minutes, as I sometimes failed to do when trying to impress him, Phineas, with my sanctity, wasn't trying.

3. Lazily sitting around the dining room table after we've just finished dinner, The Sister looks around at each of us individually and asks, wide-eyed, "Anyone want chocolate cake?" I laugh at her excitement, and she adds, "I've been looking forward to this all day!" Our mother, ever the practical one, advises that we save the dessert-consumption for after taraweeh [the nightly congregational prayers held during Ramadan], but the daddy-o - never one to refuse dessert - overrules that suggestion with an authoritative, "Well, in that case, we can have two! - one dessert now, and another one when we get back from taraweeh." A quick peek into the refrigerator makes me laugh at all the choices available to us: apple-caramel-pecan cake, chocolate ganache torte, apple pie, chocolate-orange sticks, and, in the freezer, two pints of ice cream, one of which (my new favorite: Ben&Jerry's American Pie) merited an excited email from me to fellow ice cream fan 2Scoops months ago, raving about how it was "basically exactly what it sounds like - apple pie with ice cream!" Just for 2Scoops, I would like to add that the American Pie ice cream is still SPECTACULARICIOUS.

Three Things (plus three more)

Sunlight shadows on the sidewalk, Friday afternoon, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

This afternoon, after clicking over to Blogger.com and pausing before signing in (believe it or not, this is something I do often: I decide I want to update this weblog, I click over to Blogger, and then I just stop, overcome by a feeling of overwhelming helplessness: Where do I even begin? - too many stories to share, and, clearly, I think too much and thus end up writing and sharing nothing)...so, anyway, in the few moments today as my fingers hovered restlessly over the mouse and I debated yet again whether or not to sign into Blogger, I discovered my new favorite weblog: it's one in the list of current Blogs of Note, and entitled Three Beautiful Things. Someone named Spitfire left a lovely comment there that summed up the entire premise of the Three Beautiful Things weblog:

The natural, simple happiness of the commonplace things is subtle and beautiful, and yet it requires a well-trained eye to appreciate it.
Those who find in the small details the true reason for being alive are to be praised. The search for sources of authentic smiles is a difficult, but noble and delightful activity.

And as Clare herself of Three Beautiful Things notes:

The thing about 3BT is, it's not that my life is particularly beautiful (although I know as a single woman living in England in 2007, I have a lot to be thankful for) but that I find myself constantly on the look-out for beautiful things.

Leaving work at 5.30pm today, I swung the front door shut behind me, and something about the late afternoon light made me stop dead in my tracks. Seconds later, my bag hit the ground and I was kneeling on the walkway, camera in hand, snapping photos of the sunlight on the grass. When I'd decided a dozen photos was more than enough, I stood up, brushed off my knees, and, before turning away to head back to my car, I stopped and aimed one final, level glance at the shadows, thinking, I have to remember this moment so I can write about it later.

So, because I am nothing if not a proponent of celebrating the mundane (and a lover of the word beautiful), I've decided I'm going to try this three beautiful things exercise myself, in order to get myself back into the swing of writing regularly. Perhaps (I'm pretty sure) I'll end up recording more than three things at a time, but the point - for me - is to just write. Simple, seemingly mundane things would be a good start, because in the last few months I've become so overwhelmed by what I haven't written that it's been difficult to get myself out of this blogging backlog and actually write.

I'm aiming to try this everyday. Ambitious, I know, but I've got to start somewhere. And because I've missed Blogistan comment-box conversations with my fellow bloggers and blurkers [blog+lurkers] so much, you are more than welcome to add your own three-things to the comments.

So, here's my Friday: Things that made me smile, in numerical form. One, two, three, GO.

1. The way the late afternoon sunlight and shadows slant across the sidewalk. [See photo above. It took me far too long to decide which photo to post; they're all so sunshine-y beautiful and make me especially happy because this past week has been all about the rain.]

2. Organizing a conference call for work - and having it go off without a hitch - and crossing everything off Page One of my four-page project plan. (I love the strikethrough function! Pages 2-4 must be completed during this upcoming week, though. Gross.)

3. GMail chat conversation with HijabMan about how he's planning on flying notes around his office. The mental image made me laugh, and what's even funnier is that I can imagine my co-worker/buddy B and I doing the same.

4. Phone conversations spent remembering karaoke with old co-workers, back in the good ol' downtown Sacramento days.

5. Accolades -
HijabMan: "Wow, how did you get so lucky...? Dude, you are so a rockstar."
Yasmine: "Because they love me!"
HijabMan: "I've never heard you say something so...self-centered."

6. Quick GMail chat conversation with the buddy Z about how, as children, we used to light things on fire, which inexplicably ends with him exclaiming, "You, sire, are a DILETTANTE."

I honor the place in you, of love, of light, of truth

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

A recent edition of the San Francisco Chronicle contained an article I read with interest. FINDING MY RELIGION: Nipun and Guri Mehta talk about their $1-a-day pilgrimage through India is an interview with two people I am blessed to know, although it's been months since I've seen them in person.

I've mentioned Nipun and Guri (and Viral and Mark and Dipti) in passing before, describing them as people who are so beautifully inspiring on a daily basis that my words will never do them justice. I first met them all in November 2004, when - through an introduction from my friend SS - the crazy crackstabber, Mark, invited me to a Wednesday evening meditation at the home of Nipun and Viral's parents in the South Bay. Nearly every Wednesday evening over the next five, six months, I regularly drove two hours from the Sacramento area to the South Bay, where I sat on the floor of a Silicon Valley living room with dozens of other people from all walks of life, cross-legged, eyes closed, in silence for an hour. After that, I would participate in an hour-long roundtable sharing of thoughts with the others, gratefully accept a homecooked vegetarian meal from Nipun's mother, and then hit the road for the hour-long drive home to the East Bay.

Those few hours spent in the company of such conscious individuals are amongst the most peaceful I can remember. Time and again, I have started writing about them, only to discard my writing, leaving it half-finished. It's true, I'll never be able to suitably articulate their spirit of service, their compassion, the beauty of these people I've met through the Wednesday evenings. I'll try again soon, though, because everyone should be lucky to know people even half as beautiful as these.

From the SF Chronicle article:

There's a question posted on your personal Web site: "Do you have a spiritual teacher?" Your answer to that was, "Yes, you." Is it sometimes a struggle to see everyone as your teacher?

Nipun: I try to see life with reverence -- all life. When we were walking, we learned a lot of things. We learned to see the goodness in everybody, to try to learn from everybody and everything, even if it's just a tree. I mean, when you're walking and it's really hot, and you see a tree and you say, "Wow!" -- it's just there giving shade to you selflessly!

So I try to approach everything with humility. You never know what can teach you spiritual lessons you need to learn.

Nipun's brother, Viral, once gave a talk that, to me, sums up the spirit of CharityFocus and the people who are, in various ways, affiliated with it:

Namaste -- in India when we meet and greet, we say Namaste, and Ram Dass gives a beautiful definition: Namaste means I honor the place in you, where the entire universe resides. I honor the place in you, of love, of light, of truth. I honor that place in you, where if you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us.

Living on borrowed time out on the rim, over the line, always tempting fate like a game of chance

Scattered thank-yous, mentally noted, from the past two, three weeks:

Thank you to the mailman whom I asked for directions when I got lost going to the evening of live Moroccan music in Berkeley. I don't think you knew how to get there any more than I did, and you were suitably vague about what road I should take, but you were friendly and you underscored my new philosophy: Spotting a mailman when you're lost is the best, relieved feeling in the world.

Thank you to the blonde guy biting his lips to keep from smiling at the Moroccan music dinner/benefit, for repeatedly switching around the lined-up juice bottles on the drinks table while the little boys who had lined them up giggled and rapidly shuffled them back into perfect order.

Thank you, neighborhoodies.com for keeping me amused for hours on a Tuesday two weeks ago, when I should have been doing productive things that would result in my having enough money to actually buy said hoodies and t-shirts.

Oh yeah, but I have a job now, for the summer. Thank you, people who gave me a job, for thinking I'm grown-up enough to handle work and for believing I'm actually worth hiring. Thank you for the money, too, because, I'll be honest, I really do like money.

Thank you to the ambulance driver at Telegraph and 52nd, for not running me over when, oblivious child that I am, I nearly didn't notice your speeding ambulance and its flashing lights in time. When I slammed on my brakes, so quickly I smelled the burning rubber from my tires, you continued through the intersection, turning in front of my lane. I did my usual throwing-up-my-hands gesture, and you smiled and saluted smartly.

Speaking of ambulance drivers, thank you, Ladder 49, for making me appreciate the work that firefighters do. Firefighters: You are ROCKING.

Thank you to the driver who so patiently waited at the stop sign on Homestead Ave., while the couple across from him at the intersection picked up their fallen groceries in the middle of the street. You didn't honk, you didn't throw up your hands, you didn't seem to have any visibly impatient expression on your face. You just sat and waved at them to continue taking their time, and I feel blessed for having had the opportunity to witness your patience and grace.

Thank you, shutterfly.com, for sending me free prints. You sure know how to give a girl incentive to develop digital photos for the very first time (even though I've owned a digital camera since last August), and I'm staggered by the image quality of the photos I received in the mail. Oh, and my camera: I love you and your photo-taking, and your video-recording feature, too.

Thank you, clumsy young man who bumped into me on Main St.; your muttered "I'm sorry" and my unconcerned "Excuse me" gave the blonde girl with you just enough time to glance at me and squeal, "Oh my God, your pants are so CUTE!" She didn't strike me as the type to be caught dead wearing my Elvis pants, but God knows I myself use "so cute" as a compliment more often than not, too, so I can't fault her for the ditzy sort of exclamations.

Thank you, girl on Highway 4 who was driving with her bare left foot out the open window, for making me smile on my way back from a funeral. I know I've made sarcastic comments about these sort of driving habits in the past, but, still, I needed a smile desperately, and you did just the trick.

Thank you, man at the grocery store, for knocking on the watermelons for sale and bending down, holding your ear close to the fruit. There is an art to fruit-buying, and you clearly looked like you knew what you were doing.

Thank you, Jessica at the bank, for your handwritten, cursive Have a great day! notes on all my deposit receipts. Beyond the appreciation for your personal touch, I really do like your handwriting, too.

Thank you to the grinning blonde art student working on a painting in the library parking lot at the university, for noticing our curious glances and fully standing up and turning around to wave at us as we drove away. "Vhat a nice bwoyyyyy!" I laughed in my best Desi [South Asian] accent.

Thank you, A.M., rockstar extraordinaire, who had such a big name for such a small woman. If I could pick one single person whom I was convinced would change the world, you would have been it. And yet, you still did more in 22 years than many of us manage to accomplish in 45. Thank you for your exuberance, your passion, your dedication to justice and equality in all forms. We live in gratitude for your light.

The blue sky is blue like blue bubblegum

Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

This is what the sky looked like this past weekend. This being the same temperamental, unpredictable weather that brought hail to San Francisco and snow to Mount Diablo in March, I'm sure you've already figured out that that blue sky didn't stick around for long. *shakes fist* I thought we were friends, God; what happened?

Regardless, today was a nice enough day:

- The girl at the bank told me she loves my style.

- I took my car in for an oil&filter change, because the odometer just hit 7,000 miles (how did that happen?). I'm trying to be a good kid about things related to my car. Apparently I could have taken it in at 3,750 miles, but only if it had undergone "severe usage." The daddy-o and I went through the "severe usage" checklist one day:

"Repeatedly driving short distances..." "No."
"Extensive engine idling..." "No."
"Driving on uphill, downhill, or mountain roads." "Umm, well, yeah, our street."
"Driving on rough, dusty, muddy, unpaved, graveled or salt-spread roads..." "No."
"Driving in sandy areas..." "No."
"Driving over 100 mph..." "Yasmine...?" "No!"

- The guy at the oil change place was nice, except for the fact that he kept calling me "Ma'am." This happens periodically. I'm sure I was older than him [on a sidenote, I seem to be older than everyone. What is this drama? I need to make new friends. Older ones.], but that's no excuse, since most of the time I get mistaken for being anywhere between twelve and seventeen years old. I wanted to say, "Do I look like a ma'am to you? Do I, buddy boy? I look twelve, dammit!"

- [Another sidenote: I'm currently going through an amusing phase where I'm using "dammit" in conversations for no other reason than it's fun. This even includes situations with positive-connotations, and contexts where things aren't damn-worthy. So? It still amuses me. Here's one more for good measure: YEAH, DAMMIT.]

- "Ma'am" notwithstanding, I was mollified by the fact that the oil-change kids also vacuumed the interior of my car. It was clean anyway; I vacuumed it not too long ago myself. But still. Freshly-vacuumed cars are always rocking.

- Driving home, I let a lady in a big bad black SUV merge in front of me. She waved (I love it when people do that!), I waved back and felt good, and then immediately afterwards noticed the prominently-placed "I stand behind President George Bush" and "W '04" stickers on her car. Freakin' hell, mon.

- Peanut butter&jelly sandwiches? Rocking.

Things that made even a Monday quite a rocking day

I'm lazy and still working on writing about my meetup with Anjum - disgraceful, I know - but, meanwhile, here's a long-ish post for you, about this past Monday, no less.

ONE. Taking a nap on the living room floor, smackdab in the middle of the pool of sunshine spilling through the front windows and onto the carpet. Specifically, falling asleep while reading Ivan Turgenev's short novel, First Love, because that girl - Zinaida Alexandrovna - was so damn arrogant and annoying and self-satisfied that I just wanted to stab her. Or rip the pages out of the anthology. [Not so rocking: leftside arm- and shoulder-aches for the next day and a half. Did I mention I'm left-handed? This is problematic.]

TWO. Snail mail! Package from HijabMan, containing:

- Earrings from the Middle East! He had asked which I wanted more, flip-flops or earrings, and my shallow accessories-addicted inner rockstar told me to go with earrings, so I did. Because we all know I love dangly earrings. I can get flip-flops on my own anytime, but earrings from the Middle East? Lemme at 'em! So HijabMan sent me a photograph he had taken, I circled the earrings I wanted, and emailed it back to him with a note: "THE RED ONE IS MINE!" When I finally got them in the mail, my first thought was, Dayam, I have hella good taste. Alhamdulillah. Oh yeah, and I wore them right away, for the rest of the day. HijabMan is the awesomest. You should be his friend.

- Another mix CD from Baji, mix-CD compiler extraordinaire! Baji had given the CD to HijabMan to give to me when he visited California back in September. He forgot to hand it over, and the CD subsequently traveled with him around the world before making its way back to me. Baji will be so proud! This is a No-Theme CD, and it's rocking. It also has TWENTY-TWO TRACKS, so it took me the better part of three days worth of errands all around town to get through it. I'm now listening to it for the second time, and loving it, because Baji has awesome taste in music, even though I didn't recognize any of the songs (which says a lot about my taste in music, obviously). Baji, if I haven't said this before, you're my favorite rockstar. You're lucky I'm not a boy and about ten years older (oh, and ten times smarter), or I woulda challenged TP to a duel and married you myself. I woulda!

...and it's deja vu, because...

THREE. I ran into my brother the crazy artist at *gasp* the grocery store of all places. He grabbed my grocery list away from me: "Garbanzo beans? Oho, yaar! Chholay!"

I laughed. "Hey, speaking of chholay..."
His interest was piqued. "Naan 'n' Curry?" he immediately asked.
"No buddy, although, yeah, we should plan a Berkeley trip to eat at Naan 'n' Curry, too. But, hey, let's check out that movie you really wanted to see."

So now we're coordinating plans to see Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World together, even though I warned him that the reviews I had read so far pretty much summed up the film as sucky. But I've got to see it for myself. Plus, I liked a bit of Shaheen Sheik's music in the past (back when no one knew who she was and her music was good), so maybe that'll be some saving grace.

FOUR. Phone call from my favorite San Diego-an 2Scoops! Who always merits an exclamation point after his name (hey, I didn't start it; I'm just agreeing) even though he is stubbornly weblog-less. Nearly five-minute-long voicemessage ("you know how we do"). Best line(s) ever, about the little kids who were - uhhh, praying? suuure - at the masjid during the same time he was:

"This one kid, I don't know why he was dressed up like this, but he was wearing a karate suit, like, the white karate suit, and he had on a yellow belt and everything. And he would stand, and then he would kick to his right, and then he would stand, and then he would kick to his left..."

Apologies to 2Scoops if I mangled his story, but he talks so fast! (All the better to fit more hilarious stories into those five minutes, before he reaches the limit and the phone automatically cuts him off.) Also, hearing myself creatively addressed as "Y-to-the-AZZO" is enough to make me laugh for minutes on end, and people who make me laugh are my favorite people ever, and hands-down awesome by default. Seeeeeeriously.

FIVE. Discovering this slurpee machine! The only reason I haven't been talking about blue raspberry slurpees on the weblog for months now is become I haven't found any blue raspberry slurpees since last summer. Damn graduation. At least in college, I had a steady supply of such things. It's enough to make a kid consider going to grad suckool. Anyway, remember I promised all y'all your very own slupee machines oh so long ago? That's right! Vote for me!

SIX. Coordinating tentative dinner plans with Anjum, who is back in the Bay on business! [Actually, "tentative" is right; it's probably not happening this time around. Aww sadness! We'll make it work again, buddy!]

SEVEN. Checking out my friend H's facebook profile, on which he had posted the following quote that he himself - such a smart man - had come up with:

"Realize that maybe living the moment is not all its cracked up to be, that perhaps we need to live not just for today but for tomorrow should there be one."

Thank you, I needed that.

EIGHT. Email from my lovely friend, D. Best line ever: "Some days I wanna be a dude with a motorbike and no plans."

Oh, me too.

A cold winter sun, my feet underground/a pale winter city, numbness for sound

Feeding the birds, Lake Merritt, Oakland, CA, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

[You can find all my photos from this day here. They're more fun when you view them individually, so take the time to click through one by one, if you get a chance.]

Three days ago, I stepped inside the County of Alameda Administration Building in Oakland and set off the alarms on the security machine just inside the building's entrance. Not just once, but twice.

Right, I am a serious danger to the world.

Was it the silver bracelets? I have skinny wrists but bony hands, and putting on and removing bracelets is too much of a painful process for me to do it regularly, so I've pretty much just left the same ones on for the past couple of years. Or maybe it was the hearing aid batteries. Thanks to those, I distinctly remember setting off airport alarms multiple times as a kid.

But no: "Are you wearing shoes?" asked the white-haired man at the...what is it called? security checkpoint? He tried to peer over the machine. Shoes? Why, yes, indeed I was, for once in my life. Stupid shoes. I resisted an urge to shake my fist at the ground. I always knew shoes were no freakin' good for you.

"Raise your hands in the air and step back through the machine again," suggested the man. I gingerly raised my hands in the air (I haven't had much practice at it; hopefully that was the last time I'd ever have to do that) and walked through again. Another alarm.

The man just nodded and smiled and waved his hand to let me go through. I guess he had somehow come to a conclusion that it was the shoes, and that they were harmless. I took care of the business I was there for, and managed to walk out in five minutes. Across the lobby, the white-haired gentleman laughed and waved again as he saw me leaving. I waved back and called out, "Have a good day!" What a nice man. I liked this day already.

Once outside, I started for my car, conveniently parked right in front, but paused at the row of plaques hanging on a low wall that lined the building's front plaza. It was a memorial wall dedicated to the children of Alameda County who have lost their lives by violence. One plaque for each year from 1994 to 2004. Some of the names stood out to me and I wanted to take photos, but wondered nervously whether that would be a bad idea. Setting off the security machine for wearing shoes (bracelets? hearing aids?) was amusing enough; getting busted for photographing an official county building might be a whole different thing altogether. But then I figured, The hell with it. It's a memorial wall, I'm sure people photograph it all the time.

As I stood there taking photos, a man scrounging through the garbage can a few feet away looked over at me and muttered, "'Bout time!" I glanced over, surprised. 'Bout time, what? 'Bout time someone noticed the memorial and photographed it? I wanted to ask him to elaborate, but he had already shuffled on to the next garbage can down the street.

I got in my car and sat there for a few moments, wondering what to do with myself. I had thought the Oakland stuff would take at least an hour, but it had taken only five minutes and I had nothing important to do for the rest of the day. I decided to stop by the lake I had passed while circling the block for parking. It looked pretty, and I felt like taking pictures.

I glanced cautiously around the perimeter of the lake as I was getting out of my car. Was it safe to be hanging around here, in this town I barely knew and a lake I'd never been to? But the lake was swarming with people jogging and strolling, alone and in pairs, and when I made my way down the path and stopped to take photos, I had to keep moving aside to let people go by.

I photographed a man feeding the birds. He stood calmly at the edge of the lake, throwing out bits of something, while the birds hopped around expectantly and, now and then, made a mad dash in the general direction of where he was throwing. Just as quietly as he had stopped for the birds, he was soon gone. I turned around from photographing the lake, and he had vanished. I shot photos of the water, the orange lanterns, and, oh, the birds. The birds were everywhere.

Two men paused while walking by me. "Taking pictures of the birds?" asked one in amusement. "Don't you know you have to feed them first?"

I laughed. "Oh, don't worry, they've been fed already."

"What kind of camera is that?" asked his friend, "An SD40?"

"SD400," I corrected.

He nodded.

"Have a good one," said his friend.

"You, too!"

They continued walking.

I decided it had been a beautiful day so far.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that, in the past month, I've felt safer in my little bubble of suburbia than anywhere else [even though I now won't drive to the grocery store just four minutes away without locking my car doors from the inside], that places like Berkeley and Oakland, which I once fondly considered only "genuine and eccentric," now make me feel guarded and wary.

But you've got to get out and live, no matter what the cost or the outcome sometime. And maybe, if this is all that life comes down to, even this would be enough: Walks around the lake, words exchanged with kind strangers in passing, the remembrance of those whom we've loved and lost and never stopped loving.

"We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting." -Kahlil Gibran

originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

The above photograph was taken last Friday, after I had completed Jummah salah (the Friday congregational prayer) in Oakland and decided to swing by downtown Berkeley really quickly. The lovely SI and I had discovered the Poetry Walk on Addison Street (as well as the Capoeira Arts Cafe, where we stopped to watch a group of small children practice their dance/martial movements) this summer, but my disposable camera photos from that day came out horrific, so I'd been meaning to revisit for a while.

Anyway, how could I not get down on the sidewalk and photograph the phrase "beautiful day" from all angles? We all know "beautiful" is my favorite word. I wince whenever I realize I use it about three times in the course of a single email, but what can I do?

You can see the entire set of photos here. [View each of them in the large size, if you have issues reading the poems.] I only took photos of the poetry I really liked, so if you want to see all the others, you'll have to come to California so we can go wander around together. How's that for good times?

This may be a good time to mention that the ramblingmonologues.com domain is about to expire soon. Many thanks to the rockstar who set it up for me, but this is just as well, I suppose, since I've been itching to switch URLs for a while now. I know the name is an apt description for my blogging style, but still, I need something different, a bit more creative. Change is good. We can handle this, right, kids? Don't worry, I'll be letting you know when I switch over. I'd ask for advice in this whole drama (and it's not really drama at all; I just like using that word a lot, since I never have any real drama to speak of), but, sadly, I never follow advice even if I ask for it. Don't let that hold you back, though, if you're so inclined.

And the important stuff: May these last couple of days of Ramadan be blessed, peaceful ones for you and yours. I'll leave you with my favorite poem for this Ramadan, actually, a portion of a poem by Attar called The Newborn:

.
.
.
Let loving lead your soul.
Make it a place to retire to,
a kind of monastery cave, a retreat
for the deepest core of being.

Then build a road
from there to God.
.
.
.
Keep quiet and secret with soul-work.
Don't worry so much about your body.
God sewed that robe. Leave it as is.
Be more deeply courageous.
Change your soul.

Also: if you know someone who doesn't have any family or friends to spend Eid with, then invite him/her to spend it with you. That would be a beautiful thing to do.

Na lara gham

Driving back to my corner of the Bay Area this afternoon after dropping HijabMan off at the Oakland Airport, I merged onto the familiar Hwy-24 from 880, and, as the road curved down and then up again, the fog and gloom suddenly gave way to sunshine, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud in my car. I turned up the volume on my Red Hot Chili Peppers CD, pushed the button to slide open the sunroof, and held my right hand out through the sunroof for the next two miles. I hadn't done that for a while. It was the kind of perfect moment that you may not necessarily remember later, but you realize how beautifully, simply perfect it is at the time.

I remembered a moment like this from last winter - a different CD and a different car (my father's SUV), but the sunroof had been open then, too, the stereo had been turned high and I had smiled widely at the unexpected sunshine and fellow drivers stuck in afternoon traffic beside me, and the thought that had come unbidden to mind then, as now, was in Pukhtu: Na lara gham. I have no worries. Because the things I really need in order to be happy are simple, I suppose, as they were today: sunshine and warmth, loud music, the taste of mid-morning ice cream still fresh on my tongue, an encompassing view of the mountains I love, and laughter echoing in my ears from a few hours spent in Berkeley with friends, in this case, Somayya and HijabMan.

Last November, I had been driving home after dropping my father off at the Oakland Airport, and, while I'm usually his chauffeur of choice when he leaves on/returns from business trips through Oakland, that had been no business trip. That time, he had been flying down to Southern California for his former colleague and longtime friend Mr. R's wedding in Long Beach.

My father had driven to the airport while I lounged in the passenger seat and kept a watchful eye on the speedometer. "Daddy, you're going ninety miles per hour!" I exclaimed at one point, whereupon he slowed down and joking replied, "Now, wouldn't that be some way for me to go and die? Ninety miles per hour in a freeway smash-up!"

"That's not funny," I had snapped. "Bean and I spend just as much time on the road as you do, and we probably have the same chance of getting into a car accident. I don't think that's amusing; do you?" He was suitably chastened, and I felt bad for my snappishness, so I changed the subject and we spent the rest of the drive reminiscing about my father's friendship with Mr. R.

Mr. R is Hungarian-American, and we all loved him as children, even though he had a tendency to mistake my voice for my brother's whenever I answered his phone calls. He had an old, wise, and complacent cat named Heidi, and a dog named Lampoush. When my family moved back to the Bay Area several years ago and we children reunited with Mr. R, we were heartbroken to learn that Lampoush was gone, replaced by another, albeit just as friendly, dog named Bundi. But we recovered soon enough, after Bundi came to dinner with Mr. R one evening. The dog's high spirits had us in gales of laughter as he ran in lively circles throughout our dining room and courtyard, his tail wagging incessantly behind him.

My childhood memories, which revolve mainly around frisbee and table soccer, are filled with images of Mr. R hunched over the foosball table, trying to maneuver the ball without spinning the handles, even though spinning was shamelessly allowed in my family. He would follow a particularly intent shot with an "aieee!"-sounding grunt, and we kids would giggle and chorus, "'Aieee!' means 'ouch!' in our language!" In the summer, he would invite friends to his home in Belmont and we would tag along with our father. While the men played softball, we three would munch on pizza and occupy ourselves with the exuberant Lampoush and unruffled Heidi.

The fall that we returned from our eighteen months in Pakistan, we kids sat disconsolately on the sidewalk in front of our school one afternoon after our father had apparently forgotten to pick us up. Close to an hour after school had let out, an unfamiliar long, shiny black SUV pulled into the parking lot with Mr. R at the wheel and our father waving out the passenger-side window, and we jumped up in delight, all resentfulness abandoned. My father and Mr. R were laughing like gleeful kids themselves, and I remember envying their easy banter. They looked so physically different - my father with his slight stature and his dark hair and beard, and the ruddy-complexioned, reddishbrown-haired Mr. R who looks like he was probably a football jock in his younger days - but their ease and camaraderie with one another highlighted a deep, long-lasting friendship that has spanned decades.

When Mr. R called to invite my father to his wedding last winter, my father had been characteristically silent about his decision for a few days. And while I had been admittedly surprised that he would consider flying down solo to Southern California for a wedding that the rest of the family couldn't accompany him to, there had really been no question of his not going. It was obvious that he would go. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

Driving home in last November's sunshine in my father's SUV after dropping him off at the airport, I realized that that's the kind of friends I want - the kind who, if they were to say, "Come visit, even though you're a bajillion miles away and I know you have a life and all," I'd think nothing of promptly saying, "Hell yeah!" and dropping everything and going.

Which, come to think of it, is exactly what HijabMan recently did for Somayya and me. Thanks, buddy. It was good times.

'Cause while you wait inside, the days go by

one.
I made a fruit smoothie (out of peach yoghurt, cherries, orange juice, and crushed ice; it was a'ight) and stood at the kitchen sink, drinking the excess straight out of the blender, and I felt like such a boy. It was fun.

two.
I stopped by the drugstore a couple days ago to drop off a disposable camera for photo processing. I don't even remember what's on there, but it's been sitting on top of my bed's headboard for the past two months or so. Super charismatically mysterious. But this is not the point. The point is that while I was filling out my photo envelope at the counter, the guy adjacent to me was loudly jabbering away on his cell phone. Actually, he had one of those hands-free headsets that I always laugh at because it makes people appear as if they're talking to themselves. Which this guy may have been, for all I know. With his conveniently freed hands, he was sifting through a pile of photographs, some of them black and white. He was tall and blonde and looked normal enough, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and shoes. His phone conversation sort of went as follows:

"Daniel, I told you, I'm at Longs, picking up pictures. I'm looking right at them right now. Daniel, I'm looking right at them. Here's one of you in front of your great-grandfather's house. Here's one of an iguana and a giraffe sitting on a chair that's at least two hundred years old. [Laughing.] Daniel, you have to see the iguana and the giraffe! What do you think of that! And here's one of... [Mumbling indistinctly.] I'm looking right at the pictures, Daniel, what do you think of that! What do you think, huh? [Pauses, fiddles with his phone.] Sorry, Daniel, I was really focused on these pictures; I guess I cut you off. Okay, anyway. And here's another picture of your great-grandfather's house again. So this is what I need you to do, Daniel: I need you to bring a shovel and help me dig. There's gold buried at your great-grandfather's house in South Africa, Daniel, and you need to help me dig. Daniel, are you listening to me? Daniel, Daniel, Daniel... There's gold there! What do you think of that! Oh, look, here's the iguana and the giraffe again. [Laughing.] I'm looking right at them. You see that? [Holds the photos up so the photo center employee can see. She smiles.] Okay, so make sure you bring your shovel, Daniel."

three.
I was discussing my career plans (or lack thereof) with my father the other night. "Make sure you get a happy job," he advised me. Lately, he has been of the mindset that a "happy job" would involve a post-law school career. I'm pretty sure I disagree. More on this later. Happy jobs though, that's something to keep in mind.

four.
I have spent the last two days trying to get ahold of my mother's various medical records in preparation for an upcoming appointment she's scheduled for, and people are driving me crazy. Today's drama trauma: The doctor's office assures me they will have the records available at the front desk for me to pick up, then they go and courier them somewhere else, they don't know where, and I have to spend 45 minutes tracking them down. We need more rockstar (some soon-to-be) medical doctors like Chai, karrvakarela, Sri, Maria, and, hands down of course, Somayya AND THE BEAN! Everyone else is a stupid moron. Or maybe, in all fairness, the doctors are fine and it's just the people who work for them who are morons. I don't know, I'm just annoyed.

five.
I went out to lunch with a group of friends. A friend replied, "Yes, please," when the server asked her, "Would you like a super salad with that?" and I started laughing because what the server had really asked was, "Would you like a soup or salad with that?" and at least one of my friends always gets it wrong whenever we eat at this place. And then I had to repeat it about seven times, mainly because that was such a Yasmine kind of misunderstanding, and so I take some sort of perverse pleasure in other people making the same mistake. Ah, me.

lather, rinse, repeat

The soap they use inside the carwash is blue and purple, and it smells like bubblegum.

(In desperation, I took my car through the carwash for perhaps only the second time in my life, but it didn't do so hot a job after all, even though the car looks kinda sorta decent now. I definitely could have done a better job myself, if I weren't lacking in time. So the carwash request is still on. You'd get paid in ice cream, California sunshine, and blue fuzzy socks.)