In memory of Imran Saithna, rockstar extraordinare: Bleed the pen, burn the paper, dry those tears of eternal sorrow

Courtyard of Lions, originally uploaded by Imran Saithna.

And we meet...
to depart,
And then depart -
Just to meet again. *

The problem with - and the beautiful gift of - the internet is that I always fall a little bit in love with everyone I interact with. I refer mainly to blogistan and flickr, since those are the two spaces I spend most of my time online and where I come across other bloggers, (b)lurkers, and photographers. Through weblog posts, flickr uploads, weblog comments, personal emails, simple flickr comments that somehow transform into lengthy, off-topic threads, and sometimes even "stalkerish" (I joke) and baffling facebook friend requests as a result of these two spaces, I marvel that we all become connected through such tenuous, fragile networks.

But, we do - we become connected through comments and story-telling and emails and instant messenger and photographs, and everyone becomes my friend, regardless of whether or not I know them offline. This is how I walk the world - the world which, for me, just as much includes these wires that connect us all together, as it does the "real-life" friends with whom I regularly coordinate hanging-out sessions in person.

Which is why it felt like a sucker-punch to the gut yesterday morning, when, in the midst of replying to emails and slurping down my breakfast cereal, I clicked over to my friend Zana's photostream and found one of her recent uploads dedicated In Loving Memory of Imran Saithna. I struggled to take a breath, eyes glued to the computer screen as I tried to take in the information. People who are 28 years old are not supposed to die. People who have just returned only a few short weeks ago from performing Hajj - the holy pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia - are not supposed to die. People whom you've been meaning to email back within the next few days are not supposed to die before you reply to their messages.

Many thanks to Maliha, whose email I was in the midst of responding to when I clicked over to Zana's photo, for her lovely note back, and to the beautiful Shaheen, who provided me some comfort as I raged, "It's just so sucky when all the good people die. Why can't God just take the fuck-ups instead?"

I met Imran Saithna through flickr, when he added me as a contact back in late 2005 and I reciprocated. He posted stunningly beautiful photos, and sometimes commented on mine - unfortunately, more often than I commented on his, in retrospect. You all know how good I am at these (b)lurking habits of mine.

When I posted my small photoset of Zaytuna Institute to flickr last spring, I was surprised by the number of people who took the time to comment on and appreciate the series of photos I had snapped on a whim one afternoon while waiting for my sister. Imran was one of those who commented, and our exchange made me realize how much we Muslims in the San Francisco Bay Area take for granted our proximity to Zaytuna and the spiritual goodness available there. I promised him I would post some more Zaytuna photos; he particularly requested shots of the grounds. In turn, I admired his photos of Spain, a place I have always wanted to visit.

In these last couple of days after hearing of Imran's death, I've learned more about what he did than I ever knew when he was alive. As Project Manager of Muslimyouth.net, he was a passionate advocate for Britain’s first online support and guidance forum for Muslim youth. The website provides an open space for young Muslims to discuss issues which are relevant and important to them, without fear of censure or condemnation, and is part of the umbrella organization Muslim Youth Helpline, a confidential telephone and e-mail counseling service for young people. MYH understands well the effect of "the climate of fear, fury and media sensationalising" on the mental health of Muslim youth in Britain. The tribute to Imran on Muslimyouth.net lists in moving detail the various projects to which he had dedicated himself.

Under Imran’s creative and dedicated guidance muslimyouth.net flourished from a fledgling project into a thriving online community for Muslims across the UK and beyond. Much of this is a testament to Imran’s innovative and unique energy, drive and commitment to the cause.

A typical example of Imran’s maverick approach was exemplified in some of the campaigns that he ran on muslimyouth.net. Few will ever forget (especially the participants involved!) the Homelessness Campaign that ran on the site in April 2005. Imran and a group of volunteers spent a weekend on the streets of London with a budget of £3 to survive on. Crazy, unheard of and unorthodox –maybe. Pure Imran –absolutely! Behind the stunt however lay a desire to raise awareness amongst the Muslim community about issues that often get swept under the carpet. He led through example and took great care to ensure the safety and comfort of the volunteers who joined him on this experience.

This is my favorite comment-story about Imran, because the image in the first part made me laugh so much:

my best memory of Imran is the british 10K marathon in 2005. He ran the whole thing smoking marlboro reds and still beat me.

Imran touched the heart of almost every muslim youth in london.

There are many posts and comments about Imran all over the internet these days, it seems. I found one of the most poignant tributes on deenport, written by Yoshi Misdaq:

Then, a month or so ago, I went to a poetry event. I wasn't scheduled to perform there, but I did. Imran was scheduled to perform, although I didn't know it beforehand. And so, he did. I remember thinking that his poem went on a very long time. I thought it was a bit too much. But then, when I had that thought, I was caught up in the world. And when you're caught up in the world, feeling worldly (not that you're aware of it at the time) you forget about the bigger picture. Death is the only thing that could make me look back at events in this way. And so I did. I asked my friend (who was filming that night) to lend me the tapes earlier today. I watched Imran's poem (the second, the last performance) again. And it was a miracle. Later that night, when I had told him how nervous I was to perform my poetry for the first time, and how calm he seemed, he corrected me, saying that he was doing all he could do stop from shaking. And so, this performance meant everything to him. That's why it went on for so long that night. It was as if he were putting every single significant disappointment and feeling into that extended piece of rhyme. He was rinsing out this water-pain from his soul, taking it from every single angle, from every perspective. He felt it that night. And I felt it when I saw it again. After he had left Earth. Every other line of poetry was about death, the next world, the pains of this world. I could quote it at length. I just typed the whole thing up. I won't do that though. To see his face again was a blessing. Some peoples eyes light up when they smile. Other people are always lit up, subtly.

[...] As I've said, Imran didn't fit perfectly here. Others closer to him would no doubt have seen more worldly sides to him. For me though, he is now in the place he was so clearly destined to be in. The spirit-world. And I can't help but fear for myself and those I love who do not have that odd way about us. Those of us who sometimes seem all too eager to get comfortable here in this filling-station called Earth. Selfishly, I feel fearful, because, in a way, God seems to have taken him so perfectly, after having just returned from Hajj. What more mercy could there be for him? And yet, what ambiguity and uncertainty there is for the rest of us. In the poetry event before he left, through his poems, he was purging himself. And, I will always believe the on the pilgrimage that followed, he discovered himself, nourished himself, filled in the holes and gaps. What he was meant to be, where he was meant to go. Within a few moments of hearing that news, and thinking about my encounters with this wonderful human, I knew it was meant to be. It was right. It was a story that God so clearly wrote.

While I spent winter of 2005 writing and writing and writing about the aftermath of the South Asian earthquake, Imran was one of those amazing people who jumped on a plane and went to help with earthquake relief efforts. He posted to flickr the photos from his time in Pakistan, and wrote about his relief-work experiences on his weblog; the BBC interviewed him, too, in a November 2005 story.

I went searching through my GMail account yesterday afternoon. As I expected, my last email exchange with Imran is marked with the all-important "must reply soon" yellow star and a red "Draft" note next to it. When I had neglected to upload photos to my flickr account for nearly two months, Imran emailed me in mid-December of last year to check in. He ended his email with "Fi amanillah [(Go) in God's protection]," which made me smile. In my reply, I explained that I'm not much of a multi-tasker when it comes to writing and photography, so if I'm active on flickr, I tend to neglect the weblog, and if I write more often, then I stop uploading pictures consistently. I also wrote:

Just replied to your comment on my weblog post. Thank you for taking the time to stop by; it's always nice to see the flickr folks over at the weblog, too. There isn't much overlap; the flickr folks check out my photos and the blogistan folks check out my writing, but only a couple of people stop by both, as far as I know.

At the end of my email, I added, "I'm a big fan of other people who also say 'fi amanillah.' HIGHFIVE!"

He replied that he did indeed check out both the weblog and the flickr, a sentiment that was repeated again just recently, when he commented on my "Bethany" post that made us all laugh so much.

And he responded to my How goes the life with you? query by ending with:

Life with me is good, just really busy doing so many mad voluntary things in the local community here, am back in London for the time being as insha'Allah I will be flying out for the Hajj on Monday. Pray that my Hajj is accepted insha'Allah, and also let me know if you want me to bring you back anything from Saudi at all, it would be a pleasure.

Fi amanillah, Yasmine, take care and keep smiling so it can rub off on us all.

I remember staring at my computer, thinking, Bring me back something from Saudi? What a beautiful, incredibly generous offer. I decided I would send him the list of duas [prayers/supplications] I'd been emailing to all my friends who were leaving for Hajj. The most I could ask of anyone was that they add some prayers for me while in the holy cities.

My reply to his last email is still sitting in my Drafts folder. It begins simply, Wa alaikum assalam, Imran -, and then there is a bunch of empty white space, and his email below. The draft was saved on December 15th; by the time I remembered I still needed to send him my dua list two days later, he had already flown out for Hajj, and I figured I'd just save the reply and send it as a congratulatory email when he returned from the pilgrimage. I never did send it, obviously, and now I can't even bring myself to click the "Discard" button.

I wish I had made time to reply to people's comments on the weblog. I wish I had sent him another email, and commented more often to let him know how much I appreciate his beautiful photos and poetry. I didn't understand at the time what he meant by "doing so many mad voluntary things," but in the last couple of days of reading people's reflections about Imran, I've come to understand what a truly generous, giving person he was - someone who, as Zana said, had all the time in the world for people less fortunate.

Last October, I had sent him a short email saying,

I randomly came across this today and thought of you, since you are such a Zaytuna fan:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/alhambrapro/

Eid mubarak! Hope you had a beautiful, blessed day inshaAllah!

At the end of his reply to me, he added:

Alhamdulillah, Eid was fantastic, probably one of the nicest, bestest and most rewarding Eids I've had in many years.

Yesterday, scrolling through Imran's weblogs, I came across the post that began with a reflection on both his 2005 Eids, spent helping with earthquake relief efforts in the mountains of Kashmir; the post culminated in a description of the October 2006 Eid he had referred to in his email to me:

This year I was again away from home on the day of Eid. I found myself in a place where one might suspect there to be little reason or cause to celebrate anything except imminent release. However, I was overwhelmed at what proved to be one of the most remarkable days of my life.

I have been working on an ad-hoc basis out of HMP Wormwood Scrubs for the last 6 months or so, and although there are some genuinely pleasurable and memorable moments, in general it is one big reality check. A reminder of my long forgotten past, a chance to give something back to society and an opportunity to remember the Blessings of our Lord that fall upon us so abundantly that we can do nothing but take them for granted.

Every year is different, every Eid Allah puts before me another opportunity to atone for my sins. Only this year however, have I realised quite how lucky I am to be blessed and tested in this way.

Close your eyes and try to picture 200+ brothers in one room, smiling like they have never smiled before, eating as though they have never eaten before, greeting you so sincerely with the greeting of peace and hugging you as though you were a long lost relative.

The beautiful chanting of the Takbirs still resonate warmly in my ears, almost every conceivable nation was represented in that hall, and often I wonder if this was a tiny vision of what paradise might be times a million.

Who needs Zaytuna, when you've found the real deal, Imran? Paradise-times-a-million must be yours by now; how could He deny you that blessed entry?

There are many, many people who knew Imran far better than I did (a simple Google search pulls up dozens, if not hundreds, of recent weblog entries, forum posts, and comments and prayers dedicated to him and the work he did, all across the internet) - there is, for example, Zana, who still can't bring herself to delete his number from her phone; there is Balal, his close friend and photography mentor, who wrote to me about his experiences knowing Imran; there is Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore, with whom he shared his love for poetry. But even I, who knew him so briefly and barely, feel that I've lost someone whose kindness and generosity touched me enough that even I'm feeling heartbroken. When I struggled around the lump in my throat and cried hot tears for him yesterday, it was not because his life has ended, but because our own lives are a little bit emptier, having lost such a beautiful soul to accompany us through this world.

Mabrouk, ya Hajji! And rest in peace, my friend. When next we meet, I'll tell you what it felt like for me to have - by then, God willing - finally seen Spain and the Alhambra in person, and you can describe for me what it must be like to sit in the Light of the Divine and see the Creator face-to-Face. I have no doubt that you will be one of the Illuminated. May the Lord, in His infinite mercy, grant you all that is good and pure and blessed - and an internet connection Up There, so that you can see, even through your infamous humility, how positively you've impacted and inspired all those of us you've left behind.

[Post title from a poem by Imran Saithna:

Forget the past, sleep the day,
Wake not for the dawn of tomorrow.

Bleed the pen, burn the paper,
Dry those tears of eternal sorrow.

Blind the eyes, pack full the ears,
Wipe the traces of that lonely smile.

Turn full-around, re-trace your steps,
and walk alone for a while.]

Winter house-cleaning of my virtual home

I admit to a weakness for red brick, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

Apropos of nothing, I have a new cell phone (a Motorola Razr in case you're wondering, now that they're not trendy anymore and are instead one of the most affordable phones in the T-Mobile store). Remember all the freakin' drama I had to undergo over three years ago, just to find a decent phone that worked properly? Well, Motorola's been good to me numerous times since then. The Razr has such lovely sound quality and clarity, I didn't have to ask T to repeat himself even once while talking to him twice in two days (this is a new record for frequency of phone conversations, when it comes to me), even while I was wandering around my house, which has frustratingly horrid reception. Also, my new phone comes with a built-in camera. Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm about two years behind the times, but who needs a camera in her phone when she's got a rocking digital camera? I mean, really now.

Speaking of years and time (which is the real point of this post, actually), today is the one year anniversary of Sweep the Sunshine (that means nearly FOUR years of blogging, rockstars. Can you believe it?), and once more I took it upon myself to fiddle around with stuff 'round here.

I've finally been granted the opportunity to switch over to Blogger beta, so I played around with my template a bit, adding labels [that's "categories" to the rest of you] and fixing old permanent-links that still pointed back to good ol' ramblingmonologues. Of course, I've realized that every time I edit and republish such old posts, they show up as new posts in my RSS feed (hello, Google Reader). Sorry, people.

The only template problem I'm having right now is that not all my posts categorized under each label are showing up on their respective label pages. Apparently, it only shows 20 posts under each label, because I refused to switch over to one of the new Layouts templates offered by Blogger beta and am thus missing some necessary piece of code.

Also, here's a question I've been contemplating lately, while getting overly excited about things like labels/categories (features that non-blogspot users have had as default for ten thousand years already): Which is better, TypePad or WordPress? And why? Or, what do you like about either/both of them? I've been contemplating a switch lately, especially since my comments box is sometimes unpredictable and I hate the Blogger commenting system. Such drama. Clearly, I have issues with commitment and I like change (even though I know you all hate it).

Here's a list of all my labels/categories, although they're pretty self-explanatory [I just like making lists, unless they're to-do lists]:

(3)BeautifulThings celebrates all the beautiful stuff I'd noted from any given day or week. A lot of it is in list format. The "3" is in parentheses because I only started the "three beautiful things" exercise recently.

All-Star Crackstar Squad: Friends and buddies and people I engage in hangingout sessions with. HIGHFIVE to my favorite crackstar 2Scoops for originally coming up with and using that phrase while commenting on Baji's April 4th post [turn your permanent-links on, Baji!], after we hung out in Berkeley in late March2006. [Dude, I never wrote about that!]

Bibliothek means "library" in German. Books make me giddy like nothing else can.

Blogistan lists all posts related to blogger meetups or musings on blogging or Blogistan in general.

Casa420 and Familia: While "420" is my house number - and also code for marijuana, which is amusing if you consider my inexplicable fascination with all variations of the word "crack" - this label contains posts related to all various homes I've lived in, as well as posts about my immediate family and what I (lovingly) call the "soap opera drama family" (the relatives). I write about my father a lot. Here's an introduction to my mother.

Conversations and Encounters - This is my favorite category (I forgot to label it as also including [disconcerting] eavesdropping sessions!), and, as such, I can't help but recommend some of the older stuff to those of you who might have missed it the first time around. Since Blogger is being annoying and, as mentioned, only showing 20 posts from each label, here are some of my favorites from the total forty: There's Lily from Borders, little Somiyya, the heartbreaking conversation with my friend Z about self-righteous Muslims and their haste in labeling others as "kaffir," the Persian poet and student activist [two-and-a-half-years old now, this post about a few seemingly simple questions sparked 130+ comments], "Maria" the difficult workshop participant, the "state of mind" girl, traffic school Day One and Day Two, the Target girl to whom I was rude, the charity bell-ringing man at the grocery store, those annoying aunties at that one wedding, the adorable preschool kids to whom I used to read, the Jack Nicholson look-alike with the hard-hitting questions [this is still one of the most intimidating but thought-provoking conversations I've ever had], the man in the panama hat, Dennis the Menace, the girl I wanted to hurt [the comments on this post still make me laugh, especially in light of the previous post], and, finally, the drummer boy on the bike.

Glorious mundanity: Wherein I celebrate the trivial. Contains lists and paragraphs and lists masquerading as paragraphs.

Hit the Road: I spend too much time blasting music while driving in a car on the freeway.

Links to love from across this webbed world we inhabit.

Loss and laments and letting go: Because, contrary to popular opinion, not everything is about sunshine 'round here. I won't pick out specific posts, but please do check the posts under that category, so you understand that even I'm capable of going through gloomy days.

NineToFive outside the 925: All posts that reference work - mainly my old jobs in downtown Sacramento and at university. I had the rockingest co-workers ever.

Rhymes and unrhymed lines: Anything related to poetry, mine or others'.

Rockstar and Crescent: Islam/Muslim-related posts.

Salaam Namaste: Posts dealing with being Desi/South Asian/Pakistani.

Suckool: There's a reason why it's spelled "stuDYING." Other than that, university and I got along really well. As I mentioned to HijabMan lately: "Man, I miss college. It was rocking good times." And then, as an afterthought: "Except for that taking-tests business."

No matter who you vote for, the government always gets in

Wishing you much sunshine!, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

Nearly two years ago, I visited UC Berkeley for a conference and stopped to check out a workshop entitled, "WRITE OR BE WRITTEN: Using Spoken Word to Speak the Truth." The workshop was lead by Junichi Semitsu, then-director of June Jordan's Poetry for the People course at UC Berkeley. After he had captivated us - and made us laugh - with his poem, Poetry Should Hijack the Bus (two years later, I still remember the reference to sports futility vehicles), Junichi introduced a few of the Poetry for the People TAs and students and invited them up to the podium to share their writing with us.

The other thing I remember about the workshop is that one of the young men ambled up to the podium and introduced his poem with a self-deprecating disclaimer that went something like this: I'm about to read a poem that I wrote very recently, so it's not finalized just yet; it's not the greatest, it's still really, really rough, but here it is...

He then performed his piece, and no matter what he thought of it, the poem was amazingly beautiful. He was amazing up there, and when his final words fell into the otherwise pin-drop silence, we all stared after his retreating back as he took his seat, thinking, Wow.

The next thing I remember is Junichi back at the podium, looking around the room intently and saying something like this: You see what he just did? DON'T DO THAT. Never, ever downplay or undermine your words. Share what you have to say with people and let them make up their minds about it, but never brush off your stuff before they've even heard it.

I've kept that piece of advice in mind over the past couple of years, whether I was sharing my own poetry in gatherings, or organizing lectures and workshops, or participating in dialogues with the University chancellor, or even as recently as October, when I had to do quite a bit of public speaking for a work-related event. That last occasion was especially nerve-wracking, considering I'd been out of school for over a year and hadn't done any sort of public speaking in nearly as long. Looking out over the hundreds of people gathered that evening, I was tempted to make smart-ass comments like, "I know I'm short; I hope you all can see me behind the podium," and - after I accidentally disengaged the mic from the stand while adjusting it - "There's a reason why I shouldn't be allowed anywhere near technical equipment," but I refrained and said only what I was up there to say. And people thought I rocked it, apparently. The end.

So, the reason why I'm spending so much time talking about disclaimers and smart-ass comments is because this here joint - that's Sweep the Sunshine to you - has been nominated as "Best Female Blog" in the Brass Crescent Awards I mentioned recently, and I've put off telling you about it for so long because I'm an idiot and didn't know what to say about it. Oh, also? Today is the deadline for voting.

Most people know I'm an idiot about compliments, namely, I don't know how to accept them (yeah, remember the last time we went through this drama of weblog voting?). I've always thought of self-deprecation as an indispensable quality, so when people say, for example, "Hey, I like your shoes," I feel the need to admit, "Oh, I bought 'em used, for $5 from Goodwill"; and when people say, "I like your style," I reply, "I'm wearing four layers. Pretty stupid, huh?"; and when people say, "Your headwraps are so awesome," I smirk and reply, "Wait 'til you see my hijab tan line"; and when people say, "Nice jeans!" I frown darkly, "They're not flared enough, dammit." Basically, I've just wasted an entire paragraph talking about my clothes, but I think you get the point.

As Somayya would succinctly call me out on my protestations: "That's BULLSHIT."

So, I guess all I should say in response to that is, Hey! Go vote! (For whomever you want to!)

Also, I am honored and flattered and all that good stuff. Thank you so much to whoever nominated me. You are awesome.

Finally, I've discovered a number of rocking weblogs through the Brass Crescent Awards, so if you're looking for new reading material, stop by their website. But you might as well vote, too. Voting is good for you. Get to it, rockstars!

[Ignore the title. And the photo. Neither of them really has anything to do with the Brass Crescent awards, but the title of the post (which is actually a song title) made me laugh, and the photo made me smile today because I just found it again while browsing through flickr, having forgotten I had taken it. If yummy orange sunshine in December isn't quite your thing, I just don't know what to do with you.]

Because I know you like voting and weblogs and voting for weblogs

Pencil in that patriotic profundity, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

I forgot to share with you all a rocking weblog I came across during Ramadan: MUSLIM FOR A MONTH.

And - hey look, kids, you were supposed to be nominating submissions for the annual Brass Crescent awards! The deadline is Friday, November 17, 2006 (yes, tomorrow). Obviously, if there's anything I've taught you in nearly four years, it's how to be a procrastinator extraordinaire.

The categories are:

- Best Blog
- Best Non-Muslim Blog
- Best Design
- Best Post or Series
- Best Ijtihad
- Best Female Blog
- Best Thinker
- Most Deserving of Wider Recognition
- Best Group Blog
- Best Middle-East/Asian Blogger

Check out Brass Crescent for a detailed explanation of each of the categories. You don't have to be Muslim in order to vote, it seems. altmuslim and City of Brass are ineligible for nomination. However:

With the exceptions noted on this site, any blog is eligible for any category, including blogs authored by non-muslims. In defining the Islamsphere, we are not relying solely on adherence to the faith, but an affinity for parts of the diverse cultural fabric that Islam embraces and is embraced by worldwide. [link]

Get to it. To quote flickr, it's just like the electoral experience, minus the cool stickers. (Speaking of stickers, they gave me four "I Voted" stickers on November 7th. FOUR. Clearly, I'm a rockstar about voting.)

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."

HijabMan.com is back!

Our favorite, funny balloon-maker and t-shirt seller is back, and better than ever. Check out the newly-relaunched HijabMan.com for all sorts of good stuff, including his gorgeous photos, of which he explains:

I’m not a photographer nor am I a journalist trained to seek out interesting subjects and present them neatly labeled and interpreted. My only explanations are that 1. I’ve been living my life in freeze frames since the age of 12, and 2. I love beautiful things. I am just a Muslim who travels, studies, and sells funky t-shirts along the way. When the opportunities presented themselves, I captured the faces that touched me. I love to witness the reflection of the Divine in all that I experience; I love to make you a witness by posting these photos.

I know HijabMan personally, so when he says he's aiming to spread "a message of consciousness, of justice, of living a life free of people and institutions that exploit others," you can be sure he is indeed working on those goals. Also, you should buy his t-shirts.

Meanwhile, I'm highly amused that, over at HijabMan.com, this little ol' weblog of mine is linked right smack in between Khaled Abou El Fadl and Tariq Ramadan's respective websites. Wow, now I really gotta get all smart and intellectual.

CA vs. CA, and it's just so blindingly clear

You know what else is annoying? When you write up a brilliant entry and post it and then come back the next morning and check your weblog and don't see it there. So apparently you just dreamt you wrote it, and now you have to "re-write" the whole thing all over again. What a process, man. My dream- versus my real-life needs to get it together already.

So, anyway, I guess that means I didn't really write about meeting up with Elysium, photographer extraordinaire and all-around cool Canadian who was in San Francisco recently, so here goes all the various randomness that I remember off the top of my head. (Don't you hate it when you decide to write things three weeks later, and thus forget everything?) [I just typed out this post and re-read it one more time, and that part about forgetting stuff was a big fat lie because, damn, is my memory good!, even three weeks later, as you will see. Freakin' hell, man, how did this post get so long? Just how?] And, yes, I always seem to write about things at least three weeks later. This procrastination is a disease.

Clearly, Canadians think they're
cool, and I don't even mean weather-wise
Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

I always associate Elysium more with flickr than I do with Blogistan, which is just as well for you all, I suppose, since he's the one who kept extolling the virtues of flickr and made me realize that flickr, too, has a community aspect all its own, just as weblogs do. So without his marketing, you wouldn't be seeing photos around here once in a while - and definitely not that pretty banner I'm in love with, which comes from this photograph.

I was first "introduced" to Elysium sometime last year by HijabMan, so we bonded through our common love for HMan and his wild, '80s songs-filled voicemessages. Telling Elysium that my father was a onetime Canadian citizen who keeps hinting that he's going to move back to Vancouver when he retires certainly didn't hurt matters either. Plus, my IM conversations always revolve around food and the weather, and apparently everyone can relate. It's good to know I can easily forge common bonds with everyone this way.

Anyway, levity aside, Elysium is good people. We met up in the Mission district a few days into his San Francisco visit, for dinner at Bissap Baobab, this funky Senegalese place that I had been to once before last summer with SI and rehes.

As we began our walk down the street to Bissap Baobab, Elysium wondered, "Why are all these people just standing around?"
"Maybe," I said pointedly, "they're standing around waiting for their friends who are hella slow in showing up."
"Hmm. No, I don't think that's it."

So much for me trying to make a point.

And, man, was it cold for California. Our hands were freezing. [Clothing with pockets, this is what I need to be investing in, is what.] I agreed with E's theory that this being-cold-all-the-damn-time thing must be genetic. Of course, I would like for it to be genetic, because that's better than my father's theory, which is that "it's all in your head, Yasminay."

Over at the restaurant, Elysium made the worst decision ever. It went like this: He skimmed the menu, closed the menu, sat back, and said, "You decide."

Do you know what making me decide on food choices is like? It's torture! TORTURE, I say! I mean, making food decisions for myself is bad enough, but having to decide for someone else, too, is nerve-wracking. And E was damn unhelpful, because every time I threw an idea his way ("Vegetables in peanut sauce?", "Fish? Do you like fish?", "Vegetarian stew?", "What do you like better, rice or couscous? Dammit, help me out here!") he'd just respond with, "You decide."

In all honesty, though, this was my own fault, because I think I recall E making some sort of food decision and then looking at me for affirmation - "Right?" - which I immediately undercut with, "But that fried mashed potato appetizer did sound good." So, of course, he put his menu away and left it all to me to decide. My potato obsession will be the downfall of me - thanks a lot for getting me into this, stupid Obsession With Potatoes (OWP)! ow, is right.

Here's how you know people are cool: When they're so nice and patient about the ten thousand hours (no, seriously, it was damn long) it takes for you to pick your food, even going so far as to ask about your day and then putting up with your impatient "Hold on, I can't multi-task when I'm figuring out what to eat!" with a straight face. High-five to the friendly waitstaff also, who nodded understandingly at all my "I think I need another minute" requests.

As we sat around waiting for our food to arrive, Elysium tried to make sense of just what exactly I do with my life: "I don't get it. You're always out having lunch all the time. So when do you work?" Yeah, that's a pretty valid question.

I made fun of his huge backpack and "carrying his life around with him," just as I had with HijabMan back in September. At the end of the dinner, he actually made me pick it up, and all I can say is, I'm so glad I'm not the one who has to carry that bag around all day. Then again, unlike those guys, I'm the one without the laptop and the digital SLR, both of which seem like they would be fun investments.

E fished a bunch of different Canadian coins out of his pocket to show me. They're actually pretty similar in size to US coins, I think. While I was looking at them, all intrigued, one of the waitstaff came by and stopped at our table, distracted by the shiny money. He picked up one of the coins and brought it close to his face, trying to read the writing on it. His face carried a comically perplexed expression. Elysium and I watched him in silence; I don't know about E, but I was trying not to laugh the entire time.

"It's... it's CANADIAN!" the man finally exclaimed, all surprised as if he had discovered something so completely fascinating (and foreign) that it had never before been known to mankind. I tried not to burst out laughing. I think the dude took all the Canadian money, too. Maybe he thought it was part of the tip.

Walking back to BART, the following conversation transpired:

E, looking around: "Where are all the brown people?"
Y: "You mean, like, the South Asians?"
E: "Yeah."
Y: "I think they live in the suburbs."

And this is how I know Elysium is good at paying attention: When I made some sort of offhand comment about how I don't travel on BART very often, E pointed out, "I thought BART was your friend." Which totally sounds like something I would say, so I must have said it.

Downstairs, on the BART platform while waiting for my homebound train, I made friends with a short-haired girl who was intrigued by my headwrap. "I bought a whole bunch of pretty scarves so I could wear them as headwraps," she said, "but my sister laughs at me, 'cuz I don't have enough hair!"

"Use multiple scarves and layer it up," I suggested, amused, and then explained step-by-step. My train was approaching, so I quickly introduced myself and asked her name. Julia, she said. She was cool. See, I don't understand why people tell me I would hate BART if I traveled on it everyday. BART is rocking.

Two days later was a Friday - jummah [Friday congregational prayers] at my favorite Oakland masjid that you're probably tired of hearing me rave about all the time, but just deal. Elysium caught a ride to jummah with our lovely buddy, D; my favorite partner in crime - Princess Pretty Pants - and the Lovely L Lady also managed to make it, so I was super excited.

Afterward, while congregating in front of the masjid and then crossing the street back to our cars, we tried to figure out what to do about lunch. Once again, indecisiveness in action: Where/what to eat. W and F wanted gyros, PPP and the Lovely L Lady wanted pasta from Gypsy's, and I didn't really care what I ate as long as we all chilled at Julie's Cafe, because Julie's has patio heaters, dammit, and any place with patio heaters is the place to be. High-five to Elysium, once again, for patiently putting up with us.

Elysium and I got to Julie's first, and took over a long table in the back corner of the patio. The line was out the door, so E suggested we wait until the line got shorter. This sounded fine in theory, except for the fact that, two minutes later, the line was out the door, down the entire length of the rectangular patio, and all the way to the steps at the street entrance. I amused myself by throwing disgruntled "This is all your fault" looks at Elysium and making pointed comments about how we COULD have already gotten our food and started EATING by now, but I think he is immune to guilt trips, which is just as well.

The rest of our group trickled into Julie's, one at a time. "Where's PPP?" asked W.

"She and L are getting pasta. They'll be here."

"Sometimes," said W, twirling his favorite utensil with deliberation, "I just want to pick up my fork and stab her."

"Your plastic fork might not work so well," I pointed out, laughing.

W and his sister, F, with their jokes and sarcasm and mutual hostility towards one another never fail to make me laugh and brighten my Fridays. W, especially, is incorrigible, and his derisive comments have lately inspired me to insult him with the following: "You're the worst Haji I've ever met!"

"I know," he always says, laughing, looking far too pleased. "I came back worse from Haj than when I went!"

W and PPP traded barbs and insults all through lunch, including threats of stabbing each other. At one point, PPP put on her best mean face and said, "Do you know where I'm from?"

I started laughing. "Buddy, we know you're from West Sac, so you're dangerous and scary, but as of March 1st, West Sac has a reputation only for being home to the brand-new IKEA."

"I KNOW!" she exclaimed, face falling. "I'm so mad about that! STUPID BASTARDS."

However, as always, PPP and W managed to kinda sorta bond over their common obsession with hot sauce, so no stabbing occurrences were reported.

W and PPP - as well as the Lovely L Lady and I - are huge proponents of the "tough love" philosophy, which, to us, basically means that you make fun of your friends in order to show your love. Elysium was, I believe, a bit disconcerted by all this; I think I recall a comment along the lines of, "You're so mean to each other!"

PPP tried to unsuccessfully explain, then finally gave up. "Tell him, Yazzo."

I stepped in with the explanation. "If we love you, we will make fun of you forever."

"Yeah!" said PPP approvingly.

Of course, this also led to PPP remarking, "Oh, but Yazzo is mean, though!" She then made me tell the story of the time I cussed her out in chemistry lecture during our freshman year of college. "You tell it better!" she said. This point is debatable, actually, because - while I have told the story enough times to be a pro at it by now - I'm actually not a very good storyteller at all in real life. This is why I have a weblog, kids.

No hanging-out session with Elysium is complete without a discussion about Canada, and I have to admit he did a good job of selling Canada to the Lovely L Lady. She's all set to move, that traitor.

At the beginning of lunch, I peered over at L's pasta from Gypsy's and asked, "What did you get?"

"No- Noch-something? I don't know how to pronounce it."

"Oh, I know what it is!" I said. "I know how to spell it. But, yeah, I don't know how to pronounce it either."

Elysium came to our rescue with the supposedly correct pronunciation for gnocchi. "Yeah, people from Toronto KNOW these things," I laughed.

Over lunch, we discussed Elysium's less-than-stellar impressions of San Francisco, much of which, we decided, was based on the neighborhood where he had opted to stay. "Of all the places you could have stayed at," said PPP, shaking her head, "you decided to stay in the crack capital of the world."

"And it just so happens to be in San Francisco," deadpanned Elysium.

Soon, PPP and L started getting antsy because they wanted to beat the 5 o'clock traffic to the Sacramento valley. I, however, had other ideas: "Let's go get some gelato!"

[By the way: Gelateria Naia was featured on a Food Network show a little while back. Check Week 3, Episode 8 for videos of pretty-looking gelato. (Baji, I'm looking right AT you!)]

While we were walking down Telegraph, back to our cars, Elysium made some dig at my driving skills, which was laughingly echoed by PPP and the Lovely L Lady. "What are you talking about?" I said indignantly. "My driving is -" I paused, searching for the suitable word. "-AMAZING!" I decided.

Once at the gelato place on Shattuck, we had fun test-tasting ten thousand flavors before deciding on what to get. I went with my old favorites: stracciatella and chocolate orange.

I love the funky, bright orange and lime green walls at Gelateria Naia, as well as the decor. "Look," I pointed out one of the wall prints to PPP, "there's the kinda car we should have!"

"It's Saif Ali Khan's car from Salaam Namaste!" she said, delighted. (That stupid, damn catchy My dil goes mmmm song! Ahhhhh!)

Anyway, so we ate gelato, and Elysium took pretty pictures, and PPP made fun of his stalker paparazzi camera. E quite neatly sidestepped PPP's incessant "You haven't answered my questions! So where are you from? And what do you do?" demands. Evading PPP takes some major skill (even I can't do that), so high-five to Elysium. [Clearly, I'm going outta control stealing HijabMan's trademark high-fives for use in this post. Just you try to make me stop.]

Then we headed out to go our separate ways. I abandoned E at the Berkeley BART station because the thought of driving him back to SF in rush-hour traffic was too horrific (sorry, buddy!)

The Tuesday after that, I picked up Elysium from his hotel to drive him to SFO so he could fly back to his beloved Canada. And although he called me a "crazy driver," I will be nice enough to mention that Elysium is a better navigator than HijabMan, I've decided. Also, for the record, I'm not a crazy driver, dammit. (Don't make me run you over.)

I brought E a small bag of tangerines from my backyard tree, since he was dying for some Vitamin C and also because he'd always refuse my attempts to share chocolate chip cookies with him (seriously, what kinda friend repeatedly turns down home-baked chocolate chip cookies?). Anyway, he was a fan of the tangerines, even though he only took two - but he managed to sidestep a potentially hefty fine (up to $400 or something?) and smuggle them into Canada, which I think is the most awesome story ever. I was accessory to a successful smuggling, you guys! I'm going to tell my grandkids.

This post is about four pages too long already, but I have one more thing to mention before I wrap this up:

I am pleased to note that (I think) we sufficiently amused/traumatized Elysium with our constant usage of the words "crack," "stalking," and "stabbing," which E later referred to as "the Yasmine vocabulary." Actually, there was a point - mid-conversation with Elysium, during dinner in the Mission - when I realized just how often the word "crack" (and all variations thereof) spills from my mouth and, seeing the amused look on E's face even though he was kind enough not to interrupt my sentence, I made a conscious effort to cut down on the usage. But it just wouldn't work. So I am pleased to admit that if you know me only from the weblog or AIM, I use the words "crack," "stalking," and "stabbing" just as much in real deal life as I do on those mediums. That's right, kids! Come to California so we can talk.

[p.s. As for the CA vs. CA debate, all the recent pro-Canada description over in the comment box of Anjum's post was pretty damn awesome-sounding, I will admit that.]

>continue reading

Good lookin' out, God

Since most of you are too horrified or disturbed, I'm sure, to comment on my letter to God in the previous post, I just thought I'd let all y'all know that I'm off to Oakland soon for Jummah [Friday congregational prayers], where I'll try to repent for my blasphemy. Yes, aren't you relieved?

Good things about writing letters to God:
- You think about Him a lot more often.

Bad (?) things about writing letters to God:
- You start conversing with Him in your head, everywhere, all the time, about the most mundane things in the world. Like, the other day, when I cut my finger and then bandaged it while muttering, "That really wasn't cool, huh, God, was it?"

Clearly I have issues.

Also, say hi to Elysium! He's currently in SF, and I'm sure he'd much rather be back in Toronto, since California is clearly not as cool as Canada, but too bad. Still, I have a feeling I won't be winning any CA vs. CA (that's California vs. Canada, for those of you who don't know, and obviously Canada is just trying to steal our abbreviations here) debates anytime soon.

Anyway, God listens to me, and the sun is out! What more do you want?

And I know it's pretty damn funny how simple it can be

That's me! And, err...you?, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

[Since I seem to be on a roll with posting about blogger meetups and such, here's another story.]

So, once upon a time (early last summer), I somehow got totally hooked on reading a whole bunch of weblogs written by law students and recent law school graduates studying for the Bar Exam. In retrospect, this is really funny considering the fact that I never was, nor have any inclination towards being, a law student. (My father, by the way, has recently resumed his mission to convince me to apply to law school, but we'll ignore that for the time being.) Regardless, the weblogs were fascinating - and I think this is the point where all those erstwhile law students stab me for using the word "fascinating" in conjunction with the Bar Exam.

Anyway, last week, I decided to stop being such a lurker and comment in reference to the Muslim parking garage and Mission food places mentioned in a post by maisnon, one of my law stalkees. To keep things even, and in line with my brand-new, shiny-clean Screw the stalking philosophy, I also commented on the Cheese Grater rap-related post by another one of my favorite law stalkees, Chai of the Chat&Chai weblog.

In reply, Chai sent me an email that afternoon that started off with, "Hi Yasmine, I know that you just started commenting, but I've been lurking on your site for a few months now."

I stared at my computer and burst out laughing in amazement. What are the odds? In closing, I was invited to dinner with Chai, maisnon, ads, and brimful. I recognized all the names, since not only had I been reading Chai's and maisnon's weblogs, I'd also been stalking the other lovely ladies for a long while now, having originally come across everyone's weblogs through ANNA's, I believe.

I was honored to be invited, and this was too good a meetup opportunity to pass up. So, last Friday evening, off I went to dinner at Lime in San Francisco.

Finding parking was such a process, but I managed it after circling the block several times and finally seeing the side of a building emblazoned with "PARKING FOR LIME LOUNGE & RESTAURANT." Oh, okay. Well, why didn't you say so? I parked my car and glanced around.

Ditzy Moment #1: I figured the parking lot must obviously be adjacent to the restaurant, but a few minutes of confusedly walking up and down the street made me realize that I had figured incorrectly. Obviously. So I gingerly crossed the random left-turn lanes and walls and tracks lining Market Street and made my way to the other side.

Checking out the numbers on this side of Market, I realized this was where Lime should be. A few more steps led me to Lime, or, at least, a glass window with the restaurant's name, and then nothing but a wall. Ditzy Moment #2: I stopped in confusion, not sure where to proceed. The guy standing in front smiled at me. I smiled back, and said sheepishly, "Umm, I'm looking for a way to get in there." He grinned, stepped aside, pulled on the door handle that had been hidden behind his back, and opened the door with a flourish. The door that looked like a freakin' WALL. I muttered my thanks and darted inside, where I found Chai and ads already waiting. We were soon joined by maisnon and brimful.

Re. Lime: The food was amazing. We ordered a whole bunch of small plates, and then passed them around, sharing, which definitely gave a dinner a lovely, close-knit feel. The place had LOUD music, colorful lighting, and a bar lined with mini televisions screens. Oh, and mini TVs in the restrooms also - something I kept exclaiming about, because I just couldn't get over it. Pretty inter'sting.

The waiter asked if we were ready to order. Enter Ditzy Moment #3: When my turn came, I glanced down at the menu, glanced back up at the waiter, and announced, "I'll have the zucchini, umm, fri-iiii-iii - ?"
"Frites," said Chai helpfully.
"Yeah, those!"
It was hilarious. And now I know how the word "frites" is pronounced (clue: Not like the word "fries," apparently). Good lookin' out, buddy!

Re. Bloggers: The lovely ladies were totally friendly and welcoming. I remember lots of jokes and laughter, which is always a good thing when you're meeting people for the first time. I initially felt a little bit out-of-place and a lot over-awed, not only because I was surrounded by a corner of Blogistan I would never have imagined I'd even have a chance to meet in person, but also because they're such smart and successful women that it only reminded me I still need to do something constructive with my life. When Chai turned to me with a wide smile and asked, "So, what's your story?" the best I could do was sputter in embarrassment, "Umm, I don't really have any interesting stories."

Sadly, I didn't get to join my fellow bloggers on their quest for dessert (I know, it's INCONCEIVABLE), but it was a beautiful evening spent in the company of inspiring women, nonetheless.

So, the moral of the story - at least, for my future reference - is: Stop being such a stalker. Lurk less, comment more, make your presence known when you appreciate someone's writing. Who knows, the bloggers whose sites you're lurking on just might be lurking on yours as well. And then they'll invite you to dinner! (I'm a big fan of food. And bloggers. And blogger meetups involving food.)

Oh, and I never did get to see Chai reenact her "I HATE THE CHEESE GRATER!" rap in person. Blast!

Addendum

As a closing commentary of sorts to previous post [which you should perhaps scroll down to read first], I should add that I got plenty of teasing from my buddy S about "blobs" and "blobbing" in the weeks following our hangingout session with Anjum.

It's difficult to explain to those who neither blog themselves nor read weblogs (blog-lurkers, or blurkers) that I find blogging extremely fascinating and addicting, that it allows me to organize my thoughts, celebrate the mundane that makes up my life, hone my writing, and share my stories with an audience that probably doesn't even know what I'm doing (or not doing) with the 80-90% of my life that I don't even blog about - an audience that seems to appreciate my little stories nontheless, even if I don't share anything of consequence most of the time.

Recently, I mentioned that I have been blogging for three years now, and, again, it would take too long to discuss why exactly I've kept at this when I'm usually so easily bored and distracted that I end most projects even before fully beginning them. Suffice it to say that I don't maintain this weblog as some form of self-centered aggrandizing just because I have the power to click a button and suddenly "self-publish" my thoughts to the web - but, yes, sometimes I do think I have something amusing or pseudo-profound to share, and you crazy people out there actually take the time to respond to it.

Which is my point: For me, the weblog is all about the people it's brought into my life. People like you, and you, and yeah, you over there in the corner who never comment but I know you lurk around here, yep. I've never met most of you, but that's okay, although it does rock my world when I do meet some of you. The weblog's brought a lot of sweetness, and countless beautiful people, into my life. I still haven't forgotten the outpouring of comments and emails after this post, for example. Oh yeah, and the random little emails once in a while, too, for which I'm massively sorry if I still haven't responded to yours. I'm getting to it. Like, a year late. Or something. And, sometimes, we catch each other on AIM or MSN or your instant messaging stalking devices of choice, and then I get fun opportunities to underscore why exactly my screenname is crackfiendserene.

I was thinking recently of all the people I've been privileged to meet in person, simply because I have a weblog. Anjum, of course, who is wonderful to hang out with, and I wish she lived in California all the time. HijabMan, who came all the way across the country simply because, and who leaves random songs on my voicemail. Through his vast network of friends, I've been blessed to meet other amazing people as well: D, my jummah buddy extraordinaire, who makes going to Oakland every Friday something to look forward to all week; SI, one of the sweetest and most genuine people I know, who sends me texts and emails exhorting me to come to DC for cherry blosson season; M, who appreciates headwraps like few others do.

There's 2Scoops, one of the rare people I actually love talking to on the phone, even though it takes us weeks to get ahold of one another. Maria, who is beautiful and brilliant and yet so humble. Baji's sister, LB, who laughed so much and was so easy to connect with that I told her it felt like I had known her for years. When my friend, the lovely L lady, went off to DC for a semester-long internship, I was quite comfortable sending her off with Baji's contact info; that she returned to California with stories of hanging out with Baji and Najm and the rest of the East Coast crew just made me appreciate Blogistan even more.

And, of course, through the same sort of online presence, although it wasn't through blogging, I also met my favorite "psychopathic maniac" SS, which, in turn, allowed me to eventually meet Mark, Dipti, Nipun, Viral, and Guri - people who are so beautifully inspiring on a daily basis that my words will never do them justice.

The "internets" have widened my world considerably, while simultaneously allowing me to realize what a small space the world really is.

The other day, I read something by Goethe that made me think of this weblog:

To know someone here or there
with whom you can feel there is understanding
in spite of distances
or thoughts expressed -
this can make life a garden.

I'm grateful for all of you. Here's to gardening, kids.

California skies got room to spare

S felt it was necessary to add to the glorious architecture, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

It's a sad testament to my slacker tendencies that not only have I neglected to write about my Blogistan meetup with Anjum about a month ago, but she has updated about her first California trip a couple of times already, and then she was back in the SF Bay Area on a second business trip, and I still haven't gotten around to writing about our hanging-out sessions from a month ago. Talk about major laziness, man. Stab me already.

But I had long ago promised Anjum I'd post my version of our meetup(s), so here it goes, in all its rambling glory thanks to hastily scribbled notes and bullet points, but organized into paragraph-form so late that I'm probably not doing it justice.

[Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out already, check out Flickr for some of the photos from our Berkeley/SF hanging-out sessions.]

TUESDAY, JANUARY 3rd: Anjum arrives in the Bay!

This is after about a week of us exchanging emails and phone calls. At one point, Anjum left me a voicemessage that ended with, "Umm, what's going on with all the flooding out there?" I sent her emails warning her to bring whatever clothing she considered suitable for rainy weather, because it damn well wasn't sunshine-y at this end. Oh, and in regards to phone calls - to be honest, I must confess I can't recall even one single time I answered my phone when Anjum called. This was not deliberate; the reception around here sucks. But I bet it started to seem highly suspicious after the first, oh, four or five times.

The first thing that happened after I parked my car at the Oakland Airport (to pick up Anjum) was that I somehow set off my car alarm. You'd think, after owning the new car for four months at that point, I'd have learned all these fancy schmancy nuances regarding car alarms and such by now. Apparently not. The first week I got the car, I set off the alarm an average of three times a day. I guess setting it off just once in January (so far) was progress then. While I was pressing all the buttons on my keychain and cursing under my breath, a guy walking by called out, "Try locking your car, then unlocking it with your key!" So I did. And it didn't work. But then the alarm inexplicably stopped blaring ten seconds later while I was still pressing the keychain buttons at random. So I breathed a sigh of relief and continued on my way inside the airport to wait for Anjum, who took a while getting out, but that was okay, because I highly amused myself by reading the warning signs regarding what one should absolutely positively not take on planes while one is traveling. Sadly, all I remember is the fact that paint-thinner is a no-no. Just don't do it, kids.

While driving Anjum to her hotel in San Ramon, she glanced out the window at one point and exclaimed, "Palm trees!"
"Where?!" I said. "We have palm trees in NorCal?"
So we had a good laugh over that, because apparently there are palm trees around here, it's just that I never notice them unless they're as abundantly in-your-face as the palm trees in Southern California.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 6th: Jummah in Oakland, Hangingout session in Berkeley

PrincessPrettyPants picked up Anjum in San Ramon, and they drove up to meet with me and my sister in our hometown, where they jumped in my car and we raced through Highway24 to my favorite masjid for jummah in Oakland. While driving through Oakland, my sister turned to the backseat and asked Anjum, "So, how're you liking California so far?" Anjum mused that California folks don't seem to be in as much of a hurry as East Coast-ers, rushing around less.
My sister misheard rushing as washing. "You mean, like, hygiene?" she exclaimed, horrified.
I started laughing. "Not washing less, buddy, rushing less!"

Jummah [the Friday congregational prayers] were rocking, as usual. Afterward, we headed over to Berkeley for lunch at Julie's Cafe (where PPP had wayy too much fun with the hot sauce), then to the Oddball store down the street (where I saw gems like this and this), then to the Berkeley Hat Co., where I was totally busted for taking photographs of - among other things - PPP trying on funky purple beanies with pom-poms attached. Somewhere in between, I saw a store display of children's rain boots, and exclaimed, "I want those! Galoshes! That would be so awesome!"
PPP shook her head. "I never want to see you wearing a pair of those, you hear me?"
"Whaaat? I could totally pull it off!"
"No, Yazzo, even you couldn't pull that off."

Props to Anjum for putting up with our mass craziness, because when we crazy Cali kids hang out in a group, we are insane.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 7th: Hangingout session in San Francisco

This was the best day ever. I invited my friend S to come hang out with me and Anjum in San Francisco - basically, because I had originally invited him to Jummah the previous day and we planned it out a week in advance, but he overslept on Friday and then sent me an apologetic text message ("Good morning, I just woke up looking at the time, I don't think I will make it to the Bay but can I come up tomorrow or Sunday to make up Friday please"). I laughed at the sheer audacity of flaking out on people at the last minute through text messaging, then called S to yell at him, made him feel sufficiently guilty, and then graciously invited him to hang out with us on Saturday, because I am so kind and forgiving like that.

S drove down from Sacramento and met me at the BART station so we could take the train into SF together. He had never ridden the train before, and professed to feeling freaked out about this. I told him to suck it up. "Man up!" as Somayya says. Besides, he was wearing his Superman t-shirt, and Superman is not supposed to be afraid of measly things like trains. Once on the train, S busted out with his Treo and started photographing the interior. I told him to calm down with that a bit, since brown people taking pictures these days is cause for such drama, mygod. Then I took the Treo away from him and started checking my GMail, even though I had done that right before leaving the house. Once I figured out how the tiny keyboard worked, I teased him, "Oh, so this is why I've been getting text messages in complete sentences from you lately! I thought maybe you were just turning into me, or something." I may never pick up my phone or return calls in a timely manner, but at least I'm famous for text-messaging in full sentences, with perfect spelling and grammar.

After that, we commenced bickering about phone calls - S accused me of never returning his calls, while, in my defense, I explained that if I'm in a "not picking up the phone or returning calls" mood (which is most of the time), I'm ignoring not only his calls but also everyone else's. This cheered him up considerably. "Oh, okay," he said. "So it's not me, then. You just have psychological problems."
"Yeah, I think that sounds about right."

We met up with Anjum outside the Powell St. BART in San Francisco, and from there made our way down to Union Square. I was delighted to see how quickly S and Anjum got along - S, like Somayya, has a habit of making fun of people as a way of showing his love, and Anjum not only took it in stride with good humor, but she dished it right back, so that in no time the two of them were all making fun of one another as if they'd been friends for years. A recurring theme of conversation throughout the day was S's Superman shirt, ironic because Anjum and I kept accusing him of being "SO SLOW!" Anjum, fearless East Coast-er that she is, would surge right ahead and cross the street in a split second, while S and even I hesitated and looked both ways and checked the lights and signals before proceeding. Clearly, we need to work on our jaywalking skills. Pedestrians need to take back the streets!

At one point, Anjum and I ducked inside the Mocca cafe not only to check out the pretty food but also for old time's sake because this was the spot where Baji's sister, LB, and I had met up for chocolate mousse cake and a little bit of hanging out at Union Square back in September2004. However, we decided to move along to the Ghirardelli store for ice cream sundaes, but S and I were really in the mood for root beer floats, and no one seemed to have 'em.

We decided to skip the food for the time being and move on to a bookstore, where Anjum browsed postcards and I found a wombat book that would be perfect for DeGrouchyOwl. I was super excited about this, and had to take a photograph. As Anjum and S continued their own browsing, I wandered down to the lower level of the bookstore, where I was delighted to find the Glamour magazine article on WOMEN WHO BLOG. While I was skimming the article, Anjum and S came by, so I gleefully pointed out the article to Anjum, who had heard about it already, too.

"Blog?" said S confusedly.
"Yes, you know, weblogs," we said. "That's how we meet, through our weblogs."
"What?! I thought you were two were related or something!"
We burst out laughing and explained about the weblogs a bit more, but S wasn't feelin' it. He just gave us Why would you do THAT? sort of looks.

At the register a few minutes later, while Anjum was paying for her postcards, S patted me patronizingly on the head. "It's okay, Yasmine, you're a nice blob."
"A what?"
"Blob. Blog. You know. What you guys do. Blobbing."
I rolled my eyes.

We wandered around some more. Anjum was on a quest to find a post office, of which there is apparently one in the Macy*s department store, of all places. Every time we went up and down from one level to another, S, who was quite comfortable chillin' in one spot, kept asking "Why do you keep walking on the escalators?" to which I would retort, " 'Cuz I'm not a lazyass like you." To which he told me how short I am, because this is his favorite thing of which to remind me.

While Anjum stood in line at the post office, S and I went off to amuse ourselves with the plethora of other stuff available at Macy*s: disgustingly expensive fresh-baked bread in animal shapes, Mango-A-Go-Go smoothies from Jamba Juice, and vending machines that dispensed quite another form of (eye)candy altogether: iPods and their accessories!

More walking: We ducked into Anthropologie, where I decided that any store that sells a pair of pants for $165 is damn overrated. Also, I got Anjum and S to take pictures of me with Anthropologie's humongous shopping bags, which seemed almost as big as I was.

Back out to the street: we witnessed the cablecar turnaround, some street dancing, and a reminder about how much Jesus Christ loves us.

We stood waiting in the long line for our turn on the next cablecar, which took us to Fisherman's Wharf, by which time we were hella hungry and dying for some food. S supposedly knew of a good clam chowder place, so Anjum and I just followed his lead. Along the way, we passed some monkeys who made me think of Baji, and an earring shop at which Anjum and I did double-takes, waffled, and glanced at each other uncertainly before deciding, "Alright, let's go in!" So we checked out all the gorgeous dangly earrings to our hearts' content while S waited patiently, then we went and got some clam chowder from Boudin's and saw even more animal-shaped bread.

At the end of the meal, I offered Anjum some of the orange-flavored Trident gum that I love. She chewed it for a second and exclaimed, "This is what your car smells like!" I remembered I had been chewing it the evening I picked her up from the airport. Well, if my car had to start losing the new-car smell, as far as I'm concerned the next best thing would be for it to smell like oranges.

We walked around Fisherman's Wharf for a while longer, taking pictures of each other taking pictures, checking out the lazy sea lions, marveling at the ships and ferries and the little white sailboats. Soon, I had to leave, so S and I said our goodbyes to Anjum, leaving her at the wharf because she wanted to stay for a view of the impending sunset.

S and I walked back to the cablecar stop, and I did some bread-watching from the street along the way. Also along the way, while I was walking along and in mid-conversation with S, a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk shoved a potted bush in my face while screaming, "YAAAAAHHHHHH!"

I jumped in surprise, then yelled, "What the hell!"
S was doubled over in laughter. So was the homeless man.
I was not amused. I punched S in the arm. "What kind of damn friend are you? That wasn't freakin' funny!"
"It was!" he gasped, still chuckling. "You totally didn't see it coming. He made you jump!"
"Well, he freakin' scared the hell out of me! God!"

We got on the cablecar heading back to Union Square. The car was crowded and I had no handhold, so I reached up and grasped the closest thing I saw - the wire above my head. "Don't pull that unless you want to get off!" said the cablecar man quickly.
"Here," said S, "hold on to this."
I looked up at the metal bar he was gesturing to, and laughed. "Do you seriously expect me to reach that? There's no way I'm going to be able to reach that!"
He offered his arm as a handhold, but I stubbornly stood my ground, and somehow we made it back to Union Square - with glorious views along the way - without me falling off the back of the cablecar. Then we descended the escalator at the BART station, got on the next train to the East Bay, and then drove back to our respective homes.

The end!
>continue reading

"Blogging is Haraam!"

The title is meant to be ironic and tongue-in-cheek. So get off me. Via 2Scoops' contribution to the comments box for the last post, I present the following [click for larger image]:

I could write an entire post based around this - lots of deep analysis for why I have been blogging for three years now - but I won't. Let's just take the comic at face value and laugh, because it's damn funny. "I am greatness personified." That's right!

Meanwhile, and in related news, I'll soon turn my efforts towards reviewing Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World for all y'all. This is a movie that was, by the way, not really funny at all. And you know how easily amused I am, don't you? I suppose I'll just have to stick to comic strips.

You can always use the kids as an excuse

Who needs oranges when you can just take a bite out of your sister?, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.

So I'm being blog-interrogated into updating, apparently. I have lots of stories to share (like, ooh, my five-year high school reunion a while back, and my recent hit-n-run hanging out sessions with Barsaat, and other things I can't stop yawning long enough to remember at the moment, but, don't worry, I have little scribbled notes on the forgotten things, so they're not really forgotten), but it's so much easier to upload photos than it is to sit here and compose lengthy weblog entries. Because you know I can't do weblog entries without the "lengthy" part thrown in.

Also, I'll let Barsaat cover the Blogistan meetup portion of it, since it's always more fun to hear all about one's home(town/area/state) from another perspective. Plus, she writes awesome travelogues. So go harass her! (And make sure you tell her how much I love her for bringing sunshine to California after all those endless weeks of rain.)

The above photo is of my nieces, when they visited the Bay Area with the rest of the Sacramento contingent last weekend. To see some of the photos I took of the totallyedible nieces and nephew, start here and click "next" on the set to see the, err, next photo. [Some of the photos, where indicated, were taken by my sister a few weeks before that.]

Welcome to the new joint, and all that (yaznot)jazz

So now that we've said goodbye to good ol' ramblingmonologues, why don't you pull up a chair, and go right ahead and prop your feet up on the coffeetable; that's the only way I know how to sit comfortably, and you might as well do the same.

And while you're getting settled in and looking around curiously, I gotta ask: So! Whaddaya think?

For those who are interested in such things, the new Sweep The Sunshine weblog title is inspired by a collection of short stories by Hanan al-Shaykh, entitled I Sweep the Sun off Rooftops. Bookworms amongst you may recall I mentioned it in a post early last year (which reminds me, I still haven't paid off those public library fines, nor did I give all y'all the book recommendations I promised in the comment box). In the collection's title story, a mother, exasperated by her daughter's fascination with the sun and its warmth, remarks disparagingly, "What can you do with the sun? Sweep it off rooftops?" Something like that. It's been a while, and, weblog title notwithstanding, I don't really remember any of the stories now, so you should read the book and let me know what you think.

The banner is from a photograph I took, but you already knew that, didn't you?

Special thanks to Elysium, who has graciously agreed to be my tech support whenever he gets a moment, and to HijabMan, who seemed to be as excited about this move as I was (even though he was apparently quite fond of ramblingmonologues and wished I wouldn't give it up), and who told me how awesome I was for knowing how to center the weblog banner all on my own. (Come to think of it, he may have been being sarcastic, who knows; the only sarcasm I ever truly recognize is my own.)

Yeah, so what do you think? Honest opinions will be taken into consideration, except if you tell me it sucks and it's the ugliest thing you've ever seen in your whole entire life, because that will just make me kick your sorry ass. I did everything all by myself, and I'm mighty proud of it. I think this is the longest I've stared at HTML since my random fiddling-around-with-the-layout sessions back in Fall 2003. I've realized that if you squint at HTML long enough, it sort of starts making sense, even to those with kindergarten skills like mine. Vast amounts of cranberry juice are also extremely helpful.

If you're feeling all bitter that I didn't share this with you 'til now - well, geez, I warned you, what more do you want? Actually, don't feel bad; I'm just really independent and stubborn and I hate asking for help except as a last resort. Basically, I'm all about sharing the end result, and not the work-in-progress. This explanation reminds me of the time my father emailed me, expressing his hurt and disappointment that I had neglected to share my resume/cover letter-writing steps with him. He took it as a deliberate rejection and undermining of his academic/career/business experiences. My dad thinks I'm ambitious and intelligent (his words not mine, and laughable to think of these days), but also that I'm highly self-centered. Which is true, I'll tell you that. But, as usual, I digress.

This space is sort of a work in progress though, so don't be too alarmed if things still look funky for a while. I have no idea what this site looks like on a Mac, so if you want to give me your opinion on that, that would be highly rockstar-ish of you. I already miss my periodically-changing taglines from the old weblog, so perhaps I'll resume that once I figure out enough Photoshop skills to put something together. The Blogrolling spacing is hurting my sense of obsessive-compulsiveness; it's tops on the list. And, if you haven't already noticed, links within the posts are small and harsh on the eyes. But, hey, I wear glasses, and if I can handle it, so can you - at least until I figure out how to fix it. Also, I have a feeling my permanent-links within other posts may be kinda screwy; I'll have to look at it later. If you're using Internet Explorer (WHY?! DON'T DO IT!), the sidebar has some mass craziness going on. (Who wants to help me fix that?) Meanwhile, do get with the program and download the Firefox browser. Please.

That's all I can think of for now. If you find something else that's cracked out in a not-so-good way, let me know.

Aright, kids, this should be fun. Geez, look excited already.