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Selected short notes November 2002 * Why me? November 27, 2002 * Why me?
Bailey, a 5-year-old golden retriever trained in cadaver searches, undergoes an MRI exploration of his nasal passages as part of a five-year project. (Larger) Photo by Lois Raimondo >>> November 25, 2002, Washington Post November 27, 2002 * Instant love
If you don't fall instantly in love with this darling, you have a problem. Photo by Jay Paul >>> November 25, 2002, Washington Post November 27, 2002 * Maa pedareem Some years ago, I was at an Iranian Norooz celebration and overheard an interesting
conversation. The Lebanese man answered: "We are all Muslims and we are all children of one mother and father." The Iranian guy replied: "No, we Iranians are the fathers (maa pedareem)!" November 22, 2002 * No fingerprinting Hamid Ageorlo writes from Toronto, Canada: How about a visit to Tehranto. We don't fingerprint! November 22, 2002 * Tragic Email from a friend: Did you hear about MK? FF's wife?... I did not know them that much. Anyway, their only son, who was very successful in business, killed himself 4 months ago on the 20th of the month. The mother jumped from the 8th floor on the 20th of November, the day before yesterday. He (the son) had joined some kind of a spiritual group. November 22, 2002 * Holy shit Email from a friend: Did I tell you M is pregnant? She is due in May. November 22, 2002 * Moft yes, moftaki no Today, someone (not a client) called the office and wanted to ask our receptionist
legal advice. Of course, our receptionist said she can't answer his question because
she is not an attorney. -- N. November 22, 2002 * Having a bad day? The next time you're having a bad day, imagine this: November 22, 2002 * Purple I did this mind
exercise. I got the tool right. But the color that came to my mind was purple.
November 20, 2002 * I haven't read it Question from Tehran about Reza Pahlavi's "Iranian problem, Iranian solution" :
November 18, 2002 * I can't be myself Peyvand Khorsandi writes: I sent this to a friend... Let's do it! When? 30th? (I just came back from a date. I like the girl, but I don't know her and it's like being at a job interview. I can't be myself, yet I can't act, so I stutter and circumlocute (I don't know what it means either, only that I do it)and leave thinking I might as well have dribbled and poked myself in the eye. The idea of going on a date is surely to feel the opposite. I don't mean poking someone else in the eye, but no-one poking anyone. I don't know. The past few weeks I've been doing these shows (by the way your sister never turned up), they went really well but I need to chill out. Go and raise a goat or something not related to my career. I hope your premiere goes well, even if it is only 15 minutes about a Japanese man drinking Bavarian beer (is there a drought of social issues in Germany? Or even human stories. Or a film about a cat?). Still, it's good to hear from you, I have a fondness for people in their 20s. I doubt in a few years I'll know any. November 20, 2002 * Mr. Mozaahem I'm very overwhelmed at work [law office in Los Angeles]... tsk tsk... those pesky Persian clients... Example: 10:05 a.m., the phone rings. Mr. Mozaahem: "Salaam Khanooooom!!! In parvandeye maa pass chi shod?..." November 18, 2002 * Eyes
My daughter Mahdiyeh's first piece of art created with Photoshop. For college arts class. November 18, 2002 * Good time to go to prison Heard from a Tehrani: My father was talking about the political situation and the fact that so may critics of the regime were being thrown into prison. And it's not as if anyone is scared or anything. These days, going to prison is a badge of honor. You do a few months in prison and come out a heroe. "Alaan, zendaan RAFTAN daareh," he said. November 18, 2002 * Dob-be Akbar
Our maid Zeynab was pushing my carriage in the dark alley behind our house in Abadan. We were coming back from the store at Falakeye Alfi. The sky was full of stars. She pointed to the sky and asked if I saw the big deep pan with a handle on it? "Oon Dob-be Akbareh oon yeki ham Dob-be Asghar," she said. Now everytime I look at the stars, I remember Zeynab. That kind and gentle, hardworking woman. November 17, 2002 * This was an exercise
The Khamenei series [Some things are sacred] came about a few days ago when Hossein Hajiagha sent me this picture for the cartoon section. I emailed him back that it was too small. He said the original image was small and he could not do anything about it. On Friday I had nothing exciting for a cover story, so I started to play around with Khamenei's images on Google. I used a few basic Photoshop tools to alter them. When I was happy with each image and finished them all, I imagined what they reminded me of. "NEIL DIAMOND: LOVE AT THE GREEK" looks like one of the album covers I remember from 1977 when I was 15 and living in southern California (Long Beach). I used to go the Wharehouse record store a lot and browse through the albums. I wanted that album, badly, even though I didn't know who Neil Diamond was. I never bought it. But I did buy Stevie Wonder's "Songs in the Key of Life" which also has yellow and orange. My favorite is "HIS HOLINESS ON A SUNNY DAY SITTING IN THE PALACE GARDEN" (really cracks me up) and "WITH GUACAMOLE AND SOUR CREAM" is pretty funny too. What surprised me was how "FANTASIA" made me think of this scene with Mickey Mouse. "THE GREAT LEADER" has a certain clean, simple but very royal elegance that one may see in Japanese art. It took a very long time before I came up with a name for "BLACK AND BLUE". At first I called it "THE END" and then "THE HANDS OF GOD". But "BLACK AND BLUE" is the best. It speaks of the beating Iran has taken since the clergy came to power. This was an exercise in free speech. Speech IS sacred. Khamenei is not. The clergy are not. No one in a position of power should be allowed to think they are above you and me. Free speech is what allows a society to grow. Closed minds do not. It's ridiculous that in this day and age of human development we should not have the right to criticize or make fun of our leaders -- in ANY way we please. Who are they any way? God? Infalible? I actually did think about what may happen to me personally if I published it. I thought about it for five seconds. Nothing would happen to me. I'm sittimg comfortably in California, far far away from His Holiness and his thugs. So why not poke some fun at the bastard? I really liked how this feature turned out and I can't stop looking at them. My daughter is not that impressed. She said, "Faghat az een khoshet meeyaad keh maskharash kardee." (You like it only because of the fact that you have made fun of him (Khamenei)." Interesting point. November 17, 2002 * Democracy Inspired by the fact that "You Are My Sunshine" is one of two official songs of Louisiana: Dear Honorable Colleagues, The majority of the people of my constituency desire to forever honor 'You Are My Sunshine' as the second official song of the great State of Louisiana. I assume there would be no objection since there is no law that would prohibt any state from having two or three or ten official songs. There's no harm in it and it would make many people happy. Yours truly, Some Senator November 17, 2002 * Is it boy or a girl? My mother was saying that she had heard from other women that if they were pregnant with a boy, they would tell those who ask that they're carrying a boy. But if they were pregnant with a girl, they would say, "Beh doctor goftam behem nageh." (I have told the doctor not to reveal the gender.) November 14, 2002 * Good Morning, Uncle John! From Marjaneh Zahed-Khorassani-Kindersley This is a sample of email correspondence with a very dear friend of mine:
Monday, 21 September 1998 17:21, John P. wrote:
November 14, 2002 * Something amazing to witness From a journalist to her friends: I've landed in Tehran, after much hopping around. Five countries in two months -- Afghanistan, Dubai, Jordan, Iraq, Switzerland and now Iran -- I hope I don't have to get on another plane any time soon. The timing for my arrival could not be better, news wise any way, because massive
student protests are happening every day and it feels something siginificant will
occur, one way or another, pretty soon. The frustration is escalating and today the
students called for a secular system and for the separation of Mosque and State.
They even asked for Khamenie to step down. Can you believe? It is truely something
amazing to witness. November 14, 2002 * God, I love this place From a friend in Tehran Greetings from the Islamic Republic of Iran November 14, 2002 * Whatever happened to her? I was watching a PBS documentary on the life of Jimmy
Carter. In one section they were showing an anti-US protest in Tehran. In front
of the camera was lady with her long flowing black hair and her 4-5 year-old son
in her arms. She was screaming at the top of her voice what I thought was "marg
bar amrika". November 12, 2002 * I feel good Email to my sister from my 72-year-old mother, who moved from the U.S. to Spain last month: Dear Iran, So wonderful to talk to you. Feel like I'm walking on cloud. So good to hear your voice and what you are doing. Don't get too tired. Or too hungry. Always hot soup or juice. Be nice to yourself. Wrote down Mother T's good words to MEMORIZE. Did Jahan get his money? How much do I have left? Got gas heater feels good sometimes when there is a chill. Would be nice to get fresh magazines of The New Yorker and Rolling Stones. All I do is READ. Can't seem to get into books that drag it out. Found Chinese place cheap and good. Finally. Three dollars for lunch mit wine. Where else but in Calpe. I feel good. Check out hotel where some tour co gives tour info on wed. Still want to go to Granada and Barcelona. Seems it's cheaper to go to Belgium for 75 bucks round trip. Love it here. What beautiful sunsets with the sea each evening. Incredible. Loooove you very much, KRISCO November 12, 2002 * Ramazan in a Tehran taxi
November 10, 2002 * Dreams
Childhood dream, when I was about ten: In the grassy area across the street from our house (110 Braim, Abadan), two court jesters were walking and at the same time playing a fast-paced card game. Abadan: The dreams set in my hometown of Abadan are always happy, as far as I remember. One of the saddest dreams (a few years ago): Seeing an ex-girlfriend who had a large scare on her face from a nuclear explosion. One of the loveliest dreams (1991): My girlfriend coming down a slide into a pile of flowers. One of the worst dreams (a few years ago): Me struggling in a stormy ocean of shit. Father: My father died when I was almost 15. When he is in my dreams, it's always him suddenly reappearing, as if he had never died at all, but had in fact been away and could not be in touch. Odd: A few years ago I had a dream that I was on a whaling ship, aiming the harpoon at myself on the deck of another ship. November 10, 2002 * Honest
November 5, 2002 * Why is he playing the flute? It's past midnight. The main street in front of my window is quiet, with little traffic. For the past half hour or so, a tall man with a cap on his head, slowly walked in a circle and played the flute. It sounded like a gentle breeze passing through a valley -- in China? At first, I found it annoying. Then I got curious. Why is he playing the flute in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night? Clearly he's not doing it for money; there's no one but him. If this is a spiritual exercise, is this the best place for it? Five minutes ago he got in his car and left. November 5, 2002 * Iranian/Italian Heard among a group of Iranians in Berkeley: It was 1979. Americans had been taken hostage in Tehran. I went to a bar in Los Angeles and started talking to a woman. She asked me where I was from. I told her I was Italian, to avoid all the hostility towards Iranians. She said, "Oh what a coincidence! I just met another Italian guy. Let me introduce you..." I was terrified. I didn't know a word of Italian. I walked over to meet the guy. One look and I knew; he was Iranian too. November 5, 2002 * Yellow melon We were watching football on TV and eating watermelon at my aunt's house. Someone said something about yellow watermelon. Uncle Latif said that in the old days, yellow watermelon was called "Hakim Farmoodeh"; kids had to eat it no matter how bad it tasted, because it was "what the doctor ordered". November 4, 2002 * Stealing magnolia Heard among a group of Iranians in Berkeley: I have a grandmother in Europe. She loves gardening. She once took a tour of Australia just to visit a very special garden famous for its rare plants. But she's got problems. Despite the heavy security, she managed to steal a plant or two for her own garden. I visit her from time to time. When night comes along, she tells me to get ready, flashlight and small shovel in hand: "Bereem gol bedozdeem." (Let's go steal some flowers) November 4, 2002 * Too hard to live Last week, my 19-year old-cousin committed suicide. He was an engineering student
at a university in Iran. No one really knows why he did it. But in his will he explained
that it was too hard for him to live in Iran. -- Sheila K. November 4, 2002 * Catching a fly I was having brunch with a group of friends. One of them, a particularly beautiful woman, swung her hand in the air and caught something -- I wasn't sure what. I think it was a fly. She stood up and said, "I better throw it outside." I don't know if it was an act of kindness toward the insect or an unwillingness to release it inside the restaurant. Either way, she left an impression. November 4, 2002 * Smoking I was supposed to meet some friends in Berkeley for brunch. I had parked far away and decided to have a smoke while walking to the restaurant. As I stood and lit a cigarette, I felt I was committing a crime. I looked all around to find a smoker. I was the only one. And I thought, these Californians are going too far. You can't smoke in restaurants, in bars, in public places... After the brunch, I went outside to have another smoke. As I stood in front of the restaurant, a young woman and her male friend were walking with six-packs of beer in hand. She asked me for a cigarette. "Sure!" I smiled. October 30, 2002 * Boy girl Around 1998, there was a 20-year-old girl who lived near us in Tehran. She always had very short hair and went about her business on a bicycle without wearing the mandatory hejab. Those who didn't know her wouldn't notice since she looked like a boy. -- MJ October 30, 2002 * Maragheh Heard from a friend at a party in Berkeley: In the early 1970s, me and a friend went to Tabriz for a visit. We asked where the red light district was. A man recommended we go to Maragheh instead.. He said the prostitutes there were more attractive. We drove to the small nearby town and found the brothel. I was in the waiting room and reading Zan-e Rooz when I noticed one of the prostitutes. She was really good looking. She came over and said, "Did you see me?" I thought she was either mistaken or pulling my leg. How could a prostitute in Maragheh be featured in a mainstream women's magazine? She turned the page and there it was: her picture and an interview about life as a prostitute in Maragheh. October 30, 2002 * Do you still I wonder. -- B. Rastegar October 30, 2002 * Change and... The Iranian masthead used to be in Times-Roman font and capitalized. By the end of 1998, I preferred Helvetica font. Now it's still Helvetica but the letters are all lower case. I was thinking why this change? First of all, the original capitalized version was just too pompous. Now, the thin, all lower case looks simple and elegant. Or it could be interpreted as passive aggressive. Or felfel nabeen cheh reezeh... October 28, 2002 * I never liked hot dogs I spent years trying to trade handmade olvieh sandwiches for turkey and cheese. A pound of roast beef pleased me when I resented saffron rice drenched in broth from lamb back. I'd do anything to avoid the ancient cuisine laced with a Mother's love. Why couldn't we eat hamburgers and fries like everyone else? Shit, I already looked different; did I have to eat different too? The smell of grape leaves filled with spiced beef permeated throughout our apartment building. I was ashamed of that rich scent. Kids told me it smelled like camel diarrhea, I believed them. My Father's hands, infested with calices, worked from sunrise to make sure we could buy the rosewater our food was fried in. My Mother's tiny fingers picked for an extra hour just so there wasn't any raisins in my rice. But even after all that, I wanted a sloppy joe. Both of my parents, once among Iran's middle class, came to this country and worked without shame so our family could still eat Persian. I didn't know it then but my parents loved me through the food they put into my belly. Some days my brother and I would sit hungry at lunch, too ashamed to break out our oversized pita bread sandwich stuffed with joojeh kabob and feta cheese. Damn, we were some spoiled kids. Maybe someone would point and yell "Look they are eating towel head sandwiches." The whole table would probably laugh. Our cheeks would turn apple red as we smiled pretending ESOL had not worked. In fact, I couldn't wait for Ramadan so I'd have an excuse not to eat lunch. In those dark days all I wanted was blonde hair, blue eyes, and mashed potatoes instead of abgoosht. The truth is I never liked hot dogs. In fact, they made me sick to my stomach. They smelled like shit. They tasted like shit, but embarrassment tasted worse. Nevertheless I'd shove them down my throat without second thought. I'd devour those disgusting clumps of haram meat until I started to feel white. But I'm not unique; it was the same story with all of America's immigrant children. If it wasn't sangak then it was tortillas. In the end, shame is all the same flavor. -- Ramtin October 28, 2002 * Freudian last night a very dear friend of mine told me that he could see right through me. he mentioned that i had an endless cave of rage built up within my heart, simply because of the cards that i had been dealt in this lifetime. my verbal reflex was that the only emotion i felt was patience. i accept the reality of my life, not with apathy, but with passion. passion to press on, to not only make do, but to enjoy the path to this paradise known as the present. i drifted into sleep with that notion in my subconcious. then, i had a dream where i screamed at my dad and hit him. can you say freudian subconcious?
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