KOWSAR
Photo essay: An evening with Nikahang Kowsar on his 41st birthday
by
Jahanshah Javid >>>
LIFE
We aren’t the first parents to impel our child
My son is a natural musician. Not like the ones who take instructions and occasionally stop their routine to practice, but the kind who are forced to stop their music so that they may tend to what the rest of us call life. Towards the end of senior year, he was overwhelmed to be admitted to Berklee School of Music in Boston, his dreamland. Following the example of concerned parents, and proud of our left-brain deficiency, we insisted that he earn his BA and major in a mainstream subject, just in case he should ever need a desk job
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OBSERVER
Journey of Toulouse Lautrec to Park Laleh!
It was eerie and unsettling to go through the rooms featuring the painters. I am still not sure why, but it was. There was exactly one piece by each artist. Another oddity was, barring for the artists already dead in the 60s and 70s, every single piece was dated somewhere between 1963 and 1975. And then complete stalemate! It was as if for this museum, where no one new enters and no one leaves, time had stopped in 1975. The irony was that this was a museum of contemporary arts, the key word being contemporary!
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SHAMDOONI
عاشق شمعدانی بود و شمعدونیها هم دوستش داشتند
به عادت سربازی، تا همین اواخر، سپیده صبح بیدار میشد و اصلاح میکرد. بعدش نوبت واکس کفش بود و اتوی کت و شلوار. نیم ساعتی نرمش سوئدی میکرد، تا وقت صبحانه شود - نون و پنیر با کمی شیر داغ. دو تا چایی قند پهلو، کنار روزنامه صبح، یکساعت بعد از صبحانه را پر میکردند. آخرش، همه صفحات را مرتب تا میزد و کنار میگذاشت و با اعلام اینکه، "نخیر، نشستن فایده نداره!" به سمت باغچه میرفت
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STATS
Iranian.com reaches new milestone
by
Foaad Khosmood >>>
DIARY
خارج که بروی مشکل اولت آفتاب است و دوم آفتابه
کی گفته به جز سرزمین ما هیچ جای دنیا آفتاب ندارد؟ آفتاب از این درخشان تر می خواهی دختر؟ روز از این زیباتر؟ عین بهشت می ماند. تازه نگرانم چرا کرم ضد آفتاب به صورتم نزده ام. روز دوم است که رسیده ام و هنوز از توی سمب و سوراخ چمدان ها پیدایش نکرده ام. عیبی ندارد دارم می روم خرید و توی فروشگاه چندان هم نیاز به ضد آفتاب نیست. خرید وسایل ضروری اولیه یک دو ساعتی طول کشید. خوشحال بودم که به یمن وسایل جدید زندگی از این که هست هم بهتر خواهد شد
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PASSION
Photo essay: Shanbehzadeh Ensemble in Richmond folk music festival
by
Jahanshah Javid >>>
EXPATS
صدای طبلها گوش ِ جانهایمان راچنان پر کرده که منفذی برای شنیدن واقعیات باقی نگذاشته
سران امریکا بروش خود و سایر کشورهای غربی به تبعیت از امریکا سرانجام به احمدی نژاد فهماندند که این بار شوخی نمی کنند، اصلا اورا بحساب نمی آورند، با همۀادعا هایش بقول ِ خودش "عددی نیست" و دیگر مایل نیستند بازیجۀ این رژیم سراپا دروغ شوند. آقای ِ اباما سریعا در همین زمان زمام امور بین المللی را بدست خانم کلینتون که در ماههای اخیر آشتی ناپذیر بودنش را با رژیم تهران علنا در هر فرصتی که پیدا کرد بیان نمود و بسیار هم شدید، سپرد
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LOVE
They stood there on a street corner, having met at a party last week
They smiled at the secret that was too big to share - that maybe there didn't, maybe there didn't have to be a word that was said about a single thing outside of themselves, a single movie or a single book or even a single song, maybe they were enough already without a single thing that gave voice to their heart, maybe they were the voice to their heart. It was almost a way they weren't supposed to talk. Two people weren't supposed to start a romance without those outside things
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HOT
Photo essay: Radio Javan party in San Francisco
by Poriya Moazzami
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AMERICA
"If there is a war, I hope that your son will not have to go."
The father went to the librarian. She was beautiful. She did not look like there would be a war either, but he already knew that the president of a country and a librarian there could be very far apart. "Hello," he said. "I am looking for information about conscientious objector status. It is for my son." The librarian looked at the father and she thought that it was a big world. It was a much bigger world than she knew
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AMERICA
You needed to know about the hardest struggles of the people there in order to understand the land
I sat next to an old white man on the bus. I read a book and looked out the window trying to see the America that the book was talking about. I couldn't do it. The book was The Underground Railroad. I couldn't see it but that was all right. It didn't mean it hadn't happened. The old man was dying to look at the book. I could understand it. A brown-skinned guy like me learning about the real history of his country. It was strange enough for white people when a Middle Eastern-looking guy treated them as an object to be studied, rather than the other way around
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WEBCOMIC
Amir on his graphic novel "Zahra's Paradise"
Where does religious sincerity, or for that matter, religious hypocrisy, morph into political solidarity? Or pushing your question further, why are what are clearly political protests assuming a religious form? Afterall, the dispute over the elections was a political dispute. Why give it a religious dimension by chanting Allahu Akbar? Is that a sign of conformity with the Islamic Republic’s religious pretenses and hypocrisies, or, on the contrary, is chanting Allahu Akbar a way to take political protests one notch higher and strip the Islamic Republic of religious legitimacy? My hunch? The latter
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IDEAS
How can a country be democratic if its nation does not understand the meaning of the word?
My first lesson of true democracy came from an old neighbor in the early 1970’s. I was trying to explain why I felt so homesick. “Back in my town people knew me, I knew them. They would say hello on the streets and I would run into friends here and there. Many people in town knew my family. But here I’m nobody!” To which my neighbor said, “Oh, Zoe, everybody is somebody!” Everybody is somebody. Wow! Still, it has taken years to un-educate myself, erase the wrong lessons and come to understand that, no matter who you are, your existence is significant in some way
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