What if you kiss with your eyes open? What if you forget what it felt like? What if you smoke on the balcony? Your eyes closed. What if you strive for psychedelic self destruction? Thrive in temptation, in torture. This is not redemption, this is mutilation.
I've been free for over 5 months. It is when you stop counting that it starts counting the most...
Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, Then you begin to make it better.
You'd be surprised to know how many medical students actually prefer Scrubs over Grey's Anatomy. It might be the over dramatization in Grey, or the excessively goody too shoes Meredith with her woe-is-me attitude, or even the fact that watching TV is meant to escape daily tragedies and not add on to them. Ok so in a way, maybe I shouldn't be watching Scrubs either, maybe I should stick to The Nanny's endless reruns, but Scrubs is something a medical student can relate to and laugh at in the same time.
Which brings me to yesterday's episode on ShowComedy: My Interpretation Season 2, Episode 20. In this episode, J.D. is trying to communicate with a German patient, and at one point they're shown dancing in the hospital to 99 Luftballons.
This scene struck a chord. I had been introduced to 99 Luftballons a few years back and I loved it. Besides the fact that the song is catchy, the lyrics are expressive and right on the spot for a little Lebanese girl in a semi-torn country. Flash Forward to Scrubs' episode: I wasn't sure what to think, here they were parodying a song about the cold war, about a once divided country. However, they were harmless, they were including historical references in a sitcom, and even more so they were exposing a new generation of viewers to a song that they should listen to. And the verdict was in: Kudos!
In a way Scrubs seems like the South Park of medical shows. The writers are actually sending messages across, while offering a good laugh. And why the heck not?! (Ok so South Park is a tad more offensive but just as creative if you ask me.)
So here it is 99 Luftballons, a song about how 99 balloons floating in the air would trigger exaggerated military reactions in divided Germany in 1983.
You and I in a little toy shop Buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got. Set them free at the break of dawn 'Til one by one, they were gone. Back at base, bugs in the software Flash the message, Something's out there. Floating in the summer sky. 99 red balloons go by.
99 red balloons. floating in the summer sky. Panic bells, it's red alert. There's something here from somewhere else. The war machine springs to life. Opens up one eager eye. Focusing it on the sky. Where 99 red balloons go by.
99 Decision Street. 99 ministers meet. To worry, worry, super-scurry. Call the troops out in a hurry. This is what we've waited for. This is it boys, this is war. The president is on the line As 99 red balloons go by.
Edit: As I read these last sentences I can't help but visualize the Israeli Defense Forces and their commander actually acting this out in 2006, right before they declared and launched an incredibly disproportionate war against Lebanon.
Can you physically have writer's block? Do you necessarily have to know where ideas come out of before answering this question? Let's not laugh at the matter, this blogger has had her nose clogged and malfunctioning for a few days now and it seems to have prevented her from carrying out any mental activity. So do I really need my nose to think properly? What does that statement really entail? Bring out the crazy bells! Yes we've heard it before, some people think out of their asses, do I think out of my nose? Are the eyes the window to your soul and the nose the door to your psyche? Can this be an unprecedented epiphany moment?... Well, anatomically it does make sense, and this is a doctor-in-training's opinion!
I even went as far as to complain to P. that I feel like I am completely disconnected from the world, like there is this barrier, this shield that I am stuck behind and I cannot convey my thoughts. P, so lovingly, proceeded to reassure me that my nose will be fine but he couldn't say the same about my mental state. He blamed it on the pain killers. I blame it on the clog. That physical obstacle, like a roadblock. Like a Downtown sit-in in Beirut. (No I cannot compare it to an actual demonstration since there is no feeling of burning tires involved) So, No thoughts. No ideas. Nothing...
To cut the drama short, I guess I'm just trying to say that yes I have writer's block, yes I am congested, no I cannot carry a full conversation. Coincidence? Conspiracy? Constipation? One thing is for sure, nose trimmers are off my Christmas gift list, now that I suspect ideas come out of one's almighty breathing apparatus. Maybe one actually NEEDS the filtering hairs? The secret has traveled through centuries to reach you. Now, take good care of it.
The Mashrou's song Raksit Leila was featured in the second episode of Flying Kebab, which is like pure decadent bliss to my current being, at this very moment, like someone told me to eat crispy golden French Fries dipped in a sweet Molten Chocolate Fondant! Ok, let's not get carried away...
Flying Kebab is an independent internet video series featuring Nando, a photographer who passes one year searching for his inheritance in Lebanon. Out sizing the video world, Nando’s adventure continues on his flickr and twitter, where you can receive current updates on what he’s doing around Beirut.
I'm not sure why the Flying Kebab crew chose Beirut and Lebanon as a background to their storyline, but kudos to this seemingly random marriage of cultures. It so happens I got a glimpse of Nando himself at the Peter Dorman Inauguration Concert featuring Mashrou3 Leila, on May 4 at AUB. However, I wasn't aware of said storyline or project at the time, I remember seeing that photographer with dreadlocks, he was taking some pictures, he didn't see me, and then we both carried on with our lives. That incident wouldn't have marked me had I not read about Flying Kebab two days later, but I did and I got to connect the dots in a serendipity-like fashion, amazed at how there could be anyone and everyone around you, people who might have a truly interesting anecdote to share with you, but you just proceed, blissfully? unaware.
So let's go back to the free publicity I'm providing Mashrou3 Leila with, although they still have no idea. (Maybe I'll let them know once I start charging for my fees). This was the fourth Leila concert I attend. (Unfortunately I missed out on the biggest one of all, when they played at Basement as part of the 96.2FM competition, which they won.) Anyways, I say it again, their premise is very innovative, they sing in Lebanese Arabic with a hint of Pop-Rock and Underground Music, the lyrics, at times perplexing, convey a feeling of jadedness about relationships and the current social situation in Lebanon the younger generation has been thrown in. Check them out!
The first picture is one I took with my humble camera phone, the second is Nando's, with his Nikon D80. Amazing what a lens can do to one's outlook and perspective!
The bigger problem is when you solely emphasize the good. That imbalance, these delusions lead to self-destruction. Take time to notice. Listen closer. Shut up.
I have yet to know what these signs are about. The projected distance leads to Wadi Abou Jmil or the Starco Area. But it doesn't seem to be in the Mission Culturelle Exhibition Space or is it?... The style is very reminiscent of Zena Al Khalil's artwork. So here I am collecting hints and indications... Help! --Clue Number 1 near AUB and Clue Number 2 on the street leading to Saifi from Monot, aka No Man's Land in Wartime.
My PC crashed again. It's become the norm once every three months. This time however I decided to go back to my cherished Mac. Reminds me of a post by the sandmonkey not too long ago, he says:
...So, you are a woman, and you are co-dependent on your boyfriend Microsoft, whom you've been with for a long long time. Now, Microsoft isn't a great boyfriend, actually, he kinda sucks. He takes away your money when he can, he is flawed, he is always sick, he rarely performs well consistently, and he keeps going through phases and incarnations that are making him worse by the day (i.e. his fuck-ups increase with age). But he has been there forever, and you are used to him: You know how he operates, you don't have to expect much from him, and when you want to push him to do things, he can actually be pretty good. But really, he is a project and a headcase, and nothing to write home about.
Google[Macbook in my case]is a different boyfriend. Google is smart, Google is slick, Google knows exactly what you need and Google keeps improving day after day. Google is the helpful sweet guy that surprises you every once in a while with a very helpful gift, and he only wants your gratitude and friendship. He is pretty out there with his ideas, but he follows through with them, and is pretty much self-motivated and driven. The problem with google is that he is too good to be true: You are not really sure why he loves you, or keeps treating you well, but you suspect that there is a malicious reason behind it all: That the moment you give in totally to him, and become totally dependent on him, his real face will show itself and it will be an ugly controlling one. And while this could be due to your low-self esteem, your belief that no one will really find anything to love in you the way google seems to and skewed paranoid thinking thanks to years of abuse on the hands of Microsoft, it doesn't help that Google seems to have a serious case of hate towards Microsoft, even if it's repressed and only shows itself occasionally. Actually, it only stokes your belief that Google is waiting for the inevitable day when you leave Microsoft for him, so he can stick his tongue out in Microsoft's face while doing a lewd dance of victory. And what a horrible day that will be for Microsoft: dumped, abandoned and broke, after more than 20 years together. Would you have the heart?...
Thank you Sandmonkey, I couldn't have said it better! Ok, the problem runs deeper: I finally settled for Microsoft because it's an easier way to share files especially in Lebanon, and even though my Mac does support Windows, it just felt non kosher plus it wouldn't take my pirated Microsoft version, so there! You caught me.
Anyways, surprise surprise in my Mac's archives:
I must say I love looking back at pictures, letters and movie stubs, I'm amazed at all the silly memories one can compile.
Friends moving back, friends leaving for good yet again. Friends breaking up, friends finally confessing true love to each other. Friends getting into physical fights, friends getting in trouble over something said. Friends found after five years, friends no longer as such. I sit and watch. The silent observer takes it all in, sometimes approving, sometimes not, but mostly amazed at the way things can only go round and round. Especially in a country like Lebanon, some sort of bottomless recycle bin, where everybody comes back in your life in a way or another, but never the same. Reminds me of an episode of Seinfeld "The Opposite" where Jerry discovers that everything seems to even out in his life. Where even George becoming Elaine and vice-versa fits perfectly in the grander scheme of things where Seinfeld himself always breaks even.
Elaine : What's all this? Jerry : Played cards last night. Elaine : Oh yeah? How'd you do? Jerry : Broke even. Elaine : You always break even. Jerry : Yeah, I know; like yesterday I lost a job, and then I got another one, and then I missed a TV show, and later on they re-ran it. And then today I missed a train, went outside and caught a bus. It never fails! I always even out!
Ah the simple pleasures in Life. Here we were on a bright Tuesday morning, passing by AUB's main gate on our way to class, thinking to ourselves how we gave up life's diversions, gratification and indulgence by getting into Medical School, and how by now a good plan consists of having some time out while watching a DVD. And there they were, those professional Tango dancers moving to upbeat and fiery Latin music blasting from two speakers set up right in front of College Hall. It was a scene right out of an indie movie. We sat on the stairs to take in some of this truly positive energy offered by this very unusual setting in the middle of AUB's campus. And there among intense Latin passion, music, and moves, a feeling of elation flooded me, as if sitting on the Montmartre Stairs, in an artists gathering, living up to my Bohemian Fantasy, remembering Charles Aznavour. I was happy.
So maybe it's still possible to let go, forget class for a day, forget one's responsibilities and whatever is expected and taken for granted, just sit there, enjoy the display, and choose the background you want for your own life. And maybe AUB should make it a habit to play some music between classes...
I was able to take some pictures with my camera phone, I edited them in ACDSee since photoshop is down. Yes, I have editing fever, even if it's unorthodox, I just love changing the color here and there and coming out with different versions.
As for the Tango Festival at AUB, you can still catch some of the activities where world-renowned musicians and performers of Argentinean Tango will perform shows and lead instructional workshops and master-classes for participants of all levels.
That last picture was taken at 7 am, on a regular Tuesday morning, a couple of weeks ago. I had arrived early at AUB. Nothing out of the ordinary. That day, however, I decided to pass on my regular hot water plus Nescafe and Coffeemate instamix, or what my beloved Kiosk Owner Fadi calls coffee. Instead, I indulged in an overpriced Krispy Kreme American Coffee, Black No Sugar, the way God intended it. I took my car down to Corniche, and got out to look at the serene view, to spot those early morning joggers and to try to grasp some of that morning breeze that was to calm me and guide me through another hectic day. I loved every second of it. I enjoyed it even more because I was alone, I was free to contemplate, to look into the horizon and envision how to go about the stressors in my life. Those stressors are being dealt with at the moment, and I can say that things seem under control.
I'm glad, however, that even in the midst of it all, I was able to escape and find refuge in the middle of Beirut. Who would've thought that the comfort and inspiration I was looking for were to be found only a few minutes away, in a place obscured by cars honking, fish smelling and oglers scouting? Forget Everything Around You. Give In. Seize The Day.
I'm Lebanese, we don't interact with squirrels. We only read about them in books, just like this mystery sentence I kept coming across over and over again while growing up, never to understand its exact meaning: "ALWAYS look left and right before crossing, even at a red light". -What's that device that is the so called red light???. Oh, but Lebanon is getting modernized as we speak! And you thought we're still a third world country? (The shock and horror on my face!) We HAVE red lights! HA! Oh, cars have to stop when said lights turn red? Why fret over such insignificant formalities? We'll work something out eventually! And so, to get back to the essence of today's rant, it is only natural that my first encounter with an animal of the sort, a squirrel, leaves that special something something in my memory files. He was a New Yorker, in Central Park. I was 11 years old, I caught him looking at me. I was intrigued and flattered, and just as curious as he was if not more! My books were coming to life. I was Alice in Wonderland! That is when I snatched the camera from my mother's lap and started running after him with all the power my tiny 11 years old legs could provide me. To no avail. The cheeky little beast had mastered the skills of hide and seek.
My disturbed little mind dreamt of me cheating on my hairdresser and getting caught in the act. I've had about 12 hairstylists, not counting the one night stands. Just last week I had a close encounter with three of them on separate occasions. Having a hairdresser is just like being in a relationship: you have to keep looking for the perfect one,(and I'm still in my everlasting quest). They all start off great, trying to show off their skills, something worthy of a mating dance to say the least and then the magic is gone. They start slacking off, you want to voice your concern but you're too scared to hurt their feelings, there are things that you would like to improve, but you can't sound too picky or demanding. And so, one of these days, you go astray, you start looking elsewhere to relive that satisfaction, and out of nowhere, usually for convenience purposes, you go into that parlor next to your workplace (because your original hairdresser is closer to home), and Yes! you like the final result. You dump the first one or try to juggle both, depending on your location and/or sought after style of the week. Then that new relationship cools off too, sometimes too quickly. And you become increasingly frustrated. And as you keep looking, you slowly reminisce about how perfect your hairstyle was when you first started courting that stylist next to your house. But how will you ever be able to go back? He will notice the haircut and he will demand an explanation as to where you have been for the past couple of months. And even if you brave the obstacles and you do decide to go back, there is a reason why you left in the first place. Have you forgotten all the carelessness and neglect?! How can you get him to be as attentionate and committed as when you first started off? And so I am still looking. I've had hairdressers in Hamra, Mansourieh, Hazmieh, Dekwaneh and Jal El Dib, some might say I'm hairdresser promiscuous and that I can't commit. However, in my defense, I'd like to believe that I'm still looking for THE ONE. He's out there, maybe even playing with somebody else's hair at this very moment. And until then, Until I find him, I will have to brush off that guilt of being too much of a hair floozy. And I will ignore any recurrent dream involving me, my hairdressers and cheating.
Hoping the message goes through, since what started as a futile exercise in glorifying a measly lowly grasshopper to the point of having it believe I truly fell in love with it through words, ended up in a lesson about how one's passion for expression can be misunderstood. For it is that feeling itself that I tend to long for, to a far greater extent than the apparent object of my desire. This goes to show you (and the world, one reader at a time :) that you can be passionate about anything no matter how insignificant and tis only those with a truly exaggerated self opinion who will dramatize it instead of appreciating it.
Yes I have just watched Pride and Prejudice, hence the language, excusable and understandable if it is not much to ask.
