Doctor Butcher. Doctor Play Nice.

I've been busy.

The General Surgery rotation is now over, and I decided to venture into a Cardio-Thoracic Surgery Elective, not because I'm Wonder Woman and I want to save the lives of those who probably need it the most but because it's about time I take my mini summer vacation, and being the planktons that we are as Med III students, the Attendings would rather excuse us from watching all the operations than having extras bothering them with their useless presence in delicate procedures. Understandable and most Welcome I say!

Looking back at the rotation I spent 6 Weeks on, I must say it's been almost perfect. True I have nothing to compare it to, but being the overzealous medical student who just started her Clinical Years and who wants to learn everything and anything I really enjoyed shadowing our Interns and Residents, learning the ins and outs of the hospital, getting special attention from the Physicians who found our group of students "cute" and worthy of bestowing information upon... Note that we are deemed "cute" because we are about 10 Girls and 2 Guys, a rarity in the medical field and especially in the Surgery Department at AUH where only one Resident is Female (although questionable) and none of the Attendings. So as one other Resident put it: you girls are gonna miss the Surgery Rotation. And if you wonder why, if you wonder how, well because we're probably going to seek that extra attention, never to find it again...

So the Surgery Department was our mini oyster, and we indulged. Does it really matter if on the last day we were dismissed in a hurry? Without the farewells and the waterworks? Does it really matter that it dawned on us that we weren't the first "cute" group to roam the 10th floor at AUH, all smiles and heels? It was good while it lasted. It was about time to move on. Yes it was...

And now you wonder, what kind of a Physician am I growing into? Is the Hospital merely a playground for this unethical, unmotivated Blogger? No. The medical and clinical practices have never felt as gratifying for me as these past few weeks. I was the student who got to the Hospital 15 minutes early to look at the chart and find out what happened overnight, I was the student who took extra shifts to admit new and interesting cases, I was the student who prepared extra talks to learn more about the Child-Pugh scale or IV bags... And I wasn't the only one. Which brings me to the eagerness of Medical Students to become Doctors, we want to learn, we want to be proactive, we want to make a difference... And so enough self gratification, there is something more important on this blogger's mind...

When do you lose this eagerness towards making a difference and replace it with a feeling of extreme and ultimate superiority, even superior to human kind? When do you start overworking yourself not for the greater good but to show off your new techniques (whether followed by complications or not) and to break your own records in the amount and speed of the operations you perform? I see it everyday: Certain Physicians using their unequivocal power to operate on patients, merely for the extra Admission to the Hospital, or the Case Report if the Operation is too risky, or the fact that another Surgeon refused to Operate and they want to prove a Point. This is what Surgery has come down to in certain clinics (and I stress not all), an Abuse of Power and Human Lives without an ounce of Regret or Conscientiousness.

Should I mention the patient whose Ejection Fraction was under 20 percent, meaning he was near a Heart Failure, who Dr. (and I'm even pondering whether I should be mentioning his name here, because he is that powerful, which makes me reflect as to how ideal of a Physician I am being here, getting sucked into the hierarchy to watch my own back...) so who Dr. X (no I will not mention his name for the time being), Dr. X admitted the patient for a symptomatic gallbladder, risking having him never come out of the operating room just because another physician refused to admit him and if the patient were to make it through, it will be recognized that Dr. X has done it again and not that it's merely the poor patient's good fortune. Not that it's become purely a game of luck and statistics with said Dr. X whose many failures are not even properly documented, and a few out of thousands of risky operations are bound to yield a favorable outcome...

So you think the barbarity would end here, that it's already unethical enough. Well you're mistaken. Because Dr. X's Obsessions do not only relate to how many Operations he can do, or how many terminal cases he can get into the Operating Room, but also and maybe even more importantly: How Fast he can finish said Operation. Yes, Dr. X is obsessed. He will never fail to mention that he can operate on a patient in Seven Minutes, and you listen in awe thinking to yourself, Wow this guy must be good, but then you go into the Operating Room, you see the amount of stress under which he puts everybody around him, and you see him at work. He does have skills I admit, but he is brutal to say the least. And taking that same operation as an example, that critical case that must have been handled with care, I can't help but re-picture him trying to get the Gallbladder out of the incision he had made, and the gallbladder, having stones in it was found to be a bit tricky to pull out, so he kept pulling and pulling and screaming, he managed to move the table and the patient towards him, having the patient at an almost 45 Degrees with the table just by pulling the gallbladder from inside his body... Can you picture the savageness? The trauma? What makes the difference between a surgeon and a cattleman?

And yet it doesn't end here, said Physician managed to have intra-op bleeding because he was in such a hurry to finish the operation, an operation that should have no complications whatsoever, and so to achieve hemostasis he decided (as it has been the norm with him) to carbonize the bleeding part and then some, ending up with a burnt liver. Because as he says anything carbonized doesn't bleed, and yes the liver can regenerate to an extent, but what about the prolonged and sub-optimal healing process post extensive burning? He just does not care because his mission ends on the Operating Table, that is where the Medical Records end too.

I'm done, this was one Case Report from a Medical Student's point of view, from a more humane point of view. I will not mention the extra operations that he convinces patients of, although they don't seem to need it necessarily, like removing the gallbladder to get heartburn relief... This might not be as risky, but it's just as immoral. And so, sometimes I wonder, being the silent observer that I am, maybe, since I am not there when patients discuss their medical issues with the physician before being admitted to the hospital, maybe they tell him things he can pick up on and then they fail to mention them to me on admission, or I am just not as experienced to notice and interpret them. Maybe he is taking the right decision after all... Maybe I am just turning a blind eye like everybody else around me, before me and coming after me. Who knows?

And If Tomorrow Never Comes.

There's something about the 20th or 20 something that just screams lucky number to my ears. Let's share this although my blogging is scarce. Today was eventful to say the least, from (and let's try to put it nicely) unprofessional teasing in front of the sickly, (I'm sorry, I shall behave), to Goodbyes, to Surprises, to Welcome Backs!

And just when I thought the highlight of my day would be saying bittersweet goodbyes, with the hug and cued in Casablanca Soundtrack in the background, I get a phone call only thirty minutes later, and I drop the cigarette. Yes, yes that cigarette I wasn't supposed to be smoking since I quit more than 2 months ago. But then and there, I said to myself what the hell, I shall indulge. So let's get back to the series of events, I drop the cigarette and I scream... Welcome Back.

Stop, Reset, Rewind, Forward.
And yet another Goodbye in 10 days.
Is it true that Lebanon is now nothing more than a pit stop?

--Casablanca, Here's looking at you Kid.

Pinch Me. I'm Human.

L. was asking me about one of my previous relationships as she was trying to draw similarities between her current one and mine, in an attempt to elucidate what might become of her and her boyfriend. You see he's not Lebanese, he lives abroad where they met before she moved back to Lebanon for good, and he will be coming to see her in Beirut, in a few days. Just like you and me. Just like us, a year ago. But that's not the point. The point is, as a matter of fact, a general feeling of disbelief and jadedness as to how I could have forgotten all that happened so easily. I'm not sure why and how, I'm really not...

And as I sit and wonder, was it because it was time? Was it the distance? Was it the natural course of things that only a step back was able to achieve? Was it the fact that I got distracted by peripheral events? Was it?...

I just wonder how affectionate and sentimental of a person I can actually be if I was able to throw away four years of my life just like that, with no regrets. I'm not sure what to think of this, that exact feeling of nothingness that I felt when my grandfather passed away, that complete disregard. It scares me...

It even makes me wonder about the times when I really felt passionate and emotional enough to notice. Was it only because I wanted to attain my goal? Was it pure ambition or were there any sentiments involved whatsoever? Is that why I lost interest in some instances where I was actually capable of reaching my target? And will I ever have genuine vulnerable feelings?...

Bliss on Corniche.

The Peace and Quiet of a day at the beach. This little gem, more so a diamond in the rough, is the AUB Beach. And, while in the area, this blogger had the opportunity of stealing a couple of precious hours to lay in the sun, turning from side to side, listening to music, going in for a dip, nothing out of the ordinary, just pure decadent laziness.
What's nice about the AUB beach is how accessible it is, AUB students and staff can go in anytime and they can bring guests, so keep your swimsuit in the trunk and whenever in the area go down for an hour or two.
--Beach Goers Frolicking in the Sun.
Expect to be greeted by fishermen, some foreigners (exchange students) and a few kids learning how to swim. But mostly, expect to savor the un-pretentiousness and simplicity of this place that has been able to withstand the rapid and disproportionate glamorization of Beirut. Here you come to tan, swim, fish, read. Champagne bottles not allowed.
--AUB Beach on a Background of Ain El Mreisseh.
One of the fishermen actually spent four hours on the same chair in the exact same position waiting for providence. Ah the good life. The tranquility. The Bliss.
--The AUB Fisherman.
I secretly wondered what was going through his mind.

Teaching Rounds 101.

So what have I learned about the First week of rotating in the hospital as a Third Year Medical Student?

I've learned that Interns and Residents will want to do anything to keep the hierarchy and thus will occasionally act as your superior to remind you that even though you're just as old, and maybe even slightly more informed about a particular disease or another, they can still get you in trouble if they feel like it.
On the other hand, they can just as well be extra nice and invite you over to their On Call Room when on duty, an offer you should politely decline if you don't want to end up standing awkwardly in the farthest spot you can find, giving a talk about your critically ill patient while the resident is laying on the bed, and you poor helpless medical student, you keep imagining him playing with his toes while trying desperately to withhold hysterical and uncomfortable bouts of laughter.

I've learned that you never know who your Patient will turn out to be. And even though you should treat all of them equally and professionally, you will eventually find out that you should not be using a systematic approach, and not only because of that oath of empathy and sympathy that you pledged (and earned a pin for doing so), but because they might turn out to be enriching to your social and communal network of interesting people you stumbled upon.

I've learned that Nurses seem to be doing all the work and having the most exposure with the patient, so you'd better stay on their good side. That is of course besides the fact that they know the ins and outs of the hospital, along with when and where free food is served. They will also keep your belongings safe, especially in a hospital where not even a private locker is provided to you, regardless of the hefty tuition you're coughing up.

I've learned that the Attendings are, up until today June 23 2009 at 8.17 pm, the friendliest in the food chain and the most accessible. I document this impression thoroughly and with the utmost precision, because I have a feeling this finding might change in days to come. Nevertheless, attending physicians seem to be seeking medical students to bestow upon them all the knowledge they have acquired and some extra rewards like freshly picked berries, (thank you Dr. WGF).

I've learned that in the Operating Room, anything goes. I have yet to witness the urban legends about physicians throwing scalpels at students and residents, but I have already heard them shouting for no particular reason and making sure everyone in the room understands that they are the Kings of the castle, the Lords of the domain, the Alpha and the Omega, although they will be all smiles and winks once out of their scrub suit. So if you have a beef with your resident and you're desperately seeking revenge, follow them to the Operating Room, you can be sure they will get yelled at, at least once, even if their performance is fairly appropriate, it never seems to fail.

I've learned that the constantly lauded and stressed upon Ethical Behavior seldom leaves the classroom. And the lower your rank the more conscientous you are. I will not generalize, but Yes, physicians disclose full medical and social histories in crowded elevators, with names and family members mentioned. Yes, they mistreat OutPatient Department patients (as opposed to private ones). Yes, they will keep the patient for an extra day or two in the hospital if insurance covers their stay. Yes, they will fail to adequately scrub in risking nosocomial infections during an operation. Yes, the most famous ones are the ones who might be a pure source of revenue for the hospital rather than diligent physicians. Yes, some deaths can and should be avoided especially with infection control.

I've learned that I love medicine. I love clinical practice. Heck, I even love surgical procedures although I was very skeptical about the latter to start with, seeing how I hated the Anatomy course, and my surgery summer elective in Barcelona. (Which might be explained by the lack of proper communication, since for some weird reason, Catalans have taken it upon themselves to refuse to master proper English).

I've learned that your most potent tool is People Skills, People Skills, People Skills. Whether you are communicating with the resident, the intern, the attending or the patient.

I've learned that the best communication should be among your group members to keep a unified front and a consensus regarding sharing tasks and responsibilities.

I've learned that I have yet to Learn, that this is only the Beginning, so Here's to Medical School and to a successful Medical Career. Chin Chin and Salute.

A New Episode. A New Chapter.

A New Episode:
Tomorrow night (Thursday June 18, 2009) at 7.30 pm. Catch the Flying Kebab team and their loyal (even though somewhat recent) fans at Kababji on Bliss Street in Hamra, for a screening of the Third Episode in the Kebab Saga, and a Brazilian male duo singing Fairuz? (not sure if they will deliver on that, and frankly not even sure I want them to). If you can't make it, watch the Third Episode Online.

A New Chapter:
So much to rant about! This humble blogger has moved up in the world of Medicine and is now a certified paperwork filler and filer in the American University of Beirut Medical Center (or AUH), otherwise known as a Med III Student. Ok, so let's bask in the glory, I have patients! And yes, I am part of the Medical Team that roams the corridors of a 10 stories high hospital, occasionally with high heels. I will be tackling this subject a bit more seriously in the next few days.

--Actual Depiction. True Story.

Of Listening and Lessons Learned.

When you decide to listen closer and deeper, just listen, you can't help but realize how much people actually talk about themselves and complain about everything else. And then when they ask you, two hours into the conversation, how you're doing, you can only reply with "Everything is fine"...

I am truly grateful for my blessings. And the biggest one of all: Satisfaction, Fulfillment, Contentment...

Point and Cry.

What difference does it make now to say I told you so and to gloat in poetic justice? You proved worthy of your misery!

Flying Kebab. Shooting Stars.

The Flying Kebab group is picking up on Facebook. Join to get the latest news and behind the scenes photos and updates. If you haven't watched Episodes 1 and 2 yet, what are you waiting for? Go to Flying Kebab.
For some weird reason, my instinct tells me these guys are gonna have quite the fan base in Lebanon (and Brazil?), I'm loving the idea!
Yay for more documentaries about Lebanese culture as seen in the eyes of foreigners. (Because foreigners can pick up details that Lebanese might take for granted). And yay for the collaboration with Lebanese artists who can add a true local spirit to the series.

Je T'aime...Moi Non Plus.

What's in a blog? Yes I've had my share of rants here, but when it really matters, when it's intense enough to hurt or bewilder in delight, when it enslaves me and shakes me to the core, I can't seem to be able to reproduce it in words for everyone to read, I can't seem to be able to be that transparent, and maybe I shouldn't be. But then what's the point? Is it merely the writing itch, expression fever, the communication bug?

Something happened yesterday, but I can't get myself to name the protagonists, to recreate the entrancing scene, to draw the intricate details that made it so... I can't because then I will become vulnerable, I will have to admit to what happened and what lead to it. I will have to admit to the world but even more so to myself what it really felt like, how I perceived it, risking misinterpretation and disillusionment. No. So I resort to expressing myself in these cryptic declarations. Maybe hoping for the message to go through, maybe hoping for the feelings to get transcribed, to transcend this page...

I loved every minute of it. Getting out of bed at 2 am, turning my computer on, finding you. How I love that we're not together.

Listening to:

--Je t'aime... moi non plus-- Serge Gainsbourg

Of Miles And Stones.

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.

I've been smoke free for 12 days.

99 Luftballons.

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.

Scrubs - 99 Red Balloons

99 LuftBallons, Nena. English Translation.

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.

Ode To Lebanese Plastic.

Who Nose? Or The Death Of The Nose Trimmer.

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.

Mashrou3 Leila And The Flying Kebab.

Another Mashrou3 Leila free and unsolicited plug.

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!

Of Uninspired Revelations.

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.

Inspector Clouseau And The Pink Panther.

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.

Taking Time To Shut Up And Listen.

-- Just Listen.

Too Cool For School.

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.

Run In A Perfect Circle.

Because the world is round
It turns me on.

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!

La Boheme.

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.

-- Tango In Beirut, April 2009.

Phone Uploads

Them' Cell Phone Pictures Of Mine.

--Bekaa Valley, Chateau Kefraya April 2009.

--Shadow Over Kefraya.

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.

Listening to Susan Boyle, Dare I Say "Vintage"?

Songs 11.07 pm

-- Keane, Somewhere Only We Know.

Did you know that imeem doesn't have Mind Games by John Lennon? This was the song originally in my head.
Actually scratch that they have the video:


John Lennon - Mind Games

Mom, What's an Ecosystem?

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.

S. and The City

Andy Warhol.

Today, Andy Warhol on display at the Geant Supermarket.

--This IS Campbell's Soup.

That Monday Breakfast.

What more can a girl ask for?

--Of Chocolate and Cognac.

Forbidden

You're my fries and ketchup.

Hairdrescuous

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.

Dear Sir

R: Tomayto Tomahto Grasshopper Praying Mantis.

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.

Grasshopper Hopping on Steel.

--A grasshopper at a crossroad.

To you, grasshopper hopping on anything but grass.
Yes, you might be suspecting that you're skinny and green, and so you think you're pretty, so slender and svelte. Almost a dragonfly, but not quite. You walk slowly at first, you tease. You have me captivated, anticipating a graceful Bolshoi worthy leap. Oh but wouldn't you know it, you arrogant grasshopper you, you just walked away depriving me from that much awaited and contemplated performance.
Yes, again it's true, I wish I hadn't seen you oh grasshopper you, so I can imagine you and fantasize about how exquisitely perfect it might have been.

Mashrou3 Leila

--Mashrou3 Leila at the Hostler Auditorium, AUB

Hats and burkas off, they managed to eclipse Salma of the Ziad Rahbani and Salma. Not that we're comparing, or maybe just a little.

Spring Cleaning

I am at a loss as to where to classify you, file you and/or dispose of you. Are you the nice ex-boyfriend turned friend? Or the jerk who I can't tolerate? Or the once cherished love story that will come back to agitate my calm and relaxed being every once in a while? What do I make of YOU? Where do you fit in my seemingly well organized memory files? Mbala enta waynak? Waynak... Until then, and once again, goodnight and goodluck!

Instrumental.

Experiencing And Documenting Apprehension.

As I'm being flooded with bad news to worse, I sit back to reminisce about the last bit of good news I received. And it seems diluted in a sea of mishaps. To the point that I have become wary of what the future holds. This is a new feeling to document. I have always lived in shallow but very persistent denial of "bad things might happen to you" until they started hitting me one after the other. You just can't ignore them anymore.

Fortunately(?) I didn't get myself here, all the stories are governed by external forces, out of my reach. However, somehow, this makes them more discouraging since they involve fate, inevitability, and the questioning of the essence of life and the purpose of it all...

And, as I look back at a picture taken two weeks ago I can only think of how ironic it is for us to celebrate life the way we unintentionally do: An acquaintance of mine had to go through the unfortunate experience of losing his best friend at the ripe age of 25. And so he took the first plane back home to attend the funeral and pay his respects to the deceased and his family. He was genuinely saddened and distraught. Later that night, he teared up over that glass of whisky we shared in Gemmayzeh when his friend was mentioned. Yes life goes on. Yes he was truly touched, it wasn't an act. Yet he decided to take advantage of his one night stay in Lebanon to see his friends, those still alive, and to take in as much of his homeland as possible. He was celebrating life as he knows it and the deceased wouldn't have wanted it any other way...

But it made me stop. And I looked and wondered about the irony of it all. And how in the same time, when two days ago, another acquaintance died a tragic death, someone else I know was experiencing the best day of her life yet to come, her engagement day.

العرب جرب

The title, although not tactful enough, shows the anger of many Arabs (and those Lebanese who do not consider themselves Arabs, which is a completely different tangential story) with their governments, their compatriots and their supposedly "sister" countries. It also mirrors the last scenes of Waltz With Bashir showing real footage of the Sabra and Shatila camps post-massacre, with a woman wailing at the camera "Waynoun l3arab la yshoufo! Khalliyoun yshoufo!" (*Not word for word, acceptable nonetheless.) Translation: "Where are the Arabs so they can see [what is happening]? Let them see!"

I go back to Waltz With Bashir today, because I just noticed comments on my post on news.beiruter.com, by Joseph Hitti and Sultan El Qassemi. And although I wish I can do both justice by answering, I am unfortunately not in any place in my life at the moment to be able to follow up a much needed and lengthy discussion. However I would like to publish a passage of Mr. Hitti's post here, (And Thank you both for your insight.)

You know why there is no moral dilemma worth making movies and writing books and establishing inquiry committees for the Damour massacre? Because it does not involve Westerners and Israelis. In the condescending mindset of the racist elitist Western and Israeli Left, Arabs are supposed to kill Arabs and there is nothing shocking about it. In fact, it is expected and therefore does not pose a moral dilemma. Only when a morally superior being - like an Israeli or a Westerner - becomes involved in gruesome acts – even as an observer - that the floodgates of moral angst open up to a deluge that has yet to stop 30 or 40 years later.

Touché, I agree. But then you say:

Another reason why the Lebanese feel insulted by that subtle moral superiority argument is that no one bothers to look at the real victims and the real perpetrators of the Sabra-Shatila massacres: The Palestinian refugees and the Christian militias. Isn’t it there that the real horror must be the most striking, instead of the placid ruminations of an observer? What drove the Christian militias to commit this act? What is the narrative from the perspective of the butchers? Would these massacres be minimally justified – as attenuating circumstances – if the Christian militias committed Sabra-Shatila in a direct act of revenge against the Damour massacres, as is generally well known? (Read the rest here).

Yes, it seems the Lebanese are looking for justice in this story, or the real unwinding of events, but what does the Western media or an Israeli filmmaker have to do with this? Why or how would they be able to relate that story? Maybe you are right, maybe going to the screening, I was personally looking for some kind of enlightenment regarding that massacre or any other during the Lebanese civil war, maybe that is why I was partly disappointed, maybe I felt Ari Folman was not being truthful, but maybe only because he doesn't have the real facts and he can't even come close. (Although I am still perplexed at the way Folman only briefly mentions the whole Israeli invasion of 1982, and in a very casual way to say the least).

So let's tell a Lebanese to open those history files and make a documentary, (not the kind of tear-jerking romanticized war movie, trying hopelessly to stay out of the real context, so that it can appeal to all audiences) and let's have a screening in Beirut. And let the denouncements, the hypersensitivity, and the outrage begin!

Post-War Lebanon is not mature enough. What's even worse is that it's extremely virtuous and holy of me to talk but I will probably be just as bothered by a movie that is relating the story with what might be a biased point of view in my book. Because I have to admit, it's hard to tolerate those who might point fingers at one party and not another. (Yes I see the weakness here, and I am most willing to work it out). I am realistic nonetheless, my family was in the middle of this, Yes it is personal.

However, here is some positivity to end on, a good chunk of the 80's generation seems more flexible (me included) and ready to open talks and maybe even admit that in a civil war our parents were probably as guilty as "the others", maybe less, maybe more, but they played a part. And instead of continuing the legacy, instead of paying our parents' dues, we can confront this, admit it, forgive it and forget it. We are all on that same sinking boat.

Which brings me to UMAM, A Lebanese Association for Cultural and Artistic Exchange. UMAM is a non-profit organization whose work revolves around collecting documents and archiving anything related to the Lebanese civil war. Please do Check their Website.

Empty Words. Empty Of Words.

And so I can only listen.

OverHeard

Overheard at the screening of Waltz With Bashir in Beirut.
The bartender asking a bald man standing:
-Are you the movie director?
Yes I'm sure Ari Folman, the Israeli veteran, was roaming the streets of Beirut that night.

...

Waynak...

Waltz With Bashir

I had the chance to see Waltz With Bashir at a public/unofficial screening in Beirut. I must say at first I didn't like the movie. For me, it didn't deliver. But deliver what? What was I expecting? I wanted Ari Folman to apologize for all the massacres the Israelis have carried out against the Lebanese. And if that's what you're looking for, you'll be disappointed. Folman doesn't apologize, he doesn't even come close, for him the whole Israeli invasion was to support Bashir Gemayel and the Phalangists, especially during the Sabra and Shatila massacres. Some say it's true, the Israeli army didn't partake in the killing in these two Palestinian camps, however they surrounded the perimeter to hold a cover for the Lebanese militia who were getting their hands dirty. And Folman wonders how and why they stood there watching while others were carrying out murder and carnage.
And so the movie is made for you to feel with the Israeli soldier and to sympathize with his suffering and his post-traumatic experience during his invasion of another country. My country. And I can see how foreigners can appreciate the picture, I could too, once I separate my emotions and look at it as a work of art for the sole purpose of having this veteran soldier understand why he was enlisted in the army and why he was sent to kill and defend his own in this way. So yes, the movie is well made, the scene when one of the soldiers holds his MAG and starts waltzing in the middle of the crossfire is extremely powerful, and thought provoking. It doesn't help me sympathize with the Israelis however, maybe I can feel sorry for Folman as a human being, maybe I can see the irony of it all with people on both sides having their inner humanitarian side conflicting with the bigger scheme of things that makes them fight against each other, and it almost makes me want to extend my sympathy and friendship. But it doesn't. There's been too much hurting. Too much hate has built up.
I must say I welcome any individual, and having lived in New York, the city with probably the most extensive Jewish lobby in the States, I have had Jewish friends and acquaintances and we're still in touch. So no, I'm not anti-semitic, I do see the difference. I can even understand that some Israelis are suffering from this conflict too, I can see the other side of the coin, and I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But this doesn't change the facts, this doesn't change the misery they've put us in, time and time again. And yes, I hate Israel. I hate the government and its army.
And to the day I'm not sure how to resolve my own personal dilemma, because those I meet, some of who are part of that same Jewish lobby that is supporting the Israeli government both financially and politically, those are good people, doing the greater good for their own countrymen. Ironically one of them, Dr. R. takes care of Israeli veterans and helps them get treated in the States, at the best institutions, to deal with any war injury they might have suffered from, whether physical or psychological.
So in the end, maybe we're all connected, maybe we should rise above these differences, but no, not yet in my case at least, these are the cards we've been dealt with, and maybe somewhere someone is laughing at all those puppets killing and hating each other while they're all one and the same. But this is not my struggle, this is not my fight. My fight is still my country, however senseless this might be. And I have learned time and time again that I can't but hate whoever hates my people. As simple as that. So Yes Israel I hate you, I hate the fact that one commander can play God and decide that "Let's bomb the hell out of Lebanon!" on a bright July morning, and so it shall be!

A Little Marketing Goes A Long Way...

Ben and Jerry's renames its butter pecan ice cream in honor of Obama, Tis now known as Yes Pecan!
--Yes Pecan!

In other news, Ben and Jerry's asked people what ice cream they might create to remember Bush:
1. Grape Depression 2. Abu Grape 3. Cluster Fudge 4. Nut'n Accomplished 5. Iraqi Road 6. Chock 'n Awe 7. WireTapioca 8. Impeach Cobbler 9. Guantanamallow 10. imPeachmint 11. Good Riddance You Lousy Motherfucker Swirl 12. Heck of a job, Brownie 13. Neocon Politan 14. RockyRoad to Fascism 15. The Reese's-cession 16. Cookie D'oh 17. The Housing Crunch 18. Nougalar Proliferation 19. Death by Chocolate 20. Death by Torture 21. Credit Crunch 22. Country Pumpkin 23. Chunky Monkey in Chief 24. George Bush Doesn't Care about Dark Chocolate 25. WM Delicious 26. Chocolate Chimp 27. Bloody Sundae 28. Caramel Preemptive Stripe 29. I broke the law and am responsible for the deaths of thousands . . . with nuts

And in Yet Other Marketing Tools:
--Absolut Return (Lebanese Expats)

Once Upon A Time...

I was asked about my earliest childhood memory. It must have been that traumatic day, during the war, when I was standing in the middle of the road, as my mother told me to stay put while she takes my sister to the shelter.
I could hear the bombs and they were close, so close that in the mind of a 3-4 year-old, the attackers were right behind that green sign in the picture, 3 meters away from my designated relay station. My mom runs towards me and picks me up in her arms and runs back to the shelter. Both my sister and I are now safe and sound, my mom crumbles...
We spent the following two days in the shelter, which conveniently communicated with a mini-market. And I thought I was the luckiest 3 year-old, eating candy and chocolate a gogo! We shared the shelter with another woman and her daughter, it was more of an underground closet space. I can even remember how saddened I felt when I dozed off only to wake up and find out that my mother had told my sister and the other girl a story about some little princess living once upon a time, in a land far far away.

La Ley Del Retiro

Pop Art

--This Is Not Campbell's Soup

...

Tonight I listened to silence and it was grand.

Gone are the tender whispers dancing in your ears
Replaced with lackluster memories you cry
Your screams play in your empty room

Blind Item: Israeli vs Jewish

The Official Website for the Lebanese elections of June 2009, lists some members as Israelis. You might think the people in charge made a mistake since Israeli is defined as a native or inhabitant of Israel (A country whose existence we don't even acknowledge). But you're wrong. Interior Minister Ziad Baroud answered the issue by saying that the Lebanese constitution, written in French in 1926, mentions the "18th sect" as Israeli. I have looked into it online but I can't find that specific word, it seems plausible however, and no I am not an expert on Lebanese Law.
There seems to be about 200 names on the voting lists with "Israeli" as their faith, I wonder how many will be voting and how many more Jewish Lebanese actually had to flee the country or change their religious affiliations on public records.

Here is a website keeping the Jewish Lebanese collective memory alive.

And here are some pictures of the Wadi Abu Jmil Synagogue I took a few months back:

--Beirut Synagogue, Nov. 2008.

--Beirut Synagogue, Nov. 2008.

The Bye Bye Bush Shoe

The company that originally made the shoe thrown at Bush has seen its sales skyrocket lately. This article was written a while ago but it's still as funny.

That Morning Bliss

I was ambushed by a herd of eligible, very muscular, young bachelors running towards me in their sweatpants today. And I sat there in my car, windows closed, at 7am, scared at first then amused, thanking the hailed institution of the Lebanese Army for their strict morning workout routine!

Of Familiar and Familiarity

--Fouad's Drawing. The one he concluded his last lecture with.
I met Fouad.
I met Dr. B.
They turned out to be the same person.
If somebody had told me two years ago that one day I will be back in Lebanon, studying medicine and that I will be meeting Fouad and he will teach me a lesson. I would've brushed it off in disbelief. But life has its ways and the fortune teller would've been right on the spot: Fouad actually taught me a whole course about Reproductive Pathology. How one's existence can twist and turn and ridicule your plans and scenarios... I never saw myself as an AUB student, I never expected to come back to Lebanon for good. I think Fouad didn't either. But low and behold here I am today, ironically writing this post in the AUB computer lab, thinking to myself how did I get here? I made some friends along the way, I learned a thing or two, I said my goodbyes to a few people, some for good, I got my heart broken, and yes I broke a few. All in a year and a half. My whole life turned upside down. I was one of the first people in my entourage to leave this country and now I might be the last one to stay. If I can be grateful for one thing, it's the precious time I spend with my parents for I know in two-years time I will leave the house to no return. It is unfortunate that this time is not as well spent as I would like it to be. I blame the circumstances, the stress, the exams, the disconnect, the independence I developed living alone. But I ramble on.
So Fouad. For some reason, you feel you know the blogger, you've read his most penetrating thoughts on a subject or another and you feel entitled to call him an acquaintance or even a friend. You can't say the same about the teacher, although you're able to interact with the latter, you're able to confront him, to see his emotions and his expressions. But you never get to be as intimate. He's your teacher, he tells you about the size a lump in a woman's breast should be to qualify as suspicious or not, but he doesn't tell you about his heartbreak, or his dissent regarding the current socio-political situation in Lebanon, or even his opinion about that book he read a few days ago. He thinks. But he doesn't tell you. And you become part of the experiences he will relate to someone else, someone he can confide in, someone like his blog readers.
I'm glad I was able to couple the person to the blog, however, they're still separate entities in my head. I still read Fouad's posts from time to time although he has stopped writing. And I can still FEEL with the blogger, I can still laugh and cry with him. The person however, that body I met is a whole different story.

4:47

4 min 47 sec. You'd think three years of my life would be worth a bit more time...

(Re)connection Failed.

How easily I can dive back into feeling blue and melancholic. As I silently wait for you to show up online, I sip on my glass of wine again, I think of the taste of a burning cigarette in my mouth, and the conformance of each episode strikes me.

The scene starts with a dark feeling, one I cannot explain with the seemingly ordinary circumstances I find myself into at the time. Then I slowly move into listening to Nina Simone, I get caught in a love letter on a random blog, all the while waiting for you to show up. I find myself in the letter, I miss you too! I loved you too... Then I pour myself a glass of wine, I want to savor every minute of my despair and nostalgia. And I start writing.

First it was the longing for home, then it was the war,
then it was more personal struggles, then it was an impossible love story, and now it's you. And I think to myself, why would I write it here? Why would I let complete strangers know my deepest and most feared feelings? What is that connection that bloggers might have? Would I ever let an acquaintance in the real world this readily into my life and into my torments?

Is it because I know I am inaccessible to any judgement behind my screen? Is it because being part of the blogosphere, people already share a common bond, a common passion to write, and thus a common understanding? Is it because I can be intimate when writing in my room, at night? That some words come out easier after midnight when my keyboard is my only outlet?

I miss you. And I love this feeling for what it is. I miss what I am when I am with you. I think I even missed feeling blue. I miss nostalgia itself. Maybe it makes me realize that yes, I still am a human being, with feelings. And I am sorry for I have been so consumed with daily life. My feelings still run deep... And you will not show up tonight.

Beirut The Band

3 Signs the Beirut Indie Band is definitely up and coming:
-Getting many more alerts with Google concerning the band than previous months.
-Averaging out an as of yet 0.8 to 1 ratio of Beirut the Band vs. Beirut The Lebanese City in Google Alerts.
-Having 1,930,000 results for Beirut the Band vs. 1,590,000 for the City.
And so time to acknowledge the one and only band that pops up in my Inbox everyday, with the oldest article I can recall:
Beirut: The Band
How a 20-year-old blogosphere star is dealing with massive hype, brutal flops, and a suddenly awkward name.By Rachel Syme Published Aug 6, 2006, New York Magazine


And What does Wikipedia have to say?
Beirut was initially the solo musical project of 23-year-old Santa Fe native Zachary Francis Condon, which later evolved into a band led by Condon. Their first performances were in May 2006, to support the release of their debut album, Gulag Orkestar. The music combines elements of Eastern European and folk with Western pop music. [...] In December 2008, Capitu, a TV Globo miniseries based on Machado de Assis' Dom Casmurro used "Elephant Gun" as its theme, making the band popular in Brazil.
On February 6 2009 Beirut made their debut television performance in the United States on Late Show with David Letterman, performing "A Sunday Smile". (Yes it seems they're making it big!)