We Share the Road
Look closely. Look at the third set of wheels back, second set from the right. I know, I know, it is very difficult to see the tread. That’s because there is NO tread left on this tire.
Other tires on this truck were already shredding. Look, the one just in front of the bare-tread tire had some kind of exterior coating kind of thing on it, like a whole tire patch of some kind, also shredding. He is carrying a heavy load load. This is a disaster waiting to happen.
To my left is a police car.
I can’t remember? Is Kuwait the #1 most dangerous country for driving in the world, or the #2?
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Once I picked up Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns, I barely put it down again until I was finished. I found myself thoroughly involved in the lives of Mariam and Leila, unwilling even to stop to fix dinner! The author of Kiterunner has hit another home run.
There was a time when we would listen to older state department types talk – with enormous longing – about their tours of duty in Afghanistan, pre-Soviet invasion, pre-Taliban, pre-American occupation. Have you ever read James Michener’s Caravan? There are two countries I long to vist, but the countries they are now are not the countries I heard people talk about – Afghanistan and Ethiopia. Our friends loved their times in these two countries.
A Thousand Splendid Suns opens in a small village outside Herat, and then takes us to Kabul. Mariam is born harami, a bastard, of a village cleaning woman in the house of a very wealthy man. Her father builds a small hut for her mother and herself in a remote part of the small village, and visits Mariam every week. Life is simple, and difficult, but also full of kind people who visit and who are concerned with Mariam’s welfare.
After marrying, Mariam goes to Kabul and learns a new way of life with her husband, Rasheed. What fascinates me with Hosseini is that while Rashid is one of the villians of this novel, he is just a man, doing the best he can given his own upbringing and limitations. In a sense, he is “everyman”, the strutting, domineering, sometimes brutal and abusive husband we find in every culture. But Hosseini also gives him transient bouts of kindness which blow through a little less often than the transient bouts of cruelty.
He also gives us good men, in this book, in the person of Jalil, the father of Mariam, who steps up to the plate in acknowledging Mariam and supporting her and her mother, but fails to nurture in the very real way women need nurturing from their fathers in order to reach their full potential in life. Hosseini also gives us a very strong man in the book, Tariq, who, although he has only one leg, is more wholly a man than any other man in the book. I imagine that this is not unintentional. (How Kissingerian is that for a double negative?!)
Written almost entirely in the Afghan world of women, we see through the eyes of Mariam, and later Leila, the transitions in Afghanistan and their impacts on daily life. We experience happiness with them, and peaceful scenes in quiet moments, raising the children, stepping outside into the garden at night to share a cup of tea and a shared bowl of halwa.
Between the moments of peacefulness, we also experience incoming morter rounds, explosions, marauding bands of warlords, and starvation. We go into a women’s hospital under Taliban control, where there are no medications, no running water, no instruments, and an Afghani female doctor does a C-section with no anaesthesia and is required to keep her burqa on. We watch a mother abandon her role and take to her bed when her two sons are killed fighting the Soviets, we experience betrayal and we experience helplessness, and we experience a Kabul women’s prison. A Thousand Splendid Suns is a rich feast of experiences, juxtaposing the everyday chores of women around the world – cooking, raising children, laundry – with events on the world stage.
(Available from Amazon for $14.27 plus shipping.)
OJ Simpson Charged Again
And speaking of idiots, if you’ve committed a double murder and gotten away with it, why would you be so arrogant as to keep having run-ins with the cops? No matter how good the lawyers are that you hire, one day your luck runs out. With all my heart, I am hoping that this is the day for OJ Simpson.
God willing, your criminal arrogance will trip you.
The following is from CNN News, where you can read the entire story.
LAS VEGAS, Nevada (CNN) — Prosecutors on Tuesday filed numerous criminal charges against former NFL star O.J. Simpson and three other men in connection with an alleged armed robbery at a Las Vegas hotel last week.
The 11 charges include two counts of first-degree kidnapping with use of a deadly weapon; two counts of robbery with a deadly weapon; and two counts of assault with a deadly weapon.
Prosecutors say Simpson and his co-defendants — Walter Alexander, Clarence Stewart and Michael McClinton — committed kidnapping because they intended to hold or detain the two alleged victims using a weapon.
Improvements in Hell
(Our son hates lawyer jokes. Skip this one, Law N Order Man!)
An engineer died and ended up in Hell. He was not pleased with the level of comfort in Hell, and began to redesign and build improvements. After awhile, they had toilets that flush, air conditioning, and escalators. Everyone grew very fond of him.
One day God called to Satan to mock him, “So, how’s it going down there in Hell?”
Satan replied, “Hey, things are great. We’ve got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and there’s no telling what this engineer is going to come up with next.” God was surprised, “What? You’ve got an engineer? That’s a mistake. He should never have gotten down there in the first place. Send him back up here.”
“No way,” replied Satan. “I like having an engineer, and I’m keeping him.”
God threatened, “Send him back up here now or I’ll sue!”
Satan laughed and answered, “Yeah, right. And just where are YOU going to get a lawyer?”
K-Ville premiers tonight
Notice today from Amazon:
we thought you’d like to know that K-Ville, the new crime action series starring Anthony Anderson and Cole Hauser, premieres Tonight at 9/8c on FOX.
From writer and executive producer Jonathan Lisco (NYPD Blue, The District) comes K-Ville, a new police drama set and filmed in New Orleans. Marlin Boulet (Anthony Anderson) is a brash veteran of the NOPD’s Felony Action Squad, the specialized unit that targets the most-wanted criminals. He also held his post during Hurricane Katrina, spending days in the water saving lives and keeping order, even after his partner deserted him. Boulet’s new partner, Trevor Cobb (Cole Hauser), was a soldier in Afghanistan before joining the NOPD. Though committed to his new job, he’s less than comfortable with Boulet’s methods – and is harboring a dark secret.
Here is the official website:
I don’t know how to get these things and it just isn’t that important to me, but you tech-savvy people might have some fun with this. And it IS New Orleans! The music is worth a visit, just to view “Anthony gives Cole some advice about gumbo.” 😉
“Something More Serious”
I remember clearly the first time I ever felt old.
I had discovered a Lancome product, Renergie, that I loved. I have always been good at trying to keep my face “moisturized,” and had graduated up to Lancome from good old Oil of Olay. We were living in Germany once more, our son was about eight years old, and I think they formulate Oil of Olay differently for different customer bases; the smell was different in Germany (and even more different in Qatar! I think it has a sort of cumin undertone!) but I had found this Renergie stuff that glided on and smelled good and wasn’t oily or sticky, so I liked it. It was expensive, but we had a little more money now and I felt it was a splurge.
My Renergie was running out; I needed a replacement. I happened to stop by the Lancome counter at a time when there was a Lancome representative there who asked what I needed. I told her I was looking for the Renergie that I loved.
Simple question, right?
The Lancome representive stops, and looks at me closely. There is this long, uncomfortable pause as she continues to look at me. I’m frankly annoyed.
“My dear,” she starts, “You need something more serious.”
Something more serious? I’m thirty-five years old! I have not yet got any wrinkles to speak of! My skin is in great shape!
All these thoughts rush into my head as the saleslady continues to look at me seriously, and to move toward some heavier creams, which I HATE. I’m still dealing with that one word – “serious.”
I need something “serious.”
It was so devastating to me that my reaction was almost physical revulsion. I think my legs went week and shakey. Looking back, I suspect that it is part of a sales pitch, a script devised to move the customer up the scale to more and more expensive products. I think I even sensed it then, but the truth is, when someone says something like that to you, it damages a vanity that you didn’t even know you had.
I don’t think I bought anything that day. I think I stumbled out of the store and went to pick up my son from his karate lesson and sneaked back at a time when there was no Lancome lady there and bought what I really wanted – the Renergie.
But the damage had been done. Now, when I put the cream on my face I was looking in the mirror for whatever the saleslady had seen that indicated I needed something more “serious.”
It wasn’t long before I humbled myself and went back and asked what the representative thought I really needed, and we agreed on the light form – the lotion – which also went on nicely and smelled good, because how it smells really matters to me. I don’t care how good it is; if it doesn’t smell good – to me – I can’t wear it.
She moved me up to Primordiale, which I wore for years until the next Lancome representative looked at me and said brightly “I bet you would love Absolue! It will get rid of those little crow’s feet in no time!”
We all have weak spots that we don’t even know we have. If you are a man and you have read this far, you will laugh in your superior way, thinking this is just a piece of fluff. To you I say wait until your son beats you in those family wrestling matches for the first time, beats you fairly. When our son would wrestle with his Dad, I would say “I hear the antlers clanging in the forest!” as they fought for who would be the king. To you I say that the sad day will come when you are no longer the biggest bull moose in the forest, and you, too, will have that sad, humbled feeling I got when I was told I needed something more “serious.”
The advertisers of this world know our weaknesses. I am willing to bet the Lancome ladies have a script they use, to press our buttons, to expose weaknesses we don’t even know we have. My husband brings home a Men’s Health occasionally – have you ever noticed, every one of them is the same? There are articles about making your abs flat, taking vitamins and reviving your sex life – in every issue! They know where we feel bad about ourselves before we even know it, and they are making a lot of money off of our inadequacies!
And no, my friends, I don’t have any answers. Even while I know that these things are the vain, inconsequential things of this world, even while I know that this is all passing vanity, even while I try to resist, I succumb. Sometimes the temptations is too great and my spirit is too weak to stand up to their insistence that I need something “more serious.” This blog entry is merely my meager attempt to fight back.
Kuwait Blue Sky
Friday, for the first time, the really blue sky was back! There must have been a subtle shift in the wind, as all we have seen all summer has been haze, and at best, a slight lightening of the haze.
My public art for this week:
A Salmiyya power station
A giant sized rosewater bottle on 303 (Look at the sky!)
Last, but not least, I spotted another of those Palm Tree Antennas in front of the old Regency Palace Hotel. I can’t remember seeing it before, so maybe it is new. Where have YOU seen other Palm Tree Antennas?
Peter Bowen: Wolf, No Wolf
“You have to take this. You’ll really like it,” Sparkle insisted as I inwardly groaned, thinking of the TWO stacks of unread-must-reads by the side of my bed, and my already bulging suitcases.
“I know it doesn’t sound like something you’ll like,” she went on, slightly frustrated with me, with herself, “but once you start reading, you’ll get into it.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but good enough for me. I always KNOW what I think she will love, and she has done me many a favor in return, introducing me to authors and series worth reading.
“It’s about Montana. The main character is mixed Indian and French and some other things, a grandfather, and it all takes place in a small town in Montana . . . ” she sort of fizzles out. “I’m really not doing a very good job of making this interesting.”
And she sighs in frustration.
So, about a month later, just because I love my sister, I pick the book up and start reading while waiting for my husband to get home for dinner. As it turns out, he is very very late – and I am very very glad. I don’t want to stop reading!
When you first jump into Wolf, No Wolf by Peter Bowen, it takes you a minute to adjust your ear to the way they talk. These aren’t people most of us have met before. Gabriel DuPre´ is m´etis, a mixed blood. His ancestors are French who came early to the great continent that is now the US, Canada and Mexico, and they trapped and hunted, married native American wives, and developed a culture all their own. His language pattern is similar to that of the Cajun in Louisiana.
He is a cattle brand inspector in this small Montana town. His children are grown, he has so many grandchildren he can’t remember all their names. Every now and then, he pins on his deputy sherrif badge to solve a mystery in the small town of Toussaint, Montana.
Here is how Wolf, No Wolf opens:
Du Pre´ fiddled in the Toussaint Bar. The place was packed. some of Madelaine’s relatives had come down from Canada to visit. It was fall and the bird hunters had come, to shoot partridges and grouse on the High Plains.
The bird hungers were pretty OK. The big game hunters were pigs, mostly. The bird hunters were outdoors people; they loved it and knew it, or wanted to. The big game hungers wanted to shoot at something big, often someone’s cows.
Bart had bought a couple thousand dollars’ worth of liquor and several kegs of beer and there was a lot of food people had brought. Everything was free.
Kids ran in and out. The older ones could have beers. Bart was tending bar. Old Booger Tom sat on one of the high stools, cane leaned up against the front of the bar.
“You do that pretty good for someone the booze damn near killed,” said Booger Tom. “I know folks won’t be in the same room with the stuff.”
“Find Jesus,” said Bart. “It’s not too late to save your life.”
He went down to the far end of the bar and took orders. Susan Klein, who owned the saloon, was washing glasses at a great pace.
One of Madelaine’s relatives was playing the accordion, another an electric guitar. They were very good.
Du Pre´ finished. He was wet with sweat. The place was hot and damp and smoky, so smoky it was hard to see across the room. The room wasn’t all that big, either.
Madelaine got up from her seat, her pretty face flushed from drinking the sweet pink wine she loved. She threw her arms around Du Pre´ and kissed him for a long time.
“Du Pre´,” she said, “you make me ver’ happy, you play those good songs.”
. . …
Someday this fine woman marry me, thought Du Pre´, soon as the damn Catholic church, it tell her OK, your missing husband is dead now so you can quit sinning, fornicating with DuPre´.
I’ve never hung out in a bar in Montana, fiddled, or had a girlfriend named Madeleine (!), but already I feel like I know these people and this life. Peter Bowen is the Donna Leon of Montana, introducing us to the kind of crimes that happen in those sleepy looking towns we drive past on the superhighways, glancing at, or stopping to fill our gas tanks.
DuPre´ is a good man, and, like many a good man, sometimes has to do a bad thing to protect those he is sworn to protect. Policing is not pretty business.
The first story has to do with the re-introduction of wolves back into the Montana highlands, something not at all popular with those who have been raising cattle there. The second book in this two-book collection has to do with serial killers, how they stay under the radar, and how very difficult it is to catch them.
In both books, it is as much about a new way of living and thinking as it is about solving the crime. DuPre´ consults often with his friend Benetsee, the local medicine man, who sees things we don’t see. One of the FBI Agents is Harvey Wallace, also more than half native American, whose real name is Harvey Weasel Fat. The books are about how men and women fight, the nature of male friendships and female friendships, and very much about the human condition wherever we may be.
Life is short. I can never live in all these places long enough to even scratch the surface of the flavor of each variety of life. But these books help, they give us glimpses into another way of thinking, another way of doing things, and stretches our little minds just a little so that we learn to think more flexibly.
So who is going to write the Kuwait detective series? Who will take us into the diwaniyyas seeking information, who will take us out on the shoowi to gather information against those delivering drugs to Kuwait, with whom will we camp in the desert, avoiding explosives left over from the Iraqi invasion? I think his name is Anwar al Kout (the light of Kuwait!) and his wife is Suhail (the Yemeni Star!) – somewhere out there is someone who can take us into Kuwait and bring it alive. Where are you?
(You were right, Sparkle. I loved it!)
Wooo Hooooo Doctor Diamond!
I am bursting with pride. And she’s not MY daughter, I have nothing to do with her success, she’s done this all on her own. My niece, Little Diamond is now DOCTOR DIAMOND!
I don’t imagine I will remember to think of her as Doctor Diamond all the time; I will probably still call her Little Diamond.
Little Diamond, Doctor Diamond, we are all so proud of you. We dance of joy at your accomplishment, and your determination, and how very very GOOD you are! Wooo Hooooooooo!
So here is something very cool. There is a Wikipedia article that tells you all about academic dress for different levels of educational attainment. In the olden days, and at a very few universities today, gowns (like robes, kind of like abyaa3t) are worn to classes. With each level you attain – Bachelor’s degree, Master’s degree, Doctorate – you get to wear different additions – capes, hoods, etc.
Most of the time you never get a chance to wear them again after graduation. Unless you are an academic, and then you wear them for every university graduation. It is particularly colorful when all the professors troop in, very medieval, wearing their university colors and their degree colors (yes, those are different.)
Woooo Hooooo, Doctor Diamond, c’mon over here and we will have a robe made of silk with sparkles on it! Adventure Man asks if we get a family discount for consultations?
Feeding Stranded Bangladeshis
In today’s Arab Times is an op-ed piece by the Rev. Andy Thompson on the continuing plight of Bangladeship workers, whose employers stopped paying their 20KD salary PER MONTH (can YOU imagine?) and who now – only want to go home.
Over the summer, many people from many walks of life in Kuwait worked together to help try to see that these men got some food, and then tried to find a more equitable and lasting solution.
By Rev Andy Thompson
St Paul’s Anglican Church, Ahmadi
JUST before the summer holidays started, the Arab Times recorded a disturbing story about the plight of over a thousand Bangladeshi workers who had not been paid their paltry KD 20 a month for many months and so they consequently went on strike. With no money, no hope and living in appalling conditions these workers were at the end of their tether. A subsequent Arab Times article called “You can make a difference”, challenged readers to respond by at least making sure that the Bangladeshi workers did not go hungry. The story had clearly touched the hearts of many Arab Times readers and the response was fantastic. Over the last two months, food has been flowing into the Bangladeshi workers residence. I wish I could publicly acknowledge the many people who helped, but typically they gave generously and anonymously. They include both Kuwaiti and expatriate, rich and poor, Christian and Muslim. They were united in their repulsion of the inhuman and unacceptable treatment by a greedy and unscrupulous company who traded human misery for profit
You can read the rest of the article (and it is worth reading) HERE.
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