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?”
Not Too Bright
In yesterday’s Kuwait Times was a very dramatic telling of a drug bust. Police had sighted someone suspicious in a car, upon approaching, the suspect ran, the police chased. Now, it becomes very cinematic, as the police chase, the man runs up into a building and jumps off a second floor balcony, and the policeman follows him, injuring himself. Another policeman picks up the chase and eventually the suspect is captured, only to slip right through the fingers of the police.
Pretty exciting so far, huh?
In today’s Kuwait Times, the saga continues:
Escaped Drug Dealer Chats into Custody
Following up yesterday’s on foot chase of a drug dealer in Salwa where Lt. Hamad Al-Zuwayyed was injured when he jumped off a second floor balcony to catch up with the suspect, Al-Zuwayyed never thought that the second accomplice who managed to escape arrest would be his hospital roommate. Security sources explained that while receiving treatment at Adan hospital, another patient arrived and was placed in the bed next to Al-Zuwayyed’s. Then, on chatting at night to kill time, the man told Al-Zuwayyed that he was hit by a car while being chased by a policeman in Salwa. Al-Zuwwayed immediately called the police who raided the hospital and arrested the suspect.
Don’tcha just love it???
“Middle Eastern” Honey Cake
This recipe was from a paper in Monterey, California, and was called Middle Eastern Honey Cake. I have never seen it in any country I have lived in or been to in the Middle East, and none of my friends in the Middle East have ever had anything like it. . . I almost wonder if it is East European?
But it is a treasure, because it is fast, and easy, and totally DELICIOUS!
(This recipe, the icing is more honey colored)
“Middle Eastern” Honey Cake
3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup honey
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups unsifted flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1. Combine sugar, oil, honey, eggs and vanilla. Mix until well blended. Add combined dry ingredients to oil mixture, alternately with milk, mixing well after each addition.
2. Pour batter into greased floured 9” square pan. Bake at 350 degrees 40 – 45 minutes or until wooden pick comes out clean. Cool. Frost with Honey Cream Cheese Frosting
Honey Cream Cheese Frosting
2 Tablespoons butter or margarine, softened
1 8 oz package cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup powdered sugar
4 Tablespoons honey
sprinkle salt
Blend well.
How can anything so simple be so good? I usually double the recipe and freeze one to pull out when unexpected guests show up. Sometimes I use that black honey that comes from Egypt, and if I can get it, I use Yemeni honey.
Bill Gates Meets God
An old friend sent this in the mail today – it’s an oldie but still a goodie –
Bill Gates Meets God
Bill Gates suddenly dies and finds himself face to face with God. God stands over him and says, “Well Bill, I’m really confused on this one. It’s a tough decision. I’m not sure whether to send you to Heaven or Hell. After all, you helped society enormously by putting a computer in almost every home in America, yet you also created that ghastly Windows ’95 among other indiscretions. I believe I’ll do something I’ve never done before; I’ll let you decide where you want to go.”
Bill pushed up his glasses, looked up at God and replied, “Could you briefly explain the difference between the two?” Looking slightly puzzled, God said, “Better yet, why don’t I let you visit both places briefly, then you can make your decision. Which do you choose to see first, Heaven or Hell?”
Bill played with his pocket protector for a moment, then looked back at God and said, “I think I’ll try Hell first.” So, with a flash of lightning and a cloud of smoke, Bill Gates went to Hell.
When he materialized in Hell, Bill looked around. It was beautiful and clean, a bit warm, with sandy beaches and tall mountains, clear skies, pristine water, and beautiful women frolicking about. A smile came across Bill’s face as he took in a deep breath of the clean air. “This is great,” he thought, “if this is Hell, I can’t wait to see heaven.”
Within seconds of his thought, another flash of lightning and a cloud of smoke appeared, and Bill was off to Heaven. Heaven was a place high above the clouds, where angels were drifting about playing their harps and singing in a beautiful chorus. It was a very nice place, Bill thought, but not as enticing as Hell. Bill looked up, yelled for God, told him his decision and was sent to Hell for eternity.
Time passed, and God decided to check on the late billionaire to see how he was progressing in Hell. When he got there, he found Bill Gates shackled to a wall in a dark cave amid bone thin men and tongues of fire, being burned and tortured by demons.
“So, how is everything going?” God asked.
Bill responded with a cracking voice filled with anguish and disappointment, “This is awful! It’s nothing like the Hell I visited the first time!! I can’t believe this is happening! What happened to the other place…with the beaches and the mountains and the beautiful women?”
“That was the demo,” replied God.
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.” 😉
Mosque 1, Crane 0
This is a photo for Little Diamond/Dr. Diamond who was with me coming back from Al Kout, in Fehaheel, when we saw one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
An old mosque along the side of Gulf Road was being torn down for renovations. A crane had been hired to knock down the old minaret, but as it swung the wrecking ball to hit the minaret, the ball somehow tangled or something, and the crane fell over. It stayed there for quite a while as they figured out what to do next. I wish I had a photo. We always called it Mosque 1, Crane 0.
So Little Diamond, this is for you, a photo of the new minarets going up in place of the one that bravely beat the first crane:
“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?
Ramadan Shopping: Breaking the Code
Finally, this morning, I was able to do some shopping. We are talking desperate, here, no eggs left in the house, no onions and we are getting low on milk.
I shopped on Thursday, the first day of Ramadan, with no problems. Since then, I have tried to shop Friday after church, and Saturday around two in the afternoon – both times, just the crunch in the parking lot convinced me not to even venture into the store. This was true both at the Sultan Center and at the co-op.
One friend told me that a good time is around 4 in the afternoon, but that is low energy time for me, and time when I need to be thinking about what kind of dinner I am going to get on the table. That’s not a real good time for me to be shopping. And it would also mean being on the road at a time when there seems to be a lot of traffic, which I avoid. I honor your fast, and at the same time, late in the day, your low blood sugar, sleep deprivation and caffein deprivation make you dangerous!
(once again I have given up bad language – this time as my Ramadan “fast”. If you will remember, I gave it up for Lent, and I’ve continued to do fairly well, but Ramadan is a good time to practice some additional spiritual discipline.)
But this morning, I had thought I would try eight in the morning, but there was a lot of traffic. I waited until nine, and it turned out to be a good time – the produce store was being re-stocked, there were eggs, there was milk, there was everything I needed. I wasn’t the only one there, there were a few other women, but it was a cake walk, relatively speaking. I’ve broken the code!
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!)
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Early Voting in Florida
