Holy Sonnet x.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Excerpt from Jane Eyre
“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?”
“They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer.
“And what is hell? Can you tell me that?”
“A pit full of fire.”
“And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?”
“No, sir.”
“What must you do to avoid it?”
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was somewhat objectionable: “I must keep in good health, and not die.”
Jane Eyre, Chapter 4, Page 32
Winter Wan
Every winter, every single goddamned winter, I turn the colour of…. well, the dead comes to mind, but to be a little more flattering, I’d have to say wallpaper paste. Or oh! a sick person… who’s been chained to an gurney in a basement, 3000 meters below ground and whose skin has not been exposed to the light of day in a good three years and who steadfastly avoids vegetables, meat, and really anything and everything of nutritional value. That’s me. Only lucky me, I don’t have to go through the painful process in order to achieve the end result. I come by it au naturale. Plus I’m anemic, no matter how hard I try not to be. I assure you, the end result is not pretty.
Could self-tanning possibly the answer? Tanning salons? The risk of skin-cancer in exchange for one winter ONE WINTER during which I don’t have to assure everyone who sees me that no, I’m not sick nor have I been diagnosed with a terminal illness, nor am I avoiding food in hopes of maintaining my weight, NOR do I not exercise?
I don’t know. But I take comfort in the fact that since there’s a cartoon about it, I’m obviously not alone.
Caught Cutting Corners
I adore painted toenails. Fingernails not so much, but something about having my toenails all done up keeps me smiling all throughout the day.
Unfortunately, what I do have in adoration I seriously lack in ability. I can’t. I try and I try and I try, but somehow I always end up with uneven colour, toes that are stuck together, died cuticles, and missing patches where my toes managed to overlap – toe-separators notwithstanding!
Anyhow, come the day of a friends wedding, I fell in love with these peep-toe sandals. I had the remnants of henna staining my two big toes (how the heck was I supposed to know it lasts for freaking ever on your toes?!) and getting the planned pedi totally slipped my mind. So the day of, I slip on my heels and look down at two orange halfmoons – completely ruining my look. Deciding to face life’s challenges (har har) head on, I grab my polish and have at it. Half an hour later, and it’s obviously a lost cause. 45 minutes later, I’ve managed to successfully – and I use this word very very loosely – managed to paint the first three toes – big, pointer, and middle. I’m running late and I figure what the heck, no one’s going to see the last two toes anyway.
The next day I head by Sport Check for a pair of good work-out shoes, and the guy asks to measure my feet. In a fit of forgetfulness, I pull my pumps off and there are my toes – six all dressed and four regular, please. He snorts, covers it up with a cough and I perfect my “I’m just staring at that fascinating spot on the ceiling” routine.
Dreaded Questions
We’re all familiar with the “does this make my butt look big?” question. And all males, if they value their lives and mental well-being, are extremely aware of the correct response: the part of her anatomy in question could look like a full moon rising, yet a heartfelt “heck naw! You’re beautiful!” is always expected.
Likewise, when a female is faced with the question “Does this make me look like a slut?” any girl who values her life, no matter how worthless, will shake her head adamantly in the negative. “You? Skanky? Hun, you couldn’t even pulled it off if you wanted to! You ooze elegance” and more of the like is generally expected.
So when a friend, dressed up in red fishnets, a playboy-bunny-esque bustier, bdsm heels and a miniskirt up to there asked me if the fishnets looked too much, I prepared to do as I should. Before I could though, she cut me off with a vehement mutter:
“Ahh, screw it.. I’m getting married in a month. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
LOOOL!
On Coffee Shops and Muslim Creeps
Over the winter break I’ve been subbing at my dad’s coffee place in the downtown. The regular girl is off on vacation for Christmas and New Year’s and I decided what the heck? With six years of convenience store experience under my belt, I’m more than qualified. And here’s the funny thing – I actually like it! I especially enjoy the regulars – the interaction, the quick humour, the light-hearted banter. And since I’m a happy person at heart and nothing pisses me off more than a surly sales rep, I’ve always got a smile ready. And the unlimited coffee refills kinda help, to be honest =P
But sometimes, it’s not all smiles and fun. Sometimes you get the creeps. Especially since this particular coffee shop is located in the downtown, and you can’t quite control who has access to the building it’s situated in, you kind of have to put up them.
Example one: The man who always fill his large cup half way, then insists I charge him for a small. Always. Regardless of whether or not the pot is brimming with fresh coffee, there’s never quite enough to fill his large.
Example two: The man who spent an hour and 34 minutes assuring me that while Canada may be cold, at least I feel safe. Unlike the Middle East, where gun-fights break out randomly, and people with bombs strapped to their chest are running around willy-nilly. Yes, indeed. The cold is a small price to pay for safety. When I informed him that in I-raq, a war has been waging for the past nine years he looked at me blankly and said “Oh yeah! 1960s wasn’t it? Yes, it might be warm there, but it’s dangerous” *repeat stories of gun fights, bombs, and Al-Qaeda and a foray into Turkish coffee – which I’m told is worth giving up for safety*
Then there are those that occur outside the coffee shop, as I walk towards my car which is parked seven blocks down (free parking, so sue me).
En route to my car the other day, I went into the Calgary Public Library to get the address of my friend’s house. On my way in, this man stops in front of me to beat the snow off his shoes before entering, effectively blocking my way. I waited, because I had no other choice, and when he noticed me behind him he smiled and apologized. I told him not to worry and brushed by him to get into the library. I head towards the empty computer and he follows me, standing behind me. I figure, whatever, all the computers are full and he’s probably just waiting for me to finish. I tune him out, finish my business, and leave.
A block later, I notice that he’s right beside me, grinning at me while he walks along. Okaaayyy. I look away kind of hoping that maybe if I don’t show recognition he’ll just walk on by. Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. He comments on the weather, I reply. To sum the next five blocks up as painlessly as possible, he follows me making inane conversation revolving around my Islam, and how he’s Muslim, and how I should consider meeting up with him at the mosque. At the edge of downtown I stop and ask were he’s going. He thought we’d take the LRT together. Seeing an out I quickly inform him that, unfortunately *cough cough*, I’m actually headed towards my car. Turns out that’s fine, he’ll walk me to my car – still two blocks away – and then head back towards the station which we’d passed two blocks ago. I assure him that is not necessary, but he insists and we walk on.
A block of his chattering and my mumbling later he stops and I brace myself for the expected. Can I have your number? No. Email? No. Dad’s number? No. Will you meet me at the Mosque? Uh.. no. Will you take my email/number? Sorry, no. Am I sure? Yes. Positive? Very.
He heaves a heavy sigh, informs me what hours he frequents the NW mosque and stands watching while I half-run the rest of the block to my car. I get in, lock the doors and sit there shivering in the darkness of my car, too damn creeped out to get out and brush the snow off the windows. Through the rearview I can see him standing there, staring. 15 minutes later and I guess he’s convinced I’m not about to change my mind. He heads back and I start my car, driving over a curb in my haste to get the heck out of there.
I get to my friends house and share the story. I’m not surprised to learn every girl there has had multiple similar experiences – and all by Muslims. Nonmuslims will ask for your number, or ask you out for drinks and if you choose to decline, they’ll graciously back out. Muslims, on the other hand, use the religion you have in common as a wedge, convinced that through that mutual ground, there lies the path towards a wonderful, lasting relationship.
Creeps.
*shudder*
Avatar Review – Worth Every Penny and Freakin’ Fantastic to Boot!
I walk through the door today and am told that we’re heading out to watch Avatar. After some minor objections on my part (hey, I’d heard it was an anime movie. plus I have an ongoing battle with Hollywood – it’s been a looonnng time since they’ve released anything I’ve deigned to watch and I left not thinking “what a bloody waste of money”) and some guilt ladled on by the brothers I thought what the heck, and Horses, MiniMe and I headed out to Westhills 10 for our 3D experience. Shocker or all shockers, the movie is a) not even anime and b) it’s bloody brilliant. Lo and behold, there are real live people wandering about on the screen. Humans! Guess I shoulda watched the trailer, eh?
But that isn’t what has me breaking my 2 month silence on my blog and raving about this movie. I mean humans? You can find them everywhere.
No, it was more than that. It was the breathtaking backgrounds. The awe-inspiring imagination that had crafted such a well-thought out and executed movie – and get this: all three hours were amazing. It was not like other movies, with directors and producers expecting the masses to be content with two or three truly good scenes and a shitload of fodder for filler in a movie of two hours.
It was the plot, that gripes you, glues you to your seat no matter how persistently your bladder may call. It was Jake Sully, beta hero extraordinaire. The fantastic and heart-warming love story, during which my mind could not help but sing
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
as our fierce heroine shows JakeSully the ropes of living among the ‘native’.
And, lest I forget, it was the constant mirroring or our life, our world. “We will hit them with a preemptive strike! We will fight terror with terror!”
GEORGE BUSH IN THE HOUSE!
It’s funny, yes. But it’s also quite depressing, seeing the brutality and inhumanity of our world mirrored in a fictional film. They fight our planes with arrows? Yeah, well in Palestine it’s tanks against rocks. In North America it was gun powder against arrows. “Savages.” Don’t get me started on that line of thought!
Our “veni, vidi, vici” way of life has to end.
I recommend this movie to any and every one. Open-mindedness people. You gotta have it to experience the finer things in life 
Happy new year all!
floating in soft
airs of providence.
tossed willfully
without a will.
tethered gently
inexorably.
set me free
release me.
save this Soul.
Mordecai Briemberg and Freedom of Speech
Today, I had the privilege of attending a lecture featuring Mordecai Briemberg, a professor and a peace activist, at the University of Calgary. The event was hosted by the university’s SPHR club – Solidarity for Palestinian Human Rights. People like Briemberg give me hope. They give me vision, and they give me strength. Through these people, I can feel the pulse of the future beating, and suddenly I’m not alone, the end isn’t quite as far off, and a solution is not only feasible – it’s imminent.
Now I’ve been to so many of these, read so many books and articles, watched so many documentaries and news reports I’m rarely, if ever, shocked by what I see. In fact, it’s usually a gruesome reminder of losses. But today, unlike any other day, I learnt of Canada’s involvement. Its involvement in attempting to – and often succeeding in – restricting the rights to freedom of speech, employing censorship, as well as a general lack of ‘democratic’ values.
I mean, I’m not blinded to the fact that censorship *does* in fact occur. But I was never fully aware of the extent of it. Example: The days following the earthquake in Indonesia, front pages: Globe and Mail, Sun, Herald. Even the Metro Newspaper was running front page coverage. And then we have the National Post. Front page? An interview with the kindly, old, frail, oppressed, and misunderstood Kurt Westergaard. Doesn’t your heart break for the man? Having to endure 10 houses and countless cars to escape the wrath of those goddammed fundamentalists?
Earthquake what? Over hundred dead who?
Sickening.
So thanks Briemberg. I pray we all have your courage and vision to continue to fight the good fight.
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