Good Friday or Sad Friday?

While I was having a discussion with Jeff about Good Friday this morning, I realized that Good Friday (which I believe is the Western term) is called "Sad Friday" or Aljoumaa Al Hazeeneh (الجمعة الحزينة) in Arabic. I have never noticed this before.

I guess Sad Friday makes more sense (to me at least), as it is the day of the crucifixion. But then again in the Christian faith it is the start of good things to come. This difference in cultural perspective is really intriguing, no?

Anyway, be it Good Friday or Sad Friday, Happy Easter everyone.

Grabbing our piece of the American dream

One of the reasons I've been quiet during the past few months is because the husband and I have been working hard to achieve this. Yes. We made it, finally. We are proud homeowners.

We are elated that after four years of marriage, we now own a house that we plan to keep for a while. While Jeff is already planning the design of his "TV room," where he can put all his toys to good use, I'm busy mapping out the dining room in anticipation of the many, many parties we plan to host.

If anyone has plans to visit the DC metro area anytime soon, remember that our house is always open. And yes, we finally have a guest room.

The simple joys of life

After two months of constant stresses that left me with a white hair (see below), I'm starting to gradually relax. This, of course, might mean I'll get back to blogging on a more regular basis, as my mind is clear and I'm ready to scribble again. This long Thanksgiving weekend is a special treat. It is being spent with family, which really is what makes life worthwhile.

It's worth nothing that when I'm in a fine mood I start to open my eyes to the simple joys of life. I encountered one of those simple joys yesterday at none other than Costco as I came across a brand of beer I've been hunting for the past five years: the mouth-watering, thirst-quenching Belgian delicacy Hoegaarden. I was introduced to this top-notch beverage by my Spanish/British friend Pilar when I was living in London in 2002. We were at our usual after-school abode: The Bull, a typical London pub that was two blocks away from City University. She told me I should try Hoegaarden. I did and became an instant fan.

I have been desperately chasing Hoegaarden since 2002. I could not find it in the countries I lived in after my London stint. Hoegaarden was nowhere to be found either in Jordan or Qatar. I could not even find it in the United States until I found it a year ago in a Belgian pub in Philadelphia, but then it was nowhere to be found. Then yesterday, which marked Black Friday, we were at Costco of all places and came across a collection of Belgian beer that included Hoegaarden. I was overjoyed.

It is now almost 6pm on Saturday and I just got back from downtown DC, where I had marvelous lunch with sister Tania in Chinatown, followed by a tour of the International Spy Museum. As I write this, I'm really looking forward to the rest of the evening. We are planning to watch Running with Scissors (my sister and I both read the book and decided to watch the movie) while enjoying the festive taste of Hoegaarden. Ah, the simple joys of life. Cheers!

Single white hair

For the past few months, the husband and I have been doing a great deal of reading and research on how to achieve the ultimate American dream: buying our first house. Traveling this path has been both exciting and stressful. In the interim, I had to learn a whole new language: The language of the American real estate. This language includes terms like PMI, seller contribution, closing costs, interest-only, buyer's agent, open house, appraisal and others.

I have been so stressed out about the whole process that I woke up yesterday and found one single white hair on my head. The last time I had a single white hair was four years ago when I was preparing for my wedding, which was followed by a new job in a new country. It goes without saying that the white hair has made me even more stressed out. In addition to thinking about the best way to pursue the American dream, I'm now thinking about aging and the deterioration of my own body. Sigh! If only life could be less stressful.

Am I in the wrong line of work?

The latest projections of the US government rank being a journalist as one of the worst jobs for the 21st century, as newspapers cut costs and jobs. Some other of the "worst jobs for the 21st century" include textile workers, file clerks and electric meter-checking guys. But journalists will also have a hard time getting jobs, despite the increase in media outlets. According to the Labor Department, reporting positions are expected to grow by a mere 5% in the next decade, and most of these jobs are expected to be in small –- low-paying -– markets.
Source: [Editors Weblog]

I have always known that journalism didn't pay well but I chose this line of work when I was young, motivated and did not care about such things. I hate to say it, but as you get into your thirties and start committing yourself to a number of financial responsibilities you realize that a good paying career does actually matter. All said and done, journalism as a career, is still evolving:

This projection is based on a relatively restrictive definition of journalists, which will probably evolve in the years to come.

Maybe, just maybe, there is still hope that I won't live and die poor.

On my dearth of blogging

For some reason, I mentioned my blog this morning to the husband during our morning commute. His reaction was something along the lines of the following: people may have forgotten about you in the blogging world by now. Of course, he was referring to my sporadic blogging, which is becoming less and less by the day. I got defensive and started justifying the reasons why I'm not paying too much attention to this side of my life anymore. I went on and on, much to his chagrin, until I decided to change the topic.

As lame as it may sound, I have been really busy. Work is consuming most of my time and then there are after-hours activities. From Spanish class to creative writing classes, I have been swamped. There are also cultural activities and social obligations. I can't keep track of anything. I'm writing lists and marking my calendar. I have even started using an on-line calendar, which sends reminders to my mobile phone! I'm not sure why I can't keep up with anything anymore. Is this what being in your thirties is all about?

To de-stress, I have been riding my bike in the woods -- an activity that merits a whole post perhaps sometime later this week.  As a result, biking and other outdoor-related activities are consuming a big chunk of the little spare time I have, time that probably would have been dedicated to blogging. I will do my best to pay more attention to Mental Mayhem. I just need to regain a bit more control of my life, which has been moving at a crazy, yet enjoyable pace.

Photo essay: "Welcome to Bear Country"

Probably one of the most memorable moments of this summer was when I saw the bear. This happened last weekend during our weekend camping adventure on Virginia's Skyline Drive. The night before the sighting, the possibility of seeing a bear (a first in my lifetime) was the only thing on my mind. The reason for this was primarily because we were welcomed to our campground by a big sign that read simply: "Bear Country." I could not sleep much that night. I kept waking up in the middle of the night thinking about the possibility of a bear hovering outside our tent. Also, seeing the movie about a man being eaten by a bear just a week before did not help things.

The bear sighting occurred the next day around noon during the tail end of a five-mile hike (a hike that alone almost led to my demise). It was surreal. After taking a break, we were just starting down the trail again when we saw it. The bear was some 150 meters away from where we were standing. It was calmly drinking from a creek when my shouts interrupted its moment of peace. Hearing my cries, it raised its head to look at us. While I was busy shouting and cursing the day, the rest of the group were taking pictures. The bear looked up at the animated crowd and then just walked away. Just like that, the mammoth beast was nowhere to be found.

I have to say that although coming face-to-face with the bear gave me the scare of a lifetime, it was exhilarating. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

American tradition: Backyard camping

In preparation for our much anticipated camping trip up amongst the Blue Ridge Mountains on the Skyline Drive [pic] at the end of this month, the husband wanted to try out a brand new tent (one he'd bought years ago but never used) by camping out in the backyard at his parents' house. He told me the idea and I liked it. So, last weekend, we brought our gear (two sleeping bags, two pads) and headed to the Shenandoah Valley, where we got the tent out of the attic and set it up in the backyard.

To increase the camping flavor of our adventure we decided to watch the documentary Grizzly Man while settling into the tent before we slept. It was fun, well except for the fact that the movie freaked me out a bit. It's a real-life story about a man who gets eaten by a grizzly bear while camping in the wilds of Alaska. I'm pretty sure there are bears where we are going to camp but, according to the husband, they are "small bears" that you try to ignore if you ever run into them. Of course, this did not make me feel any better about the possibility of a bear attack, but I'm up for adventure.

I was also surprised when the husband told me that backyard camping is pretty common, often done by children seeking an escape from their parents' house. Mom Tynes shared her backyard camping adventures from when she was young; she'd even craft a stove and cook! I had no idea. The American lifestyle never ceases to amaze me.

Hooked on 'The Closer'

Although I enjoy watching TV a great deal, my current life doesn't leave me with enough time to do so. There are always things to do over the weekends and evenings such that I rarely turn on the TV to see what's playing.

But Monday night is a special case. Every Monday night this summer I wait patiently for 9:00 PM so I can kick back and watch The Closer, a police investigation show that runs on TNT. What makes the show a viewing pleasure is not the plot or storyline per se. It is the amazing performance by Kyra Sedgwik. Playing the character of Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson, Sedgwik is "the closer," -- the one who interviews suspects and closes cases by getting them to confess. She is entertaining, witty, sexy and just plain fun to watch.

Before watching the show, I'd never paid much attention to Sedgwik. I always thought of her as that woman who looks like Julia Roberts. I really had no idea she was that talented (nor that she is married to Kevin Bacon for that matter). I highly recommend this show to anyone looking for top-notch TV entertainment. Six more days before the next episode.

Demolition Derby: A truly baffling pastime

Last weekend I learned about (and experienced) the American pastime dubbed: Demolition Derby. Thanks to Leiloulta and spouse we made our way to the Montgomery County Fair, which featured the derby among other things.

I have to admit that I was quite baffled watching this demolition take place to the cheers of nearly a thousand spectators. So what is this event exactly? It is a way of getting rid of nearly-dead vehicles by smashing them into other almost-dead vehicles until they die, to the applause of an excited crowd. The winner is the person whose car continues running after all others die.

The testosterone-fueled event was fascinating for me. It's not that I enjoy destruction or the sight of dead cars. I was intrigued by how my husband along with other male friends in our group were sucked into the event. There is something about cars and demolition that makes such an event as enjoyable to men as, let's say, tanning on the beach with a Piña Colada is for women. I could not find it in myself to cheer or stomp with the animated crowd, as they did when one car flipped over and a firetruck had to intervene. I got agitated and kept wondering if the driver was okay. Somehow the driver came out unscathed and kept on driving.

Would I attend such an event again? I don't think so. Been there, done that. Did I regret seeing it? Not at all. It was quite an experience seeing up-close-and-personal how men and women's interests can be such oceans apart. When I asked my parents, who had accompanied us, what they thought of the event, they simply said: "Crazy!" Crazy indeed.

"Why are they running?"

One of the most amusing comments my mother made when we took her to Metro Center, the metro's busiest station, was: "Why are they running?" Of course, she was referring to the fast pace of commuters who rush to catch their trains to get to their destinations on time. While my sister was teasing my mom about her comment, it suddenly hit me that after two years of living in the US, I'm actually one of those runners.

I take the train everyday to get to work. My actual train ride is 30 minutes long but to make it to work at 9:00 am, I have to do my share of running. The minute the alarm goes off at 6:00 am, the running starts. From preparing breakfast, to packing lunches, to taking a shower and then taking care of some chores, there is no time to take a breather. I run the escalators in the metro to catch the train, then run the streets of DC to get to work on time if there were any delays in the Metro's Red Line (a constant occurrence).

When my husband and I get home after work, there is also some running to do. From making dinner, to sorting the mail, and taking care of chores, we only stop when we fall asleep watching reruns of Law Order: Special Victims.

This is how my life has been the past two years: running in constant pursuit of the American Dream. Despite the hard work, I can easily say that I'm happy here and quite comfortable. Somehow, this constant fast-paced existence fits my lifestyle. Alright, time to wrap up this post. I have to run. [Picture: Courtesy the husband].

The cutest thing

It always amuses me to no end when I see my mom getting interested in the latest technological trends. As I was meeting my parents and sister at the airport last weekend, my mom recounted how my sister almost lost her Ipod before they took the flight to DC from Amman.

My first reaction was: "Mom, you know what an Ipod is? Impressive."

"Of course I do!" said my mom sounding offended. "And I know Facebook as well," she added.

Is that not just so cute? It seems that facebook is more embedded in Jordanian life than I thought. Fascinating!

My byline in an Oxford University Press publication

Last year, I was contacted by Oxford University Press for permission to reprint an article that I had written for The Jordan Times some years ago. I was really pleased and humbled that such a prestigious publisher was interested in my work. I gave them permission to publish my work instantly and waited patiently for the book to be published. The book, called Well Read 4, is a an educational textbook that encourages English students to embrace reading. Here is how the book is described at Amazon.com:

Worried that students find academic reading boring? Think again! Well Read develops the skills and strategies that make academic reading enjoyable and interesting. Well Read accomplishes this with relevant and interesting readings, through strategies and skill building exercises and by encouraging active participation in the classroom.

Well Read 4 has a number of articles by various contributors. I received a copy of it a few days ago and could not be happier to have my name associated with such a top-notch publisher. At this moment of my life I'm feeling grateful. The article that was selected was an interview with Jordanian director Jackie Oweis Sawiris. Here is an excerpt:

AMMAN -- The travails of Raz, a young Arab American woman searching for her true self, is the theme of a feature film that producers hope to shoot entirely in Jordan but with the western market as its target audience. The film project, "Falls the Shadow," is the brainchild of Jackie Oweis Sawiris, an Arab American director, born of a Jordanian mother and Egyptian father.

"It is a semi-autobiographical epic love story of denial, the search for and, ultimately, the acceptance of self," explained Sawiris, also a screenwriter and an actress. For the enthusiastic 39-year-old, the efforts she is exerting are not just about making a movie. The film would be a prototype upon which other Jordanian film productions could be based, helping the burgeoning film community here "develop into a commercially competitive entity within the global media marketplace," she explained.

You can read the whole article here.

Haircuts: A cultural perspective

Since moving to the US two years ago, I have dreaded going to the hairdresser. One reason for this is the fact that styling your hair in this country is just too damn expensive. The price of a haircut here is really excessive, especially if you want a stylish cut. The last time I decided to do that I paid around $70, partly due to my "long hair," which stipulated higher charges.

Another reason is the the myriad of comments I usually receive about my hair whenever I make a journey to the beauty salon. Besides the usual comments about the length of my hair, hairdressers (of all nationalities, including one Hispanic and one South Korean) often make annoyed remarks about the amount of hair I have on my head. Apparently, I have "too much hair," which seems to tire hairdressers here. I find the comment about the quantity of my hair particularly amusing since back in Jordan my hairdresser used to complain about my "light hair." "You must be using a large amount of conditioner. It is very light," my Amman-based hairdresser used to tell me. I guess the gauge for "normal" amounts of hair varies across continents.

So last weekend I got a haircut. Refusing to pay $70, I went to the McDonalds of US beauty salons: the Hair Cuttery. The outcome was satisfactory. I got a decent haircut for $19 but when I asked my South Korean hairdresser about a blow-dry she said she would charge me $20 additional because I have "long hair." Hearing this figure, I immediately nixed the idea. To win me back she offered to charge me the "regular length hair" price of $10. I agreed and ended up paying $33 (including tip) to get this more mainstream haircut. I was satisfied. It definitely beats the $70 I paid several months ago for a "stylish" one. Of course, once again I had to endure comments like, "You have beautiful, healthy hair but it is too much hair." I was willing to put up with that one last time for the reduced charge.

While getting my hair done at the Hair Cuttery, I suddenly felt nostalgic. I missed my hairdresser back in Amman who charged me $10 for both a haircut and a blow-dry. This service, of course, came with a cup of Turkish coffee and a very nice chat as Arabic pop music played in the background. Sigh! Who would have thought that haircuts could reveal such curious cultural comparatives.

More reasons to celebrate

While I was celebrating my 31st birthday this past weekend, Jordan was celebrating the selection of Petra as one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. As a result, my birthday had a unique flavor. Petra's prestigious news was mentioned in the majority of birthday text messages, e-mails and phone calls I received from Jordan over the past few days. Naturally, my celebration was doubled. I celebrated both Jordan's remarkable achievement and my graceful march towards the 30's.

I chose to celebrate my birthday on the beach, in Ocean City, MD. I needed to get away, to relax and face the reality that I'm now officially part of the 30-something crowd. As I battled the forceful waves of the Atlantic, I thought about my new age and what it really means to be in your thirties. My good friend Euroarabe told me some years ago that she could not wait until she was done with her 20's. She was really looking forward to getting into her 30's to "start enjoying life for real." I did not understand her. Why was she so looking forward to aging?

This past weekend, I finally got it. My friend's words of wisdom suddenly made sense to me now that I'm 31. It was a brief moment of epiphany: I finally get the thirties. My twenties revolved mostly around self-discovery along with causal self-flagellation. They were a time of confusion and a constant desire to find a place to fit as well as a cause to cling to. Things have changed in the past ten years. I'm no longer that twenty-something young woman who was struggling to find her calling. Somehow, at my current age, the pieces of the puzzle are gradually fitting.

I have not figured out the whole puzzle of life yet but somehow I'm more focused, more inspired and more willing to accept that most of the times you can't find all the pieces, and it is perfectly okay. Albeit low-key, my 31st birthday was somehow unique. It will be forever remembered as my joyful entry into to the 30's and as Petra's graceful arrival onto the stage of global tourism. Here is hoping for more reasons to celebrate as I soldier into my third decade.

Quick confession

I have a new addiction. It is the one and only Facebook. These days I'm finding myself checking this networking portal at least 10 times a day. I'm not sure why. Nothing much happens in there. I guess what has got me is the idea of "six degrees of separation," where I find myself getting in touch with people from as far back as elementary school. All of a sudden I'm reconnecting with scores of people that I befriended during the last thirty years of my life. It is absolutely fascinating.

My "Friends" on Facebook range from old coworkers to people I went to graduate school with to family relatives and old friends, all of them scattered across the globe. What a neat service and what an organized way to keep in touch with your loved ones! I highly recommend it.

I even got the husband, who is usually highly skeptical of networking portals, into it. Every once in a while I catch him checking the latest developments of his "friends" on Facebook or browsing through the photos updated by his acquaintances. Pretty neat!

As is case with many of my obsessions, I'm quite sure that I will lose interest eventually, but I'm not sure when. For the time being I'm hooked.

The Bodies Exhibition anti-smoking message

One of the most gripping things that I saw when visiting the controversial Bodies Exhibition (in which real corpses are on display) was the real lungs of real smokers. The scientific exhibition, currently running in Washington, D.C., makes a point of showing visitors the grave dangers smoking does to our bodies by showcasing the difference between a smoker's lungs and those of a non-smoker. Naturally the smoker's real lung was in a dire state. It was all black and looked rigid and in extremely rough shape.

Visitors to the exhibition that are smokers are encouraged to throw away their pack of cigarettes in a glass box that has a sign above it stating: "On average a pack of cigarettes takes two hours and twenty minutes off your life. We'd like you to be around longer. Leave your cigarettes in the gallery and stop smoking now."

After I saw this, I had this sudden urge to take every smoker I know by the hand and bring them to this exhibition to show them how they are killing themselves -- slowly but surely. While there, I kept thinking about my home country, Jordan, and how widespread smoking is there. Would an exhibition such as this one deter people from taking up this nasty habit? Will I live to see the day when young Jordanians find it "uncool" to smoke? Maybe. Only time will tell.

MEMRI: Lost in translation?

Besides writing and editing, I spend a big chunk of my day as a linguist, translating Arabic to English and vice versa. Although the process itself is tedious and hectic at times, I enjoy it for the most part, particularly when I'm trying to find the exact word match. I look at a challenging text as a riddle that can only be solved by hunting for the most accurate missing pieces. It is an elusive game but I enjoy it and better, I even get paid for it. Any translator dreads the time when they end up choosing words that do not match. It is the ultimate horror when the translator "mistranslates" especially when it comes to the business of news. Misquoting someone's words and then broadcasting them to the public is the news translator's ultimate bad dream. Luckily, I have yet to face my interpretation nightmare.

All that said, it should come as no surprise that I was extremely intrigued by Brian Whittaker's piece in The Guardian that highlighted the mistranslation of the now infamous Al-Aqsa TV clip, which was eaten up by US media outlets. While I found the show and its content extremely off-putting, as children are being cajoled into parroting political ideologies, Whittaker makes a very valid point: The MEMRI translators either mistranslated or intentionally decided to embellish what was said on the tape. What was most intriguing about his piece was the argument that occurred between MEMRI's founder and one of CNN'S Arabic speakers, Octavia Nasr.

Among those misled by Memri's "translation" was Glenn Beck of CNN, who had planned to run it on his radio programme, until his producer told him to stop. Beck informed listeners this was because CNN's Arabic department had found "massive problems" with it. Instead of broadcasting the tape, Beck then invited [MEMRI's] Carmon on to the programme and gave him a platform to denounce CNN's Arabic department, and in particular to accuse one of its staff, Octavia Nasr, of being ignorant about the language.

Carmon related a phone conversation he had had with Ms Nasr: She said the sentence where it says [in Memri's translation] "We are going to ... we will annihilate the Jews", she said: "Well, our translators hear something else. They hear 'The Jews are shooting at us'." I said to her: "You know, Octavia, the order of the words as you put it is upside down. You can't even get the order of the words right. Even someone who doesn't know Arabic would listen to the tape and would hear the word 'Jews' is at the end, and also it means it is something to be done to the Jews, not by the Jews."

And she insisted, no the word is in the beginning. I said: "Octavia, you just don't get it. It is at the end" ... She didn't know one from two, I mean.

As a native speaker myself, I heard nothing about annihilating the Jews. What I heard was: بطخونا اليهود which translates into: "The Jews are shooting at us." So the question becomes: Did MEMRI embellish their translation on purpose or was it simply an innocent translation mistake? I cannot say for certain. What I do know is media organizations should take MEMRI's translation with a grain of salt, especially after this incident. Here is what Whittaker thinks:

The curious thing about all this is that Memri's translations are usually accurate (though it is highly selective in what it chooses to translate and often removes things from their original context). When errors do occur, it's difficult to attribute them to incompetence or accidental lapses. As in the case of the children's TV programme, there appears to be a political motive. The effect of this is to devalue everything Memri translates -- good and bad alike. Responsible news organisations can't rely on anything it says without going back and checking its translations against the original Arabic.

Hat tip: [Jordan Journals]

High school: East Vs West

Update: Very good news! Soon after posting this, I was contacted to run this article. I've moved the whole of it there, but here's a bit of it with the rest now on their site.

Here's the link to the full article, as published on Common Ties. Enjoy!

I submitted the following essay to an unnamed media outlet but it never made it to print. So I thought I'd give it exposure in the place it really belongs: Mental Mayhem. Comments are welcome.

If you scratch the glass

My husband and I moved to the Unites States from Amman, Jordan a year and a half ago. During this period I had to adjust to a myriad of lifestyle changes. Whether it was learning how to use the garbage disposal, handle a furnace, or even attempt to catch a glimpse of the American dream, my life in the past 18 months has been overwhelming and hectic at most times.

But of all the pieces of Americana that I try to acquaint myself with on a daily basis, there is one that never ceases to dazzle me to this day. It is the American high school. We currently live in the suburbs of Washington DC, right next to a buzzing high school. This location has its perks, one being the serenity of the suburbs and affordable rent. But living next to a school can be tiresome, as it brings into our quaint neighborhood at some instances a good share of noise. From weekend concerts to high school football games, the serenity of our suburbs gets shattered as a result of this constant teenage activity.

Putting the inconvenience aside, I have to admit that our location near an educational edifice has introduced me to a new realm: the world of American high school kids. It is a world that I had previously watched in awe from my parent's house in Amman via American movies. Of course, being so close to a high school doesn't really give me a full access to the mysterious life inside this building. I am merely a voyeur. I observe from afar as kids march half asleep to school in the mornings and drag themselves back home in the afternoons.

Read more

At the local IHOP

We took my mom out for breakfast to our local IHOP last weekend. All was fine and dandy until the waitress decided to inform me that the kitchen confused my order such that my seafood omelet would be delayed.

The waitress came to our table and then looked at the husband, who had earlier given the waitress all of our orders while mom and I were busy chatting. She glanced at me and then switched back to Jeff. "Does she speak English?" she asked, referring to me.

I guess, somehow something about me said "I do not speak English." Or was it maybe my earlier chatter in Arabic with mom? Oh well!

Been busy eating

I haven't updated this blog for a little bit. The reason: We've been busy eating. For the past two weeks or so we have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of food available for consumption, courtesy of my mom's cooking and a myriad of dinners that we've been invited to by friends and relatives.

A number of my parents' friends that happen to live in our area have celebrated my parents' arrival by feeding us copious quantities of wonderful Jordanian/Arabic food. All of my cravings from last year have been sated. So far I have savored Mansaf, Maglubeh, Warg Dawali, Knafeh, Ma3moul, among other delicacies.

We've really been humbled by the degree of generosity and kindness we have encountered. My parents were even invited to a dinner by Ajlounieh's parents, whom they had never met before. Tonight, we are invited to dinner at Leilouta's place. Arab generosity never ceases to amaze me.

Ode to the library

One of the things that I enjoy about where we currently live is the easy access to our local library. I have no idea why it took over a year since our exodus from the Middle East for me to join the library. I guess it is because I am used to buying books without thinking twice, as I'm one of those that feels like a kid in a candy store when surrounded by books. I used to buy and buy, then I end up hating most of the books I own and eventually I give them away.

Lately, things have changed. Thanks to the encouragement of Rob and Jenny, I finally managed to drag myself down to the closest library, which turned out to be less than a mile away, and I got myself a free membership. Life was no longer the same after joining the library.

I'm hooked! I go there every other day. I check out books and DVDs like there is no tomorrow. The most fascinating thing for me about our local library is the on-line catalog. I was blown away when I realized that I could browse an on-line catalog of all the libraries in our county, put books on hold, and pick them up from our local branch! It's that simple! During the past two days I've checked out: The Namesake, The Haunted, A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Let It be Morning, The Edukadors, Lucia Lucia, among others. When it comes to due dates, I really like having a deadline. It makes my reading more focused and more efficient. And if I ever fail to meet my deadline, I simply go on-line and click the "renew" button.

I never thought of checking out books from the library when I was in Jordan. I don't know why. Maybe it was because there was only one major library back then and it did not have many of the books I wanted. So I gave up and started spending a big chunk of my money on books. Today, I only buy the books that I really want to own.

I hope that Jordan can one day establish top-notch local libraries. I know many in Jordan who crave good books but cannot afford them or can never find them. Having access to a local library would make many Jordanians happy!

Khochkhach: A powerful Tunisian flick that challenges taboos

Last night we drove down Wisconsin Ave. into northwest DC to watch the Tunisian film Khochkhach (Fleur d'oubli) accompanied by Leilouta, her husband and blogger Freedom for Egyptians. The movie was running as part of the Arabian Sights Film Festival, now in full swing.

I enjoyed Khochkhach a great deal for a number of reasons: the engaging script, the powerful acting and the beautiful Tunisian scenery. The movie's major theme revolves around the misery of a woman trapped in a sexless marriage to a secretly homosexual husband. To alleviate her pain, the protagonist Zakia seeks pleasure in Khochkhach tea, primarily used in Tunis in the early 1940's to ease the pain of women after child birth and to put newborns to sleep. Since Khochkhach tea is derived from poppy plants, it was quite effective. As Zakiah's desperation grows so does an addiction. She reaches rock bottom and ends up in an asylum.

Based on a true story, the movie boldly crosses red lines in the Arab world by discussing taboo issues such as a woman's need for sexual fulfillment and homosexuality.

According to director Salam Baccar, who was present for a Q&A after the movie, the issue of homosexuality was not taken lightly by the Arabic press. She explained that many reviewers could not fathom the concept of an aristocratic, virile Tunisian man who is homosexual. Another interesting point Baccar brought up during the discussion was the fact that there is a very limited market for Tunisian movies, as the Arab market is dominated by Egyptian movies. As a result the market for this movie is first and foremost Tunisia and then Europe, especially France. But Baccar said she is still struggling to find a distributor and hoping to market her movie to the rest of the west.

Finally, it is also worth noting that Badiaa Abdallah, who played Zakia, did a fantastic job in conveying a woman's journey of sorrow and then, ultimate peace. If you ever get the chance to see this movie, do not hesitate. It is so beautifully done and conveys a very potent message.

A Myrtle Beach vacation

We spent this past week at South Carolina's Myrtle Beach for a big family gathering. Among the many unique experiences I went through during this marvelous vacation -- besides spending quality time with family -- was swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. It was a first for yours truly.

What was so exhilarating about this activity was battling the "ferocious" waves and eventually learning to ride/surf them. If memory serves, I don't recall ever facing high waves while swimming in the Red Sea -– the site where most of my outdoor swimming experiences took place. Is this what distinguishes a sea from an ocean? I wonder. I must admit, being whacked by a strong wave can be painful but it's loads of fun.

Another fascinating moment was watching a fisherman catch a shark, drag it and gut it out to get its meat. I was not the only spectator either, as many tourists gathered around the fisherman to take pictures of his most recent acquisition. However, I was the only one who asked the fisherman: "Is that a 'real' shark?" Somehow the whole thing was just surreal. Anyway, I'll let the pictures [they enlarge on click] speak for themselves.