I am not dead.

Even though this blog has been uninhabited for a few months, I have been here. Alive and beating. Blood pumping, the kabob digesting in my stomach, my brain fighting off sporadic urges to write. My skin has gotten darker. Friends have come and gone. My library of books expanded exponentially. For no particular reason, my sense of smell has heightened - which has become quite useful in cooking. Even my tastebuds have doubled in number - I'm almost certain - where I can actually differentiate between tarragon, thyme and mint (I never could before). My driving skills have not changed. The tactful practice of holding one's tongue and refraining from giving his opinion: I have definitely not developed that skill yet. However, I've developed dog-parenting skills, which I wasn't planning for at all.

Meet Millie. The nervous, hyper-vigilant, active-yet-sometimes-skittish beagle. Age four. When she first joined our house, she would fly up the stairs at the sound of a dropped spoon. Now, she runs to the foot of the stairs. Stops herself. Paces back and forth in contemplation, and eventually returns to her original place of comfort. Millie, you've come a long way. She is probably the most - and I say this without any bias whatsoever - sweet and good-looking dog in the world. I have witnesses who can attest to this. Being a dog-mom has busied me more than I ever expected. Did you know beagles shed?? That shit has to be vacuumed like every other day. (In my house).

To be completely honest, I have been uninspired to write. My most lucid thoughts come to me just before I am falling asleep and, at that point, there is no chance I'll get up and turn on the computer, type my stream of consciousness, tweak it for the sake of eloquence, etc. Then by the following morning, I have lost the momentum, if I have not already forgotten the conversation with myself from the night before. And of course, the real world tends to interfere with hobbies. Particularly the feeble attempts at artistic blogging :).

Nevertheless, I am still here. I still have conversations whirring through my brain constantly. And my brain still needs to be drained of that noise, from time to time. If I have lost your attention, that is alright. I will win it back. Or, in the very least, I will re-gain the inspiration to write in the process.

I've Never Met a Short Lesbian

Is there a scientific correlation between height and female homosexuality? Anyone know?

Just a thought.

Thirteen Out the Door

The big finale of the Persian New Year is "Sizdeh Bedar" which translates literally to Thirteen Out the Door. Today, on the 13th day of the new year, Iranians assemble picnic items and gather family members for a day outside at the nearest park with preferably a river or creek or some body of water (I'll get to that in a second). As you have probably figured out by now, Iranians don't mess around when it comes to food. So the picnic consists of everything typical of an american picnic like sandwiches, chips, fruits and soda to all-out persian additions like noodle soups, elaborate pastries and cookies, rice dishes and stews, and grilled kabobs.

According to this site, the old school Persians considered thirteen to be an unlucky number, so on the thirteenth day, they felt it was necessary to be outside of the home and sharing the day with the hills, the fields and mother nature. Thus began the worldwide Persian tradition of spending Sizdeh Bedar at the park with family and friends, eating food, playing frisbee, soccer or backgammon and dancing to persian music blasting from portable cd-players all day. This day is also significant in officially marking an end to the Persian New Year festivities; the sofreh would be cleaned up and stored away, and the green sprouts ("sabzi") would be tossed into a river or stream as a symbol of wishing for many good things in the new year. Evidently, after two weeks, the green sprouts tend to turn slightly yellow and wilted, which represents sickness or problems. So on Sizdeh Bedar, you take the sabzi, tie a ribbon around bunches of sprouts and make a wish. Each ribbon tied around the bunch of sprouts symbolize one wish - you can make as many wishes as you like, most notably for a husband, which has seemed to be the most common persian tradition - then you toss the sabzi into the water. Don't you love all the symbolism and metaphors? That is why Iranians will never be direct in expressing themselves. That is why persian men and women are quite unique and complicated. And that is why - as a very direct and forward person - I am a complete anomaly in my culture *smile*.

Unfortunately, since Sizdeh Bedar seems to inevitably fall on a weekday, Iranians designate the previous or upcoming Sunday as the day to be out. For example, the Sizdeh Bedar for the Virginia Iranians was this past Sunday, and the Maryland one is this upcoming Sunday (Black Hills Park - a long time tradition in Montgomery County - which gets so crowded there are shuttle buses that transport families from their cars, parked along the road, to the park). The fondest childhood memories I have of Sizdeh Bedar is the socializing. I couldn't wait to see my friends - kids of my parents' friends - and we'd immediately stray from our families and go on people-watching walks around the park. Who's wearing what, who's dating whom, whose son is back in town on break and suddenly looks a LOT better than he did last year... Then the eye-flirting began. Groups of girls would mischievously eye groups of boys across the field - of course, never actually approaching them - and circle each other until it got tiring. And don't get me started on the food. Not only did you get to tap your own family's wide selection of food, but next thing you know, you would get sucked into eating with other families. I take it when my ancestors were coming up with all these symbolic traditions, they decided that the purpose of Sizdeh Bedar was to begin the new year with relaxing and fun times with family and friends, and getting fresh air while being one with nature. Not a bad tradition, eh?

What happens next, you ask?

My birthday, that's what! Ok, it's not technically part of the Persian New Year festivities, but shoot, it should be. However, let me note that Zoroaster's/Zarathustra's date of birth is acknowledged and celebrated on my birthday. So cheers to that. Coincidence I share a birthday with the first monotheistic prophet who was Persian? I think not.

Growing up, I really hated all the fuss about my birthday. I was the "baby" of my family - quite a distant age gap between my parents, siblings and I, so I really think they used this opportunity to party. "Let's have some of our aged 50-and-up friends over for Eid-Norooz, and let's throw in a cake and some candles in honor of Shadi's 10th birthday! Woohoo!" Don't get me wrong, I still made a detailed wish list of what gifts I wanted (perhaps the seeds of shamelessness began budding then...), but I mean I hated to be in the spot light, or to get any sort of attention for my birthday. I remember sometimes during the countless New Year parties we'd be invited to at my parents' friends' houses, I'd make sure to ask my mom beforehand "YOU GUYS AREN'T GONNA SURPRISE ME AT THIS ONE WITH SOME BARBIE CAKE, RIGHT? PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO ME!" l'd even check the trunk of our car to make sure my parents weren't sneaking a homemade cake to some old Iranian doctor-friend's house with us. Then the year I was turning 13 - not a pretty age for anyone, folks - lo and behold, at the house of one of our closest family friends, where about 100 people were gathered for dinner and drinks to celebrate Norooz, I was bombarded in the massive dining room of their mansion with a full sheet cake with exactly thirteen candles and colorful iced flowers adorned on it. Everyone stood in a circle around the room that had Vatican-esque endlessly-high ceilings and chandeliers; while a handful of my pubescent friends - children of my parents' friends - eyed me and the gargantuan cake with grins on their faces because they were in on the surprise the whole damn time. Meanwhile I'm thinking, can I just get a slice of cake and make a run for it? No of course, not, as I glanced over my mom's persian script writing "Happy Birthday Shadi-dear" in pink icing on the cake. I had to wait for the 100 or so Iranians - most of whom I didn't recognize - sing me "Happy Birthday" in Farsi and English. I remember exactly what I was wearing that night, and exactly how thick my eyebrows were too. Which reminds me, I need to burn that picture.

Nevertheless, I am thankful I have those moments to reminisce about. These bicultural glimpses of my past - however embarrassing they may have seemed at the time - make me who I am today. And you all know I'm one proud mofo and I don't hide it.

Fast forward to my 21st birthday and on. I suddenly became a celebratory, spotlight-hogging, unashamedly festive go-on-wich-yo-badass!-birthday girl. Not sure what set in from that point. Yes, I can be absolutely undeterred, brassy and unabashed with my comments, jokes and observations about 99% of the time, but at least on my birthday, it's all justified. This is my day, people. Back up, I'm gonna dance in the middle of the circle now and I want a big-ass cake with all my friends standing around me grinning and eyeing me with love. Modesty? Humility? Let me think...mmm...nope, not today, thanks.

Oh and for those of you anxiously waiting, hang in there, more descriptions of the Persian New Year to come. I'm too busy with the bubbly right now.

March is kind of a big deal...

...at least in my household. I love love LOVE this time of year. Not only because my birthday is coming up. And not only because of the NCAA Tournament (which I'm not following this year and I don't want to talk about it). But it's a festive month for us Iranians! The Persian New Year (Norooz meaning "new day") starts on the first day of spring (March 20th) and there is a whole slew of festivities and traditions we follow in anticipation of the big day to ring in year 1387. Iranians and Afghanis follow the solar calendar officially, which begins on the spring equinox, and is more accurate than the Gregorian calendar which we follow in the states.

First, we do the annual "spring cleaning" which in Farsi the literal translation is "house shake-up." Because that is exactly what we do dammit. Growing up, during this time of the year, I'd help my mom clean the entire house from floor to ceiling, to the point where there wasn't a speck of dust left anywhere. We'd reorganize everything from kitchen cabinets to the linen closets to the tools in the garage. We'd clean curtains and rugs, polish the silverware and decorations. I never understood why I'd have to vacuum behind my bed when no one sees it anyway? When it got to the point of taking my books off my shelves to dust them, I'd deliberately start hacking and coughing and allege that the "spring cleaning" was exacerbating my asthma. Of course, this is also around the time I began obsessively organizing my clothes and sock drawers by color. Blame it on the yearly house shake-up. I never knew this but apparently, in ancient times, Persians believed that spirits of deceased families and friends were going to visit, thus triggering a frenzy of house cleaning for the occasion.

Then we shop for food. We started out at the normal american grocery stores...Giant, Mars, Superfresh. Then make our way to the persian grocery store. During the week leading up to the New Year, my parents would shop almost daily, realizing they forgot one last thing! Man, this was the best time of year - we had to stock two refrigerators. We're talking endless amounts of fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, rice, pistachios, nuts, dried fruits, sugar-coated almonds, an array of persian cookies and pastries and ice cream...

My mom had a ritual for the traditional persian new year spread that every Iranian family arranged in their houses a week before the new year: green sprouts had to be washed and soaked while she closed her eyes and prayed for good things to come in the new year, then she would carefully watch them grow in the sunlight by our kitchen window. Then I would be instructed to paint a few hard-boiled eggs with my own special designs, which usually consisted of the Iranian flag colors that I would almost always paint in the wrong order (green, white THEN red dammit). Goldfish were bought and put in a makeshift fishbowl. And the most distinctive memory of Norooz I have is the strong scent of the hyacinth plants we'd buy to bring in the spring season. Since I know you're all curious, I've included a diagram of the Sofreh Haft-sin (Arrangement of the 7 items that begin with "s"). Each "s" item has symbolic meaning to it. (I've stolen it from this article).

Persian Name	Definition	Description & Symbolism
Sabzeh	Spring Sprouts	Made from wheat or lentil this S signifies rebirth and renewal.
Senjed	A sweet, dry fruit of a lotus tree	The fragrant and blooming lotus tree makes people fall in love so it is natural that its fruit would signify love and affection.
Sib	Apple	A big red apple represents health and beauty.
Samanu	Wheat Pudding	Wheat and wheat products signify sweetness and fertility.
Serkeh	Vinegar	White Vinegar signifies age and patience.
Somagh	Crushed Sumac berries	This S symbolizes the spice of life. Some say Somagh represents the color of the sunrise and with the sun all evil is conquered.
Seer	Garlic	This medicinal S is a sign of good health.
Sekeh	Gold Coins	Wealth and Prosperity
Sonbol	Hyacinth Flower	Purple or pink hyacinth are common on the Sofreh and also represent life and beauty.
Gold Fish	Mahi	Gold Fish in a clear white bowl represents life and the end of the astral year associated with the constellation Pisces.
Ayne	Mirror	To bring light & brightness into the New Year
Sha’am	Two Candelabras	Candles large or small can be used and symbolize fire & energy.
Tokhm-e Morgh	Decorated Eggs	Symbolizes fertility. Eggs are painted by children much like Easter eggs are painted.
Ajil	Assorted Nuts	Iranians love nuts. They can be roasted pistachios, walnuts, almonds, and hazelnuts
Scriptures	Koran, Bible, Torah, Avesta or other Scriptures, or Poetry depending on beliefs	Symbolizes blessings and faith in the New Year. You can also place a Divan-e Hafez or other book of faith and knowledge.

My favorite tradition is the shopping for clothes and gifts. You aren't supposed to buy gifts for elders (other than maybe flowers out of respect), but for only those younger than you. Being the youngest of the family, I definitely reaped the benefits of this tradition. But best of all, I get to spoil my nieces and nephews. It is persian tradition to wear brand new clothes, right down to your undies, for the new year countdown. I didn't make up the rules, and I don't question them.

The last Tuesday night before March 20th is a persian holiday called Chahar-shanbeh Souri ("Red Eve of Wednesday"). Basically, you round up all your friends and relatives in a field somewhere, light a couple bonfires, eat some warm Persian soup, jump over the bonfires, and dance your ass off in celebration of the last Wednesday of the year. The significance of jumping over fire is you want the fire to take your sickness and problems from the prior year and in turn give you warmth and energy for the upcoming year.

On the eve of Norooz (which occurs at 1:48am EST this Thursday, March 20), you eat a specially prepared meal with your family consisting of smoked white fish and dill rice, then count down (literally, like the December 31st countdown), and hug and kiss everyone in the spirit of the new year. The phone usually starts to ring off the hook by then by relatives across the pond calling to wish a Happy New Year.

Oh, it doesn't end there...but I do. I will explain the post-new year traditions after Thursday. I still have some last minute shopping to do. Noroozeh hamegi mobarak! ("Happy New Year to everyone").

In the spirit of. . .

...International Women's Day (March 8th), I want to share one of my favorite poems. It's unfortunate that in the U.S., IWD goes completely unnoticed and uncelebrated, whereas in Europe. Africa, Asia and South America, women pour out in masses to acknowledge women - their accomplishments, their progress, and their struggles - every year on March 8th. It's even celebrated (quietly) in Iran! Come on, America. Get with it.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

-Maya Angelou

Are you serious?

When I first started this site, I did so on the basis of two self-imposed rules: 1) this would not be a venting/therapeutic/raging blog and 2) this would not be a daily journal or "dear diary" type blog. But the events that I have experienced over the past two days - that may make this post appear vengeful - are simply too blog-able for me not to share with my audience. Not only was I dying to tell people about the sheer humor and ridiculousness of what went down, but since I have received snide comments from the passive-aggressive person involved, he has lost any sympathy he may have wished to get from me, not to mention the slightest respect and decency from me NOT to expose his immaturity on the internet. Clearly, brother didn't know who he was dealing with. Am I being as childish? Probably, but this is too damn amusing.

I went on a date with a guy about two weeks ago. I really hate to date complete strangers but he was a little persistent and he seemed normal so I thought I'd give him a shot. At best, a relationship comes out of it, at worst, a casual acquaintance, right? To break him down to stats and numbers as most guys seem to do with girls is not my style, but I will do it only for brevity: he wasn't bad looking - probably a "7," he had an okay government job, he was well-traveled, kinda nerdy and wanting to pursue more schooling, BUT, as I later learned, his personality was a flat zero (in my humble opinion). We went to a shisha lounge for dinner and drinks on a week night. We talked for a bit and as much as I tried, there was no chemistry and really no common interests except for travel. I noticed he was a bit socially awkward, not comfortable with himself at all, and his poor attempts to joke got no more than a couple pity-chuckles. He simply wasn't a good match for me. I offered to pay but he insisted on paying, noting when the bill arrived "ooh! $100? That's so cheap!" We ended the night on a friendly note - no kiss, no hand-holding, no touching, nothing but a goodbye-hug. And I talked to him a couple times on the phone and online to see if maybe I was dismissing him too quickly. Nope, still zero personality.

For two weeks, I stalled seeing him. I didn't answer his calls. I was kind of hoping he'd get a hint. But I was still torn and my damn conscience got to me: should I give him another try? Maybe he was on an off night? Am I being too superficial? But by this week, I seriously was dreading another evening with him and I decided that wasn't fair to him at all. Why waste his time (or mine)? Since he anticipated meeting up again this week, I contacted him on Tuesday to give him only what I would expect from someone who just wasn't into me - the straightforward truth - and THE MOST UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATION IN HISTORY went as follows:

me: hey ____, i need to be upfront with you about something and i don't want to lead you on or string you along but at this point i just feel like this isn't going anywhere. i'm sorry, but i don't want to be disingenuous, and you deserve better.
him: *silence*
me: uh, hello? are you there?
him: yes.
me: umm. ok, well i mean it when i say you deserve better. i don't think it's right for you to get anything less than what you give...and i just feel like i wouldn't return the sentiment.
him: *pause* i see.
me: does that make sense?
him: *pause* well, rejection never makes sense.
me: i wish you didn't look at it as rejection. either something works or it doesn't. you can't force it, ya know?
him: yeah well i suppose everyone now is looking for the best. it's just hard to believe the stuff you're saying when i hear the same speech all the time.
me: *nervous twitching* um...well...i can't speak for anyone but myself...
him: so what is it about me that you don't like? you know, i just try to look for the good in people.
me: *anxiously shifting in my chair* uhh i'm not going to nitpick at you, it's not my place...i just can't explain chemistry...
him: yeah i don't really think chemistry exists. it's just an excuse for someone's uncertainty, indecision, lack of confidence and inability to take a chance. what ever happened to getting to know someone?
me: umm...yeah. ok well, i said my piece, i won't argue with you. good luck!! *dying inside*
him: i'm not arguing. i just want to talk about it. why didn't you just say something earlier?
me: umm, well we've only gone out once, and i wasn't sure but since i've gotten to talk to you....well...this is getting uncomfortable. i'm sorry. *pulling gun out of drawer...*

Skip to today. I get an email from Mr. Passive-Aggressive with the following:

"So you blow me off and now I have to pay off a hundred dollar credit card bill from going out. Gee, thanks. Seems like you used me for a good night out. Have a great weekend."

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That is the funniest thing I've ever received. Wait - he thinks that was a good night out? Pobrecito. Wait - didn't he insist to pay? Poor guy - he went on a date and had to pay! My friend suggested I send him a pack of razors with a note saying "I think you'll make the right choice." Even that is too harsh by my standards. No seriously, what the hell did this guy expect? I really did feel bad at the beginning: maybe the dude has had a rough couple of months. Maybe he has seasonal depression. Maybe he is just really desperate for a girlfriend....then the snide comments came out followed by the brilliant email. Now all bets are off, sucker. Really, the email is frame-worthy.

Evidently, I shouldn't have called him to let him down in the first place. This guy thinks I should have done the trail-off method (not answer emails/calls, avoid him at all costs, and never talk to him again) and that I deserved the reaction I got. Guys really prefer to have a girl disappear completely rather than her tell him upfront that it won't work out? And I thought their's was the gender with balls. Suck it up. Don't get into the dating game if you can't handle the possibility of a girl not liking you or *gasp* the possibility that she might actually give you the truth of not liking you. It goes both ways, ladies.

The ice on my heart and soul will melt soon, I promise. Spring is coming.

The Big Question

Let me tell you a little story about a couple I know. Joe and Jane have been dating for over 2 years. Joe is 35, with a playful personality and the maturity of a 16 y.o., and Jane is a sweet, traditional 25 y.o., who has had a wedding savings account (that has accumulated a notable amount of money) since college. When they first began dating, Joe intensely pursued Jane: he appeared randomly at her door with fresh coffee and donuts, sent her flowers, loved to join her and her friends at bars, took her biking and running along scenic trails, accompanied her on shopping trips, cooked her dinner, took her out to dinner, etc. As expected, after about twelve months, things started to die down. Neighbors stopped complaining about their loud nightly (and sometimes daily) romps - because they simply weren't happening anymore. He gradually stopped coming over to her house, and instead preferred that they just stay at his place. His expectations and demands changed. And at the two year mark, he stopped acknowledging anniversaries and even birthdays. Suddenly, she learned, he hated to run and bike because of his bad knees; he hated bars and refused to meet with her and her friends on nights out; he loathed shopping and if he ever bought her a gift, it would still be in the Best Buy bag, unwrapped, with the price tag attached. He didn't have time to cook dinner anymore and asked her to make whatever she wanted on the nights they met, regardless of her own busy schedule. He stopped going to her house completely, and they actually spent some nights sleeping apart, in the comfort of their own beds.

So what to do now, you ask? Well, just recently, Jane sat Joe down and told him if he doesn't want to marry her or get married at all, that she deserved to know now. He was so disturbed by the conversation that he became unresponsive and - just short of having convulsions - immediately left the room. In the days following the ultimatum, they went about their business as if the confrontation never occurred. Exactly a week later, Joe suggested that he and Jane go to a couple jewelry stores to look at rings. Jane was delighted, and has been walking on clouds ever since. Joe has asked for specific descriptions of the kind of engagement ring Jane wants, down to the shape, cut, clarity and band. And "the rest" - assuming she means the on-bended-knee-proposal-part - is up to him.

Jane's justification of this whole ordeal is as follows: her and Joe getting married is inevitable, and he just needed a nudge. Despite the fading intensity and contributions on his part to the relationship, she believes if he doesn't grow up (or get "nudged" into growing up) now, he never will. So, getting married is the answer. And she is, nevertheless, in a state of bliss about the whole process. Mission accomplished.

And so, to you, I present the Big Question: will Joe and Jane be happy?

En el Muelle de San Blas

I'm back and I'm black!! (or just really tanned).

I know it's been a minute since I've posted but I just wanted to make sure you're paying attention. I went to Panama for a week for a friend's wedding and to explore the country a bit. As much as I'd like to recap with a travel journal-esque post, the sights, sounds, tastes, smells and experiences feel too sacred to just rattle off about on my blog. I'm keeping my Panama trip locked away in a small corner of my mind and memory, for now.

But I will take you to San Blas. . . because I think it needs the credit and recognition. The San Blas islands are an archipelago in the northeast, Caribbean coast of Panama. Over 300 islands scattered across the Caribbean make up this community, that is inhabited by the Kuna Indians. Going to San Blas is almost like stepping back a few hundred years in time, and the region is an untouched, very un-touristic gem. After a bit of planning and research, I anticipated camping or sleeping on sand underneath a million stars, surviving on a diet of coconuts, pineapples and fish, and spending every waking hour in the clear water. I got 2 out of 3 done. Thankfully, the tour guide suggested the main island's hotel, which meant I would have a mattress in a cabin that had plumbing and cold showers (which are considered luxuries in the islands). This was the closest I've come to "slumming it" on a trip. If you know me, you would understand what I'm talking about.

The Kuna are the second smallest people in the world. The women rarely smile, but show their warmth and hospitality effortlessly. They spoke a different dialect of spanish, but I was still able to communicate them with the little spanish I knew. Birthdays are not celebrated, and the Kuna pass their days without keeping track of time or their age. The workday begins at dawn and ends just before dusk. Each island represented a specific purpose or marketable item; you went to Nalunega to pick up some from lobsters for dinner; and then to Corbiski for some toilet paper or bleach; then to Dog Island for some of the nicer hand-made crafts and snorkeling by the sunken ship. The Kuna had simple lives, and they were quite happy; they lived day-to-day simply earning a living, and raising their children. That was their sole purpose.

We "commuted" via a small motorboat for about 30 minutes between each island. You don't know what sunburn is until you're out in the middle of the sea, in the middle of the day, directly under the Panamanian sunlight. My mid-eastern skin is still peeling for the first time in my entire life. I'm not sure if words can capture the beauty of the sea that I saw. I've been to a lot of "vaca/resort" destinations, but no other place I've seen so far is as breathtakingly aquamarine and as calm as the Caribbean in San Blas. Even on the boat, in the middle of the ocean where the sea floor was probably 60-70 feet down, we could clearly see the stingrays and fish skimming the bottom. There just are no words.



Sola en el olvido,
Sola en su espiritu,
Sola con su amor el mar,
Sola, en el muelle de San Blas.
-Mana

Deep Thoughts

My all-time favorite old skit from Saturday Night Live was "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey." Sometimes, when I'm having trouble falling asleep, I try to come up with my own "deep thoughts." Don't worry about political incorrectness, randomness or crass taste of the jokes - I got them down. But the dark humor of it! I've come up with a couple of my own but I just can't pinpoint the same type of humor this Jack Handey guy did. He was brilliant.

While I'm tweaking my own "thoughts," here are some of the best SNL ones. I don't know if there is something inherently wrong with me but these crack me up every time:

"One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. "Oh no," I said, "Disneyland burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late."

"I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it."

"If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is, "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."

"It takes a big man to cry, but it takes a bigger man to laugh at that man."

"If I ever get real rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like I am now."

"We used to laugh at Grandpa when he'd head off and go fishing. But we wouldn't be laughing that evening when he'd come back with some whore he picked up in town."

"One thing a computer can do that most humans can't is be sealed up in a cardboard box and sit in a warehouse."

"To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography and the dancers hit each other."

"I hope that after I die, people will say of me: "That guy sure owed me a lot of money."

"For mad scientists who keep brains in jars, here's a tip: Why not add a slice of lemon to each jar, for freshness."