it's just an obnoxious watch anyway

Earlier I erased 55 numbers from my phone. It was quite refreshing.

Addiction in the Islamic Republic

"Iran has the highest rate of heroin and opium addiction per head of population in the world, according to the UN: one in 17 is a regular user and 20% of the Iranian population aged 15-60 is involved in drug abuse." (The Guardian)

The Dalai Lama on Regret

"When we were talking about Lobsang's death, you mentioned some regrets. Have there been other situations in your life that you've regretted?"

"Oh, yes. Now for instance there was one older monk who lived as a hermit. He used to come to see me to receive teachings, although I think he was actually more accomplished than I and came to me as a sort of formality. Anyway, he came to me one day and asked me about doing a certain high-level esoteric practice. I remarked in a casual way that this would be a difficult practice and perhaps would be better undertaken by someone who was younger, that traditionally it was a practice that should be started in one's midteens. I later found out that the monk had killed himself in order to be reborn in a younger body to more effectively undertake the practice..."

Surprised by this story, I remarked, "Oh, that's terrible! That must have been hard on you when you heard..."

The Dalai Lama nodded sadly.

"How did you deal with that feeling of regret? How did you eventually get rid of it?"

The Dalai Lama silently considered for quite a while before replying, "I didn't get rid of it. It's still there." He stopped again, before adding, "But even though that feeling of regret is still there, it isn't associated with a feeling of heaviness or a quality of pulling me back. It would not be helpful to anyone if I let that feeling of regret weigh me down, be simply a source of discouragement and depression with no purpose, or interfere with going on with my life to the best of my abililty."

(Howard C. Cutler)

"Wu-Tang is for the children!"

-the late ODB

I knew I was somewhere very different when the plane landed and no one clapped.

The Case of the Repairman and the Special Book

The men I've come across here in this country have been, well, interesting to say the least. Take the repairman. He seemed nice enough at first, but he turned out to be tad bit creepy, which isn't helping my efforts to keep myself from assuming that everyone is a smelly old creepster dipshit.

The shower hasn't been working the last few days, so I got a hold of the woman we're renting from and she sent over the repair dude. I was a bit creeped out by the idea of having some rando come to my apartment when I'm home alone 8:00 at night, but damn I really just want a hot shower so whatever.

The doorbell rang and I buzzed the guy in. When I opened the door I was greeted by a dude missing a few teeth and the oh-so-common stench of severe B.O. He didn't speak English, and my Arabic is crap. He seemed friendly enough though, and he went straight to the bathroom to get to work. I sat in the corner of the living room pretending to be working on something important at my computer. I heard him fiddling around for a bit, then he walked out of the bathrooom to the opposite end of the living room where the shelves with books and DVDs are. I just kind of stared at him while he opened the sliding glass door guarding the books, then carefully removed a book and casually walked back into the bathroom.

I didn't want to think the worst right away, so I just kind of told myself it was a home repair book or something. But I knew for a fact that there weren't any home repair books in that bookcase, let alone home repair books in Arabic. In any case, I knew damn well what book he was thumbing through. All was quiet in the bathroom - no sounds of pipes or water or fixing things and whatnot. I sat there for a few minutes, debating on whether or not I wanted to peek in there and see what he was up to, but ultimately decided against it. His phone rang a few times - he ignored it. Then he re-emerged and returned the book to its proper place on the shelf. After that he just kind of played it cool and started looking through the DVDs, taking special interest in the multiple series of '24' that we've recently acquired.

He walked back into the bathroom, then walked back out and told me it was fixed. I went in the bathroom, and sure enough it was fixed (at least for now it seems). He tried to explain to me what the problem had been, but honestly I couldn't hear anything through the stench. I pretended I understood what the hell he was talking about, paid him, and sent him on his way.

After he left I went to the bookcase to confirm what I had already suspected. We are renting the apartment from an artist, and her books are still here. When the repairman walked by with the book, I saw the glint of a thick, shiny golden book - one with lots of pictures. I located the shiny golden book on the shelf and read the title:

"100 Nudes."

WTF????

And the thing is, it was obvious that he'd been here before and knew exactly where to find it. He didn't spend more than 20 minutes in the apartment, a good chunk of which he spent with the nudie book. And before he left he said something about something needing to be fixed with the washing machine. I just kind of stared at him and nodded. He said he'd come back to fix it later. Looks like he is already setting up another playdate with the lovely petticoat-shedding ladies of the late 1800s and early 1900s featured in Taschen's "100 Nudes."

the driver was afraid to come along

We took off our shoes before entering the house, as is customary. Robert chuckled and muttered something about me being the only person in the camp with red toenails. I looked down at my feet, at the chipped red polish, at the silver ring on the toe next to the big one on my left foot, a gift from my mother, and felt slightly embarrassed. We were at the site of a mass atrocity, where little vanities really stood out as the meaningless, foolish distractions that they are. I looked at my other foot. One of the toes was still swollen and discolored from a week earlier, when I stubbed it on an uneven sidewalk as I was walking to Bourj al-Barajneh refugee camp. Today I was in Sabra and Shatila. With stupid red toenails.