apropos of anything

It’s like we’re in a time warp.

The only differences are that it’ll be Ken suffering through the broadcast instead of Ivan, I’d have to eat some beef to aggravate my bacterial parasites instead of using an ice pick to aggravate my sore leg, and the President will be discussing health care and energy instead of the war in Iraq, mostly because that’s going so badly he wants to deflect attention away from the steaming mess that is the rebuilding-slash-”transition of power”, the suicide bombings, and the hostage takings.

But the essential sentiment is, you know, the same.

The doctor’s office just called. I have not one, but TWO parasites living inside me. That would explain the conflicting symptoms, I think. They’re calling in a prescription to the pharmacy, which hopefully I will be able to pick up tonight so that by this evening I can start waging war on the microscopic squatters in my gastro-intestinal system.

I am so happy about this I could do cartwheels right now, even if it means cartwheeling past my VP.

The nurse did advise me, multiple times and quite seriously, that I cannot have any alcohol while on this medication because I might get very sick otherwise. It’ll be tough, but I know I’ll manage somehow.

You wouldn’t think that I, who am such a fanatic about aquariums that I bought a season pass to the new Georgia Aquarium the day they went on sale, would wait almost two entire months to actually go visit. Sadly, you would be wrong.

I don’t care if the fishies ARE juicy sweet. You can’t eat them.

I almost didn’t get to go today either, as I accidentally double-booked myself for the afternoon and had to find a way to juggle both the long-planned aquarium trip and a three-year-old’s birthday party. (Also on the task list for the day: Find a present for said three-year-old because what exactly do you get a three-year-old? Aside from “something educational,” which is dreadfully dull, or clothes, which, ditto, or Play-Doh, which would land me in hot water with his parents?)

The compromise ended up being that I could only stay at the aquarium for about an hour. There was such a crowd we were only able to see two of the exhibits, the Cold Water Quest and the Ocean Voyager, but not before I accidentally smacked some woman in the face with my vigorous pointing. Note to the rest of y’all: No energetic gesturing in the aquarium, at least until the crowd dies down a little.

It’s a beautiful aquarium. I think we did some actual jumping up and down and squealing, especially with the beluga whales and in the tunnel. There are whole schools of fish! And hammerheads! And two whale sharks! And some of the fish are yellow. I think at least one of the belugas was show-boating for the crowd, as he kept swimming by the window and doing flippy things; also, he seemed to be watching us, especially the enthusiastically waving children. The tunnel is absolutely amazing, if a little dizzy-making. The crowd forces you through quickly, but there’s a large window immediately after the tunnel where you can sit and just watch the fish. While it’s not as impressive as having the fish swimming directly above your head, it’s incredibly calming. The whole aquarium is incredibly calming, even the sharks.

I’m already planning my next trip. I understand now why some annual pass holders have gone back a dozen times already. Such wonderful things surround you, what more is you looking for?

The footage from President Bush’s appearance at Kansas State University today was running (complete with surround-sound audio!) while we ate lunch today. I’m feeling more than a bit queasy at the moment, but I don’t know whether to blame my ongoing gastro-intestinal complications, the gross imposition of the Bush doctrine during a key portion of the digestive process, or the fact that I temporarily lost my mind and got my lunch from Taco Bell today.

(Yes, the same Taco Bell with the plumbing problems. Note to Ken and Ivan: I’m invoking the McDonald’s clause to let you know this must never, ever happen again, even if you have to resort to druggings or random trips into Waldenbooks.)

I was in India when the illegal wiretapping allegations first made the news, so I don’t know how much of a stir they caused then. The story made the front page of The Times of India, but then so did the New York City transit worker strike. I would like to see it make more of a stir now because the stir should never have died down because…. illegal wiretapping, people. Even worse is the explanation that Congress had authorized “whatever it takes,” that the president has carte blanche to do whatever he pleases, and civil liberties be damned.

It seems to me these allegations violate everything this country stands for, the very essence of the freedoms and liberties we are supposed to promote, and as such, every American, young and old, Republican and Democrat, should be up in arms about it. Of course, if everyone thought like me, W. wouldn’t have come within spitting distance of a second term.

I just wonder if the people who this afternoon publicly thanked the President for “making the country safer” (whether he actually has is an argument for another time) would be so enthusiastic about it if the lens were being pointed at them.

This conversation actually took place on Wednesday, but not only was I juggling deals and various debilitating stages of vomit, the text of the chat was on my work computer, so I couldn’t post it from home.

dan: hey
dan: you there?
huda: hello
huda: i am
dan: have there really been no new videos since 1:30?
dan: I’m bored
huda: umm….. yes
huda: apparently so
huda: did you see yesterday’s cannibalism piece?
huda: it reminded me of reavers
dan: no
dan: GERMANS ARE WIERD
huda: yes
dan: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THEM?
dan: ARG
huda: they are too blonde
dan: OH MY FRIGGING G-D
dan: HE SERVED THEM TO HIS FRIENDS?
huda: see? blonde
huda: yes
dan: AS MEATBALLS?
huda: as meatballs
dan: AS MEATBALLS?
huda: don’t eat meatballs that AM doesn’t make
dan: WE’RE HAVING MEATBALLS TONIGHT!
dan: WHY DID I WATCH THIS?
dan: WHY?????
huda: you were bored
dan: now I’m a little sick

First, a warning: This will in all likelihood be the grossest post I’ve ever done. If y’all read Dooce, you may have an idea of what’s coming. If you don’t, and you’re eating… well, anything at all, I strongly suggest reading this post at a later time.

I had my doctor’s appointment this morning. The doctor was of split opinion as to whether I’m suffering from prolonged food poisoning or a parasite attack in the form of amoebic dysentery, but she’s decided to cover her bases by ordering the requisite tests for the latter. Which means she needs a stool sample. Which I have to provide. Which… ew.

They say you learn something every day. Today I learned how to collect a stool sample. There are boxes and vials and liquids, and there is a giant plastic bag with an equally giant orange “BIOHAZARD” logo on it. And plastic gloves. The samples are to go in the vials and boxes, which are to go in the bag, which I am to deliver tomorrow morning to the doctor’s office. No appointment required, the nurse said. I can just walk in and hand a bag of biohazardous waste to the receptionist, and she won’t blink an eye.

The fun part is going to be walking around in my hijab, carrying a bag that screams “BIOHAZARD” to all and sundry, avoiding the flying tackles from all the people who suddenly find me very disconcerting.

They’d of course be welcome to examine the contents of the biohazard bag, but I’d really rather they didn’t because then I’d have to go through the whole process again tomorrow. Which… ew.

Over 300 people died in the second day of stoning at this year’s hajj. The second day is typically the most dangerous because many pilgrims are trying to leave Mina, which they have to do before the sun sets and can’t do without completing the stoning ritual. Add in the extra wrinkle that most pilgrims don’t believe they can begin stoning until after the zuhr (afternoon) prayer and the short winter days, and you have a mix that’s just waiting for a stampede. Our group last year decided to stay in Mina one extra day, meaning we didn’t have a particular rush to do the stoning. It rained heavily that afternoon, clearing out the Jamarat area; our camp was immediately across from the Jamarat, so as soon as the rain stopped, our group ran across and did the ritual, which takes all of five minutes when there’s minimal crowd. Last year was also the first time the Saudis had replaced the tiny pillars with large walls, an innovation so ingenious I still can’t figure out why nobody thought to do it earlier. The wall gives you a larger surface area to hit; theoretically, that should reduce the amount of shoving and pushing to get to the front. I thought it worked well enough.

	The old style of the Jamarat pillars. This is the upper level. One year, the shoving was so intense the people at the front were actually pushed over the protective wall.

It seems everybody is pointing fingers about who’s at fault, with the hajjis blaming the Saudis for not providing enough security, and the Saudis claiming the hajjis didn’t follow the rules set for their safety. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know, but from the safety of my couch, I’m inclined to agree with the Saudis. This year’s stampede was caused by people tripping over dropped luggage. You’re not supposed to bring luggage to the Jamarat (too much of a crowd… the luggage gets in the way), but people did it anyway. And they’ll keep doing it anyway, even though all it takes to start a stampede is one person messing up or not following the rules. It seems like there’s no foolproof way to lower the risks, and all we can do is pray for the people who died, that insha’Allah their hajj will be accepted. At the same time, I don’t know that I’ll ever understand why almost everyone at the hajj, the pilgrimage for God, feels it’s okay to push and shove and elbow and trample. Sometimes you can’t help it because there’s so many people pushing from behind you that you’re not strong enough to keep the force from pushing you forward onto somebody else, but someone has to start the wave off, right?

*****

On my previous trip to India in 2002, I brought back stowaways in the form of lice (first time in my life ever that I had lice, so it took me almost three weeks to figure it out (I could not for the life of me understand why my head kept itching, and the physician’s assistant I saw in lieu of the busy doctor prescribed dandruff shampoo because apparently she was either blind or incredibly ill-informed) until Uzmaa suggested the possibility; then I had a massive, panicky freak-out, went to Kroger, even though it was midnight, for lice-killing shampoo, and sat up all night washing everything I’d ever owned in hot water). On this trip, I seem to have kept up my new tradition of allowing other organisms to hitch a ride to the States, although these are (I think) microscopic and living in my digestive tract. I’m showing all the symptoms for dysentery, a lovely third-world ailment that I know best from playing Oregon Trail as a child.

I haven’t really eaten anything that tastes good since Eid — haven’t really eaten much other than Gatorade and Jello, actually — so I cannot explain how much I am craving something rich and saucy at the moment. Obviously so much I’m blogging about it. I had planned on attempting a can of Campbell’s Chunky this evening until Dan pointed out that one can I’d chosen (chunky vegetables) had beef broth, and the other (mushroom ravioli with vegetables) had chicken broth… so it was back to plain old condensed tomato for me. If I had my druthers, it would have been a slice of Savage Pizza or some kabobs or zesty tilapia with mushrooms (if you’re following the link, watch the lime juice because two limes is one lime too many, in my opinion) with roasted potatoes. Food worsens the abdominal cramping, though, so I’m sticking to Gatorade and soup until the doctor’s office opens on Monday (or Tuesday… not sure if my doctor observes MLK day or not) and I can start a regimen of shiny happy drugs. I can’t remember the last time I looked so forward to antibiotics.

The lack of solid food means not only have I not gained back any of the weight I lost in India, I’ve lost more, putting me somewhere in the range of a whopping 102 pounds. That’s disturbing because I’m not actually twelve years old anymore. My American clothes are starting to be noticeably baggy. I’m worried that my Indian clothes are only a little large, as that means if/when I gain the weight back, they may be more fitted than I’d like.

*****

There is an art, I know, to conversation, but lately it seems that I’m encountering more and more people who haven’t even mastered the fingerpainting stage yet. And by “people”, I mean “men” since I can honestly I’ve yet to find a woman with the talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the right moment. It confuses me to no end as to what the problem is; how hard can it be to avoid saying something inappropriate or rude?

huda: Oh, and I love skiing.

conversation partner: I think skiing is the biggest waste of time there is, other than playing Chinese checkers.

or

huda: I have a nose ring.

conversation partner: Nose rings are so ugly.

Seriously. How? Why? How?

A woman would have said, “I’m not fond of skiing myself, but I know people who love it. What do you like best about it?” Or she would have said, “I could never imagine getting my nose pierced! What prompted you to do it?” Or something else, anything else that didn’t smack so much of buffoonery. I’d be grateful if somebody could explain the how, or the why, or the what in the hell.

*****

I’ve been watching my beloved Bend It Like Beckham while writing this, partly because I adore it, partly because I crave the background noise, and partly to wash the violent Reaver images from Serenity out of my head so I don’t have bad dreams tonight. John Rhys-Meyers is in the new Woody Allen pic (also starring Scarlett Johansson), but for some reason I’m having a hard time seeing him as anything but soccer coach Joe. I didn’t have that problem with Parminder Nagra or Keira Knightley. It may just be that I haven’t seen Rhys-Meyers in anything but BILB, not even that made-for-TV Elvis biopic he did a while back.

Serenity is a good movie, just in a different way. Tonight was my first time watching the movie since Alicia and I went to the preview showing this summer. We were at the third preview, at which point I think most of the edits were done, since the film I watched tonight very closely mirrored the one I saw then. I’ve spent a good deal of my sick time watching the Firefly DVDs Mandi was sweet enough to send me for Christmas, so tonight Dan and AM suggested re-watching Serenity in lieu of going out when I might I have to make a break for the bathroom three times in an hour.

It’s been quite a movie night for me, but BILB is almost done, and so is this post, I think.

One year ago today, I was in Arafat. It seems like so long ago, but at the same time I cannot believe an entire year has passed, or that I am not there again this year.

I figured I would be a little envious of anyone who went for hajj this year. Turns out I don’t actually know anyone who went, but the pictures of the pilgrims in their ihrams is enough to make me wish I were there.

I’ve been devouring the media coverage of the hajj this year (seems like there’s more than usual, but that’s fine by me), from the hotel collapse to the “on the scene” coverage, in a hope of recapturing the feeling of being there, in Makkah and in Mina, doing hajj. It isn’t the same of course, but it’s better than nothing. They pan around a street, and I think maybe I recognize it; they come upon a restaurant, and that I do recognize, flashing back to the burgers we had at two in the morning after our tawaf’ul hajj, when we were so exhausted that even walking to get food seemed like an unnecessarily long chore.

So many people, all of them doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.

Tomorrow is Eid. Last year, with no real calendar, a bizarre sleep schedule, and the absence of the usual hungama — I did not have to slice almonds or pistachios for the traditional Eid dishes, nor did I worry about what I would wear or whether I’d remembered to take the day off from work — I almost forgot that it was Eid. Being in Mina was enough. Getting to shower and change out of my ihram was enough. I didn’t need the fancy clothes or elaborate meals. I had been to Arafat and spent the night (at least partly) in Muzdalifah.

Over two million people at the hajj right now, praying, doing tawaf. Last year, Alhumdulillah, I was lucky enough to be one of them. This year, as I celebrate Eid from the comfort of my parents’ home, my thoughts will be in Makkah, remembering what I’m missing.

As a child, I had a thing for big earrings. I was convinced there was no point in wearing earrings unless everyone could see them, and also, we were still sitting on the tail end of the 80s at the time.

I outgrew the phase, eventually coming to the conclusion that smaller was classier and it didn’t matter if nobody else could see my earrings so long as I knew they were there. Chandelier earrings are the rage now, but while I love seeing them on other people, I rarely wear any myself as the pretty-yet-dangly jewelry is not entirely conducive with hijab-wearing, particularly if you wrap your hijab tightly around your head the way I frequently do.

And then I went to India, where I am the youngest (the only exceptions being my three younger brothers) in a very large clan, which means that nobody really listens to my objections about there being no point in wearing large earrings under my hijab. I wore, under protest, the earrings that were handed to me and paid the price later as my tight hijab caused the earring posts to begin boring a second set of piercings into my neck. But I wore them because in India, that’s what you do.

The second set of earrings they wanted me to wear had a different type of post, one that would hold up well with all kinds of hijabs, so I just kept those on for fear that the next pair would not be so friendly. When it was time to go, I took them off and returned them to their owner… who promptly gave them back to me and told me to keep them. I don’t know if that kind of thing happens all the time in India, but it’s certainly a frequent event in my family. We’ve got the routine down pat now, the giver insisting, me refusing, the giver pulling the seniority card, me caving. It’s a dance we do.

I’m wearing them now. Of all the jewelry I brought back, these earrings that I didn’t really want to take are the ones I love the most. “They were mine, but now they’re yours because you’re my little sister.” Only in India am I anybody’s little sister.

I will likely keep wearing the earrings until I stop missing India quite so badly. Miss it badly I do, despite the horrible plane ride, despite having to watch everything I eat or drink, despite the crowds and the climatic changes, because there are so many people there who have a claim on me, and on whom I have a claim, and because everything is different, yet I still belong.