apropos of anything

Sometimes I think there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to read through and digest all the news I want, in the way I want, which is to be able to step away from the computer and be able to speak knowledgeably for 3-5 minutes on the subject in question. There’s just too much news. Too many positions on each new story, too many new stories in each new section.

And sometimes it just gets to be too hard to handle, like this eyewitness account of violence in Tehran, which just makes me shudder, and feel a little vomity, and be grateful that I live in a country where the most outrage over an election (see Bush victory 2004) mounts to is scathing blog posts and late-night television satire. But, I suppose the Iranians had more to lose, or… more to gain had their guy won.

The problem with the Iranian election coverage is that I can’t suss out the correct story since there’s nothing even resembling unbiased media in the country right now. Foreign journalists have been asked to leave, at least partly for their own safety, so those of us not in Iran are relying on reports from their state-run media and then from various Twitter accounts, some of which have started accusing each other of being Basijis or secret Israeli spies.

The pictures, though… they seem real enough, and as I look at them, I can only pray that things work out for the best in Iran in the end, insha’Allah.

In honor of Adnan’s birthday and the season finale of 24, my favorite text message exchange ever, set during the episode of 24 this season where Jack gets exposed to the biological weapon General Zuma secretly developed for Starkwood:

Huda: they should totally kill off Jack and have Tony assume his identity!
Adnan: Astugfirallah! Thobah thobah thobah

I wish I could find a way to save just these two text messages when I have to wipe my text messages because I have no more space on my phone.

Do not have enough fingers and toes to count how many things I have to do, but… in the process of doing them, I think maybe, maybe, I found a picture for one of my blank 8×10 frames:

It’s from right before Aamir’s valima. This is what happens when I finally look at the pictures on my camera — I find one I love.

Last year, my heart just wasn’t in it, and I never made it to Screen on the Green. I kept seeing the words “Big Momma’s House”, followed by the words “Presenting Sponsor: Pepsi” and I just couldn’t taint my memories of sitting under the stars at Piedmont Park, singing along to “My Favorite Things”, with a cross-dressing Martin Lawrence flanked by posters of Atlanta’s arch-nemesis.

I mean, Pepsi. Seriously?

The schedule’s out this year, and it’s being hosted by Peachtree TV again. Not entirely surprising considering P’Tree TV is trying to gain a foothold in Atlanta, and while I’d still prefer the classics TCM would have chosen to air instead, I think I might just have to accept that for now, I’m going to have to catch my classics at home.

There’s one movie on the list that does make me go oooh! though: Field of Dreams. My love of baseball movies predates my love of baseball (no, I can’t explain it either), and FoD is really the one that got me hooked in the first place.

So I suppose this year’s got one up on the last year, even if the festival is still at Centennial and not at gorgeous Piedmont. And I’m glad to have it to look forward to again, all things considered.

Heather pulls into a gas station to restock on basic supplies (e.g. sugar and caffeine). Leta and I have been napping in the back seat, but she wakes up as the car stops moving and decides to join Heather and Jason on their run. I wake up to the slamming of the car door and hear them discussing whether it would be okay to leave me alone and asleep in the car, so I wave cheerily at them to convey that I was awake, yes, but I’d be staying in the car. They wave back, and Heather uses the remote control to lock the car.

A few minutes later, Leta meanders back outside. I hold up one of three chocolate bars that I’d fished out of a bag in the back seat and gesture emphatically to indicate that I’d be taking this one, please. She gestures back that I am not making any sense. I reach over and slowly unhook my seat belt, and then, equally slowly, unlock the door. Leta watches me dispassionately from the outside as though she’s curious what my next move will be. I open the car door.

The car alarm blares.

Leta doubles over with laughter. I am cracking up myself, and also trying to figure out how to turn the alarm off from inside the car (as obviously outside the car makes the car angry). It takes me only a few seconds to realize there is no way to do this without the keys.

Meanwhile, inside the convenience store, way in the back, Jason looks at Heather and asks, “Is that our car?” And because she is a wise, wise woman, she sighs, rolls her eyes, and says, “YES.”

(Seriously, I know… months of radio silence on this blog and now I’ve got 1500+ words on a TELEVISION SHOW? I had to write this out, though, to remember it, to finish thinking about it, and perhaps this is the kick in the pants I need to get back to blogging regularly.)

Two Decembers ago, Alicia put season one of Battlestar Galactica on my coffee table and promised me I’d love it. I didn’t disagree; from everything I’d heard about the series, it seemed right up my alley. What I didn’t expect was how MUCH I’d love it when I finally got around to watching it the following February — the last time I fell so hard for a story was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

(warning: spoilers for BSG the entire series and specifically the series finally after the cut)

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Obama signs executive order to close Guantanamo Bay.

I am so proud of him, and of us for having faith in him.

I know that I have higher hopes for our 44th president, Barack Hussein Obama, than I have had for any other president that I can remember. Julia and I watched the inauguration from the bridge that spans the two towers of the CNN Center; the atrium directly below us was full to bursting with people who’d opted not to deal with the frigid temperatures at the outdoor Centennial Olympic park viewing, and every time Barack Obama appeared on the giant HD TV, the crowd roared like their football team had just scored the winning touchdown. It was amazing, just a little piece of the emotion that must have been happening in D.C. at that exact moment, but from the familiarity of my office, where I have experienced almost every significant event over the last eight years and the most fitting place for me to be to usher in the Obama era of hope and change.

I know he’s not magic, but he does make me believe that yes, he can, and yes, I can, and if we all give a little and work a lot we can dig ourselves out of this quagmire. I trust him, and I have faith in him, and I hope he starts his term tomorrow by coming out swinging.

I know that Geoff was absolutely right when he told me to see Slumdog Millionaire, even if I had to fly to New York to do it (and at the time, I would have). It’s a beautiful and heart-wrenching movie that stays with you, that reminds you of the tenacity of the human spirit, and above all else, makes you so grateful for having parents. For me specifically, the footage reminds me of how much I love Mumbai, flawed as it is, and also that from whom much has been given, much will be asked. They can’t touch me, we break our friends so fast they can’t even touch me…

I know that what’s happening in Gaza, what has been happening in Gaza for weeks now, makes my stomach churn. I don’t really care if you think Israel is right or if you think the Palestinians are right — surely you can agree that no human being should have to stand in line for hours simply to get a loaf of bread, or be terrified to go to the bathroom because there are rockets flying overhead. Surely you can agree that the aid workers need to be able to get back into Gaza because… but for the grace of God, that could be you or I.

I know that grapefruit cake is yummy, that I work with awesome people who put together amazing products with grace and style, and that I am looking forward to tomorrow.

It’s a blessing.

For saying things that need to be said: