huda kazi in the big city

Thinking how funny I must have looked this morning making my multiple trips back and forth from the car carrying giant Target bags full of cookies and then later settling them around my desk so I could take them down to Farah when she swung by to pick them up.

Wondering what tomorrow will be like, and the next day, and the next day.

Wishing Madelyn Dunham could have seen her grandson elected 44th President of the United States, especially because every time I re-read Obama’s convention acceptance speech (“She’s the one who put off buying a new car or a new dress for herself so that I could have a better life. She poured everything she had into me. And although she can no longer travel, I know that she’s watching tonight, and that tonight is her night as well.“) I tear up, but I suppose that’s not so unusual because a lot of his speeches make me tear up. Joe Klein says it better than me, and some of the commenters on his post make me truly hate Republicans.

Being hopeful.

Wow. Haven’t done one of these in a while. Here we go:

1. Voting. I wanted to vote on Election Day, but this year the turnout is so high that I didn’t want to take the chance of getting stuck in a line for eight hours and being late for work (despite not having to go into work until 1 p.m. so I can help with election coverage), so yesterday I went with Alicia down to the Pryor St. polling station to vote early.

As it was just above freezing outdoors, I’m grateful Pryor St. had enough space to allow us to line up inside, even if the line did ultimately resemble a snail shell and even if Alicia and I did walk around like bemused tourists as we looked for the end of said line. We thought by going together we’d at least be able to keep each other company while we waited our turn, but for at least half the time, she held my place in line while I drafted emails on scraps of paper and then did a conference call on HER blackberry while typing out the final emails on MY blackberry.

It was about this time that I began to wonder if I’ve become a stereotype.

The line moved quickly (we finished in just over two hours), very much because of the efforts of the poll workers, who were organized and efficient and kept us organized and efficient. They’d learned from the mistakes Gwinnett County made earlier this week too; as we got closer to the actual polls, they made us turn off our cell phones and blackberries because they interfered with the voting machines.

It was about this time that I knew I’d become a stereotype.

I wish I’d remembered to take my camera. This is an election I definitely want recorded for posterity, especially because despite recent stories about the race tightening, I still have faith that my guy will win (and if you don’t know who that is, you must be new to this blog).

Barack Obama cleans up after a spill in an ice cream parlor in Iowa.
Photo courtesy of Time magazine’s Callie Shell.

I voted for the guy who cleans up after himself when he spills ice cream (instead of walking away assuming somebody else will do it). I figure if he does it in his daily life, he will do it as our president. Oh, and also, the guy who gets his shoes resoled (instead of spending $150,000 on designer clothing):

Barack Obama’s resoled shoes. Photo courtesy of Time magazine’s Callie Shell.
Click on the photo to see the whole amazing set.

And finally, the guy who knows he has a lot to learn, who admits it, and who finds a way to make me respect him even more:

“I’m reminded every single day that I am not a perfect man. I will not be a perfect president… But I can promise you this: I will always tell you what I think and where I stand. I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you when we disagree. And, most importantly, I will open the doors of government and ask you to be involved in your own democracy again.”

So anyway, voting is beautiful, and I am so glad and grateful I was able to do it this year. I hope you did too, or are planning to go on Election Day.

(And yes, Geoff, I did vote for Jim Martin too.)

2. Ambition. Or, possibly, insanity. I’m not quite sure what to call my plans for this weekend, which include pulling two volunteer shifts for Barack Obama and also baking four hundred (or more) cookies for the people volunteering for him on Election Day. Alicia and I have it planned out, have taken into account allergies and food restrictions, have determined on which days to mix which batter and which days to slice and bake which dough so that on Tuesday all cookies are at maximum freshness.

We’re making world peace cookies, twice-baked shortbread (some of which we will half-dip in chocolate), lemon and lime bars, and the New York Times chocolate chip cookies.

I’ve had an itch to bake lately, so at least the timing on this is good because I suspect in 48 hours I will be sick of the sight of creamed butter and chocolate chips. That’ll free us up to start churning out cupcakes like Bree Van de Kamp.

If we can pull it off, I’ll feel like we accomplished something, and like we contributed tangibly to the Obama effort, and these days, in my world, that’s the height of beauty.

3. Trying. Over the last week month or two three, I’ve really felt like there is too much going on and that it’s a struggle every day just to keep my head above water. I keep telling myself that in X weeks things will get better, but X is a moving target that just keeps moving. So far, though, I have not yet pulled a Meredith, and for that I am proud of myself, that I haven’t yet decided to stop trying.

I know that one or two people who drop in here occasionally are fans of Sarah Palin, and I know I’ve made my opinion of her pretty clear. But I would like to know — why do people like her? What is it about her that makes you think she is a good vice presidential candidate and a qualified person to step in to the presidency if necessary? I really am asking to understand and not to mock, and I promise to immediately delete any comments that are rude or disrespectful to your opinion.

When I read last week that Colin Powell was on the verge of endorsing a candidate for the presidency, I have to admit, I thought, pfft. Who cares. It’s so late in the game, and if he picks McCain, everybody’s going to say he just picked the Republican, and if he picks Obama, everybody’s going to say he just picked the black guy.

Well. That’ll teach me to underestimate the General.

I always had a lot of respect for him, even during the Iraq WMD debacle because it must be tough to have to sell something because your boss tells you to and not because you actually believe it. I still don’t think he believed it, but I also think Colin Powell is not a man to sell out anybody, much less his former boss and the current President of the United States. He’d rather take the hit himself.

Maybe I’m being too soft on him because on Sunday he said this: “Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country? The answer’s no, that’s not America.” Maybe. But I liked and respected Colin Powell on Saturday too; his statements on Sunday just solidified it for me. Now I like and respect him more for being honest and intelligent and straightforward and brave enough to say the things that need to be said.

(…which, he was even more to the point in the press conference after the show — see the YouTube below)

I’m still worried about the possibility of a McCain/Palin victory (not counting out a sneaky, underhanded last-minute surprise, or the impact of the DVDs, or the relentless robo-calling) but somehow, Colin Powell has managed to give me some of my optimism back. He took a stand. He made it clear he doesn’t think “Muslim” and “American” or “Muslim” and “good person” are at all mutually exclusive. It’s what I wanted Sarah Palin and John McCain to do. I guess this is why I think more highly of Powell than I do of them.

But then… I watch The Daily Show. I don’t live in a small town. I prefer the First Amendment to the Second. By the McCain/Palin standards, I am not a “real American”, so I suppose what I think doesn’t really matter after all.

….but I don’t feel the least bit tired, and it’s game seven of the ALCS, and the Sox are down by two in the bottom of the eighth, and I kind of secretly want the Rays to win (even though the Red Sox are my American League team, and why yes, you can have favorites by league, thanks for asking) because the Red Sox are kind of the new Yankees, and I kind of want to see this out-of-nowhere team make it to the World Series, especially because I am not one of those Fox television execs who are no doubt are busily sacrificing goats and chickens and everything else they can reach in hopes that the Red Sox win.

Update: And the Rays win. Guess those Fox execs should have pulled out the big guns. In the meantime, I am mourning my poor Sox (yes, I rooted against them, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to see them lose) and rolling my eyes at Chip Caray: “After all those years of futility, [the Rays] finally have something to celebrate.” Way to be a downer there, Chip.

I gave Nooreen a copy and realized that it has been years since I read my own copy. When I started, it only took getting to the author’s note to remind me why I loved The Book of Three so much as a kid. So, in lieu of more politics (wanna know what I thought about the debate? check out my Twitter (why yes, I do Twitter now) page), here’s a little Lloyd Alexander for you:

“‘In some cases,’ he said, ‘we learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself. This is one of those cases. I could tell you why, but at the moment it would only be more confusing. If you grow up with any kind of sense — which you sometimes make me doubt — you will very likely reach your own conclusions. They will probably be wrong,’ he added. ‘However, since they will be yours, you will feel a little more satisfied with them.’”

Currently reading (in addition to The Book of Three): A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon and Sabriel by Garth Nix.

I have been looking forward to this election since November 3, 2004. I have been counting the days until the entire world can rejoice at the end of the Bush administration. But the reason I want this election cycle to be over already has nothing to do with my desire to put a fork in the Bush Jr.’s legacy or the undeniable truth that somebody somewhere has been campaigning for president since 2002 and dear GOD that is a long time to be building up to an election. The reason I want this election cycle to be over already is because it’s gotten so freaking ugly I can’t stand it anymore.

Muslim family on the streets of New York City. We’re just like everyone else, you know.
Click on the image for the original Flickr page.

I first noticed it when McCain picked Sarah Palin as his running mate. Sorry, Palin fans. It’s not a partisan slam. When I heard her speak at the Republican National Convention, I had a scary moment of wondering what my life as an American Muslim would be like under a government headed by this woman who makes absolutely no secret of her dislike of the people of my faith. I’m sure if you ask, she’d qualify that she means only the TERRORIST Muslims, but to listen to her speak, there’s really no other kind, and nowhere in all her posturing does she ever make me believe that she would care that I have no terrorist designs whatsoever before she locked me up in a SuperMax somewhere and threw away the key.

Maybe that’s not what she believes, but it’s what I hear when she speaks, and I am the one who is usually unrelentingly optimistic and cheerful about the future of Islam in America. I am the one who agrees wholeheartedly with Imam Magid that there is no country on this Earth that is better for Muslims to live in than the United States because of all the freedoms and protections that are available here. I am the one who points to the incredible post-9/11 support of American Muslims as evidence that no, we are not in danger being put into of internment camps like the Japanese were during World War II.

And yet, Sarah Palin scares me.

What scares me more is that John McCain, a man I would have described four years ago as “honorable”, is tacitly encouraging this campaign tactic by not shutting it down or reigning in his surrogates. If John McCain expects me to ever consider him as a possibility for the office of the presidency (and if I am honest, that ship probably sailed in February, if not before), he needs to make me feel like he would be representing me and mine instead of just the people who look and think like him.

More than that, I resent this innuendo that somehow there is something wrong or “evil” with being Muslim. Frank Rich touches on it, Campbell Brown attacks it head-on, and Jon Stewart knocked it out of the park tonight.

I would really love to meet Sarah Palin or John McCain in person (her more than him because I do honestly think that somewhere in there the original John McCain is disgusted with the levels he’s stooped to) and ask them why it’s okay for them to spin me and mine as though we’re all always secretly scoping the joint to find the best place to put the C4 and why they think “Muslim” and “good person” (or “Muslim” and “American”) are mutually exclusive.

In the meantime, I suppose I’ll take comfort in knowing that the team at Five Thirty Eight is against Muslim-murdering Presidential Christian babies !FOR! Ohio.

Because I no longer have a place to list out what I’m currently reading…

I finally finished last month’s book club book, Life Isn’t All Ha Ha Hee Hee by Meera Syal. I know, I’m so behind. I have to admit I had my reservations about this selection after the disastrous Mistress of Spices (Raven? really?), but Syal’s novel proves to be a much stronger effort than Divakaruni’s Harlequin-wrapped-in-paan. However, I do think this book will only really register for foreign-born desis, as so many of its themes are rooted in the ABCD experience (or in this case, BBCD experience), and I don’t feel like Syal ever makes an effort to reach an audience outside her base.

In one scene, film-maker Tania, while arguing about her career path with her agent Mark, says, “No more grubbing in the ghetto, I’m mainstream now.” And Mark replies, “The ghetto got you where you are today, Tania. It’s what makes you different. And a good story is a mainstream story, end of story.” I think Syal identifies more with Sunita, based on her decision to play Sunny in the BBC miniseries version of the book, but I have to wonder whether Tania’s exchange with Mark isn’t lifted straight out of Syal’s own life.

There is another scene in the book where someone tells Tania, “You don’t live here any more. And this stuff is not for tourists. Go home.” She is referring not to Tania’s residence but to her identity, in essence calling Tania out for being more white than brown, and I think this is also something Syal has taken to heart — that in order to be a true artist, you have to know and accept who you are, even the parts you may not like. Tania gets there eventually, as I think Syal has in this book that is entirely and unapologetically brown.

While I do not think Life Isn’t All Ha Ha Hee Hee is on the same epic, soaring level as Ian McEwan’s Atonement (and I should disclose that I am the only one of my book club who liked that book, and also that I did not like it so much as love it and that I consider it a masterpiece of modern literature), I’d recommend for a quick weekend read. It’s chick-lit, but chick-lit with a purpose beyond bagging the perfect boyfriend/husband/job, and even the non-desis should be able to find something they like about Chila, Sunita, and Tania to keep turning pages until the end.

Still working on the Harry Potter re-read that I started during suhoor in Ramadan (because I need something to do while eating breakfast at 5:15, and reading a book I’ve already read and know well works better than reading something new because then I don’t suddenly find myself so caught up in the story that I must know what happens and I keep reading until ishraq, and also because I ran out of cookbooks to read). I finished through Half-Blood Prince before Eid (actually, I started Deathly Hallows the night before), so I just have a little bit left to go before I put Harry away again. Also I promised to get Nooreen a copy of The Book of Three because I figure anyone who loves Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings should read the Prydain Chronicles at some point in their lives, if only to be reminded that sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.

Next up: This month’s book club book, A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon, who also wrote The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Also, my list is about to run dry, so I am looking for recommendations if anyone wants to volunteer any.

He held back during the debate. Pulled his punches. Swallowed the opportunities — and there were many — to point out that Sarah Palin was talking out of her derriere. And as a result, while he might have come off as more knowledgeable and more informed than Palin, while he might have been more comfortable with his answers and more able to actually respond to the questions asked, sometimes Joe Biden too came off looking a little coached.

But then at the end Ifill asked each candidate about their Achilles’ heel, and while I found Palin’s response characteristic of her detached, robotic, cue card-filled performance all night, Joe Biden went and did this:

…and he got me. Truly got me. That wasn’t Joe Biden sticking to the script, or following through with his coaching. That wasn’t Joe Biden being a politician. That was Joe Biden being Joe Biden, a man who has had to deal with some truly awful things and who I believe when he says he understands. And when he became a human and not a senatorial talking head, I thought, am I glad Barack Obama picked this man to be his vice president.

Oh, and also, I want to know what kind of parenting techniques Sarah Palin is applying when she allows her five-month-old to be used as a political prop instead of leaving him with a sitter or a relative so he can be asleep in his crib like all the other five-month-olds are at 11 p.m.

Dear Sarah Palin,

I am not a fifteen year old boy. I am also not a twenty-five year old man, or a forty-year old man, or a sixty-two year old man, or a man of any kind. Please stop winking at me. Please stop using words like “ya” and dropping your g’s and generally behaving like a high school cheerleader cozying up to the captain of the football team.

If you want to be taken seriously, act like a professional. Otherwise, get off the stage. This is an embarrassment to real, dedicated women everywhere.

–Huda

P.S. Also, if you could please maybe answer the question that is asked at some point, that would be lovely. (See? I can be feminine too.)