Maverick

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Unbranded and home on the range.

Wow look at the noor on yo fayce!

Your eeman must be like, at an all time high! damn wow! I mean, no really, you’re just positively glowing. lollamagizzlestimesomgtimesathousand!!!!!111

Scientists have recently discovered / confirmed that the human body actually does give off tiny amounts of light.

Read more here.

Oh hell YES. I always wanted to just freaking shine. Like, I wanna be my own flashlight. Hah! Take THAT, Energizer. Up yours, stupid scammers. I always knew there was something fishy about bright neon pink rabbits that wear shades. Its a freaking conspiracy to make us keep buying flashlights and batteries that are really just remote mind control devices invented by Pinky and the Brain to take over my presidential palace on Mars.

OOO BUSTED.

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Filed under: Body Science, Miscellany

SUPERSPIKED = SUPERHAPPY

oh shugwucks … someone laced my Coke … again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read the rest of this entry »

Filed under: Miscellany, MSN Ejecta

Dear God could you please Rewind my life?

I saw Jennifer going into the cave in front of me, and others near the entrance as well. Hoisting myself up to the ledge, I adjusted my rucksack and started towards the cave entrance, but on second thought, I slipped it off my shoulders and told Jason to watch it, as I set it down next to the fallen tree trunk he was sitting on. He replied with a lazy murmur: “yeah sure dude, no problem. I got it”.

I sauntered into the cave telling Jenn to wait up, and in reply I heard her voice just a few feet up ahead telling me to hurry up. I didn’t hesitate to let my eyes adjust to the darkness inside and wandered onwards, without noticing the fact that Jennifer’s silhouette was definitely advancing down a slope while I myself seemed to be walking on a fairly level surface …

… and then there was no surface beneath my extended right foot. My body twisted in the air as I fell, and my head hit the opposing cliff face several times on the way down. My cranium made first impact with the rocky canyon floor down below, and a split second later my back slammed into the unforgiving pile. I barely heard myself screaming  as everything faded to black.

When I came to, Jennifer was standing over me yelling if I could hear her. My head hurt really bad and sharp pain was crashing through my back like ocean waves breaking upon the shore. I managed to lift up my head from her jacket that she had folded and placed under my head by that time. Jason was squatting near my feet, with his rucksack beneath my ankles.

“Dude that was freaking nasty! I heard you from all the way up and outside. Are you okay?!”

I was about to respond when I realized something was wrong. Yes, my head hurt like hell, and my back was messed up. But my hips … the mask of contorted agony on my face was soon replaced with one of horror:

“Guys …. my legs? what the HELL?? I can’t feel my legs OHMYGAWD WHAT THE HELL??!!”

Jason and I exchanged looks as it began to dawn on him how serious my accident was. His trembling voice didn’t give me any confidence … “Holy sh*t!! OMG, holy mother, OMG …. SOMEONE CALL 9-1-1!! …” Read the rest of this entry »

Filed under: Miscellany, Solace

Excessive mumblings

How would you define israaf?

Can I define and constrain it by the boundaries of a box, or must it remain vague and shapeless? Whats exactly is opulence and decadence? Read the rest of this entry »

Filed under: Miscellany

Oh you think you’re funny huh?

A while back, in an effort to get my baby brother [now 15 years of age] to build some thicker skin, I told him to take any insult someone threw at him and roll it right back with a lighthearted add-on intended to show the insulter that he wasn’t hurt or fazed by the insult, and rather, was having fun with the insult. So for example if someone called him a “LOSER!”, he should just crack a smile, make a goofy face and correct the person by saying “Loser with a Life, yo!” or if someone called him a “RETARD!”, he might reply back saying “Retard keepin’ it Real, baybeh!” and perhaps accentuate the retort with a snap of the fingers, or pointing at himself, or shrugging his shoulders, etc. The idea was to not only show complete indifference to the insult, but to even toss it back with his own spin on it.

So tonight at the dinner table as I was scooping my rice and meat out onto my plate, my sister made some stale sarcastic joke, and I forced a stunted, artificial stream of laughter and followed up with “WHAT A FUNNY!” while keeping a poker face. And then that reminded me of the odd time I’ve heard my parents toss the term “mutafunnee” about when one or both of them were angry at us. Its a term in both Arabiy and Hindi that loosely translated, means “troublemaker”.

Well, you can guess what happened next.

My face lit up like I had just discovered the cure for cancer as I looked over at my baby brother who was sitting on the computer in the breakfast area. “OMG! Next time Mom calls you mutafunnee, you can just laugh and say “VAT-A-FUNNY!” … I found this proposal to be so hilarious I nearly collapsed from laughing so hard. I had to first cover my face with my hands because I couldn’t stop laughing, and then I slapped my hands on the countertop and then buried my face in my arms, still laughing my head off. My mom, standing behind me was slightly amused at the proposal, but moreso at my uncontrollable laughter. She couldn’t resist slapping my back while laughing herself. My sister and my baby brother were snickering either with me or at me, I didn’t care.

What’s even more funny was that I had no clue what “mutafunnee” means. My mom said she had never seen it actually written in literature, but only heard people saying it. She vaguely recalled it meaning something like troublemaker or rascal. We had a brief discussion at the dinner table about what the root word was. My sister suggested fitnah or fitan, but I said no because the root didn’t seem to be F T N.

A little while later I was asking an associate  – Basboosa  – what the word meant. Here’s our brief exchange:

Salmaan says:
I have a question
Salmaan says:
do you know what the urdu term “mutafunni” means?
Basboosa says:
I have a answer
Salmaan says:
i know its like, an insult or something
Basboosa says:
someone is fat and funny
Salmaan says:
but i’m not sure what it means
Basboosa says:
AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA
Basboosa says:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

… lawlz.

Get it? MOTA + FUNNY …. fat and funny?

That was good.

Gosh I love turning my brain off and becoming an airhead. The laughs come so easily at anything and everything.

Anyways. Later I asked Dr. Saima if she had the answer and here’s what she said:

Mari  – says:
mutafannin : crafty [fanna] Hin mutafanni
Mari  – says:
mutafanni itself is arabic
Salmaan says:
mutafanneen is from arabiy?
Mari  – says:
yep
Salmaan says:
and in hindi it became mutafannee?
Salmaan says:
meaning? crafty? troublemaker?
Salmaan says:
what?
Mari  – says:
fanna=thats hindi, but i dont know what exactly that means
Mari  – says:
mutafannin
Mari  – says:
is arabic

Filed under: Ghetto, Laced, Miscellany, MSN Ejecta

I see dead people.

So, beause today’s Friday and because I closed a good opportunity that had been in the pipeline for quite a while, I was of course, kinda happy and walking on cloud nine. The kid inside of me felt like celebrating so I started spinning myself around and around in my chair, getting delieriously drunk on the dizzyness until … I fell outta my chair. All 170 pounds of me came tumbling onto the floor, limbs splayed out, and then I was clutching my head with both hands, moaning and trying to get up off the floor.

I tried but fell over again.

A colleague several cubicles away, was walking by and stopped, sipping on a drink with one hand and the other hand stuffed in his pocket. I heard him sarcastically quip about calling 9-1-1, and then he nonchalantly walked off. Then a minute later another colleague thought to extract his face away from his monitor and looked over at me and asked in a distant voice “oh did you just fall outta yer chair?” and then promptly went back to laughing at whatever stuff was on his screen.

…. annnnd, that was it. Everyone was either cold and heartless and didn’t give a jack about anyone else because they’re all scared of getting sued for being nice and helpful. Or, they’re thought I was well within my standard parameters of normal behavior.

But, hey! Social experimentation is cool!

Filed under: Ghetto, Laced, Miscellany

sorry

I was away from my blog for a very long time for a lot of reasons, and all are true:

1) I forgot how to log-in to my WordPress blog. Really. I just couldn’t remember the link.
2) I had so little time.
3) My mind was going through a creative meltdown, in lockstep with the financial markets. People were screaming at me to paint some awesome Graffiti masterpiece on their Facebook walls and I just felt gray and dead inside, like the brain juice just wasn’t flowing. And that meant when it came to posting here, things were also on hold.

ahh oui m’sieur … c’est la vie.

Filed under: Miscellany

I Wanna Live in a Land Called Paradise

I gotta admit, I’ve never heard a song that so insistently tugged at my heartstrings or remained on my lips for so long. I even found myself singing it at the office today even though I stopped to ask myself what I was doing, I kept at it and eventually answered my own question – because it reminded me of our ancestral home, and for the final end that we all hope our long journey will end at, insha’allahu ameen.

I suspect it probably has something to do with the fact that it was written and sang by a Muslim. Its the song chosen by Lena Khan for her short film “A Land Called Paradise” which got top prize for the One Nation | Many Voices contest.

Here is country singer Kareem Salama’s song along with the short film by the same name, by Lena:

A Land Called Paradise
(K. Salama)

(Chorus)

I wanna live in a land called paradise
I wanna go to the valley of the King
I wanna live in a land called paradise
Wanna see the birds fly and I wanna hear the angels

Sing the praises of my Lord so far above
As I move poetically with the struggle I fall in love
I look to the left I look to the right and all I gaze upon
Reveals the source of flowers rainbows and the dew at dawn
Some see before and some see in and some see after
I let my sight pierce the chains and see the master

(Chorus)

I wanna live in a land called paradise
I wanna go to the Valley of the King
I wanna live in a land called paradise
Wanna see the birds fly and I wanna hear the angels sing

So many times in my life I ask myself the question
What got me brought me into all this mess I’m swimming in
But pain is not and neither harm in the pool of bliss
So slap me with your hand or kiss me with your softest kiss
Tell me that you love me or that you don’t like me now
Tell me you invite me or that you don’t want me around
I won’t cry over a world that can’t change my life
I’ll put my money on what lies ahead in paradise

(Chorus)

I wanna live in a land called paradise
I wanna go to the Valley of the King
I wanna live in a land called paradise
Wanna see the birds fly and I wanna hear the angels sing

I try to do right and love my wife and trade and pray and talk
I can be anywhere doing anything and I’m mindful of God
I’m pleased in good and happy in harm and now I realize that I already live in a land called paradise

(Chorus)

I wanna live in a land called paradise
I wanna go to the valley of the king
I wanna live in a land called paradise
Wanna see the birds fly and I wanna hear the angels

I wanna live in a land called paradise
I wanna go to the valley of the king
I wanna live in a land called paradise
Wanna see the birds fly and I wanna hear the angels sing

Filed under: Miscellany, Rune, Solace

So retarded you couldn’t even kill yourself?

This is one of those stories that’s true and yet, so unbelievably bizzare that it leaves you fearful for the human race – I don’t think we want genes as retarded as these getting mixed into the human race:

“A young male entered the walk-in entrance to our ER one busy Sunday afternoon shift, holding a hand over a bloodstained shirt. When the overwhelmed triage nurse didn’t acknowledge him for several minutes, he calmly walked to the registration desk and informed the startled clerk that he had been shot in the chest. After the man was rushed into our trauma room, his unluckiest-ever story unfolded.

It seems that he had been depressed for several weeks, and two days earlier had decided to commit suicide. He took a bottle of Valium and a fifth of vodka and fell asleep in his bed, fully intending to never wake up again. Unfortunately, the combination was not lethal, and he did wake up, albeit thirty-six hours later, with a tremendous hangover. Deciding that something else was needed to complete the job, he filled up the bathtub, got in, and slit both wrists with a razor blade. Alas, the bleeding was all venous and clotted off after several minutes, leaving him sitting in a pink-tinged lukewarm bathtub.

He climbed out of the bathtub and decided to hang himself from the dining-room light fixture using his belt. the light fixture tore from the ceiling and he crashed to the floor with such force that he fell through the dining-room floor into the basement. Battered but not beaten, he looked around the basement for something to finish the job. He found a .22 caliber bullet but no gun. He decided to hold the bullet with a pair of pliers and, pressing it against his sternum, took several whacks at the compression end of it with a ball-peen hammer. On the third whack the bullet went off. He fell to the floor and looked down to see a bullet hole on the left side of his chest. After lying on the floor for twenty minutes, he decided that maybe he really did not want to die and drove himself to the ER.

Our evaluation showed that the bullet had harmlessly bounced off a rib and was lying in the subcutaneous tissue of the left chest.”

AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STUPID RETARD.

On a much heavier and more serious note, I think this just goes to show that really, when it’s not your time to die, then you CANNOT move your time forwards by even a split-second. It wasn’t his time to die and no matter how hard he tried to kill himself, it just wouldn’t happen.

(Does the Angel of Death ever laugh? If not, he does now)

(Hat tip to Saima M., for writing it up, from the book “True Stories from the Nation’s ER”, by Mark Brown, M.D.)

Filed under: Ghetto, Miscellany

Spread the word, Big Bird!

Spent all day today at Dundas Square down at the Yonge St. and Dundas intersection. Basically, it’s Toronto’s equivalent of NYC’s Times Square.

I felt like one of those newspaper kids of the 1920s standing on the street yelling “EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT!!”

It was at the Islam da’wah booth, which has basically two long tables end to end, with a large patio umbrella standing upright in between, with black and white text saying Free Info on Islam” plus the phone number to call. Its right out on the sidewalk in front of the Eaton’s Centre and right across Dundas Square, on Yonge St. itself, just a few steps from the corner. Its always busy, with dozens of people going by every minute when its slow, and hundreds passing by during the busier times. Most of the day it was just me and Br. Abdul-Rahman. We had lots of free literature, ranging from English-only copies of the Qur’an, pamphlets covering specific issues like womens’ rights and hijab, to various informational books about Islam for those unfamiliar with it.

It was my first time doing something like that but I’d have to say I was prepared for it – it was so much like a sales job – me presenting a service or product to potential customers which I believe will be of benefit to them. Many people curiously approaching the booth, some simply took the books or pamphlets and walked away, some politely declined with a slight wave of the hand, while others stayed and asked a few questions. Some voiced their appreciation at our efforts, saying they were indeed aware of the massive amount of stereotype and misrepresentation that exists in the media about Islam and Muslims. And some stayed even longer, to talk. These three Spanish Catholic chicks up for a visit from Mexico spent nearly two hours sitting and talking to Abdul-Rahman about Islam. They were definitely interested, in fact he even set up an appointment the next day [tomorrow] to have them come back to the booth at 12pm so that he and his wife could take them to a restaurant so they could talk more about Islam while eating, in a casual setting as opposed to out on the street.

The experience was made all the more amusing by the fact that today was an international day of protests against the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, in major cities around North America and in Europe. The folks protesting in Toronto numbered less than 2,000 as I estimated. They were at the US consulate in downtown Toronto and then they marched south along Yonge St. towards the lake-shore, with the cops totally blocking the southbound lanes and intersecting traffic to let the protesters pass. Me and Abdul-Rahman grabbed as many copies of the About Islam books as we could and ran right out into the street, moving through the crowd like fish through water, passing out the booklets to the protesters who snapped them up like hotcakes. After I ran out of copies to hand out, I stood back and gave the marching protesters two big thumbs up while cheering them on.

And then of course you had the weirdos of Toronto, the poor hobos and the buskers and the street performers, all near us on the same sidewalk. This one really tall guy was dressed up like a witch with white long hair and a pointy hat, and some oriental-looking lady was 1walking around in a brightly-colored kimono, with her hair done up all Japanese style with some chopsticks through her hair. Yeah. I guess Halloween comes early in this part of town.

Fun.

Filed under: Ghetto, Miscellany