one female canuck

Random randomness

2008-07-23T19:48:00.004-04:00

.1. Christian Bale in The Dark Knight.
When he's in the interrogation room alone with The Joker.
And he looses his sh*t on The Joker's ass over Rachel's whereabouts.

I'm pretty sure there was a collective sigh from all female members (& The Gays) in the audience.

MY GOD.

What is it about a man's ferocity and ability to teeter on the edge of madness (but only over you and his family) that makes women hot? ~~Or maybe it's just me and if that's the case then let's pretend I never said anything to that effect...~~

.2. I see ~~fat~~ pregnant women.

The other day, I stood up to relinquish my seat for the ~~fat~~ pregnant lady. When she asked me why and I told her it was because she was pregnant, she was really offended and really mean about it.

I am rarely speechless, but her "response" left me speechless and so it was great of the girl next to me to block the barrage of words by saying: "She was just trying to be nice. If you don't like it, just keep movin'...", which she did.

.3. ATTENTION ALL MEN!

When a woman is headed toward the same door that you're going through right now, please don't keep holding it open for her if she is more than 3.5 meters away. Otherwise, she'll be obligated to run at the door and then maybe even smash into you because she was running a little too fast in her heels because she didn't want to put you out andjustfeltreallyawkwardthatyouwereholdingthedooropenwhenshewassodamnfarawayalready.

I'm just sayin'.

.4. Remember The Black T and my foray into the world of Athletes?

My Coaches read my entry because I sent it to them to make them smile. Because it was funny. And endearing. And because I love them so...

But then Chris, yesterday? He told me that they took my post into consideration because they had already been thinking about this likely because every class I ask if I can buy The Black T NOW? and that...are you ready for it...? THAT!

THAT I AM A WBK ATHLETE!!!!!!

AND THAT I WILL GET MY BLACK T SHIRT!!!!!

BECAUSE I'M AN ATHLETE!!!!!!

Because our training sessions are worthy of making us ATHLETES!

Because when the Gee Gees train and when the NFL or CFL or NBA or W~~hatever~~TF acronym they are and they train? They're only usually training at a level one or two - whereas WE. WE? WE WBK ATHLETES, WE train up to level 6 and some of us even level 7.

Suck on that Acronym Boys!

I'M GETTING A BLACK T SHIRT!

I very nearly hugged Chris when he told me, but he's sort of a Giant and I thought he would mistake the hug for a possible grapple and then throw me over the edge and into the pool.

(I heart WBK.
I heart WBK Chris & Dana.)

CRACK!

2008-07-21T21:43:00.002-04:00

OMG.

(Just call me TinkerBell, please.)

A little old school

2008-07-18T21:10:00.003-04:00

Download Luba's Let It Go.

I've been dancing to that song all week (even while at the office) > love the lyrics.

(Psst! Where is Luba?)

2007: On Regret

2008-07-16T06:24:00.003-04:00

For those of you who have lived here on a regular basis, you know that 2007 was a definitive year for me. In fact, I can now say that 2007 may have been the most definitive of my wee little life thus far.

Every single day brings us face to face with a dozen mini choices; on some days, the choices made define the essence of our character. For nearly six months in 2007, I was facing choices that lent a hand to shaping who I was and what I stood for. Not one of those choices was simple or easy. Most definitely, not one choice made was made with a light heart. But, each one of the choices I made in 2007, I would make again in a heartbeat. Every euphoria and every trauma and every deception and every single point of me, I would relive and relive with an open and trusting heart.

Although many of the people who I met in 2007 are no longer a part of my life (nor will they ever be a part of my life), I will always cherish the time in which they were a presence in my days. Thankful and grateful, too. People don't necessarily come into our lives to stay, but rather to help us and themselves reach another stage in our lives. They must leave because the lessons learned are ones that can only be learned once their presence is no longer felt.

That reality is only a sad and difficult thing to accept if you are not willing to see the good in every single situation.
If you choose to focus on merely the ugly and the painful, then you will not understand that at the essence of everything is goodness because you will be much too busy trying to make sense of a painting while standing with your nose pressed against it. Likely, you are more comfortable wallowing in how you have been wronged and how you are owed, rather than learning and breathing and living through the most difficult experience in order to improve who you are.

Likely, you live and then you regret.

But that's not the way I have ever functioned and it is most definitely not the way I will ever function.
For this, I must thank and cherish Islam, because the foundation I stand upon is one of Faith and Belief, and that foundation demands that I be thankful for every single thing that comes in to and potentially leaves my life. As a Muslimah, I must believe that I am blessed - in fact, that we are all blessed by virtue of being alive - and not merely pay it lip service. That alone is enough. That alone is enough to teach me that 2007 is a blessing.

More importantly than that particular concept in Islam, though, is the other, and that is: we should fear nothing in this world but Allah.

I have one too many times seen regret lead to fear, trepidation and bitterness. I've actually watched as someone wallowed in their past and actively denied their present. Fear of committing the same mistakes over which they currently wallow. Fear of being hurt.

But here's a little secret for you: you will always be at risk of getting hurt, so buck up and deal with it, already. Denying it won't stop it, but it will stop you from evolving. Worse still is that it is a terrible way to waste a short and wondrous life, this living in fear.

Remember that in order to regret, you must emotionally pull yourself out of today; you press the pause button on right now and you instead turn your mind's eye to yesterdays. (It's like 'nostalgia', which is more often than not, merely another way of communicating your displeasure with right now.)

And quite frankly, you shouldn't have time to do this because you need to concentrate on today. How and who you will help today. How you will improve today. How you are going to work today to make a better tomorrow. There is enough pain in this world for you to focus on, none of it having to do with your sad state.

Ultimately, "regret" is a means to self indulge and self spoil and many personalities are comfortable in that state. It is an irresponsibility that you level against your own potential and future. And just as you wouldn't harm your body physically, so too should you never stand in the way of your own potential and motion forward.

Here's the kicker, kitties (let's get ready to shed our egos): We must believe that everything in this life happens for a reason and that reason doesn't necessarily have to do with our life. Sometimes (and this you must accept if you perceive yourself as a functioning part of and contributor to the overall unity of society), we have to understand that we will go through traumatic situations for the benefit not of our self, but of others.

Crazier still is that we may never know how our pain helped someone else. And yet, we must accept it with open arms. (Odd this concept of altruism, n'est pas?)

But that takes strength.
And the question becomes: Are you strong enough?

Exactly three years ago this day

2008-07-15T05:59:00.000-04:00

I blogged the following:

.1. Have just come back from seeing Batman Begins with Di and her Peej. Before the film began, we were discussing the dynamics between men and women, and the rules of flirtation. Somewhat thrown by the different perspectives (e.g. what a woman defines as a signal vs a man’s idea of a signal), I turned to Peej and asked “Why are you men so dense?” to which his ricochet was “Men are dense because women think they’re being obvious.”

What a great response! Missed opportunities?
I laughed …right before I scribbled down his words.

.2. Re Batman, film was good and story well spun. Christian Bale is one of the finest actors of this generation, and I apologize ahead of time as in the coming paragraph will objectify him.

I rarely find men in full suits appealing, preferring them in either: (a) Matching jacket / pants, unbuttoned tapered (not over-sized and sloppy) shirt; or, (b) Perfect is a man with scruffy beard and messy hair (but clean) in either cargo pants or jeans. I lean toward the rugged rather than slick, but as I watched the movie, found myself thinking: Christian Bale gives good suit.

No one can wear a suit like him, and I think seeing him will forever be a throw back to American Psycho.

Mind you, he didn't look so bad wearing only bruises and sunshine...

And I am today writing to reiterate my love of Christian Bale in a suit.
Because no one. And I mean: NOT ONE MAN can wear a suit like Christian Bale. The man gives good suit. In fact, he gives best suit.

So much so that I'm nearly jumping out of my skin at the prospect of him repeatedly giving this best of suit in three days' time. I have seen the previews for The Dark Knight and I have been witness to the perfection that is Bale in more suits and. Honestly? My teeth rattle.

Meep.

Best. Outfit. Ever?
Black pin-striped dress pants and matching blazer. Simple white button down undone at the neck.

Jeesus, I'm deprived.
I can't wait to see Bale!

But frankly, why do I love him so much?
Because I love the way he loves his wife. I love the way he adores his wife - because you can tell that he doesn't just love her (yes: I used the words 'just love her'), he actually likes her. And that, my friends, is what makes all of the difference in the long run. (Anyone disagree?)

LOVE HIM.

And another....

2008-07-14T14:58:00.003-04:00

If you don't already love John Cusack and his WarIncTeam... (Click only if you're interested in reading the political side of me.)

Comments here are closed...

Calgary

2008-07-09T16:11:00.004-04:00

It was my first time out West and I loved it. Surprisingly, Calgary is a lovely and calming place (notwithstanding their crazy Conservative politix).

Most of my trip was spent with R, who is the sister of my uncle's wife. R was married nearly ten years back and due to a move to Kazakhstan and the birthing of four children, we rarely maintained touch. But, seeing her after nearly twelve years proved that real friendship does in fact span time, no matter the clock's ticking.

Her children are joys to be around; the youngest one being Jennah who reminds me of Maggie Simpson as she is constantly with a bottle in her mouth.

Here are The Babies:

And here is Jennah (also, with bottle):

R's husband was so nice and so warm and so welcoming that I couldn't ask for more. They make a lovely couple, see:

I gifted Jennah the world's greatest gold lame crack that she wore from the moment she awoke to the moment she slept. More importantly, I gifted the household a new garden!! I am both proud of and excited by this choice. Now, inshallah no one will forget to water the plants and they will live a long and healthy life, reminding R and Co. of I each summer when they bloom.

Due to certain circumstance, there were some very difficult moments that remain beyond my comprehension. What I can say about that is that it's reinforced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that any decision making process shared between partners must stem from the same value system. (Otherwise, you're completely f*cked.)

Almuhim. I have some highlights to share, as follows...

.1. GEESE!!

.2. This is the Calgary Tower:

...of which the top left hand corner is made of super duper strong plexi-glass or something like it (this, I hear, is the scientific term):

When you reach the top of The Tower, you can walk out on to this plexi glass thing and see ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE STREET! (This excites me.) Equally as important, if you stand beneath the plexi thing all the way down on the street and you have a very strong camera, you will see up the skirts of good people such as I. There is no getting around this, as I discovered.

Right. So I am by no stretch of the imagination a trepidatious person, or someone who doesn't appreciate risk taking. I do it all the time and am prone to diving head first because I am of the opinion that time is precious and one should spend it doing and being with the things that make them happy and sunshine-y. So...it was with great surprise that I couldn't make myself take an actual step on to the plexi platform while looking ALL THE WAY DOWN at the concrete. Instead, I had to stare straight ahead, walk to the side and then look down. It was totally trippy. I loved it.

...the best two pictures involve Aaminah.

The first is of her completely and totally floating in air:

while the second is of her standing next to spider man:

R had been there before but she had never been able to make it out on to the plexi platform. I coached her and she made it. Also, I coached some random woman who was absolutely mortified but managed to do it - she told me I had a fantastic way about me and trustworthy. (That's how you represent Islam, Kitties...) That interaction was as trippy and as fulfilling as the plexi platform, but that's just me.

Look! Muslims!
>> They're just like You! <<
They sit on plexi platforms!

Also, while at The Calgary Tower, I signed something (I don't know what)

Got busy

& discovered that when My People aren't terrorizing Your People, We can be found seducing You into submission

.3. We played in Banff

.4. I wrote at the feet of Lake Louise

.5. I went to visit Na.oh.mi in Edmonton and realized that there's few people with whom we can share so much of ourselves so easily. Na.oh.mi is one such friend. She and Jason are soon moving to Calgary and so this little home of theirs will be no more.

Edmonton took Na.oh.mi and I on a wild goose chase for a Dairy Queen (skor blizzard, please), a trip to Rona, lunch at Da*de*oo's, deep conversations about de-weeding one's garden, three episodes of Arrested Development and the world's yummiest miso salad dressing.

And finally...

.6. I made a new friend, who:
- introduced me to RAW BEEF (a.k.a. Beef Tenderloin Tartar) that I find myself craving right now
- told me how gasoline lamps function (I used to think it was by magic alone!)
- let me drive their Lexus GS350, a car that starts WITH A BUTTON! You push a BUTTON! (My New Friend likes toys and so also has a Porsche 911 S convertible. Lucky for them that I can't drive stick, or else I would have been all over the Porsche...)
- met Bambi with me
and
- showed me that Calgary was in fact secretly Tuscany

All in all, the trip was as close to perfect as I would have liked it...

Final Notes on NYC

2008-07-08T06:18:00.000-04:00

.1. Because when I think of Unions, it seems a propos that NYC come to mind.

.2. Stare at one spot on the tracks; as soon as there's movement in the periphery, your eye picks it up and there's your rat. (That's the trick.)

.3. More breakfast! (Fresh yogurt & fruits, a croissant and a fruit plate. It was a little much, but who am I not to take one for the team?)

As you can see, I had my agenda / diary so as to jot down my random observations and Shoosh's laptop (because I left Baby Mac at home); I was trying to write out my notes re a review of War, Inc. and instead drowned in the latte.

.4. BALL GAME!! (This is the stadium which is to be torn down so that it may be replaced with a shinier version.)

Yankees played the Red Wings.

.5. We dropped by The Coffee House for a thick and gooey breakfast, where I quite possibly took the best photo of Sharshoor, ever.

Three things to note re The Coffee House. Shoosh nearly took out the hostess because she was so busy texting on her BlackBerry that she ignored us for a little too long. Without warning, Shoosh turned to me and said: "Shoo hay 7aywaneh?" which literally translates to "What is she, an animal?", but actually means "What? Is she an idiot?"

Shoosh is full of fire and energy and so her tone was easy enough to read; Hostess put down her BlackBerry (because your a$$ is so important that you need to text immediately? (To which the natural response is, of course, because our a$$es are more important and we need to be sat down asap. I see my own indulgence here...)) and sat us down without any more texting.

It was the day the Netherlands lost to Russia and the two loudest, drunkest and most obnoxious men in the joint took a liking to us. They were a little on the wanker side and wearing what can only be described as attire meant to birth Rock 'n Roll imagery. I don't mind a man who drinks once in a while, but he'd better know how to hold his liquor. These guys didn't have a clue and at one point, one of them came over to our table and grabbed my sunglasses before I quietly and quickity split took them out of his hand and didn't respond to any of his questions so as to not give him any ideas or allusion that I was interested.

Much more endearing than the drunken slobs were a couple seated across from us. They couldn't take their hands off one another and it was absolutely adorable. It worked, I think, because they both had the same colouring and they were young and cute and so into one another they didn't take notice of anyone else in the joint. There was a playfulness in the way they interacted and a comfort that engaged anyone who looked at them. (I'm all for public displays of affection when you're not obscene and recognise it doesn't suit everyone. It's like The Dress That Borders Sl*t (TDTBS); some women can wear TDTBS and own it like no one's business because they have an inherent class in the manner they carry themselves. Others wear TDTBS and look like prostitutes. Same goes for PDA.)

.6. I call this Shoosh's Glamour Shot and Adeebo's Crazy Eyes Shot. Love it; it's now hanging in my office.

.7. Night out at some club on Park Avenue because most of the boys in the circle are bankers. (LOOK! I have on eye make-up!!)

Best part of the evening was when one of the guys decided to tell me that what he did for a living was: "Build companies."

I lost my sh*t and laughed so hard he couldn't help but laugh with me.

"Build companies"?
My response was: "That's like telling me you occupy countries. That says nothing to me except about the size of your ego, guy."
Lucky for me I can deliver a joke and he can take it.
And I never deal where I refuse to play, so the rest of the interaction was light and fun.

.7. Met brother blogger HijabMan for a wonderful breakfast ~~at the unGodly hour of 8.30 am on Sunday (my fault, this!)~~ and was seated on the steps of St. Xavier church when I paparazzo'd (or is it: paparazzi'd, Espy?) him walking toward my NYC home...

He was handing out Sunshine to any one who would take it. Apparently, he had a hard time getting people to accept the Sunshine...but then I came along. And we all know I'm a HoneyPot. And that means I have enough charm to force you to receive the Sunshine. Three more lucky folks accepted the gorgeous flowers.

Before heading to breakfast, we went into St. Xavier to chill with Jesus.

...and this may very well be one of my favourite pics from the whole trip

(Note worthy: No implosion this time, either.)

(More note worthy: HijabMan's take on our morning basking in Sunshine.)

.8. Breakfast with more Sunshine.

.9. While en route to the Karim Rachid store, I saw this beautiful statue of the map of Palestine and stepped two feet in to ask "how much?" Only then I noticed that there were Hasidic Jewish folk praying in the back room of this Gallery. I've never been so frazzled and caught off guard; not even at an Israeli check point where you expect to be treated like shit because you're a Palestinian...probably because at the check point you're braced and expecting it.

I turned around and immediately left as I'm certain I wouldn't have been very welcome (had I enquired about purchasing even a map of what I consider Home).

...and finally... .10. Who doesn't love finding a Heart on the Street?

This trip to NYC has been among the best.
I feel in love with Shoosh all over again, and I love that I love Adeebo. It's always so hard if you don't click with your girls' men, but Adeeb is an amazing guy and their relationship is a treasure, Alhamdulilah.

(Aside: I forgot my favourite jeans at their place. I am still shocked every time I realize this; these jeans are like a second skin. They're perfect and I've had them for nearly three years. They're worn and torn and they've seen half the world with me...and currently, they are en route to Shoosh's mom's and I am awaiting the moment that I will greet and embrace them once again.)

Find the complete series of photos here.

Coming Soon: More NYC & Calgary pics and random notes

2008-07-07T01:43:00.005-04:00

Kitties!

I have been delinquent in my blogging as I have just returned home from Calgary (on a flight so filled with turbulence I almost threw up all over the crazy guy next to me taking pictures of his feet). Forgive?

Soon: Pics and stories coming from both NYC and Calgary. You will laugh, you will cry, you will wonder how I am of flesh and blood rather than crayon and paper.

Until then, do ogle this one of my favourite shots EVER, taken by my gorgeous and beautiful Sharshoor in NYC. The man here is Adeebo, her husband and for some strange reason, as soon as Sharshoor said "Smile", we both managed to do something utterly idiotic. Wicked fun...because only a fool wouldn't feel the sunshine when looking at this picture...

NYC this day (10 things to note, +1)

2008-06-21T00:34:00.013-04:00

Please Note: I am typing directly into blogger. The following is likely filled with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Please forgive...I am exhausted. xo

.1. Breakfast was a cob salad without the bacon. I drowned myself in Le Pain Quotidienne's lattes because they were so good.

.2. I purchased a book here.

.3. Noticed that LG's new advertisement campaign for Scarlett TVs has a grammatical error in it; their tag is "...bla...bla...Scarlett TV's". Morons.

.4. NYC men are pretty awesome. Two conversations of note:

(a) I was crossing the street when a relatively attractive dude nearly fell into me while roller blading.
"I almost fell in the right direction there..."
"hee hee."
"ha ha."
(silence and he rolls away, then turns around and rolls back toward me)
"Can I invite you to my art show?"
"Sure...but I'm only here until Sunday..."
"Where are you from?"
"Canada."
"Well then why don't I give you all of my info - maybe this'll be the romance that spans somethingOrOtherIDidn'tReallyHear..."
"tee hee."
"SomethingElseSaidThatICan'tRemember."
"I'll definitely pop by and see your work."
"The gallery it's at is great, too."
"Well then I'll make certain to go..."
...and I plan on doing just that tomorrow, Inshallah. Find Patrick Collins' art here, please.

Update to add: I went to the gallery and checked out his work. Cool stuff.

Aside: I will never ever see Patrick again and that was a quickity split conversation on the side of the street but still: how can you not love that Alpha in some men? The men who just go for it? The men who see something and just: GO. For. IT. Love it when a man does that.

Determination and strength are sexy. A man who knows what he wants is a fox. (I'm not saying this is Patrick, I'm just talking in general random terms here, folks...)

(b) Some well dressed but much too old dude stopped me as I was about to cross the street and head into Karim Rachid's shop (dude's a fellow Carleton grad, so I am obligated to support him).
"You are Italiano."
"No."
"You are not Italiano?"
"No."
"Yesssss. You must be Italiano - you are much too beautiful not to be Itali-."
"I'm Palestinian."
"Palestinian? What is? Hmmmm. Where is Pales-."
"I'm a Middle Easterner."
"Palestinian? You model?"
"No."
"You should model. Palestinian?"
"MIDDLE. EAST."
"You are EGYPTIAN?"
"NO!"
"Me? I design special clothing for Scoop. You know Scoop?"
"Yes. I have to go. I'm late."
"I want you to model for me."
"I use my brain to make my money...but thank you, anyway. BYE!"
"We use our brain too in my industry. We are full of smart people! Ha ha! You are too beautiful to use your brain, anyway."
"Smart? Like you? Like you who doesn't know PALESTINE, ~~you creepy f*cknut~~? I don't know if I'd call that smart. Tee hee heeeee."
And I bolted across the street but not before he'd handed me his business card. Weird and random.

.5. I saw War, Inc.

(You will laugh. You will be sick. You will be sad. Most importantly, you will be enraged.)

War, Inc is about life for sale. It is about the branding of Government, military, religion, relationships and the pornification of the 'female'. Every single thing is up for sale. I'm not going to say any more about this film except that you need to get your asses in motion and get to a theater as soon as possible. Support this film in any and all ways you can. (Before the film started, I was standing outside and taking photos - three people approached me and asked me why. I fished; They came into the film with me.) I'll be writing a piece on it and so I won't give you anything more. You'll have to wait until the article is complete and published at Rabble to read it.

P.S. Joan Cusack is a fk'n RockStar of gigantic proportion. I want to take that woman out for a drink and tell her all of my tales.
P.S. Marisa Tomei is a beauty as she has a face untouched by botox.

.6. I gave this man all of the cash I had.

.7. I ate a pretzel.

.8. We hung out at Bryant Park with the assumption that there was going to be Opera In The Park. I was completely stoked to sing along...until we found out that we were in the wrong park.

Instead, we took stupid pictures.

.9. We splashed past Rockefeller Plaza.

.10. Ate dinner at La Lanterna in George Washington Square.

.10+1. And finally ran home through the pouring rain. We were soaked and satiated.

Oooh. Politix. Yummy scrumptious wet dripping politics.

2008-06-18T22:46:00.007-04:00

John Cusack's War, Inc CrackSpace has posted one of my political pieces here as their most recent blog entry.

I am humbled that they think enough of my writing to post it alongside the likes of Naomi Klein. I am so uncharacteristically speechless. Scroll down and look at my spaztic comment about my own article - no one knows I wrote it but Nick / Yvonne / John and YOU. (Now you finally know my last name; forgive the coy?)

(Artists are smart folk, yo! )

Have you told people about War, Inc? Have you friended War, Inc on CrackSpace? What about CrackBook? They will not e-reject you. Promise!

GODSPEED! SAVE DARKIE, SAVE WHITIE, SAVE THE WORLD! YALLA!

Men and That Woman

2008-06-18T15:31:00.003-04:00

So I've received some interesting emails from both men and women since posting the blurb that: "(Did you know that men are the ones who fall in love at first sight? It's not actually women, but rather men who will tell you that from the very first moment they saw her, spoke to her, watched her walk up a set of steps, handed her a coffee over the counter, etc ad infinitum, they know that she's the one they want to marry. It's men, not women, who are the eternal romantics (this, not to be confused with a woman's inclination to romance in the form of flowers and candles.))" (This info I picked up at least a year ago in a men's magazine but can't remember which. Apologies.)

People want an explanation and so I am going to pretend I know what I'm talking about. Bare with me as I write in generalizations and from my own experience and observation, please.

(1) A man who needs to be convinced that the woman he's with is the woman he should stay with is a man who will either: (a) Eventually leave that woman; or, (b) Marry that woman and never feel completely fulfilled.

(2) I have yet to hear a man declare: "I'm ready for commitment" while being single. (Lest they are relatively religious and are actively seeking the covenant of marriage.) Whereas almost every single woman I know has said at one point or another: "I am ready for a family / commitment / marriage / children".

I do believe - and this is my opinion - that a man is only ever ready for commitment the moment he meets the woman he wants to commit to. And so when that woman comes into his life, she does - usually unknowingly - change things about his life (& ain't no man changin' if he don't want to - otherwise, he's not much of a man...at least not in my books). She becomes the catalyst for everything else and so it would seem relatively normal and logical that that individual is romanticised.

A lot of women are rooted in romanticizing the situation, rather than the individual. Marriage, commitment, children, family. They sound good to most, and so it is the situation that drives the desire in this case. We tend to romanticise the situation whereas men tend to romanticise the individual. Perhaps this is why a woman's inclination is toward the visual romantic (such as candles) whereas the man's focus is on the woman (read: sex) and his connection to her. (Please understand I'm not here discussing a random booty call, but rather the very real connection yearned for when two people come together; in men it's the driver. And yes it is also a driver for women, perhaps even a stronger driver for women; we just deal with it differently. Again, it doesn't matter if we're built that way or if we're conditioned to believe we are that way. The point is, it is a reality, so perhaps to clarify, I will say that sex is a part of the human condition. It is a part of all drivers. There. Happy?)

I'm sure that someone out there can tie the above to the way men are raised / born. Aggression and risk taking are drivers for them; when they see something they want, they go after it and think about the consequences later. Same could be said when they set their sites on a woman they want for life, from the moment they see her.

Q: Why would an Alpha ever let the 'perfect' woman get away?
A: He's a Beta.

Or...all of the above could be pure bullshit. You decide.

The Secret Lives of Churches: Muslims Gone Wild

2008-06-17T10:31:00.002-04:00

Proof that a Muslimah can be inside of a Church without catching ~~Hell~~ fire.

Someone tell McBush, STAT.

My new favourite word

2008-06-17T10:25:00.005-04:00

"Shredded".

I am using it at random times for fun and to freak people out. The most fantastic usage to date is: "My arms are shredded because of boxing" because they're not. They're merely toned and yet saying that they're "shredded" elicits the same facial expression as the one brought forth when a size 22 tells you they're a size 10.

It's the gigantic elephant in the room and people are scared to go near it lest it crush them with its big bum. It's fun to watch.

"Shredded", as in: My arms.

P.S. YAZO - I am going to create an "ATHLETE" category just for your beautiful self. HiGHFiVE!

Shawn & Kelly (Part 1, 2 & 3 of 4)

2008-06-16T10:15:00.003-04:00

You all know Shawn, who I have mentioned on numerous occasions as 'S'.

Shawn and I have a rare sort of friendship. I don't believe that beyond a certain age, men and women can be friends. I do believe - that for the most part - in order for us to be close friends, there needs to be a certain level of attraction that exists, and so friendship in its purest form as it exists between two straight women (for example) can never be attained between a man and a woman. Or so is my experience ~~because men always fall in love with me due to my never ending charming~~.

Shawn is unique.
Shawn and I fell for one another's friendship immediately and without hesitation and our friendship was based on the trading of secrets (our own, not those of others).

He has offered support when I least expected it and talked me through the most obscure, surreal and craziest moments. He has also always offered an honest and sincere interest in and support of my life. Even though it should go without saying, I will write it anyway: the last two sentences are dittoed on my end.

Understand that Shawn has a special place in my life...and on Saturday he was married.

Part 1: The Wedding
Shawn met a beautiful and sparkly girl named Kelly.
Shawn and Kelly fell in love.
Shawn and Kelly got married...because that's what folks do when they want to adventure together for an extended period of time. Or so is the case, in my world, shared by the likes of Shawn and Kelly.

My heart nearly exploded through my chest when I walked up to the church and saw him standing in his tuxedo, I was so happy - a word that falls so short of what I actually experienced.

(My heart also nearly exploded because I was wearing a shade of sl*t red entering into a church while others were in subdued hues of brown, black, blue and grey. Hurrah for D who showed up in the same - entirely unplanned - shade of red a wee bit later.)

Not surprisingly for a girl who cries when she sees any act of kindness, I cry at weddings.
On Saturday, I cried a lot, and for two reasons.

The first was because it was in a Church.
I am a Muslimah and so I heart Jesus (as well as Moses and the rest). Consequently, it fills me with unbelievable amounts of warm and fuzzy when I see people standing / sitting before a priest, sheikh or a rabbi and entering into this very 'covenant' before God.

There was an incredible moment when the priest mentioned the etymology of the word 'sacrifice' and how it is sacrifice and forgiveness that make a relationship work. Sacrifice is rooted in the Latin concept to come together, and so when entering into a union of this sort, sacrifice (a word that too many frown upon) is the key to unifying as one, rather than existing as two solitudes and feigning unity. (Remember that. Also remember that our worth is measured not by our ability to remain a single unyielding entity, but rather how we enrich, improve, challenge to make better the lives of everyone in our path. You did not become so great had it not been for the sacrifices made on your behalf; so always work to return the favour to the universe (so long as you're not going against your moral code, obviously).)

But I digress.
I still remember Shawn sitting across from me in the fall of 2006 and telling me about Kelly, who he'd already fallen in love with. (Did you know that men are the ones who fall in love at first sight? It's not actually women, but rather men who will tell you that from the very first moment they saw her, spoke to her, watched her walk up a set of steps, handed her a coffee over the counter, etc ad infinitum, they know that she's the one they want to marry. It's men, not women, who are the eternal romantics (this, not to be confused with a woman's inclination to romance in the form of flowers and candles.))

Needless to say, Kelly's an easy girl to fall in love with because she's of the rare few who seem to have an endless amount of love to give, leaving others to wonder how such a tiny chest cavity can hold a heart so big.

Shawn didn't merely fall in love with her, but rather he fell into a state of adoring her. Seeing this so clearly and in such palpable manner was the second reason I cried more so than usual.

I heard it in Shawn's voice two years ago and I saw it all over his face on Saturday. What a pleasure it was to be witness to what may very well be the key to 'ever' after.

Part 2: The Party
Too much to tell you, and I've already told you the most important part.

Let me say that I danced with three wonderful folks, one of whom I will discuss in the following section. First, though, and perhaps most importantly, is that Shawn's mom and dad taught me how to jive dance.

They had the patience to teach me how to jive dance!! I couldn't believe my luck - I was so excited and kept tripping at first, throwing my hand up at all the wrong moments, but still keeping the beat and so they kept at it with me.

I can now - sort of - jive dance. I need a little practice, but I appreciate that they took the time to graciously waste on me.

(A little note on Shawn's family, just so you understand the sort of creativity that exists in their world: Shawn is adopted and in order for the mama and the papa to teach Shawn about that, his mum created a story book about their lives and how they found Shawn. Mama and papa were bears, and Shawn was a penguin brought into their family. I will forever think of Shawn's mom as The Penguin Lady whose sense of imagination I love.)

Part 3: Salt
I've mentioned previously that Shawn is a writer with several Hollywood scripts already under his belt.

A while back, Shawn started telling me about "Max and his amazing family", with whom Shawn was working on a new project. Whenever Shawn mentioned Max, he lit up with energy and admiration and an overall sense of awe. When discussing Max's family, I could almost touch how much Shawn's come to love them, most definitely how grateful he is for their presence in his life.

Max is 27 years old with cystic fibrosis. His beautiful beautiful sister also has CF.

I must admit that before I met Max, I'd not known anyone with CF. I will also admit that I had a deep misunderstanding about what CF does and how it affects those who have it. Max pretty much shattered every misconception I had of this disease and I spent the better part of yesterday grilling my med school cousin about CF.

Please learn more about Cystic Fibrosis and consider supporting a foundation in your local area. Also, please read about and get to know the labour of love that is Salt, borne between Shawn and Max McGuire. (I will provide more info on Salt as it becomes available.)

For all of my blogging brothers and sisters, please consider placing a link to Salt's home. (Shukran.)

Part 4 is forthcoming; the day in pretty pictures, happy faces and a lot of red lipstick.

Three honourary mentions:
(1) Folks were trying to guess where I was from - behind my back - until Shawn told me.
(2) I fell in love with all of Shawn's uncles, the Riopelle men, one of whom provided one of the three greatest lines of the evening: "How can the Jews be fighting your kind when all they need to do is look over the fence and see that Palestinian girls look like you?! WHY ARE YOU SINGLE??"
(3) The other two "greatest lines" of the evening belong to Kevin, the best man, who started the evening's hilarities with his speech as follows: "Fornication! Oh. Uh. Sorry, I tend to speak too quickly when I'm nervous. Let me try that again: For an occasion..."
& ended our night with this goodbye to me: "When I saw you coming towards the church in your red dress, I thought 'holy shit! I've forgotten everything Freud's taught me! All of that therapy down the drains. Damn!" (Because, really: What more could a girl ask for, yes?)

The Black T-Shirt

2008-06-13T12:25:00.002-04:00

I have a crunch on something. Note that it is not a 'one', but rather a 'thing'. That 'thing' is in fact WhiteBrook Boxing. I have a crunch on the whole concept and delivery of WhiteBrook Boxing.

I get my ass to class two times a week, excitedly. I look forward to the challenge and my mantra has become 'mind over body'; often times, I find myself whispering it repeatedly when in class in order to conquer the feeling of either nausea or passing out. It works.

More importantly, I admire and respect my coaches and want them to be proud of how far I've come - because trust me when I tell you that I've come far. (And I'm only at the beginning of my game and plan on going a lot further.)

When the above is combined with the fact that I am a geek, I immediately want to have everything affiliated with WBK. I want one of all of their paraphernalia and I want to wear it proudly...like, for example, all of their t-shirts.

This inherent geek need has brought me to a cross roads.

See, the reality is that I own two of their three t-shirts; one is the perfect shade of blue-based red (worn to Krav Maga) while the other is a perfect shade of heather grey.

That's two.
When there are three.
The third is the one to which I have no access.
It is the one which haunts my dreams. The one which drove me to an OK Corral stand off in the girls' change room on Tuesday evening.
It is WBK's: Sexy black t, the back of which declares rather proudly something like "boxing for enhanced sport performance ~~because I'm an 'athlete' and you're not nyah-nyah, LOSER!~~".

The only people allowed to have this t-shirt are: Athletes.

I am not an Athlete, ergo: I can not have the sexy black t.

My wardrobe will forever be wanting because my family didn't put me into competitive futbol.
Are you fumbling through this injustice with me?

For clarity, let me offer:

ath·lete, [ath-leet]
–noun
a person trained or gifted in exercises or contests involving physical agility, stamina, or strength; a participant in a sport, exercise, or game requiring physical skill.

WBK trains the NFL boys who slide a puck across frozen water, and they also train Gee-Gees (what is a Gee Gee, anyway? GO CARLETON!) who trip and bump into each other ON PURPOSE while they run short girly distances (you call it 'football'. Tomehto. Tomawto.).

When I was told the t was only for athletes, I accepted this reality and openly acknowledged that I would pursue the only option available to me: I would date either a Gee-Gee or an NFL person in a covert effort to "borrow" their black WBK t-shirt and then never give it back. Simple, yes?

Well. Simple until Tuesday evening came to pass when I was in the girls' change room ~~because they threw me out of the boys' change room~~ after class and lo-and-behold, in walked a girl wearing a black t-shirt meant only for "athletes". I considered Krav Maga'ing her into submission and stealing the t-shirt, but figured that she'd come after me. Instead, I stared at her wide eyed wondering what sort of athlete she was before finally asking:

"Are you an 'athlete'?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You? You're an athlete?"
"Well. I play a lot of sports..."
"I don't care about that. Are you an athlete?"
"Are you oh-kay?"
"I just. You know. I'm wondering because you're wearing a t-shirt that only athletes are supposed to wear so I'm wondering what kind of athlete you are and if you're not one then who are you dating and does he have a friend that is also an 'athlete' and who I can date and I'm a little hungry and dehydrated right now after class I see pink dots are you? I want your t-shirt but I'm not an athlete. I'm just a Palestinian and although I can probably throw a rock better than you, I don't think that qualifies me as an athlete and SO I am not really technically allowed to OWN the black t-shirt and because I've been told I need to meet a certain criteria to have it I see that as a challenge and so now I WANT THE T-SHIRT SO HOW DID YOU GET IT WATER! WATER! WATER! SOS! PLEASE!"
"Wow."
"You don't want to tell me!"
"WOW."
"All you 'athletes' are the same. Be gone with you and your elitist ~~tight assed~~ perspective on life. ENOUGH!"

...only it was actually: "Uhm. Hi. I like your shirt. What do you do? Did I mention I really like your shirt. A lot. It's a nice shade of black." (Really creepy since I was wearing a towel and standing too close for comfort to the nice lady.)

So there you have it. I don't really know what "it" is, but that sounds like the appropriate thing to say after the hysterical 'conversation' I had ~~in my own mind~~.

THERE. YOU. HAVE. IT.

I have to become an athlete. And I will - whatever that actually means, I WILL. Because no one loves a challenge more than me...and I want the black t-shirt. I will have the black t-shirt even if it takes me 10 years to get it. I will have it; trust me. And I won't even date a weirdly labelled boy to do it - I'm just going to become an 'athlete'. Somehow, and by any means necessary, I will become: "a person trained or gifted in exercises or contests involving physical agility, stamina, or strength".

If McBush can be a presidential hopeful, I can be an athlete.
OLYMPICS HERE I COME. ~~Or...at least...like, the local high school track.~~
Team sports I LOATHE YOU but I will conquer you if I must.

I will do this even though I don't have a clue where to begin!

I will have the black t-shirt and my wardrobe will be complete.
I heart WBK paraphernalia!

(Will keep you posted on my endeavours.)

War, Inc

2008-06-13T09:35:00.004-04:00

I don't have a clue how to work myspace, but hopefully you do and you will be able to do something with this link.

John Cusack's latest and greatest is War, Inc. and it is, from its attempted (& failed) murder by Those Who Would Have You Never Know to the brilliant and shiny reviews of Those Who You Should Be Getting In Bed With...sounding rather spectacular.

Please support it any way you can; it's these sorts of challenges to the status quo that require our attention.

And if anyone does know how to work myspace, please let me know what the hell I'm supposed to do in order to become an official myspace supporter of War, Inc.

(I like to go here in order to find out in which manner Iraq and it's folks are being screwed on any given day.

And remember:

Vote McBush, y'all!
Keepin' Whities strong and darkies screwed.
Your natural resources Whitie's Mine All Mine.
Praise his Jesus!
Vote McBush!
*Insert pompoms and back flips and fists in the air ~~and up your bum, Darkie!~~ and short skirts over blonde McBush*
YAY!
HURRAH!
GO RICH WHITIE GETTIN' RICHER & HILLBILLIER!

And finally, honestly and with deep sincerity:

May Allah indeed bless America by giving it back to those who would uphold the values that should be cherished, the freedoms that should be protected and the rights that are owed to all and not merely a few.

Support War, Inc.
Tell your friends.)

K

2008-06-10T23:17:00.001-04:00

Most of you should remember K of "M & K", inspiration for A Home Can Not Be Built on the Table of an Architect.

Before your day is over, please send her your best energy.

(It's nothing serious, but still warranted.)

Comments here are closed.

Q after Q

2008-06-09T20:03:00.001-04:00

"how to tell if you've had a boy or a girl"
If it has a peen, it's a boy.
If it doesn't, it's a girl.
If it looks dumb, it's definitely yours.

"fuck in arabic"
We usually call it: The Terrorist Jab.

"Gerard Butler dates black women?!!"
GO MCCAIN!

"fell backwards knee was bent and sat on leg"
For $800, What is a poorly performed yoga move?

"angelina jolie crotch dropper"
That would be Bradley Pitt.

"female ass and legs"
No head, please.

"what is a canuck"
It's a duck.

"kinky things to do in london"
...as opposed to the kinky things one does...in other parts of the world, of course.

"recurring dreams of driving from back seat"
You must learn to cede control, immediately.

"can i the lyrics to the child of glass frere jacques songs"
You can to do it any which way to whom it may be possible just ask the moron trying to figure out if he had the boy or of the girl baby above.

Big Hair Dork

2008-06-09T14:04:00.005-04:00

Please note how pleased I am with myself, proudly displaying my Krav Maga Certificate:

I am giggly and happy because I didn't know my hair had done that, whatever that may have been.

See that everyone else's hair looks relatively normal? And yet no one, not even my best friend, thought it appropriate to mention I looked like Medusa just crawled through The Commando Bush to get to the photo op, but FIRST! Stopped at the Texan hair salon where she had her hair teased and aerosol sprayed just so.

And remember: Nothing says self defense like a weird little loop of 'is that really her hair?' hair over one's left shoulder.

DO YOU SEE MY HAIR?

WHAT IS THAT LOOP?
I'LL TELL YOU! IT'S JUST. WEIRD. AND AWKWARD.

Moments before this was taken, T had been pulling on my hair (a common tactic used by men when they are attacking women). At one point she stopped and said: "your hair", but I thought she was merely making a point because I'd just had my hair coloured the day prior.

T has a wicked habit of thinking outside her own head (& I love her for it), and so I merely assumed she was talking to her self. Little did I know it was a "WTF" kind of observation rather than a simple and appreciative one on my newly coloured - shade of red, please - hair.

(Of special interest: It was T who took this photo. Seriously...her hair was perfect.)

Krav Maga

2008-06-08T21:34:00.004-04:00

Krav Maga is the defensive tactic used by the Israeli Defense Forces.

It is of mixed martial arts and is meant to help you defend your ass against ~~Palestinians~~ attacking peoples.

My best friend and I did a four hour seminar today. The techniques taught were as follow:
- Defending yourself when someone is coming at you with a knife.
- Responding to someone who comes up from behind and grabs you.
- Defense against someone pulling your hair ~~and not just your hairdresser~~.
- Defending yourself when you fall to the ground, as this photo indicates (it's either that, or I'm learning how to Aggressive Break Dance):

- When someone points a gun at you.
- When you're laid out on your back and the bastard's on top of you.
- When someone's trying to choke you.

Needless to say, it was pretty intense. T & I were, like, the only two commando girls in the room, actually fighting one another and not merely going through the motions. This, I can now prove because of the photo of us which T took at the end of the seminar; please note how maniacal I look with my hair a wee bit dishevelled due to the aggression through which T and I attacked the 'practice' manoeuvres:

We broke out in many sweats and were out of breath on several occasions.

We accidentally kicked one another in the groin, the thigh, the knee. We choked one another and we head-butted one another. This photo was taken moments before T kicked me in the leg:

In other words, it was completely and totally wicked and worth every single second of the four hours practiced.

Self defense is no laughing matter, but there was a funny moment when we were asked to role play - something at which I am seriously shit - coming at one another with a knife and asking for money.

I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself. I also did a couple of really odd tap dance / pirouette moves that were not a part of any self defense strategy, but that ~~I alone am certain~~ would shock any potential assailant into a sense of humor.

I must admit that my favourite part of the session was when we got to practice against a live dummy. He came at us rather forcefully and we got to hit back even harder.

I.
Loved.
It.
~~Even when he had me on the ground and he was choking me.~~

There's nothing I can tell you through the written word that would help you with the technique should you be in a situation where you need to defend yourself against an assailant (read: usually always a rapist).

What I can and will do is tell you the very simple reality that you must never fear your assailant. Become the aggressor in order to immobilize them enough to get your ass out of the situation and to a safe place.

And know that you only have a few moments to do just that.

React aggressively and immediately. Use everything you've got and hit as hard as you can. Scream, kick, bite - use everything you've got or expect to be raped and murdered.

The choice is clear.

Take a self defense course because assault does not happen to other people. It can happen to you; you are never the exception to any rule.

Obama mama fo mama! Fe fi fo ma ma! OBAMA!

2008-06-04T13:44:00.002-04:00

"YES WE CAN, TOE THE LINE!"

Congratulations to Obama...

2008-06-03T21:04:00.002-04:00

...and to the United States of America. This is one of the most important and brilliant days of your still young life, America, and it is one of which you should be proud - no matter which nominee you supported.

Bravo.

Testing Newton's Laws of Motion

2008-05-30T16:01:00.008-04:00

As with many other (physical and otherwise) movements in my life, I walk fast. Due to this tendency, I sit here in a much disgruntled state ~~with a slightly fatter than usual lip~~.

There are doors which declare quite proudly they are Automatic; this, to me, is an indication that they automatically swing open as you walk through them. I've never gone to war with one of these doors and so I assume that this is happening today only because I have started to walk faster.

Newton said: The rate of change of momentum is proportional to the resultant force producing it and takes place in the direction ~~in which Maha is heading~~ of that force.

In Mahanese, that means that when I am walking toward the 'Automatic' door, I don't change my rate of momentum because I (wrongfully) believe the door and its declaration of Automatic-ism. The only way I would believe otherwise, to assume that the door is in fact a LIAR, is if my intentions were equally fib-induced. Like, if I was walking at full speed toward the 'Automatic' door, knowing fully well that at the last moment and only after it had opened, would I take a hike and not walk through it, choosing to instead quickly scurry to the right of the door, remaining outside and then loudly mocking the 'Automatic' door and its naivete. But I'm not like that. Also, kindly note that I always maintain the same amount of momentum propelling me forward.

Newton went on to say that: A physical body will remain at rest, or continue to move at a constant velocity unless an outside ~~out of service 'Automatic' door~~ net force acts upon it.

Since I move forward towards all 'Automatic' doors at the same rate of unchanging momentum, it is safe to say that my physical body is not at rest and is moving at a constant velocity. Because I am a muppet and I never possess the intention of slowing down until I am at my destination, I tend to walk around, through and over anything that may be considered a 'net force' (this includes people, most notably those for whom I have little regard, little time and zero interest and so don't stop to chat with, but instead offer the passing white lie "Hi! How nice to see you" as I continue to move forward at the same ~~alarming~~ rate, flavoured with a slight swivel of my body to face said individual but never actually stopping or slowing - though, arguably, the swivel motion would cause a break in mahaerodynamics and so a slight slowing of pace may be unavoidable ~~damn those I don't care about~~).

I forgot what I was writing.

OH! Right.

The final of Newton's laws is the simple notion that: To every ~~rapidly moving Maha~~ action there is an equal and opposite ~~Maha smashing into and ricocheting off of the 'Automatic' door that is out of service~~ reaction.

When one adds Newton's Laws to my behaviour and places them in front of an out of service 'Automatic' door ON WHICH THERE IS NO FRIKING SIGN INDICATING THAT IT'S FRIKING BROKEN, one becomes witness to me smashing my entire body - face first, please - into the 'Automatic' door, ricocheting back off the door and then standing dumbfounded (not unusual, I admit) amidst the human traffic while pontificating over the eternal and necessary philosophical puzzle of ' WTF?' before proceeding to use all of my force in an effort to push my way through the Clearly I'm NOT 'Automatic' Today door, which is lighter than it appears, and so flies back to hit me a second time (in the face, please).(1)

(The above could serve as a metaphor for how I live my life.)

--------------------
(1) No Mahas were seriously injured during the research and writing of this blog entry.

Oh

2008-05-27T11:25:00.007-04:00

"Children as young as 6 have been forced to have sex with aid workers and peacekeepers in return for food and money..."

I started crying when I read the above article, and it didn't get much better as I was reading the report itself. Please read it if you can as it's just a quick 37 pages. Then do something about it, either by donating money or sending an email or writing a letter or volunteering at a local shelter for abused children.

I've been reading a lot lately about child sexual abuse and exploitation and I can not actually coherently articulate what I think should happen to adult men** who so much as touch anyone below the age of 18. My 'articulation' can't form a linear coherent and logical train of thought; it does, though, give rise to images of crowbars, bats, chains and rusty saws. Without exaggeration, the Saw films would look like a Disney undertaking compared to my imagination.

Sad aside: Did you know that most of the time the (vile, repugnant, unworthy of life) Molester is a trusted family member or someone that would be characterized as a family member, such as an 'uncle' figure?

Even sader aside: Most of the time, the parent(s) is aware that something is going on.

What would you have done to both the parent and that 'uncle'? What would you do? Because there is nothing that you could tell me you would do that I've not already imagined I too would do. And then some. Or maybe: And then too much to merely call "some".

Parents have a duty to protect their children with their life. As I type this, I choke on the mere thought that my parents would shirk this responsibility where I was concerned, as a child, or where I am concerned still, as an adult. This duty, I believe, is among the most important - if not the most important in our lives. I can't possibly imagine what kind of weak, pathetic, disparate character one would possess if they suspected that their child was being molested and DID NOTHING. I actually can't imagine it. I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't think straight if I try to understand it and I loose all cool even writing about it.

When those duties are not taken seriously or with the ferociousness as the protection offered in the animal kingdom when a mama or baba has to protect their cubs, then that "parent" deserves to have every bone in their body broken. And I don't give a rat's ass about the cycle of violence; I don't care if that parent was previously abused or neglected because there is NO EXCUSE. There is NO EXCUSE. You want to cry me a f*cking river about your past; I'll tell you to f*ck off, still.

As with the situation referenced above, there is - and I don't use this term lightly - an 'evil' to the character of those who would commit such a crime against children. A parent's silence is an equally - if not more so - wretched complicity in the act.

There is no recourse, there is no apology, and there is no forgiveness of these individuals. There should only be death.

I've just donated to Save the Children (Canada); I recommend you consider doing the same. For those of you in the USA, you may donate here, while those of you in the UK, can make contact with the organization here.

--------------------
** Save for very rare situations, the impulse to sexually molest children does not seem to be part of the psychological composite of females, but is, rather, a compulsion that seems to lie deep within the male psyche.

Apologies for my going off topic, but the subject of child molestation is one of a handful of subjects that throw me into a tailspin...as you've just witnessed.