Middle Eastern Debates

So, the beginning of the Middle Eastern Debates were today. I gave a rough-edged, sketchy, and somewhat rushed speech, but I can blame that on the way Chris controlled the television camera to pan away from me. Whatever. I'm optimistic about the next few days of debate. But first, some time off for the weekend. If anyone wants to hang out, call or IM me; I got a relatively full weekend but I can shuffle stuff around easy.

I'm a little worried about Sharif. He says he has something on me (Olmert) in the debate which I apparently don't know about. It involves nuclear weapons...and me giving them to someone. Plus he wrote a 70 page paper to prep. But I can play psychology well enough too. We shall see what happens.

Today, after school, a couple of friends and I walked downtown to the Commons. After grabbing the obligatory coffee, we...no joke, we hacked a sack for I swear like two hours. Something transcendental about it; I definitely improved mad skeeelz today. Granted, we did eventually leave and chill over at Sasha's. And then saw 300. It's my 3rd or 4th time seeing it, but it doesn't get worse, it just becomes more...internalized. Unfortunately, it came at the cost of coming home at around 12:30AM.

It's strange, but I have a sudden urge to listen to Japanese-German techno music. What's it with those two countries, producing the cheesiest shit ever? Maybe it's a post-axis-of-evil syndrome of some sort...perhaps one day, North Korea and Iran will come up with their own versions of disco-house. Oh god, I'm so politically incorrect.

The Israel-Palestine conflict sucks.

I'm losing friends faster than I make them.

This whole Arab-Israeli conflict thing which I'm supposed to be researching is really getting to me. I didn't realize that I would lose so much of my normal life outside of being Ehud Olmert, but I find myself putting off my friends, trying desperately to stay rooted in normal life instead of worrying about the conflict every day. I'm so physically unattached to the conflict in any way, but in some perverse little way, it's become a dismal part of my life.

And I can't even claim to understand the conflict. All I can claim is that thinking about it so much is making me angry. It's made me denounce religion to the point of hatred. And at the same time, my mood swings and depressive tendencies have led my mom to tell me that I need to stop placing my friends in such high regard and I need to start believing in something. She clearly insinuates religion. I'm only mildly offended because I know she has good intentions.

But at the same time, why should I ever place my friends in such a low regard? I felt particularly horrible yesterday night when I realized that I had maybe 5 real friends and no explanation why. And her response was that people tend to end up with only one real friend as they age. So I thought to myself, what the hell is the point of life?

Maybe that's what happened to the Palestinians and Israelis. Maybe they couldn't deal with the prospect of having no friends so they started to believe in nothing but hatred towards the enemy...they live for nothing else! Religion aside; this is no religious war anymore, or even a geographical war. No, I am almost convinced that the Arab-Israeli conflict is a war of ethics.

And today I became so frustrated with my state of mind that I ended up bitching about nothing. I complained about nothing...about the prospect of being unhappy for the rest of my life and the lack of real friends. When she told me I was being self-centered, vain, and unrealistic, I panicked. I panicked because firstly I was scared she was right. She was right, though. I do think of myself too much. I also panicked because I had the notion that she would forever know me as the self-centered, vain, unrealistic kid that can do nothing but sit on his ass and complain.

But that doesn't keep me from complaining about nothing. Oh, look at me! Right now I have everything I'd ever want! I have a house, clothes, food, and most of all, I have opportunity. I thought of the Israelis who feel so physically insecure that they keep M16 rifles in their trunks, or the Palestinians who are so engrossed in their own hatred that they would be willing sacrifice their own life to annihilate others. And I'm complaining because there's something wrong with my life that I can't even identify.

Something tells me that when these debates are over, I'll feel a lot better.

___________

Star-crossed lovers quit West Bank

By Matthew Price BBC News, Jerusalem

The couple married three years ago after meeting in Jerusalem

She is a 26-year-old Jewish Israeli. Her name is Jasmine Avissar. He is a 27-year-old Palestinian Muslim, Osama Zaatar.

Jasmine and Osama's is a love story, and it tells you so much about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. They met when they worked at the same place in Jerusalem, and three years ago they got married. First they tried to live in Israel, but the Israeli authorities would not allow Osama to join his wife there. Then they tried living in the occupied West Bank, but some Palestinians made life difficult for them. Now they've given up and are moving to Europe.

Strangers

"We ran out of choices of finding any solution to live in either Israel or Palestine," says Jasmine as she packs her bags.

"We were naive and thought we could win this fight but we can't. So we have to go abroad and start a new life."

Jasmine We were naive and thought we could win this fight but we can't Osama The moment I decided not to be part of the mainstream I was told that I was not a part of my country anymore

Jasmine already has permission to go. Osama hopes to follow her soon. We go up onto the roof of their village home. The sunlight is so harsh you have to squint to look at the view. Stone walls hold earth terraces onto the hillsides, olive trees hundreds of years old are dotted across the landscape.

"I feel like a stranger here," says Osama. "Even in my homeland. This place is a holy land, but they're killing each other. It's like it's already a lost cause."
"Here there's no chance. I just want to start again."

Under investigation

They are an almost unique couple. Neither Israeli nor Palestinian society has accepted their marriage. On official Israeli documents, Jasmine tells me her marital status is described as "under investigation".

"Our marriage was a human thing. We just fell in love," says Jasmine. "The society around us is making it political."

"I feel like a refugee. The moment I decided not to be part of the mainstream I was told that I was not a part of my country anymore."

A taxi turns up, and Osama helps Jasmine with her bags. The drive takes them through occupied Palestinian lands. They pass a tall grey Israeli army watchtower. They drive through army checkpoints. Israel has been in control here for almost 40 years.

Given up

"Even here in Osama's homeland I am superior as an Israeli," says Jasmine, as she looks out the window.
"It's easier for me to move around. The soldiers let me through checkpoints. They don't arrest me like they might arrest Osama."

A final embrace at the Israeli checkpoint Osama is banned from crossing

Jasmine has given up on her own country. "Jewish people were abused for thousands of years, but my nation has switched from being victims to being abusers.

"That's hard for me to acknowledge. The Jewish people are occupiers now, and we are racist."

The car arrives at a final checkpoint. We stand next to it, and Osama tells me why he has also given up on his own people.

"There were threats. People said if I brought my wife here we'd be in danger. Even my friends said that. They say I am a traitor."

"It makes me wonder whether I want to be a Palestinian any more. Some see me as some sort of Israeli envoy. It's a shit feeling."

Seeking safety

They turn and walk the short distance to the checkpoint that leads out of the West Bank and into Israel. They put down their bags, and hug one another. There's a short kiss. I ask Osama what he hopes for from his new life.

"I want to be able to walk in the street and not be stopped by the Israeli army or police. I want to feel safe. I have never felt that."

Jasmine smiles. "I just want to be a normal couple, with normal problems about rent, and money. I don't want to have these huge gigantic problems interfering in our marriage."

Even now though they are not quite free. Osama cannot go through the checkpoint with Jasmine. They don't know when he will be able to join her in Europe. They are still a couple caught in the middle of the Israeli Palestinian conflict.

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Zodiac

Ah, so many movies, little time. Well. In that case I'll stop posting about the movies themselves. Camille thought she wanted to see the 300, but we got to the theatre and it was (inevitably) sold out so we picked anything that might have been worth watching.

Zodiac. You know, the one that everyone hears about in movie theatre previews but no one actually knows or wants to watch. It's sort of just...there. Well yeah, I figure I understand why no one's all that interested in it; the fun is in the thinking about the film itself.

It's a long film so, don't worry. You'll have time for your little contemplative muses and theories. At one point, I am convinced that the cop's wife is the killer. For no apparent reason; such an idea just happens to strike me. Because it's so surreal. It's also based on a true story. Real life is surreal. But if you don't see it for the funny plot and mediocre cinematography, you must see it for the acting. There won't be a single character you can possibly hate.

Guess this means I'll have to watch 300 another time.

____________

Goddamn all these dinner parties my parents are throwing; I didn't even realize they had this many friends. I mean; my dad's antisocial as hell and my mom spends her time trying to bake a better Pain de Campagne. Where'd they get these guys anyway? Yeah. Ah, one last night, another one today. I need to get out of this house.

Oh, but I smell Thai food.

____________

Life tastes good.” —Coke

Or at least, it should. Antisociality for me has never quite come so often or without such reasoning.

My mother caught me sulking and she immediately launched into a 15 minute lecture about how she thinks that ACS is detrimental to my psychological health. She thinks that while the entire inclusion thing is great, you tend to rely on your friends too much. Well first of all, maybe that's what an ideal world should be more like, and second of all, fuck off and don't tell me how to live.

Please, dear god please don't tell me I'm emo. I heard a lot of that shit today (no names). No. I'm not fucking emo. I just happen to be a little antisocial right now.

Pan's Labrynth

Watched it last night with Camille and Yuval. Honestly, I don't have much to say about the movie. Surreal as it was, it was a movie you could generally understand just by watching closely and carefully. While complex and emotional, you didn't need to think, all you needed to do was feel. But I did wonder what I'd do if I was the girl. Or more importantly, what would my fantasy be?

That's all for now. I know I haven't posted in a while. And that's because my winter break was taken up by hanging out with friends, going to New York City with Sasha (and Yuval, who happened to be there; yes, I've been spending a lot of time with her recently), and trying to cram for a background paper on Israel that was due Wednesday.

Funny story though, on Wednesday, my 320GB external hard drive crashed...along with all my data, all my stories I've ever written, all the music I've ever listened to, all the photos I'd ever taken, all the schoolwork I'd ever done (including the essay), but most of all, the heart and soul of my inner existence. Needless to say, it's back up and running, and Satan has finally handed back my life from two days of unequivocal torture.

I shall end here, as I need to catch some sleep before school tomorrow. Viva la Revolucion!

Winter Break

If I go to New York with Sasha for the weekend, my week will be complete. Alas, I will not finish my Facing History paper I so desperately need to do. But there are other things in life than just school. Like black walnuts, for example. There are a lot of those lying around on the ground.

I need to play the drums. Really bad.

The Paris Metro

The love affair does not show itself above ground.

Above ground, life is normal. Above ground, the traffic will feed off its own cacophony, inherent in a giant—indeed global—anarchical system of automobiles and boulevards and traffic lights and horns and police cars. Above ground, the people will live. They will eat, sleep, fall in love, and indeed they will repeat the process until their death, which by that time, the death of one man will equal the birth of two. And above ground, there is sky, there are clouds, and there are stars that will one day exponentially expand humankind’s potential energy. Because above ground, life is normal.

The bells at Notre Dame had just begun their seven-o’clock cacophony when Isabelle’s feet skittered down the flight of stairs into the metro. A right turn into the metro system and Miss Chavanoz would not see sunlight again for half an hour.

As the walkways twisted through U-turn after U-turn, she and her hair were greeted by the cool, mechanical, and somewhat musty underground breeze that was an aspect of subway stations everywhere. They tasted differently everywhere, of course. Tokyo had wheat and no sugar. Madrid had vanilla, and lots of it. In New York, there was more vinegar, and much less salt, until you left Manhattan. In Barcelona, there was olive oil and no canola. Singapore however, was an odd, unexplainable void of sensory deprivation. Indeed, if aluminum and glass had a scent, then Singapore would have been overpowering, but alas, scent was absent in the MRT.

But here in Paris—oh yes, she would never forget the scent of Paris—there was a macabre dissonance to it. It never quite stayed the same for more than a few minutes, and if you wait, you can experience almost every scent known to mankind, from the gag-inducing squalor of the Rafflesia flower, to the comforting smell of old newspaper on a concrete bench, to the lulling and addictive Tuscan meadows captured in the perfume of the nearest bourgeoisie. If you had the misfortune of missing the subway train just as it was rolling out, you know about the full orchestra of odors that shall assault the passenger for a full three minutes—or one hundred and eighty seconds—before you are saved by the fast gust of wind that precedes the subway train and its open doors. Once inside the carriage, however, the odors are still present. If you know what you’re doing, you won’t have caught a train during rush hour, and the only scent you have to put up with is the urinal residue left over by the SDF who had found themselves locked up in the subway train all night with no way out. If you care enough about your nose, you can move away from these areas and often find your scentless refuge towards the middle of the carriage.

But some people, like Isabelle, have no choice but to travel at the heat of Parisian rush hour. In such a situation, the bodily odors inside the subway carriage will make you wish you were back out on the platform: it was as if you had just walked in on a grand orgy of nasal pollution, when suddenly the metal doors behind you cut you off from the rest of the world, and for the next one hundred and twenty seconds, you are drowning.

On her short trip between Cite and the Gare Montparnasse—a trip that shall cost you 1.40 euros—Isabelle’s subway neighbors would all be cubicle-weary warriors, regiment after regiment of black suits, white shirts and red ties. In every new city she visited, she waited for the moment they would simultaneously turn to her with their glowing red eyes, stick needles and tubes into her neck, and assimilate her.

But alas, little that occurred could match such an exciting idea. The cavern of black suits remained nothing but a cavern as solid as the rocks that comprised of it......

Young age

Younger age can sometimes only be consoled by two things:

The knowledge that we will see the future.

And the knowledge that older counterparts are gonna die first.

Tuesday

Granted, it's not Tuesday, but I thought I'd write about what happened at lunch.

It's funny how I find so much to write about so little. So at lunch the French exchange group had a lunch meeting about personal accounting vs. group accounting. (Capitalism versus communism, basically.) And capitalism won by a landslide in just ten minutes after Sasha's concerns got widely ignored.

Then for the next forty minutes, Therese insisted on us continuing to argue the topic. So then a couple people (I won't name names, since arguing when there's nothing to argue about is a common symptom of pigheadedness) decided that we should continue to reiterate the same point (group accounts keep work from being fair!) a couple dozen times. Then someone would interject about a new idea, and Therese would immediately dismiss it on the grounds of "it's been decided!"

So what were we arguing? Someone please tell me.

Things got better around 3:00 when I went down and ran into Lukas and Maddy at Juna's. I couldn't stick around since I was meeting Simon for a snack. I allocated a vast majority of my day's money on Sammy's cheese pizzas and went home a couple pounds heavier.

Oh and other all that shit outside of school, my day was pretty much a wreck for reasons unknown. It still bothers me that I don't know what's bothering me so much. Hmm. If that sentence is any indication of what's wrong, then I don't know how I'm gonna get myself out of this self-perpetuating loophole of um, being bothered.

Um. Yeah.

And yes, I'm in the mood for something sunny.

Telepopmusik? Electronica's not the first thing you think of when you hear the word "sun," but it'll do.

Telepopmusik - Breathe

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Roman 300?

Ridiculously tiring day.

It's disheartening. Oh well. That's the way life works. And that's why I'm downtown trying to gulp down a 16 oz. Sumatra coffee as fast as possible.

Hey look, a half-finished crossword puzzle. I wonder why they stopped. Oh. What the fuck is a "Roman 300?"

Don't you hate it when the title of the post is half the length of the entire blog? Yeah, me too....

Have a lovely New Year. ♥

[Am I the only one confused by the lack of snow?]

January 1, 2007. Two-thousand-seven. I'm not going to get used to this. Didn't it just seem like yesterday when it was the year 2000, and the world was preparing for Y2K to come along and eradicate all technology on the planet? But in fact, it was almost a decade ago when we filled up our bathtubs to supply and closed all the windows and doors and did everything we could to keep radioactive fallout from entering our Tokyo apartment.

Before I begin, I need to apologize in earnest for anything dumb I might have said here. I may have been a bit drunk writing this post. Champagne doesn't mix well with exercise.

And here you go. First post of 2007.

____________

This year, dinner at my place was quiet. But the conversation over dessert was not only animated, but rough. Here we have guitar players and here we have coffee-shop philosophers, and here we have calligraphy artists and potters, all doing their thing at the same time. I personally engaged myself with the philosophers, bringing up an age-old theory that the Greeks tackled and could never solve:

Everything we do is in our own selfish interest. Pure altruism is nonexistent.

I felt awkward talking philosophy with other people four times my age. I felt a little dwindled, even (dare I say) intimidated, but I realized I'm no different, I simply have less experience. So it came as an ego boost when the conversation turned into a debate. I noticed a large divide between mothers and fathers. Mothers believe in pure philanthropy, while fathers seem to agree with me.

I don't know how it got started, but it was an interesting subject we dwelled on for at least an hour. Don't ask.

____________

So after filling up on cappuccinos and coffee beans, Kai and I were out biking and we pulled into Sunset Park in time for the fireworks and the changing of the lights this year. We rolled in as we heard the voices cheering in the lights. We chilled with Shelby for a minute, and soon the park filed out and we were the last two sitting on the stone railing.

It was time for us really just to reflect on the year past. It's been a pretty rough 10th grade, I have to admit, but now that I look back on it and see how much good has come out of this school year, I think...maybe it's just relative. Maybe it's just because 9th grade was simply the best fucking year I've ever had and that every other year to follow will never be the same. But in any case, I can only hope that next year goes smoothly.

Resolutions? Oh, yes I didn't have any until I rolled out of the park. I resolved to continue the tradition of going out to Sunset Park next year to chill in the cold and welcome the lights. I resolved to keep complications out of my life; make it simpler. I resolved to stop caring so much about society and to live the way I want.

____________

Kai and I made our way up to Simon's house, where he was watching the Real World: Denver with Zach and trying to get wasted. I don't normally like beer, but I applaud his taste in a Greek brew whose name I can't pronounce.

When they came out to greet us, Zach got us all locked out of the house. He wasn't even drunk. By the time Simon and I worked out an arrangement about whose shoes to wear, he went to get the backup key, but couldn't find the door it would open. I felt a little bad for Zach, who was the target of every joke for the next hour, but at the same time...that was a pretty dumbass thing to be doing.

We entered his house and chilled for a bit. By that time, the focus of the joke had shifted over to Kai. Poor guy didn't know how to react, but he got through without breaking down, so I respect that.

Simon (half-drunk): "So...Kai...what's your resolution? How's [Sonia and Beal], eh? You still gonna tap that? Huh? Gonna get 'em wasted?"

Personally, I was horrified by the thought. But maybe everyone else wasn't. I had to save Kai by assuring Simon that Kai's through that phase. Later on, he revealed to me that he wasn't over it.

But I can't say I blame him for holding on to his uhm, "old flames." We all have friends who we, even when we claim that they're nothing but good friends, can't help but, euh, keep the door open for exploration. (I'll be blunt. Every teenager on the planet has close friends who they'd be willing to fuck in an instant.) I'd have to admit to one myself. Come on. We all do.

And whether we like it or not, it's not going to change anytime soon. As long as they're your friend, you're always going to have to hold on to your hormones.

____________

On our way out, we got stopped.

I didn't feel angry. I wasn't pissed off. No, I felt guilty. Guilty that I was having a nominally good day and frankly, he wasn't. I felt bad for the cops who had nothing better to do than stalk the streets of suburban Cayuga Heights looking for people to pull over and take blood alcohol tests or whine about being out so late. I felt bad for those who did nothing but ride around in their cop cars when New Years came around. Who did they toast to? Who did they celebrate with? Who were they gonna get wasted with?

So if you're having a shitty day, just think of those poor souls. They're probably having a blast...

So have a lovely New Year, everyone. ♥

- Mirko

Simon + Thai Food

Simon + Thai food = good times, good times.

Thanks Simon. Without you, I really would have no life. I even had a little conversation about it (okay, so it was a rant) last night with Camille. It went something like this.

Mirko: "I pretty much realized how much of a life I have. Pretty much none. Yeah. Pretty much. You're pretty much grounded. I'm not, but you know what I'm gonna be doing tommorow? Pretty much nothing. Nope. Gonna pretty much sit on my ass all day, and probably write and go emo and put on some eyeliner and cut myself up and listen to the Postal Service and..."

Camille: "..."

But nope. I went over to Simon's house and ate Thai food, watched that old Brad Pitt/Angie Jolie movie Mr./Mrs. Smith and oh yes, The Real World Denver. Comes to show you. Even when you do have a life, you don't really. That brings me to a little post Lukas made a while back (like two years ago, before the advent of Challenge: The Duel) on the subject of no more than...well Reality Television.

I detest reality TV shows. They're nothing but viciousness and greed boiled into one little hour long pot. It is pitifully amusing how the those with no value to watch those things. As a beginning, they are essentially formula shows, in the same manner that 'Westerns' are formula movies (in general). The people are unrealistic and stupid, overreacting over and over again. In one of the most popular shows, Survivor, the people are complete actors, disguised up in 'survivor' clothing. Of course they can't feel exactly stranded- there are cameras in their faces constantly, and they spill their prewritten 'feelings' out to an adoring audience. But there are reasons it's so popular, of course. One of them is that America is so... dull, people really want to believe that something like that (getting stranded) could happen to them. Or they want to believe that THEY could be the proud millionaires at the end of a season. Their aspirations of greatness are satisfied by watching everybody else fail, as one by one the 'survivors' are voted off.

Thanks Lukas. I think this drives two points home. First is that reality TV is about as unreal as it gets. Second is that...well, I doubt you remember you posted that, but hey. We were all fake, self-obsessed , quasi-intellectuals at one point. Love to all.