Musalsals (TV Shows)

Watching the most popular musalsal in a cafe with other rabid fans while smoking sheesha (after sundown of course)! That is the life!

It's Ramadan which means that there is no shortage of available TV programming for those fasting and the rest of us who are going to hell anyway. During Ramadan, people stay at home with their families (mostly) and the TV is almost constantly on. In the months preceding Ramadan, people are bombarded with advertisements of upcoming shows, much like Americans are bombarded throughout the entire year. Some shows are more popular than others, and some shows make it to "must watch TV" status. The most famous show in the Bilad Al-Sham (the Levant) is most definitely Bab Al-Hara (door of the village/neighborhood). This show follows the lives of people in a small Syrian village during the 1930s when the French occupied Syria and Palestinians were beginning resistance fighting in then-British occupied Palestine. This show includes amazing acting and intense plot-lines. Last year, living with a Jordanian family, I watched nearly every episode. This year I don't get MBC1 on my TV, which has been a great disappointment to me. But everyone has told me that the series was better last year anyway. Last year I developed a special fondness for Moataz, the young man who walked around forcefully with his eyeballs popping out of his head and yelled every one of his lines with a special passion. The big drama was when his dad divorced his mom for arguing with him and saying rude words. Because of that huge disgrace, the daughter's fiance was forced to break up with her even though he didn't want to. He laid around on his bed, refusing food or water and pined away for her until his father relented. Also the blind beggar was not really blind, he was a spy! And at the end of the show (a new episode is shown every day for the entire month) everything ends up great, with everyone getting married off (one guy got 2 girls!) and living happily ever after...until Ramadan next year when new troubles will inevitably plague their little town.

The popularity of this show also paid off big economically. Vendors began selling masks of the characters' faces to little children and making T-shirts of cast photos. Almost every child can boast of a Bab Al-Hara T-shirt or at least a Bab Al-Hara notebook. You know a show has made it big when the actors get put on T-shirts and other paraphernalia, as was the case with another well-known show from Turkey that was dubbed into Syrian Arabic called simply after the name of the main character "Noor".

"Noor" is a very controversial show in the Middle East, mostly because so many women have fallen madly in love with the lead male, Muhannad, a blonde, blue-eyed former model. This was not a Ramadan show so it has been on the air for quite some time already. This show is very complex. Noor and Muhannad are married because their families want them to be. Muhannad just got out of a unhealthy relationship when his fiance fell out of the car window into a valley and died. A tragic accident that millions all over the world can really relate to. But even though Noor and Muhannad start off as a marriage of convenience, two such beautiful people cannot help but fall in love, in spite of the many difficulties that assail them. Both of them go to jail at different times (unjustly of course), Noor is kidnapped by her psycho co-worker, Muhannad's ex turns out to be alive, in a wheelchair with a blonde kid named Muhannad (they meet up accidentally while vacationing at a ski lodge where all people in wheelchairs go for a bit of fun on the slopes). So between marriage troubles where they teeter on the brink of divorce for various reasons at various times and family troubles where members of their family teeter on the brink of divorce for various reasons at various times, their lives are exciting and romantic. Who wouldn't want to be them? They even look good in jail and in comas and while pregnant. They go from flat toned bellies to holding a bouncing baby. If you didn't know they were pregnant from their exceptional acting skills (holding their tummies occasionally and smiling) you would never guess. They are THAT beautiful. I'll put up some photos so you can see why women all over the Middle East are dreaming of leaving their husbands for Muhannad.



Can't you see why any woman would trade in her husband for him? Biting his own hand because even he can't resist how yummy he is!

Here is the happy couple together! It is also an example of the wonders of photoshop as I mentioned in my last literary masterpiece. The only difference between this photo and others I've seen is that sometimes the couple looks happy.

Personally, I like the idea of ending a show after a month. I think that shows in the States last way too long as a way of getting more money and after a few seasons there is nothing really interesting to include in the story so things get crazy or they just repeat themselves. How many people in Alias will we think are dead only to find them resurrected in someone else's body a few months later? How many times will Ross and Rachel break up? Why are there stupid polar bears on the Island? Who thinks up this stuff? There are many things we can learn from the venerated culture of the Arabs, and the art of creating sensational TV is just one of them.

Photography

When a visit gets dull or even when it's moving along fine, more often than not the big photo album comes out to be shown to the lucky foreign guest. (Side note: this probably doesn't happen to male foreigners too much because many times women who usually veil will take photos without their veils. This is why they can't display these photos for everyone to see. Perusing the family photo albums is just one more benefit of being a girl in the Middle East.)

From weddings to babies, photos are important reminders of the good times in life. Or are they? In fact, it is extremely rare to find a photo of someone who seems to be enjoying himself or herself. Scowling faces or deep ponderous eyes gaze into the camera. Of course, since most of these photos are wedding photos, it really isn't surprising that no one looks too happy. Most wedding photos are elegantly posed on couches taken from old French brothels. Baroque furniture and still life paintings crowd the background, giving the impression that the photo was taken in your grandmother's parlor. But with the advancement of modern technology and photoshop, things have gotten much more exciting!

These days, the classical couch photos still exist, but they are supplemented by others that allow you and the subject to be transported to a different place, often a place not of this world! Indeed, I myself have been allowed to feast my eyes upon photos of brides and grooms floating in space with firecrackers exploding behind them. (People here are amazingly fond of firecrackers, dynamite, and other explosives which may be the subject of another blog someday.) Others prefer an autumn forest of gold and red leaves covering the background of the photo. Still others enjoy posing on a romantic beach at sunset.

The traditional parlor room pose where lovers and babies repose in silent grandeur and the modern jet-setter pose where love takes people beyond borders without a passport are both moving, yet my personal favorite photoshop technique involves multiple images of the same subject in various poses in but one photo. So often, when many great shots are taken, frugal parents or lovers still do not want to buy that many photos. Instead of wasting these images, they are all moved into one frame. For example, the adorable baby is crawling in the foreground of a deserted island. On her back sits...herself in the same orange-striped outfit. To the side, near the blue-green sea, the same lovely baby giggles in the imaginary sunset, while two familiar baby eyes watch the scene from behind clouds. Proud parents aren't the only ones using this money-saving and artistic technique. Lovers also use it to show their devotion. The bride and groom sit stiffly side by side while the same bride looks down upon herself as part of a happy couple from the inside of a floating heart in the upper-right-hand corner. Sometimes her face is not in a heart, but in a rose or superimposed on the breast of the groom. Another friend of our has a slightly more narcissistic way of making use of this technique. In his self-portrait, his own face looks out at the world from his stomach in a special two-for-one viewing of his manly beauty.

We in the West do not take advantage of the vast scope of technology that sits at our very finger-tips. I rarely see photos in my homeland that rival the depth of those I see so often here. But I plan to change that when I take over photography for Marian and Josh's wedding. I will show the world what it is missing.

Plants and Chocolate

I hate plants. I mean, I'm not opposed to the whole oxygen thing that they help with, but people trying to create indoor jungles-that's what bothers me. Isn't there enough nature around us? Even in the cities, there are those weed things that grow out of the cracks in the sidewalk. And if you get really desperate, go to a park. Here I am, right by the beach. There are plenty of trees and other types of vegetation around me. Why does Anne need all these plants? I am trying hard to keep them alive, but that watering thing is difficult to remember. At present, there are several dead ones. The thing is, I don't care so much about these plants that I can't remember if they were dead when I got here or what. Also, aren't some plants supposed to turn brown at certain times? Should I keep watering them? And isn't it possible to drown plants? I wouldn't want to do that...Actually, I wouldn't really care, but Anne might. That is the main point of her wanting me to stay in her house. That, and not having to pack up everything.

For me, plants and flowers are in the same category of unnecessary things that require excessive attention for the brief period of time when they are still alive. Unfortunately, I'm a girl (I say that a lot for some reason). And people tend to want to give girls flowers. And as a girl, I'm supposed to like that. But what am I supposed to do with those flowers? Flowers are pretty until they die and turn into mulch. So you are supposed to put in them in some kind of vase which means first tearing off all of the frou frou ribbons and glittery cellophane. And then finding a vase is so complicated. Mostly because I don't have one and I tend to live at other people's houses. And other people tend to store those kinds of things on high shelves. I tend not to want to climb up to get things from a high shelf. Unless it's something good to eat. Like chocolate. Some people like to hide chocolate away from others. It's not very nice, but they do. If I have chocolate, it doesn't last long enough to get hidden. When it comes to chocolate or candy or whatever, I eat it in the moment that I want it. Because who knows if you'll ever want it more than that moment? And the enjoyment of the eating is directly related to how much you want to eat it. My Christmas candy never saw the New Year. That's ok though. I used my lack of candy as an excuse to beg from of my tender-hearted sisters.

Kissing

In community-oriented cultures like those in the Middle East, often there are complicated ritual greetings. The Middle Eastern kiss of greeting was made famous by Judas Iscariot in the Bible. Although that kiss was technically part of the Jewish tradition rather than the Arab tradition, a small amount of research will show the vast number of similarities between these two semitic cultures. However, there are some variances in kissing style based on gender, age, and country. This essay will attempt to dissect these differences for the common man's simple understanding with regards to the traditional kiss of the Levant.

In general, a person living or traveling in the Middle East will benefit greatly from the possession of the Y chromosome. But when it comes to kissing, my personal space issues and hatred of unnecessary physical contact make me glad to be female. (Personally, I avoid kissing whenever possible. I don't kiss my sisters or mom. I kiss my dad only if I need something and think that would persuade him. If I do kiss something voluntarily it is usually a cute child under the age of 5 or a cute animal, usually furry but not necessarily. I have kissed many turtles and frogs, but I think they are cute.) Ordinarily, when women kiss each other, there is no lip-cheek contact. Cheeks bump lightly and kissing noises are made. Most of the time, I am still able to be inquiring as to the health and overall well-being of my friend and all her relatives and so manage to skip the kissing noise. On the other hand, when I have observed the kiss of greeting between men, I have noticed that there tends to be exuberant lip-cheek contact. Apparently, this is construed as an acceptable manly display of affection. As is clinging tightly to each other while riding closely on small pink motorbikes...but that is a subject for a different essay.

While I mentioned that women usually refrain from lip-cheek contact, the main exception is
the elderly population. Old women will often pucker their lips intensely and tilt their heads to achieve maximum contact. Only my steely will-power keeps me from cringing. Also, I really like little old women, and I want them to like me.

Finally, my frequent moves have allowed me to compare the varying kissing patterns of different countries. In Jordan and Syria, the pattern goes like this: kiss on the left cheek of your friend, then move to the right cheek. A good friend kisses at least twice on the right cheek. An enthusiastic friend kisses multiple times on the right cheek. It is confusing for foreigners new to the system. We often feel awkward going in for an unexpected kiss or being pulled into an extra kiss we weren't expecting. My way of dealing with this problem is to always go in for the extra kiss with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. This shows your friend that you really love her and, as most pop songs will remind you, love is the most important thing of all. Love will keep us together.

After mastering the kissing technique of Jordan and Syria, I moved to Lebanon where I currently reside. The Lebanese, perhaps more influenced by their Western colonizers that their Levantine neighbors, kiss in a more European style: left cheek, right cheek. Good friends repeat this at least twice. Again, when in doubt, go in for the extra kiss to show you really care and that there's no love like your love and no other can give more love.

Hopefully, this little essay will help you to successfully manage your next encounter with Middle Easterners from the Levant. Although there are various styles amongst genders and those from different generations or countries, kissing is an important part of the culture. And of course, it is very Biblical. Paul frequently admonishes the believers to "greet one another with a holy kiss."

Domesticity

Usually, I describe myself as one who does not have much skill in the domestic arts, but this week I have impressed myself. Ok, it actually started out badly when I nearly exploded by house by lighting the oven twice (I thought it hadn't lit the first time) and then burned the hell (I mean this in a literal sense) out of the cinnamon bread I tried to make for my friend. Fortunately for her, she did not show up for our scheduled visit. So I ate the inside of the charred bread, which wasn't that bad. I never waste food, even food that is almost inedible.

But after that depressing incident, things improved. For one, because I thought my friend was coming over, I vacuumed a few places on the millions of rugs that Anne has all over her house. Or, as we say here, I "hoovered". (Ana 3am bhoofr. Heya 3am bthoovr. It's a great word that is fun to conjugate.) That hoovering inspired me to actually clean my room. No wait. The next day when I had lots of stuff to do that I didn't feel like doing, that's when I got inspired. Anyway, the point is, I don't have suitcases in my room anymore. It is a weird feeling, but kind of nice.

The crowning achievement of my domesticity has been these last few days. First of all, I made buttercrisp chicken (my favorite chicken thing that my mom made a lot because she knew I would make her life happier if she did). This I made from scratch! Which makes me happy because recipes stress me out. I feel like I have to measure everything a billion times and they use words like "fold" and "broil" which confuse me (does "broil" mean "baking something in the oven"?). And the best thing is that the chicken actually tasted good and went well with the salad that I also made. Ok, fine, it went well with the lettuce that was the only vegetable I had in the house because Fuzzy likes to eat it. I did wash the lettuce though.

And then I had another friend over. This friend actually came! And I successfully served her, using a tray. Serving drinks on trays is a necessity here. Serving everything on trays is a necessity. People would probably serve tissues on trays if they thought of it (tissues are what we use for napkins here-they're not very sturdy, but they are softer than paper towels). And I really hate trays and breakable dishes. But I didn't think I should serve drinks in brightly colored plastic cups, so I used the glass cups. And of course, the dreaded tray. Every time I carry a tray with anything on it, I have visions of me tripping and flinging food all over the room. I don't think this has actually happened to me, but it's one of my greatest fears. That and being stung by a bee which has also never happened to me. It's the proverbial fear of the unknown, I guess. Still, even if I knew what is was like to lose control of a tray, I don't think it would lessen my fear of it.

Finally, today I made zucchini bread to bring to the Iftar meal. And I didn't burn it. It looked perfect, but I didn't get to try any because they didn't serve it to us. I was kind of annoyed because usually they do. But since we were running late, I didn't have time to arrange it nicely on a plate. So maybe they didn't know how to get it out of the pan and didn't want to risk a faux pas by serving it wrong. Still, the batter tasted good and that is always a good sign.

And the best thing is, after I made the zucchini bread I remembered to turn off the oven. Which is something I didn't remember to do after the chicken. Well, technically, I remembered. Six hours later...

Pick-up Lines

Today, while swimming in the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean with Emily without Scott, we were greeted by a young man whose eloquence and charm inspired me to write this post. He called out, "Mademoiselle!" several times before I glanced over at him. Then, emboldened, he exclaimed, "You Beauty." I'm sure there was something else he wanted to say, but I had already snorted loudly and rolled my eyes, so he turned to Emily who quickly told him she was going to her husband. Yet another time that Scott has come in handy for us as an excuse. I usually use him as the reason to leave visits, claiming that Emily has to make dinner for him or something. When I visit alone, it's all I can do not to have to spend the night as people feel so sorry for me all alone in my house. (They don't know about Fuzzy). Anyway, this experience reminded me of many similar experiences that are definitely worthy of being immortalized here.

First of all, there is the classic "Welcome to Syria/Jordan/Lebanon/Egypt/etc." This is simple, to the point, yet shows a genuine hospitable spirit. I prefer it to that other age-old excuse to talk to girls who may be wearing a watch, "Can you tell me what time it is?" Other lines favored by the many shababes here include "How are you, girl?" and "Oh, your eyes is so beautiful!" or simply "I love you!"

But I can't give credit only to Lebanese shababes. Really the Syrians and Jordanians could give them a run for their money. Once near the Ajloun nature reserve, my friend and I were followed by a man with a pickax over his shoulder who asked us if we were afraid to be walking alone. We told him that we weren't afraid until a guy with a pickax started following us. He then asked for our numbers, which we didn't give him. Ten minutes later, having left him at his farm somehow resisting his invitation to dinner with his family, he ran up behind us. Apparently, he'd realized that he just couldn't let this opportunity slip by him. He informed us that he loved us (well, he was speaking English and the English language is deficient in the use of the second person pronoun and we couldn't be sure if he was talking to both of us or one of us) and then asked for our (same English pronoun question) hand in marriage. Again, somehow we resisted the urge to become sister wives of a Jordanian farmer.

Then there was the time in Syria when a student of mine gave me an ultimatum: marry me or I am going to Canada. I can only hope he found his true love amongst the lemmings and caribou of the Canadian wilderness.

One young Lebanese man, asked me if I'd had plastic surgery or if I was just born beautiful...

And let's not forget the beauty of cell phone love messages. Once after answering a wrong number, the young man fell so deeply in love with the sound of my voice, that he continued to call and text me all night long and well into the next day. While he admired my voice, others have expressed their interest in a different way. Romanticahmad, the email name of this Romeo, asked me to call him as he missed my "sound."

Another common situation is being asked out by someone for someone else. One Lebanese guy came to me asking if I'd be willing to meet his French cousin. "He's not Lebanese. He's French, " he informed me several times. Even as I assured him that I don't speak French and his cousin's Frenchness didn't make me want to meet him more, he persisted.

While I've had many offers of friendship with a hope of something more, taxi drivers usually get right to the point, proposing marriage. One was honest, asking to marry me as a business proposal to get him a visa. Once in the States, I'd be free to divorce him, if I wanted to. Another driver invited me to become his second wife. He told me that American women don't want children, so we wouldn't have to have that burden.

If I leave here without a guy, it is my own fault! Not only have plenty of men asked for my hand in marriage, several mothers and grandmothers have offered me their sons and grandsons. One kind lady told me it was for the good of my soul. How else am I supposed to get to heaven if I don't marry a Muslim man? Also, whenever I see Um Ali, she prays to God that I will meet a beautiful and educated man to whom I will give lots of healthy sons. Inshalla!

Meanwhile, I'm content to be the personification of Beauty. Irresistible in my exotic gorgeousness.

The Photocopy Oven

I am super-motivated to write this right now at this moment because what I really should be doing is heading over to a Ramadan iftar meal where I will end up spending the night. I really don't want to go, but I have to. So instead of going right now, I will wait longer and longer and waste time doing nothing until there is nothing left for me to do but go. I know the food will be good though... So here is a day in the life of Scott, Emily, and me.

Yesterday Scott, Emily and I went to get our permission to enter the camps renewed. We were told that if we called the guy on the phone and gave him Anne's name, that we should be able to renew over the phone. This was not the case and the guy had no idea who Anne was. I think it was a new guy who has decided to implement new permission policies especially in the case of annoying foreigners like us. So we had to get up relatively early and drive to Saida where the army base is. On the way down Emily tried to convince me that I needed to have my appendix taken out because I had a stomachache that she thought sounded like the one she'd had when she'd had her appendix taken out. Anyway, I managed to survive my ruptured appendix, and we arrived at the gate, after finding a convenient parking place. The guard saw our foreign faces, and assumed the purpose of our visit. He informed us that we needed to get photocopies of our passports for this. I ask him to explain the importance of this as they already have photocopies of our passports as well as passport photos on file in the office, but I guess these things get lost easily. He insists that we need photocopies, and even though Scott wanted to stay and argue, we decided not to antagonize the guy with the machine gun. He told us that if we went down to the "furn" (oven-place where they make pizza-like things) we could get copies there. I thought he'd meant go down to where the "furn" is and there will be a photocopy place nearby, but when we arrived at the "furn" and asked the guy putting freshly rolled out dough covered in olive oil and thyme into the hot stone oven, he informed us that he would photo copy our stuff for us. Apparently it's kind of a 2 for 1 thing-get your manaqeesh while you wait for your photocopies. We might have gotten manaqeesh except that it was the second day of Ramadan and it would have been awkward to eat on the street even though there were several obviously Christian Arabs flaunting their ability to eat during the daylight hours. We finally got our photocopies after making sure that the pushy old lady who came after us didn't cut in line! Yeah! Don't mess with us, old lady!

Back to the army base where it appears to be casual Tuesday for all employees. The guard at the gate was wearing comfy khaki pants and a little polo shirt which went really well with the AK-47 slung across his shoulder. We registered our names and assured the dude at the front that we had no cameras or phones with us, and he trusted that we were telling the truth. Of course, they'd already frisked Scott when we went in (he thought the guy was trying to give him a hug at first and it was a bit awkward), so I guess they knew we were safe. Either that or the extreme care that Emily and I took with our clothing, hair, and makeup paid off. An incident at one of the camp checkpoints a week earlier when we'd known our permission was up but we'd gotten in anyway, reminded us of the importance of using our charms to get what we need.

Once we got into the big man's office (and this guy was a big man!), we didn't have any further problems. Big Man looked kind of cranky. He had some cuts and bruises on his face so we think he's been having some relationship problems, and that might explain the crankiness. He managed to not crack a smile until the end, when I decided that we wanted him to like us, so I used the hair flip and all the excessive Arabic pleasantries that I know, and we parted on good terms, although we are still not allowed to renew over the phone...and I really thought the hair flip would have gotten us phone privileges. It did get me my first visa to Syria...

Reading this, I hope you have a taste of our life here. It is not as exciting as it may seem from this riveting story, but we make it through somehow. Now I should probably go off to iftar with my friends unless I can find a way to actually rupture my appendix...

Fuzzy

I cannot contain myself. Blogs are for letting out these deep feelings, and I have to emote about Fuzzy. Fuzzy is a childhood dream come true. She came to me from a family who was moving back to the States. They have 3 children, one of whom is allergic to everything in the world and should be walking around in a plastic bubble but somehow is surviving without one. Apparently hamsters are hypoallergenic...which I never knew. It's too bad because it might have helped my case when pleading with my mom for one as a kid. Their rodent-ness was the reason for her refusal. But it worked out well for me in the end. On my 9th birthday, after begging for a hamster for weeks and weeks, I received a turtle. Yes, you are correct...they are not anything alike. Still, I have always had a deep abiding love for reptiles and amphibians, and my new pet, which I named Hamster even though he was a turtle, sparked my devotion to turtles which became my new favorite animal. I loved Hamster deeply and was very sad when he was stolen. But that is a story for another day. Besides, it hurts too much to think about it...

Anyway, back to Fuzzy who was originally named Cotton by the aforementioned family. I haven't officially changed the name or anything. Really, I just call all cute animal things 'fuzzy' in a high-pitched squeaky voice to relieve my feelings. The feelings that make me want to squeeze their little heads off. That would probably put me in danger of retaliation from PETA terrorists. So talking with a helium-voice is a better option.

Fuzzy is a special hamster. Not only has he survived 2 weeks with me and my lack of maternal instincts, but he can climb on the top of his cage like he's doing the monkey bars. Also, Fuzzy is a master of Hide and Seek...which kind of freaked me out a bit when she hid behind the desk for several hours. I crawled around the house trying to "think like a hamster" until I finally called Emily, and she came and found her. And now that you are all confused about the gender of my hamster, I will clear that up for you too. Fuzzy is a girl. So I've been told. No one has given me any definite proof of this fact though. But, as I mentioned to Emily when she complained about my incorrect pronoun usage, that I tend to refer to all animals as boys and vice versa. Yes, I thought it was a clever thing to say, but Emily is married and more mature than me and also a better cook, so she had to stay serious and roll her eyes.

Another one of Fuzzy's many talents is escaping the pink hamster ball. She does this by running full speed at stationary objects. I also like to put her under my shirt and wait for her to find her way out. She's not as good at this game, but I think it's funny and it tickles like crazy. Since I live alone, it's ok for me to scream and laugh loudly for no apparent reason. Although there is a reason. Fuzzy. The light of my life.

I will leave you with some photos of my baby. Later, when I finally get a video of Fuzzy doing the monkey bars, I will post it for your enjoyment.

Me and Fuzzy having a moment

Another moment

Fuzzy and I re-enacting a scene from an alien TV show that I watched one long night at Mel's house in Rukkn Ed-din. It was about snake-like aliens that dressed in people skin but ate rats and rabbits and things like that in private. You can really see Fuzzy's acting talent. The horror of this moment is reflected in her piercing black eyes.