Ruba dub dub

The only thing better than taking a bath
Is getting to run around and play on a splash pad

Squeals of excitement fill the air
as babies and toddlers run around bare

Where will the next burst of cool water spring from?
Can I catch some in my mouth or may be stop it with my bum?

The draining water doubles as a river run wild
Provoking curiosity in many a child

Sail boats of flip-flops along the run offs do glide
Little ones made into champions gloating with pride

Foot prints on concrete and Popsicles on hand
Rules and regulations from fun times are banned

The elation of playtime by adults forgot
Replaced by a search for joy in material bought

This is where it’s all at, this is the now
I’m taking it all not raising my brow.

I’m splishing and splashing not taking a bath
Running around and playing on the big fat splash pad

My bit of inspiration

I pressed my soul’s ear against countless doors but never heard words so sweet.
All I need do is love....

My bit of the gene pool

I’m thinking GATACA was onto something with their visualization of what happens when the realization of the human genome project is taken to its max. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to pick and choose the genes you could keep and conversely trash? Create the perfect you? Take away nature’s right to be random. And make the tiniest most intricate part of a human being a commodity to be bought and sold. Thankfully we’re a million miles away from knowing what sequence of proteins does what otherwise we’d have screwed ourselves over so fast we wouldn’t even have had time to know what hit us. I must admit the idea is loads of fun to toy with though. What would I change about myself if I could?
What’s my ideal, my idea of perfection? Would I still want to look and feel like me? Or me with an added touch of twinkle in my eye and sparkle in my smile? Perhaps I’d dabble with a little extra soul in my laugh and an aura with a greater gravitational pull? A brushstroke of genius and a smidgen more creativity and imagination. A dab of mystery and enough positive energy to make nuclear weapons weak in comparison.

The ONE perk

Every so often after laboring away at business cases for the requisition of “assets” such as vehicles, fax machines or god forsaken photocopiers. I, along with other coworkers, get to hop into a company car and head for the dealership to bring back our brand new puppies. This time there were 5 of us in total. I sign the papers, receive the ownership and each of us gets a bran spanking new car to drive back to the office. This, simple and sad as it sounds is the ONE perk of being me. They’re standard issue cars so they’re all the same color, size and engine capability. The trip never seizes to amuse me. The five of us in business attire and shades to protect our eyes walking towards the dealership in the wind, Armageddon style. If we were in slow motion I’m 100% certain there would be some sort of heroic music playing in the background. We settle into each of our pseudo own cars and set the mirrors, music and of course seat. Similar to drag racers in the 50’s revving our engines silently accepting the challenge to best test drive each of our toys. Like a presidential procession, one after the other we take to the road. And its on… Each of us ready to bring it!
Drivers and people on the road are somewhat confused by the sudden surge of identical Impalas but pay no mind as the road is plenty wide and empty. Visuals of the new Mazda commercials where each car splits into 2 then 4 then 8 surface in my mind and I catch myself thinking “how can a car this ugly be sooo damn sexy to drive??!”

The power under the hood is remarkable, no wonder all provincial police cars are of this kind. We change lanes left right and centre and it soon becomes clear to those of us who have taken to the car and loving the ride that not all everyone gets this surge of adrenaline when driving. The car doesn’t control us we control it. Coming to abrupt halts at stop signs and making faces at traffic lights we’re like toddlers discovering the freedom in learning to walk. We ease into the parking lot and slowly but surely reality sinks back in and visuals of Armageddon, Mazda commercials and drag racing disappear like a puff of smoke into thin air. Back to the drawing board… next on the agenda are fax machines that not only fax but scan at the same time… ohhhh ahhhhhh yay me!

Shattering the Silence

“To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men.”~ A. Lincoln

While Lebanon bleeds...

I’m in the car alone. The air conditioning adjusts the temperature to a cool 23 degrees and at the same time pushes a steady flow of winter breeze freshness through the air. The road is long and windy with a slow speed limit of 50km/hour that allows me to feel like I’m taking a stroll in the park. The sounds of a Buddha Bar CD make for a buffer between the real world and the one in my mind. I stop at a red light and A mother crosses the street in front of me with a child whose golden messy locks reflect the sun in a perfect glow. Her little jean shorts, white shirt and hands are covered in dripping chocolate ice cream, she’s desperately trying not to let the pavement get the best of her ice-cream while walking at her mummy’s pace. The light turns green and as my car picks up speed the volume automatically adjusts to compensate for the hum of the engine. A muted trumpet plays a short motif and the end of it triggers a thought about how good I’ve got it. How lucky I am to live in a country where my biggest dilemma is whether to have fruit loops or cheerios for breakfast. How lucky am I to live in a country where the individual’s autonomy is respected and cherished. My mind wanders to images of a father hugging his son crouched behind a rock waiving a white flag at machine guns just out of view. Images of a bus on a road made bumpy by bodies somewhere in Rwanda. Images of men blindfolded, handcuffed and lined along a wall whispering prayers with their eyes closed tight anticipating the gunshot. Images of mothers weeping uncontrollably as their children’s bodies lay still on a metal table.
Images of homes being bulldozed as on lookers silently shed tears of disbelief.
Images of broadcasts at the Munich Olympics.
Images of flags burning.
Images of children who have fallen victim to land mines.
Images of an orange haired Milla Jovovich in the Fifth Element sobbing as she watched in horror humanity’s inexplicable ability for cruelty.
The images soon gave way to sounds
The sound of sirens, emergency broadcasts, shattering glass and thuds and thuds of destruction.
The sound of fallen leaders and modern day presidents making false promises.
The sounds of taskforces dispatched to fight a monster that’s in all of us.
The monster that enables us to set aside rules, morals and conscience.
The ability to turn a blind eye because it doesn’t affect us personally or because it’s simply too painful to digest.
I am just like the rest….
Though I do not partake in the brutality, I silently watch in disbelief horror and powerlessness.

...

India arie writes..

" I am ready for love...
why are you hiding from me?
I'd quickly give my freedom to be held in your captivitiy

I am ready for love...
all of the joy and the pain
and all the time that it takes just to stay in your good grace.

Lately i've been thinking maybe you're not ready for me...
Maybe you think i need to learn maturity
they say watch what you ask for, cuz you might recieve
and if you ask me tommorrow....

i'll say the same thing
i'm ready for love...

would u please lend me your ear
i promise i wont complain.
I just need you to acknowledge I am here.
If you give me half a chance i'll prove this to you.
I will be patient, kind, faithfull and true
to a man who loves music
a man who loves heart
respects the spirit world and thinks with his heart

I am!
I am ready for love.
If you'll take me in your hand i will learn what you teach
and do the best that i can.
I am ready for love here with an offering of...
my voice...
my eyes...
my soul...
my mind.
Tell me what is enough to prove i am ready for love?"

Ha!

Oh Yee of Little Faith!

Bratz

The weekend was packed with action, the viewing of last long weekend’s video footage and still life pictures, roller coasters sans funnel cake, booty shaking, hostessing, studying and of course a smidgen of penalty kick Tele gazing.
It is the toothpicks with olives on them aspiring to hold together a gibna beida bel tamatem whole wheat sandwich that are my muses this morning. I developed a mini obsession with the need to get the hummus sprinkled with sama2 in the perfect spiral formation. It looked like a million bucks and as I served it I smirked to myself with jubilant glee. Visuals of cooking competitions and chefs serving French cuisine consumed my reality. I floated on air. I was after all, or so I frivolously thought at the time, one of the very few elite epicures that truly understood the art of hospitality. The perfect sprinkle of basil here and the right amount of illustrious chocolate drizzle there can by all means “help the medicine go down”. Perhaps doing the whole what would u like to drink or eat thing wouldn’t be as bad as I’d anticipated. But oh boy was I naïve. Unfortunately what goes up must come down. My buzz from the pretty hummus platter and the salad garnished with radish flowers was inevitably FUBAR when an 8 year old guest looked at me all “I am the man-ish” and waived his finger in the air to indicate 2 scoops of sugar in his tea. I sooo wanted to slap the little bugger upside the head but of course my conscience quickly stepped in to fend for the mini me version of his father.
‘It’s not his fault… just cuz he hasn’t hit the double digits yet doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the right to drink his tea the way he wants it….and plus I’m serving the tea anyways maybe I’m just on edge from all the waiting on people..’ At which point the evil me surfaces with the thought… “WTF!?!? Not only are you putting up with this kind of behavior but you’re defending it as well?! this little piece of toilet decoration hasn’t even mastered the art of riding a bike yet has the audacity to tell you to make him tea?! Who drinks tea at his age anyways? Doesn’t it like stunt his growth? Shouldn’t his oh so typically arab father be worried about his son’s sperm count or something?! What of the family legacy ? ”
Course me being me… I offered him a cup of juice instead telling him the tea is too hot anyways when his mother interfered and said no its ok just do as he says add some milk to it and he should be fine. So there you have it… Is it any surprise the little pike is a looser and a half?! I promptly inserted my foot in my mouth cursed under my breath and like the good little girl that I am restrained ohhh so hard from spilling it on her lap on my way to him.

Mango Madness

Vous n’avez que le meilleur en main!

*Smurk* *Smurk* and *Smurk*

Hedonism and Utilitarianism same sides of the same coin?

Hedonism: Take the action that produces the greatest pleasure.
I can’t help but relate it to a form of Utilitarianism, A moral code dictating the greatest good for the greatest number of people, but both Utilitarianism and Hedonism face criticisms that can not be ignored.

Questions :

• Where is the value of an individual in all this? Surely the greatest good doesn’t do him/her justice.
• Are they both one and the same only when the greatest pleasure is also the greatest good? Or, does the fact that Hedonism dictates self love while Utilitarianism dictates love of the group mean they are mutually exclusive?
• What’s to be said in response to “where one may find pleasure another may find pain”
  How are the scales calibrated in such an instance and how does change the arrival at an all encompassing moral code?
• How is pleasure measured and what are the criteria of labeling an action as pleasurable as opposed to non pleasurable?
  

Counting Crows

“Doesn’t always seem to go that we don’t know what we’ve got till its gone?
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot”