shokufeh is…home

I just uncovered two of the news stories that I was almost obsessed with 10 years ago. They’ve stuck with me over the years, and last night one of them crossed my mind. Little did I realize that one would lead me to the other. And that it’s almost exactly 10 years ago, to the week, that they were in the news. Now I just need to find that article about the eyelash mites that die of constipation because they have no anus.

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Wednesay turned into quite the day. My work day started at 5 am – this is normal on Wednesdays, since I have a national conference call. What was not normal is that my work day ended at almost midnight. I put in two days of work in one day! With half a day’s worth of food. And a caller alluding to harming me. Oh, fatigue. I’m still recovering from it.

Yesterday, I got out of here only a little later than normal. This is what I saw while walking home:
- smoke billowing into the sky
- cars bumper to bumper, since it was rush hour and the buses still aren’t running
- fire trucks and police cars stymied by the above traffic
- a man taking off his shirt to tie around his face
- police officers redirecting traffic
- water flowing along the curb
- firetrucks with their hoses hooked up
- people loitering at the corner
- a woman, wearing shorts and a sheet, walking barefoot, while sobbing into a cellphone
- the charred side of a building
- firefighters trying to hack their way into an apartment

I reached home, sad and smelling like a campfire.

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So, as I mentioned, we’re having a bus strike here. The drivers of TheBus have decided they need some more money. From what I read, after five years on the job, drivers get about $45,000 a year, more than police officers and teachers, and a lot of other people. I think public backing for their demands is lacking.

Yesterday, I went outside and was surprised at how quiet it seemed here in the business district. I never realized how much noise is created by the buses and the people waiting to ride them. It was almost eery. But nice.

Today was not so nice. Maybe it’s because I got to work a little earlier. Maybe it’s because people decided their form of transportation yesterday – whether it was walking or carpooling – sucked. When Sam dropped me off, I felt almost like I was back in Manhattan – cars were bumper to bumper.

For me, the bus is more of a convenience than a necessity. I buy a bus pass every month, even though I usually end up paying a little more than if I was paying at each ride. I like being able to be carried home, if my legs don’t feel up to the task. I like the freedom of being able to go to other parts of town, even if Sam hasn’t made it home from work with the car. I like not having to worry about where to park a car downtown.

But for a lot of people, choices are more limited. They don’t have someone to drop them off. They don’t live within walking distance of work. Unfortunately, I don’t see things being resolved any time soon. There really weren’t a lot of negotiations prior to the strike, and at this point, both sides are sticking to their guns. With quality of life for the island stuck in the crossfire.

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I can’t believe I’ve let two weeks pass without a peep. It’s just been busy, at work and at home. In a good way, but busy nonetheless.

Last week, my mom was here, on her way back to China. It had been more than a year since we’d seen each other – a personal record. I think a good time was had by all. The nicest evening for me was last Tuesday. I was working late, and Sam called me and said, “I’m coming to pick you up.” No “are you done yet?” He decided that I was done for the day. There are times when it’s comforting to have other people step in and call the shots. We went home and lounged while my mother cooked dinner, refusing assistance. Oh, so nice to be loved.

Our most exciting experience of her stay was on a trip down from a hike we took along a mountain ridge. The car started emitting an odor about halfway down the mountain. By the time we got to a good stopping point, smoke had appeared. I got out and looked at the right front tire, to see flames within. The brakes had gone past the smoking point!

We doused it with water, and went on with the rest of the day. But since we suspected a pre-existing problem with the brakes, we took it in this weekend. It cost us $700. I just have to keep telling myself, “Peace of mind. Priceless.”

This week, my friend Jennifer is here, on her way from Japan. There have been no fires. Instead, the transportation issue is the bus strike.

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Dear Shokufeh,

Remember that time when you were in Wal-Mart and you said to yourself, “Shokufeh, stop being such a snob. It’s just bleach. You don’t need to buy name-brand bleach. The only difference between Clorox and the generic bleach is the 80 cents you’ll save?”

You were wrong. The difference is also in the bottle. Not so much the contents, but the design of the vessel itself. You never had such drippage problems with Clorox. Next time, spring for the extra 80 cents. Think of it as an investment in domestic bliss. One without bleach bottles that have to be carefully wiped after each use.

Love,
Yourself

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I’m sitting at my desk, wrapped in a fleece throw, struggling to keep my eyes open and my head off my desk. I woke up with a swollen eyelid and general itchiness. So went out on a limb and took some antihistamine. Despite my precautions in taking half a pill, I have entered coma-zone.

In high school, one of my favorite teachers was Ms. Simmons, my 11th grade English teacher. It was a fun class, made up of 9 girls and Tony White. Ms. Simmons challenged us, while respecting us as people capable of making our own decisions. This included our making decisions about whether we needed to sleep. Most teachers, if they saw a head nodding, would do all in their power to keep that person awake. Other than making the class more interesting. But Ms. Simmons figured that if we were falling asleep, we needed that sleep. It meant that we didn’t do the head-nodding thing too often, and that we were (with the rare exception of those times when we’d stayed up far too late, or had popped a Chlor-Trimeton) active participants in our education.

Oh, Ms. Simmons, why can’t you be my boss?

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I know pride cometh before a fall and all that, but does it count if it’s for someone else?

I am so proud of my brother that I could bust. He’s made it through Round 1 and 2, holding firm to his ranking - 2, out of more than 200 people. He makes me dance in my seat, tears leaking from my eyes.

The last time we lived together was for the first half of 1995, so I don’t get to to see him in his element very often, entertaining others by opening himself up to the world. But every time I do, I’m blown away by his wit, his wisdom, his nakedness. How can this be my little brother?! The same kid who spent the first part of his life with the misfortune of being in the shadow of his overachieving big sister, being “Shokufeh’s brother.” Now, the tables are turned, except that I see it as an honor to be “Anis’ sister,” to look around and see absolute strangers affected by his performances.

Anis, you’re not just a man, you’re the man. I love you.

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There appears to be an inverse relationship between my energy level and the number of people whose illness I need to track. Not so convenient.

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Go see my brother* do his thing this week, at the National Poetry Slam.

*There’s a box a few paragraphs down, on the right side, with a pop-up of a poem to his not-yet children. Watch/listen to it!

Update:
My brother is part of the New Orleans team, which is in the following bouts:
#14: Wednesday night, 8:30 pm, at Filter
#41: Thursday night, 10:00 pm, at Subterranean (downstairs)

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From: meisa
To: shokufeh

i had a moment of remembering thor from adventures in babysitting. i thought i would share the moment, so you could also take a few minutes out of your day to remember thor.

Summers growing up always involved time spent with Meisa. She was an only child, so I like to think she enjoyed the instant siblings when her New Orleans cousins descended upon northern Virginia. Or when she was sent to our hectic house. Our weeks in Virginia involved being doted upon by our grandparents, making tents, going swimming, renting videos from Erol’s (E-e-e-e-e…e-e-e-e-e…e-e-e-e-e-erol’s), and making sure our eyebrows were sufficiently disheveled to bring (feigned?) shock to the face of my aunt/Meisa’s mother when she came home. (She has a thing about eyebrows being nicely groomed.)

Our times together in New Orleans were fewer, but still memorable. One summer we stayed up late every night, playing cards with my mom into the wee hours. Another summer activity was to sit in the backyard with a flashlight, watching toads mate in and around our little pond. We also made tents, read a lot, and rented videos from Sydney’s newstand and Alfa-alfa (my youngest brother’s pronunciation of Alfalfa, which I guess was eventually bought out by Blockbuster).

Even though my brothers, Meisa, and I span more than 10 years, there are certain movies that we all love. Sometimes, it started out as a favorite of just one or two of us. Eventually, it would grow into the Mojgani clan equivalent of a cult classic. I like to think that even twenty years from now, if we’re together and we have the opportunity to watch one of the following movies together, we will jump at the chance and quickly get to saying our favorite lines in unison:
- Adventures in Babysitting
- Girls Just Want to Have Fun
- The Parent Trap
- Pippi Longstocking
- Shag

What are your family favorites?

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