070509

This week I realized something important about my perennial state as an outsider: to hit it off with "your average" person, the guy sitting at the bar, the person next to you on the bus, a new acquaintance, one must be an outsider. Most of us live at the periphery, of cliques, of brotherhoods, of wealth, and we tend to shy away from insiders. Insiders are concerned only with there being no trouble on the inside, whereas we on the periphery are naturally concerned with the state of the world, the thoughts of the guy at the bar, the well-being of the person on the bus. Long live the peripherals!

Also I realized that I'm almost 40! Aside from planning a big 40th birthday party, I realized I must plan now to have a blast for the rest of my time here. No holds barred. Just immerse myself in everything that makes my heart sing. The rest can go chase itself!

Oregon has become the sixth state to legalize cannabis cultivation this year! We've got to keep up the pressure and the end of prohibition is in sight!

*Grammar*

I became aware recently of a terrifying trend: the use of singular verbs with plural associates. For example:

There's lots of other discounts too.

Here apparently someone thinks lots and/or discounts are singular. This sort of sentence should always properly be:

There are lots of other discounts too.

Now there can be some difficulties. For example, the following are correct:

There IS a lot of other discounts too.

and

There IS a number of problems with it.

"A lot" and "a number" are singular; people usually think "discounts" or "problems" is the word they have to match, but not so. Other examples:

There are lots of good responses

OR

There is a lot of good responses.

There are many reasons for it.

There have not been enough responses.

The plethora of responses is what we can't handle.

A bunch of people claims responsibility.

*Perfume*

Now my lawyer tells me (I only thought to ask him the other day) that trademarks take a year to a year and a half to process. I originally filed at least three years ago! Patience I find again is at the core of this art. Meanwhile, I'm almost unpacked enough to start making perfume again. My aim will be to acquire the title Professional Perfumer tout de suite. On that note, the main perfume, the one in finalized packaging, I send in as part of my application package might in fact be the solid perfume formerly known as Soliflore now called Anthea, the Greek goddess of flowers. My mother wears this often; she was wearing it the other day and as I kept getting whiffs from across the table I was thinking, "That's one of my strongest perfume compositions." It's also far and away my simplest. I think in this case the KISS rule surely applies (Keep It Simple, Stupid).

*Top*

Top five aspects of natural botanical perfume:

5. It's a gentle and personal experience.

4. It is handmade and unique.

3. It connects you with the actual vibrations of the earth, vibrations in the form of the scents of the earth, the smells of the flowers and woods and grasses and more.

2. It's the sort of thing that, when you find one you like, you simply cannot get enough of it.

1. It's a gentle and personal experience.

*Islam*

This is an open letter from the creator of The 99, Dr Naif al-Mutawa, to his sons regarding what he hopes will be the impact of his superhero cartoon. It appeared on the BBC. The following passage is my favorite and reminds me very much of what I loved about Yann Martel's The Life of Pi:

"I told the writers of the animation that only when Jewish kids think that THE 99 characters are Jewish, and Christian kids think they're Christian, and Muslim kids think they're Muslim, and Hindu kids think they're Hindu, that I will consider my vision as having been fully executed."--Dr Naif al-Mutawa

"My Dear Sons,

Today is 2 July 2009, and if global statistics are correct, I have already lived the first half of my life. Life is short. That is why it pains me when I am away from you. Few things are as important as your future, but your future is tied to that of every other young child. I am writing with the hope that one day you will forgive me for leaving you as often as I do. Hamad, when you were born in 1997, I wrote the third book in a series that was recognised by Unesco. The series was about reconciling tradition with modernity. Those who were threatened by it banned it. I quit writing at the age of 27.

"Faisal, when you were born in 2000, I was treating survivors of political torture. I worked with disappointed children trapped in the minds of men who grew up to idolise a leader (Saddam Hussein), only to be tortured by him. I started to think very seriously about whom your heroes were going to be. Khalid, you were born in New York City, shortly after 9/11. I had already made a decision that I needed to find a way to take back Islam from its hostage takers, but I did not known how. The answer was staring me in the face. It was a simple, and as difficult, as the multiplication of 9 by 11: 99.

"So, at the age of 32, I uncapped my pen to create a concept that could be popular in the East and the West. I would go back to the very sources from which others took violent and hateful messages and offer messages of tolerance and peace in their place. I would give my heroes a Trojan horse in the form of THE 99. Islam was my Helen. I wanted her back. THE 99 references the 99 attributes of Allah--generosity, mercy, wisdom and dozens of others not used to describe Islam in the media when you were growing up. But if I am successful, by the time you read this, you will not believe that such an era could have ever existed.

"The powers of THE 99 come from the books of the great Dar al-Hikma library of Baghdad, which was sacked in 1258. The books were from all the world's cultures and religions. A secret plan leads to saving that knowledge onto 99 gemstones that are later scattered throughout the world. These stones fuel THE 99 heroes who are boys and girls from 99 countries. Rayan, you were born in January 2006 in the midst of the Danish Cartoon Controversy, which coincided with a positive review of THE 99 in the New York Times. The timing was fateful. Eighteen months earlier, 54 investors from eight countries, representing various religions, committed to invest in THE 99. Their support was humbling. That same year, THE 99 stories appeared as a comic in the Middle East, which led to its being licensed into several languages as far and wide as North Africa, France, Indonesia, South Asia, Spain and the UK.

"Rakan, by the time you were born in 2009, a lot had changed. By seeking the blessing of an Islamic Investment Bank, we were allowed into the most conservative places on the planet. Places that were resistant to THE 99 opened up their markets to them and supported our work. And THE 99 has spread like wildfire. The year 2009 also witnessed the launch of THE 99 village Theme Park in Kuwait. Seeing your brothers on rides that bear THE 99 artwork brought tears to my eyes. It has been hard work but knowing that children will learn vicariously from THE 99 to be tolerant of all who believe in doing unto others as we would have them do unto us, that, my son, makes me very proud.

"By your first birthday, the world will witness THE 99 animated series. Achieving that milestone means that we have achieved our mission of creating globally resonant characters and storylines. In so doing, THE 99 has become the first licensed entertainment property from the Islamic World. I told the writers of the animation that only when Jewish kids think that THE 99 characters are Jewish, and Christian kids think they're Christian, and Muslim kids think they're Muslim, and Hindu kids think they're Hindu, that I will consider my vision as having been fully executed.

"But my sons, perhaps the most valuable lesson that I want to pass on to you is that THE 99 is only as successful as its partnerships. Without them, we will only be as loud as the sound of one hand clapping. We are off to a good start, but this is just the beginning and I hope that my absences from your lives to spread my message continue to glean great results. So again, I apologise, but know this: Only a father's love could have created THE 99.

Baba Naif"

*Music*

There is a great saxophone player in Olympia Washington named Bert Wilson. I saw him open for Joe Lovano at the Earshot jazz festival in Seattle. I didn't know what to expect when Wilson came on stage in his wheelchair. I remember thinking, "How is this guy gonna swing?" Oh my, swing he did, and mighty hard. Moreover, as he introduced each of his tunes (he was a playing in a quintet) he described how each was inspired by a dance. !!! The power of Wilson's performance and his refusal to be defined by his wheelchair stick out in my mind to this day. He is an inspiration to me now, in my disabled state, as is Tom Harrell, and as is Dave Brubeck. Harrell is a player (one of the very best trumpeters) despite heavy medication for schizophrenia; Brubeck is a master pianist, and wizard of multiple rhythms.

Brubeck in particular. He got into some sort of accident long ago and so can't move his fingers with any sort of fine dexterity; therefore he's had to carve out his own style of piano which involves lots of block chords and not much in the way of single-note exploration. One wouldn't notice if one didn't know; one just thinks, "Oh, there's Brubeck with his inimitable style." Because of hand tremors and other obstacles I realized this: I will have to adopt a style very similar to Brubeck's if I hope to play guitar again, and lord do I! In addition, for guitar, I'd have to use the open-tuning approach of Michael Hedges. And I would likely have to switch hands. I would not plan to play a left-handed guitar (I love my old Guild too much), but would flip a right-handed guitar over as Hendrix did. I have humble aims: to combine Dave Brubeck, Michael Hedges, and Jimi Hendrix to carve out a whole new guitar style.

*Quotations*

If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second-greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first-greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they're happy.

--Dorothy Parker

The books we need are of the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that make us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, or lost in a forest remote from all human habitation--a book should serve as the ax for the frozen sea within us.

--Franz Kafka

There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.

--Herman Hesse

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.

--Philip K Dick

Are you really sure that a floor can't also be a ceiling?

--MC Escher

Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces.

--Sigmund Freud

There are no facts, only interpretations.

--Friedrich Nietzsche

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.

--Oscar Wilde

You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

--Dr Seuss

The reality of the other person lies not in what he reveals to you, but what he cannot reveal to you. Therefore, if you would understand him, listen not to what he says, but rather to what he does not say.

--Kahlil Gibran

*War*

By Matt Frei for the BBC:

"The untimely death of a global celebrity can prove to be a distraction in the most unlikely places. I was in Pakistan last week when Michael Jackson breathed his last. And although the region described by Barack Obama as "the most dangerous on earth" has plenty to worry about, nearly every single channel on my hotel TV--from Pakistani cable news to the morning prayers on the Baluchi version of Breakfast News--featured a story about the gloved one. On one local station, most of the screen showed an imam apparently railing against the infidel invader--that would be America--while a small box in the bottom right hand corner displayed the skeletal face of one of the infidel invader's citizens pouting at the camera--that would be Michael Jackson. The young soldier guarding our guest house even tried to do a version of the moonwalk to capture the moment of history.

"Whether you are a die-hard Jackson fan from Albania beating your chest in despair, an LA groupie flocking to the rented Jackson mansion in Beverly Hills, or one of white-gloved Japanese mourners spotted by a colleague in California, the moments when just about everyone on the globe is briefly united in such fascination are extremely rare. In the searing heat of an Islamabad morning, the Jackson moment evaporated within the hour and it was back to daily life. Islamabad has always been a curious anomaly in South Asia. Slums have seemingly been banished, and villas fill the tree-lined streets. The parliament is a flat slab that reminds me of the Kennedy Centre in Washington. Islamabad is as empty as Canberra and as artificial as Brasilia. There is an old joke about these pop-up government towns: they are half the size of the Chicago cemetery and twice as dead. In Islamabad that does not apply merely to the atmosphere.

"In temperatures of 46C (115F), the pavements seem to melt. The brain is poached and even lifting a glass of cold lime juice to one's lips feels like a work-out. Torpor numbs the senses. Most of the time I felt as if I was walking on the moon rather than doing the moonwalk. But what really struck me in my few moments of lucid reflection is the fact that Islamabad has turned into a fortress city. There are roadblocks everywhere. You cannot even get close to the government quarter--it is blocked off to traffic from half a mile away. Tank barriers are strewn across once busy avenues; balls of barbed wire roll around like tumble-weed.

"At first I thought the parliament might be the sight of nuclear contamination. It was as isolated as a mini-Chernobyl. What is toxic here is of course the politics of extremism. Suicide bombers have been busy all over Pakistan, including in the once-sedate bureaucratic enclave of Islamabad. The Marriott Hotel, which I spent several weeks in after 9/11, was devastated by a truck bomb last November that left more than 50 dead and a tennis court sized crater. It has since been refurbished, reopened and reinforced. I have never seen anything like it. A 3.6m (12ft) bomb barrier surrounds the hotel. This is surrounded by another wall of grey rolls of Kevlar, the kind of stuff that goes into your flak jacket. There is a small army billeted outside, made up of dozens of burly agents with walkie-talkies.

"Cars are eased into an air-tight bomb chamber, where they are thoroughly inspected--a kind of car wash for explosives. The snouts of sniffer-dogs provide the final polish. The pedestrian entrance is a bunker with a security detail and several metal detectors. You think you are entering a nuclear facility. The only reminder that this is in fact a hotel is a small mahogany desk manned by a hotel employee with a plumed turban and a red coat, standing behind a sign that says "Concierge". The security arrangements are impressive. They seem to have worked so far. But really this is no way to live. Ultimately, the road blocks will only come down if there is a political solution to Pakistan's problems. And here I am less hopeful.

"The first problem is what they call the poverty bomb. Half the country of 165 million is illiterate. Roughly the same number of people live on $2 a day. Pakistani democracy is forever diluted by the perils of dynasty. President Zardari is the widower of former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto. Their son, still a student at Oxford, is being groomed to take over one day. Mrs Bhutto's father, the other Prime Minister Bhutto, was executed by General Zia, who was himself killed by an assassin's bomb hidden on his plane. Violent death is one of the hazards of the job of running Pakistan. Meanwhile, the country's middle class has either moved abroad or is cowering behind ever higher walls as the Taliban and their allies plot the next suicide bomb. The only institution that really functions well in Pakistan is the army--and that is not a healthy situation.

"A senior Pakistani government official put it like this over a bowl of pistachio nuts and some impossibly sweet tea: "Every week I clutch my head in despair. Yes the army is finally taking on the extremists. But where are we really heading? What is the vision of Pakistan? What is the point of our country? Are we a garrison state? A Muslim state or a state of Muslims?" If you no longer know what the point of your country is, it becomes very difficult to win any war, let alone one against an internal enemy that offers Islamic piety laced with anti-Western poison. Pakistan's real enemy these days does not sit on the other side of the country's Eastern border in India. It is the homegrown cancer of extremism, festering in the cities and fanned in the tribal areas, which is far more dangerous.

"And yet most of the army's divisions are still lingering on the Eastern front--only two reserve divisions have been deployed on the Western border with Afghanistan, where the real battle is taking place. "India is still our mortal enemy," a general told me. "They are using this as a diversion. It's a trap!" And then it struck me. Without India as its cherished enemy, Pakistan--a patchwork of diverse people, languages and geography--would have to go back to the drawing board and redefine why it actually exists. In that sense, it is a bit like the eerily morphing body of the late Michael Jackson: puzzling beyond recognition."

Peace, love, and ATOM jazz