I've been thinking a lot about people lately. People, and how they think.

My Spanish teacher gives out these really annoying skit projects every once in a while. The day we present them, they're cute and funny and really short, really short. The thing is, they don't seem that cute or funny when you're up two in the morning trying to put two boxes together to resemble a robot while being engulfed in a cloud of paint fumes.

We don't have quarter finals in Spanish so Señora took advantage of the two-hour period to let us do our presentations.

This project was almost fun. We had to create a commercial for a new product. The product could be completely outlandish, as long as we made a model to present. And we had to present it in Spanish.

Most of the kids created a product that would make you "smarter".

It struck me that the girls who would play the dumb characters would dress in really revealing clothing- clothing that is typical of the way they dress on a regular basis. When they would undergo the magical transformation- ta da! They were immaculately dressed in a long modest skirt and button-down shirt.

It's so frustrating! Are they dressing the way they dress to convey to people that they are dumb and superficial? Because, subconsciously, it seems they understand that this is the way people perceive them. And yet they so quick to get offended when you question their intelligence.

I'm not even going to approach this topic from an Islamic perspective. From a social standpoint, it makes sense to dress "smartly". Who is it, exactly, they are trying to attract? Girls claim they want a sweet, sensitive guy, but trust me, the kind of guy they attract with skirts that you can't bend down in will probably not be sweet or sensitive.

Some girls think it makes them feel pretty, to dress like that. I don't think they're communicating correctly with themselves. Because, really, only a girl with really low self-esteem will find nothing better to offer the world than her body.

Sometimes, I wear earrings under my hijab. Necklaces, too, when it suits me. When I'm walking around school, no one knows I'm wearing my favorite pair of earrings. But it still makes me feel pretty, because it's something I did for myself, and not for the purpose of impressing others.

They way you dress matters. The goth kids can cry all they want about individuality, but when it comes time to interview for a respectful job, they are going to judge you by the way you look. That's the harsh truth. When you dress revealingly, people are going to think that's all you can offer to them.

In the end, that's the way the world works. What you dress in today and tomorrow- it's going to affect how people treat you, who you're friends with and whether you get that job you applied for. It just does.

It's a matter, now, of deciding who you are. Are you the girl before she drank the magic smart drink? or after it?

As always,
Tasbeeh

bad blogger

My awesome cousin Naila sent me a link to a really funny article on cracked.com. One or two mildly offensive words in it, I warn you.

:)

Tasbeeh

PS: I'm a terrible blogger, because I'm completely bipolar with my posts. I'll go through a stretch with a post a day and then...poof. Nothing. But I have a good reason: my MSA just got approved, resulting in the discovery of more than a few "undercover" Muslims at my school. It was quite the experience, seeing them come out into the light like that. Anyway, I'm busy with the MSA and I have this soundbite to transcribe, and a thousand and one articles to write (not really. I only have three. But they feel like a thousand.). I'm pooped and tired and SPENT. But I'm happy, alhamdulilah.

keyword analysis: frito lay sydrome and huckabee's teeth

I have an account on Statcounter.com. I rarely ever visit the site, because I have very little knowledge about it actually does, except count up the views your blog/website/profile gets in a day. It was something I installed on the blog, back when I used to get 2 views a day (compared to the grand total of four I have now :) Just kidding. Not really.) I used to get really discouraged about the single-digit numbers that appeared in the "Views" column and so I stopped logging on.



The other day, however, I saw a post another blogger's post about the "Keyword Analysis" feature on Statcounter.com, which, honestly, I didn't even know existed. It took me all of two hours trying to remember the password to my account (I was actually signing in with the wrong account name), but when I did, it was totally worth it.



Check it out:

People are searching my blog! That is extremely gratifying.

Though I'm pretty whoever's searching for books on the desensitization of America's youth was very disappointed to be lead to a blog written by a member of said youth.

Some of the keywords are extremely confising. Like this one:

Who is Zoubir Bouchikhi? I have to know.

I'm assuming "Ways to Pr..." was meant to mean, "Ways to PRAY", to which I say, there is only ONE way to pray, and that is to Allah, swt.

And Grandma's Cookies: Disgusting, with the fat or without it.

I have to ask, however, about the last one in particular: you need a dispenser? For your sore thumb? That doesn't sound like something you can get on Ebay. Or maybe you can. Who even knows anymore?

Burnt popcorn is simply good, all health risks aside.

And I can't give any fatwahs about whether Funyuns is halal or not, but I is personally addicted to the salty snack.

Oh, please. I thought we were over this.

My favorite is "huckabee's teeth". Finally! Someone who finds those things as annoying as I do. And to those who might scold me for judging people by their appearances: if a guy can't take care of his teeth, how is he supposed to take care of a country? It's a simple phone call to the dentist.

For the "sencere confessors" out there: People have a tendency to tell me their secrets. I don't know why, but even as a smll kid, people randomly came up to me and told me things I know they shouldn't have. My friends tell me this happens because I have a really open and trusting face. And while this was extremely flattering, it started to really take a toll on me because I suddenly had all these secrets in my head that I couldn't tell anyone. So please, keep all your confessions to yourself.

And I really have to know: what is Frito Lay syndrome? It sounds delicious.

As always,

Tasbeeh

conversations: me and my brother

Tasbeeh: Who are you always texting, Yousef? Tinky-Winky or Po?
Yousef: No actually, it's Dipsy I'm texting.

"shopping is a contact sport"

While my brothers and father were watching the Super Bowl on Sunday, my mother, sister and I stepped out of the house as the sky cleared up from an early morning shower to go to the the mall.

I think it's been mentioned enough how much I love shopping. It's not the actual purchase of things that excites me, but rather the chase, the searching, that incredible Eureka moment when you're fingers finger the fabric of a gorgeous skirt or long-sleeved blouse and you know how well it will fit you. Sometimes, it's not the moment you've found it but the moment you try it on, and the fabric-silk or satin, velvet or cotton- feels glorious against your skin, like a thousand butterfly wings fluttering against you. Sometimes it's the moment you turn around and look in the mirror and now, not only do you feel beautiful, but there it is, the proof, right in front of you.

There are times when I feel embarrassed about such materialistic feelings- I know should be- but sometimes these feelings are a release from me. When I've spent the entire week working for school, for the masjid, for this club and that club and this charity, it's so relaxing to go to the mall and just be self-centered for a while. Shopping is an extremely selfish activity, even when you're doing it for other people, because, ultimately, you aren't going to buy someone something you don't like.

We all shop for different reasons, but I think we all shop because we find oppurtunity in things. Every new piece of clothing, every new gadget and toy, even food- we buy things with the intention of making our lives better, somehow more meaningful. We buy clothes hoping that this new suit will win me that job, or this new dress will win me the eye of that boy, or these new tennis shoes will win me the motivation to work out. We buy gadgets hoping that this new phone will keep me in contact with my friends, or this new camera will keep all my memories for me.

The glitter and glitz quickly wears off when you realize that, no, my life is not any better now that I have the new iPhone. The tragedy of shopping is that we never learn anything from it, though we initially tell ourselves, "That's it, once I buy this Coach purse, I won't need anything else." The next week, we are scouring the malls, looking for that miracle shoe or that miracle phone that will be the end of all our scouring.

It took me a while to understand this, but once I did, I did a little less spending and a little more window-shopping.

I love window-shopping. I've come to view clothes as art- and when you window-shop at stores like Doce & Gabbana and Zac Posen, the clothes become as expensive as art. I love to finger the fabric, study the stitching and, if I dare, try it on. I like to imagine the kind of person who would buy a dress or suit as glamorous (or as dowdy) as this one, like to imagine the places they would wear it, the accessories they'd wear with it.

Shopping experiences are often ruined by sellers. Not all of them- but the ones who follow you around the shop with their eyes or those who are a little less subtle and just walk around with you. I hate that. Sometimes I let my annoyance be known with a curt "Thank you, but I'm just looking around." Sometime I just walk out of the store as soon as I walk in.

It's not just the stores anymore. It's those stupid carts. Those carts in the middle of the halls that clutter up a space.

Listen, I understand the need to make a living. I really do. I come from a middle-class family, and I understand that one must do what they can to pay the rent and put food on the table.

But dear God, don't harass me. When I don't want to buy one of your lotions or jewelry or cell phones- when I say no, it really does mean "no", and not, "Please enlighten me on the many benefits of this shabbily-packaged Sands of Arabia face cream."

As I was walking out of the Gap yesterday, I was nearly run over by a young woman. She thrust her nails under my face.

"Do you see how shiny my nails are?" she asked, "You're nails can be just as nice with..."

I stopped her.

"I know all about that. Diamond dust, right?"

I wasn't lying. Just the other week I was jumped by another woman trying to pawn off to packages on me.

"Not just diamond dust!" she screamed, almost desperately, "It brings out the natural oils in your nails!"

I pried my fingers from her tight grasp.

"No, really, I gotta go. I've seen that stuff before and I'm not really interested."

She sidestepped me.

"What do you use on your face?" she asked.

For a second, I was nearly flattered. Was she complimenting my complexion? Then I realized who she was.

"Oil of Olay," I answered, after rackng my brain and realizing I don't use anything on my face except soap.

"You know, we have some Dead Sea..."

"My mom has some, sorry. Please, I really do have to go."

I found refuge in the Guess store.

Sometimes, shopping really is a contact sport.

As always,
Tasbeeh

P.S. I don't usually reply to comments, partly because I'm lazy and partly because I usually have one of my siblings reading over my shoulder and whining about my hogging the computer. I hope it is needless to say that I appreciate all your comments. I get really excited when I get a comment, though some times my excitement dies down as I realize it is YET ANOTHER SPAMMER.

friday confessional: burnt popcorn

Our family loves cheese sandwiches.

In fact, I don't what we'd eat, if not for the cheese sandwiches. It doesn't really matter what kind of bread or cheese we use, as long as the two are joined in a beautiful marriage of melted cheese and crunchy bread. I prefer Muenster cheese and Sara Lee toast, but all of us can't resist Arabic pita bread with a slice of Kraft cheese in between.

I don't know how it happened- maybe it was a gradual thing- but I'd begun to ask my mother to burn the bread when she was toasting my sandwiches. She usually refused to do it- surely burnt bread wasn't good for you? So I would take the matter into my own hands and burn the bread myself.

It was a mystery to my parents: burnt bread? Really? But eventually they came to accept it, and when I didn't make them myself, my mother would burn the bread voluntarily, watching me with a bemused expression on her face as I bit into the crunchy, browned bread.

But how could I explain to them that smell of burnt bread made my mouth water? How could I explain to them that smoky taste of singed toast was satisifying? I couldn't even explain it to myself.

Gradually, however, the obsession looked like it was fading- until i realized it had evolved into something else: burnt popcorn.

I LOVE burnt popcorn. I love the aftertaste of burnt kernels in my mouth. I love the contrast between the white popped exterior and the black insides. I love the smell of burnt popcorn, wafting in after the initial buttery scent.

The thing is, it's hard to burn popcorn, isn't it? Because if you burn a whole bag of popcorn, no one else is going to eat it but you, and God knows I don't need to eat a whole bag of burnt popcorn, no matter how much I crave the stuff.

So, I would wait patiently until one of my brothers or sister would burn the popcorn, which is quite frequently, and then indulge the craving.

There's a method to eating burnt popcorn. It has a very distictive taste- as anything burnt might have- so my first reaction might be to grab a full handful and gulp it down. But burnt popcorn requires a slow, contemplative bite. You have to roll it around your mouth, let it melt slowly into your tongue and then bite and savor that smoky flavor.

I've got it down to a science, I'm sure.

My brother has a similiar obsession. He has devoted himself to the consumption of Ketchup. He puts it on everything, even rice. It's absolutely revolting to me, but he can't live without it.

I think we all have a secret craving- it might not even be food. I think they help us define ourselves, however menial and insignificant they may be. Those small idiosyncracys, those small strange differences, they help us cope with ourselves. The same way a Goth paints himself black, our secret cravings set those of us who have no external eccentrities apart from large crowds that threaten to swallow us whole.

And my burnt popcorn obsession does that.

The question is, how do I convince the movie theatre attendant to burn my popcorn?

As always,
Tasbeeh

for otowi

It wasn't until these past few years of my life that my family began moving around a lot, from home to home, city to city.

I've adjusted well to the moves, despite the fact that the most of my life I've spent in a cozy three-bedroom house in one of the smallest towns in California.

It was a college town, so most of our neighbors were college students who would blast loud, precocious, rock music long into the night. I grew up with a partialty to contemporary music until I realized that not all rock music was as grating to the ears as a Metallica riff or as obscene as a line of a Korn song.

Despite the obnoxcious college neighbors, the town was pretty and, for the most part, quiet. It was a middle class neighborhood, with tree lined streets and a pretty, well-kept park just a few steps away. On cool evenings, we'd walk to the college and we'd watch the college students as they hurried past, babbling away into their cell-phones, balancing a hot cup of coffee with an armful of books. Scene like these-and the ones I saw inside the small coffee shops, students tapping away on laptops and eating blueberry crumble cake- romantisized college life for me. I think I owe a good part of my academic success to these nighttime strolls. I dreamed of the day I would walk along these same brick sidewalks, the day I would buy my textbooks from the shabby college bookstore on the corner.

The elementary school I went to was a small building just a few blocks away. Though we could walk to the school ourselves via a bridge that connected the few blocks between us, my mother drove us, and we usually had to stop by the attendance office for a tardy slip. Brenda, the attendance officer, knew me very, very well. We would become good friends in the later years.

Our school's academic record was impressive. Our API score went higher and higher every year. Teachers were hopelessly devoted to honing our minds, sharpening our wits. The GATE program was one of the most impressive in the state. The GATE teacher, Mrs. Henry, was the picture of devotion, constantly thinking of new ways to teach us. We had three grades in our class- fourth, fifth and sixth- but she managed to teach us everything we needed to know to pass the tests, and beyond that as well. My fondest memories of her are of her yelling at my brother (who was in the class as well) to chew with his mouth closed and to cover his mouth when he yawned, manners he would forget as soon as he came to school.

My closest friends consisted of an Asian, a Caucasian, and a Hispanic. Later in my life, when I would laugh derisively at formulaic movies that would feature a quartet of friends, all different races (always a black, a white and a third race.) I would muse silently about my own circle of friends.

My friends all came from wealthy or upper-middle class families. For their birthdays, they invited the entire class to Disneyland, at their expense. On an ordinary day, they would go to Knott's Berry Farm, an amusement park just a few miles away, or Six Flags, which was two hours away.

If it wasn't amusement parks, then it was huge pool parties at their homes. Parties that featured colorfully painted clowns and expensively furnished goodie bags. They had enough presents for everyday of the year. Not just any presents- they would come to school the next day wearing pretty, sparkling jewelry and expensive clothes.

It wasn't until middle school that I realized that not every non-Muslim celebrated their birthdays this way. Because our town was so small, we didn't have a separate district. The town lay between two cities, an upper middle class city to the south, and a lower middle class city to the north. We shared our school district with the latter.

The school was large- much, much larger than the homely little building we were so used to in elementary school. The school collected students from all over Los Angeles, most of them inner-city kids who had lead harder, more unsheltered lives than I did.

Here, I saw the world without the rose-colored glasses I had worn for my elementary school years. Kids came to school wearing the same clothes they wore the day before! Some of them wore clothes that were ripped or stained! Their clothes heralded no brand name! It was absolutely inconceivable to my sheltered mind. And it put things in perspective.

When I began to adjust to things in the school, my parents pulled me out. It had one of the poorest academic records in the state (between two and one). They had acquired a permit to a neighboring town, a beach city.

Redding* Beach was a beautful little town. The middle school was only a mile away away from the beach, and so when my parents dropped me off every morning, I was met with cold morning dew and a gust of salty sea air. It was absolutely marevlous. I couldn't get enough of the snow white seagulls that would settle on the school lawn, waddling through the grass and picking at stray pieces of food.

But this school was worse than my elementary school. Everywhere I went, I was faced with labels. Nike, Dolce & Gabbana, Coach, BCBG... They were always there, glaring at me in all their logo'ed glory. And, God, the trends....

It was so hard to keep up. The first week it was sequined belts and the next it was sequined slippers. A few days later it was sequined purses...and just days after that it was seatbelt-belts. Some weeks it was quirky totes and others it was leggings. One week the "It" color was pink and the next it was neons...

The famous I Love Lucy chocolate factory episode comes to mind when I think of the two years I spent at that school. An unending conveyor belt of trends, faster and faster each time.

We moved out of that town and into another one, but it's just a little bit worse here. The students are more focused on schoolwork so clothing isn't something they have time to focus on. But the school district, the best in the state, brings all kinds of people to the city, most of them with heavy wallets. So every week, it's a new phone, a new MP3 player, a new laptop....

And just today, I was invited to a party at which there will be a Hummer limo, one that will drive the girls wherever they want to go. The party was held at a ballroom: one that my cousin considered using for her wedding, not a sweet sixteen.

I'm not completely immune to the materialism. Sometimes it hits me full force- I'll suddenly want a new phone or an MP3 player that had more storage. But it's human nature to want and to desire- most recently, it was a new phone, the Juke, and before that, it was an expensive Coach purse.

I usually wait out these moments until my irrational urge passes and I realize how absurd it would be to put so much money on such a superficial thing. I put away any money I get for my college fund and pray to God that all this wanting and not getting will be worth it when I walk across the lawn of my dream college, balancing a cup of hot cocoa (I don't like coffee) and a tower of books, while babbling away on my out-of-date cell phone.

As always,
Tasbeeh

on birthdays and best friends

My famil was never big on birthdays, which is typical of a Muslim family. Our "parties" consisted of immediate family and a sheet cake from Ralph's. Sometimes, if my parents were up for it, they'd stick a candle or two at the top and light them for us. Despite the fact that our friends usually threw huge soirees in rented rooms at the community center, we were happy with the tradition. It was intimate and nice.

Today was my sixteenth birthday, but yesterday my friends and I met at the mall for a little celebration. Armed with tall bags of popcorn, obscenely large cups of coke, and wallets that were considerably lighter than when we had first arrived, we went to the AMC to see 27 Dresses. The movie was light and fun and, at times, a little bit corny and predictable, but the fun was not in the movie itself, but in my friends and.

We whispered witty commentary into the darkness and giggled so much our stomachs began to hurt. We drew out long "awwww"'s at the apporpriate moments and cried "NO!" when the heroine, played by Katherine Heigl, was about to make a mistake. It was crazy fun.

My friend, Huda, who is known among our group of friends for her distaste of corny, predictable movies.

"A happy ending," I whispered to her as the credits rolled.

"What else did you expect?" she answered back sarcastically.

Though the weather was almost unbearably warm when we had gone into the theatre, the sun was hidden behind a cluster of dark, rolling rain clouds as we emerged from the theatre.

We wandered a bit, finally heading inside Forever 21. We picked at the clothes, fingering the cloth in between our fingertips. We tried on hats and jewelry and pressed dresses against our fronts, posing in front of our friends. I spotted an adroable cupcake necklace. Sive and delicate, the cupake was adorned with sparklling crystals. I grabbed it, along with tow other necklaces that caught my eye: a pretty gold one with an Eiffel tower charm and another one fitted with two lockets.

When I was about to go buy my finds, my friends stopped me. Alla, a long-time friend and confidante, had bought them for me. I was nearly brought to tears by the gesture; not the gifts themself, but the purchase of them. I hugged her.

We wistfully left the store, our eyes still glued to a few things we had resolved to buy when we found the time and money to return.

Our growling stomachs indicated that it had been a few hours since we had last ate, so we walked to Johnny Rockets and ordered enough food to feed a small country.

"Ow, I can't eat another bite," I complained, half the burger still sitting in my plate. I discreetly dumped the rest of my fries into my friend's plate.

Huda unbuttoned her jacket.

"I think I gained a few pounds," she said, staring regretfully at the burger and chili fries she had consumed.

As I was ready to announce that I needed to leave and maybe walk off a few calories, the waiters came by our table.

"Who's birthday is it?"

I raised my hand shyly and they asked, "What's your name?"

Before I could answer, the man started singing. When it came to say my name, he said "Stacy".

My friends, already delirious with food, dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

The waiters presented me with a sundae which I faithfully shared with my friends. My stomach felt like it was going to burst. If I wasn't so blinded by the euphoric mood my friends put me in, I would have been disgusted with myself.

The rest of the day past by too quickly.

When it was time to leave, I felt ready to cry.

"I love you guys!" I sniffled, "Seriously, best birthday ever."

We hugged and I left, feeling happy and light, my hands weighed down with the day's purchases and my heart full of love for my friends.

As always,
Tasbeeh

the best birthday present ever....

...was Obama's win in South Carolina.

South Carolina: You guys are the best.

As always,
Tasbeeh, 16 years old

For a long time, I'd been thinking about starting up an MSA at my school and I finally got to it yesterday, when I picked up the new club application from the school office.

Crap, I thought, when I realized I needed to get about thirty signatures for the club to be approved.

So I go to seventh period and force some of my non-Muslim friends to sign the petition. They sign willingly, if not enthusiastically, and turn back to the conversations they were having. (Seventh period is English, but the hour feels like a free period, because the teacher doesn't do anything but assign us essays and reading and go back to his computer.)

When the bell rings to signal the end of the day, I pick up myself and ride out, hoping to get some more signatures before everyone leaves. This isn't a particularly far-fetched thing to do. Whitney students are generally known for their habit of staying late after school, studying, tutoring, talking to the teachers, or even just hanging out in the halls with friends.

I set out, petition in hand, and my eyes zero in on a few Muslim girls I know. I wave them over, and they glance at me warily. We're in different grades and don't share any classes; in fact, we don't share anything except for the occasional acknowledging smile in the hallways.

I walk over to them and thrust the petition into their hands enthusiastically,

"Hey," I say, smiling at them, "Sign the petition. I'm starting an MSA."

Some of the girls glance at each other, confused and it takes me a moment to realize that the acronym "MSA" may not be as familiar to them as it is to me.

"A Muslim Student Assocication. Like the Jesus Club for Muslims." I add on this last part in answer to their still perplexed expressions. (Though an association to Jesus Club may not have been the smartest move to make, because, as my friend later pointed out, Jesus Club, at our school, has been known to anger students at the school with their extreme views on certain subjects and have made more than a few enemies at the school. I have no idea if there's any truth to the statement, as I've not been here a semester, and my friend has also been known to make enemies with her own liberal statements.)

Their expressions, when they realized this was a religious club. became nervous and some of them seemed to peer around the corners as if to see if anyone had heard me. When I handed them the pen, they didn't respond with the eagerness that I thought they would. Instead, they looked hesitant to sign, as if they were signing their life away.

Reactions from other Muslims didn't vary much. I became so that I couldn't accurately predict what their expressions would be, what they would say, and how they would say it (with a small nervous chuckle, and a jittery, "That's a great idea!" with a hiccup on the "great" that made it sound like a euphemism for something deeply frightening.)

What was especially interesting to me was that the most enthusiasm I got was from the non-Muslims. The Muslims didn't bother to hear the description of such a club- they signed it and walked away quickly, as if walking away from a crime scene.

I could understand the apprehension, though I definietly can't emphasize with it. It made me a little sad, and my earlier excitement about the club began to wane, and a small rock settled itself into the pit of my stomach.

Despite my newly born misgivings, I plowed on, easily obtaining the signatures. It was easier than I thought it would be, getting people to sign. Some people signed without looking at it at all, simply recognizing the purple hue of the club application form.

Finally, with only about five signatures left to go, I turned to find a Pakistani sister at my side. She hadn't introduced herself to me until late in the school year, but unlike most Muslims at my school, she was quick to tell me that she, too, was Muslim.

I handed her the petition, weary and anticipating the same negative reaction I'd been getting from all the other my Muslim schoolmates, when she fixed a bright smile on her face...

"You're starting an MSA? That is so cool," she squealed, "That's awesome. I mean, really, that's awesome. We really need one."

And sometimes, that's all it takes: one smile, to make a person's day.

As always,
Tasbeeh

al-muakhah banquet promo

Special thanks to my brother, who succombed to my will and played the only part in this video. This video is in no way reflective of his actual lifestyle. (He made me say that.)

Info on the banquet can be found here.

Here's the actual info:

The Islamic Center of Hawthorne (ICH) Youth Group Presents

2nd Annual
Al-Mu'akhah Banquet:
Beyond Names and Faces

A Night of Halal Entertainment
Includes Videos, Skits, Comedy, Nasheeds, Food, and Much Much More InshAllah

This program is a special event as it brings youth of all ages from different MSA's and Masjid’s together on one eventful night. All youth groups and MSA's are encouraged to participate by putting together a skit or video of some sort and entering it in the competition. The video/skit will be shown at the Al-Mu’akhah Banquet. All groups will be competing against other MSA's and Masjid Youth Groups. Large Cash prizes will be provided inshAllah and may the best group win :) ICH will be contacting your youth group leaders to be in charge of putting something together for the Banquet so we encourage all to get involved!

A percentage of all ticket sales will go towards sponsoring an orphan.

Please email at ichyouth@gmail.com or contact Sara Aloteibi or Marwa Sallam if you would like to participate or register.

More details about the Al-Mu’akhah Banquet will be provided later inshAllah
HOPE TO SEE EVERYONE THERE!!

Saturday, March 22, 2008 5:00pm - 9:00pm
Location:
Hawthorne Memorial Center
3901 W. El Segundo Blvd.
Hawthorne, CA

Also, come to the bake sale we're holding to raise some funds for the banquet. Click here for more information on the event.

Tell all your MSAs and Youth Groups to sign up for the entertainment session. For a better idea of the banquet, read my account of last year's event.

See you there!

Tasbeeh

political correctness, rubber bracelets and other things i wish i understood

As a result of my nineties upbringing, I had an obsession with Lisa Frank. I wasn't the only one. All the girls did.

Lisa Frank was a brand that carried school accessories and other kinds of paraphernalia, like posters with funky cartoon kittens and unicorn key chains (which we would then clip on to our backpacks for lack of actual keys). The drawings were really bubbly and large, the kinds of drawings you find at the Hello kitty store.

But while Hello Kitty’s products were generally painted lovely shades of pink, Lisa Frank’s were recognized for the rainbow color combo.

Everything Lisa Frank was rainbow. And not just any kind of rainbow- no, that would be much too subtle- Lisa Frank products were done up in the bright, over zealous rainbow colors associated with seventies.

Lisa Frank’s “stuff” came to be so popular at school that girls could no longer find their things among the others. Lisa Frank backpacks and binders, pencils and erasers, cases and lunchboxes- Lisa frank was everywhere. There came a time in my life where tye-dye shirts meant nothing to me but Lisa Frank.

Flash forward 13 years to yesterday night, when I was finishing up a poster for a chemistry extra credit project (I. Will. Not. Fail.). I had dark blue board, a huge pack of construction paper and NO color printer.

I couldn’t just stick a bunch of black and white pictures on a board. Especially with my chemistry teacher- who calls the element Francium “Big, Happy Frank”, petroleum “Petro Lee” and makes a big production of “Mole Day” (10/23 at 6:02 PM). I’m not a creative person, though everyone assumes I should be (though no one has an explanation for why they would feel this way. They just shrug it off and go, “You’re a really happy person,” which begs the question: where is the correlation between happiness and creativity? I’d love to see a study on it. )

Anyway, armed with my packet of construction paper, I decide on a rainbow theme.

But halfway through the project, I stopped to think whether anyone would take it the wrong way.

Because I go to high school, and despite the generally intelligent atmosphere of the one I go to, kids- boys, usually- tend to still have a hold on that middle school immaturity. Growing up in California, in SOUTHERN California, where Sacramento is the butt of most gay jokes, kids are definitely aware of a few things.

Specifically, that the rainbow color scheme is, you know, a symbol of homosexuality.

This post isn’t about homosexuality. It’s about why I had to stop and think about using the rainbow color scheme on my poster board.

In a country where free speech and freedom of choice are touted as our most treasured values, I find it a little hypocritical that I can’t wear or draw a rainbow without everyone making a political statement out of it. Or how about pink ribbons? Or rubber bracelets?

When I was living in West LA, I lived in a surprisingly nice, middle-class neighborhood. The elementary school was great. But the middle school was a different story, because it combined our neighborhood’s kids with the inner-city kids.

I have nothing against inner city kids. I befriended a lot of them in my two week stay at that middle school (we moved and my mom was going to pull me out anyway). But some inner-city kids came from gang families or were raised in areas where gangs actively and publicly recruited kids off the streets.

There were two rival gangs that were especially prominent: the Bloods and the Crips. They were constantly fighting. The Bloods wore red and the Crips wore blue.

No one at school could wear either color for fear of pledging allegiance to one gang and essentially making yourself the target of the other.

It’s not much different than the rainbow color scheme scenario. In fact, somewhere in middle America, there’s a school that would consider wearing the rainbow as a threat to their “gang”.

Another scene would take me to the OC in Little Arabia, on the sidewalks, rallying for peace, where my brother’s friends would be stopped by police for wearing yellow, the color for Hamas.

They’re just colors! They’re not knives or guns! They’re not public service ads! They’re just colors. Just colors. Nothing more.

I think America needs to get in touch with that little kid again. The one that would wear a Lisa Frank backpack because it looked pretty. The one that thought rubber bracelets were just really cool. The one that didn’t walk on eggshells trying to be politically correct all the time.

So my project was rainbow colored. And the title? Striped rainbow.

Why? Because I thought it looked nice. A little juvenile, but pleasing to the eye.

Lisa Frank would have been proud.

As always,
Tasbeeh

just watched the new hampshire debates and...

Romney and McCain are insincere, Clinton needs to get over herself, Ron Paul needs a stronger voice, Huckabee's teeth annoy me, Richardson's hair looks fake and the Republicans need to get over their irrational crush on George Bush.

Tasbeeh

top ten new year's resolutions

*I thought I put this up yeaterday but I guess not. *shrug*
For more of my Top Ten lists, click here.

In no particlular order, my top ten resolutions:

1. Do better in school. This means, I guess, doing my work before it gets so late that I freak out and pull an all-nighter because I underestimated the amount of work I actually had to do. No more forgoing my work for Oprah, Facebook, blog-reading, email-checking, Paper-book-swapping, baking, free-tetris-ing and miscellaneous other things I'm too embarrassed to mentions.

2. Achieve a higher score on Facebook's Jetman. My high score is currently 1557, which is absolutely pitiful. Stupid obstacles. Always get in the way.

3. Call my friends more often and have real, thoughtful conversations instead of messaging them on Facebook to discuss the many facets of a red velvet cupcake and whether a chocolate one tastes better. Usually a conversation like this segways into another one about the pros and cons of cakes and cupcakes (We agree that cupcakes are better. Always.)

4. Try to be better informed, instead of leaving all the emails from LA Times, NY Times and CAIR upopened while I rush to read the ones from Facebook and Fanfiction.net. To my credit, when all that stuff with Benazi Bhutto started coming up a few months ago, I did google her up and read her entire profile on Wikipedia. I did the same with Nociolas Sarcozy after I saw him in that weird interview on 60 Minutes and, admittedly, Anna Nicole Smith, because I had no idea who she was before this past year.

5. Read more books. It's funny that, as a child, I used to read LITERALLY a book a day, and I don't use that word loosely. Most of them were Baby Sitter's Club books, which turned your brain into mush if you read them for too long, but later in life, I was introduced to Jane Austen and we've been together ever since. The trouble is, when you've spent the last few years moving around and trading schools and generally living an unstable life, it's hard to get in a book for pleasure.

It's upsetting, but I was reunited with the wonder that is Amazon.com, and I'm getting back in the habit of reading more books. I just ordered The Other Boleyn Girl, because I've been obsessed with historical fiction these past few weeks, especially after reading Marie Antoinette and and a few books about Elizabeth. My history teacher also got me excited about Louis the Sixteenth, so he's on the list of people I must read about.

6. Bake the things I've always wanted to bake, but have been afraid to. Particularly: bread, mousse, scones, layered cake, fruit tarts, madeleines, truffles that are not made of Oreos and cream cheese, eclairs, and anything else that's too complicated for my underdeveloped baking skills.

7. Spend less at the mall. The sad thing is, I know I'm just putting this up because it needs to be put up, not because I really think I'll go through with it. I do have a problem with excessive spending when I'm IN the mall (just last week, I bought the CUTEST belted dress from Express. I love it.) but when I'm OUT of it- no problem. I have it under control. So my REAL resolution is to stay out of the mall.

8. Watch more enlightening movies like Syriana and A Mighty Heart and Ratatouille (kidding! Or maybe not...), instead of This Christmas, which, ironically, I saw on Eid. This means I will have to resisit the urge to go and see Alvin and the Chipmunks, which I know will be a lot of bad jokes and mindless drivel. But God, who can resist a movie about chipmunks?

9. Watch less TV. This is a new one for me, because I usually don't watch much TV, save for 20/20 and 60 Minutes and Oprah. But, lately, TV has gotten a lot better with Reaper and Pushing Daisies on the air. And then, we have the classics: Friday Night Lights (a show that is sorely underappreciated), The Office (Mr. Carell? You are my hero.) and Ugly Betty (How much do I love America Ferrera? So, so, much.).

10. Be a happier person. Complain less and smile more. :)

It goes without me saying that being a better Muslim is a resolution we ALL strive to make every year of our lives until al-akhira.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Tasbeeh

ahhhh....winter break at last

So I took my chemistry midterm last Thursday and I'm pretty sure I didn't fail.

This is because of one long but extremely helpful chemistry study group my teacher held the Friday after I got hysterical.

It turns out, though, that's he's been having these little study groups since the beginning of the year.

WHAT???

Basically, my reaction to this little bit of information.

I went with my friend Sana and we worked together on the homework with the help of the teacher.

After I had finished up a particularly difficult problem (and got the answer RIGHT, by the way. "Calculate the volume of 12.0 M HCL necessary to neutralize all the magnesium hyrdroxide in 1400 gallons of water that contains 1230 ppm of magnesium hydroxide.") he took a look at my work and said, "If I knew you were capable of doing THIS kind of work, I would've worked you a little harder."

I don't know where he got the impression that I was not capable of doing that kind of work because my main problem wasn't that but the fact that the class was going a little too quickly.

And HELLO? He's a teacher. He's supposed to work me hard whether or not I am capable of doing any kind of work.

Pssshhht. Whatev. I'm over it.

Anyway, after I took the midterm (on the same day, I had three other tests to deal with) me and my friends went to see The Kite Runner to unwind.

Because it was in select theatres, we had to drive all the way to Beverly Hills to see the movie. And OH MY GOD. Traffic was killer. Even for Los Angeles. We barely moved for about twenty minutes so we took the nearest exit and went by the streets.

The movie was moderate. I personally wasn't as moved my the movie as I was by the book which was AMAZING. Can't wait to read A Thousand Splendid Suns, which, from what I've heard, is as beautifully crafted as The Kite Runner.

In other news, Eid Mubarak! I know last year, when I had all the time in the world, I made a big production of Eid on the blog. But this year, the move came a day before Eid did and my classes are way to big a load for me too handle (I'm beginning to wonder whether Chem Honors was the best option for me). And so, Eid will be a footnote on an insignificant blogpost. It's sad, but what can I do?

Also, thanks to those who have comforted me in my "breakdown" post. You guys are the best and though I appreciate the offers of help, I think these Chem Study Groups are going to help me out where I need it.

Until next time,
Tasbeeh