tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36778609317392205082023-11-16T16:58:31.140+02:00EurekaismsEurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.comBlogger213125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-19924711793739647152010-07-29T00:30:00.002+03:002018-10-29T00:30:57.992+02:00We've Moved!Hi folks, seeing as I've run out of steam here (routine inhibits creativity) I've moved my outlet to <a href="http://eurekaisms.tumblr.com">http://eurekaisms.tumblr.com </a><div><br /></div><div>Let's see how long that one lasts!</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been a good run on Blogger. Maybe Tumblr will inspire a reprise. </div><div><br /></div><div>Signing off,</div><div><br /></div><div>Eureka</div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-55293364524278408022010-04-15T00:39:00.002+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.595+02:00For the Trivia BuffsI have been following the <a href="http://www.omg-facts.com/">OMG-Facts</a> Twitter feed since it's early days and absolutely love it. It is perfect for my need for random fact enlightenment and needtoknoweverythingevenifitsuselessness. IF you like silly trivia, you will love this, too.<div><br /></div><div>I further love the fact that it was thought of and is run by a couple of teenagers and was then supported and nourished by the kids who came up with <a href="http://www.givesmehope.com/">GivesMeHope</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>The fact that there are smart entrepreneurial kids out there in our mind-numbing day and age gives me hope.</div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-85870408925955263932010-04-15T00:10:00.002+02:002018-10-29T00:30:59.034+02:00Monkey BusinessThis week was one of the few I've had in a while where work was not astoundingly busy and I wasn't chained to my laptop for the entire duration of the work day. I was able to spend some quality time with my office buddies; one old, one new: <b>Minnie</b> and <b>Parallel</b> <b>Universe</b>, both of whom are legal people and are about 4 years older than me.<div><br /></div><div>Minnie joined the company on the same day I did. We bonded over boyfriend stories and gossip as she knows every human being to walk the face of our blue planet. It's incredible. You name him/her and she will already know the hot three-second-old story you're about to tell. Naturally, being the former Gucci Girl and gossip whore that I am, I revel in our morning debriefings. </div><div><br /></div><div>Parallel Universe joined a few months ago and is a fellow Capricorn who had a very Westernized childhood. She's basically me: wry and random sense of humour, love for childhood cartoon quotes, typical Capricorn traits, prefers to speak in English and a know-it-all. We spent 15 minutes debating whether the Antarctic was considered a desert and ended up using Wikipedia articles as proof of both the veracity and falsity of that statement. We both are still convinced of our rightness. Can you see why I call her Parallel Universe?</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the course of this week our little trio has discussed the financial merits of selling one's virginity to the highest bidder versus the moral/emotional harm it may cause. Conclusion: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natalie_Dylan">based on the $1.3 million or so received by that girl who sold her virginity online in the US</a>, if we stuck that amount in an Egyptian bank and received 5% annual interest, we'd be able to live comfortably on about EGP 30,000 a month for the rest of our lives. Minnie thought it wasn't worth the disgrace but is happy to pimp me out for a cut. Parallel Universe thinks I'm a lunatic for even joking about it. So no cut for her. </div><div><br /></div><div>We've discussed grandparents who hate us, magic mushroom experiences, my many illnesses and have set up a BBM group dedicated to sharing dirty jokes and making fun of a crazy colleague. Not bad for a week's worth of work, huh?</div><div><br /></div><div>Now I doubt any of us would have ever thought to be friends had it not been for a shared workplace. I'm too young to run into either of them in any shared social circles (not that I'm out that often anymore anyway) and I think they're too different to strike up an external friendship without any common ground. But I like the fact that we've been brought together and get along so well. Both girls are intelligent, hilarious, quick-witted and genuinely friendly people. They understand, share and sympathize with the frustration that comes with working in our company, which is a lifesaver when it comes to venting. They prove that even in an increasingly superficial world, like-minded folks still exist.</div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-38075954056043959422010-04-02T23:56:00.002+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.265+02:00Ad Astra Per Alia PorciSometimes you need to see Steinbeck for the way to phrase things. This is one of those times because I am about to announce an impossibility. This is something that in my 23 years on God's green Earth I never thought or even imagined would happen. This is something so absurd that none of you will come close to guessing it. <div><br /></div><div>Drum roll please:</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V1B5njIbtOE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V1B5njIbtOE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ladies and gentlemen, after 20-odd years of daily addiction, I have jumped off the bandwagon. My name is Eureka, and I am 16 days sober of nail-biting. </div><div><br /></div><div>[I tried to find a crowd gasping sound effect for good measure but no dice. Pretend it's here]</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, my nails are growing out and have begun to peek above my fingertips. They look horrendously ugly (nothing new there) and are getting in the way of just about everything (typing, buttoning, zipping, nose picking, wiping, etc...) and I have accidently scratched myself on my than one occasion. </div><div><br /></div><div>My bigger problem has been the lack of stress relief/distraction now that my nails are not being bitten. You see the big chocolate brown ape permanently perched on my back? The one I'm constantly swatting and arguing with? Yes, the one trying to pull nits out of what's left of my hair. That's him. He's there to warn everyone to STAY AWAY FROM THE CRAZY LADY IN WITHDRAWAL! I am fussy, I am itchy, I am running on a very short fuse and all I can think about is wanting to have just one tiny nibble on any of them. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Eureka's right brain</b><b>:</b> oh, look! The nail on my left index finger is growing too fast, if I just have the top off it'll be even.</div><div><b>Eureka's left brain:</b> DON'T DO IT! If you start you know you'll keep going and all your pain and suffering will be in vain. Stay strong Eureka, stay strong.</div><div><br /></div><div>A little while later:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Eureka's right brain:</b> my right pinkie is uneven and keeps getting caught in fabric, it won't hurt to sort it out with just a tiny bite...</div><div><b>Eureka's left brain:</b> But think of the CHILDREN! If you can't do it for yourself do it for them. What'll they say when you come home with no nails? The disappointment, the tears, the horror on their poor little faces. Can you bear it? Can you ever forgive yourself?</div><div><b>Eureka:</b> Whoa there brain, melodramatic much?</div><div><b>Eureka's left brain:</b> hey it worked to distract you, didn't it? </div><div><b>Eureka:</b> yeah, I guess you're right</div><div><b>Eureka's left brain:</b> just doin' my duty</div><div><b>Eureka's right brain:</b> (sulkily under breath) pussy...</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh, it have been tough. I have had my moments of weakness as you can see. But this is the longest I've gone (both chronometrically and in terms of nail measurement) so we'll see how it pans out. </div><div><br /></div><div>What prompted this, those of you who know my indifference towards nails and love for biting may ask. It is a combination of my masochistic need to figure out my own limits of endurance (see FMF) and exasperation with everyone and their mother's need to inform me that my nails are an abhorrence and I should not be seen in public this way. I've grown tired of people grabbing my hands and lecturing me on being 7. I don't care about what people think, I'm just tired of hearing the same tape playing over and over.</div><div><br /></div><div>I still don't care about how my nails look and I am not looking forward to the hassle of maintaining them, but I want to prove to myself that I can do it. And hopefully people will start playing a new song. </div><div><br /></div><div>Damn it! I just realized I didn't take a before photo. Snap. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Eureka's right brain:</b> All the more reason to bite, my dear!</div><div><b>Eureka and her left brain:</b> SHUT UP!</div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-74369958982161681922010-03-15T22:53:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.814+02:00Dancing on the LadderThere is an Arabic saying which is transliterated as 'danced on the ladder' (ra'ast 'al sillim). The English equivalent would be 'straddled the fence'. I've often been told that this describes my Identity (with a capital I) situation aptly. I am neither from here nor there (I feel a Dr. Seuss rhyme coming along. Oh, oh wait... Nah, over it). <div><br /></div><div>I do not fit in in Cairo. I do not fit in with the general population. I do not fit in with my social circles - not if we're being completely truthful. I get along with people; I am friendly and socially intelligent enough to know how to <i>be</i> in my society. That doesn't mean I necessarily enjoy it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remember hanging out with Roonies and here then-new (now-ex) boyfriend and his friends for the first time a few years ago. We went to some cafe and everyone sat around joking. As usual, I was the only Christian in the group. Inevitably, the best way to become the life of the party is to crack Christian jokes - how Christians are referred to as 'blue boned' ('adma zar'a) and 'four feathered' (arba'a reesha), etc... Little things that aren't exactly offensive but are unlikely to come out of a Christian's mouth in mixed company. And are certainly unlikely to come out of my 'Americanized' mouth as such phrases aren't commonly known the upper class. </div><div><br /></div><div>On our way home Roonies applauded me on getting along with them so well and having such a good time. I explained to her that I in fact did not like her (repeated for current boyfriend's benefit: now-ex) boyfriend's friends and did not intend to repeat the outing. She found it strange that I could seem to have such a good time but not have actually enjoyed myself. I found it strange that she found it strange. What was wrong with me that I had to pretend to have a good time? I seem to do that very often. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think differently to most Egyptians. I do not understand some of the social intricacies and have a bit of an elitist attitude (Roonies and Cheb Khaled would call this the understatement of the year). Fine. I'm a snob. I was brought up to believe, in Daddy's words, that 'we are a breed apart'. Copyright Eureka's Dad. Copyright underscored one million and nine times. He raised us to believe this wholeheartedly. And I do believe this. Purely based on the fact that I have not met anyone else who thinks or was raised quite like me. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is doubly evidenced by the fact that I do not fit in abroad either. Hence the 'straddling' of the 'fence' and the 'dancing' on the 'ladder'. I don't see myself being a normal 23-year-old in NYC or London. I've spent enough time in major American and European cities with metropolitan peers to have a solid sense of their Identity (again, capital I). It isn't quite mine, either. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even amongst my friends, I am told that I am not quite the same. Cheb Khaled says I'm an Excel<i>lance </i>(stress placed on the second syllable for pronunciation). In Cheb Khaled vernacular, that means of nobility. Over dinner on Wednesday, an old school friend was assessing my tiny dating pool and declared that I had it much harder because I needed a specific type of person within a tiny Christian minority. So basically, I have 2 and a quarter people to choose from. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, joy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hey, at least you folks got a blog post out of this. Maybe this straddling the fence business can be of use, after all. </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-9507350626361084222010-03-08T23:45:00.002+02:002018-10-29T00:30:59.254+02:00Thanking the Unsung Heroines<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/I9y8wpF4CAs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/I9y8wpF4CAs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>Couldn't have put it any better. Unfortunately, ours is a society that is not welcoming of such acts. I hope that changes. There are so many wonderful little lives looking to be loved. </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-68861444281319436312010-03-08T23:36:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.760+02:00Hush<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I owe you more than a poem but this is one of my favourites and will have to tide you over until I can post properly. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hush</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For my son</span></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; line-height: 17px; "><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The way a tired Chippewa woman</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Who’s lost a child gathers up black feathers, </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Black quills & leaves</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That she wraps & swaddles in a little bale, a shag </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Cocoon she carries with her & speaks to always </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As if it were the child,</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Until she knows the soul has grown fat & clever, </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That the child can find its own way at last; </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, I go everywhere</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Picking the dust out of the dust, scraping the breezes </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Up off the floor, & gather them into a doll </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of you, to touch at the nape of the neck, to slip </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Under my shirt like a rag—the way</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Another man’s wallet rides above his heart. As you </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Cry out, as if calling to a father you conjure </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the paling light, the voice rises, instead, in me. </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nothing stops it, the crying. Not the clove of moon,</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not the woman raking my back with her words. Our letters </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Close. Sometimes, you ask</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">About the world; sometimes, I answer back. Nights </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Return you to me for a while, as sleep returns sleep </span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">To a landscape ravaged</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">& familiar. The dark watermark of your absence, a hush.</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 1em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">- David St. John</span></span></div></span></i></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-51576440127054442752010-02-06T23:11:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.540+02:00My Idea of Mr. EurekaSomeone commented on a recent post that they were happy my work stories were back, but where were the so-called "love life" updates? You haven't heard about any of that in a while! Well, that my devoted (probably now reduced to) 4 and a half readers is because my so-called "love life" has been non-existent as of late (apart from the regular sketchy boys who seem to sniff out my disdain for them and consider it invitation to hound me but that's a whole other post). There are no interesting men out there at the moment. <div><br /></div><div>Boys, please take note my use of the word men. <b>Strategic use</b>. <div><b><br /></b></div><div>This afternoon Cheb Khaled and I were discussing the fact that my difficult and ice queen personality would mean I require a saint of a man to put up with me. According to Cheb Khaled, I need someone who will know how to push the right buttons to make me cute and cuddly. I did not realize cute and cuddly could be part of my being. Apparently, the right person can bring this incredibly well-hidden aspect out of me. He would also need to be a gazzillliioonnn years older than me to make me seem immature in comparison, because I am too logical (in the male sense) to get riled up the way men seem to like. I am, in conclusion, boring because my thought process is too masculine. Who'da thunk it?</div><div><br /></div><div>Cheb Khaled should start a blog just to write a post about this topic. He has interesting insights into the male-female relationship/dynamic. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, in my defense, my friendship with Cheb Khaled brings out a more laid back Eureka because we think the same so there is little room for arguments. Granted, I enjoy yelling at him when he does something stupid, but that's what friends are for, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think what I ask for in men is unreasonable. I'm not asking for a Johnny Depp for my Ginnifer Goodwin. I'm not deluded. I ask for an equal. I respect myself enough to know who and what I am. Therefore, I deserve someone I feel measures up to me in my eyes. What I look for is simple and to continue with my recent list trend, here are some of the things I'm asking for:</div><div><ol><li>Intelligence</li><li>Ambition</li><li>Maturity</li><li>Shared religious beliefs (i.e.: Christian but not a fanatic)</li><li>A lust for learning</li><li>A sense of humour compatible with my sarcasm</li><li>Understanding (because I am too quirky for the Egyptian population)</li><li>Patience (because I am am too quirky for the Egyptian population)</li><li>And this one may be a cliche, but he should ideally love me a little more than I love him because otherwise, he won't put up with me and my English-speaking, newfangled women's equality believing, I am not your servant acting ways. </li></ol><div>Ideally, he should be good looking but that isn't necessarily high on my list. I think this list is shared by women universally. We aren't saying all men must be cut from the same cloth. We are not saying you all need to be Prince Charming or a Sir Lancelot or some other Disney hero. We just don't want to come home to an unkempt, unmotivated dimbulb who expects us to serve his every whim. That isn't what a relationship should be based on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, this last bit is the problem (in my circles in Cairo, at least). All a guy believes he needs to be is rich and semi-good looking; nothing else seems to factor in. So as a result, most boys I know are now extremely metrosexual, obsessed with material possessions, are "working" for Daddy and have zero functioning brain cells. Cheb Khaled is now the exception rather than the rule. This is a sad state for my generation to be in, and it is just as bad - if not worse - in Bloft's age-group. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe we just haven't met the right social circle, but in a society as small as ours in Cairo, it's hard to miss people. </div><div><br /></div><div>So boys, man up. You'll be surprised at how many women would agree with the general gist of this post. </div><div><br /></div></div><div> </div></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-21312600014490820062010-02-06T01:58:00.004+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.047+02:00How To Transfer Contacts From a Broken Nokia to a Blackberry for MacciesMy mum has jumped on the Blackberry bandwagon after years of blind devotion to Nokia. As usual, she came to the only child she's got who is forced - I mean <i>willing</i> - to transfer her contacts from any old phone to any new phone. Usually, this is a simple process for me as it is always between Nokia's which share a desktop platform. With a Blackberry, this is a whole other story. After a solid three hours, I managed to figure it out. To save you all the trouble, I will list the steps necessary to make the switcheroo. <div><br /></div><div>Three things to note:</div><div><br /></div><div><ol><li>This should, in theory, work for anyone switching from Nokia to any other make/smartphone.</li><li>You need to be using a Mac for the transfer, but a PC for Nokia PC Suite.</li><li>The simple way to do this is to use iSync. But my mother had conveniently broken her Nokia's screen making it impossible to switch its bluetooth on. iSync requires a bluetooth connection to work. Hence, the long-ass dilemma/methodology.</li></ol></div><div><br /></div><div>Prior to beginning you need to download the Nokia PC Suite and ensure your busted Nokia is connected via usb. You also need to download the Blackberry Desktop Manager on your Mac. The steps are as follows:</div><div><br /></div><div><ol><li>Select the Contacts icon on Nokia PC Suite. This will bring up your phone's address book. Ctrl-A to select all.</li><li>Go to File and hit export as a text document, not .csv. Your Mac will be unable to properly transfer a .csv file.</li><li>Save the text file with all your contacts on your Mac.</li><li>Open the file and make sure all the names and corresponding phone number is on the same line. Remove the First/Last Name and type of number (mobile, home, etc...) reference for all except for the last name on the list.</li><li>Open your Mac's Address Book, select File and Import the text file of your contacts.</li><li>Ensure that the names and numbers are correctly identified by the address book for the first name. These settings will apply to all other names on the list. Untick ignore first vCard.</li><li>Accept the Import transfer.</li><li>Voila, your Contacts are saved to your Mac's Address Book. Adjust any format/information you want to edit using Address Book.</li><li>Connect your Blackberry to your Mac via usb and open Blackberry Desktop Manager.</li><li>Sync Contacts using the Contacts tab (select the 'Two Way' open and hit the green Sync button).</li><li>Wait patiently as your Contacts are synced between the Address Book and the Blackberry. This could take a few minutes.<b> Do not </b>assume it has frozen and pull your phone out of the usb. Assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups.</li><li>Once the sync is complete you can take your phone out of the usb. Double check the Blackberry's phonebook - all your contacts should be there.</li><li>Toss your busted Nokia in the trash and never look back.</li></ol></div><div><br /></div><div>And that's it! Pretty simple process if you follow these steps. The only issue you may face is getting the contacts listed correctly on the text file for the Mac Address Book to read. That my friends sadly requires some trial and error on your part. Aside from that bit, it should be smooth sailing. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-58639523624240926472010-02-04T23:01:00.007+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.651+02:00Chemical Poo Survival GuideAbout a year ago our entire corporate team was restructured wherein we all report to one Boss Man. Mr. Boss Man of 2007-2008 was replaced for us all in January 2009 by the prissiest of all Mr. Boss Men at the company. Old Mr. Boss Man was relocated to become CFO of some subsidiary and everyone in my department was moved under New Bratty Mr. Boss Man. This was inevitable for me regardless as I had been shuffled to work for both his and my old department hence the company joker/bitch/Pranjib/slave/shit-shoveler/whathaveyou moniker. <div><br /></div><div>With a boss like New <b>Constantly</b> PMSing Mr. Boss Man, you need to quickly learn a set of essential rules for survival. These include, but are not limited to, the following:<div><ol><li>If you have not already done so after living in the mean city of Cairo, develop a thick skin <b>very</b> <b>quickly</b></li><li><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">When Mr. Boss Man barks, zone out</span></b></li><li><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">When Mr. Boss Man starts speaking for large blocks of time about a vague 'vision' or 'message', zone out</span></b></li><li><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">When Mr. Boss Man says he wants an "Investment Banking" style presentation, that is code for make it incoherently complicated while fitting everything in pretty boxes</span></b></li><li><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">Lean the To Do List hierarchy: a) When Mr. Boss Man calls your desk to tell you to do something, this is not important; b)When Mr. Boss Man sends you an email to tell you to do something, this is more important than a phone call; c) When Mr. Boss Man calls you up to his office to tell you to do something (this is invariably at 5:00 pm when you are packing your bag in a hurry and impatiently waiting for your laptop to shutdown), then, well... Fuck.</span></b></li><li>Find ways of getting Xanax into his coffee without him noticing. This will allow you time to go have a long lunch</li><li>When Mr. Boss Man is PMSing (because men PMS, too - although his is nearly constant), this means he has not has sex recently. Either get him laid or get him drunk enough to think he got laid. The latter is easier than it sounds - spike his coffee with Midol and hard liquor</li><li>Every night, pray that Mr. Boss Man gets remarried. If you can, have everyone at your church/mosque/synagogue pray with you. God is more likely to hear you in numbers</li><li>Finds ways of sending Mr. Boss Man across the Atlantic. Soliciting meetings with large funds or Investment Bank conferences does the trick. The time difference makes it virtually impossible for him to catch you</li><li>When in doubt, claim to not know. You did not receive the incriminating email, were not working on that project, or did not see that slide. IT WASN'T ME! Then promptly suggest another person higher up in the hierarchy to blame</li><li>Make sure you send emails late at night about once a week. Even if it's completed during the day, send it just before you go to bed. This makes it seem like you're working harder than you are. Same goes for weekend emails</li></ol><div>This list will be updated periodically when new and improved Dealing With The Boss Man Methodologies are developed. Suggestions are welcome. Stay tuned.</div><div><br /></div></div></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-14890275170408860922010-01-20T23:29:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:57.909+02:00Social Time FramesI have a strong urge to write today but I don't have a specific topic in mind. I've been thinking about one's dreams and whether there is such a thing as it being "too late" to pursue them. I don't really even know what my dreams are. I don't think that is the point of my train of thought today, although it would save me a lot of time and trouble if I knew what my dreams were. <div><br /></div><div>I think the issue troubling me is the idea of there being a time limit to pursuing one's dreams. What makes it "too late" to do something? The smallest of examples is learning to play an instrument. I took up the piano, as so many children did, at around 3 or 4. I can't quite remember. I just remember the photocopied children's piano lesson book, my teacher, her house, her kids and my hatred of learning to read sheet music. I picked up the actual playing quickly; I refused - or was unable - to wrap my head around memorizing which notes lay on which lines. So I threw a fit as all little kids do and stopped going to piano lessons. </div><div><br /></div><div>Years later, at about 16, I decided to try again. I was faced with the same problem. I had no problem playing by ear. I just could not read sheet music. One of my abhorrent habits is my dependance on being able to pick things up quickly. If it requires too much time or effort, I won't bother because my defense mechanism tells me that it isn't worth my precious brain power or that my brain doesn't function that way. Like maths or finance. If I am meant to be good at it, I'll instinctively know how to do it. So, my excuse at that point was that I was "too old" to be taking up an instrument now. At 16, I was already using the universal "it's too late" excuse. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why is this ever an excuse though? Why does our social conditioning dictate when one is allowed to pick up a new hobby, to find their passion, to discover themselves? When a man goes out to understand his personality at 40, it is a midlife crisis. When he does the same at 21, he is embarking upon a journey of self discovery. Those are exactly the same with different labels - the former negative, the latter positive. What difference does it make? What if the 40 year old didn't have the opportunity to discover himself at 21? What if the 21 year old is just too lazy or too afraid to face the real world? Who says a journey needs to be limited to a certain stage in your life? </div><div><br /></div><div>Today, I fear that by the time I figure out what it is I want to do with my life, it will be too late. That I will have missed my proverbial exit. That the train would have passed me by. It saddens me to think that there are countless of would-be talented people out there who did not achieve their potential because they felt they were too old to chase their dreams. Someone out there could have been the contemporary Beethoven, or another Poe, or the Adam Smith of the 21st century. But because we are molded to believe that everything has its rightful place and time, we are thusly bound by our social norms. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe with the onset of a longer average human life expectancy, people will learn to extend their time frames to accommodate later self-discovery. Maybe on day we won't even have to ask the question, "isn't (s)he too old to be..." Let's hope that isn't too far off because I have a feeling I'm going to be one of those extremely late bloomers!</div><div><br /></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-86063655793501338252010-01-17T23:50:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:59.090+02:00Shit Shoveler, Extraordinaire!I must have the words "shit shoveler" tattooed on my forehead because it seems to be the only thing people assume I am required to do at work. <div><br /></div><div>At first I thought I was Pranjib, the back office presentation/formatting slave for just my department(s). I don't really mind that because I know these presentations are what make-or-break deals at my company. They're the presentations sent to the Board of Directors, used by our CEO at meetings, sent to investors, potential partners, etc... So they have to look as Investment Bank-y as possible and I'm the only person with the patience and anal-retentive need to have everything perfectly aligned and organized. In such situations, I know I am doing my part when I am Pranjib.</div><div><br /></div><div>But increasingly, I've been reassigned as the shit shoveler company-wide rather than merely within my department(s). It began with reformatting and restructuring presentations for other Directors (see "<a href="http://eurekaisms.blogspot.com/2009/11/mercurial-life.html">Mercurial Life</a>", for example). Then it turned into a nationwide conspiracy against my every brain cell. The world seems to be screaming "Die, bitch-ass motherfucking brain cells, DIE!" </div><div><br /></div><div>Today, I spent a century and a quarter doing some HR chick's job because she was unable (or possibly unwilling) to spend the requisite 15 minutes digesting the message her presentation was supposed to send across and wanted to dump a bunch of random slides together and call it a day. For some inane reason, my boss felt it necessary to volunteer my services. Without consulting me. Without asking directly. He just CC'ed me informing the HR people that I would do the work with their counterpart. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why in the Lord's Holy name would I be involved in a training proposal? Where in the company directory does it say, "for the copy room, call 1127. For employee account enquires, call Mr. Mohamed Zaki on 1789. For whatever presentation that pops into your head, call Ms. Eureka - aka Pranjib - at 4117."</div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, is it not enough that I am simultaneously (and SINGLE-HANDEDLY I might add) writing the company's 2009 annual report, handling all my responsibilities, doing an insane amount of research on the legislation and certain industry regulations of a humongous and complicated country along with it's spending plans for that industry, AND carrying other people's slack?</div><div><br /></div><div>Does all that take a backseat whenever some random person decides they can't handle spending an extra hour or so on their presentation?</div><div><br /></div><div>Being the joker for my own people is fine. It means I'm flexible enough and a quick enough study to be able to have my hand in several projects and various activities at the same time. It means I'm able to learn more, know more, see and be seen by more. It's the useless, unappreciated, time consuming and mind-numbing auto-volunteering of my services that make me feel like the company prostitute. </div><div><br /></div><div>Need a blow-job along with that presentation, sir? Just add a 69 at the end of your email's subject line. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-38698428604977463372010-01-16T00:23:00.004+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.321+02:00Where Have All the Good Friends Gone?<blockquote></blockquote>Last night marked the reinstitution of my annual (albeit somewhat belated) Christmas dinner, which was established in 2003 and was skipped in 2008 due to scheduling conflicts (i.e.: I was too lazy to formulate a guest list. Trust me, it's much tougher than it seems). <div><br /></div><div>As usual, my mother outdid herself. Yes, mother because I will never move a muscle if I can get away with it. Great setting, delicious food and zero effort from me. Who could ask for more?</div><div><br /></div><div>What struck me most last night was the fact that it now requires an entire pre-planned dinner to gather my friends together. Not only are they all from different groups with divergent interests and dissimilar routines (I have a thing for alliteration), but since graduation, we have no common forum to find each other at on a regular basis. </div><div><br /></div><div>Take <a href="http://www.monatoo.blogspot.com/">Mrs. Fallon</a>, for example. Since spending a week in London with her last <i>November, </i>I haven't seen her once. It took a dinner invitation to get together. It isn't like we live on different sides of the city, or we don't speak on a regular basis. We just haven't had the time or reason aside from a normal social call to hang out. Sad but true. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's the same with Roonies and Bambi. From the summer of 2005 to the spring of 2007 we were inseparable. Then we graduated. Then Bambi went off to Geneva for a semester. Then work took over our lives. Today, we're lucky if we see each other once a month, even though Bambi and I work in the same building. Today, I only see Cheb Khaled on a regular basis, and that is likely to change sooner rather than later. </div><div><br /></div><div>Flipping through Facebook, I cannot believe how many people I've lost touch with. So many people I counted as very close friends. People I've grown up with, had countless adventures with, helped through deaths, break-ups, exams and other difficult moments. People I at one point could not imagine my life without. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've come to realize that I can be cruelly indifferent towards people, regardless of the intensity past or current relationships. Does that make me heartless? Does that put my compassion or humanity into question? Why can I go for such long stretches without feeling the need to be a social creature? I am just as happy lounging around my house watching shows or reading or just chilling with the family as I am out with my friends. I don't know if this is healthy because there are so few out there who would admit to feeling this way at my age. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last year, my first resolution for 2009 was "I will rekindle my friendships and reestablish my social circles by going out more often". Although that was fulfilled to some degree, I still need work because I refuse to allow my hermit tendencies to resurface.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, for 2010, let's keep the friendships rolling and who knows? Maybe even add a few more. </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-42633654529461629212009-12-25T01:42:00.002+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.431+02:00MERRY CHRISTMAS!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i-love-cartoons.com/snags/clipart/christmas/peanuts/Christmas-Snoopy-Lights-Tree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 464px;" src="http://i-love-cartoons.com/snags/clipart/christmas/peanuts/Christmas-Snoopy-Lights-Tree.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Blessings to all. Enjoy the presents!Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-32267347515417064232009-12-19T17:44:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.211+02:00Stream of ConsciousnessYesterday afternoon, as I sat idly with Daddy wondering why we always manage record-breaking silences whenever we're one-on-one, I looked up to notice a bird take flight from one of the large trees lining the golf course. My first thought was: "wouldn't it be great to be able to fly like that?"<div><br /><div>That thought was instantaneously followed by my lazier, more empowering self that said: "I'm glad I'm not a bird. Look at how often and how forcefully it has to flap its wings to stay in flight. That must be so tiring." <div><br /></div><div>My tiny scientific side moved on to wonder about hot air currents to help it glide rather than flap, and how I wouldn't mind being a bird with a large wingspan to benefit from that gliding ability. I wondered about the size and type of feathers I'd need to maximize gliding potential. I figured an eagle would be a cool bird to be, or a falcon. Both birds were loners, were majestic, were respected and were birds of prey. I definitely didn't want to be a small robin or a hummingbird, hunted and constantly flapping their wings to fly. A snowy owl would be cool, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly, my mind shifted to the bird's design and how it evolved to be the way it was today. Birds were gargantuan in prehistoric times. Today, the mechanics remain the same, on a much smaller scale. Imagine the Pterodactyl in flight. It probably managed to glide much of the time. Like a Cessna (yes, I know it has an engine and isn't a glider) with a heartbeat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where did evolution really begin, anyway? I'm a proponent of intelligent design as I find the concept of pure Creationism too deliberate or micromanaged. I believe God didn't sit there making every single evolutionary change the Earth has seen. God set things in motion, like one giant thought experiment, and let things take their course. Otherwise, why would an All-Seeing, All-Knowing God create the first micro-organisms in the first place? Why would God go through all those motions of single-celled life forms to dinosaurs to humans? Why not cut right to the chase since He already knows what the end result looks like? </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course the obvious argument there would be that an All-Knowing God wouldn't even need to create anything in the first place since He is All-Knowing. But that is an entirely different debate that questions one's faith. Part of believing in anything other than Evolution requires a steadfast dose of faith. In this region of the world, you cannot allow yourself to question the existence of a Higher Power. </div><div><br /></div><div>This conversation with myself lasted about 4 minutes, but went from "why do Daddy and I never have anything to talk about" to "you have to believe in God and in some form of Intelligent Design because then birds adhere to both sides of the debate". </div><div><br /></div><div>I congratulated my stream of consciousness for a thoroughly, randomly entertaining ride. This is why I enjoy stream of consciousness literature. You can cover so much in one body of work. And you can use it as an excuse to say whatever you want without sticking to the plot line. </div><div><br /></div><div>The human mind is cool when given the space to learn and question. I wish I made more time to just let my mind wander in landscapes other than my day-to-day life. I think I'd enjoy the conversations I could have with myself. One condition though, Google has to come with me. </div><div><br /></div></div></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-81311003461837232702009-11-25T00:15:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.978+02:00Fundon!Finally managed to get tomorrow off so I'm off to London for the long weekend with <a href="http://monatoo.blogspot.com">Mrs. Fallon</a> and company. Of course, this is the time my body decides to succumb to my first <a href="http://eurekaisms.blogspot.com/2007/12/fmf-in-nutshell.html">attack</a> in a year (one of the perks of blogging about my stupid immune system is that I can now <a href="http://eurekaisms.blogspot.com/2008/09/three-is-not-most-charming-number.html">track</a> the severity and frequency of my attacks). Sigh. Going to be a lovely flight and a lovelier attack once the London cold hits me. To top it all off I caught a bad cold this week. <div><br /></div><div>But have no fear my friends, I will go, I will enjoy myself and if all else fails, I'll make sure Mrs. Fallon knows where my health insurance card is. </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-28256539763669964662009-11-20T00:12:00.001+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.156+02:00Copping Out With A Cop-Out #2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Back by popular demand (i.e.: mine). Thinking of making this a quarterly series.</span></span><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Work:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Working late on a Thursday is equivalent to trying to pee outdoors in -50C.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">WHY is it only 2:25? Feels like I've been working for 500 hours already</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Hate hate hate it when work starts picking up in the afternoon. Really, if you don't plan on working before 2pm, why the 9am start?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Should probably just give up and get a degree in presentation formatting. It's all anyone else thinks I'm any good at.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Eureka Factoids:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">FACT: You can tell I'm sleepy when my nose starts running faster than Usain Bolt</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I like to imagine that planes flying overhead at night are alien spaceships</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Think I'm the only person in the world who can slice her thumb open using her hotel room door's hinge</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">FACT: I can balance an extra-long shafted men's Titleist driver on my nose.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Chocolate:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I eat enough chocolate to feed a sizable country. Daily. It's beginning to bite me in the buttocks.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Hello, ballooning gut! How nice of you to share this quarter of an inch of my bed with me.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Oh no, don't worry about these pesky buttons on my shirt. They're there for you to pop through. The more buttons you lose the better I look!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">My love-hate relationship trinity: men, chocolate and colchicine. Can't live with the first, can't live without the latter two.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Today's breakfast: cocoa powder on a spoon. Yum!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Overdosed on DEEEELISH chocolate. Feeling queasy is totally worth having heaven dance on my taste buds!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Introspection:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster." – Nietzsch</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Not-So-Comic Relief</span></span></b><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Discovered that my true soulmate is a long island ice tea</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The kid has yet to speak, but has decided that an appropriate word to pick up is a7a (fuck in arabic). Wakid upbringing ladies and gents!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Just drove past Bea Arthur's twin! Maybe she decided to fake her death to live as an Egyptian peasant?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">SAD FACT: so tired that I almost put facewash instead of toothpaste on my toothbrush.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Can't help but giggle at the Firth of Forth</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Winter:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I cannot believe the weather forecasts calls for another week of 30C in November. I have new coats to wear, people!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Where is the world is Winter, sandy Cairo? </span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23missingwinter"><span style="color:#2D82B0;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">#missingwinter</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Jurassic Park: The Lost Winter </span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23missingwinter"><span style="color:#2D82B0;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">#missingwinter</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Where's Winter? </span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23missingwinter"><span style="color:#2D82B0; text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">#missingwinter</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">What's Eating Winter Weather? </span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/search?q=%23missingwinter"><span style="color:#2D82B0;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">#missingwinter</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Cairo weather is so bedan that bedan don't want to associate with it</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Traffic:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Um, not to jinx it but where is the traffic this morning?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, theeeereee it is! Hello, traffic! Glad to see you're up this morning. I knew it was too good to be true.</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-45636518068825192902009-11-19T23:36:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.486+02:00Kindness Is Giving a Toddler Your BlackBerry<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Upon boarding my flight to Dubai the other week a young Norwegian woman carrying an 18-month-old (give or take) came up to my row and asked the man sitting on my right if he'd be willing to switch seats. We were sitting in the first row where the bassinets fit and her seat was a few rows back. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When the man began huffing I offered her my seat if she or the man didn't mind sitting in the middle. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"No, no I don't want to sit in the middle. I'll go," was the grumpy man's immediate reaction to finding he'd be seated next to a sniffling little boy for 4 hours. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of course, the little one proceeds to fidget and wail as we wait to take-off. He was obviously exhausted and uncomfortable. I would be to if I were being strapped into my mother's lap in a loud cramped space filled with strangers. He still had a long way to travel. They were going to India for a wedding. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I happen to have an application on my BlackBerry called BabyGO! which turns your phone into a talking, visually stimulating ABC-learning device. It locks the phone and switches the radio off to allow the child to hit the buttons to his or her heart's content. Each button's corresponding letter pops up on the screen as a letter block and is sounded out by a child's voice. The spacebar, symbol, alt and other keys make a BOING sound that even has this university graduate in stitches. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I hold the phone up to the kid and convince him to hit the spacebar button. That proved to be quite a task considering he didn't understand a word of English. Once he got the gist he really had a ball with the application - much to the chagrin of everyone else on the plane who had to endure the likes of "A, F, T, Y" and BOING playing on and on. However, I think that beats a screaming toddler any day. Count your blessings! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He fell asleep soon after anyway and didn't budge till we were approaching Dubai airport. I can only imagine the trouble he must have caused on the flight to India after a nap like that. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This little incident makes me wonder what happened to the kindness we were taught growing up. The man on my right only gave up his seat when faced with the option of sitting next to the child. The man on my left repeatedly voiced his surprise at how kind I was to volunteer my seat and occupy the boy. This surprise shouldn't be the natural reaction to an act of courtesy. My willingness to help his frazzled mother out should be everyone's immediate instinct - be it a young woman or a middle-aged man. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I noticed that no one helped people with heavy luggage. No one waited for the man in the wheelchair to reach the terminal; the man had to be let off last instead. Patience, courtesy and acts of kindness have become increasingly rare. I notice it in myself as well. I may still be more patient and willing to help than others, but the instinct to be of assistance is steadily waning. We have become a Me First species; in Egypt we seem to be devolving further into ME ONLY. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It saddens me to think of what is in store for the children to come. Who will offer them their version of a BlackBerry when they're stuck on a long flight?</span></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-24174720962746496312009-11-06T00:25:00.001+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.102+02:00Happy Second Birthday, Eurekaisms!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfg-Mpw8K8q3XsPQrj0G5R4iPahAnv2J5xE8CAWWeYMWJDZ6gtFrT9KADEWoYxcUM99IA5CydYzIQY51Ke01R47UtUihq0kkXbOsPk2vdPCR2HWgxArGuX-_i1om9Oilz9TKefHmIcSJaT/s1600-h/57144.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfg-Mpw8K8q3XsPQrj0G5R4iPahAnv2J5xE8CAWWeYMWJDZ6gtFrT9KADEWoYxcUM99IA5CydYzIQY51Ke01R47UtUihq0kkXbOsPk2vdPCR2HWgxArGuX-_i1om9Oilz9TKefHmIcSJaT/s400/57144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400749537790453074" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Momma's so proud!</span></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-88227001459525261902009-11-05T20:48:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:59.144+02:00Mercurial Life<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am known as the go-to person when you want a presentation whipped up at the office. People I've never met - people ranking high up in the company's hierarchy - request the most random things from me knowing that I will deliver efficiently. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One such person came to me yesterday asking to recycle some slides I'd created for another presentation, which I gladly sent over. He's a young, energetic, intelligent man and is an easy person to work with because, unlike many people at my company, he knows what he wants, knows how he wants it, and has no problem articulating his needs. I like working with him. He needed another slide to be created and said he's come see me this morning to discuss. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This morning I walk into the office expecting to see him. Ten minutes later I find out he'd died in a car accident on his way home late last night. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We hear these stories often. Stories of people in the prime of life suddenly evaporating. Like they never even existed. We hear the stories of car accidents, murders, bumps on the head and disease. We gently pat people on the back when they lament the fact that they did not do more, did not get to say goodbye, did not do anything to prevent the loss. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I could have stayed a little late and worked on the presentation with him. I could have altered his path in some way. I'm not feeling responsible in any way, don't misunderstand me. I'm just wondering why this man in his early thirties, a man with a wife and two young children, was on that road at that precise moment. Why was it his car that spun, crashed and burned. Is it destiny? Is it the chaos of nature? Is it written by a higher power? All these age-old questions float up when death hits close to home. The what if's, why's and how come's. The need to understand and rationalize death, especially when the victim is young. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The very way we discuss death makes it difficult to digest. It is a crime. The person who died is labelled a victim. Death is internalized as an unnatural force rather than a natural progression. It is only when the deceased has lived a full life and died of natural causes at a decidedly acceptable old age that we do not question. What is the difference if one dies at 30 or 90? Why do we not accept it as part of life and move on? Why is humanity programmed to feel grief, to question events we do not agree with but are out of our control, to decide when and how people should die? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Life is celebrated when it is snatched away unexpectedly. This is the positive thought that came to me when I heard he'd died. When speaking to him yesterday, I spoke to him believing I'd see him the next morning. I looked at my laptop screen to pull out presentations instead of looking at him. I did not offer him 100% of my attention and effort because I did not feel like I would never have the chance to again. I had all of the next morning to create a great slide for him. He'd appreciate it then. But when today came and I could not fulfill my promise, I felt the urge to never again treat anyone the way I treated him yesterday afternoon. I did not treat him badly. I just didn't treat him the way I would have had I known that was goodbye. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Treat everyone with the respect, warmth and attention you'd want to receive. You never know when it'll be the last time you can. This is the celebration of life in its truest form. Respect the life still in front of you. If anything should be taken from this story, it is the importance of the little moments. They are the moments that prove your mettle.</span></span></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-78830353446554592482009-11-05T14:39:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.869+02:00Answers to Last Week's Thoughts<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My friend and loyal reader, <a href="http://figmentsofanabusivemind.blogspot.com/">El Gapitane</a>, is a fellow trivia lover. He and I share a love for technology, dirty jokes, DIY and huge external hard drives to store our digital libraries on. He knows me well enough to know that I HAVE to have the answers for everything, which is why he so kindly initiated the following conversation with me today:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> I'm about to enlighten you about the whole screen looking issue</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>Eureka:</b> Please do</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> Most of the screens you look at all day are liquid crustal displays. Technology has come a long way to make those screens. They emit something like 3% of what TV screens used to emit in the early 90s. When you look at a an LCD all day is like looking at the open sea in bright sunlight actually its safer since the actual sunrays are strongest of all</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>Eureka: </b>That's fantastic</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> Your eyes adjust to that lifestyle but the worst part is that natural sunlight become very harsh to you...making it worse for you in the outdoors</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> It’s sort of an equation you just need to balance</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eureka: So you ideally should spend some time in the sun every day for your eyes to remain adjusted to it</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> Yup</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#222222;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">YES! My shows aren't damaging my eyes! Christmas is early!</span></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>El Gapitane:</b> And your friend was right about the drainage thing. He just forgot to mention that in the closed system when you pee in the toilet the nitrates from your pee is actually extracted and used in agriculture in my many developing nations such as Egypt. So at the end of the day you’re saving a lot of plants when you pee in the toilet. And the shower and toilet usually have 2 different drainage systems in the modern world. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#222222;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And that, ladies and gents, is why we pee where we pee.</span></span></i></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-68212935962017866772009-10-29T00:16:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.706+02:00Today's Thoughts<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">An old schoolmate bbm's me every once in a while to chit-chat about life and how things are turning out for us. I've known him since we were 4 but we were never the closest of friends. However, he's been a part of life right from the beginning and, because of his metaphysical distance, is able to see things in a fresh light. Apparently, Musketeer likes to hear random thoughts from me when he's not in the brightest of places. Comic relief? I don't know but hey, I'll never say no to helping someone out. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Today's thoughts were twofold: </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">1. This is a thought I've had on more than one occasion (usually when Bloft flushes the toilet when she knows I want to use the bathroom as well). I thought I had it pretty much figured out until he provided me with his two cents:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Eureka</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">: Do you know how much water people could save each day if they peed in the shower?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Musketeer</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">: Let me think. Same if they peed in the toilet assuming the drainage systems are the same</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Eureka</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">: No you're saving the litres you'd have used if you flushed. When you pee in the shower you're using no more water than if you were showering without peeing. But when you pee in the toilet you flush it down, using what I'd estimate to be 3 litres of water. Now if everyone peed in the shower once a day you're saving millions of litres of water each day</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So far so good, right? Then came the kicker:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> </span></span><!--StartFragment--></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Musketeer</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">: But how are you saving if the water itself in drainage is not lost, simply re-treated and circulated within the system</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Of course, I had to scrounge up a quick response or else face having my solution to the world's water problems shot down:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Eureka</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">: You lose water in the drainage and treatment process. And in many systems the water is lost to drainage out to open ocean. Saving resources in general is the point of this exercise.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Liar, liar pants on fire, Eureka. You just can't bare not being completely right. But anyway, moral of the story is: when I'm empress everyone will pee in the shower.</span></span></p><!--StartFragment--><!--EndFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> </span></span><!--StartFragment--><!--EndFragment--><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The conversation soon moved on to the second thought of the day:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> </span></span><!--StartFragment--></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><b>Eureka</b>: I think we spend too much time looking at screens. This was today's thought in the car. I wake up to emails on my phone, which I read while making/eating breakfast.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I then read the news on my phone on my way to work = 40 mins of more screen time. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I spend 8+ hours working on a laptop at the office and read more news/bbm on my way home.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Then watch shows on my laptop for a couple of hours at home</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">That's just about all my waking hours looking at a screen</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">How bad is that for one's eyes?</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><b>Musketeer</b>: What do you want to look at?</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><b>Eureka</b>: Cost on eyesight</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><b>Musketeer</b>: Good business idea</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What do you all think? Are we all destined to be the first generation to be prematurely blind?</span></span></p></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-39099090311116299152009-10-18T22:52:00.003+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.376+02:00Strangers in Our Homeland<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yesterday's topic of conversation during family lunch was surprising. It was a complaint I only expected my age group in our social circles to have. Funnily enough, my parents "feel like strangers in our own country". It saddens me to hear that they've come to share my discomfort in Egypt. I understand people like me when they claim to feel little for this country. We were born in an era where no allegiance was encouraged. We were born and continue to live under the same detached incumbent. We were born into bubbles of financial stability, air-conditioned cars, suburban neighbourhoods, hired help and private educations. We were born a caste unto ourselves, free from infiltration or mingling with the rest of our populace. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But our parents and grandparents were born at times of socioeconomic and political mobilizations. They grew up in times where patriotism was paramount, where you had reason to be proud to be Egyptian. They fought wars for their country. They elected their leaders. They </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mourned</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> their leaders. Egypt had global status as the link between the East and West. Cairo was the Paris of the Orient. The Egyptian Pound held value. Even those who lived under Abdel Nasser had more love for this country than I ever could. They may have lived in hardship but they believed in a greater united Arab nation. There was an ideology to protect, even if it resulted in their own impecuniosity. Sadat brought Egypt prestige by standing up to the neighbourhood bully. He gave Sinai back to our people. He put Egypt back on the international affairs map. That made our parents proud to be Egyptian whether they agreed with his politics or not. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Egypt was a united nation where you did not know Muslim from Christian. Today, it is the first thing you want to know. More often than not, you don't even need to ask. Until our generation came of age, your country had a middle class that was comfortable without being ostentatiously wealthy. Today, you are either a prince or a pauper. There is no normal option. When our parents were in high school, they went through the public school system and lived productive, enriched lives. Today, there is no public school system. You either go to an expensive private school or receive no education, because what you are supposedly taught by the State does not even cover basic hygiene. Today, you can smell a person before they come into view. Today, you cannot cross a street in baggy clothes - or even in a veil - without being harassed. Today, if you do not speak a particular strain of Arabic, you are a foreigner. Today, if you are not one of the poor, the angry, the frustrated and the radical, you are not Egyptian. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I thought our parents still managed to feel at one with a rapidly deteriorating country because they lived through an important milestone in Egypt's modern history. They connected with the country on more than one level. They knew what it meant to be Egyptian. Unfortunately, it is this very knowledge that depresses them most today. They know what it </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">meant</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to be Egyptian. They no longer identify with what it </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">means</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to be Egyptian today. This saddens them beyond measure, because they must mourn their lost sense of self. My identity revolves around my Western education, my personal beliefs, my family, my goals and my accomplishments. I have no sense of self within my country. I never had and never will, so I have lost nothing. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Any emotion I feel towards Egypt is rooted in pity. I feel sorry for a fallen giant but I see no means to help it back up. And this, while is a sad state, does not move me in any meaningful way. This is not my land to worry about. It has never included me, never welcomed me, never nurtured me and never will. But it has abandoned my parents and their generation to the point of depression. To the point where they are actively considering emigration or at least a </span></span><em style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">pied</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">-à-</span></span><em style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">terre </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">elsewhere so that they can detox on a regular basis. </span></span></em></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><em style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Imagine having to detox from your own homeland. What kind of life is that? What kind of country is that? As doleful as the status quo is, this is Egypt. And by the looks of things, this is Egypt for many generations to come. </span></span></em></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-79300368032798335542009-10-12T21:08:00.005+02:002018-10-29T00:30:58.923+02:00If It's Worth Having It's Worth Fighting For<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With my major girl-crush on all things related to Girls Aloud, please indulge my posting of Cheryl Cole's first solo effort. In her defence, she was never the group's strongest singer, and the song is pretty infectious after a couple of listens. Plus, she's looking mighty fashionable in the fat man pants and MJ-tribute shoulder pads. Rock on, Cheryl!<br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><embed style="height:325px !important; width:400px !important;" name="flashObj" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" allowfullscreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://xml.truveo.com/eb/i/1716969877/a/1083e6404c140348064698db8e49b269/p/1" swliveconnect="true" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="videoId=41427272001&playerID=28107384001&domain=embed&autoStart=true" height=" 365" seamlesstabbing="false" width=" 425" base="http://admin.brightcove.com"></embed><br /><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now in relation to my previous post and my need to self-analyze my every half-baked attempt at emotion, should I follow her advice? He's definitely worth having, but is he worth fighting for?</span></span></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3677860931739220508.post-91016273724456410402009-10-12T20:33:00.004+02:002018-10-29T00:30:59.199+02:00Wedding Tick-Tocking<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">This weekend one of my cousins (a zillion times removed but a cousin nonetheless) got married. It was the whole 9 yards and then some: huge rambunctious wedding, beautiful bride (naturally seeing as we share genes), ecstatic couple, relieved and proud family, drunk and dancing friends, etc...</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Attendees clocked in around the 1,500 mark (which by Egyptian standards is large but not out of the ordinary). More importantly, many of the invitees were Christian seeing as it was a Christian wedding. This gathering of possible eligible bachelors does not happen very often, so of course every other person I know and their great-aunt made sure to tell me to be extra hot, keep my eyes peeled for crucifix-bearing young men and accidently bump into the one that caught my fancy. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Usually, I would do my best to ignore the aforementioned and would just have a good time celebrating my friend and distant relative's blissful union. But recently (as you've been noticing in my increasingly depressing and monotone posts) I've begun to feel the pressure, so I dutifully cleaned up in my evening best, kept my eyes peeled for bachelors that fit the bill, and did more than my fair share of roaming around the room to make sure I hadn't missed anyone worth checking out. In a ballroom full of family friends, there were many spies making sure I did my bit. Hell, some were even pointing people out to me. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">That night two very important things were made clear to me:</span></span></div><div><ol><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Even in a room full of Christians, there are no eligible bachelors remaining. They are either taken, or are ugly / fat / short / smelly / missing a liver or six / with an IQ of -3.2 / unable to keep their eyes off Dixie & Daisy (WHO WERE NOT EVEN IN FULL ATTENDANCE I MIGHT ADD) / or any combination of the above. I had always suspected this and it was finally confirmed: There are no men in Egypt. And the taken ones lead me to revelation number 2:</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A year later, all I wanted to do was find and "accidentally" bump into last year's runaway guy. This is particularly disturbing since I haven't seen or spoken to him in 5 months and haven't exchanged more than a hello, how are you, lovely weather we're having since October 2008. I can't even claim a broken heart because I hadn't even fallen for him. All I can lay claim to is a mind-full of what ifs and whys. And that isn't reason enough to result in such one-track-mindedness. </span></span></li></ol><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Today's lesson is that eventually, everyone will have to face rejection. You need to know how to deal with it and move on. I just never thought I'd take it so poorly. </span></span></div><div><br /></div>Eurekahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08788738213867238993noreply@blogger.com10