Rants and Raves

Good Fun

2008-10-08T23:02:00.001+02:00

Tina Fey is great. she should run for VP

2008-09-16T15:10:00.001+03:00

Grace's World Project

2008-07-25T00:25:00.001+03:00

Pantsuits and the Presidency

2008-06-23T10:09:00.000+03:00

Woman in Charge, Women Who Charge

2008-06-07T09:59:00.000+03:00

NYTimes Article on Awful Co-Workers

2008-02-10T13:58:00.000+02:00

It's Not the Job I Despise, It's You

NY Times: Feel Like a Fraud? At Times, Maybe You Should

2008-02-05T23:43:00.000+02:00

In many ways, this article desribes me.

Snow?!

2008-01-30T13:49:00.000+02:00

It's 34 degrees and we have a snow day! Attached are images of my rear patio and from the front door. Note the snow piled against the exterior doors. I might as well be in Nebraska! The dogs refuse to go out, but I'm finally getting some things done around the house. If the forecast is accurate, tomorrow will be a snow day as well. Surprisingly, Aqaba, which is only a 3 hour drive away is a balmy 70 degrees.

Doppelganger

2007-12-23T23:55:00.001+02:00

The most amazing thing happened to me in recent weeks. I met my namesake -- okay, semi namesake since we share a first name and our last name begins with the same letter -- and everyday we discover more and more similarities. Not only do we have similar interests, but our lives parallel each other. Given the old adage "opposites attract," I always thought I'd be bored to death if I met someone exactly like me. Instead, I'm fascinated by my new friend and just how fabulous we both are!

This is last night's list of all that we discovered we have in common. I'm sure it will be even longer as we get to know each other better.

We're both libras.
We love shopping.
We share our lives with 4-legged furry friends.
We enjoy writing.
We studied ballet.
We never, ever drink milk.
We've never eaten PB&J and see no reason to do so.
Ketchup belongs on the side.
We're night owls.
We speak French & Arabic.
We have siblings who work at Fox.
We play tennis.
While the other N is a more experienced horsewoman, we both like riding.
We were the same age when we bought our homes.
We love stationery.
We enjoy the art of conversation.
There's no such thing as too many kitchen tools/accessories.
We like living abroad, especially in the Middle East.
The Washington, DC area is home.
Same nickname.
Marth Stewart and Julia Child rule.
We have engraved ipod nanos.
Individually, we spent our 2007 birthdays at the Dead Sea spa.
Waffles!
We're carnivores.
We love Mexican food.
We're FEMINISTS!
We have the same beverage glasses.
Mmm, cheese.
HR/EEO work.
Chinese food is best eaten with chopsticks.
Same complexion.
We both played in orchestras during our youths.
We love musicals.
Riesling!
We're going through some strange stuff with old friends.
We like word games.
We're inquisitive and we like to take apart and fix things.
We love packages and really nice shopping bags.
We have a "special" vocabulary when driving.
Mmmmmmmmmmmm, french fries.

Rites & Revelations

2007-09-23T14:34:00.000+02:00

Today is my birthday and I decided to continue a tradition I started on my 3oth: I took the day off from work and went to a spa for some pampering. I had a million-and-one things to do at the office, but I realized that except for buying shoes, I often put myself last (subject for another blog) and I needed to do this, especially since it's a "milestone" birthday. So off I went to the Marriott Jordan Valley Resort & Spa for scrubbing, sloughing, massaging, and a myriad of other indulgences.

I enjoyed this year's spa treatment much more than last year's. A girlfriend and I went to Spa Time in Kuwait where she treated me to the chocolate indulgence treatment. The theory -- rubbed and scrubbed with cocoa seeds and oils -- was much better than the reality. As a chocoholic, I thought I would love being totally enveloped in various cocoa essences. Instead, I was hungry the entire time. The room and I smelled like brownies and at one point I was tempted to start nibbling on my arm. And it was murder being coated in cocoa oils, made immobile from the weight of Turkish towels, and tempted by the scents of my own skin and strategically-placed candles. After the experience, my friend and I immediately went out to eat.

Anyway, it was nice to take some time off, although I did stay in touch with my office by blackberry. But I learned something new about myself. I've always favored hard science over holistic treatments and as much as I enjoyed my little indulgence, I probably would have been more comfortable in a more clinical setting. I liked the apres-spa experience of sitting in a plush robe, sipping tea, and looking at the Dead Sea, but the candles, dimmed lights, and new age music during the treatments almost drove me crazy. I think I'm too high-strung to truly relax.

Food & Race

2007-09-22T16:46:00.000+02:00

I was just listening to an NPR interview with Sherman Alexie about his new book. He described the protagonist as an "apple," red (Native American) on the outside and white on the inside. It made me recall a dinner party conversation from a year ago during which dinner guests traded all the names they had been called by fellow countrymen who accused them of "selling out." I was surprised, not that the concept existed among different countries and cultures, but that each expression was food related and that none of us at the table knew euphemisms other than our "own," which included oreo, banana, coconut, and chicken mcnugget.

A few of my favoriate things

2007-09-05T00:29:00.000+03:00

So I've been blogging about shoes lately. Yes, I have an obsession, but I am going to indulge myself and post pictures of some of my favorite footwear. This fabulous sling was one of my first purchases from Zappos. I loved the variegated shades of purple and regret that I did not buy the blue version that was then available. For me, this shoe is proof that one must match an outfit to a shoe instead of the reverse. When I bought the shoe, I had nothing to wear with it, but shortly after it arrived, I found an irridescent linen suit in the exact same colors. Had I tried to find something to go with the shoe, I'm sure I would still be searching. Continuing with the variegated theme, I just had to have the brown croc pumps. Similar to the purple ones, aren't they. I find that subconsciously, I tend to buy variations on a theme in all things. Anyway, this is a beautiful shoe and I only think I've worn it once.

And of course, I have a whole bunch of shoes that have not yet been worn out of the house. Some are waiting for the perfect outfit, some are waiting for the right weather, and for some, it's not yet the right place or time.

I love the color of this shoe and periodically I take it out of the closet and wear it around the house. It's waiting for the right outfit in order to to make it's debut. My procrastination contradicts the shoe's name, carpediem.

I bought this last fall at the annual Nordstrom sale. It's much cuter on. It too is waiting for an outfit. Once again, color is the challenge. The shoe is a weird pinky, beige combo that's very hard to match. I'm not upset, however, because the price was great and I don't feel like I wasted my money.

This was a must-have about which I'm developing second thoughts. I liked the height of the boot shaft and the elastic back so that it would have a snug fit. It arrived over the winter when I had a cast on my right foot, so it has not been worn. Of course, this year Stuart Weitzman has come up with a sleeker version that I might like a little better (see right image). But I paid a fortune for these boots so somehow, I will make them work. (This is a good lesson in only ordering from Zappos. Had I bought them from Zappos, I could take advantage of the 365-day return policy.) And finally, I have this cut-out pump in black. It's a beautiful shoe, but it's a little "girly" for me. I don't have the right outfit and I fear the right ensemble would not suit me. I console myself by removing the shoes from its box and wearing them around the house with my pajamas.

Plan B

2007-08-15T16:05:00.000+03:00

Alas, the cheetah print boots did not fit. They were much to wide. Fortunately, I found something much better:

The color is amazing. I'm a true Amazon in the 4 1/4" heel. And I knew I had to have them when I saw the chain up the back. Now, I just need to find the perfect outfit!

How to Look Good Naked

2007-07-27T23:30:00.001+03:00

I can't believe it, but I actually scrolled through the cable guide to find the right station and air time for a British show called How to Look Good Naked. I happened upon it last week and quickly became addicted to it. The host takes a woman who's unhappy with her body, helps her dress to camouflage the parts she does not like, and at the ends projects a naked picture of her on the side of a building for all to see. A face value, it sounds like the making of horrifying nightmare. In reality, none of the women have that movie star physique and the general public thinks they all look fantastic. It says a lot about the entertainment industry has corrupted what we think a woman should look like. I think I want a naked picture of myself.

Published... Sort of

2007-07-07T01:39:00.000+03:00

Even though I do a lot of writing in my job, I've never considered myself a writer. I guess I am now. After being encouraged by my sister and her dear friend, I penned an article on pet travel and now I'm published...sort of.

Navigating the Airways with your Dog

Here's my sister's article:

Adopting the "Less-than-Perfect" Dog

Here's the one that started it all:

A Tale of Three Dogs

I just had to have these!

2007-06-24T22:10:00.000+03:00

Let's just hope they fit. They only come in a B-width and my foot, although very long, is extremely narrow.

New Shoes Cure the Blues

2007-06-21T21:42:00.000+03:00

I had a revelation on the way home from work last night. It was after 8PM and I was exhausted from a long day, but in the back of my mind were all the things I still needed to do at work and at home. I decided what I really needed was to relax, chill for a little while. Did I think of having a drink, taking a nap, maybe exercising, meeting a friend for coffee? No! I thought about treating myself to a pair of shoes. And it hit me, shoes are my drug of choice. I've always argued that since I had a hard-to-fit foot, it only made sense to buy shoes when I found a pair that fit. My closet is now close to overflowing, yet I continue to shop. I shop for shoes when I'm happy, when I'm sad, and when I'm bored. Translation: I shop for shoes all the time. And I don't care! I love my shoes, especially the ones that like fine wine, great steaks, and cheese, need time to age. So enjoy the photos of some of my favorite pairs:

I saw a wedge shoe in this style on Zappos, but it was not available in my size. I was even more devastated when the designer's website did not have the shoe. I continued my quest and when I saw this pump in the same print, I decided that second best was not that bad. It's a 4-inch heel; I'm an amazon in them! I may never wear them out, but they were too gorgeous to send back. They are currently with my supplemental sea shipment which is scheduled for a Saturday delivery. I can hardly wait to try them on again.

So of course, once I committed to the keeping the sexy pump and packed it for shipping, I found the original and more practical shoe that I first loved. I ordered it as well. Why not? Gotta love Arthur Beren Shoes too.

Long before I bought the tortoise print pumps with the 4-inch heel, I ordered a similar style in gold. I kept it in the closet for awhile until I discovered the same shoe in an amazing red patent. I had to have it so I exchanged the gold pump for it. Isn't it beautiful?

Alas, it arrived shortly before I left Kuwait. So I tried it on, then packed it for shipping. While I was on vacation, I saw the same red patent in a platform with a rounded toe. I thought this was a much more practical shoe, so I ordered it. It's cute, right?

But why the obsession with red? When I unpacked and organized my stuff, I found this great ankle boot. I don't remember the last time I wore it. But now, I'm ready for any occasion. Now I just need the perfect red outfit...

I know summer just arrived, but I can't wait for fall and the opportunity to wear these shoes. they look a little funky all by themselves, but they are great with pants and jeans.

Sometimes I'm a little obsessive about shoes. As a native Nebraskan, I felt a duty to have a pair of cowboy boots. It took about 8 months to get these and they had to be not only special ordered, but made too. Of course they got scuffed the first time I had them on. Just like driving a new car off the lot, I felt the immediate depreciation. I've only worn them one other time because I just can't get over the nick in the leather. Maybe with time, I'll learn to appreciate them again.

Finally, grey shoes are hard to find, so when I saw these, I grabbed them. Alas, they were lost in the mail. If you see them, please help them find their way home.

And what prompted all of this? I bought a pair of shoes today. I'll post a picture if I decide to keep them.

It's Official...

2007-05-27T22:52:00.000+03:00

I'm a feminist. I've always had feminist tendencies and supported causes promoting gender equality, but I've shied away from calling myself a feminist because the word is loaded with so many negative connotations. But I now embrace the label. Why? What pushed me over the edge? A seemingly innocuous comment set me off: I was at a lunch today and met a very nice older gentleman and his niece who works in his office. He told me that he niece was a recent college graduate and was at the top of her class. Likewise, his two daughters were excelling in school. One was also at the top of her class and received a full scholarship for her medical degree. The other was a pianist and doing well in her music composition classes. After bragging about both, he concluded that the younger daughter and her pursuit of music was the best career for a woman BECAUSE SHE COULD STAY HOME AND WORK! The contradiction between his pride in his daughters' accomplishments and his belief that they needed to be home cooking, cleaning, and making babies stunned me. That was it. I decided I needed to be more active in advancing the fact that women have made and will continue to make contributions to society and can do so outside of the house.

Amen!

2007-02-05T01:04:00.001+02:00

I'm not one to use the word "amen" in either a religious or secular sense, but it's the only thing I can say about Lynette Clemetson's February 4, 2007 New York Times article Definitions: The Racial Politics of Speaking Well .

"Nonya"

2006-12-17T08:10:00.000+02:00

For the past month, I've had a cast on my right foot. It will be there for about 3 more weeks. Eight years ago I wore a cast on my left foot, hopped around on crutches, and was completely astounded that despite numerous signs and claims of special features, it was very difficult to function as a person with limited mobility. Doors that did not automatically open were often to heavy for me to manage on my own. Handicapped accessible bathrooms were never in convenient locations. And there were many other obstacles. This time around I was astonished by how little progress has been made in almost a decade. I still needed a lot of help/intervention to get in and out of buildings, including the one where my doctor's office is! But what really shocked me was not the kindness of strangers, but their curiosity. Many wished me a speedy recovery, but most whom I encountered wanted to know what happened to me. Did I break my ankle or my leg? Was I in an accident or a fight? What condition was the other person in? I don't mind sharing with close friends, but complete strangers in restaurants, at the airport, in the library, on the street, and just about everywhere else wanted the gory details. Just because they were nosey and rude, didn't mean I should be impolite. I tried to give the simplest answer possible when all I really wanted to say was, "Nonya," as in none of your business!

What about Me?!

2006-09-21T15:07:00.000+03:00

Cashmere has not so subtly informed me that this blog is full of pictures of Kamir, Bandit, and Riko, but her presence has not been recorded. I guess she's more technologically-savvy than I thought. My response that she usually runs from the camera was not a sufficient explanation for the lack of her pictures. So, here goes... Here she is under the bed. She's gained 20 pounds in the five years since she left the shelter, yet somehow still fits under the bed. Posing for a change. Like all dogs, Cash loves a good nap.

Woman Crashes when Teaching Dog to Drive

2006-09-02T18:32:00.000+03:00

From the Associated Press: Mon Aug 28, 8:13 AM ET A woman in Hohhot, the capital of north China's Inner Mongolia region, crashed her car while giving her dog a driving lesson, the official Xinhua News Agency said Monday. No injuries were reported although both vehicles were slightly damaged, it said. The woman, identified only be her surname, Li, said her dog "was fond of crouching on the steering wheel and often watched her drive," according to Xinhua. "She thought she would let the dog 'have a try' while she operated the accelerator and brake," the report said. "They did not make it far before crashing into an oncoming car." Xinhua did not say what kind of dog or vehicles were involved but Li paid for repairs. Kamir enjoyed the car too, but I knew when to stop. He had no thumbs; how would he grip the steering wheel?

Is it Ego or Inequality?

2006-08-25T19:44:00.000+03:00

I often accompany my boss on official meetings and the press is usually there when we arrive. I've gotten used to seeing my profile in the pictures that run in the papers, and really did not think much of never being identified by name. I work in a relatively small community and those who pay attention to what my boss does know and recognize me. I've actually enjoyed the quasi-anonymity. In the past week, however, someone on my staff, a new arrival to the office, accompanied my boss on a meeting. His picture made the papers as did his name and MY title. And it got me wondering: my boss is usually accompanied by someone to take notes when he goes on meetings, and if the person is a man, he's named. It's only the women who are not acknowledged. Is this an intentional oversight? Or am I just delusional?

Welcoming Riko

2006-07-17T21:55:00.000+03:00

Kamir's loss was devastating and Cashmere convinced me that the house was a little too quiet with the pitter-patter of four instead of eight feet. So, we drove out into the desert to a shelter run by the Animal Friends League of Kuwait. After "interviewing" dozens of dogs, we came home with Riko, formerly known as Ringo. (I like the Beatles as much as everyone else, but I could not deal with the name.) Riko, who also answers to Ri-Ri B, is part German Shepherd part desert dog. He was born in May 2005 and until he joined us, had spent his whole life in the shelter. His first week in the house he was very curious, watching TV, taking things off of shelves, and "tasting" anything that crossed his path. I lost a rebate check, a house slipper, and a bottle of lotion.

He has really calmed down after that introductory exploratory stage. He has commandeered my bed and spends most of his time there. He only leaves it to bark at the phone, eat (he has a really light appetite), and go for a walk. Mostly, he's quite mellow and just wants to have his tummy scratched. Cash enjoys his company and when not trying to dominate him, curls up next to him for very long naps.

In Memory of Kamir

2006-06-06T23:39:00.000+03:00

Kamir Brown, constant companion, guardian, and rascal, died Monday, June 5, 2006 in Kuwait. He was 15 ½ years old. He is survived by his sister Cashmere, a doting family, and lots of friends. He was buried at Al Thurya Farm in Abdaly, Kuwait where he spent many weekends doing his favorite things: sniffing and peeing.

Kamir was born in October 1990 in Conakry, Guinea in West Africa. He spent the first two years of his life in Guinea where he made the transition from wild street dog to spoiled house dog. After Guinea, he spent two years in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia where he developed a taste for injera (traditional Ethiopian bread) and learned that it is best to stay far away from ostriches and hyenas. He returned to the states in 1995, where he spent the next eight years of his life living a typical suburban existence where he enjoyed walks in the park, doggie cafes, and obedience/socialization school. He moved to Tunisia in 2003 where he discovered that the ruins of Carthage were ideal places to leave his mark and made clear that the he preferred city streets to Mediterranean beaches. He spent the last two years of his life in Kuwait and enjoyed the hot summers which must have been good for his arthritis. He is deeply missed. Woofs of Wisdom from Kamir: Vegetables are a good thing. (He was fond of broccoli, especially cream of broccoli soup.)

Most of life’s problems can be solved with a good nap, a car ride, or the companionship of good friends.

The best thing about weekends is waffles.

If you can’t actually exercise, at least thinking

about it is a good start. Always make time for a treat.

In Loving Memory

2006-04-08T19:40:00.000+03:00

Bandit January 2, 1992 - March 27, 2006

We recently lost a very good friend, a devoted companion, a true member of the family. Bandit, after a sudden and devastating illness, died March 27, 2006. We all miss him.

Bandit joined the family in July 1992, a few weeks after my father died. My sister, niece, and I adopted him because we were worried about our mother being home alone. The day we got Bandit, we actually went to the kennel to adopt a dog we had previously seen. He was gone and Bandit barked and barked and barked, making sure he got our attention. After 5 minutes with him, we were in love and signed the papers to take him home. By the time we finished the adoption process, it was too late to take him home before picking up our mother from work. The entire drive to her office, Bandit was on the floor of the car, shaking in fear. While we waited for Mommie to exit, he stayed quiet. The moment she walked out of the building, he stuck his head out of the window and barked. And barked and barked and barked. Mommie froze. From a distance we could see she was not pleased. She walked slowly to the car and like Bandit had been on the ride to the office, was silent for the ride home.

Bandit got off to a rocky start. Mommie complained that he smelled, called him dog until I named him, and had him in the dog house, literally and figuratively, because he chewed on her shoes, the door, and anything else he could find. My sister and I were on stand-by for months to rescue Bandit because Mommie repeatedly threatened to get rid of him. Slowly and steadily, however, he worked his way into her heart. He earned his keep when his barking alerted her to a tea kettle that was starting to smoke and burn. That instance Bandit saved both his and Mommie's life.

Since then, Bandit has been Mommie's constant companion. He's traveled the world visiting me in Ethiopia, Tunisia, and Kuwait. He's seen both coasts of the U.S. and many of the states in between. He's recognized at the bank, the post office, the gym, and countless other places. He's made many people smile. And the memory of his antics -- constant barking, digging, and "speaking"-- will continue to make us smile in appreciation of his short time with us.

We miss and love you, Bandit boy.

Kamir and Cashmere send licks.

Beauty Is Skin Deep

2006-01-01T20:30:00.000+02:00

There's an old expression, recently reinvigorated by Judge Judy, that "beauty fades, dumb is forever." The number of commercials that I see on satellite for fade creams simply reinforces this. I can understand seeking treatment for discoloring scars, but I just don't get the need or the desire to lighten one's skin. I scream every time I see the Fair & Lovely commercial in which the young woman gets her dream job on TV after she bleaches her skin. I'm even more irked by a commercial on CNN International in which a former Miss World or some other silly title-holder and current UN special rep for something (and also an African woman) touts fade cream. And most troubling, I was at a bazaar recently and a woman came up to me to hawk cream that could make my skin "white and beautiful." I was so shocked that I was absolutely speechless. And I was frightened by the "pink nipple cream." When people of color are the majority on this planet, why is there such a desire to lighten skin? What about the health ramifications? Most of the products contain mercury and other harmful ingredients and the damage they cause is irreversible.

Take a Cab Instead

2005-11-27T21:45:00.000+02:00

What is the deal about parking in Kuwait? We all know there is a shortage of parking spaces wherever you go, but why is it that some idiot always decides to make the situation worse by taking up two or more spaces? I don't support it, but I can understand if someone who drives a Hummer, Escalade or some other land yacht has problems "docking" the vehicle between two narrow lines, but there is no excuse for a Mini to straddle spaces. A few days ago, my mother and I took advantage of the beautiful weather to drive out to Al Kut mall. The last time I tried to go, I abandoned my quest because the lines into the parking lot were too long. Friday, the lot was crowded as cars snaked in and out of the lanes in search of the perfect spot. I don't mind the hunt, but it was infuriating to see car after car after car taking up more than one space. What is the reason for such obnoxious behavior? Is it poor driving skills?(It's a rhetorical question, but I had to ask.) I tend to think that it is utter selfishness, the whole me-first attitude that propels drivers to cut you off on the expressway and stop a lane of traffic as they try to make a u-turn from a non-turning lane. The Government recently cracked down on the issuance of driver's licenses. It's going to take a lot more than forbidding some low wage worker from South Asia from driving to improve the traffic situation. Don't even get me started on the thousands of small childern on restrained by car seats or seat belts. I recently saw a mother driving, talking on her mobile, and holding an infant in her lap. God forbid her airbag deploy because the child would have been instantly killed.

Lost & Found; Karma Revisited

2005-11-21T21:30:00.000+02:00

The missing puppy has been found. After five agonizing days of wondering where he was and how he was being treated, a colleague alerted me that he thought he saw my dog on the grounds of Bayan Palace (for my U.S. readers, the palace is a compound used by the Government for visitors, like Blair house, and is also the site for some security elements). We dashed out of the office and spent 30 minutes walking and cruising the perimeter of the palace while I yelled at the top of my voice, "Kamir, come here bubble!" I asked the gardeners if they had seen a dog and had another colleague call the palace guards to see if they had seen a dog and to seek permission for me to search the grounds. And then, suddenly, he appeared at the fence. He was dirty, thirsty, and stinky, but otherwise in good condition. I still can't figure out how he got onto the grounds and find it interesting that of all the places he could have gone, he went to a royal abode. All of us -- my mother, myself, the wanderer, and the two other dogs -- finally got a good night's sleep. I'm deeply grateful to all my co-workers who began searching for him the minute they heard he was missing, and especially appreciative of good friends who gave up their weekends to console me and help me look for my beloved beast. The International Veterinary Hospital was also supportive as were the volunteers from PAWS who had lots of good ideas on where to look and who made follow-up phone calls. While part of me hoped to find Kamir at the Friday Market, I am greatly relieved that he was not there. While most of the dogs and cats I saw there appeared to be well fed and relatively healthy, it was heart-breaking to see so many beautiful animals tied to poles by short tethers, startled by bratty kids shooting off firecrackers, and menaced by even brattier kids who found it amusing to yell at and scare the dogs while their parents watched in indifference. I'd like nothing better than to put a permanent end to the sale of domestic animals this way. Some of the puppies were too young to have been away from their mothers and it sickened me to see some of the dogs transported in the trunks of cars. We need to prove our humanity by better treating our animals. Related to the recovery of my four-legged friend is revisiting the Karma issue. Previously I pondered the issue and its affect on relationships. Once again, I'm thinking about Karma, but in a new way. Many of my friends here told me they were convinced Kamir would return safely because I'm a nice person and my behavior would be rewarded. While it's a great thing to hear, I have a lot of deep, dark thoughts and questioned whether I would be favorably rewarded. I guess I was, because Kamir is back. But also, yesterday, the date of his return, I wore a ring that my father used to wear on his pinky finger. (It fits my middle finger.) When I put it on yesterday, I told my mother I was wearing it because it always brought me luck. And voila, Kamir appeared. So was it fate, intervention from my father, or some other mysterious force? I don't know and I don't think I'll dwell on it. I'll just be thankful for his safe return, the generous help and support of so many, and the fact that Kamir is now afraid to go outside.

More on the Missing Puppy

2005-11-18T23:26:00.000+02:00

He is reddish brown with a white face and white stomach. He weighs 27 kilos and is missing several teeth. He has a burgundy collar which a purple tag that says "charmer." Other tags are proof of his vaccinations and a number to call if he is lost. He has a microchip. If you see him, please leave a message on this blog or call 962-0791. Thanks!

My Baby is Missing

2005-11-17T23:11:00.000+02:00

My best friend, my companion, my baby got out on Wednesday night. He's been missing for 24 hours and I am devastated. If you see him, please contact me. His name is Kamir and he is 15 years old. He is starting to show his age and needs special medical attention. He disappeared from the Bayan, Block 6 area. There is a reward for his safe return.

I think I'm in Love

2005-10-27T06:30:00.000+02:00

After a decades-long quest, I think I have finally found what I’ve been looking for. I’ve searched and searched, and suffered many disappointments, but I’m finally satisfied – at least for now. In case you think I’m writing about some man, let me clarify that after a series of rants, I’m finally raving … raving about my new jeans. I think I have found my perfect pair. A little history: growing up, jeans were only for the weekend and I was in my teens when my mother finally let me and my sister wear them to school. Of course, they had to be ironed with a razor sharp crease down the leg. When my mother was angry with us, she sent the jeans to the cleaners where they were starched and pressed which made getting dressed in the era of skin-tight jeans very difficult. I have lain on the floor to wiggle into my jeans. By my senior year of high school, my favorite pair of jeans were men’s Levi’s which had been so well worn that the denim felt like soft flannel. They had faded to an almost white, the belt loops had come off, and one pocket was missing. Thinking they were rags, my mom threw them away, thus the start of my search, which was complicated by the fact that I need a 36” inseam. In college, my uncle’s girlfriend introduced me to Gap jeans. They were long enough, but not quite right. Over the years, each time Levi’s launched a custom-fit program, I was measured and bought a pair of jeans. I even sat in the tub in the San Francisco store so that my 501s would shrink to fit. I got some decent jeans out of the program, but something was always not quite right: too high of a waist giving the Mom-jeans look, a straight leg that was a little too wide since there was no tapering from my thunder thighs to the hem, or a really heavy fabric that never gave. I’ve also tried every designer option available. I did guess jeans when they were popular and wore once, a pair of Dolce & Gabbana jeans that were cut too low for my comfort. I’ve invested in a few pairs of 7 for all mankind, which I believe only truly look good on stick figures. And I have a great pair from a tall company, but they are so ornate and detailed, that they can’t be worn too often. In the spring, I discovered Christopher Blue jeans, but while everyone is wearing dark denim, they only make a faded style in my size. I was ready to give up, but while lolling around on vacation, I read an issue of Real Simple, which I always considered to be real stupid. There was an article on the best of everything and at the top of the list was Lucky Brand Jeans, which come in tall sizes. I ordered 2 pair since I had nothing to lose. They are low-rise without being obscenely low (meaning I can sit and bend without flashing anyone), long enough that I can wear a slight heel with them, dark enough that they can be dressed up, and while there’s enough room to fit my ample things, they are snug enough around my narrow (for my build) hips that I don’t have to wear a belt. They are so comfortable that the first day I wore them, I even took a nap in them. How I wish I had found these jeans before. But maybe it’s true that good things come to those you wait and had I not had so many jean failures, I would not appreciate this sweet success.

My Reading Rant

2005-10-11T21:30:00.000+02:00

Aaarrgh!!! I was really looking forward to my vacation and the opportunity to catch up on reading. Not serious stuff – although I do have one serious book with me – but rather, fluff, you know, bestseller nonfiction. I wanted a good story that did not require a lot of thought. I wanted to be able to coast though a book and just enjoy the ride. Completely missing Sex and the City, at the top of my list was Candace Bushnell’s latest work, Lipstick Jungle. What a rip-off. The book had to have been published based on her name only. I was annoyed by the characters and 353 pages I read in search of a plot. Moreover, the references to pop culture as well as the secondary characters and stories drawn from the tabloids just got to be too much. Yet, I read the entire book. Why? I can’t explain it, but for some reason I feel compelled to finish books that I start, even when they are really bad. I think that at some point, the story has to get better. It rarely does. The only upside is that I did not pay full price for the book. Gotta love Amazon.

Cutting up Cosmo

2005-10-10T14:15:00.000+02:00

While at KCIA airport, I decided to kill some time by checking out the duty free. I was browsing the magazine rack and saw the latest edition of Cosmo. I rarely read the magazine, but was intrigued by 3 cover stories: something on understanding the male mind, a list of 100 things to do in bed, and something about your hidden sexual self. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know I need all the help I can get when it comes to figuring out men. I was leafing through the magazine and questioning why I would pay KD3.750 for it, when I noticed 2 of the 3 articles that I wanted had been cut out of the magazine. WTF?! I was irked because they were charging almost $12 for an incomplete product and also perturbed by the idiots making the decisions on what is haram and what is halal in this country. Information itself – not that Cosmo should be considered the definitive source for anything – is not dangerous.

Why cut out pages on tricks in bed when women wearing hijab sell at charity bazaars creams to pinken the nipples. (I kid you not; it was “pink nipple cream” from China with before and after pictures on the box.)
Why ink out advertisements when satellite offers all varieties of porn. (Following the death of King Fahd, all I got for a week was prayer or porn.)
Why edit a nude portrait by one of the great masters yet run right next to it a picture of Tyra Banks and who she underwent a sonogram to prove that her boobs are real?
And why sell Cosmo at all if you remove the silly sex stories which is why women buy the darn magazine in the first place?

Gizmos

2005-10-04T00:00:00.000+03:00

So I'm trying to lay out everything I need for my vacation which starts in 3 days. And I'm growing increasingly frustrated because of all the accoutrements I need for the electronic gadgets which are now part of my life:

There's the laptop and the clunky battery pack and electrical cord.
I not only need the ipod, but there's the AC charger, the cord so that I can copy music from my PC to the device, and the adapters so that I can use it in the car.
The digital camera needs the battery charger.
And of course I need two charges for my phones since is one is a Nokia and the other a Motorola.
Even my toothbrush is electric which requires a charger.

Is anyone else overwhelmed by all the stuff that is supposed to make life easier?

If It's Ramadan, Why Am I Getting Ready for Christmas?

2005-10-03T20:07:00.000+03:00

I leave for almost 4 weeks of vacation (well deserved in my humble opinion) at o-dark-thirty on Friday and I have yet to pack. I've been out every night this week and the pile of work on my desk is growing instead of decreasing. Yet, I blog. Why? HRHSamboose guilted me into updating my site in her most recent blog. So I write for the 3 of you that occasionally check out this page. Anyway, it's only the beginning of October, and yet I have finished much of my holiday shopping. In part because I am anal & obsessive, and in part because I am a professional shopper*. I've taken care of the gifts for all 5 of my godchildren and the other little kids whose company I enjoy. They are all in the same age group so I tend to buy gifts in bulk or according to a theme (last year they all got a certain type of book and this year it's a game), but I put a lot of thought into finding something both fun and educational, so it's not like I'm copping out by not personalizing each gift. For the first few years of their lives, I bought a separate gift for each one, but it got so stressful around birthdays and holidays when I had to remember what I bought and for whom. I've selected, but not ordered, my mother's gift. Although the odds of her reading this are extremely slim, I still won't reveal the gift lest someone spill the beans. Let it suffice, that I indulge one of her vices and have created a monster. Likewise, I've picked out my sister's gift. Lately I've been giving her jewelry because I think she needs it. She often looses it, but I've moved beyond that. I give her something I want her to have and something I think she deserves and I've learned not to care whether she wears or misplaces it. I'm most excited about the gifts that I have identified for my friends here. I came across something silly, but that I think they will appreciate. I spent a lot of time picking the right one for each person, and it's gonna kill me to keep my mouth shut for the next 2 and 1/2 months. All the items are sitting in my shopping cart on Amazon, and I'm trying to balance ordering them in time for December 25 with having the items around my house goading me to distribute them early. Yes, presents, like chocolate, talk to me. I still haven't selected gifts for my niece (23 yrs, working on her master's) and the man in my life. Any suggestions? *On professional shopping, I've often thought that for my next career, I would be a professional shopper. But I don't think I would handle well a client that disagrees with my purchases. So, I'll just shop for myself and think what it would be like to spend someone else's money.

I think I'm my Mother

2005-09-27T23:31:00.000+03:00

For years now, I've been steadily turning into my mother. Today, I think the transformation is complete. Allow me to explain... As a child, I was very much like my father -- quiet, reserved, easily hurt. Physically, I also took after him -- tall, long feet and limbs, as well as flat feet and a flat derriere. There's more, but you get the idea. Some traits of my mother I knew I inherited long ago -- a love of shopping, a taste for the finer things in life, no patience for fools, etc. But over the years I noticed that I started picking up her habits -- leaving change in my pockets, buying gifts for myself, but today I noticed I have mastered her most amusing and possibly her worst habit. My mother names people. The monikers are always fitting, but not always appropriate. They endure because they are funny. For example: One of my sister's first boyfriends neglected to give her a Christmas gift after she spent all her allowance on him. We remember him as Cheapskate. Mommie spent 40 minutes in the back seat of my car with one of my friends who did not quite appreciate the usefulness of deodorant. To this day, that friend is known, within the family, as Stinky. A man who was deeply in love with my sister was, and always will be Boring. A previously mentioned ex, who was substantially older then me, became Old Seasoned One when he failed to show excitement for something accomplished that he had experienced long ago. And there are more. I admit I've christened some people. Old Seasoned One became Osama Bin Idiot. But Tuesday night, I don't know what happened. I was at a concert with some friends and the more I looked at the band, the more familiar they became. And then it struck me. One of the guitarists could have been a Hobbit in the "Lord of the Rings." He was small in stature, had the wavy hair, and his ears were slightly pointed. The drummer also perplexed me. By the end of the night, I realized he was a dead-ringer for the Captain from Captain & Tenille, complete with Greek fisherman's hat. Everyone laughed and I didn't give the names out of malice, but why did I do it at all?

Happy Birthday to Me!

2005-09-23T12:13:00.000+03:00

Yesterday on the eve of my birthday, I posted a blog about aging. Today, one year older, I've had a revelation. (Is it true with age comes wisdom?) As I was eating birthday cake for breakfast, although it's almost lunch time, I was looking at my gifts and rereading my cards, and remembered age isn't important. What is important is how you live your life and what you do with it, and perhaps birthdays are a not so subtle reminder of that. Last night friends treated me to a wonderful dinner and gave me many beautiful gifts that show they really know who I am and what I like: jewelry and chocolate! This morning my in-box was flooded with greetings from friends all over the world, including one whom I haven't seen in over 10 years. Good friends don't care about gray hair, extra pounds, or whether I feel as if I've been professionally successful. Good friends simply care. But this revelation has created something else for me to worry about. I had a touching birthday message from my sister that made me cry, and my eyes welled up as I started to write thank-you notes. Is the ultimate stoic becoming a sap in her old age?

Hurricanes

2005-09-23T11:18:00.001+03:00

Okay, everyone keeps asking me why this year’s devastating storms are all named after women. Check out the following link for the history and policy of naming storms.

FEMA History on naming Hurricanes

For a comprehensive list of storm names, click on:

Six-year list of storm names

Oddly enough, the “adult pages” were devoid of useful content.

Age: Is it really just a number?

2005-09-22T14:59:00.000+03:00

My birthday is coming up soon -- the 23rd for curious readers -- and I keep thinking of the scene from "When Harry Met Sally" in which Sally cries about turning 40. Harry asks when and she replies, "In six years, but I'm still going to be 40." My 40th is not yet here, but I keep thinking about the number. Forty is not that far off and it sounds so grown up. But I don't feel grown up. And if I believe the masses, I look much younger than my age. So if I don't feel or look grown up, and if 40 is the new 30, why am I worrying about aging? The issue permeates every aspect of my day:

While brushing my teeth in the morning, I study the wrinkles over the bridge of my nose. They are only visible when I squint, but the lines are deep. I look at the grooves around my mouth and I wonder how long they've been there. I question the elasticity of my skin. I'm even more obsessed since a dear friend, who has a flawless complexion, told me about a recent encounter in which someone told her she looks older than her oldest sister.

I've always admired my mother's silver hair (I've only seen her with naturally dark hair in old photos), but I'm freaking out about the ones on my own head. I'm thrilled they are silver and not a dull gray, and I don't want to dye them because I don't think I could keep up with the maintenance. Yet, they are everywhere now and they won't behave, so I curse them. A cool streak might be okay, but my hairs stick out at all angles and drive me nuts.

Every morning I also see on the scale the pounds I've gained since arriving in Kuwait. I've modified my diet -- all except for giving up chocolate -- yet they stay. I know more exercise would help, but ... And I wonder if it's all futile as I hear my sister's words echoing in my head that I'm old and the weight gain is unavoidable.

And while I try to come to terms with aging -- I'm cool with the concept, but the reality is a bitch -- I have to ponder the effects of age on my relationship that is or isn't. I've come to terms with the fact that my friend, although grayer, is younger (it's only 1 year and 11 months, but I'm used to dating men 20 years my senior). Yet I can't help but think that at my age, every day, month, and year is magnified and matters. I still haven't decided whether I want children at all, let alone naturally, but at my steadily advancing age, the decision may no longer be mine. If he follows the example set by movie and music stars, he's got at least 40 more years to decide if parenthood is for him. I don't have that luxury. I'm beginning to think it's now or never as I was rudely reminded this week in an editorial by English doctors that women can't have it all. You can't beat biology. Still, I don't want to do something stupid because 20 years from now I might have regrets.

So am I simply obsessing about another thing I can't control or are my concerns valid?

Rage

2005-09-21T20:15:00.000+03:00

I tend to be a pretty even tempered person, and I pride myself on it. In the past week however, I can tell that too much work, too little sleep, and a long to-do list are starting to get to me. In today's New York Times, there was an interesting article by Natalie Angier (check out her book "Woman") about cursing and how it has been around as long as language itself. I took note that some people curse more when they are under stress. Apparently it's a way to relieve tension and not explode. Angier also reported that people tend to swear more around people they know and like. My poor office -- I've been cursing like a sailor this week. Thankfully, they know and like me, and vice verse. Anyway, I guess things came to a head tonight because I expressed my rage and frustration in a very Hollywood way. The house next door to me is under construction. I can handle the noise. The problem is the sloppy workers. They somehow manage to sling concrete in my yard and on two occasions, have covered my car with it. Fortunately, whatever mixture they use washes off without damage to the finish of my car. There are also wood, nails, and screws all over. As a result of the mess and noise, my dogs are afraid to go out and have been leaving little puddles and piles around the house and on my favorite rug. I've complained and cajoled, and the workers often apologize and clean up. But last Friday I cursed. I was on my way out the door when a worker dumped a bucket of trash into my yard. Forgetting it was Friday and a mosque is nearby, I yelled, "WTF?!" The guy shrugged and I lit into his colleague in a mixture of Arabic and English. More complaints were made to the owner and yesterday they cleaned up much of the mess. Tonight, however, after a long and stressful day, I pulled into my driveway to again find the mesh screening that is supposed to protect my home from their mess, flapping in the wind and wooden boards in the driveway. In a fit of pique -- but after I changed out of my suit and good shoes -- I went out determined to pull down all the sheeting. I tugged and tugged, but only managed to tear it more. The bottom half made it into my yard, but they did a pretty good job of securing the top. Plan B: Using one of the boards in the yard, and glad I had a tetanus shot, I shoved all the sheeting over the wall, tossing the boards afterwards. In the end, it was a comical sight and made me laugh. I found another way to relieve stress. What do you do when it all gets to be too much?

Woe is Woman

2005-09-17T22:32:00.000+03:00

One of the reasons I started this blog was to express my concerns about the status and treatment of women. My frustration and outrage have grown as I read the papers and absorb stories about women being abducted for marriage in Kyrgyzstan (April 30, 2005 NYT), a Nigerian ban on women being passengers on motorbikes because the men might harass them, and the rape of young school girls in China. I can't comprehend why so many women continue to be subjugated and abused when women have made so many advances: 2 Secretaries of State, prime ministers (what's with the braid on the former Ukrainian PM?), a candidate for German Chancellor (Angela, why the hard "g?" It sounds so...so... German.), business moguls, etc. Why? Why? Why? Worldwide, women do must of the child rearing. They have an opportunity to shape and influence boys and young men for years. So why do so few of these boys and young men grow up to appreciate women as equals and partners and not treat them as objects? Is it nature? Is there something so deeply ingrained in our DNA from ancient history when brute strength was key to survival that we can't escape? Below the surface, is society so sexist that there will never be any real change? Or are women to blame for alienating those who have made it in a "man's world" and at the same time belittling women who choose to stay home and lead a more "traditional" life? I asked myself these questions while watching an Oprah episode about 7 cheating husbands. I'm not trying to create a link between infidelity and inequality, but I wondered why the wives chose to stay with the duplicitious men after multiple episodes of extramarital affairs. I'd like to think that love really is blind and forgiving, and that their husbands have truly repented. But I suspect the reasons they endure are economic, social (the whole status thing), and the need to preserve the family for the sake of the children. I wanted to yell at them, "Move on, you don't need a man -- especially the one you're married to." But then I remembered that yesterday I wrote about my deliberations on what to put first: my career or a still undefined relationship. I'm a hypocrite.

Karma

2005-09-17T00:15:00.000+03:00

I was tucked into bed -- 11:30PM, earlier than usual -- thinking I might actually make it to work on time in the morning. That's not going to happen now since I'm sitting at my desk blogging away. What happened? I was attacked by random thoughts. It started off innocently enough: tomorrow's to do list, what to wear, how to get the water out my ear, and then karma. Why karma? I'm not a very spiritual person, and eastern philosophy, meditation, etc. mean very little to me. But I really think there's something to karma... This revelation was prompted by reflection on my current relationship. I suddenly realized the guy I'm dating is me, or the me I used to be: satisfied, content, and living in the now, not really thinking about the past or the future. Before some of you who know me well object, allow me to qualify this. I'm focusing on relationships only; we all know I'm anal retentive and obsess over the smallest details in every other aspect of my life. But traditionally, when involved with someone, I've preferred to enjoy (or try to enjoy) each day and put off discussions about "where are we going" or "is there a future?" This has frustrated many a man. The tables have now been turned however. Two weeks ago, I too was avoiding that 800-pound gorilla in the middle of the room. I now have no choice to confront it as my time in Kuwait will come to an end within a year and I have to decide what to do with my life. Do I do what's good for me professionally or do I think about my personal life and try to accommodate it? Given the options available to me, there is no truly happy medium; there will have to be a sacrifice. For the first time in my life, I think I'm ready to consider the interests of someone else, but I'm not getting clear, consistent encouragement about whether I should do so. The feminist in me says, "Move on and do what's best for you." The side of me that knows this man well, understands his hesitancy -- hey, he's doing what I normally do -- and recognizes that the little things he does convey what he cannot say. But what does all of this have to do with karma? I'd like a verbal expression of his feelings and hopes. (I'm still not ready to make any plans.) The karma is the last man I dated often asked, and in clear terms, how I felt about him. I deftly avoided answering because I knew he would not like the response and for a variety of reasons -- some twisted -- I did not want to immediately end the relationship. "But, that's only one example," you say. That's no proof of karma. Read on: Before him, Old Seasoned One (as my mother called him) or Osama bin Idiot (as I and my colleagues named him -- shortly after 9/11 we realized that a physical description of bin Ladin also described this man) broke my heart by doing something he knew would hurt me and never providing a full explanation. I did the same thing to the man I dated before the bin Ladin twin, although my transgression was less evil. The guy has never forgiven me, just like I can't forgive my personal terrorist. (It took a while, but I did get over the sordid saga.) There's no need to list all the previous boyfriends, but as I think back, the not so nice things that I did and the pain that I caused, I have since experienced. I think about how easily I walked away from a man who was by my side through some very tough times. Occasionally, he mentions that I never looked back when I got on the plane. He'll agree, that the relationship was limited to a certain time and place, but still, I made the departure chillier than necessary. Subsequently, someone walked away from me with surgical precision. So all of this raises the question, "Am I where I am because of human nature and the whole male/female thing, or is some greater power just evening the score?"

1 Fish, 2 Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

2004-05-09T16:14:00.000+03:00

A Dr. Seuss title seems an odd way to begin this tome, but fish played a large part of my life recently and various events made me wonder if I was in the middle of some fantasy story for children. Following a grueling progress test in Arabic (one of my reading articles was on sports, something I barely comprehend in English) and a terrifying (both the experience and the result) interview in Arabic on the local popular radio station, I was ready for spring break. Mariza, my belly dance teacher from Washington, was coming for a 2-week visit and I thought we would have a relaxing time together as I recharged my batteries for the final few months of school and the final exam. I thought wrong. Mariza and I were on the move for the entire week I had off, and even when I returned to class, we remained busy in the evenings. We attended the local craft fair which, with over 600 exhibitors exhausted even a professional shopper like me. I made some good buys and discovered that my favorite jewelry designer, whose wares I've purchased in cities across the country, has a shop carrying the entire line located just down the street from me. Proof that Murphy's Law is international! We traveled to Dougga, site of the most complete Roman ruins and to Binzerte (my 2nd trip) for a pleasant lunch along the shore. My fish tale actually begins in Binzerte. I ordered the sole because it was one of the few fish that I actually enjoy and it somehow seemed wrong to dine on anything else while watching the fishing boats come in. After we visited the oceanographic museum in Binzerte and saw various species of fish preserved in formaldehyde, I planned on eating poultry for the rest of the week. What is it they say about the best laid plans??? Wednesday morning, Abdelwahab, one of my instructors proposed a trip to towns in northern Tunisia. We agreed to go because he suggested places I had not yet visited and I thought he was trying to get back into my good graces after forcing me to do the previously mentioned interview with Radio Mosaique. Mariza, Abdelwahad, his 2 daughters, and I set out for what became the scenic route to Korbous and Al Haouaria. Scenic because despite several visits to the sites, Abdelwahab could not remember precisely how to get to them. I've discovered that Tunisian police don't read maps very well and their instructions usually consist of pointing somewhere and saying, "direct." After a lot of stopping, asking, and retracing our steps, we finally arrived at Korbous, renown for its waters used to treat arthritis, rheumatism, cellulite, and hypertension. Abdelwahb elected to stroll along the beach with his daughters and encouraged me and Mariza to get a spa treatment. The shortest treatment was 1.5 hours, which I later discovered was the minimum amount of time one must wait before being served. But I made the best of my time: while sitting around wrapped in nothing but a towel, I got to know some of the other ladies waiting for mud baths and salt water soaks. I was told time, and time again, "we like Americans, but we don't like Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, or Condi." It's a real challenge to discuss U.S. foreign policy in Arabic clad only in a towel. The lesson: do not gesture broadly. The experience was a good language practicum and the bath and massage were great, even if I had no privacy. I'm used to the dogs walking in when I'm sitting in the tub, but I wasn't quite sure of what to say to the stream of Tunisian women who passed through while I was soaking. Following Korbous, we moved northward to Al Haouaria, the northernmost point of Tunisia (Sicily is only 90 miles away), and the quarry for the stones for most of Tunisia's Roman ruins. The fish story continues here. For dinner, we had the option of fish, fish, fish, or lobster. We opted to share the ugliest 7-pound fish I've ever seen. While we waited for the fish to cook, we munched on appetizers of fish and other seafood. Abdelwahab's 3-year-old daughter took a liking to anchovies and when she could not remember them by name, nicknamed them in Arabic, "salty." I peeled & beheaded shrimp for his other daughter, who wanted to eat, but not touch them. The 2 little girls were a source of amusement throughout the day, shrieking "wee" as we navigated mountain roads, and stunning their father by wandering into the men's room (empty fortunately) and then querying him on the presence of urinals. Our 4-hour day trip, because of the circuitous route, turned into a 12-hour day, but a great experience. The following morning, we hit the road early to drive to Sfax. I wanted to return to purchase more rugs and Mariza's guide book described the Medina, the old city and market, as the most historically intact in Tunisia. In addition to touring the Medina under the guidance of one of my instructors, a Sfax native and former tour guide, we spent most of our time with his in-laws watching the "Star Academy" finals, a Arabic cross between Star Search and American idol, and eating fish. In two days, I had grilled fish, fried fish, stewed fish, fish soup, and fish with couscous. The biggest fish was shark and the smallest was some funny-sounding thing about the size of a sardine. It wasn't bad, but I'm really looking forward to a hunk of Nebraskan corn-fed beef. (Cooking Hint: Fish cooked in the Sfax style is seasoned heavily with cumin. The next time you grill fish, try rubbing it with a little cumin, hot sauce, and olive oil before grilling.) Highpoints of this stop were the kids. I spent Christmas with the family and took some gifts for all the kids on this trip. My teacher's 5-year old immediately changed the clothes on the Barbie I gave here. His nephew, was not too thrilled with the Hot Wheels Monster Slime Racer until his sisters came home and he discovered they were afraid of the slime. His 1-year old son enjoyed his truck while we enjoyed him: with only 6 teeth, he can eat a whole olive and spit out the pit, and although his Arabic is still limited, he can sing in English, "We will, we will, rock you!" From Sfax, we rode the ferry to the Kerkennah Islands, 20 miles off the coast of Tunisia and the site where Hannibal and former Tunisian President Bourguiba were exiled during turbulent times. The Kerkennahs consist of a series of sleepy fishing villages and the main attraction are the schools of dolphins between the islands and the mainland. Alas, we did not see any dolphins but we can confirm that the people of Kerkennah are among the nicest people in Tunisia. In our search for one of the restaurants listed in the guidebook, we stopped and asked for directions a half-dozen times and each person we met invited us to lunch.