wasta jet d’Eau shoots meditating brussel sprouts at Dan
Best wishes for a healthy, happy and prosperous New Year. We have had a great time with everyone during the holiday break. in fact on the day after Christmas Mitra invited us to
“... a guided meditation in Montecito, Dad. We’ll all enjoy that.”
“I thought meditation was, by definition, ‘unguided’.” I replied. Contemplatively.
“Dad..”
“Darius told me that in meditation, you think about breathing.”
“You’re not supposed to..”
I don’t need to think about breathing. I’ve got a well-developed involuntary nervous system.”
“The idea is to not think, Dad. You want to create a mode of consciousness. The director will keep you focused in case your mind wanders.”
“My mind won’t wander,” I thought. “it will sleep.”
“You shouldn’t fall asleep,” Mitra continued - reading my mindlessly wandering mind.
La Casa de Maria, an old convent wrestled from control of the diocese by a determined and business-savvy group of nuns, was the venue. Unfortunately the guide’s internal guidance system failed. (I.e. She didn’t show up.) Luckily, however, an attendee volunteered to lead.
“... and bring the oxygen all the way from your nostrils through your diaphragm and deep into...”
“I told Mitra it was all about breathing,” I thought - happy that the guide kept me on track. But, I was never able to get my oxygen all the way down to my entrails.
As we drove to dinner later, Darius, a veteran meditator, explained that he had spent 72 hours in Yosemite concentrating..
“...meditating, Dad.” Darius interrupts.
“ ... on the oxygen that was, following Brownian Motion, swirling around my nose.”
“It started with Brussels sprouts..”
“Uh-oh.” I thought as I engaged the garbage disposal. There was no grinding sound but the device created a whirlpool in the sink. While I was thinking about this, a vertical stream of water began to form. The stream, which reminded me of the Geneva Jet d’Eau, lost coherence when it hit the ceiling. The fountain pointed itself directly at me. “Perhaps this is why garbage disposals are illegal in Zurich,” I thought as I wiped wet brussels sprout clippings from my mustache.
‘Be careful with the plunger,” Nazy suggested. Helpfully.
“I’ll have a raincoat and a scuba mask,” I replied as I exerted (too much) force on the plunger. Water squirted out of the detergent dispenser. I was totally flummoxed: Nazy called a plumber.
The plumber fixed the clogged drain and dispensed words of (plumberly) wisdom:
“Do not put vegetables in the garbage disposal.”
“So the device is a carnivore?” I replied. Dumbfounded.
“Vegetables clog the system.”
“So did fruit,” I muttered - remembering the clogged lemon peels.
“You should be careful with meat scraps, too.”
“Can it handle detergent bubbles?” I asked. Sarcastically.
“You need to be careful. If you insist on disposing of lettuce, do a little at a time.”
“I have another problem,” I interrupted. “The toilet clogs when..”
“Are you using toilet paper?”
“Nazy!” I exclaimed. “We need a different plumber!”
As regular readers know, Darius is visiting us in California during his intra-semester break. An interested parent, I asked him about his recent move to a new apartment.
“It was caused by wasta, Dad. That means getting things done through connections rather than merit. It’s sort of like ‘clout’ or ‘pull’ or ‘influence’. It’s the way things are done in Beirut.”
“What’s wasta have to do with your apartment?”
“My landlord’s niece was in the class that I was teaching, so my landlord decided to expend some wasta by ‘suggesting’ to me that it would be helpful if his niece got a good grade.”
“Hmmm.”
“Naturally, I refused.”
“Have you heard the saying: ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do?,” I asked.
“Are you suggesting...”
“Was she a good student, Dar?”
“That’s irrelevant. I won’t compromise my principles.”
“It is important to stand for your principles.”
“The landlord kicked me out.”
“So you lost your principle residence by standing on your principles?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t over. He offered me a “deal” on another apartment. He wanted me to convey an inflated rent to the University so that we could split the over-payment.”
“So he wanted you to use a bit of your wasta?”
“Sort of. But..”
“But now, wasta-challenged, you have to do things the old-fashioned way.”
“Old-fashioned?”
“Money, Dar. Not wasta.”
“... a guided meditation in Montecito, Dad. We’ll all enjoy that.”
“I thought meditation was, by definition, ‘unguided’.” I replied. Contemplatively.
“Dad..”
“Darius told me that in meditation, you think about breathing.”
“You’re not supposed to..”
I don’t need to think about breathing. I’ve got a well-developed involuntary nervous system.”
“The idea is to not think, Dad. You want to create a mode of consciousness. The director will keep you focused in case your mind wanders.”
“My mind won’t wander,” I thought. “it will sleep.”
“You shouldn’t fall asleep,” Mitra continued - reading my mindlessly wandering mind.
La Casa de Maria, an old convent wrestled from control of the diocese by a determined and business-savvy group of nuns, was the venue. Unfortunately the guide’s internal guidance system failed. (I.e. She didn’t show up.) Luckily, however, an attendee volunteered to lead.
“... and bring the oxygen all the way from your nostrils through your diaphragm and deep into...”
“I told Mitra it was all about breathing,” I thought - happy that the guide kept me on track. But, I was never able to get my oxygen all the way down to my entrails.
As we drove to dinner later, Darius, a veteran meditator, explained that he had spent 72 hours in Yosemite concentrating..
“...meditating, Dad.” Darius interrupts.
“ ... on the oxygen that was, following Brownian Motion, swirling around my nose.”
Darius Meditating on Mount Divide
On a completely different subject, I’m sorry to report another malfunction with the garbage disposal. It began with a simple, but portending, request from Nazy:
“Where is the plunger?”
“Bathroom or kitchen?” I replied knowingly.
“The kitchen.”
“What did you do?”
“It started with Brussels sprouts..”
“Uh-oh.” I thought as I engaged the garbage disposal. There was no grinding sound but the device created a whirlpool in the sink. While I was thinking about this, a vertical stream of water began to form. The stream, which reminded me of the Geneva Jet d’Eau, lost coherence when it hit the ceiling. The fountain pointed itself directly at me. “Perhaps this is why garbage disposals are illegal in Zurich,” I thought as I wiped wet brussels sprout clippings from my mustache.
‘Be careful with the plunger,” Nazy suggested. Helpfully.
“I’ll have a raincoat and a scuba mask,” I replied as I exerted (too much) force on the plunger. Water squirted out of the detergent dispenser. I was totally flummoxed: Nazy called a plumber.
The plumber fixed the clogged drain and dispensed words of (plumberly) wisdom:
“Do not put vegetables in the garbage disposal.”
“So the device is a carnivore?” I replied. Dumbfounded.
“Vegetables clog the system.”
“So did fruit,” I muttered - remembering the clogged lemon peels.
“You should be careful with meat scraps, too.”
“Can it handle detergent bubbles?” I asked. Sarcastically.
“You need to be careful. If you insist on disposing of lettuce, do a little at a time.”
“I have another problem,” I interrupted. “The toilet clogs when..”
“Are you using toilet paper?”
“Nazy!” I exclaimed. “We need a different plumber!”
As regular readers know, Darius is visiting us in California during his intra-semester break. An interested parent, I asked him about his recent move to a new apartment.
“It was caused by wasta, Dad. That means getting things done through connections rather than merit. It’s sort of like ‘clout’ or ‘pull’ or ‘influence’. It’s the way things are done in Beirut.”
“What’s wasta have to do with your apartment?”
“My landlord’s niece was in the class that I was teaching, so my landlord decided to expend some wasta by ‘suggesting’ to me that it would be helpful if his niece got a good grade.”
“Hmmm.”
“Naturally, I refused.”
“Have you heard the saying: ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do?,” I asked.
“Are you suggesting...”
“Was she a good student, Dar?”
“That’s irrelevant. I won’t compromise my principles.”
“It is important to stand for your principles.”
“The landlord kicked me out.”
“So you lost your principle residence by standing on your principles?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t over. He offered me a “deal” on another apartment. He wanted me to convey an inflated rent to the University so that we could split the over-payment.”
“So he wanted you to use a bit of your wasta?”
“Sort of. But..”
“But now, wasta-challenged, you have to do things the old-fashioned way.”
“Old-fashioned?”
“Money, Dar. Not wasta.”
Christmas Day in Santa Barbara
Tom, Melika(+1), Mitra, Darius, Nazy, Dan
(Note: No Snow)
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