11. One in 10 Europeans is allegedly conceived in an Ikea bed.

I love the British!

Two days until the Black Eve...hooray.

Horoscope for this week:

"Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22)
Following 33 years of uncertainty and confusion, things will finally start making sense around August when you decide to purchase a wall calendar."

Bcakwrsad

The Tom Thumb is right down the hill from my apartment. Connected to it is a

gas station on the corner. With your Tom Thumb card you get 3 cents off each gallon of gas, so I let the thin, red bar read the serial number on the back and punch the Regular Unleaded key. The read out says "Thank you Palani Shooshoo," the name Shahed had written down on the membership paperwork, and I sit back down in the car to listen to the Jealous Sound.

I had spent the day in jeans and a t-shirt, rummaging through issues of AHA

journals to find continuity issues, and I didn't feel it was all that important to change before leaving for the grocery store. Gathering up my food and food preparation products I bee-lined for the empty 5-items or less check out line. She asked me for my card as I passed my keys to her in between the items she scanned. She then told me about how she likes to go to...some place. "Oh yeah," I responded not having any clue what she was talking about. "But I never walk out of there any richer." I smiled remembering the shirt I was wearing: "I'M A SLOT JUNKIE / CASTAWAYS / HOTEL/CASINO / Las Vegas". "Who does?" We laughed. I didn't want to tell her that I had never gambled, that it was just a shirt, that it was given to me by someone who I didn't really like very much, so I just played along. Telling her that I never win anything, but like the thrill of it all. She agreed. "Thank you very much, Mr. Precht." "Thank you."

The three women who make up the "sales team" of the complex sat at three

desks - the far right, on the phone; the middle, the one who had until previously had a red nosed cold; and the far left, who had rented Payam and I the apartment. The middle one asked me if she could help me with something. "Yes..." as I turned and pointed at the sass-girl to the left, "I accidentally dropped my rent check in the outgoing mail slot." It wasn't a big deal, I knew it. The complex was full of people who had probably, several times, done the same thing and, probably, ignored their mistake. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it. They usually bring those in the next day." She moved some papers about her desk and made some sweeping motions with the mouse in her right hand, "Well, I never said I was very smart."

Stepping out of my car I held the rent check in an envelope in my right hand.

There was a man in his mid- to late-twenties standing with his mail on the newspaper stand, rifling though. Dashing junk into the trash can to his right. He looked up, and I shuffled toward my postbox, dunking the envelope into the outgoing mail slot. I stopped immediately after, knowing full well that the distraction can caused this. I backpedaled to make sure I couldn't fish the envelope out of the slot and red-faced toward the apartment's postbox, key in hand. Bills.

Grocery List:

Two sacks of bread

Box of Cheerios

Garlic Salt

Aluminum Foil

Lettuce

"Hey, Old Guy"

The office is lit with afternoon highs in the low 80’s and enough of a breeze to move the brush once every few minutes; it feels like winter, but the temperature gauge tells me otherwise. Walking to get to my cube seems even more like a labyrinth of padded, dark gray walls and off-white piping. I flipped on all of the over-the-desk lamps and hit the power button to the computer as I looked for more lighting – anything overhead that would provide what those near the windows get in excess on sunny days like today – and ended up “borrowing” Sabrina, my cube mate’s, floor lap. Beside my own keystrokes, you can’t hear anything but the occasional opening over a door across the office by the cleaning lady or dumping of a tin garbage can into the gray, plastic receptacle.

As soon as my computer loads up, my sister sends me an instant message. She went snowboarding on Sunday with Amir. There was snow in Minnesota, after all. The climate could sustain snow and sleet and fume breath unlike the DFW area. Our winter has been indifferent, I tell her. It’s around 79 or 80 and pleasant. She reflects my own sentiments, “I need seasons.” I guess two weeks of thirty degree days is what constitutes the winter “season” around here. Anyway, soon there after, “dad told me he wants to move to Arizona…that he’d like to retire there.” “Sounds right…he never really liked Texas anyway.” It was true; the people seemed to bother my dad, as they did me. So sports obsessed and transfixed on such ignorantly turned matters as gas prices, ignoring the rest of the countries obviously higher prices. Also, the “cow people,” as my dad calls them. They’re plentiful here. Driving at their own pace in the far left lane, unaware of the motorists launching past them as if siphoning momentum. I could see my mom and dad finding a house in Arizona after Shirin got to college or soon thereafter. They would find a small bungalow with a spacious backyard for gardening and not have to deal with the populations of either Florida (BORING!) or California (Annoying!). When my sisters or I visit they talk about their tomatoes, tulips and marigolds in the backyard and how my dad won’t plant something-or-rather that my mom wants and he’ll roll his eyes. He and I would go to a couple Cubs Spring Training games and talk about the next season while my sisters and mom went shopping. They would spend their nights watching “silly” movies and television shows. Movies and television shows that my mother enjoys and my father quietly laughs about.

* * * * * *

It’s been about two hours since I got here. My burrito is long digested and I still haven’t figured out how to illuminate the office lights above me, so I’m making due with desk and a floor lamp. And I need some more water…

They're showing episodes of Seaquest DSV on the SciFi channel. That is monsterously badass.

How is it 78 degrees out right now?

Over the last week I haven't had much to post about. I usually only write when I'm happy or about things that make me happy or think. Last week brought a lot of pain: death, hospitalizations, humiliation and the like. One thing after another like waves beating my stern. But things have calmed. That's not to say that the things that happen aren't affecting me anymore, they probably always will, just that I've coped and prayed and feel more comfortable and happy. So, posts will become more regular very soon. Thanks for all the kind words, by the way, and your patience. They both helped a lot.

Dear Laundry Robber,

Why would you take my whites? Dude! They're worn socks and undershirts!

Sincerely,

David

R.I.P. Caswell Ellis, a man who did anything he could for the Faith. Prayers will be said at 12:30 CST. You are in a better place, but will always be loved.

R.I.P. Dhabihu'llah Mahrami

Reasons that are beyond my control are preventing me from writing anything of any consequence. Eventually I'll have something.

Very much the ghost, this week is.

The Chronic of Narnia...bitches.

And Lettuce...

President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran has banned all Western music from radio and television shows.

Hooray for ignorance!

I wanted to leave the second I hung up with you…

I saw the lights flash not more than two seconds after they were turned on. I

slowed down, not knowing whom he/she was interested in.

Pulling into a gas station off the service road I turned the car and lights off,

waiting for a tap at the window. The officer asked if there was a reason why I was in such a rush. "I've had a very rough night," of fighting with myself. Trying to fight back the swell around my eyelashes and the guilt throbbing between my stomach and throat. "I see," it's not that easy. It's not a situation of 'seeing' anything, it's of sitting in your friends bed room on the phone with your mother telling her about a phone call you just got, "I'm going to need to see your license and proof of insurance." "Sure," if only things were that easy. Plastic coated license in the wallet, rectangular insurance card in the glove compartment pulled out and surrendered. "Thanks very much," I didn't talk much. Didn't retaliate the way I probably should have. Wasn't in the same state, that's my fault, yet. Didn't pray enough, that's my fault, for his health. Failed to think this was in anyway going to happen, that's also my fault, to such a good friend's father.

"Hi, mom. I'm sorry to wake you. Jon called me, and his dad's not doing well."

We all love you Jon, and your family. And we'll be here with you throughout.

And this time I'll pray more, and I'll relinquish myself to what's building in my eye ducts. And God will tend to your dad, who so many people love and respect. Especially my family and me.

Holiday gifts that I got today:

1 sausage - seriously, Tom made it from scratch and it smells incredible.

1 plate of cookies - chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin assortment, that I can't eat.

1 "stocking" - full of mini-peanut butter cups and kisses, a pen, a blue all-in-one tool and a candy cane.

"Stop that!" yelled a voice from a speaker hidden in the bushes...

Breaking news that everyone has been speculating for years now, the New York Times has a story about how the President "secretly authorized the National Security Agency to eavesdrop on Americans and others inside the United States to search for evidence of terrorist activity without the court-approved warrants ordinarily required for domestic spying". Pretty great, huh. that's not it either, "The agency, they said, still seeks warrants to monitor entirely domestic communications." Awesome! Will they be installing giant television screens with ominous and shadowy figures displayed throughout major cities next? Sounds fake? Yeah...it's not.

Congestion

This morning, as I weaved in and out of clumps of SUVs and trucks and

Mustangs, I listened to the traffic report on NPR. The woman’s voice slide onto my speakers and reported a crash on 30-South, a wreck on 360 and a fatality wreck on 35W, taking up the two left lanes in a lip biting tone. I looked down at the radio display as she announced the last, and realized the simplicity in which she had described such a morbid event. A “fatality wreck on 35W, taking up the two left lanes.” She said it as if she were trying to get it out as quickly as possible without it catching up with her. A sugar coated way that struck me as strange as well, “fatality wreck.” As if she were really trying to blanket the horrible event in a language that most people would simply ignore without putting much stock in. That’s how accidents are described here, under different categories. They’re announced several times throughout the day, and tend to roll off the driver and onto the road to be kicked up by a fast moving semi and splattered across my windshield.

Traffic Terms in the DFW area:

Stalled Car – A car is sitting in a lane, not being moved, and the person driving said car is not doing anything to remedy the issue, hoping that the Texas Highway service patron, or whatever it’s called will come to their rescue.

Disabled Vehicle – The driver of the car is attempting to move the car onto a shoulder or an off ramp but is being blocked as he/she is probably in the center-most lane.

Car Fire – A car is on fire, probably on a shoulder, causing hundreds of drivers to slow down in the belief that their normal brisk driving-by would be rude or in some way cause the flames to grow. This usually happens in the summer.

Crash – Generally, two cars have collided and are taking up a single lane, waiting for the police to arrive and assist them.

Wreck – Two or more cars have crashed into each other at such a speed or angle as to scatter parts of each car across multiple lanes.

Fatality Wreck – Two or more cars have crashed, scattering debris across several lanes of traffic, and it is either believed or confirmed that a passenger or driver or more was killed.

Is it just me or are parents becoming more psychotic?

You take that box off you head, and play with your computer right now!

"'If parents are thinking, 'I need a break, I'll put my 4-year-old in front of this nice harmless video,' that's one thing,' she continued, 'But if parents are thinking, 'This is good for my 3-month-old, it will help her get ahead in the world,' that's another.'" - New York Times

A Gift Covered Desk

My sister currently works at Target corporate headquarters in their legal

and marketing departments. She's always been the more business savvy of the three Precht kids, and I'm really proud to see how well she's doing; proposals for new products have been written and considered, and whatnot. The most interesting part of her job is how flexible with people she has become.

When we were growing up neither of us liked the Christmas bombardment. As

Bahá’ís we had no real attachments to the holiday, and were, generally, around family on a regular basis which wouldn't warrant a grandiose trek to visit someone in some far off local. We would go to the movies; like so many Jews, Muslims, Hindus and the like; with our parents and spend the day as if it were any other. But before Christmas day, Tajalli and I would talk about how generally annoy it was to have people constantly, and bombastically proclaim "Have a Merry Christmas!" as we walked in or out of stores, shops, the library or anywhere else for that matter. "Do they know they that we're Christians? Because we're not." she would gripe walking to my or her car, stomping the slush beneath her feet with more authority than usual. "Probably not, but whatever."

Over the last few years, I would attempt to pacify her disdain of the

misguided, perhaps in her mind, greetings of workers and bell ringers, but now that she's married and living in a completely different state than I am I've realized that she is far more at peace with the comments. “I actually got a good gift from my secret santa today...skittles and a photo album,” she relayed to me in an IM window earlier this morning. “You're [sic] a dork / I bet you were more excited about the skittles than the photo album.” She seemed fine receiving such gifts from a person who did or didn’t know she was a Bahá’í. Actually, she seemed elated, continuing to tell me that yesterday she got “a santa claus ornament and snickers (mmmm...snickers).” She even got her “secret santa” “a nice candle and stand, milk duds, a snowman salt and pepper shaker (she is 60), and a pad of snowflake paper.”

I can see her at her computer, typing quietly to avoid detection, looking at

the gifts sitting on her desk without a shred of annoyance, thinking about what to get her “secret santa” recipient tomorrow; avoiding slush, walking into a store to buy a gift, and greeting the person at the door with her husband.

Changes forthcoming...

If I scared anyone with my comments on or off this blog I would like to apologize. It was never my intention to scare anyone. ...I've just had a very eye-opening day.

Apparently, the key to writing better, longer, more substantive blogs is hating your job. I suggest no one try it.

My (lack of a) career doesn’t necessarily reflect the person I am, or who I’m continuing to grow to be

I've started looking at other possible opportunities in the job market.

Searching various non-profit job boards I'm looking at the qualifications and requirements for positions, and I'm terrified. Over the last year I've had to deal with a massive road block in my goals for finding a career for myself. I've remained here though, thinking that things could only get better; to no avail. And I'm looking at these boards and wondering how similar these positions will be to what I have right now. Scenarios of interviewing and being asked if I would be interested in temping for a short time and transitioning to a staff position to build experience, and it never happening. The more I look at what my options are, the more truly scared I get. My eyes get full and tip over a bit to be brushed away so that no one will see me as they trot by with their own career's on their sleeve. I can't handle it. Virginia, Maryland, D.C., La Jolla, California...Where will I be next year, and will I hate myself as much as I do right now for making the decisions to move?

Telling people where I would like to be, the obvious place of family and friends

and roll-through red lights, only serves to placate the massing twangs in my neck, break-outs under my chin and behind my ears and give me a shred of hope that things can be remedied; even though they probably won't; not now anyway. Someone told me I was full of negativity yesterday, and I disagreed with them on the spot. Now that I took the time to measure where I am, wrestle through the job options and balance my need for Faith, family and positivity in my life at all times I'm left with a big opening that the negativity big rig drives through. The question is: How long will I continue to read these jobs and get back to the mindless dirge that echoes off the walls in the office, that few can hear, and how many times will I travel away from one place or another to get to stability and that red chair I hope for?

Untitled

That's a first...

It was raining ice teardrops through the driver’s side window as I reached

for the parking ticket from the dispenser. The office had been closed for fear that the rain would freeze the ground and cause accidents, and I was beginning to understand why. I stepped out to a crush of fast building ice and rain smacked hard against my coat. The weather was starting to cool down for real this time. Temperatures dropped to below thirty and the wind moved my hair like branches as I loudly ran across the street to the sidewalk in my dress shoes and down to the Wadley Tower. Half way down the sound shifted to something far more familiar, salt globs bursting into powder under my feet. The wind picked up again and I felt my face chill like it used to, walking down Fullerton Avenue to my car, my cloths still moist from the heated venue and movement.

There was an elderly woman covering an elderlier woman with another blanket

while both shivered, not at all used to the chill that my face welcomed. I smiled as the wind picked up again, walking into the automatic revolving doors of the tower remembering removing gloves and scarf and hat. Doctors were telling each other of the treacherous conditions the rain and ice had made, and how one almost couldn’t slow down fast enough in the parking lot. Probably the same lot I parked in or something like it.

As I sat in the doctor’s office, waiting for her to enter with large toothed

smile, wisped, white hair and neck-balanced stethoscope I looked at my watch, wondering how the drive home would be. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have put too much stock in the passerby-doctor’s words, but at that moment I was concerned with sliding on the highway and bumping the concrete medians. She asked me how my sugar levels had been and I tell her good, offering clarification to what I had told the nurse who had been in not more than two minutes prior.

I told her that I didn’t know what all the fuss with the ice was about. That I

grew up near Chicago and am used to getting around five feet of snow throughout the winter. She laughed meekly, shuffling through her mind to find the memory, “Yeah, I’m from Minnesota, so, uh, I’m pretty used to it as well.” She laughed, probably recalling a moment from her childhood, in the snow and cold of Minneapolis. I told her that I had just gotten back from the Minneapolis area, that I was there for the Thanksgiving holiday and that I really liked seeing all the snow pile up. Again she offered a smile and redirected the conversation back to my visit. I told her about going to the acupuncturist while there and how my neck had ached since going. She asked if she could take a look and she did, applying pressure to my upper back/lower neck and telling me there wasn’t any swelling; which was a good sign, apparently.

At the end of the visit she told me that she would like to get an average, that

I would have to go down to the lab for some blood work and that I should schedule an appointment in the next three to four months. The thin, toilet paper type table covering ruffled as I cleared my throat. I told her that this would probably be my last visit, that I would probably be accepting a job with a different company in the next month and would probably, hopefully be moving back to Chicago. “Oh, oh, okay.” I explained how much I appreciated everything that she’d done to help me along with all the normal ‘break-up’ sounding jargon we all use leaving someone who had helped us as much as she had. I asked her if she had any colleagues in the Chicago area who she would recommend and she did.

I moved off the table, thanking her again for everything. “Well, it seems like

you’re heart is there, so good luck.” I didn’t know how to respond, I just stood there smiling. She smiled back, and told me where to go to get my lab work done. The door closed behind her, quietly and I pulled the blue-cloth/paper gown off, laying it on the examination table. As I threw my bag over my shoulder her words hit me again. I had been chewing on them ever since she said them, and still hadn’t figured out how they made me feel. But I knew. And it is.

Of course...

The rug in the entry way to my grandparents’ house was folded up against

the wall in the corner and the white title/black caulk ground reached in through the holes in my socks as I walked in to give my grandmother a hug. She told me that they had hired someone to help clean the house, and that they were currently eating spaghetti in the kitchen. My grandfather sat at the desk in their bedroom, tugging at the strands of white hair that made up the sides of his head. He moved his head up slowly when I entered their room, immediately to the right of the entry way, then quickly jumped to his feet to grab my body in his hands. As he released me he told me that we would be eating lunch at his desk to discuss things and that my grandmother would soon be in with the spaghetti.

The food was a good, carb rich bed of noodles with lingering red sauce, onions

and ground beef. We both quickly dug in, “So,” he said in his drawn out way, “how are you doing?” “Good. I’m good.” “Good. How is work? Is no good?” “No, work is fine. It’s very good.” He then responded in Persian by saying good and I thanked him in return. I looked down at the glass topped desk at what he was working on when I came in to a calendar and a variety of flight plans. He noticed my eyes. “We need to get ready for Haifa.” “You’re going on Pilgrimage?!” “Yes,” he shrugged off, “we will go in March 17 to March 29.” “Wow, congratulations! Are you excited?” “Yes,” he may have been preoccupied thinking about the plans, “Momman’jon, Samira, Masood, Aria and me.” “You’re bringing Samira, Masood and the baby?” “Yes, of course,” not trying to sound condescending.

My grandmother then came into the room to collect our plates in a tired walk

with bothered hip joints, “Momman, you’re going on your fifth Pilgrimage?” “No, forth.” It doesn’t seem to phase her at all that this is an important event, going on Pilgrimage. While living in Iran, they were able to take a quick flight into Israel and visit for a nine-day Pilgrimage nearly when they pleased. The idea of visiting again was humbling instead of exciting for them as my grandmother cracked a half smile. “You’ll have to say prayers for us while you’re there.” “Yes, of course.” She laughed and smiled at me free from any of the pains that plagued her, and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek to remind me that it’s not just in Haifa that she prayers for her grandkids. “Thank you, Momman’jon.”

"10 Daily Tips to Live Well with Diabetes"

Thank you About.com and the ADA for the content

I'm a champ at all save 9 and 10. ...d'oh! Working on them though.

Hidden Words I've been thinking about for the past week or so...

O My Servant!

The basest of men are they that yield no fruit on earth. Such men are verily counted as among the dead, nay better are the dead in the sight of God than those idle and worthless souls. (81)

O My Servant!

The best of men are they that earn a livelihood by their calling and spend upon themselves and upon their kindred for the Love of God, the Lord of all worlds. (82)

Cal? Are you there Cal?

Ken Rosenthal just posted a brilliant column about the woes of the Orioles, and he's absolutely right. It's too bad that the problem with the team rests on the inactivity and incredulous nature of an owner who believes he's Steinbrener, he's no where close, and probably won't sell the team anytime soon.

Back to work this morning. Traffic was without accident, although there was a stalled car that stunted forward momentium for a while, and the drive was generally pretty quick. The shoulders are still covered in a gray blend of ash, sand, salt and whatever else they thought might deter the ice from forming on the roads. Maybe I can gather up the excess of salt built up on near the steps into the office and sprinkle on the steps up to my apartment. Vafa nearly fell last night.

Snow Day...Day 2

Yeah, the streets are still frozen, and the office is closed for the day...

WEEE!

Ray doesn't believe that Flock is amazing...

And I think he's a retard because of it.

From the MLB Winter Meetings:

"It's not that the Orioles' front office is incapable of putting together a blockbuster deal. It's that owner Peter Angelos is so capable of pulling them apart. Too bad the guy wasn't in a position to veto NAFTA or there might still be some manufacturing jobs in Ohio."

So true...

P.S. - Miguel Tejada is looking for a "change of scenery", upset with the Front Office's lax approach toward signing and trading. I tend to agree with him, but hope he doesn't leave.

SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY!

Ohhh, wait...

SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY! SNOW DAY!

Horoscope for this week:

"Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22)
Your brand-new goose-down jacket will be damaged beyond repair this week when you're shot 11 times in the chest."

Fity Cent ain't got nothin' on me!

DAMN, HELL, ASS, CRAP!!

Overwhelming...

Tom just dropped by to tell me that he resigned today, and he'll be gone as of the 21st. This is great news for him as he will become the director of a journal that is located two blocks from his house, reporting directly to the CEO and writing a column for said journal once a month. This is also, sadly, bad news for me as he is the one person on my side when it comes down to workload, respect and...well, listening to me complain about my conditions. So, basically, I elect to wait until I find out if he has a position for me at his new place of business or run away. Umm, can I get another choice? No, huh. Well, then I'll be right ba...

Flock - The Social Browser

I heard about this page on Inside the Net, and was insantly interested in this idea. Basically, you have a web browser that uses del.icio.us tags, integrates perfectly to your flickr and blog page, keeps a bookmark list available online, among other things. It works a lot like Firefox...kind of. This thing makes blogging and flickr uploads so much easier.

This is not an ad. But seriously, check it out.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims in Tehran.

In response to questions about the Bahá’í Faith

I was actually born into the Bahá’í Faith, and am forth generation on my

mother’s side. This is, of course, not to say that the decision to become a Bahá’í wasn’t my own. It works out like this… As a Bahá’í I’ve spent my life investigating religion – reading the Bible (both new and old Testament), Qur’an, Buddhist scripture, etc. – and once a Bahá’í reaches the age of 15 they’re asked to decide what Faith do they prescribe. For me it was easy. Everything about the Bahá’í Faith fits with who I want to be and what I want to do. Now, I do know people who have decided on a different path, and that’s great. It’s important that each person makes the decision by his/her self.

Regarding the people in the Faith, it’s a complicated situation. A lot of people

have told me that they have problems with people in their religious community, especially based on differing understandings of scripture. In the Bahá’í Faith that happens, but in a different way. We have what’s called “Independent Investigation of the Truth.” So as to say, each person should read texts, meditate on them and, often times, consult others on what something could mean. At no point does one person have all the answer, or does any one person preach to anyone what is in the scripture. It’s all very personal; between you and God.

That’s the short version, I suppose. Realistically, the Bahá’í Faith is the most

important thing in my life, and I’m glad chose to be a Bahá’í.

I've been asked to give another podcast/RSS presentation in the next couple weeks to the News Media folks out here. Maybe I should just give presentations from now on and forget about doing any actual work.

I really, really, really, really, really don't like the Cardinals; which is why it's great to see their stadium in ruins! BURN, BABY, BURN! ...I wish.

Abe Vigoda's status is...alive.