For the Terrorist on the Go

Big A gets off the train carrying a handy little box under his arm that's labeled, "Radiological Terrorism."








I had to look real close--under the picture of a woman with anxious eyes peering out from atop a facemask /burqa opening--to read the reassuring small print that tells you that it's an emergency kit circulated by the CDC and not the very latest 'to-have' in a line of Al Qaeda's top to-go products.

Astonishingly, Big A didn't set off wholesale panic in New York.

Also something of a surprise is Martin Amis (a.k.a. my teenage literary crush)'s take on global terrorism, which he'd like to call "horrorism." I never thought i'd witness Martin Amis declaring that all women are his sisters--i know that somewhere in an alternative universe, my 15-year-old self is ululating--but there are more serious matters at hand. Amis's meticulous political argument rationalizing British (Western) disconnect from "Islamism" in a long, three-part article in today's Guardian, here.

You like Osama?

I can almost hear the tone of the reply I would have given - reedy, wavering, wholly defeatist. As for the substance, it would have been the reply of the cornered trimmer, and intended, really, just to give myself time to seek the foetal position and fold my hands over my face. Something like: 'Well I quite like him, but I think he overdid it a bit in New York.' No, that would not have served. What was needed was boldness and brilliance. The exchange continued:

'You like Osama?'

'Of course. He is my brother.'

'He is your brother?'

'All men are my brothers.'

All men are my brothers. I would have liked to have said it then, and I would like to say it now: all men are my brothers. But all men are not my brothers. Why? Because all women are my sisters. And the brother who denies the rights of his sister: that brother is not my brother. At the very best, he is my half-brother - by definition. Osama is not my brother.

___________________

SMALL TALK

He says,

--Swallowing his unbidden thoughts
And his sudden defenselessness--
She's just so beautiful.

When lunatic in love,
Even the leanest crescent
Is as wondrous as the moon at its full.

They say.

______________________________

Called Girls

The unadulterated horror that is my mother’s reaction to my modeling career is sometimes valid.

I accidentally chanced on the following fragment at the end of a photog’s e-mail to me. Regrettably, it isn’t my agent/agency, who opt for matter-of-fact phonecalls all around--otherwise, i could have used it to get at least a couple of hours worth of free pleading and bargaining from my mom. From the florid promises in the obsequious message below, they might as well be booking geishas.

From: Booking - Modeling
To:--------------
Subject: RE: Booking Inquiry for ----------------
Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2006 17:00:02 -0700

Hello Sir and thank you for showing interest in -------- an exclusively ------- model. We are excited to hear exactly what you have to offer and eager to get started on the booking aspects of your production. Attached to this e-mail is a booking form complete with models rates and pertinent info we will need to confirm your selected model/s. If you could simply fill out the Booking Form, return it, and we will contact you regarding your project with details of your booking. Keep in mind you only have to fill out our form once. We keep your company info on file to expedite your next project booking procedure. You can even call your next project in over the phone if you like.

The exclusively ------- Management team stands behind each and every model 110% and will ensure their prompt arrival to your production guaranteed or the next project is on us. Our models know how important it is to be prepared, courteous and ready to take your project to the next level with stunning looks and personality that you desire to complete your project on time and within budget.

If you have any questions regarding our Booking Form such as group modeling rates, specific model experience / training or anything else, please don't hesitate to contact us via phone at --------- or just send your request to Booking@--------.com anytime of the day.

Kindest Regards,
------------------

Pocoprattle

It was a partially professional brunch. The first thing he ever heard me say was probably, “Oooh, they have Mango Lassi.”

No one in their right minds would expect sparkling conversation from that soundbyte, but he chose to sit next to me. Asked me about my dissertation.

My passions--whether enthusiasm, anger, affection, agony, anything--lack stamina, so it’s unlikely that I droned on for too long about my writing.

At some point, I claimed to be totally awestruck by the fact that he, the son of Scandinavian missionaries, had been born in Madagascar and grew up in Fargo. Why you ask? Because they’re both places that have movies named after them.

Clearly, I’d blown any semblance of being a critical mind to contend with once I had aired that gem. Which is why, despite his satisfyingly sincere demeanor, I continue to parse and dissect his, “You really should be on NPR.”

I just *know* it was meant as an insult of some sort.

_____________________________________

SORT OF SONNET

The only times I saw emotion were the times you cried
When I left and that once when watching a biog of JFK
(but then that day you’d had a bit too much wine).
Other than that you just clowned so, mostly for me
And pitched your voice higher talking to me.
I didn’t realize at all until you took an office call
how much deeper your voice actually, usually was.

Now I look at you and can’t believe it’s you
Half quelled by your voice so level
Your touch so steady
Your breath so severe
Your face as straight as blankened slate
And I recognize now, though it‘s too late,
That once upon a time, I had been so very dear.

OHH (?) (!) (...)

(Odd Things of Note
If this happens to be
Your first copy of Vogue.)

You might think that “Karl Lagerfeld’s bride”
Implied that Mr. Thin People had married
Not merely designed a bridal gown for a show.

You might think that good journalism survives
On five “W” questions
Who? What? When? Where? And also, Wore?

You might think from the story set in Bombay
That Indian women have no more struggles
Because they’re all family-business CEO’s.

(Page references:
474, 400-402, 344-357.
Just so you know.)

Update

Okaaay: It's been pointed out that i misrepresented myself in the post below.

The allegation being that i'm actually pretty oblivious and have failed in the past to recognize close family members, good friends etc. on the street even when they were yelling my name and waving at me.

And in addition, i once walked through two museum rooms holding the hand of some surprised, unknown guy, because i 'd blindly reached for and grabbed what i believed was the hand of my younger cousin, but was actually the hand of above specified guy. Mea Culpa.

[And sotto voce: i did say i notice good-looking people. :)]

Let the record show that my point re. not making said good lookers uncomfortable, stands.