They spend their whole lives eating and playing, don’t save a dime for retirement, and yet they get to spend their later years living lives of leisure in warm climates. No, I’m not talking about Connecticut blue bloods, I’m talking about American Chimpanzees. That’s right, Chimps.
I just finished listening to an episode of This American Life (a lovely Chicago Public Radio production) discussing this phenomenon of chimp retirement homes. I found it relatively crazy. Apparently, there are around 2,600 captive chimps living in America today—kept around for research, entertainment or even companionship purposes. The amount of research chimps in the U.S. skyrocketed with the onset of AIDS. Originally, researchers thought chimps held the keys to understanding the virus. It is now widely known, however, that they definitely do not.
Chimps live quite a long time; the oldest American chimp is around a whopping 75 years old. Yet, their usefulness as performers or scientific guinea pigs only lasts so long. So naturally, they need somewhere to grow old. Enter retirement homes such as Chimp Haven in Shreveport, Louisiana. Chimp Haven is an active living community for retired lab chimps. It can house up to 900 chimps at a time and has a bunch of sweet features. I guess it’s like this $30 million complex. Chimps get to watch T.V., drink banana smoothies and play in the woods for as long as their little hearts are beating.
I’ll bet a lot of human senior citizens would stop playing bridge for a chance to live that good. Chimps live the life – and they only had to work for like, five years. And I thought dogs had it good. Man, was I wrong.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I'm From Minnesota, Land of the Cold Air
Until this past winter, I’ve always thought Minnesota winters were fairly normal. Perhaps a bit colder and longer than elsewhere -- but not by much. Consequently, I assumed residents of other states were simply ignorant or ridiculously wimpy for fearing Minnesota’s annual chill.
I was wrong.
Well, perhaps not on the wimpy part -- but definitely in my assumption of others’ ignorance. Minnesota’s winters are not normal. A two-week visit to the Pacific Northwest last January revealed the harsh reality that winters outside my beloved state are much, much, warmer.
Today, Ann(i)e, my friend with too much Portland pride and not enough for the MPLA, sent me CNN Money’s list of the coldest cities in the nation. Minnesota dominates the list. In fact, thirteen of the top fifteen cities on the list are located in Minnesota. The only other towns to make the cut are Anchorage, AK at #4, and Sheboygan, WI at #11. Hastings, MN – the town that raised me well – is at a solid #7 on the list. How sobering.
Sobering it may be, but the reality of Minnesota’s colder-than-thou climate also gives me more reason to brag. I'm tougher than everyone else. So take that Portland and your tire chains!!! (JK Anne.)
I still have Minnesota pride. I'm from Minnesota, land of the cold air. I stole that line from Atmosphere, so I may as well continue with the theft. To all those who don't like Minnesota: "It sucks that you think where I’m from is wack, but as long as that’s enough to keep you’re a** from coming back!”
Go MN.
Editor's note: quotations are from Atmosphere's homeland-raving jam “Shh." Check it out.
I was wrong.
Well, perhaps not on the wimpy part -- but definitely in my assumption of others’ ignorance. Minnesota’s winters are not normal. A two-week visit to the Pacific Northwest last January revealed the harsh reality that winters outside my beloved state are much, much, warmer.
Today, Ann(i)e, my friend with too much Portland pride and not enough for the MPLA, sent me CNN Money’s list of the coldest cities in the nation. Minnesota dominates the list. In fact, thirteen of the top fifteen cities on the list are located in Minnesota. The only other towns to make the cut are Anchorage, AK at #4, and Sheboygan, WI at #11. Hastings, MN – the town that raised me well – is at a solid #7 on the list. How sobering.
Sobering it may be, but the reality of Minnesota’s colder-than-thou climate also gives me more reason to brag. I'm tougher than everyone else. So take that Portland and your tire chains!!! (JK Anne.)
I still have Minnesota pride. I'm from Minnesota, land of the cold air. I stole that line from Atmosphere, so I may as well continue with the theft. To all those who don't like Minnesota: "It sucks that you think where I’m from is wack, but as long as that’s enough to keep you’re a** from coming back!”
Go MN.
Editor's note: quotations are from Atmosphere's homeland-raving jam “Shh." Check it out.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Heart of the Matter: Forgiveness
Editors note: This was written Monday, and I forgot to post it until now. Oh well.
Last night I went to Upper Room for the first time in a really long time. I knew the church was having a guest speaker who had appeared on PBS – so I was intrigued by what she may have to say. The topic of the evening was forgiveness, and apparently the woman speaking had severely struggled with this topic for a good part of her life – having been abducted, raped and tortured as a teenager.
When I arrived at the service, they introduced the night’s guest speaker as Debbie Morris. Ms. Morris’ story is more widely known than I thought. It turns out her abductor was Robert Willy – the man Sean Penn portrays in Dead Man Walking. The night Debbie was abducted she was 16 and was in her car eating ice cream with her boyfriend Mark. Robert Willy and another guy put a gun to her head, brought them to some undisclosed location, tortured her boyfriend and left him for dead. Debbie was raped and tortured for 30 hours before she persuaded them to let her go. During the time Willy and Co. held her captive, Debbie realized they had been responsible for the murder of 18 year-old Faith Hathaway just a few days earlier. Amazed she had not been murdered like Faith; Debbie rushed back to her family to explain what happened. Miraculously, Mark was found alive – though he was paralyzed on his right side for about six months.
Anyway, so Debbie is a Christian, and at Upper Room, she spoke about her journey of forgiveness. How she had to forgive Robert Willy and his sidekick, and how hard it had been, but yet how freeing it was at the same time. She kept saying how forgiveness wasn’t for him – her perpetrator – but rather it was for her. I thought it was so amazing how God worked to heal a pain as deep as hers. She said that for her to stand up and speak about the situation with no pain was indeed a miracle – and just a testament to how truth and obedience can set you free—even if it seems impossible. She also spoke about Sister Helen – the nun Susan Sarandon portrayed in Dead Man Walking. Debbie said she hated Sister Helen at first, she didn’t understand what they were doing. Finally, she decided that if Sister Helen was indeed doing God’s work, then it would not only be good for Robert Willy, but it would be good for her as well. Debbie called Sister Helen up one night to see if her motivations were indeed pure (motivations for not only guiding Willy, but writing her book about it). She said they had the most wonderful conversation, and they are now dear friends. They even speak together about the situation on occasion.
Point of the above few paragraphs is this: It’s amazing what God can do when we obey him even when it hurts, and even when it seems to go against human rationale. If Debbie hadn’t forgiven her captors, she would still be in their captivity. However, she followed the truth of forgiveness—even though it must have been harder than I can even fathom—and that truth set her free
Last night I went to Upper Room for the first time in a really long time. I knew the church was having a guest speaker who had appeared on PBS – so I was intrigued by what she may have to say. The topic of the evening was forgiveness, and apparently the woman speaking had severely struggled with this topic for a good part of her life – having been abducted, raped and tortured as a teenager.
When I arrived at the service, they introduced the night’s guest speaker as Debbie Morris. Ms. Morris’ story is more widely known than I thought. It turns out her abductor was Robert Willy – the man Sean Penn portrays in Dead Man Walking. The night Debbie was abducted she was 16 and was in her car eating ice cream with her boyfriend Mark. Robert Willy and another guy put a gun to her head, brought them to some undisclosed location, tortured her boyfriend and left him for dead. Debbie was raped and tortured for 30 hours before she persuaded them to let her go. During the time Willy and Co. held her captive, Debbie realized they had been responsible for the murder of 18 year-old Faith Hathaway just a few days earlier. Amazed she had not been murdered like Faith; Debbie rushed back to her family to explain what happened. Miraculously, Mark was found alive – though he was paralyzed on his right side for about six months.
Anyway, so Debbie is a Christian, and at Upper Room, she spoke about her journey of forgiveness. How she had to forgive Robert Willy and his sidekick, and how hard it had been, but yet how freeing it was at the same time. She kept saying how forgiveness wasn’t for him – her perpetrator – but rather it was for her. I thought it was so amazing how God worked to heal a pain as deep as hers. She said that for her to stand up and speak about the situation with no pain was indeed a miracle – and just a testament to how truth and obedience can set you free—even if it seems impossible. She also spoke about Sister Helen – the nun Susan Sarandon portrayed in Dead Man Walking. Debbie said she hated Sister Helen at first, she didn’t understand what they were doing. Finally, she decided that if Sister Helen was indeed doing God’s work, then it would not only be good for Robert Willy, but it would be good for her as well. Debbie called Sister Helen up one night to see if her motivations were indeed pure (motivations for not only guiding Willy, but writing her book about it). She said they had the most wonderful conversation, and they are now dear friends. They even speak together about the situation on occasion.
Point of the above few paragraphs is this: It’s amazing what God can do when we obey him even when it hurts, and even when it seems to go against human rationale. If Debbie hadn’t forgiven her captors, she would still be in their captivity. However, she followed the truth of forgiveness—even though it must have been harder than I can even fathom—and that truth set her free
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Summer 2009: I Love My Life
My roommate came home today early, to work from home. It was around 2:00 p.m., and I, as usual these days, was sitting around "twiddling my thumbs," as they called it back in the day. My roommate, Molly, casually asked me what I was up to this afternoon. I replied, "Welp, I'm just waiting for my iPod to charge so I can go for a run - and then I think I might go to happy hour."
She started laughing. "You know," Molly said, "the other day I was talking to my co-worker about your life right now, and how you have it so easy because you're being essentially paid to take a class four hours a day and have nothing else to do."
Apparently, Molly's conversation with her co-worker arose from an e-mail I sent out the other day. "We're all really stressed at work right now," she continued, "so I started laughing when you sent out an e-mail asking if any of us had seen the new 'quick dry nail polish' you had just bought and now couldn't find. If only that were the biggest of my problems."
I started laughing. A lot. Because she's totally right. I have it good right now, thank you God. Molly forgot to tell her co-worker, however, that not only is my Arabic class the only commitment on my agenda this summer, it is also a class I have pretty much already taken and thus necessary study time is minimal. This means that I get to spend a lot of time reading and twiddling my thumbs. And going to Jordan and happy hour. Ah, if only this life could last forever.
Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. Thus, I'm sure when the craziness of school begins in September I will be wistfully longing for summer days gone by. Right now, however, I'm living them. Glory glory hallelujah. Don't worry though, I'm not completely wasting my time. My Arabic is getting pretty dang good. Well, at least when it comes to reading sentences that involve words about family, school or the weather. I'm hoping my abilities will go beyond that by the end of the summer. If they don't, well, with my schedule, I guess I don't have any excuse. Ah.
Ok, back to charging my iPod - my main activity for the day :).
She started laughing. "You know," Molly said, "the other day I was talking to my co-worker about your life right now, and how you have it so easy because you're being essentially paid to take a class four hours a day and have nothing else to do."
Apparently, Molly's conversation with her co-worker arose from an e-mail I sent out the other day. "We're all really stressed at work right now," she continued, "so I started laughing when you sent out an e-mail asking if any of us had seen the new 'quick dry nail polish' you had just bought and now couldn't find. If only that were the biggest of my problems."
I started laughing. A lot. Because she's totally right. I have it good right now, thank you God. Molly forgot to tell her co-worker, however, that not only is my Arabic class the only commitment on my agenda this summer, it is also a class I have pretty much already taken and thus necessary study time is minimal. This means that I get to spend a lot of time reading and twiddling my thumbs. And going to Jordan and happy hour. Ah, if only this life could last forever.
Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. Thus, I'm sure when the craziness of school begins in September I will be wistfully longing for summer days gone by. Right now, however, I'm living them. Glory glory hallelujah. Don't worry though, I'm not completely wasting my time. My Arabic is getting pretty dang good. Well, at least when it comes to reading sentences that involve words about family, school or the weather. I'm hoping my abilities will go beyond that by the end of the summer. If they don't, well, with my schedule, I guess I don't have any excuse. Ah.
Ok, back to charging my iPod - my main activity for the day :).
Monday, June 29, 2009
A Revelation, Thanks to Michael Jackson
In these past few days following Michael Jackson’s death, the number of times I’ve heard “Man in the Mirror” has most likely doubled the amount of times I’ve heard it in my entire life. Despite the song’s overwhelming repetition, I’ve not grown tired of being pressed to “make that change,” again... and again. In fact, after hearing it on the radio, I’ve often purposely pressed play on iTunes for just one more listen. I'm even discovering live renditions of the song I've never seen before – such as MJ’s live performance at the 1988 Grammies. A performance TIME magazine calls “the best use of a Gospel choir in a pop song…ever.” I would agree. Jackson bears his soul and inspires awe in that "Man in the Mirror" performance. It's pretty much unforgetable.
Although “Man in the Mirror,” along with other MJ songs and performances, have been inspiring me since Thursday - Michael Jackson’s memory has also left me dismally uninspired. Reflecting on his life with the help of multi-media memoirs, I've come to realize the world of pop music has miserably fallen since the days MJ graced the stage. Today’s mainstream pop is completely void of musical/performance greatness. We have no one close to Michael Jackson to entertain us, no one close to the great performers of the past who wowed and inspired audiences in every sense of the word.
Though I was too young to remember Jackson’s musical feats live– as a child I remember being in wowed by amazing stars of the 90s – as much as I was just wowed by MJ’s 1988 onstage magic. Stars like Mariah Carey (who, although she came back, is definitely not as great as she used to be), who left me in tears after singing “One Sweet Day,” with Boys II Men at the Grammies in 1996. Both artists helped write the song, and performed it was passion and grace. Even the Britney of ten years ago outperforms any pop starlet of today – despite her lip-syncing tendencies (see “…Baby One More Time” performance at 1999 Grammies).
Yes, evolution is a fallacy my friend, at least when it comes to pop music. After greats like Mariah, Whitney and, of course MJ, what do we get at current Grammies? We get people like Rhianna (although I do like her, and she couldn’t make this year’s ceremonies due to her loser ex-bf’s anger management problems), who lip sync a song someone else wrote and have no great moves to make such fakery worth it. In fact, Rhianna’s songs sample ones Michael Jackson wrote, way back in the day! (See “Please Don’t Stop the Music”). SAD.
Cookie cutter pop stars that can’t put on a show dominate mainstream melodies du jour. To be fair, there is some true talent out there – like Taylor Swift – but she only has great songwriting skills, not the whole singing/dancing/writing/awesomeness package. The only contemporary star to come close to MJ’s greatness is Justin Timberlake—and as much as I love him, his songs still have nothing on MJ.
I want to see talent. I want to see a performance so amazing that it makes me stand in awe of God’s ability to create such talent. I want that 80s/90s greatness back! I want music like MJ’s to replace superficial, manufactured songs currently congesting Top 40 airwaves. Perhaps listeners should demand more than tunes violating our ears with lyrics like “do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.” We are settling for raucous noise when we could have inspiring melodies. There’s got to be talent out there today – right?
I’m clinging to the hope that there is. Perhaps the passing of the King of Pop will wake the music industry up a bit as well, and we’ll start seeing performers with actual skill. I have a dream. We need to heal the world of pop, and make it a better place – for you, and for me, and the entire human race.
Just like a certain Jackson did with his music back in the day. R.I.P MJ.
Although “Man in the Mirror,” along with other MJ songs and performances, have been inspiring me since Thursday - Michael Jackson’s memory has also left me dismally uninspired. Reflecting on his life with the help of multi-media memoirs, I've come to realize the world of pop music has miserably fallen since the days MJ graced the stage. Today’s mainstream pop is completely void of musical/performance greatness. We have no one close to Michael Jackson to entertain us, no one close to the great performers of the past who wowed and inspired audiences in every sense of the word.
Though I was too young to remember Jackson’s musical feats live– as a child I remember being in wowed by amazing stars of the 90s – as much as I was just wowed by MJ’s 1988 onstage magic. Stars like Mariah Carey (who, although she came back, is definitely not as great as she used to be), who left me in tears after singing “One Sweet Day,” with Boys II Men at the Grammies in 1996. Both artists helped write the song, and performed it was passion and grace. Even the Britney of ten years ago outperforms any pop starlet of today – despite her lip-syncing tendencies (see “…Baby One More Time” performance at 1999 Grammies).
Yes, evolution is a fallacy my friend, at least when it comes to pop music. After greats like Mariah, Whitney and, of course MJ, what do we get at current Grammies? We get people like Rhianna (although I do like her, and she couldn’t make this year’s ceremonies due to her loser ex-bf’s anger management problems), who lip sync a song someone else wrote and have no great moves to make such fakery worth it. In fact, Rhianna’s songs sample ones Michael Jackson wrote, way back in the day! (See “Please Don’t Stop the Music”). SAD.
Cookie cutter pop stars that can’t put on a show dominate mainstream melodies du jour. To be fair, there is some true talent out there – like Taylor Swift – but she only has great songwriting skills, not the whole singing/dancing/writing/awesomeness package. The only contemporary star to come close to MJ’s greatness is Justin Timberlake—and as much as I love him, his songs still have nothing on MJ.
I want to see talent. I want to see a performance so amazing that it makes me stand in awe of God’s ability to create such talent. I want that 80s/90s greatness back! I want music like MJ’s to replace superficial, manufactured songs currently congesting Top 40 airwaves. Perhaps listeners should demand more than tunes violating our ears with lyrics like “do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.” We are settling for raucous noise when we could have inspiring melodies. There’s got to be talent out there today – right?
I’m clinging to the hope that there is. Perhaps the passing of the King of Pop will wake the music industry up a bit as well, and we’ll start seeing performers with actual skill. I have a dream. We need to heal the world of pop, and make it a better place – for you, and for me, and the entire human race.
Just like a certain Jackson did with his music back in the day. R.I.P MJ.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Biking: Not for the Faint of Heart
Franklin Avenue and I spent way too much time together today. It was quite the annoying adventure - thanks to my bike's inability to function. Leading up to this adventure was my decision to bike to Arabic class. Today marked the first day of my four hours a day, four days a week intensive battle with the language. I thought a little exercise in the morning would stimulate my mind to meet this looming challenge. So I dragged my hand-me-down cycle from the basement, strapped on my aqua blue helmet and began pedaling to my day's destiny via the Greenway.
About half way through my ride, however, I noticed how difficult this bike trip had become for me. It was taking ridiculously long, and I was sweating and breathing far too heavily than any casual biker should. "I must be ridiculously out of shape," I thought. "Biking to school is way too much work. This was a bad idea. Tomorrow, I'm buying a parking pass." A few meters later I was barely closer to my destination and even more frustrated with the difficulty of my task at hand. It was then I recalled the words of my roommate the night before. "You better check the tires before you go tomorrow morning," she said. "A lot of times they'll deflate over the winter."
I look down. Sure enough, the back tire was like a pancake when it hit the pavement. Dangit. I gave it a few more spins and decided to get off the bike before breaking it further. I walked my bike the remainder of the distance to school - and by sheer blessing was only 20 minutes late to my first day of class.
Class was a bit boring. If there's one part of Arabic I know - it's the alphabet. Or, the Alif Baa - as it's called in Arabic. You'd think that I would have used my time in a boring class to come up with ideas as to how I was going to get home. Especially since I had no cash and no phone. Yes, you would think. However, apparently I had better things to woolgather about, and thus strategies for getting home weren't pondered until the proverbial bell rang.
I don't think well in crisis situations. These are things I could have done. I could have gotten cash, hopped on a bus, strapping my bike up in front. I could have taken my bike to the bike shop across the street from. With all these great options before me, what do I decide to do? Walk my bike home. Yes, from the West Bank to Uptown. Dumb.
It took me about three blocks to realize Uptown was a lot further than I thought, and that bikes with flat tires don't exactly roll light-heartedly as they are pushed down the street. I locked my bike up at the nearest rack I could find - which happened to be on Franklin Avenue, and decided to try my luck on foot sans bicycle. I knew the distance was long, but it was a nice day, and at least I'd gotten rid of my dead weight.
You would think that after eight years of living in the city, I would know my way around Minneapolis. Let me just say that I was perturbingly surprised when six blocks after ditching my bike, I discovered I had been walking in the OPPOSITE direction of my intended destination; home. I managed to trudge down East Franklin for SIX blocks before discovering this mistake. How? Sweaty and mad, I paused to reflect upon my options. I had no phone, no cash, no bus pass. However, I did have my cash card - thank God. After walking a few blocks in the right direction. I decided there was no way in hell I was walking the million or so blocks back to my place. My galavant, green efforts had failed me. So I walked into the Holiday Station across the street, took out cash, bought some pretzels to get change and charged towards the nearest bus stop. I hate the number two bus, it's the slowest line in the world, I'm sure of it. Yet, it seemed a far better option than walking at that point. So I hopped on it and 25 minutes of Franklin Avenue travel later, I was a mere two blocks from home. I made it.
Things I have learned from today's "adventure," include: Always check your bike tires, think of your options before attempting your task, and, buy a summer parking pass.
My bike's still locked up to that rack on Franklin Avenue. I've already considered how to get that home though. I'm going to go get it right now and shove it into my car. Then, it's going straight to Re-Cycle across the street for a new tire. Not that I plan on using it tomorrow, but still - should the moment arise when I need it - I'd like to have its use as an option.
About half way through my ride, however, I noticed how difficult this bike trip had become for me. It was taking ridiculously long, and I was sweating and breathing far too heavily than any casual biker should. "I must be ridiculously out of shape," I thought. "Biking to school is way too much work. This was a bad idea. Tomorrow, I'm buying a parking pass." A few meters later I was barely closer to my destination and even more frustrated with the difficulty of my task at hand. It was then I recalled the words of my roommate the night before. "You better check the tires before you go tomorrow morning," she said. "A lot of times they'll deflate over the winter."
I look down. Sure enough, the back tire was like a pancake when it hit the pavement. Dangit. I gave it a few more spins and decided to get off the bike before breaking it further. I walked my bike the remainder of the distance to school - and by sheer blessing was only 20 minutes late to my first day of class.
Class was a bit boring. If there's one part of Arabic I know - it's the alphabet. Or, the Alif Baa - as it's called in Arabic. You'd think that I would have used my time in a boring class to come up with ideas as to how I was going to get home. Especially since I had no cash and no phone. Yes, you would think. However, apparently I had better things to woolgather about, and thus strategies for getting home weren't pondered until the proverbial bell rang.
I don't think well in crisis situations. These are things I could have done. I could have gotten cash, hopped on a bus, strapping my bike up in front. I could have taken my bike to the bike shop across the street from. With all these great options before me, what do I decide to do? Walk my bike home. Yes, from the West Bank to Uptown. Dumb.
It took me about three blocks to realize Uptown was a lot further than I thought, and that bikes with flat tires don't exactly roll light-heartedly as they are pushed down the street. I locked my bike up at the nearest rack I could find - which happened to be on Franklin Avenue, and decided to try my luck on foot sans bicycle. I knew the distance was long, but it was a nice day, and at least I'd gotten rid of my dead weight.
You would think that after eight years of living in the city, I would know my way around Minneapolis. Let me just say that I was perturbingly surprised when six blocks after ditching my bike, I discovered I had been walking in the OPPOSITE direction of my intended destination; home. I managed to trudge down East Franklin for SIX blocks before discovering this mistake. How? Sweaty and mad, I paused to reflect upon my options. I had no phone, no cash, no bus pass. However, I did have my cash card - thank God. After walking a few blocks in the right direction. I decided there was no way in hell I was walking the million or so blocks back to my place. My galavant, green efforts had failed me. So I walked into the Holiday Station across the street, took out cash, bought some pretzels to get change and charged towards the nearest bus stop. I hate the number two bus, it's the slowest line in the world, I'm sure of it. Yet, it seemed a far better option than walking at that point. So I hopped on it and 25 minutes of Franklin Avenue travel later, I was a mere two blocks from home. I made it.
Things I have learned from today's "adventure," include: Always check your bike tires, think of your options before attempting your task, and, buy a summer parking pass.
My bike's still locked up to that rack on Franklin Avenue. I've already considered how to get that home though. I'm going to go get it right now and shove it into my car. Then, it's going straight to Re-Cycle across the street for a new tire. Not that I plan on using it tomorrow, but still - should the moment arise when I need it - I'd like to have its use as an option.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Jordanian Fame, Courtesy of the Jordan Times
I didn't get the chance to mention that our journalistic envoy to the Middle East was famed in the Jordan Times on the second day of our visit. That's right, we made the Jordan Times - Amman's largest daily newspaper. The first day of our visit we made the paper as well, however, we actually got a picture the next day. Woohoo. 
I can only read part of this headline - the part that says "American Journalists," but that's all I need to know really. We were featured in a story discussing our trip, specifically our meeting with the Prime Ministry's spokesperson - which is pictured in the paper. You can see the back of my curly head, second person on the left. I am famous.
I feel the strong urge to start singing "King of New York," from Newsies right now, but I feel that only about a 1/3 of my loyal readers (so... three people) will understand my reasons for reciting the song. So, I will refrain.
Well, that's all the exciting news I have at the moment. More info on Jordan will surely be posted in the days to come. Until then, I am back in the U.S. of A., safe and sound. I forgot to mention that I received a scholarship to study Arabic this summer at the U, so keep checking back for more thorough translations of this newspaper story. I may be able to read it by the end of the summer. Salaam!
I can only read part of this headline - the part that says "American Journalists," but that's all I need to know really. We were featured in a story discussing our trip, specifically our meeting with the Prime Ministry's spokesperson - which is pictured in the paper. You can see the back of my curly head, second person on the left. I am famous.
I feel the strong urge to start singing "King of New York," from Newsies right now, but I feel that only about a 1/3 of my loyal readers (so... three people) will understand my reasons for reciting the song. So, I will refrain.
Well, that's all the exciting news I have at the moment. More info on Jordan will surely be posted in the days to come. Until then, I am back in the U.S. of A., safe and sound. I forgot to mention that I received a scholarship to study Arabic this summer at the U, so keep checking back for more thorough translations of this newspaper story. I may be able to read it by the end of the summer. Salaam!
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