Sunday, September 11, 2005

Inner transformation

I once read a Marine's blog on rage. He called it having a machine within himself. I have only felt this kind of cold mechanical rage a few times in my life.

Once, immediately after the birth of my twins. I was strolling them in an old fashioned pram, because they were two sizes too small. As I walked on a beautiful late spring day down my street, a boy chasing another boy came crashing together through the backyard gate, both about 8 years of age, both dressed in home made capes and wearing war paint on their faces. Each carrying a hammer, whooping like Injuns on the warpath. They ran up to the buggy and suddenly stopped. Suddenly, they both fell silent, while holding their hammers aloft, but not meaning any harm, I am sure, just curious to see what was inside. I didn't wait. The machine within turned on. First, I screamed a kind of scream that could only be described as animalistic. They were scared shitless. I was thinking, Hammers, they are going to attack with hammers, and I screamed a wordless, ragefilled scream. They dropped their hammers and ran into the house, frightened to death of me. I picked up their hammers and threw them over the fence, and shaking from the belief that the babies were in imminent danger, I turned around and went home. I thought about my actions all day, and I could only come to this conclusion: Maternal instinct is animal in nature. I have the capacity to kill someone. I had never thought that was possible before.

My next bout of machine rage was watching the trial of the British Nanny in Massachussetts concerning the death of toddler Matthew Eappen. As I watched her lawyer asking her, "Did you kill Matthew Eappen?" She giggled. Nervously, but leaving no doubt in my mind that she did it. She did it and believed she was going to get away with it. She was so meticulously dressed, so well-prepped,and so image-driven, but the actual stain of guilt was present. It was there in her face, in her eyes, and nothing, no media sympathy, no idiotic polls could have erased the bloodstain from her memory. She did it and she knew it, and she. didn't. care. I went ice cold with rage. How I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to enjoy strangling her. I didn't care that strangling someone was illegal. I wanted to do it. To her. Baby killer. Soulless, self-absorbed baby killer. The jury saw what I had seen, too. Despite the best efforts of the press, they had seen it too, and found her guilty.

The press was outraged! So in love with their creation of an "Innocent British school girl caught up in the Nightmare of the American Justice System" that not one of the talking heads could be bothered to ask...maybe? Maybe she is guilty? But how they crucified the mother. What kind of mother goes back to work and leaves the care of her children in the hands of a teenager? A greedy mom, one who hates to stay home and do the right thing and raise the kids at home....just the kind of woman they usually describe as stupid for WANTING to stay home, and NOT WANTING to work outside the home.

I know those media-types. I used to work for the press, and how I remember hearing them tell me how stupid I was for wanting to give up my 'career' when there were so many day care options available to me. THIS IS THE 80s! What kind of wrench was I throwing into the progress of women's right to work outside the home....yada, yada, yada.So I was enraged at the press in their coverage of the Matthew Eappen murder...and the press' conviction of his mother: guilty for having worked outside the home.

And now, September 11. This is a day tailor-made for rage. Constant therapeutic rage. But, thankfully, I do not need to go out and strangle anyone in the press corps for their constant missrepresentations. We now have 'FISKING', brought to you, since September 11, 2001, or shortly thereafter, by the blogosphere. Thank you for the blogosphere. Best. Invention. EVER!!!

It is this day I felt the coldest and most helpless anger of all.
This day which transformed me from
gullible sheep to rage filled sheepdog.
I might be, in the words of the late Mohammad Atta, "but a woman", but now, I am Jauhara. I may be too old to join the army and slaughter the sons of Allah properly - crusade-style, but now I am Jauhara. forever. And in Arabic, Jauhara is not some meek, abaya-clad, doormat, punching bag, toilet daughter of Islam....she is the infidel..al kafirah.

I don't have any weapon, save for the pen, but since that is all I have, I will wield it the way only an infidel can. I will blaspheme and ridicule the sons of Allahu Akbar, and their vile prophet Mohammad. In fact, I will start writing my own Koran. Apparently, ANY 7th century illiterate piece of camel dung can do it. Why can't I? Enough with the tippy-toed
dhimmitude! On this day, I bid you all a long memory, and a nice, cold, rage-filled rant. Let the fisking celebrations continue.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Sometimes, people really do suck

Today has been discouraging. After an off and on summer of giving piano lessons to the D. boys, I was fired. Fired after a scant 7 months of trying to teach two youngsters who clearly do not like piano lessons.
I shouldn't be surprised. In fact, I thought this moment would come sooner. The boys just don't have it in 'em. Still, it hurts to be fired. The mother said that maybe she would get them a better teacher. I smiled. I was the second teacher. The one they'd had for 5 years quit.
After 5 years, neither boy could play with both hands at the same time. Neither had studied scales or Hanon. Argpeggios? What were they? Cadences? Huh? Neither boy would listen to the musical assignments. How can you teach classical music to kids when it isn't even listened to in the home. Mom and Dad are clearly more to blame than the kids or me.
Mom screams at them to practise. Every Saturday, they anticipate my coming with paralyzing dread, arguing between them who would be the unlucky boy to go first.
The boys gave up a long time ago. Before I came into the picture. Nothing will inspire them to practice. I gave them assignments and it wasn't good enough for mom. Mom is the problem. Mom is implacable. Mom wants the boys to love music, but how can they love to play when they can never do well enough for mom.
When I took over 7 months ago, I showed the elder boy that he too, could learn to play a piece of Bach. And he did. Prelude in C. A delightfully simple piece that he mastered. And younger brother did a piece of Bach, too, a minuet in G. But it was never enough for mom.
Mom hated the sound of scales, she hated the Hanon, she hated the chords and inversions. Why aren't they making more progress? It was my fault, it was the boys' fault. Mom....it is YOUR fault.
Nothing worthwhile is easy. Nothing. Years and years of repetitive practise is a must. Scales, played slowly, then mastered with the correct fingerings is a MUST. Metronome, Hanon, Music Theory....all very boring, not even flashy.
It can drive any sane person nuts. Mom...you suck.
You suck, because you SCREAM and BELITTLE, and BERATE, and then you have the temerity to wonder WHY the boys hate to practise? You have never encouraged them, you have only told them how you hate hearing the same things over and over and over. Well, on behalf of every teacher, I am warning them of you.
BEWARE THIS DEMANDING, IMPLACABLE PARENT!! If the kids have had more than one piano teacher, the problem isn't the teacher. It isn't the kids, it is YOU! Mom. Dad.
I questioned the parents and kids about whether their prior teacher had given them any technical exercises, and no, nothing like that sort of thing. When I took over the teaching job, I explained to the parents the need for things like technique. How can you expect the kids to play anything but simple sissy music without having them listen to good music, and giving them the ability to play it. Now I think, this teacher may have understood that these boys would never be pianists. They simply won't ever have the capacity to play music.
Each week of fearful playing ensued, certain that mom would never be pleased at all. I can hear their thoughts: Why even bother? It will never be good enough for her.

And in the end, nothing was good enough for her. Not me, not her boys. Nothing. No one will be able to convince her that she was their source of their failure. How sad. How truly sad. I hate to see the spirit of a child crushed. I hate to see the look of triumph as they finally master a difficult piece, only to be erased as mom tells them that they could have done better.
Sad doesn't even begin to describe it.

UPDATE: Well, she called me back...you know, to give me one. more. chance. Heh. I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. What a horrible mistake.
First I modified the lessons, but nothing satisfied her. The final straw what was breaking my back, was when I came in to the lesson, was happily greeted by M, only to have his mother humiliate him in front of me. She later humiliated me when she asked how long M would have to practice the piece of Debussy I assigned him. I said a couple of months, after all, some pieces take longer than others. She rolled her eyes and made childish noises, and it was then and there that I told M I would no longer come to his house to teach. I wrote a letter, firing her, and basically said her home was unsuitable for a good learning environment, due to the stress she causes with all the screaming and fighting.

Monday, August 22, 2005

All is not Lost!

I was not able to post for a time, because somehow, I couldn't log in. Now that is past, and I am going to be using this site to be posting to my family as well as to...whomever. Here is a test: I want to post pictures on email, but it takes forever to upload and send, so I can post a picture here and just send folks over to this site, instead.
Sorry, Joowa!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Finally, a game I can play well, except for the drinking part, that is!

Thanks to Michelle Malkin for this valuable information. I absolutely HATE jargon! It is the bane of the interpreter, who seeks to clarify rather than confuse. I can't tell you how many times I have gone to homes where the Russian or Haitian mothers of brain damaged children are being helped by therapists, only to have to ask the therapist what she is saying, so that I can explain something clearly to the befuddled parent. Oh, and number 17: self-directed learning (sounds too much like something that causes hair to grow on palms) Heh™. I call it Edurbation! Edurbation, indeed™.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

AWOL in Infidelphia

Sorry I haven't been blogging on my own site, lately, I have just been having too much fun over here. Hopefully, I will have something to blog about...oh wait, I do. But it is late, I am tired. Tomorrow's a brand new day of blather.

Friday, July 1, 2005

News from ITRZ

Steven Vincent has a new posting at In the Red Zone.
I absolutely love this man's writing. I never miss an update, or for that matter, Michael Yon's reporting from Iraq. Highly recommended reading. I suggest you all stop reading this now, and go over to those two outstanding sites and just soak it all up. That's where I will be for the next hour or so.
Update: While attempting to post at IRTZ, I discovered that TypePad is down for maintenance. My post would have followed the "get a grip" Frank, who suffers from terminal white anxiety syndrome. I will post this later, but here is what I posted:
Hi Frank. Still inflicting Euroguilt on us, eh. Maybe you can refresh our memory by recounting the savagery of the Aztecs in their peaceful religion at the time of Cortez. Amnesia about the human stain seems only to show up on "white" fabric, anymore.
Truth be told, are we all savages, and what will civilize any of us? It seems savagery is our first nature, and the second nature is being able to define it as savagery. The really interesting thing, though, is that the happy Allahu Akbar throat slitters seem not to be able to recognize their savagery at all. It is perfectly normal to them. What IS the big deal?

Update: Steven Vincent was kidnapped and murdered shortly after I posted this. I received a letter from him a few days before he was murdered. At the time of his death, he was writing an article exposing the Basrah police department as a corrupt bastion for Muqtada as Sadr's followers. His wife wrote possibly the most eloquent eulogy for him, in response to John Esposito's horrible comments about Steven's motivations.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Bloggination vs bloviation

I like the internet because it has given us new words. Blog is one of my favorites, because it sounds so viscousy, sorta like booger. Viscous things are fun. Unless you happen to be hacking up a viscousy thing from out of your lungs, then, well, THAT is no fun. Another word I like is bloviate. Think of any senator giving a speech, no, wait, think of any number of democrats saying the same thing in the papers and, well, while not as fun as booger, I rather like it. I like balloons, big shiny helium balloons. That is what most senators are: Balloons. I picture the blogger like this: We are the people who are holding the end of the balloon to our mouths and sucking in the senatorial helium, and then when our voices are really kooky and high-pitched, we let the rest of the balloon go bouncing off the walls. This is like fisking. Which is also fun. Fisking is what you do to Katie Couric every morning while your hubby is in the shower. You sort of disect everything she says, word by word, debunking everything, ridiculing her, and then you end it all by saying, " Eff you! You perky little Bee-otch!" I hope that cleared everything up for you all.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Welcome, Discarded bloggers!

Hello to Throbert and Packen at Discarded Lies! And thanks for stopping by, Ayahuasca Vine! Discarded Lies has been one of my favorite sites since I started looking forward to Evariste's posts over at Allah Pundit and LGF. Of course, you all have one of the most interesting team blogs I have ever read...You all are what I would call ECLECTIC! It isn't that you simply post the same posts that circulate on all the other blogs, but you post things I NEVER would have thought about, but for your posts. I will stop by and introduce myself, if you like, and also, I will include some hilarious letters I wrote in Russian and English to the Russian touch-typing tutor guys, when I was learning how to type in Russian. I hope to be able to post sometimes in French/Russian as well as English, because it kind of helps me keep a lock on those languages while I continue to do translations/interpretations. I am up for talking about all things having to do with language acquisition, especially what it means in La Guerre Mondiale contre la Terrorisme. Oh yeah, where does Zorkmidden come from? When I was a kid, my dad used to scare us with stories about a nine-eyed, knife-toothed, slime-oozing Zork...and everytime we ventured to close to my dad's model trains in the basement, he would convincingly remind us about the Zork living in the basement...the very jealous Zork who had no use for train model loving children.

Friday, June 24, 2005

A Little Arabic Language lesson from Queen Kafirtiti

Since you didn't get the joke, let me clarify the punchlines and give you all a few necessary vocab builders. I hope this helps.
Middle Eastern Hystrionics Department aka MESA Middle Eastern Studies Association
Arab Hubris Studies... any college class where angry, America-Hating Left-leaning, Islamofascist professors indoctrinate idle, puerile future State Department hacks...provided the prof hasn't been indicted for funneling money to terrorist organizations.
Sharmouta a loverly Arabic word for B!TCH.
Najis Kufrs This is what our good ally Ali Sistani calls us behind our backs, even while getting medical treatment in Great Britain...I guess because the Umma don' have no 21st-century med facilities in Basra.
Allah (swt) I thought this meant So what, towelhead, but I was educated tonight from Spencer's site that it actually means this, as posted by Robert:

Cher Hugh,

SWT stands for "Subhanahu wa ta'ala," which means "May he be glorified and exalted," or more fully: "Glory be to Allah on high. Far removed is he from any imperfection." These words carry more weight than they may seem: most commonly they are understood by Muslims to mean that "Allah is pure of having partners and he is exalted above having a son." In other words, the statement carries anti-Christian overtones.

As ever
Robert


I will add to the vocabulary as it comes up in various posts, until then, don't lose your heads.....okay, bad choice of words.

Ppl R like Sooo Intolerant of Me, by Tonya "Sharmouta" Greipenweiner

Over at
  • Jihad Watch
  • I seem to have caused a ruckus posting under the name Tonya "Sharmouta" Greipenweiner. Go figure. Here is what I wrote:

    Like, is it me, Tonya "Sharmouta" Greipenweiner, or R all U racest scumbag najis kufrs NOT GETTING IT? Some 1, out there, anywhere, like, all 2gether now, say "DUH." The faithful, & totally bodacious sons of Allah (swt) R demanding JIHAD! AR U crudasers def or something? Whenever & whatever Allah asks 4 (swt) U shud like, totally give it up 4 Him. How can U resist the demands of the 1 tru religion? Do U need a PhD in Middle Eastern Hystrionics with an Associates' degree in Arab Hubris studies to see this? Why do U keep resisting the truth? We want Jihad. Keep giving us Jihad. More Jihad, please. Oh, & like over there is New Zealand, pretending that we can't see it. Have some Jihad, New Zealand. It would be fair, if U wood actually ADMIT that U R fighting Jihad, but NOOOOOO, crudasers are such cowards, ecspesially Jooos, & U think that targeting the brave & manly sons of Allah (swt)w/ ur sissy drones is Jihad enuff, but w8 til AFTER the hudna. U cowards cant even face a 15 year old shahid. U call yourselves civilized. U target old men in wheelchairs Who dont do anything ecxept INSPIRE ppl.
    And here are the responses:

    R all U racest scumbag najis kufrs (sic)

    Quite irony isnt it, calling us racist and najis kufrs in same sentence.

    How can U resist the demands of the 1 tru religion?


    Hehe m8 have u cared to read books of othr religions? Religion is a matter of spirituality and it is vehicle of communication with God and understanding deaper meaning of life. It isnt supposed to dictate what dress u shuld wear, how u shuld divorce or other mundane tasks of life as in Islam. Who says Islam is the "one true" religion, ONLY U DO. I remember one sentence from Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book.

    The Bandar Log (Monkey People) came to Mowgli and said "We are all so strong and so wise. We all say so, so it must be true
    We want Jihad. Keep giving us Jihad. More Jihad, please.

    Feeling too cocky behind ur keyboard r u? If u want Jihad then why flame this forum? Why dont U TAKE A JIHADI VACATION in Kashmir or Checheneya or if they're too cold 4 u then try going to Thailand or Iraq m8. I wish u all the luck. May you serve as connon fodder for "enemy" guns.

    brave & manly sons of Allah (swt)w/ ur sissy drones is Jihad enuff, but w8 til AFTER the hudna.

    Marrying 4 women, beating your wives,raping 9 yr old girls, subjugating them, if this is supposed to be manliness (sic) then count me out.

    U cowards cant even face a 15 year old shahid. U call yourselves civilized. U target old men in wheelchairs Who dont do anything ecxept INSPIRE ppl.

    Yes most of ur 15yr old shahids go to heaven and their 72 virgins even b4 they can get a taste of action b it Kashmir or Palestine. Who's afraid of dimwit psychopathic teens on a murder spree m8. Bring it on.... NoBuddy we aint cowards U ARE. Killing estd 1.4 million fellow humans since 1970's. U guys truly shackle human growth and development. How man infidel women have ur manly men raped. How many children have ur "brave" mujahids murdered and maimed. How many lives have been broken by this all consuming foolish idealogy of Allah
    Posted by Vikrant

    and another:

    Jauhara (assuming that this is a serious post):

    Speaking of old men in wheelchairs, does Leon Klinghoffer, cruise ship Achilles Lauro, 1985 ring a bell?
    Posted by: jay

    and another:

    Posted by: Jauhara Al-Kafirah at June 24, 2005 05:38 PM

    WELL??

    Keep in mind that word sympathy is in the dictionary between the words SH_T and SYPHILIS!!!

    My response:

    Sheeeesh, fellow infidels! When I post as Sharmouta Greipenweiner, it is only because I am being absurd to stress the point....Unfortunately, there are actually college students who think like this and write like this. Sigh. I would have thought the Al-Kafirah would have exposed me as the infidel that I am. I guess I was wrong.
    Queen Kafirtiti out

    ....I can't imagine what it was that I said which might have upset the other infidels.

    Thursday, June 23, 2005

    Ecco La Donna de Civilizazione!

    Whenever I get a chance to read everything by Oriana Fallaci, I do, because her words are priceless gems, or better yet, they are priceless morsels of nourishment. She may not have long to live. Viva Vilipendio! Viva Oriana!

    Wednesday, June 22, 2005

    Unpleasant task ahead

    There are times I hate to be an interpreter. Some occasions are more pleasant than others, but mostly, my work is with broken, dysfunctional families caught up in the American Nightmare. I have often tried to press upon my clients their need to learn English in order to survive in this country.
    We have so many free resources to help the immigrant assimilate and acquire a new language, yet many refuse to break out of their communities and even try. With satellite television, and an abundance of stores which cater to their diets and tastes, an immigrant can avoid English altogether.
    In July, I have to work with a kid who is now in the system for indecent assault. His parents don't speak English...or they don't want to, and his 13-yr old brother died of a drug overdose. So you see why I hate to do these interpretations.

    Greetings from Infidelphia

    Welcome to the dark side, Infidels. This is yet, another outpost condemning The Religion of Peace, and its quest to enslave everyone under Shari'a in one big happy Caliphate. We also discuss language, language learning and music. So feel free to contribute your 50,000 Dinars worth of opinion.