For the Love of Gossip

So I decided to come out of hibernation. I’m really riled up about this whole ‘Arabic is scary’ language drama that’s going on right now. Really? To put things in context: a guy was escorted off a plane a few weeks back because he was speaking Arabic on the phone. A passenger heard him say a common Arabic phrase ‘inshallah’ (God willing), misinterpreted it and reported the poor guy as a possible terrorist.

I’ve read several articles about the incident, but what’s really making me nuts is the ignorance over the language. First of all, Arabic is not an Islamic language. It is spoken by some Muslims but it is the language of the people of Arabia, who happen to also be Christian, Jewish, Druze, Buddhists, Atheists, etc and, in Lebanon at least, 18 different religions. The Arabic language pre-dates Islam, the alphabet was actually created by the Ancient Phoenicians. FYI: the first three letters of the Arabic alphabet – aleph, be, te – is where the word ‘alphabet’ comes from. 

Many non-Muslims, like myself, speak Arabic in public. I am really shocked by the idiocy of the people in the comments sections of these articles justifying the removal of this guy for saying ‘inshallah’, because it’s an ‘Islamic terrorist war cry’. I understand there is a lot of fear, but that is no excuse for such extreme stupidity. There is nothing remotely terrorist-like about the word 'inshallah'. In fact, the so-called 'war cry' these people are referring to is 'Allah wu akbar' (God is great), which is totally, completely different. Where the latter is indeed from an Islamic prayer, the former is a universal, pan-Arab saying.

I say ‘inshallah’ all the time and NEVER in a religious context. We use it whenever we are talking about a future plan. ‘You coming to dinner, tonight?’, ‘Yes, inshallah’. It is commonly used in the context of ‘hopefully’. In Lebanese culture, it’s said mostly out of superstition by all communities. You should never say you’re definitively doing something, because then you are tempting fate to stop that thing from happening. So, you always tag a ‘hopefully’ at the end, just in case. It’s also used when you want to avoid giving a definite answer: ‘You coming to my kid’s violin recital?’, ‘Um, inshallah.’

Now, of course things are different. I have to think twice about saying something in Arabic when in public to avoid Homeland Security detaining me. This is a problem, because you know, how am I supposed to talk about people when they’re right in front of me? I’m sure people are like, Oh, how can she be making light of this? People have died because of terrorists. Yes, people killed them, not a language. People can be scary, not a language. The fact that I’m ridiculing the vilification of a language is because the notion is entirely ridiculous. Arabic is not scary, but ignorance surely is.

So, let’s use some common sense. And, for the love of gossip, let me talk about people in Arabic in public without turning me in to the authorities!

Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

Blonde Ambition in a Mad, Mad World

In your resume, when there's a big gap in your work experience, you always have to have a good reason. When you're a blogger (or in my case, 'blogger'), you simply own up to being the world's worst. Where has the time gone? And, most importantly, did you miss me?

To be honest, with all that's going on in the world and a personal family loss, I felt I could not write about the trivial and inane. You know, I usually don't get political, but things are too nuts to not even mention. So, yes, pretty terrible things have happened around the globe since May.

I was waiting for one, tiny bit of news that would show me that the world isn't so doomed after all, and it finally happened a couple days ago in the homeland. Lebanese soldiers that had been held hostage for nearly 18 months were finally set free! It so gladdened my heart to see these brave men returned to their families that I thought, hey, it's ok to talk about dumb stuff now.

Now, let's talk. A lot has happened, so where do I begin? Since we're on the subject of how mad the world is nowadays, I should mention that since we last touched base, I dyed my hair blond! I know! And not Lebanese blond, either, but real bright, yellow Scandinavian blond. It was not a good look on me. My entire head glowed in the dark, even during the day (I know that doesn't make sense, just go with it). In some lights, it even looked kind of green.

I don't know what came over me. Like I said, the world is going mad, so I thought I should dye my hair to match. Reactions were mixed. Some people, like Miss HotStuff and, of course, Mom, thought it looked fabulous. Mad Glam said I looked 'pale and kind of tired'. She is not one to sugar coat things, like ever, which is why I don't really ask her opinion on my appearance. But I changed my picture on What's App for like 3 seconds and I got a message at 3am my time with the delightful comment above.

FFF was very diplomatic and said that it looked good but she preferred me with brown hair. Pixie likened me to a fluorescent bobble head, which you know, was not too far off, if I'm going to be fair. Mr. B saw the same What's App pic as MadGlam and simply said, 'You're a blonde!' He did use an exclamation point, though I'm not sure if that was in excitement/approval or disgust/horror.

It did not take me long to regain my sanity. A couple glances in the mirror and blinding my corneas with my now neon locks were enough to convince me to go back to brunette. But the whole thing reminded me of when I dyed my hair black when I was in graduate school. I had just moved to Beirut but was on Christmas break in RIC when I woke up one morning determined to look like Elizabeth Taylor (because when you're 21, you think anything is possible, even the impossible).

As a student, I was on a tight budget, so I just bought one of those supermarket brands that was supposed to be a temporary shampoo color. At the time, I thought it looked awesome. People back in the 'Root did not agree. One day, I was walking to class at AUB and a friend came up to me. 'OMG, what did you do to your hair?' she asked. I replied I dyed it black. Duh. 'OMG, all I saw across campus were these big purple eyes!' she said. Yay, I thought, mission accomplished. I totally look like Liz Taylor now. Then she finished with: 'You look like a witch.' Ouch.

The moral of the story is that I should stop dying my hair. And also, people should seriously compliment me more.


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

The Lebanese Princess

Sometimes, I really miss Lebanon. I know people reading this might get the wrong idea about me, but living here is definitely different from life in Beirut. Yes, Lebanon is behind in so many ways, but we live a pampered lifestyle, which I'm not saying is a good thing (so please, no hate mail). It's just that it is a big adjustment when you move. Even if you live alone there, you're never alone, alone. Car issues? Call dad or your brother to take care of it. Plumbing issues? Call dad or your brother, who then calls Abu Handyman to fix the problem.

I know, I know, but I am not a terrible example of a feminist. I am a staunch believer in equal rights, equal pay, equality in the eyes of the law. But does that mean that I have to shovel my own driveway from the snow? Does being an advocate for women's rights mean that I have to do manual labor?

This has been tough to get used to. I have always been independent, paying my own bills, etc, but when it comes to yucky stuff (see above), I always deferred to someone else to take care of it. Not because I'm incapable, but because I can't be bothered. I mean being alone, alone, sucks. In Richmond, you can't call dad to please call Abu What's-His-Name to come fix things. I have to do it myself, which - did I mention? - sucks.

For example, last week we had like eight inches of snow (we're getting more tonight). I could not get into my garage and I nearly broke my neck walking down the steps of my house to my car. I did not even have the foresight to salt my steps. I didn't even know there was special salt for the outside.

NSS called and asked where I was. I told her I was going to the grocery store to buy salt. She asked why, so I told her about my snow/ice problem and she started laughing. She was like, "Um, you can't just buy table salt." Oh. "Unless it's kosher," she quipped. "Really?" I responded, relieved. "NO," she said like I was world's biggest idiot. "Go to Home Depot."

So I head over to a hardware store and see giant burlap bags outside, praying this wasn't the salt I needed. How was I going to carry that to my car? It's not like Abu Somebody will do it for me. Luckily, they have small bottle sizes that even a wimp like me can carry. The guy there told me I would need two for my driveway. I gave him my Lebanese I-know-you're-trying-to-sell-me-something-I-don't-need side glance, convinced I only needed one. He shrugged, handed me the one and wished me luck.

So, of course, I needed two. But it did soften the snow a bit so I could ram my car into the garage. I drew the line at shoveling. I am not a prisoner in a Siberian detention camp! I was just so proud of myself that I got in with just the salt, until my car skidded and I hit a door in my garage. I still considered it a success.

I did manage to change a light bulb in my garage using a ladder all on my own. I was going to wait for the always reliable Dr JH to come and do it when he next visited, but then thought, nah, I got this. The glee I felt when the light came on was really undeserved. I felt like I was Thomas Edison. I proudly proclaimed to NSS, "I changed that light bulb all by myself," as if I had actually invented the light bulb. She wasn't impressed. "Now you need to change the filters of your air ducts."

Wait... what? Doesn't Abu Help-Please do that?


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Ho, Ho... Huh?

'Tis the season to be jolly, at least that's what the song says. I actually really like how everyone is so into the Christmas spirit here. I know that a lot of people get stressed over Christmas shopping, but I'm not one of them. I am an expert shopper. This year was a world record, even for me. Black Friday, laptop... BOOM! All shopping done in two hours.

You can't really online shop in Beirut. There were about two destinations where I could do my Christmas shopping: ABC Mall and downtown. I do miss the tacky decorations along Hamra Street, though, and the smell of roasted chestnuts on every corner intermingled with shawarma roasting and manakeesh baking. I don't know if they still do this, but they used to play Christmas carols through loud speakers all down the main road as people shopped or sat in cafes. It was a nice counter-balance to the constant 'toot' of car horns and people yelling out of car windows because of traffic.

Over here, we get the Tacky Christmas Light tours instead. I have to admit, they are a lot of fun. The lengths people go to to make their homes look like the North Pole threw up all over the place just to blind your retinas is really quite extraordinary. As for music, there's even an incredibly annoying festive radio station solely dedicated to playing carols (no, it does not make me roll my eyes; no, I did not just roll my eyes thinking about it). And of course, every mall in the country plays Christmas music while you shop. (Side Note: Mariah Carey must get tons of residual checks this time of year. All I want for Christmas? Stop hearing that song!!)

Because I am so thoughtful and considerate, I pick out my own gifts and send the wish lists out so others don't have to stress about what to give me. These gifts rarely work out for me though. Although I am a great in-real-life-shopper, my online shopping persona is not so effective. I look at things online and think, Ooh, this would look so cute on me. Click, item put on wish list. I put so many things on my wish list that I often forget what I picked. So, come Christmas morning, when I open up the present and see what's inside, I'm almost always like, 'Oh... this is um nice.'

This year, for example, I got red pants. I opened up the box and inside there were red pants. They made me think of Mr. B and his red pants, for which I constantly made (make, he still wears them) fun of him. I think I must've been drunk when I was picking them out because, WTF, Anissa? Red bloody pants! Never Sits Still was like, 'But you picked them'! I did a quick recover and immediately professed my love for them while trying to remember what the hell other questionable pieces of clothing I sent out as part of my disastrous wish list.

I soon found out. A pair of still-can't-determine-what-color-but-could-be-some-kind-of-beigy-grey pants with giant pockets down the middle of the thigh with huge shiny buttons. Because, you know, my thighs don't look large enough as they are, so let's add more material and bling to accentuate them even more. Tres chic. Surprise, surprise, don't remember those either, but apparently, 'They were on your wish list,' said another gift giver, who shall remain anonymous because she is awesome, and I did pick the hideous thigh enlargers, so it's totally not her fault.

Ok, so the moral of the story is Christmas is not about the gifts (yeah right, but had to put that in there to stave off hate mail or any chastising about the true meaning of the Christmas spirit, etc), and also don't do your own shopping online.

In fact, if you're in Beirut, head over to Spinneys (or any number of official resellers and pubs) and get yourself a few bottles of this instead! (Shameless plug for J2 Vodka, but it's my blog!) The best present you can give and the true 'spirit' of the holidays!

Merry Happy New Everything!


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh 

Unleashing My Party Gene with J2 Vodka - Woot, Woot!!

Adam Aboulhosn makes J2 happen!

So, I know you're all wondering, where oh where can Anissa be? Still mourning the loss of her once-future-husband, George questionable-taste-in-fiancees Clooney? Sulking away at Tarjeh spending way too much money on lip gloss she will never use? Drowning her sorrows in caramel macchiatos from the only-fools-pay-$5-for-coffee Starbucks? Stealing Starbursts from unsuspecting 11-year-olds? I'm glad to tell you 'NO' to all of the above (except the Tarjeh thing - damn that place! Okay, and Starbucks - damn that drive-thru!). So what have I been up to? I'm happy to say that this week, I got to unleash my party gene - yes, even here in the mighty RIC! Yesterday, J2, Lebanon's first premium vodka celebrated its pre-launch in Beirut, and although I could not be there physically, I was definitely there in spirit.

The story of J2 is actually four years in the making. It started as a dream on a balcony in the mountains of Lebanon when two exceptionally forward thinking men decided that Lebanon needed its own vodka. Adam Aboulhosn and Paul Koder, his brother-in-law, were sitting together when Paul said, "Adam, let's make a Lebanese vodka." Adam, the founder of J2 said yes, and the rest, as they say is history.

There were many hurdles along way, but with a lot of hard work and a dedicated heart, J2 Vodka - which gets its name from the genetic marker of the ancient Phoenicians - finally made its entrance in grand style on the rooftop of the Lancaster Plaza Hotel. And what an entrance it was, amid the lovely backdrop of Beirut's shore! I couldn't be there, of course, but I saw a lot of familiar faces in attendance from the photographs splashed all over Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, like comedian Nemr Abou Nassar, DJ MadJam, band members from the Wanton Bishops, and Radio One personality Gavin Ford.

Although I was in front of my computer screen and constantly checking updates on my phone, I felt like I was there, clinking glasses of signature J2 caviar shots with other party goers and letting my party gene loose. Mr. B got to go and he gave me some firsthand accounts throughout the evening. This is a big deal considering that the World Cup is going on. But since England lost to Italy (sorry, mate) I guess he figured there was no better way to lift his spirits than with some good ol' J2!

MadGlam is probably reading this and going, 'Anissa, you have a party gene?' She has her doubts because when she came to visit last week, she dragged me to a redneck bar along with Pixie Minxie to hang out with truck drivers. I am not kidding. This was what she wanted to do. She had a great time, but I was miserable, trying to stand as still as possible so I wouldn't touch anything (but more on that later). And to make matters worse, there was no J2 there to make the night more enjoyable!

You might be wondering why I'm so excited about J2 Vodka. Well, as I said when I moved in November, I left behind my heart and it will be there, always. But at least now, I can pick up a bottle of J2 and have a little taste of my beautiful Lebanon any time I want.

So, yeah, even I have the party gene! Doesn't every Lebanese?

Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh 

Like J2 on Facebook, follow them on Twitter @J2Vodka

So Long, Farewell

So, this is my last Live From Lebanon... After 18 years of a journey full of ups and downs, I moved back to the United States. It was a tough decision, but one that has been in the pipelines for a while. Right now, I'm sitting in the closet of my nephew, which my sister converted into his homework station (I have usurped the poor kid's room until I get settled), and reminiscing about my last big move, the one that took me to Lebanon. It was a happy time back then, even though Beirut hadn't been even close to being rebuilt. But there was hope and optimism, and I was glad to be a part of it.

I lived with my grandmother and had a medium sized bedroom that my parents refurbished for me, because the old furniture had been there since the '50s. I put up two posters: one of Brad Pitt in 'Legends of the Fall' and one of 'Forrest Gump'. I had a little TV set with a VCR attached, a dressing table and an electric blue office chair that I never used and still don't know why I bought. My grandmother still has it and the posters are still up. I was studying at the American University of Beirut and typed all my papers on a laptop my dad gave me while sitting on my bed. I never folded my clothes and just threw them on the second bed, and my grandmother gave me a lecture about how I needed to be tidier so that I'd be a good homemaker when I got married. I still hate folding my clothes, but I'm not married so I guess it doesn't matter!

I got dysentery the first week I moved so after I recovered, I only drank Diet Coke for like six months. I also sustained myself on Kinder fingers and Cadbury Time Out bars when my grandmother was away, because I never cooked. Even though the elevator broke down for six months of the year I lived with her, and I had to go up and down the stairs a million times a day, I still gained weight because of all the chocolate I ate. I also walked to class everyday, except when it rained. I loved the smell of za'atar and tea in the mornings, and the hustle and bustle of Hamra actually gave me a sense of calm.

It didn't take me long to get used to the way of life in Beirut. I never completely conformed but always felt I was home. At first, the extended family were convinced I moved to Lebanon for a guy. They couldn't believe I would leave America, my parents and siblings just to come to AUB. But there was no guy. Just this crazy, wonderful, grating, charming town that I fell in love with. Through thick and thin for 18 years. But I like to think of myself as a lady, and a lady always knows when to make her exit.

So it's time for me to say goodbye to you, my beautiful Lebanon. But I leave behind my heart, and it will be here with you always.