The Samin Index

Number of amarena gelati consumed today: 1

Percentage of the food consumed today that was disproportionately high in caffeine: 89.6

Number of Harper's received in the past 6 months: 0

Number of bookstores gone to in search of a guide book about Pakistan: 4

Number of guide books about Pakistan found: 0

Number of times we had to open all of the windows to air out the house because T boiled an entire head of cauliflower that I put in his refrigerator over a month ago: 1

Number of degrees, in Farenheit, of the temperature here currently: 45

Apparent highest number of degrees, in Farenheit, of the temperature here in the next 10 days: 60

Number of degrees, in Farenheit, of the temperature in Islamabad currently: 83

Number of embassadors to Italy spoken with today: 1

Number of days until I go to Roma to get my visa: 6

Number of countries hoped to visit in the next 12 weeks (not including Italy or USA): 4

Percentage of these countries to which I have never been: 75

Number of samosas hoped to consume in the next 12 weeks: 563

Number of times I could read the Shouts & Murmers in the NYer about soda and laugh until I fall off my chair: Infinite

thank you and congratulations!

tj, for hooking me up

cp, for inviting me to oxford and france
and for expecting another little boy

lp, for being so gracious

ab, on getting engaged and securing a spot for the shop

cw, for opening soon! i am so excited for you. i wish i could be there!

ch, for opening next

the really funny shouts and murmers in the nyer i just got, for being so hilarious that i was cracking up at nerbone and people thought i was nuts.

ak, on learning that though nigella's books might be really beautiful, her recipes suck

whoever is in charge of the weather right now, for giving me a little sunlight

nal, for always talking to me even when you are too busy

and cs, for sending me that ridiculous letter

ode to the orange

some may call you banal,
preferring
the citron, kiwi, or
even durian (gasp).

but not i.

some might refuse
to eat you
and pay
ridiculous prices
for watery
out of season strawberries
wrapped in cellophane.

but not i.

some might forget about
you, come summer
with it's
sexy berries
and cherries,
peaches and melon.

but not i.

you are my favorite,
orange.

you get me through
the winter.

i will even endure the
strange looks
of the fruit vendor, wondering
why i am buying so
many tarocchi
each day.

for you,
i will do all of that, and more.

because you,
orange--
you and your cousins,
those little kishu tangerines,
those kara clemintines that you can just
pop in your mouth--

you are so good
to me.

i peel away your blushing
skin
and what lies
beneath,
all of those perfect,
bite-sized segments,
so free of seeds,
so tart
so sweet,
makes me want to cry.

orange, without you
i would be nothing.
to me, you are everything.

thank you.

i am on crack

yes, we all know that i am raging hypochondriac. i have this weird lesion on my ribs that just keeps getting bigger. and then there's the mole on my back, which i was born with, but is now kinda peeling away. my jaw pops when i open my mouth too wide. and recently, the skin on my face has gotten so dry that it actually burns when anything touches it. oh, to be me!

but, i really and truly, more than anything, think that i have seasonal affective disorder. four out of the five past winters (and maybe that fifth one, too. i can't remember so well), i have been depressed and bleh. last night i went to sleep without hope, and this morning, i woke up and it was totally sunny and warmer than it has been, and i felt like i could do anything. i thought i could live here forever, travel a bit. paris? i'm there. london? count me in. italy? i'm practically a native. who cares that i have a combined total of $4.70 in my checking and savings accounts? not me! i can do it all!

but now, it's cloudy and rainy again and i am back to plotting my escape.

well, someone needs to save the world

there was this nice article on alice in the nytimes the other day. i like it--though some of my friends disagree--and i think that it shows the best side of her. i think that her impracticality and refusal to settle are what make her so great and so not-so-great (good euphamism, eh?) all at once.

a person like me needs to see a person like her succeeding every once in a while.

and i really do think that you can change things with a peach. although i don't know what i think about frog hollow anymore, after seeing their huge refrigerators. they're getting too big, i think. but that's another story, for another day (i did have one of the best afternoons of my life there, though).

the pictures of the edible schoolyard are lovely, too. it's such a wonderful place.

hello, memory? old friends?

i wasn't always like this was i? so brooding and melancholy.

i think i remember a time when i
felt like i could do anything, and did

when i surprised people
with my gusto, resourcefulness
spirit and generosity

giving my birthday cake
and bananas to homeless
people on telegraph

and planning day long
adventures
to relieve my stressed out friends

posting quotes from the
new yorker denouncing english majors--
800 copies--
all over the english
department

writing senseless limericks
for the fastest runners

asking the grocery
store butcher for extra
ground turkey stickers
to give to a friend because
they were somehow
funny to her

i remember, too,
coming to the realization,
one fall afternoon just
this past september,
when i was walking home
from piazza dell'independenza--
my stomach tight as i noticed that
the days were getting shorter, a shiny glint
of sunlight
on the tears
streaming down my cheek--

that the world will never
give you a standing ovation
for being good

a million dollars will not
rain down from the sky because
you deserve it

you can be the best
you are
and people will still
elbow past you
on the bus,
racing for the last seat

you have to be
good
because you want to be

you must be the best
so that you know it

and nothing more.

maybe this is what it
means to grow up

random details

my cold is almost gone

i still have no idea about where i am going to be come april; my visa is still up in the air, i think, and i still haven't been paid.

but i don't really want to go back yet. i think i need to make a pact with myself to go to pakistan no matter what.

i had some not as good as usual pasta al ragu' at nerbone today for lunch.

and i bought some more blood oranges

and i cleaned the bathroom and kitchen with real cleaning products! they make such a big difference.

now, i have to go across the hall and work. i get to read about the growth cycles of all sorts of herbs, fruits, and vegetables. in italian. lord help me.

it's obtuse!

i am wondering if, to become the writer i want to become, i have to find an angle.

and if that angle has to have to do with the fact that i am iranian, brought up in america.

i hope not.

i don't want to use my culture and my experiences as a crutch.

i don't want to become stuck in that. but i do want to write about it. i want to write about what it means to be me, a child of the revolution, raised in california, brought home from the hospital in a new blue volvo station wagon, barely speaking english until i went to preschool, and now struggling to keep a grasp on my farsi.

i want to write about the pressures i feel, and have felt. the way i look at and think about my family, and my faaaammmmiiillllly (meaning, my extended family). how i feel about iran, iranians, and iranian-americans.

labels, i'm not big on (perhaps because i can't decide what i want to do). but i do want to find a way to talk about these things.

it's just that i am so lazy.

apparently

apparently, i am not italian enough
(and not only for the italians).

someone (below, il pesce chi urla,
or if you like pesce urlando)
figured i've already left.

perhaps i should stop it with the nostalgia.
i know i am going to want to
come back as
soon
as
i
leave.

o, forse, invece,
se comincio a scrivere
solo in italiano,
vedrai che sono
ancora
qui.

davvero.

people are so
surprised that i can
actually
speak
italian. JC, MMC, and JD
were all incredulous.

the only person who can
make fun of my wobbly-at-times grammar,
and my continuing inability
to use the congiuntivo,
is the shiny,
bright,
juju. but she cannot
make fun of my accent
(because hers is worse).

i only wish i had taken some
real italian classes,
or studied language books
or lived with some italians
from the start.
sometimes i figure that
this is
as good
as
i'll get.

and that makes me sad.

i have no words

i want to go to pakistan and hopefully iran and afghanistan because i want to acknowledge that the world i spend most of my time in, worrying about money, worrying about what i am going to do with my life, worrying my silly worries, is not the only world that i am a part of.

i sit here, depressed and worried about money, friends, visas, this book, becoming what i want to become.

but really there is so much more.

a man at my work, with whom i usually don't get along, has an ailing newborn.
i don't particularly like him, but i have been sure let him know that i will do anything
i can for him, to make his life and his baby's
life easier.

people are struggling with living so much more desperately than i have ever
wrestled with myself.

i want to go there to see.
i want to go there to feel.
i want to go there to understand.

i will probably never understand.
but i want to try.

i have no words for this.

meh

my little mind-trick failed.

i am most definitely sick. hotcoldhotcoldhotcold,
i think i have a fever.

and all of my muscles ache.

meh.

this stinks.

plus, there is the way that
everyone here has a reason for why
you got sick
and a cure to offer

i got sick because it was cold
on tuesday

i got sick because i didn't eat
an orange on tuesday (i ran out! how
could it be? me, the blood orange captain of the universe,
run out?

unheard of. un heard
of.

i think i got the feva
from my next door
neighbor
's
girlfriend.


bleh.
bleh.
meh.


it's all so clear to me now

sometimes, it takes me a looooong time to realize very simple truths. yesterday, i realized that i feel that roasted and braised meats should always be sliced thinly before being served. i used to think that i wasn't a big fan of roasts or braises (especially braises) because i was so used to seeing them served in big chunks at the cafe. but it's not true. that's not how i feel. i just think that portions should be smaller, and that the meat should be sliced.

i had another breakthrough just now, too. i was really quite lucky to develop my sensibilities about food at cp, at first led by the people there, but eventually just becoming part of that community. though we were always, always talking about food and new restaurants and recipes and things to eat, none of it was the sensationalist crap that gets so on my nerves. reading things like chowhound and personal food blogs (not to mention the tv food network) just get me all worked up. every single time. i miss my peeps. i miss the way people would say things like "last night i had a tomato and aioli sandwich, and it was SO GOOD," or get excited about cauliflower roasted in the oven, or fresh ricotta cheese, or making our own mozzarella. little, simple things like that. there were no gimmicks. there was no glitter. none of us were interested in that, at work, or the rest of the time, so it never came up.

now, being away from there makes me so sad. i have been rudely booted into the world of gimmicks and food trends, and i want, almost more than anything, to go back to that little bubble-cocoon world. perhaps, at my next job, at eccolo (the site isn't up yet, i am just excited about it. you can also read about it here), i will find a little piece of that. please, let it be true.

this could be bad

my neighbor is always eating these little chocolates called kinder bueno. she is crazy. for them.

i asked her what the big deal was after she sent me out into the cold to go buy her some the other day.

and now, i regret it.

i, too, am addicted.

though i think that that is the official kinder bueno site, this one has a great flash animation showing how they are made, kinda.

this is dangerous.

possible reasons for my sore throat:

* i have eaten way too much nutella in the past few days
* the strange pimple on my neck
* the crazy lady with a hacking cough sitting practically on top of me while i waited 90 minutes at the travel agency to ask a simple fare (and then forgot to ask which airline the agent was quoting)
* the fact that i go around sipping from random bottles of water at the restaurant paying little attention to the fact that they might not be mine
* the air here is ridiculously dry
* my throat exercised too much and forgot to stretch or ice, let alone take advil, afterwards

but i am most definitely not getting sick