A Brief Meeting With Alfred Mikhail, Puppeteer


(Photo By Sherif Sonbol, From Al-Ahram Weekly, July 1998

An evening stroll weaving in and out of crazy Cairo traffic. That’s what I needed. The sweet smell of second-hand sheesha smoke and some daredevil car-weaving had turned into an almost nightly ritual for me back in those days. I wasn’t expecting a change, but that’s when it always happens right? I walked out of my 5th floor apartment into the eerie, not-so-well-lit hallway, the same hallway where Mina and Maryam’s parents had slaughtered a sheep on Eid-ul-Adha. Do you remember that day? I made them balloon animals while they took turns jumping over the pool of blood. That’s one day I’ll always remember, I had just come back from Eid prayer at Masjid Mustafa Mahmoud to find a sizable pool of sheep’s blood in front of my apartment door. Not wanting to track any inside the apartment, I jumped over the puddle. I left the door open though, not because I enjoyed the scent of sheep’s blood, but because I found it rather amusing that a vast amount of blood was in front of my doorway and slowly spreading to the rest of the hallway.

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Savannah Beach Inn Sucks, Or Why I Love My Credit Card Company

I’ve been trying to cancel a reservation at the Savannah Beach Inn for about a month now. I’ve e-mailed and called four times to no avail.

The Savannah Beach Inn is run by two women and one of the womens’ sons. While I’ve never received a response to my multiple e-mails asking for the deposit to be refunded, our phone calls usually go one of three ways, depending on who I’m speaking with:

“Hi, my name is HijabMan, I made this reservation on this date, and I’ve been trying to cancel it since June 2nd, I’ve sent multiple e-mails and called several times. Can you help me out?”

*Conversation 1:* “We do things by e-mail here. So, I can’t take your cancellation over the phone.”

“But I’ve already e-mailed three times!”
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Lessons From Squealing Birds On Rollercoasters

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As I was about to get on the highway, a baby bird jumped onto the window ledge of my Civic. I could see it in my driver’s side mirror, and tried to nudge it off by letting my foot off the break a bit— nothing.

I made a left turn onto the exit ramp, and the baby bird hung on for dear life. In fact, it looked like it was enjoying itself, closing its eyes, its wings held back. At one point, it didn’t even look like a bird, just a ball of feathers flapping in the wind.

“WheeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeeeeee!” I heard it squeal. Yeah. No joke. Literal squeals of joy as if it was on a roller coaster, as if it was having the the time of its life.
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Christopher Walken Gives Good Khutbas. So Does Muhammad Asad.

“You were fast forwarding through your life long before you met me, big shot…” – Christopher Walken as Morty in Click

There are times in my life when the spiritual high dries up like a desert. I no longer feel the high. That, of course, is when the real challenge begins, as many have written and spoken before me. Can we continue to struggle through prayer, through life when we feel like we are in a desert with little sustenance? Or do we try to pass the time, seeking instead to fast-forward life.

I’m guilty of the latter. I’ve been fast forwarding through life for years. Whether it be through television, movies, the computer, or the phone, I’ve always found ways to escape living.

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What Do You Think of The Veil? Honor-Killing? Evolution? Etc.

“So, you’re Muslim?”

I almost dropped my fork. “Whut?”

It wasn’t the question I was expecting. Not here, surrounded by balloons and bumper cars and screaming children and the blinking lights of ten thousand arcade games, all of them, I was sure, designed specifically to taunt me and my discomfort with both noise and crowds. For the last two years my daughter has chosen this horrible place to celebrate her birthday, and this year, like the last, I’d come along only with gritted teeth and a grim commitment to do my parental duty. Back when my child was younger, in kindergarten or first grade, I was shrewdly able to talk her into having a nice little sleepover with two or three girlfriends in lieu of a real birthday party, but now that she’s older that line’s not working; she knows the score and she wants her due.
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A Messenger

An older, mid-60′s classy looking African-American woman sidles up to me near the bus stop on the way home. Her short, half-gray, spunky hair is pushed up with a colorful headband. She wears a couple of necklaces and rings encircle the base of a few of her slender fingers. She’s dressed quite hip with what looks like a sport coat and some earth-toned pants. Her shoes? Something a college kid would wear. I imagine her to be a former activist, though she probably still is, and perhaps a social/political thought professor as well. Wisdom shows in her tone, her gestures, and in the sparkle of her eyes.

“You’re Jewish,” She asserts.
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Making Niqabis Laugh

A Munaqqaba, or “Niqabi (image)” for short, refers to a woman who wears a veil covering the face.

I like making them laugh.
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