There was a rally yesterday Downtown, starting from the Israeli Consulate and ending at the U.S. Consulate, against Israel’s aggression in Palestine and Lebanon.

Click here for more photographs from yesterday’s rally.

The Transformers movie is coming out next July. It’s great to see all these cartoons of my boyhood come to the big screen. Next, I suppose, is G.I.JOE where, of course, the racially diverse and morally upright American soldiers triumph over irrationally evil terrorists (who hate peace and freedom) from the al-Coibra organization. Perfect.

And in an intelligence breakthrough in America’s War on Terror, al-Coibra’s dreaded Cobra Commander’s secret identity was recently revealed:

(I actually do have a life, I just spend most of my time trying to avoid it.)

Thanks to M. for this trailer of TMNT, apparently coming out in March.

No one outgrows the Ninja Turtles. Reminds me of this Lebanese guy I knew back in Saudi Arabia — we were both in the American Boy Scouts thing (don’t ask) — and he used to like the Ninja Turtles (it’s not like any of us didn’t). It was a while back, but I distinctly remember him wearing Ninja Turtles merchandise (a yellow shirt with the then cartoon version of TMNT, and I think matching shorts). I don’t remember his name or really anything else about him. I hope he’s okay, where ever he is.

I remember that my experience with the Boy Scouts wasn’t particularly fulfilling (I missed a lot of Cub Scout sessions and never graduated to Webelos, but I regularly got Boy’s Life magazine). I wonder how much it cost my father. This was back when I used to think Americans were the bomb. I still think Americans are the bomb, but in a different way. (I actually didn’t know the term “the bomb” as applied to good things. That applied to things Iraq and Saddam Hussein did, I thought Scud was pronounced “skirt” and then used to wonder why there were no “frock” bombs. All I know from that experience is that living under the constant threat of bombardment — nevermind actual bombardment — is mortifying and traumatic especially if you’re a five or six year old kid. And therefore I’m really happy that Israel is exercising — according to a Canadian military official — its utmost “restraint” in bombing Lebanon, and is only targeting civilians and children with its precision guided munitions and killing the odd Hizbullah militant here and there by mistake. They’ve only killed 300 in eight days, after all, the official said on live talk radio. Makes me proud to be a Canadian. If there’s anything about this conflict that’s ironical, it’s that Hizbullah’s losses are the “collateral damage” whereas the direct targets are the civilians and children of Lebanon. And then they wonder why the Arab “street” hates the West and its propped up “progressive” and “friendly” leaders. Go figure. I’m still trying to figure that one out.)

Sometimes — most of the times — it’s hard to escape the feeling that at the end of the day I’m one of the smartest dumbasses I know. I’ve been at this University for three years and the most original and convincing work I’ve done is reconciling the place of virtue and passion in Rousseau’s Levite of Ephraim; or analysing the role of stereotypes in Sacco’s Safe Area Gorazde. Oh, and my first year epic — Tolkien’s use of Faramir of Gondor in the Lord of the Rings as a representative of his own motivations, ideas, fears, etc. If the expression on your face is somewhere between “what the fuck?” and “what the fuck?” then welcome to my life.

And then, all that shit isn’t all that original anyway. So in the end, what have I accomplished? Nothing. What have I learned about what I want to do? Nothing. All I know is what I don’t want to do, and that’s what I’m probably going to end up doing.

I’ve learned how I’ll probably never know how many genes, exactly, were on or off (or somewhere in between) in shaping my nose, unless (and perhaps even after) I get my genome mapped out. Or at least that part of it — the nose part. If there is a nose part. There are probably nose parts, spread out all over the place. I also know what my kidney looks like, under a microscope. Okay, not mine, but a rat’s. Apparently they’re very similar. I drew real live (dead) human bones once (more than once). I’ve also learned that a dead man’s half-back-torso is heavy, and, when stored in formaldehyde in a fridge, smelly. But I knew that latter part from grade eleven pig dissection.

I’ve come to accept the theory of evolution as conclusive. I no longer believe homosexuality is something to cringe at, and defend it. All that and more, and none of it in the classroom. For all it matters I could’ve been panhandling in the Toronto Reference Library or Robarts these past three years. As long as I had access to a computer and the Internet I would’ve been fine. I also would’ve been spared reading Rousseau’s Levite of Ephraim. Which, admittedly, is a very short read.

In the end, I feel like I’m a little bit of everything, not enough of anything, and far more confused about my future than I have a right to be.

If you’re fucking competent enough to type my fucking name properly in the “TO” line of the fucking e-mail, why the fuck can’t you get my name right in the fucking documentation. What the fuck is wrong with you, fucking pieces of shit, when you type “Naoman Ali (noaman.ali[at]utoronto.ca)” or better yet, “Nouman Ali (noaman.ali[at]utoronto.ca)” — how the fuck does that enter your numbnut mind, fuckheads. It’s right there! I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Nouman Ali wondering why the fuck people are sending him messages for the President of ASSU — only, you never get my fucking e-mail address wrong. Can’t you fucking cross reference, or are you trying to teach me how to spell my fucking name just because you came across some dickwad who spells it differently. You don’t type “Pakka Sinarvo (pekka.sinervo[at]utoronto.ca)” so why can’t you have the fucking decency to take the fucking time out to spell my name right, AT LEAST ONCE, especially since my fucking name is right there in the fucking e-mail address that you had to type out to send me the fucking message in the first place, you fuckwad pieces of shit. It’s bad enough that you can’t pronounce it and try to say it as quickly as you can — at least spell it right, you fucktards. You’re supposed to be the fucking “great minds” that are part of this fucking university, fucking fuckers — get this right. It’s not like you did it once, you keep doing it again and again, fuckers. Fuck.

(Not accepting comments in case some asswipe wants to make a witty comment involving the misspelling of my name.)

Edit: accepting comments now. If you make a joke about my name I’m going to break your fucking legs and ban you, not necessarily in that order.

Taken in the lobby of Sidney Smith, June 13 (Brazil vs. Croatia):

I think it’s fantastic that all these people (often including myself) can gather to watch the matches and cheer and (in my case) relate football to colonialism.

Having said that, according to Wikipedia, a key component of fire safety is:

Not exceeding the maximum occupancy listing for any part of the building (Making sure that an area isn’t so full of people that they can’t all get out quickly in an emergency).

I’m not entirely sure if that area classifies. I mean, it’s really not hard to leave the building from Sidney Smith lobby, unless you’re a total dunce cap and forgot how you entered (knowing some of the purportedly “great” minds on campus, I wouldn’t be surprised). Maybe stampeding — considering how the University treats us like cattle (again, I wouldn’t be surprised).

I asked the Dean and co., one week ago, if they could look into getting football matches streamed into the useless screens in the Sidney Smith wraparound (study space) for the crowd to diffuse a bit — no response as of yet. I think they’ll eventually get back to me — and only if I persist — on July 10.

Police and thieves in the streets
(Oh yeah!)
Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition

Sometimes it’s not easy to know who to be scared of — and I guess that’s the point.

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away

On the one hand, if it’s all true, then we (us, them, the other, those of Muslim extraction) can easily be the victims of terrorism when, say, we ride on the TTC, or go to visit the CN Tower, or do whatever it is we do. Just like you (us, them).

We can also be the victims of misguided zeal in showing the world (Bush?) that terrorists (them, the other) do exist here — when they really don’t. We might be the ones who get arrested and charged as terrorists for walking down beaches, or playing paintball with friends, or discussing Islam. For the glory of the alphabet soup agencies and their projects — Project Thread(bare?) and the like.

And then we (us, them, the other) might also be the ones who blow you up. For no good reason, of course. Because everything we do is entirely irrational and backward. Because evil exists. In this world, in our (your?) country. Hide your (our?) children, lock our (your?) doors, buy everyone a cellphone to keep in touch at all times — the newest, the latest, the greatest: family plan, weekends free and weekdays at a great price, text messaging, mp3s, on your cell phone! — protect our (your?) freedoms by restricting yours (ours?) here and abroad! Thank you for civilizing me, again and again and again.

Blow up, blown up, blown out of proportion.

And I hope to the gods, the god damned and everything in between that it’s the latter, in whole or at least in part.

Recently, I’ve been forcing myself to sketch people on the subway. (Forcing myself by not taking along my iPod or a book to read.)

Perhaps entirely unethically I don’t ask the people I’m drawing if I can draw them. Mostly, I suppose, they don’t know that I am drawing them.

Tonight, as I was coming home from campus, I was sketching this gentleman (the one on the right – 6/4/06). I suppose he rather quickly realized that I was sketching him — he even cooperated by holding position. He got off at Victoria Park station and as he was leaving (I was sitting right beside the door) he said, “Thank you.”

I was kind of embarassed, I just smiled back at him and showed the sketch to him. He smiled back and showed that he was pleased and then got off the train as the doors closed. I guess I should’ve said “Thank you,” but I was too flustered and embarassed to say anything.

But that was nice.

I suppose it may seem like my subjects are typically geriatric males. This isn’t the case, it just that they happen to sit in opportune places and/or there’s something in their faces — character — that makes me want to draw them. Most young people have these plain, bubble gum faces without any “character” — lines, for instance, their faces are rather smooth.

Having said that I do think it’s necessary that I draw all types of people.

On my way to campus today I stopped by the Coles bookstore in Scarborough Town Centre (as I often do, to read comics). There was a “meet the author” table set up in front. The author, Cecil Leslie, was standing behind the table with two stacks of his two books, business cards and bookmarks. After I finished reading the comics I went and spoke to him for a while about his novels.

Decadence is an updated, Toronto-fied version of Pygmalion or My Fair Lady, he said. And Water Colours is a Toronto-fied version of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (West Indian man, East Asian woman).

I noticed that the novels were publsihed by “Xlibris” — a self-publishing company. So after I got home tonight I looked up his novels on the web site (follow links above). I read some of the excerpts from his novels.

His writing isn’t exactly the greatest I’ve ever seen. In fact, it’s really … er … not good at all. (In his defense, it appears he started writing Water Colours as a film script … that’s pretty much how it reads….)

All the same, I have to admire the man for pursuing this line and wish him the best of luck. I just hope for his sake that he doesn’t quite his day-job as a technical support analyst for TIFF.

On peppers being fruits:

s.dot says:
isn’t it that anything with a seed is a fruit?
noaman says:
yeah but
noaman says:
it’s not like you know
noaman says:
you’re not like
noaman says:
yeah that’s a fruit when you go to the store
noaman says:
you’re like, that’s a vegetable
noaman says:
then someone’s like, no, bitch, that’s a fruit
noaman says:
and you’re like, shit!
s.dot says:
you have issues

The Faculty of Arts & Science is searching for a new Registrar because the incumbent, George Altmeyer is retiring.

The Dean struck a search committee. I’m on it. In addition, there are two college principals, two department chairs, a couple of folks from the deanery, and a person from human resources, as well as a part-time student. That’s a total of nine people, including myself.

I’m the only non-white person on the committee. That comes neither as a surprise,
nor as anything novel for me (or, indeed, any person of colour involved in such activities).

The committee has been meeting to interview candidates for the position. Friday, there was one such meeting.

The committee members variously ask questions of the candidate and evaluate their answers. One of the members of the committee was asking the candidate about how the Office of the Registrar could be envisioned ten years from now, or such.

The candidate responded with ideas about the use of technology to make processes more efficient, and also less time-consuming for students. While students should not have to come in for most things, the candidate said, it is important nevertheless to maintain a human face, have personnel in place, for interaction with students.

That’s when the questioner said that he certainly hoped the Office of the Registrar doesn’t become “a call centre in Pakistan.”

Everyone chuckled, except for me.

When it came time for me to ask the question, I implied rather strongly — for “great minds” anyway — that I was irked. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. No one apologized, no one said anything — the person who made the comment simply avoided my gaze for the rest of the time.

I understand the context of the statement — i.e., impersonal services — but it’s still disconcerting. It made me uncomfortable, and was almost offensive. It’s certainly not something I’d expect from a senior university administrator.

How come everyone in these meetings is white? Or mostly male? Rah rah diversity.

I guess a man’s entitled to make a fool of himself if he’s ready to pay the cost.

– Malcolm X

In the fall of 2005, soon after the school year started, a representative from the Commerce Students’ Association came to speak to ASSU about his organization. He talked about how they hadn’t been interacting with ASSU for a considerable amount of time and so were like the black sheep. I said something like, “more like the Chinese sheep.”

That didn’t go over well with him, as well it shouldn’t have. I apologized rather quickly and have kept it in my mind ever since. It wasn’t the right thing to say, especially coming from someone in my position (as an Executive Member of ASSU).

(Context: before I met this person, I had met three different friends of Chinese backgrounds at three different points in the day who were cracking jokes with me about their Chinese-ness. I also have a few friends in Commerce who joke about it being dominated by East Asians. That doesn’t, by any means, excuse my comment.)