Friday, November 25, 2005
Notes
A quick update on entry posted November 14, 2005; with regards to the issue and the
information that was obtained on the Sivand Dam Project, the
archaeological treasures presumably buried right underneath the dam’s waterbed path, there was an hour long presentation on Voice of America’s Persian “Roundtable With You- Mizegerdi Ba Shoma” that tackled the very same issue; the various other sites, dating from pre-islamic
There’s this satirical/comedic show on t.v called Shabhaye Bar’rareh (Nights of Bar’rareh), every night, which started during the late summer. It has these memorable and gigantic characters, outlandish scenarios, and it is placed somewhere during Reza Shah’s reign. The satire points people into many directions of thought, because of its interesting subversively subversive messages; some think it may satirize today’s (or tomorrow’s) powers, some think it satirizes society, not the powers, and some think it’s both. Anyway, there’s this great thing about it, like the fact that it has this funny accent that they use…
“In cheh chizi ast?” becomes “in chi bid?” or “oo che bid?”
“huuh, vadeh!” or “vakham, poole zoor vadeh”
There’s a character that went by the name of -Nezam DuBar’rareh- who also happens to be a druggie, smoking “gard-e-nokhod”. But, they’ve changed his name now; they don’t call him Nezam anymore, just DuBar’rareh. There’s too much weight on his name, so they shed off the extra pounds.
There’s the character of the sheriff, or the “jandarmery”, who sits at his desk day and night doing nothing, accepts bribes, and is completely aware that he has no reason not to want to change his situation; money, r&r, and status/title. Plus, he gets to know about all your public events, your weddings, sports matches, divorces, schooling, military background, etc…etc…
Ye’ marde dare mire tooye mashinesh ke bere safar, va ghabl az inke ra biyofteh, chand-ta eskenas mindazeh tooye ye’ sandogh-e-kheiriyeh (ke hame jaye
I was having a grand old time listening to my collection of cds and waiting behind one of those 150-something-seconds red-lights near Shariati (a main boulevard in the capital) when all of a sudden I look through the rear view mirror and see this guy behind me with this really screwed up fish-out-of-water look on his face and one of his arms in a piston-like movement with whatever-it-is-down-there…I was so unbelievably dumbfounded. I could not breathe for a nano-second, imagining all of the oddities of
The scarier part was that it was evening traffic, and the driver the was to the immediate right of the car looked like he was going to piss his pants; I couldn’t understand why that guy couldn’t do anything but look like shit and feel like one, just like me. Obviously, it had to get better, and it did. I tried not looking, and ignored what was happening so damn close to my car until I had to take one last look. Out of nowhere, there was a girl, or at least, what looked like a girl with her back to my car, sitting- facing the driver… I really don’t know what happened after that, because I couldn’t look anymore, and there were these lovely numbers on the red lights that I was just soooo fascinated with at the time. 65-64-63-62-61-….No one actually got out of their cars to do anything to those two, so it was like this strange balance between individual privacy, tolerance, and extreme hormonal digression. I don’t think I’d ever seen that happen back home, and I sure as hell was not expecting it here.
