tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22753836280802924462024-03-13T12:29:38.799-07:00This is me.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-64783027674860214532011-09-08T23:21:00.000-07:002011-09-09T10:04:09.636-07:00life<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(204, 204, 204); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Times;font-size:medium;"><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">"The people who weep before my pictures," Rothko noted, "are having the same religious experience I had when I painted them."</span></p><div><br /></div></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-30853395939863386022011-09-08T22:57:00.000-07:002011-09-08T23:04:06.525-07:00In - siprationit's funny how you find inspiration in the smallest of places. as a self proclaimed artists i find myself being snooty, think of my art as superior and thinking to myself that no one can teach/ tell/ show me more than what i am inspired by in my own being. my own compass that guides me, then the other day i am walking through my art class turning my nose upward and then i pass this girl. she has bangs in the front of her hair and a rat tail that has been braided in the back with everything buzzed in the middle, yet im not shocked and dont look away from her face, she has this very thoughtful peaceful sweetness about her, i look at her dark red paintings and feel a surge of being afraid, inspired and really relating to her. like we had a sameness, and then i realized that the art you seek in life is just a resonation of yourself in someone elses work. wowSaira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-28364011603341928582011-07-20T10:36:00.001-07:002011-07-20T10:37:12.488-07:00Bjork 2011<a href="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lojg03fJpS1qbxyupo1_1311007766_cover.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lojg03fJpS1qbxyupo1_1311007766_cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-52621835800259826142011-07-08T01:43:00.000-07:002011-07-08T01:45:20.104-07:00"Espero alegre la salida - y espero no volver jamás - FRIDA"<a href="https://www.utexas.edu/news/wp-content/uploads/frida-kahlo-convio.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 249px;" src="https://www.utexas.edu/news/wp-content/uploads/frida-kahlo-convio.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-80573492993600766112011-06-15T09:14:00.001-07:002011-06-15T09:15:15.358-07:00Mandalas. Create one for yourself.<a href="http://www.abgoodwin.com/mandala/images/gallery/prints/Celestial-Temple.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 216px;" src="http://www.abgoodwin.com/mandala/images/gallery/prints/Celestial-Temple.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.abgoodwin.com/mandala/images/gallery/prints/ThinkingOfFrida.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 216px;" src="http://www.abgoodwin.com/mandala/images/gallery/prints/ThinkingOfFrida.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-88080030069310878012011-06-15T08:59:00.000-07:002011-06-15T09:01:48.889-07:00He loves you, he beats you.<a href="http://www.arttherapyblog.com/uimages/2010/10/pablo-picasso-picture.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.arttherapyblog.com/uimages/2010/10/pablo-picasso-picture.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><em style="font-style: italic; "><strong style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life.”</span></span></strong></em><strong style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> ~ Pablo Picasso</span></span></strong></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-75997094546024443902011-05-29T00:04:00.001-07:002011-05-29T00:04:12.060-07:00THOMMMM 2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; ">Nothing much happened after you died. I was weary, tired of waiting for your ghost. I withdrew from society, and spent many stretched and wretched hours alone.<br />The security guards employed by the council to patrol the cemetary eventually became used to me. My profound sadness grew into something that I took for granted; like my left arm, for example.<br />There was no sign, no harbinger, but one afternoon I was standing there, watching, and the small white flowers growing on your grave shivered as your soul rose into the air.<br /></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-58929707297922898072011-05-06T20:47:00.000-07:002011-05-06T20:48:07.070-07:00She is an addict and he is her drug.<iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_48OKZqYzHM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-38499607942033615672011-05-06T20:37:00.000-07:002011-05-06T20:38:13.735-07:00Liquid Iron- Art / Chemistry Instillation.<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pIZrHCXIPkY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-5248080754808967182011-05-04T22:45:00.001-07:002011-05-04T22:45:30.259-07:00Ah.<iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/I_Od0PJp6GI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-24225972807647821602011-05-04T22:24:00.000-07:002011-05-04T22:26:25.567-07:00The Best Kind of loveI just had a truly amazing experience. I got into the shower and looked into the mirror and put my arms around myself. I whispered "I love you," and I really meant it.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-74228903208278274082011-05-02T19:56:00.000-07:002011-05-02T20:03:59.774-07:00RACISM defined.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">racism</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">noun</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">1. a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">2. hatred or intolerance of another race or races.</span></div>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-80378646039836075962011-05-02T19:46:00.000-07:002011-05-02T19:48:50.165-07:00Bjork Speaks.<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">"I think everyone's </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bisexual" class="mw-redirect" title="Bisexual" style="text-decoration: none; background-image: none; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">bisexual</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> to some degree or another; it's just a question of whether or not you choose to recognize it and embrace it. Personally, I think choosing between men and women is like choosing between cake and ice cream. You'd be daft not to try both when there are so many different flavors." </span></span></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-72449526049840098092011-05-02T19:26:00.000-07:002011-05-02T19:28:18.058-07:009.<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table class="MsoNormalTable" border="1" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="600" style="margin-left:-5.4pt;border-collapse:collapse;mso-table-layout-alt:fixed; border:none;mso-padding-alt:0in 0in 0in 0in"><tbody><tr style="mso-yfti-irow:0;mso-yfti-firstrow:yes;mso-yfti-lastrow:yes"><td width="594" style="width:8.25in;border:none;padding:0in 0in 0in 0in"><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">SNUFF</span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">We loved each other so much that sometimes it hurt, even when we were close. I wanted to be her and she wanted to be me. Sex never felt complete, and afterwards we talked carelessly about easy subjects to avoid discussing the ache that bruised us both. So one day, in the kitchen, she cut me and I cut her; gently, slowly, too easily. It was the knife we used for onions and our tears were painful but expectant. We dripped the blood into coffee mugs, then bandaged up and went to bed. We fucked and there were stars but we saw different constellations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">The next day the blood was dry and rusty in the mugs. We scraped it diligently onto sheets of paper. We looked at each other silently and lowered our heads to snort each other's dust. Afterwards we both carried a pouch of powdered blood, and when we were low and apart we would retire to a restroom and sniff, sniff, sniff.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">Oh my darling, we went on and on. Our blood was there always, red and viscous, burnt ochre and blowaway. My blood in your nasal membranes, filtering into your capillaries, finding its inexorable way to your heart. Your blood. My nose. My heart. We belonged to each other and we had made our love tangible, real; something that could be weighed and consumed, taken and enjoyed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">It wasn't a surprise when we used the scalpel to shave flesh from each other's upper arms. We dried the flesh, though it was difficult to dessicate it completely. We used the airing cupboard. The powdered flesh was better ; cocaine to blood's speed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">Did it end badly? Did we go too far? Was our love replaced or deleted by want or need? In losing ourselves in each other did we lose the essence in ourselves that the other loved? Did time simply bore us with its slow wearing-down? I have no answers to any of those questions. But now, sitting here in the kitchen, I admit I am scared of the knife, that I can't dig deeply enough to draw blood, that I will have nothing in the morning but red, raised scratches on my arm. I don't want her to cut me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">Did we kill each other, or are we living happily; but only as happily as you are?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:13.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></o:p></span></p> </td> </tr> </tbody></table> <!--EndFragment--> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">THOM YORKE</span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-46661645761226068592011-05-02T18:41:00.000-07:002011-05-02T18:45:40.833-07:00UNISON, bjork<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(255, 255, 255); white-space: nowrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;"><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">One hand<br />loves the other<br />so much on me<br /><br />Born stubborn, me<br />will always be<br />before you count 123<br />I will have grown my own private branch<br />of this tree<br /><br />You : gardener<br />You : discipliner<br />domestically<br />I can obey all of your rules<br />and still be : be<br /><br />I never thought I would compromise<br />I never thought I would compromise<br />I never thought I would compromise<br /><br />Let's unite tonight<br />we shouldn't fight<br />embrace you tight<br />let's unite tonight<br /><br />I thrive best<br />hermit style<br />with a beard and a pipe<br />and a parrot on each side<br />but now I can't do this without you</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: nowrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: nowrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">One hand<br />loves the other<br />so much on me</span></span></span></div>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-68682370143702453222011-05-02T18:24:00.000-07:002011-05-02T18:25:36.455-07:00Mary Oliver<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><p align="center"><strong style="font-weight: 400; "><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">The Journey</span></span></span></em></strong></p><blockquote><p align="left"><strong style="font-weight: 400; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">One day you finally knew<br />what you had to do, and began,<br />though the voices around you<br />kept shouting<br />their bad advice--<br />though the whole house<br />began to tremble<br />and you felt the old tug<br />at your ankles.<br />"Mend my life!"<br />each voice cried.<br />But you didn't stop.<br />You knew what you had to do,<br />though the wind pried<br />with its stiff fingers<br />at the very foundations,<br />though their melancholy<br />was terrible.<br />It was already late<br />enough, and a wild night,<br />and the road full of fallen<br />branches and stones.<br />But little by little,<br />as you left their voices behind,<br />the stars began to burn<br />through the sheets of clouds,<br />and there was a new voice<br />which you slowly<br />recognized as your own,<br />that kept you company<br />as you strode deeper and deeper<br />into the world,<br />determined to do<br />the only thing you could do--<br />determined to save<br />the only life you could save.</span></span></span></strong></p><p align="left"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Gill Sans MT';color:#000080;"><br /></span></p></blockquote></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-59875117485156004242011-05-02T17:48:00.000-07:002011-05-02T19:28:55.603-07:00Thom Yorke, how do I love you let me count the ways... 1010.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Times;font-size:medium;"><table width="410" height="300"><tbody><tr><td align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:-1;"><img src="http://www.slowlydownward.com/drinkdally.png" width="150" height="50" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /><br /><img src="http://www.slowlydownward.com/LC2.png" width="300" height="32" border="0" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /><br /><br />It still seems to be a long time until I no longer need food, water or air, and here I am in the foyer of the supermarket, an empty wire trolley idling beneath my imperceptibly trembling fingers. The light is bright, and the smell is of nothing at all. My mind is blank. There is a route to be followed: straight ahead, turn right then right again, travelling aisle by aisle until (I am planning ahead) I end up in the wines, beers and spirits. My experience in these matters tells me that I will have run out of money by then, unless I am careful. I will have to be careful.<br />But almost immediately, things start to go wrong. Here I am, transfixed by the twitching red muscles in the meat aisle. This isn't very good. I take a deep breath and move away. Nothing to see here. There is the rattle of teeth, of fingernails, bones, in the cardboard cereal packets, sloshings of lumpy fluids in jars and tins, the muffled howls of the doomed. I jerk my head away from the cans of 'processed meats', the hanks of hair in the salad bags.<br />In the frozen food cabinets; plastic sacks of severed fingers, clingfilm stretched fetishistically over pale limbs, bent double and tied with white string, blood pooling darkly in the polystyrene trays.<br />Death warrants - signed, but with the name left blank - amongst the Sunday papers. The zone behind the translucent doors.<br />I can't do it. Looking determinedly straight ahead, I remove a bottle (whiskey? vodka? I am unsure) and stand in line at the checkout. Do I have a loyalty card? I stare in fear at my interrogator.<br />"Yes," I whimper. "I mean, no." </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-66309124361864807012011-04-18T23:44:00.000-07:002011-05-02T18:44:54.753-07:00Coachella leaves it marks in my soul<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0jVBBYui_P0/Tb9eD7jNqUI/AAAAAAAAAC8/7laawTAfTD0/s1600/My%2BHipstaPrint%2B0-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0jVBBYui_P0/Tb9eD7jNqUI/AAAAAAAAAC8/7laawTAfTD0/s320/My%2BHipstaPrint%2B0-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602299883090192706" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-26713245971102681782007-10-03T18:16:00.000-07:002007-10-03T19:13:36.264-07:00Floating to EscapeToday I experienced something completely new. I went to the East Bay to experiment with floating. Floating is a relaxation therapy that helps to relieve stress and pain, promote creativity, sharpen senses, and it is a way to escape for an hour from the world.<br /><br />I went to The Float Center to interview the owner and pick her brain about what exactly floating is. She talked me in to talking a dive and experiencing it first hand.<br /><br />First you take a shower to remove all of the excess oil from your body and hair. Then you put on a robe and head to the floating room, which was a typical room, but there was a huge space craft looking object in the middle of it: the float tank.<br /><br />The float tank is probably 10 by 6 feet. It is a rectangular box that has a door at one end, which is where you step into. The inside of the float tank is pitch black and filled with about 10 inches of highly dense salt water.<br /><br />Once I got into the tank, I lied down in the salty water. The water felt thicker than drinking water and had a slippery gooey feel to it.<br /><br />I shut my eyes as my body lifted to the top of the water: I was floating. I tried to relax myself and quiet my thoughts. But I couldn't. I continued to hush my stream of thoughts for a few minutes. By this point my body was twitching a little because my relaxation was getting deeper.<br /><br />I could feel every inch of my body and no part of my body at the same time. I was weight less and I felt like I was drifting into outer space. Once in a while my finger tips would hit the side of the tank and my body would feel like it was slowly spinning in spirals. Or my feet would touch the bottom of the tank and I would suddenly be cruising upward.<br /><br />I decided that maybe I should picture a peaceful image to further my relaxation. I saw the sky, I saw a light blue sky with small fluffy clouds passing by my eyelids. The clouds turned into stars that turned into bridges that turned into lights. I opened my eyes and the small twinkling lights were still there.<br /><br />I closed and opened my eyes again. The images didn't go away. For a minute I thought maybe I had been slipped a little something in my tea, but quickly dismissed that idea. I closed my eyes and let the salt water wash over me as a enjoyed my floating visuals. And somewhere in between my spiraling into space and floating hallucinations I fell asleep.<br /><br />It was a awaking sleep. Barely sleeping, but fully relaxed, with my thoughts and anxiety dissolving in front of me. Time passed.<br /><br />I suddenly sat up and found myself in a box of darkness, naked, and wet. My heart started racing until my mind caught up with my body and I realized where I was. I felt for the door and lifted myself out of the tank. I was shaking from the experience I had just had. I took a few minutes to catch my breath. As I toweled off I realized how mellow I felt. All of my muscles were calm and my aches had disappeared. I was totally relaxed, which is the point of floating.<br /><br />I had achieved one of the deepest relaxation experience a person can get from floating I had fallen asleep. Through my floating acid trip through space I achieved complete relaxation.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-63220516469692269922007-10-03T18:08:00.001-07:002007-10-03T18:08:53.800-07:00Barbie Culture ShockWalking home from school one day, I dragged my backpack on the floor behind me. I walked up the steps to my front door. I opened the door and skipped into my kitchen to find my mom putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher.<br />She smiled, “Hi Sair-Bear, how was school?”<br />“Good,” I said shifting from one foot to the other. She pulled a small rectangular box, wrapped in pink shiny paper from behind the cabinet.<br />“Here’s a little present for you,” she said, gently handing the small surprise over to me.<br /> I squealed, I had the best mom, she gave me just-because-presents, which are the best kind. I grabbed it out of her hand. I dropped to the floor and ripped the paper off of the box.<br />“A Barbie!” I giggled, barely able to contain my surge of excitement.<br />I turned over the box to see which Barbie I would be showing off to the other girls at school. I already had quite a collection: Skipper, Asian Barbie, Hawaiian Barbie, Artic Barbie, African Barbie, and Ken of course. I didn’t play with most of them though. They were not like the ones the other girls at school had. The girls only had the original Barbie with blonde hair and blue eyes, which was the one I had been eyeing for months.<br /> In the front window of the box was Asian Barbie. My smile faded into a frown.<br />“So… what do you think?” my mom asked, “She’s a new one.”<br />I grunted a little. I got up onto my feet and clenched my fists. I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled. “I don’t want her!” I screamed. “I told you I wanted the other one. I want one like everyone else, I want a blonde one!”<br />My mother looked at me with glare of disappointment.<br />I ripped off the top of the pink box, swept Indian Barbie’s head off her neck and tossed onto the floor.<br />I started to walk out of the room. “Saira come on,” my mother said, “Hey, I’m talking to you… get back here young lady…not everyone wants the blond Barbie and most people like Barbie’s that look like them,” her voice trailed off as a slammed my bedroom door shut.<br /> I never took the rest of Indian Barbie out of the box. My mother and I never finished out conversation about all the different types of Barbie’s and why I was so obsessed with the blonde one. But sometime after my Barbie blowout my family took a trip to visit my dad’s side of the family in Pakistan.<br /> We flew in to the hot sticky city to attend a wedding of a distant cousin. We had to wear shalwar kameez, which is traditional Pakistani attire. The outfits were made out of the softest sheer material and were littered in sequins. The wedding was decorated with bright colors and everyone was singing and dancing. I had never seen so many Pakistani’s; I was pleasantly surprised to see so many people that looked like me.<br /> I watched the women with their thick gold jewelry, dancing and laughing. I saw a little bit of myself in these women and for some reason that comforted my insecurities of being different. I didn’t have to hide my features or try to accentuate features I didn’t possess. All most all of them had big ear lobes, large almond eyes, and brown skin, just like me. They looked nothing like the girls back home- or even Barbie. The world suddenly got a little bit bigger.<br />I turned to my mother to share my newfound realization. I looked at her and found that she was the one who stuck out. She was the only one with light skin and light eyes, but she didn’t seem to mind. She embraced the culture and the people because they were different from her. I think she liked that. I think that was the lessen she tried to teach me. She knew I was insecure about being one of the only minorities in a predominantly white suburb. She gave me the Barbie’s to show me that there are different parts of the world and each part has different people. But it wasn’t until I visited the part of the world where I am from that I finally understood: sometimes it is great to be the same and sometimes it is great to be different.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-52981054243611593462007-10-03T17:54:00.000-07:002007-10-03T18:00:07.172-07:00Summer Of LoveCheck out my multimedia on the Summer of Love 40th anniversary festival.<br />http://xpress.sfsu.edu/specials/2007f/SUMMERLOVEMAIN/soundslides01/Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-58374210355000185982007-10-02T15:24:00.000-07:002007-10-02T15:28:44.565-07:00Halloween in the Castro cancelled?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_lNhXoP3_0F0/RwLGBdzw-hI/AAAAAAAAAAY/nB0mVUxpFPg/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_lNhXoP3_0F0/RwLGBdzw-hI/AAAAAAAAAAY/nB0mVUxpFPg/s320/images.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116869855130221074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Despite city official’s efforts to shift attention toward another venue, Castro residents claim that witches, warlocks, and scallywags will continue to haunt the streets of the Castro district this Halloween.<br /><br />Due to the increasing amount of violence over the years, locals now associate Halloween with brutality. They fear that this year crime will increase because of the lack of police enforcement.<br /><br />“People are still going to come, which is worse because there will be less cops to supervise,” said Wayne Sandeven, a former resident of the Castro.<br /><br />Last year nine people were shot and in 2002 four people were stabbed. A large amount of locals agree that the event needs to be banned from the area and moved to another location.<br /><br />“People are dressing up like Jack the Ripper and hiding guns in their jackets,” said Todd David, 46, who has lived in the Castro for 14 years, “It is not safe and I don’t blame them for trying to move it.”<br /><br />City officials have not finalized a site, but are considering holding the festivity at Pier 30-32 reported The Examiner. This location is essentially a parking lot, which could facilitate a large event.<br /><br />According to the Port of San Francisco the festival will have a possible top-name performer to lure in the crowd, but will not distribute alcohol in an attempt to keep violence at a minimum.<br /><br />To discourage people from venturing into the Castro, some restaurants and stores will be closing early said residents. In addition, there will be no entertainment, stages, or portable toilets for those who do come to party.<br /><br />Many people who live in the Castro have stopped attending the festivity because it does not revolve around the community anymore.<br /><br />According to Dale Adams, a Castro resident and Peet’s Coffee employee, Halloween pulls people in from all over the Bay Area and they bring bad things with them, like the shootings and stabbings. Adams has stopped attending because of how drastically the festival has changed.<br /><br />Some resident’s say the outsiders have ruined this event for everyone who once enjoyed it.<br /><br />“Halloween has become increasingly violent. It’s not the local people who go out, it’s the gay community anymore,” said Mike Roloff, who has lived in the Castro for seven years,<br /><br />Although the city is trying to move the celebration, some think it would be a better idea to charge people who want to come in.<br /><br />“I think that they should leave it in the Castro and charge a $25 entry fee, to keep the trash off the streets,” said David.<br /><br />This is not the first time officials have tried to move the party away from this district. During 1996-2001 the city sponsored a fair at the Civic Center, and people still went to the Castro.<br /><br />Some locals argue that the city should establish a dress code, while others disagree.<br /><br />There shouldn’t be a regulation on costumes because that is the point of Halloween said Roloff.<br /><br />San Francisco accommodates endless festivals and parades, but as the violence at these events increases, locals question whether the city will continue to hold them.<br /><br />“It was the same thing at Pride and the North Beach Street Fair,” said Adams, “When events stop being fun and start being dangerous it is time to make a change.”<br /><br />Roloff compares Halloween in the Castro to the first of May in West Berlin, Germany, The Day of Working, where he said drag queens have been attacked by bombs and rioting.<br /><br />Some argue that the disturbances at these public arenas are not as much about sexuality as they are about the influences from culture and music.<br /><br />“It’s not even the straights, urban gays start as many problems as straights do,” said Adams, “People who are influenced heavily by hip-hop music create the same problems. I am from Pleasanton and even at the Pleasanton Fair these things happen, it’s not just the Castro.”<br /><br />There are very few people that disagree with the attempts of moving the Halloween party to another location to try and calm the crowds.<br /><br />“It sucks they are canceling it, I went two years ago and it was crazy,” said Kellen Kreig, a barista at Peet’s Coffee on Upper Market.<br /><br />People in San Francisco, and the Castro in specific, seem to agree that although Halloween in the Castro is entertaining, safety is more important.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-54853215987181897002007-10-02T15:15:00.000-07:002007-10-02T15:19:19.883-07:00Myspace PedophilesNovemeber 2006<br /><br />Students across the nation are franticly searching for a computer to check their space online at myspace.com. People are logging on for hours and hours to post the hottest pictures of themselves, find old friends, leave comments, search for new videos and music, and browse for strangers to meet in the area.<br /><br />Currently there are 43 million people on Myspace and the website has become the third most visited site online according to NBC news.<br /><br />As the Myspace community grows, the countless number of photos of girls in their underwear increases. And as the demographic gets younger the question must be asked: who will be attracted to this site? It is not just kids from school or a friendly neighbor; this site is a porthole for pedophiles.<br /><br />“I’ve gotten a friend request from guys over 40 more than five times and they will send messages that say ‘hey you’re cute, what’s up,’ I never write them back,” said student Airica Prange. <br /><br /> Fifty-percent of myspace users are 35 or older, according to comScore Media Metrix's analysis of its U.S. Internet traffic measurements.<br /><br />“My little cousin who is ten is on myspace and it grosses me out that some 45-year-old guy has access to hit on her,” said Prange.<br /><br />Despite popular belief, there are only thirty-percent of people that are under 25.<br /><br />“[Myspace] shows a lot of examples of how the Internet can persuade naïve people,” said Samantha Rodden, a frequent Myspace user.<br /><br />In Connecticut a month ago, a 21-year-old man was arrested for allegedly raping a 14-year-old girl he met on myspace, according to NBC news.<br /><br />“If you’re a pedophile, it might be a great way to go shopping,” said Myspace and Facebook user, Matt Simpson.<br /><br />“That’s the thing, I like myspace in the fact that we can talk to each other, especially if [my friends] live far away, but there are little kids on their that aren’t taught to not talk to strangers,” said Prange.<br /><br />Many students have tuned into the NBC show “Dateline”, a special on pedophiles. The network creates usernames and identifies themselves as either a 13 year-old boy or girl to see how far these pedophiles will go for their addiction. Many of the people writing to the network online actually go to the 13 year-olds’ house with the intention of sleeping with the minor.<br /><br />“I think it’s just a reflection of the real world, online chatting doesn’t create pedophiles, it’s the exposed percentage of pedophiles who are shown as they really are,” said student Christine Aney.<br /><br />Prange said she only talks to people that she knows and never adds strangers.<br /><br />Simpson said he likes Facebook better because you can find people through their schools and he also likes the confidentially element of Facebook.<br /><br />“My old myspace had over 500 friends and I deleted it because it wasn’t private or about keeping in touch with my friends,” said Eric Borlaug, student body president of Santa Barbara City College.<br /><br /> “If you use myspace you should know what can happen,” said Simpson. <br /><br /> MySpace was conceived as a cyber community where people in the same city or on opposite ends of the Earth could meet and correspond said Myspace co- founder Tom Anderson to NBC. But how close is too close?<br /><br />“It’s as close as you let people get to you,” said Aney.Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-28266007382805270272007-10-02T15:13:00.001-07:002007-10-02T15:13:35.969-07:00Feature: Imam TahirOn a busy downtown San Jose street lined with Victorian houses it is easy to miss the white, one-story building with the sign “Islamic Association.” But for Imam Thair Anwar(cq), the building at 325 N. Third St. (cq) is the center of his life.<br /><br />Not only did he grow up at the mosque under the spiritual guidance of his father, Mohammad Anwar(cq), this is now his perch for spreading Islam in the South Bay and all over the world.<br /><br />“I had the greatest advantage that I was able to watch my dad as an Imam,” the 29-year-old, Anwar (cq) said. “It is wonderful to have the ability to be there for people in need and to inspire.”<br /><br />The South Bay Islamic Association is also the place where Anwar (cq) tries to educate those outside the Muslim community and counter common stereotypes about his faith in a country in which views are often hostile, especially since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.<br /><br />“It is normal to be wary about certain people, but the stereotyping about Muslim terrorist has to stop,’’ he said. “Most Muslims have lived in the U.S. their whole lives.’’<br /><br />Anwar(cq) does different types of outreach work. He ministers to prisoners and is looking to set up mosques in places that need it the most. He takes a group to Saudi Arabia every other year, and he has been featured in national news outlets. He uses his platform to speak about practices and beliefs that seem to counter western culture, including the role of women.<br /><br />“Most women who want to be submissive have been raised to think that way and are ashamed to betray those culture values,” said a spokes person from Feminist Majority (cq), a feminist organization.<br /><br /> But Anwar (cq) says Muslim men do not force women into a submissive role.<br /><br />“In my relationship, I chose her (my wife) because she was covered and wanted to take care of the children and did not want to work,” he said. “There are some women who don’t feel comfortable without a veil and taking the responsibility of working.”<br /><br />While the job can be tough, Anwar says he does it to honor his father, who is now 95 and living in India. The two speak by telephone daily. He was inspired by his father’s work because he saw how many people he touched at the mosque. Seven years ago, when he first became an imam, or Muslim spiritual leader, when he became an imam at 21 he was the youngest in the United States.<br /><br />“I never thought I would make it back here to the same mosque where I was brought up,” Anwar said. (cq)<br /><br />Anwar grew up in San Jose and was home-schooled by his parents.<br /><br />He moved to the Bay Area in 1983 and then returned to India to receive a bachelor’s degree in Islamic Theology at Darul Uloom Falah e Darain. (cq)<br /><br />During his studies, Anwar(cq) memorized the Qur’an and studied the Arabic language, including syntax, literature, etymology, translation, exegesis, the interpretation of a religious text, and elucidation of the Qur’an.<br /><br />Muslims consider it an honor to memorize the Qur’an he said, and Muslims recite the entire Qur’an by memory in prayer in the month of Ramadan, which is the holy month in which Muslims fast.<br /><br />“Those who memorize the Qur’an can take 10(cq) people who are destined to hell to heaven when they die,” said Anwar(cq), who has three (cq) brothers who have memorized the Qur’an as well.<br /><br />The holy book is his guide, and there are certain things that women are not allowed to do according to the Qur’an, he said.<br /><br />“Women can not lead prayer. It is prohibited by the faith because God made it that way,” Anwar(cq) said, “This is traditional in all faiths, you will never find a prophetess you will always find a prophet.”<br /><br />Another rule that is set down by the Qur’an is that men pray in the front and women pray in the back, he explained.<br /><br />Anwar (cq) explained that the men stare at the women if they are in front of them, this is part of nature, but it is distracting to the prayer.<br /><br />He also recently invested in dividers to separate the men and women for more focused prayer sessions.<br /><br />Anwar tries to counter other misperceptions, including that Muslims in the United States are somehow drifting from their faith.<br /><br />On the contrary, Muslims are increasingly turning devout in the shadow of the war and post Sept. 11.(cq)<br /><br />“World events are haunting Muslims and more people are finding faith more important,” Anwar said. “Peace and security are found in faith. Put trust in God and he will always come through.”<br /><br />Anwar(cq) does not only give encouragement to Muslims in San Jose, but he also reaches out to Muslims around the world.<br /><br />He speaks, reads, and writes five different languages. He began speaking his mothers tongue, Gujarati, and then he learned English in school. After he learned Urdu while learning the Qur’an, and finally by traveling he learned Arabic and Hindi.<br /><br />Anwar(cq) organizes is a pilgrimage to Saudi Arabia every other year.<br />In 2005 (cq)he was chosen by CNN as the official Muslim spokes person and was interviewed on the Hajj for that year.<br /><br />“A group of 100 to 150(cq) people from my congregation usually joins me when I travel,” he said.<br /><br />Mudassir Jamil (cq), a member of the Islamic Association in San Jose, said that Anwar (cq) is such a big part of the congregation and the individual people’s lives.<br /><br />“He does everything he can for the people who look to him for help, everything from wedding arrangements, to party planning, to spiritual and personal guidance. He truly is one of a kind,’’ Jamil (cq) said.<br /><br />Anwar (cq) not only works as an Imam, and he also teaches Islamic Studies at Granada Islamic School, in Silicon Valley, gives lectures at universities nationally, and actively pursues outreach and community service work.<br /><br />In Santa Clara County Anwar (cq) works as a Muslim chaplain for prisoners at the Elmwood Correctional Facility. (cq)<br /><br />“He is trying to establish religion in a place where people need it the most,” said Bob Feldman (cq), who is responsible for the correctional facilities staff.<br /><br />Anwar said that he would also like to work on creating a place of worship in hospitals because people in pain turn to God<br /><br />“The work that he does to bridge the gaps in Muslim communities and communities in the Bay Area are helpful,” Jamil (cq) said. “If there were more Muslims like him, I don’t think there would be as many labels on us.”<br /><br />He has published a lecture and compiled a CD entitled: “Performing Hajj- A Practical Guide to the Journey of a Lifetime (cq),” about the pilgrimage, or Hajj, which is the fifth pillar of Islam. <br /><br />The pillars of Islam are the basic beliefs, in that Allah and Muhammad as his prophet, in prayer, charity, fasting, and in making a pilgrimage to Mecca.<br /><br />“Religion is what I live for and I love it,” said Anwar (cq). “It is the most rewarding kind of work.”Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2275383628080292446.post-62218413133531689442007-10-02T15:05:00.000-07:002007-10-02T15:08:34.716-07:00Big Air Extravaganza!Check out this <a href="http://xpress.sfsu.edu/specials/2007f/BIGAIR/soundslides01/">multimedia piece</a> I did on the Big Air snowboarding, skating, and motor cross event!<br /><br />Pacifica Gets Big Air<br /><span class="storytext"><p>The Big Air Extravaganza brought snow, skateboards and a 50-foot jump for motor cross riders to the parking lot of Sea Bowl, a bowling alley in Pacifica, CA. The event, which took place Sept. 22, was put on for local and professional talents to showcase their skills.</p> <p>The crowd of about 3,000 ranged from professionals to families to fans. There were also amateur bands that played from 10 a.m. to 9p.m. </p> <p>A kid’s corner was set up for families with an Astro Jump and a few carnival games while a mechanical bull and beer garden was set up for older audiences.</p> <p>Rain threatened the festivities in the early morning, but no one seemed to mind a slight drizzle that lifted half way through the day. </p> <p>“Those pros, they can ride on slush, ice, they can ride on anything as long as it’s slippery. They will kill themselves trying and people want to see wipe outs too,” said Aaron Wright, who is in charge of the video filming and making T-shirts. </p> <p>Tait’s Boardshop put on the event along with sponsors Red Bull, Samuel Adams, and Hooters.</p> <p>Prizes were divvied up by sport, with 50 snowboarders competing- for a $1500 prize. There was also a skate competition that took place on an amateur street course. The competition was judged by skating legend Christian Hosoi. The award was a cash prize of $500.</p></span>Saira Frances Masoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09353564772162790113noreply@blogger.com0