Drift Reality

Admittedly, I am not a huge fan of The Tudors nor am I a fan of Jonathan Rhys Meyers who perpetually looks like he is auditioning for a Right Said Fred video. I have been roped into the show and during the last episode began thinking about how the royal court is such a great representation of societal archetypes.

The timing couldn’t have been better as a close friend of mine who is Greek recently visited and we got into a debate about whose community has had more of an impact on society - Greeks or Persian Americans.

Admittedly this is a little pathetic, sort of the cultural equivalent of a Cubs fan arguing with an Indians fan about which team has a better tradition of winning the World Series but I digress.

The timing of my forced watching of the Tudors and debate over Persian vs. Greek American icons has compelled me to use a royal court archetype framework and compare the two communities.

The Royal Jester - Maz Jobrani vs. Andy Milonakis

The Royal Jester is the clown of the kingdom. His primary role in life is to make people laugh (either with him or at him). Maz Jobrani’s intelligent, witty stand-up routine has made him a hit on tour as well as on YouTube. Milonakis’ appeal to the lowest common denominator has resulted in numerous appearances on Jimmy Kimmel’s show as well as his own show on MTV2. He has a hormone condition that gives him the appearance of a pre-adolescent boy despite his age (mid-thirties).

Edge: Persians. Milonakis is more annoying than funny.

The Royal Minstrel - Deep Dish vs. Kelly Clarkson

The Royal Minstrel is the official court musician. I found it a little difficult to find examples of well known Persian-American musicians. I went with Deep Dish simply because I had actually heard of them. I guess part of the issue here is that the Persian-American culture isn’t as integrated at this point so many of the musicians are really only well-known in Persian-American circles. At any rate, Deep Dish is a production duo based in Washington, DC. Kelly Clarkson won the first season of American Idol and has been an international sell.

Edge: Greeks. Clarkson isn’t really my cup of tea but it is hard to argue with her success.

The Chancellor - Pierre Omidyar vs. Nicholas Negroponte

The Chancellor is the King’s primary counselor. He is the ‘brains’ of the kingdom, helping guide its domestic and royal affairs. Omidyar is the founder and chairman of eBay and later, the charitable Omidyar Network. Negroponte is the founder of MIT’s Media Lab and One Laptop per Child association (OLPC).

Edge: Even They have both accomplished pretty amazing things. Omidyar may have fundamentally changed the way we buy and sell things while Negroponte may be having a revolutionary impact on the developing world. The verdict is still out on this one.

First Knight - Andre Agassi vs. Pete Sampras

The First Knight is the Royal family’s answer to the high school quarterback. He is known for his acts of valor and chivalry. Clearly, Sampras is one of the greatest tennis players to have every played. His accomplishments trump Agassi’s on paper but anyone who told you they would rather have lunch with Sampras is lying. During their respective careers, Agassi’s charisma and personality always made him a fan favorite.

Edge: Persians. Even though won a record 14 Grand Slam singles titles to Agassi’s 8, Sampras was just too boring to be the First Knight.

The Duke - Jimmy Delshad vs. Bob Costas

The Duke is the nobleman of highest rank outside the royal family. Delshad is the Mayor of Beverley Hills while Costas is a famous American sportscaster. I struggled a bit with this one however because I couldn’t think of many dominant Persian-American figures who were on the forefront of the American consciousness.

Edge: Greeks. For someone who nobody seems to really like, Costas has accomplished quite a bit and is really one of the dominant figures in American sports media.

The Princess - Sarah Shahi vs. Jennifer Aniston

The Princess is known throughout the land for her beauty and grace. Everyone knows who Jennifer Aniston is. Clearly, she is a Hollywood A-list celebrity (maybe the B+ list) and her trials and tribulations with Brad Pitt have made her an American media constant. Shahi is a relatively unknown actress who would probably love to have Aniston’s fame and success. At the same time, my opinion is that on sheer looks, Shahi trumps Aniston by a considerable amount.

Edge: Greeks. You can’t argue with Anniston’s success. Shahi has the looks but probably not the talent to really shoot up the ranks in Hollywood.

The Queen - Christiane Amanpour vs. Olympia Dukakis

As first lady of the kingdom, the queen is a model of temperance and class. Based out of CNN’s London bureau, Amanpour is one of the most recognized international correspondents on American television. Dukakis is an esteemed Academy Award-winning American actress.

Edge: Persians. Dukakis is a dignified and accomplished actress but if the shit goes down I would want Amanpour to be the leading lady who steps in and takes control of the situation - she has ice in her veins. She has gone toe-to-toe with Yasser Arafat, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and North Korea’s chief nuclear negotiator Kim Kye Gwan without batting an eyelash.

The King - Faryar Shirzad vs. Michael Dukakis

The alpha male of the kingdom, the King runs the show from top to bottom. His vision dictates the path that the kingdom will take. I had a bloody hell of a time figuring out who was the most prominent male political or business figure from the Persian-American community. Then I realized that the most fitting individual for King is probably Goli Ameri, the U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for Educational and Cultural Affairs. She has also served as the U.S. delegate to the UN Commission on Human Rights, and served as a U.S. public delegate to the UN General Assembly. Most people know Dukakis because he was the Democratic presidential nominee in 1988 but before that he was the longest serving governor in Massachusetts’ history.

Edge: Greeks. Ameri has an impressive background but winning the Democratic presidential nominee is the closest either ethnic group has gotten to sitting on the real throne.

Over the past few years it has been a rarity for me to be truly touched by a movie to the extent that I would exert any time or thought into writing a review of it. I tend to be much more of an angst-driven writer and therefore it takes stinkers like Transformers or X-Men 3 to get me off my ass and writing.

Last night however I saw Majid Majidi’s Children of Heaven and I found myself completely entranced by a story so simplistic and humble that the screenplay would have probably been used as toilet paper by your typical Hollywood executive.

I can sum up my thoughts on this film by saying it is everything that a film should be, and everything that your typical Hollywood blockbuster is not. Now I have no idea what a typical Iranian film budget is, but I think Children of Heaven could have been produced over here for somewhere in the range of 200K.

Consider this: Mel Gibson made $25 million for starring in M. Night Shyamalan’s (who I consider one of Hollywood’s top directors) Signs. His salary alone according to my random ballpark estimate probably was about 125 times what the film budget for Children of Heaven.

Dakota Fanning ain’t got nothing on Bahare Seddiqi

Now I’m not trying to be a hater because I’m definitely a fan of Hollywood and over the past few years have really enjoyed a lot of the hits that are straight Hollywood-productions. I’m really just trying to make an over-arching observation of the differing production methodologies used byHollywood versus Persian film, and their respective results.

Children of Heaven could have only been conjured in the soul of a real artist and produced with no other intention than to bring that vision to life.

Your typical Hollywood film? Probably conjured in an executive board room and produced with the intention of generating enough revenue to ensure an appropriate return on investment.

Ironically, it is the fact that most of these Persian filmmakers don’t have a substantial budget to work with that is their ultimate liberation.  The beauty in the stories they conceive is resident in the characters and the narrative that manifests, not in the empty Hollywood gestamkunstwerk of CGI and celebrity luster, a place where artistic beauty is not conceivable.

At any rate, I realize now I haven’t even talked about the film itself.

I haven’t talked about how the boy and girl manifest quintessential gender characteristics of persian men and women, the representation of class distinctions in the film or the symbolic significance of the shoes themselves. That’s because that stuff is boring.

The film is about a young boy who loses his sister’s shoes, what transpires after that initial event and the love that exists between them.

It is about the soul of Persian culture.

That’s it.

Go see it.

Now.

I normally try to steer clear of writing about political issues on Drift Reality, mostly because my own background in the subject area is so pitiful.  However, sometimes a perspective just seems so intuitively sensible to me that I can’t help but offer up my opinion.

For a while now, the National Iranian American Council (of which I am a member) has been a voice of reason (as well as the only perceptible voice of the Iranian American community) with regard to foreign relations between the US and Iran.

Just a week back, their efforts to oppose US democracy/insurrectional funding in Iran was chronicled by the Washington Post.  Saman Zarifi from Human Rights Watch was quoted in the article as such: “Giving tens of millions of dollars to support Iranian activists inside Iran is counterproductive. First, Iranian activists don’t want it and can’t get it. Second, it supports Iranian government efforts to cast activists as foreign agents.”

Yesterday, Michael Rubin from the American Enterprise Institute delivered an op-ed through the Post, defending democracy/insurrectional funding in Iran, where he claims, “Successful democracy promotion must have teeth.”

Personally, I wonder if Rubin has spent any substantial time in Iran or with Iranians for that matter.  It just strikes me as more than a little peculiar that many neo-cons who take hard line, passionate stances on foreign policy issues simply have no personal vested interest nor experience in said issues.

I’ve posted links to both the Rubin article as well as the NIAC Web site so you can decide for yourself about this issue.

For those of you who don’t know, the Persian New Year is Norooz. The word literally translates to “New Day” and this is because it marks the beginning of the Persian solar year.

There is a lot of other significance attributed to Norooz, but I don’t really know any more about it. Actually, for me, Norooz really means getting a gift, and my Mom setting up a “Norooz-shrine” that consists of seven objects that begin with the letter “S” in Persian.

These objects usually include the following:

• Apples
• Caramel-like sweets with almond slices that I usually eat in less than one day
• A plate of wheat
• Several goldfish
• A cranberry-like dried fruit that is allegedly edible
• A hyacinth
• A buttery sauce that is made of an unknown substance

The assortment actually smells quite nice at first, usually on account of the hyacinth, but then the goldfish die and it starts reeking of dead fish.

This year, my cat actually destroyed the hyacinth at the outset, so I knew I would have to alter my Norooz strategy if I was to avoid the dead fish smell. That, and, I sort of felt sorry for the goldfish because they were floating around in a tiny little bowl that quickly became filled with their own waste-matter, and they hadn’t eaten anything in two days. After I began to observe dark circles forming around their eyes, I decided something had to be done.

My first thought was to go to the pet store and buy them fish food. I quickly shot down that idea when I realized it would take actual effort and time.

My second thought was to go through my herb cabinet in an attempt to find something that resembled fish food. I finally settled on dry parsley, but soon realized that the fish had absolutely no interest in eating the dried parsley (nor would I) after sprinkling several pinches into their bowl.

Finally, I decided that the most time-efficient and humane thing to do would be to just take the goldfish into Rock Creek Park and set them free.

So, after my Monday staff call, I grabbed the bowl and drove to the creek (only 5 minutes away from my house). I walked up to the creek, and dumped the fish into the water.

One of the goldfish immediately swam headfirst into a rock, and then sat there stunned, while the other goldfish, which had been poured headfirst into the dirt, attempted to wriggle free.

Sighing, I found a small branch and poked at the fish stuck in the mud, until it freed itself and swam upstream. Looking over at the other fish, I realized that the pathetic bastard was utterly confused about what to do and had decided to just float near the rock where it had bumped its head. After watching the flabbergasted fish for a few minutes, I realized I had to be home for another call in a few minutes, so without further hesitation, I started throwing pebbles at it until it decided to swim upstream and hide behind a rock.

Satisfied that both fish had successfully embarked on their new lives, I hopped in my car and returned home to finish off the caramel candies in my Norooz-shrine.

When Siamak was eleven years old, and his brother Siavash thirteen, their Father built a Summer home in Mazandaran, a town in Northern Iran located south of the Caspian Sea and north of the Alborz mountain range.

The house was in a small community that was populated by four other families, whom collectively shared a swimming pool, soccer field, tennis court, and a garden.

Siamak loved the vacation home because here, his family had their own space where they could do whatever they wanted, act however they wanted in peace.

On a typical summer day, Siamak would roll out of bed around noon and walk down to the swimming pool, where he would eat feta cheese, pita bread, and fresh fruit.

The next several hours would be spent outdoors with Siavash and the other children in the community: playing sports, hiking, horseback riding, or visiting the nearby beaches.

In the late afternoon, physically drained from the hours spent in the sun, they would all retire to one of the homes, where they would play backgammon or Hokm until the sun began to set.

Dinner was normally spent at home with the family, and it was during this time that Siamak began to see how he was different from his brother Siavash. While Siamak and his Mother looked on, Siavash and his Father would discuss politics in Iran.

Siavash never understood the need to becomes so emotional about such a topic, when they had everything they could ever want all around them.

When they were finished eating, Siamak would help his Mother clear the table while his Father and Siamak would sip tea and continue their discussion.

After dinner, the five families would gather by the pool and while the adults drank, talked, and played cards, the children would once again gather to play games.

It was during this time that Siamak would separate from the group and go to his favorite place - the balcony in his house that overlooked the garden.

Here, he would observe the way that the nightlights illuminated the garden, the pool, and the people he held most dear to him, while he thought about the future.

He would wonder whether or not he would get into university, whether the girl with the perfect skin who went to his school liked him, and whether he was going to be successful like his father.

“So then, my friends,” he said. “We’ve come together to eat and share stories with each other one last time.”

And with that, they sat down for dinner on the Thursday before Siamak left for the United States.

Siamak had heard many people say, that certain moments in their life are so essential, they replay them over and over in their head and Siamak certainly had moments like this.

When he was five, he stole an apple from the market and the moment his Mom saw him she knew what he had done. He remembered the way she glared at him while she demanded that he walk back to the market and admit to the shopkeeper that he had stolen from him.

Siamak remembered how when he was eight, he knocked over a pot of boiling water and scalded his back. His brother sat next to him in the backseat of the car as his father drove to the hospital. As Siamak tried to control his tears, Siavash repeatedly rubbed his arm and whispered how he was the strongest person in the world and that everything would be allright.

But for some reason, this moment felt different than the others.

During this moment, he somehow felt its importance while it was happening.

And whereas those other moments came to him in arbitrary flashes, he knew this moment would hover in his mind incessantly.

He remembered the way Siavash didn’t say a word as they drove to the restaurant, but once they had arrived, began joking around with everyone in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He remembered how the top of Ramin’s head looked, as he kept his face buried in his plate throughout the entire dinner.

He remembered the way Ali’s eyes sparkled, as he kept telling Siamak how he was about to set forth on a great adventure.

“Siamak,” he said. “You will see things that most of us will never see.”

And he remembered the way she smiled through gritted teeth, and sighed as she spoke.

He remembered how she said very little as dinner ended and as they prepared to leave, she leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Don’t forget.”