your man is back!

i knew it wouldn't last. there was no way that i could stay away from the world of blogging for too long. the truth is that i wanted to blog again, but i just couldn't think of the right theme for my blog. so i pretty much decided to go with a non-theme theme. my blog started of as reflections from my time in Oxford ('the OX' as i called it). i didn't want to lose all of my previous masterpieces or relegate them to a dead blog of the past, so i decided to add on to the past and tweak the title--the OX is now the Occident! lame, i know. ironic, most certainly. meaningless, probably. BUT, it saves me the trouble of trying to think of an all new blog, while also allowing full access to all of my old pieces.

so here we are. this blog is the life and times of a rather critical (and shrewd and handsome if i say so myself) fellow known as 'shaikley' as he roams this crazy world. i'll try not to disappoint.

100% stone

being immersed in all of the world cup madness for an entire month, i picked up a few bad habits that have been hard to shake off. seeing stonehenge just brought out the rage. this one's for zizou!

but alas, my days in jolly old england are coming to an end, and i figure it is time to start exploring this place a little more. so a couple of weeks ago i hit the finals of the british open and saw tiger win, then last week, inspired by Chevy Chase in European Vacation, it was off for some tourism: a drive through the countryside and a stop at stonehenge and the white horse.

i must say, british tourism is ...uh, typically british--dry and not too exciting. seeing it all is a bit anticlimactic. there's no point going to stonehenge, because when you get there you have to stand 50 feet away, so you can't even see all the detail. you do, however, get a free audio tour to guide you through--woo hoo. right... like i want to hear some guy speaking 10 words a minute describe details i can hardly see even though i am standing right at the site. and the white horse... well, it's a drawing of a horse, in white, in the grass. oh, and you can't see it all unless you are in an airplane. they forget to mention that part in the brochure.

nonetheless, the adventure was quite fun, mainly because of the drive, and monkey see and monkey do siting in the backseat. our drive was picturesque, as we drove through tiny villages that were just as we'd imagined them to look. on our drive we also saw some quite unusual things you may not see every day. as we left stonehenge and turned onto the country road, the first thing we see is Stonehenge Golf Range. i don't know why this struck me as odd... but it did.

then we enter the narrow, curvy country road, and the first sign we see reads: 'caution: tank crossing' (with a pic of a tank... in case anyone was unsure of what a large tank would look like on a small country road) ...ok, now things are getting a bit odd.

then we pass through a few provincial villages... which were quite surreal as they fit all of the stereotypes we had held. and then as we pull up to the hill where the white horse is, we see another sign: 'beware of crossing ducks' (with a pic of a little yellow duck). there are just way too many things wrong with that sign. why would anyone let ducks cross the street? give the cars a bridge and put a fence around the street so the ducks cannot cross. it is that hard? poor duckies. who is going to see a little duck crossing the street as they drive through in their SUV, all in time for the driver to stop the car and save the duck's life?? i feel like that crossing may be the duck murder capital of the world.

love can move mountains, i can move rocks

bond girl wanted

i could hardly sleep last night because of all the loud thunder. so i used my insomnia to discover more brainless entertainment on the internet, and i came across this website with all kinds of quizes (www.quizfarm.com). one quiz in particular caught my eye: "Which Action Hero Would You Be?"

excellent, this would be the moment i could finally expose my true identity. and the results were not surprising. who am i? with 100% certainty, i am 007--Bond. here is what the website said:

"You scored as James Bond, Agent 007. James Bond is MI6's best agent, a suave, sophisticated super spy with charm, cunning, and a license's to kill. He doesn't care about rules or regulations and somewhat amoral. He does care about saving humanity though, as well as the beautiful women who fill his world. Bond has expensive tastes, a wide knowledge of many subjects, and his usually armed with a clever gadget and an appropriate one-liner."

wow, this really is me.

James Bond, Agent 007		100%
William Wallace		63%
El Zorro		63%
Maximus		58%
Batman, the Dark Knight		54%
Neo, the "One"		54%
Lara Croft		50%
Captain Jack Sparrow		50%
Indiana Jones		50%
The Amazing Spider-Man		42%
The Terminator		33%

this is sciene, and science has spoken to prove what i have always known deep down inside. the only part i am a bit confused about is how Lara Croft came up on the list. anyhow, nevermind that glitch in the system. now i just gotta find myself a bond girl. Xenia Onatopp-Shaikley... it has a nice ring to it, no?

wimbleDONE

well, cross another item off the 'gotta do it in my lifetime' list. last week i went to wimbledon and watched some great matches. it was a nice atmosphere and it lived up to a lot of the hype, and on top of all that, i also got to cross another thing off the lifetime achievement list on that day: sit close enough to the chair umpire to figure out what the tennis players are saying to him when they get pissed. am i the only one who has been wishing that they would leave the mic on the umpire's chair turned on when the players go to argue, vent, curse or praise the call? well, point is that i got the best seat in the house for the match between nalbandian and verdasco, first row, center, and right behind the umpire.

it was a tense match that went to tie breaks for the first two sets. tempers were high and words were being directed to the umpire... all kinds of words... in english and spanish!

needless to say, after hearing all of the comments made by the players--especially by nalbandian--i now agree with the wisdom of not leaving the umpire's mic turned on! haha... my spanish is a bit rusty these days, but i believe one of nalbandian's diatribes went as follows: la *$&@! es una *#&*@^! grande *!@*#& la pelota $^@#! afuera @&#! y tu madre $&!*@ yo quiero taco bell @!%*&!!! and that was on a point he won. and i'm not sure about the taco bell thing... i was a bit hungry so i may have been hearing things.

(random pic i took of federer -- note the old school, 1980's Nike Air shirt he is sporting. this is why the man is so money!)

so now it's time to work on crossing more items off the list, which include things like:
- score a hole-in-one in golf
- buy a ferrari
- get a job
- break the 1,000,000 frequent flyer miles mark before age 30
- delay marriage for a couple more years

...and a bunch of others. i'll update as i continue to cross things off.

the not-so-perfect storm

punting: a springtime phenomenon in Oxford; a small boat you push with a long stick.

that's about all there is to it. yet somehow punting is one of those Oxford traditions... and one of those 'must do' things in this town. so i tried it. and i'll admit, it's actually as exciting as it sounds--a small boat that you push with a long stick.

my policy on boats has been and will always be the following: today we have motor power technology, so there is no more need for human power to propel a boat, just like there is no need for a flinstone-like car propelled by our running feet. times have changed my friend. if there is no engine on the boat, i'm not getting in.

but... last week i decided to overlook my policy for the sake of engaging in tradition, along with some friends. the company was great, and although the pushing the boat with a long stick at 1.5 miles per hour (if not slower) was a tad anti-climactic, it was a beautiful day and the scenery was quite nice. ducks were following us around, children were playing cricket, all was good. or was it?!?!?! (as creepy music beings playing in the background)........

and then it all changed. i took control of the punt for our the last leg of our journey. we noticed dark clouds coming into the horizion and a very light sprinkle of rain began falling upon us, but we could see the boat house, so we were all excited to have made it back unscathed by Oxford's tempermental weather. but then it happened... this was our titanic. we were too close to the banks and apparently i must have gone over a rock or something... but we were stuck. and at that exact moment, THE STORM hit. think i am beng too dramatic? get this...

now, i have seen a lot of storms in my life, but try to tell me this is not fate--or God just adding to my adventures in the OX. at that moment the skies opened up. there was thunder and lightning (did i mention i was holding a 20 foot metal pole) and HAIL (did i mention that it is mid-may!! and weather has been in the 70s) and pouring rain. pouring. so here we are, stuck, stranded and enjoying a downpour of biblical proportion.

so the story goes on. at first we all freak out (well, a certain one of us more than the rest), but then we just start laughing hysterically. in fact, the laughter is probably what dislodged the punt. we eventually make it back, completely drenched. and to add to the irony... the minute we all get into the car, the rain stops. done. dry, blue skies.

my love-hate relationship with Oxford continues. where will the adventures lead me next?? stay tuned...

bowling for concubine

so a lot has changed since i last posted. the UK got this new thing called 'the sun'. exotic, i know. apparently it makes otherwise unfriendly people friendly and happy again. it's great. i wish someone thought of this earlier.

yes, life is different out here in the spring. we spend our days frolicking about in the grassy meadows, playing a lot of golf, and playing croquet. ya... i play croquet. but i really suck at it, even though i cheat. yazeed is actually the croquet grand champion. don't ask me where a saudi learned how to play croquet. last i checked the only game they had out there was pin the beard on the shaikh, and bowling... for concubine. (something about saudi arabia + sports made me thing of the clever title, so i had to fit it in somewhere)

springtime in the OX! i can't lie, it's quite nice. and it really is a different place. the first day this 'sun' came out, i was completely taken aback by how friendly people were. and even though it was sunny but still cold, restaurants and cafes were doing all they could to put as much seating outside as possible. the starbucks i was at even had patio furniture out. not like some wooden chairs and a table with a little, purposeless umbrella. i mean patio furniture--some of those big patio sofas and arm chairs, nice wooden coffee tables, the whole package. it was 50 degrees outside, but that hint of sunshine... 'sunshine'... was enough.

well that's all i've got for my blog (or 'boggle' if you are yasmine or live in a cave in kazakhistan) for now.

moustache, part deux!

finals are back, as is the fancy outfit... and the moustache!

i like to call it: Portait of the future 3rd world dictator... as a young man. no, not one of James Joyce's lesser known works, but rather the making of a leader. you know how the process works... first they start off at an elite western educational institution (check, check, check, check), then they grow the 'stache (check), then they buy a pair of aviators (check), then they go straight to the top, by whatever mean necessary (workin' on it).

it's on like monkey kong baby! hate the 'stache, not the player.

mind the queue

i've been in the UK for 172 days now (not like i'm counting or anything)... and i have one observation to report: there are queues everywhere for everything. things in the UK are notoriously inefficient. phone lines, dsl connections, bank accounts--just about anything--take 3 weeks to get setup. the work ethic here is horrible. as my boy Ioannis put it: "[expletive deleted] look, in greece man, we work just 2 hours a day, but we [expletive deleted] WORK for those two hours. here, they say they work 8 hours, but they don't do a [expletive deleted] [expletive deleted] thing!! (i told him, yes i understand... in the middle east it's like greece, except we don't even work for those 2 hours)

anyhow, as i was saying... bloody queues! ok, so forget the lazy workers. there is a long wait for everything here. maybe i am just an impatient american, but i have not seen one ATM machine without a line. it's insane. if you are in the city and you pass by an ATM, there are at least 3-4 people waiting, always. go to the gas station and there will be a line of 2 or 3 cars waiting for each pump. if you go to a grocery store, a coffee shop, or wherever else, there is always a long line. and people here just deal with it and wait patiently. so you would think that the british must be a patient people to be able to endure this constant queuing, right?

au contraire my good friend, for as with all my tales, there's a twist.

there is one place where there is no queue... and it's the single most important place to queue: the frickin' crosswalk! what do i mean? well, have you ever seen a green light for cross traffic and a green 'walk' sign for pedestrians both on at the same time? intersecting!

at first i thought i was imagining things. then, after it happened to me a few times and at different intersections, i realized that it is either a sick death trap, or the epitome or stupidity and impatience. the cross traffic stops, and the green 'walk' sign lights up for the pedestrians. then after about 10 seconds, the cross traffic gets a green light, while the crosswalk still says 'walk'! i so wish i was making this up, but this is far too nutty and illogical. i'd expect this kind of thing in, say, egypt, where their idea of civic planning is not having any left turns anywhere in the country (another thing i wish i was making up, but it's true, just go see... only U-turns).

oh well, fun times.... as long as i don't get run over.

who's your daddy?

it has been some time since i have posted on my blog. but once it reaches the point that even sedi wants to read more, then it's time to write. side note: for those of you who have no idea who sedi is, consider yourself blessed.

anyhow, back to writing. so i actually have quite a few things i'd like to write about, but with exams around the corner, i have actually been quite busy (rare, i know). therefore, exams are on my mind and are the topic of this post... well, kinda. you see, the more time i spend at oxford, the more i realize the patronizing, snobby attitude with which elite british institutions like oxford see themselves, and i see this clearly demostrated in the peculiar grading system.

first off, exams and final papers are graded by "the examiners" -- no one has ever told us who these people are, and professors and administrators just keep referring to "the examiners." it actually begins to sound a bit creepy the more a hear it... and when i turn my head and see yet another gargoyle giving me a dirty look, my feelings are confirmed.

and then there's the grading scale. so what happens if you do an assigment perfectly and get an A? you get a 100%, right? nope, not here mate. try 75%... because here you can never be good enough. and even if you are, we won't let you think that you are. in fact, A's here are in the ballpark of 65-70%, and B's go down to about 50%. and below 50%, you fail. cheers!

hence, the title of this post: who's your daddy? it's oxford, it's tradition, it's the patronizing system, it's the man... biyatch.

califreakinfornia!

"i love united states of freedom"... timeless words uttered by a hollywood iraqi villian (in a role that my brother auditioned for and almost got, in fact!). but enough about shady iraqi security officers. i'll save politics for another forum. this post is about happier things, brighter things--bright like the california sun.

yes, california. califreakinfornia! this valentines day, california was my valentine. ya, i know... pretty sad confession, but it's true. it's the best place in the world... and my time has come to chart the path for my return. i only know one season: summer. i only know one smile: botox-induced. i only know one mode of transportation: by car, in traffic, and on a freeway... the way travel was meant to be.

take me back baby!

don't trash the 'stache!

they say a picture is worth a thousand words--and well, ya... i don't really think i need to comment much on this one. many of the guys decided to sport a moustache on the final day of exams, in what we hope will become a new oxford tradition--sub fusc moustache day.

the first pic is starting: ioannis (aka the crazy greek guy who has a numbers fetish), taline (aka the arab mba student who actually goes to classes and studies), maen (aka NBD) and yazeed (aka hala wallah cheers).

the second pic star nabil (aka the guy who is next to me posing)

fun times in the OX.

don't trash the 'stache!

why you all up in my business?

i have a theory that most british people were abused as children. not necessarily physical abuse, verbal abuse or anything violent or disturbing of that sort, but by a form of structural abuse by the system and the culture that exist here: the culture of excessive rules, process and rigidity.

i'll give you a simple example, among many. the other day, as i was riding my bike back from my exam, i was yelled at by a bus driver who almost ran me over. he literally stopped his bus full of people, opened the door and started yelling and cursing at me. did i mention it was because he almost ran me over?!? who does that? only a sick person who was abused as a child.

people here are not friendly... but more than that, they don't seem happy. no happy person should be so bitter and condescending. and on this note, i should also mention that any form of customer service does not exist here. period. but the issue of customer service--or rather the complete lack thereof--deserves a seperate entry, because i have tons of examples.

God bless America. America is a simple place and where people are actually nice to you. in America we have rules and laws, but people can make a mistake or two. here you are not even allowed to make a mistake. make a mistake and get yelled at or punished or patronized or made to feel like a complete idiot or suffer some other excessive and unecessary punishment. abuse.

the funny part is that these are the punishments are for harmless mistakes. whatever happened to things like 'let the punishment fit the crime' or 'live and learn'? i guess those phrases never got translated.

imagine living under a culture with such rigidity, and a penchant for punishment and patronization, since childhood. i'd be crazy too.

there is a great example that anyone in my class will attest to. a woman so engrossed in processes and rules that she completely loses the purpose or intention behing having these rules. the objective of law and structure is not to patronize others--at least not after one passes 3rd grade.

the brits need to learn the fundamental lesson preached by the infamous 80's one-hit wonder, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and RELAX!

the 4th ninja turtle...

this weekend fate, and the chunnel, brought me to paris. paris is truly a beautiful city... the french attitude, on the other hand, i could do without. anyhow, i don't really care to discuss the french... i'm more interested in turtles.

i spent today day strolling through the Louvre, and for the first time i saw it: mona lisa's smle. =] . and i finally realized the power of that smile that has fascinated all her admirers, not to mention the profound skill of leonardo da vinci. mona lisa looks at you as if she knows something about you, and she's sending you a knowing smile, or perhaps it's even a smirk. the more you look at that painting, the more it messes with your head. she's smiling, then she's not smiling, smile, no, yes, no... it's pretty cool, but you feel like you're going crazy.

in the end i concluded that it's definitely a smile, so i moved on. i was in the section of italian renaissance art, and i began searching for the masterpieces. sadly, my knowledge of art history is quite limited, but i do remember one thing well: the teenage mutant ninja turtles. as everyone certainly knows, those courageous freaks of nature were named after master italian renaissance artists. i figured that if i could find all of the works made by the four ninja turle namesakes i'd cover my bases and see the best of what the renaissance had to offer. only one problem: what the heck was the name of the fourth ninja turtle? Leonardo, Donatello, Michealangelo...

cold feet

no, this not a post about fear of commitment. it's really about cold feet. it's cold out here dammit. last night as i was walking back from the train station at 2am in -4 degree weather wearing far too few layers, i seriously considered the value of hibernation. if i could figure out a way to do it, i'd snooze yogi bear style and forget that winter ever happened. cold for an iraqi is catching some shade on a 130 degree day; i'm not made for this.

and speaking of feet, i really need a new sock collection. it's official: i'm going back to tube socks. i know, this is a shocking announcement to many, and this may kill a lot of my street cred in the fashion world, but i've gotta do it. i can be fashionable when the sun comes back out... in march 2006! and with that, i am initiating a moratorium on fashion till further notice.

tube socks, earmuffs, mittens , winter boots, thermals, 5+ layers--it's all part of the package. there's a time in every man's life when he must sacrifice. my time has now come.

i'm with stupid

When Derek Zoolander saw a problem, he worked for a solution. There were kids out there who couldn’t read good or do other stuff good. So he did something about it and setup The Derek Zoolander School for Kids Who Can't Read Good and Want to Do Other Stuff Good Too.

Today, we have a problem in the Muslim world, an it’s people who can’t think good. Actually, they just don’t think, period. So the time has come for a Zoolanderesque solution: The Ali Shaikley Center for Muslims Who Don’t Think and Want to Use Their Brain for Other Stuff Too (aka. the center for teaching idiots to use their brains or else be quarantined on some deserted island).

We have far too much stupidity in the world, and sadly us Muslims are at the heart of it. I am proud to be a Muslim, but I can’t stand for the bastardization of Islam that is occurring in the world today. Sure, there are nutty people everywhere, but I am responsible for my people first.

I can go on an on about reasons and excuses for the stupidity and ignorance about not only their own faith, but the world at large, that exists in the Muslim world today, but it’s completely futile. As I waste my breath explaining some idiot’s ignorance, talking about socio-economic and post-colonial this, under-developed and oppressive that, he is out there wreaking havoc on the world. An ignorant person is harmless unless he’s armed; unfortunately most are armed with at least their tongues.

Let me use another movie to take my point further.

In a quick to dvd film full of young, untalented c-list teen movie stars, the concept of “getting served” was dramatically brought to the forefront of American popular culture. To get served is basically to ‘get schooled’. Think John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.

But what does it really mean to be served? Do you have to be Nick Cannon or John Travolta to serve a man? No, for to serve is something greater, and the time has come for us to begin mentally serving people.

So this is all part of the package offered at The Ali Shaikley Center for Muslims Who Don’t Think and Want to Use Their Brain for Other Stuff Too. It’s not simply a call to end the madness in the world, it’s a one-stop shop to fix the problems that plague us all: ignorance

So the next time some fanatic begins with his rants about the world, just give him a dose of sense and tell him to his face (or have your crew yell out from the background): you got served, biyaatch! (bonus points if you do a creative dance move to go along with it).

the satanic purses

tonight was a cold, rainy night, and yet there was a very long que of students winding through the city center. what was the occassion? salman rushdie was speaking at the Oxford union. eager to sieze the opportunity, i stood in line with the masses, uncertain whether all of these people were attending because they were fans of rushdie or because they hated him. i waited about 20 minutes in the rain only to be denied entry! "members only"... i knew those jackets had to refer to something! one slightly important detail i forgot to enquire about before making plans to go to the event. i'm kinda annoyed right now, hence i am at my computer blogging it away. but it's all good, i'm joining the union tomorrow and then i'll get to attend all of the other speeches they have planned.

i wanted to go to the salman rushdie lecture tonight because i had a question for him. mr. rushdie, how does it feel to be the paris hilton of literature?

that's pretty much all he is, no? ...famous for offending people and causing controversy. his writing is ok, but nowhere near good enough to merit the attention that he gets. likewise, paris hilton can act--put a girl before a camera and that's acting, more or less.

but hey, whatever works. they generated the buzz and they are reaping the benifits. as the saying goes, don't hate the player, hate the game.

who could hate a face like this?

matriculation photos

so here i am in sub fusc. pretty classy. this was the day of our matriculation, where we enter a medival theater hall and the chancelor of the university tells us in latin that we are formally members of the university of oxford community. funny, i thought that happened when i paid them $50,000 for tuition, but i guess they do things differently out in the old country.

sorry there are not more pics. the engineers who we asked to take pics for us did not seem to understand the concept of pushing the button all the way down. therefore half of the pics that we thought that we had are actually not there. next time i get all dressed up, i'll be sure to give the camera to a pro.

scent of a muslim

contrary to common belief, muslims are actually unified. there is one common thread that binds all muslims all across the world, and sadly it is not faith. rather it is something far more powerful: the scent of a muslim. whoo-ah!

but you don't need al pacino's sense of smell to know that you've entered a place of muslim worship. anywhere you are in the world, when there are muslims praying, you know it.

today i went to my first oxford muslim students association event. i arrived a bit late, just as the prayer was finishing. the moment i entered the room i immediately knew that islam was in the air. alas, i had found my people and they were boldly bearing the international of the muslim world: foot funk!

in islam we are instructed to remove our shoes when we enter a place of prayer. we are also explicitly instructed to be clean. now i realize that cleanliness may be relative and perhaps to a certain extent it is a luxury to those living in extreme poverty. but these are students who have access to showers and laundry facilities. there is simply no excuse for such madness. and to be fair, it is not only oxford students. mosques, and prayers rooms across the U.S. and all over the first world all share the funk.

the funniest part was that the room that the iftar was in was not even a mosque. it was simply a room that the muslim student association had reserved for one hour! meaning that in the 5 minutes that the students had been in the room, taken off their shoes and prayed, they had managed to fill the air with their essence. eau de nasty.

now see the logic of certain people insisting on praying with their shoes on. perhaps their argument is doctrinally flawed, but if it means protecting all of us from what is under his shoes, i think i can support it.

and there is more irony still. i themed this posting after the movie 'scent of a woman' for another reason: the last thing you could possibly smell in that room was a woman. why not? because the women were in the room next door. now far be it for me to ever advocate feminism or women's rights (God forbid), but on a serious note, i will say that on a college campus segregation is stupid and hypocritical. this is the opportunity for the muslim students to mingle in a respectful environment, among their peers. anyhow, i won't get into the full argument because i am sure most of you know where i am going with it.

in the end i guess it is for the best. i really don't think the ladies wanted to walk into that room without a face mask. although i wonder... does the women's prayer area smell just as bad???

that is definitely one of those things that makes you go hmmmmmmmmm...

no-class in class...

so let me be the first to suggest a class on classroom class. it's a mouthful, but having sat in so many classrooms i finally realize that it is necessary. today was my first day of M.B.A. classes; my first day with my section who i will share every class with for the next two months. everything was great except for one things--some of these people never got the memo on how to be a student. after listening to one guy make real time comments during 6 hours of lecture today, i have to find some release. so let me write that memo now.

ali shaikley's guide to classroom class:

1. no real time comments--it's called a lecture because the professor is lecturing, not because we are all asking you to give your commentary on every two words the professor speaks.

2. this is not the british parliament! in a classroom silence is agreement. when you agree, you don't say 'ya', 'exactly' uh huh' or anything ridiculous like that. of course you agree with him idiot, he's teaching you the material.

3. don't ask questions that have completely irrelevant answers. when the professor gives an example using widgets, don't ask detailed questions about the market for widgets, what firms make widgets, where to apply for a job analyzing widgets, how the futures market for widgets was looking in 1973. why not? because we don't give a damn and it is completely worthless and irrelevant knowledge. the example is just about supply and demand. if you want to research the most obscure details about widgets, go do so on your own time.

4. and related to the previous note, don't ask a question that is way to complicated for the class just to demonstrate your foolish intellectual curiosity.

5. don't try to kiss so much @$$!!! have some dignity. especially when class participation is 0% of the final grade and this professor is not going to find you a job.

6. don't huff and puff and shift in your chair till the professor calls on you. raise your hand and wait like you learned when you were three.

7. i think there should be a legislated limit on questions/comments/huff and puffs (a huff and puff counts as two things only because it is more annoying than a dumb question) per hour of lecture. if i told you that i one student in my section averages about 20-30 questions and comments and huff and puffs per hour of lecture would you believe me? either he's truly clueless or completely lost in his arrogance.

8. this is not the game taboo. if you know the answer, don't race to answer the question by yelling it out. sorry, but you will not win anything. perhaps we need to install buzzers at the desks and get alex trebek to help the professors out.

anyhow, just thought i'd give my 2 cents (or 1.15 pence) on the matter. maybe i'll publish a formal guide someday. i've been a student for so long that i am a pro, haha.

sustenance, thy name is Kebab Kid

Kebab Kid. a kabab place whose logo is modeled after John Travolta's character in the movie Grease. need i say more? most importantly, it is my ramadan savior. good, halal food within walking distance from my apartment and my school.

at Kebab Kid, they offer "freshly backed" bread. i tend to find an inverse correlation between grammar/spelling and food quality at halal restaurants. perhaps it is because the food is more authentic (one can say, fresher off the boat), or perhaps it is because the restauranteur spent his time developing his cooking instead of engaging in futile acts of learning. i actually look for spelling and grammar errors when i discover a new place. until now my instincts have been correct. the exception to this rule is the entire country of egypt where i don't think i have ever seen a single word of english spelled correctly on a menu and yet all of the food is horrible (and cold!). so i guess my theory doesn't hold all the time, but nonetheless keep your eye out for the typos.

(if i remember some classic restaurant typos i will edit this post and add them. and if anyone remembers any, please post them in the comments)

am i posh?

Posh: : smart, fashionable... and so much more. if you click the link, the great Wikipedia will tell you more than you want to know about the word. but i write this post not because i question my own poshness/poshosity/poshificiation--because clearly i am about as posh as it gets--but because i had to listen to two drunk grown men discuss their poshness over dinner. the other night i frequented my favorite london restaurant, Masgouf (great Iraqi food!), and at the table beside me were two men and an empty bottle of wine (and i have a feeling it was not their first bottle).

WARNING to those who want to read on: the story is incredibly stupid, but i feel like i have to tell it.

so apparently one man felt insecure about his poshness because he had moved out of central london. why everyone knows that if you are a londoner, the posh thing to do is to live in central london. the other man, who lived in central london and who felt he was 'the dog's bollocks' (british version of 'the cat's meow') and the king of poshness. now from my observations both of these guys were low class idiots and the only thing that demostrated any intelligence and class on their part was that they knew well enough to dine at an Iraqi restaurant. anyhow, their discussion went on... and on... and on... and basically, that's my story. i guess you had to be there. but at least i know know the question on the mind of all brits: am i posh?

Posh Spice-Beckham

hala wallah, cheers!

for those of you who don't speak saudi english, my good friend and colleague at the business school, Yazid, coined my new favorite phrase. hala wallah, cheers! the queen's english is a bit of a mystery to me. it feels odd to be in a place where people are speaking english, yet i don't understand it all.

so perhaps we should all do as yazid does and integrate laguages--make up our own. i have noticed that Oxford--and the UK generally--is such a mix of cultures and languages that i wonder if people actually understand one another here. there must be a hundred dialects of english spoken here: saudi english, indian english, greek english, chinese english, amerrrrrrrkin english, french english/euro-english and, of course, proper british english. each is its own language, and i have to sit and think really hard every time i am speaking to a non-american, not to mention a complete FOB (of which there are many around these parts!). so to all i say: hala wallah, cheers!

clubs...

so today i went to the 'Fresher's Fair', which is the day when all of the clubs on campus put a table out and pass out flyers and all of that. now i have seen (heck, attended) many schools across my years, but never have i seen a display like this. i swear to you there must have been 500 different clubs out today. there were clubs for the most random and obscure sports/cultures/relgions/hobbies, etc. i think i even saw an 'Oxonians for Kaysar' table, haha. i proudly joined the 'Iraq Club'! it just goes to show how classy Oxford is... it's the first school i have seen with an Iraq club. God bless this place.

and for the sake of nostalgia (in memory of the good old UCLA days), i joined the persian club too, haha. i wonder if they have BHPs out here and what would they be called? when i find out, i'll post the information.

dat's great...

another surprise i discovered upon arriving at the University of Oxford was the notorious book of Exam Regulations. normally the rules governing exams would not be blogworthy, except when those rules form a book the size of which makes War and Peace look like a quick read. so when it comes to exams let's add it all up: i gotta dress like harry potter, take the test in a 13th century torture chamber and abide by more rules than govern all of africa. in the infamous words of a georgetown student: "dat's great, pass the paper please."

what the sub fusc?!?

yes, that is a lego man in sub fusc. i plan on looking just as stupid as him.

so among my many surprises upon arriving in Oxford, i learned that we have to dress up like a sorcerer or one of harry potter's professors for every final exam (not to mention some of the major academic events like matriculation and graduation)! tux, white bow tie, cape and mortarboard cap. fun times!

first impressions

so after about a week of disorientation, i am all settled in the middle ages. this place is really cool and really interesting. it's like a combination of a museum, harry potter and berkeley, with some globalization on the side. suprisingly, oxford is actually a lot like berkeley--except with smart people (sorry boys, i gotta tell it like it is). it is quite an experience. the business school is a really modern building, but all around us it is like the victorian era has never ended. there's even a trendy cafe/restaurant near my place that is in a building that is probably an ancient ruin (in fact, it looks like a greek ruin--go figure). and when we take our final exams we have to take them in the 'examination school'--which looks like some big, scary, old british school (i guess that's what it is, haha), and we have to wear a tuxedo with a white bow tie, a cape and one of those graduation hats (they call it the sub fusc.--i'll post more on the sub fusc. later), lol. it's pretty creepy.

entering the world of blog...

basically i figure that these days the modern thing to do is to blog, not to mass email. so blog i shall. here it is--the life and times of Shaikley in The OX.

btw, no one here calls it The OX but me. perhaps it's because it sounds stupid. or perhaps no one here has heard of The OC. either way, this is the name i want to stick. it's all about The OX baby!

the man behind the words.