Jesus & Omar in LA
Governer elections in California
2425
October 2003
I met Jesus outside of Glenwood’s Costco. He was accompanied by Omar and pushing the train of trolley carts across the parking lot. He was quite in demeanor and spotted a scruffy beard, while Omar was tall and imposing. He was Mexican, Omar was African American and I was on an errand for my sister’s baby shower. Welcome to LA.
Jesus looked saintly and he let Omar walk ahead with a characteristic swagger. Did Hazrat Omar exhibit it to? When he conquered Alexandria in 642, he found 700,000 volumes. “Enough kindling to heat Alexandria’s baths for six months.” He declared that all necessary knowledge could be found in the Koran, and any knowledge outside the Koran must be pernicious. He is of course hated by Shites, as a competitor to Hazrat Ali, and by the Zoroastrians, who he decimated with an Alexandrain fervor, but one grow up tales of his bravery and honesty in the Muslim world. Did not the prophet said that he feels safer now that Oman has embraced Islam. Was he the first true bad ass to join in the faith of the meek?
Questions to be answered, he remains an enigmatic character who propelled Islam as a major force between the byzantium and the persian empire. A simple man of faith who was brutally honest. As the tale goes, after winning a war as a caliph, he was caught wearing a cloak, since he was freakishly tall it was clear that he could not have made the cloak with his share of the booty. When someone pointed it out, his son replied that he had given his share to his father so that the cloak would fit. He also had problems working it out with other ‘heroes’ like Hazrat Ali and Khaild bin Waleed, what he needed was a non-competitive man of peace.
Enter Issa/Jesus. Such a calm presence. He even stopped to let a beat-up old corolla chug along as it spewed smog next to the folks eating the Costco infamous $1.99 hot dogs. LA is the biggest Spanish speaking city in the northern hemisphere, that does not make sense but someone said to me once. STA travel advertisements in Europe and Australia proudly proclaim billboards that say, ‘Number of California licenses with name Jesus Christ =56”. Issa is the healer, the Buddha of middle east (well, he was no prince, just a poor Jew who wanted to improve the lot of his folks). He was crucified by the romans not because he was introducing a new religion (or Allah forbid son of God . . . big debate I will graciously avoid), it was because he was against the wanton commercialism and capitalism. If Jesus was to come back, he would not come to Bethlehem, it would have to East LA. And with apologies to Salman Rushdie, an Omar Jesus parable in the city of LA would be such a wonderful story to write. Now if only we could give Jesus some balls and Omar some brains, we could have a dynamic duo for the 21st century.
There is something about LA that brings to my mind the absurdity of this city. It is dismal and glamourous, alarming and subtle, and artistic and gaudi, all within a few blocks. There is nothing superficial about LA, it is all built on layers of blitzkrieg human occupation, it is in fact one of America’s true megalopolis, a place that is tune with the 21st century. Its crumbling freeways and serene canyons are mostly forgotten in the horrible traffic and the constant shimmering smog, trapped in the valley like the lives of so many who live and die in this city. LA offers everything one can desire, from Hollywood celebrities to orange county political conservatism, the pathos of south central LA and the Barios of East LA all melt together in one place, Glendale’s Costco.
Costco is a grotesque American experience. It is a superlative in the land of plenty, a place of rampant consumerism and wastage, while serving as an ode genetically modified horticulture. The spectacle which provides low prices and bulk buying is mostly geared towards immigrants with large families, where cash is king and the actuarial sciences and waste management are a distinct second. The Costco is truly a modern day equivalent of a medieval bazaar, products from all over the world under one roof, but instead of different shopkeepers employing touts to sell their products, Costco employs greed as the activator. One finds such oddities as a 9 lb All American Chocolate cake, six jumbo sized tooth paste, Johnny walker Red Label in a 1 liter triplet pack, baby sized Doritos bags, sheepskins seat covers, 30 pack of assorted beers and so on and so forth. How long with a 3 pack of 1500 q-tips last an ordinary person? What is the chance that the 50 pack frozen chicken patties will be used wisely? It is maybe not for me, after all I try to live with certain stoic principles, waste not want not, not fall for wanton consumerism, try to live within your means, and above all don’t plan for the future as your time in this world is limited.
Well, it did not quite work like that. There I was dodging the cart train that Omar was pushing with outright disdain and Jesus guiding it with a careful caressing. I picked a cart and realized that Costco had carts that were at least one and half time wider then a regular shopping cart, kind of like the Pontiac commercial ‘Wider is better’. What was even funnier was to see tiny size zero, Philippine and Asian girls push these carts loaded with monstrous bags of lettuce and 20 lb ground beef logs. Pretty soon I realized that fashion was a statement at Costco on a Saturday. I saw a chubby Mexican girl in a Che Guevara T-shirt and a black beret, a suburban white man in a bright orange polo shirt eyeing the handyman section, african american mothers eyeing the ice cream section, Malaysian women with head scarves and long skirts and couple of gay men in cut off t-shirts and denim shorts. All were apparently in awe of the shopping spectacles. As I walked past all the gaudy displays and enough Gillette Sensors blades to clean shave all Iranians man and Hungarian woman, I encountered the automotive sections, cautiously I walked into it only to find genuine New Zealander Sheepskin seat covers for only $34.99. I was thunderstruck and spend 15 minutes checking them out but being an El Cheapo, decided to take them out and make sure that was two for that price. Fortunately, it was for one and I decided that I will stick to my imitation sheep skins for now as $70 was too cheap a price to sell my principles.
Finally I came to the bakery and asked for the cake that I had come to pick up. Many senoritas were actively creating artistic statement s on chocolate and crème cakes, I was told just a moment please with a smile that reminded me of the reason Mexicans are such great workers, they honestly believe in hard work and customer service. One will never encounter this kind of service in a Pakistani shop, and god forbid if anyone is stupid enough to expect customer service from a middle eastern or a Greek shop. It maybe can be attributed to delusions of grandeur which makes it even more puzzling for this kind of behavior from Pakistanis since our moment of grandeur is based on feats of other nations, with whom we share our Muslim brotherhood. After the cake, I picked up the vegetable sandwiches platter, which was a 24” wrap rolled up with various cheeses and spreads. The lady behind the counter was spreading a pink sauce whose consistency fell somewhere between Big Macs secret sauce and Elmer’s Glue on these massive tortillas with an abundance not found in most French restaurant. In Costco truly more is better.
With the platter and the cake fitted into my extra wise shop cart I detoured across the liquor aisle towards the checkout section. One part of me wanted to check prices out for beverages, sensor blades, tools and plasma TV’s, while the other was torn between flirting with the tasting ladies giving out tastes fiery Guacamoles and raunchy Caesar salad. There is just something about a woman with white plastic gloves and plastic hair nut that reminds of a 50’s future world from the NY state fair. I avoided the urge and stood in line at the checkout. The guy on the aisle next to me, there are approximately 25 aisles, was told that his membership was expired and he will have to buy a new one. How much he asked, the clerk said with the stuff, $385, the guy said ok and took a roll of money and doled out $400. Wow no credit card or check, just plain cash. When my time came, the girl said, check or cash? Credit I said, we don’t take credit, oooh, I thought to myself, there is nothing customer friendly in their dealing. This is definitely a wholesale market. I put in my debit card and she looked at my Costco card and said, whose that?
Oh that’s my sister, I running errands for her baby shower. Baby shower or no baby shower, you cant user her card. Come on please, she is 8 months pregnant, I am helping her out, look only sandwiches and the cake she ordered. Happy Birthday Mother and Baby. She gave me a sullen look, and I thanked God I had not purchased the sheepskin seat covers. What would I have said if she had pointed it out? Oh, this is a tradition, I have ancestors from Mongolia and we wrap the baby in sheepskin first thing after birth? Oh well, I did not need to lie as she reluctantly let me pass.
Next stop was Makkah Restaurant on 4th and Vermont in central LA. I was here to pick up Samosas and Pakoras from the Bengali restaurant. I was early and they told me to wait and graciously and try their 10 dish lunch buffet. How did they manage that out of four receptacles and two plastic jugs? Any other day I would have attacked it, but my sister Allah be praised is an awesome cook and I have had my fill, once, twice, threes a day. I had some water from the nice clean glasses and sat around looking at the various pictures of shrines from Bangladesh and garish looking state symbols from Dacca. In the restaurant there are pictures of Gray Davis smiling with the owner. I asked him, so now you have to replace it with Arnold. He snarled at me, oh yes, now we have a republican actor, American teach the world politics but vote like kids in a candy shop (well he said Mithai shop, but I am translating)
Once done, I drive back across the urban lands to my sister’s home in Pasadena. I am enjoying the day off, reveling in the purist pleasure of running errands alone and away from the huffing and puffing by the women in my family. Whether it’s a marriage or a minor thing like a baby shower, all women turn into domineering Amazonian blood thirsty camel drivers. I mean I am on vacation, whatever gave them the idea that I am here to work and help out in the baby shower? Leave me alone. But that was not the case and the second best option was to run mindless errands all alone in the car listening to their eclectics collection of Natasha Atlas and Pink Martini, or what I rudely call gentle ocean waves lapping on my vulva music. There is something serenely beautiful (and disgusting) about happy people, like this one friend of mine whose password was happy123 and I shared it with another friend whose password was fuckU2. She was horrified and immediatly changed it to fucku123
Back in the condo, there was the frantic preparations that eluded my slow burning mentality. I just wanted to stop and smell the Biryani, but no, I had to run and transport useless stuff to the club house in Burbank! Only in LA would you get a club house in Burbank owned by a Emmy winning music producer, especially when you live in Pasadena. Now faced with the Teutonic perfectionism and disgusting WASP work ethics of my wife, the hysterical workholism of my mother and shrieking/crying and dangerously close to humiliating me in public antics of my pregnant sister I had to get my ass in gear and run of to more errands, with my ever happy brother in law. He too has work ethics that escaped description, why in the world would you get up at 7:00 AM and make coffee for everyone on a Saturday! I also wake up early, but spend my time doing more constructive things, like staring at the cracks in the ceiling and equating them to a US Geological survey rating Tokyo-Yokohama as the numbero uno earthquake spot in the world, score of 710, followed by SF Bay Area (167) and LA (100). Save us Jesus and Omar.
At night, in the club house by the pool. The baby shower was all pretty in pink. Solemn professors, hungry Asians, Persian princesses, Phillipino researchers, linguists, Ph.d students, Ibn Arabi and Rumi loving Sufis, actors, IT nerds, mustachioed Pakistani uncles, made up Pakistani aunties with 7-layer burrito makeup, surfer kids, USC employees and of course the fringe Hollywood elemental crowd. There is Pacifico beer and spicy Pakistani dishes and middle eastern hummus, and baba ganouch, as well Indian biryani and Bengali samosas. Everyone is truly refined and the Sufis in their impeccable guiltless tradition enjoy playing the games with gusto with the teenagers, as do the Pakistani aunties who never really lived their youths as they become baby popping machines. In all a baby shower is a fairly mundane ceremony but this one was showered with a meteoric LA atmosphere. My thoughts on baby shower is that it should be celebrated after the baby is born and the meat should be served up fresh from the sacrificial goat, but then everyone knows I suffer from delusions of pastoral ancestry.
By the time it ended, I was tired and suffocating in the good will. My sister beamed and the estrogen was in the air. I felt very happy for her and I am glad I was there so that my dear nephew felt the presence of a fine old curmudgeon in the making.
2425
October 2003
I met Jesus outside of Glenwood’s Costco. He was accompanied by Omar and pushing the train of trolley carts across the parking lot. He was quite in demeanor and spotted a scruffy beard, while Omar was tall and imposing. He was Mexican, Omar was African American and I was on an errand for my sister’s baby shower. Welcome to LA.
Jesus looked saintly and he let Omar walk ahead with a characteristic swagger. Did Hazrat Omar exhibit it to? When he conquered Alexandria in 642, he found 700,000 volumes. “Enough kindling to heat Alexandria’s baths for six months.” He declared that all necessary knowledge could be found in the Koran, and any knowledge outside the Koran must be pernicious. He is of course hated by Shites, as a competitor to Hazrat Ali, and by the Zoroastrians, who he decimated with an Alexandrain fervor, but one grow up tales of his bravery and honesty in the Muslim world. Did not the prophet said that he feels safer now that Oman has embraced Islam. Was he the first true bad ass to join in the faith of the meek?
Questions to be answered, he remains an enigmatic character who propelled Islam as a major force between the byzantium and the persian empire. A simple man of faith who was brutally honest. As the tale goes, after winning a war as a caliph, he was caught wearing a cloak, since he was freakishly tall it was clear that he could not have made the cloak with his share of the booty. When someone pointed it out, his son replied that he had given his share to his father so that the cloak would fit. He also had problems working it out with other ‘heroes’ like Hazrat Ali and Khaild bin Waleed, what he needed was a non-competitive man of peace.
Enter Issa/Jesus. Such a calm presence. He even stopped to let a beat-up old corolla chug along as it spewed smog next to the folks eating the Costco infamous $1.99 hot dogs. LA is the biggest Spanish speaking city in the northern hemisphere, that does not make sense but someone said to me once. STA travel advertisements in Europe and Australia proudly proclaim billboards that say, ‘Number of California licenses with name Jesus Christ =56”. Issa is the healer, the Buddha of middle east (well, he was no prince, just a poor Jew who wanted to improve the lot of his folks). He was crucified by the romans not because he was introducing a new religion (or Allah forbid son of God . . . big debate I will graciously avoid), it was because he was against the wanton commercialism and capitalism. If Jesus was to come back, he would not come to Bethlehem, it would have to East LA. And with apologies to Salman Rushdie, an Omar Jesus parable in the city of LA would be such a wonderful story to write. Now if only we could give Jesus some balls and Omar some brains, we could have a dynamic duo for the 21st century.
There is something about LA that brings to my mind the absurdity of this city. It is dismal and glamourous, alarming and subtle, and artistic and gaudi, all within a few blocks. There is nothing superficial about LA, it is all built on layers of blitzkrieg human occupation, it is in fact one of America’s true megalopolis, a place that is tune with the 21st century. Its crumbling freeways and serene canyons are mostly forgotten in the horrible traffic and the constant shimmering smog, trapped in the valley like the lives of so many who live and die in this city. LA offers everything one can desire, from Hollywood celebrities to orange county political conservatism, the pathos of south central LA and the Barios of East LA all melt together in one place, Glendale’s Costco.
Costco is a grotesque American experience. It is a superlative in the land of plenty, a place of rampant consumerism and wastage, while serving as an ode genetically modified horticulture. The spectacle which provides low prices and bulk buying is mostly geared towards immigrants with large families, where cash is king and the actuarial sciences and waste management are a distinct second. The Costco is truly a modern day equivalent of a medieval bazaar, products from all over the world under one roof, but instead of different shopkeepers employing touts to sell their products, Costco employs greed as the activator. One finds such oddities as a 9 lb All American Chocolate cake, six jumbo sized tooth paste, Johnny walker Red Label in a 1 liter triplet pack, baby sized Doritos bags, sheepskins seat covers, 30 pack of assorted beers and so on and so forth. How long with a 3 pack of 1500 q-tips last an ordinary person? What is the chance that the 50 pack frozen chicken patties will be used wisely? It is maybe not for me, after all I try to live with certain stoic principles, waste not want not, not fall for wanton consumerism, try to live within your means, and above all don’t plan for the future as your time in this world is limited.
Well, it did not quite work like that. There I was dodging the cart train that Omar was pushing with outright disdain and Jesus guiding it with a careful caressing. I picked a cart and realized that Costco had carts that were at least one and half time wider then a regular shopping cart, kind of like the Pontiac commercial ‘Wider is better’. What was even funnier was to see tiny size zero, Philippine and Asian girls push these carts loaded with monstrous bags of lettuce and 20 lb ground beef logs. Pretty soon I realized that fashion was a statement at Costco on a Saturday. I saw a chubby Mexican girl in a Che Guevara T-shirt and a black beret, a suburban white man in a bright orange polo shirt eyeing the handyman section, african american mothers eyeing the ice cream section, Malaysian women with head scarves and long skirts and couple of gay men in cut off t-shirts and denim shorts. All were apparently in awe of the shopping spectacles. As I walked past all the gaudy displays and enough Gillette Sensors blades to clean shave all Iranians man and Hungarian woman, I encountered the automotive sections, cautiously I walked into it only to find genuine New Zealander Sheepskin seat covers for only $34.99. I was thunderstruck and spend 15 minutes checking them out but being an El Cheapo, decided to take them out and make sure that was two for that price. Fortunately, it was for one and I decided that I will stick to my imitation sheep skins for now as $70 was too cheap a price to sell my principles.
Finally I came to the bakery and asked for the cake that I had come to pick up. Many senoritas were actively creating artistic statement s on chocolate and crème cakes, I was told just a moment please with a smile that reminded me of the reason Mexicans are such great workers, they honestly believe in hard work and customer service. One will never encounter this kind of service in a Pakistani shop, and god forbid if anyone is stupid enough to expect customer service from a middle eastern or a Greek shop. It maybe can be attributed to delusions of grandeur which makes it even more puzzling for this kind of behavior from Pakistanis since our moment of grandeur is based on feats of other nations, with whom we share our Muslim brotherhood. After the cake, I picked up the vegetable sandwiches platter, which was a 24” wrap rolled up with various cheeses and spreads. The lady behind the counter was spreading a pink sauce whose consistency fell somewhere between Big Macs secret sauce and Elmer’s Glue on these massive tortillas with an abundance not found in most French restaurant. In Costco truly more is better.
With the platter and the cake fitted into my extra wise shop cart I detoured across the liquor aisle towards the checkout section. One part of me wanted to check prices out for beverages, sensor blades, tools and plasma TV’s, while the other was torn between flirting with the tasting ladies giving out tastes fiery Guacamoles and raunchy Caesar salad. There is just something about a woman with white plastic gloves and plastic hair nut that reminds of a 50’s future world from the NY state fair. I avoided the urge and stood in line at the checkout. The guy on the aisle next to me, there are approximately 25 aisles, was told that his membership was expired and he will have to buy a new one. How much he asked, the clerk said with the stuff, $385, the guy said ok and took a roll of money and doled out $400. Wow no credit card or check, just plain cash. When my time came, the girl said, check or cash? Credit I said, we don’t take credit, oooh, I thought to myself, there is nothing customer friendly in their dealing. This is definitely a wholesale market. I put in my debit card and she looked at my Costco card and said, whose that?
Oh that’s my sister, I running errands for her baby shower. Baby shower or no baby shower, you cant user her card. Come on please, she is 8 months pregnant, I am helping her out, look only sandwiches and the cake she ordered. Happy Birthday Mother and Baby. She gave me a sullen look, and I thanked God I had not purchased the sheepskin seat covers. What would I have said if she had pointed it out? Oh, this is a tradition, I have ancestors from Mongolia and we wrap the baby in sheepskin first thing after birth? Oh well, I did not need to lie as she reluctantly let me pass.
Next stop was Makkah Restaurant on 4th and Vermont in central LA. I was here to pick up Samosas and Pakoras from the Bengali restaurant. I was early and they told me to wait and graciously and try their 10 dish lunch buffet. How did they manage that out of four receptacles and two plastic jugs? Any other day I would have attacked it, but my sister Allah be praised is an awesome cook and I have had my fill, once, twice, threes a day. I had some water from the nice clean glasses and sat around looking at the various pictures of shrines from Bangladesh and garish looking state symbols from Dacca. In the restaurant there are pictures of Gray Davis smiling with the owner. I asked him, so now you have to replace it with Arnold. He snarled at me, oh yes, now we have a republican actor, American teach the world politics but vote like kids in a candy shop (well he said Mithai shop, but I am translating)
Once done, I drive back across the urban lands to my sister’s home in Pasadena. I am enjoying the day off, reveling in the purist pleasure of running errands alone and away from the huffing and puffing by the women in my family. Whether it’s a marriage or a minor thing like a baby shower, all women turn into domineering Amazonian blood thirsty camel drivers. I mean I am on vacation, whatever gave them the idea that I am here to work and help out in the baby shower? Leave me alone. But that was not the case and the second best option was to run mindless errands all alone in the car listening to their eclectics collection of Natasha Atlas and Pink Martini, or what I rudely call gentle ocean waves lapping on my vulva music. There is something serenely beautiful (and disgusting) about happy people, like this one friend of mine whose password was happy123 and I shared it with another friend whose password was fuckU2. She was horrified and immediatly changed it to fucku123
Back in the condo, there was the frantic preparations that eluded my slow burning mentality. I just wanted to stop and smell the Biryani, but no, I had to run and transport useless stuff to the club house in Burbank! Only in LA would you get a club house in Burbank owned by a Emmy winning music producer, especially when you live in Pasadena. Now faced with the Teutonic perfectionism and disgusting WASP work ethics of my wife, the hysterical workholism of my mother and shrieking/crying and dangerously close to humiliating me in public antics of my pregnant sister I had to get my ass in gear and run of to more errands, with my ever happy brother in law. He too has work ethics that escaped description, why in the world would you get up at 7:00 AM and make coffee for everyone on a Saturday! I also wake up early, but spend my time doing more constructive things, like staring at the cracks in the ceiling and equating them to a US Geological survey rating Tokyo-Yokohama as the numbero uno earthquake spot in the world, score of 710, followed by SF Bay Area (167) and LA (100). Save us Jesus and Omar.
At night, in the club house by the pool. The baby shower was all pretty in pink. Solemn professors, hungry Asians, Persian princesses, Phillipino researchers, linguists, Ph.d students, Ibn Arabi and Rumi loving Sufis, actors, IT nerds, mustachioed Pakistani uncles, made up Pakistani aunties with 7-layer burrito makeup, surfer kids, USC employees and of course the fringe Hollywood elemental crowd. There is Pacifico beer and spicy Pakistani dishes and middle eastern hummus, and baba ganouch, as well Indian biryani and Bengali samosas. Everyone is truly refined and the Sufis in their impeccable guiltless tradition enjoy playing the games with gusto with the teenagers, as do the Pakistani aunties who never really lived their youths as they become baby popping machines. In all a baby shower is a fairly mundane ceremony but this one was showered with a meteoric LA atmosphere. My thoughts on baby shower is that it should be celebrated after the baby is born and the meat should be served up fresh from the sacrificial goat, but then everyone knows I suffer from delusions of pastoral ancestry.
By the time it ended, I was tired and suffocating in the good will. My sister beamed and the estrogen was in the air. I felt very happy for her and I am glad I was there so that my dear nephew felt the presence of a fine old curmudgeon in the making.
posted by Samurai Zauq at 11:59 AM
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