About the Mastermind Behind the Name
The infamous and notorious “about” page has plagued website developers for decades. Truth be told that there is never enough interesting nor original witty comments to save us from this dreaded tradition, yet we insist on its necessity. Some devious developers have migrated from the “about” page to the “colophon” page… thinking that they are being clever and side-stepping this developer’s obligation. A colophon, according to Dictionary.com, is “an inscription placed usually at the end of a book, giving facts about its publication.” Therefore, I suppose, for the blogging world a colophon might make the most sense since a blog is just an ongoing book of our lives. However, as the Champion of the About Me World, I cannot yet indulge myself in the “colophon” ways; this is my damn about page and I’ll make it worth your while.
Unfortunately, in retrospect, I really can’t tell you much about myself. That’s really what my journal is about. Therefore, I suppose, to truly know what I’m all about, you ought to read my thoughts. But, alas, the reason you came to read “about” me is specifically because you don’t have the patience to read about me or anything not in bullet form. Therefore, to appease the patience of all my readers, both those with long and short term attention spans… I present you:
A Life in Synopsis
- My name is Navid Azimi (email me: cestmoi [at] navidazimi [dot] com).
- According to Google, I am the most important Navid in the world.
- I was born five days before Jesus, 1983 years after the fact.
- That makes me twenty-four years old.
- I am a Sagittarius, if you believe in that stuff. I don’t.
- I currently reside in Seattle, WA. I have not always lived here.
- I have lived in five different countries and spoken five different languages.
- I don’t remember all the languages I used to speak.
- I recently graduated from the University of California, Irvine with a degree in Information & Computer Science and a specialization in Information Systems.
- I am a Software Development Engineer for the best company in the world.
- Politically, I align myself with those of Libertarian Centrists. Socially, I am a butterfly.
- I am an only child, and devilishly charming. Modest, too.
- I absolutely adore writing, especially humor, though you may not always find me funny.
- I have a penchant for grammar, vocab and quotable quotes.
- I am a connoisseur of german engineering and fine women. And hopefully, when time permits, a cigar and wine aficionado.
The following is a brief factual autobiography which gets updated, reworded and polished up rather frequently. So you may want to skim it on occasion for any changes. If you find the read too long, you can always wait until it hits a theatre near you.
The Whole Enchilada
I can only best describe my life as a series of unfortunate events punctuated by moments of euphoric tragedy, sarcastic humor and bloody irony. It all started on a cold and dreary Tuesday morning where I prepared to evacuate my mothers womb. The safety procedures outlined in the brochure were everything short of helpful. Moreover, being the overtly cautious and punctual type, I decided to leave early to secure the best spot for my birth. As faith would have it, I arrived slightly early but without interruptions: I was born in Tehran, Iran during the last month of 1983.
Celebrating my untimely arrival, Iraq and Iran were in the midst of an ongoing war. The cause of the war one would suspect was more than just fireworks celebrating my zero year birthday, but alas, the details are so inconsequential and politically uninteresting that I will not delve into them just yet. Consequently, due to the unsafe nature of bombs and tanks near newborns and toddlers, my newly found parents decided that Iran may not be the safest of neighborhoods to raise an intelligent, Saint-like child like myself. Therefore, at the age of 2, we packed our belongings and moved to Rome, Italy.
Rome was a fascinating city with a night life so remarkable, one could only conjure in dreams. Sadly, I never had the opportunity to experience it first hand due to my sorely lacking height and minute age. Regardless, however, at the age of 4, I entered the greatest club of all: Kindergarten. Like so many greats before me, Da Vinci, Michelangelo and Dante, I attended a Catholic Kindergarten run by, of course, Catholic Nuns located in the heart of Italy. The actual experience is a little foggy; though I primarily attribute that to the customary wine and bread diet (also known as a Jesus Malt). Also, it was around the same time when I was recruited by the Italian Mafia to serve as a primary Mafiosi. My responsibilities included, though were not limited to, ensuring the safe and secure pick up and drop off of gats and gasper in the greater Florence area.
Not many years passed before we found ourselves in the city of Bern, Switzerland. I suspect our move was in accordance with my father’s ailing asthma and the Don’s desire to open a Swiss Bank Account. Switzerland is a wonderful though peculiar country. After briefly getting acquainted with Bern, we relocated to a tiny small town called Villigen. Shortly there after, at the age of 5, I entered “The First Grade.” Generally regarded as the “worst day of our lives” by most five and six year olds, the fear and anxiety was only quadrupled by the fact that I was inalienably the only non-white, non-blonde haired, non-blue eyed member of the faction. Moreover, my Swiss German was non-existence and my only modes of communication included Farsi, Italian and Sobbing.
Being a kid and as kids are, I picked up Swiss German incredibly fast. They say that after your first two languages the rest come easy. I suppose I was living proof. Within the year, I was able to readily translate for my parents — getting directions or haggling down prices at the corner market. Quite remarkable kids are. I don’t recall too many details of my Swiss life, though I have more than several vivid memories. One such memory includes being tantalized by my first grade teacher on the basis of drawing an 8. I recall sitting, happily, furiously drawing “figure 8s” as to practice the geometry of our beautiful western nomenclature, as the teacher had requested. However, she came over and asked how I was doing. Being the optimistic young kid that I was, I told her that I was doing well and that 8 was easy. I’m not sure what came of her, or if she was even offended that my remark that her “assignment” was “easy” but she immediately held up my paper to the class and mockingly said, in german, “Is this what you call a figure 8?” and all the kids laughed. They’re all gonna laugh at you! She made me start over and do my “8s” properly. I hated that bitch. Talk about horrible childhood memories; I could not write down the number 8 without cryings for years… actually to this day. I cried while writing this paragraph, damn you number eight! damn you!
Three or so years of living the Swiss life, we found ourselves packing once again. This time our crusade pointed to the cold arctic regions of Ottawa, Canada. My father, whom I have not yet written much about, holds two Masters’ degrees in Reactor Physics and Nuclear Physics respectively, including a PhD in Nuclear Physics from the University of London, England. At the time, he worked at the Paul Scherrer Institut and it did not seem logical to part ways until his projects were completed. Therefore, my mother and I entered Ottawa International Airport together and were greeted by a plethora of family members. Having lived “alone” in Switzerland with no exceptionally close relatives or friends, the warmth of family love was joyous.
Fall rolled around and I was apparently expected to attend yet another school. And to think I thought I was almost done. Apparently, fluency in three languages by the age of eight gave my family the impression that I was linguistically inclined and could adapt well. Paired with my father’s daily math exercises, I had the chance to test out of the second grade. I attended Robert Hopkins Elementary School and signed up for third grade. After a series of “interviews” and “tests” in a language I did not speak (though a lot of the questions were mathematics), the school agreed that I was well-beyond the premise of second grade and enlisted me for the third grade. I wonder what that tells you about the Western Education System ;).
I graduated from Robert Hopkins while perfecting my English. I was merely 10 years old and I spoke four languages as impeccably as a ten year old could. Like most kids in my neighborhood, I moved on to Henry Munro Middle School. Fortunately for my basketball career, Robert Hopkins, did nothing but catapult my desire, passion and skill. Although I had been on the school basketball team since the 3rd grade, 6rd grade was where the competition began and things got serious. As my tale would have it, I was again only able to stay at Henry Munro Middle School for the academic year, while my parents (my father, now finished with his work with the Swiss) moved across town to Orleans, Canada.
I attended Trillium Elementary School with the hope that I could finally root myself in a community, in friends and most importantly, in women. Orleans was a predominately white neighborhood which was a definite change of scenario for me; whom had spent the past four years playing basketball at a more-or-less all black school. Regardless, I found my niche within the school basketball team and started to develop life long friends. At the beginning of 7th grade, my teachers and parents collaborated my demise: they decided it would be to my advantage to be placed in the “French Immersion” program — a curriculum that places students in an all-French academic environment; meaning math, science, history, et al would all be taught in French. Sacre Bleu.
I graduated and attended Sir Wilfrid Laurer Secondary School, just like everyone else. I continued with the “French Immersion” program as well as that entire basketball thing. High School Basketball was a lot different though; there were daily practices, drills and weekly games. We even had to dress up on game day — sporting the mandatory white dress shirt, black tie and black slacks. Traveling with the team was always an adventure and the dream of playing in the NBA was slowly materializing. But, alas, as my story should say, my time at Sir Wil was short lived. The summer after 10th grade, we moved 2812 miles; all the way to Irvine, California… right in the middle of Orange County.
I started the 11th grade at University High School in Irvine, CA: an academically prestige school, boasting a 17th rank in the nation for public schools. An exceptional amount of my life changed with this move. Although most of my classes transfered over and some didn’t, the biggest impact on my life was my sudden disinterest and apathy towards basketball. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the idea of not “ballin’ with my boys” but the American High School Basketball regiment was even more rigorous and time consuming… and it just seemed easier to let go. I really tried to make friends but it seemed impossible to dent, let alone penetrate, the long lasting high school cliques which isolated me. I ate lunch alone but I was no stranger to that sort of estrangement. I really tried to hit on girls, but they just hit me back — in the face. But fortunately, I was able to move up and on quickly.
For my senior and final year of high school we moved to Mission Viejo, CA which meant I had to switch high schools yet again. This time falling within the boundary limits of Capistrano Valley High School. The year was pretty uneventful which is probably a pretty sad recollection for anyone to make of their final high school year. In any event, I graduated and began attending the University of California, Irvine, declaring Information & Computer Science as my major.
I graduated from UC Irvine with high spirits set on attending graduate school. However, as life would have it I landed a job at Microsoft and have since moved to Seattle, WA. When I am not trying to finish the 50 Things I’d Like To Accomplish Before I Die, I spent my days at work — helping people and businesses throughout the world realize their full potential.™
Adieu. Navid.