But I’m skeptical. Who exactly are these people — who need to be encouraged by MTV and YouTube — voting for? On what basis are they actually making their decisions? Does it even matter? I suppose some could argue that it’s your right, and that’s all there is to it. But I am afraid that an uninformed vote is more dangerous than no vote at all. I remember back when I was taking US History in high school; one of the big controversies at the time was the discussion around providing the option to vote for “None of the above” on the election ballot. I always thought and still believe it would be a GREAT idea. This would at least allow people who have no idea who to vote for, and have no real business in helping shape our future, go out and make their contribution to society without dangerously impairing it.

I am being dead serious. This is akin to having a leak in your house and instead of asking a series of experts; collectively prodding your neighbors to suggest what to do. Sure this may not be an entirely bad idea. Your neighbor might be a plumber or Bob Vila. Or maybe they had the same problem not too long ago and could share their experiences. But what if your questions are much more important? Say you’re remodeling and you need to know whether the structural beam in your living room could support that new game room you’ve always dreamed of upstairs? What if you get sick? Do you want expert medical advice? Or do you just want to Twitter about it and see what the masses say?

This is why the political landscape of the United States is a glorified marketing campaign. Nobody really cares about issues or ideologies. It’s just a popularity contest at this point. People who are still swayed between Obama/Biden vs. McCain/Palin probably shouldn’t even be voting. These are radically different platforms with radically different agendas. You can’t just watch some debates and decide who you are going to vote for. That’s nonsensical. In fact, these people aren’t even watching the debates. They’re reading US Weekly and listening to Fox News to tell them how to think. It’s a sad state of affairs.

If you’ve read this far then maybe there’s hope after all. I’ll leave some parting remarks. In essence, Obama is probably one of the best Presidential candidates that the United States has seen since JFK. We are in an era where we need Obama. As much as I would have loved to see a woman in the oval office (it’s about damn time, no?); the past eight years have brought more shame, embarrassment and general malaise to the United States of America than anyone could have imagined back in 2000. Electing Obama would be the most redeeming action that we could portray to the rest of the world. It would be one big, subtle yet effective apology. In fact, simply electing Obama will do more good for the United States than any policy McCain and his imbecile hand puppet could ever come up with in the next four years.

So go out there and vote. I predict a turn out of about 57%. Everyone will be so proud of the improvement. We’ll give each other a big pat on the back and smile because we’ll just know it was our social network marketing that helped make it all a reality. And those celebrations will hopefully numb us just enough to forget about the 100,000 Iraqi civilians whom have been killed since 2003 or the thousands more in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Israel or Kenya. But who cares. Those places aren’t here, right? And who cares about welfare? I make good money. National healthcare? Fuck it, I’m young. I just don’t want to pay more taxes. Potential medical breakthroughs? Not if it’s killing an embryo! Or against my faith. Forget the fact that I happen to sin, steal and squander in every other facet of my life. But if it’s other people’s lives? Nope, they can’t get married. It hurts my belief system. Some people have got it all figured out, I guess.

I guess what I am trying to say is that if you are going to vote for Obama: thank you. If not, I’d love to know why. Not that I could, want or even care to persuade you otherwise but, you know, for shits and giggles.

Adieu. Navid.

To date, my only major gripe with the iPhone was its uncanny ability to drop calls consistently. I was tolerating the issue though since I knew that an update was imminent. So you can imagine my excitement when Ars Technica reported a positive experience after upgrading their iPhone to v2.1. The glowing review gave me the confidence to go through with the update. It was around 11pm and I figured I didn’t need my mobile for the time being.

I fired up my Vista desktop and plugged in my iPhone. I clicked the button to upgrade but was presented by a dialog informing me that I must first upgrade to iTunes 8.0 before I can upgrade my iPhone. I need to upgrade to upgrade? Reads like an old Microsoft joke. In any regard, I moved forward and after waiting more than an hour for it to complete — I was on my way to upgrading the iPhone.

Eventually the upgrade and verification steps were completed and my iPhone was back in my arms. I unhinged the USB cable and decided to take my new shiny firmware upgrade for a spin. The first thing I did was try to go to Settings > General > About to ensure that my firmware was indeed upgraded. I could not imagine it doing anything else for the past hour or so, but wanted to see the clean and crisp “v2.1″ for myself.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t even open the Settings application. I would push the icon. And nothing would happen. Never having this problem in the past, I decided to try other applications: Facebook, Yelp or even Shazam. Nope. They all refused to open. Except these third-party applications would launch — then a black screen would appear then the desktop would represent itself again. Totally unashamed. I tried to restart my iPhone a couple of times but alas to no avail. At least rebooting your Windows Mobile phone always fixed the problem. Then it dawned on me: I just upgraded to the latest and greatest — and it was a major step back. I longed for the days of iPhone v2.0.2 where my applications would launch and my phone was, you know, generally operable.

I decided it was a lost cause and would tackle the problem again in the morning. And here I am: sitting, waiting, wishing. I’m in the process of restoring my iPhone since the firmware obviously broke something. I just hope the backup and restore processes are in fine shape since I really do not want to go through and configure everything again. I still lost about 7gb of music that I need to transfer over again. On the bright side, it did give me the time to compose this post, read the news, take a shower and respond to some e-mails. Now I just have to figure out which novel to finish while waiting for the music to sync.

Adieu. Navid.

The Internet however has managed to become the Great Equalizer™. In many ways, it is, at least pragmatically speaking, exactly what Lenin and Marx had envisioned. In the era of the Information Age, power is increasingly a function of information — not physical strength. To fortify this argument, peruse even the most mildly active forums to see that the most vocal, most respected and often times most domineering figures are nothing more than pipsqueaks with idle keyboards. This is a great thing. The balance of power has shifted from the pugnacious to the articulate. I can get behind that.

The unimaginable phenomena however is that the same paradigm shift is occurring off the Internet. People are reading, learning and educating themselves through a myriad of articles written by mere commoners. I call these people Wikipedia Scholars™. They can be spotted at any social function drinking a dirty martini (shaken, not stirred). They wear earth tones. They probably own an iPhone. They are obsessed with truth, politics and the Brady Bunch. They have a natural affinity for playing the devil’s advocate and a seemingly unrelenting supply of bad puns.

This appearance of intellectual superiority is not only clever but seemingly necessary in today’s socially connected world. These enterprising individuals have fully embraced social networking. They are on Facebook. They update their status. They even write clever photo captions. These people are you and I. You better not fall behind. Why not read something new and tell me what you learned?

Adieu. Navid.

For example, I recently stopped going to the salon to get my haircut for two reasons: (a) paying $90+ every four weeks was driving me to financial peril and (b) I wanted to get it cut finger-length short — and there’s no need for a full-fledged salon visit if I am not trying to upkeep my curl and shine. Therefore, I ventured to the local barbershop which will remain nameless.

I was told that this particular establishment procures a lot of attractive employees. And after my first visit, I can confirm this to be true. Now you might think that getting your haircut by attractive people is a great thing but let me tell you: it is not. Why? Because now I have to get ready before I go get a haircut. My routine consists of showering, getting dressed, driving to the barbershop, getting my haircut, coming back home, and then showering yet again. It’s ridiculous. The vicious cycle cannot be broken. I either have to find another barbershop where sub-optimal looks are standard, continue the tedious upkeep or simply grow out my hair. What a tough life. Now you tell me about other circumstances in your life where interacting with attractive people is more stressful than it really ought to be.

Adieu. Navid.

Now, this may be of no significance to you. But remember I randomly ran into this little gem while perusing the Interweb for something completely unrelated.

The reason this is important is because, in 1988, I made an acoustic cover of this song. I’m not even joking. It’s in Italian and you can listen to my version in all its glory here (DRM-free)!

Adieu. Navid.

I want an Ivy League educated accountant that I can call at three in the morning from a Vegas casino and slur a plea for him to transfer some funds over to an undisclosed checking account. I want him to be well fed and wear glasses. He needs to drink scotch in the afternoons and play golf on the weekends. While he’s thinking deeply, I want him to take off his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose. He must have brilliant epiphanies and political connections.

I want him to grow frustrated at the lack of my apparent effort to keep my nose clean and out of trouble; always reminding me that I can do better. I want him to have a beautiful wife. He must drive a German car that’s perpetually in the shop. I want him to be a good family friend that knows all my dirty laundry. I want him to always know a guy that knows a guy. Experience dealing with international extortion laws is also a big plus.

Besides that, though, I have no other requirements.

Adieu. Navid.

It’s one of the most versatile hobbies. I can watch people anywhere; be it strolling down a bustling street, at a busy mall or simply waiting for a flight at the airport. I see couples: some in love, others not so much. I see the homeless: their weathered faces, their dirty hands. I see mothers, children: her strength, their resilience. I see corporate tycoons: on the phone, in a rush. I see rebellious teenagers: conforming. I see the elderly: their hands, their history. I see tourists: their optimism, their confusion. I see the happy. I see the sad. I see the leisurely. I see the weary. I see the lonely. I see. I see.

But most of all, I see a little bit of me in everyone I see.

Adieu. Navid.

No one is wrong. At most someone is uninformed. If I think an individual is wrong, either I am unaware of something, or the other person is.

How then do I go about figuring out who is more uninformed? I generally tend to take away from the conversation the parts I don’t yet understand. I then internalize, compartmentalize and ultimately organize my thoughts into neat, processed and packaged ideas. I do this when I am alone.

I need solitude like I need food and rest, and like eating and resting, solitude is most satisfying when it fits the rhythm of my needs. A rigidly scheduled aloneness does not nourish me.

Solitude is nearly a misnomer. To me, being alone means togetherness – the re-coming together of me and nature, of me and being; the reuniting of me with all. For me, solitude especially means putting the parts of me back together – the unifying of myself whereby I see once again that the little things are little and the big things are big.

This process of breaking things down and putting them back together is as much a part of healing as it is growing.

Adieu. Navid.

I’m Persian. My wardrobe predominately consists of black. I have eleven seemingly identical black t-shirts. However, I have a favorite and, yes I can tell them all apart. I have more than ten brands of cologne. My scent precedes me into any room. I only drink Vodka at the bar but I’d really just prefer some hot tea. I’m also quick to point out anyone who is even remotely Persian — be it famous or otherwise (like Andre Agassi, or say, Freddie Mercury).

There are, of course, cultural gluttons that I consciously attempt not to partake in. For example, driving a black BMW or Mercedes, spiking my hair, oversized Omega or TAG watches, owning three pairs of designer sunglasses, wearing anything gold, and last but certainly least, abrasively loud techno music. Nevertheless, I’ve come to love and accept who I am… so much so in fact, I believe I’ve been able to categorize all the Persian people I know into four distinct but equally fantastical categories:

Category Zero (or more affectionately known as FOBs): These are the Persians who have virtually zero non-Persian friends, who might speak unbelievably broken English and are so immersed in Persian culture they don’t even know the difference between irony and Irooni. Their favorite artists may include Shahram Shabpareh, Vigen and Reza Sadeghi. You can generally spot these Persians by their attempts to haggle prices at the local Safeway or Macy’s. In many ways, category zero Persians’ have never attempted to assimilate into Western culture… even after living in North America for 15+ years. They are always a great source of information about Iranian football, community gossip and upcoming local Persian concerts. They almost exclusively shop at Nordstrom and Express.

Category One: This category of Persians encompasses the half-assimilated. These Persians still predominately hang out with other Iranians, however, have some of their personality influenced and shaped by Western pop culture and media. They’re favorite artists might include The Fray, Benyamin, Mansour, and Maroon 5. They speak English without grammatical errors but are still more comfortable with Farsi. They almost exclusively shop at Nordstrom and Express.

Category Two: These Persians are very similar to category one Persians, however, most of their personality is influenced and shaped by Western culture. They probably have a 50/50 mix of Persian and non-Persian friends. Their favorite artists may include Radiohead, Goldfrapp, Googoosh, and Damien Rice. They are often more comfortable thinking and speaking in English but firmly hold on to, and are proud of, their Persian heritage. They participate in all cultural festivities and holidays even though they sometimes don’t really understand most of the traditions. They almost exclusively shop at Nordstrom and Express.

Category Three: It’s unfortunate to say but there is an increasing number of category three Persians. These are the people whom, if asked where they are from, will typical say “Toronto”, “LA” or just “England”. This lack of cultural identity can generally be attributed to two leading causes: (1) the political climate of Iran [today] is one where many try to cut ties instead of create them or, (2) they are second generation (or interracial) Persians who were either born outside of the motherland or simply moved here before their formative years without any cultural infusion. They almost exclusively shop at Hollister and Abercrombie & Fitch.

There are many people who will vehemently argue and dispute my taxonomy, be offended by my sweeping generalizations or simply grow depressed because they’ll realize they, too, are not that special. However, having said that, I am open and willing to listen to any feedback to adjust or refine my categories accordingly.

Adieu. Navid.

Any resemblance between my views and those of my employer, my terminal, or the view out my window are purely coincidental. Any resemblance between the above and my own views is non-deterministic. The question of the existence of views in the absence of anyone to hold them is left as an exercise for the reader. The question of the existence of the reader is left as an exercise for the second god coefficient (the discussion of non-orthogonal, non-integral polytheism is beyond the scope of this discussion).

Now, with the legalese and disclaimer out of the way, I can finally start rambling. As I was saying earlier, there is a cute distinction between cheating and having an affair which you should be privy to. You see, cheating is more of a lustful activity which generally occurs between the hours of 1am and 4am (inclusively). It usually starts with a late night text message or an afternoon rendezvous. It involves one or more parties whom are breaking the social contract of exclusivity. The probability of getting pregnant while cheating is asymptotic to zero. Ultimately, cheating destroys families and ruins relationships but nothing you should be too distressed about. People will get over it. It’s just business.

On the other hand, affairs have a touch of romance and spice that is to be adorned and envied by all. An affair generally consists of dinners, movies and passionate love-making. You can easily detect an affair as most dialogue consists of: “This is wrong, we shouldn’t be doing this”, or “I love you” and, my personal favorite, “When did you say your divorce was going to be final?” The probability of getting pregnant while having an affair is directly proportional to the improbability of having an abortion. That is, the more difficult and complicated the situation may become with the introduction of a potential child — the higher chance that child will be conceived.

All affairs end the same way: one party wants the other to leave their relationship but it’s not so easy for the counterpart and ultimately matters become complicated because she’s pregnant. She’s killed by the man or the wife/girlfriend of the man. It’s justified because he was only cheating after all. If the woman was the one having the affair, she simply informs her significant other that she’s pregnant and it is his child. They live happily ever after. If the relationship was homogenous, then obviously it’s neither cheating nor an affair — it’s just a regular weekend.

In short, I hope I have illuminated the key differences between cheating and having an affair. And I hope you’ll be better equipped to identify your circumstance next time you find yourself infidel. If you have trouble remembering the differences, just commit to memory: cheating is the backseat, while having an affair is the frontseat.

Adieu. Navid.

Adieu. Navid.

I know what you’re probably thinking: “hey, those are some great ideas! I’d definitely pay for that!” — And that’s the problem. I don’t think Facebook should take its social responsibility lightly. We have entrusted it with the most intimate of details and status updates. We have uploaded the most compromising of photos. We’ve rallied behind unpopular political groups, followed embarrassing trends and memes, drunk-poked ugly people and even donated to a number of cancer drives. At its epitome of success, for Facebook to turn its back on us now would be a devastating blow to the reproductive culture of our generation and the social fabric by which we all live.

For these reasons and more, I urge the United States Government to intervene before it is too late. Facebook should be government regulated to ensure that no single corporation (let alone privately held company) have this much power over the youth of today. If you think my proposal is over-the-top, just imagine how many lives Facebook will destroy if it suddenly decides to close operations and shutdown. Couples would break up, infidelity would reach epidemic levels and no one would know what their friends were up to.

Adieu. Navid.

You see – the types of people who start and operate blogs all have very similar character traits: they are needy, self-righteous, attention-seeking narcissists (present company included). Recently, spammers have caught wind of this phenomenon and have started exploiting the blogger’s Achilles heel in order to propagate their agenda much more effectively. More than half of the comment spam I receive is positive and complimentary. It hurts me to even think about deleting it.

I get such thoughtful comments like “Your website content and structure is wonderful” or “Awesome, site!” These are the types of comments even my family or friends wouldn’t leave. So you see, spammers fill a very large void of cyber-love that is missing in the life of most bloggers. That’s the terrible truth about comment spam: we need it more than you know. So please, for the love of all that is sacred, stop improving spam filters! Stop creating effective universal blacklists! Stop the anti-spammers! Let the vile low-lives of the interweb bring an ounce joy into my otherwise hollow and devoid life. It’s the least that I deserve after spending all those days tweaking my CSS stylesheets.

Adieu. Navid.

However, most importantly, those of you who had planned to join the National Marrow Donor Program but did not get a chance, I still strongly urge you to go ahead and join the registry regardless of whether or not it will help save Nima. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people that could be saved. It’s simple to get tested, and if you are someone’s match – you could potentially not only save their life – but their family too. Please, I can’t stress this enough. Don’t wait until your own personal tragedy to help.

Yours,
Navid

Since he is unable to leave his hospital room, and with Valentine’s Day around the corner, we thought it would be great if friends, family and even random strangers could send him a post-card just to wish him well. I think it would mean a lot to him, lift his spirit and give him something to do on a more or less daily basis. You can send your letters or postcards to the following address:

Nima Azimi
Princess Margaret Hospital
Room 111 15th floor
610 University Avenue
Toronto, ON M5G 2M9
CANADA

This would be an amazingly simple yet profound way of boosting your karma! According to USPS, to send a letter or postcard from the United States to Canada, it costs anywhere from $0.39 to $1.95. For less than two bucks and fifteen minutes of your time, you can really help someone. In fact, if you don’t want to write to my cousin specifically, I would still urge and recommend you to write to anyone who has been hospitalized and would benefit from the encouragement and support of a thoughtful letter or postcard.

Adieu. Navid.

Adieu. Navid.

Adieu. Navid.

Please Help. Navid.

This entry is about my 19-year old super cousin who has been diagnosed by acute lymphoblastic leukemia (or simply known as ALL) for just over a year now. After an unsuccessful bout with chemotherapy, he now desperately needs a transplant. Unluckily, his younger brother is a 0% match and I am only a partial match. Although I am a potential donor, the already slim chance of success is diminished by partial matches as opposed to a perfect match. For those that are interested, this is what Wikipedia has to say about possible donors:

A major limitation of allogeneic bone marrow transplantation is a shortage of donors. To avoid rejection of the transplanted stem cells or severe graft-versus-host disease, the donor should have the same human leukocyte antigens (HLA) as the recipient. About 25 to 30 percent of potential HSCT recipients have an HLA-identical sibling. For other recipients, registries of volunteer unrelated donors can be quickly searched in order to find a potential HLA match. If an exact match cannot be found, a partially matched donor can be used. However, the use of mismatched donors may increase the risk of graft rejection or severe graft-versus-host disease.

A compatible donor is found by doing additional HLA-testing from the blood of potential donors. The HLA genes fall in two categories (Type I and Type II). In general, mismatches of the Type-I genes (i.e. HLA-A, HLA-B, or HLA-C) increase the risk of graft rejection. A mismatch of an HLA Type II gene (i.e. HLA-DR, or HLA-DQB1) increases the risk of graft-versus-host disease. In addition a genetic mismatch as small as a single DNA base pair is significant so perfect matches require knowledge of the exact DNA sequence of these genes for both donor and recipient. Leading transplant centers currently perform testing for all five of these HLA genes before declaring that a donor and recipient are HLA-identical.

Race and ethnicity are known to play a major role in donor recruitment drives, as members of the same ethnic group are more likely to have matching genes, including the genes for HLA.

There is a massive push in my extended family to have everyone tested. This includes everyone ranging from the age of 2 to 70 (worldwide). Since time is of the essence now, I’m going around and asking some Iranian friends of mine if they would be willing to get a blood-test to see whether or not they are a potential match for my cousin. My family is willing to pay for the procedure and, if a match is found, is also willing to pay-out an award. I personally cannot imagine anything more gratifying than knowing you saved a young kids’ life, but I do understand the allure of a financial incentive.

I really wish I was a perfect match as it would have given my life at least some meaningful purpose. I am taking this opportunity to be more involved in these things, as although I may not have been a perfect match for my cousin, I realize I am probably someone’s perfect match somewhere. I want to help anyone who could be in my situation.

Adieu. Navid.

In the past year and a half I have learned more than I could have ever bargained for, made some fantastic friends and colleagues, and obtained more than my fair share of invaluable advice about life, careers, and office politics. It was my first true step inside the opaque walls of Corporate America and I think Corporate America is where I’m going to stay. I am very fortunate to have started my career with a team that was as nurturing and encouraging to a (punk) kid straight out of college.

Adieu. Navid.

I tried to go to work this morning (yes — I’m a great corporate citizen) but my SUV was unable to make it out of the street. I kept spinning my tires and sliding back. Since there was a ton of kids and parents out and about, making snowmen and tobogganing, I didn’t really have the opportunity to try anything remotely dangerous (e.g. drive on the sidewalk). Alas, I gave up and here I am at home — having a cup of tea and a cream-cheese sandwich. I took some pictures of the kids and their tomfoolery in the snow. The pictures are, of course, courtesy of my new (yet to be named) phone:

The worst part of is that I was having a great hair day too. Now, I have to get my hair undid. Damn you, Mother Nature.

Adieu. Navid.

In other terribly mundane news, the Seattle rain, gloom and fog has started its course. You can truly tell why Seattle often times inspires the greatest of songwriters or suicide attempts. If I wasn’t a terrible musician, I’d be a revered artist. If I wasn’t such an optimist, I would have offed myself ages and ages ago.

Adieu. Navid.