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.

I’ve been hacked! I am not sure what the world has come to but, as most of my faithful readers should have noticed almost instantly, my notoriously witty and self-deprecating blog has been down for the past couple of days. The cause, my friends, was a hacker whom shall go unnamed because I fear the reprimand of a cyber retaliation by highly-skilled computer hackers on the interweb. Even if the hacker is only a fourteen year old Russian Serbian idiot savant from Kosovo. The world is changing. These intangible tubes that carry oogles and googles of electrons are giving way to a new generation of criminals that prey on innocent and charming bloggers like myself.

I knew I should have gone with a Windows host. Linux is like totally unsafe. I spent a couple of hours just cleaning up the thousands of junk phishing files which were uploaded to my web server and then changed my root password. I’m safe as a button again. Or so I think. dum dum dum.

Adieu. Navid.

The entire experience – the diagnosis, the hospital, the funeral, and everything in between – left me hollow and deeply conflicted on the subject of nature, justice and mortality. They say that everything happens for a reason but that’s no reason not to ask myself why. I’ve thought about this for quite sometime – why do bad things happen to good people – and I, unfortunately, am no closer to a satisfactory answer than before I began my search. I truly wish I did have a good answer. I wish I could present all of you my findings and assure you that not Nima – and not anyone else for that matter – has passed away in vain. I regretfully cannot bring you that kind of closure. I can, however, share some personal anecdotes and thoughts about this passing year. I can share how Nima’s life, and death, has helped shape my own.

It’s been a year, they tell me. Exactly one year. It doesn’t feel like a year. It feels like mere moments. Yet it feels like centuries. I am not sure how long it takes to make everything “feel alright” but I can officially report, “a year is not enough.” How long does it take? Two? Five? Maybe ten years? Maybe it will never “feel alright.” But that doesn’t mean people cannot, should not and will not move on. Each and every single one of us has to move on. But what exactly does moving on entail?

I distinctly recall the first time I laughed – and I mean really laughed – after Nima’s passing. It caught me by surprise. It caught me by surprise partly because I hadn’t laughed out loud in quite some time. But it also caught me by surprise because I felt that the memories of the funeral were still too fresh in my mind. I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. I felt, and strongly believed, that my great sorrow could never again be overshadowed through the dullness created by the routine of my daily life. After all, who was I to be laughing?

But the truth is: we’ve all laughed, we’ve all cried, we’ve all loved and we’ve all lived. And we will continue to laugh, cry, love and live. If the untimely, the unjust and the incomprehensible tragedies could not be overcome by mankind – then laughing would have disappeared, gone by the wayside, and been extinct millions and millions of years ago. But it hasn’t.

You see, I was wrong. To laugh, to celebrate, and to simply live even after the losing of loved ones is not shameful. It is necessary. By continuing to live we are not diluting, nor devaluing, nor forgetting our departed loved ones. It is, in fact, quite the contrary. It is imperative, at least for our own sake and sanity, to show the world that we can endure and we can continue; even in the face, of what we may believe to be, our strongest hardships, saddest moments and most difficult of times. It is life’s great sorrows, untimely tragedies and series of unfortunate events which help forge everlasting moments and our most cherished of memories. For that, I am eternally grateful to Nima.

I realize, having said and thought about all this now, it doesn’t make the pain any easier to swallow or accept. It doesn’t mean I miss Nima any less. But it’s all about perspective in the end. And Nima has helped put a lot of things into perspective for me – both directly (be it through his attitude and personal philosophy) and indirectly (through his untimely passing). The most insurmountable problems seem like no problem at all. The most arduous tasks seem effortless. For that, I am eternally grateful to Nima. But most importantly, I’ve learned that life’s always too short.

I strongly urge everyone who has yet to join the bone marrow registry to sign up and encourage your friends and family to do the same. There are hundred, if not thousands, of other people that could be saved. It’s simple to get tested, and if you’re someone’s match – you could potentially not only save their life but their family’s too. Please, I can’t stress this enough: don’t make my mistake, don’t wait until your own personal tragedy to help.

Navid

Each and every year for the past couple of years, I’ve done a little year in review. I generally use prior entries to hallmark each and every milestone. It’s a great way for me to go back, re-read some of my older entries and see how far I’ve come along and how terrible my writing has become. I can say with great confidence that the culmination of this entire year can be summarized into a single learning:

The problem will be solved when I accept that happiness is a present attitude, not a future condition.

This is much, much harder than it sounds especially when things don’t go as smoothly as you’d hoped or expected. In January, I started graduate school at Columbia University en route to a hopeful Masters degree by 2010. Taking only one class per semester while working full-time is a lot more work than I originally anticipated. However, it’s something that I am determined and committed to following through.

February started off with the untimely passing of my nineteen year old cousin; despite our best efforts to save him. The event left me hollow and deeply conflicted on the subject of nature, justice and mortality. I shut the world out until I eventually started writing again a few months later; primarily about relationships, Facebook and Facebook relationships. The dark dictation and solemn outlook were only fed further as my last remaining grandmother passed away before the blasted year dwindled away. I turned 24 with a sense of tiresome optimism that I am hoping to carry right on through the new year.

I wish you all the best in 2008. May you all have health, happiness and love.

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.

I turned 24 today. As a kid, that was the oldest I could ever imagine myself. 24. It’s not even prime. It’s a semi-perfect number. It’s the lowest number that has exactly eight divisors. It’s a highly totient number and also represents the number of hours in a single day. But to me, 24 represents the end of a personal timeline. I fondly reminisce about the days where I would sit and just daydream about how my life would be more than a decade later (what seemed to me, at the time, eternity). I had it all, more or less, quite figured out: I knew what I wanted to study (Computer Science). I knew where I wanted to work (Microsoft). I just knew the man guy I wanted to be. But I never really thought much about life after 24.

And yet here I am. Just like that — entering an uncharted and unplanned time of my life.

I’m jazzed about the future. But I’m happy with where I am. And I’m thankful for everything I have.

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 didn’t recognize the number — except for the fact that it was prime — but I answered it almost immediately anyway. There was a silence. I said, “Hello?” with the type of sheer confidence you gain only after treading water in the Nile for three days in a row. After a momentary pause, I heard a young girl — of about 25 with the most exotic and gorgeous eyes I could ever imagine, long beautiful silky black hair, and a white cardigan top — say “Hi.. is Mandy there?” The voice was sweet, honest and apologetic. I thought for a moment on how to reply. I was in love with this girl. I wanted to tell her but there was no chance of that without sounding over-bearing and slightly creepy. Instead, I opted for this classic line: “Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong number.” She was confused. It was absolutely adorable. She bit her lip and inquisitively asked, “Wait, is this 949-xxx-xxxx?” I told her it was and has been for many years. In fact, I was surprised she hadn’t called sooner. She nodded and accepted her folly.

Her face was flushed with a rosey red glow. The shade and hue of red you get only after you’ve mistakenly called a handsome boy on a Sunday afternoon looking for a make-believe Mandy. She apologized again and I wished her good luck in her search. She let out an giggle of Angelic proportions. And just as quickly as it all began, it ended. It was me and the dial tone once more alone.

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.

Adieu. Navid.

There are few things in life which make me happier than realizing one of my friends has changed their relationship status. I personally prefer breakups — not just because I am an asshole — but because they are generally bittersweet. You have to understand that changing one’s relationship status on Facebook is almost like etching the fate of two star-crossed lovers in molten lava. It’s the next step of breakup. There’s the breakup, and then there’s the official Facebook breakup. I like to call it Breakup 2.0.

I am particularly fond of Facebook breakups because it gives relationship voyeurs like myself the chance to peg each couple’s demise down to a specific time. This was never possible in Breakup 1.0 unless you were fortunate enough to be present or be listening on the phone. I usually — correction — incessantly refresh the page to catch the “single-ization” of one’s profile. You know, they usually start off by changing their profile picture and slowly un-tagging themselves out of those once cute happy couple portraits. If they were ever really in love, they even remove one another from their “Interests” section. But what does a Facebook relationship (or lack thereof) mean anyway?

Relationships, like any other social aspect of human behavior, are complex and difficult to define. It has taken sociologists, psychologists and women decades to analyze, understand and even accept paradigms for discussing and comparing relationships. However, the Facebook Gods took it upon themselves to define all relationships into six distinct categories. Your options only include: Single, In A Relationship, Engaged, Married, In An Open Relationship, and It’s Complicated. Oh, and lest we not forget the ever nebulous “NO SELECTION” which simply hides the criteria from your profile… though often times giving more away than you probably had anticipated.

Open Relationship? What does that even mean? The relationship is open to interpretation? The relationship is open for a third party? The relationship is open for destruction? The relationship is open under creative licenses? In fact, it doesn’t even matter. The only people whom are listed in open relationships are female friends who think it’s cute and endearing. I never really understood its charm. If you find yourself in love with a girl who is listed as in an open relationship with another female, cut your losses and move on. This one is trouble and chances are she’s trying to avoid the entire commitment thing altogether.

Then again, what do I know?

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 better create or update yours today.

Adieu. Navid.

Adieu. Navid.

I also added two new categories: Photography and Code. I don’t even own a camera… I guess that’s going to be the first step.

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.

The past year brought some happiness and much sadness. I survived quite a few bad storms, met some great friends, attended my cousin’s lovely wedding and even switched teams at work. However, it was rather uneventful compared to last year… but they do say that no news is good news. As far as this blog was concerned, it also helped me realize the power of living such a public life. It was sometime earlier this year when I became the number one Navid according to Google… and that helped bring many more voyeurs to read over my carefully crafted words. As a result, it has made me think twice about what words I chose because you never know who could be reading. It has also inspired me to be a much stronger advocate for things which have become increasingly important to me — most notably global health and education.

However, New Years is just as much about tomorrow as it is a personal reflection of yesterday. This is why people make resolutions to begin with. They evaluate (or rather, should evaluate) their last year and vow (promise is too strong of a word here) to do better next year.

Resolutions are less signficant for me than it is for others probably because I already have a life list. Regardless, I wouldn’t want to be left out of this hopeless tradition… so without further adieu I present you my goals for two-thousand and seven:

1. Knock at least two items off my 50 Things To Accomplish Before I Die list. 
2. Pay-off all those parking tickets I have accumulated outside of Farid’s apartment. Damn you, City of Bellevue.
3. Read at least one novel a month.
4. Conquer Whistler with my snowboard.
5. Become actively involved with volunteering opportunities in my community.
6. Obligatory “go to the gym” at least four days a week.
7. Attend a Seahawks and Supersonics game.

I wish you all the best in 2007… may you and everyone you love be happy, healthy and hopeful. 

Adieu. Navid.