Hello, world. It’s been one hell of a week. I’ve found it hard to write here about trivial matters such as what awesomely bad film I’ve discovered or the thoughts I’ve had in traffic, writing or food, while so many people are risking their lives to fight for justice in Iran. When basic human rights are stripped from you, nothing else seems to matter, and although I haven’t been in Iran since I was 2-years-old, I have my eyes and ears on every single piece of information coming out of there. I didn’t grow up in Tehran, but my parents did and my grandparents before them, and it still feels like home.

But I digress. Enough of that for now. I have commentary to post and things to write, but for now, I need happy thoughts , most of which come in the form of Henry the Maltese.

Look at this dog. Have you seen a funnier one? He perches himself on top of the stairs I’ve put for him to get to my bed. How he contorts his body to fit on such a small space is beyond me.

This a dog who loves his toys like a small child, one who parks at people on the street during a car ride, but cries after them when we drive away. This dog is scared of the pool, but not of dogs four times his weight. He’s the dog that loves the feeling after a bath, but hides under the bed in hopes of avoiding one.

This dog will claw at you endlessly until you lift him and put him on the dining room chair next to you – God forbid he be left out.

This is a dog who loves vegetables, from the lettuce he begs for, shreds and then eats, to the green bell peppers and cauliflower he likes to crunch on. Mostly, this little dog makes me happy, even when I’m upset about situations I cannot help halfway across the world.

My mind is in a few different places at once now. I can’t decide whether to stay up tonight on Twitter following the protest scheduled in Iran or get some sleep so I can be up on time to go to the protest in Westwood.

The last couple of days have been quite difficult for me. Difficult in the sense that it was very hard to concentrate on anything but Iran – everything else, work, life, even food just seemed secondary. Everytime I complained about something, like the fact that my car had a malfunction, followed by a towing, I regretted it. My concerns, my pet peeves or insignificant struggles could not and can not compare in any way, shape or form to those in my hometown.

At times, I can’t believe this is all happening, unfolding in front of the world’s eyes – I keep imagining how those who voted for change feel, how upset and angry and passionate they must have been to say, “you know what – NO, I will not stand up for this, I will stand up for what I believe in.” That takes real courage, courage that many of us have never known in our lives.

Every day, while I read the tweets, listen to the news and watch the videos, I am reminded of the situations my parents and entire extended family must have been in during the 1979 Revolution. I cannot even begin to fathom what life was like, it many ways it wasn’t a life at all, but then in other ways, it was like they were REALLY living. I’m not sure how to fully explain what I mean by that last sentence. I mean, it’s as if everything in life that didn’t matter just melted away and the important things hung around. The ones you love, the fight for social justice, morality and human rights – that’s what took over.

For example, this is a personal blog and although I can post whatever I choose at this very moment, I cannot bring myself to do it. Something is getting in the way. Something is telling me, “No, it’s not appropriate. There are bigger things in play. There are lives at stake.”

Things worth mentioning in regards to the Iran Election 2009:

1. The outpour of support from around the world, especially the U.S is just amazing to me. It is so touching and amazing – everywhere you look in Twitter, you see a green tinted icon and messages offering all in Iran their support.

2. Social media – All hail the power of social media. I hope Maureen Dowd realizes how wrong she has been about Twitter.

3. Journalism – You can stop buying newspapers, pay us close to nothing, but let’s face it- you still need us. We’re important. When the times are really tough, we are the most important profession on the face of the planet. And it’s amazing.

My mind is racing. I just read that someone received a “goodbye” email from Iran. My mom told me earlier she had heard that many people decided to write their wills and send out their goodbyes, because they knew if they went into the rally, they wouldn’t come out alive. This entire thing is weighing heavily for me and I’m hoping for the best, and fearing the worst. My thoughts and prayers are with all with enough courage to stand up for what they believe in, even though it might mean death.

“Mousavi we support you. We will die, but retrieve our votes,” they shouted, many wearing the green of Mousavi’s campaign- BBC

By now, mostly everyone around the world, that is if you care for the news and utilize Twitter, not counting those who fall into my age group who do not see the resourcefulness of such a powerful tool with the world’s voices at your fingertips has been following the election and subsequent protests, rallies and chaos taking place in Iran.

The rehashing of events by the likes of me would be more than unnecessary and not very useful, since I have no first hand knowledge of the events that occurred. What I lack in personal experience, however, I make up for in personal connection.

Born in Tehran, I am a post-1979 Revolution child, who slept through bomb sirens, spent nights in the basement with my parents and eventually left as a refugee to Los Angeles by way of Greece.

At 24, I don’t even have to worry about more than half the things my parents did when they were my age. I’ve been told more stories from those fateful years where a once revered and liberal Iran – the Paris of the Middle East, turned into a extremist country with no regard for human or women’s rights. My uncle, who was one of the Shah’s guards, saw so much violence that he used to tell my mother the smell of iron from the blood would not leave his nose.

And now, I feel as though whatever I did not and could not  retain as a very small child is replaying before my eyes. There is something so deeply personal about watching the passion, commitment and fury happening in the streets of Tehran, where my parents grew up and my grandparents before that. I wish I could be there, as a writer and as an Iranian citizen – these are the moments in the world and in life where I realize why I wanted to become a journalist. These are the moments when I think, I want to be where the action is, I want to talk to those involved, to be a part of something so instrumental in causing change.

I still have relatives in Tehran, and a call to them tonight didn’t go through but I’ll try again soon. Hearing first person accounts would be amazing and the only vessel I have to do that now is Twitter, which has been the most useful tool in this entire process.

First three photos by .faramarz, last one by Hamed Saber

Stop everything you’re doing. Leave work. Put the croissant you’ve stuffed in your mouth down. Get out of that shower as fast as you can, because I’m about to tell you about something great, about something more than great, about something that will BLOW YOUR MIND. Are you sitting down? I hope so, because you need to absorb all the awesomeness of an amazing piece of cinema called “Love is All There Is” starring an obscure  and demure actress by the name of Angelina Jolie. Heard of her? Didn’t think so.

“Love is All There Is” is a spin on the classic  Romeo and Juliet tale, except for the fact that its set in  Bronx in the 90s ( can you smell the cheese yet?). Lainie Kazan from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Joseph Bologna ( from the best movie ever made, Blame It On Rio) star as the Cappamezzas, a Bronx-born Sicilian husband and wife who own a catering business. And oh, what a catering business it is.

Imagine every single thing you could put together at a wedding that would fall into the category of bad taste. Fog machines, overdone humongous cakes, disco balls, hundreds of balloons, a cheesy band dressed in all white-the possibilities are really endless. This is the service the Cappamezzas provide and they’re pretty good at it too, that is, until the Malacicis, (Paul Sorvino and Barbara Carrera) the Italian couple from Florence who are the epitome of wealth and prestige arrive in their humble neighborhood and turn the crass to class with their elegant decorations, fine Italian menus and classical music.

The Cappamezzas and Malacicis soon transform themselves into the dueling Capulets and Montagues and as predicted, their son Rosario (Nathaniel Marston) falls head over heels in love with the Malacici’s daughter, Gina a.k.a. Angelina Jolie, after she replaces the lead in the church’s production of, you guessed it, “Romeo and Juliet.” She is just as enamored with Rosario and one thing leads to another until both pairs of parents find out that the two teenagers have done the unthinkable – committed suicide. Just kidding! The unthinkable in this case would be sex.

The film is filled with other colorful characters, including a wacky psychic that Rosario’s mother looks to for information, the well endowed bride above and local teenage girls who give Gina sex advice.

I know what you’re thinking- “What a crappy, badly-written 90s comedy.” Well, in the broader sense you’re right, but throw your cultural compass out the window for now. “Love is All There Is” is laugh out loud funny and terrible under-appreciated. Whether you’re laughing at something that’s actually humorous, or you’re laughing to keep from crying about how bad it is, it doesn’t matter. The point is, it will make your day better. It’s the kind of film that you happen to come upon at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night when you’re bored out of your mind and your head is telling you tos “change the channel NOW,” but you can’t, because it’s just so good. or bad. Or so bad that it’s good.

“You didn’t have sex did ya?”

“No, they were bobbing for apples.”

Photos© 1999 The Samuel Goldwyn Company

What a strange power there is in clothing -Isaac Bashevis Singer

Hot chocolate,  soup, my mom’s simple vanilla cake and grilled cheese sandwiches are some of my favorite comfort foods. It’s amazing how instantly they make me feel better. When I put a spoon full of soup to my lips, or take that first bite of melted, gooey cheese between two pieces of bread that have been toasted and grilled to perfection, every care or worry in the world disappears, if only for a few minutes.

Comfort clothes have a similar effect. Whether I’m at home or at work, I always make an effort to look presentable, sometimes this even translates to wearing a coordinated set of pyjamas to bed, which I KNOW is a bit weird, but it’s what I do. But there are some days (almost always Mondays) where all I want to do is crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and descend to slumberland. These are the days I pull out my comfort clothes. My favorite item I have is a pistachio colored cable knit hoodie with big white buttons that is my security blanket on the days when I hate my life.

Slipper socks are my next go-to piece of comfort clothing. They make me feel…so secure. Of course, socks on their own can probably do the job, but there’s something about pulling up a knit, thick sock, with a soft padded bottom that just does it for. It’s like an extra layer of protection. Whenever winter rolls around, I’m always on the lookout for great slipper socks. Victoria’s Secret has great ones, as does J.Crew, except that they cost an arm and a leg, although I have to say that they are definitely a worthwhile investment, as I wear them all year round and judging from the fact that I live in L.A., I think it’s safe to say you can wear them all year, no matter where you are.

An old favorite of mine, but one that I didn’t invest in until last year, were long johns. OH, how I love long johns. I could live in them. I can sleep in them, eat in them, watch t.v. in them, it’s like a second skin that I do not want to take off. Ever. I had been on the look out for a great pair of long johns for years, except that I just never seemed to find any. Then one day, by the grace of God, I saw the perfect pair from American Apparel. Me and my two pairs (one black, one forest green) have been inseparable ever since.

So you know, clothing isn’t everything, but it makes you feel good when you’re feeling like all you want to do is sit on the couch and watch Maury Povich announce DNA test results by yelling “In the case of 2-year-old Mariah, you are NOT the father!”

When I wrote the first “How to Annoy Me on Facebook,” I should have known that the four things I listed were just the tip of the iceberg, and I suspected, that after I wrote the following, I had just only cracked the surface.

1. Upload every photo in a set despite the fact that some of them are blurry, others contain only limbs and most are just plain bad. So you went to your cousin’s wedding/had an amazing night with the girls/took a vacation – this does not mean I need to see EVERY single photo from your excursion, including the ones where your husband is holding your kid in the same pose for 15 consecutive photos or when your friend was drunk enough to not realize the camera was on when she took photos of the ceiling, floor and half of your face. Stop being so useless.
2. Take the “When Will You Get Married?” and “How Well Do You Know [Insert Name Here]?” quiz. I understand that you’re bored. I understand that you’re immature enough to take quizzes most probably written by 15-year-olds, but you know, after you’re finished, a handy screen pops up, asking if you’d like to “publish” the quiz, or “skip” it. Nine times out of 10, your inclination should be to skip. I don’t care, and despite what you may think, your friends don’t care either, so stop clogging up everyone’s news feed.
3. Use LOL/ROFL/LMAO excessively. These common internet acronyms used to convey emotion are fine I suppose, when used sparingly, but when a reply to your friend looks like this: LOL yaaaa I know, it was so funnnnyyy, I had such a great time, can’t wait to party it up together again LMAO! You made me ROFL! LOLOLOL – it’s time to reexamine things. If you talk this way online, God knows what you sound like in person. It’s not becoming.

It’s raining in L.A. today and as per usual, people are dry-heaving and panicking about the wetness falling from the sky.  It might be because it’s June, but it’s mostly because Angelenos-transplants or not, do not understand the concept of bad weather. They can’t compute it. “Hey, there’s snow in New York!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Or, “I just got back from London!” [Insert gross face or entire body shiver here] “How can you staaand it?”

Listen up people of Los Angeles. I’m sick of your whining and complaning about the weather. I know you think we live in paradise, but let me tell you, every parade needs a bit of rain. Or a lot. Take your pick.

Do you know how cold it is in other parts of the country when the sun is shining out of our asses in L.A.? People actually have USE for Uggs in other countries, and they sure as hell don’t have idiotic women wearing them in the dead of summer with leggings and ripped up short skirts. So stop complaining about the weather.  You don’t even know what cold is, got that?

I mean, we’re all in our cars for crying out loud! It’s not like you have to walk home. So you don’t get to wear your sunglasses for one day, you’ll live, I promise. And then you wonder why people make fun of us, or why there are vids like this made:

On the days when I’m feeling really down in the dumps, stuck 30 plus miles from home, in a city that I’m familiar with but not entirely comfortable with, my only salvation lies in the house of peace otherwise known as Anthropologie.

I love it in here. The sounds, the smells, the aesthetically pleasing and horribly expensive furniture, clothing and accessories. It’s like Fantasy Land with style.

My journey around the entire store takes up an hour, as I “coo” and “aww” to myself when I see the most delicately made cardigan or a book that I would never think to buy at say, Barnes & Noble, but can’t resist at Anthropologie.

Don’t even get me started on the kitchen section. It’s like heaven. Giraffe and matryoshka shaped measuring cups?! You have got to be kidding me. No, no I’m not.

Of course, the temptations to buy at Anthropologie are almost impossible to resist. There’s always a “Sale” section, but I’m afraid it’s not much of one, as far as prices are concerned. Still, it’s a place of solitude for me, during a busy and stressful work day.