Message from me to the Graduate Admissions Office at Bob Jones University:
I am a 24 year old male Pakistani citizen and also a Muslim. I am very interested in attending Bob Jones University in the Fall of 2006 to continue my education. I was wondering what facilities you offer your international students and whether there are any events that would cater to the people from my region.
I also noticed, while going through your Residence Life web page, that you do not specify any restriction on rap music on your campus. Does this mean I would be able to bring my Eminem CDs with me when I join you? I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
Message from the International Admissions Counselor at Bob Jones University to me:
Greetings from Bob Jones University.
For detailed information on our majors, please visit our website at http://www.bju.edu/ and click on "Academics."
Let me share a bit of information about BJU which may interest you:
Bob Jones University is Protestant, nondenominational, coeducational, and thoroughly orthodox university which stands without apology for the absolute authority of the Bible. We are in the business of training Christian leaders to go out to witness for the Lord Jesus Christ in whatever business or profession they may feel called of God to invest their lives. We are generally reluctant to enroll an international student unless he is a born-again Christian. Each applicant must write a testimony of how he or she became a born-again Christian.
We are sorry, but we do not have any financial aid to offer to you. The founder believed that each student is responsible to care for the cost of his education, regardless of his citizenship. We require an advance payment of one year's room, board, and tuition before you will be accepted to come.
Please click on the following link to see the special information we have included on our website for international students. This page will answer your questions about our application deadlines, TOEFL scores, and financial requirements: http://www.bju.edu/admissions/international.html
If you are interested in further information about Bob Jones University, please let me know.
Looks like I'm good to go with the Eminem CDs at any rate...
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Two Stories - Waiting and The Turks
Two stories this entry. Lucky you!
Foreigner, Clay and the Bad Waiting Experience
So yesterday Clay and I printed off a $25 dollar coupon for this restaurant at http://www.restaurant.com/ - we'll call it "Enemies" - and went there to eat. It seemed like a nice, friendly environment. Several families were eating together. Basketball games were on the TVs at the bar. No one was being shot in the head. Pianos weren't being molested. You know, good stuff.
Things started to go downhill when we sat down and looked at the menus that were handed to us by a caucasian girl who looked like she'd just been scolded for eating too many cookies before dinner. The menu informed us that we had a grand total of 4 entrees to choose from. It didn't take us long to decide what we wanted. And then the waiting began:
Minute 0: Orders for salads and entrees placed. Pathetically flat carbonated beverages received.
Minute 10: Clay and I decide to play pool. I foolishly hope our food doesn't arrive while we're playing. I wouldn't want the steaming hot gastronomic delight to go cold in our absence.
Minute 20: I pocket the 8-ball to complete a stunning come-from-behind victory (as is my style) and we return to our seats at the bar to find no salad, no entree and even flatter beverages.
Minute 30: The Houston-Dallas game is dead as a contest. I glare at the waitress every time she walks by and complain loudly to Clay about the service. No eye contact is made. No salads. No entrees. No refills.
Minute 35: I encourage Clay to get up and leave with me. Clay gets cold feet. The waitress walks right by us with a cellphone to her ear. I glare. She ignores. She goes into some sort of supply closet with the phone still to her ear.
Minute 40: Waitress exits closet. I glare with extra intensity. This finally gets her attention. We get some story about how our food is coming (No kidding? Food at a restaurant?). Clay promises to leave if our food hasn't arrived in 2 minutes.
Minute 42: Clay looks away when I point out that two minutes have passed.
Minute 45: Waitress disappears. Could this be the magic moment?
Minute 47: Waitress reappears. Still no salads, no entrees and no refills.
Minute 50: I tell Clay we're leaving. Clay says he'll follow me out after a minute or so to dispel the suspicion a hurried pair exit is likely to raise.
Minute 51: Out. I'm such a rebel!
Minute 52: Clay out. He's such a rebel!
Minute 70: We pull into the parking lot of the Golden Dragon Chinese Buffet and enjoy a decent meal, friendly service and full stomachs.
All I can say is Thank God for Immigrants. If it weren't for the Chinese, we'd have been driving around to restaurants similar in nature to Enemies all night long.
On the other hand, this reminds of me of another story which we'll call:
Foreigner, Clay and the Rude Turkish Tailor
So the zipper on my suit pants was completely out of order. It just plain stopped zipping. I'd tug on the pin and the gaping hole in the front of my pants would refuse to seal no matter what I did. Now back home in the Third World (I'm foreign, remember) when something like this happens, you walk 10 minutes to the nearest tailor, pay him the equivalent of 50 cents and have a brand spanking new zipper put in that as good as if not better than the original.
But not in the most advanced nation on earth, oh no. Here, you won't find a tailor who'll do it for less than what you paid for the damn pants. In the first place, you won't find a tailor. Maybe I didn't look hard enough... anyway, you won't find a tailor EASILY. I ended up one Thursday afternoon with Clay driving through downtown Hicksville, Mid-Western USA in search of tailors. The one seamstress we hoped to find was out. The second one had shut down and moved away. Our last hope was this huge shop in pretty much the heart of the dead downtown (where buildings went as high as 5 storeys and Clay told me they actually knocked down a mall to put in a street... so things were picking up that year).
Anyway, this shop was the deadest of the dead. Three old Eastern European type people sitting in a back room talking in Turkish sewing what looked like 30 year old curtains. You know the feeling you get when you walk into an attic that's been shut for years and years? Yeah, well that's the feeling you get when you walk into Mr. Turkish Tailors (not the store's real name).
So this old fellow looked up in shock (Customers?? But we don't get THOSE anymore!) and asked what the matter was. I told him my story. He looked at the pants for a while, tried some fancy chalk stuff and then announced dramatically: "New Zipper!"
Amazing! We would never have guessed!
But get this. He wanted FOURTEEN dollars for his work. I was a bit taken aback. That seemed a bit steep... that was about half of what I'd paid for the whole pair of pants (or what my parents had paid). But whatever. As long as they were repaired, right? So I asked if I could pick them up later that afternoon since I needed them on Saturday (2 days later). To which he pointed to Saturday on the calendar and nodded his head. I was quite happy, till I realized that he was pointing at the Saturday AFTER next (9 days later). Now I needed to wear those pants in less than 48 hours so I tried to turn on the charm, praise his skills, explain how the zipper would be child's play to him etc etc.
"Very busy" were the two words I got out of him. I looked around the coffin of the place feeling a little disoriented. Very busy? What?
I tried once more to talk him into a shorter waiting period. For my efforts, I received my pants in my hands and the words "Then take it!"
Take it I did. And Clay and I left. Stupid immigrants. Deport them all!!
And the moral of these stories is:
There's two sides to every story... or
There's two stories to every side.
Take your pick.
Foreigner, Clay and the Bad Waiting Experience
So yesterday Clay and I printed off a $25 dollar coupon for this restaurant at http://www.restaurant.com/ - we'll call it "Enemies" - and went there to eat. It seemed like a nice, friendly environment. Several families were eating together. Basketball games were on the TVs at the bar. No one was being shot in the head. Pianos weren't being molested. You know, good stuff.
Things started to go downhill when we sat down and looked at the menus that were handed to us by a caucasian girl who looked like she'd just been scolded for eating too many cookies before dinner. The menu informed us that we had a grand total of 4 entrees to choose from. It didn't take us long to decide what we wanted. And then the waiting began:
Minute 0: Orders for salads and entrees placed. Pathetically flat carbonated beverages received.
Minute 10: Clay and I decide to play pool. I foolishly hope our food doesn't arrive while we're playing. I wouldn't want the steaming hot gastronomic delight to go cold in our absence.
Minute 20: I pocket the 8-ball to complete a stunning come-from-behind victory (as is my style) and we return to our seats at the bar to find no salad, no entree and even flatter beverages.
Minute 30: The Houston-Dallas game is dead as a contest. I glare at the waitress every time she walks by and complain loudly to Clay about the service. No eye contact is made. No salads. No entrees. No refills.
Minute 35: I encourage Clay to get up and leave with me. Clay gets cold feet. The waitress walks right by us with a cellphone to her ear. I glare. She ignores. She goes into some sort of supply closet with the phone still to her ear.
Minute 40: Waitress exits closet. I glare with extra intensity. This finally gets her attention. We get some story about how our food is coming (No kidding? Food at a restaurant?). Clay promises to leave if our food hasn't arrived in 2 minutes.
Minute 42: Clay looks away when I point out that two minutes have passed.
Minute 45: Waitress disappears. Could this be the magic moment?
Minute 47: Waitress reappears. Still no salads, no entrees and no refills.
Minute 50: I tell Clay we're leaving. Clay says he'll follow me out after a minute or so to dispel the suspicion a hurried pair exit is likely to raise.
Minute 51: Out. I'm such a rebel!
Minute 52: Clay out. He's such a rebel!
Minute 70: We pull into the parking lot of the Golden Dragon Chinese Buffet and enjoy a decent meal, friendly service and full stomachs.
All I can say is Thank God for Immigrants. If it weren't for the Chinese, we'd have been driving around to restaurants similar in nature to Enemies all night long.
On the other hand, this reminds of me of another story which we'll call:
Foreigner, Clay and the Rude Turkish Tailor
So the zipper on my suit pants was completely out of order. It just plain stopped zipping. I'd tug on the pin and the gaping hole in the front of my pants would refuse to seal no matter what I did. Now back home in the Third World (I'm foreign, remember) when something like this happens, you walk 10 minutes to the nearest tailor, pay him the equivalent of 50 cents and have a brand spanking new zipper put in that as good as if not better than the original.
But not in the most advanced nation on earth, oh no. Here, you won't find a tailor who'll do it for less than what you paid for the damn pants. In the first place, you won't find a tailor. Maybe I didn't look hard enough... anyway, you won't find a tailor EASILY. I ended up one Thursday afternoon with Clay driving through downtown Hicksville, Mid-Western USA in search of tailors. The one seamstress we hoped to find was out. The second one had shut down and moved away. Our last hope was this huge shop in pretty much the heart of the dead downtown (where buildings went as high as 5 storeys and Clay told me they actually knocked down a mall to put in a street... so things were picking up that year).
Anyway, this shop was the deadest of the dead. Three old Eastern European type people sitting in a back room talking in Turkish sewing what looked like 30 year old curtains. You know the feeling you get when you walk into an attic that's been shut for years and years? Yeah, well that's the feeling you get when you walk into Mr. Turkish Tailors (not the store's real name).
So this old fellow looked up in shock (Customers?? But we don't get THOSE anymore!) and asked what the matter was. I told him my story. He looked at the pants for a while, tried some fancy chalk stuff and then announced dramatically: "New Zipper!"
Amazing! We would never have guessed!
But get this. He wanted FOURTEEN dollars for his work. I was a bit taken aback. That seemed a bit steep... that was about half of what I'd paid for the whole pair of pants (or what my parents had paid). But whatever. As long as they were repaired, right? So I asked if I could pick them up later that afternoon since I needed them on Saturday (2 days later). To which he pointed to Saturday on the calendar and nodded his head. I was quite happy, till I realized that he was pointing at the Saturday AFTER next (9 days later). Now I needed to wear those pants in less than 48 hours so I tried to turn on the charm, praise his skills, explain how the zipper would be child's play to him etc etc.
"Very busy" were the two words I got out of him. I looked around the coffin of the place feeling a little disoriented. Very busy? What?
I tried once more to talk him into a shorter waiting period. For my efforts, I received my pants in my hands and the words "Then take it!"
Take it I did. And Clay and I left. Stupid immigrants. Deport them all!!
And the moral of these stories is:
There's two sides to every story... or
There's two stories to every side.
Take your pick.
Monday, April 18, 2005
No to Bolton, Daily Show Update
John R. Bolton makes me so mad. Here the United States is supposed to be working on repairing its image and blah blah and instead we get saddled with this goon. Or, what the world thinks of America be damned, but lets not go out of our way to get people's pantyhose in knots please. John Bolton's nomination as US Ambassador to the UN is just plain stupid.
Look.
1. He hates the United Nations. He has denounced international treaties on small arms, biological weapons and the International Criminal Court. He has said that if the United Nations building lost 10 of its 38 floors, no one would notice (Washington Post, March 22, 2005).
2. He tries to get fired or reassigned pretty much anyone under him who wishes to think for himself or herself. He sought the removal of at least three subordinates or intelligence officials during his time as an Under Secretary of State, one because the results of a report didn't agree with his world view (New York Times, April 16, 2005).
3. He is a douchebag (Foreigner's Opinion Post, April 18, 2005).
4. He looks like he lives in a cobweb (Foreigner's Opinion Times, April 18, 2005).
The man is just so WRONG for this position, it blows my mind. Seriously. In case you're having trouble comprehending the magnitude of the idiocy of this nomination, allow me to present to you some analogies of similar levels of ridiculousness :
1. Michael Jackson being invited to star in Fox's Nanny 911
2. Jenna Jameson being appointed President of Bob Jones University
3. Anna Nicole Smith writing a book titled "Aging Gracefully"
4. George W. Bush qualifying for Mensa membership
5. Jay Leno winning the "Smallest Chin" Award
Yeah, so there. And remember, if you're one of the 18 United States Senators on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee that will be voting on this matter on Tuesday, the last two letters of John R. Bolton's last name read backwards spell NO.
By the way, Daily Show update. They didn't reply to me so I faxed them again this Friday. And, when I got back to my room later that day, there was a message on my phone from a lady named Joanna* at The Daily Show saying I didn't make the first round of interviews. So sad.
HOWEVER, the very next message on the phone was from Pat at The Daily Show saying they've already filled their positions for the Summer but if I'm interested in a position for the Fall, I should call back and let him know. So Pat's obviously the man. And Joanna* doesn't know what she's talking about.
*Name changed to protect her identity to ensure that my rabid fans don't hunt her down and kill her
Look.
1. He hates the United Nations. He has denounced international treaties on small arms, biological weapons and the International Criminal Court. He has said that if the United Nations building lost 10 of its 38 floors, no one would notice (Washington Post, March 22, 2005).
2. He tries to get fired or reassigned pretty much anyone under him who wishes to think for himself or herself. He sought the removal of at least three subordinates or intelligence officials during his time as an Under Secretary of State, one because the results of a report didn't agree with his world view (New York Times, April 16, 2005).
3. He is a douchebag (Foreigner's Opinion Post, April 18, 2005).
4. He looks like he lives in a cobweb (Foreigner's Opinion Times, April 18, 2005).
The man is just so WRONG for this position, it blows my mind. Seriously. In case you're having trouble comprehending the magnitude of the idiocy of this nomination, allow me to present to you some analogies of similar levels of ridiculousness :
1. Michael Jackson being invited to star in Fox's Nanny 911
2. Jenna Jameson being appointed President of Bob Jones University
3. Anna Nicole Smith writing a book titled "Aging Gracefully"
4. George W. Bush qualifying for Mensa membership
5. Jay Leno winning the "Smallest Chin" Award
Yeah, so there. And remember, if you're one of the 18 United States Senators on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee that will be voting on this matter on Tuesday, the last two letters of John R. Bolton's last name read backwards spell NO.
By the way, Daily Show update. They didn't reply to me so I faxed them again this Friday. And, when I got back to my room later that day, there was a message on my phone from a lady named Joanna* at The Daily Show saying I didn't make the first round of interviews. So sad.
HOWEVER, the very next message on the phone was from Pat at The Daily Show saying they've already filled their positions for the Summer but if I'm interested in a position for the Fall, I should call back and let him know. So Pat's obviously the man. And Joanna* doesn't know what she's talking about.
*Name changed to protect her identity to ensure that my rabid fans don't hunt her down and kill her
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Vijay Singh, Ducks
Been a bit of a busy week for me, what with academic commitments and finding out that my car has an oxygen sensor, then finding out that it actually has two, but then only being able to find one on the actual car itself. So you see why I haven't had time to post. The Daily Show still hasn't come to me on its knees by the way. Y'all need to get your telephoning skills in order right quick (and I mean ALL of you... all 3 of you...).
So what's with this Vijay Singh fellow anyway? He gets all up in Phil Mickleson's face because... get this... Mickleson's spikes were too large. Apparently poor Vijay had a hard time putting on the 12th green during the second round of the Masters this weekend because of the gaping craters left by Phil's oversize spikes. What a wimp. Golf is barely a sport anyway, Veej, and if pinprick-sized holes are going to bother you, you may as well take your Fijian behind and your primadonna temperament to the Spelling Bee. Seriously, spelling is a sport too. They show it on ESPN. Do you know how to spell Lilliputian?
Did you hear about how the US Secret Service is protecting a pregnant duck? So this mallard sets up nest right outside the US Treasury building and lays eggs, right? And the Secret Service is nice enough to build a shelter for it. Nothing against that... nice of the fellows if you ask me. But I was wondering what would happen if I, or any other person for that matter, decided to set up nest on the stairs of the Treasury Building. And then lay stuff... probably not eggs. I don't see the Secret Service protecting me... or the Secretary of the Treasury stopping by to say Good Morning. *sigh* Even ducks have more rights than I do. Maybe the duck's protesting what Bush is trying to do to Social Security or something. Smart animals these ducks are... you never know. I wonder if the Secret Service frisked it...
Yeah, I'm really not on form right now. So I'm done.
So what's with this Vijay Singh fellow anyway? He gets all up in Phil Mickleson's face because... get this... Mickleson's spikes were too large. Apparently poor Vijay had a hard time putting on the 12th green during the second round of the Masters this weekend because of the gaping craters left by Phil's oversize spikes. What a wimp. Golf is barely a sport anyway, Veej, and if pinprick-sized holes are going to bother you, you may as well take your Fijian behind and your primadonna temperament to the Spelling Bee. Seriously, spelling is a sport too. They show it on ESPN. Do you know how to spell Lilliputian?
Did you hear about how the US Secret Service is protecting a pregnant duck? So this mallard sets up nest right outside the US Treasury building and lays eggs, right? And the Secret Service is nice enough to build a shelter for it. Nothing against that... nice of the fellows if you ask me. But I was wondering what would happen if I, or any other person for that matter, decided to set up nest on the stairs of the Treasury Building. And then lay stuff... probably not eggs. I don't see the Secret Service protecting me... or the Secretary of the Treasury stopping by to say Good Morning. *sigh* Even ducks have more rights than I do. Maybe the duck's protesting what Bush is trying to do to Social Security or something. Smart animals these ducks are... you never know. I wonder if the Secret Service frisked it...
Yeah, I'm really not on form right now. So I'm done.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Not a joke!
A Word to the Wise:
The Daily Show entry (the one right below this) is NOT an April Fool's Day joke despite the date of posting. I seriously expect you to call New York City and talk me up to the answering machine. Clear?
I guess I should talk a little about the Pope. I liked him. All-round good guy, he was. I just hope they don't elect some war-mongering, crusading monster to take his place. We have enough of those in sitting governments. And I'm not talking ONLY about America either.
The Daily Show entry (the one right below this) is NOT an April Fool's Day joke despite the date of posting. I seriously expect you to call New York City and talk me up to the answering machine. Clear?
I guess I should talk a little about the Pope. I liked him. All-round good guy, he was. I just hope they don't elect some war-mongering, crusading monster to take his place. We have enough of those in sitting governments. And I'm not talking ONLY about America either.
Friday, April 01, 2005
The Daily Show
Alright, so I did this past week what I've been trying to muster enough gumption to do for a very long time. I wrote to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (Mon - Thu 11/10c on Comedy Central) and politely requested that they consider employing my services if they happened to have a spot open on their roster this upcoming May.
ACTUALLY, I composed a desperate, devoid of all hope country song type of missive that will probably give them the impression that I spend most of my day on my knees (begging and pleading, not doing anything else). I included phrases like "I hope to God you read my plea in its entirety and decide I’m worth getting in touch with" and "Look. This means a lot to me. All I ask for is a chance." Basically, in hindsight, I made them think I'm a pathetic loser with low self esteem. Dammit!
HOWEVER, I did also, from time to time, insert stuff like:
"Think of me as an investment. I will pay off handsomely"
*Makes The Daily Show sound like a brothel.
"I’m also horribly smart. Trust me. I’m horribly smart"
*Illustrates my ability to get a point across to my viewers/listener/readers. I'm horribly smart, you see.
"Exactly how many genuine, bona fide, certified Pakistani citizens do you have working for the Daily Show?"
*Lets them know that I watched the Monorail episode of The Simpsons and am willing to steal other people's ideas for a few cheap laughs.
"I can be horribly bitter and sarcastic when I’m in the right mood (i.e. awake)."
*Hints at the little-known fact that I may occasionally from time to time have a subtle sarcastic moment from time to time, occasionally.
"Plus, I’ll even teach the entire Daily Show staff how to swear in Urdu, the national language of Pakistan."
*Elaborates on how I plan to use my cultural strengths to introduce diversity to the show.
So it wasn't ALL bad.
By the way, if you're from The Daily Show, and you're reading this, HIRE ME. NOW.
And if you're not from The Daily Show, and don't exactly want me dead, do me a favor:
1. Call 1-212-586-2477. (If you are under 18, please ask your parents' permission.)
2. Listen to the incredibly long automated response that will tell you that you can't reserve tickets for the show over the phone.
3. Leave a message telling Whoever Listens to These Messages that they need to hire me as soon as possible for the good of the show (the planet, world peace, blah blah. Be creative, I don't care. If you are under 18, tell them to do it for the children. That'll be cute and touching).
4. Don't forget to tell them my real name and current academic location. (If you're reading this, you probably know my real name and current academic location, right? And if you don't, hot damn, I've got a reader who doesn't know me!)
5. Hang up.
6. Repeat steps 1 through 5.
Thank you for your efforts. I am now going to go sit in a dark corner, rock back and forth and whine piteously until I hear good news. I might make a couple of phone calls myself, who knows.
ACTUALLY, I composed a desperate, devoid of all hope country song type of missive that will probably give them the impression that I spend most of my day on my knees (begging and pleading, not doing anything else). I included phrases like "I hope to God you read my plea in its entirety and decide I’m worth getting in touch with" and "Look. This means a lot to me. All I ask for is a chance." Basically, in hindsight, I made them think I'm a pathetic loser with low self esteem. Dammit!
HOWEVER, I did also, from time to time, insert stuff like:
"Think of me as an investment. I will pay off handsomely"
*Makes The Daily Show sound like a brothel.
"I’m also horribly smart. Trust me. I’m horribly smart"
*Illustrates my ability to get a point across to my viewers/listener/readers. I'm horribly smart, you see.
"Exactly how many genuine, bona fide, certified Pakistani citizens do you have working for the Daily Show?"
*Lets them know that I watched the Monorail episode of The Simpsons and am willing to steal other people's ideas for a few cheap laughs.
"I can be horribly bitter and sarcastic when I’m in the right mood (i.e. awake)."
*Hints at the little-known fact that I may occasionally from time to time have a subtle sarcastic moment from time to time, occasionally.
"Plus, I’ll even teach the entire Daily Show staff how to swear in Urdu, the national language of Pakistan."
*Elaborates on how I plan to use my cultural strengths to introduce diversity to the show.
So it wasn't ALL bad.
By the way, if you're from The Daily Show, and you're reading this, HIRE ME. NOW.
And if you're not from The Daily Show, and don't exactly want me dead, do me a favor:
1. Call 1-212-586-2477. (If you are under 18, please ask your parents' permission.)
2. Listen to the incredibly long automated response that will tell you that you can't reserve tickets for the show over the phone.
3. Leave a message telling Whoever Listens to These Messages that they need to hire me as soon as possible for the good of the show (the planet, world peace, blah blah. Be creative, I don't care. If you are under 18, tell them to do it for the children. That'll be cute and touching).
4. Don't forget to tell them my real name and current academic location. (If you're reading this, you probably know my real name and current academic location, right? And if you don't, hot damn, I've got a reader who doesn't know me!)
5. Hang up.
6. Repeat steps 1 through 5.
Thank you for your efforts. I am now going to go sit in a dark corner, rock back and forth and whine piteously until I hear good news. I might make a couple of phone calls myself, who knows.
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