Feedback

Okay, when I said I was going to change my byline I totally didn’t mean I was changing my name.

And yet, I have gotten an atrocious amount of feedback, much of it angry (or at least annoyed), that I’m planning on changing it. I even got threatened with violence, though I’m sure she was just kidding (right, Chara?).

So it comes down to this. I’m going to be 12 years old. Since you guys are so smart, what do YOU think I should go by?

This isn’t a contest so much as it is me noticing just how upset this is making people and wondering if maybe I should reconsider. However, machismo demands that I mask this behind me making it seem like I’m not really backpedaling Cool? Cool. Comment away.

Breaking news

LEXINGTON, Ky. (A20SNews) — A recent college graduate fresh out of the University of Kentucky has signed on for his first job.

Dariush Shafa, one of the so-called “miracle graduates” of UK (in that it’s a miracle he didn’t stay there forever) officially agreed on Friday to work at the Messenger-Inquirer in Owensboro, Ky.

Shafa will be taking the medical beat position at the paper and is expected to cover the construction of a new $500 million medical facility as well as an expected partnership with the University of Louisville and Owensboro Medical Health System to develop a cancer vaccine.

Former coworkers were stunned at the announcement.

“Dari… Gary… The Arab-looking guy, right? Wasn’t he arrested by Homeland Security?” said one.

One of Shafa’s former coworkers, upon hearing of the hire, went berserk and attempted to burn down the journalism building at UK.

Shafa declined an interview, though he did say that he’s excited about the job and that anyone who really thinks this is an actual press release is stark, raving mad.

-END-

Life altering decision

I’m definitely proud of my family heritage.

Anyone who asks me about my background will probably get a little more story-time than they’d bargained for. I’m the son of an Iranian father and a Puerto Rican mother. I have had stepfathers of American and Spanish backgrounds and a stepmother who is half-German and half-Russian. I have lived in Kentucky for 18 years (although I would still live parts of the year with my dad in Michigan).

The end result of this strange and awkward background is me, a man who enjoys Michigan cold winters and Kentucky farmland summers. I can tell you about Chiggers and about a fictional, Slavic torture that grandfathers do to children known only as “Krispy-Kraspy,” and which strangely resembles tickling (I swear I’m not making any of this stuff up).

I am proud of who I am. I prefer people to call me by my name. Abbreviations like “Dari” are only allowed if I really like you, and if you call me “D” I’d better outright love you. (Note: If you call me these things, don’t stop. I only get mad if people do it and I’m not fond of them.)

But honestly, let’s face facts: Spelling your name a minimum of three times a day is infuriating.

D-as in David-a-r-i-u-s-h, S-as in Sam-h-a-f-as in Frank-a. Every. Day.

And so, as I stand on the cusp of a new job and a new chapter in life, I’ve come to a decision:

Dariush will no longer appear as my first name on my bylines.

I could go the route my uncles have gone. Their names all start with M and are typically Iranian (how my grandmother kept all four sons straight in her head boggles the everlovin’ crap out of me). One uncle, for the sake of simplicity, has begun going by “Mark.” Another goes by “Mason.”

I’m abandoning the letter D all together. I’d rather go by something I was named than a name that just kinda randomly sounds like my name based solely on alliteration.

But now I’ve run into another problem, and it has meant adjusting my mental outlook on how I was named. You see, I despise my middle name. And I’m going to break a personal rule and tell you it. Ready?

Alexander.

Ugh. I loathe it. Yes, it sounds all masculine and world-conqueror-ly, but history also tries to forget a few things. The movie “Alexander” (which I haven’t seen, so this is all hearsay) made Alexander the Great out to be a great womanizer.

He was a great man-anizer, memo to you. Read your history.

Anyway, that’s less important than the fact that I really detest the name because it sounds pompous and stupid. Go figure. Shortening the name doesn’t help. Alex sounds just… meh.

So I decided to stick with a one-syllable name, one so simple that it would take an absolute moron to misspell it. Drumroll, please. When I start my new job, this is the byline you folks will see:

By Al Shafa
ashafa@whatevernewspaper.com

I’m still kinda wondering how a lot of people are going to respond to it, but mostly, I don’t care. Just not having to worry about spelling my first name is going to be awesome. I can handle spelling the last name. That’s not so bad.

Anyway, I haven’t told Dr. Mom or Dr. Dad about this. I figure Dr. Dad can learn about it however. Dr. Mom will probably find out when she reads this or when my sister spills the beans. I’m fairly certain that Dr. Mom will be bewildered and Dr. Dad will have some kind of aneurysm. I’m fairly unconcerned.

Also, I’ve decided to take up beekeeping as a hobby (mostly as a result of the story I wrote – see post below). Thoughts?

Note: Chuck and I had a back-and-forth conversation about this upcoming name change. Read the conversation at his blog via this link.

Buzzworthy

Buzzzzz.

Story, column and photos all at that link.

You can also comment on the story at the paper’s Web site as well as here. Someone has already posted that they think it’s a lame story… Meh.

UPDATE: The link above is now fixed. Sorry about that.

Hooray for life-threatening picture taking!

BOOM!

UPDATE: I got to blog about the picture-taking here.

UPDATE UPDATE: The first link is no longer active. Sorry. If you want to see the picture, just click ont he second link.

This is how I spent my Wednesday evening…

SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WARNING

Statement as of 7:47 PM EDT on July 18, 2007

… A Severe Thunderstorm Warning remains in effect until 815 PM EDT
for eastern Woodford and Fayette counties…

At 743 PM EDT… National Weather Service Doppler radar continued to
indicate a severe thunderstorm capable of producing penny size
hail… and damaging winds in excess of 60 mph. This storm was
located 9 miles west of central Lexington… moving east at 15 mph.

The severe thunderstorm will continue to affect the city of
Lexington through at least 815 PM EDT. All residents of Lexington
should be in safe shelter at this time!

Also… torrential rains will cause minor flooding in Fayette
County… especially in poor drainage areas of the city of Lexington.
Never drive into flooded roadways!

In addition to large hail and damaging winds… continuous cloud to
ground lightning is occurring with this storm. Move indoors
immediately! Lightning is one of natures number one killers.
Remember… if you can hear thunder… you are close enough to be
struck by lightning.

Guess where I was as this storm approached?

That’s right. On top of a parking structure, camera in hand.

Tomorrow, I will show you an awesome picture. You have to wait until they run it in the ‘paper.

A battle of wits with the unarmed

The following is an IM conversation excerpt with my oldest sister, Dora, better known as the commenter YourBigSis. I apologize for the death of any brain cells that occurs from reading it. It began mostly because she refuses to spell out simple, monosyllabic words of three letters or less.

Dariush: R U UNABLE TO SPELL OUT THREE-LETTER WORDS!?
Dora: NO (2 ltrs)
Dora: lol
Dariush: dork
Dora: geek
Dariush: Wench
Dora: Scalliwag
Dariush: Harlot
Dora: Scoundrel
Dariush: Temptress.
Dora: Lothario
Dora: give it up…we could be here all night with this
Dariush: yes, we could.
Dariush: Cow.

This is a reference to our childhood. When we were little, I would call my sisters “cow” in retaliation for my nickname, seen below.

Dariush: *wins*
Dora: Sapo

This is the Spanish word for frog. My nickname.

Dora: wins
Dariush: Cow still beats frog
Dora: bah
Dariush: I may croak, but you moo
Dora: you eat flies
Dariush: you smell like butt
Dora: but I have steak
Dariush: I have legs.
Dora: you only have frog legs
Dariush: You have a brisket

I would like to point out that a brisket is, while tasty, still a very disturbing part of the anatomy.

Dora: wich would you rather have
Dora: steak or frog
Dariush: Having butchered several cows, i’ll stick with being a frog
Dariush: i don’t eat my own kind
Dora: forget it
Dora: Bull
Dora: ha that was funny

At this point, I tried to be gross and change the subject. It didn’t really work.

Dariush: i had a zit in my ear
Dora: I had a chicken pox in my eye
Dora: I win!
Dariush: Whatevs.
Dora: lol
Dariush: You also have to suffer PMS and a menstrual cycle.
Dariush: And I don’t.

This is precisely the point when it became painfully apparent that I had won.

Dora: you have to smell your own farts…and armpits
Dariush: Everyone likes their own brand.
Dora: not true
Dariush: Which is why you’re the cow.
Dora: ahhhh
Dariush: Game. Set. Match.
Dora: ok ok truce I give
Dora: punk
Dora: Guess what?
Dariush: Culo de pollo

This is Spanish for “chicken butt.” I still think that trying to ensnare people in saying “what” so I can follow up with “chicken butt” is funny. I also try to get people to say “underwear” and I will still say it smells like updog in here to try and get you to say “what’s updog?”

Dora: Chicken Butt
Dora: he he he
Dariush: At the end of the day, you will always resort to using my tricks
Dariush: Because they are good.
Dora: U keep telling yourself that if you feel you need 2
Dariush: ok, now you’re abbreviating two-letter words
Dora: gonna play literaty now…think up names and get bk 2 me
Dariush: And misspelling literati
Dariush: nice.
Dora: just to annoy u
Dariush: Try not to think too hard.
Dariush: I hear women damage their lady-parts when they do that.

Seriously. This was a firm belief in schools of ancient thought. Look up hysteria.

Dora: U R 2 Much!
Dariush: you are progressively typing dumber and dumber
Dora: lol

Again, I’m sorry you all had to witness this.

I am a sucker for peer pressure

I have to face the facts: When it comes to peer pressure, if it’s something I don’t feel strongly about, you can probably talk me into it.

Now, there are limits to this. In fact, this calls for a mini-list:

Things Dariush just won’t do::

– Drugs. I am mortally terrified of just about every mind-altering (and brain cell-destroying substance) with the exception of alcohol. Me likey beer.
– Something that would endanger a life (mine and/or someone else’s).
– Anything that involves shaving of the legs.
– Saying anything bad about William Shatner.

However, there also needs to be a corresponding mini-list of things I’ve been talked into doing:

Things people have pressured Dariush into doing:

– Jumping off a cliff into a body of water.
– Pretty much anything that involves having fun with fire.
– Eating a large chunk of wasabi without any sushi.
– New entry: Being voluntarily stung by a bee.

Not even 24 hours after I rained terrible destruction down on the wasps nesting under the siding of my house, I sat in a chair, rolled up a pant leg and let myself be stung by a bee.

I’ll explain. I was working on a story on bees and there was a beekeeper’s conference in a town nearby where I work. The multimedia intern and I packed up, headed to the conference and found ourselves listening to a lecture on the therapeutic properties of bee stings.

I watched with morbid fascination as three people got stung in fairly quick succession and then didn’t die as I was worried they might. Then the three, and a few other spectators, turned their eyes to the press.

The other intern shook her head. “I’m not doing it.” She said.

All eyes on me.

“Yeah, ok, why not?” I said, wondering just how bad it could be. Er… bee. Meh, anyway, the sting-therapist lady got a bee out, held it up to my leg and then let the poor bugger (pun #2 for those of you counting) tag me on the leg.

Yes. It hurt. No, I still can’t justify to myself why I did it.

On the bright side, it wasn’t so bad and it’ll make a great story for job interviews in the future.

Quite possibly the coolest vlog I will ever make

First off, I’d like to offer my thanks to my guest bloggers. You folks dedicated your time to donate some material when I was struggling and I can’t thank you enough for it. Also, thank your readers for me (or if they’ve started coming here, I thank you myself) for coming to visit.

Now, onto business.

Remember how I razor-burned my face? Then was nearly attacked by a wasp? Then spilled junk on my shirt? Yeah, later on that night, I ran out of gas on the way home too, but I coasted off the interstate and to within a few hundred feet of a gas station, so that could have been way worse. Special thanks to the station manager, who let me borrow a gas can so I could make it to the station to fill up and then go home.

But it’s the wasps I want to talk to you about. You see, they don’t exist anymore.

(insert evil laugh here).

Editor’s note: My shirt says “I am ten ninjas” but you can’t see it because the camera was zoomed too far in. My bad.

Kill count:

Killed in nest bombardment – 7
Killed in midflight – 2 (hawesome!)
Wounded but then died – 5
Fled in cowardly disgrace – 9
Returned to look pitiful outside the now-uninhabitable nest – 3
Friendly injuries – 0

Right? Wrong.

Step one: Have bad day. Step two: ??? Step three: Profit.

I woke up and started getting ready for work. No big deal, right? Wrong.

I shave in the shower because the steam and water help to keep my pores nice and open while I run sharp metal across my face. However, my most recent razor, the one of the Gillette Mach series (you know, the ones that will eventually have 10,000 blades?), decided to disagree with my face. Let’s just say the razor won. I now have not one, but two, areas of delightful razor burn on my face.

I figured that would be my foul-up for the day. Right?

Wrong.

Occasionally my car gets pretty messy and today I decided that the mess was too much (cue Dr. Mom and YourBigSis snarky comments here). I cleaned it out and went to throw the grocery-bag’s worth of soda cans and beef jerky wrappers in the trash next to the garage.

God, can you hear me? It’s Dariush. Why did you make winged, stinging insects?

In the siding, right underneath the gutters on the garage, several wasps have decided to set up shop. Wasps in general seem to like me, or at least inflicting harm on me, as one of them did several years ago after nesting in the doorway on the back of the house and then stinging me ON THE EAR when I opened the door.

Anyway, I saw the wasps eyeing me as I approached. I figured if I tossed the garbage in the trash and walked away all non-chalant-like, they’d leave me be. Right?

Wrong.

The moment my tossed trash hit the can one of the wasps immediately took off. For those of you who have seen Apocalypse Now, I heard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” in my head as I saw that winged-and-stingered angel of death take flight.

Stay calm. Walk away slowly. He probably won’t bother you. You’re far away enough from the nest not to be a threat. Right? RIGHT!?

Wrong.

You know that terrible, awful feeling where there’s a bug in your hair and you want it out RIGHT NOW? Now amplify that by at least six orders of magnitude (that’s 6,000 times) because you know it’s the creature most nominated for the title of “Biggest Jerk of the Animal Kingdom” because of the fact that it can sting you over and over and over and over again and not die like your average good, gentle and industrious honey bee, who will die if he stings you.

I have never stood so still in my life, not even as a child when I knew Dr. Mom was hunting to put a beating on my keyster or when my sisters were out to get revenge on me for some terrible thing I’d done to them. On the outside, cool as ice. Collected. It’s all good. It’s just a wasp in my hair. He’s probably just interested in the fact that my hair smells like figs and kumquat (hey, I didn’t buy the shampoo, ok? Dr. Mom did because she doesn’t think Pert Plus smells good). Calm, cool and collected on the inside, right?

Interior brain monologue:

OMG OMG OMG GET IT OFF DEAR GOD IT’S IN MY HAIR WHY WON’T IT FLY AWAY!? WHAT IF I HIT IT!? NO! THAT’LL MAKE IT MAD AND IT WILL STING ME IN THE HEAD AND THE LAST TIME THAT HAPPENED I SWORE FOR 15 MINUTES STRAIGHT! ARGH WHY WON’T IT LEAVE! SHOO WASP! GO AWAY! PLEASE GO AWAY! DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN PLEASE DON’T LET THIS INFERNAL CREATION STING ME!

Then I calmed down a little and started bargaining.

Hey, wasp? It’s me, Dariush again. I’ll tell you, if you don’t sting me, I won’t rain down chemical wasp-killing vengeance upon you and your nest. Okay?

I stood there for 30 agonizing seconds in all, while this nasty little creature crawled around on my head. Just as I thought it was about to get onto skin, where it really would be able to sting me instead of just hitting hair, as it probably was, it flew off, leaving me grateful that a) it hadn’t stung me, b) that it hadn’t landed on my widow’s peak, where my hair is thinnest and the stinging would have been easier, and c) that it didn’t land on my face and sting me, because that would have just been brutal.

I breathed a sigh of relief, got in my car and drove away, shaky, trembly, grateful and thoroughly angry.

Remember how I told the wasp I wasn’t going to kill it and its buddies if it didn’t sting me? The journalist in me feels a little bit bad, but the human in me knows that it’s either me or him.

Tomorrow, I’m stopping off at ACE Hardware, getting six big cans of the spray-from-10-feet-away-and-it’ll-kill-wasps stuff and I’m going to war. Rambo-style.

Shoulda stung me when you had the chance, suckers.

Then I went and got something on my shirt. I know it’s going to be a terrific day.