Fifteen Minutes

Fifteen minutes is all I have right now before I watch my tv shows. Yes, some of us still watch television. Imagine that. After a long day's work, we like to do whatever it is that we like to do. Now I only have eleven minutes. By the time I am done with this post you might be able to guess what show that is. It is not important that I watch it, nor do I need to watch it, but I simply like to watch it. So, I ask you, why should I not watch it? One of the qualities of this show is that it does not insult one's intelligence. When a negative is used to explain a positive, you might conclude, in this case, that somewhere there is a lot of intelligence insulting going on. And you would be right. No double space after a period all you 1960s typing students. There is no need. But my thumb is used to double click on the space bar since then and I can't control it right now. OK, I caught that one. Now I don't know what I was talking about. Ha, the show. Yes, I almost need to watch it because that's where I get my cathartic kicks.

Երեսնիդ վարդի ջուր:

Sandplay, the CD

Sandplay, my vocal album is at www.cdbaby.com/cd/arpiedadoyan. Also at http://www.digstation.com/links.aspx?albumid=ArpieDadoyan.

Խօսակցութիւն մը Դալարին եւ Սեւակին հետ

This evening, I went to see my friends Talar, 2 years old, Sevag, 4 years old, and their parents Diane and Varouj. Talar, Sevag as well as Diane were with me throughout the time I was preparing my CD so from time to time I would give them a copy of what we had done so far and they would listen to it until it came out of their ears. They know every song on my album, word, music and harmonies. They demand to hear it when they are in the car, in the kitchen and in the living room. They were in Montreal a few months ago and I got an email from Montreal from my friend Hourig, through whom I had met Diane. She writes that little Talar will not stop asking for Ayp Pen Kim (one of the songs on the album) until she actually hears the song then she calms down and starts singing with it. Their tastes about their favorites have changed throughout the months. One day they like Ayp Pen Kim, another day they Ov Bidi Lseh, Il Est Beau, or Vorovhedev, or Dlé Yaman, Hrammetsek, etc.

Diane had made soup for them tonight. The three of us, Talar, Sevag and moi are sitting around the table and are talking and eating. Mom has made Alphabet Soup for them. We recited the alphabet then the Armenian alphabet at which time I had the bright idea to tell Sevag «հիմա դուն Իւ Փիւր Քէն կուտես կոր», «հիմա Դա Եչ Զան կուտես կոր» եւայլն: Քովես Դալարը «ես Իլ Է Պօն կերայ» ըսաւ եւ ես գետին ինկայ խնդալէն: Սեւակը քաջալերուած «ես Որովհետեւը կուտեմ կոր» ըսաւ եւ երեքս խնդացինք: Այսպէս շարունակեցինք մինջեւ որ միակ երգը որ չկերանք Տլէ Եամանը մնաց եւ ես յիշելով որ Տիանը ինծի ըսած էր թէ Դալարը այդ երգը չ՛ուզեր լսել, ըսի՝ «Դալարը Տլէ Եամանը չի սիրեր: Դալար, ո՞ր մէկ երգը կը սիրես ամէնէն շատ:»
Դալարը մտածեց բայց չպատասխանեց: «Սեւակ, դուն ո՞ր մէկ երգը կը սիրես»: Անհապաղ «Տլէ Եամանը» պատասխանեց Սեւակ: «Օհ, դուն Տլէ Եամանը կը սիրե՞ս» ուզեցի վստահ ըլլալ: Սեւակին պատասխանէն առաջ, Դալարը «դուն Տլէ Եամանը կը սիրե՞ս» հարցուց ինծի: Բերանս բաց մնաց: Քիչ մը իրաւունք ունի որ իմ նախասիրածը չէ եւ ճիշդ այդ ձեւով ալ հարցուց արդէն: Այսինքն դուն կը սիրե՞ս որ մենք սիրենք: Վստա՞հ ես որ կը սիրես: Այդ հարցումը ես ալ ինքզինքիս մինջեւ հիմա կը հարցնեմ:

People

And their reactions to my move can be quite disconcerting and revelatory. It puts the seal on my brilliant idea to move from New Jersey to some other state, in this case, and by pure lack of other choices except ones imposed upon me, to Arizona. From New Jersey.

Mom moved out first. We put her in a smaller apartment. When I say "we", I had nothing to do with the decision. I was helping the majority's decisions. Two against one.

I lived ten years in the same house with my mother, in New Jersey. For my friends that is a medal winning accomplishment. For me, it is a miracle. For if I had any low self esteem before that, I don't find any traces of it now. Watch out.

Don't say things like "you will miss her." Give me a break. I am still here, in between these boxes, in between her and my furniture we will be leaving behind. What part of ten years you do not understand? Actually, now that I am counting properly, it has been 11 years.

I am happy to announce that it is the longest I have stayed in any one place if we don't count the house where I was born in Beirut.

Some make it more dramatic. My cousine calls from France while mom was still packing "you are going to come home, open the door, she is not there. What are you going to do?"

Just what does that mean exactly? Can someone explain that to me? As if I asked mom to leave and now I have to live with the consequences? That's what I am hearing here. Can you ask me a question please? For example, do I feel liberated?

Yes, I do.

A Dream Comes True

Sometime in the year 1990, in the city of Providence, in my California Street apartment, I had a dream wherein I was going through some thick file folders of tan color. Nothing unusual about this scene as it was a replica of what most of my life had been during the hours of 9 and 6. That's 5 and one more. Whether I was typing agreements at Motown Record Corporation, letters at the State Bar of California or applications and letters for clients at a law firm, I had to do what I had to do. Go through them and take care of them one at a time. But these were nothing compared to the pile of folders in my dream. It was quite a tall order and only until I took care of each one of them tan colored files would I get to the blue one labeled "The People File".

Needless to say I woke up with a sense of "that's a long road ahead of me full of hard work".

I have often wondered in what form and under what circumstances I would know that I have reached the bottom of the pile in real life. When would the turn of the people be whoever they or we were and whatever the blue folder represented. Until yesterday I had no clue but the knowledge that it was something I liked, i.e. people, and that has given me hope all these years. A lucid dream is a lucid dream is a lucid dream. You bet I was curious.

Sometime this morning, before going to sleep (yes, I went to sleep in the morning), I decided to finally put the folders that I had chosen to take with me to Arizona, in a small box. Halfway to the finish line I remembered the dream. A yellow folder, a red folder, a purple folder and we are done. I like purple, I swear, but it is not blue. "We are not there yet Arpie" I said to myself.

Not that fast baby, look to your left, eye level, on top of the boxes, there it is, the blue folder. Afraid of being disappointed again by looking to see what is inside or to read the label, I put the blue folder in the box and went "waaaaaaaaaa! Can you believe that?" I have been saying that a lot lately by the way.

You must be wondering too. Sometime later I had the courage to open the folder. Pictures from here and there. Just a few. The class picture of the two year olds at Jack in the Box Early Learning Center two years ago where I was a teacher's assistant. I still remember most of their names. A few pictures of moi on stage playing a role with others in costumes, some headshots and if there was a picture of me I wanted enlarged, it was there. I took out the theatre pictures and left the kids picture and mine in the file saying to myself "I am people too."

I am people, people.

Ամէն Մարդ Իր Էշը կը Քշէ:

Իմ էշս վերջապէս հասաւ մեր մօտ: Անունը դրի Խտասալաձայնասկաւառակ որ այս էջը արդէն լեցուց իր մեծութեամբ, երկարութեամբ, ժամանակի պահանջքով, եւ ինչու չէ ինքզինքը բան մը կարծող դիրքորոշումով: Իմս է ըսելով չէ որ կ՛ըսեմ՝ սակայն լաւ էշ մըն է: Ես թիւրին թիւրին ամէն էշ հաւնող անձը չեմ: Էշ կայ, էշ կայ: Ասիկա լաւ էշ մըն է: Կը զռայ միայն երբ որ ուզես որ զռայ: Ան էշերէն չէ որ կեցած տեղը մէյ մըն ալ առանց պատճառի կը զռան եւ բոլոր գիւղի կամ քաղաքի բնակչութիւնը կը լսէ ուզէ չ՛ուզէ: Չէ: Այս մէկը սիրելիս քիչ մը աւելի խոնարհ է, եթէ կը թոյլատրէք այդ բառը գործածեմ: Անոր համար այդ անունը տուի իրեն որ սորվի ինքզինքը բան մը կարծել եւ հետեւաբար տրամադրութիւնը բարձրանայ ու զինք քշելու իսկ պէտք չ՛ըլլայ: Այլ ինքնիրեն սկսի քալել, հետոյ վազել առանց գիտնալու որ մարդիկ ճամբուն եզերքը կեցած զինք կը դիտեն եւ ինծի երանի կուտան: Գիտեմ, շատեր պիտի ըսեն «Այս ինչ լաւ էշ է քոյրիկ, ուրտեղէ՞ն գտար: Ինչպէ՞ս գտար: Այս որքան ապրանք շալկած կը վազէ: Երանի անոնց որոնք այս ապրանքները աւելի շուտ պիտի վայելեն քան բոլոր անոնք որոնք թերեւս չստանան իսկ իրենցը»: Երկար պատմութիւն է: Հէքեաթ է: Դեռ դուք իր զռալը չէք լսած:

In this case, quantity wins.

Each year, right around this time, sometimes even in summer, an e-mail arrives from a fellow Armenian, with the word "IMPORTANT" written in the subject line, urging me to go to the MSNBC site and vote yes to the question "should the United States acknowledge the Armenian Genocide?" I voted once many years ago, only to realize afterwards that by sheer numbers (of population) the "yes" will loose.

This genocide matter has either blinded us to reality, made us emotional masochists, or we don't know how to count. The Turks don't have to work hard to get a number that surpasses the Armenian votes. Whereas even if every Armenian on the planet voted in this poll, it will hardly make a difference.

I for one do not like to see year after year the "yes" vote to be 22% or somewhere in that vicinity.

Unless we recruit the help of our non-Armenian friends and make them take the poll in droves and droves, I don't see how we can win this. That begs the question, how many Armenians have non-Armenian friends in droves?

It hurts me to think that we would fall for such an absurd poll. Please stop circulating this insanity.