Listing

Given the large amount of buzzfeed lists I've come across, i thought I'd share a list of lists for your amusement. 

I Refuse to Pay For:
1. Cover charge
2. Parking
3. Cooking my own food
Honorable Mention: Anything that subjects me to advertisements or waiting in line.

I Can Never Say "No" to:
1. Family (and the like)
2. Ice cream
3. Mangoes
Very Honorable Mention: Adventure

Smart Apps:
1. Passbook
2. Hippo LITE
3. Uber
Honorable Mention: Siri/Evernote/Whatsapp

I'm Sensitive About:
1. My toes
2. My hair loss
3. A newfound speech impediment.
Honorable Mention: My black book.

US Cities I'd Move to:
1. Boston
2. Chicago
3. Portland
Honorable Mention: Nashville

Things That Actually Annoy Me:
1. The illusions of luxury, security and/or intelligence.
2. Buzzwords
3. Indecisiveness
Honorable Mention: Condescension

Conversation Topics I'm Too Shy to Start:
1. Theology
2. Careers
3. Relationships
Honorable Mention: Why I'm shy to start some conversations

A Furry Friend

Every great man has had a furry voice of reason along his side: Calvin and his Hobbes, Mowgli and his baloo, Aladdin and his Apu. I have found a beast of my own – my beard. It is a tremendous artifact. A sociological phenomenon, if you will, that makes every social interaction a fruitful discussion. It’s the only thing a man can stroke in public. It’s history’s embodiment of universal wisdom. There’s a lot to learn and here’s what I have to share: 

The Reactions

The reactions I received fell into the following:

1. What’s that on your face?
2. Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you.
3. “I love it”
4. “I’m jealous”
5. I wish I could do that.
6. “GROSS”
7. I hope you’re not going to an airport anytime soon. 

There were also follow up questions such as:

1. When is it coming off?
2. What bet did you lose?
3. Why? Just tell me why?!

With which I usually responded:

What’s that on your face?

Masculinity.

Why? WHY?

“Because I can” 

Real Friends

You learn who your real friends are. The truest of them will be as honest as you ask them to be and a friend who can actually do that is one keeping around. My friends have given a broad range of opinions from the “it’s hideous; you look homeless” to speechless applause. And I have agreed with all of them at one point or another. Sometimes I look like a caveman and sometimes I look like the wise man who can tell stories into the late hours of the night. For those who gave me their honest thoughts, thank you.

The Name Generator

I’ve collected a handful of nicknames over the past decade but having a beard has extended that list at an alarming rate. Some of my favorite nicknames:

•  Haji
•  Mukhi
•  Imam
•  Ayatollah
•  Pirate
•  Osama’s little brother
•  Lumberjack
•  Paul Bunyan
•  Sardar
•  The Indian:
•  Ben Affleck from Argo
•  Ernest Hemingway
•  Justin Long
•  Most Interesting Man in the World (or rather, his protégé)
•  James Harden
•  Baron Davis

 Yet nobody called me a hipster. I’ll take it as a compliment.

The Suggestions

I didn’t understand the whole mustache obsession going on with everyone male and female. People love fake mustaches (yet real ones creep everyone out) and asking punny questions such as “I mustache you a question.” I’m starting to see it now. It’s a great starting point of light-hearted creativity and with the beard, there are plenty of suggestions. I love that these costume ideas are consistent with the assumption that a man with a beard has big cajones or  small brains.

You should:

1. Wear an eyepatch
2. Wear an eyepatch and a parrot.
3. Wear a turban
4. Wear a turban and carry rosary beads
5. Wear a turban, carry rosary beards and go to the airport.

The Goodbye

Life isn’t actually too much harder with a beard. My motivation changed throughout the experience. First, I was too lazy to shave. Then I started gaining friendly support for it. I hit the point of no return in early February and I decided to own my beard and run with it. Yes, I am at an airport twice a week but that caused absolutely no hardship. Over the course of 16 visits to the airport, I only lost a total of 4 minutes, mostly due to one TSA officer trying to be funny. Sometimes there were rough patches (pun intended) where my face itched so much but the attention made it all worth it. The conversations, the stroking of the intellectual fibers, the mystery of what was behind the beard created a joyous ride. There were times where I just want to shave it all off because I was annoyed by having to always grab a napkin. Food stuck in your beard negates every ounce of maturity it bestows. And trust me, there’s a lot of maturity that comes with it. People were thinking I was in my 30s. Not necessarily a bad thing, but not a great thing either. 

What possessed me to shave it? First, it was laziness again. It was time consuming to have to trim and groom it. The weather was becoming another pain point. To get to the skin of the question, it had grown a personality of is own and I didn’t know what to do with it. The thoughtfulness of the beard had disappeared. The novelty was gone. I started to notice beards everywhere. It was this new sense of vision for facial hair and I did not like what I saw. I saw homeless people with shaggy beards, I saw weird hipsters with ugly tattoos. What I saw wasn’t somebody you could befriend, nobody that struck you as a doppelganger Dumbledore in sight or personality or legacy. 

I did not want to turn into one of those people that made you uneasy on the Muni, or somebody you didn’t want to send a friendly smile toward. I didn’t see myself the same way people would see the beard. 

But through it all, it was a phase of Zahir that I’m not ready to fully give up. There’s still more to learn, to ponder and discuss. One day my pocket of stories will run dry and where will I turn to replenish? Well, I don’t fear the beard will disappoint.

I (kinda) miss you, beard.  I’ll see you in November. 

Some Advice

Gentlemen, my brothers, let me impart unto you three valuable pieces of advice. Following all three of them will guarantee that your female companion will not be displeased. These three guidelines will help you arrive to closer to your goal – but they may fall short. They are best used when in doubt. When the right choice is unclear, think back on these rules and you will not go wrong.

     1.    Tuck it in.

There are times when there is no question – the shirt is tucked in or tucked out. The choice is clear and everyone is good to go. The reality is that most everyday situations are not obvious. You might think you know which way to go, but you need a second opinion. This is your second opinion. If you’re unsure, tuck it in. Going to a nice dinner but you might hit up a club later? Tuck it in. Going out to watch the game? Don’t. Meeting up with coworkers after the office? Tuck it in. Weekend coffee break? Nah. A man who has tucked his shirt in looks smarter. It’s always the little things that elevate a gentleman to GQ status. People will take you seriously, including yourself. Sure, you run the risk of looking like a dork but that’s okay. Nerds, geeks, or dorks – whatever you want to call them – they’re making a comeback and they’re first in line to catch the women you want to be with. Smart has never been sexier and the way you show it (or fake it) is by tucking it in. Clearly, we’re talking shirts here but if ever in doubt in any situation and you don’t know where to start: tuck it in.

     2.    Moisturize.

Moisturize, often and well. You’re smart enough to figure out where. For starters, begin with the obvious: elbows, hands, ankles, face, knees and heels.  Yes, men are rough but that pertains to the inside (mostly). Your first impression should grab her by all five senses: smart looks, a sensual smell, a gripping tone and a smooth touch (oh, and carry Altoids just in case).  The sense of touch is underrated today. If you master your sense of touch, you have enormous capabilities in your hands: you have the power to calm nerves and gain trust on a more genuine level. The way a person physically feels to the touch can directly affect someone’s emotions. Can you be the King Midas of the heart? It sounds like a pansy idea but it’s important enough where she’ll notice. A soft tickle where you know she’ll smile is the most effective catalyst to getting to wherever you want to go. It’s a small investment that will pay big rewards. She’ll appreciate it every ounce of it. Now don’t go overboard. Stay away from the fruity shit and stick to neutral fragrances. You’re a busy man who takes time to groom because you don’t intend your first impression to be your last. And with that, you don’t want to become her shopping buddy to The Body Shop.

     3.    She’s Right.

Don’t argue because in the end, she’s right. Yes, you could be right too. It’s possible to both be right, but she’s more right. Women just know what’s going to happen next. They have this magical ability to know how a situation will end. How many times have you seen a male fortune-teller? Even if she’s blatantly wrong, don’t argue. Tell her she’s right and be suave with the situation. If you can find a way to tell her she’s right and wrong at the same time, quit reading and start sharing. Make it a learning opportunity for both of you? There have been plenty of times when the only woman in the room has made a suggestion and the men scramble around and try all sorts of seemingly logical experiments and in the end – they would have saved a lot of time and effort had they just listened to her. She doesn’t know everything and neither do you, but to make a wise decision, to be efficient with what you have – make your decision together. Trust her as much as you can because if she’s with you, she’s made one right decision and that’s all it takes.

I'm Allowed to Haight

“The price one pays for pursuing any profession or calling is an intimate knowledge of its ugly side.”
-        James Baldwin


San Francisco definitely has an ugly side. When you love something – a person, a passion or even a city – you begin to find things that you absolutely hate about it. It makes you angry because you still love that goddamn object.
Now in my years in San Francisco, in my many intimate moments with her, there are some things that I’ve grown to hate. And I can say that only because I love her. Here goes:

The Brunch
I like breakfast. I like lunch. I love brunch. It’s a savior on those late Saturday and Sunday weekends that have become rare. However brunch in San Francisco is on a whole other level. People put brunch on a fucking pedestal. They it treat it like the last supper before the tortures of the work week begin again. The people (7 times of 10 they’re either a girl or gay) treat it like it’s a sex substitute. You’ll hear them moan “oh my god, I LOVE brunch!” And every time they say it, they’re just having an orgasm. I hope they keep it in their mouth, but I could be wrong. The constant squealing about brunch, about chocolate chip pancakes and truffle crème fraiche like they’re being fucked with a 12 inch black dildo and jizz on the mention of a mimosa is conversation I’ve had more times than necessary. Mimosas are treated like orange juice with holy wine spiked with Jesus’ cum. Calm down, they meant “bottomless” in a whole different context.
Brunch is not a sexual experience. I can only imagine a YouTube trailer titled “SF Psycho” with clips of young twenty-somethings in yoga pants showing their envy and spreading their productive hours discussing which brunch spots to rub themselves for reservations and which entrees to succulently swallow.
Brunch is good, delicious, timely and social but that doesn’t make it a French toast orgy.

The Wind
A city by the bay does expect some kind of breeze but holy shit, what SF gets is a fucking hurricane in comparison. Where the fuck am I? Chicago?
The SF wind legitimately hampers my outdoor lifestyle. I like to run outside. I want to utilize the infamous hills that make such great outdoor gyms. I need to sweat out the pain (and grease from all the delicious food). But have you tried to run outside and work up a sweat in 16 mph winds? No, you haven’t because it’s fucking impossible – instant cooling. Every drop of moisture I feel is just the fog reaching its dew point on my forehead. Nope, no sweat. Yup, same fatass Zahir.
Okay, working out aside. I still like to have a sweet refreshment of lemonade on a hot summer’s day. But in the hottest heat of the SF summer you can depend on a fierce howl that forces you to grab a jacket and drink some lukewarm juice or blue bottle coffee. Thanks Wind, for ruining the re-living of my childhood simplicity.

The Uniform

San Francisco is a city that almost required its citizens to embrace diversity or risk alienation. There is a singular identity and perspective growing from the masses that sounds ideal - and has no flaws. Everyone you meet is the same person with a different avatar. Our diversity has become somewhat of a farce.

I’m talking about the borderline hipster who denies it, the iPhone toting, Android hating (or the converse), MUNI-disgusted (but loyal a rider for economic obviousness),only-three-neighborhood partying, startup jizzing, SF “citizen”.

It feels liike everyone fits about 80% of that above description. Whatever happened to inquiring and learning about differences? Something inside me is set to to fire when people get elitist about their preferences.
“Oh, you live in north beach?”
“Ew, you like the marina/mission/haight/[YourHoodHere]?”
“What! Who doesn’t have an iPhone?” or “Oh, you use an iPhone - ugh, so unoriginal”
“My buddy is at this cool start up blah blah blah”

When did people begin to think that their version of The City was the proper and only way to do it? Why do people assume their or their associate’s startup is going to the be the supreme leader, the author of technology history and the peak interest of the conversation. If I hear one more conversation about how cool a startup is or about monetization or business models, I’m going to walk away*. People are quick to employ their heuristics about dress, gadgets, places to hang and party. Stop trying to make SF a one personality city. Appreciating Dolores Park became the mainstream and there’s some kind of tension between us and them. Each ego is fighting over right to call a space or an image their own and claim it for their own purpose, whether it’s to call themselves mainstream or hipsters. There’s constant conflict about which operating system and loyalties to different geniuses, corporations and brands that have not just shaped but created from wires and silicon the worlds we physically and virtually live in.

The city belongs to no group or style or brand. San Francisco isn’t exactly a melting pot. When I look over at the different buildings it reminds me of a quilt but we’re not some old grannies here. We’re kids who have found our playground. SF is a fucking 32 color pack of play-doh. We each take our chunk of whatever colors we want and build something that has never been made before. We share, we sip and maybe we’ll tear it down and start all over again.
But let the native sons and daughters of abroad come to our playground and engage in a dialogue. And when you have built a monument of your glory, go tell it on the hill - there’s plenty for everyone.


* And that’s not an empty threat. I’ve asked people to shut up or change the conversation before

Thinking With My Nuts

Nothing grabs a man’s attention – or distracts him – more than sex. I can’t tell you exactly what Adriana Lima said in her Teleflora commercial (it’s a miracle I even remember the product) but I can tell you that I will definitely be ordering my next floral product from them.

But sexualizing everyday objects can be an analogy to bigger lessons in life. Like when I was eating my organic hickory-smoked pistachios today. Who would have thought green nuts could advise on blue balls?

I came across a pistachio with a wide open shell. I was angered. I felt cheated that there was nothing in there. I called these pistachios the sluts of the bag. They’re wide open, who knows what the fall out will be and if anything, they have nothing to offer. Stay away from them, gentlemen.

And then there’s the other case - shells that are shut with nothing but a kitten’s scratch of a crack. These are the ones who haven’t played with fire yet. My only fear was that the shells didn’t allow that sweet, smokey hickory flavor to pass through. What was the worst that could happen? I get a bland, anti-climactic pursuit for something that I should not have even started. But I was determined to break that shell. I didn’t want to cause a scene, I couldn’t let anyone know I was banging around. I smacked it with a glass. I dug my fingernail in the crevice. Nothing. I tried to claw at it like a tiger or a lion – still, nothing. The key to success: when in doubt, use your mouth.

I popped that shell in my mouth and got a taste of that hickory dust on the shell. This was going to be good. I was hoping to be wrong. And I pushed that pistachio back on my right molar, I pushed down, I brought the force and it came out as a giant CRUNCH. It all fell apart. I couldn’t tell the nut from the shell from my molar. Did I need to go to a doctor or a dentist? Do I taste blood?

I grabbed a towel and spit. And yes, I looked at the shell, the smokin’ green body laying mangled in my spit. It was a lesson I needed to learn. Don’t pressure the ones who aren’t ready. You’re just asking for a mess in your hands.

It's time to move on from the pistachio. Beyond that shell is just a wrinkled green nut that's all smoke and no fire. I should just stick to brazil nuts. That dark skin is on fire but smooth to the touch. The thicker, the better.

Lines of Thought. "On A Leash". Come back next Friday for more.

Why, oh why?

A simple, little comic I call "Lines of Thought".