Absolute Random Nonsense

One time in Iran with Ardi and Kamyar, when trying to decide what we should do that night we decided the best way to come up with something was for the three of us to take three steps forward in unison, stop, do a booty shake, turn around and repeat.At the end of our ritual we decided to go see a play at Bowling Abdo.

Nothing cannot be everything. This is false advertisement.

One day after school I was going to my dad's office on Takht’e Tavoos Street. It was winter and everywhere was full of ice and snow. I got off the bus on the highway and walked up the ramp to Takht’e Tavoos Street. At the top of the on-ramp to the highway I encountered a kid who looked about ten or younger. As I approached him, trying to be tough for absolutely no reason, I said “Watch where you’re going kid, you need to step aside when I come by.”   The kid just gave me a surprised look and didn't really move aside or react in any other way. As I passed him I told him, “Let this be your last time.” He still didn't react and continued just looking at me with a blank stare. I took a few more steps and turned around spotting him still there. I yelled at him “Why are you still here? Get moving already.” But he still just stood there and stared at me. This time I decided to threaten him. “That’s it, now you’re gonna make me come and kick your butt.” Again the kid showed n...

Lena Derisavifard, the baker-founder behind the Iranian-influenced pastry company BiBi Bakery, was clad in a denim jumpsuit, chunky green-framed sunglasses and Persian-rug-themed Vans. And the music sailing out of diners’ phones was not a bog-standard bar playlist but rather a mixture of traditional Iranian music and Persian pop. Derisavifard’s parents were immigrants from Iran who “ended up across the world”, in Texas. Eating Persian meals together helped the family survive the absence of Iranian culture in the American south-west. “Food was the biggest way for our family to teach us about Iran,” said Derisavifard, 34. Her grandfather built an oven in the family garage, where her grandmother made bread. Growing up, Derisavifard baked with her mother, but ultimately decided to enter a more practical profession than being a chef.

When I was in Kindergarten, the teacher Mrs. Satinoff, made us all sing Christmas songs. At one point she stopped us and called out a student who was hitting himself in the head as he was singing. Afterwards we resumed singing and he resumed hitting himself in the head.

Angella Nazarian was born in Tehran, Iran in the late 1960s. Her father, who worked in a bazaar as a trader and importer, was born in Rasht, a port town in Northern Iran. Angella remembers her family blending both tradition and modernity in their daily lives. Believing in the traditional roles of women, Angella’s maternal grandmother wore a chador, a traditional veil worn by Persian women. While she had minimal formal education as a girl, at age 78 when she came to live in Los Angeles, Angella’s maternal grandmother hired a private tutor to teach her both English and Hebrew. Angella’s paternal grandmother embraced modernity in a different way; a widow who raised Angella’s father alone, Angella’s paternal grandmother loved western clothing and was known for sharing her thoughts and opinions freely and with self-assured candor. Much of Angella’s upbringing for the first 11 years of her life in Iran was affected by the rule of the Shah, under whom Anti-Jewish sentiment was...

One day as one of my friends was over at our house, I grabbed a squeaky toy; a yellow mouse holding a toothbrush and toothpaste. I covered its face with only the tip of its ears visible and while making stupid sounds in a whiney voice I asked (or rather had the mouse ask) my friend what the animal was. “A bear,” he replied. Still using my whiney voice, I gave him other clues and slipped my hand down a bit further down its face. His answer remained unchanged. Dropping the voicing of the mouse, I demanded that he pay more attention as I revealed even more of its face. “C’mon, it’s a bear.” I completely removed my hand and gave him one complete quick look before I hid it behind me and once again asked him what it was. “I already told you, it’s a bear.” Completely enraged I held the mouse in front of him and yelled at him, “Take a good look! What is this? Tell me what this is!” Much calmer than me, and quite indifferent to the whole situation, he once again said, “Look at i...