Lalla Mira’s Multilingual Blog

- Hey! You know Miley?
- Good you asked. You usually start telling me about people’s lives without asking me if I know them.
- That’s Hannah Montana!
- I don’t k…
- She’s all over the Internet, you must’ve seen her somewhere!
- YOUR Internet maybe, mine is restricted to a maximum 2 windows at a time.
- Well, she earned 18 MILLION dollars, last year ONLY.
- Yeah?
- Yeah!
- So?
- 18 millions? Rings a bell?
- No!
- Duh?
- How much is that in MacBooks? Enough to fill my place?
- What the…
- Not any MacBook, mind you… The ones th…
- Shut up!

La plupart des Islandais n’ont pas de nom de famille. Leurs noms sont plutôt structurés sous la forme suivante: “Prénom fils de prénom-du-père” ou “Prénom fille de prénom-du-père”. Si mon père s’appelait Amin, et mon frère s’appelait Reda, je serais “Mira fille de Amin” et lui “Reda fils de Amin”. En islandais: “Mira Aminsdottir” et “Reda Aminsson”. Donc si je devais déménager au Maroc, personne ne saurait que Reda est mon frère, et j’aurais pas la honte internationale chaque fois qu’il ferait une grosse graffe. Et quand Reda s’intégrerait dans la culture marocaine, et qu’il voudrait jouer le “grand frère” devant ses nouveaux potes marocains, je nierais tout lien parental avec lui, et je l’accuserais même de vouloir me kidnapper. Par exemple!
Wow! Dkhelt f dour.

Et vu qu’ils n’ont pas de noms de famille, l’annuaire téléphonique contient les prénoms seulement. Je ne sais pas si cela veut dire devoir inventer de nouveaux prénoms pour chaque naissance, mais c’est cool!

Il y a de grandes quantités d’eau en Islande, car il pleut souvent et beaucoup. Leur eau est tellement pure et propre, qu’elle passe aux robinets sans traitement. Ça veut dire que quand il pleut, et que tu as soif, tu ouvres ta bouches vers le ciel, 7tta tshb3.

En plus, il n’y fait pas aussi froid qu’on le pense du nom du pays.

Alors, je réserve les billets pour combien de personnes?

Begging is a fascinating…job! Not that I want to try it, nah!

A Moroccan show recently featured Moroccan beggars, how the authorities deal with them and the kind of help they can get. To everyone’s surprise, those beggars refused to go to shelters, because they had enough money to live on their own, and they didn’t want to trade their ‘freedom’ for a ‘free roof’. Boy, do these beggars have disillusioning looks for the money they were talking about! Many of them were caught carrying unbelievable amounts of cash - in their belts, underwear, or whatever. And when I say huge amounts, I really mean it. We are talking about $30.000 and onwards. Cash! Does anyone of you poor decent citizens walk in the street with that much money? I doubt it! You’d be all shaking if you were walking in the street with $200 in your wallet.

I remember when another show about Moroccan beggars was on TV a long time ago, and recently after that, we heard about many aggressions against our rich beggars. I actually understand the frustrated offenders.
Ah, the irony!

I wonder if the following “foreign” beggars have any money at all… I mean, come on! Moroccan beggars can’t be the best out there in this field.

Aiming too high buddy, at least according to Moroccan standards. Nobody would give you a whole buck in Morocco. Not after that show anyways.

Homeless Bill is aiming too high as well.

Here’s someone who still has his feet on the ground. Asking for food only. But does he know what HTML stands for?

Brilliant idea! But which period of time have you landed from? At least you have pretty good adaptation skills. Based on your looks, I’d bet my left arm that you were born in our era.

And my favorite! Why lie? Love the hat and beard. But lemme check that backpack, will ya?

This reminds me of a beggar I once saw in Paris. He was sitting on an old rug, with his glasses on and his backpack on the side, reading a book. There was no cup, box, hat or whatever, to put the spare change in, just a piece of paper. If it weren’t for his ‘dirty’ looks, I wouldn’t think he was a beggar. I swear I felt like stopping and shaking hands with him.

Selon The New York Times, si vous êtes membre de FaceBook, vous ne pourrez jamais effacer vos informations personnelles de ce réseau social. Même si vous arrivez à désactiver votre compte, Facebook se donne le droit de garder une copie de tout ce que vous avez partagé sur ce site dans leurs archives.

Le raisonnement de FaceBook est le suivant: la désactivation d’un compte n’implique pas la suppression totale de ses données, ainsi, vous allez pouvoir récupérer vote compte comme vous l’avez laissé, si jamais vous déciderez de rejoindre la clique sur ce réseau plutard.

I can’t believe it! I just lost *months* of valuable notes I’ve been saving in a draft in my Gmail inbox. O_o

I accidentally hit the discard button, and my draft was gone. I was thrilled to see that there was a yellow bar to “undo” the discard.
My draft was back, but to the biggest disappointment of my life only its title was back, the body of the actual valuable draft was gone. I got an empty draft back. A bloody empty draft that sat there, symbolizing Google, and looking at me maliciously. I felt like breaking my desktop to pieces. I felt like banging my head on the wall. Gosh, I felt like suing them!

I desperately made a quick research hoping for a some feature I don’t know about that will help me recover my notes, but all I found was complaints from other people who had the same problem as mine.
I headed straight on to Gmail’s help page to submit a feature request. Well, yeah, you guessed it, Google is getting a not-so-nice message from across the ocean today. And at the end of the form, they ask for your country. Does it really matter? I just want my draft back, gee!

How complicated it is to move discarded *drafts* to the trash folder like deleted messages are? It’s *Google*. How complicated is that for them? Why not have that implemented at the very first place before anyone asking for it? It just exactly makes sense, the opposite is complete nonsense.

I used to trust Google and Gmail, in a way. I don’t anymore. Like they care!

An ex-loyal Gmail user — going to bed with a heavy heart.