Stumbler review: StumbleUpon - jbrummels web sit...

jbrummel joined StumbleUpon on Apr 06, 2007 •24 reviews since Apr 11, 2007
stumblers •jbrummel.stumbleupon.com

People who like this stumbler

Bookedy Torrance

1only Orange County

Huskey55 Lakeside

CHESSNOID California

rod42 Northern

tiptopmanager Prescott

bigtom88 Tacoma

brandarius Seattle

jbr7575 Westminster

BDOUG Texas

lightspirit Texas

alie28 Oklahoma

Aurus109 Austin

Jeanker Fort Worth

s0nia604 British Columbia

StumbleUpon is the best way to discover great web sites, videos, photos, blogs and more - based on your interests. Everything is submitted and rated by the community. Discover, share and review the best of the web!

Join StumbleUpon Today >

Reviews of this stumbler

Add Your Review

jbrummel discovered 10 months ago

I thought that I wold give myself a thumbs up...what the heck :)

joybelle rated 5 weeks ago

wow what a shot

lucecorner rated 5 weeks ago

From Joseph's blog: Not long ago, in Beirut, I met an Iraqi, a broken-looking old man with warm brown eyes. "You were in Iraq?" he said, his face lighting up. "When?" "I got there in 2003," I said. Instantly, his eyes dimmed, as if to tell me the country I saw was not the one he knew. I have seen the same look on the faces of many other Iraqi exiles. Their Iraq was a different place: not peaceful, exactly, but a world away from the shattered place I spent time in. Their Iraq was Basra before the first Gulf War, when it was full of cafes and canals, still known as "the dark land" because of its thick canopy of date palms. It was Baghdad when people still strolled down Abu Nawass Street on Friday nights and sat out watching the sunset drinking beer and eating mazgouf. I came to feel an intense nostalgia, while I was there, for the Iraq I never saw. I became friends with a number of older Iraqis, who told me long wonderful stories about what Baghdad was like in their youth. Their living rooms were full of art and antiques; they drank Scotch, discussed novels, listened to friends recite poetry and play the Oudh. Sect meant nothing to them; the spoke proudly about how their parents had scorned religion. They showed me yellowed photographs from the 1950s of their parents and aunts and uncles in Western-style suits, the women unveiled, or proudly posing at graduate degree ceremonies. My Iraq on a fiercely hot afternoon in early July 2003. Baghdad was already blackened from the fires of the post-invasion looting. My driver pointed out where American bombs had punched through rooftops or toppled buildings. American helicopters whopped overhead, and Humvees raced threateningly through the streets. The city smelled of war, and it was only getting worse. Already, many Iraqis seemed not to recognize it as their home. ***