Random Jottings

The Naughts

2009-12-31T16:05:00.000-08:00

This time ten years ago, the world was in a bit of a quandary: what to call the upcoming decade? If you recall, there was even a panic over the ominous moniker for the first thing the approaching new year would bring- the apocalyptic 'Y2K'.

Then 2000 came and went; airplanes didn't fall off the skies and zombies didn't start roaming suburban streets; but there were still those who couldn't agree upon a name for the new decade. After all, it had to be something special to contend with such predecessors as the '60s or the '80s. The all-too easy choice, the 'ohs', seemed a bit too ubiquitous even for the American palate, and didn't quite stick.

And when from across the pond 'the naughts' arrived, it seemed to catch on momentarily, with the prospect of numerous lewd jokes stemming from a misconception that the word had anything to do with 'naughty'. Unsurprisingly, that didn't last, and the 'naughts' too went right out the window.

Which, in my opinion, is a real shame, because I can't find a single better word to describe more precisely the shambles of a decade we've had. In other words, this was a decade of nothing.

Nothing, of course, referring to accomplishments outside the realm of capitalistic greed. It was the decade of no answers, no recourse from such unimaginable horrors as 9/11 and the subsequent war in Iraq; the shocking debacle of economic recession, and Sarah Palin. And we haven't even touched upon Mother's Nature's hormonal tantrums like the '04 Tsunami or Katrina.

Perhaps the lack of an official name was only too portentous. After all, it has been a decade best forgotten and best unclaimed, and naturally we want to have naught to do with it.

Back for Now

2009-12-29T15:44:00.000-08:00

It's been rather quiet here, I know. It was never for lack of subjects to talk about; there's always something interesting happening, isn't there? No, it was more because I just needed to be quiet. It has been a difficult year, for one. I spent several months alternating between panic and despair, and even when the clouds began to part, the sun was hardly breaking through.

Anyhow, another new year approaches, and with it, a fresh ray of hope. As I sit here, accompanied by a comforting cup of tea, I feel reassured that I may dream of new beginnings once again.

New Year Resolutions and Other Scourges of Life

2008-12-31T17:46:00.000-08:00

One of the inevitable nuisances (apart from that one loner who gets a bit too friendly with the champagne) when attending any sort of domestic new year's celebration is the danger of being confronted with the 'resolution round'. You know, the one where the host cuts through the mild euphoria you finally manage to work up when you realize it is no longer too soon to be leaving the party; and announces, with a simper, that it is time for everyone to embarrass him/herself by revealing his/her insecurities in the form of resolutions.

For years, I was stuck with this banal routine; and could find no way out without injuring sentiments. And as luck would have it, no one else could, either. A collective groan would ensue after the announcement, but no one would protest. And the host was always conveniently too drunk to notice the air of discomfort.

My problem with the whole thing wasn't just the whole 'personal and none of your business' aspect. It was also that it was another one of those events that conveyed the message that positive thinking and the like were to be limited to certain days of the year. All this, apart from the fact that I ceased to make these idiotic resolutions years ago to avoid setting myself up for unrealistic expectations. What are we, school age children? We can't improve our lives without having to blabber it all over town, or whenever it is most convenient to us?

So, every year, I'd frantically search for a valid reason not to participate, but in vain. Without backup, I merely came across as the party-pooper. Not this year; however, as I have completely lucked out: an article, on the BBC no less, on how resolutions actually caused more harm than good.

The party crowd being of the disposition to buy anything printed on a media giant, I just might be spared. Good one, BBC; thank you for saving me about half a day's worth of ranting.

Best of '08

2008-12-26T10:06:00.000-08:00

I'm probably not the first to pick this theme for a post, and definitely won't be the last, but for want of better things to do, here I am, chronicling what I think should have been newspaper headlines for this memorable year:- ( Any resemblance to 'The Onion' is purely coincidental.)

1. In a worldwide contest to see which country's athletes hide their use of enhancement drugs best, an American and a Jamaican break records on water and land, respectively.

2. Banks play a few rounds of 'Na-na-na-na-Boo-boo' with their patrons.

3. A black man shouting for change finally gets some.

4. Dubya's secret powers exposed: estimating shoe sizes from a distance .

There's more, but I'm afraid I've already exhausted my quota of 'bad taste'. (Will save the more gritty ones for after the appropriate time has passed.)

What's so bleedin' merry about it?!

2008-12-20T19:31:00.000-08:00

Generally speaking, I'm a sucker for those so-called 'festive' atmospheres the media and other dregs of human life tend to conjure up every now and then. Yes, I was aware of being played around like a puppet by those subliminal messages assuring everyone that any feeling of goodwill, or even cheer, for that matter, were limited to such occasions as Xmas; but I couldn't help myself...the sweet sounds of carols; the aroma of cinnamon and cider; the feel of the crisp chill in the air; the lights in the neighborhood; and prepare yourself for the ultimate cringe-Bing Crosby's saccharin crooning on Xmas morning, accompanied by a burning log. On tv-combined, they all worked like a bunch of barbiturates on me.

I stopped and thought about this a bit the other day; and wondered why it was so. Perhaps it was because Xmas was still somewhat new to me; the whole celebration being limited to a religious observation where I grew up. Upon moving here and learning more about the association of the winter solstice, and how the latter explained the customs better, I wanted to experience it all on my own. The tree, presents, eggnog, figgy puddin'; the whole 9 yards. For years, however, the season was spent recuperating from grueling study sessions and exams; not to mention living on student stipends; and then there were those self-imposed exiles to different countries in the name of expatriate experience.

Now, I have the time and resources, but I can't help asking myself what I could possibly find merry about the whole rigmarole of writing out cards with trite messages and giving mass-produced presents out of obligation; or worse, about listening to some crooner going on about frightful weather. Who the hell told him to go to the UK?!

Last year was a different story. I underwent every single cliche of the season, and I found that it was good enough for a lifetime. Besides, this year, I'm entitled to a little bit of moping-the pater's ill, the office shut down, and I can't seem to find the mojo to write much any more. As far as I know, I'm slipping under some warm covers with a nice bottle of Shiraz or some such and letting the whole damn season pass. Merry whatever.

Cross Bearers

2008-11-30T13:04:00.000-08:00

Is it just me, or is there really a disproportionate number of people who are willing to completely skirt around logic, or worse, have no qualms about their blatant hypocrisy?

What's with the outburst, you ask? Well, a discussion about gaping disparities from the religious side during arguments between them and atheists brought to mind an experience of my own:

It was a regular Monday morning at the elementary school I was teaching in a few years ago; but one of my 3rd graders, a boy I'll call Nazir, was in tears and whimpering. It took me a few minutes to coax it out of him, but he eventually confides that his mum had been cross with him over a comic book his classmate had lent him for the weekend. First, I feared the worst: this might be one of those 'awkward' subjects, but then I asked him if I could see the comic all the same. It turned out to be a copy of Amar Chitra Katha, a series of Hindu mythology/legends & folk tales of India in comic form. This particular one happened to be about the life of the god Krishna.

Apparently, his mum had been very angry that an attempt had been made to indoctrinate him on an 'infidel religion'; how dare this classmate (never mind that she is also 8 years old)! She had said something akin to his bringing 'garbage into the house' and how she'd make him sleep with the dog if he did that again.

I was shocked at her rage; she had always struck me as a very progressive woman-she had shared with me how she had not wasted a moment in divorcing her abusive husband, something still frowned upon in her conservative Muslim society. I couldn't fathom how this graceful woman (who had once gone out of her way to express secular ideals at a PTA meeting) could even take it that way.

Over the day, she called me herself to make sure that Nazir 'didn't get brainwashed by any Christians or Hindus' and wished me a good afternoon before I could get a word in. I was left simply speechless.

The whole experience had been so jarring; I strongly wished to unburden myself. Later that evening, I shared the day's events at the family dinner table, and the family was duly shocked. Even though they'd always been devout in their religious beliefs, and meticulous with their ritual & tradition, they'd struck me as the more broad-minded, tolerant kind. I was to learn that the qualities hardly went with each other.
Hoping to make another contemplative, and yet, friendly discussion out of it, I began, "In this day and age, I can't believe the.....", but I was cut short by an outraged shriek: "How dare she say such things about Hinduism! But I'm not surprised-like she would ever comprehend the beauty of Hindu philosophy, which makes no distinction between different gods and religions; after all, we say that there are many paths to the Supreme."

I was aware of three faces looking at me for response, but I was too preoccupied with a stark memory of this same person, over two decades ago, telling me that I wasn't allowed to sing 'Christian songs' (they were Christmas carols, which, as a 4th grader, I'd found terribly addictive) indoors because they were 'inauspicious noises and brought negative energy into the house'.

I rest my case.

"Jonestown", you bigots? Really?

2008-11-17T13:01:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me when the bigoted media resorts to its dirty tricks to sully a good man's name, but this latest attempt is quite the humdinger.

Before I get into that, however, I'd like to set the scene; give an idea of the sort of conniving schemes these pawns of the Republican politicians get upto. During the Presidential Election campaigns, reporters of a certain media monster would go upto the reddest of necks down south, and deliberately word their questions such 'So what do you think (or to that effect) of Hussein Obama?'; to subconsiously raise the strong hatred they've harbored for the namesake; thanks to the bungling antics of a fool president (for one).

And their latest? In continuing with their harboring sour grapes; they've taken to even lower means of making Obama out to be something he's not. In the most recent attempt, they've raked up a 30-year old event, which was so horrifying it still manages to torment: Jonestown.

(For those of you in the dark, 'Jonestown' was a community in Guyana; that existed from the 1950s to 1978. Community, of course, is a loose term here; 'Jonestown' was actually a cult, headed and run by a serious American nutter named Jim Jones. Not only did he manage to convince his followers that they were better off associating with the communist ideologies of N. Korea or the Soviet, but he was able to create a panic solid enough to sell his Doomsday conspiracies. His last move was to have 900-odd (900, folks!) people commit mass suicide by drinking Kool Aid or some such laced with potassium cyanide (this included children, infants, the elderly-no one was left behind). All this, through talk of 'freedom', 'the promised land' and other such longed for entities.)

For whatever reason, Jonestown has been circulating on the media lately, and the louts have been zoning in on some specific bits of the bilge this Jones spewed. I wasn't shocked by the all-too common memorialization of murderers, but I was stunned to read this comment on a related article in the prominent local newspaper:
" 'Jones was known as a charismatic preacher who dazzled followers of the Peoples Temple with promises of racial equality and a socialist utopia.' Sound Familiar?"

Once again, the bigots at the media had managed to raise a parallel between an obvious violator of human rights and a decent, honest man with genuine morals. A considerable number of words come to mind to describe this travesty: unconscionable; outrageous; preposterous; appalling; unreasonable; and JUST PLAIN WRONG.

And what is with this need to disparage socialistic ideals? Is caring for the welfare & rights of the underprivileged so wrong? If I have it right, the Declaration of Independence, the marvelous Gettysburg address; why, the very spirit of the American Constitution communicate the high ideals of socialism.

Despite the shock, I am not falling for it. America has shown that it does have its head on its shoulders, after all (for the most part, at least), and I have immense faith in the changes to come. So put that in your pipes and smoke it, bigots.

Milestones

2008-11-06T11:43:00.000-08:00

What a tumultuous week it's been. First, an experience with whiplash & morphine; then exercising my right to vote for the very first bloody time, anywhere; and an election that lasted tediously long and ended in a break-through. It was an indescribable moment; realizing that America hadn't lost all its marbles after all; that a modicum of common sense still prevailed. This, in addition to the tremendous feeling of relief that the reins of running the country were no longer in some idiot's hands, and great anticipation for getting things mended and fixed and whatnot. (Well, this latter feeling lasted a lot less longer, thanks to those nagging questions of 'when'? 'how'?, and worse, 'really? let's see.'). Nevertheless, it was a jubilant day indeed, and I might have (literally) drank up all the joy had it not been for this wretched injury.

Soon afterwards, however, the excitement died, for two reasons. One, the whole world focusing on Obama's success 'despite being a black man'-as though he wasn't basically entitled to it just because of his skin color. True, that was what this bigoted nation has been conveying over the years; despite historic movements for equality; but I didn't see the need to dwell on that aspect at all. How about; 'this is a great day in history indeed, because, for once, we have elected someone with sensible ideals and the national spirit to put them to action' instead? And for what it's worth, Obama is only half-black. So why not dwell on his non-black half, if you had to dwell on ethnicity?

The second reason is a bit more intense. The whole Prop 8 nonsense, that is. (If any of you is unaware of what that is, it's a Proposition brought about by the State of California to ban marriages between same sex couples.) And unfortunately for the thousands of such couples who were wedded earlier this year (after a hard won triumph over their rights), the biased have won, and as it stands, all of their marriages will be annulled.

My question to these discriminators is, what is the big f***ing deal?! Where has it been carved in stone that marriage is defined as union only between man and woman? Don't tell me the Bible, because that book is full of discrepancies that Christians have failed to explain (although they'd never admit it) and isn't worth taking seriously. Marriage should be defined as union between those who seek companionship, commitment and love. If two people are capable of that, and are serious about the commitment part especially, then why cannot they be married?

And for those who argue that same sex couples already have civil unions and should be satisfied with that, are you unaware that even if they may not care for the label of 'marriage', specifically, the government requires that farce of a tag for them to be eligible to adopt children together or worse, don't have equal opportunity to sponsor someone from another country on a spousal visa?
Furthermore, that 'sanctity of marriage' bilge you all spew? Are you even aware of the gaping incongruity? If there were such a thing, why is there divorce? Or 'open marriages'? Or for that matter, 'marriages of convenience'?
And last but not least, what gives you the right to decide? Does simply being part of the majority make you 'normal', and the others 'abnormal'? In that case, what about vegetarians? Are they all 'anomalies' too, since most people are meat-eaters?

It is terribly disheartening indeed, to see that in this day and age, and in particular, in California (a long-deemed liberal, modernist state), that such a statement of blatant discrimination has taken root. For the sake of those who deserve to love and to express it solely because anyone and everyone IS entitled to do so, let us hope America can do better. Soon.

Total Pain in the Neck

2008-10-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

So; it's finally happened. I have actually experienced a 'real' injury that justified a trip (or two, to be precise) to the ER; as opposed to simply getting my paranoia over my sinuses gone crazy sorted out.

It all began with a regular Wednesday evening session at the gym. I like to think that these trips have become commonplace enough to be referred to as 'regular', but the truth remains stolidly different. However, we won't be playing the violin to that tune today.

So, yes. I was at the gym, patiently waiting for my turn at one of those stationary wonders, and was soon rewarded with one. As everyone else, I quickened my pace and covered the distance before any other vulture swooped down, and stepped onto it in a quick little jig of victory. What happened next can only be done justice in technicolor & slow motion-it hadn't been turned off by the previous occupant, and I hadn't bothered to notice, so in less than two seconds, I was thrown off and went flying across the foot and a half between these machines and the row of exercise bikes behind.

I suppose it was too much to expect everyone to be courteous enough to turn the blasted things off when they were done. But then, I was fool enough to assume they would. The rest of that evening wasn't very eventful, really. A bit of a shock, huger amounts of embarrassment, and a staunch decision to give all the occupants some time to erase the scene from their minds. Oh, and of course, a nice big shiner-on my thigh.

Of course, I should have known, that was barely the beginning. Come Thursday, I developed a neck-ache, which slowly morphed into a stiffness,and finally, whiplash. I put off taking it seriously enough until past midnight; but after that, I was screaming for someone to 'please decapitate me and chop my left arm off' because their combined weights were causing such excruciating pain to my neck. Not exactly the sort of horror I had in mind for setting off the Halloween spirit, but there you have it.

Once again, the reels rolled in slow motion-a rush to the ER, X-rays, an instant heavy duty oral dosage of pain killers, and back home, but only for me to cry out again. So the session started all over again-only this time, I made sure to get morphine in, and in enough doses to knock an elephant out.

It's been hours since, and the pain lets up momentarily with the combined effects of ice-packs, heat-wraps, anti-inflammatory & pain-killing drugs; but it's going to be a while till I can grace the likes of a gym. In fact, what gym?! I'm looking at lying on my back for another week (can't even sleep on my side), and then sitting down gingerly with a few hundred breaks in between.

Oh joy. There was, however, a bright side-I probably lost far more calories flying off the bloody treadmill than from all the 'cardio' I've been doing on it. (How's that for a Silver Lining?)

Now where's that Valium?

And you, sir, are an excrescence.

2008-10-17T09:33:00.001-07:00

On a recent ramble into cyberspace, I came across a few blogs hosting a rather intriguing meme: a collection of sophisticated insults. One particular blog had a list of literary quotes as come-backs, another had some marvelous psychological speed bumps. By the time I got done reading, I wanted to do something smiliar.

I don't know if I've let this out before; but I consider myself to be quite well-versed in the art of verbal bitch-slaps. I waste no time or feeling for lack of manners or compassion, and am quick to retort with either a 'sophisticated' enough insult (as in no swear words or nasty entendres), or a statement/question that points out why the person might be unhappy/inept/lacking enough to be so rude, etc. However, it wasn't always like that. It took a few thousand run-ins with jerks who thought being obnoxious, rude, and downright uncouth was in vogue or cute (or worse, didn't even realize they were being so-Indian relatives/neighbors, anyone?) and several years' worth of shame, anger & lowered self esteem festering in the soul to snap myself alert and give it right back, with interest to boot.

What I don't do, is exlode in anger (that always eggs the assholes on-yay! they managed to burst someone's balloon), and have always found from experience that exposing the perpetrator's underlying insecurities is a far more disquieting, effective attack (compared to petty, childish retaliation). I don't go around acting like some has-been actress who needs her Prozac refilled; meaning, I am not a bitch without provocation. But if you strut around acting supercilious or spew nastiness just out of spite in my presence, you will be sure to leave, in a hurry at that, with a major flea in your ear. It doesn't always work; more often that I'd like to admit, the mannerless clods don't even get it and I'm left with egg on my face; or worse, their barbs are so hateful that it's hard to get over the shock, but my retorts are almost reflexive now- gone are the days when I don't even try to put arrogance in its place.

That being said, here's my 'collection'-insults, quips, retorts, come backs and bitch-slaps. I've added a bit of background, etc., to set the scene, but I desisted from adding the not unsuitable "Yowza!" or "In your face!" at the end. Oh, and as for any disclaimers? All instances were absolutely true and all characters absolutely real and foul:

1. Returning from an extended expat sojourn. Walking out of the airport terminal with the guy who yawped your ear off for the length of your last flight; and didn't get the subtle signals that a major effort was made to put up with his chatter. You couldn't shake him off gently, but you didn't want to be downright mean either. So you put up.
A bunch of friends are waiting right outside, to greet you and make you feel like you're really home. Hoots and whistles and other sounds of joy ensue, and you can barely contain the feelings of euphoria and being moved, when the yammerer pipes up, "So, are you like a big shot or something?"
"Excuse me?"
Yammerer continues, giving you the once-over and retaining the constant smirk you want to slap off his face, "Well, you're obviously not a model or an actress."
You, pointing to the empty space around your friends, "And you obviously have no people skills."
Yammerer tries to laugh it off, but being ignored is apparently something he can only take for 10 minutes before walking off in a huff.

2. First time visiting Canada; last leg-of the trip and out of Canadian currency; no time left before flight to go looking for a bank; patronizing a little cafe in Victoria that has a huge sign claiming it accepts U.S dollars. Walking upto the counter, you place your order and double-check to see whether the sign still holds. Disgruntled, self-proclaimed 'starving artist' at the cash register barks, "I guess." As you hand the bill, the deadbeat remarks, "You don't travel much to other countries, do you?"
You yank the bill back before it touches him and retort coolly, "Actually, I do, all the time; but this would be the first time visiting an uncivilized one."

3. Regular weekday morning in Spring; commuting to work by BART (subway); huddling en masse with other disgruntled 9-5ers and collectively groaning inwards; being suddenly seized by a sneezing attack (it is pollen+hay fever season). And even though you are using a nice, thick handkerchief, thoroughly at that, and saying 'excuse me' after every doozy, an underling to some yuppie grunts as you all step out at the station, "Have a good one, Sneezy".
"Thanks, Dopey."
(Another passenger high-fives you from above on the escalator.)

4. Expat sojourn in Paris; evening before an early morning trip; approaching a nasty little Parisian (wait, isn't that redundant?) keeping watch at the gates of the university's dormitory you are staying at, for the athletes taking part in the Youth Olympics briefly holing up there;
and gingerly asking, "Excusez-moi; est-que.."; when the jerk cuts you off and shouts, "Speak English!!!"
Shocked, but ready, you respond,"Ok!" and rattle off at high speed, "Is-this-gate-going-to-be-open-at-5am?"-all under 3 seconds.
Jerk stares at you, deflated, and smiles weakly, "uh...vous parlez francais, n'est-ce pas?" (You speak French, don't you?).

5. Undergrad. student era; friend's house party; mingling with the guests, most of whom you're meeting for the first time; a bespectacled Ivy League snob in the group looks at you over his glasses and demands, "So where did you say you were going to school?"
"SF State"
"State school, huh. I guess they didn't want you at Stanford, which, by the way, is where I go."
"I guess they had a minority quota to fill."
(Not really my best, but this was early on, when I was just getting started).

6. Expat sojourn in Japan; Australian coworker who loved pointing out how America was culturally flat and had one too many dents in the system to be respectable (perhaps, but I'll take lack of interest in arts & culture over Xenophobia anyday); sticking his oar into a conversation another coworker and you are having over the hoopla some serial killer's death row was making back home (don't ask; I don't know why & how these topics come up in teachers' lounges), and spewing in a nasal tone; "Another nutter Yank? Now there's a surprise."
"Well, sorry it's not as sophisticated as tracing your ancestors back to hardened criminals dropped off at big islands."
(Boor never opened his mouth about Yanks again).

7. Same sojourn, same country; walking down a pavement on a narrow alley, trying to get out of the rain; uncivilized youth with a huge umbrella stampedes out of a store and onto the pavement, barricading onto me and dropping his umbrella. As he picks it up, he is about to apologise, and starts with "Sumi..." (Sumimasen, the polite version for excuse me), but changes tack and says "Gomen" (the casual, obligatory version that is considered curt even among the Japanese), when he sees you're a foreigner. You look him straight in the eye, and say in a steely voice, " 'Gomen' jya nakute, Sumimasen!!! (Not Gomen, it's Sumimasen!!!)
The mannerless clod jerks his head in repeated 'bows', in typical 'apologetic' Japanese fashion, and shuffles off.

8. On the Eurail, during travel; a pompous old Limey gets chatty: "U.S, eh? Do you use words like 'Ossum' & 'Geez' "?
"Blimey, no!!!"

9. Another Limey, a friend's friend, bitching & moaning to the friend at a cafe about how America is the pits of the world and how they have to put up with so many banalities here; and while his tone is jovial, you can't but detect the hard contempt behind his words.
You temper your irritation, but soon, you're retorting, "Oh, you lost the Revolution. Get over it."

And a score more-some unprintable, some silly, and some teetering on the verge of too soon/not funny. All in all, it's always great bursting a humongous ego.

Nobel Cause

2008-10-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

I guess I am a bit late at taking a pot-shot at a certain pompous authority who expressed his contempt at the quality of American literature. Nevertheless, here I am, and I shall begin with a little question-with all that's going on, how do they manage to convince themselves that their whole organization has enough purpose to warrant wasting time this way?

That being said, let's get to the comment: now I have no tolerance for superiority complexes. However, I can't but agree with the snob-much of what's been coming out of this country in the name of art & literature is not worthy of even acknowledgment, leave alone the year's representation in world literature. The majority of production here tends to be violent, misanthropic, and vacuous. Art, film, literature or music, it's all very low-brow and lacks any form of grace.

It makes one wonder, doesn't it; why a country with quite a few progressive thinkers, dating back to a few hundred years, lacks in this facet. I believe one reason is that Americans don't travel much (statistics state that approximately only 20% of the population even owns passports), and they don't value intellectual growth. They don't like to bother with in-depth knowledge of culture, arts or humanities; and that is reflected in their tastes. Too often, I've come across 'educated' people who were appallingly ignorant of the world outside.

And with such an audience, you can't really place all blame on the writers or the artists. After all, they are catering to a populace that revels in the formulaic action-crime-terrorism stories or jaded, childish humor at the expense of the awkward, less fortunate members of society. As a result, even the most prolific of writers have to 'dumb' things down.

American novels do 'flood the European/Asian markets', but it's no indication of the standard (or lack thereof). After all, quantity is not always directly proportional to quality. Look at how many Hollywood movies make it out to international cinemas; and yet, there've been barely a handful praiseworthy ones of late.

There seems to be an inclination to go for gimmicks; for deviating from the basic tenets of story-telling; and it is all justified under 'self-expression'. As I have said before, I don't think running off on your own whimsical tangent qualifies you for artistic expression. Staying within the boundaries of skill, artistry and respect, and still producing a moving piece is what does.

That being said, it's not as though the Nobel Prize for Literature committee has always been impeccable in its decisions either. If it were, it wouldn't have neglected to honor such greats as Tolstoy or Joyce or Nabokov, not to mention Graham Greene. I suppose politics (or association with it, going by the topics of some of these writers) does play a major role.

To wrap things up, I agree with how America doesn't qualify these days to participate in the Literature Debate (whatever that may be). However, Europe dishes out a fair share of tripe itself, so I don't see how or why a purposeless association seated there gets to point fingers.

Religulous

2008-10-05T13:48:00.000-07:00

That title up there is the name of a recently released movie; a documentary of some joker (as in comedian) going around ruffling some conservative feathers. I'm all for the exposure of the underlying ignorance that most dogmatic charlatans seem to think they've successfully masked, and this movie does just that.

Bill Maher's questions were intelligent, sharp and at times even intuitive. I did find his little soliloquy at the end verging on cockiness, but on the whole, it was great watching gems such as that senator admitting that 'you didn't have to to have a high IQ to be a senator', or that guy who played Jesus at the Bible-themed park retaliating to being cornered into no answer with the ad hominem, 'you're a non-believer, aren't you'.

Religion is the bane of this nation. While the rest of the world is working hard to bring down the struggles with economic strife, needless carnage in the name of war, environmental damage and a horde of other serious issues, the people here are more concerned with so-called issues as same-sex marriage and abortion rights in relation to religious dogma.

Not that there aren't other nations being bogged down by indoctrination of nonsense; but it just seems much worse when a so-called progressive one is guilty of such things. It's rather disheartening to think how much of the efforts made in history are going to waste.

"With or without it (religion) you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion."
-Steven Weinberg

All Knotted Up These Days

2008-10-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

Several great topics have flitted about in my head in the past couple of weeks, but I've been a bit too preoccupied to put them down in the annals of blogging history.

Preoccupied with what, you ask? Oh, I don't know...the economy; crumbling like a first attempt at Pate Brisee. Sarah Palin, the current bane of the nation. And as though all that weren't enough, there is the unshakable feeling of impending doom with regard to the upcoming election.

A bit too many things knotting the knickers up and keeping me from pursuing pleasures. Harumph.

I Scream

2008-09-22T10:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, deviating from my all-too regular vegetating on the bed while some mindless tv program droned on, I went on a little stroll by Dolores park and decide to treat myself for the effort at a couple of the numerous gastronomical paradises that litter that street-Tartine Bakery & Bi-Rite Creamery, since you're dying to know.

It took me a great deal of effort not to smash a few latte bowls at the former or fling a few of those blasted 'green' ice-cream spoons at the latter when I saw how long the line was at each place-extending all the way onto the next block.

Don't get me wrong; I understand that both places dish out some fantastic culinary creations; perhaps the best in the nation, even, but, seriously, up to the next block? People, it's pastries and ice cream, not war-time food rations.

So what did I do? Stood in line, smug with the knowledge that after I'd licked my cup of salted caramel clean, I could always complain here.

On a serious note, if you can brave the long lines (there is, however, a guarantee of terrific weirdo watching); anything from Tartine, and the salted caramel (or roasted banana/honey lavender/chocolate with bergamot olive oil & Maldon sea salt/butter pecan & toasted coconut, etc. etc.) from Bi-Rite are must-tries.

A (Rare) Rave

2008-09-14T10:27:00.000-07:00

After all that complaining and grumbling in the name of writing, here's a refreshing break: a rave. And about something I am usually prone to complain and bitch about-Canada.

Turquoise water bodies. Icebergs. Majestic mountains. Alpine meadows. Thundering Waterfalls. Cavernous Canyons. Mystic Valleys. Elk, Caribou, Moose, Coyote & Bear. Streams, rivers, lakes. Silence, for miles and miles around. Nothing but the purest, crispest air.

These were some of the things I got to savor at Banff and environs, during my trip to the area last week. I also think I had a brush with the beginning stages of hypothermia (waves of uncontrollable sleep, a constant drip down the throat and nasal passages; common symptoms of the deadly predicament), after hiking in rain and temperatures nearing 1 degree. I might have also gotten started on frostbite, as both my pinkies swelled up to alarming proportions and turned a shade that justified their names; but all in all, it was good fun.

20 Signs You Are a True San Franciscan

2008-09-02T15:37:00.000-07:00

You find it easier to wake up at some ungodly hour like 7am on a Saturday than on a weekday with a corporate breakfast meeting because it's Farmers' Market day.
You walk along the water for over a mile to get to the market.
You bring a few canvas totes with messages such as 'Plastic is for Losers' or 'Green is the new Black!' hand-painted with soy-based inks.
You drag those totes along in a new, chic collapsible Reisenthel trolley.
You wear either a sweatshirt with a hoodie or a full-on jacket in August.
You wear sandals or flip-flops with the hoodie or the jacket.
You don't skip a beat pulling on your tackiest, most dilapidated set of sweatpants to go grocery shopping-where does it say that you need to give produce a thrill?
You aren't fazed by having to tell people that you live in a neighborhood named the TenderLoin. Or for that matter, the TenderNob.
You have engaging conversations with homeless people whose body odor masks not only sanity but intelligence.
You don't think it's unusual that so many homeless people seek shelter at the public library.
You go to the public library. And check out books. To read.
You have frequent embarrassing conversations explaining to people that you were out of breath while on the phone with them the other day because you were climbing yet another one of the numerous hills; not because you are running a phone sex hotline.
You use the words 'Locavore', 'Sustainable produce' and 'Organic' in everyday conversation.
You barely bat an eyelid when the smell of marijuana smoke hits you like a wave when someone boards the bus you are riding.
You ride a bus. And BART.
You raise your eyebrows when you hear of someone not buying organic.
You pick up Eritrean or Peruvian food to go for an impromptu lunch meeting with a friend.
You haven't taken a picture of the GG Bridge in, well, ever.
You get irritated when people from the S. Bay (and Fremont) refer to SF as 'Frisco'. Or worse, 'SFO' (that's the airport, you bumpkins).
A bunch of men clad in leather chaps and chains board your bus, and you think, 'Oh, it's summer already?'.

Journeywoman

2008-09-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty much a creature of habit. I wake with the lark, worship the Sun God through human sacrifice and follow it up by a ritual dance in the woods wearing nothing more than streaks of warpaint; and fortify myself with a nourishing potion of newts' tails and bats' innards afterwards. I then go wreak havoc with different peoples' lives by driving slowly on the carpool lane at the freeway and spend most of the evenings jumping from behind trees and scaring whiny children.

I don't enjoy being tied to a routine; but there it is. After all, you do have duties to fulfill. So it takes a lot of organizing and meticulous attention to detail when I plan on a vacation. Finding different woods to go into a trance at is always welcome; as is finding new children to frighten, but travel is really more of a disruption to my envious lifestyle than anything else, so I take utmost care to make sure it's worth my while. I make a checklist, which I find, is terribly useful:

Will the chosen travel duffel to automatically expand as you stuff in 4 more pairs of shoes: You could expect, as a reward for sticking with the aforementioned sacrifices, the Sun God to bestow upon you the power to get inanimate objects to respond to your every whim & fancy; but failing that, there is always the latest from what the geniuses at Victorinox will turn out.

Purchase a travel guide: and promptly stack it along with others of its kind on the bookshelf to gather dust; why bother reading it when you can always 'cute' your way around in lands yonder?

Set up a time-release Tanqueray-Tonic for your plants: They'll thank you for giving them a break from their regular mush and a chance to party while you're gone.

Put on a show at your job the week before: That way, they'll be fooled into believing that you actually contribute to the bloody place and they won't have your dried up lizards and frogs packed up in your cauldron when you return.

Set up your email inbox with an 'out-of-office' response: Have a recording of your Banshee friends at one of their Friday soirées; full volume and all, scream out to leave you the f*** alone so you can come back to a blissfully empty inbox. Remember to send a thank you message for letting you air it out.

Practice useful phrases in the language of the country you're visiting: . Ignore any guide that purports to teach you cordial conversation-screw that. 'I can turn you into a frog' is so much of a better icebreaker.

On the whole, have fun-fling your drinks around, scream and laugh, stomp around narrow, neglected spaces, and observe strange people. And once you get off the plane, there are other things you could find to do as well.

Customer Service

2008-08-29T11:20:00.000-07:00

Whatever happened to the philosophy, 'The customer is always right'? Granted, most customers fall under 'always have their knickers in a knot' or just plain assholes; but the state at which customer service exists today is appalling, to say the least.

How many times have we had to contend with 'please hold' and then be subjected to torture bordering on the Chinese kind; where terrible music is dripped down your ears excruciatingly slow? Or, 'We can release your information to you only if we receive the original document, notarized and signed by you in blood, attesting to hand over your first born.' All this, in addition to having to spell out your unhelpfully l-o-n-g name in letters and mnemonics that dimwits can process.

There was an episode on one of my favorite radio shows that sometimes features regular civic dilemmas such as dealing with infuriating customer service; where the guest speaker was a woman traumatized by years' worth of contending with atrocious service, not to mention harassment, from her phone company. She had had to put up with suggestions that she write out the claim that she was being charged for calls she hadn't made, and fax it to the claims department-a place that apparently lacked any other means of communication, even a telephone. A phone company, with an office somewhere in the middle of goodness knows where, with no telephones. When the guest expressed her incredulity at such a thing; she was assured that her mental picture of a bunch of dark, brooding employees seated in a circle around a fax machine, waiting for claims to come through with a sound like a death knell, was, indeed, accurate.
Sometimes I wonder if this pathetic land has indeed stopped in the age of the Salem Witch trials.

Another tack these Neanderthals take is intimidating you with technical jargon. Take my recent tussle with a computer repair service, for instance: on an ill-fated day, I decided to take my virus-infected work computer in for some diagnostics and repairs at a reputedly decent chain. I was assured, with the gleaming smiles of a Friday afternoon (another 3 hours and to go conquer the Spartans on the new X-Box Gramps got for Xmas-sweet!!); that the job will be done in 3-4 days. I had misjudged, from my colleague's experience with them-by whatever loop in the cosmos, she had not only had her computer worked on and ready to go in the exact time frame they'd stated, she'd actually had excellent customer service. (Of course, I should have known that the fabric of the cosmos might just be funked at the branch that I chose to go to.)

4 days became 5, then 6, and it has now been 12 whole days, and the wasteful pieces of ectoplasm still have the temerity to throw around phrases like 'we are still running tests to identify whether it's a Trojan Horse or a Worm', thinking that'd put me off. Not to be outdone, I told them that I didn't care whether another Greek tragedy was about to take place beneath the recesses of my computer; I bloody well expected it to be clean and running, with an anti-virus installed to boot, by now!

Seriously: I'm no programming expert; and couldn't detect a 'Trojan Horse' to save my own life, but I do know that it does not take anyone; leave alone a computer Geek (no more cryptic messages as to the name of the useless chain now!), 12 days of bungling to figure out what the hell was wrong. I figured, from the furtive shuffling of their humongous egos while they spared a few minutes to speak with me, and from the hours of holding they had me do, that they haven't even got down to my comp. yet. I chewed this little pipsqueak's ear out today, losing it once and for all, telling her that she had no business being in customer service if she was going to give me lip about, well, anything, leave alone my inquiries on the status of my computer-for whose service I have already shelled out an exorbitant sum of my hard-earned money!! I also added that I understood how she was here because she was no good for anything else, but that was hardly my problem.

Harsh? You bet! Years' worth of haggling, and dealing with sub-human creatures with egos bigger than their unjustifiable paychecks have erased any human sentimentality for the useless lumps, and noone ever called me PC anyway. I still don't have my comp., but then, I haven't really gone in person and flaunted my scene-making skills. Yet.

Top this

2008-08-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

I think I just outdid myself in the paradox department last evening; stressing out over making a choice to buy a relaxing music album on iTunes.

Ever wonder why.....

2008-08-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

....is it that we memorialize on Memorial Day, give thanks on Thanksgiving Day, appreciate our planet on Earth Day and plant a tree on Arbor Day; but don't work on Labor Day?

In this particular case, however, it might be best not to go around saying that out loud.

The Olympics

2008-08-11T14:57:00.000-07:00

Apparently there's some sporting event going on in China. Hurray, awesome, and all that sort of rot.

Don't get me wrong; there's something to be said about the infectious excitement of a swim relay or a synchronized diving competition; or for that matter, a fantastic gymnastics routine; but nothing worth a scale of billions of dollars, which is what the whole do is costing the nation. A country notorious for the poor state of its facilities and status of life, among other things. I mean, was all the fanfare and pomp necessary for the opening ceremony? When schools are collapsing on the students and the after-effects of the devastating earthquake that hit earlier this year are still ravaging lives?

Even as I write this, I realize I have no right to be pointing fingers; after all, this nation is no better-while thousands perish due to lack of health care, and our environment concerns run deep, we have a government that is blithely devoted to needless causes like waging war on innocent nations.

I never feel so strongly about governments as a whole, but I am up to my ears with this whole Olympic nonsense. So big f***ing deal-they've built a huge water cube and other such useless monuments to add to the other eyesores yonder; they've spent billions of dollars doing circus tricks in the podium while some child screams in hunger and pain in another part of the country; and they've raked up a few gold medals already. Whoop-dee-s***.

And all those others who spew crap about 'sports being a medium to bring the world together?' Stop, you're only embarrassing yourself with such 'let's all bake cakes with rainbows and clouds in them' talk. Once the teams lose, they will return to being useless human beings in your eyes, and let's see you 'spread the love' then.

Phew! Some rant, that. Don't usually get my knickers all bunched up, but not being able to turn without some fool gushing about the whole thing is really beginning to get to me.

Urban Etiquette

2008-08-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

What is it about a bus or a subway train that brings out the yammerers? Dear god, if I have to sit through one more excruciatingly detailed report of a visit to the gynecologist, or why and how Tara was dumped by that loser of an Eric, I might just go out and murder someone.

Seriously, those of you enslaved to your blasted mobile phones or feel like their life should be The Greatest Story Ever Told, do me a favor: we know you get your knickers all knotted up when Sean, whom you met last evening at Spiffy's Disco Night, couldn't wait until the hangover passed to 'hit you up' and spew his 'lurve' all over you; and you 'can't not answer, duh!' , but I've got enough to deal with as it is; having to go to work at some ungodly hour like 8.00am and sacrificing time I'd rather spend lounging and reading, so kindly spare me Act II of your sordid life.

We know that you are incapable of keeping that trap of yours shut, but are you also completely blind? I mean, haven't you ever noticed how you are being terribly 'un-civic'? Since 'consideration for others' is not something you're likely to comprehend, let me put it to you this way: we like totally hate you for getting in our space. And we're like totally not okay with that. Comprendez?

So mobile-huggers and chatterboxes, unless you are willing to sport a nice bloody nose to work, kindly risk leaving me in the lurch wondering what on earth Danielle could have seen in Jose, who was so gay. Go on.

Art

2008-08-02T14:24:00.000-07:00

Jackson Pollock is not an artist. Not in the true sense of the word, at least. The word 'artist', if it doesn't already, should refer to someone who can create a piece (drawing, sketch, painting, music, whatever) that can evoke thought or emotion. A piece, that represents an individual outlook on something-while STILL ADHERING to the bounds of common sense and respect. It is only those who can come up with moving works within these boundaries that deserve to be referred to and revered ad artists; not people who run rampant with their schizophrenic imagination.

To me, Pollock is nothing more than a paint-dripper. Calling him an artist is like saying somebody with Turret's syndrome is a great orator. However, despite his lack of talent, Pollock is far more bearable than the current (as in the past 15 years) trend of the ridiculous-stones wrapped in gauze; dead birds in bell jars; and the worst I've encountered so far-dissected dead animals preserved in glass tanks. They have lofty claims of 'provoking thought on death and life', while fixating on the way the body's excretory system works and narcotics like LSD; but really, thanks but no thanks.

Even more infuriating is the temerity these charlatans have to demand money in thousands for this offal. And the idiots who do patronize them. As a result, real artists, with true talent, get shortchanged; all because they failed to stimulate some sick, perverted fantasy of the philistines who came across their work.

Chilling by Lovers' Lane

2008-07-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

It was a gorgeous day today. When people usually say that, they mean it was bright, sunny and perhaps warm. Today was none of those things. Quintessentially San Francisco, it was cloudy, windy and a tad cold. In other words, it was summer in the City by the Bay.

The past month or so had been plagued by a thick smog; a result of all the wildfires in the area. And despite the sunshine having been blotted out, there was a muggy heat in the air that was largely unfamiliar. But today was a break from all that; crisp, chill and just perfect for a vigorous walk/hike.

S. and I drove up to the entrance of the Presidio and began our venture by walking around the neighborhood. The air was a bit thin; not too much so, but just enough to smell the ozone and the earthy aroma of the surrounding eucalyptus trees. The red brick buildings and the well-maintained lawns were a picturesque treat to the eyes, but nothing like the backdrop at the northern end: the magnificent GG Bridge, shrouded in misty fog and surrounded by blue sea.
I must have seen that thing a few thousand times in the years I have lived here, but it manages to take my breath away every time. Of course, the view from here was a much closer one.

We continued our brisk walk downhill and onto Crissy Field, a promenade amidst trees, grass and bushes on one side-at one point even a big pond of sorts-and the bay on the other. The place is unfortunately marred by the presence of one too many foul kids and dogs; but it was a pleasant enough walk all the same.

Once we'd reached the last bits of the Field, we began our journey back and stopped to pick up a couple of items at an outlet sports goods store en route.

Beautiful views, beautiful air. But the best was yet to come: On the way back through the Presidio again, we took another route; a pathway climbing steadily upwards in stages, called Lovers' Lane. At some point in history, it had been a bridge reuniting soldiers with loved ones. The place has also morbid associations; it was the location of one of the several murders by the serial 'Zodiac Killer' in the 60s-70s.
But despite the dark memory, one could see the charm and romance of the little brick walls on the side, surrounded by green. Although a bit neglected at places-the nettles and such on the side could do with a bit of trimming; it's still attractive.
As we trudged up, we were treated to a musical by the local birds and by the time we reached the top, their sounds filled our ears, the eucalyptus filled our noses and the cool, crisp air fanned our sweaty brows. We were in heaven.

The Dark Knight

2008-07-19T10:51:00.000-07:00

I've always enjoyed reading comics. While I don't consider myself a Manga Otaku, I have a few favorites and have cherished them from my first contact with them, during my preteen/teen years. Some of them, to this day, tickle my funny bone like no other-Asterix, Tintin & Chacha Chaudhry, to name a few. Archies was a favorite during early adolescence, for obvious reasons. Later on, I discovered Manga gems such as Lupin San-sei, Kindaichi Shonen no Jikenbo and Versailles no Bara. They remain as fresh and uplifting as ever.

What I didn't read much of, were the Marvel/DC Superhero comics. Oh, for no other reason than that it was 'more for the boys'. Mandrake the Magician was perhaps the only [boys'] comics I've ever read in entirety. While I knew of the existence of characters such as Superman, Spiderman, Batman, X-Men, etc., I'd never really gotten acquainted with them-well, you know what I mean.

But for whatever reason, I've enjoyed the recent spate of movies based on them (as well some of Reeves' Superman and Keaton's Batman); all except for the X-men-haven't gotten around to watching them yet. I liked Toby Maguire's Spiderman, and the total escapist experience of such blockbuster productions as well.

S. is a big fan of these guys, so when the new Batman movie rolled into the theaters yesterday, we were there with our hairs in braids. I was merely expecting a couple hours' worth of loud, fast-paced escapist entertainment, but was terribly impressed by Heath Ledger's Joker. I've always admired his thespian capacities; he was brilliant in movies such as 'Brokeback Mountain', 'Four Feathers', 'The Patriot' & 'Ned Kelly'; but he was simply spectacular in 'The Dark Knight.' One would have a hard time imagining a guy with rugged good looks (albeit of the smelly, colonial-era type (!) ) play such an odious character, but he was the obnoxious Joker out and out.
The 2-hours-plus movie was entertaining enough; and despite being more about Batman keeping himself from going over to the 'Dark Side'; it was all about the Joker. Ledger simply stole the show and kept it with him even in the scenes where he doesn't feature. A magnificent actor; truly Hollywood's great loss. Makes me a bit sad to think about never seeing the likes of him on screen again.

Anyhow, I was intrigued enough to get educated on the Batman storyline after the film. Maybe one of these days I'll raid S.'s comic collection and catch up with the rest of the world.

Weighty Matters

2008-07-16T09:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, after months-nay, years- of procrastinating and coming up with enough excuses to make a reference book out of, I joined a gym.

My choice of words might make it seem as though this would be the first time ever that I was committing myself to a gym; but sadly, that isn't the case. I've actually lost count of the number of times I've signed contracts, purchased sports attire and fallen for the sales pitches that haunt these places. But every time, I've ended up canceling the membership and shelled out hard-earned money for fees and penalties: the longest I have ever really utilized a gym membership was perhaps 6 months.

Even though I'd always tended to gain a bit of weight every now and then due to stress, I'd never really packed it on so much that I needed to be concerned. However, as I've been getting closer and closer to the big 3-OH, I've piled on a ridiculous number of pounds and can't seem to work them off. The word 'work', is, however, relative:

Along with this wretched weight gain came a deplorable indifference, another newbie. Needing clothes in sizes I'd never known to exist, constant jibes from family, virulent sluggishness, frequent reminders of the health hazards of being a couch potato-and an obese one at that; I was surrounded by reasons to get motivated and moving. Nope. Nothing worked. I continued to dread getting up on a scale and seeing numbers I hadn't thought existed on a scale (I exaggerate, but not by much!), but not enough to drag myself out to sweat a bit and shed some calories.

First it was the money issue. And then it was the physical fatigue and lack of time. When none of that would hold, I'd come up with reasons for why I hated going to a communal place of exercise, and would rather dance or walk/hike the weight off. Of course, when it came to joining a dance class or disciplining myself to walk briskly for 30 min. everyday, it didn't happen. And as though all of this wasn't trying enough, a physical exam brought back excellent results-BP, cholesterol, the works. Even further reasons to talk myself out of working out.

And then something happened. I don't know what. I like to think the various reminders of suffering due to obesity somehow registered and brought forth enough fear for me to get my butt off the couch and onto a gym. So I paid the fees, signed the contract and promised myself that I would genuinely try. I also resolved not to make any grandiose goals; realistic and simple would be just fine. A bit of cardio a few times a week, and a bit of strength training on some of those days as well. Absolutely do-able.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this one will stick; at least until it becomes a part of my daily life (I'm trying to look at it as something I just do, everyday-like brushing my teeth-instead of something that needs to be done).

Funny

2008-07-10T20:42:00.000-07:00

I've been watching this show called 'Last Comic Standing' since its premiere a few weeks ago; and while I would neither gush about it nor recommend it specifically (only because I never get that impressed by anything from the Idiot Box), it does stand slightly apart from the rest of its banal 'reality' show counterparts.

In short, stand-up comedians from different cities audition to established comedians/tv actors, and 12 or so among them get chosen to go through a rigmarole of tasks that range from the pointless to plain ridiculous and several on-stage chances to showcase their best. Two of them get eliminated every week and then you have the finals. The first few weeks, however, are simply recaps of auditions.

I find that these are actually far more entertaining than the coming episodes; as they have a sort of genuine, non-airbrushed look at the comedians' talents. Of course, much of it still caters to the trash crowd to whom entertainment is only the loss of dignity of another; but every now and then, you come across some gems.

Since last year, apparently, they've been going 'international'. At first, I assumed this to mean they'd be stretching their limits out to Canada, but surprisingly, they brought folks in from the UK and Australia as well. One chap in particular last year, from the UK, I found to be simply hilarious. He was witty, self-effacing, and just plain sharp. However, as might have been expected with any show on prime time tv here, quality doesn't sell, so he was booted off the team. Well no surprises, really; this is what is to be expected when you hand over the control to a shallow and vapid audience (which, incidentally, describes the majority of the American populace) from Los Angeles, that city of silicone and drama. This is, after all, the land of American Idol-where someone with absolutely no idea of music or melody gets to 'vote' for a contestant.

Having gotten that little rant off my chest, back to the show this year: the 2008 season had auditions from a lot more international crowd; comedians traveled in all the way from Israel, Turkey, France, Japan, Armenia and India. There was a good dose of Canadians and Brits thrown in as well, so it was nice and cozy and all set for a good round of 'It's a small world.'

I was excited about some guy coming in from India; as this was a first. It was a funny feeling, quite new to me, because I'm generally not one of those people-the type that associates recognition with patriotism or such-but I was impressed with someone stepping up and taking the reins to represent the Motherland in something other than software or cricket. (Not to mention ludicrous Bollywood).
Also, it gave me an excuse to watch the show even after those with real comedic talent in my view would get booted off. And they did.

Unfortunately, hanging on to the Desi proved to be difficult. I was already up to my ears with jokes about outsourcing, call-centers, the Kama Sutra and reincarnation, thank you very much; and didn't need some joker (no pun intended) coming in from New Delhi to do it all over again.
(If you have been anywhere in the vicinity of a Desi in the past few years, you might have had your share of Desi humor yourself, courtesy of a Russell Peters.) I was very disappointed in the guy's choice of jokes and even more so at his delivery. Granted, he probably hasn't had sufficient exposure to glean from, but still, it was a let down.

Needless to say, he got booted off as well-they do want to show that they're broad-minded at the tv stations by dragging in minorities, but they don't want to overdo it-they've got a couple of black people, so they're all set should anyone get all huffy over equality.

With the only real funny contestants gone; the Desi gone, I have no one I'd like to root for anymore. Sad, indeed. I could go for the one girl in the group, but I'm no feminist and she displayed some ruthless backstabbing that is all too common in the bottom of the pond called showbiz. So, as they say, aw hell no!

Oh well, so I don't have a show to watch this summer. Boo hoo, indeed.

All wrong

2008-07-05T16:25:00.000-07:00

One of my friends, K., is moving 7 years of his life here back to India. All because some lazy immigration official suddenly realized he needed a few more visa rejections on his record before he qualified for his bonus. Or to that effect-what other reason could there possibly be for their all too common practice of keeping good-for-nothing parasites in the country and driving out those who genuinely try and contribute to the environment and society?

It bothers me how much discrepancy there seems to be in such bureaucratic departments. But even more vexing, perhaps, is not being able to do anything worthwhile about it.

Anyhow, S. and I took part in a little picnic for a send-off for K today. The weather was marvelous-sunny & windy, and just so, which really helped in steering everyone away from dwelling on the negative aspects of a farewell. Plus, there was fantastic food-some great cheeses (Drunken Goat, & Cotswold, among others), homemade favorites like pasta salads and Caprese, and some amazing salted caramel ice cream.

It was a memorable enough occasion, and a cheerful send-off at that, but I couldn't help feeling a tad nostalgic already over the few good times I'd shared with K. and pondering wrathfully over the twists of life and the whimsical vagaries of the INS.

Where in the world...?

2008-07-03T14:31:00.000-07:00

" A man should ever be ready booted to take his journey."
-Michel de Montaigne

It's around that time of the year when my soles itch and I'm dying-not to travel, as yet, but to make arduous preparations planning a trip to somewhere far and wide, beyond the seven seas in the coming months. Unfortunately, the itch isn't accompanied by some sort of vision or sign that would give me something to work with when plotting the details .

You see, I happen to fall under the unfortunate group classified as the Gung-Ho tourists. I tend to adhere to a boot-camp schedule from which even the slightest deviation makes me break out in hives and do the St. Vitus'. Oh, how I envy those who can simply pack a few essentials, throw on a pair of sturdy walking shoes, cast all cares to the wind and just, well, go! While Montaigne's pearl of wisdom appeals greatly to the sensibilities, it's easier said than done when it comes to implementation.

And that is after I have crossed the umpteen other ones like deciding on a place and making meticulous transportation & boarding arrangements.

This year was no different, and I had barely finished uploading all the pictures from our trip to Greece last year before I started up on the usual rigmarole for 'Vacation 2008'. I will spare you the ugly details-suffice to say, after months of hysterics, hyperactive stress and hair loss, we (when I say we, of course, I mean me) settled on Canada . The choices had run from Iceland, Croatia, the Grand Canyon & Washington state before arriving at Banff and environs.

So in a couple of months, we will be driving through the Canadian Rockies and strolling through geological behemoths while (hopefully) basking in tranquil silence. Apart from a much-needed break, I hope to get a chance to practice my newfound sense of 'travel for the sake of exploration & serendipitous experience, not checking tourist traps off a list or abusing the dSLR'.

Blatherings

2008-07-01T14:38:00.000-07:00

So here I am, making YET another attempt at putting up a little something on this blog on a regular basis. The problem really (apart from the laziness, of course), is getting past my need to sound witty and charming and intelligent; all at once. Can't really find a witty, charming and intelligent way to retort when the blasted inner critic drawls, "Why bother otherwise?"; so here I am.
Nevertheless, I'm going to have a go. Perhaps a little rant every now and then will help loosen up the clenching (not going to elaborate on that!) as well.

Memories

2008-06-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

I walked around the corner of the pathway, adjacent to the lake shore where we used to dump our bikes and wiggle our toes on the damp grass after school; and I wondered whether you had come here again. We hadn't been in touch for years and when I could no longer reach you at the one telephone number/email address I had of yours, I realized I had no way of knowing whether I would find you on my first time back.

The hospital was the first place I'd checked, once I'd found that your family home had been occupied by strangers for over 3 years and they'd no idea of where you'd gone. I recalled a snippet from one of our last conversations where you mentioned doing your residency when back from Russia. They hadn't seen you in a few years now.

I then went to our Alma Mater, the place that had brought us together. From unfamiliar building amendments, students of all ages stared and pointed during their breaks as I tried explaining to a hostile staff room that we had been students here; did they know of your whereabouts? I was met with the expected scorn and derision; why was I looking for someone to whom I wasn't related?

I left empty, but took solace in the thought, as we had all those years ago; what did they know or understand about the sister-brother bond we shared?

And now I was here, sitting, as we had done together then, reminiscing about the laughter, the tears, the hopes and dreams and the fears we'd shared; the roast corn and fried chili snacks we'd buy with our pooled pocket money; the way we'd just lie on the grass and hold cloud spotting contests; the memories were as fresh as though they'd all happened just yesterday. The adjacent road had been paved to widen the path for the tourists on bikes, and I could hear them pass every so often.

Saddened by how our sanctuary was no longer one, I walked back into the town center and had a cup of tea at the very cafe where we had spent many of our weekend afternoons. The decor had changed; as well the ownership and the menu: they no longer served those cucumber mint sandwiches we'd eat with our little fingers sticking out, in mockery of all the stuffed shirts.

Afterwards, I strolled over to the library, which was perhaps the only place that had remained the same. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I entered and smelt the familiar earthy parchment and mothballs. Much of it was as it'd always been: the one proud and well-furbished facility in the entire town; but some rooms had been rearranged; more shelves had been put in, upon which more books rested. The reference room had been moved to the back; this dimly lit place had become our rendezvous when our families had misconstrued our friendship and forbidden us to see each other. I remembered the way we'd been impressed by mysteries and treasure hunts with complicated codes and puzzles, and we'd left cryptic notes for each other to find here. I remembered how, even when we'd not been able to see each other, we'd comforted one another with those notes; they'd made such a difference in our suddenly lonely lives. And when we did meet, it was too brief to share anything more than a smile, but what they had meant to us!

I ran my fingers over the leather-bound volumes of the Encyclopedia lining one of the shelves; my eyes tearing up with overwhelming yearning. I plucked one out at random and found a fading scrap of note paper. As I read the almost obscure penciled words you'd scribbled in a hurry that last day of school, before we were both shipped off to separate continents, it became clear to me that you had indeed, gone forever:

"But fate ordains that dearest friends must part."
-Edward Young

Another Meme

2008-05-07T14:01:00.000-07:00

Answer in one word:

If you get something out of a vending machine, it's most likely to be: Water
You least want people to see you as: Gullible
You're scared of: Insects
The least attractive thing you do in your sleep: Snore
The number of contacts in your cell phone: Thirty-odd
How many of them are restaurants: None
You lose your cool when someone: Puts me down
When you go to the drugstore, you often can't leave without buying: Hand cream
Your dance moves can best be described as: Bollywood
The majority of your underwear is: Cotton
Something you eat even though you hate how bad it is for you: Burritos
You think you're really not a great: Speaker
How much cash is in your wallet right now: $23
The majority of your shoes are this color: Black
You don't think you'll ever be able to get rid of your: Stretch marks
If your breath is bad, it's most likely because you had: Cheese
You feel embarrassed when you: Blather
The last public place where you used the restroom: Work
Something you don't like to debate in mixed company: Religion
You don't think you can pull off wearing: Hats
Something you own entirely too much of: Notebooks
Someone you would love to see in concert who might bring down your street cred: YoYo Ma
The last thing that you spilled on yourself: Water
If you were on a reality show, the producers would likely portray/characterize you as the: Wallflower

The Obligatory Meme

2008-04-28T11:10:00.000-07:00

Absolutely devoid of any inspiration to write. Or to even ponder. Don't want to lose the writing habit, however, so here's a self-imposed 'meme' tag; a nice little 'white noise' of a filler for those bleak blogging periods.

Last Movie I watched in a theater:
21

What books I'm currently reading:
Goethe's Faust, Green Housekeeping by Ellen Sandbeck, & The Creative License by Danny Gregory

Favorite Board game:
Taboo

Favorite Magazines:
National Geographic, Discovery, The New Yorker, Harper's, Conde Nast Traveler, Cooking Light & Real Simple

Favorite Smells:
Fresh bread, earth during the first showers of rain, eucalyptus, spearmint, magnolia, patchouli

Favorite Sounds:
Ocean waves, silence

Worst feeling in the world:
Helplessness

First thing I think of when I wake:
Lord, is it 7.30 already?!

Favorite fast food:
Curly fries from Jack-in-the-Box

If I had a lot of money, I'd:
Quit the day job, buy a house, decorate, travel, sketch & paint, write.

Storms-cool or scary?
Both

My first car was a:
Toyota Corolla sedan

Favorite drink:
Tea

If I had more time, I'd:
Sketch & paint more, cook more, blog more, socialize more.

All the towns/cities I've lived in so far:
Chennai, Dar-es-Salaam, Kodaikanal, Mountain View, San Francisco, Paris, Kamikawa-machi, Tatsuno-shi.

Morning person or Night Owl?
Morning person

Over easy or Sunny-Side Up?
Sunny-Side Up

Favorite Place to Relax:
On a lawn chair by some body of water with no one else around. Or the couch.

Favorite Dessert:
Fruit tarts

Towards Greener Pastures

2008-03-17T15:48:00.000-07:00

The past year has been very rewarding knowledge-wise. I have learnt much, different things on different subjects, on different levels. The most treasured lesson of them all, was learning how tremendously urgent a shift in perspective on the natural environment was; how it was about time I stopped to read all labels, be a more responsible denizen of the earth and do my best to leave a more gentle carbon footprint.

Sound like a lot of Berkeley hooey? Perhaps, but the gist of it is hard to walk away from.

I'm not going to waste time and energy typing out every consequence-current or prospective-that is a result of mankind having taken the planet's resources for granted for generations-after all, angry extremists have rehashed all that quite enough, really; instead, I'm going to list out all the things I can do to convert to a more disciplined, 'green' lifestyle.

I have no interest in whether others may or may not follow such things; this is more for a personal reference to turn to, than some sort of attestation to a 'holier than thou' attitude.

That being said, here's what I'm doing/will begin to do:-

1. No plastic bags, absolutely none. Got rid of the ones left lying around-use some of them to collect organic garbage, and recycle the rest at Safeway-they have bins for plastic bags there. Use cloth/canvas totes when shopping; get some paper bags from the market every now and then to reuse as garbage disposals.
2. Separate compost(ible), recyclable and other garbage. Reuse any of the recyclable ones-glass bottles/canisters, etc.
3. Use glass containers for storing food. This is not just more environment friendly, but healthier than plastic as well.
4. Buy groceries ONLY from local sources. Farmers' Markets, Rainbow Grocery and Good Life Grocery are all great sources in SF. This way, not only help reduce emissions from transportation, but consume the freshest, most seasonal of foods. Allow for 2-3 exceptions, like rice, tea and salt (for now). However, also allow for occasional-meaning very sparingly-treats such as imported cheeses/pastries/wine/chocolates/spices/condiments.
5. Use products made of recycled material-toilet paper, paper towels, notebooks, etc.
6. Replace ALL chemical products with homemade versions, as much as possible. If not doable, replace with a more environment friendly version. Example-make your own cleaning products with vinegar, baking soda, lemon juice and essential oils. Get rid of chemicals and toxins as much as possible-needless to say, this is more from a health perspective than environmental.
7. Buy only from approved 'cruelty-free' brands. This goes for everything from shampoo to nail polish to mascara.
8. Try and 'digitalize' as much as possible. Keep only the most important of documents-passport, S.S/health insurance cards, birth certificate, educational degree certificates, immunization records, D.L, vehicle title and credit cards in their original forms; go online with as many bills/receipts/invoices/etc. as possible.
9. Avoid-completely, if possible-purchasing anything made in China. Electronics, their parts, or components of furniture and the like may prove to be difficult areas, but exhaust all other possibilities before giving in. This has several benefits, if achieved-supporting local and domestic labor, not catering to mass environmental/human right violations, and of course the guarantee of better product quality.
10. Less is always more. Practice moderation in all aspects of life. Buy only what you really need and make sure to put everything to its maximum use before proceeding onto the next one.

And so on. For now, I'm going to concentrate a bit more on making my own cleaning products and tightening up the garbage routine. I would also like to find more options against products made in China.

Life whizzes by

2008-01-26T13:16:00.000-08:00

She sat looking forlornly out the window. The wind, unlike in many other countries, was allowed to swoop in uninhibitedly through open windows free of any constricting glass. The graceful, winding curves of the mountain upon which the train ascended made for some breathtakingly beautiful scenery. That, with the earthy, calming smell of pine and fir, should have been occupying her senses, but she was too engrossed in deep sorrow she'd been feeling ever since she'd bid goodbye to the only person she'd ever cared for, and boarded this train. Her 'heart', that ubiquitous zone of her being, seemed incapable of processing any other emotion.

She was painfully aware of the constriction in her breathing; of a feeling of tight steel bands around her chest, squeezing the life out of her. The wind ruffled her hair and made her shiver a little, but even reaching into her bag, which lay next to her, for the sweater she'd stashed seemed like an ordeal. Outside, scenes of life and nature whizzed past, making it seem like a surreal, parallel universe sort of thing where some fitting music played while she ambled along busy intersections slowly and aimlessly, while life, including those around her, whizzed by at breakneck speed. Where, like everywhere else in her life, she felt alone; empty with a void that would never be filled.

Only, she was riding this train to nowhere in particular instead, her senses moving slower and slower by the minute, in stark contrast to the blurry passing by of the scenes beside her.

25 Things I Could Never Get Enough of

2007-12-19T11:36:00.000-08:00

1. Candles.
2. Hot, aromatic baths.
3. Italian/Indian/Thai/Mexican food.
4. Hwy 1 coastline from San Francisco to Mendocino (via Point Reyes & Bodega Bay).
5. Sunrise and sunset.
6. The ocean-its soothing sounds, its tangy smell of brine, its feel on my feet, its calm moods and tempestuous rages.
7. Tea.
8. Successfully cooking new recipes.
9. Promptly blogging about above mentioned recipes.
10. Dancing away to a great Bhangra/N. African/Bollywood beat.
11. Hearing from my sister in the UK.
12. Unwinding with some meditation.
13. Vegetating while watching BBC Mysteries, The Golden Girls or Frasier on TV.
14. The feeling of accomplishment after writing/journaling a good piece.
15. Curling up with a good book.
16. Moleskeine journals.
17. Crisp morning air.
18. Coming across a piece of literature or strain of music that is so fitting to your mindset/life that it's uncanny.
19. The onset of Autumn.
20.The smell of the first shower of rain and fresh baked bread.
21. Traveling abroad.
22. Long weekends.
23. Spa treatments.
24. Dressing up and going to the theater/opera and fancy supper/dinner afterwards.
25. Watching baby animals play.

Tea

2007-11-25T08:59:00.000-08:00

As peaceful slumber of the night makes its graceful exit, morning starts, full of hopes and promises for the new day; roused by lilting birdsong, crisp breeze and an enervating aroma of a steeping bag of Tetley tea . The world wakes, slows for the moment while it stretches itself into physical readiness and breathes in the fresh oxygen and cherishes the rejuvenating capabilities of the brew.

The lovely russet of the liquid, slowly turning to buff by the addition of milk; and a heady fragrance seduce the senses. The swirl of the spoon, the warmth, and rising vapors move in sync with the rhythms of the breath and heartbeat.

The body awakens further, senses sharpen and the mind expands. There is confidence and optimistic anticipation for the day; energy and enthusiasm for taking on anything that may come upon the way.

The essence of tea within, the world steps out to face a new dawn.

What pictures these songs paint!

2007-10-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever smelled the rain? Tasted the wind? Heard a flower; or seen a song?

Each of our senses is a unique gift; remarkably perceptive, almost instinctive. If there were to be a list of the most amazing things about human physiology, they would top it, without doubt.
However, we tend to associate only certain stimuli with each one. Obviously, it isn't the nose that does the seeing of the patterns of the petals in a rose; nor does the skin taste the rain; but could that be only because we have been taught to perceive those things in those precise ways? I wonder; wouldn't it be possible to alter the course of sensory perception?

That remains to be seen. Assuming, that such a course of action is even necessary, in the first place.

In the meanwhile, there is one thing that acts like a magic wand, switching the senses and evoking feelings and spirits we had not known we'd possessed within us-music. Have you ever had that experience, when you hear a song and you can just feel it? Deep down, in that abstract part of your body called 'the gut'? Have you ever become so consumed by the rising crescendo of a musical passage that you feel the explosive rage of the storm and the tumultuous waves beneath? Perhaps, when you hear lilting melodies, you can see the intricate patterns on a butterfly's wings.

The best example in my case would have to be the song 'Caribbean Blue' by Enya. No matter where I am, or what I am doing that moment, I never fail to stop and gaze at the image it conjures up; the azure blue of the Caribbean sky, reflected in its seas, the warmth of a golden sun and the rhythm of the waves. I can even smell the tropical sands sometimes.

Music is, perchance, the stairway from earth to the heavens. A submarine to sink into the farthest depths of the ocean, where treasures never imagined by the human mind exist. Music is the very key for entry into the soul, to self-discovery and perception.

When the musician picks up his violin, or piano, or whatever instrument he may play, I wonder if he knows he is picking up a paintbrush as well, creating worlds and sights and tastes that are magical and even spiritual.

Sweet Mother Nature

2007-09-21T19:18:00.000-07:00

There is nothing quite so sweet as that fragrance of the first shower of rain. Warm, earthy and dusky, it is the scent of awakened fresh soil, of the air being cleaned of impurities, of new beginnings and anticipation of better things to come.

To be greeted by such divine redolence as I step out the door; surely, I must be blessed. I take a deep breath, filling every cubic inch of my lungs with the perfume. As I exhale, I can almost taste the ozone-crisp and sharp. There is a slight chill in the breeze, which seems to increase in speed by the minute. I smile as I picture Nature as an artist, wielding a paintbrush and standing before a canvas that she is sad to see altered (albeit only for the time being), before she begins to work her magic and converts the colors of summer for the brilliant shades of autumn.

With rain, she sets the stage for the grand presentation of strong gusts of winds, breathtaking hues of red, orange, gold, and green, and fresh, clean air. What genius!

Sometimes, all it takes to jolt one out of the modern-day-lifestyle induced torpor is a little appreciation for Mother Nature. A little oxygen, and a little flirting with the wind.

These Dreams

2007-08-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

You succumb to the physical strain of the day. Between giving in to fatigue and landing on the bed with a resounding "Plop!", there is that split second when the body almost sings in glorious anticipation; of the forthcoming serenity and tired nature's sweet restorer, sleep.

Even as you slip into the land of the subconscious, you are aware of the soft silk of your pillow, of the moonbeams filtering in through the window, and the smile of contentment, peace and calm etched on your face.

The next moment, you are running, cutting through the slanted silvery threads and sparkling showers descending from the heavens, blissfully unmindful of the world around you, and your place in it. You pause to catch your breath and relish the gentle breeze blowing through your hair and the soft sands beneath your bare feet.

And suddenly, you are transported back in time, to when you were in such contented euphoria in the conscious world, and you realize how far you have come from childhood. The glow of the moon and stars soak your skin further, the breeze brings with it scents of the past-of the days and years you've left behind, of the memories you've carried- and the meaning of life dawns: it isn't about the big achievements or goals, after all; it's about the little moments in time, those isolated emotions, those stirrings of memory, and the reminiscences of love and friendship.

And like every other treasured flash in time, this too, you tie musical notes to, and wrap up in delicate gossamer wings. To store in those everlasting nooks and crannies of your mind, to go back to in those heartbeats when time and space themselves seem to stand still; in that blink of an eye when your iPod streams from one song to the next.

Disjointed, unconnected emotions. But every one of them rich and tenable in a world that's only yours, where, like music, they are the backdrop, flowing in through the ears and filling your entire being.

100 Things To Do Before I Die

2007-07-15T11:43:00.000-07:00

1. Forgive, and forget. Truly, and honestly, let things go.
2. Make Yoga, Pranayama, walking and meditation daily de rigeur.
3. Reach and maintain a healthy weight.
4. Find a fulfilling career field, and obtain a post-graduate degree in it.
5. Pay off all debts.
6. Purchase a home.
7. Meet all travel goals.
8. Get some writing published.
9. Grow herbs and tropical foliage.
10. Purchase a quality video/dSLR camera and put it to good use.
11. Go on a silent retreat. Or two. Or five.
12. Start and keep up a wine & cheese/tea/dinner club with a small but determined group.
13. Read, and reread every single piece on my essential classic literature list.
14. Make visual journals and scrapbooks. Again. And again.
15. Swim in a river/stream and lay on the grass beside, under a warm sun.
16. Play an active, regular role in some cause-trees/marine animals/elderly people/bereft children.
17. Go back to Japan. See sunrise from Mt. Fuji; catch up with everyone I knew there.
18. Go on a long road trip.
19. Hike and camp in places cut off from civilization.
20. Understand tax, Medicare, Social Security, etc. matters.
21. Be more disciplined, organized, and wise about finances.
22. Go back to India. Walk Bear Shola road and wallow in nostalgia.
23. Get rid of all clutter-papers (go digital!), clothes (if it doesn't fit you now, it never will.), odds and ends (don't waste your guilt on throwing away that hideous Singapore fridge magnet someone picked up at the last minute at a cheesy airport souvenir shop, for instance.).
24. Be prompt, enthusiastic and energetic in social circle.
25. Lie on a field and gaze languidly at a starry summer sky.
26. Walk along a pasture with nothing but fresh green grass for miles around.
27. Run down a slope of wildflowers without getting into a sneezing fit.
28. Host elegant, elaborate, and decadent picnics, tea and dinner parties.
29. Grow a floral garden-roses, lilies, orchids, magnolias, etc.
30. Master French.
31. Learn to speak Spanish and Turkish.
32. Incorporate all the recipes I have into one source of reference.
33. Knit entire scarfs, sweaters and cozies.
34. Go camping once a year.
35. Choreograph and produce a Bollywood show with enthusiastic, talented dancers.
36. Be well-versed in classical music and opera.
37. Read the Kama Sutra ( and put it to practical use!).
38. See the Aurora borealis, Mt. Everest, etc.
39. Acquire and preserve (to bequeath) sophisticated dinnerware, crystal, vintage wine, accessories (scarfs, bags), books and art.
40. Retreat at a cottage on the Amalfi Coast/Eastern Coast of New Zealand and write for months.
41. See all the seven wonders of the world.
42. Be more motivated, more inspired.
43. Score an ace on the entire list of Jeopardy! archived questions.
44. Fill up several Moleskeine journals.
45. Have faith in myself, in life.
46. Extinguish irrational fears, and doubts.
47. Discover, learn and wonder.
48. Maintain the food blog for life.
49. Write a mystery novel, a satirical memoir.
50. Rid my life of all sources of negativity.
51. Find a genuine, compassionate BFF.
52. Understand concepts of mystic spirituality (real Hinduism, Sufism, etc.).
53. Accept, understand and get rid of my insecurities, self-imposed obstacles and fears.
54. Go on a writing retreat.
55. Spend a millionaire weekend at Vegas.
56. Dine at El Bulli, French Laundry and Joel Robuchon (Paris).
57. Conquer my insecurity over baking.
58. Raise a pet with true love and affection.
59. Be more caring and compassionate.
60. Be true to myself.
61. Swim with dolphins.
62. Teach classes.
63. Act in a Shakespearean drama.
64. Learn to roller blade and swoop through GG Park and the Netherlands.
65. Learn Argentinian Tango.
66. Understand fully, and practice Ayurveda.
67. Be a mentor; bring joy and inspiration.
68. Drive a convertible with the top down and blast music.
69. Attend at least 1 major tennis tournament, and figure skating at the Olympics.
70. Catch up on all must-see movies.
71. Visit Rajasthan, Himachal Pradesh and Kerala.
72. Have my portrait painted (or have a portrait sized picture taken.)
73. Donate to a worthy cause anonymously.
74. Learn to change a tire/engine oil, fix minor household damages.
75. Be a bridesmaid.
76. Invest successfully in the stock market.
77. Read, and fully comprehend, the Vedas, the Upanishads, and the Bhagavad Gita.
78. Learn to play Bridge.
79. Spend a year traveling the world.
80. Stay at a B & B right by the ocean, and get lulled to sleep by the mystic sounds of whales.
81. Go on a cruise. Or two.
82. Learn to play the guitar/the piano.
83. Spend a few weeks/months at a Tuscan ranch learning Italian Cuisine.
84. Get in touch with long lost relatives and friends-to wish them at New Year's, at least.
85. Be an expert on therapeutic herbal blends (tea combinations, bath blends, etc.), and aromatherapy (candles, essential oils, incense, etc.).
86. Bathe in a waterfall.
87. Be rid of migraines (try).
88. Write a will.
89. Go on a cruise to Antarctica.
90. Find closure with Mum's passing.
91. Attend a ball, wearing a strapless gown, and waltz.
92. Ride the Trans-Siberian rail from Moscow to Vladivostok.
93. Become an English vocabulary whiz.
94. Be a 'human encyclopedia'; with sound knowledge on several topics-everything from art & literature, to cognitive neuro science & human physiology/anatomy, to philosophy & Egyptology, to geography & ethnic origins, to gastronomy & world history/cultures.
95. Learn to effectively use Illustrator and Photoshop.
96. Organize all photos into disks and albums.
97. Paint something to be proud of.
98. Be efficient with an environment friendly lifestyle-recycling, less paper/plastic, local produce, etc.
99. Be prompt and regular at sending birthday/New Year's greetings, a 'care package' of cookies and such every Christmas to family and friends.
100. Watch a full lunar and solar eclipse.

The Ideal Weekday Schedule

2007-06-30T15:50:00.000-07:00

Lately, I find myself besieged by a feeling of inadequacy; a nagging feeling that I'm not putting my waking hours to their ultimate productive use. Even admitting that the best of my 'free time' is wasted away in idle t.v watching is getting to be difficult, leave alone breaking the habit.

However, in the past, making solid plans and finding ways to incorporate them slowly into my life has been fruitful, so I thought I might have a go at that again. So here's how I'd like my weekday to pan out:-

6am-Rise & Shine!
15 minutes after for those morning ablutions.

6.15am-Out the door on a brisk, quick walk for 15 min., and back-making it 30 min. long in total.

6.50am-Shower, clothes, make up and all that sort of rot.

7.50am-Pack breakfast & lunch.

8.05am-Out the door to catch bus & BART to work.

10.30am-Stretch break for 15 min.

12pm-Lunch

3.00pm-Stretch break; tea.

5.00pm-Join the stampede to catch the BART & bus back home.

6.30pm-Yoga for 20 min.

7.00pm-Prepare & eat dinner.

8.30pm-Work the mind a bit-puzzles, etc./Reading/Catching up with friends and family.

10.30-11.00pm-Bed.

Now, if it were only that easy.....

Matters

2007-04-25T15:00:00.000-07:00

Things I feel strongly about:

Illegal immigration-Illegal means illegal. Don't care whether you are destitute, a refugee or impoverished. If you entered a country by illegal means, then you deserve nothing more than to get sent packing back to where you came from. It is abominable how illegal immigrants in the U.S not only undermine the years-decades even-of arduous paperwork and waiting legal immigrants put in; but actually demand medical benefits and such. It is unconscionable and completely unacceptable. There is no justification for my having to shell out 1/3rd of my hard-earned income towards some illegal immigrant who refuses to practice birth control so that she may continue to feed her ever-growing pack.
The only thing that makes my blood boil more is the attitude these bleeding-heart liberals have, whose eyes never seem to lose their scales, that we should 'educate' and 'support' them. Why is it our responsibility? And before going off and playing Superman to these parasites, why not sort our own domestic problems first?

South Indian Men-According to these chauvinists, a man is 'stronger' and 'more stable' than a woman. In that case, it would make more sense for them to step out of the herd and think for themselves. It takes strength and courage to risk social rejection and familial guilt. To be able to prove that making their own judgments, and forming their own opinions on life can be achieved without disrespect or disregard to duty. You'd think then it'd be easy for these 'men'. Nope. Not a chance. Every single one of them is a coward who can't think out of the box or do something to make a difference in someone's life. Their goals are to simply make a lot of money and breed more of their foul kind. I have no respect for them, and don't see them as anything more than epitomes of this very much justified stereotype about Indian men.

Religion-There is no such thing as God. Unless proven otherwise, I refuse to spend anytime acknowledging the existence of one, praying, and all that. I don't go around advocating my atheism to others. Likewise, I expect to be left alone in return. I don't want people trying to make me 'see the light' or pointing out that since I have familiarized myself with the concept of atheism through several people's works on the subject I too must be an angry atheist going around trying to 'convert' people. I couldn't care less if you liked nailing yourself to a cross during Easter or rolling around the grounds of a temple or donating a million dollars so your prayers may be answered; your beliefs are yours and you do whatever the hell you want with them; just don't ask me to believe what you do.

Self-entitled egotists-I don't care if your mother thought you were going to be the salt of the earth, but you don't automatically deserve respect and the fruits of life just because. You need to earn all of those, and if you lack the self-discipline and inclination to perspire your way to success, you do not deserve the credit, and thus no respect. I don't care if you are blessed with some inheritance; or whether you have a house somewhere in the ridiculously overpriced Bay Area. If you haven't had to really make sacrifices, you are not a complete human being and thus don't deserve any acknowledgment, leave alone respect.

Also belonging to this category are those who use their ethnic ancestors' sufferings to as a fast way out; unless you have been unjustly sidelined, get back in queue for your turn like everyone else.

Whiners-There is something terribly ugly about those who whine. If you want something, go and do what it takes to get it. And if that's out of your reach, learn to live with what you have. Cut your coat according to your cloth. You don't deserve Bill Gates' success because you didn't do what he did. You didn't work as hard as he did, you didn't take up opportunities like he did. So stop whining about why and how he should be more blessed than you. Opportunities such as those available here aren't rights, they are privileges.

Political Correctness-Too much time and energy are spent in this country giving importance to political correctness. For the sake of a few fragile egos, wars are waged, honest, careful people are robbed of their resources, and parasites are let in and allowed to infest the entire nation. What is wrong in calling a spade a spade? If the puffed up megalomaniacs can't handle being told what they really appear to be or put in his/her place if acting out, boo to them. People need to learn control. And no amount of compassion is going to change an angry, hateful person; so stop wasting the resources on such lost battles and do what needs to be done. Your duty is to your people and your nation; not stroking some childish self-righteous jerk's ego.

Self-proclaimed Authorities-This refers to those who have no range of tastes or experiences, but entitle themselves to reviews and critiques all the same. The joy in this, for them, is not in giving objective critiques of an individual/institution's misgivings, but to bring them down and cause them consternation. Same goes for those who take up sides when they have nothing whatsoever to do with either party, leave alone an experience with one or the other.

To whom I say, unless you have been the opposite party's position and experienced everything they did, you have no right to even open your mouth so just shut up.

Confessions of an Idle Mind

2006-12-08T16:18:00.000-08:00

Breaking News: Bored mass of ectoplasm attempts at getting things off of its chest.

1. I don't have a MySpace account.

2. I can't shuffle cards.

3. I hate cats.

4. I'll fall for you in an instant if you can Brakedance, Beatbox, or do Capoeira .

5. I cry at sappy movies.

6. I can't drive stick-shift.

7. My Hindi is abysmal.

8. I am a vocab. nerd.

9. I hate shopping.

10. I'm technologically retarded.

11. I dance better than I speak.

12. I have recurring dreams about the ocean.

13. I have attempted at scaling Mt. Everest.

14. I can't swim.

15. I smoke. Cigarettes.

16. I went to the same school as Arjun Rampal.

17. I paint my toenails in shocking colors like Tangerine in Summer.

18. My dosas and rotis are of an undiscovered geometric shape.

19. I drink tea, not coffee.

20. I have too much free time.

Summer, You make me hot!

2006-07-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

It's a balmy July evening. The stars are out, and a weak breeze makes one last attempt to mimic a wind. I am lounging on a very comfy garden chair, guzzling some peachy drink and gazing up (at close quarters) at spectacular fireworks that light up the sky in green, gold and red.

No, that isn't the setting of a Bollywood day dream (I haven't done that since grade school, sigh...), it's the scene of a typical summer barbecue in Japan. A common sight once the rainy season ends, it is also an important social event.

At en elderly student's house, alongside her family, collleagues, neighbors and friends, I spent a memorable Saturday evening satisfying all 5 of my senses-the fireworks were a visual treat, their occasional booms and the sounds of food sizzling on the grill auditory, those very foods olfactory and gustatory, and the only tactile treat I am able to recall was the feel of ice cold beer against my hot palms.

While everyone enjoyed each other's company, and guzzled beer and ate rare fruit from Okinawa and other treats, they admired the wonders of pyrotechnics in quietude. It was almost tranquil and serene.

I often complain about living here; and while I know I will never settle down in this society, I admit that there have been timeswhen I am glad I took the chance to come here and enjoy several special moments. This was one such time. But that warm fuzzy feeling vanished the second someone stuck a platter of 'the night's treat' under my nose: barbecued wild boar.

Hornets and Bees and Wasps; Oh My!

2006-07-25T16:21:00.000-07:00

So I have yet another reason for my BP hitting new levels (Like I didn't have enough already): the giant Japanese Hornet.

Stop me if you've heard this rant before, but I think this country is home to perhaps every single species of insect there is. As though crawling under a giant spider web to get to my mailbox or being kept awake by the eerie noise cicadas make weren't enough, I now have to somehow make my way around blasted bumblebees, wasps, and the potential death sentence of a hornet.

As paranoid I am about the idea of having to undergo agony described as 'a white hot nail being driven into the softest part of your flesh', and having to rush to the nearest hospital to get a shot of steroid to stop the venom from spreading because-get this- the enzyme in the venom is so strong, it dissolves human tissue- if stung, I can't help but wonder at these killers. So I did a little Googling, and found a lot of interesting tidbits on them:

Known here as the suzumebachi, its classification is Vespa mandarinia, and it is a relentless predator of bees and other insects. They even did a special about them on National Geographic TV; titled 'Hornets from Hell' (Yea, there really is no accounting for tastes.) Although only about 55mm in length, it has a stinger longer than the average hypodermic needle. And because it has no barbs, it continues to sting its prey repeatedly. And apparently, the enzyme in the venom is all the more painful to vertebrates. They can tell color as well; and darker colors instinctively represent danger, it seems (like bears), and zoom in on you if you are wearing black.

Even more fascinating, or should I say weird, is that there has been an upsurge in the production of dietary supplements and sports drinks in recent times, containing the secretions of these hornets' larvae. According to the manufacturers, because the adult hornet can fly 50 miles in a single day at 20 miles per hour, consuming larval hornet secretions (marketed as "Hornet Juice") will similarly enhance human endurance.

I suppose if one wants to enhance his or her endurance that badly, kudos to him or her, but really, I could do without those blasted things buzzing in my forest of a garden and my having to avoid dark colors or jump a few feet and run like I was on fire every time I hear a buzz.

1 Little, 2 Little, 3 Little South Indians.....

2006-07-17T16:22:00.000-07:00

I love being who I am-South Indian and all that-and wouldn't change it for the world. But I have this sense of humor that falls under the 'poke fun at yourself' category, and my having no trouble laughing at myself or my kind has often been misconstrued as shame of being Indian. Nothing could be farther from the truth-I think it takes real confidence and pride in something to be able to make fun of it.

That being said, here's my disclaimer: This blog pokes fun at the South Indian male. While the accounts are all based on real experience, they are not remotely personal, and refer to noone in particular. It's a joke, to put it simply. And if you have any issues with that, I have 2 words of solution for you: DON'T READ.

Someone asked me here the other day: Do Indian men fall into the stereotypical category of the Asian male? To which, of course, the right answer is 'No, they're a class of their own', but I didn't want that to be misinterpreted-the right way, I mean. So I simply said, Indians are far too many in number and from different backgrounds to fall into any one category. Yes, thank you, full points for diplomacy. Whatever.

But I got to thinking: What types of Indian men were out there? I can't speak as much for Indians from other parts, but having had either fantastically superb or horrendous experiences with South Indians, I could definitely justify my wasting time contemplating upon such things. And these aren't types I've encountered just on the dating scene-they're classics from the workplace, social circle, neighborhood, and even public transportation. Thanks to the fairly large number of these unique specimens of mankind inhabiting the Bay Area, I had several opportunities to observe them.

So, from past experience and a good deal of retrospect, these were the classifications I came up with:

1. The Homer Simpson-Jerry Seinfeld Quoter: This type mimics two of America's epitomes to the last full-stop; which is fine, but really, 'I hope I didn't brain my damage', or for that matter, 'You know why dogs have no money-no pockets' fails to yank the lightest of giggle chains. To whom I gotta say, all that proves is you spend too much time watching t.v. If you're going for impression, how about something from a book?

2. The Laevus Pedis: This type walks into a nightclub with a smugness that's almost palpable-he is going to be the only Desi guy in here with moves. But he can't figure out why the White boys in the corner are snickering at him; after all, he's doing a perfect rendition of Maahi Ve-even though the song playing is 50 Cent's Candy Shop. And to his further chagrin, channeling Vivek Oberoi doing a Dum doesn't work either.

3. The Grandpa's-a-bigwig-so-I-am-too bloke: You meet this guy at the bar counter, where he's passionately ranting about how arrogant that bitch was who declined his offer for a drink. 'Who does she think she is?', he asks, outraged, 'doesn't she know who I am? My grandfather was a High Court Judge! People used to salute us when we walked past.' Sorry, Charlie(or should I say Ganesh/Rohit/Nikhil, etc.); ain't happenin' here. Perhaps, if you brought Grandpa along with you next time, you might have better luck.

4. The Time-Passer: While his parents back in Hyderabad or Chennai or Bangalore (or wherever) are proudly looking for that perfect 'homely, fair' girl, he is getting as many White, Black, Brown, Pink, Purple (and other colors) girls on here-you know, making the most of it. But he never gets why there's such a fuss being made when he wants to take a breather from his amorous adventures and go claim that fair virgin. After all, Americans never fall seriously in love, right? So why the outrage when you tell them they were just 'time pass'? Really, now!

5. The 'I-don't-talk-like-a-fob' FOB: No, dood, really. You know this one: he got that accent after his visits to the American Consulate back in Bangalore, but doesn't get why it doesn't hold. To whom I say, accept you have an Indian accent, there really isn't anything wrong with that. And kindly stop saying dood. Or yaar, for that matter.

6. The I'm-so-sophisticated-cos-I-don't-do-Indian: So this guy studied some language other than his mother-tongue in grade school, and can't read or write in his native tongue to save his own life. He proudly attributes that to an upper class background which placed emphasis on 'sophistication'-in other words, continued to kiss the Englishman's ass decades after achieving freedom. The guy who smirks contemptuously when you say you are going to your Bharatnatyam class or that you do Yoga to stay in shape also falls into this category.

7. The Why-bother-being-politically-correct-isn't-naivete-the-new-black claimer: This sort approaches you with questions like 'so are you an ABCD or a FOB?', and moves on to 'what does your father do?', and my personal favorite, 'so, do you have a Greencard?' and thinks you want to marry him if you laugh in reaction.

8. The I-Have-a-Ph.D-from-Yale-so-I-can-call-you-an-idiot Scholar: This type wants to know what degree you have and what school you graduated from soon after exchanging greetings. If your response doesn't contain words like Genetic Engineering, Quantum Physics, Intellectual Property; or Harvard, Stanford, Yale, you will recieve a disquiet or contemptuous glare. If by any odd reasoning, the conversation still proceeds, you will find yourself being called an idiot for sneezing.

9.The Muddled Metrosexual:This type will adopt the lifestyle of a metrosexual, watch all the art movies, immerse himself in cosmopolitan society and claim to be more broad minded than his counterparts, but will raise his eyebrows and ask questions like 'But don't your parents mind such physical contact with men?' when you tell him you dance Argentinian Tango. Or will shake his head patronizingly and say 'I guess you needed your freedom to party and get wild' if you tell him you have been on your own since you were 20.

10. The One-in-a-Million: This guy is that rare diamond in the rough. He's a great friend, awesome to work with, and is as smart as a whip. He doesn't try to be someone other than himself, has no issues with his accent or appearance, appreciates his place in life but never forgets where he came from. He never forces his opinions on others and respects everyone and everything. Living proof of why, even with being submerged under the weight of overpopulation, negative influence, and media misrepresentation, India still is a great culture. [Yes, Gana, I am talking about you here. :)]

More Pigs

2006-07-03T16:22:00.000-07:00

'Writer's Block' on for a full week now. Really making no progress in trying to get rid of it. So sought help from yet another one of those 'creative guides'-you know, the ones that take up a 100-odd pages to tell you you're 'special', have a 'frightened, traumatized artist child within', and list out a load of exercises to 'coax him/her out'. Oh well, it'd make for one blog at least, I thought.

And so, here's the artist child within me (trying to get over the severe trauma of having been reprimanded in grade school for getting my colons and semi colons mixed up), doing one of those blasted exercises, and strike me dead if it isn't another excuse for tooting my own horn. Paaar~p!!

5 Hobbies That Sound Fun

*Photography

*Painting

*Gardening

*Mountain Climbing

*Playing the Violin

5 Classes That Sound Fun

*Theater Arts

*Capoeira

*Acrylic/Oil Painting

*Pastry Making

*Violin

5 Things I would Never Do That Sound Fun

*Skydive (Acrophobic)

*Surf (Not very good in water)

*Ballet (Inflexible as they come)

*Get Hypnotized (hey, this is supposed to be spontaneous)

*Play a Sport Competitively (lazy as they come as well)

5 Skills That Would Be Fun To Have

*Spanish

*Diving

*Belly Dancing/Capoeira

*Hairdressing (WTF?!)

*Baking Pastries

5 Things I Used to Enjoy Doing

*Hiking in the Marin (God, I am so homesick!)

*Dancing the Tango

*Knitting

*Creating Fusion recipes

*Yoga

5 Things I would Like to Try Once

*Tap Dance

*Act in a Shakespearean drama

*Live among an Amazonian tribe (yep, I'm definitely suicidal today)

*Fire a gun (just for the heck of it)

*Laugh out loud and long

So what was the point of all this? I haven't the foggiest. All the same, I seemed to have succeeded in coaxing my inner artist child out, and here she is, demanding why the f*** everyone was picking on her semi colons when there were starving children out there.

Oh...what fresh Hell is this.....?

The Art of Bowing

2006-06-30T16:24:00.000-07:00

So in case you didn't know, it's a Japanese thing to bow. Bowing indicates humility, a willingness to demonstrate that you are placing the other person in higher esteem. Or so the rules state. Whether one tends to bow strictly to adhere to that, or out of sheer habit, is a subject that might take up a good Saturday afternoon contemplating upon. But there is so much more to it.

The art of bowing is far more meticulous than meets the eye. Take first, the degree of the angle of one's bow-basically, the deeper the bow, the more servile the impression. And now, we step into a whole new course in bowing. Ok folks, be prepared to take down notes; this is Bowing 101! 30 degrees indicates 'Nice to meet you', 'Welcome', and Hello'; 45 degrees moves on to 'Thank you' and 'I apologise'. And you always bow quick and fast, but rise slowly. Your left hand should rest over your right on your knees when you bow, with thumbs folded because-this is just insane-most people, who tend to be right handed, have an unsightly 'pen callus', and need to hide it so 'the viewer won't be offended by an ugly sight'. Well! Can you say extreme self-consciousness?!!

More interesting than all that is how habitual it becomes. Even for die hard 'Why-the-hell-should-I-get-humble-in-front-of-you-you're-just-another-mass-of-ectoplasm-too' types like me. To the extent that it has gotten irritating. (Actually, there is little that doesn't irritate me here, but we won't go into that now.) In the beginning, I bowed in all the right places, at the right times-my superiors at work, my neighbors, my colleagues' families, etc. But soon, I found myself responding to every single bow that I was thrown-the simpering, elevator girls at the Hankyu Department store in Osaka, the gas station boys, the mountebanks in Immigration, and so on. It was highly annoying, not to mention the wastage of the painstaking efforts I've made to correct my posture.

I was damned if I was going to keep doing this, I told myself. So at this bar the other night, the bartender was being extra nice and kept bowing like his life depended on it. I didn't even respond with the foreign version of it at first-the nod-, but slowly, I noticed it was taking me quite some effort to keep from 'humbling' myself here. Damn and blast! But over the couple hours I was there, I managed not to. Yipeee! I congratulated myself here (nothing to get excited about, even, just being a mean bitch, I know, but....), and made my way out with the best posture I could muster (ballet dancers, are you watching?!), and collected my coat at the check when some guy had to come bump into me and apologise. Well, what else could I do but...bow? 45 degrees, mind you.

Where has this world gotten to?

2006-06-29T16:49:00.000-07:00

I've never been one of those adults who fail to understand adolescents. Hell, it wasn't all that long ago I was one myself (alright, alright, 10 years is a long time, I admit! rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb)

But I've always been able to accept the peculiar ways in which their minds work; I have even taken a liking to some of them for that very quality; sometimes (oh horrors) even been able to relate. To put the violin down, I mean I don't condemn them for anything and that has worked very well for me in my career so far.

But I guess at some point I could be shocked at their naivete; their inability to know better; when they end up learning the hard, rough way, and turning out jaded and bitter. Or worse.

Take for instance, the matter of teenagers beginning to have sex at a younger and younger age. There is nothing to do be done about it but look at the silver lining and see that there are also many level-headed, stable kids who don't rush into things, bless their souls. When an eight-grader I was teaching (back home) last year confided in me about her wanting to 'wait till she was ready', my amazement at her forethought (for her age) undid the knot that the initial shock had tied my tongue into. But today, as I return home from work, I am still reeling from the shock of a 15-year old telling me that she 'loves older men' because 'they have a lot of money'-they can 'buy her whatever she wanted, like lots and lots of brand bags', and that she'd 'do anything they wanted'. I was utterly, completely, totally flummoxed, shocked, nonplussed, turned speechless. (Yes, I have been doing too many of those word puzzles).

I have read horror stories about high school girls in Japan ending up as some lecherous 55-year old CEO's concubines, but I always thought that was an exaggeration; and only restricted to loose Tokyo girls. But I never expected to it hit me straight, that too, in the Kansai countryside, which boasts itself hoarse about how demure its women are and how 'unlike flighty Tokyo' it is.

I didn't react in any way whatsoever (perhaps I raised my eyebrows), but for returning her smile. It was very disturbing. What the hell business was it of mine, anyway? And since when did I become such a prude on such topics? I guess I just felt sorry for how easily innocence is lost; how there is nothing to be done.

But perhaps beyond all that, I am just further disappointed with Japan. I suppose that such a thing as a society without extremes is nonexistent, but one does expect a certain amount of balance, especially if he or she is treated to constant propoganda about how modest, humble, and conforming to values Japan is. Modest, my foot! I could write an entire book on the 'back stage' mentality of the Japanese people.

Oh well, just another one of my 'Japan's-so-overrated-am-so-done-here' rants.

Five Little Pigs

2006-06-28T16:48:00.000-07:00

Can't think of anything to write about today; mind's a complete blank. Maybe will just toot my own horn a bit; revel in some good ol' self-absorption.

5 Things I Always Have in My Purse

*My Wallet

*My iPod

*My 'Handy Pouch' (with first-aid, make-up, and other girly needs)

*My Keys

*A little Notebook With a Pen

5 Things That Inspire/Move Me

*The Ocean

*Rain

*Sunrise/Sunset

*Music

*Great Oratories/Quotes

5 Things I do to Relax

*Soak in a fragrant bath

*Curl up with a good book

*Listen to Jazz/Classical Music

*Zen Meditation

*Go for a long walk

5 Things I want for Christmas

*Gift Card to Amazon/Borders

*Spearmint/Eucalyptus Candles

*Bath Salts

*Music CDs/Card for iTunes

*Scarves

5 Things I Look for in a Man

*Nice, genuine smile that reaches his eyes

*Emotional Maturity

*Mind-blowing Astuteness, Intelligence

*Compassion

*Has Scruples and Sense of Humor down.

5 Countries I want to Visit Next

*Turkey

*Brazil

*Croatia

*Seychelles

*Greenland

And so on...

The horn yearns for a break.

All Creatures Bright and Small

2006-06-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

It is a registered fact that I loathe, no, abhor, insects and critters of any kind. Nothing ruins a day for me like having to deal with a cockroach or a slug that has crept into my kitchen sink. I hate killing any living being, but I see no other way to be rid of such foul creatures so that they don`t end up in my Udon. I actually gag and even hurl sometimes when I do it.

Japan, with all its progress, hasn`t found a way to keep them away from households. Perhaps there is just a much bigger insect population here; too big to be eradicated, and the non-patented bug sprays sold in regular supermarkets are meant to suffice. But trust me, they don`t. It`s ridiculous, actually; once April ends, the spiders come out, followed by worms, centipedes/millipedes, and later, slugs, cockroaches, caterpillars, beetles, and those noisome pain-in-the-ears cicadas. Quite the entomologist`s paradise, I know. I dread moving onto July; there suddenly seems to be a tidal wave of them then-reminds me of the Scarab Beetle scene in `The Mummy`.

But there is one particular insect that I don`t really feel this strongly about-the firefly. In fact, I may even be fascinated by it. I recall this lyric in a Tamil movie song ".....minsaaram illamal pirakkinra deepampol meni konda vinmeenigal adhisayame...", which roughly translates to "...fireflies, which glow like lamps lit without any electricity, are wonders too...", as an associative memory whenever the insect is mentioned.

I`d learnt all about them in grade school; about their short life spans, their bioluminesence, and even why they feature in a lot of Japanese Haiku-like the Cherry Blossom in Spring and the Maple leaves in Autumn, their brief appearance in June marks the approach of Summer; but I`d never really seen one. Until tonight.

We at work had a day of training today; which meant there were no classes and we`d get done much earlier than usual. After a good six hours of justifying the paycheck, a few of us went over to a colleague`s house to what I thought was a couple hours of pizza, lame jokes and exclaiming what a salt mine work was; but actually turned out to a be much more memorable evening.

The colleague had planned a little `Firefly Viewing` for us, and since his place was located almost next door to a park known for its firefly populace, it was a literal walk over. Armed with pizza, a few beers and soda for the less flighty, and a blue sheet, we sat under the velvet black sky and gazed at a few stars, hazy from all the clouds, in eager anticipation.

A good crick in the neck later, our patience was rewarded. We saw tiny sparks of light here, there, and everywhere. Some of them were sharp and bright, and the others, dim. I was scared at first, when they came close, but my fear soon turned to awe. I couldn`t stop gazing at them, even long after they`d retired to their abode-what amazing creatures, I thought. They but live for a few days, and are rather nondescript per say, but for this amazing mechanism in their tiny bodies. What amazing life this planet beheld indeed...

After that, well, I just slipped into my Mother Nature-is -amazing-Earth-is-wonderful mode, and came home feeling rather subdued. Apart from the fact that one really does enjoy each and every season in its truest sense here in Japan, it is also quite true that he/she learns to really appreciate Nature. In the Shintoist mind, there is beauty and divinity in everything in and around him. Perhaps really understanding that will be the closest I would get to being spiritual.

Perhaps I might even learn to not let insects bother me all that much. No wait, that is aiming a bit too high. On that note, let me go check my kitchen sink.

Tip Tip Tip Tip Baarish......

2006-06-25T16:46:00.000-07:00

It's the height of rainy season here. Nothing to get excited about; the humidity increases tenfold and all sorts of critters and bugs come crawling out of their holes. (I wonder sometimes-on what sort of crack must God, or whoever, have been while creating such ugly forms of life? No, really. There is nothing even remotely beautiful about a centipede or a frog or a slug.)

But I love rain. I have always found it fascinating. One of my favorite pastimes is to stand and gaze at rain through the window, and wonder at yet another of Nature's phenomena. (Yes, that is wierd. And yes, I do need to get out more.) I just find everything from the cool crispness in the air to the fragrance of fresh earth and the glowing green of leaves irresistable. And that it triggers all sorts of thoughts, feelings, and even memories within me.

My earliest memory is of rain. I can't recall how old I was then; perhaps not yet a toddler. But I can still vivdly remember the scene-the rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the roof, the soft splashes they made when they hit the puddles, and the sticky heat of East African rain.

As an older child, I remember standing under a pine tree, hoping to catch the raindrops sliding off the needles on my tongue. The exhilaration of my patience being rewarded and the memory of the fresh taste of rainwater still brings a smile to my face.

I remember running in a downpour to get to shelter and slowing down halfway as I realized I liked the feel of rain against my skin-the parts of it that were exposed, at least. :)

I remember huddling in a corner by the window, frightened and yet, intrigued by the rumbling of thunder and the flash of lightning that opened for a grand show of rain when the weather broke at the end of Summer.

I remember being loved and caressed in the rain, being told it was to never end. I remember weeping in sync with the rain when I found none of that meant or came to anything.

I remember putting pots and pans under a leaky roof and telling myself that it wasn't to last; better roofs were ahead in life.

I remember being soothed by the sounds of rainfall whenever I felt dejected or lonely.

I remember to be thankful for the opportunity to take solace in rain and enjoy it with all my senses.

I love rain.

What do Empress Yang Kuei-fei, Duke Ellington, and Ramen have in common?

2006-06-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

Well, for one, they all teamed up to give me a well-spent Saturday evening.

I'd recently discovered a great hangout in Kobe; a Jazz bar named Sone (pronounced So-nay). Every Sunday, it hosts a performance by a quartet/band that is qualified and registred in the pro category, while on other nights, amateur but professional groups exhibit their skills. When I say amateur, however, I only refer to their ranking on the Jazz scale (or whatever the technical term for that is); they are pro all the way to me.

The last time I was there, the vocalist's rendition of Billie Holiday's bittersweet melodies kept me going upto a fifth Dry Martini. Even with my limited, neophytic knowledge of Jazz and musical instruments, I could tell the entire quartet was something else. They were the best I'd heard outside New Orleans.

I decided then and there that I would definitely make the effort to make this my 'regular joint'.

And so I resolved to go this Saturday. It took me a while to make up my mind to go; as I was in my all too usual 'too lazy to dress up and make the trip-Kobe's a good hour and a bit away by train' mode; but eventually, I managed to get myself out of the house. And soon, I was there.

Tonight, a different quartet was playing. The vocalist, in addition to being one of the most beautiful Japanese women I've ever seen, was also the proud owner of pipes on the likes of Sarah Vaughn or Ella Fitzgerald. She crooned her way into the audience's heart with Duke Ellington's 'Don't Get Around Much Anymore' and 'I Got it Bad and That Ain't Good'. As the perfect accompaniment, I sipped a 'Yonkibe'; a fruity cocktail in the most delicate of blues-the color of rare, highly teasured Ming vases. It was named after one of the most beautiful women in history, Yang Kuei-fei, who was the Empress of the T'ang Dynasty in China. What could be more 21st Century, I thought, than enjoying Modern and Ancient History simultaneously amidst techinological, social progess....?

The performance ended in a couple hours. As I made my way home, I couldn't help thinking how great it was that for once, my impulse to go out and have a good time didn't end up as a waste of effort. And that the high I was on came from simply having a good, quiet time on my own, and didn't require falling into the drunk and disorderly category or dancing the St. Vitus'.

I was starving by the time I got back, so I took a walk down the street from near my house to an overnite Ramen place-where they served good, SPICY Ramen. I slurped it all up in true Japanese style. :) It was the best evening I`d had in a long time.

Here's to Online Journals and other Web Logs....

2006-06-23T16:32:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to do this for a while. Try and do a web log every day. Not so everyone can have a peek at my supposedly exciting, whirlwind of a lifestyle (a misnomer, if there ever was one), but so I can try and get into the habit of writing a bit everyday. Hmmm...yet another attempt to adopt that elusive quality, discipline. Oh well, you never know. This might just end up being the next best seller. Or, for that matter, a ho hum-er. But we'll have to find out, won't we?

Not much goes on here on a daily basis that's worth logging, mind you. No sighting that would gain top marks on 'wierd sightings around the world' or a chance encounter with Dame Adventure herself. Take, for instance, the past week. Perhaps the most exciting thing to happen was my hurling 4 times within 2 hours during work on Thursday. For no apparent reason. I think I started a scare that it might be morning sickness; and since they lost the 1 other female teacher to it, the entire administration was shaking in its shoes. It took quite the effort to convince them that unless it were caused by Divine Intervention, it couldn't possibly be the case with me.

Not to dwell on the grisly incident, but that day marked a few things for me. It was one of the worst days of my adult life. I've never thrown up like that, unless I counted all the times I'd been seeped to the gills before doing so; and I felt completely dreadful. But I didn't know what was worse-the fuschia tint (hey, no compliments on my eye for color were undeserved) of my vomit, or the entire office fiegning cocern when all the while, they were keeping their fingers crossed that I wouldn't leave halfway and have them sub. While I never took the 'no sick leave' clause on my contract too seriously, I was forced to admit that I couldn't take a single bloody day off, even if I was bleeding to death.

So my point is? Let it not be misunderstood that while foreign employees get great compensation here, they are also treated specially. Hell, no amount of vacation time makes up for absolutely no sick leave. Especially when you fall into the 'flu once a year, occassional debilitating migraine' category.

Well. maybe I'm just being a hypochondriac and feeling sorry for myself. Anyway, that was this past week's excitement. Let's see if the weekend brings forth material for another story.

Cheers.

2005-11-04T21:33:00.000-08:00

This is the beginning of a new day.
You have been given this day to use as you will. You can waste it or use it for good.
What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it.
When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever; in its place is something that you have left behind...let it be something good.

2005-10-24T20:12:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I'm not there, I do not sleep.

I'm a thousand winds that blow.
I'm the diamond glint on snow.

I'm sunlight on ripened grain.
I'm the gentle rain.

When you awaken in the morning hush,
I'm the swift uplifting rush.

Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I'm the soft stars that shine in the night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I'm not there. I did not die.

2005-10-24T19:54:00.000-07:00

Water’s where it all begins and ends. Millions of years ago, long before even the existence of time, streams of biological components converged at that sacred breeding ground, water, to build the foundations of all forms of life now inhabiting the Earth. And when these forms complete their quotas of life and pass on, they end up as organic fuel, beneath the unfathomable depths of the oceans. They arise from, and fall back once again into that amazing chemical composition, that perfect marriage of hydrogen and oxygen ions-water.
The major source of energy-light, heat, and now even fuel, the sun itself, seems to regard the mother of all life as its abode. As paradoxical as it is to consider the sun, whose major characteristics are heat and light-easily extinguished by water- nestling beneath the waves, isn’t it also natural enough, that it rises from the ocean at dawn and sets right back into it at dusk?
Fire may put out, wind may break down, but water engulfs. When fire and wind are done with their victims, they no longer bear the slightest resemblance to what they once were. But water, on the other hand, simply engulfs its prey, to take them into its bosom, just as they are, and that is how they shall remain-never to come out again.
Water is the womb of life as well as its grave. Water is, indeed, where it all begins and ends.