Thursday, June 26, 2008
Maadi
My sister, while signing off from an email conversation, called me a maadi. I am aware that in marathi, this word translates to "child-bearing female". Hopefully it means something else in Bangalore.
Bragging
I think I am getting too vain about my biking prowess. Last weekend I did the Schuylkill trail again and it left me overflowing with vanity. Luckily for me, I was able to release some of this vanity into the atmosphere by bragging about it to my friend zambezi who unfortunately for him, called me when I had just completed the trail and was scarfing sambal shrimp in Penang. But there was still some amount of residual vanity left because the call ended prematurely before all the vanity had a chance to be vented. The disposal of this residual vanity had to wait a couple of days.
So then the other day, I was in this furniture store that was having a going out of business sale and I was looking at this table and the Chinese saleswoman asked me if I wished to take this table home today. I said that I couldn't because I had biked to the store. She said really, where had I biked from? I replied that I had biked from home, which was off Bob's road, did she know Bob's road? Apparently she did know Bob's road and she Ohed and Ahed and she looked damn impressed with my biking abilities which fucking irritated me. My frustration was due to two things. One, I had just completed the Schuylkill Trail the previous weekend, a distance of thirty miles which had filled me with vanity. And two, here was this woman getting impressed and complimenting me for a stupid biking excursion from Bob's road to her furniture store, which might have been three or four miles at best. Her getting impressed at three miles of biking was an insult to my vanity. I felt like I had just invented a perpetual motion machine but been awarded the Nobel prize for my other invention of toothpaste.
So this created a combustible mixture inside of me, which was just waiting to burst out. Which it did. I said to the furniture woman, "Bob's road, oh, come on, Bob's road, no that's close, very close. Very close, for me that is. You see, I bike a lot. I bike thirty miles every weekend. So Bob's road isn't a huge distance for me. I love biking." There, I had said it. She was now free to legitimately explode in admiration for my skills.
She asked me, "So are you interested in this table?"
Actually I was, because it was a good-looking table so then we measured it and I went back home and found that it was the wrong size of table. Too wide. This weekend I will do the Perkiomen Trail and go see a different table.
So then the other day, I was in this furniture store that was having a going out of business sale and I was looking at this table and the Chinese saleswoman asked me if I wished to take this table home today. I said that I couldn't because I had biked to the store. She said really, where had I biked from? I replied that I had biked from home, which was off Bob's road, did she know Bob's road? Apparently she did know Bob's road and she Ohed and Ahed and she looked damn impressed with my biking abilities which fucking irritated me. My frustration was due to two things. One, I had just completed the Schuylkill Trail the previous weekend, a distance of thirty miles which had filled me with vanity. And two, here was this woman getting impressed and complimenting me for a stupid biking excursion from Bob's road to her furniture store, which might have been three or four miles at best. Her getting impressed at three miles of biking was an insult to my vanity. I felt like I had just invented a perpetual motion machine but been awarded the Nobel prize for my other invention of toothpaste.
So this created a combustible mixture inside of me, which was just waiting to burst out. Which it did. I said to the furniture woman, "Bob's road, oh, come on, Bob's road, no that's close, very close. Very close, for me that is. You see, I bike a lot. I bike thirty miles every weekend. So Bob's road isn't a huge distance for me. I love biking." There, I had said it. She was now free to legitimately explode in admiration for my skills.
She asked me, "So are you interested in this table?"
Actually I was, because it was a good-looking table so then we measured it and I went back home and found that it was the wrong size of table. Too wide. This weekend I will do the Perkiomen Trail and go see a different table.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wikimulch
Sometimes I wish the wikipedia didn't exist. Blogs would be so much more interactive than what they are now if wikipedia did not exist. Let me give you an example. Mulch. I see mulch everywhere. Wherever I see flowers, I see mulch. Wherever I see ardently landscaped trees, I see mulch. Where grass is lacking, I see mulch. But what is mulch? From personal experience, I have this much to relate. Mulch is a soup of rotten tree parts, cut into bite sized pieces for convenient consumption. That is mulch. So now I know what mulch is. But what is mulch for? Where is the place of mulch in the soup of life? Is mulch the carrots? Is mulch the peas? The broth? Or is mulch those chunks of nicely tenderized human flesh floating ever so squeamishly?
It is not just because I see mulch every which way, wherever I ride, but also because mulch has a personal history with me. I found mulch here, underneath my deck. It was a stray orphanized bag of mulch, deliberately left by the previous owners of my house in order to torture me. They knew that I did not know what the heck mulch was. I was a real estate n00b. Mulch who? I do not know why they seeked to torture me though, since I paid them above-market price and did not haggle (sorry mother, it is true, fish is not real estate).
Now. About mulch. What is mulch is what I have to find out, let's say. Also, why mulch? Now here I have two options, okay. One is to log on to the wikipedia and ask the wikipedia, hello sir, good morning what is mulch, thank you please. The other option is to log on to my blog and after entering my shitty login and shitty password, ask the air, hello air, what is mulch, thank you please, and thank you for being so invigorating today after two days of 90s and 100s.
Wikipedia would have given me my answer in about 5 seconds, 2 of which would have been consumed in trying to find if my blog was referenced in that wikipedia article. And then what? I would know what mulch is, but where is the social interaction? Where is the personal bonding? Not here. Not here, it ain't.
But where is the bonding? It is here, in the blogs. For if wikipedia had not been born, if wikipedia had been aborted as a fetus, or if papa wikipedia had remembered to wear a condom while fucking mama wikipedia, the world would have been a different place. A better place. Oh, so different. For, if I had woken up this morning, wrought over the question of the mulch, I would have gone straight to my blog and asked of you, my twenty or so intentional readers, hello readers, pray, what is mulch? Are you in the USA? Are you of sane mind? Are you of ample vision? Are you ambulatory? Then, what is mulch? What, for God's sake, is mulch? And, what the heck is it for?
And you would have answered, mulch is ...... this, and mulch is....that, and mulch is.... you know, whatever. And I would have contemplated your answers, formulated my own follow-up question, maybe something like, hey, but why is it called mulch and so forth, and you would have replied, hi gawker, sorry, but this is all the time I have, it is summer and it is now time for me to go swimming with my girlfriend, and I would have said, sure, go, who the heck is stopping you, I have nineteen other intentional readers, who the fuck cares, and then I would have asked you, you there, in the corner, you, pretending to read CNN on the other Firefox tab. Yes, I would have asked you. Why mulch?
And you would have told me. You would have guessed, or you would have lied. Either way, there would have been an interaction, a bonding. There would have been a conversation, an exchange of ideas, a give and take of viewpoints. The foundation of society as we know it.
But now there is wikipedia. So I won't ask you. I already know what mulch is. It's a stupid answer in bulleted form and quite predictable. And I had kinda guessed it anyways. So no blogposts about mulch. No personal interaction. No enlightening conversations.
Which is why, fuck wikipedia. The next time I have a question, I will ask you. And you better be ready with an answer. It's okay if you make stuff up. After all, it's all about the interaction. And the comments. And the follow up replies. Mulch? Mulch could be a Seattle-based grunge band. It could be an ice-cream flavor. Or it could be a pornographic position.
Mulch is whatever you tell me it is.
It is not just because I see mulch every which way, wherever I ride, but also because mulch has a personal history with me. I found mulch here, underneath my deck. It was a stray orphanized bag of mulch, deliberately left by the previous owners of my house in order to torture me. They knew that I did not know what the heck mulch was. I was a real estate n00b. Mulch who? I do not know why they seeked to torture me though, since I paid them above-market price and did not haggle (sorry mother, it is true, fish is not real estate).
Now. About mulch. What is mulch is what I have to find out, let's say. Also, why mulch? Now here I have two options, okay. One is to log on to the wikipedia and ask the wikipedia, hello sir, good morning what is mulch, thank you please. The other option is to log on to my blog and after entering my shitty login and shitty password, ask the air, hello air, what is mulch, thank you please, and thank you for being so invigorating today after two days of 90s and 100s.
Wikipedia would have given me my answer in about 5 seconds, 2 of which would have been consumed in trying to find if my blog was referenced in that wikipedia article. And then what? I would know what mulch is, but where is the social interaction? Where is the personal bonding? Not here. Not here, it ain't.
But where is the bonding? It is here, in the blogs. For if wikipedia had not been born, if wikipedia had been aborted as a fetus, or if papa wikipedia had remembered to wear a condom while fucking mama wikipedia, the world would have been a different place. A better place. Oh, so different. For, if I had woken up this morning, wrought over the question of the mulch, I would have gone straight to my blog and asked of you, my twenty or so intentional readers, hello readers, pray, what is mulch? Are you in the USA? Are you of sane mind? Are you of ample vision? Are you ambulatory? Then, what is mulch? What, for God's sake, is mulch? And, what the heck is it for?
And you would have answered, mulch is ...... this, and mulch is....that, and mulch is.... you know, whatever. And I would have contemplated your answers, formulated my own follow-up question, maybe something like, hey, but why is it called mulch and so forth, and you would have replied, hi gawker, sorry, but this is all the time I have, it is summer and it is now time for me to go swimming with my girlfriend, and I would have said, sure, go, who the heck is stopping you, I have nineteen other intentional readers, who the fuck cares, and then I would have asked you, you there, in the corner, you, pretending to read CNN on the other Firefox tab. Yes, I would have asked you. Why mulch?
And you would have told me. You would have guessed, or you would have lied. Either way, there would have been an interaction, a bonding. There would have been a conversation, an exchange of ideas, a give and take of viewpoints. The foundation of society as we know it.
But now there is wikipedia. So I won't ask you. I already know what mulch is. It's a stupid answer in bulleted form and quite predictable. And I had kinda guessed it anyways. So no blogposts about mulch. No personal interaction. No enlightening conversations.
Which is why, fuck wikipedia. The next time I have a question, I will ask you. And you better be ready with an answer. It's okay if you make stuff up. After all, it's all about the interaction. And the comments. And the follow up replies. Mulch? Mulch could be a Seattle-based grunge band. It could be an ice-cream flavor. Or it could be a pornographic position.
Mulch is whatever you tell me it is.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Helpful replies
On the Amazon.com COD4 forum, some guy with a considerable amount of wishful in his thinking, asked the question,
"Will Call of Duty 4 (a PS3 game) work on the PS2?"
Some of the helpful replies he received from forum members were :
" Will my DVDs play in my VCR?"
"yes, but you have to mod your ps2...1st you have go buy a ps3, then you pretend its the ps2 and batta bing....it'll work.
" Will Uncharted work in my Dishwasher?"
"Will Assassin's Creed work in my blender?"
" Will Halo 3 work in my frying pan?"
You can clearly see why these forums are so popular among advice-seekers.
"Will Call of Duty 4 (a PS3 game) work on the PS2?"
Some of the helpful replies he received from forum members were :
" Will my DVDs play in my VCR?"
"yes, but you have to mod your ps2...1st you have go buy a ps3, then you pretend its the ps2 and batta bing....it'll work.
" Will Uncharted work in my Dishwasher?"
"Will Assassin's Creed work in my blender?"
" Will Halo 3 work in my frying pan?"
You can clearly see why these forums are so popular among advice-seekers.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Another Garden update
Lately, I have been taking an active interest in my garden. With the appearance of daylight and decent atmospheric conditions here in the mid-Atlantic, various things have begun to sprout and grow. The funny thing is that all throughout winter, not a single thing that is currently growing was visible. It's as if plants hibernate underground during winter just like fish and women.
A rose plant has appeared and it already has a yellow rose hanging from it. I never did anything to facilitate its growth. I remember back in India when my dad had to lavish a considerable amount of time, water, fertilizer, affection and rogor on our five hundred and sixty seven rose plants before a single one graced us with a flower. Here the roses do not appear to require any human intervention to prosper and celebrate life. In fact, they appear to be prospering in spite of my presence which, historically, has been to the detriment of plant-life. Neither of my thumbs is green.
And then there is another plant right by our doorstep which has also appeared out of nowhere and is now partying like it is 1999. This organism has assumed the appearance and demeanor of a rain-forest and has annexed most of my driveway to its kingdom. Currently, it is bearing about thirty-forty huge pink bastards and these bastards are so gigantic that due to their weight, the plant is forever lying prostate on the ground. I don't know what breed of flower this plant is. So the other day, I asked my neighbor, who appears to be knowledgeable in this area, if he knew who or what these flowers were and if they came from a decent family.
"Yes, they are called panties", he replied.
"Can you spell that for me please", I requested.
"Could you use it in a sentence", he countered.
"I have panties growing in my garden", I replied.
"P-E-O-N-I-E-S", he said.
"Oh yes", I said. "You mean ponies."
My other neighbor has the lushest, greenest, thickest backyard I have ever seen. It is in stark contrast to mine, which is a weed infested mess with a few blades of grass trying to make a decent living but having very little success. There is a well-defined boundary between my backyard and my neighbor's where the grass ends and the desert begins. It is so bad that the rabbits on her property have erected a fence in order to keep my rabbits from crossing over to the other side. They say the nibblings better over there.
I do not know what she did to deserve that kind of lawn on her property. I wanted to find out. So naturally, my first step was to guess. After spending a lot of time guessing, I made a list of things that I guessed were responsible for the superior health of her lawn. I then went to Lowe's. I purchased a weed killer. I purchased grass seed. And finally, I purchased grass fertilizer. Since I wanted my grass to de-weed, sprout and grow all on the same day because in this part of the world, summer only lasts for a couple of months which go by so fast that they seem like a couple of days and sometimes hours if you are playing the PS3, I mixed together weed killer, grass seed and fertilizer and applied the mixture to my lawn. The next day, my lawn disappeared, weeds, grass, earth and all. In its place was a deep hole, the bottom of which I could not see and through which I could faintly hear a number of voices speaking in a Chinese dialect.
Repeat after me. Patience is a virtue. Grass takes time to grow. Your neighbor's grass will always be greener. Weed killer, grass seed and fertilizer are not friends.
A rose plant has appeared and it already has a yellow rose hanging from it. I never did anything to facilitate its growth. I remember back in India when my dad had to lavish a considerable amount of time, water, fertilizer, affection and rogor on our five hundred and sixty seven rose plants before a single one graced us with a flower. Here the roses do not appear to require any human intervention to prosper and celebrate life. In fact, they appear to be prospering in spite of my presence which, historically, has been to the detriment of plant-life. Neither of my thumbs is green.
And then there is another plant right by our doorstep which has also appeared out of nowhere and is now partying like it is 1999. This organism has assumed the appearance and demeanor of a rain-forest and has annexed most of my driveway to its kingdom. Currently, it is bearing about thirty-forty huge pink bastards and these bastards are so gigantic that due to their weight, the plant is forever lying prostate on the ground. I don't know what breed of flower this plant is. So the other day, I asked my neighbor, who appears to be knowledgeable in this area, if he knew who or what these flowers were and if they came from a decent family.
"Yes, they are called panties", he replied.
"Can you spell that for me please", I requested.
"Could you use it in a sentence", he countered.
"I have panties growing in my garden", I replied.
"P-E-O-N-I-E-S", he said.
"Oh yes", I said. "You mean ponies."
My other neighbor has the lushest, greenest, thickest backyard I have ever seen. It is in stark contrast to mine, which is a weed infested mess with a few blades of grass trying to make a decent living but having very little success. There is a well-defined boundary between my backyard and my neighbor's where the grass ends and the desert begins. It is so bad that the rabbits on her property have erected a fence in order to keep my rabbits from crossing over to the other side. They say the nibblings better over there.
I do not know what she did to deserve that kind of lawn on her property. I wanted to find out. So naturally, my first step was to guess. After spending a lot of time guessing, I made a list of things that I guessed were responsible for the superior health of her lawn. I then went to Lowe's. I purchased a weed killer. I purchased grass seed. And finally, I purchased grass fertilizer. Since I wanted my grass to de-weed, sprout and grow all on the same day because in this part of the world, summer only lasts for a couple of months which go by so fast that they seem like a couple of days and sometimes hours if you are playing the PS3, I mixed together weed killer, grass seed and fertilizer and applied the mixture to my lawn. The next day, my lawn disappeared, weeds, grass, earth and all. In its place was a deep hole, the bottom of which I could not see and through which I could faintly hear a number of voices speaking in a Chinese dialect.
Repeat after me. Patience is a virtue. Grass takes time to grow. Your neighbor's grass will always be greener. Weed killer, grass seed and fertilizer are not friends.
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