Grievances, Inc.

There’s no right jacket

There’s no jacket that’s right as rain. Or right for the rain. Or for the wind or the storm or the snow….

Why doesn’t a jacket come with a hood, be waterproof and have a fleece lining? Why does it always have to be one or the other? And why is the weather always all of it together? And if a jacket has both the hood and the water-proofing then it doesn’t go with your work clothes. If it goes with the black formal trousers, then it invariably doesn’t have a hood. If it has a hood, it isn’t water proof. If it is waterproof, it is not a wind cheater.

Okay, you get it. And I bet you can’t do anything about it either. But London Fog can. Why does London fog make this bulky, fleece-lined, wool-lined, down-filled jacket without a hood? If you are wearing something that insulated, wouldn’t your poor uncovered head cry out in agony, cos no cap in the world can have the wool and fleece and down that your London fog jacket has? Something worth thinking about…..

Oh, so there is a fourth zone?

Picture this: a week before we were all to leave for Colorado in ’03, my boss was giving us the know-how on how to reach him “……..and remember I am two hours behind,” he concluded.

“Oh California is only 2 hours behind us? I thought three.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “California is three hours behind us. But we are moving to Colorado”
Like it makes a difference to an artless Indian who’d traveled 24 hours around the globe to play with bugs that were the same indecipherable creatures anywhere……

“Oh, I thought they belonged to the same zone. So there is a fourth zone?”

You can hardly blame me that I didn’t know a fourth zone existed till I was practically scheduled to land there. All the television commercials go, “.. 9/8 central…. 8 eastern, 5 pacific” If you’re looking at a time stamp on an email it is either eastern or central, sometimes California….

Who was to know there was a zone in between all of that….
Physically dominated by the rockies, and probably the best known zone as the crow flies, it is a shame that the rockies are not represented on the cultural map of the Americas. The people that know it call it the mountain zone…How about the ‘hitherto unknown’ zone?

There’s someone better than Jon Stewart

After resigning to the idea that Sampras was not indeed the unquestioned God of tennis (viva la Federer), I had gotten used to lookin up to Jon Stewart to fill that “infallible” void, as to getting my weeknights’ sleep, my midnight laughs and pretty much all else.

So, when a fellow-Stewart advocate told me recently that Bill Maher is quite amazing, I took it with a pinch of salt…..unfortunately I had to gulp down that salt pretty quickly after HBO on demand (and what a demand that is!)

Bill manages to get a hundred and one points across while being unbelievably funny at the same time. Stewart’s funny alright; but more often than not you are left wondering where he actually stands on the issues--- I know that’s not his job, instead that is exactly what he’s trying to steer clear from ---bein political ---but we already know he’s a left wing liberal and we love it ---why not give people a little more to love…..

Plus Maher is an unabashed heathen (can’t stand Jon Stewart's constant references to his semitism), so skillfully intolerant of even mildly-conservative ideologues and oh-so-single....

And Bill takes the brownie point in handling the other self-possessed Bill ---- O’Reilly, ladies and gentleman----- and actually stimulating his funny side (if ever there was one).
Plus, he doesn’t have any of the detours (read: This week in God, Back in Black) that Jon so heavily relies on.

Maher’s arrogance-----well-deserved, I hasten to add ----- absolutely takes the cake (Jon's nice even to a screaming Giuliani)…Bill has no qualms about revealing his disdain for local news channels or the non-elite (lines unheard on any other show: ‘that’s why he’s a taxi driver’ or ‘the local news channel is for cats caught in trees’).

Stewart is certainly not far behind Maher on intelligence or wit, but Bill Maher is simply better cos he’s not afraid to flaunt it.

The Sociability Quotient

There’s an intelligence quotient and then there is an emotional quotient…Why isn’t there a sociability quotient?

As a self-proclaimed ambivert I demand that there be an SQ pinned on my shirt. So that the extra-cheerful, more-than-merely-vocal guy in that corner realizes that I can’t just walk up to him and say hello. If he comes over and makes the effort, I’d be more that happy to oblige a greeting. But I can’t voluntarily come up to you and ask you how you’re doing or make a casual comment about the folder you’re carrying. Not because I have a problem with you or your folder, but because that’s the way I was made!

Hell, I spent about the first two years in this country figuring out the best way to fit in the “how do you do”, the “good” and the response to their “how do you do” within the fraction of a second it takes two human beings to pass each other. And that was task enough! In any case, if a person with an IQ of 10 can get away with performing badly on the SAT why can’t I get away with being the prude at the party? The world is an unfair place.

So this is how it works: you rate your sociability skills from 1 to 10. If you fall at about 3 and your acquaintance is at about 7, then it befalls on him/her to say the first hello, make the recurring phone calls and invite you over for dinner. That’s the way God intended, if I can mention Him a few hundred words after invoking the name of the unparalleled heretic, Maher.

And on the off chance that your friend is a “1” on the Sociability scale, you’ve got to learn from your sociable pals on how to carry on a conversation with a person that mumbles a barely decipherable “uh-huh” to your comment on Bush’s social security plan. Not a fan? Okay, how about the Italian restaurant across the street--- surely food is a non-controversial issue? Everybody I know loves it. Still “uh-huh”? Then try your last resort: the weather ….(Disclaimer: Might get you a response in Colorado, but don’t try that in Seattle or Pittsburgh. Could be fatal).

So, while the guy at ten talks and smiles non-stop and the guy at one says “uh-huh” and considers the job done, it’s the poor guy at five that has to ‘go both ways’….In this case, it’s not fun, believe me…..I’ve been with the ones and the tens….

There’s no substitute for meat eaters

I mean the meat, not the eaters (though there’s no substitute for them either!)

Yesterday, I went to a Thai restaurant with a couple of friends and I realized I am being discriminated against just for loving meat. My friend is ruled by the virtues of animal-rights and he wanted the chicken substituted with tofu. He was obliged immediately. I am ruled by the virtues of good eating and I wanted beef instead of shrimp. The waitress gave me an unsettling look that was quickly transformed to what could pass for “contrite”. “I don’t know if we can do that.” And they didn’t. She had a very sheepish (read: triumphant) smile on her face when she announced, “Pad thai with chicken and shrimp”. I should have told her exactly what I think of shrimp--- “Seafood is just where it belongs---in the sea. So leave it there.”

I deserve to get my beef just the way my pal deserves to get his tofu…..I demand to proclaim my choice of meat! I demand that when I order a good angus burger I don’t want lettuce spilling out of it. And I ask for “chicken” salad for a reason (or rather it comes as the unavoidable side with my pasta)----I don’t want to pick out two pieces of chicken from a plate full of lettuce and tomatoes. And I demand that the carrot doesn’t sit there impersonating the cow in my beef stew!


A dollar is never a dollar

I rented a car from Dollar rent a car two days ago and it cost me a hundred dollars---a whopping 40$ more than it would cost me from any other place. The McDonald’s dollar menu is always close to two dollars with tax, I have never found anything in the little bucks dollar store for a dollar, or at Family dollar. And while I am on the subject, no coffee at 61c café, the hip, elite student hang-out in Pittsburgh is ever 61 c.

Why call it a dollar when it isn’t a dollar? If I want it, I’d buy it anyway.

If you absolutely want to buy something for a dollar, walk up to the check-out counter --- IMHO, the only place in the world where a dollar means a dollar.

Two-timing a three-year-old and the television set

When I say kids don't become human till about the age of seven, it's not for lack of human emotion, but rather the excess of it; they cry for everything, laugh at nothing and get excited at the most mundane things (see, the sun! wow, a toilet roll! baah!)

Consider this: I have been stuck with babysitting my three-year-old niece on and off for the past few days cos the poor little thing has been really sick lately. Let's call her "she" so as not to be offensive to anyone---it's not too farfetched since that's what she calls herself, the "r" in "shree" being phonetically impossible for her. (Since my sis herself was a self-proclaimed "peeya" for the first five years of her life, I realize that history doesn't teach us anything when it comes to naming our kids).

For the many hours that I have spent in this humongous task, I have realized that two-timing her and the television set is the only reasonable way to do this. After all, the idiot box has in the past helped me deal with stress, impending doomsday and plain boredom; it failed miserably at the task of taming a toddler, however. I still think I did extremely well and for the fact that I have never been left in charge of such a tiny little thing ever in the past. So, I decided to take a leaf out of my book and leave it on the blog for anyone else (god forbid!) stuck in a similar situation:

First of all, if a kid lives around a 50 feet perimeter of the television, never turn the tv off on a possible kids-channel---Nickleodon, Cartoon Network and Disney are strictly off limits (your local PBS channel is the most deceptive---beware if you watched the Newshour the night before). Here's what happens: after a lot of nerve-racking, you somehow figure out a way to keep the child occupied and heave a sigh of relief before finally turning on the tv ---and bam, in float the high pitched shrills of Dora and her fellow-adventurers. That's it: she turns to eye the idiot box, is totally absorbed in no time, downright oblivious of the hundred other channels a fully-grown human being would rather watch.

And don't ever forego a news show and switch to a sitcom ---believe me, to a three year old, it doesn’t make a whit of difference --- the background laughter doesn’t seem to fool the kids like it does us (the fact that they guffaw at the most serious statements is a different point entirely; "she, you'll get very sick if you don’t take this medicine" *peals of laughter* duh!) If you are indeed watching a news program, choose one carefully--- she's a little more sympathetic to good looking anchors, so I'm sticking with Brian Williams; this is not the time for old newsmen like Scheiffer and Larry King is definitely off the table (sure respect her judgement there!)

On sitcoms, there's a wider range of choices; Full House and The Cosby Show are likely to be better tolerated; believe me, nothing interests them more than their own kind (read: those that shriek with delight on spotting a spider and giggle uncontrollably at the sight of a ball). Which reminds me, if you absolutely have to play a game, play ball or "hide'n'seek". Tossing the ball back and forth not only allows you to watch tv in peace, you'd be impressed at a three-year-old's hand-eye coordination. Hide-and-seek is not only a fun game (from age 3 to 33) but it also allows you to sneak into the den and check your mail while you are "hiding" and sometimes you can just "forget" to seek. Leaves the three-year-old out of your hair for a bit ;)

If she decides its story time, I choose to listen. In that case I can get off with an 'uh-huh' every five minutes. In my defense, the few minutes that I do turn my attention to her, she doesn't make any sense. But you can’t escape your turn at reading. So, make sure you pick your times right. And at this, I have advice for the so-called kids' book writers. Can’t they make it just a tad interesting? I read a 15-page book, the entire content of which was: "Shhhhh, tigger, pooh is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, piglet is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, Eeyore is asleep. Shhhhh, tigger, roo is asleep. Goodnight, tigger" !??!! It's only fair, cos she, for one, is not even listening to it. I might as well be reading the Times. That, by the way, is another good strategy: reading the newspaper out loud. Choose the art or sports section as opposed to politics. And put up with her absolutely frivolous observations--- "Blue shorts" as opposed to 'Federer won the Nasdaq Open'. It has something to do with colors. Reason why Barney's purple. Speaking of which, kids' videos are brilliant. I actually watched three barney videos and would watch more if I have to.

If its pee time or poop time, there's no way out. Just your hard luck. Time to start cursing the digestive system that you marveled at in high-school biology. Paraphrasing Marge Simpson, “How did you make that into that?”

At the end of the day, when she has just spent an hour to successfully finish a bowl of ten pasta shells and your patience is wearing thin, she looks up with a winning smile and shrieks "love you, maasi". That's when you hug her, decide she's adorable and switch off the telelvision. Only for a bit though. Friends is up next....

You explain to her that Friends is the grown-up Barney and you can’t get through an entire day without it…Hearing her chirpy “okay” you switch on the idiot box only to watch Monica, Rachel and Phoebe ogle at pictures of li’l Ben. Can’t the world function without little kids anymore?

The battle of the micropipette Vs the pen

[It occupied about a third of a page on an 8’ by 11’ magazine....a spectacular fourteen lines.....I still remember it vividly…...like any other ten year old, the toll of exams was probably the heaviest thing on my mind....so that's what my maiden limerick was about......the chill that ran down my spine wasn't a reaction to the subject of my article....rather, it was the immense feeling of pleasure that comes with seeing your name printed clearly in black and white as opposed to the barely decipherable squiggle you can manage on your own].

For as long as I can remember, I have been an ardent fan of the tabloid. I think it began at an age where I transitioned from the colorful set of building blocks to the equally vibrant world of newsmagazines. Wide eyed awe at sensational pictures soon lead to a scrap book of interesting bits and pieces; I prefer to use the euphemism, "collecting news", as behooves the nature of this essay. When I turned my attention to the accompanying text, however, I became a full-fledged editor at age 8, for striking out lines that do not appeal sure qualifies as "editing" in every sense of the word! Two years down the road, I took up pen and paper. Be it the dissonant array of words I called poetry in my elementary school years or the pen portraits of high school teachers that decorated my lecture notes, writing became an incurable passion.

When I became the unanimous class elect for essay contests, I progressed to graver topics than exams and teachers---if only for the reason that academic contests prefer to follow politically correct decorum. Soon came phases of being reporter, feature-writer, columnist, critic and editor-in-chief for the college newsletter. That’s when I finally outgrew the conventional writing pad and overcame techno-phobia to play with Microsoft Word and Acrobat Distiller. It was with some reluctance that I began to accept that Word Art did justice to my calligraphy and Paint Shop enhanced the appearance of my sketchy cartoons.

My obsession with writing, however, did not take away from the strong inclination I had towards research in the science of the living world. My fascination and bafflement with Nature’s myriad strategies, her intricacies and nuances were too strong to be tossed to one side. When came the stage of choosing the right road and I walked into the School of Lifesciences, it was not a case of wrong choices. Rather it was the self confidence of a person that had lived and breathed journalism all her life. Where I needed training in biology, I believed strongly that I could walk into a newspaper office and do just as well as anybody.

My fascination for the fourth estate has oft found me racing through dense, canopied forests or visiting horrendous crime scenes --– the best school could not conjure up the kind of laboratory I have had for journalism ---from the spine-tingling pages of paperbacks by day to elaborately fabricated dreams by night! As I have learnt most of life’s lessons from books and the celluloid, the likes of All the President’s Men and The Evening News taught me that the clanging of the teletype was music to my ears. (Little wonder then that Beethoven and the Beatles still fail to impress me!)

If my penchant for writing determined the choice of my dream profession, the general belief that journalists are not nice human beings only served to reinforce it. Yes, mortal that I am, I’d like to believe that the many facets of my character (often unappreciated in real life ;)) would probably be god-sent to a wannabe scribe. One essential attribute to my persona is a brutal forthrightness that leaves no room for shades of gray. Newsprint journalism with its promise of black and white thus has to be much more than just an interesting proposition! While I have found it easier to pen my thoughts during particularly difficult moments in life than shedding tears, the end-result is usually an emotive poignant piece proving merely that the pen is an easier vent to my emotions than the lachrymals.

The most defining trait of my character is also probably one that is of utmost importance to a journalist ---an undying thirst for thrill, excitement and danger and the willingness to pay a price for it. At every stage in life, I have felt a profound feeling of vehemence, an inexplicable and incessant need to live life on the edge. Contemplating over my choice of careers, I have felt that both my greatest interests in life have stemmed from this very search for a sense of disquiet. While journalism is an embodiment of it, research is a subtler portrayal; every novel discovery in the lab is an adventure in itself---a skirmish with the unknown and the mystical.

My first attempted foray into journalism came just a couple years into graduate school when I decided I was going the alma-mater route and defy my original dream of breaking into the fourth estate the ‘unconventional’ way (read: write a deep-throat-grade story on an internship and fly away with a pulitzer :) )…For what that was worth, I did get accepted into all the journalism programs I applied to but the twin determinants of fate and fortune wouldn’t allow it. Turns out, the NIH doesn’t fund you to be a journalist, neither do the Reuters. The fact that I was a fresh immigrant to the country with a bad credit history didn't help either. So, accompanied with four acceptance letters more for promise than comfort I moved to Colorado to continue to patronize the micropipette.

The second was when I began moonlighting for my campus newsletter --- spreading the gospel of scientific research (pardon the oxy-moron) to lay public on campus came easily to a person that had spent years trying to convey her fascination for the workings of the human brain to disinterested technocrats. Much too easily, it seemed when I started giving the 20$-a-month job more importance than the one that paid 2k. Moreover, moonlighting wasn't exactly my forte; let's face it, I have hardly been able to hide my emotions, much less a job under the table. And when my already flailing science began to take a beating, I knew I had to give up the pen for a while longer.

Back to 24/7 commitment to science without passion, I made my next big decision: quit the PhD --- a task already long overdue. It wasn't hard to convince my boss that my relations with science were not exactly dandy; my work spoke for itself. Through the after-effects of a broken ankle and an even more shattered faith in practical biology, I managed to graduate with a Masters. My job-hunt followed the usual process of grade A, grade B and grade C; namely, journalism, science writing and good-old-faithful science.

That paved the way to my next 'dangerous' decision. After being all-set for what would be a fascinating career to most (another two years of struggling with emotions at the bench for me) in New York, I decided to take a risk and fly to Colorado to interview with a company for a technical communications position --- the same sunny state I had fled in a hurry less than two months ago. After getting through three high-wired interviews, all inclusive of an intensive technical one, they called to say they were extending the selection process to one more on-site meeting. Drill me on technical issues and I could come out on top, but if they were going to call upon my charm (or lack thereof) -- or the requirement of a non-immigrant visa for that matter-- I guessed I was pretty much done. Moreover, a communications position probably preferred an American who can say her can'ts right ;). My suspicions came true when after nearly three weeks of nerve-racking, I got the dreaded "unfortunately...." call. So, went the story of my first "i-really-want-that" job interview.

So, what's in store for me next? I'm quite sure a 'micropipette job' is around the corner and I know I'll sleep easier knowing I tried. And my love for writing hasn't diminished a tad (don't 1000-odd words speak volumes!).

Oscar Wilde once said, "The difference between Literature and Journalism is that Journalism is unreadable and Literature is not read". Hopefully, one day, I will be able to refute my favorite short story writer, help reverse the former and justify the latter….

Ten Reasons to live on the East Coast

1. Jon Stewart re-runs at times you can actually watch them
2. Homo sapiens @ 1 per sq.ft.
3. Jaywalking
4. Sex and the city doesn’t seem like far-off fantasy land
5. The rapid-fire tongue (in more ways than one)
6. Skin tones that go beyond beige
7. Dunkin’ Donuts and its $1-breakfast sandwich :)
8. Public transportation
9. Jughandles (good to make life complicated sometimes)
10. Good Old Faithful wool (doesn’t always have to be fleece, ya know?)

Ten Reasons to NOT live on the East Coast

1. Sun
2. Sun
3. Sun
4. Sun
5. Sun
6. Sun
7. Sun
8. Sun
9. Sun
10. Sun

Common Nonsense

I don’t usually like to gather up a bunch of issues and call it a blog, but then, I just visited NYC, the city that spells randomness in every possible way, plus being jobless has generated too many thoughts in my mind in no semblance of order or conceivable pattern.

Hmmmmmm, so on this umpteenth trip to the city (about a hundred of them in the last month alone) I came up with another astounding realization about the big apple.
It refutes every possible theory ever proposed by man (I do, too, with all due respect to Newton et al., but then, noone takes me seriously).
For one, there’s Newton’s third law of motion ---in NYC no action has an equal reaction, believe me; opposite yes, but waaaaay more than equal! And Galileo’s concept of inertia. Moving objects don’t stop Mr. Galileo, not even eventually, whenever that might be. Then there’s Heisenberg’s theory of uncertainity ---it IS possible to predict both the location and momentum of a very small object in very vast space----even if that object happens to be me. That’s what the streets and avenues are for--- 2nd avenue, 33rd street or 7th avenue, 52nd street absolutely defines your location at any given time. The one law that NYC does actually follow to a tee is Murphy’s laws..

Sunday was my first superbowl “sighting”. I mean I did watch it a couple times before, but that was between flashes of Newt Gingrich’s shouts and Ann Coulter’s whinings (trust me, Fox News is the only channel that delivers hard news on weekends –hard, here being relative of course; most other cable news channels think Sundays are for eulogizing the dead or measuring the length of snake fangs). Anyway, getting back to superbowl, I must admit I have taken a liking to the American sport. But I still have my grievances: First of all, I think offensive and defensive are misnomers; to me, when I watch the sport, the offensive people have the ball alright but its the defensive team that’s scrambling all over them, so they are the offensive ones. But then, when the ball is so wrongly christened, I shouldn’t be complaining about the teams.

How on earth do they ALWAYS win the one-extra point? It seems awfully hard to be able to do-- kick the ball between the posts --- at least almost as difficult as a field goal. Which brings me to my next complaint; if I were a coach, I’d elect to keep doing field goals, since attempts at touch downs almost always end in tussles and don’t seem to go anywhere for a long time. 3 cheap points but faster nonetheless. But then there’s the journey is more important than the destination thing: whether you run or pass the ball to the very end (thus getting yourself nearly killed by your scary opponents), or just reach a point and throw it across to earn the low credit you deserve for your cowardice.

All said and done, a cool sport to watch....

And while I am in a ‘sportive’ spirit, let me bypass the rather painful process of making sense of Federer’s loss. I could concede and say that Safin played incredible tennis, but some things are just not meant to be: Sampras winning the French, Henman winning his country’s grand slam, Nalbandian getting past the quarters in any slam despite playing miraculous tennis, Taylor Dent powering his way past early rounds, me giving credit to Safin for ANY win (I didn’t do it when he disposed off old Pete from his home turf an awfully long time ago, I’m not doing it when he’s toppled the God of tennis). As a rule, I don’t like putting it down to injuries, but then Roger’s made an exception to every rule, so injury it is. With that, I look forward to seeing him defend his Wimbledon title in July and this time, actually watch him play the men’s final at Arthur Ashe. May Pavel be banned from this year’s Open. I’m buying tickets to the men’s quarters, semis and finals well in advance, just in case.

And finally, the reason for christening my blog thus—other than the fact that that’s precisely what it is, here’s an absolute katrician must read: Andy Rooney’s Common Nonsense. For one, it rescued my low morale on my absolute inability to “twist off” American bottle caps (apparently it’s a universal problem if Rooney cant shove a lid off somethin ;) viva la Passion), and for another he has some really wonderful lessons on how to surf channels without missing much of either (it’s an art, really, considering that a given “non-sports” program on TV has about 10% of actual worth---couch potatoes, listen up).

A big blow to the pro-life gang today......Ian Wilmut authorized to clone humans.... I am sure the conservatives are sulking.....Here’s my twopence: God /Nature’s role (depending on what you believe) in evolution is done. It’s now upto man to evolve himself...and if with all the technology we have, we can’t manage to cure our diseases there is no point in progress....Oooooh, I forgot, the conservatives don’t believe in progress. I wonder how they make words like liberal and progressive sound like poison and get away with it.

I hear they have plastic pooches now.....that, even I must say, is taking science a tad too far. Do dogs actually care how they look?

Methinx, I sound like Conan O’Brien, if you will----- jumbling a list of goings-on together and airing my inconsequential opinions on them. Oh well, sounding like Conan on a bad day, pretty much better than sounding like me on a good day......

WHAT THE %$^&%*$@!#& ?

That's all i can say about Roger's loss....
Still gathering my wits......
I haven't completely believed it yet.....
When I do, you'll see a post as to why that was all wrong....
I mean, after saving 6 match points wasn't he s'possed to win???
Suffice it to say: a guy that can save two matchpoints at deuce, when he's clearly not playing his best --- still God...

A denizen’s guide to being jobless in Sam’s Land

Eat more than you normally do (if that’s possible without getting sick 'cos nobody’s paying your health insurance).

Get your host to sign up for HBO on demand so you can watch every movie on the planet and yes, unlimited Sex and the city (they all have jobs alright, but their lives still suck more than yours does).

Take to NFL cos that’s the only thing you can watch on American TV ANYtime of the day or night.

To that end read “Idiot’s guide to Football” and realize you rank one rung lower than the idiot.

Go back to watching a game that makes sense when they start airing the first grand slam of the season if only for a fraction of a second (relative to American football) and scream your lungs out rooting for Federer, though he’s the last one on the tour that needs it.

Or here’s a better idea: Walk down to the nearest Barnes and Noble, grab a cappuccino at the cafe and sit down to read....

Books worth glancing at:

What’s the matter with Kansas
Thomas Frank (which reminds me, I have loved excerpts from his other book, ‘One Market Under God’ refuting the convoluted concept of free markets as an engine for democracy—amazingly well-written, though I have never gotten down to reading it).

Though What’s the matter with Kansas was written after the 2000 Election, it elegantly answers a very relevant question today--- How did the lowly-paid, blue collar worker (whose ideals and way of life are so obviously upheld and patronized by the Democratic policy) become a loyal Bush-loving red-stater? Other than the now-famous (and pain-stakingly resounding) ‘moral values’ concept, there is another perfectly valid answer. The “Two Americas” divide is not between John Edward’s rich and poor. In the mind of the average, small-town worker, the divide is between the intellectual irony-loving elite democrat living in the blue state and being paid to write legal briefs and economic reviews, the guy that thinks manual labor (the bread and butter of red-state America) is obsolete. Hence, these God-fearing, gun-loving moral-value-touting Americans are voting for Bush to wage war against Wall Street. Hear that? Waging a war against Wall Street and voting for Bush. Something sure is amiss there. And that is what Thomas Frank explores in this book. Tracing the history of the “great backlash” of populist conservatism, that essentially began as a fight of the little people against the high-flying liberal elite. The book actually makes sense out of the ridiculously fast-paced growth of conservatism in the country.

The Games Do Count
Brian Kilmeade (host of Fox and Friends—an attempt to show some patronage as my interest in the channel dwindles)

Tell me what games you play, I’ll tell you who you are. I was always a reserve on the high school basketball team. I have no complaints. I have quite a few certificates because of being reserve, which I wouldn’t have had I been on the team. But my point is, you play what you are in life. One of the reasons why I did better at athletic games as opposed to team games; so did a lot of my equally introverted friends.

Brian Kilmeade brings out that concept in a book where he describes celebrities (politicians, journalists and the like) as a portrayal of their sporting interests. It comes as no surprise that Jon Stewart’s idea of fun was hanging out with the guys in a bus and traveling to soccer games or that Bill O’Reilly thought he was a better player than a lot of guys on the high school football team though he himself was never on the team.
I’ll leave you with a quote from Dubya in the book that is bound to make you go searching for it:
“I loved the game [baseball] but frankly my talent didn’t match my enthusiasm.”
“ I took the game seriously but I never felt the pressure to be a better player than he [George Bush senior] was.”

I betcha he doesn’t feel the pressure in presidential debates either.

God’s Politics
Jim Wallis
An evangelical sees that ‘God bless America’ is found nowhere in the bible. Come on! How often does that happen?
A good book if you are wondering how faith in Jesus came to be known as pro-rich, pro-war and pro-American. And baffled by the republican claim that they speak for God and their monopoly on moral values. When faith asks that we do justice for the poor, why is the so-called religious party supporting enrichment of the wealthy? And when did abortion and gay marriage gain precedence as hot-button social issues over equality and justice for all, truth-telling, capital punishment and human rights?

Naked pictures of famous people
Jon Stewart
Jon Stewart’s amazingly original style of humor is just as compelling in print as on celluloid. ‘Lack of Power: the Ford tapes’ is sure to get any political buff cracked up while “Martha Stewart’s vagina” will send many rolling on the floor with laughter. Particularly funny was his portrayal of the last supper as a dinner party at Jerry’s and Jesus’ crucifixion as a bachelor party gone awry!!

America: The Book, A Citizen's Guide to Democracy Inaction
By the writers of The Daily Show
Cheeky and irreverently brilliant, the Daily show team does what it does best----dissect American democracy and critique everyone responsible for it—including the pilgrims. While the graphic pictures are the high-point of the book, the “discussion questions” and “classroom activities” are downright ingenious. If not for the now-infamous naked pictures of the justices, I am all for introducing this marvelous fabrication as required reading in high school.

Poll cracker

The only thing that depresses me more than Bush’s re-election today is the state of the US media.

It appears that in the aftermath of Dan Rather’s rather unforgivable gaffe for a news outlet as powerful as CBS and a program as popular as 60 minutes, Bill O'Reilly’s sex scandal after a lifetime spent delivering conservative sermons on sexual decorum, Jon Stewart’s being chastised for saying the truth at a time when he arguably conveys more news than his top conventional counterparts; the impending retirement of Tom Brokaw, undoubtedly one of the greatest broadcast journalists of all time and Dave Barry’s proposed hiatus from writing, we have a new miscreant: the new media.

Blogging is all well and good when you are complaining about the awfully cold weather in Colorado or lamenting a badly gone presidential election (like I am doing now), but when you are throwing out stats about exit polls (and warped ones at that) while an election is unfolding, you are doing more than offering solace to that cheery person in sunny Florida (though that might have helped Kerry): you are influencing the election.

Complacence is a state of mind that comes easily to Americans (we saw that in airport security months after 9-11). The last thing you want to tell a voting electorate, especially youth voters that have been dragged out to register at the very last minute, is that the candidate they were intending to vote for is doing extremely well in their swing state, with six hours left until polling booth closure.

If that explanation for last night’s results seems ridiculous, then the other one I have is even more so: Moral Values. Voters in Ohio, a state that has been the hardest hit in terms of job losses, wage stagnation, No Child Left Behind and Health Care, said moral values were the most important deciding factor. Why a man who's worrying about feeding his own child would care about an unborn one two hundred thousand miles away is beyond me.

The final explanation I have is the most disturbing. Americans like idiots.I should have seen it coming: the mistake they seem to excuse most easily is a lack of competence or efficiency but they would go all out to ridicule anyone with even the slightest taint of character.

Reason why George Bush's obvious lack of intelligence is not only easily excused, but appreciated (he actually got away with making jokes about his dismal performance in the first debate this year) as was Ron Reagan's charming presidential debate comment in an attempt to mask his lack of knowledge of the then president of Iran. The most powerful man in the world can have an IQ of 80 but he cant do anything that goes even slightly out of the prototype of a morally conscious individual, something the American people set rigid rules for. The same reason why Bill Clinton gets thrown to the gutters for having an extra-marital affair and John Kerry loses by the largest margin in US Presidential election history because he accepts civil unions and propagates abortion rights.

The media’s explanation for Bush’s likeability takes the cake: Most people in middle America identify with Bush when he looks down, pauses and tries to think about what to say next (and somewhere along the way, manages to utter irrelevant arguments like "He forgot Poland"). “Identify” with him? Are they picking a high school buddy or President of the United States?

Ten reasons to not vote for Bush

In the old days we'd see a threat... we could deal with it if we felt like it or not.

This is the wrong war at the wrong time at the wrong place

It’s hard work. It’s incredibly hard.

Well, actually, he forgot Poland.

I own a timber company? That’s news to me. Need some wood?

The only consistent thing about my opponent's position is that he's been inconsistent.

Here's some help for you to go to a community college

We were right to take action

I hear there’s rumors on the Internets that we‘re going to have a draft.

And, finally....

He and I share some things. We both married well. We both have trouble speaking the English language. And we both have big biceps.

Pity he thinks it fit to compare himself to a body-builder turned hollywood-star turned politician. American people (I hope) are looking for brain instead of brawn in their presidents. Not that Bush has either.

Quite frankly, a few months ago, I couldn't care less as to who would be in the Oval Office come January 2005. But watching George Bush against John Kerry in the presidential debates, I wondered how anyone would want to vote for a man that is so obviously out of touch with what's going on in the world and so incompetent at defending his own policies.

And the ease with which he makes jokes about his problem with articulation is absolutely over the top. While some might find his self-deprecating humility endearing, I myself think it's better suited in a comedy show.

The Oval Office, on the other hand, could do with complete sentences.

And miles to go before I sleep....

I have promises to keep...
And miles to go before I sleep....

I seem to be doing a lot of that lately--- the sleep of course, and then the miles, for the little town of Fort Collins seems to have blown out of proportion from its originally estimated four streets and a reservoir, come chilly autumn and a half healing ankle.

Getting to the good part --the sleep---there are these phases in life when you go through the entire day in a rush as if the whole intention of waking up were to go back to sleep again. While having to graduate in a month and working twelve hours a day certainly doesn’t help that process, it sure as hell provides a clear incentive.

Anyway, since I decided about three months ago that I was going to get off the beaten path and do something about the one that has consistently occupied my dreams since eighth grade, I have taken living "hopefully" to a whole new level. I mean it is one thing to go through high school, thinking college would be splendid but an entirely different one to fervently wish that by some force of magic the micropipette in your hand would transform into a pen, while the white precipitate in the tube tries its dandiest best to convince you that it is indeed the blueprint of life that all scientists claim it to be. That theory seems lost on you momentarily for that gleaming little white glob might well be papyrus in some condensed form, to harbor the deluge of thoughts threatening to overflow. (Scientists don’t call it blueprint for nothing!)

Like my good pal described it quite eloquently the other day, "living for the future while letting the present pass you by". He said it just didn’t seem right and I agree, though I have never believed in a right and wrong. As long as it works for you, and you are not affecting the fellow-law-abiding-human-being next to you, hold on to it, I say. Nor do I believe in a set of rules to acquire happiness, if it ever chances to come your way.
Grab on to it, be it with twenty minutes of an unseen-unheard-soul online or shattering a ridiculously expensive piece of crystal, as long as it delivers.

That's why yesterday took me completely by surprise; in my attempt to battle with science I have been adopting numerous strategies, the simplest being "attacking it probabilistically". Since I don’t really seem to understand Science or logic, I decided that if I conducted the same experiment over and over and over again, chance has it that it would work at least that one all-important time.

And it did! But what I wasn't prepared for was the unparalleled ecstasy I felt on seeing it work. "What the #@##$%@#%^@#%^@%^!" It goes against the entire principle of my being --- "I can’t derive happiness from something I positively hate!"

But it happened all the same and I am one step (out of 100000000000000000000000000) closer to graduation.

Oh well, don’t ever attempt to play life by the rules......

Game for New York? Roger!

Since I’ve never really attempted to enunciate greatness, I wont be writing here a blog on Federer’s incredible performance at the US Open or his winning streak at grand slam finals or his matching Wilander’s record or his doing it all without a coach.

Suffice it to say that if Andy Pavel had had the misfortune of running into me on day 8 of the US Open Championships, a herniated disc would not have been the only thing he’d have had to worry about. And for good reason. Weeks of planning, anticipating and scrutinizing draws ‘flushed’ right down the ‘meadows’ as I glanced up at the glowing celluloid screen say “Fourth Round: Roger Federer Vs Andrei Pavel Walkover.” Through my tear-filled eyes, it almost seemed to gloat in amusement.

I had of course conveniently forgotten the big role destiny plays in my life, blaming my ill-luck on poor Pavel alone. Lady Destiny couldn't remain elusive for too long however; she reinforced her position as the flag bearer in the play of events in my life, by not only ensuring that I didn’t watch Roger smash a tennis ball but also letting me watch Justine Henine lose to a considerable novice. (Justine, I consider as the single best thing in women's tennis this day and age).

As if to justify my dismay and frustration that day, Roger destroyed Lleyton Hewitt last Sunday in three hours of breath-takingly classic tennis that included everything from incredibly placed ground strokes to amazing backhand passes. Federer has every shot there is in the bag and as if that were not enough, he is constantly inventing new ones, catching his opponents off guard, stunning his audience and rewriting tennis record books. Yet he’s humble enough to say “That’s all I got”.

Rarely is there an occasion in tennis when you can hail a 6-0 set and say the guy at love played his best; thanks to Federer, Hewitt has two to his name!

The only reasonable explanation is that Federer has transcended tennis. He not only has it all, he also has the ability to churn them out when he needs them-- just like he turned around one of Hewitt’s few break points by flashing three aces. If McEnroe is calling him the best player ever, there must be something to it. And at the cost of sounding pompous, if I am saying Roger has left Sampras far behind, I’m saying a whole heck of a lot.

Let me switch gears a little bit from a subject that I simply could do no justice to with words alone to one that has, in the past, managed to fall prey to my plethora of adjectives, if only barely.

While Flushing Meadows was a deep disappointment on my holiday weekend, New York city more than managed to aid in recovery.

While one would hardly call a city of open water puddles and overflowing trash cans and airway-clogging trains a recuperating process, it does the job pretty nicely. Having always lived by the ideology, "make life as easy for yourself as you can", it took me a while to realize that my favorite city tries its dandiest best to refute that idea in every possible way.

My first grievance was with — well -- finding my way about. After finally settling down to the concept of following the looming Rockies westward for the past year, I found the sharp rights and slight rights and very very slight rights at Newark's Liberty airport way beyond my navigational skills. And the people who kept getting in the way certainly didn’t help. While I shrugged off my inability to read unreadable signs as forgivable, I was dumbfounded on learning that the towering Empire State Building on 6th Avenue didn't do me any favors in direction either. Bottom line: Without the guiding force of the monumental Rockies, I am pretty much lost.

While I have oft visited Fort Collins' old town during my rare attacks of loneliness in search of strange human company, and cursed its inability to deliver even on a Sunday afternoon, I wasn't prepared for New York's "too many people in too little space" concept. For one, my still tender ankle didn't take the shoving and pushing too well; secondly, I blame the sudden recurrence of my dormant asthma to NY-after-effects. Either that or my poor little lungs are simply not able to handle the vast amount of air Colorado rations to its denizens.

Every time I've wanted a much-needed change from Fort Collins' almost perfect, 97% Caucasian, incredibly fit and predominantly wealthy population, I've craved a trip to Denver or Boulder to see the oddities. With it , comes usually a sense of nostalgia and the distant thought of NJ transit and PATH trains that would effortlessly transport me to New York city every Friday and Saturday night. What I had conveniently overlooked in my dreams were the half eaten bags of Lays chips and dripping Pepsi cans left at doorsteps, the unmistakable smell of McDonald's fries, the impossibly long queues at ticket counters and the scrambling into just-fleeing trains at Penn Station.

But when the end-result is a walk along the waterway at Hoboken, a frappacino at a Starbucks by the Hudson, a bite of sound Indian food at Jersey City or Manhattan’s unmistakable charm, the train rides, the crowds and the discrepancies seem not only acceptable, but well worth it.

For all its quirks and its "I'll make life as tough for you as possible" attitude, for probably the millionth time, New York gave me what I went for --- the ability to pull off another mundane year of life in its wake.

In all fairness, it has also helped me appreciate the little things Colorado offers in stark contrast. For when I heard the friendly “Here ya go gal” that accompanied my first post-New York cappuccino, I looked out the window at the formidably protective Rockies and knew I was home.

My first bite of the Big Apple

With my 26th birthday fast-approaching, I am not getting any younger and as has always been with every B-day in the US, I originally set out to visit a new city (yeah--another point on my 'uncountable reasons to love Sam’s land' is that Labor day falls conveniently close to my birthday every year), but this time I decided that a broken and still-recuperating ankle, a lost car and painstakingly fruitless weeks of science later, I deserve a much-needed break and instead of venturing out to a new city (Vegas, San fran and LA were on the cards) I should just travel to the one that has never failed to promise (AND deliver) unadulterated joy for me. Yeah, what better than New York city, where I made my debut as a lost and lonely fresh-off-the-boat desi on this very day three years ago?

So, here I am, planning my trip ---right from the bustle of Flushing Meadows to the unlimited spread of desi food--- and sure enough, reminiscing about the city has made me nostalgic; so here's an excerpt from my carefully penned-down thoughts the first time I set foot on it......

[I wasn't as seasoned a writer then, but I’ve learned since that seasoning takes something away from the unmistakable awe that only naiveté can render. So much so, that when I write my travelog post-labor day, I cant promise that it will deliver the candor of this one....My acquired experiences and cultivated Americanism since are sure to cloud my ability to convey the supernatural that is New York...]

After almost twenty-three years of the arcane artlessness of India that I had so grown to love, it wasn’t surprising that my first sampling of American soil took my breath away. Who would have thought, however that my maiden step onto Madison Square Gardens would positively return it all in full earnest? And while my lungs were battling the extra gush of air, my mind was working overtime despite the month-long ‘jet lag’ of a 24 hour trip across half the globe. New York city could breathe life into a corpse was my first thought on recovery.

Sky scrapers and museums is what the city probably depicts in the literature, but when you actually set foot on it, it is not so much the Empire State Building or the Museum of Natural History that overwhelms you, but the rather pedestrian and ubiquitous species—the Homo sapien.

People -- that was the first thing that struck me -- literally and figuratively! People on sidewalks, people shopping at malls, people crossing streets, people roller-blading, people walking down Central Park, people running and jogging or even people simply standing and staring in awe and wonderment. I was not alone.

I could have stood there all day, gawking at the lights and life of the city, but that wasn’t to be. I was soon catapulted into the pandemonium that was Manhattan and as I flowed along with the deluge of people, and walked towards the famed Times Square, it was almost as if a gradient of life had been set.

42nd Street and 7th Avenue could well be a microcosm of the city itself-- billboards and neon lights flashed relentlessly and as if the place were wanting demographically, effigies and figures sprang up the tops of buildings and mannequins stared out of shop windows, almost ready to spring to life and match the tempo of the city; somewhere a clock ticked, quite unnecessarily, in the timelessness of Times Square.

There is something profoundly special to the people of New York -- the emphatic ‘Hello, how do you do’, the smug smile, barely concealing their pride and love of the city (bordering on scorn for their less fortunate brethren), the complacence that allows them to walk past green lights, heedless of honking cars and oncoming traffic and finally, the sprightly spring in the step, exuding cheerful optimism are all distinctly individual to New York’s denizens.

And as if to match the people’s élan, the city is bathed in lights. Be it the well-lit foyers of hotels and restaurants, glittering shop lights, flashing neon signs or the headlights of oncoming vehicles, they all give the city its sense of completeness, rendering superfluous, extraterrestrial light sources that lesser mortals so gravely depend on.

As if to add a third dimension to the bustle of the city, vehicles blare, music plays and sirens screech, barely audible over the babble of the crowd.

The city boasts of rhythm of a different form, however. While roller bladers, cars and buses alike whiz past, cyclists and joggers struggle to compete, not quite matching pace, but the true ruler of the streets is the ambulatory pedestrian, his only dictator, his own whims and fancies. Amidst all these classes of people is the contented equestrian on his chariot, neither interested in affording competition nor belittled by the pace of those around him.

While I returned from the city that night, one billboard caught my eye. If all the energy of New York City could be harnessed…….. I read no further. The sudden rush of adrenalin and the racing of my pulses were probably for real.

'Fox'ily conservative?

[After the option of watching CBS news, arguably the best news channel in the States---I think the Early Show and 60 minutes can attest to that---was snatched out of my hands on moving to boondock Colorado, I have been an ardent devotee of the Fox news channel, much to the perplexity of my friends and fellow-political-buffs].


I decided that as a loyal patron of FNC (read: taking blows from friends for following news on it, accepting their right-wing tilt despite being a diehard social liberal and returning time and again to number 42 after tirelessly flipping channels for half hours straight on weekdays) I needed to come to the defence of the most-watched cable news channel in America after the recent controversy over the premier of Greenwald's "Outfoxed".

OF COURSE the channel has a distinct right wing tilt. But so what? The right wing tilt is attributed more so by Sean Hannity, Bill O'Reilly and Brit Hume, all of whom have openly proclaimed that they are conservative americans that respect the traditional views this country is built on. 

I dont see what the problem is with that. A news channel without a flavor would be like an Op-ed column without an opinion. What needs to be objective is the reporting, not the talk shows.

If a fox news reporter reporting the Abu Ghraib prison scandal came out and said that it was not as bad as those inflicted under Saddam's regime, it wouldn't be fair. Because a reporter is expected only to report. 

But if Sean Hannity said he supported Bush's war on terror as opposed to his liberal counterpart, Alan Colmes, I dont see why that is wrong. And in defence of the channel, I think it is a whole lot better to say it openly than proclaim to be an objective channel like CNN whose left wing tilt is more than obvious.

Nor is O'Reilly wrong when he claims that the ACLU sometimes takes matters too far when he has reinforced time and again that he is a conservative church-going american. Because the very idea of a talkshow IS to air your opinions and give your perspective.

If Ann Coulter can get away with Treason and Mike Moore with Farenheit 911, then I am sure Brit Hume can be excused for having more republicans on his show than democrats. After all, you pretty much have the choice of not watching FNC as much as of not buying Stupid White Men.

I might not want to watch Bill rant about his conservative social views but give me a news channel other than FNC that will allow me to watch Jonathan Hoenig give us capitalistic thumbs ups. Or even remotely suggest that Martha Stewart was penalized more than she deserved. What a breath of fresh air that is after seeing left leaning, equal-opportunity advocates denounce her on the basis of her success alone. Being complacent over your success is acceptable, but over someone else's downfall? tsk tsk...

Bottomline: A cable channel is gonna show you what they believe they should. It's up to you to choose what you want to watch.

The only thing I take offence with is the "fair and balanced" slogan for the channel. But, then again, CNN calls itself the "most trusted name in news". What's that all about? Excuse one rhetoric, excuse them all, I say.

And I have one little suggestion for FNC skeptics. Try watching The Co$t of Freedom, Cashin' In and Cavuto on Business---the best financial news there is, is on FNC.

When the other side is 'green'er...

If you thought Dean's getting ousted from the democratic presidential race because of his "primal scream", or Clinton's infidelity being compared to Watergate or the infamous Florida ballot of 2000 (to borrow Dave Barry's eloquent style, ‘[where the voters] apparently voted for two presidents, or no presidents, or part of a president, or, in some cases, simply drooled on the ballot') were the funniest, most ridiculous things that happened in American politics, you haven't heard of the new-found alliance between the former green party face and --surprise, surprise-- the GOP itself.

Much as 'My enemy's enemy is a friend' works wonders in the uncomplicated life of a layman, it takes the already comical world of politics to new heights of absurdity.

Why would two conservative groups that oppose same sex marriages and abortion rights support the farthest left-wing candidate in the nation?

Kibbe, the president of one of the groups, the Oregon Citizens for a Sound Economy says ----Nader "forces John Kerry to explain where he is on things". Unless I'm grossly misinformed, this surely is the first instance of nominating candidates to explain what OTHER candidates stood for. And if the theory of painting black to make the white look whiter were true, how about a far-right candidate on the spectrum? After all, doesn't Bush support civil-unions and fund stem cell research?

And if I were to go a little further and suggest a candidate, Ann Coulter would fit that role to a tee. You don't get any "righter" than that. I think she comes closest to balancing the scales with Mike Moore on the other side (Not literally, of course).

She should be able to exemplify all the Republican mantras: "Do you actually BELIEVE that Bush is more dangerous than Saddam? Do you actually believe that Scott Peterson is innocent? Do you actually believe that Iraq did not train al Qaeda terrorists?" When will the grand old party learn that you don't run a country on belief? That's religion; but I guess we can’t blame them for not knowing the difference; after all, they oppose gay marriage and abortion and euthanasia because religion tells them to. Apparently, supporting someone that supports all of that doesn't count.

And their excuse for helping Nader: they want to "provide more choice".
Republicans --- those members of the political arena that are always intolerant to the liberal viewpoint, that NEVER let the democrat be heard in a talk show, that scream 'media bias' when the NY Times publishes more stories about Abu Ghraib than Nick Berg, that would move mountains to block distribution of a movie that represents the opposite side, that are ready to attach the label "traitor" the moment you oppose a single act of the president want more choice?

IMHO, they’d be better off allowing people that choice in choosing their life partner or making a decision about their unborn baby.

WIN-dledon

A one and half hour lunch break bang in the middle of a working day is good, no matter what, but when it is taken so that you can catch the most of the Wimbledon men's quarterfinals, it doesn't get any better than that. So what if the protein you are supposed to make before you graduate is sitting in the cold room without protease inhibitors, this is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Federrer and Roddick are up on the cards and did they deliver!

Even when I diligently watched Pete Sampras play during those stunning ten years, with every shot sending my heart beat jus a little higher, I didn't realize the full potential of a rocket powered ace. But today, watching Andy Roddick tackle who is probably one of the most under-rated tennis players in this decade (IMHO Schalken comes second only to David Nalbandian in that category) I realized just what an ace can do in a game. Schalken was clearly not lacking in any aspect of the game but the serve. Little wonder then that the first two sets ended in tough tie-breakers, with the second one actually goin upto an incredible 10-8 in favor of the american heart-throb. Not to mention the rallies that kept the crowds breathless for minutes on end.

And while we're on the subject of under-rated stars, while some players return year after year to write tennis history and leave indelible marks on the diaries of grandslam tournaments (Krajicek beating Sampras in '96, Ivanisevic winning wimbledon in 2001 as a qualifier), there are some that get noticed for reasons other than the game itself (Anna Kournikova has single-handedly headed that list for a decade now).

Good luck to Schalken---he just has to learn to tackle that serve better and I'm putting my money on him winning a championship. Not to belittle the power and talent that goes into concocting a shot as unanswerable as an impossible ace, you only have to look to taylor dent for testimony. His game screams---"Tennis is more than just whipping up a 145 mph serve"--no wonder the guy has not made an appearance past round four in a grand slam tournament.

Talking of aces-- or rather the lack of them--that was precisely the reason why Hewitt was fighting a losing battle against defending champion Roger Federrer on Center Court today. I am yet to find an aspect of the game that the Swiss player hasn't perfected yet, but Lleyton still could have given people a little more for their money.

And as for Henman, it was a bad day. If it helped him, so was it for ten thousand others. The Henmania that religiously returns to Center Court year after year is testimony to a more reasonable kind of popularity (read: it is not based on short skirts and blond hair).Henman is no doubt a player of great class and other than the forces of destiny and a certain Pete Sampras, I am lost as to why he is yet to a win a grandslam; the one person that stopped him in his tracks all these years retired in 2002, giving fans at the Henman hill renewed hope. He even hired his idol's coach to try to shift his stars a little bit. But unfortunately, three years and Ivanisevic, Hewitt and Federrer later, Henman still looks on at the cup from a distance.

And this year the one to defy that roar from Henman hill was a 6-foot-plus---incredibly good-looking, I must add-- novice to the game, an unheard-of Mario Ancic. I would have let that "unheard-of" be, if I hadn't chanced upon his picture on the site! Roddick thinks the waters in Croatia breed tall giants, but I would attribute more to the water than mere inches.*Sigh* Step aside, Kournikova, here's someone that knows how to look good AND play tennis!

For all my Ancic-mania, unless the 20-year old pulls off a magic act on Friday, the stage seems all set for a Roddick - Federrer final. And that means a good July 4 weekend for tennis fans.

When the going gets tough, the tough make it tougher

[Ever seen that kid hunched over like a Neanderthal, carrying an all-important bag of books? That is one of the reasons why –to borrow from Ross Geller of Friends---evolution is still just a theory. Here’s unleashing one of the Katrician pearls of philo….]


'There has been no play so far on Day 3 of The Championships due to rain. It is hoped that some play will be possible today'.

That's what the Wimbledon site said. If I had had the luxury of staying home and watching it on TV like last year (thank god for qualifying exams), I would have seen a bunch of people running across the court with tarpaulin sheets in the desperate hope that human speed can actually counter the relentlessly falling droplets of rain sent from high above.

After much thought, I have hit upon this theory that man does like to make life tougher for himself (like it needs any toughening) and then he hopes that things came easier; masochism and hope are the two half brothers of man's constant struggle for existence and sustenance.

Taking my Wimbledon example to a point where it becomes just short of excruciatingly, painstakingly long-drawn, all the authorities at the all-England lawn tennis club need have done is have a retractable roof. In this day and age of supercomputers and microchips and micro micro micro chips (for want of a more techno savvy term), surely it is possible to have a roof over a center court that harbors ten thousand people for three weeks (or twenty five weeks depending on each year's respective rain delay) every June?

But we should give Center Court due credit. It seems pretty far advanced in comparison to Flushing Meadows, where they have two-dozen workers on their hands and knees wiping the courts with towels and blowers. Quite ironical in a land where people spend hours picking out the best fitting covers for their cell phones, I must say.

But I have a theory for that as well: I think Americans have a serious problem with tarpaulin (believe me, I don’t think the French or bin Laden even come close). Tell me, ingenious devices as snow scrapers are, wouldn't you rather just cover your car with a tarpaulin sheet and remove it the next time you resumed driving (not that in the blinding snow shower it makes a whole lot of difference whether you actually remove it)? If the concept of tarpaulins had hit this country, my room mate and I wouldn't have been perilously close to losing our fingers to frost bite during those famed Colorado blizzards. No, I wasn't here for the BIG one ---I can still count up to ten on my hands. (In case you are wondering, my brain simply doesn't work beyond two).

Then there are the vegetarians. I think they spend more time looking at the menu card than eating the one item that they ultimately hit upon with vindication comparable to the look on Bush's face the day Saddam was captured. I have tried telling them that the chickens and the cows are going to get killed anyway; if not, man would die of starvation. Don't the principles of statistics and probability mean squat to these people? The little I have retained from high school probability is sufficient to surmise that the option of one item out of ten thousand in 1000000000000000000 days of your life is a surefire route to insanity.

Oh, and yes-- the religious zealots. These are perhaps the most creative masochists. They range from people that stay without a morsel of food or a drop of water for days on end to those that camp outside the Alabama State judicial building to protest a piece of stone being wheeled out to those that demolish the Babri Masjid. Then there are, of course, the ones that fly planes into skyscrapers. Not to mention the opposite end of the spectrum that spends millions of hours and bucks contesting court cases because their kids have to listen to other kids say "Under God".

And all this in the name of 'He' who either doesn't exist, or if he does, is himself wondering how your cutting down on carbs might fetch you that all important grade. Now, about those inches around your waist, neither man nor God is really sure. But you might wanna ask Atkins.

A group of very interesting characters in the subset of human masochists I think are students. They, by far, take the most circuitous routes to reach seemingly straightforward goals (not literally of course--that's my area of expertise). For instance, they insist on carrying ten tons in their backpacks when the school has so thoughtfully provided metal lockers for the purpose (and they will dutifully carry their baggage WHEREever they go); their favorite place to crack math problems is a coffee bar that plays music at decibel levels at least two times more than that recommended for the human ear. And any amount of explanation that music distracts the brain falls on deaf ears (and for good reason).

And I am not even going to go into details of those that vacuum the same area of the carpet for two hours, seemingly seeing a grain of dirt that is not visible under the electron microscope, those that hand wash and air dry their clothes because of longevity (I wonder if the longevity of clothes matters when your own longevity is fast decreasing) and then those others that insist on going well under 50 mph on the highway because about ten years ago someone they knew got a speeding ticket (the idea that speed limits in the last decade might have been different does not even occur). Not to leave out the ones that stand at the crossing for an hour waiting for the “walk” sign to appear. The last time I read about it, walking was a voluntary action. And I certainly have to mention the hypochondriacs that clench their stomach and their fists in agony but wouldn't take that all-important pill because their great grand fathers predicted two hundred thousand years ago that medicine invented in the 20th century is 'bad' for you.

The most interesting group of masochists IMHO are the environmentalists; yeah, these are the ones that blow up tons of concrete in the name of saving a few trees from destruction. And then they go and destroy research labs (here, I am with them--it's not just the experimental animals they are saving, believe me); they are also the ones you'll see cutting the paper towel in half at that corner of the table, or to take it a little further, licking their hands (If it's the barbecue sauce on the spicy buffalo wings, however, I'd ditch the paper towel too--- not literally---cos then the green men will be after my life).

Into that heaven of Freedom my father, let my country awake

Only this time round, it's freedom from the Permit-Raj.

If there were a time when economic freedom for India seemed more important than ever before, it is now. And who better than a Cambridge trained economist who comes closest to my definition of an Indian libertarian holding political office.

About a decade ago, I remember watching with a great sense of appall, his almost anarchic liberalization of economy. But of course, back then I was an ill-informed, idealistic, die-hard Marxist.

Ten years and two Ayn Rands later, I am older and wiser. *grin*

And I couldn’t choose a better time to say this. Outsourcing, I think, is one of the best examples of a free market economy-the rich growing richer and the poor becoming richer- in essence, the monies multiplying.

India excels simply because it has all the makings of a skilled and educated workforce.
And the US gains cause its putting it’s money in the right place (literally!).

Anarcho capitalist? So be it. Imperialist Capitalism. Couldn’t get better!

Those are, after all, the ideals that capitalism is based on. The rich and the successful are the power players. Reason why the US outsources to India. Also the reason why it invades Iraq.

Manmohan Singh’s ideology of “get the government off peoples’ backs”, his simplification of taxes and minimizing of regulations is exactly what the country needs right now.

Let’s begin to 'ask not what your country can do for you, but what it should not do to you' (with all due apologies to John Kennedy).

De-centralize and privatize should be the mantra of a Singh-led Congress party. At this stage of a flourishing economy, it sure could work some wonders.

Ode to the roomie

[ With contributions from Vidy]

Vidya speaks >

It was a typical 9:00pm drive. Its something that both Katrix and I look forward to. Especially after a day filled with nothing but “ G’morning…..O No Ur Fine…That’s ok……..O That’s fine I can come over the weekend and work on it…….Sorry…Please….Excuse Me……..Thank You…..” Phew! What a day. Finally the 9:00pm drive.

Vidy: Tring tring
Katrix: WHAT!
Vidy: Hey u think we can go for the usual chakkar?
K: Hmmm wait 10:00pm is Friends, so if u wanna go we have to go now
V: Ok done can u come and pick me up.
K: Sure.

Ten minutes later both of us are in the Chevy, the car that has been a dear friend, philosopher and guide (believe me when I say guide. I read this book….Why Men Don’t Listen And Why Women Don’t Read maps…..I believed the former….courtesy Dad, but the latter dawned on me only after I came to the US of A.

So we are on our way, I turn the radio on and am thumping my hand on the arm rest. Katrix has her eyes on the road, she has improved tremendously……except for the occasional speeding over a bump or past an amber light that is accompanied by a predicted “What the F%#$!. This place has the worst bloody roads” and a faint heart attack for me. But today I am oblivious. I am absorbed in the world of Squaredance by Eminem…….he is making no bones that he hates the Bush administration. I make the mistake of mentioning that to Katrix.

Katrix: I like Bush! I mean what the hell! He is gonna come to power then all these suckers will keep their mouths shut.
V: Hmmmm. Hey this song is by Nickel Back. I love it!
K: Yeah me too. *grin*
V: Ammam very funny K.

Note: For ppl who don’t know Kartika well enough…which is rare, her sense of music is non-existent, kinda like my knowledge of American Politics.

V: Hey you know what John just said--- he has this awesome LOTR stuff that he wants me to see.
K: U and LOTR. I hate anything that’s fantastical. I think Matrix is awesome. I mean the philosophy applies so much to our lives.
V: WOW! Wait a sec, why would I want to see a movie that tells me something practical and banal! I like my fantasy world, my knight in shining armor…Arag….
K: Who-- the Hidalgo guy!
V: His name is Aragorn not Hidalgo *frown*
K: Whatever! U are such a kid!! Grow up, two year old!
V: Podi! :P
I know what to do to irritate her. She hates the “Homies” lingo. My “yo bro” vocab has improved thanx to my interest in afro-american singers and my passion for Comedy Central! Bring it on Dawg!

V: Yo B%&*#! Whatcha doin goin on at 45mph instead of 30 huh! I gotta tell u gurl I don’t want nobody stopping us and …..
K: SHUTUP!!!!!!!!!!!! My god! How the hell can u talk like that! Chi that’s so unsophisticated.
V: Hey that wasn’t nothing. Don’t front me gurl! U know I am down for u forever
*wink*

That did it! She had had enough! She switched off the Radio. Be fair! Who is the two year old!
Well its moments like these that make my mundane life worth living. So, here we are—two two-year-olds, in a Chevy, with music blaring. We love our small world; it’s our time, our spat, our semicharmed life!

V: Hey u know what, I think I like applied bio, I mean its awesome. Its really not enough to know how things happen, its great when u say “ hey u know we can use that to do this” isn’t that awesome!
K: I hate applied bio! I mean its like, paper publishing science.
V: Hmmmmm
K: Nope, it's like this. I wonder how nature thought of everything. I treat biology as a philosophy --know what I mean?
I dont, but I just nod anyway. After a few months with katrix, you kinda figure you have to let her have her way sometimes. But if she goes on and on about it, she's goin to get it back. She knows that too, I guess, cos she says that and stays quiet.
K: "well, I think jeff has that feeling too ---that I can philosophize about nature, but when it comes to techniques I am out on the running"
Another katrix trivia-- when she starts talkin about jeff, you gotta jus let her ramble.
V: olve is cute too pa! He is good at everything! I think aloud, ‘Are men like that made anymore????’
Double sighs!!!! Hmmmmmmmmmmm
Silence……
V: Hey u know what, we should do a barbecue. I learnt how to cook chicken from Jes. He says hickory wood is the best wood and all. Lets try na!
K: WHAT! NOW???
V: No, no. Some time later.
K: why is it u talk about things that are gonna happen one month from now? U are funny, girl!

That’s one thing I have noticed about myself. The “thinking-ahead” trait isn’t left at the work place. It follows me like a shadow, wherever I go. Sometimes I wonder what its like to live with me. It can be difficult I am sure, but not too bad I HOPE!

V: Omigosh we got to vacuum the house too.
K: Good God! What’s with u! relax. My god u are a Monica alright!
V: Yeah, you and your friends.
K: O bummer I am gonna miss Friends!
Note: Bummer is used when the mistake is self made, “ what the F^&*#?” is when the traffic light turns red, some guy is driving within the speed limit in front of her or any thing that is not her fault. This discrimination is very important for me.
K: HEY! Friends is the only thing that makes me happy, ok?
V: o yeah, that’s not fantastical at all. Am sure there are loads of such jobless friends living in lofty apartments in NY! How real!
K: I love Ross. He is so weird!
V: I like Chandler *grin*

Ok, so I am a hypocrite. I like Friends too, don’t deny it, but not to the same intensity as K. I have learnt that for K, everything is extreme---be it the strength of the coffee, the amount salt in sabzi, the state of her room. She feels everything to the extreme—love, hate--- both with equal intensity. I wish I were like that. To like something as much as she did, to hate something as much as she did. I wish I could crash and burn, not just linger!

K: He is just a regular guy. Nothing great about him except his good sense of humor.
V: That’s hard to come by now-a-days ok!
K: yeah that’s very true!

Peals of laughter. Finally we agree! Joy!!!! To celebrate we decide to stop at a café and pick up lattes. Back on the road.

Katrix’s mind Speaks >
Let’s move from the tales of Katrix’s adventurous driving to more mundane matters---like say, a typical work-day late evening. Fox news channel, the couch and the potato (no pun intended) are all I need to keep me happy. Vidy comes running out from her now-to-post-midnight-slogging-schedule for a five minute respite to toast a bagel.

"Shut up you guys, you are not making any sense," she says to nobody in particular; it takes me a moment to figure out she's talkin to the reasonably intelligent panel on Hannity and Colmes. I wonder how ANYthing would make any sense when you have just had a fraction of a second of real-world air after getting out of a room floating with protein crystals, much less self-proclaimed liberals and conservatives discussing Dick Clarke's latest book. She’d do more justice saying that to her crystal structures.

"You haven't even heard them for five minutes," I say.

She waits for exactly that amount of time.

“They don’t make any sense."

I feel a little better. At least she has had the chance to give them the benefit of doubt. And hasn't.

"I don’t know how you watch this. They all talk at the same time.” I don’t tell her that one more person only complicates matters further.

Now, from the boring details of a normal week day evening to the boring details of a Friday evening. Sigh! Yet another one.

"Why the hell don’t I have anything to do on a Friday evening?" Now, that could have been me or her---or any of the umpteen 20-somethings who aren't committed yet (Put that way --it sounds much better ---why on earth would I wanna commit to anything? I am a pretty non-committal person, except when you are talking about capitalism, Sampras or philly cheese steak).

Anyway, usually following those fateful 13 words is dining out, a movie or a drive to the mountains.

Let’s deal with each one in its entirety.
Blockbuster movie night! Yaay. It’s not American politics or moral values, so we decide on a movie pretty much without argument. But whether both of us are ultimately satisfied with it is a different question.

“Kate Blanchett is the most under-rated actress,” Vidy says for probably the twenty-fourth time during the course of Missing. There’s no response. She whips around. I don’t blame her. If I have willfully given up a chance to refute a statement (even if it is for the twenty-fourth time) there’s cause for concern. In other words, I am either muted or dead. Quite the opposite, in this case, however. The movie’s put me to sleep.

“She sure is under-rated,” I agree. “Her soporific skills haven’t been discovered yet.”

“It was an awesome movie. Can’t believe you didn’t like it.”

“I just can’t stand slow-moving movies.”

Of course, that’s an adjective no one else would use to describe the film.
And when you hear one of those words, which don’t mean much anywhere except in the katrician lexicon, you have pretty much hit rock bottom. End of argument.

Well, let’s just say Texas Chainsaw massacre is more my kind of movie.

“I hope it’s really scary,” I say from my signature position on the couch.

“Yeah, I hope so too”, Vidy says emphatically. And as if to reinforce her point, she ducks her head under the table at the first hint of a skull like object.

‘Is she just trying to make the movie scarier for me?’ I wonder.

I decide not when after a few minutes, all I see is something akin to the contour of her head under the comforter. I have to admit, the guy did hack through the man’s body with a chainsaw, but doesn’t the title of the movie pretty much spell that to you?

By the next chainsaw incident, Vidy had said, “I am not watching this movie” about five times. In all fairness, at least she’d moved further and further away from the television set. The second half of the movie happened with Vidy yelling, “Hey, what happened?” from the hallway every ten minutes.

Some way to watch a movie, I must say.

Dining out---now, that’s always fun considering our mutually exclusive eating choices. While I inarguably go for the first steak dish on the menu, Vidy is looking for that miracle food which comes without a trace of meat in it. If it’s nearing the end of the month, however, both of us restrict ourselves to the right side of the menu; it could be flavored grass for all we care.

After the usual “You really should start eating meat” from me and her “That thing smells”, and no offence taken by either side, we dig into the heavily decorated food with gusto.

The conversation is as rich as the food, although I make half of it incomprehensible by talking with my mouth full. Vidy hates that but then habits die-hard---I have always put food first.

We drive through downtown and I decide it will be fun to window-shop at The Cupboard—our favorite novelty shop. Both of us spend the time reassuring ourselves that we should be able to afford all that stuff at some point in life. “Wow, look at this cup—its wrought iron,” I say.

Vidy has a startled expression but all she says is “That’s porcelain. That’s how good porcelain looks.”

“Oh, really?” Didn’t know that. That doesn’t take away from my liking, however.

She shows me how to figure out good porcelain by placing the mouth of the goblet near my ear. She’s right. Even to my ears, that sounds musical.

After a Coldstone dessert or equally likely, a novel concoction at Alley Cat, we’re headed home.

A drive to the mountains- wow- or at least, we seem to be going in that general direction. We can’t see them in the night. ‘Somewhat similar to our lives,’ I say. ‘It’s there, yet not there.’

That begins a spate of philosophy-- on our different natures, our social lives—or lack of them, her passion for science and my hatred for it, my plausible writing future, dream men that elude us and family that’s always there for us.

In the distant background, a song plays. Vidy convinces me it’s my favorite song. “Really?” I start tapping my fingers though I could swear to you I have never heard it before. But on music, I think I trust her judgment more than mine.

The "bloody" letters

To paraphrase my friend, “got that mailbox of mine to better utilitarian value at truly minimal cost”.

Yeah, I am one of those that has a hang-up about deleting emails from my mail box, threatened every so often (by people that purport to be my friends) with an inconsequential and shamelessly huge zip file or a word attachment that goes to lengths to describe humanity’s impending trip to mars, about which, quite honestly, I care a rat’s ass. (I’d rather have mars or venus or better still, jupiter come crashing down on earth sending humanity and all that’s in it to its ultimate and irreversible doom).

Okay, that said, and apologizing in advance for an outrageously long blog, let me introduce to you the characters below as my pals, A, B, C and D (to preserve identity, as the discussion to follow might instigate a normal human being to wreak assault on such grotesquely hilarious characters).

(All the characters henceforth mentioned are alive and kicking, and NOT on drugs. They just tend to go into these discussions on certain topics that the rest of humanity doesn’t give a damn about--to paraphrase Dave Barry-- somewhat akin to the policymakers in Washington, that the rest of America does not give a damn about).

It all started one bleak winter day in February '02, when A decided it was time to be explicitly philosophical about one of the most common habits of human kind.

Quoting A (with absolutely necessary modifications; it’s assumed that A’s inherent problem with diction will be excused, in light of the rather insightful thinking).

“ok, kuming to tudays issue...if u guys are still with me and this mail ain't in the trash yet.........................
this line is from a poem ritten by a friend of mine...........

why water(tears) attempts
to take the shape of grief
it can't ever fill?

and it set me thinking............on the futility of teers...... not to mention greef.......
we all cry. Period. (its almost a default criterion to be human......so 'E' you are in too, by default !)
yes, teers are futile, never propotionate to feelings.........
wat konstitutes them? mere water........
why did the all omnipotent , omnipresent , omniscient , of all compounds chuse water for teers.....................
let’s say we shed teers of blud ( of kourse, that wud literally and figuratively b “eratha kaneer”)...........

For one, i kan think of atleast 3 peepul on the list who wud b severely anemic........

and poets wud sing "the ruby drops of red that gently trickled down cheeks, soft as rose petals"

am sure sum of us in this list remember nites of krying ourselves to sleep and upon day break the tears of nite forgotten, though the heaviness of the heart remains.......and the pillow just a silent witness to the nite’s happenings....... but imagine how dramatic it wud be to wake up to a crimson red pillow that u remembered spotlessly white b’for you drifted into sleep?

One thing’s for sure, it wud have to be laundered or chucked...... perhaps an incentive to kry less........a beggining, at least !

and guys wudn't slash their wrists to proclaim their love......how futile that wud be, when gurls cud shed blud thru their eyes..........

and no billet doux ritten in blud.............

ok, now throwing in sum physics and dynamics of fluid (makin sure the email caters to everybudy).......
blud coagulates.......
blud flows thru lachrymal glands and blud has viscosity unlike water.......and it wud form perfect spheres ........ so how wud stokes law be modified for the rate of crying?
wat abt the gurls who wud go booooo at the snap of a finger.......wudn't her rate of teer flow defy stokes law........
and the blud reeching the exterior coagulates and the outer rim of the lachrymal glands wud soon have a lining of coagulated blood (mostly for the boo cases, cos of too much blud kuming)..... this in the course of time wud reduce the diameter of the lachrymal gland with more deposition of coagulated blud, which in turn shud be directly proportionate to the rate of krying and ofkourse, the frequency of bursts of tears........
so u have coronary artherosclerosis being mimiked in the lachrymal glands........
but hold....... how dus the clog back fire?........u wanna cry and u can't (literally and figuratively, we have experienced it and if we cry teers of blud the third dimension of science wud also be satisfied ). dus this clog grow in size and clog your brain , that u die of brain hemorage (oh i luv nan-glish, cudn't have got dat brain damage ever rite in inglish) or wud it leed to the heart and u die of heart failure ?!!!!
dunnot no the route of lachrymal glands, but for god’s sake they need to empty sumwhere into the interior just as the open into the exterior.......

next, wats gonna substitute teers on tabloid... without doute, tomato ketchup, probably diluted..... if it wurked for psycho(the famus shower scene- AH used tomato ketchup) , sure bollywud and tollywud wud resort to it...

and wud gurls and wumen be chosen by evolution to kry less becos already theres an alloted slot for it every munth?

so there r a lot of unanswered questions....... wen it kums to futility of teers.....
but if teers were blud, indications r u cry less......

so perhaps the futily of teers is a paradox in itself ..... cos it ain't futile after all ...
atleast we dunnot bleed ourselves to tears which wud b bleedin ourselves to death!!!!
hey guys isn't that a lot of positive thinkin goin into futility of teers!!!!"

B responds (wouldn't take an einstein to figure out who THIS is!):

"and while i pretend to b unoffended by the fact that i was not included in the inhuman category with E (i take this opportunity to officially re-introduce the robotic unemotional B of yore), i decide to credit my dear friends rantings with the true objectivity expected of a rand-ian, firstly cos i have nothin better to do and secondly bcos my friend will be greatly distressed if she does not hear my well-sought-after opinion on her thoughts. and since she surely is one of the people that she purports would end up with chronic anemia, i decided i wasn’t goin to be the cause for her ailments, cos she is hard enough to deal with as it is...
without further ado (like 8 long lines wasnt enuf ), i shall delve into the basics of bloody tears....
i think its a fabulous idea...first, the pros--
imagine, jus how easy donating blood would be ---no painful needles---(and the girls score better on this than the men, for a change)...all you have to do is feed the lady an anticoagulant and tell her she looks ugly and bingo, u can have all the blood u want!
and then, the dramaticism---and the things it can achieve....come to think of it, most of my childhood accomplishments can be attributed to tears--i got all the stuff i wanted, all the things i wanted to do..... cant even begin to imagine how much easier life would have been if the tears were blood...i mean, nobody wants you streaming blood all over the place.... it ain’t good for you, it ain’t good for the house and surroundings.....
so those are the pros...
as for the cons...
the coagulating! yes, A, that would be a huge problem...but i betcha like nature thought of everything, she would have thought of that as well ...there ought to be some natural anticoagulant that would allow the steady flow ........
and then the anemia....the solution for this would be simpler...the more u shed tears the more u would need to eat ! doesn’t that jus work to our advantage?! or maybe we could try this...collect the blood in buckets and drink it up! * puke *
but just another thought--- I was wondering what would happen to li’l babies! I mean, imagine---they cry all the time, much to my disgust, and if they lost all that blood crying! jeez..they are too much of a pain as it is...
and i love the idea of getting up to a bright red pillow! we will never need to go on a drive in the snow or have our car burn in front of our eyes--life will be james-bond-like, jus waking up!
anyways, shall leave the physics musings to the physicists in the group....shall take your leave, with but a tear...."

C writes:

"Just saw the flurry of emails on this topic that was so eloquently initiated by our dear friend, A. I think it almost can be classified as science fiction. Very well written indeed, not to mention a very fertile and bloody thought process.

As for commenting on B’s reply......one of the pros missed out was......the easiness with which our dear friend can collect blood for HIV research with the inherent "cons" associated with it.

And as for the comment on a child crying and it being bloody.....one could regulate the lachrymal glands such that it turns out to be "developmentally regulated under the control of an erythrocyte promoter". This way it gets turned on post-puberty !!!!

Just a thought.....

flames accepted....."

D writes:

"if we were then to take the point a little further and say - suggest replacement - blood takes the place of water and water takes the place of blood (after all why stop with tears)
......imagine the result to the vast body of communication, and not to say laws of physics that would occur......to start naming a few items that come instantly to mind.......
it would make tom sawyers and huck finns oaths of blood pale a little in significance if they could cry out their oaths........
and the whole idea of bleeding transparent fluids would lose the immediate visual sense.......
swimming in a sea of blood!!!!!

moses turning water red!!!!!!! (sic?) (that famous scene featuring Mr. NRA)
what about blood being thicker than water...............
those are the cons
and the pros.......
and poets wud sing"the ruby drops of red that gently trickled down cheeks, soft as rose petals" - which reminds me instantly of lines from "Happy Prince"
`When I was alive and had a human heart,' answered the statue, `I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep.' "

A tribute to the Idiot box...

Wouldn't be fair if I didn't commemorate the color tv on its 50th anniversary.

So, here's my commemoration:

A feel-good winter evening, curled up on the couch with the heat up and the comforter around me, the idiot box unfurling one bout of Friends after another, the aroma of falafels and hummus filling the air. 'God bless the chickpea' as George Clooney is saying right now on television....

Ah, bliss....

But, for chrissssake, how am i s'pposed to savor all that delightful food while maintaining my prostrate position ?

there's just no pleasin some people....