Nourish-n-Cherish

A while ago Scott Adams had posted on his blog about the blogs with the most popular ratings and went on to analyze the readers’ profiles.

http://www.dilbert.com/blog/entry/your_psychological_profile/

One closer look at the whole post indicates that the profile he has outlined is nothing but the topics written most often by him. In short, things he likes, similar to his profile and such. For example: when he says that we like to read posts based on how things work or possible solutions to global problems because we are logical thinkers, means nothing more than the fact that he blogs on these topics the most. By derivation, if we read that, we must like that. Predictably, this post received the highest number of comments.

I can’t help thinking that this is exactly the same choice facing me when I chance upon my astrological profile. My mind will subconsciously go to my zodiac sign, and if there is something I think of as positive, I want to believe it. If there isn’t I can shrug it off. And the more I see the astrological predictions in store for me, the more I see the pattern of his post in it. Randomly, there will be some aspect of the prediction that will hold for me, but there are huge portions that don’t. But the small portion sticks.

Emphasizes time and again how much we crave for an understanding of ourselves and our futures. In that respect, I found Jikku’s(http://lettersforall.blogspot.com/) letter to her teenage self series very interesting. How our life would have changed if we knew then what life had in store for us?!

Today is the 40th anniversary of the Moon Landing – the triumph of the ‘can-do’ attitude. I am becoming a big fan of this attitude, although it is taking a lot of practice to not lapse into the “Can I do it?” mode.

My posts of late are reeking of the Twitter-ish tinge. I shouldn’t have read about the brevity becoming the new breakfast cereal. My words seem to be slowing down at 140. I am sure the sub-conscious is playing its role. Today, I am determined to fight back. I can do it, and therefore, I am going to sit here and tell you all about my views on the latest Harry Potter movie.

As far as books go, Half Blood Prince is courageous. The book was a nice prequel to Deathly Hallows and answered for us the questions about Lord Voldemort. However, the movie was a disappointment for me at many levels.

Plainly put, a person who has not read the books and has only seen the movies, would not be able to string the story together. And that is a huge miss. Arguably, Harry Potter need not cater to a base that hasn’t read a book or atleast the book review, so they should be able to string things together. But, I still find this discomforting in a movie.

Contrary to the other movies, there was too much of the dating aspect in this movie and quite a few out of character treatments.

Dumbledore, for example, is seen asking Harry about his relationship with Hermione, out of his curiosity! Like Headmasters stand around asking who is dating who?!

Lavendar creates a scene and fights with Hermione over Ron in front of – get this: Professors Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey, and it isn’t over yet – IN the hospital. All the professors stand by and watch the altercation with either consternation, a smirk or amusement, depending on their characterization.

Harry is made to stand aside and watch Dumbledore succumb wandless without a compelling reason to do so. In the book, he is stunned and under the invisiblity cloak. He is UNABLE to do anything. In the movie, he is standing right under the scene, with a perfectly functioning wand, and a clearly nervous Draco and wandless Dumbledore standing and chatting about Draco’s task like it was a tea-party at Hogsmeade or something. This is so unlike Harry – when has he hesitated to help anybody? In fact, Hermione helpfuly pointed out the “hero mentality” in the previous movie!

All in all, looks like Warner Bros knew what they were doing – they kept all the crucial plot points to secure their earnings in financial years 2010 and 2011.

Now, you are wondering what the can-do attitude of landing on the moon has with my opinion of the latest Harry Potter movie. Nothing.

We were lucky enough to catch the last and most thrilling sector of the Men’s Wimbledone Finals. Federer and Roddick gauged each other and combatted with the spirit that only stalwarts can command. Shot for shot, point for point. The game went on..

Finally when Federer won, our hearts went out to Roddick, though Federer had broken a world record. That is the true spirit of sports and overwhelms me every time. The youngest and oldest in our group at the time made two startling revelations:

The youngest quipped at the award giving ceremony: “See, one got a pot and the other got a mirror!”

The oldest quipped: “You know it is far more thrilling to watch a match without knowing the outcome!” (DUHH .. coming from a man who spent half his grown-up years advising his son that watching a match live was worthless, this was a revelation of sorts!)

While the grandfather discovered that watching a match live was thrilling, the grand-daughter discovered that people spent a LOT of energy to get a pot and a mirror.

Have you tried calling anybody lately? You would pull up the person from your phone’s contact list, or take the trouble of punching the numbers in only to get to their voicemail. Isn’t it funny that a majority of voicemails first tell you the number you dialled. “I know!” you want to scream, “I dialled it remember?!”

“You have reached the voicemail box of 4-8-9-3-3-8-5-9-7-4.”*”Dulcet Tone?”*” is not available. Please leave your n-am-e and telephone number at the beep” BEEP!

I’ve also noticed that everytime one is asked to say their name under pressure, they say it with a questioning tone of incredulity. It sounds like they can’t believe they said their name correctly at the right time and want to ask you if it is okay.

The tone is irresistibly influenced by the automated message tone. So, “Melody Personified” invariably sounds like “Squeaky horn?”

The exact same thing happens with conference bridges. “Saumya?” has joined the conference *BEEP* “Chris?” has joined the conference

If you call me, you will be treated to the same phenomenon, but when has that stopped me from saying anything?

Yesterday, I heard something bizarre from one of my friends. The United States has its own definition of what it terms “NEWS”. Basically, it should be dramatic to the point of taking notice, but not dramatic enough to cripple the economy and make it hobble on crutches for months afterward. Which is why, the mortgage crisis and the internet bubble burst and 9/11 weren’t good. On the other hand, there is news just waiting to be reported. But, news from other countries (especially those with a sea between US and said country) doesn’t count for news at all.

So, the San Francisco Chronicle found it prudent to run a full-blown report on the shocking incident of birds now attacking people in San Francisco. (http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/05/30/BA8317TUO2.DTL)

One of my friends just went walking on the street. One bird flew straight at her hair. Said friend ducked in time to avoid being in the trajectory of evidently direction-challenged-and-therefore-attacking flying bird. Out of thin air, a reporter materializes and asks her if she is willing to give an interview. A number of questions arise. How was the reporter there at exactly the same time? Would newspapers actually assign reporters to random street corners waiting for a bird to attack? Or was the bird trained for this in collusion with the reporter? If it is the latter, I would be very sorry for the new lows journalism has taken in this country!

My friend, passed up the opportunity to appear in the local news. I assured her that fame was a fickle friend, and it was best if she wasn’t recognized as the girl the birds attacked. Nevertheless, I stepped out for a few minutes and it looks like I could write a whole newspaper.

“Current generation less tolerant towards children.”
Now, that would sell a few papers surely. Well, I did hear two people say the following while waiting for the walk sign!
“You know, I just can’t stand them. I don’t know how people tolerate kids. “

This means/implies nothing other than the fact that one denizen doesn’t like children. I could also build a study around it, with entirely made up numbers and suddenly my news item gains a shade of credibility.

Here’s another one: “Housing economy easing up” OR “Loans not as difficult anymore.”
What I heard on the street again was this:”You know, it’s like buying a house. A bank puts up 80% of the capital, and you just have to sign”
Evidently, some soul was being persuaded to buy a house, or some soul was telling somebody else how easy it is to buy a house, because suddenly, buying became “just signing”

Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get into the house, where I have my child waiting for me with love, to escape the birds.

Thank you!

“Amma – Get up! The sun is setting – SEE?!”

I groggily sat and up and peered out. I had barely had an hour’s sleep. I could only manage to fall asleep after I could be reasonably assured that the howling wind around us would not life us and drop somewhere in the pacific ocean. We’d been camping and were spending the night in a tent. It’s supposed to be an insulated tent, but it’s not shaped like a boat! So it would have been a rough sail (if at all, such a thing sailed)

It was a beautiful morning. I corrected the excited daughter – “It is a sunrise, not a sunset!” As you can see, we aren’t one of those who rise before the roosters and wait for the sun to come up. So, the only time, the daughter has seen the sun low, is when it is setting. We had been camping with a bunch of kids (here’s proof!)

The whole experience was great fun, and was quite enough to jerk us out of our cubic worlds momentarily. Treks, hot tea, a waterside, excellent company – everything was just perfect. Even the squabbles were fun to watch. The sheer joblessness of a couple of 1-year olds against the perceived-important-but-equally-jobless 7 year olds, the whipping wind against the tea reluctantly holding its warmth, the good food with the chatter.

I was dubious when we started. The car trunk looked like we were moving houses. Sleeping bags, tents, shoes, jackets all jostled for space. Sure though I was, that we wouldn’t use half of them, I was unsure of leaving anything behind just in case. It’s not like we were taking the moon shuttle to get off in space for a night of camping. We were going to be half-an-hour away from an outlet mall! I seemed to have tired out even before starting!

I had only to reach the spot and inhale the beauty of the place, when all my reluctance vanished with a wisp. In fact, I was thereafter, quite the hearty soul! The only dampener to the exciting trip was the wind. It whipped up with such ferocity – and wouldn’t relent. It raged and stomped through the night – till around 4:30 a.m. But any day, another camping trip is welcome.

Ahh- I love camping!

“Amma – Get up! The sun is setting – SEE?!”

I groggily sat and up and peered out. I had barely had an hour’s sleep. I could only manage to fall asleep after I could be reasonably assured that the howling wind around us would not life us and drop somewhere in the pacific ocean. We’d been camping and were spending the night in a tent. It’s supposed to be an insulated tent, but it’s not shaped like a boat! So it would have been a rough sail (if at all, such a thing sailed)

It was a beautiful morning. I corrected the excited daughter – “It is a sunrise, not a sunset!” As you can see, we aren’t one of those who rise before the roosters and wait for the sun to come up. So, the only time, the daughter has seen the sun low, is when it is setting. We had been camping with a bunch of kids (here’s proof!)

The whole experience was great fun, and was quite enough to jerk us out of our cubic worlds momentarily. Treks, hot tea, a waterside, excellent company – everything was just perfect. Even the squabbles were fun to watch. The sheer joblessness of a couple of 1-year olds against the perceived-important-but-equally-jobless 7 year olds, the whipping wind against the tea reluctantly holding its warmth, the good food with the chatter.

I was dubious when we started. The car trunk looked like we were moving houses. Sleeping bags, tents, shoes, jackets all jostled for space. Sure though I was, that we wouldn’t use half of them, I was unsure of leaving anything behind just in case. It’s not like we were taking the moon shuttle to get off in space for a night of camping. We were going to be half-an-hour away from an outlet mall! I seemed to have tired out even before starting!

I had only to reach the spot and inhale the beauty of the place, when all my reluctance vanished with a wisp. In fact, I was thereafter, quite the hearty soul! The only dampener to the exciting trip was the wind. It whipped up with such ferocity – and wouldn’t relent. It raged and stomped through the night – till around 4:30 a.m. But any day, another camping trip is welcome.

Ahh- I love camping!

Those were the days! The years when the heart was young, and the palpable energy of youth was looking for an outlet. The finality of the written word against the hazy thought circulating in the throes of the brain.

I revered my heroes with an insane love. I liked my hero to be either maroon or green. I rather liked the green for luck, and the maroon for looks. With my heroes by my side, I could tear any examination apart, I could make the protoganist of any novel cry through my sarcastic witticisms. In short, I truly believed in the power of the pen.

Yes, another one of my quirks. I was very attached to my pens. I had two “Hero” pens as they were called. I took care of them. While the apes among us used their hero ink-pens as darts, I polished them, made sure they were filled with ink, and were never insulted with a bent nib. The pen somehow aided my flow of thoughts.

The ballpoint pens nestled in the box too. The sleek and thin Reynolds. The super-hero that could save you, when you had to ditch the quaint calligraphic style and rush in a hurriedly drafted incorrect assignment.

Through my college, I stuck to my hero-pen and reynolds ballpoint pens. They were my friends.

Then, something sad happened. I entered the corporate world – the world of mass production and abundance as it were. I tell you, the more people earn, the pettier they become. At one point, people started perceiving free pens as a component of their salary! I once saw a person stuff his pants with free pens (I had to keep trying not to think how/where it would poke when he sat!) I lost the awe for pens – ruined forever! I could pick up any pen, that looked exactly like any other free pen in the office. As long as I tried not to imagine it being used a tooth-pick, or a gum-substitute or a ear-bud by somebody else, it would give me the same experience.

I am penstalgic and I want my own special pens once more. (Yes, I made up the word penstalgic – Bad? Yes, I know! But I am sure I could come up with a better word if I had a pen I was attached to!)

What is a laptop?

Pardon me, but I am in the mood for pedantic explanations. It is a portable device with a processor that can be used without constraining the user to a particular geographical location. Wireless routers just worked hand-in-hand with this definition, because you were not required to have the network cable plugged in.

Have you seen this advertisement where an old grandmother uses the laptop as a cutting board/pizza pan/baking/cleaning surface etc? If you haven’t, then here it is.
http://current.com/items/89889276_funny-ad-grandma-proof-laptop.htm

I wouldn’t say our laptop was stress-tested by a grandmother, but it has been stress-tested by a budding family. The device has aged gracefully in my opinion. The first signs started with the wireless. It now remains immobile by being chained to a network cable because the wireless doesn’t work anymore.

After hours with a customer specialist, nothing was achieved – in fact, the last of the calls finished with the exasperating statement from the husband telling the CSR that he was a network engineer, and has tried “right clicking and hitting repair” several times before calling! Unfortunately, customer service representatives are not trained to handle network engineers who have already tried Option X on their list, and our wireless died.

Never one to chicken out this easily, we just bought a network cable long enough to stretch across the Golden Gate Bridge and restored a certain mobility to it. I think the laptop sulked for a while, and tried acting up because of the leash, but seeing the other option – that of jostling for space on the tiny computer table, decided to work with the leash instead.
One time, it whined too loudly and the sound blasters stopped working. So, now, we could attach those over-the-ear speaker phones at the sound socket, and listen to sound. Here’s a hint, it isn’t worth the trouble. For one, you can never find the headphones when you need them. One of my friends is a popular audio-blogger, and that meant letting go of tuning in to her site every now and then to listen to some treats (hey, she wouldn’t miss one of her fans not being able to listen as much I miss listening to her songs!)

“It is still functional though”, I argue weakly. “Yeah? Tell me one thing you still enjoy doing with the thing?” demands the network-engineer-husband. “I can still see photos, and I love to do that!” I counter. I wear a smug smile on my face and move towards the laptop again. It’s spooky, it was like the laptop HEARD me, and in a last bid to free itself ruined the screen. All I could see was red and blue all over. It had streaks all over, and if I squinted my eyes and tilted my face, I
could still find the icons on the desktop.

Then, one day, one of us went somersaulting on the long cable. The flying sensation was not good for 2 reasons:
1) The actual airborne sensation was exceptionally short-lived and

2) The body doesn’t take easily to falling-by-tripping-on-network-cables that easily. Maybe a respectable fall while running/playing, it can still manage. But tripping on a network cable? Your body asks : “Dude seriously?!” And then, just hurts like crazy!

So, now the cable is bundled up and tied with a rope, and the laptop jostles for space with the computer anyway. It really can’t whine too much, because the sound blasters are gone, and if I squint hard enough, I can find the mozilla icon somewhere.

I am not sure if laptop societies had any laws on retirement per se, but mine really seems to have reached the end of it’s reign. It’s time my laptop retired – what do you say?

I would rather be a man. I know it is difficult to shave everyday, and all that, but it is easier buying a pair of trousers for men. Imagine: I go to the store and the only choice facing me is 3 colours. What’s the worst case scenario? I buy 3 pairs of trousers and come home. I don’t have to think about trousers for a long time. For some people, they also don’t have to think about height separately.

“What size Sir”
“32-32”

You don’t even need to remember 2 separate numbers. How cool is that?

Or I could be a child, just ask me how old I am and bingo! I swear I would not be offended if it saved me hours of agonizing over the right fit. For those who insist on not divulging their age, it could be arranged by decades, and you could go there and pick out your age.

“How old are you?”
“You know, I look like a 2T, but I am really 3 years old!” *Gush gush blush blush*

Honestly, I don’t know the deal with women’s sizes. By the time, I arrive in the approximate geographical location, after hours of meandering down “Woman”, “Petite Large”, “Misses Petite” and “Misses Pregnant, but not yet large”, I am ready to leave. But if I really must buy trousers, I dig up my perseverance and lumber on. Dockers, Lee, Gloria Vanderbilt, NY&C – every single brand appeals to my vanity in different ways. One says, I am size 2, another insists I am 0, another says 4 in the PM section(That’s petite medium!) As if, these brands were not making it hard enough, stores decide to chip in for their share too. One store had sizes 3,5,7 – maybe, the odd numbers came and cried in the Board of Governors meeting.

One place, I picked up size 1. Now unless, we have the changed the value-based system of counting, 1 is lower-end and 10 is higher end. So, for pants, one would assume that 1 uses less cloth when you look at circumference right? Wrong! This ‘1’ size was enough for the elephant in Oakland Zoo.

I would like to meet the marketing wizard who came up with the “psychology” that women would like to think themselves as slimmer, and the only way to do that was by confusing the trouser sizes?!

I gave up finally! The left leg doesn’t have a tear yet, so, I suppose I could wait before buying another pair, I tell myself. Then, I see one pair for an obscene price with a tear in both legs. That’s easy – I’ll just pick up a pair of scissors and try to recreate another symmetrical tear, and make do for another year or two!