Wishing Myself A Happy New Year

Evil


I made a huge batch of jello shots yesterday and have been eating them ever since. Whereas drinking at 11am is usually not socially acceptable, eating jello shots seems OK. because, after all, it's eating, not drinking. Happy New Year!

Poll Results

Evil

Catching up on some Hose maintenance, now that I'm back from India. This is a poll results from a while back that deserves some commentary because the results are quite interesting.

So according to you Hosers, a woman is most desirable when she's between the ages of 30 to 34. Hmmm, interesting. I'll bet that 100% of The Hose's female readers are in this age range! So you essentially voted for yourselves. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But look at the 35-39 category... zero votes! Does that mean that a woman's desirability falls off the face of the earth once she hits 35? Very scary.

BTW- Who voted for the 19 or under category? Perv!!!

Here's a poll that XTIAN posted. I'll leave it to him to comment on the results if he would like.

Merry Christmas!

Evil

Merry Christmas, Hosers! Hope you're all spending time with family, friends, and loved ones. (Sorry, Manolo.)

Two moments with two women that left me totally confused/exhilarated this week:

One - I had a hard time making out what I had in my hand. There were several reasons for this. First, it was cardboard but there was something heavier in the middle. Further I was distracted by the kanji characters that adorned it. I don’t know mandarin, so the effort I put into understanding the characters was completely in vain. I looked up, apparently pensively, because she met my gaze with a slightly embarrassed look. She took it back and took it out of the packaging.

“Oh gosh, it cost less than a dollar. It’s a bookmark, see, with a magnet. It just looks nice. Also, it says something to the effect of “a free spirit has the most satisfied life”. I saw it on the street in Taiwan and it made me think a bit about you. So I bought it”

I took it back, and mumbled something about not having anything for her. Of course, why would I? We had one drink before she went to Taiwan for a month. In fact, I had two drinks, hers and mine as she calmly looked on, smiling and laughing at every dippy thing I said. We calmly repeated the dance there and now, with the new weight of expectations weighing us down. She treated. The waitress, a Latina who is always my waitress at this bar, and has seen me, quite unintentionally, parade a bevy of Asian women in here, smirked as she picked up the bill. I ignored her judgments and contemplated the meaning of my gift.

Two – She stood at my desk and arched her eyebrow.

“You know, you dress like a gay guy”

“What?”

That’s a good way to get my attention. I had thought our conversation was over. She had come and asked for some pointed advice. I dolled it out and she looked like was going to leave.

“Well, saying metro-sexual is so over done”

“I agree. But its better than implying I’m gay, don’t you think?”

“You’re not gay. You’re totally a guy”

“Thank you for noticing”

“You’re uber-sexual…which means like you’re a guy’s guy who knows how to dress and what not”

She drifted off.

A moment later, she IMed me

“I was messing with your a head…but I totally made you feel good didn’t I”

I invited her to watch a movie with me that later that evening.

Outdated and Shallow Book Reviews

Evil

Long Walk To Freedom, by Nelson Mandela

As you may know, Nelson Mandela, freedom fighter, father of the democratic South Africa, and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, spent 27 years in jail. In picking up this book, I thought it would be an easy read. Of the 625 total pages, I figured a good 600+ would go something like this: “Woke up, ate breakfast of gruel, pounded rocks into gravel for 6 hours, ate lunch of stale bread, walked around the courtyard for exercise, ate dinner of mealies, and then lights out.” Multiply that by 27 years and voila – instant memoirs.

But in fact, Long Walk To Freedom didn’t go like that at all. It starts with a detailed and fascinating account of Nelson Mandela’s childhood and tribal history. He was of royal decent in his tribe, but not in line to be king, as some accounts have suggested. Rather, he was pre-ordained to be the key advisor to the future king. Although as a child, he wanted nothing more than to one day become a champion stick fighter, which I found to be an endearing point.

This book is as much about the politics and dynamics of the South African democracy struggle as it is about Mandela’s life, though the two are of course intertwined. We meet the individuals and groups who aided in the struggle – not only Africans, but also Whites, Indians, and Coloureds. Mandela makes a distinction between “Africans” and “Coloureds” throughout the book, although I couldn’t figured out the difference. And it wasn’t just Manela’s categorization: the South African laws at the time discriminated as well. Africans had the least rights, Indians and Coloureds make up the next tier, while Whites were at the top. (If anyone knows what “Coloureds refers to, please post in the comments!)

Anyway, I read this book not because I care about any of this stuff. I just wanted to pose as an intelligent adult on my India trip.

The Blind Side, by Michael Lewis

This book is a rip-off! Don’t read it if you’re expecting an in-depth analysis of the role of the Left Tackle in professional football and its subsequent impact on the economics of the game. Because that’s not what you’ll get. This book is nothing more than a fluffy features piece on a specific person, Michael Oher, and his rise to prominence as a Left Tackle. Big deal! Yawn.

Memoirs Of A Geisha, by Arthur Golden

I didn’t buy this book. I got it from a nice Canadian girl who was traveling through Varanasi as I was. She had just finished it and I mentioned that I, having finished all the books I brought with me (a lie), needed more reading. So she gave it to me. I really wanted something else from this 20 year old Canadian art student, but all she gave me was the book. But oh well… it turned out to be a good book!

If you like the writing style of Evil Twin #1, I imagine you’ll like this book. We meet the protagonist, Sayuri, as a young and innocent girl from a small fishing village. We hear Sayuri’s story through her first person narration, which is touching, detailed, at times heart-wrenching, and always filled with folksy metaphor and simile. It wasn’t until I was one-third through the book that the character of Sayuri solidified in my mind – I kept thinking it was Evil Twin #1. Their writing style and tone are that similar (even though Sayuri is young and innocent and Evil Twin #1 is not).

Among the many though-provoking aspects of this book, I’ll call out one quote for you Hosers to discuss. This was spoken by Sayuri’s mentor and geisha “older sister”:

“Young girls hope all sorts of foolish things, Sayuri. Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women, they look silly wearing even one.”

Current in-progress reading: The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck and The Art Of Seduction, by Robert Greene. Just ordered 7 books from Amazon to add to my reading list.

My hetero life mate, my brother?

My good friends invited me up to Freshchester this past Saturday to spread a little holiday cheer. They are a great couple and I love them dearly. The host and I worked together, his wife is awesome and his kid brother always brings the jokes. Also invited was Le Troisieme, who knew the host from their days in university.

I arrived an hour later than Le Troisieme because I'm brown and I can get away with that sort of thing. Besides its a party...do I really need to be timely?

Our host, upon seeing me approach, commented to Le Troiseme "Hey, here comes your hetero life mate". This was a funny joke that started when our host heard we were moving into together a few years ago. When I approached Le Troisieme to say hello he retold the joke and I knew he was finding it less funny all the time. Further, Le Troisieme was exasperated.

Only the night before, I had assured him that we would be the only single fellows there. Still he felt compelled to make this observation immediately and seek consolation. The two ideas juxtaposed in my head brought a smile to my face. Dude, are you sure you're not my hetero life mate?

I was OK with the lack of tail though, I was OK my exasperated friend and OK with the fact that everyone at this party seemed to know my name though I could recall no one else's...not even the people I had been on week long holidays with. I was good with all that...there is wine, there is food, there are jokes...who cares. Besides, I had my hetero life mate at my side to help me with names which he knew no problem. Aren't white people useful? I'm glad I have them around...

At the appropriate hour, right before the neighbors called the police and right before a sick blizzard started. I made my way to the car. I offered those heading back to the city a ride. In piled Le Troisieme, his ex and the drunk cousin of our host. Troisieme got in the front to both help me find the freeway and mock my feminine driving.

From the backseat we got a grip of words a minute from drunk cousin that she tried to pass off as sentences. I wasn't buying it. She bang from topic to topic only to slow down long enough to suggest one of three locations she wanted to be left off at. This uncertainty annoyed me and I agreed to drop her off in the west chelsea club district for two reasons:
(1) It was convienent for me
(2) It was unsafe for her

She interrupted a diatribe to suggest I was being cool about "reparations" which made no sense. Had I enslaved her earlier in the evening without noticing? That sounds like a joke I might made and escalated past the point of reason but I would have remembered that. Besides, when would I have emancipated her? I'm not into random emancipation. I probed a second longer and realized she was trying to thank me for being accommodating. Le Troisieme and I laughed hysterically to the point where she was annoyed. The only single woman at this party, in our car, and we were ripping into her...and loving every minute of it.

Maybe the hetero life mate thing is a bit much...

Pictures of Me

I get a lot of holiday cards from friends and family. Often, they have pictures of the family all dressed in red and wishing me a happy holiday season. I cannot read, so I really appreciate the photos.

My cousin DG's photo holiday card always unnerves me. When she got married, in addition to the rest of her husband's baggage, she acquired the ugliest cats in the world. They seem to have had their eyes replaced with Spanish olives...maybe its a fashion in Miami. Maybe the cats are just hell spawn....

I'm sure they're pure bred and expensive, but a pure bred hell spawn is still a hell spawn. I don't mind admitting that last year I took 5 minutes, stared at my cousin and her husband - absorbing their bliss - and quickly discard their photo, lest I leave it on my desk and accidentally catch a glimpse of their pet Spanish olive-eyed demons.

This year, as I opened their holiday card, the hell spawn barely registered. I was distracted by something else entirely. DG had included two pictures of me, by myself, at her wedding. One was of me reading at a church lectern. The other was of me in profile, smiling and seemingly having a good time. I was wearing a smart suit and an open collared shirt. I look fairly thin and my hair is well kept. This bothered me worse than the sight of the devil cats. I immediately called the bump and told him about the card from DG and the pictures of me.

BUMP: Wait, she sent you two pictures of you? By yourself?
ME: Yeah
BUMP: By yourself?
ME: (Sigh)Right
BUMP: What are you going to do with that?
ME: I don't know. I certainly won't put them up. I mean who puts up a photo of just themselves...I'm certainly not that into looking at myself
BUMP: More like you can't stand the sight of your self
ME: POE-TAE-TOE, POE-TAH-TOH
BUMP: Whatever...you're gay

I shuddered a moment and hung up the phone. I went back to the olive-eyed demons and wondered if maybe they weren't so bad to look at after all.

Mumbai

Evil


Two weeks into my India trip, I was quite down. India was proving too much for me – too much pollution, too much chaos, too much harassment from rickshaw drivers and store owners. It seemed that every ounce of energy I had went into dodging cows. And if it wasn’t cows, then I was hopping over cow crap. And then I was trying to run away from the street merchants who only ask one question (“What country are you from?”) and then all make the same request (“Please come take a look!”). On top of that, I came down with a bad fever and the inevitable stomach problems at two week’s end.

Things got better over the following two weeks. I started to adjust. One time I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have on the street and nearly walked into a cow’s asshole. I side-stepped it at the last moment and silently congratulated myself on my developing street savviness. One time I saw a cow dropping on the street that was the size and shape of a large dog. Think Marmaduke. Upon seeing this, I didn’t turn away in disgust. I just said to myself, “Another day in India!”

Before arriving in Mumbai, I figured I would be in for more of the same – except multiplied by several-fold. Mumbai, with a population of 16.4 million, is India’s largest city. But instead of getting more cows, more pollution, more chaos, and more harassment, I came upon a very interesting and, dare I say, charming city. The city’s past British influence is everywhere – most noticeable in the Victorian architecture and public squares (well, really circles). Almost everyone in Mumbai goes about their daily lives and couldn’t care less about a tourist like me. The non-attention is a very welcome change of pace. Today, I was trying to buy a bottled water at one of the street stalls and the guy totally ignored me!

It’s been a nice couple of days thus far in Mumbai. Just taking it easy. Going on a few strolls each day to discover more of the city. The picture above is was taken at Oval Maidan, where some (many!) kids were playing cricket. In the background is the 80 meter high Rajabai Clock Tower. On the left and right of the clock tower (not in the picture) are the High Court and the University of Mumbai. Very scenic!

I even watched a Bollywood film today! The NYT gave Aaja Nachle lukewarm reviews and I didn’t understand any of the Hindi dialogue, but it was still great fun to watch.

Evil Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Without Evil around, I have lost all creativity. I feel null and void. There is nothing interesting and Hose-worthy. Tonight, I am working a long, long night. Here is a puzzle I am doing... Can you do it to?

Evil, come back!

The Einstein Puzzle
Supposedly, Albert Einstein wrote this riddle, and said 98% of the world could not solve it.

There are 5 houses in 5 different colors. In each house lives a man with a different nationality. The 5 owners drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigar, and keep a certain pet. No owners have the same pet, smoke the same brand of cigar or drink the same beverage.
The question is: "Who owns the fish?"

Hints:
The Brit lives in the red house.
The Swede keeps dogs as pets.
The Dane drinks tea.
The green house is on the left of the white house.
The green house's owner drinks coffee.
The person who smokes Pall Mall rears birds.
The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhill.
The man living in the center house drinks milk.
The Norwegian lives in the first house.
The man who smokes Blends lives next to the one who keeps cats.
The man who keeps the horse lives next to the man who smokes Dunhill.
The owner who smokes Bluemasters drinks beer.
The German smokes Prince.
The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
The man who smokes Blends has a neighbor who drinks water.

Varanasi

Evil

today, i'm in varanasi, which my indian friend described as "such a spiritual place. Make sure to wake up before dawn and check out the rituals that go on in the morning." and the lonely planet says, "... is one of the holiest places in India, where Hindu pilgrims come to wash away a lifetime of sins in the Ganges or cremate loved ones... The city is an everlasting symbol of hope to past, present, and future generations." i did wake up before dawn as my friend suggested to catch the morning prayers, baths, and other rituals that happen on the west bank of the ganges. in the short time that i was there, i saw two cremations, which always feels sad to witness.

then afterwards, while walking through the old town, i wandered across a little baby lying on a table and the only reason it caught my attention was that an elderly man was bent over it taking a photo and the flash went off in the corner of my eye. i looked over at the baby and realized that it was deceased, with quite an anguished look on its face and large tumor-like thing protruding from its side. i looked behind me and there were two western tourists who saw the baby too and their eyes instantly welled up with tears. (there were no tears in my eyes because i was born without emotion.) i think it's one thing to be told that you're going to be seeing a dead baby around the corner, but it's another to catch sight of one completely by surprise.

the city and the ganges is apparently also holy to buddhists, since buddha used to bath in the ganges. (the place where buddha gave his first sermon after becoming enlightened is only 6 miles from here, which i visited earlier today.) anyway, so there are a lot of japanese buddhists who visit. all the street vendors think i'm japanese, which tends to irk me. they bark out things like nihongo ga hanasemasuka (do you speak japanese?), nihonjin des ka (are you from japan?), and other phrases that i can't pick up (but presumably, they are saying things like "please come to my shop!"). the japanese buddhists are funny because half of them wear surgical masks and about 95% of them are carrying either a digital camera or video camera or both. and there are these guys at the ganges who catch little fish and put them into little jars. they show the capture fish to the japanese buddhists and the buddhists pay the guys a small sum to release the fish. i'm seeing this and i'm like, dude, they're just going to re-capture the fish and do it all over again! i guess maybe i am short on compassion. :)

Lameness

Evil

What the heck is going on? Is everyone dead?

XTIAN is proving quite well that he cant carry The Hose on his own. He's like Allan Houston - someone who can't create his own shot. Always needs a teammate to set a pick for him.

I'm in Varanasi today. Have stuff to write about but on a really sucky keyboard with super sticky keys. Evil Twin #2 hasn't sent me her new years party invite yet. What's up with that?!

Most Underrated Lead Singer Of All Time

Evil

I was listening to my iPod on "shuffle" mode and "I Remember You" by Skid Row came on. Man, that song is great. No, more specifically, Sebastian Bach is great! Listening to that song made me realize that Sebastian is undoubtedly the most underrated lead singer of all time, covering any band, any genre, any era. His vocal performance on that song is amazing. If you haven't heard it in a long time (like me), go back and have a listen with fresh ears.

It's just too bad that the other members of Skid Row were such dead weights because if Sebastian has a better supporting cast, he's still be around and rockin'. If I could manage to work out the final kinks in my time machine, the first thing I'd do is go back to 1985 and somehow get Sebastian connected with Slash, Izzy, Duff, and Steven Adler of Guns N' Roses. How awesome a rock band would GnR be with Sebastian Bach as the frontman?

But don't take my word for it that Sebastian Bach is the Most Underrated Lead Singer Of All Time... here's the breakdown (as they might do on ESPN):

Vocal Ability: Mentioned above. SB has great range, great timbre in his voice. Can flat out sing. (Closest rival in this category: Chris Cornell of Soundgarden; Totally trounces in this category: Anthony Kiedis of Red Hot Chili Peppers.)

Charisma: Johnny Rotten, Kurt Cobain, and a whole host of others proved that you don't need singing ability to be a great frontman. Charisma is just as important if not more so. Did anyone see VH1's Supergroup? SB rocked on that show. He's so entertaining. And they even have him do some talking head segments on I Love The 80's. Now that's charisma. (Closest rival in this category: Freddy Mercury of Queen; Totally trounces in this category: Vince Neil of Motley Crue.)

Looks: Let's face it, looks matter (sorry, Manolo). SB is so good-looking, he could pass as a chick. (Closest rival in this category: Jon Bon Jovi of Bon Jovi; Totally trounces in this category: Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots.)

Begging

Evil

OMG, the begging children here are relentless. Whether to give money, or anything at all, to begging children is always a moral dilemma. I think most Western travelers now fall into the school of thought that giving anything only perpetuates a culture of begging that's damaging in the long term.

I was in Cambodia earlier this year and that's another country where begging children are everywhere. But I've observed some differences in the begging styles and techniques among children in the two countries.

In India, it's straightforward: kids run up to you, hold out their hand, and ask for money. Sometimes they will make a gesture, lifting their fingers to their mouths to indicate that they're hungry. These kids are persistent. They'll following you for a full kilometer before giving up. Sometimes the kids will run up to you and say, "Shampoo! Shampoo!" Apparently, some tourists have been giving them the little shampoo bottles they get from the hotels.

In Cambodia, the kids have developed fairly advanced techniques. I don't know if it's because they've been begging longer or what. But even this cold-hearted New Yorker couldn't help but be taken on a few occasions. The key with Cambodian kids is that they don't outright beg for money. They usually throw in a little twist, a little juvenile charm. For example, a kid might come up to you and ask (in English): "Hello, where are you from." And you'd answer: "New York." Then the kid will say, "Ah, New York. Population of New York state is 19 million. Capital is Albany." Then they give you this giant, happy grin. This little technique is especially impressive because they can do it with international cities as well. I've heard kids recite the population of cities in Australia, Germany, UK, Canada, and others.

The fact that they know these things probably means that they go to school, or they're sitting at home memorizing tables of capitals and populations. Most kids in Cambodia have surprisingly good English. Sometimes I would just sit and talk to them to help them practice their English, even though I didn't want to give them any money.

There was one occasion where I was sitting down to have lunch by myself. In the middle of lunch, this Cambodian kids walks up to my table and tries to sell me a book of postcards. My immediate reaction is to be annoyed. But he flashed a big ol smile at me and asked, "What city are you from?" I said, "New York City." To which he replied, "New York City. Population is 8 million minus one." There was a pause where neither of us spoke. Then he continued: "You know why minus one?" I asked why. He said, "Because you are here!" I couldn't help but buy some postcards from that kid even though I didn't want or need any. That's a sign of a good salesman!

Bah

Evil

I'm in a complaining mood today. Part of it is that I'm sick. After two weeks of good health, I finally caught a stomach bug. And a bad fever. And body aches all over. I slept for about 18 hours yesterday. Feeling much better today though.

There's an old Mark Twain quote that goes, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." Well, the coldest winter I ever spent was a morning in Agra. No one told me that India would be ass cold during parts of the day. I woke up at 5am yesterday and made it to the Taj Mahal by 6am to catch the sunrise. Prospects for seeing the sunrise were not good from the start. A thick fog and heavy air met me as I stepped outside my hotel. Once I got to the Taj, the conditions were no better. Actually, they were worse. Even though I was wearing a think sweater that I bought from the Tibetan market, the cold bit into me. It's the kind of cold that chills you deep inside and even after you get yourself indoors, you can't shake the feeling.

I wish I had access to upload my camera pics to this blog. I have various photos of people staring into a cloud-like expanse, which is supposed to be the Taj. I had to walk up to within 30 feet to see the Taj and even then, it was very faint.

I'm in India for another month almost. I want to go home! This blows.