Respect My Authority!

so, monday, it has been a while. i thought after all the drama we have been through in the past, we had finally reached, if not a peace, at least a detente. you were beginning to feel like a tuesday or a wednesday and i could deal with you without too much drama. but i see now that you had merely lulled me into a false sense of security. so false.

this week, i got up at 5:30 am, as i do on any other monday these days. i got dressed and walked out of my building towards the bus stop. as i walked up the street to the intersection where the bus stopped, i looked up to see the bus go by. early. i missed the bus. i was forced to walk, instead, to the gym for my morning run. on the bright side - i was warmed up when i got there.

i dropped off my bag in the locker room and got onto the treadmill. i pulled out my ipod and was about to plug in the earphones when the ipod slipped through my hands, onto the treadmill and then... into the the treadmill. yes, people, the ipod somehow decided it wanted to get a closer look at the inner workings of the machine. perhaps it wondered where the belt that i run on disappears to. i got down on my knees and looked into the slot that the belt goes into and there was my ipod. hanging out. like it had nothing better to do. like it wasn't supposed to be with me, playing me music. i tried running the treadmill for a bit, thinking once the belt moved, the ipod would come out but it stayed put. maybe it was taking a nap - it was pretty early in the morning. so i had to go to the front desk and get one of their guys to open up the treadmill so i could get the ipod. in case you were wondering - the insides of a treadmill look dusty.

at this point, monday, i had realised that you are still the boss. you can still humble me with your little subtle ways of putting me off kilter. i was all - oh, yeah, monday is back. and then i got on with the day - i ran, i got ready for work and i went in. i sat at my desk and got on with the business of working and then i got up with my water bottle and headed to the kitchen. i was thirsty, you see and my water bottle was empty. i filled it up with half a litre of cool, refreshing water and turned to do something at the sink, i forget what. it's like my elbow suddenly grew about a foot and next thing i know, the water bottle is on the ground and all the water that was in it is on the floor. nice. and we don't have a mop in the office. it was just me and a roll of paper towels. very nice. but you know, it could have been worse. it could have been juice.

apparently i had not shown monday enough respect after the ipod incident. monday sent me a message loud and clear and now i know. from now on, when i arise on monday i shall say - greetings monday. you are the boss. i respect your authority.

for good measure, i may say that on tuesdays and wednesdays too. one can't be too careful, now, can one?

Look Ma! Little Green M... Oh!

so it seemed as though everyone had watched avatar. everyone but us. we would go out to dinner and be unable to participate in a conversation unless it was to change the subjet. we would go out to an improv show and watch a skit that ended up being about avatar. we turned on the television and it seemed as though it was all avatar all the time. so, finally, hidef and i gave in and, on friday, we went to watch it.

i will say this - all my life, i have been told that the aliens are tiny green men with huge heads and they come "in peace" but really they come to probe us for nefarious reasons. boy was i wrong. first of all, the aliens are absolutely massive, they are blue AND we sought them out for nefarious reasons! i'll wait a little to let that big bombshell of information sink in. i know, right. BLUE! who woulda thunk it? only james cameron, that genius. are you ready for more? they have tails. it's mind-blowing.

so after i had adjusted to the new concept of the alien, i thought about the stories i had read about how people were depressed after watching avatar because pandora is so incredibly beautiful and that level of wonder cannot be attained on earth. i have decided that there is something wrong with me because i kept thinking - there are so many little bugs in pandora, i wonder if they bite, like mosquitoes. and then there are quite a few really large and rather scary beasts out there too that seem as though they could snap me in two while picking their teeth with their free paw. okay, so they have floating mountains, but i have a fear of heights and i got vertigo just watching the movie, so, i wouldn't be trying to get up there and hang about, suspended, goodness only knows how far above the ground. and yes, yes they do get to fly in the most awesome ways on some birdlike creatures but, then again, their clothing consists on some thong underwear deal and, i believe that thongs are instruments of tortured created by some very evil people.

the thought also, often crossed my mind - this pandora place, is probably not so far off from what the world could look like if we treated it with respect. maybe if people were like the massive blue giants and tried to live in harmony with the world around it then we could happily frolic with our own locally grown creepy crawlies and big roaries. if we let them, grass and trees would grow and all and sundry could feel free and climb up and leap off them. i just can't guarantee floating mountains, but you know, they cause vertigo.

What Did I Do To You?

the other day i was called into a meeting. it was a meeting where bankers were trying to get the business of the company i work for. i am not sure why exactly i was in that meeting since only on person in the room of about 14 was making the decision and he didn't ask us what we thought. but, what was i to do? i work for the man and the man said - go to the meeting.

so there i was in this meeting that started at 11. there was talk of an online presentation and that made things sound like they might be interesting. but, you know, things are hardly ever like they sound. the meeting started late and then went on and on and on. for two and a half hours. two and a half hours. and i have no idea why. in truth, i barely remember what happened in the meeting beyond struggling to stay awake. i thought about doodling, but that wasn't helping. so i decided to engage my brain with haiku. and... well... this is what resulted:

rumbi yawns stretches
wishes she were somewhere else
so she could laugh dance

AND:

head falls back, oh no
a blink turns into sleep
what am i to do?

and when people saw me counting syllables, maybe they thought i was counting bank fees.

This Amazing Life

as not just the new year but also a new decade began, i thought about all the fantastic things that came about over the year leading up to this moment. i listened to every episode of NPR's This American Life that was broadcast during 2009. i even listened to some extra archives here and there. for those of you who are not familiar with the radio show, it is a show where, according to them, every week, the staff choose a theme and bring you a number of stories based on that theme. I don't know how they find half they people that they do, in order to make these shows, but people have incredible stories to tell. Stories about themselves, their families or people they just bumped into on the street. Stories that start as innocently as a super who is not taking good care of an apartment building to that super turning out to be a hitman for the landlord and many others. i smile at my super all the time now.

my goal, initially, was to list my favourite This American Life episodes in 2009 but, as i browsed the list, i realised that choosing favourites is very difficult - so many are that good. There are the stories that help make sense of big things going on in the world, such as the financial collapse and health care reform. the first such story was "the giant pool of money" that first aired in 2008 and was put together just as it looked as though the financial boom was not coming along so well. what makes the series on the economic crisis and health care so interesting are the stories the reporters choose to tell when explaining the effects of the financial collapse. in one episode, the this american life team look at people who bought condo units in complexes where very few units were sold, the developers defaulted and skipped town and people ended up living in virtual ghost complexes. when these stories are told, we hear the stories told in the first person and what is sometimes told as a cold story of faceless millions gains life and relevance as faces come into focus.

there are stories like "switched at birth" that are so incredible that you barely believe they are true. but somehow it is no lie that two babies in a small Wisconsin town were switched, almost at birth and given to the wrong families. one mother realised the error pretty early but decided to keep quiet about it until the babies were over 40 years old. but is it as incredible as people who are so active while asleep that they not only walk and eat and maybe drive in their sleep, they also fight demons and end up bursting out of second floor windows and living to tell the tale? i don't know but maybe if you try "fear of sleep" you might be able to make a choice that i couldn't. but be careful; the tale of the building that can't get rid of bedbugs or the cockroaches that crawl into ears while people are trying to sleep may leave you paranoid for a very long time. how long? i don't know - i'm still paranoid.

i often try to figure out which i prefer - episodes that tell one story or episodes that have several stories about one theme. a great favourite of mine is not even from 2009, technically, but i have listened to it more than once - the story of harold washington, who was the first black mayor of chicago. he won an historic campaign and is a hero to many. his story is inspirational and fascinating. just as interesting, in a completely different way, is the story of mark whitacre upon whom the book and recent film "the informant!" are based. the fix is in is an amazing story with so many twists you might not be able to untangle yourself at the end of it. they speak with mark whitacre and still nothing is clear or resolved at the end of it except for the fact that you have laughed and snorted in disbelief more than you thought was possible in an hour.

thankfully i don't have to pick favourites; all i have to do is tune in for the stories. all i have to do is put my headphones on and take in tales of road trips and rest stops; stories of mind-boggling liars and those who love them; yarns that make you want more more more. but what am i saying - i always want more.

That State of Denmark

so yesterday i pulled out my trusty notebook so that i could share, with you, the tale of my recent harrowing flight. i went through the notebook multiple times and came up empty. i mean, i clearly remember writing furiously in the notebook and, at most, was afraid i would not be able to read my scrawl. but now i have empty pages and a lingering fear that my trauma led to hallucinations. let me tell you (and hopefully this typing is no illusion).

it was when i was headed out to california for my run up many mountains. i decided to take a direct flight, so i could kick back, relax and maybe take a long nap. after a series of delays, we set out on our trip and the plane took off. all was well with the world until it hit me. out of nowhere. like a sucker punch to the chin. an awful rotten smell. someone had just farted. i willed myself to get through it, without making it too obvious that i had noticed - everyone has the right to release a little gas every now and then. but then, no sooner had that smell dispersed, than it returned again in full force. and again. and again. i was trying to fan the air around with my magazine, while not being too obvious but it was not helping. those next to me seemed unaffected but no one looked guilty. the stink, oh the stink. i leaned forward and the odor followed me. i whipped my head back and got no clues. i was trapped in the window seat, next to windows that don't open. what to do... what to do?

i toyed with the idea of pushing the call button for a flight attendant, but what was i to tell them? someone is farting around me, i don't know who it is but it's killing me! i considered asking to be moved but the flight was full. i was exhausted - the flight had taken off hours late and so it was getting to my bedtime but i couldn't sleep. heck, i couldn't breathe! once again, i jerked myself upright and scanned those around me. no signs of anything. i started having crazy thoughts related to farting. he who smelt it dealt it - i certainly smelt it but i knew i hadn't dealt it. instead i was the one who had been dealt a cruel hand. maybe that's what the rhyme should be - he who smelt it has been dealt it. then: ooh this is one silent but deadly gas attack. i wondered how this mystery person was able to control their farts so they made no sound. i wondered what they had eaten that disagreed with them this terribly. i was surprised that they were not running for the restroom to get it all out.

i grabbed my travel blanket and tried to bury my nose in it and oscillated between suffocating on the blanket and suffocating on the foul air, all while trying to get a little sleep. i would drift off and then be jerked back to wakefulness by another explosion of funk. it was a six hour flight and at least five were stinky. i started trying to relate this silent stench to the theory of the tree that falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it. does it make a sound? and if a fart is released in a plane and we are all there but no one hears it, does it make a stink? tragically and traumatically and resoundingly. yes. and creates a fear of flying like no one has ever known. and inspires an overwhelming desire to run off the plane. and brings about note-taking hallucinations.

'Tis the Season To Be...

i doubt anyone would make movies of my family christmases when i was kid, heck, i don't really remember them myself. i have vague memories of laid back days where we hung about doing very little. sometimes we were invited to a christmas party for family friends but we never hosted anything and my parents seemed happy to just not have to go to work (i assume that is why they were happy, since that is why i am happy now on holidays). at some point in this holiday deal, my mother decided to plant a fir tree in a massive flower pot and that there tree remains our family christmas tree to this day. during the most of the year, it hangs out in the yard but, come december, the tree is brought in and decorated with some lights and tinsel. any christmas cards that are received are propped up around and on the tree and there you have it, christmas. we would put little gifts around the tree that we would open on christmas morning. my mom pretty much always bought me a pretty nightie and my dad always gave me a diary with his name printed on it. i still love nighties and am yet to find a diary that i wish to fill as much as those i used to get for christmas.

it doesn't sound like much, does it? yet it really was a perfect family day, even when my grandparents gave me a dress i would only ever wear to make them happy. and it wasn't even a day that i would rave about if anyone asked me how my holidays were. but you know there is a saying about hindsight giving you excellent vision or it's my mother saying, "you'll think about this later," and, well, adage writers and my mom were right.

i have lived in new york for ten years now and, for years i have honed the art of the 'orphan holiday season.' and i am not alone. the the time i have been here, i and my fellow expats who are unable to be home with family for the holiday season, come together to pretend we are not drowning in a heavily marketed christmas. i cook enough food to feed people into an amnesiac trance and we do things like watch a coupling marathon or the matrix trilogy. and then it's time for dessert! the day of big feasting and vegging out was becoming a great time in december. but then, as some party pooper once said - all good things must come to an end.

friends moved on, and some even returned to pat, and i have new family, by way of hidef. and it is wonderful and it is great and at the same time, it is poignant and a little sad. having moved out of the purgatory of denial, i am a part of a new family tradition but it is one that has me thinking of my own family, scattered around too far and wide to join us. perhaps my mission this year is to invent a word for this happy-sad transition from one place to another. something as cool as schadenfreude or marmalade!

Apocalypse When?

so, i'm sitting here, pretty much watching hidef watching american football. he tells me it's a good game, so it's a good game. the fans tell me that it is a most interesting game and that, when i understand it, i shall understand all the starting and stopping and high impact crashes.

then a commercial comes on, and it comes on again and again, because it is sponsored by the football league. guess what the commercial is about... play. yes, play. it is a commercial encouraging children to play. wait. that's not it. it is a commercial stating that it is recommended that a child get at least 60 minutes of play every day in order to stay healthy. i know, i know, a little mind-boggling but there it is. apparently children no longer do what children have done since children were invented. i mean, what are children for if not to play? if not to run around in the dirt while eating a little dirt, then what do they do? why are parents being told that children need to play? what evil lies over the land that children have ceased to play? does someone need to pay the piper?

heck, forget the children; what about the grownups? how are they to remain sane if they are not locking their children out of the house so the kids can tire themselves out and minimise the trouble that they get up to while in the house. i mean, how can you have a child with cabin fever and not lose your mind? perchance this may be why we live in a very medicated and completely nutty world.

so open the doors, tempt the kids outside with, i don't know, candy, and, while they are blinking in the unaccustomed sunlight, jump indoors, lock the door and tell them they need to run around and PLAY until it starts to get dark. Then they better come back indoors, or else...

The Hills Are Alive

Four weeks ago... Wow! It's been four weeks? How time flies but let me not ponder upon the relativity of time. That is a conversation for another day.


Sooo.... four weeks ago on Friday I boarded a plane headed for San Francisco. I was relaxed and happy - I had given myself enough time to stop at the candy store in the airport that sells Cadbury's chocolate and picked up a couple of bags ot stock for my emergency stash. We sat in our seats and watched the safety video as the plane made its way out onto the runway. Then we sat, and sat, and sat. Then an announcement - apparently there was some technical issue that we had to go back to the terminal for. And then we sat a little more and were informed that the issue could not be solved and we were going to switch planes. I was fine with that - once they tell you your plane has technical issues, how comfortable can you really be with it?


We deplaned and sat in the terminal for a half hour. Then another announcement - apparently our problems had been solved and we were getting back onto the plane; the same plane that, just a few minutes earlier, had a problem the could not be solved. Back onto the plane we went and watched the safety video one more time, for luck, I suppose. Then, as we headed back out onto the runway, the pilot came onto the intercom system. I paraphrase - "ladies and gentlemen, let me explain what has been going on. we had a indication light that was on earlier. the engineers said that they fixed it earlier but, when we went out onto the runway and tested it, we received conflicting information that led to us going back to the terminal. the engineers now say they have fixed the situation so, we'll see what happens."
And with that, we set out on our trip. That was an adventure, but more about that later.


I was in San Francisco to run half of the Nike Women's Marathon. I figured that San Francisco's hills were so legendary that a half marathon would feel like a full. Not that I needed any excuses to run 13.1 miles, but I had them just in case. I was travelling solo - my friends had not signed up to run with me and hi def had to work so it was just me and my t-shirt that declared that I "flatten hills". I spent Saturday walking around the hilly city and taking in breathless views from atop some of these hills. It was a wonderfully warm day and there was barely a cloud in the sky. I prepared my gear on Saturday evening and turned in early.


I rose before the sun on Sunday and went downstairs to join the many other mostly women who were milling around the entrance hall of the hotel. I went over to an overpriced coffee shop, whose name rhymes with Barsucks and had to pay over a dollar for one banana! A DOLLAR!!! Nerves and outrage kept me warm as I stepped out into the cold per-dawn and made my way to the start line. The national anthem was sung, I tied my shoelaces again (after triple checking for a potentially hobbling rock in my sock) and then we were off. I had latched on to a pacing group, so I could keep a pace that would help me beat my previous race time without having to think to much about it. All I had to do was keep my eye on the pacing flag that declared that, if I could keep up, I would finish my race in two hours. Yes, yes, according to my "hard training" schedule, I was supposed to run in 2:09 hours but, isn't two such a great round number?

A couple of miles into the race, we hit a hill. I had perused the blogs and asked random strangers at the race's expo and they told me that there really was one hill in the race and it was a short one where I could see the end from the beginning. I looked up and it seemed there was an end in sight so I soldiered on and was relieved that the hills I had heard so much about before I got to San Francisco were far less intimidating in person. It was soon over and I was still running with my pacer. I refused to think about anything else - to do so would be to find pains in my knees and labour in my breath. I carried on.

We hit mile seven and the land began to slope upwards. Our pacer warned, "take it easy up this hill" and I thought, well, that's an odd warning - this hill seems flatter than the last one. We rounded a corner and I expected a downhill. So much for expectations; more uphill ahead. I gritted my teeth, determined to keep going and not let the thought of climbing up a hill kill my spirit. I should have started repeating the mantra I had practiced in previous training sessions - I love hills, I love hills - but the only two things going through my head were - I can't keep up with the pacing group - and - oh man, why am I moving my legs and arms and getting nowhere?

I rounded yet another corner and still, nothing but hill. Was this even possible? How long can a hill be and what human with a heart would have people try to run up it? Through the foam of my earphones, I could hear the heavy breathing of those around me, yet it didn't make me feel better that I was not alone in my suffering. My lesson of the hill - misery does not always love company. I could barely see the flag of my pacing group any more. I promised myself that I would try to catch up with them if the uphill ever ended but for now, I just had to will myself to keep running, even though the running motion didn't seem to help me cover any ground. I tried to take in the amazing views but my mind kept coming back to - it's so hard, when will it end?

Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I passed the man who shouted out - keep going, you are about to reach the crest!
And he was right. I rounded a corner and I got to run downhill. Hallelujah! I enjoyed the moment and my knees did a little dance and cheer.

But I had been traumatised. I knew now that the declarations I had been given that there was only "one little hill" were nothing but lies. So now I was left to wonder how many other slopes were in my future and how much spirit I had left to face them. By the time I got to slope number 3, I was asking myself who I was trying to impress. I had no idea where my pacing group was - I could not see the flag anywhere. I could just give up and walk the rest of the way. And still, there was a little voice - come on, Pandave. You have come all this way; you worked hard, waking up early and running long. You still have something to give - give it. I was past the 11 mile point and so I told myself - this is shorter than your usual short runs. You can do it.

I passed the mile 12 sign and smiled. Just a little further to go and then it would be all over. I ran on, not even feeling too badly about the slight upward slope I had just hit. I had, maybe, half a mile to go now, I estimated. A young cheering volunteered yelled out to me - looking good. just one mile to go!

What? Not one mile? Hadn't I passed the 12 mile mark a while back? Hadn't I covered more than just 0.1 miles since? My mind had to readjust to the new distance - it's crazy how a half mile can feel like ten when one is tired. As my mind was working on this, I came to a bend and then, in front of me, a huge sign that declared "FINISH". Was that my finish line? Or was this a mirage? No time to think, my knees took charge and picked up the pace.

As I channeled all my remaining energy into the final sprint, the master of ceremonies shouted into the PA system: Come on everyone, give the runners a big cheer! They have just run 13 miles. And look at Pandave! She Flattens Hills!!
That was me he was talking about - I had those words printed on my shirt. I started waving and grinning and running even faster. What a moment. I crossed the line, fists pumping the air, to be greeting by a smiling firefighter in a tuxedo. He gave me a lovely silver necklace - a finisher's medal that I can wear every day - and congratulated me.

What for? Not just for finishing but, for finishing in 2:00:36. And really, what's 36 seconds between friends?

Where's My Cape?

so i have been going at a manic pace the last few weeks. i have been taking on more than i can chew and swallowing without bothering to try to chew. i have been constantly exhausted, with a barely functioning brain, and marvelling at how well i am getting the impossible done.

then yesterday my superwoman cape was yanked off my shoulders without ceremony. around lunchtime i started to feel cold... really cold. like cold in my spine cold. i pulled on my sweater and wrapped a scarf around my shoulders. yet, i continued to shiver and shake at my desk (at work) and focused my energy on making it through to the end of the day. i tried tea, but my body still hurt and the cold would not go away.

by the time i got home, my body and face felt hot but my hands were frozen - doesn't it suck that apparently nothing can stop my cold hands from being cold? i crawled onto the couch, under two blankets with a hot mug of honey-water and some vitamin c. hi def came home and took my temperature - 101 F (which apparently confirmed that i had a fever). he forced me to drink even more water and take some ibuprofen for the aches. feeling very sorry for myself, and whining all the way, i dragged my creaking bones into bed and fell asleep. i woke up in the dead of night, soaked in sweat and feeling quite yuck.

this morning, the sun woke me and i stretched. no pain, no creaks! well no more than the usual. i felt human again and ready to face the world. now the challenge is to resist the temptation to reach for the cape.

My Chariot Of Fire

i have long dreamt of becoming a great athlete. apparently, so did my father. i don't know if it was my dream that became his, vice versa or a moment of zeitgeist (or if i just wanted to slip zeitgeist into my every day conversation). it doesn't matter now where it began; all that matters is where we are now and where we are is my deferred dream of athletic greatness. but, let me be clear here, it is not a dream that came from nothing. i am not that lead-footed youth who long dreamt of running with the wind. oh no sir. in my youth, i was the wind. i mean, i barely knew how to walk, i just wanted to get there and get there first. and it wasn't just running - i swam, i jumped, i wielded racquets. the one thing i did not do was climb - but that is a tale for another day.

but then i went to high school where the headmistress declared - ladies don't run. she didn't ask me if i considered myself a runner or a lady. instead she banned me from running. does this mean she believed that all who do not run are ladies? also, i embraced my short attention span, trying everything that appeared on the school calendar, from ballroom dancing to social badminton, from public speaking clubs to organising talent shows. in between trying to grow my nails while playing basketball and learning how to play the piano, how was i to be a great athlete?

also, my spirit had been broken by my body's refusal to grow taller. my two brothers are each 6 feet tall; my sister is 5'10". I am significantly shorter and very bitter about it. what happened? i longed to dunk and waited for a growth spurt that never came. i wanted to be a loping runner, covering distance with the grace and speed of a gazelle. what happened? i have so many reasons to curl up into a ball of defeat.

but not me! i have a dream! to be a great athlete and you know what? if it takes me until I turn 75, i shall persevere. because you know what? my knees may not be anything worth writing home about but, at some point, i shall be the fastest, even if it is only because i am the only one left.

i have long dreamt of being a great athlete and, last time i checked, dreams have no expiration date.

Have Mercy On My Nose!

i have read about it. the wrath of the gods. they send floods and plagues and locusts and, heck, every once in a while slay a first born child or two. but who am i in the greater scheme of things? what do my thoughts or words matter, really? apparently more than i imagined.

there i was, late last week, taking my run in the park while planning the night ahead. i would take a shower and then sit down with my laptop to try to catch up on life a little. the run was a good one. i hit a great pace and, at the end of it all, the voice of tiger woods came up on my ipod, congratulating me on my excellent run. i was stoked. i picked up a bottle of milk from the store, ignoring the stares of those who, apparently, have never seen a sweaty female before, and headed down the block towards my home. then... a sneeze. another. another. and more. what was going on? the sneezing would not stop and my eyes were streaming and my nose would not stop tickling. now people on the street were staring at me for different reasons.

i rushed home and grabbed a box of tissues and blew my nose. no use; the sneezes kept on coming. this was starting to hurt. i warmed up some water and used the neti pot to try to rinse out my sinuses. the sneezes did not cease. i took a shower, sneezing all the way and then dug up my nasal spray. that helped for maybe half an hour and then i started up again. it was horrid. i was now congested on one side of my head and the other side hurt to breathe. why had the gods seen fit to punish me in this way? right then, i might have preferred a couple hundred locusts. instead i felt as though i was breathing in pepper and unable to escape the cloud. several days and many doses of antihistamine later, i was able to clear my head and figure it out.

me? i am ms summer - as soon as the month of june comes around, i am all smiles and positivity. it could be 100 degrees and humid out but i will tell you it's a wonderful day. we get a good three months of summer and i am summer's biggest cheerleader because i remember the misery that is winter. but this year was different. this june was wet and cold and it was all downhill from there. any sunny day was greeted with a bah humbug from a me, bitter because the days were few and far between. any beach day was taken grudgingly by me, as i would complain that tomorrow would probably be cold and wet. i was looking the gift horse in the mouth and counting cavities. and now i want to make amends.

i entreat the gods take mercy upon me and my sinuses. i did try to offer the animal sacrifice but couldn't even find a fly - may the gods forgive me. but i still solemnly swear to change my attitude. i pledge to keep my spirits up, at least until November (after that, as the cold, dark days come upon us, nothing can be promised). i tell ye gods that every morning i shall tell at least one gloomy soul that it is a beautiful day. for each day that i can breathe without sneezing and the itching inside my skull is the best day of my life. i heed the gods.

It's Arriiiived! It's Arriiiived!!!

Many a morning, Oscar Grillo and El Editor have given me a reason to get up and go. So, imagine my excitement when I found out that Oscar had collaborated with William Shakespeare! Well, I could barely contain myself and still in all my imaginings I had no idea it would be as awesome as it ended up being. They said that it would be the end of September before I got anything in the mail and then it came and well, Oscar and William put it best:

Folk around me are confounded when I raise my book to read. It is all - hey that's Shakespeare, but no, is that a graphic novel? And if they ask, I shall glow and tell them - it is all you imagine and more. It will take you on a journey to places you never imagined. It will surprise and delight and expand you. Ah-oooohh!!!
Now, excuse me, I going to try to contain myself so I can actually get some reading done. I become "something rich and strange".

For Prettylyf

I know it's been forever since I was tagged but you know what they say - better late than never (though let it be known that I hate waiting).

1. What time did you get up this morning?
-06:30 But I don't think I was really awake until maybe 9:30/10

2. How do you like your steak?
-medium well

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
-Food Inc. Yes, I need to get out more and yes, I need more comedy in my life.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
- The Wire. Far and away the absolute best show ever. See above comment about need for comedy in my life.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
-You have the whole world and you want me to pick one place? Nah-uh. I'm working my way around the globe.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
-A bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, butter and milk. A cup of hot water with honey. A glass of cold water

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
-hmmm - I love Thai, Japanese, Indian, Peruvian and that's just off the top of my head. It really just depends on how I'm feeling. Oh oh oh... I LOVE calamari

8. What foods do you dislike?
-Don't eat mushrooms. I have realised though that sometimes you try something and it's not so bad.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?
-hanging with friends. Is that a place?

10. Favorite dressing?
-not really a dressing person. yep, I'm a nudist.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
-I have a bicycle. I love it.

12. What are your favorite clothes?
- pyjamas. I like it to be comfortable.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
-I try to be half full.

15. Where would you want to retire?
-To my world tour.

16. Favorite time of day?
-don't think I have a favourite. I do know that I am not a morning person.

17. Where were you born?
-Zambia

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
-Today it is tennis. But most of the time it is basketball, I'm thinking

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
-well I haven't really tagged anyone...

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
-see above regarding lack of tags.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
-it is always good to learn new things about folk.

22. Bird watcher?
-Birds? In New York City? Not really.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
-Oh, so NOT a morning person. I am legend when it comes to my lack of sunshine in the morning.

24. Do you have any pets?
-A Beta Fish named Gandanga. I also have my plants

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
-The weekend is nearly here! Did you know that?

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
-a singing and dancing gymnast!

27. What is your best childhood memory?
-Childhood is my best memory. Pretty much every time I think back, whatever I remember makes me smile.

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
-Not really an animal person. I think I am more of a people person. people may not agree.

29. Are you married?
-no

30. Always wear your seat belt?
-When I'm in the front seat I do. In the back seat, not always.

31. Been in a car accident?
-I believe so. Nothing serious, touch wood.

32. Any pet peeves?
-oh, where to begin. Spitting, loud gum chewing, people who don't curb their dogs...

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
-I really just like a very good base. Anything else is a bonus but if the base is no good then nothing else matters.

34. Favorite Flower?
- chrysanthemum - my birth flower.

35. Favorite ice cream?
-my favourite ice cream is ice cream. Like chocolate in it, i like caramel, i like fruit, and I love a creamy rich ice cream.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
-Don't really do fast food, but, if it counts - IHOP.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
-Twice, once in Zimbabwe and once in the US.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
-HiDef

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
-Either Amazon.com or a hardware store. Ooooh Strand Bookstore

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
-Went to an awesome beer hall with more beers than I even knew existed.

41. Like your job?
-As much as one can.

42. Broccoli?
- I really like broccoli

43. What was your favorite vacation?
-There are several - Puerto Rico was fantastic. Hawaii was awesome. Victoria Falls was amazing.

44. Last person(s) you went out to dinner with?
-HiDef

45. What are you listening to right now?
-US Open Tennis match between Federer and Soderling

46. What is your favorite color?
-Black. I just love it. I have also accepted burgundy as my colour. Red is good too.

47. How many tattoos do you have?
- Zero. I have decided to get one when I am 70.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
-I have not tagged.

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
-2034hrs

50. Coffee Drinker?

At most, a cup a day. Is that bad?

Wishing On A Star

Ah Serena, you have won my heart. When I see you I am lost for words. "Wow" and "Lovely" don't quite seem to capture quite what I want to say when I see you play, when I see you.. heck when I just see you. You are something else. I really like your big sister Venus; I always have liked her. When I watch her being your big sister, even when she is playing against you and winning, I imagine that I am as good a big sister as she is. I remember the one time my sister send my dad an email, telling him how I was her best friend and how much she loved me. I try to forget the times she declared, in the middle of an argument or a tantrum, how cruel I was and how she didn't want me to be her sister any more. I watch Venus comfort you when you lose to her and I think to myself - yeah, I would totally do that too.

I am distracted. Back to the heart of this matter. Serena, you rock. You and your incredibly muscled arms, legs and the rest of you rock. It is like you are carved out of rock and then you rock. Is that mind-blowing? It must be for my mind is blown and my heart is captured. You are made of steel and yet your insides are so endearingly human. We have seen you weep, we have watched you vent and we have seen you sulk. As with Achilles, you remind us, that as strong as you are, you have weakness and it is this weakness that makes it possible for us to adore your strength. But, just to make sure we don't get too comfortable, you do not hesitate to flex and leave us breathless.

Over the years, as you have matured and grown more graceful, my admiration of you has grown too. I am at the point where I cannot merely say that "I am a fan." No, I must declare, so there is no doubt, "I am a fanatic." Please, Ms Williams (the Younger) may I squeeze your muscles?

Not Chopped Liver, Chopped Liver WITH Onion

Yeah, I could see the Manhattan Bridge getting into a big sulk over being sidelined by just about everyone. "It's always Brooklyn Bridge this, Brooklyn Bridge that. What am I, chopped liver?"

Well, Manhattan bridge, take heart; I think you're awesome. You are my Cinderella - the beauty no one takes notice of until the fairy godmother brings along a pumpkin and next thing you know a prince is searching for you high and low, armed with a glass slipper. Does that make me a fairy godmother? Who would be the prince? Is this all a very bad analogy? Am I losing my train of thought?



Let me get back to it. There are three bridges that run between Manhattan and Brooklyn - Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg - but all you ever hear about or see in the movies is the Brooklyn Bridge. You would think that's all there is. Well, I'm here to tell you, there's another way, maybe even a better way (sorry Williamsburg, I can only godmother one at at time). How do I love thee, Manhattan Bridge? Let me count the ways.



Nine times out of ten, maybe even 9.9 times, I get lost trying to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge. One moment you are following signs and the next you are driving under the bridge, towards the East River, on a one-way street, with no clue how to get anywhere. And, once I get over it, I have no idea where I am. Cab drivers probably pay their rent with the extra money that they make through people lost around the Brooklyn Bridge. Manhattan Bridge? Well that is straight off Canal Street, in Manhattan, a hugely popular street and the soul of Chinatown. And it leaves you right on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, which is straight into downtown. I mean there is no getting lost there. No siree Bob!

Also, let's not forget, the Manhattan Bridge has it all - lanes for cars, subway tracks (for trains taking me straight to work for the last 6 years and counting), and a bikeway. Now that I have a bike and I actually had to ride it from Manhattan to Brooklyn, I have used all three services. The Brooklyn Bridge doesn't do subway, so there.

Still not good enough for ya? Well, just look at it. It's not a bad-looking bridge. And it has decent views. From the Manhattan Bridge, as you ride the subway, you look one way and see the Williamsburg Bridge, and then you look the other way and see the iconic Brooklyn Bridge AND the Statue of Liberty. Now, tell me how you are going to see the Brooklyn Bridge, while on the Brooklyn Bridge? Haha! Got you!

So there you go, Manhattan Bridge, Ugly Duckling no more. You may not be the oldest suspension bridge or the longest of the first steel wire suspension. But you keep me from wandering back streets for hours, unable to get home or to where I was going in the first place. You may not be in the photos on the walls of every place advertising Brooklyn, but you give me a view to enjoy on my way to work, while others have only the dark passages of the underground tunnels to see on their morning commute. You may not be getting respect, but I'm here with a horse-drawn carriage and stunning dress. Tonight, you are going to the ball!

Be home by midnight!

Self-Flagellation

Where have I been, you may wonder? I have been sitting around trying to figure out how to make things right. How could I have done such terrible wrong? I tried to tell myself that I had no idea but, apparently, ignorance is no defence. So I am having to face up to what I have done and try to fix things. Maybe you can help.

So about a week and a half ago, I was reading USAToday and the lead story had this headline "Older White Males Hurt More by this Recession". My first thought is - what a poor headline; that's almost an essay. My second thought was well, this is the top story, let me check it out. And thank goodness I did. I may have carried on in life, clueless about my evil deeds. You, on the other hand might be thinking, well Pandave, you are not an older white male so what is your deal. Well, you keep reading, because I am going to tell you how this all comes together and lands on my doorstep.

The story starts with heartbreaking mini-stories about three men from Columbus, Ohio, who, after working all their lives find themselves, in their 50s and looking for work. These are men who have worked hard, served the community and done nice things for strangers and now they are sitting around wondering what is wrong with them. Life just came up and punched them in the gut. Unemployment for this demographic is at a record high level of 6.5%

And me and my demographic? What do we have to say for ourselves? Well yeah, yeah older black men's jobless rate is 10.5% but it peaked in 1983 at over 11.5%. And black women? 12.2%, is what it is. The untrained eye may look and say, well that's almost twice the rate for older white men but that's because you don't realise that it once was 20%.

And to put it all in a nutshell, let me quote USAToday:
"In other words, this recession has shrunk the racial gap in unempolyment, largely because white men are doing so much worse than usual."
And I ask you, is that right? Is that fair? How can one group do better at the expense of another. Granted, the group doing better is still having a rather sucky time but, it should be accustomed to the bad times and not wish to take the good times away from others. We won't talk payrate discrepancies - those are distractions. What matters is that a bunch of folk are getting a little closer to the rest and that is just not right.

I for one feel just awful. I feel as though I should start calling people up, apologising and maybe offering them my job. You know, to get things back to normal again.

It Only Takes A Spark

So, this is what happened to me today. I got up and my body ached and so I thought - ten more minutes. It felt like all I did was blink but then it was helluva long blink because, the next time I opened my eyes, it was half an hour later. I dragged myself out into the unreal humidity that is a New York phenomenon. Damp and weighed down by the grey skies, I finally parked myself at my desk at work and decided to visit my blog friends to help lift my spirits. My fellow bloggers never cease to amaze, inspire, motivate and fascinate me. And, when the endless rain has soaked my spirit into submission, this is what I need in order to get me going.

I headed over to Oscar's site, where only yesterday he and El Editor had me smiling and bopping at my desk and saw that he had encouraged me to read the lyrics of the wonderful song Marcianita (My Little Martian Girl). I am being very generous when I say that my Spanish language skills are limited, and Oscar suggested I use a translator and so I did. I realised that, in my office, I have coworkers from Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Peru and that's just on my side of the room. So I asked the lady from Costa Rica if she had a little time for me and a little song. She took the song and enlisted the assistance of yet another coworker and, in no time presented me with translated lyrics. She took the time to type them up! I was touched and impressed.

Well, after all that, I felt I owed her an explanation and so I did, from the beginning, together with illustrations, provided by me clicking on Oscar's site. "Oh, that's really cool," she said and the proceeded to translate the comment "eso de una sola teta....pobre flaco!" that was also left on the site. Then she told me that, before she had kids, she used to love to draw a lot. Having grown up in Orlando, right near Disney, she loved to draw cartoon characters. Those who know me know I can barely draw a line and so I was excited - you draw? Then you must draw.

And draw she did - behold, people, and animaniac! And suddenly my sticky, grey day had meaning. For had I not sought inspiration, would I have ended up here, as happy as Dot, up there? Thanks Oscar!

Fait Accompli!

It has been a while since I embarked on my mission to become an eco-terrorist. A jigsaw puzzle with wildflower seeds embedded in the pieces? What a genius idea! Fuzzy pieces that are so difficult for my eyse to make out? Not so good. I stopped and started; I almost gave up. I rolled up the puzzle and put it away and focused on tryign to make the most of the rare sunny days we have had this summer. But the puzzle drew me, like a magnet. It taunted me - 500 pieces, Pandave. Are you going to be conquered by 500 pieces? There were days when the answer was a resounding - yeah, I just might be. Last week, this is where things stood:

Sunday was a rainy day and my brain was fried from three intense weeks of classes. The yellow puzzle pad sat on my table, taunting me. And I am a sucker for a taunt - challenge me? You want to challenge me? Well... You're on! I positioned the lamp to shine down on the pieces, I pulled the table close to me and got busy. You see the bags under my eyes? The tired and puffy face at work this morning? The less than four hours of sleep I got on Sunday night? Well, HELLO PANDA!!



I am sad about taking this apart but you know what would make it better? Finding people all over who will take in the pieces and spread the wildflowers around the world. Eco-terrorism... Who is with me?

AbraCa-Luv-Ya

This morning I stepped on the train, on my way to work. I noticed behind me, as I stood, some whimpering. I glanced backwards and there she was, a cute little girl, maybe three years old, sitting on her father's lap. I turned back and carried on with my half-asleep-on-my-way-to-work stance. But the volume increased, gradually. Then came the almighty holler and all bets were off. She was full out of control crying. I looked over again and now her face was red, her mouth a cavern, with what looked like a wad of gum, balanced on her tongue. She squirmed in her uncomfortable-looking father's lap, as he whispered to her ineffectually, trying to calm her down.

I looked away - I didn't want to make him feel any worse than he obviously did. He should be concerning himself with what was bothering her, not with the curious staring masses sharing the subway car with him. Then, suddenly, silence. What happened? I looked back and noticed that there was a sister, perhaps a year older, sitting in a stroller. She had reached over and grabbed her little sister's hand and was yanking on it, getting her sister's attention. The formerly crying girl was now sniffing as she stared at her older sister. The older sister, then started stroking the little girl's arm, wiped her tears away and spoke magic words that got the little girl smiling. I too smiled and wondered if I had done the same for my little sister.

I DOUBT IT!

I probably would have leaned over and threatened to pinch her. She would have screamed, "dad! pandave is trying to pinch me!"

my father would have said, "Pandave!" in a threatening tone. I would have protested, "but, but."

"No buts, you're the older sister. Come on."

I would have folded my arms in a big sulk. My sister would have smiled triumphantly.

So, mission accomplished, no more tears...

Right?

Weakend

So on Friday at about 5:30 pm, I decided to call it a week and start my weekend. I was ready for a break. The week had done me in, I felt as though I could sleep for a week. But first, an errand or two to run. So off I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond - I needed a few hangers for me and Hidef could do with some prettyfication of his space. Then it was off home to reorganise my closet a little and move some winter clothes under the bed - maybe if the clothes are hidden, winter will take its time about coming back.

But there was a box under the bed; what was in the box? Papers, tapes and goodness knows what else and, the next thing I knew, it was almost midnight and I was maybe halfway through. But I was tired so I hit the sack.

It felt as though I had barely I closed my eyes than someone rang my doorbell. It was Saturday. Who was uncivilised enough to come a-calling at 8 in the morning. The exterminator, that's who. But what could I do? I was awake now, right? So I pulled on my sneakers and headed out for a short run. I came back, I showered and I dressed comfortably and then I sat in front of my computer. I have signed up for a class, you see, that is supposed to help me get better at my job but has only, thus far, helped me get worse at having free time. It was almost seven, by the time I had made my way through the online turorials and half of my homework, but I couldn't make sense of the sentences floating in front of my eyes any more. So I headed out to a place around the corner for dinner. I took my time - I knew what was waiting for me back home.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer. I went home and faced the paper piles again. What needed to be shredded? What could just be trashed? What still had to be stored? Two trashbags were filled and yet there was still stuff under my head. How does that happen? It must be some law of exponential trash - the more you throw away, the more that is left behind.

Once again, it was late and I needed to get some sleep. I took a crossword puzzle into bed, filled in, maybe, two clues, and was dead to the world. It was eight when I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. My legs felt as though they weighed a tonne. each. I wasn't ready. I lay down again, telling myself that it would only be for ten minutes more. Next thing I knew it was half past nine. I got up and went out to Cafe Regular for a latte and amazing muffin, and a read of the Sunday paper. Slightly energised, I headed back home, turned on the computer and started working on the endless homework.

It was just about 1pm when I decided to take a break and head out to the farmer's market to pick up my vegetables for the week. All local and all delicious. I lugged it all back home, put it in the fridge, grabbed my bag and headed out to the subway station. I needed to pop into Manhattan - I needed frames and today was the last day of the 50% off sale. Darn! The train that runs 16th street, just two short blocks away from the store on 18th Street and Fifth Avenue, was not running! So I took the alternative, which left me on 16th and Broadway - two long blocks and two short blocks away from my destination. It was no sweat getting there but then I had to lug my huge frames and smaller bag of extras back to the station, navigate the turnstiles and stairs and lug everything all the way home and up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. I plopped everything down in the hallway, grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

I stopped at Hidef's to pick up my bicycle. I got a bicycle after he tired of my always borrowing his, but the wheel is squeaking and scraping against the frame. So the bike is then walked to the subway station, carried down the stairs, navigated through turnstiles and taken to the bicycle store, in Manhattan, via the train. I stand around as they adjust the bicycle and return it to me, good as new. I pull on my helmet, ask for directions back to Brooklyn and start to cycle.

It starts to rain. Lovely.

I almost get hit by a bus and realise that I am supposed to share my bicycle lane with buses. Great.

Did I mention that this is the first time I have ever ridden in Manhattan? And then I hit the Manhattan bridge and a dedicated cycle track so I can admire the view without worrying about traffic. Now I'm starting to have fun, even though I am huffing uphill. I keep hoping that I hit the halfway mark soon. If I have gone up, I must go down, right? Right. Except down only starts about three quarters of the way in. Oh well, I'm cruising now, so I can't complain. I hit the right speed, I barely have to consult my directions and I am on a roll. Wheee!

I get home, park the bicycle and realise that I'm out of milk. It's raining hard now, so I grab and umbrella, some shopping bags and pull on my wellingtons and head out to the grocery store for milk and, of course, pick up a few other things to add to the menu. I get home and it's after 8pm.

I still have homework and it's due before midnight. Did I mention that at a point I did a bunch of homework and my page crashed and I lost it all? Bygones. But I am at it until almost half past ten, pausing only to do a spot of quick cooking and drink some water.

And now? Now the day is almost over. I go back to work tomorrow. And you know how I feel right now? Exhausted. Like I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I'm weakened. I'm done.