Push up Yogi

Good Restroom Bad Restroom

2010-09-02T22:40:00.004-04:00

Restroom at work. I feel bad.

On the other hand, I went to a soccer game the other day and they had these trailers that were fancy restrooms. I mean, they were the most comfortable thing about the evening (Blistering hot day, and we had the worst seats in the place). I probably could have gotten beaten up for taking photographs in the men's room, but hey, I had to show you how awesome the place was. It smelled good, I could see my face in the polished granite.

Lab Technicians can suck

2010-08-22T14:51:00.004-04:00

SO. Here is excuse #6. My technician.

Here's the story. I had been a little overworked (I told you), and eventually the dark circles under my eyes must've come to the attention of my boss. Either that or the many empty bottles of 7-hour energy drinks. (They are magic, I tell you. Magic.)

So he calls me in one day and says: "Hey Yogi, do you need some help?"

Yogi: Help? You mean a shrink?
Boss: No. Unless you think you need one. Do you?
Yogi: Uh.
Boss: You aren't going to come in and shoot the place up, are you?
Yogi: No.
Boss: You're fine then.
Yogi: Wha--?
Boss: So, do you need help? As in a technician?
Yogi: Yes. That and a raise would be nice.
Boss: Well, you can either get a tech and no raise, or no tech and no job.
Yogi: I'll take the tech.
Boss: Good.

(Yogi to himself: Hot young chick. Please, baby Jesus. Hot. Young. Chick.)

And then Boss introduces me to, um, we're going to call him Boris.

Boris is old. 60 years old.
Boris is morbidly obese.
Boris has never worked in a research environment.
Oh, also, Boris is an east European Jew who doesn't speak English.

I think I'm going to have a small series on Boris the Belarussian...

Holy Shit, I'm finally back

2010-08-22T14:43:00.002-04:00

Wow. April to August. Nothing.

WOW.

I mean, I knew I was super busy, but still. OK, excuses time:

1. I got adult onset chicken pox. I mean, do you know how painful that is? Apart from my beautiful visage being cratered for life, I also had lesions in my throat. Couldn't swallow. Or talk (probably worse). And the fatigue...

2. I almost got knifed in Puerto Rico. This is a LONG story, which I will get to when I carpal-tunneled wrists feel up to it.

3. Work. This would have been lame, except that it isn't. Work has indeed been tight.

4. I moved. Away from the boondocks, closer to civilization, which means I look more like a loser when I sit alone at home and blog.

5. The world cup (which the Germans should have won). I think I saw EVERY group stage match.

Winters make me fat

2010-04-04T12:48:00.002-04:00

After the previous post regarding MLK, I probably should leave the rest of the day post-less just out of respect. But my body is hurting bad, so I thought I should just write about how badly out of shape I am.

See, yogi, as his name suggests, does yoga every once in a while. I also play when the weather is good. Which means that I o pretty much nothing when the weather gets a little chilly. I mean, pushups and pullups, all 8 of them (twice a week), probably help me not turn into Jabba the Hutt, but they don't do very much else in terms of keeping me actually fit.

This last fact was brought painfully into focus at the first Ultimate Frisbee game of the year this last Friday. I mean, everybody was rusty, so the quality of play sucked anyway, but, wow, I was in BAD shape. Here's how I could tell, as always, in list form:

1. I had my hands on my knees and was dry heaving FIVE MINUTES into the game.

2. They made me defend the weakest person on the team (happened to be a first-timer), and I still got beat consistently. And handily.

3. I subbed out four times, three times of which I got the distinct impression I was being nudged out.
3a. I didn't mind. I took it gladly.

4. The last game was to 5. I pleaded for it to be a game to 3.
4a. I was overjoyed when we got our asses handed to us. 5-1.

5. I can't move today.

42 years today.

2010-04-04T11:58:00.003-04:00

Martin Luther King Jr was shot dead.

Seeing this video, no matter how many times I do it, sends chills down my spine.

42 years ago.

Just 42 years.

Trains at a Station

2010-03-26T23:03:00.002-04:00

Speaking of which, I took this with my cell phone. The bright light you see at the end of the tunnel is a waiting train. The train in the foreground switched tracks just past the station, but still, for a bit, it looked like one train headed directly for another. Wish I had a better camera though.

I speak Russian. You speak Russian?

2010-03-26T22:42:00.003-04:00

I was waiting for the train today, and there was this dude walking around in this weird way, somewhat agitated yet strangely trance-like. All he said over and over and over was:

I speak Russian. you speak Russian?

Except that
a. He had this thick Russian (surprise) accent, and
b. he didn't really stop to give any one a chance to answer.
He'd keep moving from person to person, look at them right in the face (as they tried hard to avoid eye contact) and would fire off his question. Apparently either no one knew Russian (I don't, which is a pity) or they were too weirded out by this dude, so all I heard until the train came was:

ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?ayspikRAAshnYUspiRAAshn?

Crazy.

Women's aisles are Men's Kryptonite (well, they weaken yogi)

2010-03-21T14:02:00.009-04:00

Just the other day I was told (gently of course. By a friend that cared) that the pores on my nose looked like craters. Fortunately, they make this nose strip thing for exactly this, and so I decided to go buy myself a nose strip from the local Target. Now, I must clarify that Yogi is by and large a very clean person and all that, but beauty products don't appear very high on his shopping list. And when they did make an occasional appearance, there was the obliging lady-friend who would take care of it. God bless these women. I mean, I'm sure they did it partly out of self-interest - no one wants to be seen with the Indian guy with meteorite craters on his nose. But still, that meant that beyond knowing that these nose strips were somewhere in the ladies aisle, I didn't know much else. And being single and all that, it meant that I had to wade into uncharted territory.

See, this is where men and women are different: women would have no problems going into the men's area. In fact, some of them insist on choosing our underwear (I think the pink ones with winnie the pooh are SO awesome honey; I think you'll look great in them); these women have no problems digging through piles of men's wear until they see something that they approve of us wearing.

We're a little different. First of all, I really don't care if you buy read or black underwear. Or pink or fuchsia or teal or indigo. Buy whatever makes you happy. Just don't drag me along. I start sweating when I'm surrounded by bras of various sizes and shapes; I feel like a giant perv, and the inquisitive/critical glances that I get from matronly woman who are trying on their giant beige undies make me feel all the more so.

This is also true for the cosmetic section. I will gladly admit, I am not one of those metrosexual types. I have never had a pedicure and never will. I stick to one set of body washes and one shampoo/conditioner combo thing. I know there are specific washes and lotions for various body parts, but really, I don't want to bust 17.99 just so the undersides of eyes look the exact same tone as my ears and smell of musky daffodils. Perhaps this makes me less attractive, but so be it. What that means is that I feel discombobulated in that area of the (already discombobulating) superstore.

So when I needed to cure the craters, I swallowed my unease and headed over to those aisles. Sure enough, by the time I reached, my stomach was already in knots. I flew by the aisle so quickly the first time that my eyeballs barely registered anything more than a pastely blur.

"Well, perhaps they just thought I was walking past on the way to another more appropriate aisle", I thought, and so I took a deep breath, swept back my wet hair, and gave it another go. This time I took the "I'm just perusing the aisle for something that my lady friend may need" approach. I walked slower this time, but then midway I made eye contact with a middle-aged overweight woman who was comparing hair removal creams. She had headmistress written all over her. I think I gave her an uneasy smile and she glared at me. I hightailed it out of there is two seconds flat.

But I wasn't going to give up, so I went up to the second floor, looked at some sports goods (to make sure the lady moved on, and also to surround myself with happy images of baseballs and cheap golf clubs), and then sauntered back down. This time I decided to give it the harried "man, I know what I'm looking for, but I only have three minutes, so I better focus and be quick" fly-by. This was more of a deliberate walk down the aisle, eyes focused on the various products, with more than the occasional shrug (as if to say I don't know whether this nose strip is for my skin-type) and the head shake (this Target is crazy - why don't they have my specific nose strip brand?).

No luck. Worse, the damn woman was still there, now looking at elbow cream or something.

So I went and finally looked for help. Turned out that there were three dudes emptying out shelves in the very next aisle. Great, I thought. Dudes who are comfortable with this shit. They can help me! And so I walked up to them and opened my dry mouth to ask them where this thing is, except I realized I didn't know what it was called (I know now, but I had forgotten then). I stuttered about for a bit - I think I came up with nose-hole medicine amongst other things - but then after some wild gesticulation they figured out what I needed. Except THEY DIDN'T KNOW WHERE THE HELL TO FIND IT EITHER OR WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE.

So it was myself and three equally embarrassed Target employees carefully strolling down the same aisle, carefully, in formation (lest we get separated from each other). This time we looked up and down with military precision. We weren't exactly sure what we were looking for but I vaguely remembered it was a small pastel green cardboard box, and we all agreed that it would have the words nose strip on it.

By this time, I was becoming a regular at that aisle. I was the regular perv who had no business there. I mean all the women had seen me before, and they all sighed and shook their heads before turning their attention back to their eye-lash elongators or nose-hair tweezers. Except this time I had come with reinforcements and so I felt better about the whole deal. I was Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator. My three new friends however, not unlike the guys that get capped by the predator in the movie, were way worse off than me. In three seconds, their shirts were plastered to their back because of their perspiration. Their breathing was heavy and labored, and they didn't look above the bottom three shelves for fear of making eye contact with the ladies in the aisle.

I think one of them finally bumped into hair-removal lady and muttered an embarrassed apology. I think that finally did it. The woman turned to us and asked me: "CAN I HELP YOU, YOUNG MAN?" All four of us cowered. My brothers crept behind me and pointed in my direction wordlessly. This was exactly like 4th grade when all of us were in the cricket match where a window got broken, but it was me that actually did the breaking, a fact that was quickly pointed out when we got hauled to the Principal's office. I gulped.

"Uh, nose strip things. We were looking for them"

"Was that what you were looking for?"

"Yes, ma'am"

She turned around, took a pastel green cardboard box from her shopping cart and thrust it into my hand. "This is what you need. It was the last one they had."

I nearly hugged her in a teary embrace of relief and gratitude. An angel had descended that day and had touched me. I turned around and saw my comrades crying on each other's shoulders. The band of 4 brothers patted each other on the back and shook hands; we all had a story for our grandchildren, we said. We had survived.

And I ran out and kissed the oil-stained floor of the parking garage and wept.

Browning 12-gauge vs. yogi shoulder

2010-03-13T11:32:00.002-05:00

Winner: Browning 12-guage. Barely. I know, I know, it's a sissy bruise, barely one at all. But if you've got good form, all you should've seen in the pic would be yogi's rippling and unblemished deltoids.

See, this is the problem when you go shooting with friends - everyone's talking, there are pretty women around, you want to impress them with your form, and then, just for the one round, you lose your focus just a bit and loosen up. And of course, since it's a 12-gauge, that means that when you fire, there's a skull-rattling recoil and your shoulder and cheekbone let you know for the next three hours that they were somewhat displeased by the turn of events.

But still, just because it's a matter of pride, I have to include a little factoid that you don't really need to know, but do now that I have told you - I still beat out the kids from Utah to win our little competition. Take that, Hansens.

Why blog, yogi?

2010-03-10T22:54:00.003-05:00

... just got a disapproving comment (that will stay unpublished) asking me about how I can write the way I do, being the person I am. (These people know yogi in real life, and yogi in real life is more normal). If you know me, perhaps you have thought this too. To them, and to you, I say this:

Perhaps my blog is a projection of the parts of me that DOES look at my world as one squalid messed up place. Maybe that is who yogi is - me at my funniest, narcissistic, misogynistic, drunken, outrageous best. Or worst. Perhaps as yogi I look at myself and choose to be whatever part of me I want to be at that point in time, knowing that writing about that me at that time is pure, beautiful and unadulterated joy. No more, no less. No agenda, no planning, no forethought, no afterthought. Just happiness.

That's all there is to it.

Post meeting crash

2010-03-09T22:08:00.002-05:00

I had a big, BIG meeting just yesterday. The kind that you spend sleepless nights ahead of, so you don't end up looking like a complete jack-ass in front of some very smart people.

So what do you do after you blow them away?

You crash. That's what you do. It's amazing how the brain just stops working. Your body does too; your sleep schedule and appetite are all out of whack, but it's the cobwebs in the brain that are really awesome. I mean, I don't really understand it. You are functioning just fine, it wasn't like I was walking into stuff or blathering like a fool (this I usually do, but that's beside the point. I don't usually feel like my head is full of cobwebs). But my brain was just dead. I tried doing some thinking, but it would shut off after a little bit.

I really wonder what it could be. "Fatigue" doesn't cut it. No, what is it that makes the brain like it's had enough and needs time to recuperate after a bit of stress? It's not like lactic acid buildup in muscles, can't be oxygen deprivation... hm. Wonder what.

4 days of drinking, 1 frog leg, and 1 sixteen-hour throw up session

2010-02-28T21:57:00.004-05:00

Ah... Yogi turns older by a year today.

Celebrations with multiple friends' circles = mucho alcohol and food + being surrounded by good friends. It's nice to know a bunch of people like you and care about you. It's a soft and mushy feeling even for a hardened cynic like me. I just couldn't do five days straight (plus I had to go in for a solid 9-hour day of work today).

Bet you thought the chundering had something to do with the drinking. Wrong. It had all to do with frog legs.

See, last weekend, I agreed to go to a play on a whim, and decided to meet the rest of the group at a bar. I was under the impression that the "friend from work" that my friends were bringing was a dude. In retrospect, I have no idea why I would have had that impression, because my friends certainly didn't tell me their friend from work was a dude.

Because the friend from work was one cute asian chick.

Unfortunately, they were late getting to the bar (may have something to with the fact that it was three women. Just saying, just saying...) by which time I had already run through three beers and was on my fourth. So by this time I was already feeling pretty good about myself, and the world was pink and rosy, and this woman suddenly seemed very very cute. So I'm thinking "Yogi, this is awesome. You should go make an impression" and so I open with this:

"HEEEYYY. Burp. How goooes iiiit... I'm yogi."

- " uh... hey (polite handshake). I'm Gina."

"Oh Gina? You mean like VAGINA? Hahahahaaa..."

This was a mistake on multiple counts:
1. This was the first time I was meeting Gina. You do not attempt to rhyme people's names with body parts when you meet them for the first time.
2. Her name is pronounced Jeena. Vagina of course, does not rhyme with Jeena.
3. This was the immediate death of any chance I had with Gina. Or Vagina. or Geena's Vagina.

Of course, I did not know this, and I interpreted the frozen mask of horror on our mutual friends as a look of pride (at my awesome ability to break the ice) and merriment (at my stellar sense of humor). Still, given Gina's sudden glum silence, I thought I should make another attempt at bonding. So when we sat down to eat and got our food, I looked around and saw that Ms Gina had gotten herself frog legs. The legs were deep fried in some sort of tempura and came arranged in a circle around a little bowl with some asian hot sauce. (It was one of those somewhat fancy restaurants where they think itsy bits of grub artistically arranged fills your belly). Feeling somewhat emasculated by my own choice of green salad with tofu and raspberry vinaigrette, I decided to take Gina up when she offered me some frog leg (while not making eye contact). I thought this was Asian demureness at the time, which I found quite alluring.

But anyway, I ate one. It must have been a big frog because it had a big-ass leg. I think it tasted like chicken, but more amphibious. Anyway, I washed it down with more beer, and didn't think any more of it; we had a play to go see, and we needed to hurry.

The play was uneventful and so was most of the pitstop afterward. We were midway through another round of beer and chips when I got a sudden spasm in my midriff. "Ah, well, yogi, you're getting old", I thought to myself, and I stretched a bit. No problemo. I downed a bunch of water and then we left for the night.

The second spasm hit when I was peeing at home. "Hm. Come now, yogi. Surely, you didn't drink THAT much, did you? You must be a little dehydrated, plus all that sitting through the play..." but still, I didn't think much of it and went to sleep.

Well, it turns out that I have a checkpoint in my gut, around where the stomach gives way to the small intestine. I call it Checkpoint Charlie, like in Berlin. It's sort of like immigration check. Unsavory characters get held up for a bit, and then if you're brown and have a beard, you're in for an extra check, lubed up baton and all. And then if you happen to have crummy papers, you're out. You and your belongings do a U-turn and head back to wherever you came from.

So around 2 am the frog legs got a thumbs-down from Checkpoint Charlie. Which is when they packed their bags and trudged back up. But see, by then they had already dispersed out a lot and were swimming in a sea of beer, and because Checkpoint Charlie sends out bad guys bit by bit, it makes for a long drawn out process. This was when I started feeling really bad, and I was pretty sure what was coming. The thing about the process is
a. Once the U-turn is made, there's no stopping it
b. The exodus is forceful
c. It is also extremely thorough

So I parked myself near the toilet and let it start. And it did start. It was good. It was spectacular, even. I think I should spare you the details, but I was done by the end of it, which was midway through the next morning. Done. I couldn't move, my head was killing me, my body was killing me, my abs were killing me, I had a fever, but surprisingly, the bottom half of my GI tract was absolutely fine. It was like the West Germans that were milling around in Berlin and had just not noticed a bunch of East Germans being given the finger.

So yeah, even though I lost a solid five pounds and my abs look sculpted, it was less than a pleasant way to start the birthday week. Anyway that's the story I thought I should tell you on this beautiful day. Makes the second half of the week feel even better. It also adds one item to the (short) list of things I think I should avoid in the future.

Happy Birthday, me.

KR Sridhar and the BloomBox - must see video!

2010-02-22T12:32:00.002-05:00

Watch CBS News Videos Online

Can this really be true? The "beach sand" is obviously SiO2, but I wonder what's in the green and black paints... at $3000/box, he is right, this will revolutionize the way we produce energy. Can't wait to read more on this. And a desi geek to boot! Yay!!!

Shaun White can board.

2010-02-17T23:19:00.003-05:00

Damn! Well, OK, I'm not a big fan of the winter olympics; I watch it mostly to catch the wipe-outs, like this poor lady who crossed the finish line in the air, facing skyward, head first, at the end of the alpine. I laughed mercilessly as she picked her bruised body (and ego) up and trudged off to cry on her coach's shoulder. Well, OK, I chuckled a bit, and then felt bad. Anyway, my point is that I'm not much of a connoisseur.

But then I just saw Shaun White (not a big fan of him either) pull off a RIDICULOUS two runs on the half pipe. I mean, it was unreal. Un. Real. I have rarely seen such a separation between the top two athletes in any sport (barring Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps obviously) as I did today, when he thulped the competition into the ground. Bigger air, cleaner technique and great tricks. And then on his victory lap (he was already assured a gold after his first run), he executes a ridiculous I don't know what. Three and a half turns, double flip and oh I don't know, I think he made a bird's nest out of his hair at the end before he landed. Clean.

You could hear the announcers gush over it like 12 year old girls ad try to one-up each other trying to figure out what it was called. Thanks NBC for fucking it up for me. But except that, it was awesome.

Funny Home Video - Hilarious FAIL by roommate

2010-02-13T16:40:00.004-05:00

Aw, jeez... So you know the whole of the Northeast has been blanketed by snow. Well, we got a solid two and a half feet, and so a couple days back my roomies tried to go up to the roof and clean the snow off, just in case it caved in or something. Well, you know what's coming.

Slippery roof + Uncoordinated roommate = Unintended (but perfectly foreseeable) Hilarity. Glad I had the presence of mind to shoot. (ah, yogi's powers of intuition...)

Song Lyrics I got all wrong

2010-02-11T20:45:00.003-05:00

I've been the butt of many, many jokes because of my complete inability to get song lyrics right - I just can't help it. And these aren't your 120 mile an hour RATM lyrics (which no one gets, come on now, be honest. "Since 1516 minds attacked and overseen"? Really?), these are lyrics that many others might get, but I just don't. I've thought about it, and I think that the cause is fourfold:
One, my hearing is bad;
two, my native tongue is not English;
three, I don't really care what they're crooning/yelling/grunting, and
four, it makes more sense with my lyrics. Some times.

But still all I plead is this: put yourself in my shoes with these handicaps, and then listen to these songs. You'll find that I wasn't that far off...

The marginal ones: There are always the marginal ones, like Penny Lane -Beatles; I always thought it was
"Penny Lane, within my ears and in my eyes..."
turns out it's
"Penny Lane, IS IN my ears and in my eyes..."
Big deal. Same idea. I know what you're saying, Lennon, but your crap Brit accent (and poor 60s recording) is throwing me off a bit.

The logical ones: Some of my lyrics were nonsensical in the context of the song, but made reasonable logical sense as independent phrases. Michael Jackson Man in the Mirror:
"... I'm asking him to change his ways/And no message could have been any clearer..."
became
"... and no Mustang was a Benz and a Clipper..."
I mean, why would a dude be comparing automobiles in the middle of a song I wouldn't know, but it is true that a Mustang is neither a Benz nor a Clipper.

The ones born out of ignorance: So you know how in the song With Teeth from the album of the same name, Trent Reznor goes
"Withthhe TEEEEEEETTHTHTHTH-UHHH..."
Well, if I had known that the name of the song was with teeth, I may have gotten what he was saying. But what with Trent stretching a two syllabic phrase to sound like it had seventeen, I thought he was saying
"To entertain LUUUUVVE..."
(This one almost got me beat up)

Confusion about message of the song: You know the song Weak and Powerless - Perfect Circle? Well, when Maynard sings
"Desperaaaaaate, and ravenous...
so weeeeeaaak and powerleesss...",
I thought it was more of a gung-ho pick-me-up song, and so, naturally, my brain sings
"Desperaaaaaate, and loneleyyyy.... (yes it DOES sound like lonely)
So weeeee can power thiiiissss..."
You know, like a "hey buddy, I know you're feeling low, but we can power this shit. Listen to my song and then go do it man!" See? Plain ol' confusion.

Top three for longevity. Plus for some reason I have a soft spot for these three that I completely messed up. Why, I don't know, but here they are:

3. Sad but true - Metallica. I thought it was "self control" for the longest time. I mean, if you're singing about how I'm your dreams mind astray, I'm your eyes when you're awake and all that, I thought you were defining my self control.

2. Living on a prayer: I thought it went "...take my hand and we'll make it elsewhere..." you know, because Bon Jovi always has a back-up option. Because he's from Jersey.

1. Clocks - ColdPlay. This one really messed me up, and continues to do so every time I hear it. You know how Chris Martin croons
"And noooothing else compaaaaarrresss...."?
I thought it was
"and Iiii feel a stomachaaaaaache..." (more like stumcaaaaake)
I swear. No kidding. Well, he did sound like he was having digestive difficulties, but still, I KNEW that wasn't what he was singing. I mean, ColdPlay just doesn't write shit like that. they're all about love and angst and women and stuff. But it totally got me.

So there it is - feel free to comment and let me know of your favorite lyrics that you butchered. Because really, I'm going to be waiting with bated breath.

Rachel Maddow - unfortunate headline

2010-02-10T11:57:00.004-05:00

I love Rachel and her show, and I think she's the best around, but given how she rolls, I think this was a somewhat unfortunate headline on HuffPo...

Why India SUCKS at athletics

2010-02-09T21:59:00.004-05:00

...well, not just Indians, but also Pakistanis and Sri Lankans and Bangladeshis and Nepalis and Bhutanese. And whoever the hell participates in the South Asian Games. In this particular case, the giant snafu was in Dhaka, Bangladesh, where I hope heads roll for this, but this gives you an idea of the amount South Asians care for athletics.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/sports/events-tournaments/south-asian-games/South-Asian-Games-Marathon-ends-7-kms-short-of-official-distance/articleshow/5553100.cms

THEY CAN'T MEASURE THE DAMN DISTANCE REQUIRED FOR A MARATHON.

Oh, and the Indians were far better, check this out: they missed the entire closing ceremony because of a traffic jam.

At first it's funny, and then it's really, really sad. Don't give me this b.s. of "oh we're a poor nation, we're just developing, there aren't any funds." If you can't make it to the ceremony of the games where you won some 90 gold medals, you suck. That's it.

Best ad of the superbowl hands down

2010-02-08T11:46:00.001-05:00

Things I didn't do in 2009

2010-02-08T00:05:00.002-05:00

Things I didn't do in 2009 (again, an egocentric list that I put together because I felt like it. And the mulled wine in my belly on this superbowl night makes me want to type). For no particular reason, the order is mostly reverse-chronological:

1. Didn't go to Turkey. Because my friends hate me and went without me.
2. Didn't go to Peru. Because the same friends also wimped out.
3. Didn't insist on going to a better cabin in upstate NY. Regretted that one, though it made for a good story.
4. Didn't cut back on the alcohol, coffee and hot sauce even though I knew hops, caffeine and habaneros give me the shits
5. Didn't go to South Africa, even though everything was already arranged.
6. Didn't murder my boss for having pulled the rug from under my feet re. SA trip. Came close though.
7. Didn't do as much endurance working out as I would have liked. This includes marathon sex sessions, which were non-existent in 2009, sadly.
8. Didn't help my friend when he wiped out badly in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country - laughed uproariously instead and cramped. Which I feel bad about now, but he did OK eventually.
9. Didn't move out, because I thought the vermin we caught in our crawl space in the summer was an isolated incident. This again turned out to be a mistaken assumption.
10. Didn't buy a house because the bankers are gigantic wankers. But I think I dodged a bullet on this one...
11. Didn't correct my barber when he thought I was a surgeon. He continues to think I am, so I hope he doesn't expect me work a miracle if his wife collapses at the shop.
12. Didn't call tattoo woman back. If you know the story, you know why. If you don't, it means I have a fragile ego. Just take my word for it.
13. Speaking of which, continued to have an abysmal track record of falling for unavailable women while ignoring perfectly fine single ones.
13. Didn't do my usual quota of NASCAR or NFL games. TV and living in the boonies took care of that.
14. Didn't get pubs even though I seemed to be working quite a bit.

Hm. That's about it - '09 was so quiet I didn't even feel that there was a bunch of stuff I missed out on. There you go. Here's a photo (taken in the basement of a building at work) that seems somewhat appropriate. I think it sums up my 2009.

Recap of 2009

2010-02-02T22:13:00.004-05:00

So you're wondering why this post is a month late?

Or maybe you aren't. Either way. January came and went, and I didn't feel like it or was too busy, or couldn't be arsed. That's it. Besides, who really cares, honestly. So without any further ado, here's what 2009 was like - more than anythings else, just to remind me about what the hell happened. I'm getting old and what-not...

1. Ate a huge square pizza while getting drunk on new year's eve (OK that's '08, but it crept into '09, so it counts).
2. Froze my butt off to watch Obama take the (mangled) Oath of Office. All downhill since then, eh, O-man?
3. Learned to make peace with my roommate's girlfriend's neutered dog humping its stuffed pillow non-stop (still wondering why they do it).
4. Got REE-JECted by an awesome Brit chick. One of many such rejects in 2009.
5. My granddad died when I was on the back 9 somewhere in Pennsylvania. That hurt for a long time. He was a good man.
6. Ate pig tongue. About as tasty as it sounds.
7. Saw some kick-ass concerts (and saw a girl get ejected for kicking someone's ass)
8. Killed mice and rats in and around the house. This was a continuing theme for '09.
9. Learned (with some dismay) that my nieces were learning to play the clarinet and flute. Not as dismayed as their parents though, I suspect.
10. Almost bought some pottery on the way to Gettysburg.
11. Almost died from mosquito bites at Chincoteague.
12. Played too much mini golf. Didn't get any better. Or worse.
13. Hiked on exactly 0.2 miles of the Appalachian Trail.
14. Had to ask 60 year old mother to help me make a campfire. Both me and my dad failed spectacularly; she did just fine.
15. Faced an epic meltdown in Vegas over being late for a flight (we weren't).
16. Dodged lightning at Bryce. Immediately followed by dodging hail, while eating soggy chutney-and-bhujia sandwiches.
17. Bought a pull-up bar to fight the flab. Briefly considered changing the name of the blog to Pullupyogi.
18. Walked.
19. Got the shits (bad) somewhere in the middle of the Solent. Learned that toilet splashback is a real risk when sailing in choppy waters on a challenger class yacht.
20. Held up an international flight on account of being late. Again.
21. Dressed like a 1920's newsboy and rode around DC in my Bianchi. Got featured in the local paper for my pains.
22. Dressed up as an R-rated fictional super-hero. People with a sense of humor were impressed. The rest can go screw themselves.
23. Got stuck in a ratty cabin in Upstate NY where nothing (fridge, oven, lights, toilet, heater) worked. Loads of alcohol helped soothe the pain.
24. Broke my lower control arm on a highway in rural PA in front of a 7-11. Helpful Indian (of course) shop owner helped sort out the mess.
25. Laughed uncontrollably when my friend wrecked his scooter in Nassau. Became probably the first idiot ever to ask for directions to the water when on an island.
26. Ate the most delicious mango this side of the Atlantic in a shed on the way to the Everglades. Stared down an alligator and ran like a girl when it moved.
27. Decided that East Coast road trip was less fun than West Coast road trip. Maybe traveling with cousin instead of lady friend had something to do with it.
28. Worked quite a bit.

Yep, that was about it. Overall, I'd say it was a quiet year. But thanks to a lot of really awesome people who I crossed paths with, it made it all good. I've shared lots of little stories with family and friends that made my life in '09, and continue to make my life in '10, truly happy.

Why cars are like women - one more reason

2009-12-12T22:36:00.003-05:00

So you know how they say cars are like women because they're awesome, they're sexy, they are expensive, all that stuff. Well, here's another reason.

How your car behaves under stress can be determined by who drove it before you.

If someone totally messed with your car before you got it, it may look great from the outside, but every once in a while, you're in bumfuck Pennsylvania and you brake hard, and then the damn thing could just break. And then my friend, you're screwed.

ps: Of course, if you get a completely new car you won't have this problem, but then getting it broken in can be like pulling teeth...

When your Lower Control Arm snaps...

2009-12-12T22:09:00.006-05:00

... when you're driving on a highway, it isn't a good thing. So for those of you who don't know, the lower control arm in your car is basically the thing that connects your wheel to your car frame, axle and steering link, so that the weight is held up by the frame, while the the steering wheel and the axle control turning and thrust. All in all, an important part of the car, unlike, say, the temperature control on the passenger side seat, or the light that turns on when you flip down the mirror in the sun visor...

So here is how a lower control arm should look:

And this is how my lower control arm looked at the local AAMCO in bumfuck Pennsylvania.

See that giant crack? Yeah, that happened to me when I was driving in PA in the middle of nowhere, at 50 mph or so. When your front passenger side just crumples, you know you're in trouble. Fortunately, yogi is endowed with pretty good driving skills, so apart from the slightly soiled pants, nothing else was damaged. Another stroke of luck: the car gave out right in front of a 7-11/gas station. Hello Indian people... (the dude was from Punjab, and was cool enough to let me abandon the car there - the tow truck didn't show until two days later).

It cost me a solid 800 bucks (a bit more) and a week to replace the control arm and the axle (bent out of shape), plus labor and towing. But on the other hand, I'm alive, so it's good. Phew.

Skinny Puppy at DC

2009-12-08T21:52:00.006-05:00

I was just looking at some of my cell phone pics when I saw a couple that took a second to register. And then of course I remembered the concert. It's the one where the six foot tall Jewish girl (not counting her 6 inch platforms) that me and my buddies had gone with got thrown out for punching a somewhat overenthusiastic fan in the face. (The guy's dancing got somewhat muted after this incident. I also saw him get some ice from the bartender afterward, so I guess there was some shoulder behind that punch).

Anyway, if you think you're seeing a dude swathed in bloody bandages and wearing a dunce cap, you would be correct. That's Nivek Ogre, the frontman for Skinny Puppy - an awesome industrial band that you should really listen to. if you think their old stuff is a bit much to stomach, their sound has gotten more refined these past few years. But there's no mistaking who they are. Their music is fantastic, and their shows are even better. The guy showed up in a walker, mask, and bloody costume, which he then peeled off in layers as the night went on.

Oh, midway through, the dunce cap started smoking. And there was (fake) blood sprayed on stage. Certain to give the fainthearted some serious nightmares. In other words, fucking awesome.

But in the middle of all this, I do have one small request for people wanting to mosh. If you are a fat ass weighing in at more than, oh I don't know, a buck eighty, take it easy on the Indian dude who's there for the music, will you? Especially if you have long dirty blond dreads that whip around in three foot arcs (at eye-level on a crowded floor. Deadly), and if you are the sweaty type that wears no-sleeve tees (to an industrial concert on a cold November evening). Thanks.

"Climategate" destroyed.

2009-12-06T23:03:00.002-05:00

I've had to deal with people asking me about climategate for a few days now, and to be honest, I wasn't *quite* able to convince myself that I was giving them a succinct argument as to why this whole made-up conspiracy was just that - made-up.

And then I came across this video, that in 10 short minutes absolutely destroys the whole argument. Fortunately, it looks like it's made by someone who understands the science and has linked to the original papers in question. Note also that there are no excuses made for Jones hiding data. But it should be noted that there's just a wee bit of a difference between one scientist talking about withholding data in an email, and the entire scientific community fabricating a global phenomenon over several decades.

So, the next time someone badgers you about the global warming conspiracy, don't slap your forehead (or their face). Hit them with this video instead.

Tweed Ride - Yogi is famous!

2009-12-03T00:01:00.004-05:00

Who would've thunk that. Apparently if you hang around a Penny Farthing long enough you get your mug in the local paper. Either that or the combination of the Indian dude and the U-Haul was too much for the editor to resist. Anyway, just so you know, I am now officially a celebrity, so buy me a beer, will ya?

Yeah, I know, I got sandwiched (for eternity now) between Janet Jackson and Khaled Fucking Sheikh Mohammed. But you know how it is, you got to grab all the opportunities you have to tell everyone how awesome you are...

DC Tweed Ride photos

2009-12-02T23:14:00.011-05:00

Finally, a chance to upload some photos that don't really do justice to what was a really awesome event. There's this peculiar little group called Dandies and Quaintrelles that decided that this fall would be a great time to go out and reclaim the streets of downtown DC for bicyclists. When wearing our best tweed, of course. Because that's how we roll.

The event was called the DC Tweed Ride, and a solid 500 people (at the every least, I should think) showed up on what was a beautiful fall morning. Yogi is not quite a morning person, especially in the absence of caffeine, but still I showed up to see this:

Yep. Absolute mayhem in some alley chock-full of nattily dressed DC locals in tweed, somewhere in Northeast DC.

There were accessories too. Pipes -

Moustaches (some fake, some real)

And a couple Penny Farthings. Awesome.

We took DC by storm. Well, we biked through a bunch of lights and used up all the lanes, which made us feel invincible (not bad for a couple hours a year). We doffed our hats often, waved our parasols, and there was a bunch of "Hellooo there"s and "Good Morning to you Sir"s and "Hip Hip Hoorah"s being dished out by the riders to somewhat dazed onlookers, who fell neatly into one of three categories:

1. What the fuck. Get out of my way, assholes. (These, to DC's credit, were few and far between)
2. Aw, sweet. Antique bikes and Tweed! And doesn't that Indian dude look cute. Clap, clap, and/or honk honk.
3. Man, what the fuck did that dude/chick slip in my drink last night...

But we rode on, undeterred.

We stopped over at the white house. The big man wasn't in, unfortunately... Schmoozing with the Chinese so we can still live happy debt-ridden lives, apparently.

And since no event is quite complete without a bunch of beer to wet parched throats (warm day + physical activity + tweed? Phew!) we went and got plastered at a local bar. I thought Marvin's looked like a speakeasy packed with one hell of a good-looking crowd that day... Good times.

Also, for photos that don't suck, and for English that's a lot cleaner, you really should check this link.

Back after a HUGE break

2009-12-02T21:45:00.004-05:00

Like you care, pushupreader... Like. You. Care.

But still, I feel like I need to explain the absence. Just so I can get those rusty fingers working...

1. Work after sailing has been bad. Not busy bad. Worse. Not-Working bad. Nothing- Fucking-Works bad.

2. Got a talking to from the boss-man based on work being Nothing-Fucking-Works bad. Boss-man seems to think Nothing-Fucking-Works = Yogi-Ain't-Working.

2a. Getting a talking to from Boss-man is bad. As in, not I'll-cut-off-your-funding bad, but I'm-cutting-off-your-balls-in-front-of-everyone-let's-see-how-smart-you-are-now-asshole bad.

3. Surprisingly though, this hasn't spurred me into working harder. I just get pissed off a lot easier. And stew in my juices, instead of writing.

4. Also, there have been adventures, as always. These have kept me sane. Sure I'm going to blog about the pushy mother, ghetto cabin and broken axle. Of course.

But first, a nice pic from Seneca Aqueduct. it's a great place to go for a hike in Maryland on the banks o the Potomac, even if it's in frigid conditions.

There you have it. OK, enough of all this bearing my heart out bullshit. More writing coming.

Halloween this year...

2009-11-08T16:48:00.007-05:00

... was a repeat from way back. Cheating. But fun. Yogi is nothing if he isn't classy.

Worried you might get let down on that important date???
Scared that your mojo might go AWOL in times of need???
HAVE NO FEAR, BONERMAN IS HERE!!!

Boner Man's Power Belt had Viagra and ExtenZe (fake packs. Of course.), K-Y, 5-hour energy drinks, something I bought from Target that was battery driven and guaranteed "20 minutes of quivering pleasure. Batteries not included" (no I don't know what it was; I gifted it to my roommates lady friend) and, as a last resort clearly, a wrist exerciser.

Great reception for the costume, absolutely shredded inner thighs because of walking with the prop. Yes it's a prop. No, there is no subliminal psychological compensatory thinking here.

(Same) Rat Fail. Dog Win.

2009-11-02T20:57:00.002-05:00

No, we didn't feed the rat to the dog. But we did let it play around with it for a bit. Are we bad people? Dunno. Seemed fun.

Rat Fail. Trap Win.

2009-11-02T20:49:00.004-05:00

Looks almost like he's still alive, doesn't it? He's dead though.

Best Halloween Invitation EVER

2009-11-02T20:43:00.002-05:00

HeyYogi,

I just sent you an evite for Halloween. Please don’t feel pressured to come by – you won’t know too many people, and I know you have plans that night – but I figured if you want to stop by before you head up it would be fun to see you and your costume (if you’re putting it on before you drive up). If not, no worries! Hope you’re doing well!

Gotta love it.

Iceland Air - my personal saga

2009-10-25T21:45:00.003-04:00

So last week's little trans-Atlantic trip reminded me of a very different, but almost equally memorable trip that I made when I was a bit younger; the background is that I'm this young, broke student, and I'm trying to visit this lady-friend of mine back in England. The whole romantic affair was a waste of time, but the actual flight there turned out to be rather eventful. Here's an email I shot off after I got back, with some edits (the writing was horrendously tacky - I was a young and jilted lover who had just had a bad flight experience...)

With all the money I had made, the only airline I could afford was Iceland-air. Now if there's one thing I learned after this trip (and you should learn after reading this), it's never to fly Iceland-air. First of all, they buy all their 737s second-hand from Ryanair (which buys all their aircraft from the worn-out Ghana-air fleet, which in turn buys Kyrghyz-air rejects, which are basically the planes that the pilots of Air India have reduced to wrecks after 20 years of semi-drunk flying). So we get into this shell of a plane which looks like its just been in a demolition derby and spray painted by Andy Warhol off his meds. The insides are worse - bad karma all around. It looks (and smells) like the last trip involved horses, alcohol, frayed tempers and many, many upset stomachs. I say so to the old lady who sits to my left; she nods somewhat dreamily; I look to my right, and there's this cute thing (the one bright spot in the trip) that sits next to me, and we look at each other nervously as the plane shudders down the runway and eventually decides to heave itself into the air inches before we all get dumped into Chesapeake bay.

I look at the in-flight mag. Eidur Gudjohnssen is the first Icelander to play footie in England. You get good fish in Iceland. Icelandic water is clean. Icelanders bathe in open air pools and hot streams. Iceland has good fish. Icelandic water is healthy. Eidur Gudjohnssen has a wart on his left toe. Hm.

I turn talk to the babe, but the old woman on my left gets to me first; turns out she's on her way to meet her girl-friend. I make the mistake of looking at her quizzically, because she enthusiastically tells me that they indeed are dating. I also learn in quick succession, that
a. she was married,
b. her husband beat her every night,
c. she had kids (many),
d. her husband beat her every night,
e. her many kids had kids,
f. her husband beat her every night,
g. she eloped with her grandkid's governess.
Also jokingly, she adds that septuagenarian lesbians are, sadly, hard to come by. I laugh uneasily, and decide the only way to shut out the visual images that keep popping up in my head is to focus on the in-flight magazine (the TV closest to me was 12" across and a good 20 feet away, and they were showing Icelandic 70s pop). The two women on either side of me continue to have a spirited conversation about woman power.

Before long (I had time to read about Eidur Gudjohnssen's up-to-date love life twice over) we reach some stable altitude and wobble there. This is when Icelandic airhostesses appear with food. Each one of these ladies look like they can smother Hulk Hogan between their ample bicep and forearm fat pads. And they wear lipstick like it's been painted on by a 12" brush. As I quiver in fright as their body looms in front blocking all cabin light, they ask "VOT DO YOU VANT" in a decidedly you-better-tell-me-quick-you-dipshit-i-need-to-go-put-my-lipstick-on-again kind of
tone. So I ask for the pasta and get some glop that looks like its left over from the last ice age. Plus it has bits of what looks suspiciously like walrus meat, but I don't want to antagonize my friendly Icelandic airhostess. So I let Ms Hagar go bleach her bushy mustache and apply more green/orange eyeshadow, and I swallow the glop (carefully avoiding the meat - it has bristles on it that look just like walrus whiskers. I'm sure it was walrus meat). Fortunately they follow it up with alcohol (aqvavit - Iceland's national drink. Of course). I decide I need a stiff one, so does Etta (the pretty thing - we were close pals by then). So we down a couple, and then the ageing beast (the plane, not the airhostess) decides to do an all out death dance in the middle of the atlantic. Lights go out, alarms go off (REALLY loud sirens), and we all panic a bit. I decide to cash in, and turn towards Etta to comfort her, but glop + aqvavit was too much for her delicate tummy. She turns green, and before I can whip out the barf bag, she shoots out projectiles of half eaten walrus meat (though her nose too, I swear I saw it) all over a radius of six feet.

I turn green now, and turn away (hey, there's only so much I can do ok? besides I had a girlfriend back then - or so I thought - and judging from this babe's pro-lesbian tilt, I could be heading for a big letdown). Meanwhile Ms Hagar comes around, yells in Icelandic to her minions (I could see a vein throb in her temple); they wipe up the mess hurriedly and squirt some airfreshner that smells like a horses backside pretty much in our faces. As I clear my throat to let out a whimper of protest I get the eye from the lady, so I swallow the rising bile and shut up. It suddenly dawns on me about how it all makes sense. The horseshit, the vomit and the bad karma; it all fitted in... Feeling enlightened, I fall into dreamless sleep for about 30 seconds when the bloody sirens go off again. We're landing this time.

We land in Iceland (its quite brown and barren) on a rutted landing strip, we all shuffle into a lounge as big as my uncle's bathroom. exactly 17 minutes later (I understand that this is the minimum time gap between 2 legs of a flight in the same carrier) we shuffle out of the lounge and back into our seats. They shuffle seats though, so this time I get empty seats on either side. They shuffle airhostesses too, so this time I get a brunette Ms Hagar. But I've had enough of all this shuffling, and my enlightened mood manages to linger on so I just squeeze my eyes shut and dream of anatomically inaccurate viking babes till we get to Heathrow...

Top Ten List -Sailing trip

2009-10-23T16:55:00.008-04:00

No, this isn't one of those informative Top Ten lists; just a few things I feel compelled to write about. Sailing in the Solent was freaking awesome, so why not round it off with some blather. It's more like a list of highlights. Whatever.

10. Top one liner of the trip (from Paul, the skipper, upon sighting a somewhat less than ravishingly beautiful lady at the marina): "You know, I understand all women have the right to ugliness, but really, some of them do abuse the privilege."

9. Top Medicine I took along: No, not Stugeron for sea-sickness (well, maybe if you have a really quick gag reflex it might be what you need). Pepto Bismol. Two days of rice and beans + lots of milk in my many cups of tea = case of shits at sea. It could have been very very unpleasant, except for Pepto, which made it only marginally unpleasant.

8. Top accessory that was of no use: Waterproof Silicone ear plugs. The wind and water on deck wasn't crazy, so I didn't need it for that. However, I had to break them out at night, but to no avail. Turns out Silicone ear plugs are no match for pushupdad's window-rattling, tide-turning, eardrum-tearing snoring.

7. Top icky moment: During a somewhat choppy run, I had to go below deck to empty a kidney (see what those endless cups of tea do to you?), and I was told not to be a hero, but sit and pee instead. Not willing to clean up urine from the floor and possibly walls, I sat. Except we turned tack and simultaneously hit a giant wave, and the contents of the toilet bowl (fortunately devoid of any input from yogi) went WHOOSH, right up my ass-crack. We didn't hit a shower until two days later.

6. Top Unfortunate Visual: Speaking of ass-cracks, the skipper has THE hairiest I have had the misfortune of having to inadvertently lay my eyes on. Being the skipper, he was also the plumber on the boat, and he wore his pants low. Bad combination. Great guy otherwise.

5. Top Limerick (from a watch mate):
"There was a lady who begat
Three kids - Pat, Matt, and Tat,
The fun was in making 'em,
Not so much in nursing 'em -
There was no tit for Tat."

4. Top new skill: Tying knots. I had a phobia of knots (I knew the reef knot, and that was it. I have never been able to tie anything in my life. Honest); that has now been downgraded to just a deep ineptitude at tying knots. I still completely screw stuff up - it took me 4 days to get the most basic of them, the clove hitch - but at least now I know how to tie a few knots with fancy names: The double clove hitch, the bowline, the sheepshank... which I will now proceed to forget, I'm sure

3. Top reason to hate technology: A guy in my cabin had his iPhone alarm go off at 4:00 am, and then at 4:10, and then at 4:20... I had to hit him each time to wake him up because he could sleep right through it, and he'd hit snooze instead of off, and it would go off again. After a rough day's physical work and pushupdad's thunderous snoring, it was enough to make me want to throw it overboard.

2. Top reason to go back ashore: The beer. The food's alright, but the beer... mmh. Of course, too much beer will give you a case of the shits at sea, but as long as you have pepto, you'll be fine. As far as the whole prostitutes at ports theory goes, I didn't see any. Maybe they were there but just avoided the Indian guy chugging beer like a maniac. Maybe it's just a thing of the past. Or I don't know where to look. Either way, I didn't get acquainted with any, Oh and also, you get to eat desserts with names like Spotted Dick. Presumably named after what you get if you do get acquainted with prostitutes at ports.

1. Top reason to do all this is the first place: Because you can. It's that simple. If you can, do it. The Solent is beautiful, the Isle of Wight is beautiful, but even if you don't get to go all the way there, sail somewhere else. If you want to have an ocean adventure, don't go on a cruise and sit on a deck chair to get a tan, go sail to wherever you want to go. It is truly enjoyable (even if it's hard work), and time, energy and money well spent.

Back from Sailing in the Solent

2009-10-21T21:07:00.006-04:00

Yep, that's why there wasn't much writing - I was on a sailboat with pushupmom and pushupdad. Good times. Yes, yes, more detailed post coming up, as soon as I get over some serious jet-lag...

At the Needles, at the very western tip of the Isle of Wight.

Anchored at Alum Bay, on a very quiet day.

Sailing at daybreak, heading back towards Portsmouth

At the bow of Sarah. The waters of the Solent lie below.

Interpretive dancing at the Shakespeare Theater

2009-10-07T21:56:00.005-04:00

So I reconnected with a long-lost cousin this past weekend (yes, yes, I know, all of us Indians are related and we only have two degrees of separation as opposed to six for white people). Anyways, she decided that we should go check out some interpretive dance show at the Shakespeare Theater. I'm always up for stuff like this, so I said yes. And then realized that I had double-booked my Saturday (again). I had a football (soccer) game to watch at the stadium. So I went with my buddy to watch my team - the absolutely hapless DC United get thrashed again - this time the most awesome play they managed was when Benny Olson was fouled hard, and as the ref was handing out a yellow card to the offending player, good old Benny decides to kick the ball in the players face, earning him an immediate (an absolutely well deserved) red card, which means automatic ejection. This got us all happy, but of course, with a man disadvantage, we got our asses handed to us. This manner of losing is seemingly constant in all United games.

So I'd been jumping up and down and yelling with the group for three hours, and I realized I had precious little time to get back to the theater, so I rushed back after chugging my ($7.50!!!) Harp. I made it in time, but not soon enough, so I found that while my cousin got herself awesome orchestra tickets, I was stuck in the nose-bleeds. Which was fine, or so I thought, because I could blend in with the riff-raff.

Turns out no one who goes to see interpretive dance on a Saturday night is riff-raff. The women are all dressed like ostriches that have dived into fruit bowls and then ran through a GAP store to pick up mannequins for dates. I mean, I showed up in my soccer jersey, all out of breath and sweaty and beery, and I was huffing and puffing and I ran into this foyer, and then I saw the people. As I was processing the sight of thousand-dollar outfits and swept back hair and cuff links, they caught wind of an admittedly semi-drunk yogi. Champagne flutes stopped mid-clink, gloved hands went to grasp throats, cowlicks went unswept-back, there was a collective gasp, and things generally came to a somewhat shuddering and unceremonious halt.

I made the best I could of the situation, gave a cheerful wave, pointed to my jersey, and said something about United sucking. My cousin, bless her heart, stepped up and ushered my to a corner and gave me the ticket she had bought for me. Most people went back to what they were doing, and so I kept a low profile, and went in to see the show (which started a good half hour late). There are a bunch of things that I would like to point out about the whole getup, now that I've had the time to think about it:

1. The seats have as much space as economy seats on a Southwest flight from DC to NYC. If you are anything more than waif-like, you better get used to your neighbors elbow in your groin and your knees blocking the bottom half of your vision.

2. They rise really steeply, so I hope you don't suffer from vertigo. If you do get waves of vertigo induced nausea, fortunately you can bite into your knee caps (they're right there, hovering below your chin), which helps.

3. Funny people show up for shows. The lady sitting in front of me was blind. I don't know maybe she was listening to the footfalls during the interpretive dance show. She sure looked like she was having a swell time. There was also this dude who was given to moderately loud flatulence. I mean, they weren't thunderous, but they were noticeable, especially because they kept coming in fits and starts (he must have been trying to hold it in). No, fortunately, no bite. Only bark.

4. The dance part of the show was a let-down. They made a big deal about how it was all "late-night" and "18 and above", and so I was expecting some serious avant-garde shit, you know, like naked women (yeah...). So when they announced the first piece and say that "people will be dancing in the flesh" (I'm not making that up), I was thinking "Oh god, please no naked fat men. Please, make them hot women." I wanted to see me some boobies.

And then out walked these three girls (so far so good) dressed in gowns (positive development - they're easy to take off), and they executed some writhing moves on stage. I was starting to get a little impatient, but then they stared disrobing. I think everyone sat up a little straighter (riff-raff or hoity-toity, we're all the same), and then the robes came off to reveal....

...
...
...

SKIN COLORED TIGHTS.

SKIN. COLORED. TIGHTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There was a palpable sense of dismay that swept through the seats. I mean, what the fuck. You've GOT to be kidding me. Come ON Shakespeare. If you're making me pay to see some bullshit interpretive dance, and then you get me all tingly and excited by telling me there are going to be naked people, then GIVE ME NAKED PEOPLE!!!! I am not here to see some bullshit dance moves by people who weren't good enough to make it into a real dance troupe to some bullshit music mixed by some jock who was too unhip to mix at the local club. You know what I interpreted it as? Fully clothed people who had forgotten their latest dose of phenobarbital. You know, I really like artsy stuff. I do. But I want people to be honest. If its going to be people in tights, tell me its going to be people in tights. Also, if it's going to be interpretive, don't make us do ALL the interpreting, OK? Give us a hint here or there. Some skinny dude prancing around the stage in his pajamas is exactly that - a skinny dude prancing around the stage in his pajamas. The people were obviously in great shape and had decent talent and training, why not put them to better use?

5. The stuff in between the pieces was pretty good. Awesome poetry, very funny (and really sexually charged. The lady next to me kept going "Oh boy. Ooh boy. OOOH boy." until I wanted to hit her. But she was huge and already had an elbow right by my testicles, so I desisted.)

So overall, it was an eventful evening. Worth doing. Just dress up a bit. The ostriches are few and far between (there was some hyperbole up there I'll admit), and they generally make giant fools of themselves. You're there for the art, not to show off your Blahniks. Oh and also, if someone tells you their dancers are going to dance in the flesh, ask for a conditional refund.

Someone who wants to get REAL close to Obama

2009-10-07T21:48:00.004-04:00

Outside a Home Depot somewhere near DC. Man, I've heard of hero worship, but this...?

Yeah, that's an Obama decal. And all those things are Obama stickers.

ps: The guy was an Indian dude. I'm taking this photo from my cell phone, and he stops by me and says "Photo? - thet vill be vunn daallar, hahaha", and revvs off giving me a peace sign as I stand there dumbfounded and wondering what the hell hit me.

Closest I'll ever get to Obama

2009-10-01T22:25:00.001-04:00

Yeah, now I feel special.

Speaking of Stats... Check out Nate Silver

2009-09-27T00:01:00.003-04:00

I'm sure you will have heard about the recent study that said that only 2.8% of Oklahoma High school kids passed a basic civics (citizenship) test.

Well, Nate Silver (or Poblano, as we used to know him) has a superb take-down of the statistics, and his analysis strongly suggests that the entire study was fabricated. You may know Nate from his electoral statistical wizardry - he got almost everything right, and he shows up every so often on MSNBC. "Are Oklahoma students really this dumb?" is WELL worth a read. This is how a stats dork should write.

Of course, this IS the deep red state Oklahoma, so I wouldn't be surprised if there's a bit of, ahem, an IQ issue here, but still...

Update: Apparently StrategicVision, the pollsters behind this study, is a REALLY shady outfit, and is taking some serious heat from all around.

Indian Ancestry on Nature's cover. Awesome!

2009-09-26T22:58:00.003-04:00

I just got this week's Nature magazine. (Yes, I have a personal subscription. There are copies of Nature and Science on my TV tray. Yes, I am a dork.)

And this is what is on the cover:

The actual article by Reich, Thangaraj, Patterson, Price and Singh (and a really neat "News and Views" section written by Aravinda Chakravarti at Hopkins) basically looks at the variation in genomes of individuals from India. Without getting into the weeds, what they did was to analyze DNA from 25 different groups in India, from different geographical areas, from different castes and language groups, and then do some statistical heavy lifting to look at how similar/dissimilar simple variations in sequences (SNPs) are across these groups.

What these studies reveal is something that anyone (myself included) may have intuited just by growing up in various parts of India. There is an amazing breadth of established groups/communities. I mean, anyone who has seen Indian currency will know that we have 15 national languages, and it is quite commonplace to cross state lines and have absolutely no idea what the hell is being spoken (upon which broken English and furious gesticulation will work). But what this study says is that there are basically "Ancestral North Indians" (ANI) and "Ancestral South Indians" (ASI) who have two distinct lineages (Indo-European and Dravidian, respectively), and current day Indians are basically a melange of these two lineages, with ANIs strong in the North and fading towards the South, and vice-versa with ASIs (the other language groups - Austro-asiatic, Tibeto-burman, and Andamanese are sub-variants of ANI and ASIs). This spectrum is reflected in skin color (light to dark), languages, and even caste structure. (Upper and middle tend to be more ANIs, lower castes tend to cluster with ASIs.

The group also makes a case for "founder effects" (basically, genetic bottlenecks) well AFTER 3000 BC when the Dravidians showed up, and 1500 BC when the Indo-European speakers showed up, suggesting that many dispersed communities were established and then they stayed put. The paper also reveals little nuggets - the Santhal and Kharia tribes, which are Austro-asiatic, are descendants of people that arrived 60,000 years ago? Yep, sixTY thousand. The groups also makes the case for marriages within communities (endogamy) has been happening for many centuries, resulting in some interesting disease predispositions.

Overall, this is one really cool study, which you should read (even if the stats may be somewhat inaccessible). As Chakravarti points out, this is only the start - many more detailed analyses should be done on the Indian population to get a true picture of the genetic tapestry that is India.

But that being said, the concept of ANIs and ASIs brings me back to something I have always said : North and South India are two different countries, man...

When grown men do the plie

2009-09-26T08:57:00.003-04:00

For those of you who might not know, here is a video of a dude executing a basic ballet move, the plie (plee-yay; there's an accent aigu on the e)

The title is not about the grown dude in the video. This is about a professor I had, way back. I mean, WAAY back, when I was still young and impressionable and things could scar me for life (some things still do, like when I saw this on my ex coworkers' desk):

Anyway, the point is that this professor was a lousy dude. I mean, he was a bad teacher, but he was just simply disgusting as a person. The guy used to have a huge potbelly, and he was one of those guys who "went under" - you can either wear your pants above your belly, or below. This guy chose to go low. Which is fine by me, except that he would wear his shirt with the last two buttons undone, so you would see his hairy underbelly and frayed undies each time he lifted his arms in the air (which was often) right at eye level.

And you know how (well if you're a dude you'll know this) how your shorts every once in a while, get all bunched up, and things aren't where they should be and everything is uncomfortable in the groinal region? Well, when this happens to me, I usually walk it off, and if that doesn't work (it almost always does), a little tug here or there fixes it. Major operations are undertaken in the men's room if need be. But here's what this guy would do:

You knew something was coming because he would be fidgeting for a while and bouncing around more than he needed to. And then he would face us, while lecturing, get a faraway look in his eyes (the kind that you get when you let go of a long-held packet of joyous flatulence), give a robust tug at his inseams, and then execute a slow and drawn out plie. And then he would finish it of with a little groinal jiggle.

Just thought I should share that with youfolks on a beautiful Saturday morning.

The new movie about Darwin - nope, you can't see it

2009-09-20T15:37:00.004-04:00

Why, oh why, oh WWWHHHHHYYYYY are we like this????

The Darwin movie (which has been getting pretty good reviews, and from what I gather is more about the man than making the case for a lack of a god/gods), is apparently "too controversial" for audiences in our blessed country of the United States of Am-oh-we-don't-want-to-piss-off-Jesus-and-his-devout-non-evolution-believing-followers-erica. So THEY AREN'T EVEN DISTRIBUTING IT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THONK, THONK, THONK.... (sound of yogi's head slowly hitting wall)

Here is the clip. It gives me the goosebumps. I'd love to have seen it. Except of course, I can't now because of how the assholes that quail in fright at the thought of Jesus' army picking up their knives and guns and capping their asses for screening a movie that chronicles the life of a dude, who, you know, changed how we think about life. Idiots. And cowards.

WHO SAID NERDS AREN'T AWESOME???

2009-09-17T10:03:00.002-04:00

Did you hear about this??? A Hopkins undergrad (one of those nerdy pre-med types apparently) capped an intruder WITH A SAMURAI SWORD. A FOUR FOOT LONG SAMURAI SWORD. Here's the news report:

And here is what it reminded me of. Of course.

Lab retreats are fun - in a really sad masochistic way

2009-09-14T15:17:00.002-04:00

Here's the deal, apparently. If you are in a lab that is big and well funded and sufficiently hard-core (which big and well funded labs tend to be), your boss will sometimes decide that the best way to get group morale up is to go for a little lab retreat. Now this isn't the kind if retreat that your corporate types will relate to. No fancy yacht, champagne and strippers.

What we do is ensconce ourselves a secluded place and talk science amongst ourselves for two days straight. Which, if you really think about it, is like any other two days at work. Except with less comfortable chairs, unbearably cold air conditioning and catered food (to be paid for, thankyouverymuch).

Of course, the formality of the entire occasion demands that you actually prepare for a good week or so in advance, so you don't make a damn fool of yourself. And then your presentation gets ripped anyway with glee, either because it's way too ambitious or it isn't ambitious enough or the controls aren't quite right or the time line for experiments are incomplete. In other words, its almost exactly like a thesis committee meeting, except with more thesis committee members and no threat of failure. Of course, in this case, you just get fired for incompetence. Still, the whole thing while being incredibly tiring, was surprisingly fun (yes, yes, that means I'm a gigantic dork. I know)

Anyway, all of this is to explain away the absence for a week. And the incredibly hungover feeling this past weekend.

Like you all care. But still, there you have it.

DC United Soccer at RFK. Crazy.

2009-09-08T21:01:00.004-04:00

OK, so I've been to a bunch of football matches, but this was my first pro "soccer" match at a stadium. (Yeah, I'm getting used to calling it soccer, blasphemous as it may be).

There are many things to be said about watching DC United play at RFK, just outside DC. Here are my observations, in chronological order. More or less.

1. The eastbound Orange line sports a VERY different feel compared to the westbound line which goes into Virginia. You'll know what I mean if you make the trip.

2. There are a bunch of surprisingly ardent fans going to watch DC United play
These fans can be divided roughly into the following groups:
a. Italian Gen2 immigrants trying to pretend that MLS is in the same league as Serie A.
b. Latino Questionable immigrants thoroughly disappointed that MLS is worse than Mexican football.
c. Brothers who are tired of being lumped with ballers.
d. Crazy hot soccer chicks just being themselves. Which was swell.

Plus of course you have bewildered Yogi types who are going for the first time with their England National soccer jerseys instead of DC United.

The rest of my observations can be more or less encapsulated by this photo.

3. The bunch of surprisingly ardent fans is pretty small. The top two tiers of RFK are totally empty.
4. I'm glad most of RFK is empty; any more people and the damn thing was ready to collapse.
5. The whole stadium actually QUAKES when people jump up and down, singing football songs and DC Utd anthems.
6. Fortunately, we didn't hit a resonant frequency - there were enough drunk people (even at 7.50 a beer) that there were enough people out of sync. Even so, there were times when I was lifted a solid 3-4 inches off the ground because of the shaky floors.
7. Beer - expensive. Hot dogs - lousy. Pupusas - awesome. Although be warned, the hot sauce will kill you.
8. Speaking of singing football songs and DC Utd anthems, there were a bunch of SERIOUSLY ardent football fans. There were two sections filled with fan club folk, and Barra Brava are the fucked up crazy ones (Screaming eagles moderately so). I mean, there were the crazy flags and banners and NON STOP singing. Also streamers and firecrackers and smoke bombs. AND a CRAZY shamanesque performance in the concourse at half time, featuring a mosh pit formed around a crazy brother wearing a top hat, an old geezer in a wheelchair, and a giant wearing a kilt and playing the bagpipe. Awesome. Bat-shit insane, but awesome.

Overall, I'd say it's a must go. Sure ticketmaster screws you by charging you an extra 15 bucks for various "convenience charges", but it's well worth watching. Its quite boisterous, and pretty fun. We saw some pretty exciting play; 3 goals in the last 15 minutes, a keeper got sent off, and there was a lot of screaming at opposing players and fans. And the ref obviously. Plus of course, the hot chicks almost made me weep. So all in all, a great evening. Unfortunately three things remind you you're in the US:
1. There are 2,000 people in a stadium that seats 40,000.
2. There is a mascot (Talon, I think. A sad looking Eagle). Sigh.
3. The level of play sucks balls.

Oh, DC Utd lost. But hey, who cares?

Women: cock-blockers of the first order

2009-08-30T23:01:00.008-04:00

Yeah, I know, I know, you all already know this. Men and women think differently. Men come from Venus, and women come from Mars or some such b.s. Well, you're wrong.

Men come from Hey-let's-give-this-guy-a-chance, and women come from Hey-let's-crush-this-dude's-balls. Let me explain.

When men are at a bar (or some equivalent social locale) and start up a conversation with a bunch of women and one of the men takes a fancy for one of the women and starts talking to her and it's obvious that she's into him too, do you know what we men do?

We let them be.

With the one and only exception of obviously foreseeable irreversible physical harm that might occur (after multiple beers, everyone can make mistakes, and it is the duty of the group to ensure that their friend lives another day - this has happened to me and I'm glad for it), we let them go their own way. Whatever happens happens. They both are ADULTS, they can reach their own decisions. Our best wishes are with the guy, and we let him make the best he can out of the evening.

When WOMEN are at a bar (or some equivalent social locale) and start up a conversation with a bunch of men and one of the men takes a fancy for one of the women and starts talking to her and it's obvious that she's into him too, do you know what the women do?

They decide all of a sudden, oh no, we can't allow our dear friend (who've we've been bitching about all this while because she's wearing old 06 Blahniks and has the wrong shade of eyeshadow) to make her own mind up about the dude she's having a fun time with. Oh no, we can't. We've been drinking our martinis all night and making catty comments at all the other girls who look like they're having a great time. Oh, we know we're going home alone tonight and crying ourselves to sleep after eating that half tub of icecream and feeding the cats, pretending that we really are too good for the trash out there in the city while knowing full well that we're going to hit 35 and then realize that we're running out of time to churn out babies and then decide that that shlub from high school who admitted that he jerked off to our graduation photos all through college and still lives in his mom's basement while earning 10 bucks an hour at the local florist and who's only upwardly mobile posession is his hairline, all of a sudden seems to be a stable and sensitive guy, and that as a result of having gotten hitched to this winner in the future, we're going to end up living the rest of our lives wanting to shoot ourselves in the face to lessen the pain of a pointless wasted life.

Still, with all of this, you know what they do? They execute the classic cock-block. They lead their bewildered friend away, "Oh honey, it's for your own good...." leaving yogi (equally bewildered) wondering what the heck just happened. Listen, if I looked like a rapist, fine. If I was smashed and acting creepy, fine. If I was sober and taking advantage of a clearly drunk woman, that's kosher too. But if she is obviously having a great time and we are in the MIDDLE OF EXCHANGING PHONE NUMBERS, LET. HER. BE.

Listen, you stupid dumbasses. I don't know what your problem is. Let your ADULT friend make her own decisions. She's smart and can handle herself, which is why yogi liked her in the first place. If she needs your help or if she needs to extricate herself from an awkward situation, she'll let you fucking know. Or, god forbid, she might actually take care of herself.

Moon Rock? Naah. Tree bark? Ooooh yeah.

2009-08-28T21:58:00.003-04:00

So, we went to the moon and got back a bit of, ahem, a very much terrestrial tree?

I'm sure there'll be a fantastic explanation for this. Plus of course I'm sure you heard that NASA recently admitted that they lost the original tape of the moon landing because it had been "written over". So they had to take the TV video tapes and had it restored by Hollywood. I'm no conspiracy crank, but that's just a bit convenient, no?

Ted Kennedy - couple words

2009-08-28T21:26:00.002-04:00

Say what you might about his personal life (and there is much to say, not much of it positive), the man was great.

Listen, he lost not one, not two, but ALL THREE of brothers under extraordinarily difficult circumstances - he was the youngest of them all. To carry on the family name in the glare of the national spotlight was not easy. To have accomplished what he did in the senate was truly great. He fought for liberal ideals, and we're all better for it. Right from the nuclear freeze, to the Anti-apartheid act, to funding Americorps to funding for women's sports to Immigration reform. But most importantly, he was a champion of health rights. COBRA, AIDS funding, SCHIP... the little things (or big things, depending on your situation) that we take for granted, many of them can be traced back to legislation introuced by or fought for by Ted Kennedy. It's amazing that he had the strength to fight the good fight over so many years, despite having being undercut so often by Republican colleagues and administrations.

You might say that his rough experiences do not excuse his alcoholism or his philandering or Chappaquiddick, and I would agree to some extent; but there have been so many who have had much less happen to them, and have frittered away entire lives and fortunes.

Truly a man who fought for the less fortunate in society all through his life. We'll miss him.

Now if only those assholes in congress can get their shit together and pass meaningful health reform...

Population Increases = Crazy shortages

2009-08-25T16:26:00.002-04:00

Just putting this BBC link up for now. Well worth reading, comments in a bit. Long story short, we better do something...

Here come the machines...

2009-08-23T23:18:00.000-04:00

Scarily awesome.

Creepy guys in bar restrooms

2009-08-23T13:34:00.003-04:00

The only reason I don't have a pic is because the only thing creepier than the creepy guy in the men's room is taking a photo of the creepy guy in the men's room.

Well, long story short, there are some bars in DC that have dudes parked in the men's room. I don't know why they do this, maybe to ensure there's no drugs or gay sex in the bathrooms, but whatever the reason is, you're having a good time in a crowded bar, you have a bunch of beer, and eventually it's time to empty a kidney. So you walk down to the men's room (focusing on walking dead straight, chest all puffed out, gazing ever-so-casually at the rest of the bar with the supreme confidence of the leader of a pride of lions gazing at his harem), and then just as you relax and get ready to do what you have to do, you smack right into the dude.

He's there, right by the door, looking at you, paper towel at the ready and a steady gaze through you and beyond, a good 500 yards behind your skull. He has little set of things right by the sink too. Cigarettes, breath mints, gum, q-tips. And condoms. And that's just what you could see - I'm sure you could buy car insurance and walking canes from him too, as long as you paid the right price. And as long as he could watch you urinate in a bar. You edge by him, do your thing somewhat self-consciously, remember to flush, and wash your hands thoroughly, all under his undecipherably blank gaze. He then gives you the paper towel, and then waves his hand in front of the damn machine until it spits out some more, tears it out, and goes back to standby mode. You then feel obliged to throw a dollar or so in his tip tray and get the hell out. It's downright creepy.

And it's also bullshittical.

1. There are enough people up there, and I'd like to clear my head for a few seconds. I'd like to do it without some brother looking right at me.
2. I can bloody well wave my hand at a machine to make it spit out some paper at me. I do not need your help.
3. I am never going to take those individual half-unwrapped sticks of gum that have been marinating in aerosolized shit and/or piss for the last few hours.
4. I appreciate your concern and your sense of entrepreneurship with the condom sales, but could you take it outside, please?
4a. btw do you have a lady partner hawking lipstick and tampons in the women's room? I'd like to know.
5. Very smart move, keeping just the two bucks in the collection tray. Just enough to let people know that that what it's there for, yet not enough that people will think you've earned enough money for waving your hand every once in a while and hawking some knick-knacks.

Bar owners, you have to stop this shit. It's stupid and pisses people off. ESPECIALLY if you have a rest room the size of a coffin. The dude was literally looking over my shoulders last night.

Jeez.

Favre welcomed to the Metrodome

2009-08-22T11:38:00.006-04:00

UNFORTUNATE PHOTO (OR *VERY* WARM WELCOME BACK)

OK, first of all, I never was a big Favre fan. Listen, I get why some people in the frigid North might be. There's nothing to do in the godforsaken place except park your ass in front of a TV set and watch a bunch of people play ball. I get it. So I would see why you would worship your QB if he's stuck around for a bit and has brought home a superbowl after a drought of several decades.

But this whole Brett Favre Saga has just gotten out of hand. First, he retires, then unretires, then retires, then promises he's done, then unretires and joins another team, then retires, then unretires, then promises he's really done, goes plays ball with some kids, then unretires and joins the arch rivals of the team that he was with for almost two decades.

Oh, and don't forget the tears each time. Yeah, so screw you Favre. You're a selfish, self-centered dickhead. So when you played like a high school quarterback last night, it made me think you're going to have a torrid year ahead. You went 1 of 4 for a mighty 4 yards. And that sack you took from Corey Mays? Sweet.

Although when I saw the pic today on SI, I must say, it does look like Corey is REALLY glad to have you back at QB. Cough, cough. That's either a very unfortunate photograph or one hell of a welcome back.

Asian kids - always ahead of the rest of us

2009-08-18T21:37:00.003-04:00

This kid is, what, EIGHT YEARS OLD?? MAAYYYYBEEE??!!??!? Man, when I was eight, I was still pooping in my diapers man...

Kid Discovers Vanessa Hudgens Nude Pics - Watch more Funny Videos

Moral of the story: the internets bring instant happiness to everyone. Sometimes too instant.

Groundwater Tables in India - a dire situation indeed

2009-08-14T14:44:00.007-04:00

Did you read about this? The ground water is falling DRAMATICALLY in India. I mean, I knew that India's water resources are under some serious strain, but FIFTY FOUR CUBIC KILOMETERS LOST EVERY YEAR?????? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

You can read Richard Kerr's article about it here ; the Original article is by VM Tiwari et. al., but I can't link to it right now. It includes some very cool satellite imaging that records very small localized changes in Earths gravity, and uses it to track water content at or below the surface.

Here is the money chart.

Green is OK; means the water tables are more or less stable. Not bad for most of central India and some of the west (which gets poured on every monsoon season). The blues indicate some trouble; unsurprisingly, Tamil Nadu in the south east is shaded blue; the state is always just that bit short on water (the North east monsoons yield less that far south; Bangladesh gets dumped on during that cycle).

But you see that GIANT swathe of dark blues, purples, and hot pinks?

Yeah, those people are FUCKED.

When you have 600 million or so people living in the plains of the Ganges and drawing on groundwater for irrigation to feed themselves, you're bound to run into problems. But 10 or more centimeters a year????

Oh Jeez. Oh Jeez. This is not going to end well.

Update: Reader Pzau points out that the states currently worst-hit by drought are in Central India, and therefore should be darker pink. Not quite. This graph shows you the rate of water table decline, which is independent of the current water table levels in any particular area. In fact, it is quite likely that areas that are already arid would have a small drop (if any) in the water table because the levels are already so low, they can't go any lower, either because the aquifiers have dried up, or because the satellite can no longer pick up changes in signals.

Amazing Sand Artist

2009-08-14T14:37:00.002-04:00

Kseniya Simonova sure has some talent. Wow. Worth watching.

The bit at the end reads "you are always near". Also, just a little bit of context; you may get this anyway from watching the clip, but it's all about the German occupation of Ukraine during the second world war.

Great new weight loss plan!!!

2009-08-10T23:44:00.004-04:00

Here's my 5-step plan that I plan to patent:

1. Get a bad upper-respiratory tract infection.

2. Suffer for about a week. The sneezing, hacking and coughing will tone your abs.

3. Go on a 5-day course of Azythromycin.

4. Your bowels will turn to mush. You will get the shits so bad that you will be spewing contents of your esophagus down, about 4 times a day.

5. Weigh yourself to see the slimmer, healthier and lighter you!!!

It's quite simple, really.

Of course, there is an Optional Deluxe package of Indian parents showing up at your house on that same week. In this case, you will also experience:

6. Home-made super spicy traditional Indian food (known to turn bowels to mush even in healthy individuals).

7. Deceptively counter-intuitive ribbing from mother regarding appearance of the smallest of convexities around the midriff (Hey yogi -poke, poke, poke at belly flab- you've put on weight with all this American food)

8. Constant badgering of Indian mom about getting married (known to turn Indian and Jewish bowels to mush).

9. Daily dose of "advice" from Indian parents. This will involve the point-by-point dissection of various character flaws in exquisite detail every morning. And afternoon. And evening. Of course, all for my own good.

And the Ultra-deluxe package, which will shave off another 10 pounds, guaranteed:

10. Long weekend camping with extended Indian family in the middle of nowhere, none of whom have camped before.

I'm done.

sickness + parents = hectic weekend

2009-08-03T22:17:00.002-04:00

Man, this whole sickness thing is beginning to piss me off a lot. I have the ears of a three ear old, so I have tinnitus, I have waxy ears, my ears hurt on flights, and yep, I get ear infections like I'm in day school for the first time every month.

And pushupmom&dad are in town too this week. Which means a lot of going around town with them. Fortunately they're all independent, so I don't have to do a bunch of chaperoning, but still, you know how it is, you've got to be on your best behavior, you've got to pretend you've always wanted to go to that museum...

Most importantly, you have to remember to clear your internet history. Pushupmom&dad and I might be best buddies, but, you know.

On the other hand, this is a great time to have your eustachian tubes all blocked up so you can't hear your mum harangue you about why you aren't married yet, as she feeds you some super delicious food.

The GPS makes you stupid - here's proof

2009-07-28T23:28:00.003-04:00

Did you hear about this?

Well, a couple drove to Carpi in Italy instead of Capri, Italy. The fact that it is some 400 miles away from Capri is bad enough, but CAPRI IS AN ISLAND YOU MORON. When you don't cross an expanse of water to get to the place, maybe you should have had second thoughts...

Seriously though, I do feel that a GPS dulls your innate sense of direction. I have asked people how to get to a particular place, and ordinarily, you get a decent response: go this way, you'll see a McDonalds, take a right... whatever. You ask a GPS slave, and you'll draw a blank. Take their precious away, and they'll be reduced to a bunch of blithering idiots behind the wheel.

Eating pig tongue on a fine Saturday afternoon

2009-07-26T22:19:00.007-04:00

Yes, I know, I'm vegetarian. But I also will try anything. So when my buddies told me they were having a pig roast this past weekend, of course I went. I had a great time, what with meeting a bunch of old pals. However, there was no doubt from the start that the evening was all about the pig. There were a few things that I learned pretty quickly, and these I present to you with visual aids.

1. Our pig was named Howard, but all the people kept referring to Howard as "her". Here is Howard. Howard looks somewhat displeased at the turn of events.

2. The probable reason for his ill-tempered disposition: a steel rod going in through his mouth, and out of his rectum.

3. This is what a steel rod will do to your rectum.

4. People attending the event didn't seem too perturbed by Howard's discomfiture. Placement of fruit in the mouth may have helped placate the pig.

And as far as eating the tongue went, well, I have seen Andrew Zimmern eat a bunch of tongue and keep talking about how awesome it was. Um, maybe he was eating finely prepared bovine tongue, or he's got a nut loose somewhere. When I ate Howard's tongue, it honestly felt like I was french-kissing a pig with third degree burns, and then swallowing both our tongues. This was not an enjoyable culinary experience.

Also, given my vegetarian and raw diet, it has taken me more than a day for Howard's tongue to make its way through my system. My duodenum has not taken kindly to it, and is protesting, mostly in the form of flatulence with a distinctly porcine bouquet (heady stuff), all day long.

Verdict: Worth the experience, probably will not repeat.

Bethesda is one snooty town

2009-07-26T11:46:00.003-04:00

So I'm at this bar called the Harp and Fiddle, which is a pretty decent place, if you like pretend-Irish bars in the US. I'm with a friend that I hadn't been with in six months or so, and so there's a bunch of catching up to do. So here we are, on a Wednesday, at happy hour, chatting about our miserable lives and generally having a good time when a little old lady walks up to us and says:

"Could you two please lower your voices? My husband is playing, and both your voices really carry." and she has this look on her face (the "could-you-kids-please-shut-the-fuck-up-eh? please? ok? thanks." THAT look)

Both of us are dumbfounded because we don't know what she's talking about. I mean, both Kim and I are from Baltimore, where sure, there might be the occasional fight and gunshot wounds and drug dealing, but NO ONE has come up to us and told us to shut up. EVER. So we stare at her, and then we see she's walking back to the other side of the bar, where sure enough, there's a wizened old man playing on a lute or something. We had thought it was bar music, and we we had to talk over it to hear each other. Turns out it was this septuagenarian with a replacement hip cranking out civil war era tunes on his venerable instrument, much to the delight of his wife. I mean, she had her eyes closed and was swaying to the music in the kind of unchained rapture that I will attribute to menopause and a lack of sex for a couple decades. And of course a giant pineapple up the ass.

I mean. What the fuck.

Last time I checked, we weren't at the Carnegie.
We're at a bar.
At a fucking Wednesday happy hour.

I'm sorry I had to raise my voice to be heard above the cacophony that your geriatric spouse was cranking out, ok? But the next time you want to experience auditory orgasmic bliss in silence, tell your hubby to play Wagner in bed.

And the next time, if there is one, that you tell me to shut up, I WILL punch you in the face. Or well, maybe kick your fucking cane out from under you.

Call center at work

2009-07-23T21:09:00.003-04:00

Well, it's not *quite* a call center because this was at work, but hey, what else do you call four Indian dudes who line up in a row in front of computers...

Weird space issues riding the metro

2009-07-23T20:27:00.003-04:00

You know how you're riding on a crowded train and there's someone just a leeeeetle too close to you and both of you know it? It's weird, I mean, because you're as close to this person as s/he is to you, and s/he is obviously as discomfited with your proximity as you are of his/hers, and there's not a damn thing either of you can do about it because you're all packed in like sardines in a rickety box that could kill a bunch of you because it's been three decades since your city's metro has done an overhaul of the train system.

Well, it's worse when this other person is a cute thing. It's all very awkward and all you want to do it get the hell out. Gaack.

Thank goodness we still have pretty rainbows.

The Hangover - shortest movie review ever

2009-07-20T00:20:00.002-04:00

Speaking of movies, I caught The Hangover the other day.

DEFINITE WATCH.

Incredibly funny. Except for the stereotypical gay asian dude.

And the fact that you see Zach Galifianakis' dick during the closing credits.

(Actually that's a lie - it's pretty funny too)

The Hurt Locker - quick review

2009-07-19T23:59:00.003-04:00

Just came back from watching The Hurt Locker. I had read good reviews about this movie, but I thought it ran the risk of being a CSI type show, except, you know, with a bomb disposal squad, and made for the big screen.

But no, you'd be surprised at how awesome the movie is. It's about the last few weeks of a bomb disposal squad of 3 guys in Bravo company in Iraq in 2004. I've been thinking about what makes this movie so good, but I can't quite put a finger on it. No big names (except a couple neat cameos that I'll let you see for yourself), and it's not like the acting was that great. Also, not that it was visually breathtaking, or that the screenplay was memorable. I am just not quite sure what makes it work, except that I know that I was totally sore from being tensed up and on the edge of my seat for 2 hours. It's not even a crazy adrenaline rush of a movie. Its just taut and tense all along. Great job by Kathryn Bigelow (yep, a chick. Point Break was her too.) directing this flick.

Don't expect a war movie like Platoon or Apocalypse Now; what you'll get instead is a really neat suspense action movie that happens to be set in Iraq.

Definite WATCH.

Bush Co. Cover up of the Dasht-e Leili massacre

2009-07-17T11:28:00.002-04:00

I had only read snippets of this massacre previously, but now this video really really brought it home for me.

Watch the video, it is chilling.

Dostum is an Afghani Pol Pot. And we not only befriended the guy, we called him our ally, made him a minister, allowed him to kill thousands in our name, and still continued to support him AND HELPED COVER UP THE MASS MURDER HE ORCHESTRATED.

It makes me sick.

And you want us to "move forward?"

Steve McNair, and now, Arturo Gatti?????

2009-07-12T16:09:00.003-04:00

Oh no!!!! This is terrible news...

This is truly a sad day for boxing. Arturo Gatti, for those of you who don't know, was Welterweight champion of the world in the mid 90s. But it wasn't his champion status that makes him a hero in my eyes; it's his absolute honesty as a boxer. The guy was a true fighter. A bit wanting on technique, maybe. But what heart. And of course, what a jaw. It was made of concrete. I mean, this guy would. not. go. down.

You've got to see his fights against Mickey Ward - one of the most thrilling displays of boxing you will ever see. I was watching the fight (for the nth time) just last week. Even if you aren't a fan, go watch the clips and tell me if your hair isn't standing on end by the end of the fight. And here is a bit from the HBO special about the fight.

Steve McNair, killed by jealous/evil mistress.
Arturo Gatti, killed by jealous/evil girlfriend. (or atleast, suspected to have been killed by the woman)

I'm not absolving them of wrongdoing (what the hell was Steve McNair thinking??? This woman was barely 20, and he has 4 kids...), and I'm not saying all women associated with rich/famous sportsmen are evil. But this is really lousy. I'm all pissed off.

Bryce & Zion - backcountry hiking in Utah

2009-07-12T12:40:00.007-04:00

BLOGGER IS NOT LETTING ME UPLOAD PICS - WILL DO LATER.

Well, here's a short little write-up about where I went this last week:

we flew into Vegas; sure enough, my backpack was the last one to come out, and when I hoisted it on my shoulders, there was an unmistakable smell of hot sauce (fucking TSA had opened my pack and the bottle apparently, and hadn't shut it. So all my stuff was saturated with HOT hot sauce. Awesome. So much for the thin air of Utah - all I coul breathe was habaneros all week. I did the entire trip with my eyes watering.)

Anyways, we drove out to Bryce (its about 3 hours from Vegas). Here's a tip - instead of interstate US-15 followed by 9 (in which case you will have to pass throught Zion), take US-15 and go on ahead till you hit 14, then take 89N. you'll drive through Dixie and Red Canyon, which are great drives. (9 is pretty average.)

Hiking is great in Bryce. The temps are lower than you'd think (40s ay night at 70s/80s during in the day - in July!), and of all the things we got pelted by hail at 2pm on the first day, so whatever you think of desert hiking, this is not it. So an extra layer (and a poncho) is well worth it.

But it is high-ish altitude; probably not enough to make you sick, but certainly something to keep in mind if you're prone to that kind of thing. Vegas is 2500 or so ft, Bryce is between 7500 and 9000 ft. The views of Bryce Canton are indeed breathtaking; I was expecting something close to Canyonlands (I've been there before), but this was totally different.

The hiking itself is pretty tough. Bryce only has one back-country trail which is unfortunate because you'd think the place has so much to offer. But the one trail that does exist is really awesome. Do it from South to North (its not a loop), so you'll be going downhill, and the camping sites are somewhat more convenient. Guess which way we went. Yep. N to S. Which is why at the end of day 1 we looked like this:

You'll be surprised at how varied the terrain is - there are almost pre-historic looking bogs that can really, well, bog you down. Rough going, but truly worth it. Water is a bit of a problem, but there are two streams that rarely run out. As always, do check with the rangers, but we didn't have a problem.

There are also camping areas near the North end of Bryce, and we crashed there for a night. It seemed adequate, nothing special, but you know how it is, once you camp in the backcountry, anything else seems really lame... But Bryce seems to have a bunch of walking tours (ranger programs, a midnight tour which I am told it not to be missed etc.) , and so if that's your thing, you should be happy.

1. See the hoodoos (ideally on the "under the rim" trail), worth it.
2. I won't bore you with the geological details, but learn about the stuff - its cool.
3. Peekaboo trail is somewhat overrated - horses use it, and I don't like horses. Or horse poo, which is abundant on the trail (alongwith the accompanying flies).
4. Navajo is super-steep but very good.
5. Obey speed limits. The cops are like hawks in the damn place. I'm now $125 poorer but wiser. Why not just be wise and resist the temptation to do 57 in a 35 zone?

We hit Zion on the way back - we could only stay there for a day, but here are a few things about Zion.

1. LOT more crowded than Bryce - reserve spaces!
2. much more infrastructure (shuttle to take you around, huge visitor center etc)
3. Absolutely ANAL camping rules. Bryce is a lot more laid back. Prepare to be pissed off about some inconvenience in the name of "following rules" at some point.
4. Do not miss Angel's landing. Its worth it. And for your own sanity/well being/health, please do that hike early in the morning. After 10:30 or so you'll lose the shade and the uphill hike WILL. KILL. YOU. We came downhill at 1 or so, and I wanted to die.

I fell sick on the way back (cold) which sucked, but overall, this is a trip well worth doing if you like backpacking.

what friends do when you let them use your room

2009-07-09T22:27:00.004-04:00

That's 13 notches in the 5 days that I was roughing it out in Utah. Which means:

1. The guy is a stallion.
2. Extra heavy duty rinse cycle for my sheets.

Well, at least SOMEONE is seeing some action...

AWOL in Utah...

2009-07-08T22:43:00.001-04:00

... and dead tired.

A week on the back country trails can be exhilarating, but it sure leaves your body feeling a bit beat up. Photos coming, methinks.

Crazy Awkward T-shirt moment

2009-06-28T21:12:00.005-04:00

So I was gardening today, and a neighbor happened to step outside her house with her children. She was being sweet and waved to me and made her kids wave as well, you know, like a good neighbor. She asked me something about the hydrangeas from beyond the fence, and I went over to my side of the fence to reply to her. I walked over with a giant smile and started talking to her, and all of a sudden her face got all twisted into something very unpleasant, she took her (somewhat startled) kids by the hands and stormed into her house.

I didn't quite understand what had just happened - I mean, I swear I was looking pretty much at her eyes (no lower than the neck at least), gave the kids nothing but a little glance, perhaps made a funny face at one of them. I had no idea, and kept mulling over this strange exchange, until I caught my reflection in the glass door on the way in.

Here's what I was wearing. It's a t-shirt from a German tattoo shop.

Sigh.

Fawcett, Jackson... and Billy Mays????

2009-06-28T20:56:00.002-04:00

Dude, what the hell??!?!?

Well, we knew Farah was going, but still, it was sad when we heard that she finally succumbed to cancer.

And then we heard about MJ (No, I am not going to link to it; the man's death took down the internet for a few hours, so clearly everyone knows what's up); incredibly sad, what a troubled childhood combined with an incessant spotlight from the media can do to a soul. Say what you may about how crazy he was, but the guy was genius. And he may have made it to a moderately normal life if only the media gave him a chance...

But today, I hear about Billy Mays. I mean, what the hell?!?!? That's just crazy! I loved the guy - who's going to sell us oxyclean now? (certainly not the shamwow guy - he's too busy busting up hookers)

RIP all you guys. And Billy Mays, I'm going to miss your annoying-as-hell high-pitched pitching voice dude...

Hiking on the Appalachian Trail

2009-06-24T22:39:00.002-04:00

I think this will go viral as a new idiom:

"Hey Joe, where's that report you were supposed to submit today?"
"Er... I went hiking on the Appalachian trail..."

Or even better:
"What the fuck Joe, where's that report you were supposed to submit today? Did you go hiking on the fucking Appalachian trail???"

Of course, for those of you who don't know what's happening, I am of course referring to Mark Sanford's sad saga. Poor republicans. For being the party of moral values, they sure are finding it real hard to keep the snake in their pants. Bloody hypocrites. So yeah Sanford? You can go to hell. Oh one more thing: awful penmanship. Those letters make me want to puke.

And finally, apologies for those who thought this was about, you know, the Appalachian trail. Here is a post from a while back that may help.

Best Thai Restaurant in Virginia (maybe even Virginia/Maryland/DC area) - In Manassas????

2009-06-22T23:23:00.001-04:00

I got dragged out to Manassas (which in my opinion, is to Virginia what New Jersey is to America - its armpit) for some bullshit wine and jazz festival. This was bullshit because:
1. I hate Jazz. Jazz should be limited to elevators and smoky bars where you can pick up women who used to date the rich and famous ten years back and have slipped down the societal ladder until they've finally had to come to terms with having to blow losers like you in exchange for some trinket you may or may not buy them. I shouldn't have to pay money to listen to Jazz. I hate the word Jazz. No four lettered word should be worth 29 points on Scrabble. But enough about it.
2. The wine festival was also bullshittical. I had drunk a bunch the previous night, and so I didn't want to get too drunk again, but I needn't have worried. Each tasting was a TEASPOONful. It sucked. I mean, you can't really taste wine if it evaporates before it reaches the back of your throat. Plus these were wines from Virginia, which weren't all that great to start off. (They had a jalapeno wine. I mean, come on. Give the drink some respect.)

Anyways, I agreed to go because I liked the people involved. So we drive all the way to freaking Man-asses on the worst roads ever (Virginia must be broke. First of all they are mighty stingy with their wine at their festivals, and they pave their roads only every time we have a world war), and then we hit old town Manassas.

To tell you the truth, old town manasses isn't bad. I mean, at least they've tried. Its a pretty enough place. I wouldn't say it's worth going for a day, but if you are in the area, do go and walk around a bit. After you go to...

Siam Classic.

I don't know if you like Thai food, but if you do, this is the best Thai food you can get in the area. I've eaten quite a bit of Thai food, but honestly, I've gotten so used to the usual (you know, green/yellow/red/penang curry, pad thai, pad prick, all that stuff), that I thought that that was pretty much it. Wrong.

The people (it's a husband and wife pair) that own the restaurant also do the cooking, and boy, does the lady cook up a storm. A lot of the stuff you'll get on the menu are somewhat unconventional (the kind of food that your mum would cook that you wouldn't get at a restaurant), but incredibly tasty. We had a dude who had spent a bunch of time in Thailand, and he swore it was the best thai food he'd had outside of Thailand.

Yeah, I know, you're thinking I'm building this WAY up, but try the place; you'd be surprised. Off the top of my head I'd say try the bird in a nest or the bangkok noodles. And DEFINITELY try the red bean dumpling and coconut ice cream dessert and thai coffee. Incredibly good. And one last thing. The spice comes on a 1-10, but you can ask for a 20 or more (which I wouldn't unless you're like my friend Erik who likes torturing his duodenum). 8 gives you solid heat but doesn't make you want to die.

And the people are really friendly. And the place is reasonable (15 or so per entree). I left a very very happy man...

Pushupmom loves me. I think.

2009-06-17T21:43:00.002-04:00

So I went to see my mum this weekend; I'm seeing her after about a year (hey, I call every week, ok? I'm not a jerk, she just lives far away).

First thing she tells me after giving me a quick up-and-down?

"Yogi, you've put on weight. Especially here. (Jabs at my midriff). Little paunch... Getting old, what?"

And then she proceeds to stuff my face with some super delicious Indian food. Thanks mom. I love you too. And now back to my crunches and pushups to get rid of all that lard...

I hate primary school band concerts

2009-06-13T08:39:00.003-04:00

First of all, more work = less blogging. Man, this bullshit is beginning to get me down a bit. It's nice and pretty outside, and I was hoping to get some free time because the last few weeks have been brutal at work. No luck.

That being said, I did get to see my nieces' gym video and band concert video. You know what, I think music teachers need to be a little less tolerant with young beginners. If the little kid doesn't know a C from a F within a couple months, cut him/her from the team. Don't make them do solos at the end of the year. This might be news to you, but not everyone has the ability, nor even wants to be, the next Chris Botti. So why put them, us, and indeed, yourself through all this torture, I don't get. Trust me, we'll ALL be glad if they didn't lay their dainty little fingers on an instrument ever again.

I got to see a bunch of kids play instruments half as big as their bodies and managing to sound like the terminal wing of an asthma clinic having sex with an unwilling horse. My niece was great (honest), and so were a couple kids, but that was about it. They could have just had a nice quartet and been done with it. But no, being cut from a team makes you a psycho killer or a misfit in society for life apparently, so we had forty fucking seven solos, most of which SUCKED BALLS.

There was the kid who tried to play the trombone, and had clearly not figured out the relationship between slide and pitch. There were the drums duo who managed to be out of sync for EVERY SECOND of their (mercifully) short piece. There was the piano duo that, not satisfied with sucking while playing solo, played together, with one girl handling the low notes with her left hand and the other handling the highs with her right. Disaster.

But none was worse than the self-important little kid who came out and played two lines from the the Titanic song over and over AND OVER. 6 FREAKING TIMES. And all the while, her mom (from where the self-importance gene was clearly passed down) sat down in the front row and played conductor while managing to both beam with pride and be in a trance from the apparently captivating cacophony. This was the only piece when I both wanted to puncture my eardrums AND stab my eyeballs to lessen the pain of the experience.

So, music teachers, for everyone's sakes, when a kid sucks, cut them from the group, ok? Please. Thanks.

Deep Thought

2009-06-08T23:46:00.004-04:00

Why is it that when someone kills somebody else in the name of Jesus, the immediate defense is that the guy "is crazy, he has nothing to do with the real christian religion", but when someone kills someone in the name of Islam, "that's just a flawed religion that teaches people to kill".

Well?

Update: Nice comment, Anon. And true too. The Old Testament's God is a pretty vengeful dude. Jesus gets warm and fuzzy and doesn't tell gays they're going to be killed.

kid violence on a bright beautiful morning

2009-06-07T23:11:00.004-04:00

Nov. 18th 2028.
Mr and Ms Sypnewski hold hands as they look at the destruction wreaked on their pretty town home by their delinquent son, Matt.

"All we did was suggest that he cut back on the crack."
"I thought we were such good parents..."
"When did he get this violent?"
" I don't know. Maybe we'll never know."

Jul. 6th 2009.

Matt Sypnewski, egged on by enthusiastic parents and a motivated coach, takes a kiddie step towards experiencing the joys of mindless distruction.

Greeks love alcohol

2009-06-04T22:12:00.003-04:00

I mean, it has to be, because how else would you explain this notice (at a Greek festival I went to last weekend)?

Why Operation Rescue is a Terrorist Organization

2009-06-03T13:56:00.005-04:00

Take a look at my previous post on this subject, and the comment. Astute. While I have been pro-choice all this while, it's only now that I've started reading a bit about the dark world of the fringe "anti-abortion at ALL costs" groups. I was reading about the killing (which is bad enough as it is), and what is emerging is that the murder of Dr. Tiller was but one flash point in the chillingly well-planned terror campaign on a woman's right to choose. Yes, terror campaign. Yes, Terrorist Organization.

What do you call an organization that has a well-planned and unapologetic program of violent rhetoric and assassination of high profile opponents to instill fear in people in order to achieve their goal?

You call it a terrorist organization.

In this the case the terrorist organization is "Operation Rescue" (Scott Roeder, who is charged with killing Dr Tiller was but a pawn the organization), and their target is women who, for whatever reason, choose to terminate their pregnancy. (Read this moving diary from DKos about a woman who exemplifies exactly the kind of life story that pretty much IMO renders the whole debate moot). They kept egging people on - calling Dr Tiller a baby killer, calling him a Nazi, accusing him of being a mass murderer of 60,000 fetuses, until some fool went and actually killed him. Oh, they knew. They KNEW that there would be someone who would take it upon themselves to "do the right thing, and kill the devil". You can't spew hatred for decades, bomb clinics, harass nurses and doctors, defile their names, and then pretend you didn't do a thing. Manson didn't kill anybody personally, did he? Nope. Was he responsible for the deaths of people? Yep.

Oh sure, now they're backing away, (Here Media Matters NAILS Bill O'Reilly. Nice try, BillO, but YOU called him Baby Killer too) but make no mistake; these people have one agenda, and one agenda ONLY.

They aim to terrorize women by any means possible and take away any control that women have over their own bodies. And they will not stop unless we are honest, call them for what they are, and then do something about it.

Housing market ain't done tanking yet

2009-06-01T23:07:00.003-04:00

Oh, wait, you thought the worst of the housing market crisis was over?

bwahhahhahhahaa.... bbwwhahahahhaaaa.... BBWWAAHHAAHHAAHHAHHAHHAAAAAA.....

Read this. And puke.

As a very unscientific correlate, there were no "up for sale" signs in my neighborhood till this calendar year. There are three signs up now. On my street.

How Fox News killed Dr. Tiller

2009-06-01T22:28:00.004-04:00

Surely, you have already heard about this - the doctor from Wichita, Kansas who has been strongly pro-choice, and has performed abortions, including late-term abortions, was killed yesterday by a gunman. He was at Church.

Now, the controversy about late term abortions is valid, and should be debated. But why have a reasoned debate when you can create blind hatred? The right wing loves an enemy, and oh boy, did they ever have one in Dr Tiller. They have always hated the man, and they have created and then stoked the flames of the anti Tiller hysteria so much so that his clinic has been bombed, he has been shot, and his name sullied thoroughly. And now they have killed the man. True to their style, "pro-lifers" remain thoroughly unrepentant.

And if you have seen Fox "News", you would know that this man has been totally demonized by this channel. They have called him a Hitler, a Nazi, an executioner, and they even gave him a name: Tiller the baby killer. They taunt, they threaten, they vilify, and now they're surprised that someone would go and shoot the guy?

Olbermann had a great segment on this tonight. Watch it all the way, and quarantine Fox News. I know I will.

Late night post tonight

2009-05-30T01:32:00.002-04:00

See I'm trying to be clever, because it's somewhat late right now, and I watched the last episode of the Tonight Show with Leno. Gonna miss the guy, what can I say... Sure, there are edgier comedians and funnier comedians and crazier comedians, but this guy was solid. Good old fashioned clean humor. I've never been that much of a Conan fan, we'll see how he does.

I was also watching American Beauty for, oh I don't know, the 4th or 5th time. What a beautiful movie. And what a sad sad SAD commentary on middle age in suburbia. Oh I know I'm really not doing a good job writing about the movie, but it's late-ish an I need to get some work done tomorrow (bleurgh). Point is, you've got to watch it if you haven't already.

wholly unnecessary alliteration

2009-05-27T23:15:00.003-04:00

If you have read this blog enough, you already know by now that the ubiquity of little word plays in today's world of advertising pisses me off, and no word play pisses me off more than the cheapest of all word plays, alliteration.

Merriam-Webster has this definition. Alliteration: The repetition of usually initial consonant sounds in two or more neighboring words or syllables (as wild and woolly, threatening throngs) —called also head rhyme initial rhyme

So when I saw this label on a box of Crumblettes (which by itself pisses me off; it's a crumble, and just because it's small by American standards doesn't mean you can add the "ette" suffix), you can imagine, my head just about exploded.

I mean, WHAT THE FUCK!!?!?!?? WHOLLY WHOLESOME WHOLLICIOUSNESS??????? I WILL TEAR YOU A NEW ASSWHOLE YOU ASSWHOLE!!!!!

The Handshake vs. Hug conundrum

2009-05-25T14:44:00.003-04:00

I went to a graduation ceremony the other day, and it was all very nice, very solemn, inspirational speech by some distinguished old dude, all the bells and whistles. (Though I have to say, that "pomp and circumstance" music does grate after a while. Why don't people do something else? I heard that at Brandeis, they had Jai Ho (pussycat dolls version) to start things off, and the faculty arrived to a techno rendition of Hava Nagila. (Here is a pretty zany rendition, complete with sax in the background)

Everything was going according to plan with the hooding ceremony; bright young things would walk up, get hooded, shake hands with the preceptor, walk over, get their degree from the dean, and keep walking. One or two brought a baby, a couple waved timidly to the audience as they walked off stage. Ho hum.

And then came the brother. He had won some award, and was clearly a favorite of the faculty. And this dude was a sharp looking brother, dreads and all. Lady killer. And then the hooder did something that screwed up everything afterward. He gave him a brother hug. Which is like a handshake (fingers over wrist, not under) followed by a chest bump with the other arm draped over the shoulder.

the dude went his way, and so did the hooder. Up came the next pair. And then the mayhem started. The graduand went for a handshake; the woman hooding him went for a hug. Midway they tried to correct and went the other way round. And then corrected again. End result: woman having one arm around the guy's neck and the other holding his wrist as he held her waist and karate chopped her in the boob. And that happened ALL NIGHT. I mean, over and over and over. It was incredibly awkward. Plus the added confusion of "Do I go over to the right as I hug? Or left?" which is much more dangerous because if you get that wrong, you'd be locking lips with your thesis advisor in front of a thousand of your colleagues.

It was terrible. Fortunately there were a few who made it absolutely clear from the start; they'd walk up to get hooded with open arms, and you just can't shake hands then. Or they'd walk in with their one arm outstretched and (with the exception of a couple really determined members of the faculty) get a warm handshake.

Which brings me to my idea. You can either be blunt and walk up like those folks, which in my opinion is a little awkward because you don't do the hug/shake thing until AFTER you get hooded, or you need to have a secret sign - a little shrug of the shoulders and bat your eyelids means you want to be hugged. Or a little fist bump against your own chest means you get a brother hug. A tug of your gown means you want the occasion to be formal and not all warm and fuzzy.

That, trust me will save you and your advisor some embarassment. Though it will rob the event of some humor...

ps: Here is an AWESOME metal version of Hava Nagila

pps: Nicole Scherzinger (lead singer of PussyCat Dolls) is hhaaaaaaatttt.... Can't believe she isn't Indian... take a look at her in the Jai Ho video above. The dude who sings the "Jai Ho" is AR Rahman btw, the music director - won the academy award for SlumDog. Comes from my state :)

Giant douchebag: Non-organic food lobbyist on Daily Show

2009-05-19T22:08:00.005-04:00

I guess when you get paid by Monsanto, Chevron, Dow, and other exemplary denizens of this planet, it hurts less when you make complete ass of yourself. Fortunately, this video will exist as long as you do, as a constant source (hopefully) of humiliation. Well worth watching.

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LAN party that I witnessed (but did not participate in)

2009-05-18T22:06:00.005-04:00

This is the wikipedia definition of LAN party.
"...A LAN party is a temporary, sometimes spontaneous, gathering of people together with their computers, which they network together primarily for the purpose of playing multiplayer computer games. These local area networks (LANs) come in various sizes, from very small (two people) to very large (more than 10,000 people). Small parties can form spontaneously, but large ones usually require a fair amount of planning and preparation on the part of the organizer..."

And This is mine.

Balancier. Posted with a small comment

2009-05-17T11:48:00.003-04:00

So I was putzing around on the Interwebs today, and I came across this diary on DailyKos.

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2009/5/16/732319/-Balance.

Its a reasonably good diary, somewhat fellatiory to Obama - but hey, this is DKos, so I'm not entirely surprised. But anyway, the title of the diary is "Balance", and it includes this moderately well known picture.

OK, I do see the balance in the pic. I get it. But you know what I really think the picture (unwittingly or otherwise) says about men and women?

Women have to do all the heavy lifting in a family. The dude basically lays on top, clings to the woman for all the warmth that she can offer, and lays his head comfortably on her bottom. And what does the woman get? A dead weight and balls in her face.

Savita Bhabhi. Posted without comment

2009-05-16T15:35:00.002-04:00

Unluckiest man alive

2009-05-14T20:20:00.004-04:00

OK, couple clarifications straightaway:

1. The title is moderately hyperbolic; I am only somewhat unlucky. It's just that the planets have conspired to align pretty neatly this week and give me a giant week-long wedgie.

2. I am actually SUPER lucky as far as the basic stuff goes: pretty normal family, didn't have a dad that beat the crap out of my mom, didn't have a mom that beat the crap out of me, born with all limbs and faculties. Monetarily stable, and intellectually, well, ahem, on the right side of the curve. Sure, I could've been easier on the eye, but we'll cry about that later. Basically all that shit is fine.

3. It's not even that I have had a lifelong streak of bad luck, like I get run over by buses or that my house keeps getting broken into or that I get shit on by passing birds all the time. No.

It's that I have NO luck for little things.

I have never won anything that required luck. Ever. Bingo? Never. Raffle? Nope. Lottery? You must be kidding. The one thing that I did win, a bag of cheap candy at the lucky draw at my sixth (or seventh?) birthday party doesn't count because I'm pretty sure pushupmom rigged it so I could stop whining like the little prick that I was that I hadn't won anything yet .

In science, you know what NO luck for little things translates to?
1. Nothing fucking works the first time, and
2. Shit always happens when its your turn.

Take this week.

There is this crazy difficult experiment that takes a week to set up, and I'm on a deadline because, well, I'm always on a fucking deadline, and this is the last shot to get this right, OK? So I set the damn thing up over the week, go to the microscope and start imaging with the help of the technician. All good. And then he gets a call from his wife - she was going into labor or something, so he had to rush off. Sure enough, ten minutes later, the microscope gives me a giant middle finger and breaks down to a point beyond my abilities to fix it. Calling is obviously of no avail, because there's little the guy can do over the phone, and he has to take care of his wife. So I give up and take a little break. I head over to the men's room, have a drink at the water fountain, and walk back.

To find that I had locked myself out.

Cursing loudly and beating my fists against the door did no good (this was late in the evening, no one was around to help me get in), so I left. This place is also in the middle of nowhere, so I had to walk a solid mile an a half before I could reach public transport. Not too bad, except that the heavens opened as I stepped out, and I was drenched in five minutes flat...

And this was Monday.

(The story has a happy ending though. An angel in the form of a long lost friend called me out of nowhere; I found out he was ten minutes away, so we went out to drink. All was good for the day)

Other highlights just from this week:

--> New roommate who was supposed to be hot chick turns out to be fat acne-filled dude. Agreeable and sorta fun kinda dude, but far cry from what was promised.

--> Got an email from admin regarding paperwork that should've been filed WAY back, that both parties forgot about . OK, this is partly my fault, but still, getting an email that says you will be fired in 24 hours if you don't provide some bullshit piece of paper is somewhat unnerving.

--> At the end of a 14 hour day, at 10:30 pm, I spill a bunch of concentrated acid in the lab. HCl, which stings, is corrosive, and is acrid as hell. Spent a solid hour cleaning up, with the accompanying cursing.

--> Car broke. Pushupcar was working fine, and then the dude just broke for no reason that I can figure. Which leads to the next wedgie-inducing story.

Had to transport reagents from one campus to another, which apparently you cannot do on public transport. Me and my (admittedly not-so-innocuous-looking) white Styrofoam container were promptly thrown out. Literally. I was thrown out of a fucking vehicle by its irate driver. And he yelled at me for trying to break the rules and endanger his life. And since this was another "it's now or never" kind of experiment, I had to swallow my ego and leave. Or, more accurately, run around like a headless chicken for an hour or so trying to find someone else who would drive my ass and my reagents to the place. Fortunately, more angels showed up to help out...

...

Hm. You know what, after reading all this, maybe I'm not so unlucky. I think what happens with me is that I keep getting wedgied by life, and then angels appear out of nowhere and set it right. So I get screwed over, but something always ameliorates the pain... Now all I have to do is convince those angels to drop some cash and a hot woman in my lap when they're straightening out that wedgie...

Speaking of being screwed, here is a somewhat appropriate picture; this was taken outside an ice cream shop in India.

Star Trek - the Nimoy panegyric ed.

2009-05-11T22:46:00.005-04:00

Verdict: Watch.

Even if you're not a trekkie (or perhaps especially if you aren't), this one is worth watching. Prequels are all the rage these days, and its nice to see a job reasonably well done. I somehow never got into Picard and Co. ,and while it is well known that Shatner was one hell of a dickhead on set, the crew (as dysfunctional as they were, and as awful the plot lines sometimes were) somehow made the show fun. And I think this movie does justice to the show, with the special effects on roids, of course.

Where the movie scores BIG time? The cast. Young Kirk is really good. He has a bunch of the little things that Shatner used to do (plus the attitude) totally down. Sylar from Heroes, Zack Quinto, as Spock is really good, but has a bit of an evil aura. Its probably because I've seen him decapitate a bunch of people on Heroes (whatever happened to the show in the end? I lost track), but I was waiting for him to go all evil and cap a bunch of Romulans.

You'd be surprised at how much Leonard Nimoy shows up in the movie (and I had to REALLY control my hands each time he showed up on screen). Great job. Uhura is HOT, McCoy is fantastic, and Chekov and Sulu (Harold from Harold and Kumar - again, was waiting for him to pop out a joint and smoke it in the movie) are good.

The one little disappointment for me was Simon Pegg as Scotty. I mean I LOVE Pegg, (have you seen Hot Fuzz?) but somehow it just didn't gel. Watch out for Winona Ryder in the movie. And Eric Bana :)

Finally, the movie is a little Spock centric, but hey, I'm not complaining. Oh, and don't think too much about the time warp around the black hole thing. Just go with the flow (or in this case, the space-time continuum).

Live Long and Prosper

Fuck the American capitalist system

2009-05-10T21:26:00.003-04:00

So I got told by this financial advisor dude the other day that my credit score tanks. I thought, "Hm, that's funny". You see, Pushupyogi has lived quite a simple life. Not exactly frugal, but not stupid. No student loans, no car loans (thank you pushupsister), a credit card that gets paid of every month...

So I make a few calls, and find out that there's a debt collection agency is still awaiting payments from me. Images of Vinny with his cheap (but thick) gold bracelet and his baseball bat fill my brain immediately, but I push these away, and try to figure out how the hell this happened. More calls later I find that it's because of unpaid electricity bills from a house that I lived in more than a year ago. Even more calls confirm that I had a bill, but I had already paid it. But there was some miscommunication - and remember I NEVER got an email/snail mail from these guys, and so I was cruising along, except that the collection agency had this file open AND NEVER TOLD ME. So my credit rating gets screwed for a grand total of 80 bucks owed (actually 80 bucks NOT owed), and I find this out just by chance.

And then when I ask how this little thing could have made such a big difference, I get told by my advisor that it was because I "didn't have enough of a credit history." He then suggested that I go get a second credit card, and then maybe have a little bit of a balance on it, to get a good credit score.

I mean, WHAT. THE. FUCK. So what he was telling me is that I needed a second credit card that I didn't really need, and then I should go ahead and run up a debt on that card, essentially borrowing money that I couldn't/wouldn't repay at the end of the month, AND THIS WOULD HELP MY CREDIT SCORE???

No wonder we're so screwed. you people have a system that's just plain messed up. Sorry, but that's the truth. it's just fucked up.

A little thing about humor...

2009-05-07T22:21:00.002-04:00

You know they all say the most important thing about humor is timing? Sure, that may indeed be the case, but you know something that a lot of people don't talk about, which IS really important to be funny?

You need to know what the lifetime of a joke is.

And you'd be surprised how elusive this little bit of knowledge is. Think about it - how many times have you heard someone say something, then realize that it's moderately funny because people around titter politely, and then MAKE THE SAME DAMN JOKE OVER AND OVER AND OVER? Yeah, it's pretty fucking irritating, isn't it? Like the dude who does the appu accent in your presence. Constantly. Yeah, knock it of dude. It was funny the first seventeen times, and then not really funny. And that's just the one example. I constantly have to deal with people who aren't funny but think they are (these are few; most of the people I work with are sane, and fortunately moderately funny)

So I ask you, pushupreaders: What do you tell someone to make them stop?

This man ran for President of the United States of America...

2009-05-06T22:49:00.002-04:00

I know, he lost, but he was a serious contender. Presenting to you Tom Tancredo, wanker from Colorado.

Fox "News" is a lying, news-altering piece of garbage

2009-05-06T22:01:00.003-04:00

Now, we all knew that Fox is entertainment. I mean, come on. Fair? Balanced? (Oh, apparently, these days they are fair, balanced AND accurate. Which is like me pretending to be a yogi and a pushup maniac). You've seen Bill O'Reilly and that idiot Sean Hannity with his shit-eating grin. They are hate mongers, and they reap their millions by creating straw men on the left and then knocking them down, and providing their audience with a bunch of vitriol and bone-headed opinion.

But that's the point - all that is opinion. As much as I hate BillO and his pompous ass, as much as I want to pull out Hannity's teeth with a pair of pliers (All their acolytes - Dick Morris and Ann Coulter and Bernie Goldberg and all the other wankers deserve to have pineapples shoved up their asses too), as much as I want to do all that, well, they are opinion makers. Their opinion might be a busload of bullshit, but its their opinion.

But when Fox actually crops and edits video to fit their news story (which usually is a critique of the admin), not only is it 1. Easy to detect and call them out on it, because the facts are open to all to see, but 2. It is worse than the usual chicanery and sophistry and deception; it's just flat out lying. Not that I expect any better from these assholes, but still.

Here's an example of what I mean, from mediamatters.org. Boy, we really do owe these guys for keeping tabs.

throwing hats into the ring, uh, rink...

2009-05-04T22:19:00.004-04:00

So I was watching the Capitals beat the Penguins today in the playoffs, and Ovechkin (who is the big star in DC, if you didn't know) scored a hat trick, three goals in one game. And then the cap shower started. See, I get it, OK? Hat trick. So lets throw our hats onto the ice. Cute.

but this was ridiculous on multiple counts.

1. It holds up play for a while, and we get to sit with our thumbs up our asses as the crew cleans up.
2. Where were all these fans when the Capitals were the Crapitals? Huh? Huhh??? NOW y'all want to be fans when the tea is winning... we know fair weather fans when we see them. Fair weather fans thrown their stupid new hats onto the ice at the uh, drop of a hat...
3. Do you know how much those hats cost??? I hope that someone collected all those caps and put them in a giant trash can so people could fish them back out. Otherwise, that's a solid 25 bucks that you just threw away. In addition to the $60 tickets and $40 beer.

Here's a little embed to show you what happens, from an old game. It's just a little shot at the end. But this was NOTHING compared to today - there were a couple hundred hats on the ice...

The stomach bug in India story

2009-05-03T22:22:00.006-04:00

I fell sick with the flu a few days back (the ordinary un-swine-like variety that no one seems to care much about these days), and my granddad passed away recently, and so as I was sitting around sick, I thought back to a little health incident that happened a couple years ago when I went to India. You may or may not know this, but seasoned veterans of trips to India always keep their first couple of days after landing empty, you know, just "to adjust to India". With good reason.

In 2007, I went home to welcoming and loving grandparents after four years of uninterrupted gastrointestinal softening in the US/Europe. You already know I love them, but there's a good reason that my dad left home at the age of 16. That good reason would be my grand mum's cooking. Now, I'm not saying that Bigamma, as we call her (with more than just a little dash of awe and fear), was willfully harming my dads health, but I have heard him say that the food he ate at boot camp was the best he'd ever tasted up until then. Again, it's not that Bigamma purposely destroys every dish she lends her culinary skills to, but it's just that cooking is pretty low on the priority list for a subset of women in this world, and Bigamma happens to be honorary secretary of that club. So she tends to get distracted by other things on her to-do list, say, oh, I don't know, gardening or calling relatives while the okra fry goes from green to brown to a very carbonized black. I can say with some confidence that my granddad's acute sense of smell prevented our house from going up in flames on more than one occasion. But then again, as she says, "it's all the same once you swallow it", and my granddad lived a healthful life until the age of 87, so maybe she's right. (Though I'm pretty sure my prostrate has grown a couple millimeters with all that okra fry)

But in addition to this, my grandparents have mango trees that give us hundreds of really delicious mangoes the size of your head every summer. The reason that this, along with with my grand mums cooking, counts as a health hazard is two fold -
1. eating more than three mangoes a day gives you the shits. Trust me, I know this from personal experience.
2. Flies and other tropical bugs love to sit out on mangoes that sit out in the open.

Now, the only reason that there would be mangoes out in the open is that my grandparents tend to hoard the best mangoes. This is a problem because all the mangoes plucked are the best mangoes, and our refrigerator can fit only about a
hundred. This means that every summer, there lie about four hundred mangoes in various stages of decay around in the kitchen, which attract anywhere between ten and a thousand variously shaped and sized members of the insect kingdom at any given time, all of which somehow find their way into Bigamma's accommodating menu. It's almost as good as pitching a "To Let – no rent for three weeks!" sign for pathogenic microorganisms in that little space between my stomach and duodenum.

So it was with some trepidation that I went home to Bigamma's kitchen in the late summer of 2007 (my parents were in the US, where they could only pray for my survival from afar). Sure enough, there was my grandmum beaming over a hearty lunch comprising cut mango, mango curry, mango pulisheri and mango avial - these are two South Indian dishes that also taste great, but are never made, without mangoes in my house - to go with rice. And mango juice to wash the lot down. Now I have been extremely critical of my "America returned" relatives, especially when they kick up a row about eating home food, so I was keen not to be just like them. I remember trying not to count the flies (dead, alive or somewhere in between) that adorned the various dishes, and instead trying to give them a quick wave-off as I pretended to reach across the table for the mango juice. They eyeballed me warily but didn't move. I stole a quick glance at Bigamma, but she was still beaming at me, so I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to the mango (and duodenal) gods, and dug in.

To tell you the truth, I didn't feel a thing until late in the evening. The food actually tasted great, and so, throwing caution to the winds (I actually had the gall to think I had gotten the better of those bugs), I also wolfed down a couple of mangoes after dinner, and went into a jet-lagged, overripe-mango induced stupor...

...

The first sign of food poisoning is a cramping feeling somewhere near your ribs. It starts off mildly, like someone's gently kneading your spleen. It's the kind of thing that you roll over, stretch, and it goes away. This is dutifully does. And then it returns after about ten minutes, except this time, it feels like someone has thrust a pair of hot tongs deep in your midriff while squeezing all the contents out of your gut with an iron vice. The automatic (and only physically possible) reaction to this is doubling up in pain, but while lying paralyzed in the fetal position while screaming in pain and sweating might evoke pity in the most hardened of professional torturers, it does nothing to pathogenic microbes. Plus the bacterial strain that my grandmum lovingly cultured in her fruit incubators were especially nasty critters with absolutely no compassion. They do what they're supposed to do, which is colonize and spread.

And now that they had successfully colonized by insides, how did they spread, you ask?

Ah, well, there's a reason the transmission of these bacteria occurs by what's called the "fecal oral route". Oral is how they go in, and well, fecal is how they get out. The cramps, as my uncle who's a successful doctor, but somewhat unsympathetic relative told me with a wise shake of the head, were a sign of hyperperistalytic spasms, which basically meant that the bugs wanted to head out the exit pronto. I had no problems with bugs exiting my body; what I did have problems is with the frequency and urgency with which they did it (very frequent, and very
very urgent). When you have a rash on the back of either thigh from too much contact with the toilet seat, you know you have the shits pretty bad. When you actually get sphincter cramps, you know you're in deep, deep, deep, uh, shit. The irony is that I was writing a paper on superantigen induced food poisoning, so I knew exactly what was going on throughout. So I guess it was a learning experience, but of all the things I need not have learned first hand, this ranked pretty high. I guess I should be glad I wasn't doing research on flesh-eating necrotizing bacteria of the rectum.

So anyways, that was the summer of 2007, when I was in deep, deep, deep shit for a good ten days. As I sat alone this past week, sick and in pain with the flu, thinking about this sordid episode, I remembered being struck by two things. First, it was the ignominy of having to explain to the multitude of relatives - there were hundreds - who had come to visit you that you had to take a shit every eight minutes. And then there was the deeper discomfiting realization that I had become the very Indian I used to deride when I was a kid. The coconut. Brown on the outside, and unmistakably white on the inside...

Yogi is back + funniest youtube clip ever

2009-05-03T17:20:00.003-04:00

Back with renewed vigor, and a new color combo (like it?). A few things had happened:

1. Got the flu (not the swine variety, just the old-fashioned thing that no one talks about, but still takes you out of commission for a week). I couldn't do very much at all. Except stay at home and sleep lots, which meant that I -

2. Have had to make up for the lost week by working like a dog.

So there you have it. But as a little gift, here is something that makes me laugh really hard. Really REALLY hard. Every time I see the clip.

Fucked up/Awesome week

2009-04-19T15:22:00.002-04:00

Yep, both fucked up AND awesome. In patches.

Awesome:
1. First real lecture. People tell me it was great. I mean, there were women wanting to have my babies after that lecture. It was good.
2. Spent a bunch of time with old friends. I really like them, and they tolerate me.
3. Ate at some pretty good restaurants. Good food makes me happy.

Fucked up:
1. Broke a multimillion dollar instrument at lab. They fixed it, sort of, but my privileges are THIS close to be taken away
2. Drinking about a liter of Sake and Shoju in one night does not a happy morning make.
3. I have the worst flu ever. It feels like my limbs are falling apart, my various organs want to wring themselves dry and some dude is hammering nails into the back of my eye. While also throwing me in a sauna with no escape hatch.

This would also explain why I haven't been writing. All this typing makes me want to chew my fingers off (except that would take my jaw muscles to move and they don't feel like it now).

I want my mum to make me food and pamper my ass. Except she'd say I need a wife, so maybe I'll just shut up and let this pass...

more water hazard at minigolf pics

2009-04-12T23:26:00.004-04:00

Actually just one more. This in honor of the comment left by the clever and brave Anonymous on the previous post.

Pushupyogi's roommate whacks his blue ball out of the water with a mighty heave of his long club.

OK, it was a red ball. Whatever. Alternate captions welcome. Note it's a different hole, so my roommate sucks, clearly.