Mind Dump, 2 of Many

The pressure oozes out of the sides of the pressure cooker while the dal(lentil) inside gets to a full boil. I could smell the spices in the steam but there should be no steam, not yet and not through the sides. The rubber gasket is in mint condition but the metal joints are not proper. Klap, Klap, Klap the wooden spatula knocked on the lid trying to get that subtle shift in position that seals the condiments inside. The tiny pressure cooker locked with the elliptical-lid-opening style, not the convineant-slide-on-interlock type. A few more knocks and this time the whistle starts ozzing steam almost silently. No sound for a minute, then a sudden loud hiss. Four more to go. After five, the electric cooking range is switched off and trapped steam is allowed to finish the job. I let all the steam out, then open the lid only to see about eighty percent cooked dal. A kokam is dropped in for added flavour, some sugar and more salt to taste. The disloyal lid finds its way to the pressure cooker for the second time.

I made the most impromptu Dal last night. The planned squash preparation was sixty percent done when it dawned on me that a moist vegetable dish alone would not go with rice. So, the pressure cooker came out, little oil, some mustard seeds and jeera. I have to remember to get fennel seeds from the indian store the next time. Longitudinal slices of freshly bought green chillies add instant aroma to the kitchen air when dropped into the hot oil. Then goes the turmeric powder, more dried red chilli powder and a dash of shahi biriyani powder for that added zing. The raw dal goes in with adequate water and I make the most simple dal ever till date.

James and I are trying to work on exercises that involve weights while keeping the heart rate up. He did his research on the 300 workout. It is the work out that the crew of the movie, 300 did to prepare for the movie. We are probably 2.5 on the 300 scale but it is a start. We left the gym at 7:30 pm and I knew from yesterday's experience that today is not the day to deal with the pressure cooker again. Even my cheeks hurt! Thank you Publix for fresh sushi and thank you La Choy for lite soy sauce.

The Cutest Bollywood Love Song

Laya is sick today. Sight hounds apparently have very sensitive stomachs. Having spent over $2000 on her diet related illnesses, I watch what she eats so very closely. She has been having diarrhea since last night. Other than cleaning up her bed in her kennel from the smelly liquidy poop, it is especially painful to see her struggle with the number 2.

Lakshya has always been a feel-good movie for me. Mentally stressed out this Tuesday, I decided to watch it for the upteenth time. I think 'Agar Main Kahoon' has got to be the cutest love song to come out of Bollywood yet. I am slightly biased though, Preety Zinta being on the top of my favourite actress list. Moreover, this is probably the only movie that does Hritik Roshan any justice. Speaking of Preeti Zinta, enjoy the song.

Lakshya-Agar Main Kahoon

Mini-Me

Conversations with my kid brother are like eating a raspberry meringue, tart and juicy raspberries on top of a dry and sweet egg white base. Sometimes I feel we are trying to have a conversation from either poles of the world and sometimes it is like speaking to a mirror.

Here is us hanging out in sunny Florida.

Tumi Horny!

There have been a recent uproar of hindi movie talk in a few blogs I read here and here. Other than this song (Anusha Dandekar has gorgeous eyes!) I just wanted to watch a movie on Mumbai. Rahul Bose is a good actor, so I picked up the Mumbai Matinee DVD on my last trip to the indian store.

Loot_Gaye_Mumbai_Matinee

I think they could not have had a more funny scene of a Bengali cop lecturing Debashis Chatterjee about his quests of the forbidden fruit. "Tumi Horny" meaning "You are Horny" in bengali is probably the climax of the entire movie. The absolute peak. It cracks me up all the time. Moreover, Perizad Zorabian is always sweet.

PS:
In reference to Shashi's post: link, bengali men do appear goofy in Mumbai Matinee but it is not all true. At least they showed the actual depiction of a 'fireplace scene' euphemism or maybe it is the Waves in ocean 1 euphemism .

Puppy Pics

As per Neihal's request, here are more pictures of the puppies, especially Eddie.

Bharat Bhushan

Having spent a lazy Sunday morning waking up at 7 am to take the pups out followed by a good breakfast of wheat toast bread, light swiss cheese and two eggs, poached, I decided to take a mid-morning nap. I did wake up at 7 am on a Sunday! Two hours of left-over sleep later, I showered and set out for some lunch and groceries. Lunch was at the $10 buffet in the Indian restaurant. I gobbled on the chicken lollypop, butter naan, rogan gosht and chicken tikka masala while a few noisy indian kids testified Sakshi's recent post. I obviously go there for the gulab jamun and mango moose. Did you know buffets were unlimited :)

I had to return four DVDs to the Indian store that were over due by a week. While I picked up some green chillies, khus syrup to battle the hot florida summer and maggi noodles, I decided to dabble in a few more Hindi movies. I am not a Bollywood movie buff, so I don't keep up with whats coming. Standing dumbfounded in front of the seven foot tall rack of hindi movies, I decided to pick the ones that at least sounded decent enough. Knowing my lack of knowledge of newly released movies, I try not to venture into the new-movie section. Thats usually my kid brother on the phone, "Dadabhai, its an excellent movie(talking about some Karan Johar type glamour-smothered movie), but not your type. Try that one."

Bheja Fry was still virgin in its unopened plastic wrap. The cover had Rajat Kapoor's tearing his hair off and Vinay Pathak with an evil grin on his face. I was sold. It turned out to be the best Sunday afternoon movie. Light, funny and no songs. I go gaga when songs are used in the movie as a background score to compliment the story and not otherwise. I jump with joy like a three year old with a pop-sickle. Vinay Pathak plays the role of Bharat Bhushan who is called every name starting from padma-bhushan to Pradushan in the movie. He plays the role of an Income Tax officer who thinks a Naushaad-level singer is trapped in his body and displays his vocal prowess at every opportunity he gets. He is also irreparably goofy and probably has an acute condition of ADD that is portrayed extremely well.

Ranvir Shorey does a commendable job too, just like he has been in all the movies I see. All said, the hard-core critics will find flaws but this is not a movie to be critiqued. It is something that you watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon, laugh while watching it, post your two cents on an obscure little blog, shove the DVD in the box and return it within two to three days.

IN YOUR FACE

It's Alive...It's Alive...
Amit got this kick-ass template done. Deep respect, bro.

I am not a classic rock lover, just more new hard rock...but Amit is.

Pound it!!!

Rob zombie - dragu...

What makes Laya the sweetest dog

All greyhounds race till about 4 years of age. The best racers are taken back by the breeders to preserve the gene pool of a good racer. The others are adopted out. Laya was one such adoption. Greyhounds start racing at the age of 1 where they are constantly taught to chase 'Rusty' the mechanical rabbit. Back in the day, greyhounds were hunting dogs and had what is called prey-drive. The race conductors use the greyhound's prey drive to make them run in the circuit.

Laya raced for only five months, a race a week meaning she had 25 races only before she received the not-so-well-performing rating and was retired. She won only 1 of the 25 races and lacked prey drive. That makes her the sweetest dog ever. She wags her tail and demands to play with all little furry animals like squirrels, cats and three pound yorkies. These are animals that any other greyhound would mistake for ol' rusty and pounce on them. These are also the animals that run like hell when Laya crouches down in her classic play stance, long tail wagging and wet nose sniffing. I would run too, if I were a three pound yorkie facing another dog that was 18 times my weight and 10 times my size.

Here is a video of the race she won. I have been wanting to post this for a while but I needed a little persuasion from Neihal, thats all. Laya is in the Number 1 position (red jacket with white number) She ran 550 yards in 31.73 seconds which translates to an average speed of 35 miles per hour or 56 kilometers per hour.

Easy Friday

The dry-fit t-shirt desperately tried to expel all the sweat as I stepped out with Eddie and Laya for their evening walk. It was work out day today and the puppies were especially eager to see me when I arrived an hour after the regular arrival time. A habit I picked up from James, I refer to all dogs as puppies affectionately. I had earlier noticed the half dozen girl’s jolly shrieks from the pool across the sand volley ball court in front of my apartment. I managed to get a closer look at the jolly-bunch as I walked out with the puppies. They were a half dozen or so 13 to 15 year olds jumping in and out of the pool.

I was not even close enough to the pool when one of the girls shouted:

Miss Brown Bikini: you have a very sexy dog!
Me: Thanks.
I keep walking, the sidewalk by the volley ball court gets me closer to the pool.
Miss Brown bikini: (now noticing little Eddie too) Hey...two dogs!
Me: I hope so (this has been my classic answer to rhetorical questions)
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: What dog is he (referring to the bigger one)?
Me: She is a greyhound…
Miss Brown Bikini: did you say, a super hound? Giggles.
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: giggles
Miss Light Blue Bikini: giggles
Mr. Green Board Shorts: (appearing busy on the phone wondering why all his friends are obsessing over some dogs)
it is funny when kids get obsessive over their friends
Me: A G-R-E-Y-H-O-U-N-D, the little one’s a beagle.
Miss Brown Bikini: Does the big one make babies?
Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots: (interrupting Miss Brown Bikini) do both the dogs make babies together???
Me: No. But they’d be funny babies if it happened (A 55 lbs long legged all muscular greyhound crossed with a pot-bellied short legged floppy-eared beagle would definitely make a funny dog!)
Miss Brown Bikini: but they’d be cute babies (looking at Eddie who is wagging his tail standing at the pool gate facilitated by his extending leash)
Miss Yellow Bikini (or maybe it was Miss Light Blue Bikini): what are their names?
Me: The little one is Eddie and the bigger one is Laya.
Miss Yellow Bikini: Eddie is a cute name.
Miss Light Blue Bikini: ‘Laya’ as in Princess Leia from the star wars? Are you a fan?
Me: yes, that Leia but I am not a star wars fan.

Miss Brown Bikini pushes Miss Yellow Bikini into the pool. Miss Pink Bikini with Blue Polka Dots runs away from the approaching Miss Light Blue Bikini. Mr. Green Board Shorts is busy typing away on his cell phone. I walk away to the rest of my evening remembering all the reasons why I like Florida!

Friday was exceptionally good. Not because it was a Friday before a long weekend. Monday is chutti for being Memorial Day and Shek has no plans but eat, sleep and hopefully read some. This whole week has been a little hectic on all fronts. Hectic in a challenging positive sort of way. Work has been very challenging but I got all my data sorted out finally on Friday. I only wish I had the 3Ghz Core 2 Duo with a 2 gig ram in my work computer. A 19 inch wide screen wouldn’t be bad either. I have also been stressed out making, bridging and maintaining some personal relations. Every thing is sorted out now, so I decided to treat myself with some good chicken curry.

By 7 pm Friday, 25 May 2007 the 1.51 Lbs boneless breast pieces had been marinated for over 12 hours in rich yoghurt, crushed tomatoes, ginger-garlic paste and the finest Chicken-curry masala the Indian store had to offer. The onions were perfectly fried golden brown in the finest desi ghee available locally and the chicken curry simmered peacefully for a long time till the meat was just perfect. This served with the steaming basmati rice made my week a complete satisfaction. Yes, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, especially Shek’s!

Wish you were here....

Heard this song on my way to work today. It is funny how a stressful week makes you remember people. I wish you were here....

Incubus - I Wish Y...

I wish Pandey was here.
I wish Maman Didi was here.
I wish Dad was here.
I wish Sven and Trini were here. He's been like a big brother to me.
I wish Twix was here and I wish we were still friends (Damn you Ipanema Girl!)

The world's a roller coaster
And I am not strapped in
Maybe I should hold with care
But my hands are busy in the air saying: I wish you were here

frands and frandseeps

I wish Wikipedia would define ‘Frands’ or ‘Frandseep’ but it doesn’t. So Shek has to do it himself.

There are friends and there are acquaintances but most people confuse between the two. Some like me have a stronger definition for Friendship than most do. Some like me prefer to wait for that special bond before declaring an acquaintance as a friend. Acquaintances, I have many and then there are some that think they are an acquaintance to me but I could really do without them for ever.

Frands I have none. To have frands (sometimes spelled ‘frends’ or ‘phrens’ as in ‘Phrenseep’), I would have to be a 20 something girl on Orkut with one decent picture and a relatively common name. This is what the common Indian guy does in his spare time. He logs on to his orkut account and hits the search button. Then types in his location (usually something like a major city name where they think cute chicks reside) and the age range of the girl; hits enter and browses through. I have been guilty till this stage of activity. Your Shek is not so dudh ka dhula hua! The one time I did it (god-promise only one time); I came out with a friend who is funny, cool and very nice to hang out with.

Once a cute-chick-profile is found, most guys usually start messing up. Without being shameful enough for their name to come up on the ‘recently visited’ section, they leave a retarded ice-breaker in the scrap book for everyone to see. Instead of something smart, un-intrusive, funny and un-insulting, they bluntly say things like:

1. “I stumbled upon your profile, don’t ask me how.” What M.F.!!!…did you trip and fall?!?!
2. “Looking at your profile…I think you are an amazing person” You must be an antaryami (all-knowledgable priest) to know what kind of a person someone is by reading what movies she likes and what color her eyes are. Can you look at the share market for me please?
3. “Hi. I am kool and you are too. Check out my profile”. Let me complete the sentence for you, Mr Kool: “….Check out my profile and you will find a mirror in it that I look at every hour admiring my थोब्डा (face), my hair and my oh-so-gorgeous-smile”…Yes Mr. Narcissus, you are fabulous!!!
4. “Can we be the frand?”I am confused. Can you ispeak the English?
5. “Reply Plz”; “Add me to ur frnd lst plz” This is no SMS, boy. Type that extra few letters. And, how desperate can you be?
6. “I know you must be bored hearing this again and again, but …blah-blah-same-old-BS” This is the sensitive type. He is oh so aware of the abundance of filth in a cute-chick’s scrap page that he had to sugar coat his own so his bull-crap could stand out in the midst of other stinky turds.
7. “hey, u hvnt replied” Mr. SMS back again, this time he demands an answer. She doesn’t need to know if she has replied or not. She didn’t reply, so she knows.
8. “hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii” This bugger seriously believes the number of ‘i’s in ‘Hi’ is directly proportional to his perceived coolness factor. Dude, ever tried pronouncing it? It only makes you sound like a retarded kid. Invariably, someone will have a few extra ‘i’s among the next 10 scraps.
9. “hey, are you from so-and-so place? Where exactly in so-and-so place?” This is just like saying, “Hi! I like your pictures and hence am looking forward to stalking you. Moreover, I actually think you are dumb enough to tell me exactly where you live. If that does not satisfy you, I am even dumber to wait for your reply and if you don’t, I will pull a #7 on you.”

Exception to the rule:
There are guys who defy all possibilities of rejection even after sending out silly and foolish scraps and actually end up with girls falling head-over-god-dang-heels over them. They are the pretty guys who have a good game on in their orkut album.

Disclaimer: Shek is not at all threatened by over-eager little boys prowling cute-chick’s profiles. He writes this post out of his sheer respect for women and thinks that every woman deserves better, even in an orkut scrap book. So ladies, the next time you see that funny, cool and handsome blogger in Florida, ask him out so you don’t have to wait for pesky-little-boys to come knocking on your orkut-door.

Ghosts

It was so easy. I asked my 18 year old brother if he has been reading my blogs and what he thought about the writing style. He easily said that he liked my writing style and it showed that I have been reading for a long time, that I have. My curled eyebrows shot back at all I have read and all I have written. Was I writing with my ghosts?

A slab of the finest Cadbury’s chocolate and some leftover Thai pasta is appointed to my table so I can prepare for the second paragraph. Robert Pirsig defines ghosts in a better way than what I am about to attempt. I am being torn between two worlds: One of rituals, customs and traditions and the other of logic and science. Maybe not torn but my mind ponders a lot. We all live with a lot of ghosts, some good and some bad. These ghosts accumulate through all the countless interactions and incidents that we have experienced since kids. These ghosts make us do crazy things like respect lifeless objects and defy logic. Then again, mathematics and logic are our biggest ghosts.

A day of Ganpati utsav in my colony flashes back. As hordes of people gather around the arati, head bowed in submission and bodies swaying in a trance, kids eye the sweets waiting to be distributed while their moms discipline them. Do the kids need to be disciplined because their lack of attention is an insult to the prayers? They are just being innocent kids. The real answer is that the moms are being persuaded by their ghosts. The ghosts are ruthless dictators that make people of all ages speak and write what they want to say and be written. Families that maintain age old customs, rituals and faiths do just that. They maintain them like a night watchman at a forgotten museum. They do it to preserve the culture. What about evolution then? Shouldn’t culture evolve and change? I can see some people jumping off their seats,”Sacrilege! You can’t change culture! Culture is our identity.” It is their ghost speaking for them while they allow culture to become their very own fantastic bottleneck. The whole galaxy is evolving as we speak except our ghosts. Ghosts don’t evolve. They merely maintain the exact form and shape of what they looked like when they truly existed.

The caste system is the biggest most evident ghost of all। Is it a good ghost or a bad ghost? Both. The caste system died the day when automated flush tanks were invented. Then, a बृह्मण (Brahmin, the highest strata in the Indian caste system) became an instant अछूत (untouchable, the lowest strata in the Indian caste system) while he flushed his toilet. The caste system created groups of people with similar job descriptions and hence similar intellect. Some were good at research and education, some at war and some at creativity. It gave a much needed structure to the society. Carry that forward and most families of the same caste have similar traits, habits and behaviours but not all. People of the upper caste prefer to feed the ghost as they get to say that they are superior while people of the lower caste feed their ghosts so they can get those nifty reservations. I don’t care who you are but if you have ever taken a reward, award, position, promotion or admission based on your caste, high caste or low caste, you are guilty in my court. I won’t hate you but I won’t agree with your actions.

I am living with my own set of ghosts. Some make me respect everyone like they were God; some make me respect the physical paper and coin money and some make me respect all elders no matter what. I am trying to break away from the bad ghosts and keep the good ones. If I respect someone abusive by not retorting back, then I am disrespecting myself and that is wrong. I should not have the right to disrespect anybody, be it me or my abusive ‘someone’. I should rather respect the use of money than its physical form. I should spare my elders the dignity by not dragging them into this 2 cent blog.

My brother lives with my ghost. I met him after over two and a half years. He was visiting me on his way to summer school in California. Spending the week with him made me realize that he still sees me as the brother he knew three years back. He lets my ghost translate and then hears everything I say and sees everything I do as my ghost would three years back. Three years back, I was 21 and just like any other 21 year old, I was stubborn, had my own ideas about the general functioning of the world and was a ruling elder brother. Three years have changed me to a hopefully more socially acceptable stubborn person and a friendly elder brother to my now 18 year old sibling. I still have my own views about the general functioning of the world and that is what these blogs are about. It is just as important for him to fight my ghost as it is for me to fight my own ghost.

Chicken Curry

I wait for the onions to turn brown so I can toss in the thickly marinated chicken in a rich yoghurt marinate into the wok. Some buggers are still pink, most are white or yellow steadily progressing towards the desired brown. My brother fiddles with the computer, working his way up the social cyber ladder while this post starts forming in my head.

kaabhi aalvida naa kehna is at intermission. I am tired of the glamour dresses, the expensive shots, the fancy hair dos, the light story line, pockets of heavy emotions and outsourced dialogues. Yes, I feel the dialogues are outsourced. Only a few hold some water, the rest being lighter than a goose’s feather. After a heavy dinner of chicken curry, rice and roti and a few more hours of the slow movie, I am told that this has been a path breaking film. "The lead actor and actresses have never been flawed characters before!" I say, some famous director finally decided to pick up a real script! A real script is about people and all people are flawed. While the movie ranted about a wrong marriage, actually two wrong marriages, I wondered how many people could actually identify with the script. Not the infidelity part, just the wrong marriage part. EVERYBODY! I have known a few people that are or were in a relationship with their best friends. Some flourished while others ended up with broken hearts. I, for one, sacrificed my beautiful friendship to the failure of love. Failure of Love! It is a nice phrase if you think about it. This phrase is optimistic about failure and the many love songs, poems, novels and short stories are its living testament. We write about things we do not have. That’s why we write about the rain and about God.

I am surprised at the multitude of love making scenes in hindi movies these days. Not shocked, just surprised. Being used to old fashioned clichéd love scenes; this blunt frankness is very new to me. The directors surely want to show more realistic situations but also want to show off the producer’s deep pockets. So, they end up with a chicken curry: yoghurt, masala, garlic paste, tomatoes and chicken pieces all blended into one big medley just hoping to capture your senses. Now, you have scenes of top notch bollywood actors and actresses getting intimate, sweaty bodies glistening in the fireplace heat coupled with scenes of overstated glamorous sudden dance scenes. Moreover, sixteen and seventeen year olds watch this movie and no one burns effigies of Shah Rukh and Rani on the streets. Maybe Richard Gere should have charged the Indian government to make an appearance for his Aids campaign and then charged the general public obscene ticket prices to see him give a few affectionate pecks on Shilpa Shetty’s cheeks. It worked for Shah Rukh and Karan Johar. Must work for Richard Gere! He is Hollywood after all!!!

Enough written. The chicken curry left over needs to see the refrigerator, Laya needs to take a walk and I need to get my comforter from my car. Good Night people.

Rowe's Shrek

This is a tribute from Rowena to me. I hope for you enjoy it as much as I did.

Of Jets and Humans...

I now know why people strap jet engines to their cars and try to kill themselves on the salt plains of Utah. I am writing from 10,000 ft. above the sea level on my way to Atlanta.

As the plane waited before the straight stretch of runway for a signal, it felt like dejavu to me. The feelings I get when I stop at the broad white strip watching the red light from my car came flooding back. I almost knew what the pilot was thinking. The pressure of getting up to the triple digit speed before the runway ends is as enjoyable as it is nerve-wrecking. The pilot’s arms rests on the levers just like my right heel rests on the car’s carpet with a light calculated pressure on the brake waiting not for the green to appear but for the red to disappear, waiting to slam ahead.

Both cases though, the scenery watches in horror. The trees and light poles know what is about to happen. They brace themselves for the sudden turbulence. You could almost feel the mounting acceleration while standing still as the jet prepares for its thrust. The pilot gets his signal, surely in a more disciplined fashion than I get mine on the road. The plane lurches forward as I feel my back pressing against my seat. The required speed is reached in seconds. Where I start braking to acceptable speeds, the plane takes off. The adrenalin rush is inevitable even though my body aches momentarily from the increasing pressure and the g-forces.

This is a fantastic way of starting a Monday. I am visiting Atlanta with my boss to manage a start-up of a new implementation of a project. Some process improvements on the general activities of the contract are also on the cards. I will be meeting someone that I met online for dinner tonight. She happened to be in Atlanta on a project too. I am not used to making too many random friends online but she seems to be genuine, outgoing and uncomplicated. Sounds like we will be going for ribs at James's recommended barbecue joint. Mmm Mmm Mm Mm Mm!!!

Looks to me as the starting of one awesome week!! Rock on people.

Shek's Confidential

I tried positing last night and the blog did not publish any text when I hit 'publish'. So, I decided to sleep on it as I did not have the energy to think any more. You see, I had blogged about a challenging experience that had happened to me at work a few months back. I am completely optimistic about it and I harness the experience in a positive way. Even then, it had its kinks, and I did not want to go though the whole ordeal of recreating the post again.

Waking up this morning, I decided to host a confidential blog available to only selected readers. This is my confidential post: Shek's Confidential. I have added a few people to be able to read this post, but I do not have the email id's of a few of my friends. Specifically Neihal, Glazed Donut and Rowe. If you guys email me at shekscribb *at* gmail.com I would add you to the invitee list.

Anybody else who wants to read this, please email me.

Nice Guys

The world is a cold and harsh place for nice guys. A-holes get the cute chicks and nice guys remain 'good friends'(read: expendable). It is seriously hard to be a genuinely nice person without being branded as unmanly and weird. How many of you have been nice to others only to never be appreciated and taken for granted? I am not saying that you should only be nice so you can be appreciated, but a pat on the back helps. How many of you have tried to honestly tell a girl that you like her without being shooed away?

It has been confirmed by a certain lady friend that cute chicks actually prefer a-holes. With a-holes, no speculation is needed to analyze what kind of a guy he is. He is simply an a-hole and will probably dump one cute chick for another. Now nice guys are an unknown. The dreaded 'x' in the algebra test. Even after a lot of calculations, girls don't know what 'x' is until the results come out. Ladies, I will solve the suspense for you today. 97% of nice guys are actually psychologically challenged immature adolescents who wont grow till they are 70. Then they become teenagers. Women, not all guys are the same. I know that concept sounds real good in your head but it is not true.

What hope do the 3% genuinely nice guys have in life? Are they always supposed to hold the doors open while hordes of people walk by, let other cars in their turning lane at the last minute? They have to protect their good, and to do that, they have to be a little bad. Stop helping around ungrateful people who will never appreciate your concerns. I protect my goodness by being headstrong sometimes (I am very very accommodating otherwise). Nice people, stop taking crap from others, be a little bad, open your mouth and say 'No fcuking way!' when you don't like something. Be more confrontational but be prudent. When in doubt, use this track. Hang tight...

Mind-Dump, 1 of Many

I wont call 'this' a writer's block. April has been a very productive month with respect to churning out posts in comparison to May. The main reason that I post is to go back and re-live some of my best moments. By 'best moments', I don't mean the good times, the parties, the drives, but also the pains and frustrations. I am what I am because I have risen only to be slammed down and asked to rise up. This does not upset me. We fall so we can get back up on our feet.

Let me explain 'this'. This is not writer's block. My mind is empty right now. I don't know what I want to write. There is no preconceived script floating in my head. All I know is that I have to write. This is not the time when I am writing to organize my thoughts. I guess I am writing to generate thoughts. This is the first time that I have done this. A part of me says that I am a freak...a small part. What kind of a person writes to be able to think?

As I look back at April's posts and try to see a trend of some sort so that I can figure out this excessive writing spree, I notice that it is not the topics that are of significance, it is my thinking time. All the posts were written when a rough script was ready in my mind. Then, posting was just as easy as copying in an exam. You see, at my job, there are busy weeks and months and then light weeks and months. April was one of those light months. That is the time when we engineers concentrate on training and self learning. I spent my time finishing up extra large costing sheets and almost finished up preparing training slides for a software that I am sort of proficient in. I have found that my mind is always on a thinking drive. I am always thinking about something. Mostly, it is about a project, an analysis glitch, a complicated macro or an impossible solution for a demanding client. I love to live my work. Even though I come home by 5:30, I am thinking about the project till I sleep. There have been times when I have had a break through idea while frying onions with teary eyes.

These self-learning and training activities do not come home with me and I end up with plenty of time to write a script in my head while driving home at break-neck speeds and walking Laya. That is why April has been so heavy on post content.

Starting this Monday, I have been assigned a project that I am the lead in. For the first time my boss made me a lead. It is very challenging and I almost blush like a newly wed wife when I delegate work to other engineers, all more experienced than me. It is not a hard project and it involves fundamentals that I learned last year. Plus, there looks like some tricky excel maneuvers, the kind that I so so love. We have a complex costing sheet that spans over innumerable tabs and even more formulas. This sheet has a direct impact on the finances of the project and a screw up means more than just a slap on the hands. My maneuvers will need to summon my slickest excel and macro making skills. I am pumped up about this project.

Especially today, I barely sat at my desk .In and out of meetings, time just flew by. My body is also kind of sore from working out. That is probably why my mind was in hibernate mode.

Almost forget to mention, I raced Sven's Mazda RX-8 today. Neck and neck baby!!! His little red sports car was almost a match for my heavy sedan, almost. I felt better that I was not driving a granny-car. Though he had more grunt at launch, my torque motor picked up the pace quickly. He did not make one full length in front of me. My evil mind is already thinking about getting a 'more appropriate' car (read:a quicker, faster, leaner and meaner car... of course I have one in my mind...the 2006 Pontiac GTO. 400 hp and 400 ft-lb of torque, that baby is damn affordable at under $34,000). God help my soul. Pray for me people, for I am about to go bankrupt one day buying cars.