Tiny Little Fractures

Some things have come full circle while others are still complicatedly hanging out to dry. And I’m typing this on the same old keyboard that I typed my first post on and will have to wait for the same tiresome SLT dial up connection to kick in to upload this, the irony. 

I’ll probably return sometime in the future when life has calmed down and the creative juices have built, but to a new, on a need to know basis, location.

Til then, adios!

So last weekend I went on a date. A proper American style date, which for me is an extremely, extremely rare event. Funnily enough I tend to date more in Sri Lanka than anywhere else, though dating there is a totally different ball game. Over here you date a girl to get to know her, generally from the very beginning. In Lanka however you tend to meet a girl with a group of friends, get to know her a bit while in a group and then ‘thin’ her from the herd for various nefarious activities. Personally I prefer the latter experience because if a girl is annoying for one thing you have other girls you can hit on without serious damage (well most of the time) and you also have your chums you can go get drunk with to forget the craziness that is womankind.

Anyways I went on this date, the hook up which was generally thanks to the obsession with photography and the wonder that is facebook. And it was…pleasant…it wasn’t super but it wasn’t bad either. But it was an odd experience. For one thing somehow both of us talked most of the time, didn’t listen to the band but just chatted. Unfortunately it was during the conversation and dinner later on that I had a dawning of an epiphany. That I actually do know what I want in a girl, and this girl though very nice, and I mean very nice, just didn’t fit the bill. 

I like independence, attitude and a hint of naughty. Nice girls turn me off, sheltered girls turn me off and someone who doesn’t push my buttons, well isn’t as much fun. In fact what was eerie was that as the date progressed I came to realize more and more that this girl was almost a carbon copy of the ex, right down to the school. For some reason I kept hearing a voice in my head going ‘danger! Will Robinson, danger!’ and it got louder and louder as time progresses. I sincerely hope that it did not pop out of my mouth inadvertently as things have been doing recently, especially since I tend not to realize when something that was supposed to be in my head comes out of my mouth unless I cotton onto the shocked looks of the participants in the conversation.

At the end of the day the experience wasn’t a chore. Would I repeat it? I honestly don’t know. It’s hard to judge someone from those first sweaty palmed interactions and to be fair I think I may have come across as a somewhat alcoholic, nicotine addicted workaholic and I’m definitely not a workaholic. So there’s no guarantee that she would even want a second round, besides geography has raised its head again so that may indeed be a moot point. Ambiguity still reigns as choice is somewhat limited out here and the formula of intelligence, independence, brown eyes and stark raving nutter are difficult to come by these days. So much for curing the one-itis.

I don’t think the words Master Trainer emblazoned on the man’s back gave me any confidence in his abilities. For one thing when I spotted him I initially thought he was one of the old guys who on doctor’s orders, after years of heavy drinking has to come to the gym to try and squeeze a few more years out of a cirrhotic liver. His shambling gait across the gym floor only added to this impression and I’ll admit I was more than a bit taken aback to see that he was the cream of the crop of a personal trainer. Makes me glad I never bothered.

You see a long, long time ago, in a place called Costa Mesa, where the girls in the gym were incredibly hot and friendly I joined 24 Fitness, mostly in a bid to get rid of the excesses of the binge drinking and general lethargy of writing up a thesis that had taken a toll on my BMI. Of course the girls I saw going into the place on a regular basis weren’t too bad of an incentive either. As I signed the paperwork and paid the exorbitant fees for getting my feet through the door the person I was dealing with asked if I was interested in some ‘discount’ personal training lessons, at around $100 an hour or so.

Eyeing some of the hardbodies around I inquired as to who would be my trainer. Without batting an eyelid the guy in front of me said he would be my trainer. 

I laughed out loud, I was that surprised. I tried in the interests of political correctness and politeness to stifle the laugh and replace it with a sneeze slash cough but I’m not sure how successful I was. You see the guy who was offering me personal training at the rate of a $100 an hour, certified though he may have been weighed somewhere in the region of 300 pounds. I mean this boy was big, from one to the other he was two time zones. Now I may not have a washboard stomach (yet) or bulging biceps or 3% body fat but the ludicrousness of what he was suggesting was hard to escape. I mean would you take English lessons from George Bush? Etiquette lessons from either of the two Silvas?

I mean if you are going to pay an arm and a leg for someone to torture you into fitness levels you’ve never dreamed off, you would hope that person has some concept of how much you are suffering and empathize and inspire. Keep an eye on you to prevent injury, etc.

Not wander off to get a donut when you miss a rep and get pinned to the bench by a barbell.

 a tad smoky up front

Coming into Simi Valley yesterday was like a ride into the apocalypse. Despite it being around 4pm, the sun was a fiery, hellish ball behind a screen of smoke. The fire season has kicked off here in the heartland again with the Santa Ana winds blowing across the land and fanning the flames. The winds are something else; coming down the Keuhner pass, every second was a fight with the steering wheel. The wind shear tried to fling my car to the left, the curving road, gravity and centrifugal force tried to swing it to the right all the way down the pass. Then there was and me trying to remember my high school physics and alternatively praying to the pantheon of higher beings, fighting to correct the steering and not trying to wet my pants. 

Being the inimitable photographer that I am as I came down the Pass I took a few moments out of my nervous breakdown to take a couple of pictures. Not too impressive, but then this was at 60 miles per hour with a camera phone and a Denali up my ass. So cut me some slack.

This morning was no better, not only was the wind howling around the house but a stray breeze had blown open my bedroom door. I woke up to the sweet strains of the Schizo Schitzu trying to find his metaphorical keys in my garbage can. Stepping outside was no better, the early morning sky was still a muted angry orange colour and the smell of embers was nauseating. I was a bit miffed because of all the ways to enjoy second hand smoke; bushfires are pretty way down my list. And besides, I don’t smoke in the mornings and not having a choice in the matter was sort of pissy in an ironic way.

Right now things are still literally heating up, N just emailed saying he was being evacuated and I’m religiously checking the Ventura fire updates hoping the fire doesn’t spread south to Moorpark. Hopefully these damn winds die down and everything comes back under control…after all I am rather too fond of the pooch to see him barbequed.

The sun obscured by a haze of smoke.
 

Pre-flight scorpion

My boss gave me a scorpion. Well he didn’t as much as give it to me rather I asked for it. As P mentioned I probably made all brown people the world over proud and upped my weirdness factor at work by asking for the little critter. My boss had come across him nestled in his kid’s clothes, unfortunately when the clothes were already on the kid (he lives up in the mountains so this wasn’t as surprising a discovery as it seems, well unless you were the kid).

The boss wasn’t really fond of the scorpion, especially since it had nicked the kid a couple of times. Luckily it was only a baby so obviously didn’t have as much venom in its system so no long term damage had been done. This story of course made me aware that in addition to rattlesnakes, cougars and mentally retarded mule deer I had one more creature to keep a wary eye out for on my site visits (as if I needed another threat to my well being).

On inquiring, surprisingly without any raised eyebrows, as to what in tarnation I was going to do with the scorpion the boss was somewhat mollified by hearing that I was going to kill him and take some macro photographs. Now before the animal lovers get on my case, the boss was going to kill the scorpion already so I was just taking on the sin for him. Also I really, really wanted to take some good macro shots of the little bugger…and since it’s a scorpion…I wasn’t really going to do it while it was alive. You know with that sting and all.

So I spent the day with the scorpion perambulating eerily around its jar on a shelf in my office before I took it home. I scheduled the shoot for Sunday following my whale watching trip and let P know to grab me some Kenko extension tubes while I jury rigged a temporary lightbox. The scorpion appeared to have kicked the bucket as he lay motionless in his jar and staid like that for a couple of days.

Sunday dawned and just to make sure that the scorp as dead I poured some water into the jar. To my surprise he immediately arched his back and scrabbled his legs. But it was brief and then he was still, lying in his watery grave as I assumed. Note I know this sounds cruel but I didn’t really have a choice. Remember that weirdness index at the office I was talking about? Well one of the reasons I figure so highly on that is because every time a spider shows up in the office, while everybody is ready to splat it I’m usually to be found on my knees wasting valuable client billable time rescuing it and setting it free outside. So there, I kill with great reluctance!

P rolled over and we had a quiet smoke on the balcony and then experimented with the lightbox, minimum focusing distances, lighting and all that jazz that us aspiring photographers like to talk endlessly about. After a few shots of cigarette packs and miniature cologne/perfume bottles we decided to bring out the main show. Using a pair of tweezers I fished the scorpion out and placed him in the lightbox. P and I noted with some interest that it seemed to be a bit ‘twitchy.’

So there I was taking pictures of the ‘dead’ scorpion moving his little claws around when it suddenly dawned on us that maybe he wasn’t really dead. For one thing he was starting to look mighty alert and aggressive, which is something dead animals rarely do. Loathe to end our photo session I suggested P take over with the camera and I would empty the jar and bring it back just in case the scorpion got more active.

Of course as luck would have it as soon as I walked out of the room the scorpion decided to leg it, obviously emboldened by P’s lack of experience with creepy crawlys. All I could hear as I hurriedly threw out the water in the jar was P’s rather frantic, slightly high pitched entreaties for me to come back as he was ill-equipped both physically and mentally to handle a scorpion. I re-entered the room to find that the scorpion had disappeared behind the TV stand that we had set up our mini studio on. 

A conundrum if I ever came across one. Especially because this was a baby scorpion and the prospect of spending the next year growing old with a scorpion wandering around my room was not a prospect that I was looking forward to. The only thing worse that I could think of at that moment was the possibility of growing old with the last ex. Spurred on by this cheerful thought I bade P spare himself and I put myself in harms way. After all I was the older and more experienced of us two. The first thing that I noticed behind the TV stand apart from a plethora of wires was an old towel that had made its way behind there. Figuring the best thing to do would be to remove that I cautiously fished it out. This was when I made a rather startling discovery.

It appears that scorpions can fly. A fact that I was far from happy to discover as it suddenly the scorpion flew out from the towel, missed my leg by a whisker and landed on the carpet. Needless to say I was shocked. But being the inherent woodsman that I am I quickly recovered, grabbed the jar and trapped the scorpion. P and I had another smoke, this time a bit shakily after all the excitement and debated how to go ahead killing the scorpion. 

I had read that nail remover imbued cotton wool works on insects but I searched high and low and couldn’t find any. We decided to compromise with the miniature perfume bottles and poured them out on cotton balls and placed them in the jar. I’m not sure who suffered more from that exercise though, us or the scorpion. He didn’t seem to like the perfume that we provided much and as P was leaving he was still spiritedly attacking the cotton wool. When I checked on him last he appeared to be dead so now I just have to extricate my sinuses and then pull him out for the photoshoot…maybe sometime this coming weekend.

Of course now every time I’m out on a site not only do I have to be wary of rattlesnakes (which at least rattle) and panthers (which are fairly large)…now I have to look out for flying scorpions. How one protects oneself against that I know not…

Whoever said life is weird wasn’t kidding. Work’s currently bollockingly hard, I mean ulcers, stomach churning hard. But the weird thing is I like it, I like getting those billables  out (heck I even made it to the top three in the company in my fourth month) and I like learning about buildings and land use policy and geology and the other myriad of things I have to learn and apply to get my projects through. The life of a consultant is full of stress, but at least for the next couple of years should be interesting.

On a personal level life has taken an upshot as well. For one thing the photography is getting more and more interesting. What was an inkling of a fascination has turned into a full blown obsession. All I seem to think about now is aperture, f-stops, composition and the other bewilderments that play a part in trying to capture that perfect image, you know the one ‘where the whole world holds its breath.’

I’ve also rather encouragingly met a couple of buggers who are fun to hang out with, real chilled out island boys. The type that can drink, joke and take a joke (unlike these pesky, tootsie Yanks).  I still miss my boys, R and his jokerness, which is probably only matched by me, CP who is getting married and will be going down that road of housewifery, Evil, Bounty and PV. Not to mention the girl, who seems to be intent on mentioning coming down to SL every time I’m in touch with her. The lack of communication is more a survival mechanism for me than anything else. The fact that I really don’t have time to text at random hours, etc does in a way help my cause. My take on that is blind faith, if it’s meant to be circumstances and timing will make it happen. If not, well that’s just the way things were meant to be. 

Where my enjoyment really hits a clunker is with the family, speaking to the grandparents is something I try to avoid as well. Again that self preservation instinct kicks in, it’s just too tough to hear that they miss me, especially considering the fact they are old now and I don’t know when I’ll be home again. That I’m thousands of miles from the only family I’ve ever been close to, really close is something I try not to think about, just for the sake of my sanity. The plus point is that my relationship with the sibling is a lot better, which considering the growing pains we had a few years ago is nice.

That’s the trick actually. Everything has a plus point. I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t have to trick myself to be happy, I actually am. Life’s active, fun, I managed to somehow download the new Band of Horses album, there’s plenty of pictures to take, sites to see and friends to drink with. Yet at the same time I miss the grandparents trying to tell me how to live my life, R’s brotherhood,va certain pair of smouldering eyes and the looking glass light of home.

I guess this is what bittersweet is.

Mamme being taken for a walk (from here)

 I’m leaving the floor open to anyone who can come up with a funny caption. The funniest one gets a bottle of Old Reserve on me in Lanka in Dec ‘08. Alternatively if you come over here  I’ll take you to Disneyland and drink a bottle of my latest addiction with you (I would offer a bottle but at nearly $30 a bottle, I need some as well).

My humble contribution:

 Its like the buffalo leading the buffalo (rather obvious play on the blind leading the blind)

Politicians eating out (from here)

That’s what I think every time I read about the grinning fool and his idiot brigade of 200 munchkins wandering around China, New York and LA wasting our money, or when I read about how the nitwit with anger management problems is waltzing around Colombo in fine Italian sports cars.

Of course as it turns out its not only the Lankan government that feels like the public’s money is there to fiddle away with whenever they feel like it. It turns out the US Feds are just as bad, wasting a spectacular $146 million (that’s a gadjillion, trillion rupees at tomorrow’s exchange rate as I predict it) on premium business class travel. This is where my 30% Fed tax goes!!? Fucking business class tickets for a bunch of nonces? To think I’ve started to despise local governments (after dealing with them day in and out) now I despise the Feds as well. I have to save up for yonks for this beauty of a lens so some prick at the Pentagon can get champagne on his flight!

Fucking wankers.

I’m talking about none other than His…erm…”Excellency” Nimal Siripala jowls de Silva. He seems to have a fairly decent background, as in he wasn’t brought up by wolves or bonobos or anything like that which might have warped his sense of reality. Of course his comments at the recent International Congress of AIDS in Asia and the Pacific belies any possibility of him having any semblance of a reasonable worldview. I could come up with a number of erudite, meaningful reasons for why old jowly should retire but I think it’s pretty simple to sum it up in a few words (I’m also tired and lazy).

He’s an idiot.

This is what the monkeys are going to look like after a few weeks of solititude on my desert island, well I hope at least (Saira Mohan, from here)

Apologies drac old boy, I have zero imagination when it comes to titles, but here is a breakdown of what I would pack if I was err….forced to be ‘exiled’ to a desert island. A fate which I would obviously rail against with all my heart…sigh… 

So there’s my choice. Now I’m going to go figure out how to in turn generate solar energy for my CD player using only a coconut frond and a monkey’s tail and ponder on whether there’s an outside chance Saira Mohan might come floating into my metaphorical lagoon. You know because coconuts aren’t that companiable. Unless of course one figures out how to convert them to arrack.

 P.S. I tag the following five peeps: Rastiadu, RD, Darwin & Spectral (who hopefully will give me some heads up on some new tunes) and Pissu (because I’ve always wanted to know what crazy people listen to).

Not exactly the way I wanted to enjoy the weekend. I was looking forward to using a dream boat of a 400mm L Prime. Unfortunately the carpets were being cleaned and the stairs were wet. Something I forgot for a minute second, minute enough for the world to suddenly turn topsy turvy in front of my eyes. My monopod attempted to take a chunk out of my arm, my butt received a buffing that was not intended and the 400mm tried to replace my spinal cord. I did however manage to stop myself before I reached P and catapulted him through my front door. Which as it was closed would have been a relatively painful experience.

The worst part about the experience was that the lens I had rented was busted. Actually the filter was busted and was jammed in so tight I couldn’t take it off. Thank the munchkins I did in fact get the damage waiver so I’m off the hook for the damage. Now I’m going spend the rest of the weekend icing my bum.

Just you know, to be on the safe side. Precipitated by my office suddenly seeming to take a liking to the Tiesto podcast issuing from my speakers and appearing to dance along to it. It was to be fair a pretty small earthquake (3.5 on the Richter scale) unless of course one was actually experiencing it first hand. I’m a tad spooked, not spooked like babbling on the floor, cowering in fear, needing a change of pants kind of spooked. But spooked enough to buy me one of these, now should I calculate the pooch’s needs as well….that’s the question…to which I should really find the answer before the Big One…possibly…hits…

Hmm…came across this quote and figured I’d memorialize it somewhere. I could email it to myself but then that would just get buried in the avalanche of crap that constitutes my email account.

"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘Press On’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race."
–  President Calvin Coolidge 1932

 To be honest I rarely take a liking to quotes from American Presidents, what with "I didn’t inhale" and "Mission accomplished" being the more memorable of the recent ones, not to mention "I did not have sex with that woman" (just used her to cut my cigar) but…disgusting jokes aside I really like that quote. Never follow it of course, being the lazy bastard that I am, but I’ll show it to my kids someday. If I ever getting around to making any that is…

So R akki forwarded me this email the other day of the 10 most obvious questions people ask and some smarmy answers. Very kindly she sent it to a bcc’d it to a bunch of people saying it reminds her of me, can’t even defend myself because I don’t know who got the email.

Off the 10 my personal favourite was the below: 

At a funeral: One of the teary-eyed people ask…

Stupid Question:-

Why, why him, of all people?!

Answer:-

Why? Would it rather have been you?

Of course I have been in that situation at cricket matches where I’ve had people ask me what I’m doing there, in the morning asking if I drank too much the last night and to be honest I do give snarky answers. Most notably I pissed off one of my bosses when she said “oh you’ve had a haircut!?” and I replied “no, no…I just got run over by a flipping lawnmower.” I think the straight face that I delivered it and the snort of laughter from my coworker pissed her off and I got a bit of a talking to. American’s don’t have much of a sense of irony.

The latest was a few nights ago. I suddenly jerked awake. The first thing I noticed was the Frans Lanting print above my head swinging back and forth. Before that really registered I noticed, not with mild disinterest, that the whole room was shaking. One, two jerks and everything calmed down. I looked up at the print to make sure I wasn’t going to be brained by the print falling off, turned over and snuggled into my duvet. As I was about to resume my blissful sleep, the unc knocked on my door.

“That was an earthquake!” 

“The fact did not escape me”

“What are we going to do?!” 

“Well it’s over now, so I’m going back to sleep….”

"Oh…" 

Seriously some people…

I was reading this article about one of my favourite rugby teams and their preperations for the upcoming World Cup and I must say I was struck by the odd choice of photographs included in it. I’m wondering if anyone shares the sense that whoever chose the pictures probably doesn’t like Wales too much, observe:

A charming portrait of the captain, Gareth Thomas. He looks like Vol…I mean He-who-must-not-be-named..here. I refuse to believe there is not another picture in existence where he looks better than this.

The coach Gareth Jenkins flipping the bird. Surely the person who chose this image must have noticed the rude gesture!

Anyone else think this is weird?

A philosophical hobbit, but I’m just better looking…much better looking (from here)

Well dogfight detagged me, but RD, indyana and Pissu tagged me (I think that was it). So umm…here goes. Of course seven facts barely make up the convoluted individual that I am, so feel free to judge or even condemn.

1. I appear to have this knack of making people laugh, mostly girls. Don’t ask me why but I’m not blowing my own horn here (that would be one-handed as opposed to two handed) but its something I constantly get told. It’s also strange because my humour is, well, fairly offensive. I reckon its because I tend to talk more to random girls than guys (though after our last session at Bob’s diner R may digress with me on this fact). I do love those moments though when something happens and the perfect comment comes out of my mouth and the results have everybody rolling around on the floor, even the subject of the joke.
2. I detest people who think that their worldviews are somehow better than mine. Now don’t get me wrong, if I have a notion that is wrong and someone points this out to me and provides me with supporting evidence I have no problem admitting my mistake. Hey every day’s a learning experience isn’t it? Let me provide an example to make it easier, if someone doesn’t believe in pre-marital sex that’s fine, I respect that. I believe in it and attempt to engage in it at every opportunity presented (which to be honest is not saying much). If someone however thinks that they are superior to me just because they don’t engage in it then that’s a load of bollocks. Personal belief vs. arrogance. 
3. Everyday I wonder what I missed out in life by not having a father, seeing my mother a handful of times in nine years and my sister once in the same time period. I might be a different person now and I just wish I knew how I would have been different.
4. I’m a pretty calm person, I rarely panic or get angry (I bitch and get loud, but not angry). I’ve fallen into rapids and kept my nerve, I’ve had a car crash at 80mph and kept my nerve, last night there was a 4.5 Richter earthquake here. I made sure my Lanting print didn’t fall off the wall onto my head and then went back to sleep. If you do piss me off though don’t be surprised if I try and stomp on your head until it splits or crack you over the head with the nearest bottle (two things incidently, that I have done).
5. I love to read and (this is rather eerily similar to Pissu) I have a love for South Asian authors, especially Romesh Gunasekera who’s Reef is probably my all time favourite book. I’m not sure what it is but there is something hauntingly familiar in a good South Asian’s writing. It’s sometimes difficult to see that we have meaning in our lives and reading stories like Reef lets us to look into ourselves in way I guess. That said I also love Tolkien, maybe I’m just a philosophical hobbit in denial. 
6. I’m still trying to figure out whether I’m doing the right thing by not moving to Sri Lanka right now. I know what my dream is but either I’m scared of following it or I’m slowly working my way to it. I’m not really sure, I guess time will tell.
7. I’m an island boy at heart. There’s nothing more enjoyable to me than sitting by a warm tropical Indian ocean with a cold Reserve and coke in one hand, Bounty scratching his bald head and sweating copiously, R adjusting himself and pouring huge drinks, CP mumbling unclearly, Evil being Evil and R akki saying something silly to entertain me. Also a nice, slim, dark, brown baduwa would be nice to put line to as well. Oh yeah and a spectacular sunset. And a camera, to take lovely candids of the aforementioned brown girl. That would be nice. 

So yeah that’s seven random, somewhat deep, somewhat irreverent things about me. I didn’t dwell on my flaws because…well…if you read this blog then you know them already.

Hmm…there’s really noone left to tag is there? Well lets see, Darwin, Evil, Spectral, Cerno, drac (hehe…I couldn’t resist), Manshark and Nirmal.

In an attempt to spend a weekend doing truly nothing I think I succeeded reasonably well. I did manage to get my car serviced and…well…that was about it in terms of productiveness. In order to spend the rest of the blissful two days of doing nothing I watched movies back to back. Here’s a breakdown:

Fearless – Jet Li’s last epic martial art, whatever the hell that means. It was quite entertaining and I enjoy martial arts epics just as much as the next person. It was quite well done, the action was lavish and actually made me miss my martial arts days a bit…oh well…there simply isn’t any time anymore.

Passage to India – This movie had Alec Guinness (err…I guess that’s Sir Alec) as an Indian professor, some other chap as a bloody annoyingly subservient Indian and, well a bunch of horrendously snooty English twats. I’m not sure what the whole plot was about, something about a mistaken case of rape, etc, etc. I was a bit disappointed by David Lean’s film (he directed Bridge over the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia) mainly because it didn’t seem to have any point. Oh well…

Equilibrium – P’s recommendation was an absolute trip. Quality matrix like fight scenes, Christian Bale putting in a stellar performance and for some reason Emily Watson’s magnetic eyes made for a very enjoyable watch.

Eragon – hmm, now I’m a big fantasy addict both reading and watching. This was the first time though that I watched a fantasy movie without reading the book first. The technical stuff was amazing, but a dragon with Rachel Weisz’s voice? Eh…Also the movie seemed to lack any substance, despite Sienna Guillory looking, well looking absolutely fabulous. These elvish genes I tell you, if I didn’t like Sri Lankan girls so much I would definitely go for an elf (well maybe after Persian).

Last King of Scotland – Wow! Just wow! Along the lines of Hotel Rwanda it was a brilliant movie! Just don’t eat a buryiani while watching it, as I discovered much to my dismay. It brought back vague memories of a book I had read a long time ago about the craziness that was Idi Amin and boy was he crazy. I highly recommend the movie as a watch. Oh yeah and Kerry Washington is all kinds of hotness (well when she’s in one piece anyways).

When Harry Met Sally – ok, ok I know…it’s a chick flick, but I like it! For one thing Meg Ryan is very,very cute (anybody see a common thread in these bite sized reviews?). And I really, really needed a funny, cute movie to watch after the Last King. You know, just to cheer myself up.

And that was it, a random series of movie reviews. And it’s back to work tomorrow…sob…

I’ve forgotten how much fun it is being in the wilds listening to nature around you. So much so that when I was up on one of our sites taking some site photographs, and heard the rustling around me I briefly shat myself. Primarily because the first thing that popped into my head was the possibility of it being a mountain lion. For one thing the creature was undoubtedly large and another thing was that it seemed to be coming straight towards me. So I stood there trying to figure out how to use a Panasonic camera to fight off a cougar and wishing T-Mobile had better coverage so at least my last screams could be heard by my loved ones.

In the end, rather anticlimactically, it turned out to be a rather mentally challenged mule deer who gandered up, gave me a rather surprised look and then took off running when I switched on my camera to take a photograph (shitty office camera was hugely noisy on start up). I must say though the experience took me back to the good old days, and I do miss the days of wandering around the woods. I should get back to it someday.

The car seemed to snake in behind me quickly and almost stealthilty. I glanced at through the haze of the late afternoon and my ubercool sunglasses. Too late I noticed the grill and the antennae poking out of its back. I instinctively stepped on the brake, but it was too late, the lights, cunningly hidden below the profile of the car started flashing. 

‘Fuuuuck,’ was all I could think, how could I have been so careless?! I always, always keep a sharp eye out for the kosas, especially when weaving in and out of traffic. I mean I’ve driven to San Francisco on the 5 at an average speed of a 100 mph without getting caught! I was pissed that I had for once let my guard down and was going to pay the price. I meekly switched my left signal on and took the next exit.

After rolling to a stop at a gas station I put my window down and scrabbled in the glove compartment for my insurance and registration. As the pruny lady officer walked up to the car I attempted my best attempt at a grin, realized that if it was anything like my trademark manic grin she would probably shoot me and toned it down to what I hoped was a winning, wistful smile. 

You were speeding back there.

Yes, yes I was officer, very sorry bout that. 

I contemplated telling her at this point that she looked very fetching in her uniform, but then realized I was still brown, so would probably have been shot…or at least had a nightstick shoved where the sun don’t shine.

License, registration and insurance please. 

Here’s my insurance and license, my registration is umm…on my nightstand.

She was actually a fairly nice cop, she saw I had my new sticker on so didn’t rap me for the missing registration and she wrote me up for 19 over. 20 over and I would have been in all kinds of shit, maybe my smile is somewhat winning. 

Drive safe

Yes sir! Umm..I mean ma’am! (sometimes my sense of humour gets the better of me) 

I watched her pull out and then glanced at the ticket I had in my hand…Officer’s name: Rex…I’m so glad I didn’t tell her she looked fetching.

A girl with the name Rex…would have definitely shot me…

Now I’m no Pradeep Jeganathan, nor do I have the skills of the Domestic Goddess, but I can cook…a bit…

On 07/07/07 as part of a Flickr initiative I wandered down to Santa Monica and Venice Beach with P and A to take some hopefully arty pics. While my primary focus was initially the farmers market in Santa Monica I ended up instead getting most if not all of the pictures for the pool from Venice Beach. 

I did however pick up these nifty little multi-coloured potatoes from the farmers market, together with some delicious blueberries sold by an equally delicious looking young lady (what, I can’t help myself sometimes!). The potatoes were tiny compared to the genetically modified behemoths one usually finds at the supermarkets and they were obviously descended from the multi-coloured brethren found in the Andes. I had a pleasant chat with the potato selling man who had a farm in San Luis Obispo, took some pictures and bought myself some teeny taters.

Potato selling man (unfortunately selling carrots in the picture)

After contemplating on whether I want to wander around my neighborhood zoo in the mid afternoon or do some cooking today I decided, taking a squinted peek outside that I would do the latter. I have a tried and tested method for making my ala thel daala. I grab a bowl, chop up an onion, cry a bit and put it into the bowl. On top of that I add some chillie powder, curry leaves, bit of cinnamon, turmeric and some chillie pods broken up. I also add a dash of my grandmother’s curry powder which is smuggled into the country regularly for the family’s benefit.

Spice bowl 

I then boil the potatoes in the microwave and chop them up as so.

Boiled, chopped potatoes

The rest of the procedure is very simple, a bit of olive oil in a saucepan, high heat, throw in the spice bowl, cry a bit from the resulting mini nuclear explosion of spices, regain composure and start stirring the mixture. After everything’s nice and fried, I throw in the potatoes and go back to stirring with the avidity of a Macbeth witch.

Into the frying pan 

After a while I take a deep sniff, clear the sinuses and tap a couple of the taters to make sure they are good and cooked (I actually forgot to do this on this occasion, hence the potatoes are a tad hard, but nothing a good microwave zap can’t fix). Add some salt to mix, give it a vigorous stir, which results in some turmeric flying out of the frying pan onto the pristinely white t-shirt I always somehow end up wearing when cooking and voila!

Mult-coloured ala thel daala

P.S. I apologize for the shoddy food photographs; I was too lazy to switch out my 70-200mm lens and ended up taking pictures from a couple of miles away.

These Macedonian peeps at least. Find a bottle buried in the ground. Is it alcohol?

Yes… 

Lets drink it…

Nectar of the Gods!

His exalted leadership of the free world is to undergo a medical procedure. Methinks with the nature of the procedure they must be trying to figure out what happened to his grey matter, what do you think they are looking for up there?

Bush fingering (from here)

“What does it need then?’ Sunny asked. ‘This love?’
Hector stopped. They were in front of the tea shop. The glass door had a wrinkled lace curtain pinned to it. There was no one inside.
‘The right time. The right place. Luck.’
 - The Match, Romesh Gunasekara
 

For some reason that last line really resonated with me.

P.S. I’m reading it for the second time and loving it, expect me to babble on about it in some future post.

All I really wanted was that Ghirardelli caramel chocolate, a few squares to calm my nerves and sooth my soul after a hard days work. The weird thing was it wasn’t where I could have sworn I put it on top of the DVD rack. ‘Strange’ I thought to myself…”I’m going crazier than usual.”

It was then that I noticed the shred of golden wrapper on the floor. 

“Fuck, it can’t be!” I thought. For one thing the top of the DVD rack is about three feet off the floor, how on earth would a one foot high dog get up there and into the middle of the rack to get the chocolate. And all this without disturbing anything that was on top of the rack!

Further investigation however identified the culprit as he had taken his spoils to a quiet corner to indulge. He had however very thoughtfully left me the last row, perhaps to try and appease my obvious chagrin at being deprived my chocolate. Yet somehow three pieces of caramel filled milk chocolate with a glistening layer of dog drool somehow didn’t appeal to me. Sadly I tossed it in the garbage and gnawed on a banana. I need to get a safe for my chocolate, and maybe an electric fence as well…

Chocolate? What chocolate?

As usual, true to form. Clear my head, tie up the loose ends and forget and once it’s done and dusted, two weeks later…the phone shivers. It’s a bit of a random message but an invitation to a conversation. Frankly one does not text someone 10,000 miles away without it being an invitation for a conversation. Sigh…I had two options. 

1)      Ignore it

2)      Start a conversation

If it was email/facebook I would have no qualms with a conversation, it’s easy and simple. Text conversations are so much more labour intensive, especially early in the morning. The cost/benefit analysis just does not add up. I decide to take the middle path (the good Buddhist that I am). I craft one of those texts that start with a “hehe” and end with a smiley face but doesn’t really say anything in between. You know those ones that acknowledge you received the message but with no lead into a conversation. Press send and head to work. 

It’s just not worth it. And it seems to have worked, no response.

I still check my phone on and off though…a half hope…pointless hopes…

Because today I realized I’m a proud parent, well in a manner of speaking. No Evil, I did not receive an indignant alimony letter from Sri Lanka, at least not yet, well hopefully never…I think…I hope….

Brief but rambling introduction 

Well I digress, greatly, so let me start from the beginning. Many, many moons ago, when the world was young, tectonic plates were still ashifting and I had my mojo intact, I decided on the spur of the moment, with a yearning for my halcyon days spent with my arms and sometimes my head in a tank or a pond, to raise some shell dwelling cichlids. Why? I honestly have no idea; it just seemed a good idea at the time.

Unfortunately many things combined to crush this dream in the early stages of setting up the tank and cycling and getting it ready for its finicky inhabitants; including amongst other things an extended ‘vacation’ to Sri Lanka, the losing of my mojo, a sojourn in San Francisco and the pickling of my liver. Most of the people who visited the house and eagerly peered into the aquarium were alternatively dismayed and amused by what they found inside:

A lone danio resolutely circling what looked like a watery recreation of the goby desert with an expanse of white sand and a few majestic looking limestone rocks. You could almost hear the poor guy muttering to himself, “this is all a dream, this is all a dream. You are going to wake up and be back in the tropical river you love, with Mrs.Danio stretching languorously next to you…this is all a dream.” In my defense I did try and provide the poor chap with some company but I was evidently shopping in the stupid section of the pet store. Every danio that I put in with him somehow managed to get stuck in the filter and die a horrible death. Either they were all exceptionally moronic or the original danio was exceptionally murderous.

New beginnings 

A few weeks ago though, resigned to the fact that I would be stuck in suburbia for the next few years I figured I would make the most out of it and resurrect my tank. A spot of research and I settled on Kribensis, which seemed relatively low maintenance for an African cichlid (my favourite type of fish) and sufficiently colourful enough to keep my simple mind entertained. So off I went to the fishstore, supplemented my sand with some black gravel, got a new filter, plastic plants (real ones are a pain in the ass) and some new lights. I also hopped down to Home Depot to get some clay pots that I buried in the gravel/sand in order to provide the ‘caves’ the Kribs like for their cribs.

With the tank all suited and booted off I pootled to the fishstore to obtain a pair of Kribs. I was armed with the information that one sexes Kribs by noticing that the male Krib has more of a chin that the female. Now maybe someone out there who knows more about fish than I do will correct me, but I will be damned if I have ever seen a fish with a chin, have you? The chap at the fishstore looked at me blankly when I asked him if he knew to sex Kribs and then a bit suspiciously at me when I asked him to catch me the male with the gruffest moustache and the female with the sylphest waist. Obviously fishstore people do not have much of a sense of humour.

Female Krib above and male one below, anyone spot a chin? (from here)

With what I thought approximated a pair of Kribs, four danios to accompany the psychopathic loner that I had in the tank and an algae eater I repopulated my tank. True to form one of the danios promptly threw themselves under the aquatic equivalent of the train and I had to clear his mangled remains from the filter. The original danio did however look suspiciously smug as he watched this process, I still don’t trust that bugger. Anyways life in the tank progressed, the algae eater got the shit beaten out of him by the Kribs, who also ignored all the lovely little caves I had painstakingly made them and put up home in a hole in the limestone rock that conveniently faced the back of the tank. Animals I tell you! They did start to colour beautifully though, with the female especially becoming more ovoid with a wonderful cherry red belly, the male’s chin grew day by day. The new danios circled in the upper reaches of the tank while big Danio alternatively looked wistfully at them and at the filter. 

The Kribs are breeding! The Kribs are breeding!

All was quiet on the tankern front until I walked past the tank today. I gave it my usual quick look over hoping to see Mr. Big coercing one of his smaller peers into the filter. What I did see however gave me some pause for thought. It initially appeared that I had two female Kribs. On closer inspection however it looked like both the female and male had turned a similar bright colour and were inordinately defensive over one of the plastic plants. On closer inspection I was delighted to see that in the privacy of their limestone cave both Mr. and Mrs. Krib had been consummating their relationship with gusto, the end result being a small crowd of fry swimming around pecking at the plant and being guarded jealously by the parents.

Krib with fry (from here)

Me being the naturalist that I am I pulled a chair to the tank, heated up my dinner and diverted the fan to said chair. This last exercise earned the wrath of the pooch, who had been peacefully reclining on the floor enjoying the cool breeze. Upon deprivation of his aeration he raised an eyebrow and glared at me balefully out of one eye. With a snort of annoyance he got up, waddled over, nipped my ankle (to let me know who’s boss) and curled up at my feet. I went back to eating and avidly watching the Kribs and their progeny. 

Both parents were absurdly protective but the male was also incredibly moronic. He noticed me peering into the tank, charged through the rocks and proceeded to have a kaleidoscopic epileptic fit against the glass. I was less scared and more intrigued by the display. He got into the habit of wandering around to the other side of the tank on a regular basis and beating up one of the Danio’s, mid beat-up he would glance over, realize I was still looking, leave the befuddled Danio and treat me to a seizure. In the interim the much more serious female kept the fry in a closely bunched huddle and led them around the tank to feed. I felt very David Attenboroughish watching all this, the Danios twirling around in the top of the corner, the male Kribi alternatively getting into a fight and having seizures while the female led her troop over the tank and the fry pecked at the tank debris.

I must admit I am very proud of my two horny Kribs, two weeks and already they’ve made me a grandpappy. I am still a bit worried about the fry either getting sucked into the filter due to their miniscule size or being coerced into it by Mr. Big because of their naiveté. Fingers crossed they should grow up into mini-Kribs soon and I can hand off some to N, whose fish had collectively decided to emigrate to his filter, possibly on being tipped off that Hale-Bopp was going to be seen again. I’m not entirely sure what it is with fish and filters, but then fish aren’t exactly the Einsteins of the animal world.