Category Archives: funny

Two Things To Keep On You In India

Posted on by
1

20140316_160803If you though I was going to say “Passport and FRRO Registration”– WRONG! First of all, that would make the most boring blog post ever–not a distinction for which I have aimed (but I wouldn’t turn down the award for it, if it comes with a cash prize.) Second, I’d keep those items some place safe–like a hollowed out Ganesh (but that’s not where I keep mine, so don’t get any ideas.)

1.) Tiny pictures of yourself: After about the ninth time I went someplace random and was matter-of-factly asked for a “passport size” print or a “stamp-size” print, I asked whether it was common for Indians to carry a bunch of photos of themselves around on their person–because there seemed to be such a presumption that I would have a stack of selfies on hand at any random moment.  The answer was “Yes, yes we do keep photos on hand.” Not only is it common to carry a small pack of passport pics–some keep a stock in various sizes. Long story-short, a lot of places will want a photo besides government offices–more than you might expect.

Americans just take a billion pictures of themselves and post them to Facebook, and would be self-conscious about the apparent narcissism of carrying around physical pictures of oneself. The only Americans who carry physical pictures of anybody are grandmothers who haven’t figured out how to use their phones (admittedly, a large but shrinking demographic) and they carry pics of munchkins–not themselves.

2.) Change: That’s “change” as in coins and small bills–I’m not getting abstract on you. India has a crisis of change–still not being abstract. I’m not just talking about the auto-rickshaw driver who negotiates a fare that is merely twice the metered rate, and then when you get to your destination they inform you that they have no change for a 100 rupee note (and because only someone who values “the principal of the matter”  at more than 30 cents will argue, you end up paying too much.) I’ve gotten the evil eye at such places as restaurants, stores, and even the Metro counter (who should have coins in stock if not the metro counter?) In India, there isn’t a strong expectation that the business will be the one who makes change in a commercial transation–like it is in …well, every other place in the world that I’ve visited.

I’m not sure if this change crisis is created by an inability of the Central Bank to calculate how much small currency to release into the economy, or whether the vast number of beggars are bogarting all the coin.

At any rate, if you are a nice guy and always make change for every business you deal with, you will inevitably end up in a situation in which you desperately need a pay toilet and the smallest money you have on you is a 1000 rupee note.  As paying 1000 rupee to visit the most disgusting place on Earth (a third-world public toilet) is demoralizing, I suggest you horde change like everybody else.

Yoga Instructor / Lotto Girl–A Most Dispicable Combination

Posted on by
Reply
A Product of Non-linearity.

A Product of Non-linearity.

Today, I did Power and Hatha Yoga classes back to back. The instructor for both these classes was highly-skilled, knowledgeable, and challenging–which is to say, somewhere between a Marine Corps Drill Sergeant and the Marquis de Sade in terms of capacity to bring the pain. If there’s not something that threatens to collapse  me into a disheveled  heap of limbs in each class, I risk getting bored. So when I say this yoga instructor is sadistic, I mean it in the most appreciative way imaginable.  And not appreciative  in that “Thank you, Sir. May I have another?” Animal House sort of way, but genuinely.

All that being said, there’s one particular piece of Sadism that stands above the rest, and that is a predilection for non-linear counting.

Imagine you’re in a pose, say a back bridge with one leg up in the air. The teacher has been counting down in the usual fashion taught to school children. You are quaking and your muscles are burning, but, from the integers being rattled off, you suspect you’re near being able to release and seek the momentary solace of some other unforgiving act of contortionism that will eventually have a different part trembling. However, sensing she needs more time to make a circuit of corrections, the teacher abandons our much-beloved linearity and begins rattling off numbers like the weather-girl who makes the nightly lotto drawing. (e.g. “and 4…3…37… 19…”)

Wait, what?   I can’t cry–at least not first. I’m the only man in room. Besides, sobbing might dislocate something.

Now, I’m aware that a true yogi wouldn’t give a whit what random numbers were being “counted” off. Said yogi would find his bliss in the asana and melt into oneness with the universe. However, being closer to the type of Yogi who likes to steal pic-i-nic baskets than the kind whose “Kundalini is awakened” (I’m not even sure what that means; I hope it’s not dirty), I still find it presents a challenge.

DAILY PHOTO: Fruity Flower Sculptures

Posted on by
3
Taken January 26, 2014 at Lal Bagh Gardens

Taken January 26, 2014 at Lal Bagh Gardens.

So, I spent an hour Googling what the correct term was for a “sculpture” made out of flower blossoms. I’m sure there’s some lingo used amongst the Flower & Garden Show crowd (but you must need to know the secret handshake.)

However, after viewing the websites for many flower shows around the world from Philadelphia to Hong Kong, all I was able to learn is that–whatever they are–these examples from the Bangalore Republic Day 2014 Flower Show… well, they aren’t good. I hesitate to say this because someone may come back and say, “You monster, those [whatever they are] were constructed by children with Down Syndrome.”

If that is the case, I  stand corrected and must say that those are the finest examples of [whatever they are] that I have ever seen made by children with Down Syndrome.  I may also be showing my ignorance of Down Syndrome because perhaps children with Down Syndrome do ikebana like Rain Man counted match sticks–which is to say freakishly well.

The [whatever they are]  just seem a little misshapen compared to those from, for example, the Hong Kong Flower Show.  If the Hong Kong arrangements are the X-Box 360 version, these are clearly the mid-1980s Atari Pong version–not that there is anything wrong with that.

First World Problems Are So Adorable

Posted on by
Reply

 

How deep is it? No one knows.

How deep is it? No one knows.

In the interest of enhancing global understanding and camaraderie, I’ve built a translator of common first world (FW) problems–putting them in terms of their Rest of the World (RoW) equivalents.

FW: This food needs salt.
RoW: This food needs food.

FW: My health insurance premiums went up $20 per month.
RoW: My right foot, which recently turned from purple to black, just fell off.

FW: My car is in the shop again.
RoW: My right foot, which recently turned from purple to black, just fell off.

FW: It’s raining again today.
RoW: My house was washed off its foundations and is currently floating down the Brahmaputra River.

FW: Looks like those devils from the other party got a majority in the legislature.
RoW: This coup was particularly bloody.

FW: Squirrels are getting into my bird feeder.
RoW: A tiger ate my family.

FW: A traffic jam made me late for Pilates class.
RoW: While limping through the Kyber Pass to get antibiotics for my right stump, I was socked in by an unanticipated blizzard.

FW: My GPS says this road cuts under the interstate, but now I’ve got to go around.
RoW: What’s GPS?

DAILY PHOTO: Say, “Hello Kitty,” and Eat Lead

Posted on by
Reply
Taken in January of 2014 at Phuket, Thailand

Taken in January of 2014 at Phuket, Thailand

These billboards are all over Phuket, which isn’t to say that it’s one identical billboard (or even just one shooting range), but billboards showing ALMOST the widest possible demographic enjoying their arms.  I say “almost” because for some reason they don’t include any old folks. I’m a little offended by that. Do they think that seeing crotchety elders holding guns will scare their potential customers, or are the old just not sexy enough for the advertising world?

I wonder if there was irony intended with the little girl with the Hello Kitty! shirt, bows in her hair, and gun bigger than her head in her hands?

Facebook Poems

Posted on by
1

Facebook
I.

How thrilling to learn
without delay
that now was to be
your laundry day.

Oh, how I waited
with bated breath
to hear if you’d hit
wash-day sudden death

Your posts banal?
Who would think?
You took us to
the wash-day brink…

never knowing if there’d be a Boxer Rebellion or a Brazilian Thong Crisis!


II.

“It’s Complicated”
are two words
often posted
but never heard
amid the complication.

1 + 1, easy as pie.
Calculus is “complicated.”
Are you in wedlock?
Or have you dated?
Is she human…oid?

It begs the question,
can a complication read
the words typed on
your daily feed,
and solve for x?

POEM: The Hippo

Posted on by
Reply

IMG_4377

The Hippo never took an oath

to watch its weight or check its growth.

Hungry, Hungry, it is in deed.

Five hours per day it’s known to feed.

The Greeks called it the river horse.

A horse that’s not a horse, of course, [of course.]

Hippos do like rivers, though they don’t float.

Submerged below, they’ll wreck your boat.

Where else can one find two tons of fun?

But careful, don’t think them too fat to run.

They’ve been clocked at 30 miles per hour,

and there’s scarcely a thing they won’t devour.

RANT: There’s nothing worse than hyperbole!

Posted on by
2
There's nothing worse than a dictator with an angry army of warcocks!

There’s nothing worse than a dictator with an angry army of warcocks!

I’m taking a stand against the phrase, “There’s nothing worse than…”

OK, feel free to continue using it for saying, “There’s nothing worse than…

-Nazis.”

-nuclear Armageddon.”

-cancer.”

-catching on fire.”

-shrapnel in the face.”

-losing one’s job to a machine that isn’t even artificially intelligent.”

I’ll accept a bit of hyperbole because there’s no objective and universally-accepted way to determine who was worse, Hitler or Pol Pot. And it’s legitimate to exaggerate one’s personal crises–provided that crisis isn’t something like having the seat warmer go on the fritz in your SUV.

My problem is hearing,  “There’s nothing worse than…

-spotty cell phone reception.”

-when it takes 30 minutes to get your oil changed.”

-when a pay-per-view bout ends in the first round.”

-an empty Nutella jar.”

-when the elevator is broken and I have to walk all the way to the second floor.”

-getting in the line behind someone who still writes checks.”

Clearly, there are many things worse than any one of those things, or even all six of them happening on the same day. If you can’t think of one, you should get out more. I’m not saying one should be constantly comparing one’s problems with the biggest disasters in the world. Nor am I saying that, in the scheme of things, your  piddly-ass problems don’t matter. I’m just calling for perspective. It’s hard to take someone seriously who can’t imagine a fate worse than a cracked lid on a Starbucks half-caf latte.

POEM: No Chunky Monkey

Posted on by
1

IMG_1346there’s nothing sadder than a monkey

who’s grown pudgy, blown up chunky,

and become a Mars Bar junkie

just cause we’re genetically entwined

makes it neither right nor kind

to give them a bootilicious behind

 when swinger’s branches threaten break

and under foot the earth it quakes

it’s then too late to lay off the cakes

when dealing with our friends furry

remember no ice cream or curry

no panicked food drop and scurry

 IMG_1439

Interview with the Vampire: The Real Deal

Posted on by
Reply

InterviewwithaVampireMoviePosteI saw a review of Anne Rice’s book recently, and it got me thinking about how an actual interview with a vampire would go.

Interviewer (I): So, about this whole turning into a bat thing. It seems to me that a man is much bigger than a bat. Therefore, my first question is do you conserve mass? In other words, do you get really dense as a bat, and, if so, how do you even get off the ground? If not, you must shed mass, but then how do you get it back?

Vampire (V): I am the prince of darkness. I rule the night. I take whatever form suits my needs.

I: Well, that’s not really a proper answer, now is it? That’s sort of a politician on the Sunday morning talk shows answer.

V: [Bares fangs and growls]

I: Well then, moving on. Are you at all concerned about the many blood-borne illness out there: HIV, Hepatitis, Ebola, Rift Valley Fever, etc.?

V: I’m immortal. I can’t be killed by your puny germs.

I: So, that’s a… no?

V: Hrrumph!

I: Moving on. Have you ever had anyone put Vaseline on their neck or something else really gross–you know to prank you?

V: You suck!

I: One could say the same of you, my friend. Ha!… You know… because you suck on people’s necks… Well, then, moving on. Which would you rather have: a wooden stake to the heart or a silver bullet in the chest?

V: Silver bullets are for werewolves, you imbecile.

I: Yeah, but it’s still got to be quite unpleasant, wouldn’t you say?

V: [Sighs loudly] OK, I’d have to take the silver bullet, but the longer this interview goes on, the more fond I grow of the stake.

I: I love steak, too, but that’s besides the point. Any way, who would you rather have as an enemy: Bram Stoker’s  Van Helsing, who’s very smart but has no kung fu; or the  Hugh Jackman Van Helsing who’s all buff and studly but not the sharpest tool in the shed?

V: It matters not. They are both humans and, as such, no match for me.

I: Really, because in both the book and the movie…

V: [hisses like a rabid cat,  fangs out] Human propaganda. Are we done yet?

I: Not quite. What’s the hurry? Got a hot rendezvous with a Victorian wench on the docket?… Anywho. What would you say are the pros and cons of working the night-shift? I’d think it would be rather easy to get a parking space, but, then again, you don’t really need one if you turn into a bat. But, then again, all that flapping must get tiring…

V: I’m out of here!