Almost Honest

India is brimming with corruption. A traffic violation will disappear for a bribe half the price of the ticket. House plans get approved in a day as long as a dozen bureaucrats get their kickbacks. For a low sum, I can get driving lessons, be given a cheat sheet to the written test and pass the driving test. All in a week. Numbers multiply, the circle gets bigger and things that the humble Rupee can accomplish will surprise anyone.

My brother moved to the states nearly 10 years ago. He was the first in our immediate family, and was subject to every typical question from the elders. "Are they racist*?" "Do they fornicate in the streets?" "What are black people like**?"

Soon we were talking about bribes, and my brother had this to say. "There's no corruption on a daily basis - cops, low level clerks and municipal workers are mostly honest, but the corruption at the highest levels is staggering". That was my first insight into the world of lobbyists, town hall meetings, campaign funds and the whole shebang.

So when I first moved out here, I was delighted that being stopped by a cop didn't mean that I had to bribe him, 3 constables and 2 peons. It did mean coping a massive fine and spiked insurance, but whatever. The land of the free, good, hard working people.

Living with two roommates in abysmally small apartments, shuttling back and forth from grad school, one doesn't get complete perspective on how average Americans live. I did start picking up on things when I started making major purchases.

The first was a beaten up Mazda 626. I took it to the local mechanic to have it inspected. He gave it a clean bill of health, but said it would need new tires, new cv boots, possibly a new timing belt. Soon. Just in case. I bought the car and did nothing about the alleged problems since my penury limited maintenance to oil changes. And guess what? A year of madman driving and no problems at all. I shredded a tire much later, and got them all changed then. CV boots? Only 1 needed a change, mainly because I was off on a 1000 plus mile road trip.

And so it went. Trouble breathing due to a nasty fall on the ski slope? You need to sleep it off, said the doc, but it could also be a bruised lung, ruptured diaphragm or worse. Better admit yourself, just in case. You come from India? You may have been exposed to TB, get on a 9 month course right now. As part of the "treatment", I had to avoid alcohol for those 9 months, that made the decision rather straight forward. "Are you sure you don't want it? The last patient who said no came back with a hole in his lung".

Buying a house? Sure, it looks fine, but probably needs a new furnace, new AC, vent cleaning, new windows, new doors, more insulation. I had to go through 3 damn handymen before one of them repaired my furnace without giving me a $2500 quote on a new one. Buying a TV? Yeah, you'll also need the protection plan and $50 cables.

It's the death of you otherwise. Doom, gloom and utter destruction. Not now, but soon.

I've come to realize that there is corruption in this country. Plenty of it. They don't want bribes, the good honest working class, the blue collared middle class average Americans. Oh no sir, they'll work for that dollar. To every last penny. But they lack honesty, they all do.

When a policeman in India spends 10 hours on the street with a malfunctioning rifle, and demands a bribe because he makes a tenth of what I do, I can laugh it off and part with a few hundred rupees. But when a mechanic charges twice the hourly rate I get paid at, and wants to replace every damn moving part, what's his excuse?

What does the lower middle class pat itself on the back so much for? Where are your values? If God asked you to vote for Bush, did he also ask you replace that two year old compressor for no good reason?

Before you call me an ungrateful prick, I'd like to point out that I'm eternally grateful living in a country that gives me the space and freedom to live my dreams. To be overtly sensitive about my race without me asking for it. To let me speak my mind anywhere I choose to. Like criticism, credit should be given where due.

Every system has its flaws, and if its one that gets my goat the most right now, it's the abject lacking of moral fiber from the kind of men that supposedly built this country.

* - Indians are crazy racist. Crazy, I tell you.
** - See what I mean?

Tell All The People

I have a mild form of ADD, I think. Oooh look, shiny thing. Anyway. I'm somehow never around when conversations begin and lose patience to see them to the end. Saturday night - Belated birthday binge drinking, now that we're all responsibly employed. Pre-drink conversation, no idea who started it and how.

Someone : Man, I feel old.
Someone else : Me too!
Birthday chap : ....
Girl who was never into live bands : yeh, let's get away from the band, can't stand the noise! Heh, guess we're all oldies now!
Asshole who volunteers opinion irrespective of audience: You're telling me, I'm 30 and I'm the oldest in this group, this is a first!
Me : Bartender, 7 car-bombs, double shot Jameson on the rocks and some guinness.

2 hours, several drinks later

Bald guy : Have you had (some IPA)
Birthday chap : But that tastes like ass!!
Me butting in : Depends on the girl man!

Another hour passes, more people join in, and some are lying face down in the basement bathroom.

Asshole who volunteers opinion irrespective of audience: We gotta go early, me and the wife have some gardening to do tomorrow
Someone else : Dude, I gotta slow down, the room is spinning
Me : Bartender, 3 shots of red breast

At this point, I was reasonably sober, and had to drive. And why the fuck don't my wimpy friends drink whiskey? That I was pissed off would be putting it lightly. And Mr. Asshole started pontificating on how we software nerds aren't quite engineers since we don't work on a lathe. Apparently an engineer is someone who does "stuff" and makes "things" with his hands. I gestured to the birthday chap that Mr. Asshole was pleasuring himself and was due for a finish reminiscent of the Icelandic volcano. You know - slow, dusty and something most of us don't give a shit about. Caught in the act, I was glared at by Mr. A.

"What?" he bellowed.
"Your lack of job satisfaction and low productivity has no bearing on why the world calls me an engineer"

Frankly, between me and all 1.5 of you, I don't care if I'm called a pig-nipple-tickler as long as I like what I do and get paid for it. And this isn't the first time I've heard that only mechanical engineering is true engineering (ignoring the fact that the people working with cutting tools are most likely high-school dropouts). What makes it special is that Mr. A is belongs to the species of jerk-offs who opine all the time under the guise of a debate. How is it a discussion if you won't listen to others' opinion and are unwilling to change yours when presented with a compelling argument? Are you that insecure that you must interrupt 4 bachelors talking about women they'll never be in the same room as, with shit about "finding a purpose"? If I want rehashed opinion from your twitter list, I know where to look.

I can be pretty pig headed about my opinions too. I wouldn't have strong opinions if I was swayed easily. But engaging me in a conversation just to preach and ignore everything I say is just plain disrespectful and a complete waste of my time. Time I can spend on making masturbation jokes, which are far better informed than Mr. A's opinion on financial reform.

Dittohead

And so Thanksgiving stopped by for a short visit. It dropped off a 10lb turkey which four of us dutifully devoured in two meals. I like how Turkey day is treated with so much anticipation because it gives way for Christmas anticipation. "We can't wait for T-giving so that we can start waiting for X-mas" is the prevailing opinion. Meh, whatever, nobody gives me anything for Christmas. And no one lets me make turducken.

A bigger damp squib on the radar is New Year's Eve. Now. Just as I hate "anyways", I hate it when people say "New Years". New Years what? Anyway, new year's eve is one of the biggest let downs of the year and that's saying something considering I'm a 26 year old guy living by myself. The few people who willingly tolerate my august company all hang around in Boulder, which being a college town, empties itself during the winter break. Great.

No one will want to drive, who wants to stay sober on such an "important" night right? The unlucky SOB who drives has the onerous task of finding a spot while the revelers take off to shoot lousy specials. Why the hell does everything around me look like a ghost town when every freaking spot in a 5 mile radius around downtown is taken?

And then there's the bar hopping in the cold winter and sharing space with creepy 50 year olds (both sexes). The problem is, no party is ever good enough. There is always the other bar with the other DJ, that confused guy who knows that girl who's throwing a mean theme party and this other joint where unspeakable things happened last year. All that anticipation and peaks at 11 PM, and you already know that no matter what you do in THIS bar, it'll never be as cool as what you COULD have done in some other place. Oooh, I should have thrown a house party instead (ignore the tiny voice telling you that no one would come). And then there are the assholes who won't get wasted. "I don't want to welcome the new year with a hangover" the smug couple says. Makes me want to puke, but maybe that's just the Jager shot talking. Who drinks that shit anyway and why do I know someone who would buy me one?

Finally midnight rolls around, the DJ counts down and the entire crowd is unsure what to do. Stick my tongue at that random drunk I just met? Chug my watered down drink? WHERE THE HELL IS THE SHOT I ORDERED TWENTY MINUTES AGO THAT I WAS HOPING WOULD IMPRESS RANDOM IDIOTS?

And before you know it, it's last call. Arrogant bouncers want you out, cleaning sub-staff shake their heads at you as they wade through knee-deep dixie cup piles. Well, that's over. Now what? Super, party's over, everyone's sleepy. JUST LIKE ANY OTHER WEEKEND. Sleep, wake up at 2 PM ruing that the first holiday of the year is 3/4 gone already.

Oh great, the idiots at work will ask me what I did for "New Years". Yeah, you were in Vegas - good for you. Oh road trip to Miami? Freakin' awesome. Oddly shaped pills from shady strangers in a suspicious alley? Joy. Me? Passed out on my friend's couch and not drunk enough to sleep well. Can't wait to do it all again in 364 days. Will you drive next time?

Sunset (Bird of Prey)

House hunt is still on. I put in an offer on this townhome, 5k lesser than asking price and asked seller to cover closing (another 5k-ish). Seller came back with conditions

1) Full price, seller covers closing
2) Seller needs 10 days to find another place, if not, the deal is off.
3) Seller needs possession for 3 days after closing.

What. The. Fuck. Give me something to work with, bitch. Having to full price is a little insulting because Indians are never satisfied until they get a discount. Condition #2 is a little worrying, what if the deal falls through mid-September? I won't have time to close on my "backup" homes and that will mean additional expenses, something I don't need right now fuck you very much. Condition #3 is just BS - after we close, it's my house asshole - get the hell out.

We told the selling agent that conditions 2 and 3 were unacceptable and he pretty much asked me to fuck off. Bastard. What part of ready buyer in a dead housing market don't you understand? You, the seller - could you be any less motivated? Here I am, throwing myself at your relic, and there you are making inane demands. My final offer this morning was full price, and a "yes" to both conditions as long as the seller drops 1k into an escrow account for safety during the 3 days of occupancy after closing. I am still enormously pissed off that I'm the one making all the compromises here. I hate being in this situation, I feel like a fucking pansy. I should hear back from them later in the day.

While I'm ranting, might as well get this off my chest. I hate fat jokes. While no one has had the guts to tease me for my beer belly, I see Indians around me toss around plenty of fat jokes. Why are we as a race so fucking insecure about our bodies? We want fair skin, big eyes, good hair, perfect bodies. Everything else is an object of derision. Sure, humans are all about unrealistic expectations, but why poke and prod at something that doesn't meet an impossible standard?

If you see someone whose body you want to make fun of, stop and think.

1) Do you sport a 6 pack under that clearance sale tee-shirt?
2) Does your partner resemble a reanimated statue from a Greek temple - genitals intact?
3) Are you incapable of holding on to chain a thought longer than 5 seconds thereby unable to find a personality flaw to make fun of?

If your answer is yes to all the conditions, then you're given a 3 second head start before you're chased down by a pack of rabid stray dogs (there's plenty of them in good ol' motherland). You will be rounded up and put in an enclosure sans clothes, in the company of India's right wing moral police. Good luck, suckers.

If your answer is no to any of the questions, you don't get the headstart. After a year in the cage, you'll be made to watch all episodes of Mind of Mencia, a la A Clockwork Orange, followed by 2 months of non-stop MTV programming. Enjoy your lobotomy.

Houses of the Holy

I seem to go from total self-confidence to debilitating crises of self-assurance these days. Jealousy plays a small part in the mess of emotions I find myself in. It's like being in my early teens all over again, coming up with absurd plans to go to the next base.

You see, I'm not the only one chasing the pot of gold at the other end of a sale agreement, anyone with a salary is trying to find four walls and a roof. S is a stingy bastard - no other way to put it. Actually, I can do better. He's an incredibly calculating, enterprising individual who'll juggle everyone else's money to his best benefits. The rub of green went his way and he bought a foreclosed home for half its market value. Miscommunication with the banks had him pay a hefty cash down to secure the home, but that's where his skills of using borrowed money came into play. Thanks to prodding from his princess-wife, he repainted, re-carpeted, added laminate floors and bought new appliances, and found bargains every effing where. His house now looks pretty amazing, all for a monthly payment less than most 1 bedroom apartments in the area. Cue my ulcers. What's more he's searching for roommates to further reduce operating costs. Excuse me while I throw up.

I am finding that I will hit my budget as far price goes and will come very close to my monthly EMI limit. Budgets are set for a reason, and I shouldn't crib if I stay at par with my limits, but what's wrong in wishing I could save a packet? Since I will probably not get as good of a bargain as S did (I have this silly idea that I don't want to live in a neighborhood where the front lawn is used a 4th bathroom), my house (if someone lets me get that far) will be expensive, old, and won't look as good as I want it to. Sure, there's no way I'll lose money on my investment  and upgrading it over a couple years won't cost much, but that's not much of a consolation considering how tight I'll have to buckle my belt if I don't get roommates.

Yeah, even though I'm no closer to signing on the dotted line than I was a month ago, I've begun scouting for roomies in the area, and prospects are not that hot. I've blocked off horrid memories of past roomies for my own benefit.And this time, I've to find them, run background checks, come up with rental agreements and then let a stranger into my house. Spectacular.

On a good day, I have a plan. On most other days I hate the fucking world.

Kettle Whistle

Indians can be a contemptuous lot. Especially to one another. For all out chest thumping about our ancient civilization we get incredibly polarized for all kinds of reasons. Money, looks, languages, religions - we seem to hate extremities.

I, for example, reserve great contempt for the Hindi speaking towelheads from up north. It's just a language idiots, not speaking it doesn't make me any less Indian. No, it's not our national language, and I have absolutely no use for it. In fact, if it keeps me from avoiding conversation with you coneheads, I'll continue faking ignorance of the language. In fact, considering the load your overpopulated, brain dead,  lawless states impose on the regions that actually contribute to the economy (read : us), secession is a very tempting thought.

When we gained independence in 1947, and wrote all our history books to make it look like it was thanks to the greatness of the North Indians, we designated English and Hindi to be our "co-official" languages. That means the state and national governments can communicate in either English or Hindi with each other. The idea was that Hindi would be the sole operative official language after 1965, but them Tamils down south ensured that didn't come to pass. The constitution "recommends" that Hindi education should reach all shores of the land, but doesn't impose any "national" language status on Hindi. Yes, it's a "nationally recognized" language, as are some 26 others.

What it all comes down to, my friends, is that English works just fine for me, thank you very much. I won't speak in Hindi any more than you will in my language in my hometown.

This was going to be a post about accents and call centers, but dang, look at where I ended up. Towelheads.

Fuel

Hippies piss me off. Yuppies even more so, but I'm getting ahead of myself here.


Life is expensive in Boulder, CO (thank you So. Cal rich kids). Yet for some inexplicable reason hippies flock to this place. I'm guessing it has something to do with the liberal attitude to the green herbs, but I wish they'd spend a quarter of their weed money on basic hygiene.

I'm not opposed to harboring the idea of world peace, growing beards,  sleeping all day, shying away from work. Whatever works. But do you mind not getting in my way as I'm trying to escape the stench you and your buddies cause in the middle of the best walkway in town? Do not jump in front of me begging "hey man slow down, I'll let you hit me in the face for a dollar?". No pubeface, I won't give you my leftovers - I plan to eat them later. The last time this happened, el beardo followed me for a block sarcastically thanking me. Suck it up asshole, I conformed to society - and I have food eat.

And no, being honest about using my dollar to but the "good stuff" won't sway my sympathies. Nice try - do you know how many sandwiches an eighth is worth? Or how many laundry cycles that is? Speaking of which, why do all of you assholes dress the same way - long sleeved shirts, thick jackets, cargoes and boots? It's fuckin 70 degrees man, give your sweat glands (and my olfactory nerves) a rest. Scratch that, I have no wish to see you shirtless, carry on. 

A friend feels the same way. He's rather "compactly built", and was approached by a thin gangly hippie with the "hit me for a dollar" routine. Problem was, the friend's rather well versed with the martial arts. Mr. Free spirit soon found himself to be the owner of a broken nose.

All's well that ends well.

Open letter to Hip-hop "artists"

Given that the word artists is in quotes, you may guess where I'm heading. Standard disclaimers apply : I'm not an artist (yes, I don't have a platinum record but I still have an opinon), I'm not a music elitist (can anyone be called that?), musical opinion is subjective (and these are my opinions - deal with 'em).

Dear Mega gajillionaire rapper,

A emotionally-high-on-life (bleh) Julie Andrews once sang about a few of her favorite things. I'd like to list a few of my not-too favorite things, just to clear all this bad air we have between us. Here we go...

1) I know you have so much money you're tempted to throw it off yatchs, from the moon-roof of hummer limos, off the 10th floor of your "crib", in da clubs and what not, do you mind changing the subject once in, say, 5 albums? I understand the first 30 tracks had to about your "struggles" to get to the point of releasing 30 singles about your struggles, then the next 45 about the struggles to make people understand how you don't give a crap about people who don't understand your struggles, can we now have 1, just 1 single about uh, I don't know, unicorns and rainbows?

2) Speaking of struggles, when you claim you're from the "ghetto", is it of any significance that you haven't been there for the last 10 years what with your 2000 carat bling and all?

3)While on the subject of angst, I have a special one for Mr. Marshall Mathers. I'm told you suffered many abuses at the hands of your biological female parenting unit, but does the sale of a million or so records mitigate the "pain"? Will the real slim shady please shut the fuck up?

4) Now I know you love your "hos", your "mamas", your "honies" and your "biznitches". Would you like to hear those songs again when you're pitching for a reality show about you, your beautiful wife and your 3 crazy kids?

5) I'm sure you're proud of your African heritage, but is using the racial epithet given to the said ancestors the best way to celebrate your identity? How about a song about Rosa Parks then? She's a lady (qualifies for #4) and uh, your race (qualifies for #5). I'm sure this is what MLK Jr. envisioned when he campaigned for equality, civil rights and decent treatment for your people. Congrats, you da P.I.M.P.

6) Will you please stop saying "shorty", "shawty" and the like in your lyrics(?!)? Most of you are shorter than my 12 year old niece and its just plain embarrassing watching you trying to look cool with a gaggle of high heeled "honies".

7) This is just a pet peeve. Since when was rotten english cool?


To the listners,

1) It must have been super orgasmic downloading those "hawt" tracks from teh intrawebs, but do you mind not cranking up your stupid crappy steroes? Songs about Escalades with 22 inch rims sound hillarious in your broken down beat up banged up worn out Honda Civic.

2) Stop talking like that, stop making gang signs. Please. Stop calling each other Gs. You're not, Gs. You are 19, and you live in your parents' basement.

3) The ladies - you're being accused(?) of professions your dad worked hard to keep you out of (see #3 of earlier sub section). So stop shakin' yo booty/doin yo thang to the guy calling out to yo(ur) mama. And no, he's not talking about someone else. If you dance when that song is played, you're not just the target demographic, you're also the subject of his songs.

4) To the ladies, again, if you grind a random guy in the club "just fo fun" while screaming "whoo" and getting wasted on cheap tequila, you're not acting, but actually being slutty. Don't give me the finger when I retch in your company.

5) White people - stop acting black. Stop.

I do have a choice of not listening to your (yo) music, and I do exercise that glorious option - while driving, when at home. But I can't escape this drivel in some of the places I'm forced into. I'd like to stay in a club for more than 3 minutes to see what the fuss is all about, and you guys just won't let me be. I know we have our differences, but if we work together, we can lay the foundation for improving our relations. Hopefully in the next few years or so, I'll be able to listen to half a hip-hop song without feeling an uncontrollable urge to throw up. A man can dream.


Many thanks,
Me.