ProcrastiBlog

If your houseboy should spend the weekend watching your TV with his friends, or if he should take naps in your bed when you are not around, it is not worth your effort to complain about it. It is not worth it to explain the subtleties of your unease to the accomodations manager, who will ignore them anyway and scold the boy for some vaguely related misdeed. It is not worth it when the boy will act abashed for about five minutes and then continue to do exactly the same things over and over again. Not. Worth. It. At all.

Every time I enter a new workplace, I find myself looking up this essay: "Tabs versus Spaces: An Eternal Holy War". It fills me with a feeling of peace and serenity, and reminds me how to customize my .emacs file.

With all due respect to my blogging/life partner, this explanation is no more credible than if she claimed to be establishing a model democracy in the middle of my face. Whatever after-the-fact justifications H might provide in order to maintain public support for her bellicose position, it is clear to me---and, I think, to any reasonable observer---that the intelligence and facts were being fixed around the policy of removing my beard.

Extrapolating from my first 24 hours in the presence of the beard, I calculate that some variant of the phrase "You have some Indian food in your beard" would be repeated approximately 125 times over the next six weeks. Which would be clearly unreasonable.

As some of you (if not most of you) (if not all of you) know, I have recently been joined in India by my wife, Hilleary. I've asked her to start blogging with me, adding another ignorant American's perspective to the picture. My suggestion for her first post: "Why the Beard Had to Go".

Matthew Yglesias takes on Andrew Sullivan's latest on Iraq. Sullivan is against "any timetable for withdrawal" from "a war conducted by an administration whose key players are manifestly incompetent and reckless." He is for... prayer. Yglesias:

This gets us toward what is, I think, a fairly fundamental point of political morality -- it's wrong, seriously wrong and seriously irresponsible, to support military action that has no likely prospects of success. It's one thing to ask young men and women to kill and die for a good cause. It's another thing entirely to ask them to kill and die as a token of your support for a good cause.

Clearly, my first-choice scenario for the world would be one in which the nominal goals of American Iraq policy -- killing terrorists, preventing a civil war, building a stable liberal democracy -- are achieved. But I can't support the war -- can't say it was a good idea to launch it, and can't say I think it's a good idea to continue it -- precisely because I don't think the war is accomplishing its goals, don't think it stands a good chance of accomplishing them, and don't think it ever did stand a good chance of accomplishing them.

How hot can "hot red paprika" be? Very hot. "Crisp capsicum" can be pretty hot too, although I think "capsicum" sounds a little more suspicious than "paprika", which is after all most commonly a fairly bland and inert spice. But I guess "paprika" is just a generic word for a pepper here and I suspect what I got is something along the lines of a red serrano.

Which is a long way around to discussing Pizza Hut's Indian-themed pizza offerings. The best I've had so far was the Tandoori Murg, which has chunks of chicken and a non-standard, Indian-spiced sauce that I found very pleasing. The Tandoori Paneer pizza was disappointing, with bland chunks of paneer and the aforementioned chunks of hot, hot peppers. (I guess my paper menu is a misprint, because it didn't even have a little red pepper next to it.) The other pizzas I've tried are more or less as you would expect: a little spicier than an American pie, but nothing too far out (unlike Pizza Corner, which packs a fairly strong punch).

And to those who wonder why I'm eating pizza at all: eat daal and chapati for 6 weeks straight and get back to me.

Coffee Maker, the Second
Originally uploaded by C+H.

The Nova died. That was a bad Rs 1000 investment. I place my trust (and my Rs 1800) in the hands of the Philips Corporation of the Netherlands. Can you last two months, little helper?

Don't know how I'm getting stuck on women's health issues. The following appalling item showed up in the Times of India today: "Is it Vaccine or Virginity Test? Ethical and Scientific Issues Raised in Cervical Cancer Trial". I'll try to post a link if one becomes available.

The US Food and Drug Administration has approve [a] vaccine, Gardasil, designed to prevent human papillomavirus (HPV) infection that causes cervical cancer, and it's used on girls aged 9-26.... The company says the vaccine will not work for pre-existing infection, which is usually transmitted sexually. "How do we ensure the candidate is not infected? The only way is to do a cervical smear, where a spatula is inserted into the vagina to take a smear of the cervix. How ethical is it it conduct such a test on unmarried women? Or, on a nine-year-old? Isn't it akin to a virginity test?" asks Dr M Radhakrishna Pillai, director, Rajiv Gandhi Centre For Biotechnology, Thiruvananthapuram.

Apparently, it's never occurred to anyone to just give the girl the damn vaccine either way and let her virginity remain between her and her God (and, realistically, her husband and parents). The article goes on to more relevant points, like the cost of the vaccine (Rs 16,000) in comparison to basic PAP smears (Rs 100), which are not routinely performed in this country.

I think what's going on here---beside a basic and unhealthy preoccupation with female virginity (which is not unknown, if different in form, in the US)---is a cost-benefit calculation that just doesn't translate to my American mindset. From the Indian point of view, it is unthinkable to waste good medicine on someone who doesn't need it, even if the net benefit (socially and medically) of this wastage is apparent.

"Condoms Found to Block a Virus Harmful to Women":

Women whose male partners used condoms every time they had sexual intercourse had less than half the rate of infection as did women whose partners used condoms less than 5 percent of the time.... Experts on infectious diseases say they believe that condoms, when properly used, are effective in preventing papillomavirus and virtually all other sexually transmitted infections.

I am one of these people. Help!

It has come to my attention that my oh-so-anonymous friend AC, of being-design*sponge's-boyfriend fame, has started a blog. This has inspired me to start a Blogroll, at right. Blogroll policy will be as follows:

• I will link to friends, family, and to blogs I enjoy which are not already in the Technorati Top 500.


• Links will be in strictly alphabetical order.


• I will take cash for links and deliver unto you my massive and acquisitive audience. Prices start at one lakh rupees.

Elevator Console
Originally uploaded by C+H.

I have been meaning to blog this wonder of interface design all week. This is the console in the elevator in my building. Rather than having a button for each floor---as in every elevator I've ever seen in my life---this elevator has a calculator-style keypad. There are only 4 floors in the building (numbered 0 to 3, which makes the CS nerd in me very happy and the American in me very sad), as well as the basement/garage, which you get to by keying in "-1". The numbers 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 on this console serve no purpose. If you press any of these, the display reads "Er", which can be read either as "Error" or as "Er... Are you sure you want to do that?"

Reading the Frank Bruni restaurant review, I'm struck with this odd feeling that I am not a New Yorker... He's talking about restaurants that have been open for several years in the East Village and I have never heard of them. And I start to wonder if chopped mackeral goes better with naan or chapati?

Last night there was a power surge which apparently blew a fuse or tripped a breaker---none of the kitchen appliances are running this morning. When the houseboy arrived, I demonstrated to him that the fridge was not running and that the washing machine and microwave were not receiving current. He immediately lept in to action and I retired to my bedroom to drink coffee (Nescafe made with water boiled on the gas range) and eat toast.

Ten minutes later, he steps into the bedroom and says, "Sir, come, come," so I follow him into the kitchen, where he demonstrates to me that the toaster is working, which apparently refutes my contention that the fridge is not running.

I know the toaster is working! I'm eating toast! Will you please just call your boss and have somebody bring a damn fuse?!

It is 11:30 at night and you are in an autorickshaw with a young woman you have only just recently met, trying to get home from the bus station. You have spent ten hours on a bus, driving on rural roads and are exhausted and hungry. The auto driver has ignored the name of the neighborhood you have asked to go to and taken you instead to another dis-similarly named neighborhood with a similarly named traffic circle. You have no idea where you are and the driver seems to have no idea where you want to go. Do you: (a) get out of the auto and find some other way to get home, this guy is obviously trouble, or (b) give the auto driver a second chance, it was an honest misunderstanding?

---

You chose (b).

You give the driver a second chance. He starts driving. At times he seems to be on the right track, but he keeps veering off on odd tangents. You are pretty sure you have driven past your destination and are now moving away from it, but you have no idea where you actually are. Do you: (a) stay in the auto, the driver will figure things out eventually, or (b) get the hell out, this guy is obviously an idiot?

---

You chose (b).

You tap on the driver's shoulder and tell him you want to get out. He's confused by this, which is not surprising---he's been confused about pretty much everything that's gone on since you got in his auto. Do you: (a) pay the man what you agreed (1.5 times the meter), he did his best, or (b) refuse to pay the man, he hasn't gotten you where you wanted to go and he has run up the meter well past where it would be if he had done so directly?

---

You chose (b).

You refuse to pay the man. After all, it's his job to know how to get around in the city and he has manifestly failed to do his job. The driver jumps out of his auto and demands to be paid. You continue to refuse. The driver asks you to accompany him to the police station. Do you: (a) go with him, you're sure the police will be able to sort this out, or (b) make an obscene remark about the driver's mother?

---

You chose (b).

In so many words, you inform the driver that his mother was neither chaste nor hygienic. Speaking just barely enough English to negotiate fares, he stares at you blankly for a moment, gets back into his auto, and drives away. You and your female companion are now alone on a dark street corner. You do not know where you are and you do not know which direction you need to go. Do you: (a) hail another rickshaw, he's probably not an idiot and its not like they're all in cahoots, or (b) call the company car service, this isn't strictly speaking a business trip, but you're running out of options?

---

You chose (b).

You call the company car service. They know you well by know, having brought you home drunk from Tobi and Deb's flat and taken you to Commerical St. when you wanted to buy a backpack and even dropped you off at the bus station this morning when you set of for your Very Official Company Visit to Some Waterfalls. You tell them what you think you know about where you are and they say they'll be there within 15 minutes. Around this time, the autorickshaw driver returns with a policeman in tow. Do you: (a) apologize and pay the driver, there's no hope of convincing the policeman that you're in the right, or (b) tell the policeman exactly what you told the driver (omitting the choicest bits about the driver's mother), he's probably a reasonable man who's bound to see it your way?

---

You chose (b).

You tell the policeman it will be a cold day in Hell when you pay the auto driver. He patiently explains to you that autos have meters and it is customary for the passenger to pay the amount of the meter when he or she leaves the auto. The driver says something agitatedly in Kannada. You say something agitatedly in English. The policeman sighs. Do you: (a) continue your argument, it's clear that your position is carrying the day, or (b) give the driver his damn money, it's only 100 rupees?

---

You chose (b).

In a spirit of great magnanimity, you hand the driver a 100 rupee note. He isn't satisfied! He doesn't just want the money. He wants an opportunity to regain his pride by seeing you through to your destination. Do you: (a) get back in the rickshaw, the policeman probably knows the way and you've all learned a valuable lesson, or (b) swear another oath on the driver's progenitors and refuse, you've had enough adventure for one evening?

---

You chose (b).

You tell the driver just exactly what you think of his bloodline. He gets back in his rickshaw and drives away. The policeman also goes on his way. Five minutes later, the company car arrives and you climb in. After a half kilometer, you realize where you are. In another kilometer, you are home. You realize that if you had carefully studied your map, you could have managed to walk home in less than 15 minutes time. Do you: (a) curl up and cry yourself to sleep, or (b) hold it in, burying your resentment until you finally snap?

So, I took a day trip to Hogenakal Falls yesterday and it was ultimately a pretty unpleasant experience. The actual time spent at Hogenakal* was perfectly nice, as evidenced by my pictures. What I'd like to focus on in this post is the ten-plus hours we spent on buses.**

The trip down was actually not that bad. We went from Bangalore to Dharmapuri (which took about 3.5 hours) and from there to Hagenakal (just about 1 hour). The road from Bangalore to Dharmapuri is an only-mildly-pothole-y highway*** and the bus was never more than mostly full and often half-empty. The road to Hagenakal was more primitive and the bus quite full, but we were filled with the golden glow of anticipation for the great adventure before us...

On the way back, we decided to get on the bus to Hosur, which turned out to be a "shortcut"---in the sense that the general direction of our travel was always more-or-less "towards" Bangalore, whereas Dharmapuri is several dozen kilometers "out of the way"---though what may be "short" as the crow flies seemed like a pretty frikkin long way on winding, rural roads through small villages and around small mountains, along which the driver would often have to slow down and honk loudly while waiting for cows, goats, dogs, chickens, and---only occasionally---people to get out of the way.

When we started off, I was standing. This would not normally be a major problem for me, but I am about four inches taller than your average Indian bus, so I had to spend a lot of effort as the bus careened to not bang my head into the hand-rail and developing a major crick in my neck. Much to the people of India's credit, I politely declined at least 4 offers of seats from sympathetic short people.

This lasted about 30 minutes, until a man and his wife got off, leaving a reasonably comfortable seat open along the aisle near the front door.

This lasted about an hour, until we pulled into a village and the lady seated by the window next to me got off. I stood up to let her pass and before I could sit down again, a man (let's call him Ass Face) and his wife had taken both of the seats on my bench. When I looked at this guy, like, "What the fuck?!," he just looked right back, like, "Can I help you?" Now, I don't know if this is some Indian law-of-the-jungle thing, or whether this guy was just, well, an Ass Face, or what---though I will note that the ticket taker seemed just as flustered by Ass Face's brass balls as I was.**** The issue was quickly settled by a young man behind me, who scooted over and offered to share his seat in a spirit of brotherly good will that must have seemed outlandish to our Ass Face.

Now I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but there was one little problem with this young man's seat and that was that the bus driver's gear shift was where my legs wanted to be and the hump of the engine (which was hot!) was where my feet wanted to be (in the case that they couldn't be at the end of my legs where my legs wanted to be (where the gear shift was)). So I'm sitting sideways in my seat and twisting to grab the bar behind me so I don't fall on top of the engine as we teetered and tilted along the mountain roads. Meanwhile, the bus's aisle is filling up, so I can't even really put my legs there anymore.

This lasted another hour, at which point I leaned forward to let the ticket taker past me, only to find when I leaned back again that some lady's ass was where my shoulder wanted to be. Now this Ass Lady (who at least had the good fortune to not have an ass for a face) was dug in, and wasn't having any of my nudges and twitches, so I just twisted around into the least uncomfortable position I could find, with my legs not in front of me and my feet not on the hump and my shoulder not up Ass Lady's ass.

This lasted about half an hour, until we pulled into another village and took a longish chai-and-chat pit-stop and Ass Lady along with a fair proportion of the people crowding the aisles got off the bus. I spent the last hour and a half of the trip to Hosur in the comparative luxury of the next seat over, where I still had to be careful not to put my feet where they wanted to be, lest they interfere with the operation of the gears, but where I could occasionally stretch out my legs when the ticket taker got up to move around the bus, and where I was seated next to Nandakumar, a very nice tailor from Bangalore who invited me to his house for dinner sometime.*****

With that, I'll end my story. The trip from Hosur to Bangalore was relatively uneventful (though it did include a 9-year-old version of Ass Lady, who I nevertheless developed tender feelings for****** when the roof began to leak rain water on her head as she tried to sleep) and the trip from the bus station home is the subject of another post.

POSTSCRIPT: We didn't even see the main waterfalls.*******

POSTSCRIPT 2: Would it make the above seem worse or better if I added that nearly the entire time (since we were on "super-luxury" buses) we were treated to low quality bootleg DVDs of Bollywood musicals at high volume?

* Or Hogenakkal, transliteration being as it is.

** Now you might say, "Ten hours on a bus? That doesn't sound like a day trip to me. That sounds like a day on a bus." And you'd be right. The culprits here are Tobi, optimism, naivete, and---oh, yeah---Tobi. It's hard to imagine it could take 5 hours to travel 130 km (that's about 80 miles for you metri-phobes). For comparison's sake, it's almost 200 miles from New York to Boston, with notoriously bad traffic, and 5 hours travel is on the high side of average. In India, you must bear in mind: (1) the roads are shitty and (2) the buses have the effective horsepower of a moped.

*** Woe, but were the potholes doozies! It might have been the suspension on the bus, or the fact that we were sitting in the back, but the potholes would literally send us flying out of our seats---several inches, in fact---only to come crashing down, wondering if all our vertebrae will still in their proper places.

**** A most peculiar anatomy had he, that Ass Face.

***** Is this the kind of thing that random Indians just disingenuously say they'll do sometimes, or might this actually happen? Stay tuned.

****** Pipe down, sicky.

******* That's according to Prasad. Who's kind of a dick for even bringing it up.********

******** I say that in good fun, which I'm sure Prasad knows---one dick to another.

Tobi acheives en-wetten-ment
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

New photo set available here. I have a long post in me about our trip to Hogenakal, but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow.

Translations of common yoga prayers from Prasad:

Om Om Om
Asatho maa sath gamaya
Thamaso maa jyothir gamaya
Mruthyor maa amrutham gamaya.
Om Shanthi. Shanthi. Shanthi.

Om Om Om
Lead me from unreal to real (untruth to truth)
Lead me from darkness to light (ignorance to knowledge)
Lead me from death to immortality (temporary to the eternal)
Peace, peace, peace be to all.

Sarve janaha suhkino bhavantu
Sarve santu niraamaya ha,
Sarve bhadraani pashyaantu,
Ma kaschid dukha bhaak bhaved.

May all live happily
May all be healthy
May all look to the good of others (May welfare be unto all)
May none experience distress.

Yogena chitasya padena vacham
Malam sarirasya cha vaiyakena
Yopakarottam pravaram muninam
Patanjalim pranjaliranato´smi

Let us bow before the noblest of sages,
Patanjali, who gave yoga for serenity and sanctity of mind,
grammar for clarity and purity of speech,
and medicine for perfection of health.

BONUS YOGA TIP: The trick to Vrksasana (Tree Pose) is to push your foot really hard into your thigh. I don't know why this helps, but trust me it does. I normally can't hold Tree Pose for more than a few seconds; doing this I didn't teeter once. (Thanks to Prasad, again.)

You will probably not regret watching this. Via this post from John C. Dvorak.

A German medical intern here in Bangalore assures me that this behavior leads to bad outcomes. So there.

Goats chillin near Russell Market
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

Err, mutton?! And chickens. At Russell Market.

The list of my most viewed photos on Flickr is perplexing. Obviously some photos just have popular keywords that make people I don't know want to look at them. But why do so many people want to look at this picture? Are lots of people searching for "shoes bangalore"? (It's not even in the Top 50 for "shoes", which goes to show how odd Flickr users can be. (I include myself in that statement.) And why is this the most popular photo from my Savandurga set? I guess people love to hate poor little village boys.

OK, I'm throwing down. Please add a comment to this post explaining what kind of pictures you like and why. The upshot is I will try to accomodate audience interests. On the downside, you will have to prove you are not a robot.

P.S. I have a feeling this is going to end in much the same humiliation as the "first caller gets a $20 bill" contest on my WNYU AM radio show: The prize went unclaimed. I unilaterally cancelled the show shortly thereafter. :-(

[UPDATE 6/22/2006] Self-fulfilling prophecy? Thanks to my wife for providing me a statistically random sample...

Snacks in the MSR pantry
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

I forgot about the snacks! Every day between 5 and 6 (i.e., about an hour before dinner), they bring out snacks in the MSR pantry. Typically there are two kinds of juice (e.g., watermelon, mango, grape, pomegranate) or milkshakes (that's what they call them, but I don't think they have ice cream in them), a variety of sandwichs (Bombay*, fruit, chili and cheese), potato chips (which they just call chips, in spite of the English influence), and some kind of "salad" slathered in something like mayonnaise.

The sandwiches and chips come in little take-away boxes with 2 sandwiches and a handful of chips each. This is a silly system, since the chips are more popular than the sandwichs---everybody just digs through the boxes for a pile of chips and you end up having to search for them in various opened boxes with untouched sandwiches.

In addition to the evening snacks, the pantry is always stocked with half a dozen kinds of fruit, a similar selection of cookies, raw almonds, soft drinks, coconut water, and of course, coffee and tea. So basically, I sit around all day and eat delicious junk food. It's all so... un-American.

* I still haven't quite figured out what a Bombay sandwich is. It's grilled and it has a variety of vegetables inside it and it's somewhat spicy.

A survey of "sexually progressive, young Indians" in India Today magazine caused much merriment and despair amongst my single comrades from abroad. Some sample questions:

Do you think it is okay to have sex before marriage?
Yes 20%
No 79%

(7% of females responded Yes.)

Would you be willing to [live] with a person you love before marriage?
Yes 28%
No 70%

(16% of females responded Yes.)

Do you agree with the statement: It is not necessary to marry the person you date?
Yes 42%
No 54%

(58% of females responded No.)

Which type of marriage do you think is more successful: arranged or love?
Arranged 73%
Love 24%

Source: India Today, 20 Feb 2006. Available online to subscribers only.

On the street near my house. It's the first cat I've seen, believe it or not. I did not get a picture of it.

For those keeping score:

Animals I have seen and not photographed: cows, donkeys, lizards, chipmunks, and a cat.

Animals I have seen and photographed: horses, monkeys, and---oh, yeah---dogs.

I had a dream as I was falling asleep last night that I was playing frisbee and when I jumped to catch the disc I woke up with a strong sensation that I had just jumped face-first into a wall, which was actually my bed. Weird.

Rusty Bracket on Lamp Post
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

Many of the lamp posts in my neighborhood have these seemingly useless brackets with sharp, rusty corners mounted conveniently at forehead level. Luckily, I'm up to date on my tetanus shots.

MSRI lunch
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

My Indian diarrhea weight loss program is not working out as planned. I haven't had any major problems with the food, as it turns out. A spot of indigestion because it's pretty relentlessly spicy, but no creepy-crawlies in my gut that I've detected. They serve us a nice buffet lunch every day on the roof of MSR---I find myself going back for seconds and sweets pretty often (although sweets are usually some variation of rasgulla, which I haven't acquired a taste for yet; gulab jamun is more my speed (which is very Western of me, apparently)).

I also had vague intentions of trying to eat vegetarian when I came here, since it would be so easy to do (it is, in fact, usually easier than the alternative). But the meat here is so good! Mutton! (Which means goat!) The MSR lunch usually has 4-5 vegetarian dishes and one with meat, and the meat dish is often the tastiest. I am ashamed of myself.

The following words have triggered the Blocklist on my wiki in the last 24 hours: tramadol anal-porn meridia cialis asian-sex candid acyclovir adipex alprazolam carisoprodol celebrex diazepam phentermine propecia viagra xanax.

Question #1: How did "candid" get in there?

Question #2: Whither porn?

Question #3: How do you run a legitimate Wiki concerning prescription drugs?

Hot water heater in my guest house bathroom
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

It took me two weeks to figure out how to operate the hot water heater in my guest house. I guess it's a sign of my own prejudice, when there was no hot water I just thought, "This is India, you can't expect hot water every day." It turns out you (pretty much) can. There is a switch just outside the bathroom that turns on the heater. You flip this 20-30 minutes before you want to shower and you have hot water. It lasts just barely long enough to lather up and rinse, and does not include time for reverie, but it does consistently work. So, yay!

Monkeys doing strange things to each other under the Banyan Tree.
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

Also here and (to a lesser extent) here. Kedar, you are forgiven.

View of the River
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

New photo set: Savandurga climb

He volunteers at an orphanage. Evil.

Sleepy dog at the Bazaar
Originally uploaded by Chris & Hilleary.

A new photo set: The dogs of Bangalore.

Just so you know, I haven't been blogging every single picture I take. Not every photo I take necessarily has universal appeal and I recognize that. Nevertheless, completists can subscribe to my Flickr RSS feed or bookmark http://www.flickr.com/photos/chrisandhilleary.

Via Jeff Wells.

This counts neither as original political analysis, nor as particularly relevant to what I usually blog about, the this story is too funny not to link to. Harry Reid: a man who does not like to be bribed.

Why would the houseboy steal my nail clippers? Is he just trying to fuck with me?