What’s the point?

Have your cake and eat it too!

We’ve all heard this age old proverb or adage or whatever you call it these days. Well here’s my two cents worth…

What is the point of a cake if you can’t eat it!!

What; are you going to sit and admire the icing, the sweet (and usually round) shape of this slab of scruption and watch while others peg away at it slice by slice??

Here’s what I simply say:

I want my cake and I an going to eat it too! Simple. Prophetic; maybe, but simple!

I want my cake and I want to eat it too!

Hmm I feel better suddenly!

The day I got pepper sprayed!!

Firstly for all you fools who might think I was stalking someone and got what I deserved; this note is about an accident!

So here I am with my friend at an accessory store getting a cleaning kit for my pistol. While I was curiously checking out the different array of knives, holsters and handgun gizmo’s my friend Anwar was busy browsing in those areas of the store where normal people don’t ponder looking.

To his luck (and my misfortune later) he found US manufactured pepper spray bottles which I must tell you are deceivingly small for the potency they pack! While I’m closing the deal on my newly acquired cleaning kit I hear an ominous ‘pssst’ and seconds later I see Anwar going out of the store with his face red and eyes watering. I ask what happened (though somehow I already knew the answer); he mentions hurriedly in his wake that he sprayed himself in the face with the pepper spray!

Before I could start rolling on the floor laughing my ass off I sense a distinct tickle in my nose and whoosh I am hit by the remnants of the spray still looming (and spreading) in this 10X20 shop.

All I want to tell you is that these little buggers pack a punch and I soon join my friend on the curbside washing out my eyes and nose with water (generously provided by the neighboring restaurant).

Honestly, I would hate to be at the receiving end of, as the instructions on this three inch gold and black bottle state, ‘two or three concentrated bursts close to the assailants face’!!

Aahchoo

I tell you the effects are there even while I am writing this note. Looks like I have had my capsicum fix for the rest of the year!

It always helps to party

Yes that is the finding for today. Whether you may be a brain surgeon, an accountant, lawyer or the steward on the red-eye out of New York headed to Australia; one night out at a decent lounge or bar with friends and you are ready to hit the rat race again on Monday.

And hey, I am not excluding any non party-iers from this mass group of fun-finders. Everyone has their own way of recharging their batteries but heck in the words of Frank Sinatra “I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.”

That be said I am glad the weekend is here again, right on time, as per expected schedule and I have plans of how to splash the next two nights away!!

Cheers!

Mimicking is indeed the best form of flattery

That’s what the saying goes like (or at least similar). Well let’s see who is flattering who here.

Man (and I mean mankind here for being slightly politically incorrect) inherently mimics! Period.

I got this epiphany a while back but have been on hiatus from writing for some odd reason or another. The moment was riding a subway in Barcelona, with a colleague (also an avid blogger at http://howmanyroads.blogspot.com/ ) and as the train snaked its way in these tunnels I couldn’t help but think I was riding inside a well lit centipede’s belly! (I had a late previous night at the bar and I guess remnants were still flowing through my veins)

Then during my ride-in-the-centipede’s-belly I began to think and came up with my list of Man-mimics or Manimics as I would now like to call them (that’s my 2 bits of creativity thank you)

Here goes that list:

Subway – Centipede
Sky scraper Window Cleaners –Spider / Scum sucker fish
Helicopter – Dragon fly
Morse code – Fireflies
Rock climbing – Praying Mantis
Society – Ants
Scuba - Fish
General Male Habits – Apes
General Female Habits - Cats

Maybe these animals know something we dont! But heck I guess we are just flattering a better species

Wanted is definately wanted here!!

What is it about a good looking woman with a weapon that just makes a movie so watch-able?

Saw wanted over the weekend and boy were there some farfetched-physics defying turning Newton in his grave kind of stunts and scenes. I’m talking about cars being flipped over other cars and people being shot through open sunroof’s because the side windows were bullet proof. I’m talking about bullets doing things even boomerangs can’t while swinging through the air. I’m talking about guys jumping over bridges, buildings and alleys and landing on moving subways like they skipped a puddle after a light drizzle.

Enter Angelina Jolie:

Now I’m talking about her driving the red dodge viper through busy what-looked-like-New-York-streets at 100 mph without batting an eyelid on her Venus De Milo face. I’m talking about Angelina shooting a fat-ass gun that I want to buy just because she makes it look so good. I’m talking about Jolie making a simple act of ‘leaning back to duck under the bridge while the subway goes under’ look like a Bach symphony played by a 40 person orchestra at La Scala in Milan.

And yes I am talking about her walking out of a hot water and wax healing bath with tattoos that would get Michelangelo woken from his tomb to brush up on his painting skills!

Aah yes this was a good movie indeed and I’m headed to see it again later this week.




p.s. I did head straight to the gun club after the movie and no there is no possible way to curve a bullet around a corner and hit your target!!

Bright lights, big city! Part Deux

Well one does feel energized walking down Times Square at night (or day actually)knowing not what adventures may lay ahead, whether they range between a pick-pocket or a rendezvous with an enigmatic stranger but then that’s the exciting thing about the Big Apple!!

Learn't another new thing this time around. . .

The 'New York weekend' is different from what a regular person would normally identify as a weekend! It isn’t on a Friday night; but is actually on a Wednesday or event at times a Thursday!!

Friday nite is the weekend for the FOB’s (thats fresh off the boat for you non-familiar-with-acronyms readers out there) and the Jersey crowds that pile into the streets and avenues grid; and getting into a club or a lounge means having to wrestle ones way through a hefty crowd of overzealous, really drunk and not so kosher company!

One such weekend (to be read New York and not a regular Weekend) was spent trotting between a lounge bar, a street side bar, a roof-top bar and then the hotel bar!! Needless to say it was a late night that was welcomed by a hearty breakfast and two Tylenol extras!

While the bearings were getting adjusted (bearings to be read jet lag) I had no idea that lady luck was planning to shine on me in the coming days with more memorable experiences from this city that never sleeps.

Hint: it involves my friend, a cousin some cheese string, a deli, a total stranger. . .and a six pack!

Until next time. . .

Bright lights, big city! Part I

What is it about NYC that just makes you feel so alive the minute you walk out of the airport?

I specifically mention ‘walk out’ here because with my green passport (Pakistani passport for you not so border friendly readers out there) it really is a pain to enter the US from its eastern border.

You have just gotten off a 14-hour flight, you’re tired, craving a nicotine hit (in my case at least) and are dying for that hot shower to wash away the cabin smell from your hair that can only be compared to. . . . heck I don’t even know what you can compare it to since it’s a distinct aroma associated only with a journey that comprises of 300 plus souls cramped in a bus with wings and an atmosphere that has been frequently compared to being drier than the Sahara on a cozy June afternoon!

So here one (or at least I with my green passport) stands in a long ass immigration line and approaches the attending officer who, initially, greets you quite cordially however after a few keystrokes on his PC he hands you your passport in a yellow file and sends you over to a room where there is nothing happening more than a waiting game with a hundred other people of all races (ironically very few white’s and by whites I mean Caucasian but hey I’m not a racist!) followed by the questions of how long you are here for, what is the purpose of your visit and what do you do?

I wonder, at times, if a terrorist or would-be trouble-maker entering the US from JFK would actually stand up in front of these immigration officers and respond that he is here to wreck havoc in this city??!!

Well two hours go by (just because you are waiting your turn) and the actual process of questioning is over in 15 minutes with an officer who looks like his wife beats him at night and he doubts that his youngest child who regularly pukes and shits all over his loafers every evening is actually his own kid!

Then you are lead to counter 46 where another officer, who looks like he beats his wife and has a bunch of kids but not all from his wife, calls you after an hour (another waiting game till ones turn comes up here) and asks you the same set of questions and; quite oddly, your credit card number (I now wonder if his flashy gold chain was the extra charge on my bill last year where I took the bank to task and finally got the transaction reversed?)

Well after all this (I am talking about 3-4 extra hours here on top of all the travel time one has just been through) you gather your baggage from aisle 8 and head out of the automatic sliding doors to be greeted by the distinct New York air!!

Sniff . . Aaah, I do love this city!

TAXI!!!!

Flashing Red Light!

I haven’t blogged in a long while but here’s the first ice breaker after my long hiatus.

My life is now run by a flashing red light! Yes; I am talking about the indicator light on my Blackberry device which announces the arrival of a new email, text message, appointment or a notification that there is some new info awaiting my attention.

I’m just glad I found the option where I can switch off the notification sounds otherwise the beeps would have driven me (and my friends and family) mad!

Oh there it flashes again. I'm out.

The Problem With Being Early

Well this was the interesting dilemma I faced Monday morning last.

I decided to walk into office at 0900 hrs sharp and change my trend of coming in usually at 0915-0920. I walked in all Irish spring fresh, suited and ready to tackle the day’s challenges with cheery greetings and elevated spirits to our marketing floors.

Lo and behold what do I witness . . . there was not a soul to be seen on the floor!
Now either this was a Monday morning blues phenomena (or everyone had a heavy Sunday night) but I was quite upset and experience the following question first hand:

“What is the point in being early; when there is no one around to appreciate it?”

One also remembers that old wives tale “The early bird catches the worm!”

My question “What about the worm that got up early too??!!”

Tsk tsk!

The Weekend That Was

The sequence of events (as memory reminds me) goes something like this:

• Leaving work on Friday eve at around 6-ish,

• Heading to a house-warming dinner around 10-ish (after a pre-dinner GT [that’s get-together for all you not-so-social-acronym-savvy’s] at another friends place around 8-ish)

And the next thing I recall vividly (amidst the foggy frames of events lodged in my mind of goings-on over the weekend) is packing up my BBQ grill on Sunday evening(say around 7-ish), plugging in Season 3 of House MD into my DVD and hitting the sack for work Monday morning around 11-ish!

That, in my quickly diminishing memory, is a prime example of ‘the weekend that was'; kind of-ish

The Return Of The Saad Part Deux

What is it about old friends visiting back that seems to bring back a certain kind of nostalgia?

Well it was the second coming of The Saad and as usual was surrounded in reminiscent stories of yesteryears followed by projections of our 5 year plan.

The one discussion that did catch my attention; and jolted a memory out of my mental vault more so than another, was the individual adventures everyone had had at the ‘Docks’ in Toronto.

The ‘Docks’ are the Toronto-equivalent of our own hang out spot Damen-e-Koh in Islamabad. An open space for friends where one can sip a beer , enjoy some Buddha-time or just take in the serenity of the sea (actually it’s a large lake which is about the size of a sea) or laze back and take in the scenic vista.

Saad’s story involves my brother in law, a cold beverage and an encounter with the coast guard (that’s a note which Saad has rights to publish) while mine involves the headlights of an SUV squarely hitting a ‘moon’ (and I don’t mean the stellar kind here) bobbing inside a 1998 Toyota Celica and freezing as soon as the realization of the high-beam from my friends SUV (another friend here and not Saad) interrupted what can only be politely portrayed as an ‘intimate’ (and particularly awkward) moment.

Needless to say the moment was far more hilarious for me and my other friend and not so for the Toyota celica which was trying very hard to back up inconspicuously from the parking lot as if the couple was out for a Sunday evening stroll whistling dixie.

Well that was my Docks story. Any other Toronto-ites have their anecdotes are welcome to share them!

Monday Bloody Monday

We all hear how Monday’s are blue, dreary and I certainly don’t want to be at work on a Monday after a good weekend.

So I checked up the etymology of the word Monday and here’s what I found:

Monday: The day is the first day of the week (if you follow the business calendar; geographically and culturally it varies in importance and sequence) and is derived from the Moon and is also known as the Moon’s day.

It isn’t my day, I’m not sure if it is your day but it is the Moon’s day!
This day is named after a celestial body which does not emit light, has a dark side, has been pretty beaten by a multitude of thrashings received by meteors over time, rotates from west to east (DUH!!) and in some terminologies we may (or may not) have used in school or college, means BUTTOCKS! (Now I am not sure how many of you have mooned someone in your youth but heck; if that body part has a day named after it, that just sets says it all for me anyway)

Hence my question. Is it logical that Monday, a day that is allegorically named after a body part none of us can easily turn and see (except with the aid of a mirror), really be considered as a day to be out and about, being active, starting the work week and slaving our way to a long awaited 6 pm closing bell; or, should we give it the due credit it deserves and . . . well just sit on our behinds and wait for Tuesday.

p.s. Friday is a day connected with the planet Venus which associates Friday with love, peace and relaxation.

A Nail.

For want of a nail, the horseshoe was lost.

For want of a horseshoe the steed was lost.

For want of a steed, the message was not delivered.

For want of an undelivered message, the war was lost!


I got this, of all places, from a movie last night and it has struck a nerve and etched itself so permanently in my mind that I would want to sum up my 2008 in this philosophy.

Who says watching television is a complete waste of time!

What really pisses you off?

I don’t mean the big ticketed items here.

I mean fair enough that one gets irked at seeing someone kick a puppy or someone being rude to a helpless person is enough to wring a knot in a soul-less shylock’s heart but I am talking about the small ticketed items.

To define those to you from my perspective here are a few things that send my noggin off the freaking rocker because how can one not see the flaw in them:

I hate it when I pull over at the light and the person in the car beside me has their finger shoved so far up their nose, they could probably pull out their eye ball

I hate the fact that when you are in an elevator someone can let loose one of those toxic silent but violent farts which make the air repugnant but stand there ignorant to the sensitive senses of others

I hate the fact that men in this part of the world will walk around in the public, shamelessly scratching their nether regions; at times seemingly wrestling with the family jewels and immediately extend their hands to greet you with a gentlemanly shake

I hate more so the people who have seen the chap perform a three round 90 second wrestling bout with the bishop and continue to shake the rubbed-in-the-family-jewels-musky paw

And I hate the fact that someone out there is talking face to face with a peer, friend or comrade and is spitting small darts of saliva without noticing the discomfort of the listener who is being polite not to highlight the current uncomfortable scenario.

Well that was the rant after a hectic weekend.

What annoys you?

Did I Wake You?

So heres my weekly question:

What is the deal with someone calling you either early in the morning or late at night, awakening you from you slumber, and politely asking “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Here’s what I researched and found:

This is an inane human habit/nature in attaining the upper hand/taking-the-command, subconscious act which basically translates like this:

The guy (or girl) knows you have been awakened (we all have our sleep voices which are distinctly different from any other tone). Yet the person will ask “Did I wake you?” This is their subconscious way of attaining the higher ground in the conversation. Your response: “No, no I was just lazing around” or “No, no I was lying down” or some other defensive statement to try and subconsciously gain some footing because you have been caught in your most vulnerable state (come on let’s face it you are not able to do much in your sleep except; sleep!).

Well to not get involved in this subconscious battle; in truth playing my role to be at par (or slightly an upper footing) with such calls, I have my own response to such calls.

Here’s how my call would go:

Caller: “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Me: “Yes. Is it something important?”

And that pretty much sets the tone for the conversation to come to a quick conclusion by the caller politely acknowledging and apologizing (usually) and me telling them I will call them back.

Why should I have to lie about my state of consciousness when in truth I was asleep and yes your call did wake me up and yes you have right to feel bad and I, for one, am not the person to take that right away!

Time Ticks!

What is it about weather and the roles it plays in ones behavior? Take yesterday for instance. Islamabad had a hailstorm that left the city covered in a blanket of white, bringing scores of people out into the streets to see their town embalmed in natures wonder.

Cameras where clicking, phones were buzzing and cars were a-crashing! (people don’t really know how to drive on icy roads here since it rarely happens) But it was a moment in time where everyone forgot the current shortage of electricity, the hiking prices of gasoline, the massive inflation in our economy and the threat to our national security.(ironically there was a suicide bomb attack in Lahore yesterday)

Yes, nature has its way of offering us these little glimmers of hope, rejoicing and revelry where time comes to a pause and we are consumed by the beauty that surrounds us; which mind you, we take for granted each day!

I enjoyed driving in the midst of the deluge myself and have concluded that we all need to take moments out of our lives just to stop and look around; take in these phenomena happening around us every day, and relish all that we can smell, taste, see, hear and feel; all that bonds us together and makes us what we are and can be!

Take that break and let the moment sink in. Our time ticks at the pace we set it to maintain. We just need to take charge of it as opposed to letting time take charge of us!

Pakistani?

I have a friend in London who asked me this question today which struck a chord for me to look into myself before I replied with my response.

Question: Do you think a twenty year old; the child of Pakistani parents who has grown up in the Middle East, schooled there and then in London but who holds a Pakistani passport and who has essentially grown up surrounded by Pakistani people is Pakistani even though he's never lived in Pakistan at all?

I thought to myself that this is a very smart and concerned question from, well, a concerned Pakistani.

Online I went, to my favorite reference site (www.wikipedia.org) and after doing some brief reading the following was my response:

Can a man, born in India to an Ismaili khoja family, married to a Parsi, educated and living in England, holding an Imperial passport, not able to speak our national language but surrounded by people who envisioned and desired the same idea be the Father of a Nation?

The answer to my friends question, we are sure to find in the due course of time!

This thought led me to my own question. What is a Pakistani? Yes by the technical definition he or she is the citizen of our recently formed state however in my personal belief, being a Pakistani is far more than that. It is an ideal! It is the will to stand for your rights; it is the energy and ambition to work towards realising your beliefs; it is the desire to live free and it is the passion to better your motherland and your lot to the best of your honest abilities.

That is what I feel it is to be a Pakistani. I don’t expect agreements on this though I do invite debate here.

How far are we in achieving this ideal; is another question in itself but if you or I have the will, energy, commitment, passion and conviction to be Pakistani then I do believe there is hope.

Even in her martyrdom, Benazir Bhutto has ignited an inferno of political enlightenment amongst the urban Pakistani’s (moreso amidst the youth) who perhaps viewed Pakistani politics perched on their comfortable sofa’s watching our fate play its role on the boob tube.

I sincerely hope that a phoenix does rise from these ashes.

This country cannot burn anymore, and I for one cannot remain seated on my sofa, anymore!

Pakistan Zindabad!

Fit for life . . .golden advice

A simple saying, easy to manage and, in my opinion, works like a dime!

Breakfast like a King,
Lunch like a Prince and
Dinner like a pauper!

Dont knock it till you try it is what i say. . .