New Yorker, New Yorker ... and The Art of Words

A recent issue of The New Yorker made an appearance in my house the other day, joining the stack of newspapers, Men's Health and Aerospace America magazines and catalogs from Radio Shack, REI, Bed, Bath & Beyond and Victoria's Secret at the corner of our dining table. The living-room center-table, the typical gravitational nucleus for magazine is most homes, is kept bare in ours, save for the four remote-controls and, until recently, a chess set. (First a regular one, which only gathered dust because it was almost never used, and then, later, a Transformers version that Brian's girlfriend gifted him. I know what you're thinking, and no, it wasn't mine. It is neat, but I actually prefer the traditional version myself.) No more than two people ever sit simultaneously at our table, anyway, so the stack doesn't get in the way, and it makes for a conveniently reachable library when one is dining by oneself --- which, for us, is most often the case.

But, getting back to the New Yorker: I don't know where it came from --- there's no mailing label on it, and neither I, nor, to the best of my knowledge, do either of my roommates subscribe to it. ... Not that that actually really matters (in this instance). Besides, I've long been curious about this periodical, what with the reputation that it seems to have of being canonical literary fare for the more highbrow echelons of society, so I wasn't as inclined to question this gift horse as I am with other out-of-place phenomena in my super-ordered world. So I flipped through it this morning, as I forked eggs and sausage into my mouth, and had very much the same reaction that I did when I watched my first episode of Seinfeld, nine years ago:

"I don't get it."

(Meanwhile, my American cousins, who had scheduled their evening programs around this show and General Hospital, were beside themselves with laughter, much to my bewilderment.) The cartoons, especially --- the famed New Yorker cartoons, of which entire compilations have been separately published in book form... Were they supposed to be funny? Were they supposed to make me laugh? Chuckle? Smirk? All they did was leave me nonplussed --- they didn't really seem to be about anything, other than ho-hum pictorials of ho-hum everyday ordinary life. They weren't funny, in either the mental-doubletake way of the non-sequiturs of Wiley or Douglas Adams, or the droll, understated way of `traditional' British humour, nor were they insightful or thought-provoking like the editorial comics in newspapers, or Time or Newsweek. They were... mundane, and, in the strict sense of its usage in science/mathematics: trivial. So too the few articles that I scanned through, save for one comparing the Presidential-campaign strategies of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, which, because of its subject matter, actually had some meat to it, and another in which the author described his experiences with driving in China --- which was funny. (And I thought the traffic/road situation in India was bad [Link1, Link2]. *Boy* am I glad I didn't learn to drive in China! Especially considering just how much pleasure I derive from being at the controls of an automobile!) But with these two articles as well, the text simply dragged on and on and on, page after page, as if no such concept as a page- or word-limit existed in the minds of the editors. It is possible, of course, that my reaction is a result of modern society's tendency to require/acquire/desire everything in bite-sized chunks that require a minimum of time to process/parse/digest [I couldn't decide which verb I liked best there], but my personal jury is still out on that question. Granted, this criticism is based on a very limited sample size (a handful of articles from a single issue of the magazine), but I have to say: my first encounter with this journal left me quite disappointed. On the other hand, every time I pick up an issue of Time magazine, or The Economist, or the Style or Editorial sections of the Washington Post, I simply delight in the deftness with which their authors (including the authors of the Letters-to-the-editor) wield their words, play with them, teasing and tickling the mind of the reader, and at how concisely they articulate their thoughts and state their arguments. Of course, exceptions do exist, but that's just it: those are exceptions! If I had the time, my blog would be over-flowing with references to the multitude of gems I've seen in these publications. With the New Yorker, not so. Hence, given all the hype, my state of disappointment.

Then again, it could just be a case of being an acquired taste. It took a while, but Seinfeld eventually did make me laugh. :)

Genes

For a long time, when I was little, I was convinced that my parents were 35 years old. No matter how many years went by, they were always, in my mind, fixed at that "magic" age. Now I'm actually coming up on that number myself. And my parents sent me a card this year that said (tongue-in-cheek, of course): "No more birthdays after this, understand? ... We're too young to have a son your age!"

And, in the past 3--4 years, I've been noticing my mum becoming, in her mannerisms, a lot like the way I remember my grandmother --- her mum --- used to be. And my dad like his dad, my Grandpa. And just the other day I realized with a start that my handwriting, spidery to begin with, had begun to look just like the nearly indecipherable scrawl that we used to always tease my dad about.

It's kinda fascinating, but also a wee bit jarring.

Life goes on, II

A prayer said at the funeral service of my friend Cheryl's father, earlier this year:

Grieve for me, for I would grieve for you.
Then brush away the sorrows and the tears.
Life is not over, but begins anew,
With courage you must greet the coming years.

To live forever in the past is wrong,
Can only cause you misery and pain.
Dwell not on memories over long,
With others you must share and care again.

Reach out and comfort those who comfort you.
Recall the years but only for a while.
Nurse not your loneliness but live again,
Forget not, remember with a smile.

--- Old Indian Prayer.

My life, in bytes

I churned out four blog-posts on my other blog this afternoon. Set aside my work to do it, because, for the same reason I carry a pen and a notepad around with me everywhere I go, if you have a thought and don't write it down, and then later forget it, then you effectively never had it. (I think I picked up this little piece of advice from a Tom Clancy book, as a matter of fact. Jack Ryan's wife, a surgeon, says it, in the book "Executive Orders", if I remember correctly.) (Hmm... this contains echoes of my earliest posts on the why and wherefore of blogging...) It made me suddenly realize that, starting from the time I left home to come to the US to study, and began corresponding regularly via e-mail with my family back home, and indeed, began to use e-mail with ever-increasing frequency to communicate with other people... that since then, virtually every facet of my life can be re-constructed from the vast, digitized archives of my various writings. From e-mails to papers that I've written for classes to, yes, my blogs. Oh, and digital photographs and video clips, too, in far greater quantities than previously imaginable with their chemical-film-technology predecessors. It's so easy now to go back to any given moment in my life and see what it, and I, were like at the time. My personality. My thoughts. My circumstances. Everything.

Mind-blowing stuff, when you think of the sheer scale of it all, compared to the pre-digital era. Historians of the future are going to have a field day. Assuming, of course, that our storage media survive till then, and the various encoding standards are still recognized. (Betamax, Laser-disk, DVD-ROM/-RAM/-D/Plus/-R/-RW/-R DL/+R/+RW/+R DL/Blu-ray/HD, anyone?) Ironic, that paper (and pencil!) remains the longest-lasting, and easiest to read, form of recording information around today.

The Wisdom of Mum and Dad

There are a lot of things that I never had when I was younger, and growing up. Things that my friends and peers had, and that I always longed to have as well. I'm not talking about material things, but the "intangible" gifts that life distributes randomly to different people. (I'm not going to be more specific with examples, because that gets too personal for this forum.) For many of those things, not having them was due, in large part, to my lifestyle then --- my life when when I was living at home, dictated -- and restricted -- as it was by my parents.

I have a lot of those things now. And because I never had them before, I appreciate them all the more. In the years since I left home, I've often, on many different occasions, stopped short and wondered/marvelled at the hidden (to me, at the time) wisdom my parents displayed, maybe conciously, maybe unconciously, in bringing me up. In retrospect, would I have had my life unfold any other way? I don't think so.

The importance of friends (one of many reasons)

When people would talk about how their friends helped them get over break-ups, I used to think that that only referred to their having their friends sit down with them and comfort them and analyse every little facet of the relationship-that-was and convince them that things would be better, and maybe that it was actually a *good* thing that they had broken up with that person. And of course, in my mental image, those friends were usually female, because guys typically don't talk about such things with each other, right?

Then I had my own experiences with break-ups. And realized that there's another aspect to that statement, which doesn't involve talking about or discussing the broken relationship at all. (Or maybe this has been just my own experience.) Having friends helps you realize that you still have a life, even if the person who was the world to you (or so you felt) is no longer a part of it. There are *still* people to whom you are important, and who care about you, and who like being around/with you.

All the more reason to not ignore or forget about your friends when you are in a relationship. Which, I know, is an easy rut to fall into, because you're so taken up with this one person that you want to spend every waking moment with them, to the exclusion of every- and anyone else, but you have to get a grip on yourself and do it.

To all my friends, who never forgot about me when I forgot about them, and/or who helped me realize that I still had a life --- thank you. You may not have realized that you were helping me, but you were.

Doesn't matter if it's true or not

"Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money, money and power mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love... true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in."

From the movie Secondhand Lions. Said by the character Hub, played by Robert Duvall, to his grand-nephew, Walter (Haley Joel Osment). Go watch it --- it's a great story.

Big Lessons from Little Kids

Excerpted from "21 Big Lessons from Little Kids: Little things you may have forgotten", from the Sept. '07 issue of Men's Health magazine:


2. Sometimes it's best to be completely blunt with people, as you used to be with relatives who wanted you to do something embarrassing or tedious for a shiny quarter.

3. Asking questions is how you figure things out. Lots and lots of questions.

4. An older, wiser Gordie Lachance says in Stand By Me, "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12." Lachance is right. The trick is to try to be the friend you were when you were 12: fun-loving and loyal, with no strings attached.

5. Playing is work. Approach your downtime with all the seriousness of a 5-year-old with a secret treasure map.

6. Real guys don't dip their toes in the water. They jump right in.

8. You hated it when a grown-up told you, "We'll see." It's still unacceptable. Don't say it yourself.

9. The only way to know how something works is to completely disassemble it. (This is still good advice when tackling a complex problem. Your plasma TV? Not so much).

10. There's a reason they don't give credit cards to 8-year-olds. You're supposed to save up money before you buy a new toy.

11. Your body was designed for throwing baseballs, shooting hoops, and jumping off diving boards and stuff. In the secret language of children, the word "fitness" doesn't exist. It's called "having fun."

12. Your world can be half-real and half-imaginary.

13. Homework blows. Bring work home with you and it'll ruin your night. And your marriage. And your family. And your life.

14. Too much of anything will give you a tummy ache. Like, say, bourbon.

15. If there's even the slightest doubt, hit the potty before you leave.

16. The coolest adults were the ones who took the time to listen to you. You still want to grow up to be a cool adult, right?

18. Use adrenaline as your drug of choice. You don't need beer, pot, or cigarettes to have a good time.

19. Kissing a girl on the cheek is a big deal. Kissing her lips is an even bigger deal. Seeing her naked for the first time is a major, life-altering event.

21. Seeing a thunderstorm roll in is better than watching HDTV. And rain isn't something to curse, but to enjoy. Hurry up, before it clears.

Amun... Amen!

A long time ago, a man was born of a virgin in the likeness of God. After spreading messages of love and peace in his early life, he was betrayed by his friends and slain on a slab of wood. He was then resurrected on Earth before returning to heaven.

The man’s name isn’t Jesus. It’s Osiris, the god-man of ancient Egypt.

:) Got your attention? Read more here, in the Columbia Missourian's article on the book, "The Egyptian Origins of Christianity", by Lisa Ann Bargeman. Including about things like the etymological connections between "Amen" and the Egyptian god Amun/Amon.

While there are many clues to suggest Christianity’s roots can be traced to Greek, or Hellenic times, which began about 300 years before Christ’s birth during the development of Judaism, stories about Egyptian influences and other perceived “pagan” legends make some Christians uneasy. “The reason for such denial is that Christianity is always presented as the only true religion, the only way to salvation, and as such, it could not have borrowed anything from a religion they have dubbed heathen or pagan,” Harrison Ola Akingbade, an Anglican Christian himself, wrote in the foreword of Bargeman’s book.

So. Like I keep asking: why should God have only made Him/Herself --- in His/Her true form --- known to the Hebrews? Why should that group of people have been more special than every other civilization in Creation? Are we not *all* God's children?

New/Separate Blog

Created a new/separate blog, meant specifically for the inane, mundane, stream-of-consciousness -type diary entries that wouldn't quite fit into what I intended this blog to be. Check it out here. It'll probably be updated a lot more frequently than this one will. This one will remain devoted to things-that-make-you-go-hmmm.

A must-read

My friend #####'s not-quite-a-blog. Snippety peeks into the mind (and soul) of a literary prince, with an archive dating back to before there were blogs.

WARNING: Proceed with caution, especially if you have work to do. As with PhDComics / Dilbert / etc., it's very hard to resist clicking <Next> (or <Previous>) "just one more time!"

Balance and Peace

My friend Jeff Chow has been hiking the Appalachian Trail, and has been maintaining a multimedia-rich blog for well-wishers and curious gawkers (like myself) to share in his experiences. In one of his recent posts, he posed the following question:

"If you believe that one should accept oneself as you are and also believe that one should try to continue to grow and improve oneself, how do you balance the two ideas?"

I responded with:

Accept yourself for the person you are, with the “person you are” being something (someone) that *contains* the *potential* to be much more than you are right now. There’s untapped potential in you, that isn’t being expressed yet. Becoming aware of and tapping and utilizing that potential = growth. If you can look back on your past and say to yourself - “I did the best that I could have done, under the circumstances”, then that’s the best you can be, and that’s all you need to accept.

... I think. ;)

Figured I'd include it here on my own blog as well. :)

Btw, check out an excellently produced slideshow (with audio overlay) about the AT called `An Enduring Journey', published by the Minneapolis StarTribune and featuring JeffC himself, here. (Requires the Adobe Flash player to be installed on your computer.)

More on blogs

Florist asks (asked) similar questions, and expresses similar sentiments, here and here.

And Satya responds, succintly, so:

My blog is a place for me to get thoughts onto "paper". In the absence of a blog, I'd be bugging people with the same stuff, in real time (which is precious), and repeating myself (did I remember to tell you...?). It's also a place to leave notes for myself -- the future me, whether next day or next decade. Of course, I could email notes to myself instead, but, as with the Rails stuff, it's out there for the googling lost programmer to find.

And, of course, fame and fortune.

[2007.08.01] And pithier yet, from the usb-port: here.

On 'blogs

I do a lot of my thinking while I'm in the shower, and during my most recent one (see my previous post), the topic-of-the-moment was 'blogs' -- why do we keep them? What's their purpose? Why am I keeping one? (Not very surprising, considering that I had created my first blog just a few hours ago.) One (obvious) line of thought is that this is our (where 'we' = children of the Digital/Internet Age) personal pulpit, an opportunity to tell the entire world what we think, and (hopefully) make our presence felt. (Clearly, a 21st-century evolution of the personal webpages on geocities / tripod / angelfire / university servers that spread like wildfire back when the 'Web was young.) This has shades of commonality with the publish-or-perish philosophy in the research/academic world -- which I was reminded of while reading a fellow grad-student's blog post earlier today. If you do not publish, you effectively do not exist. Blogito, ergo sum.

But, is anyone really listening? In the short while since starting this blog, I've been tempted to write down every inane little thought that I've had -- like this one, for example. Does that not reek of hubris, to believe that the world cares about things like that? I'm not saying that they're not significant, but that they're only significant to people to whom I'm already close, and I would typically only mention them to those people in a personal conversation. A web-log isn't the place for such things, is it?

And, speaking of personal conversations, I'm a strong believer in the importance of face-to-face communication, with all its subtle nuances of body language and the training it gives you in proper social intercourse/etiquette. Telephone conversations and the written word (letters, e-mail, Instant Messaging, Bulletin-Board Systems / Internet forums) are useful and necessary, but they're already a step away. The more we use -- and rely on -- the Internet and related technology to interact with the rest of the world (from blogs and social-networking websites to the innocuousness of news and e-commerce/web-merchant websites), the more we seem to be losing that personal touch, and actually distancing ourselves from the rest of the world, retreating into shells which only we inhabit and where, to a large extent, only our feelings matter. It's easier to disregard another person when they're not physically standing right in front of you. (An IM conversation with ChrissyNB earlier today reminded me of this paradox of the Internet Age.) But, coming back to blogs and personal conversations about `little' things: When I voice such thoughts out aloud, I expect a response. I want a response -- that's why I mentioned that thing to that person (or persons). And a personal conversation, whether face-to-face, or via a telephone or IM, (usually) gives me that gratification. A web-log would not - there's no guarantee of a response, and most definitely not an immediate one. So I can see myself quickly tiring of this exercise if I let that -- the sharing of my thoughts with the world -- be the its principal/sole raison d'etre. (I already have/use e-mail as a medium for pushing that sort of information to people whom I know would be interested in it, so I don't need a blog for that purpose. If this blog evolves to subsume that functionality, and performs it in a more efficient manner, then that's just dandy, of course.)

Which brings me back, full-circle, to the comments of my very first post: Is the primary purpose of a blog to be -- for me, at least -- more like a personal diary? A collection of writings with myself as the primary intended audience? Yet, this is a public space, with the secondary (?) purpose of allowing others to weigh in on my thoughts as well... if they care to! A blog is not at all an incarnation (however diluted) of the traditional social interaction, yet neither is it the place to jot down notes to myself that are too personal to share with others. It's a strange sort of hybrid of the two, retaining some of their functionalities while also, unfortunately, losing their others. The real question -- to me -- is: Is it worth it? Is having one (or two) tilt-rotor(s) better than having one aeroplane and one helicopter? ;)

Hot baths

I love 'em. (And when I say `bath', I mean a `shower', it being more closely aligned in meaning to the Indian usage of the term -- an activity involving a bucket of water and a mug, and pouring that water over yourself one mug-full at a time -- than to the Western meaning of immersing yourself from the neck down in a bath-tub of water.) Cold-water baths are fun too, and they definitely have their place, but by and large, I much prefer the hot kind. I just had one, and I am a happy camper. :)

Life goes on

I tend to dwell in the past a lot. Re-living events from days, weeks, months, years ago. Times of happiness, times of sadness. Which, in and of itself, is not a useless or deplorable activity, but of late I've come to realize that I perhaps do it too much, and that is a bad thing. I need to learn to do less of that, and instead, more of looking to -- and planning for, and being excited about the possibilities that lie in -- the future.

Anyway. I heard something just the other day while watching, of all things, an episode of Magnum, P.I., that struck me as something I should keep tucked away for 'ready reference' in those times when bad, painful things happen: "Life goes on."

I am part of the Blogiverse

I have arrived. More accurately, I am now -- I suppose -- ready to make my presence known. Have resisted doing this for quite some time, despite repeated urgings from friends and acquaintances ("Dude, you should start a blog!", and variations on the theme). After all, I am but a minor particle in this vast etherspace. Would other particles really care to be affected by, or interact with, the fluctuations in my local field?

Oh well. I suppose I could consider this an experiment in quantum human-o social-o dynamics. Mostly, really, for now it's just a way for me to collect and archive my thoughts -- things simultaneously ponderous (to me, at least) and ephemeral. My memory is too fickle to retain all that I want it to. And if, in consequence, other neurons on this World-Wide Web happen to network with mine, then -- oh, happy day!

... Time to let this bubble rise to the surface of the Blogsphere. :)