For many years, I've enjoyed reading before going to sleep at night. I find reading to be both a great stress reliever and a wonderful, economical escape. I've read all the James Herriot books, every Harry Potter installment, and so many books about renovating houses in other countries that I've lost count. I actually look forward to that quiet time at night when my mind can completely change gears.
But lately, I've been having some problems with my vision. I know that it's time to get new glasses, but I'm too lazy to take care of that as I should, so I've resorted to a new medium: compact video, in the form of downloaded movies which I play on my iPhone at night. These movies are not typically anything which you would see in a modern theater, but rather they are generally B-movies, badly-colored 70's thrillers, and the like. Many of these movies feature beasts (or people) who have been transmogrified by an overdose of radiation or by the infusion of some strange chemicals.
The other night, my wife was glancing over at me, and having noticed this peculiar habit for several evenings in a row, she asked, "What is this? Teeny-Tiny Theater?" I loved it! That term perfectly describes this latest indulgence of mine. I now have the world of substandard cinema in the palm of my hand, and I've even found myself watching it when waiting for a haircut, at the car wash, or at the doctor's office. No more fretting for me about how long it will take for Dr. Terry to see me...no way. I have the solution right here, right now. So what if my throat hurts?
Of course, I know that many of you who are keenly aware of my fondness for Bollywood movies will ask, "Isn't that what you really have stored on your iPhone?" And I will tell you no, although I do admit to having a few carefully selected Bollywood videos featuring the likes of Bipasha Basu, Priyanka Chopra, and Aishwarya Rai on there...but hey, what's wrong with that?
Anyway, it's a great thing, and I plan to continue using Teeny-Tiny Theater for a while, maybe even after I get new glasses. Wait...do I really need new glasses in this economy? I think not.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Desktop Abduction
I recently received as a Christmas present a glamorous 11-1/2 inch tall fashion doll in the likeness of a very popular Bollywood actress who, for the purposes of this story, shall remain nameless. It was a nice gesture on the part of my friends, who ordered her from the UK and actually paid more for shipping than for the doll itself. Their theory was that I was so enamored of Bollywood that I needed an item, indeed an icon of sorts, which could grace my desk during the work day. All in all, this plastic princess was an admirable and appropriate choice.
But as things go, certain other individuals (my so-called friends) took it upon themselves to play a practical joke. Knowing that I had developed a certain casual attachment to the doll, they devised a plan to kidnap it. One Thursday several weeks ago, when I returned from lunch with a group of three other gentlemen, I found a ransom note on my desk, along with the severed leg of the doll, all stuffed into a crudely-labeled envelope. The ransom note demanded payment of 1,000,000 rupees, or about $20,400.11 in US currency. In addition to this, I began receiving anonymous text messages with explicit details of what was happening or was bound to happen if I did not cooperate. The text messages contained no valid cell phone number, and the return email address provided was fake, adding further mystery to the mix.
That same Thursday evening, having been so senselessly victimized, I accompanied a group of my friends to a local restaurant for our weekly P-Council (Perversity Council) meeting to ease the pain, and in truth, to attempt to foil the plot. But this plan backfired. I received terrible service from the restaurant and became somewhat diva-like, eventually resulting in a free Dogfish Head 60 Minute India Pale Ale for me, which wasn't all that bad. But in truth, I was suffering. Oh, and I even received another text message during the P-Council gathering.
Then, the next day, upon returning from a pleasant lunch for a dear friend, I received yet another note, this time with further demands and a severed hand. Upon closer examination, I could tell that the hand had not come from my doll but most likely from some poor unsuspecting Mall Barbie. More text messages followed in short order.
And so on it went throughout the weekend. My poor little princess was somewhere, suffering ill fate at the hands of her captors while I partied with our dinner club and spent quality time with my family, even going so far as to put away the Christmas decorations. For a moment, the incident almost escaped my mind. Then on Monday, my friend Keith asked me if I had heard any more news. I immediately received another text message, leapt from my desk, and caught him, the very same friend who had asked me for a status...red-handed...sending the next threatening message from his computer, using a custom program he had written. The gig was up.
Keith then spilled the details, which were quite elaborate. It turned out that Mike (who had been at lunch with me on Thursday) and Sonya had devised the entire plot, then enlisted the help of Keith to handle the technical details. Sonya had attempted to cut off Barbie's leg and arm, but she had botched the job so badly that Keith had to use a bolt cutter to finish the job. I can only assume that Keith also applied the fake "blood". In the time since, I have questioned other friends, and they have indicated that they, too, were either consulted or enlisted to help in the plot.
Needless to say, the doll was eventually returned to me unharmed, after it was retrieved from a manager's office, where it had been stowed away on top of a portable refrigerator under a desk. The manager in whose office the doll was hidden immediately disavowed any knowledge of the plot. A note written in the doll's "own words" was attached to her box, chastising me for not ensuring her safety in such an openly hostile environment. I detected a whining tone, but of course, I let it go.
I suppose that what all this means to me is that either: a) people must be over my Bollywood obsession, or b) they think enough of me and my reactions to devise this elaborate scheme to drive me insane and witness what they hope will be an entertaining meltdown. Either way, I think I've learned a valuable lesson: I need to keep a closer eye on my friends. They're not always who I think they are.
And with that, I say...namaste.
But as things go, certain other individuals (my so-called friends) took it upon themselves to play a practical joke. Knowing that I had developed a certain casual attachment to the doll, they devised a plan to kidnap it. One Thursday several weeks ago, when I returned from lunch with a group of three other gentlemen, I found a ransom note on my desk, along with the severed leg of the doll, all stuffed into a crudely-labeled envelope. The ransom note demanded payment of 1,000,000 rupees, or about $20,400.11 in US currency. In addition to this, I began receiving anonymous text messages with explicit details of what was happening or was bound to happen if I did not cooperate. The text messages contained no valid cell phone number, and the return email address provided was fake, adding further mystery to the mix.
That same Thursday evening, having been so senselessly victimized, I accompanied a group of my friends to a local restaurant for our weekly P-Council (Perversity Council) meeting to ease the pain, and in truth, to attempt to foil the plot. But this plan backfired. I received terrible service from the restaurant and became somewhat diva-like, eventually resulting in a free Dogfish Head 60 Minute India Pale Ale for me, which wasn't all that bad. But in truth, I was suffering. Oh, and I even received another text message during the P-Council gathering.
Then, the next day, upon returning from a pleasant lunch for a dear friend, I received yet another note, this time with further demands and a severed hand. Upon closer examination, I could tell that the hand had not come from my doll but most likely from some poor unsuspecting Mall Barbie. More text messages followed in short order.
And so on it went throughout the weekend. My poor little princess was somewhere, suffering ill fate at the hands of her captors while I partied with our dinner club and spent quality time with my family, even going so far as to put away the Christmas decorations. For a moment, the incident almost escaped my mind. Then on Monday, my friend Keith asked me if I had heard any more news. I immediately received another text message, leapt from my desk, and caught him, the very same friend who had asked me for a status...red-handed...sending the next threatening message from his computer, using a custom program he had written. The gig was up.
Keith then spilled the details, which were quite elaborate. It turned out that Mike (who had been at lunch with me on Thursday) and Sonya had devised the entire plot, then enlisted the help of Keith to handle the technical details. Sonya had attempted to cut off Barbie's leg and arm, but she had botched the job so badly that Keith had to use a bolt cutter to finish the job. I can only assume that Keith also applied the fake "blood". In the time since, I have questioned other friends, and they have indicated that they, too, were either consulted or enlisted to help in the plot.
Needless to say, the doll was eventually returned to me unharmed, after it was retrieved from a manager's office, where it had been stowed away on top of a portable refrigerator under a desk. The manager in whose office the doll was hidden immediately disavowed any knowledge of the plot. A note written in the doll's "own words" was attached to her box, chastising me for not ensuring her safety in such an openly hostile environment. I detected a whining tone, but of course, I let it go.
I suppose that what all this means to me is that either: a) people must be over my Bollywood obsession, or b) they think enough of me and my reactions to devise this elaborate scheme to drive me insane and witness what they hope will be an entertaining meltdown. Either way, I think I've learned a valuable lesson: I need to keep a closer eye on my friends. They're not always who I think they are.
And with that, I say...namaste.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Eclipse of the Moon (Pie)
Move over, Moon Pie. There's a new kid on the block, he's from Korea, and his name is Choco-Pie.
I first saw the Choco-Pie about two years ago at one of our local Super H Marts, an Asian superstore featuring everything from bok choy to cosmetics. While browsing in a back aisle one afternoon, I came across this interesting looking package of something resembling Moon Pies. I bought a box, took them home, and was surprised to find that they were delicious. I say "surprised" because I have not seen a serious Moon Pie contender in over thirty years.
Other than their country of origin, there are a few differences between Choco-Pies and Moon Pies. Choco-Pies come individually wrapped in foil, not cellophane, packages to keep them fresh. Their texture is somewhat softer than a Moon Pie, and there is not to my knowledge the double-decker option provided by Moon Pies. I have not seen Choco-Pies in any flavor other than chocolate (of course), unlike Moon Pies, which offer banana and vanilla flavors in addition to the original chocolate variety. Nevertheless, the Choco-Pie coating is rich and dark, and an entire box of twelve pies sells for just under four dollars. I have yet to find them anywhere else in Atlanta but at Super H Mart.
Being somewhat curious about all this, I did some web research and found that Orion Confectionery, the company which makes Choco-Pies, actually supplies them to Korean soldiers once they have completed their first week of basic training. The market for the pies is growing steadily -- in fact, over twelve billion of them have been sold worldwide, and let's face it, twelve billion of anything is a lot.
I think this is another one of those cases where globalization is here to stay. But in this instance, I believe that there will always be a place for Moon Pies...after all, they are a Southern tradition. Life without Moon Pies (even if you don't eat them) would be something like the South without Coca-Cola...it just wouldn't be proper in the least.
So, if you're a Moon Pie nut like me, go ahead and try a Choco-Pie. Just don't tell Aunt Bessie about it.
I first saw the Choco-Pie about two years ago at one of our local Super H Marts, an Asian superstore featuring everything from bok choy to cosmetics. While browsing in a back aisle one afternoon, I came across this interesting looking package of something resembling Moon Pies. I bought a box, took them home, and was surprised to find that they were delicious. I say "surprised" because I have not seen a serious Moon Pie contender in over thirty years.
Other than their country of origin, there are a few differences between Choco-Pies and Moon Pies. Choco-Pies come individually wrapped in foil, not cellophane, packages to keep them fresh. Their texture is somewhat softer than a Moon Pie, and there is not to my knowledge the double-decker option provided by Moon Pies. I have not seen Choco-Pies in any flavor other than chocolate (of course), unlike Moon Pies, which offer banana and vanilla flavors in addition to the original chocolate variety. Nevertheless, the Choco-Pie coating is rich and dark, and an entire box of twelve pies sells for just under four dollars. I have yet to find them anywhere else in Atlanta but at Super H Mart.
Being somewhat curious about all this, I did some web research and found that Orion Confectionery, the company which makes Choco-Pies, actually supplies them to Korean soldiers once they have completed their first week of basic training. The market for the pies is growing steadily -- in fact, over twelve billion of them have been sold worldwide, and let's face it, twelve billion of anything is a lot.
I think this is another one of those cases where globalization is here to stay. But in this instance, I believe that there will always be a place for Moon Pies...after all, they are a Southern tradition. Life without Moon Pies (even if you don't eat them) would be something like the South without Coca-Cola...it just wouldn't be proper in the least.
So, if you're a Moon Pie nut like me, go ahead and try a Choco-Pie. Just don't tell Aunt Bessie about it.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Eight Feet Under
We just returned from a Thanksgiving trip to my wife's parents' home in Boston. For some reason (probably under the influence of large amounts of red wine) we decided to drive the 2,200 miles up and back. It was a very long haul, replete with the usual highway adventures, but that is material for another blog posting. What I really want to write about this time is "the cellar", my in-laws' basement. I love that place.
Here in Atlanta, the most common form of basement is the "daylight" variety, which is in effect a terrace level with a door to the outside. Basements are quite common here, and many are beautifully finished as media or recreation rooms. Our own basement is, at least for me, the best place in our entire suburb to watch a movie. But "up Nawth", many basements are called "cellars" and are actually dug out rooms below the main house with limited openings to the outside. They can be spooky places, indeed. In the exquisite documentary TV series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", one particularly memorable episode involved Buffy being changed into some kind of rodent and taking cover in a real cellar, where she promptly shape-shifted back into a human female, the consequences of which are another story altogether.
What I truly like about my in-laws' cellar is that is it REAL. There are shelves of packaged foods, newspapers ready for recycling, a clam pot, a washer and dryer, old books, scores of National Geographics, and a hobby room, in which my father-in-law builds incredibly detailed scale models of airplanes. At some point in every trip, my mother-in-law will ask me to fetch something from or carry something "down cellar", and I always enjoy this. To me, the cellar is like a microcosm of life at ground level, effectively a time capsule for stuff that you need at some point but which doesn't get top billing.
Don't get me wrong -- I truly enjoy my finished basement with all its accoutrements, and I can think of no place I'd rather watch a film. But when I'm in the mood to get down with it and go underground, give me that Massachusetts cellar.
Under and out.
Here in Atlanta, the most common form of basement is the "daylight" variety, which is in effect a terrace level with a door to the outside. Basements are quite common here, and many are beautifully finished as media or recreation rooms. Our own basement is, at least for me, the best place in our entire suburb to watch a movie. But "up Nawth", many basements are called "cellars" and are actually dug out rooms below the main house with limited openings to the outside. They can be spooky places, indeed. In the exquisite documentary TV series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", one particularly memorable episode involved Buffy being changed into some kind of rodent and taking cover in a real cellar, where she promptly shape-shifted back into a human female, the consequences of which are another story altogether.
What I truly like about my in-laws' cellar is that is it REAL. There are shelves of packaged foods, newspapers ready for recycling, a clam pot, a washer and dryer, old books, scores of National Geographics, and a hobby room, in which my father-in-law builds incredibly detailed scale models of airplanes. At some point in every trip, my mother-in-law will ask me to fetch something from or carry something "down cellar", and I always enjoy this. To me, the cellar is like a microcosm of life at ground level, effectively a time capsule for stuff that you need at some point but which doesn't get top billing.
Don't get me wrong -- I truly enjoy my finished basement with all its accoutrements, and I can think of no place I'd rather watch a film. But when I'm in the mood to get down with it and go underground, give me that Massachusetts cellar.
Under and out.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
New Jersey to New Delhi
One of the most interesting things about hosting a blog is seeing where all your visitors come from. In the past few months, I've noticed a trend (and you thought I hadn't been watching). It seems that my most frequent site visitors are from New Jersey and India.
First of all, let me just say thank you to all of you for repeatedly checking out my ramblings here on Whole Bean. Writing is a hobby of mine, and I realize that these topics are usually all over the board, but it is nice to see that someone out there likes the site enough to come back for more. I can only hope that my writing is as entertaining for you as you would like it to be.
My good friend Joe is a transplant to Atlanta from New Jersey, and he is always fascinated to see his home state appearing on my site tracker log. And personally, when I've visited New Jersey in the past, I've had a wonderful time. I may not know everything there is to know about NJ, but I do know that:
1. It's called "the shore", not the beach.
2. Jug handles? Traffic circles? I understand.
3. It's hard to find better Italian food anywhere else on earth.
4. The people have a great sense of humor.
5. You can't pump your own gas.
And of course, I have tons of friends from India as well. I truly find it inspiring that you guys halfway around the world have somehow landed at Whole Bean and that you come back from time to time. I am fascinated by the culture of India, some might say obsessed, to the point that I have a growing personal collection of Bollywood DVD's, favorite Indian stores, and even my own kurta. Gotta love that! I said I knew a few things about New Jersey -- well, I know the following about India:
1. Just because two of you are from India, you may not necessarily know each
other's languages.
2. Food needs to be enjoyed with three senses: smell, taste, and touch.
3. There are beautiful beaches.
4. Sharukh Khan, Aishwarya Rai, and Bipasha Basu are very wealthy people.
5. India mixes some of the best house/techno/club music on the planet.
So to all of you, regardless of where you're from, a sincere thank you for visiting my blog. I'll do my very best to keep you entertained!
First of all, let me just say thank you to all of you for repeatedly checking out my ramblings here on Whole Bean. Writing is a hobby of mine, and I realize that these topics are usually all over the board, but it is nice to see that someone out there likes the site enough to come back for more. I can only hope that my writing is as entertaining for you as you would like it to be.
My good friend Joe is a transplant to Atlanta from New Jersey, and he is always fascinated to see his home state appearing on my site tracker log. And personally, when I've visited New Jersey in the past, I've had a wonderful time. I may not know everything there is to know about NJ, but I do know that:
1. It's called "the shore", not the beach.
2. Jug handles? Traffic circles? I understand.
3. It's hard to find better Italian food anywhere else on earth.
4. The people have a great sense of humor.
5. You can't pump your own gas.
And of course, I have tons of friends from India as well. I truly find it inspiring that you guys halfway around the world have somehow landed at Whole Bean and that you come back from time to time. I am fascinated by the culture of India, some might say obsessed, to the point that I have a growing personal collection of Bollywood DVD's, favorite Indian stores, and even my own kurta. Gotta love that! I said I knew a few things about New Jersey -- well, I know the following about India:
1. Just because two of you are from India, you may not necessarily know each
other's languages.
2. Food needs to be enjoyed with three senses: smell, taste, and touch.
3. There are beautiful beaches.
4. Sharukh Khan, Aishwarya Rai, and Bipasha Basu are very wealthy people.
5. India mixes some of the best house/techno/club music on the planet.
So to all of you, regardless of where you're from, a sincere thank you for visiting my blog. I'll do my very best to keep you entertained!
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