I've generally never been much of a room service guy. But then I've also never been much of a hotel guy. I've been living in a hotel for a little over a week now. You'd think that this would be great, and to some extent, it is.
But here are some of the drawbacks. Ever notice that hotels have far fewer channels than real cable stations? Why is that? Fine, American hotels might promote pay per view (wink, wink), but puritan India doesn't have those options (heck, kissing is still seen as a no-no in videos, even if any amount of gyration is acceptable).
I have maybe 30 channels, but I could expect 80-90 channels or more if I had my own cable.
So you'd kinda expect, being in India, at a ritzy hotel, that they would show some channels unadultered, e.g., the CNN that's found in the US, the ESPN that's found in the US.
Nope, it's the one for India. That means, ESPN India has its own sports announcers. As they speak mostly in Hindi, I usually don't follow. Frankly, they don't look like they're saying "Booyah" or "Back, back, back, back--it's out of here".
I'll discuss how India has taken Western entertainment and dubbed much of it in Hindi later on.
For now, I want to talk about news on TV. It's true, American news is no great shakes, at least on television. Newspapers and magazines are the way to go. Network news is totally silly, barely having time to cover anything, and feeling the pressure to give "news" to the common man.
But it's even worse in India. You can get some news, but it feels like people reading press releases, as if any in-depth political analysis was taboo. And this is odd, because Indians, at least, educated Indians do seem opinionated about politics in India, yet, this never seems to come across.
The newspapers can be pretty bad, especially because of their flowery prose. While I was sitting at the airport last night, trying to make time pass, I was reading the paper (it seems, I can't find any in Hindi, good for me). Many articles barely count as news. The most interesting had to do with Scott Adams recovering from some loss of voice or something?
There was, what appeared to be a hard hitting article on murders that occurred about a hundred miles from Mumbai, where some woman and her child were paraded naked and killed, and two other brothers also killed by an angry mob, and yet, it seems superficially investigated, as if they had only one hour to talk to everyone before writing an article.
Then, a pretty awful opinion article of Brangelina (yes, even they use the term) being rude in India. Surprise, there. The author, needless to say, was indignant at their bad behavior. Cricket players show more class, she claimed.
And it goes on and on.
But this is about room service. So, I've been getting food in my room a fair bit. Partly because I can get smaller dishes. Partly because I don't have to dress up and to the restaurant. Sometimes I wish I had more adventure to find places to eat, but without reliable transportation, and without anyone to eat with, being in my room is fine.
I will say that five star hotels don't have a ton of amenities, and their hours are eh. For example, lunch starts at 12:30. Great, but what if I want lunch at 10? Breakfast starts at 7, but in the US, people want it even earlier. At least, dinners are available in the hotel til 11:30 at night.
I'm not sure what I want in a hotel. Certainly, a lot more channels would be good. I've been watching some History channel about Casanova, and one about Billie Jean King against Bobby Riggs. The guy who they got to play Riggs is great. I may not know how Riggs was in real life, but this guy captured his looks and demeanor as one might imagine. Ah, it's the amazing Ron Silver, who also did a great Deshowitz in Reversal of Fortune.
For anyone who knows tennis, and I mean, really, tennis history, this is a reasonably good, reasonably bad movie. It has many characters that mainly fans would know, such as Ted Tinling, the gay dressmaker who designed dresses for many a female star, and also longtime friend of tennis (before he passed away a few years back) and in a mostly non-speaking role, Dennis Van der Meer, who I believe got famous for coaching Billie Jean to a win (perhaps receiving too much credit for that).
The film tries to capture to look/feel of the 70s. The History Channel was showing this, even though it's five years old. Strange I had never heard of it.
Oh yeah, puritanical television. I think they must censor any flesh on movies. Fine, I'm not really in India to get all that, but it's interesting that US hotels want people to fall to their baser inclinations, while Indian television tries to avoid showing this stuff.
Heck, there's not even bad language. I think.
What I should really talk about, but maybe I'll postpone this to another post, is music videos.
Here's a teaser.
Everyone agrees, bizarre behavior aside, that Michael Jackson was an influential singer. But more than that, he became highly influential in MTV. Think about this. Jackson literally invented the dance video, which was elaborated by his sister Janet, and by others like Paula Abdul.
MTV discovered that people wouldn't watch videos, no matter how innovative, or how fun. Thus, they went to reality TV shows and games shows, until pretty soon, videos were hardly ever shown.
But there is one place where the music video is likely to flourish.
India.
In a society where it's obligatory to have a song and dance in any pop film, the music video seems to have a particularly good chance of doing well. Indeed, a music video becomes a small film, hitting only the dancing and singing.
Until then...adieu.
Or namaste.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Botany Bay? No, Bombay!
Well, Mumbai actually. Bombay is also known by the moniker Bollywood which, I gather, is Bombay Hollywood. Some time ago, several cities changed their names from the ones the British gave to them to be more Hindi.
Thus, Bombay became Mumbai. Madras became Chennai. Calcutta became Kolkata. Other places have remained the same. New Delhi (or simply Delhi, to natives) hasn't changed names. Bangalore hasn't either, although a proposed name of Bengaluru (pronounced "bung a loo roo") is in the offing.
By the way, Bangalore is actually pronounced "bang uh lore". That is, bang, rhyming with clang, sang, dang. Not rhyming with dung, hung, and clung.
I know, educated Americans, in an attempt to sound more educated, learn to pronounce their vowels more French (or perhaps Spanish). Thus, "a" is "uh', "i" is "e", "e" is "a",
"o" is pronounced the same, and so is "u". Or something like that.
A typical American pronounces "a" flat, as in "bat", "cat", and yes, "flat". It works wrong for pronouncing most names of European origin, and so often, we apply the rules for Indian places too. Except, technically, the British named Bangalore. So, there.
Anyhoo, I wanted to visit Dami. She's pretty worldly for an Indian. Grew up in Singapore. Studied in England and the US. She's had to move to India for personal reasons. So I hadn't seen her in a year, and hadn't expected to see her until she could make it back to the US.
However, once this trip was set up, I thought it might be good to make that trip.
The problem was planning. I didn't know one domestic airline from the next. With names like "Air Deccan", "Jet Airways", and "Spicejet", who knew what I was getting. The only oddly familiar airline was "Kingfisher" and mostly because it's a famous beer of India.
Kingfisher founder, Vijay Mallaya, has been compared to Richard Branson, for his outsized personality, and of course, now, for his airline.
Kingfisher is, in many respects, representative of India. India has a vast range of wealthy, from the abject poor, to the impossibly rich (OK, not Dubai rich).
By that, I mean that there are some in India, who feel that they can compete, in terms of luxury, with the best of 'em. Thus, India has some of the best hotels in the world, some of the best restaurants, some of the worst traffic. Ah, just kidding, there. (No, not really).
The airline is pretty snazzy. Each "guest" is given a little small plastic bag, something akin to what a little kid might take to school, carrying erasers, and such. The bag contains earphones (you can collect a new pair every trip!), a mint, some handi-wipes, or whatever they're called.
Each seat, even in economy, has what amounts to a "pillow" that I've only seen in Lufthansa. Basically, it's attached to the back of the head of the seat, and you can fold these "wings" out so that sidesleepers like me, can kinda get the experience of sleeping on the side (they're tiny, so it's not great).
The menu is far superior than any American version. You get a main course, plus a side dish and desert. They use real utensils, though plastic cups (tastefully red, to look like china) are used. This must be a pain to clean up.
Compare this to a typical American flight where utensil-less eating is highly sought after. Sandwiches are good for exactly that reason.
Apparently, Kingfisher is noted for the beauty of its attendants, who appear to be all women, and rather young. One guy (Indian) noted that he wanted to travel on KLM, a Malaysian airlines also noted for their selective flight attendant requirements ("ugly people need not apply").
I have to say, for major cities, neither Bangalore nor Mumbai have significant airports. There was no line (or barely any to speak of) on either leg of the flight. There actually appeared to be enough seats for everyone to sit and wait.
But wait, wait, here's the big difference. The gates aren't gates like the US.
To figure out where you fly out from, you check the departure list, which only lists flights leaving in the next hour or so. This amounts to maybe the next ten flights. It literally is one flight, then ten minutes later, another one, then twenty minutes later another.
Unlike the US, where you can do the security check anytime (sooner being better), you have to wait until about an hour before the flight to do the security check.
Typically, you send your carry-ons with you. No need to remove laptops. No need to remove shoes. Then, they wave a wand around you to check for metal. That's about it.
Oh yes. They give you what appears to be one of those identification tags. You know, the ones that sit at the counter, where you can put your address and name and affix it to your luggage?
Except, it's different in India. Once you get your carry-on checked, you need to get that ID tag stamped. They check for this stamp (or some ink) before letting you on.
Like I said, there's not exactly a gate for your airplane. More or less, there's a gate per airline, which leads you to...a bus. The bus then transports you to a plane, and you get on the plane.
Although I was planning to write about Mumbai, I think I'll talk more about planes (I'm tired, and I want to write something longer for that).
First, I want to say this. Whose idea was it that large open areas are conducive to transportation of sound by substandard speakers. In the Metro, at the airport, announcements are horrid. You simply can't understand anything. Why not have a screen that prints useful information all the time.
And that's another thing. Why do airlines insist on no information? Hello customers, we are not informing you why you're flight has been delayed over an hour. Because you don't want that information. It's just too hard to tell you.
And, how come there's never enough seats in American airports? This plane can seat 200. Hmm, there appears to be 100 seats available. Why are so many people standing?
I will say, both Germany and India have it right. India, I think, is managing, because despite the claim of a billion people, far, far, far, more Americans travel at a given airport at any time. Major cities in India still seem to only have about as many airplanes as a minor city in the US.
Um, the usual complaint about how utterly cramped planes are, how the arm-rests don't make sense at all. There's a guy sitting in the middle. There's two armrests on either side of him. Either he gets to use it or the aisle/window seat guy does, or possibly neither, if they don't want to get that up close and personal.
And of course, the usual gibberish about how electronic equipment can interfere with airline stuff (and cell phones). Mostly, they just want you to turn it off because it creates distractions for them. So why don't they just admit this, instead of feeding us this line.
Oh yes, India is also good about asking whether you have liquids or not.
I will say that perhaps some things are lax. I needed to check in some luggage. In the US, this would normally mean passing the luggage to the person behind the counter, and they'd deal with it. At Mumbai, you go over to the middle of the floor where there's an X-ray person. They check it, and once approved, They put a strap around your luggage saying it's been checked. You then take the luggage to the flight attendant.
I've mentioned before how stupid airlines are organized, right? No one knows where to stand. Nothing is at all obvious. There's no attendant out on the floor telling people what to do. Come on, folks, figure something better.
And I've always wondered how I can trust those conveyer belts. After all the work it takes to verify who you are, the way you get your luggage back is to place in on a conveyer belt. Whoever grabs it, it's theirs. It's amazing the trust involved, and how it manages to succeed.
I bought an awfully cheap suitcase (I think it was under ten bucks), which looked solid, but once I got it back, tried the combination, it failed. I figured it must not be mine. But then, I realized I had a cheap suitcase. Its brandname is not obvious. The color was right. The weight was right. I then checked the ID from the airlines. Check.
Must be mine.
Great. I may have to try 1000 combinations. At 1 combination a second, that would take some 15 minutes or more.
Luckily, I found the number within about a hundred tries. Turns out, for some odd reason, one of my digits slipped. The other two remained intact. Stupid cheap suitcase.
Oh, more about Kingfisher. You'd think you could get, y'know, beer. After all, Kingfisher is a beer company.
But no. You can't. India bans beers on domestic flights. You can't buy alcohol. You can't get it in the airports either. Basically, India has a prohibition era view of alcohol. Alcohol is bad. Alcohol leads to alcoholism. Yadda yadda.
The younger set (and the poor) don't believe this, but enough people do. Makes me a touch sad.
Hmm, oh yes, I'll tell you about my arrival in Mumbai. After suffering chills (I was not feeling well) arriving, I was told that I would have a driver pick me up. As I'll discuss later, drivers are a big deal ofr the Indian public. While drivers are quite expensive in the US, they are not in India, and there are lots and lots of drivers you can effectively hire for the whole day, at a reasonable price, provided you're American or middle to upper-middle (or upper) class.
A middle-class American, due to exchange rates, is upper class in terms of wealth, in India.
Anyway, I had to wade through a sea of people to find the driver. Then, instead of following him to his car, he tells me to sit and wait at this curb with cars going by. Apparently, I'm too good to walk. Of course, he just added an element of distraction. Now that we're separated, we have to locate each other again. Here's a man I barely looked at three minutes (he was old), and he was supposed to locate me.
The good news was that I looked foreign among lots of non-foreigners. Needless to say, many people were accosting me to accept rides.
Still, once I got in the vehicle, I wasn't sure I was in the right one. The guy's English seemed rather limited. I called my friend. She called the driver. I talked to her on his mobile. Yes, everyone (except the abject poor) has a mobile in India. Drivers, who are pretty low down on the totem pole (among those working), have mobiles.
One big difference in Mumbai was the orderly traffic. Well, compared to the madness that is Bangalore. There were hardly any motorbikes. They were no 3-wheel rickshaws (apparently, banned in South Bombay). People more or less seemed to respect the dashed lines on the road (though still less so than Americans--straddling the car across the dotted lines, a familiar scene in movies that show roads, is almost the norm in India).
Anyhoo, I'm beat.
I'll figure out more to say later.
Thus, Bombay became Mumbai. Madras became Chennai. Calcutta became Kolkata. Other places have remained the same. New Delhi (or simply Delhi, to natives) hasn't changed names. Bangalore hasn't either, although a proposed name of Bengaluru (pronounced "bung a loo roo") is in the offing.
By the way, Bangalore is actually pronounced "bang uh lore". That is, bang, rhyming with clang, sang, dang. Not rhyming with dung, hung, and clung.
I know, educated Americans, in an attempt to sound more educated, learn to pronounce their vowels more French (or perhaps Spanish). Thus, "a" is "uh', "i" is "e", "e" is "a",
"o" is pronounced the same, and so is "u". Or something like that.
A typical American pronounces "a" flat, as in "bat", "cat", and yes, "flat". It works wrong for pronouncing most names of European origin, and so often, we apply the rules for Indian places too. Except, technically, the British named Bangalore. So, there.
Anyhoo, I wanted to visit Dami. She's pretty worldly for an Indian. Grew up in Singapore. Studied in England and the US. She's had to move to India for personal reasons. So I hadn't seen her in a year, and hadn't expected to see her until she could make it back to the US.
However, once this trip was set up, I thought it might be good to make that trip.
The problem was planning. I didn't know one domestic airline from the next. With names like "Air Deccan", "Jet Airways", and "Spicejet", who knew what I was getting. The only oddly familiar airline was "Kingfisher" and mostly because it's a famous beer of India.
Kingfisher founder, Vijay Mallaya, has been compared to Richard Branson, for his outsized personality, and of course, now, for his airline.
Kingfisher is, in many respects, representative of India. India has a vast range of wealthy, from the abject poor, to the impossibly rich (OK, not Dubai rich).
By that, I mean that there are some in India, who feel that they can compete, in terms of luxury, with the best of 'em. Thus, India has some of the best hotels in the world, some of the best restaurants, some of the worst traffic. Ah, just kidding, there. (No, not really).
The airline is pretty snazzy. Each "guest" is given a little small plastic bag, something akin to what a little kid might take to school, carrying erasers, and such. The bag contains earphones (you can collect a new pair every trip!), a mint, some handi-wipes, or whatever they're called.
Each seat, even in economy, has what amounts to a "pillow" that I've only seen in Lufthansa. Basically, it's attached to the back of the head of the seat, and you can fold these "wings" out so that sidesleepers like me, can kinda get the experience of sleeping on the side (they're tiny, so it's not great).
The menu is far superior than any American version. You get a main course, plus a side dish and desert. They use real utensils, though plastic cups (tastefully red, to look like china) are used. This must be a pain to clean up.
Compare this to a typical American flight where utensil-less eating is highly sought after. Sandwiches are good for exactly that reason.
Apparently, Kingfisher is noted for the beauty of its attendants, who appear to be all women, and rather young. One guy (Indian) noted that he wanted to travel on KLM, a Malaysian airlines also noted for their selective flight attendant requirements ("ugly people need not apply").
I have to say, for major cities, neither Bangalore nor Mumbai have significant airports. There was no line (or barely any to speak of) on either leg of the flight. There actually appeared to be enough seats for everyone to sit and wait.
But wait, wait, here's the big difference. The gates aren't gates like the US.
To figure out where you fly out from, you check the departure list, which only lists flights leaving in the next hour or so. This amounts to maybe the next ten flights. It literally is one flight, then ten minutes later, another one, then twenty minutes later another.
Unlike the US, where you can do the security check anytime (sooner being better), you have to wait until about an hour before the flight to do the security check.
Typically, you send your carry-ons with you. No need to remove laptops. No need to remove shoes. Then, they wave a wand around you to check for metal. That's about it.
Oh yes. They give you what appears to be one of those identification tags. You know, the ones that sit at the counter, where you can put your address and name and affix it to your luggage?
Except, it's different in India. Once you get your carry-on checked, you need to get that ID tag stamped. They check for this stamp (or some ink) before letting you on.
Like I said, there's not exactly a gate for your airplane. More or less, there's a gate per airline, which leads you to...a bus. The bus then transports you to a plane, and you get on the plane.
Although I was planning to write about Mumbai, I think I'll talk more about planes (I'm tired, and I want to write something longer for that).
First, I want to say this. Whose idea was it that large open areas are conducive to transportation of sound by substandard speakers. In the Metro, at the airport, announcements are horrid. You simply can't understand anything. Why not have a screen that prints useful information all the time.
And that's another thing. Why do airlines insist on no information? Hello customers, we are not informing you why you're flight has been delayed over an hour. Because you don't want that information. It's just too hard to tell you.
And, how come there's never enough seats in American airports? This plane can seat 200. Hmm, there appears to be 100 seats available. Why are so many people standing?
I will say, both Germany and India have it right. India, I think, is managing, because despite the claim of a billion people, far, far, far, more Americans travel at a given airport at any time. Major cities in India still seem to only have about as many airplanes as a minor city in the US.
Um, the usual complaint about how utterly cramped planes are, how the arm-rests don't make sense at all. There's a guy sitting in the middle. There's two armrests on either side of him. Either he gets to use it or the aisle/window seat guy does, or possibly neither, if they don't want to get that up close and personal.
And of course, the usual gibberish about how electronic equipment can interfere with airline stuff (and cell phones). Mostly, they just want you to turn it off because it creates distractions for them. So why don't they just admit this, instead of feeding us this line.
Oh yes, India is also good about asking whether you have liquids or not.
I will say that perhaps some things are lax. I needed to check in some luggage. In the US, this would normally mean passing the luggage to the person behind the counter, and they'd deal with it. At Mumbai, you go over to the middle of the floor where there's an X-ray person. They check it, and once approved, They put a strap around your luggage saying it's been checked. You then take the luggage to the flight attendant.
I've mentioned before how stupid airlines are organized, right? No one knows where to stand. Nothing is at all obvious. There's no attendant out on the floor telling people what to do. Come on, folks, figure something better.
And I've always wondered how I can trust those conveyer belts. After all the work it takes to verify who you are, the way you get your luggage back is to place in on a conveyer belt. Whoever grabs it, it's theirs. It's amazing the trust involved, and how it manages to succeed.
I bought an awfully cheap suitcase (I think it was under ten bucks), which looked solid, but once I got it back, tried the combination, it failed. I figured it must not be mine. But then, I realized I had a cheap suitcase. Its brandname is not obvious. The color was right. The weight was right. I then checked the ID from the airlines. Check.
Must be mine.
Great. I may have to try 1000 combinations. At 1 combination a second, that would take some 15 minutes or more.
Luckily, I found the number within about a hundred tries. Turns out, for some odd reason, one of my digits slipped. The other two remained intact. Stupid cheap suitcase.
Oh, more about Kingfisher. You'd think you could get, y'know, beer. After all, Kingfisher is a beer company.
But no. You can't. India bans beers on domestic flights. You can't buy alcohol. You can't get it in the airports either. Basically, India has a prohibition era view of alcohol. Alcohol is bad. Alcohol leads to alcoholism. Yadda yadda.
The younger set (and the poor) don't believe this, but enough people do. Makes me a touch sad.
Hmm, oh yes, I'll tell you about my arrival in Mumbai. After suffering chills (I was not feeling well) arriving, I was told that I would have a driver pick me up. As I'll discuss later, drivers are a big deal ofr the Indian public. While drivers are quite expensive in the US, they are not in India, and there are lots and lots of drivers you can effectively hire for the whole day, at a reasonable price, provided you're American or middle to upper-middle (or upper) class.
A middle-class American, due to exchange rates, is upper class in terms of wealth, in India.
Anyway, I had to wade through a sea of people to find the driver. Then, instead of following him to his car, he tells me to sit and wait at this curb with cars going by. Apparently, I'm too good to walk. Of course, he just added an element of distraction. Now that we're separated, we have to locate each other again. Here's a man I barely looked at three minutes (he was old), and he was supposed to locate me.
The good news was that I looked foreign among lots of non-foreigners. Needless to say, many people were accosting me to accept rides.
Still, once I got in the vehicle, I wasn't sure I was in the right one. The guy's English seemed rather limited. I called my friend. She called the driver. I talked to her on his mobile. Yes, everyone (except the abject poor) has a mobile in India. Drivers, who are pretty low down on the totem pole (among those working), have mobiles.
One big difference in Mumbai was the orderly traffic. Well, compared to the madness that is Bangalore. There were hardly any motorbikes. They were no 3-wheel rickshaws (apparently, banned in South Bombay). People more or less seemed to respect the dashed lines on the road (though still less so than Americans--straddling the car across the dotted lines, a familiar scene in movies that show roads, is almost the norm in India).
Anyhoo, I'm beat.
I'll figure out more to say later.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Ice, Ice, Baby
Americans are obsessed with ice. Any place you go, restaurant, hotel, workplace, and anything you drink, short of coffee and tea, has to be just above crystallization. I knew a coworker. He would go to our water dispenser which, mind you, is already quite chilled, then head to the freezer, go get some ice cubes, and add it to his already ice cold water.
I think he'd hate India, at least, for its lack of ice.
The big beer in India is Kingfisher, run by a mogul (well, not really) who's India's version of Richard Branson, the flashy owner of Virgin airlines. Indeed, the reason the comparison is made is because Kingfisher is also an airline.
But I'll talk about that later.
This chilled beer is not nearly as chilled as you'd expect. It feels 10 degrees warmer than chilled beer.
And sodas? Often at room temperature.
I'm staying at a five-star hotel. Even at the cheapest of motels in the US, you can ice by the bucketful. Literally. I can't get ice. I have to call someone to get it for me. And, I'm told "beware of ice" just as I'm told "beware the water".
So I'm drinking bottled water (mostly), although they call it mineral water. I don't think that's the same as what Americans (or Europeans) can mineral water.
I'm drinking a local brand called the Himalayan. Evian, you see, is way, way too expensive. Indeed, the five star hotel overprices everything.
And why am I at a five star hotel? I don't know. I suppose it's a way for the host country to impress us about India. Have your guests stay at a five star hotel.
Ah, how I miss my ice.
I think he'd hate India, at least, for its lack of ice.
The big beer in India is Kingfisher, run by a mogul (well, not really) who's India's version of Richard Branson, the flashy owner of Virgin airlines. Indeed, the reason the comparison is made is because Kingfisher is also an airline.
But I'll talk about that later.
This chilled beer is not nearly as chilled as you'd expect. It feels 10 degrees warmer than chilled beer.
And sodas? Often at room temperature.
I'm staying at a five-star hotel. Even at the cheapest of motels in the US, you can ice by the bucketful. Literally. I can't get ice. I have to call someone to get it for me. And, I'm told "beware of ice" just as I'm told "beware the water".
So I'm drinking bottled water (mostly), although they call it mineral water. I don't think that's the same as what Americans (or Europeans) can mineral water.
I'm drinking a local brand called the Himalayan. Evian, you see, is way, way too expensive. Indeed, the five star hotel overprices everything.
And why am I at a five star hotel? I don't know. I suppose it's a way for the host country to impress us about India. Have your guests stay at a five star hotel.
Ah, how I miss my ice.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
The Times They Are A...Indian?
One of the main newspapers in India (or is it?) is The Times of India. However, it lacks the seriousness of a paper like the New York Times or the Washington Post. It feels more like USA Today.
Indian English, when written, comes across like tabloids. Here's an example:
Indeed, this kind of information barely passes itself off as news. It's more of a PR thing where India can say "Hey, people love India!". Much of the newspaper shows this kind of light fluff.
I wonder why that is. I wonder if the goal is to produce a rosy picture of India for its readers. Sure, there's international news about Jeff Skilling, former CEO of Enron, going to jail, and there are mentions of various political ongoings. But would the Times of India ever have discovered the corruption of Enron were it in India?
Indeed, I'm told, like many countries, India has its fair share of corruption, yet, this kind of everyday knowledge is not covered. The newspaper does not serve to inform the public or shame the public or what have you.
When President Bush wanted legal action against the New York Times for revealing torture, that's the kind of hard hitting journalism that's expected in a so-called democratic society. The lack of it in such a popular newspaper shows, at the very least, willful ignorance of what's going on.
My feeling, and it's only just that, is there are two reasons for this. First is indeed, the USA Today effect. Audiences may not want to read negative things in India. After all, the vast majority of the public want movies with singing and dancing. They don't want auteur cinema. They don't want depressing endings. They don't want the bad guys to win at the end. They simply want to have a good time, to forget about their own personal issues for a while.
The other, which is, alas more insidious, is whether the government would clamp down on such investigations. Thus, there is a polite agreement. The newspapers report on rather tame items, and the government proceeds as it wants, free of really serious investigation.
Now, again, maybe I'm picking on the wrong newspaper. Maybe this newspaper is really absolute fluff, and not indicative of true Indian papers. But I'm not so sure. This main newspaper is much thinner than even USA Today, and certainly a great deal thinner than the Washington Post or the New York Times which are nearly booklike in its thickness, and thus, show how many reporters are covering all facets of society.
Indian English, when written, comes across like tabloids. Here's an example:
Corporate America is embracing Indian philosophy in a big way. Suddenly, says Businessweek magazine in its latest issu, phrases from the Bhagavad Gita are popping up in the management tomes and on web sites of consultants.
Indeed, this kind of information barely passes itself off as news. It's more of a PR thing where India can say "Hey, people love India!". Much of the newspaper shows this kind of light fluff.
I wonder why that is. I wonder if the goal is to produce a rosy picture of India for its readers. Sure, there's international news about Jeff Skilling, former CEO of Enron, going to jail, and there are mentions of various political ongoings. But would the Times of India ever have discovered the corruption of Enron were it in India?
Indeed, I'm told, like many countries, India has its fair share of corruption, yet, this kind of everyday knowledge is not covered. The newspaper does not serve to inform the public or shame the public or what have you.
When President Bush wanted legal action against the New York Times for revealing torture, that's the kind of hard hitting journalism that's expected in a so-called democratic society. The lack of it in such a popular newspaper shows, at the very least, willful ignorance of what's going on.
My feeling, and it's only just that, is there are two reasons for this. First is indeed, the USA Today effect. Audiences may not want to read negative things in India. After all, the vast majority of the public want movies with singing and dancing. They don't want auteur cinema. They don't want depressing endings. They don't want the bad guys to win at the end. They simply want to have a good time, to forget about their own personal issues for a while.
The other, which is, alas more insidious, is whether the government would clamp down on such investigations. Thus, there is a polite agreement. The newspapers report on rather tame items, and the government proceeds as it wants, free of really serious investigation.
Now, again, maybe I'm picking on the wrong newspaper. Maybe this newspaper is really absolute fluff, and not indicative of true Indian papers. But I'm not so sure. This main newspaper is much thinner than even USA Today, and certainly a great deal thinner than the Washington Post or the New York Times which are nearly booklike in its thickness, and thus, show how many reporters are covering all facets of society.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
3-2-1 Contact
India shares many values with the West, and yet, they are also in Asia, and share much in common with countries like China, even if both a typical Indian and a typical Chinese would disagree.
In particular, India, still being rather conservative, even in the modern era, segregate men and women. Men stay with men. Women stay with women. It is almost the equivalent of American junior high schools. Some of this attitude is slowly changing, but still, it is quite prevalent.
I was thinking of this while entertaining another thought. I was asked whether I was enjoying Diwali, which I'm told, is the most festive time in India. Firecrackers are popped, and the city is in a jubilant time. I would say that I am nont enjoying Diwali the way the natives are. The holiday means far less to me. But more than that, I am travelling in India by myself.
I would ask these people who wonder how I am enjoying Diwali, whether they would, upon first visiting a new country, by themselves, go out and do something by themselves. Even those who do celebrate Diwali, how often have they ever done it by themselves? Probably never. And yet, they imagine they might actually celebrate it alone? In reality, it wouldn't happen. It hasn't happened. I think these they've simply never entertained the idea that these festivals, a way for friends and family to be jubilant in the midst of crowds, is anything besides something done with others.
I'm sure my friend would suggest "But so many people are enjoying it" and would hope that I could somehow enjoy it too, even as I would retort "Fine, enjoy Diwali, but do not meet any friends and family in the process" which would, I'm sure, be greeted strangely. How odd of me to say such a thing! The thought is crazy. But it's not.
Anyway, as I was being taken around, I thought about how the segregation of men and women generally mean that men (at least) are more, for lack of a better word, more homoerotic. That is, they find more kinship with men than women. Homoerotic, of course, is far too strong a word to describe the situation.
My driver had said that Indians would not think twice of two men sharing a room. Certainly, it has far less negative connotations than a man and a woman sharing a room, where thoughts of lidinous male desires overcoming the chastity of a scared woman abound. Men and women must be separated lest evil and carnal thoughts manifest themselves.
Yet, men and women do seek company, and men, by observance, seem to have a need to be touched. The closest analogy in American society is sports where men play with other men. Thus, the notion of butt slapping, so common in, say, football, while perfectly accepted in these sports, is seen as far too homoerotic for those who don't participate in sports. Were I to, say, butt slap one of my colleagues, they would feel profoundly disturbed, wondering how I had the audacity to touch them.
While butt slapping is, of course, unheard of among Indians, it is not so uncommon to give a shoulder rub of sorts. Although I've seen Americans do that as well, again, there is some caution in this, and most American males would find this unnerving.
That is an interesting aftermath of men and women getting together more often and not being segregated. Males, at least, in the US, have become more homophobic, whereas the thought is almost so obscene, that it doesn't occur in societies where men and women are separated. American males often accuse or insult other men by questioning their sexuality. This seems far less common in Indian culture, even if, practically speaking, homosexuality is perhaps far more taboo.
Segregation of men and women is, I suspect, a result of arranged marriages. India is perhaps the last bastion of this notion. Although this concept was popular in China and even Europe many years ago, it is not regularly practiced outside the Indian subcontinent (thus, also Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, etc). When there is arranged marriages, there is far less need for dating, and indeed, it is often frowned upon. What if you meet a guy or girl of a family that is not worthy. Add to that a caste system, and you find parents more worried about a girl's family than about the girl. Again, these ideas are not particularly unique to India. They were once prevalent everywhere, but have remaine d so with India.
Males therefore have some reticence talking to women, although this is also the care in the US, at least, among the geek crowd.
I recall once, when one of my ex-housemates was in a room with students and teaching assistants. He came behind a guy, and started giving him a shoulder rub while talking about something or another. This would be seen as perfectly fine in Indian culture. This guy merely said "Don't touch me". When a woman did the same, he was nearly orgiastic. It's perhaps these thoughts of a man being able to pleasure another male that made this person queasy when my friend, who had meant nothing sexual by the move, was interpreted as having been hit on.
In the end, seeing how other cultures operate makes you realize that you operate within certain rules as well, and like many, derive some comfort within a value system, because it's familiar.
I will say that even that this is done with people familiar with one another. Thus, the one guy giving a shoulder rub to another is done with people that feel close enough with one another, at similar stations in society. Someone, like me, perceived as a foreigner, would not get that treatment only because it seems too familiar with someone that is outside the society.
In particular, India, still being rather conservative, even in the modern era, segregate men and women. Men stay with men. Women stay with women. It is almost the equivalent of American junior high schools. Some of this attitude is slowly changing, but still, it is quite prevalent.
I was thinking of this while entertaining another thought. I was asked whether I was enjoying Diwali, which I'm told, is the most festive time in India. Firecrackers are popped, and the city is in a jubilant time. I would say that I am nont enjoying Diwali the way the natives are. The holiday means far less to me. But more than that, I am travelling in India by myself.
I would ask these people who wonder how I am enjoying Diwali, whether they would, upon first visiting a new country, by themselves, go out and do something by themselves. Even those who do celebrate Diwali, how often have they ever done it by themselves? Probably never. And yet, they imagine they might actually celebrate it alone? In reality, it wouldn't happen. It hasn't happened. I think these they've simply never entertained the idea that these festivals, a way for friends and family to be jubilant in the midst of crowds, is anything besides something done with others.
I'm sure my friend would suggest "But so many people are enjoying it" and would hope that I could somehow enjoy it too, even as I would retort "Fine, enjoy Diwali, but do not meet any friends and family in the process" which would, I'm sure, be greeted strangely. How odd of me to say such a thing! The thought is crazy. But it's not.
Anyway, as I was being taken around, I thought about how the segregation of men and women generally mean that men (at least) are more, for lack of a better word, more homoerotic. That is, they find more kinship with men than women. Homoerotic, of course, is far too strong a word to describe the situation.
My driver had said that Indians would not think twice of two men sharing a room. Certainly, it has far less negative connotations than a man and a woman sharing a room, where thoughts of lidinous male desires overcoming the chastity of a scared woman abound. Men and women must be separated lest evil and carnal thoughts manifest themselves.
Yet, men and women do seek company, and men, by observance, seem to have a need to be touched. The closest analogy in American society is sports where men play with other men. Thus, the notion of butt slapping, so common in, say, football, while perfectly accepted in these sports, is seen as far too homoerotic for those who don't participate in sports. Were I to, say, butt slap one of my colleagues, they would feel profoundly disturbed, wondering how I had the audacity to touch them.
While butt slapping is, of course, unheard of among Indians, it is not so uncommon to give a shoulder rub of sorts. Although I've seen Americans do that as well, again, there is some caution in this, and most American males would find this unnerving.
That is an interesting aftermath of men and women getting together more often and not being segregated. Males, at least, in the US, have become more homophobic, whereas the thought is almost so obscene, that it doesn't occur in societies where men and women are separated. American males often accuse or insult other men by questioning their sexuality. This seems far less common in Indian culture, even if, practically speaking, homosexuality is perhaps far more taboo.
Segregation of men and women is, I suspect, a result of arranged marriages. India is perhaps the last bastion of this notion. Although this concept was popular in China and even Europe many years ago, it is not regularly practiced outside the Indian subcontinent (thus, also Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, etc). When there is arranged marriages, there is far less need for dating, and indeed, it is often frowned upon. What if you meet a guy or girl of a family that is not worthy. Add to that a caste system, and you find parents more worried about a girl's family than about the girl. Again, these ideas are not particularly unique to India. They were once prevalent everywhere, but have remaine d so with India.
Males therefore have some reticence talking to women, although this is also the care in the US, at least, among the geek crowd.
I recall once, when one of my ex-housemates was in a room with students and teaching assistants. He came behind a guy, and started giving him a shoulder rub while talking about something or another. This would be seen as perfectly fine in Indian culture. This guy merely said "Don't touch me". When a woman did the same, he was nearly orgiastic. It's perhaps these thoughts of a man being able to pleasure another male that made this person queasy when my friend, who had meant nothing sexual by the move, was interpreted as having been hit on.
In the end, seeing how other cultures operate makes you realize that you operate within certain rules as well, and like many, derive some comfort within a value system, because it's familiar.
I will say that even that this is done with people familiar with one another. Thus, the one guy giving a shoulder rub to another is done with people that feel close enough with one another, at similar stations in society. Someone, like me, perceived as a foreigner, would not get that treatment only because it seems too familiar with someone that is outside the society.
You Are Being Served
It's perhaps too presumptuous to evaluate a culture by its five star hotels. I am currently staying at the Oberoi and due to my lack of adventure, I have not ventured into Bangalore. In any US city, having familiar culture landmarks (websites, a knowledge of how to deal with US roads, a rental car), I would be able to navigate by myself. I suppose I could manage the same in Bangalore, but there would be more difficulties.
As such, I've been eating at the hotel frequently. To be fair, the prices are expensive, at least by Indian standards. By American standards, they are somewhat pricey for a night out. And, more things are charged than usual.
I was, for example, eating at a Chinese restaurant within the hotel. I was charged for rice and water, which would be unheard of in the US. To be fair, the water was bottled water, but then, people often suggest that you drink bottled water in India, so it should be the norm and free.
The restaurant was quiet, serving three other groups besides myself. In particular, there was a group of three Indians sitting nearby, a man and presumably his wife, and a friend. Mostly, they spoke English. Mind you, this is an Indian form of English which I will detail in a moment.
India was last occupied by the British, and as such, have been greatly influenced by the British. Indeed, after so many years of control, up until Gandhi famously starved himself, and force the British out of India, there is still, surprisingly, great admiration for the British.
Somehow, the British class system found a kindred spirit in the Indian caste system. The Brits many years ago, I would imagine, found India charming, but treated the majority as lower class, their purpose to serve the British empire. They were not treated as equals. Even so, Indians were quick to please, to imitate the British way, especially in the way of service.
When the British left, this system of British class and servitude was left in place, and the Indians of higher caste and higher education filled the gap, taking the place of privileged Brits. Indian servitude therefore served their own.
The couple sitting near me spoke primarily English, alas, of the Indian variety. The accent is not a British accent, though it is strongly influenced by the British. It has Indian overtones, the sing song nature serving as remnants of the original mother tongue. Women, even among the well-to-do, never quite abandoned the colorful dress of the more conservative Hindu women. The men still bobble the head side to side in agreement, gesture with the hands to emphasize a point.
Even so, the kinds of gossipy conversation, the kind of judging of one another, is common, and it feels very much adopted from the West, even if it may have simply been sympathetic of the East.
I wonder, for example, whether Hong Kong, which was similarly under British rule, held the same kinds of standards, whether the Hong Kong well-to-do speak primarily in English. Perhaps they do.
As I was being served food, I noticed both at the Oberoi and another restaurant within a hotel, that the waiters are there to do more than simply deliver the food. They must also serve the food to you. This is typically done with a spoon and fork used as a kind of scissor/tong device, pressing food or rice, and being plated for your convenience. They are waiting for you to say "stop" as they serve you, which, if you're not aware of this convention, may lead to plate fulls of food, or, presumably, the staff eventually realizing you should have stopped six scoops ago, and asking if you really want more.
The experience, for a middle class person as myself, is both interesting, yet off putting. While I have taken advantage of telling people what to do, more so than I would at a Western hotel, I do find that I would like to do things myself. Still, I'm not prepared to learn the Bangalore style driving, and so I must rely on my driver to come at a certain time to pick me up, as he deferentially says "Absolutely, sir". This is frankly, nervewracking.
Yesterday, as I was travelling with co-workers, they also found the need to pay for everything, and that was awkward for me, although I didn't know what else to do. I certainly didn't have enough cash to cover everything. Fortunately, they could expense it to the company on my behalf.
On yesterday's travels, I bought some photos from a rather persistent child of perhaps 10, who was offering it for 50 rupees, or slightly more than a dollar. I thought that was a plenty fine bargain, but of course, he would have been happy with 10 rupees, and then he kept insisting I buy more and more and more. More photos, sir? Perhaps some money to help donate for some charitable cause, sir? It seems the rule is simple: if you wish to buy, then you should buy some more, and then some more.
I found this to be true, even in rather posh stores. I bought two scarves and some tea, but the store owners wanted me to buy a carpet for 200 dollars. 200 US dollars, that is, as 200 rupees is a mere four dollars, and thus a completely awesome (and thus unrealistic) bargain. That was far more than I wanted to spend, and yet, the people continued to pressure me to buy. The good news, I suppose, is once I decided I didn't want any more, they mostly dealt with the money transaction without hassle.
The buying experience has made me crave the American way where this kind of pressure is non-existent. The only time you are pressured in this fashion, and perhaps in a dishonest sort of way, is in the car rental business, where the people love to tack on any sort of insurance. Or perhaps with the familiar "do you want fries with that"? Otherwise, buying products at a store is often greeted with the amount you owe, and no further pressure to buy anything else.
It amuses me sometime to wonder what would happen if I grabbed one of the bracelets that these street vendors are so happy to push in my face, and then walk away. Surely, they would pester me more to pay, and I would say "but you have kindly offered it to me, and thus it is of highest insult that you should give it to me, and expect me to pay". However, I'm sure they would not see it this way, and would greatly harass me, something I'm not prepared to deal with.
I will say that at least all this harassment is done without anger, without yelling, though I'm sure if I pressed the matter more, it might be.
As such, I've been eating at the hotel frequently. To be fair, the prices are expensive, at least by Indian standards. By American standards, they are somewhat pricey for a night out. And, more things are charged than usual.
I was, for example, eating at a Chinese restaurant within the hotel. I was charged for rice and water, which would be unheard of in the US. To be fair, the water was bottled water, but then, people often suggest that you drink bottled water in India, so it should be the norm and free.
The restaurant was quiet, serving three other groups besides myself. In particular, there was a group of three Indians sitting nearby, a man and presumably his wife, and a friend. Mostly, they spoke English. Mind you, this is an Indian form of English which I will detail in a moment.
India was last occupied by the British, and as such, have been greatly influenced by the British. Indeed, after so many years of control, up until Gandhi famously starved himself, and force the British out of India, there is still, surprisingly, great admiration for the British.
Somehow, the British class system found a kindred spirit in the Indian caste system. The Brits many years ago, I would imagine, found India charming, but treated the majority as lower class, their purpose to serve the British empire. They were not treated as equals. Even so, Indians were quick to please, to imitate the British way, especially in the way of service.
When the British left, this system of British class and servitude was left in place, and the Indians of higher caste and higher education filled the gap, taking the place of privileged Brits. Indian servitude therefore served their own.
The couple sitting near me spoke primarily English, alas, of the Indian variety. The accent is not a British accent, though it is strongly influenced by the British. It has Indian overtones, the sing song nature serving as remnants of the original mother tongue. Women, even among the well-to-do, never quite abandoned the colorful dress of the more conservative Hindu women. The men still bobble the head side to side in agreement, gesture with the hands to emphasize a point.
Even so, the kinds of gossipy conversation, the kind of judging of one another, is common, and it feels very much adopted from the West, even if it may have simply been sympathetic of the East.
I wonder, for example, whether Hong Kong, which was similarly under British rule, held the same kinds of standards, whether the Hong Kong well-to-do speak primarily in English. Perhaps they do.
As I was being served food, I noticed both at the Oberoi and another restaurant within a hotel, that the waiters are there to do more than simply deliver the food. They must also serve the food to you. This is typically done with a spoon and fork used as a kind of scissor/tong device, pressing food or rice, and being plated for your convenience. They are waiting for you to say "stop" as they serve you, which, if you're not aware of this convention, may lead to plate fulls of food, or, presumably, the staff eventually realizing you should have stopped six scoops ago, and asking if you really want more.
The experience, for a middle class person as myself, is both interesting, yet off putting. While I have taken advantage of telling people what to do, more so than I would at a Western hotel, I do find that I would like to do things myself. Still, I'm not prepared to learn the Bangalore style driving, and so I must rely on my driver to come at a certain time to pick me up, as he deferentially says "Absolutely, sir". This is frankly, nervewracking.
Yesterday, as I was travelling with co-workers, they also found the need to pay for everything, and that was awkward for me, although I didn't know what else to do. I certainly didn't have enough cash to cover everything. Fortunately, they could expense it to the company on my behalf.
On yesterday's travels, I bought some photos from a rather persistent child of perhaps 10, who was offering it for 50 rupees, or slightly more than a dollar. I thought that was a plenty fine bargain, but of course, he would have been happy with 10 rupees, and then he kept insisting I buy more and more and more. More photos, sir? Perhaps some money to help donate for some charitable cause, sir? It seems the rule is simple: if you wish to buy, then you should buy some more, and then some more.
I found this to be true, even in rather posh stores. I bought two scarves and some tea, but the store owners wanted me to buy a carpet for 200 dollars. 200 US dollars, that is, as 200 rupees is a mere four dollars, and thus a completely awesome (and thus unrealistic) bargain. That was far more than I wanted to spend, and yet, the people continued to pressure me to buy. The good news, I suppose, is once I decided I didn't want any more, they mostly dealt with the money transaction without hassle.
The buying experience has made me crave the American way where this kind of pressure is non-existent. The only time you are pressured in this fashion, and perhaps in a dishonest sort of way, is in the car rental business, where the people love to tack on any sort of insurance. Or perhaps with the familiar "do you want fries with that"? Otherwise, buying products at a store is often greeted with the amount you owe, and no further pressure to buy anything else.
It amuses me sometime to wonder what would happen if I grabbed one of the bracelets that these street vendors are so happy to push in my face, and then walk away. Surely, they would pester me more to pay, and I would say "but you have kindly offered it to me, and thus it is of highest insult that you should give it to me, and expect me to pay". However, I'm sure they would not see it this way, and would greatly harass me, something I'm not prepared to deal with.
I will say that at least all this harassment is done without anger, without yelling, though I'm sure if I pressed the matter more, it might be.
Travelling Man
I've been in India for a few days now, and given that it's my first trip overseas and that India isn't Europe, I thought I'd go over my thoughts so far.
I touched down in Bangalore Wednesday night near midnight. Most of the people on the flight were Indian, possibly returning from outside India to celebrate Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. Diwali is considered a holiday celebrated in the north, while Bangalore is quite far south.
Even so, this holiday is observed nationwide. Most people like to light firecrackers for the event.
When I arrived, many of us got in line, and I had no idea what for. I saw a few other Westerners, and they seemed to line up with the Indians. Apparently, they were checking passports and the like. I had to fill out a form, which was rather small for the information I needed to fill, apparently, a problem all over the world (what? a city couldn't possibly have more than the 8 character slots we provide!).
Picking up luggage was a small pain. There were many people gather with those metal trolleys (apparently, complimentary) to carry luggage. While American airports often have several belts to pick up luggage, depending on the flight, Bangalore only has one, and the space is rather tiny.
Next, I wanted to get a ride to the hotel. I was told there would be someone with a sign with my name and the Oberoi hotel, apparently, a five (I was actually told seven) star hotel. Although not the most expensive hotel in Bangalore, it's still rather ritzy.
I had one of the attendants from another hotel ask if I was planning to go to that hotel, and I said no, I wanted to go to the Oberoi. He pointed me to a man who had my name on some list. I was slightly concerned, but went along with it. A second man joined him, apparently, the driver.
We drove about a mile or so to the hotel. The hotel is on the main street of Bangalore called Mahatma Gandhi Street(?). The natives apparently call the street "M-Zero".
The hotel did look rather fancy. As I entered, I had no idea how much I should tip the driver, and decided not to tip. I was told later that tipping is not that frequent, but I still felt guilty.
To check-in, I had to talk to the hotel staff. I'm used to the American way where you go up to a counter, and talk to someone standing and check in. At the Oberoi, checking in is much like getting a loan at a large fancy bank. Women in saris sit behind an impressive desk as they get the required information.
I asked about Internet, and they said they could provide me with a user name/password to access their system.
As they lead me to my room, I was surprised that the room was outside, much like a budget motel. Most American hotels have rooms that face into a hallway, presumably to insulate against some of the traffic noise. And indeed, since the hotel is right on M0, you hear a lot of honking. I'll explain about the honking later.
The room has two twin sized beds put side by side, with four oversized pillows, two per bed. I have what would now be considered a small conventional TV. Despite being five star, wide-screen 37 inch televisions are still infrequent. Like many hotels, there's a sense the television should be encased, and possibly hidden away. Modern flat screen large TVs are of sufficient beauty that this idea no longer applies.
I have a small couch and a small table.
Several things to note. There is no digital alarm clock, nor any alarm clock at all. However, India, being noted for its service has a human dealing with this. Indeed, at all hours, you can call room service to do whatever. Wake-up calls, which are often handled by computers in the US (just program the room and the time of the wake up call), are handled by people in India.
The staff, perhaps rather typical of India, and a holdover from British rule, is exceedingly polite, with "yes sir" and "whatever you say, sir" used quite frequently. There's a high level of deference not seen among Americans whose wait staff, while friendly, do not see themselves as lower class quite the way the help service does in India.
Perhaps the most notable observation right away in India is the driving. To the initial eye, it appears to be insane. Cars travel willy nilly, the dividing lines, when they exist, seem to be a mere reminder. All manner of vehicles travel around.
However, I've been in a few days, and can begin to explain some of the craziness.
Effectively, in the US, everyone drives the same vehicle. What I mean by that is most everyone drives a car, or some similar vehicle, and there is expectation that these cars can, for instance, travel at 60 or 70 mph with relative ease.
In India, there are many classes of vehicles on the road. There are cars, mostly of the small compact variety, but certainly even vehicles like the Toyota Corolla and minivans. There are many three wheeled vehicles that are cramped and seem to travel no faster than about 25 mph. There are many motorcycles too, as most people can't afford cars, and motorcycles are gas efficient. There are also standard bicycles. When an Indian refers to a bike, they are talking about motorcycles and possibly scooters/mopeds. Finally, there are tons and tons of busses.
Each of the vehicles have a different speed, and that causes a problem. In the United States where bicycles are rare, a typical car driver is often rather paranoid about hitting a bicycle, and will give wide berth when trying to pass a bicycle, or slow down immensely when passing a bicycle.
For an Indian, each vehicle has a natural speed it travels at. A bike is much slower than the equivalent American model, which often travels faster than cars. No one zooms at 70 mph. These bikes seem only capable of maybe 30 mph tops, or less. The cars are the fastest vehicles, but due to traffic, even they, too, rarely travel faster than 40 mph. Busses are slower as are large trucks and certainly bicycles.
This means a car almost always wishes to pass. Oh, did I mention there are pedestrians that are also on the road, most crossing whereever at a slow rate.
In India, drives drive on the left, and so there's a tendency to pass on the right (opposite of the US). Typically, if you are passing a bike, you get extremely close and beep. Bikers, therefore, aren't likely to make any wild and sudden moves for fear of being flattened by a car. A typical US driver would cause an accident very soon because there appears to be all sorts of unwritten rules about how to pass.
I have a driver assigned to me for the company the entire stay. I'll talk about what I think about him later. As a driver, he's often seeking to pass, and has great sense of how close we are to other vehicles. We are often inches from hitting a biker or another car, yet, he and everyone else appears to know their distances well enough, and have certain expectations.
In particular, honking is used all the time to indicate when you are passing. As far as I can tell, the honking is rarely done in anger. Honking typically means "I'm trying to pass on your right". If you are a bike, you might shift a little to your left, but you're expected not to move to the right, because you are going to be passed.
A car, being of comparable size, may decide not to move to the left, but the driver is always trying to push that. Much like, I gather, Nascar, if you are being squeezed by someone wanting to pass on the right, and see it, you move a little to the left, or maintain position, so the car may pass.
Pedestrians, while rarely running, must also know how to cross a street. Running would, indeed, cause some issues as you may inadvertently leap in front of oncoming traffic, making yourself unpredictable.
So most walk, or back off if a car is planning to travel in front. Thus, everyone in an Indian eco-culture of driving must know how to react, and to that extent, they are more aware in this insanity how to move.
By American standards, much of the driving occurs this way because it's what's always been done. The cops do not pull people over for driving this way, otherwise it would have to arrest everyone. It's like the beltway on an empty day. Most people travel above 55. If the police arrested everyone, it would greatly affect how everyone travels.
Because of these traffic patterns, you never travel very fast in the city. While this is true of most American city traffic, there's also stoplights everywhere, so Americans stop all the time. Indian traffic keeps moving. When you do have lights, which are oddly infrequent, they stop you for over a minute. I suppose that's typical in the US, but they have a clock letting you know how many seconds are left, so it feels longer, especially when you are used to moving all the time.
Indian traffic would drive my mother crazy, which is a good reason she should never visit India. She'd want the driver to drive safely, but to the driver, this is how he always drive, and to drive as my mother would want would be to drive in a particularly odd way.
Indian traffic is basically faster vehicles trying to pass slower ones, honking frequently to jostle for space. Since there are slower vehicles everywhere, you are always attempting to pass, and at close proximity to other cars. Very close.
This traffic also means that short distances take a long time to travel. Even on the highway, where you might get up to 55 mph, you generally have other vehicles going much more slowly (like 35 mph) that you must move around, and you can often multiply the time it takes to get anywhere by 2. If A and B were 60 miles apart on the highway, you'd expect one hour travel time. In India, expect two. If a local commute would run 20 minutes, expect 40.
Despite the number of people using the roads, traffic jams are rare. You're always moving, mostly because people use bikes to travel, and they occupy little space. Again, unlike the US, bikers are often more conservative when driving, and slower too. They rarely overtake anyone, as they do in the US.
Here's a surprise. Or not. Women never ride bikes (motorcycles) or almost never. By ride, I mean navigate. Many wear saris which reach their feet. Bikes are not really meant for such dressing. Thus, if women ride, they ride side saddle behind a man. Women rarely wear pants (not that I see, anyway).
Women do one thing that would give Americans a heart attack in the US. They carry small children, even babies, while riding side saddle behind the man driving the bike. Americans are so paranoid about their kids safety that they would wonder how they could endanger their kid this way. Yet, despite these traffic patterns, most take it as the norm. And because cars and child care are uncommon, if you have to travel with your kid, you have to travel with your kid. Americans don't understand this kind of necessity.
Women do drive moped/scooters, which travel slower than bikes, but at least, you can drive them with a sari, as there is space for that. Again, doubling even tripling on a bike is exceedingly common.
Other things to note when driving. There's a lot of English. A lot. Some ads have no Hindi at all. Presumably, in the city, there's some expectation that you can read English.
I also didn't see the desperate poverty (at least, in the city). OK, things look rather down-trodden, but they remind me of scenes of, say, Mexico, I've seen in films. Indeed, the homeless of America look far more pitiful then the average Indian, who doesn't seem like they are starving or anything. Again, that may be because of where I am in India.
Let me get back to more transportation. Busses. Many Indians ride busses. They are packed to the gills, and they are everywhere. You see busses as often as you see taxicabs in New York City. Indeed, busses come in all varieties from blah busses, to so-called luxury busses. In the US, you ride the bus. You rarely think "I'll ride the luxury bus", although the idea of an express bus is becoming more popular.
There's one other thing I've noticed a lot in city traffic. Dogs. There are lots of dogs in Bangalore, most of the same species. I don't know what it is, but they have a narrow pointy snout, and appear to be walking on high heels. You see these dogs everywhere. They are cute, but they snarl when you get close.
I don't notice beggars so much around the cities, but I haven't really tried walking in the city for fear of being run over. I think while people may be poor, they can afford clothing and eat and move around, and that's enough to keep them going on. Besides, India has a class system where people seem to know their place. In the US, the poor resent being poor, and are always thinking how they might be rich, even if this is unlikely.
Back to my driver. India's wealth has a huge range. A typical software engineer is likely to make no more than maybe 4-5 times as much as the "poorest" paid person, say, a teacher or an assistant coach. I'm talking about 100,000 dollars in salary to maybe 20,000 on the low end. In India, this ratio can be much larger, say, 10 times as large or so.
I've generally attributed this to the fact that advanced goods (electronics and such) are much more expensive than food. Say, you take a typical McDonald's meal. Maybe five bucks if you're stingy. An IPod is two hundred bucks. So that's 40 times as much. You can probably get a meal in India for the equivalent of 25 cents. An IPod still costs as much, so that's now 800 times as much to afford an IPod vs. a meal.
This means, for very little money, you can eat, and if you don't mind being cramped (and most Indians don't), you can live for cheap enough. And with so many Indians, there needs to be lots of jobs. Service is therefore often quite cheap.
I have a driver assigned to me for two weeks. In principle, I can have him drive me whereever, whenever. For example, he'll pick me up in the morning. He'll (I assume) hang around where I work all day long, filling up time in one way or another, until I'm ready to go. I don't even arrange that. It's not like I say "Pick me up at 5:30" and he's there at 5:30. I mean, if I decide at 5:30, I'm not ready, then he'll wait around until 6:30. Indeed, I suspect if I call him at 1 PM and want to go to the hotel, he'd be there in five minutes.
This means the life of an average driver is sitting around all day long, waiting to drive.
A driver is also poor. Any fees that are paid have to paid by me. If there were tolls, I'd be paying it. I know that sounds obvious, but it's something you don't think about until you have a driver.
The people I work for tend to take this for granted, even as they aren't "upper class" by any means. Even so, that's just how the system works.
I'll give you an example. I needed a SIM card so I could pay smaller rates than the outrageous international roaming in India. We were going to find a shop that sold it (these tend to be hole in the wall organizations, but that describes many such organizations).
Despite poverty, the poorest (above a certain level of poverty--such as my driver) all have mobile phones. It's far more prevalent in places like India than you'd imagine. A coworker and me decided to go to a restaurant. The driver, being unable to afford the meal, and indeed, expecting to do his job, was not invited. Even were he invited (which we did), he declined. His job is to wait, while we do things, so we wait.
I have to imagine this kind of service was ingrained by the British, which also has a class structure of their own, where the lower class has to maintain some sort of odd dignity, even while being greatly inconvenienced. It is their lot in life. In the US, the lower class don't think of themselves as lower class. Sure, they don't think they're rich, but they'll yell to the rich, if they feel they are being lacked respect. And unlike India, there are many people who are normally "rich" (or middle class) that take jobs that would normally be off-limits to someone like that in India. Thus, middle class kids work at McDonald's knowing full well they will not work their the rest of their lives. I doubt middle class Indian kids do this.
Finally, let me point out service. In a hotel, service is very important, and the customer is treated rather deferentially. I have to admit it's easy to get used to. I just heard a noise upstairs of drilling. In the US, the management might apologize but say the work has to be done. In India, they would try to stop the work because I'm the guest.
I will say that there's probably something different about someone like me from the Indian perspective.
Once upon a time, the people who went to these hotels in India were rich upper class Brits and the like. They treated the poor in a certain way, being used to giving out orders.
Nowadays, businesses pay for middle class types to go to these hotels. Prices are considered outrageous by Indian natives, are only moderately expensive by American standards. I had a breakfast buffet, perhaps the best I've had, for 500 rupees, which is maybe 11 bucks. This is crazy money for an Indian, who can eat for 50 rupees or maybe 50 cents, and of good quality. I bought a shirt for under twenty US dollars, which was hand-stiched in under three hours. In the US, you can't even consider that at all, and were it to exist, it would cost you one hundred dollars easily.
These hotels are now accomodating people that are not the upper class, but middle class, who are unaccustomed to high class service. But I see, from looking at others, that many other patrons at the hotel are in the same boat as me. Sure, there may be a few people who are fabulously wealthy, but more people are businessmen.
Well, that's my summary of India so far.
I touched down in Bangalore Wednesday night near midnight. Most of the people on the flight were Indian, possibly returning from outside India to celebrate Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. Diwali is considered a holiday celebrated in the north, while Bangalore is quite far south.
Even so, this holiday is observed nationwide. Most people like to light firecrackers for the event.
When I arrived, many of us got in line, and I had no idea what for. I saw a few other Westerners, and they seemed to line up with the Indians. Apparently, they were checking passports and the like. I had to fill out a form, which was rather small for the information I needed to fill, apparently, a problem all over the world (what? a city couldn't possibly have more than the 8 character slots we provide!).
Picking up luggage was a small pain. There were many people gather with those metal trolleys (apparently, complimentary) to carry luggage. While American airports often have several belts to pick up luggage, depending on the flight, Bangalore only has one, and the space is rather tiny.
Next, I wanted to get a ride to the hotel. I was told there would be someone with a sign with my name and the Oberoi hotel, apparently, a five (I was actually told seven) star hotel. Although not the most expensive hotel in Bangalore, it's still rather ritzy.
I had one of the attendants from another hotel ask if I was planning to go to that hotel, and I said no, I wanted to go to the Oberoi. He pointed me to a man who had my name on some list. I was slightly concerned, but went along with it. A second man joined him, apparently, the driver.
We drove about a mile or so to the hotel. The hotel is on the main street of Bangalore called Mahatma Gandhi Street(?). The natives apparently call the street "M-Zero".
The hotel did look rather fancy. As I entered, I had no idea how much I should tip the driver, and decided not to tip. I was told later that tipping is not that frequent, but I still felt guilty.
To check-in, I had to talk to the hotel staff. I'm used to the American way where you go up to a counter, and talk to someone standing and check in. At the Oberoi, checking in is much like getting a loan at a large fancy bank. Women in saris sit behind an impressive desk as they get the required information.
I asked about Internet, and they said they could provide me with a user name/password to access their system.
As they lead me to my room, I was surprised that the room was outside, much like a budget motel. Most American hotels have rooms that face into a hallway, presumably to insulate against some of the traffic noise. And indeed, since the hotel is right on M0, you hear a lot of honking. I'll explain about the honking later.
The room has two twin sized beds put side by side, with four oversized pillows, two per bed. I have what would now be considered a small conventional TV. Despite being five star, wide-screen 37 inch televisions are still infrequent. Like many hotels, there's a sense the television should be encased, and possibly hidden away. Modern flat screen large TVs are of sufficient beauty that this idea no longer applies.
I have a small couch and a small table.
Several things to note. There is no digital alarm clock, nor any alarm clock at all. However, India, being noted for its service has a human dealing with this. Indeed, at all hours, you can call room service to do whatever. Wake-up calls, which are often handled by computers in the US (just program the room and the time of the wake up call), are handled by people in India.
The staff, perhaps rather typical of India, and a holdover from British rule, is exceedingly polite, with "yes sir" and "whatever you say, sir" used quite frequently. There's a high level of deference not seen among Americans whose wait staff, while friendly, do not see themselves as lower class quite the way the help service does in India.
Perhaps the most notable observation right away in India is the driving. To the initial eye, it appears to be insane. Cars travel willy nilly, the dividing lines, when they exist, seem to be a mere reminder. All manner of vehicles travel around.
However, I've been in a few days, and can begin to explain some of the craziness.
Effectively, in the US, everyone drives the same vehicle. What I mean by that is most everyone drives a car, or some similar vehicle, and there is expectation that these cars can, for instance, travel at 60 or 70 mph with relative ease.
In India, there are many classes of vehicles on the road. There are cars, mostly of the small compact variety, but certainly even vehicles like the Toyota Corolla and minivans. There are many three wheeled vehicles that are cramped and seem to travel no faster than about 25 mph. There are many motorcycles too, as most people can't afford cars, and motorcycles are gas efficient. There are also standard bicycles. When an Indian refers to a bike, they are talking about motorcycles and possibly scooters/mopeds. Finally, there are tons and tons of busses.
Each of the vehicles have a different speed, and that causes a problem. In the United States where bicycles are rare, a typical car driver is often rather paranoid about hitting a bicycle, and will give wide berth when trying to pass a bicycle, or slow down immensely when passing a bicycle.
For an Indian, each vehicle has a natural speed it travels at. A bike is much slower than the equivalent American model, which often travels faster than cars. No one zooms at 70 mph. These bikes seem only capable of maybe 30 mph tops, or less. The cars are the fastest vehicles, but due to traffic, even they, too, rarely travel faster than 40 mph. Busses are slower as are large trucks and certainly bicycles.
This means a car almost always wishes to pass. Oh, did I mention there are pedestrians that are also on the road, most crossing whereever at a slow rate.
In India, drives drive on the left, and so there's a tendency to pass on the right (opposite of the US). Typically, if you are passing a bike, you get extremely close and beep. Bikers, therefore, aren't likely to make any wild and sudden moves for fear of being flattened by a car. A typical US driver would cause an accident very soon because there appears to be all sorts of unwritten rules about how to pass.
I have a driver assigned to me for the company the entire stay. I'll talk about what I think about him later. As a driver, he's often seeking to pass, and has great sense of how close we are to other vehicles. We are often inches from hitting a biker or another car, yet, he and everyone else appears to know their distances well enough, and have certain expectations.
In particular, honking is used all the time to indicate when you are passing. As far as I can tell, the honking is rarely done in anger. Honking typically means "I'm trying to pass on your right". If you are a bike, you might shift a little to your left, but you're expected not to move to the right, because you are going to be passed.
A car, being of comparable size, may decide not to move to the left, but the driver is always trying to push that. Much like, I gather, Nascar, if you are being squeezed by someone wanting to pass on the right, and see it, you move a little to the left, or maintain position, so the car may pass.
Pedestrians, while rarely running, must also know how to cross a street. Running would, indeed, cause some issues as you may inadvertently leap in front of oncoming traffic, making yourself unpredictable.
So most walk, or back off if a car is planning to travel in front. Thus, everyone in an Indian eco-culture of driving must know how to react, and to that extent, they are more aware in this insanity how to move.
By American standards, much of the driving occurs this way because it's what's always been done. The cops do not pull people over for driving this way, otherwise it would have to arrest everyone. It's like the beltway on an empty day. Most people travel above 55. If the police arrested everyone, it would greatly affect how everyone travels.
Because of these traffic patterns, you never travel very fast in the city. While this is true of most American city traffic, there's also stoplights everywhere, so Americans stop all the time. Indian traffic keeps moving. When you do have lights, which are oddly infrequent, they stop you for over a minute. I suppose that's typical in the US, but they have a clock letting you know how many seconds are left, so it feels longer, especially when you are used to moving all the time.
Indian traffic would drive my mother crazy, which is a good reason she should never visit India. She'd want the driver to drive safely, but to the driver, this is how he always drive, and to drive as my mother would want would be to drive in a particularly odd way.
Indian traffic is basically faster vehicles trying to pass slower ones, honking frequently to jostle for space. Since there are slower vehicles everywhere, you are always attempting to pass, and at close proximity to other cars. Very close.
This traffic also means that short distances take a long time to travel. Even on the highway, where you might get up to 55 mph, you generally have other vehicles going much more slowly (like 35 mph) that you must move around, and you can often multiply the time it takes to get anywhere by 2. If A and B were 60 miles apart on the highway, you'd expect one hour travel time. In India, expect two. If a local commute would run 20 minutes, expect 40.
Despite the number of people using the roads, traffic jams are rare. You're always moving, mostly because people use bikes to travel, and they occupy little space. Again, unlike the US, bikers are often more conservative when driving, and slower too. They rarely overtake anyone, as they do in the US.
Here's a surprise. Or not. Women never ride bikes (motorcycles) or almost never. By ride, I mean navigate. Many wear saris which reach their feet. Bikes are not really meant for such dressing. Thus, if women ride, they ride side saddle behind a man. Women rarely wear pants (not that I see, anyway).
Women do one thing that would give Americans a heart attack in the US. They carry small children, even babies, while riding side saddle behind the man driving the bike. Americans are so paranoid about their kids safety that they would wonder how they could endanger their kid this way. Yet, despite these traffic patterns, most take it as the norm. And because cars and child care are uncommon, if you have to travel with your kid, you have to travel with your kid. Americans don't understand this kind of necessity.
Women do drive moped/scooters, which travel slower than bikes, but at least, you can drive them with a sari, as there is space for that. Again, doubling even tripling on a bike is exceedingly common.
Other things to note when driving. There's a lot of English. A lot. Some ads have no Hindi at all. Presumably, in the city, there's some expectation that you can read English.
I also didn't see the desperate poverty (at least, in the city). OK, things look rather down-trodden, but they remind me of scenes of, say, Mexico, I've seen in films. Indeed, the homeless of America look far more pitiful then the average Indian, who doesn't seem like they are starving or anything. Again, that may be because of where I am in India.
Let me get back to more transportation. Busses. Many Indians ride busses. They are packed to the gills, and they are everywhere. You see busses as often as you see taxicabs in New York City. Indeed, busses come in all varieties from blah busses, to so-called luxury busses. In the US, you ride the bus. You rarely think "I'll ride the luxury bus", although the idea of an express bus is becoming more popular.
There's one other thing I've noticed a lot in city traffic. Dogs. There are lots of dogs in Bangalore, most of the same species. I don't know what it is, but they have a narrow pointy snout, and appear to be walking on high heels. You see these dogs everywhere. They are cute, but they snarl when you get close.
I don't notice beggars so much around the cities, but I haven't really tried walking in the city for fear of being run over. I think while people may be poor, they can afford clothing and eat and move around, and that's enough to keep them going on. Besides, India has a class system where people seem to know their place. In the US, the poor resent being poor, and are always thinking how they might be rich, even if this is unlikely.
Back to my driver. India's wealth has a huge range. A typical software engineer is likely to make no more than maybe 4-5 times as much as the "poorest" paid person, say, a teacher or an assistant coach. I'm talking about 100,000 dollars in salary to maybe 20,000 on the low end. In India, this ratio can be much larger, say, 10 times as large or so.
I've generally attributed this to the fact that advanced goods (electronics and such) are much more expensive than food. Say, you take a typical McDonald's meal. Maybe five bucks if you're stingy. An IPod is two hundred bucks. So that's 40 times as much. You can probably get a meal in India for the equivalent of 25 cents. An IPod still costs as much, so that's now 800 times as much to afford an IPod vs. a meal.
This means, for very little money, you can eat, and if you don't mind being cramped (and most Indians don't), you can live for cheap enough. And with so many Indians, there needs to be lots of jobs. Service is therefore often quite cheap.
I have a driver assigned to me for two weeks. In principle, I can have him drive me whereever, whenever. For example, he'll pick me up in the morning. He'll (I assume) hang around where I work all day long, filling up time in one way or another, until I'm ready to go. I don't even arrange that. It's not like I say "Pick me up at 5:30" and he's there at 5:30. I mean, if I decide at 5:30, I'm not ready, then he'll wait around until 6:30. Indeed, I suspect if I call him at 1 PM and want to go to the hotel, he'd be there in five minutes.
This means the life of an average driver is sitting around all day long, waiting to drive.
A driver is also poor. Any fees that are paid have to paid by me. If there were tolls, I'd be paying it. I know that sounds obvious, but it's something you don't think about until you have a driver.
The people I work for tend to take this for granted, even as they aren't "upper class" by any means. Even so, that's just how the system works.
I'll give you an example. I needed a SIM card so I could pay smaller rates than the outrageous international roaming in India. We were going to find a shop that sold it (these tend to be hole in the wall organizations, but that describes many such organizations).
Despite poverty, the poorest (above a certain level of poverty--such as my driver) all have mobile phones. It's far more prevalent in places like India than you'd imagine. A coworker and me decided to go to a restaurant. The driver, being unable to afford the meal, and indeed, expecting to do his job, was not invited. Even were he invited (which we did), he declined. His job is to wait, while we do things, so we wait.
I have to imagine this kind of service was ingrained by the British, which also has a class structure of their own, where the lower class has to maintain some sort of odd dignity, even while being greatly inconvenienced. It is their lot in life. In the US, the lower class don't think of themselves as lower class. Sure, they don't think they're rich, but they'll yell to the rich, if they feel they are being lacked respect. And unlike India, there are many people who are normally "rich" (or middle class) that take jobs that would normally be off-limits to someone like that in India. Thus, middle class kids work at McDonald's knowing full well they will not work their the rest of their lives. I doubt middle class Indian kids do this.
Finally, let me point out service. In a hotel, service is very important, and the customer is treated rather deferentially. I have to admit it's easy to get used to. I just heard a noise upstairs of drilling. In the US, the management might apologize but say the work has to be done. In India, they would try to stop the work because I'm the guest.
I will say that there's probably something different about someone like me from the Indian perspective.
Once upon a time, the people who went to these hotels in India were rich upper class Brits and the like. They treated the poor in a certain way, being used to giving out orders.
Nowadays, businesses pay for middle class types to go to these hotels. Prices are considered outrageous by Indian natives, are only moderately expensive by American standards. I had a breakfast buffet, perhaps the best I've had, for 500 rupees, which is maybe 11 bucks. This is crazy money for an Indian, who can eat for 50 rupees or maybe 50 cents, and of good quality. I bought a shirt for under twenty US dollars, which was hand-stiched in under three hours. In the US, you can't even consider that at all, and were it to exist, it would cost you one hundred dollars easily.
These hotels are now accomodating people that are not the upper class, but middle class, who are unaccustomed to high class service. But I see, from looking at others, that many other patrons at the hotel are in the same boat as me. Sure, there may be a few people who are fabulously wealthy, but more people are businessmen.
Well, that's my summary of India so far.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Sufjan in Seattle
I suppose it should have occurred to me when I flew out, on October 13, Friday, the 13th that is, that I made a stop through Chicago.
I was heading to Seattle, my fourth visit there in the last few years. Perhaps outside of DC, and Tennessee, and Ithaca, it's the city I'm most familiar with. I had been hoping to meet up with a few friends, which dwindled to meeting just one friend. But my real reason for heading to Seattle was Sufjan Stevens.
To tell this story properly, I need to wind back two months. Two months ago, I was invited to my cousin's wedding. My cousin had been living (and continues to live) in the Seattle area. Like most (nearly all) of the people I know in Seattle, my cousin works for Microsoft. He met his girlfriend, then fiancee, back at Cornell, I believe, and she came out to Seattle to live with him, and presumably, to marry him.
I had been invited, so I bought tickets for an early August wedding. Three weeks before the wedding, my cousin called it off. Great. I have tickets to Seattle. What now? Don't get me wrong. I love visiting Seattle--and I could have gone, but now it wasn't so necessary to go at that time.
As it happens, I found out that Sufjan Stevens was touring. One place his tour wasn't stoppping was Washington DC, though he had been to the area a year ago. I remember seeing his name, thinking, oh, it's nearly a month. I'll wait til it's closer in time, and by the tickets then. But even about three weeks out, the show was sold out.
Sufjan was the indie darling of 2005. His album Illinois (or more properly, Come and Feel the Illinoize a riff on the Quiet Riot title, Come and Feel the Noise, which itself was a cover of a song by Slade) was cnosidered by many to be the best indie album of the year.
Sufjan was able to deal with two musical topics/ideas that would be anathema to most. The banjo and religious folk music. Somehow, by picking the Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God approach to God, he made it more respectable. Seriously, though, many of his songs aren't particularly about religion, but about personal observations of experiences.
Anyway, Sufjan was touring, and the last stop was in Seattle, so I decided to rebook my tickets for then. I suppose it's awkward to want to watch a concert all the way across the country, and I'm sure I wouldn't have gone had my cousin not cancelled his wedding so late, nor if Sufjan had a DC stop.
It should have crossed my mind, in the layover in Chicago, that I was flying a big metal bird to, well, Chicago, one of the hit songs from Illinois, perhaps my favorite (though listening more closely to Casimir Pulaski Day's lyrics, I can see why that song is a favorite among fans).
Sufjan's opening act was My Brightest Diamond which shares the Asthmatic Kitty label that Sufjan helped start. Its lead singer is Shara Worden, whose songs seem like they could be the soundtrack to some fantasy movie a la Lord of the Rings. She has a creepy, foreboding voice, kind of like the goth girl that's suddenly taken a shining to the geeky guy, who doesn't know how to handle the situation.
Her performance went for nearly an hour, then there was a fifteen minute break.
Sufjan's stage appearance always seems at odds with his songs, which feel very personal. Sufjan seems like the white alter ego to Prince, who was famous for his large stage protections. The Purple Majesty hailed from way up north. Minneapolis was where Prince called home. Similarly, Sufjan calls (or used to) northern Michigan home. He's thrilled about the Detroit Tigers post-season results too.
Sufjan's crew all came out wearing butterfly wings. His productions almost verge on a high school or college production from a very arty department. They aren't done with the polish and sheen of a Broadway production, but I think Sufjan likes the kitsch value. Sufjan himself wore wings that look like a kite, though his wings were of an eagle, or so he claims.
Sufjan does one thing that I find almost amazing. He talks to the audience. I can't tell you how many bands I've heard where the lead just announces the names of the song. That includes My Brightest Diamond. Perhaps it's because Sufjan wanted to be a writer, and writers are at heart, storytellers, that Sufjan is comfortable with this.
It always struck me as strange how someone could be singing, dancing, gyrating and emoting on stage, and yet lacks the ability to string a few sentences together. It's a strange form of autism, I imagine.
Throughout the songs, there was a backdrop showing movies of some sort. This vaguely reminded me of Doves who also did something similar when I went to see them.
Sufjan doesn't sing songs as he breathes them. He sings a little bit above a whisper, a bit more alto than his speaking voice would lead you to believe.
One theme that seems to run through his songs is our need to connect with something larger. The stage was filled with blow-up Superman and Santa dolls. This reminded me of the recent Superman film, the one by Bryan Singer, where Lois has written an article about why the world doesn't need Superman, and the movie goes to show why Lois and the world does need Superman. Throughout, there is a tie between Superman and Jesus, though Jesus didn't seem to do a whole lot of flying.
Being a secularist, I see this imagery not so much as a belief in a higher being, but a need to simply believe, to aspire to something greater.
And some of that manifests itself in animals that fly. Superman flies. Santa sorta flies. At least, with reindeer. They both do good, though Santa tends to deliver bribes more than he does good. Eveyone on stage had these wings. Wings remind one of angels, but also reminds us of a desire to fly, to be more than we can be. Thus, his imagery is of real animals, butterflies and birds. Does he do this because we look at the world and aspire to be what other animals are? Or is it a subtle hint about angels? (Ignoring the fact that folks like Roger Ebert say that angels are not formerly living people, and were never people to begin with).
Sufjan sang The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us, which he renamed as a "bird wasp". Here, he tells the story of friend Franco that he met at a camp, who he discovers has the same birthday as him, even to the minute, and how he created a paper mache rooster, which was supposed to be some eagle. The story is rather lengthy and odd, but elicited laughters.
It made me think that the song, which some of debated as either being gay or being told from a girl's point of view, might actually be told from Franco's point of view, who was gay, and Sufjan was the guy he was attracted too, and at the time, neither knew how to react appropriately.
Anyway, file that under theory 173.
Sufjan seems to strike a good balance between group and individual, between loud and soft, between serious, and irreverent. In many ways, Sufjan doesn't seem to take himself that seriously. He appears to be a musical Charles Kuralt, going from place to place, imitating local customs, showing how people, like, cheerleaders for a college team, want to be part of something. It may be religion, it may be sports, but it's a desire to be part of something, and even if it's not exactly grand, nor perfect, it is who we are.
Perhaps Sufjan doesn't mean to say any of this. Maybe he finds dressing up on stage akin to some experience he had in high school or in college, and finds it's simply a lot of fun. But he's always managed to try to bridge this gap between seriousness and silliness, which is why he avoids discussion of religion, I think.
Look at the lyrics to Casimir Pulaski Day. This is, I've discovered, a real holiday, observed in Illinois. But the lyrics have more to do, it seems, with a lover who's fallen ill, and how prayer didn't seem to help. It takes a holiday observed within a state, and tells a very personal story that seems to question religion. An odd juxtaposition, and I think a much more realistic view of religion than is commonly attributed.
I thought it was odd, as Sufjan came to the end of his set, that he hadn't played Chicago, but alas, there was an encore, and Sufjan and his band came back fluttering on stage for a resounding encore of Chicago. Sufjan is heading off to Europe now to do his European leg.
It made me wonder how he manages these tours. He's typically going from one city to the next. Do you try to fly out that night and get in past midnight to the next city, so you can sleep in, and the team has time to prep for the next day? Or do you stay over at night, and fly in the next morning? Or do some people go right away, and some go the next day.
And how does Sufjan manage so many people. His tour consists of around a dozen people. And those blow-up dolls. He seems like he gives them away at every stop? How do they get so many? And what's the thinking behind, well, blow-up dolls?
Sometimes I wonder how accurate I am, speculating at a distance. Not very, I imagine.
I was heading to Seattle, my fourth visit there in the last few years. Perhaps outside of DC, and Tennessee, and Ithaca, it's the city I'm most familiar with. I had been hoping to meet up with a few friends, which dwindled to meeting just one friend. But my real reason for heading to Seattle was Sufjan Stevens.
To tell this story properly, I need to wind back two months. Two months ago, I was invited to my cousin's wedding. My cousin had been living (and continues to live) in the Seattle area. Like most (nearly all) of the people I know in Seattle, my cousin works for Microsoft. He met his girlfriend, then fiancee, back at Cornell, I believe, and she came out to Seattle to live with him, and presumably, to marry him.
I had been invited, so I bought tickets for an early August wedding. Three weeks before the wedding, my cousin called it off. Great. I have tickets to Seattle. What now? Don't get me wrong. I love visiting Seattle--and I could have gone, but now it wasn't so necessary to go at that time.
As it happens, I found out that Sufjan Stevens was touring. One place his tour wasn't stoppping was Washington DC, though he had been to the area a year ago. I remember seeing his name, thinking, oh, it's nearly a month. I'll wait til it's closer in time, and by the tickets then. But even about three weeks out, the show was sold out.
Sufjan was the indie darling of 2005. His album Illinois (or more properly, Come and Feel the Illinoize a riff on the Quiet Riot title, Come and Feel the Noise, which itself was a cover of a song by Slade) was cnosidered by many to be the best indie album of the year.
Sufjan was able to deal with two musical topics/ideas that would be anathema to most. The banjo and religious folk music. Somehow, by picking the Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God approach to God, he made it more respectable. Seriously, though, many of his songs aren't particularly about religion, but about personal observations of experiences.
Anyway, Sufjan was touring, and the last stop was in Seattle, so I decided to rebook my tickets for then. I suppose it's awkward to want to watch a concert all the way across the country, and I'm sure I wouldn't have gone had my cousin not cancelled his wedding so late, nor if Sufjan had a DC stop.
It should have crossed my mind, in the layover in Chicago, that I was flying a big metal bird to, well, Chicago, one of the hit songs from Illinois, perhaps my favorite (though listening more closely to Casimir Pulaski Day's lyrics, I can see why that song is a favorite among fans).
Sufjan's opening act was My Brightest Diamond which shares the Asthmatic Kitty label that Sufjan helped start. Its lead singer is Shara Worden, whose songs seem like they could be the soundtrack to some fantasy movie a la Lord of the Rings. She has a creepy, foreboding voice, kind of like the goth girl that's suddenly taken a shining to the geeky guy, who doesn't know how to handle the situation.
Her performance went for nearly an hour, then there was a fifteen minute break.
Sufjan's stage appearance always seems at odds with his songs, which feel very personal. Sufjan seems like the white alter ego to Prince, who was famous for his large stage protections. The Purple Majesty hailed from way up north. Minneapolis was where Prince called home. Similarly, Sufjan calls (or used to) northern Michigan home. He's thrilled about the Detroit Tigers post-season results too.
Sufjan's crew all came out wearing butterfly wings. His productions almost verge on a high school or college production from a very arty department. They aren't done with the polish and sheen of a Broadway production, but I think Sufjan likes the kitsch value. Sufjan himself wore wings that look like a kite, though his wings were of an eagle, or so he claims.
Sufjan does one thing that I find almost amazing. He talks to the audience. I can't tell you how many bands I've heard where the lead just announces the names of the song. That includes My Brightest Diamond. Perhaps it's because Sufjan wanted to be a writer, and writers are at heart, storytellers, that Sufjan is comfortable with this.
It always struck me as strange how someone could be singing, dancing, gyrating and emoting on stage, and yet lacks the ability to string a few sentences together. It's a strange form of autism, I imagine.
Throughout the songs, there was a backdrop showing movies of some sort. This vaguely reminded me of Doves who also did something similar when I went to see them.
Sufjan doesn't sing songs as he breathes them. He sings a little bit above a whisper, a bit more alto than his speaking voice would lead you to believe.
One theme that seems to run through his songs is our need to connect with something larger. The stage was filled with blow-up Superman and Santa dolls. This reminded me of the recent Superman film, the one by Bryan Singer, where Lois has written an article about why the world doesn't need Superman, and the movie goes to show why Lois and the world does need Superman. Throughout, there is a tie between Superman and Jesus, though Jesus didn't seem to do a whole lot of flying.
Being a secularist, I see this imagery not so much as a belief in a higher being, but a need to simply believe, to aspire to something greater.
And some of that manifests itself in animals that fly. Superman flies. Santa sorta flies. At least, with reindeer. They both do good, though Santa tends to deliver bribes more than he does good. Eveyone on stage had these wings. Wings remind one of angels, but also reminds us of a desire to fly, to be more than we can be. Thus, his imagery is of real animals, butterflies and birds. Does he do this because we look at the world and aspire to be what other animals are? Or is it a subtle hint about angels? (Ignoring the fact that folks like Roger Ebert say that angels are not formerly living people, and were never people to begin with).
Sufjan sang The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us, which he renamed as a "bird wasp". Here, he tells the story of friend Franco that he met at a camp, who he discovers has the same birthday as him, even to the minute, and how he created a paper mache rooster, which was supposed to be some eagle. The story is rather lengthy and odd, but elicited laughters.
It made me think that the song, which some of debated as either being gay or being told from a girl's point of view, might actually be told from Franco's point of view, who was gay, and Sufjan was the guy he was attracted too, and at the time, neither knew how to react appropriately.
Anyway, file that under theory 173.
Sufjan seems to strike a good balance between group and individual, between loud and soft, between serious, and irreverent. In many ways, Sufjan doesn't seem to take himself that seriously. He appears to be a musical Charles Kuralt, going from place to place, imitating local customs, showing how people, like, cheerleaders for a college team, want to be part of something. It may be religion, it may be sports, but it's a desire to be part of something, and even if it's not exactly grand, nor perfect, it is who we are.
Perhaps Sufjan doesn't mean to say any of this. Maybe he finds dressing up on stage akin to some experience he had in high school or in college, and finds it's simply a lot of fun. But he's always managed to try to bridge this gap between seriousness and silliness, which is why he avoids discussion of religion, I think.
Look at the lyrics to Casimir Pulaski Day. This is, I've discovered, a real holiday, observed in Illinois. But the lyrics have more to do, it seems, with a lover who's fallen ill, and how prayer didn't seem to help. It takes a holiday observed within a state, and tells a very personal story that seems to question religion. An odd juxtaposition, and I think a much more realistic view of religion than is commonly attributed.
I thought it was odd, as Sufjan came to the end of his set, that he hadn't played Chicago, but alas, there was an encore, and Sufjan and his band came back fluttering on stage for a resounding encore of Chicago. Sufjan is heading off to Europe now to do his European leg.
It made me wonder how he manages these tours. He's typically going from one city to the next. Do you try to fly out that night and get in past midnight to the next city, so you can sleep in, and the team has time to prep for the next day? Or do you stay over at night, and fly in the next morning? Or do some people go right away, and some go the next day.
And how does Sufjan manage so many people. His tour consists of around a dozen people. And those blow-up dolls. He seems like he gives them away at every stop? How do they get so many? And what's the thinking behind, well, blow-up dolls?
Sometimes I wonder how accurate I am, speculating at a distance. Not very, I imagine.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
More Foley
I was just thinking. There have been some excerpts of an IM transcript between Foley and a Louisiana page from about two years ago. I'm sure these were one of many, but I'm curious how the IM transcripts look as a large body of work.
Here's what I mean. Given any short snippet of communication between any two people, you can give the wrong impression of anything. And, it would be interesting to see how Foley went from something casual to something more explicit.
I just read something interesting. There were several Amish girls that were shot and killed. The killer committed suicide. The reaction of the Amish? They wanted to console the family of killer. The article claims that Americans are so much into vengeance, that they think it's inappropriate to have any other thought, that it shows a lack of love if you can't imagine killing someone for love.
A good example of revenge mentality comes from Dead Man Walking where the parents of a girl who was killed, possibly by Sean Penn's character, can't imagine forgiving the killer, mainly because in their mind, he is reprehensible, and the daughter is lovely, and that it's not fair that he should live while she doesn't. Even if it's seen as un-Christian, they'd rather be un-Christian.
That's an intriguing thought, because it makes me wonder whether religion's attempts to make better people out of us all still fails because people honestly can't be as good as possible, and ultimately feel others are bad.
Here's what I mean. Given any short snippet of communication between any two people, you can give the wrong impression of anything. And, it would be interesting to see how Foley went from something casual to something more explicit.
I just read something interesting. There were several Amish girls that were shot and killed. The killer committed suicide. The reaction of the Amish? They wanted to console the family of killer. The article claims that Americans are so much into vengeance, that they think it's inappropriate to have any other thought, that it shows a lack of love if you can't imagine killing someone for love.
A good example of revenge mentality comes from Dead Man Walking where the parents of a girl who was killed, possibly by Sean Penn's character, can't imagine forgiving the killer, mainly because in their mind, he is reprehensible, and the daughter is lovely, and that it's not fair that he should live while she doesn't. Even if it's seen as un-Christian, they'd rather be un-Christian.
That's an intriguing thought, because it makes me wonder whether religion's attempts to make better people out of us all still fails because people honestly can't be as good as possible, and ultimately feel others are bad.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Mark My Words
John Stewart noted, with amusement, that he had thought, with habeus corpus effectively eliminated for non-citizens, and any citizen could, for any reason, be considered an "enemy combatant", there would be no other competing news story.
Alas, there was.
Congressman Mark Foley had sent emails and IMs to a sixteen year old male page. The aftermath has been somewhat predictable. Some have declared this disgusting. Some find the thought that other Congressmen had covered this up for possibly years disgusting. Those who are somewhat more sympathetic to Foley compare the reaction to the reaction of Democrats to Clinton, who, by all accounts, had an affair, even as Hillary did not seem to react with disgust, perhaps due to the convenience of being a married politician.
Some have noted that Republicans have not distanced themselves, and have, indeed, sought to find the people who leaked the information to the public, and punish them instead.
Here are several thoughts I was going to blog about (and thus, am blogging about). First, having read the transcripts of the IM discussion, I'm a little surprised about the page getting this involved. Foley treats this conversation as if he's straight (he asks if the teen had given a hand job to a girl). And the teen does seem turned on by this situation. I find it a bit peculiar how the teen got involved.
Here's where things get a little problematic. You see, we envision teens as somehow pristine and innocent, but any kid who wants to be a page must have some political aspirations, and therefore, can't be that innocent about the world. This make me wonder whether such conversations took place with other people (say, his classmates--I can't imagine that he's only IMing the Congressman). Now, perhaps the page thinks that by being nice to Foley, he can get some political advantage, but that's an odd way to reason, though perhaps not out of the question.
But I did want to talk about something else, which was this comparison of Foley to Clinton. On the one hand, Clinton appears to have engaged in sexual intercourse with Monica Lewinsky. By all accounts, Lewinsky would not have been his first dailliance. Even so, the women he was involved with were consenting adults, and basically, the whole Lewinsky incident was really about perjury, not about infidelity, which isn't, as far as I know, against the law. Clinton didn't want to admit his sexual proclivities and lied about it, then got pressed on that lie.
At this point, there isn't evidence that Foley actually had sex with pages. Indeed, his relationships appear to be at a distance through the use of, yes, modern technology. What Foley has done with what thousands (millions?) of others have done, though presumably with age-comparable people. Such frank IMs, I'm sure, occur daily with teens amongst each other, although we're more prepared, as a society to accept this (somewhat).
This show the immediacy of modern communication. Foley, aged 52 (I think), was using IM, something many of his colleagues probably rarely engage in (though not unheard of, and of course, growing more and more common).
Foley show some naivete, too. His screen-name appears to be his initials with some number at the end, making it easier to track. And I'm sure the email was similarly trackable. It seems he did try to avoid using work computers, working from home. Whether he really did that remains to be seen.
But the comparison intrigues me. Is the use of words, in this case, comparable to the actual act? The pen (or computer) is mightier than the sword?
Another question that comes to mind. About twenty years ago, there was a scandal with pages. Again, several Congressman, perhaps flush with power, found young pages presumably irresistable. So why did the page system stay in place, especially high school students? It was said that Republicans allegedly warned pages about Foley. Did some of the pages simply not know (it was alleged that Democratic pages weren't told, presumably for fear of leaking this information)? And why were there teenaged pages to begin with?
To summarize, here's what I find interesting. First, the increasing prevalence of electronic communication, especially for less than wholesome activities. Second, if Foley did not actually engage in physical acts, then how does one compare sexually charged text to the actual sexual act? My sense is that, even lacking any contact, the relationship is clearly far from healthy, but it's the kind of relationship that can go on through IM.
I'm vaguely reminded of You, Me, and Everyone We Know where a predatory IMer is talking to a 6 year old kid. To be fair, the person sending these instant messages has no clue how old the other person is, and indeed, the film suggests that she is talking to someone age comparable, though strange (it's even notable that the kid is not that good at spelling, so uses cut and paste to copy text as needed). When the two meet, the older person is rather surprised (the six-year old just sees the older person as someone he's been talking to, not a sexual predator) that the conversation has been with such a young kid.
I also wonder how Foley reconciled the thought of going against sexual predators, when he himself was involved in activities that had to be considered in the same ballpark. Did he think such things would afford him more opportunities? Or was he concerned about how it looked for a single middle-aged Republican would appear?
And how was Foley dealing with his sexuality? We he dating anyone? Was he deeply closeted, and therefore found this a way of dealing with his desires. (There has been suggestions there may be others like Foley).
People may be shocked at the situation, but in shock, there is often a lack of asking why, and listening to a serious answer. Already, Foley has pointed that he was molested as a teen. Certainly, listening to Loveline suggests that such events can be emotionally damaging. Foley claims he's not using it as an excuse, though, in a way, he is. And perhaps he can indeed blame it on a past experience. It doesn't excuse his actions, but does provide insight into why it happened.
We say we're a nation that tries to protect its youth, yet, there's pressure for many teens to have sex before college and in college. My brother once told me that the wife of his colleague simply could not imagine anyone being a virgin past, say, 19. To be fair, the kid was 16. But to be fair, many people have lost their virginity by then too. I find that for a nation that tries to protect its children, it doesn't seem to do a great job at it, and so this naive view of teen innocence may be inappropriate, even in a case as strange and inappropiate as this.
Alas, there was.
Congressman Mark Foley had sent emails and IMs to a sixteen year old male page. The aftermath has been somewhat predictable. Some have declared this disgusting. Some find the thought that other Congressmen had covered this up for possibly years disgusting. Those who are somewhat more sympathetic to Foley compare the reaction to the reaction of Democrats to Clinton, who, by all accounts, had an affair, even as Hillary did not seem to react with disgust, perhaps due to the convenience of being a married politician.
Some have noted that Republicans have not distanced themselves, and have, indeed, sought to find the people who leaked the information to the public, and punish them instead.
Here are several thoughts I was going to blog about (and thus, am blogging about). First, having read the transcripts of the IM discussion, I'm a little surprised about the page getting this involved. Foley treats this conversation as if he's straight (he asks if the teen had given a hand job to a girl). And the teen does seem turned on by this situation. I find it a bit peculiar how the teen got involved.
Here's where things get a little problematic. You see, we envision teens as somehow pristine and innocent, but any kid who wants to be a page must have some political aspirations, and therefore, can't be that innocent about the world. This make me wonder whether such conversations took place with other people (say, his classmates--I can't imagine that he's only IMing the Congressman). Now, perhaps the page thinks that by being nice to Foley, he can get some political advantage, but that's an odd way to reason, though perhaps not out of the question.
But I did want to talk about something else, which was this comparison of Foley to Clinton. On the one hand, Clinton appears to have engaged in sexual intercourse with Monica Lewinsky. By all accounts, Lewinsky would not have been his first dailliance. Even so, the women he was involved with were consenting adults, and basically, the whole Lewinsky incident was really about perjury, not about infidelity, which isn't, as far as I know, against the law. Clinton didn't want to admit his sexual proclivities and lied about it, then got pressed on that lie.
At this point, there isn't evidence that Foley actually had sex with pages. Indeed, his relationships appear to be at a distance through the use of, yes, modern technology. What Foley has done with what thousands (millions?) of others have done, though presumably with age-comparable people. Such frank IMs, I'm sure, occur daily with teens amongst each other, although we're more prepared, as a society to accept this (somewhat).
This show the immediacy of modern communication. Foley, aged 52 (I think), was using IM, something many of his colleagues probably rarely engage in (though not unheard of, and of course, growing more and more common).
Foley show some naivete, too. His screen-name appears to be his initials with some number at the end, making it easier to track. And I'm sure the email was similarly trackable. It seems he did try to avoid using work computers, working from home. Whether he really did that remains to be seen.
But the comparison intrigues me. Is the use of words, in this case, comparable to the actual act? The pen (or computer) is mightier than the sword?
Another question that comes to mind. About twenty years ago, there was a scandal with pages. Again, several Congressman, perhaps flush with power, found young pages presumably irresistable. So why did the page system stay in place, especially high school students? It was said that Republicans allegedly warned pages about Foley. Did some of the pages simply not know (it was alleged that Democratic pages weren't told, presumably for fear of leaking this information)? And why were there teenaged pages to begin with?
To summarize, here's what I find interesting. First, the increasing prevalence of electronic communication, especially for less than wholesome activities. Second, if Foley did not actually engage in physical acts, then how does one compare sexually charged text to the actual sexual act? My sense is that, even lacking any contact, the relationship is clearly far from healthy, but it's the kind of relationship that can go on through IM.
I'm vaguely reminded of You, Me, and Everyone We Know where a predatory IMer is talking to a 6 year old kid. To be fair, the person sending these instant messages has no clue how old the other person is, and indeed, the film suggests that she is talking to someone age comparable, though strange (it's even notable that the kid is not that good at spelling, so uses cut and paste to copy text as needed). When the two meet, the older person is rather surprised (the six-year old just sees the older person as someone he's been talking to, not a sexual predator) that the conversation has been with such a young kid.
I also wonder how Foley reconciled the thought of going against sexual predators, when he himself was involved in activities that had to be considered in the same ballpark. Did he think such things would afford him more opportunities? Or was he concerned about how it looked for a single middle-aged Republican would appear?
And how was Foley dealing with his sexuality? We he dating anyone? Was he deeply closeted, and therefore found this a way of dealing with his desires. (There has been suggestions there may be others like Foley).
People may be shocked at the situation, but in shock, there is often a lack of asking why, and listening to a serious answer. Already, Foley has pointed that he was molested as a teen. Certainly, listening to Loveline suggests that such events can be emotionally damaging. Foley claims he's not using it as an excuse, though, in a way, he is. And perhaps he can indeed blame it on a past experience. It doesn't excuse his actions, but does provide insight into why it happened.
We say we're a nation that tries to protect its youth, yet, there's pressure for many teens to have sex before college and in college. My brother once told me that the wife of his colleague simply could not imagine anyone being a virgin past, say, 19. To be fair, the kid was 16. But to be fair, many people have lost their virginity by then too. I find that for a nation that tries to protect its children, it doesn't seem to do a great job at it, and so this naive view of teen innocence may be inappropriate, even in a case as strange and inappropiate as this.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Face Time
Yet another in the "I took a picture for N days". This time, the guy took it for eight years. The interesting aspect of this video is the growth of his hair, then a beard near the end.
The music was better on the other two that I linked to sometime ago.
Interestingly, all three people have photographed themselves in nearly identical ways (basically, reactionless, centered on the eyes).
Monday, October 02, 2006
Steele of the Night
Remington Steele was a TV series in the 80s that used to have titles with the word "Steele" in it. I'm sure it became increasingly difficult to come up with episode names with such a huge limitation. In the title, I'm using "Steele" as "Still".
But I wanted to talk about a different Steele. Michael Steele. He's running for the US Senate as a Republican. I suppose Republicans must love a candidate of color. He's running against Democrat Ben Cardin, who, incidentally, is white.
I don't really want to talk about race in this case, but instead, Michael Steele's political commercials. Political commercials are pretty unimaginative. Most of them look like they're created by people who've never made a non-political commercial. After a while, these ads are sling mud because in politics, if you can't say good things about yourself (rare), you say bad things about the other opponent, often voiced by a woman, who sounds scolding, yet comforting.
Michael Steele's commercials have taken a different tack. They seem like Montel Williams commercials. Montel, yes, is African American, and he's bald (though likely shaved) where Steele apparently is simply losing hair. Still, this kind of imagery may send fear to non-African Americans, and so what's apparently needed is a way to soften the image.
In particular, Steele is in his entire ad, he's holding puppies, and trying to show he's a genuinely nice guy. This, I'm sure, has caused the Democrats to think about what strategy they want to use. Lately, I've seen them counter with "nice" attack ads. I must admit, this is a rather refreshing, if odd, set of commercials--the "nice" attack. Steele smiles. He laughs. What a nice guy!
Of course, if this proves successful, you're going to see more of these kinds of ads nationwide. Heck, for all I know, it is happening nationwide.
I want to give props to a political ad campaign that isn't retreading familiar ground. It may not be David Lynch different, but for a political ad, it's an intriguing step.
But I wanted to talk about a different Steele. Michael Steele. He's running for the US Senate as a Republican. I suppose Republicans must love a candidate of color. He's running against Democrat Ben Cardin, who, incidentally, is white.
I don't really want to talk about race in this case, but instead, Michael Steele's political commercials. Political commercials are pretty unimaginative. Most of them look like they're created by people who've never made a non-political commercial. After a while, these ads are sling mud because in politics, if you can't say good things about yourself (rare), you say bad things about the other opponent, often voiced by a woman, who sounds scolding, yet comforting.
Michael Steele's commercials have taken a different tack. They seem like Montel Williams commercials. Montel, yes, is African American, and he's bald (though likely shaved) where Steele apparently is simply losing hair. Still, this kind of imagery may send fear to non-African Americans, and so what's apparently needed is a way to soften the image.
In particular, Steele is in his entire ad, he's holding puppies, and trying to show he's a genuinely nice guy. This, I'm sure, has caused the Democrats to think about what strategy they want to use. Lately, I've seen them counter with "nice" attack ads. I must admit, this is a rather refreshing, if odd, set of commercials--the "nice" attack. Steele smiles. He laughs. What a nice guy!
Of course, if this proves successful, you're going to see more of these kinds of ads nationwide. Heck, for all I know, it is happening nationwide.
I want to give props to a political ad campaign that isn't retreading familiar ground. It may not be David Lynch different, but for a political ad, it's an intriguing step.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Durga Puja
Apparently, Bengalis are celebrating Durga Puja, a festival for the goddess Durga, who fought an enemy that was not to be slain by a man (but Durga, the goddess is no man).
Monday is also Gandhi's birthday. Since he was a teetoler, getting alcohol on that day is near impossible. It is also called "dry day" for this reason.
Enjoy the holidays!
Monday is also Gandhi's birthday. Since he was a teetoler, getting alcohol on that day is near impossible. It is also called "dry day" for this reason.
Enjoy the holidays!
Rosario Tijeras
I just saw Rosario Tijeras at the AFI Saturday night. Initially, it appears to be a story of pretty rich boy Emilio, who spots beautiful Rosario at a night club. The film darts back and forth between past and present to find out why she's shot at the night club.
Apparently, she's a bit of a bad girl. Sexually abused, she's become something of an assassin. Her brother is also an assassin, of the drive-by variety. She flirts with the rich kid hoping he can take her out of the mess that is her life.
Ultimately, it's not about the men in her life, but a glamorous potrayal of life in violent Colombia. Apparently, breast augmentation is very common in Colombia, as Rosario has had hers enhanced so they stay upright and defy gravity.
Both men, best friends Emilio, shown to be something of a dimwit, and Antonio, best friend, unable to express his love for Rosario because of his devotion to his best friend (looking very much like a Latino David Arquette).
The aspect I found most intriguing is the appeal to Catholicism. Rosario blesses the bullets her brother will use with the Virgin Mary, yet, the idea that Jesus or Mary would approve of their lifestyle is borderline ridiculous. In this society, even criminals want the blessing of Jesus. Makes you wonder.
This is, to me, Spanish Elektra. Powerful woman, who doesn't take crap from anyone, but is really a sensitive soul underneath. The men in her life are pretty playthings, and are meant to be something more serious, but in the end, are bit players without much personality.
Still, there are scenes that work, even if oddly, such as the bizarre Weekend at Bernie's with Jonhefe's (the brother) dead body, and when Emilio suddenly realizes maybe Antonio might have a thing for Rosario.
Although there's a good deal of violence, it's not of the visceral sort a la Kill Bill. Still, sounds of loud gunshots are still enough to make me nervous. I find that films that use violence to shock often resort to cheap effects, and wonder how good a film one can make where no one dies.
I'd give the film a B-. It's reasonably well-acted, but I didn't exactly get what the story was trying to say. Pretty people in violent situations, I suppose.
Apparently, she's a bit of a bad girl. Sexually abused, she's become something of an assassin. Her brother is also an assassin, of the drive-by variety. She flirts with the rich kid hoping he can take her out of the mess that is her life.
Ultimately, it's not about the men in her life, but a glamorous potrayal of life in violent Colombia. Apparently, breast augmentation is very common in Colombia, as Rosario has had hers enhanced so they stay upright and defy gravity.
Both men, best friends Emilio, shown to be something of a dimwit, and Antonio, best friend, unable to express his love for Rosario because of his devotion to his best friend (looking very much like a Latino David Arquette).
The aspect I found most intriguing is the appeal to Catholicism. Rosario blesses the bullets her brother will use with the Virgin Mary, yet, the idea that Jesus or Mary would approve of their lifestyle is borderline ridiculous. In this society, even criminals want the blessing of Jesus. Makes you wonder.
This is, to me, Spanish Elektra. Powerful woman, who doesn't take crap from anyone, but is really a sensitive soul underneath. The men in her life are pretty playthings, and are meant to be something more serious, but in the end, are bit players without much personality.
Still, there are scenes that work, even if oddly, such as the bizarre Weekend at Bernie's with Jonhefe's (the brother) dead body, and when Emilio suddenly realizes maybe Antonio might have a thing for Rosario.
Although there's a good deal of violence, it's not of the visceral sort a la Kill Bill. Still, sounds of loud gunshots are still enough to make me nervous. I find that films that use violence to shock often resort to cheap effects, and wonder how good a film one can make where no one dies.
I'd give the film a B-. It's reasonably well-acted, but I didn't exactly get what the story was trying to say. Pretty people in violent situations, I suppose.
Textmate
I've been wondering when someone would finally write a book on Textmate. Textmate is an IDE of sorts for the Mac. People who work on Ruby on Rails (DHH, Dave Thomas) swear by it. I was reluctant to get it, because it cost money, but then I said what the heck. Alas, like many products out there, there was scanty documentation. I wish waterboarding suffering on those who release products without books. Alas, I shouldn't make such comments as waterboarding is torture.
The guys at Pragmatic Programmers finally realized people wanted a real book on this, and while it's not scheduled to be published until next February, the PDF beta version is available now. This has made me a happy camper.
Basically, Textmate, so I'm told, is like emacs on steroids. More of a throwback to keyboard based manipulation, rather than the modern trend to GUIs and buttons and everything. I would like to say more, except the documentation is so rudimentary, and my patience to learn it so low, that I don't even want to bother.
Now, alas, I don't have to.
The guys at Pragmatic Programmers finally realized people wanted a real book on this, and while it's not scheduled to be published until next February, the PDF beta version is available now. This has made me a happy camper.
Basically, Textmate, so I'm told, is like emacs on steroids. More of a throwback to keyboard based manipulation, rather than the modern trend to GUIs and buttons and everything. I would like to say more, except the documentation is so rudimentary, and my patience to learn it so low, that I don't even want to bother.
Now, alas, I don't have to.
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