Behind the shrubbery

As seen in a thesis from several years ago:
[edited for content and crude language --Ed]
Amit Jayachandran was born on February 1st, 1977 in a small Middle Eastern country unmarked on any map to parents who immediately sensed something was amiss. To prove their premonition accurate, from an early age, the precocious youth reigned over his household with an iron fist, having torn off and cast away the velvet glove the moment he developed adequate muscular coordination. Most of his early years are shrouded in mystery, chiefly because of a weak long-term memory, which sadly fails him at the time of composition of this dissertation.

Not too many of his noteworthy accomplishments were documented until he graduated from high school with distinctions such as Student of the Year and Nerd of the Decade, when he jotted down a firm reminder in his journal to get a life. His parents finally got rid of him when a well-planned and executed coup exiled him to somewhere in the Northwestern deserts of India. While bitterly planning an escape strategy, he also managed to acquire a Bachelor’s degree in Mechanical Engineering from BITS, Pilani, Rajasthan-- the only other location on the planet unmarked on any self-respecting map. Rumor has it that this he embezzled from a passing Bedouin who was too weak to resist his threats to forcibly be fed hostel food. At any rate, this was a regular garden-variety engineering degree and proved insufficient to quench his thirst for knowledge.

During the latter part of 1999, while the Clinton administration was too busy alternately denying and undenying the misadventures of a virile president who actually publicly contemplated the definition of the word “is”, and cigars were all the rage, Amit used the distraction to his advantage to insinuate himself unnoticed into the American mainland. Docking in North Carolina, he wasted no time stealing a Master’s degree in order to inject himself into Corporate America. He currently resides in Peoria, Illinois, where he grows more handsome each passing year and under the pretext of designing control systems for large earth-moving machines, tries unsuccessfully to consort with women.
While he isn’t antagonizing his acquaintances with his guitar, he occupies his leisure with cooking his friends and excluding commas in biographies.

The Party

I recently turned 30. I recall someone on TV saying - I think it was one of the Queer Eye guys - that 30 is the new 20. It must be true. Anyway, I threw myself a surprise party to celebrate the event, for turning thirty comes around three or four times in a guy's life TOPS.

Whatever happened to the Queer Eye guys? Is that show still on?

Things I planned to do this night
- Designate a driver. My personal preference is still the titanium one that I got with my first set of clubs. I planned to swing this, hopefully from a moving car, at everything in range.

- Insinuate to strangers at the bar that the Colts are going to win the big dance and Mr. Grossman is a retard pitched against arguably the best QB in the league.

- Sing "Honesty" by Billy Joel. This is not a karaoke bar. And "Piano Man". Gotta sing Piano Man.

- Invite Chuck Norris to the party. Chuck Norris will, at first, refuse to attend. Ever since the domestic abuse allegation, he has been trying to stem his Bourbon habit and steer clear of the public eye. Being seen in a bar in Peoria, IL will no doubt undo most of his hard work and earn him several stab wounds from his PR agent. But I will promise him that MC Hammer has agreed to show (for I have promised him the sum of a hundred dollars as legal tender for MC'ing at the party, which guessing by his name, I will assume is what he does these days - those lines of coke don't align themselves, I will remind him). Now creaming with the anticipation of a full roundhouse to Hammer's face (for their rivalry dates back to well over a decade ago when MC claimed that this couldn't be touched, and Chuck disagreed, taking this for some reason as a personal affront), Norris will jump at the chance and promise to show up. He will also politely ask if I'm registered somewhere. Crate & Barrel, I will tell him.

- Register at Crate & Barrel.

Expansion day

I used to have a life. Till January 15th.
The World of Warcraft expansion: The Burning Crusade will be released tomorrow; heralding the end of life as I know it. Alas, no more rock-climbing for me, or flight lessons or photography or staying late at work. It will be a fruitless mad dash to level 70 along with a bunch of people who gave up on their lives a long time ago.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
I used to have a life.

Gate 53

Sometimes the best photographs you can take come unsolicited and slap you in the face. I couldn't resist this particular assault. Taken at a bar at the Zurich international airport while drinking away a layover...

Reunion

Tonight was special. I "met" people. People I had known for years in school.
I also met some teachers.
The nice thing about tonight is that I made some "new" friends.








The nicest thing was that I said "Thank you" to some teachers from a decade ago who mattered.

They make a difference to some of us. Find yours.


Merry Boxing Day.

Trolling the internet on dial-up is no easy task, but I manage apparently. So I came across this site called MyHeritage.com and really couldn't resist. Through their exhaustive search for a match between my face and their celebrity potraits, I discovered that evidently, there is a 60% chance that I'm Ashley Olsen.

For want of much else to do, I have decided to blog my travels to Dubai. The year is 2006 and the month December. Those who would like useful information about Dubai and the United Arab Emirates for potential travel purposes are urged to look elsewhere.


It's rather nice having 72 deg F weather every day in December.


I don't see this in Illinois.






Jumeirah Beach




A good camera makes you look like you know what you're doing. I'm not much of a photographer yet, but dropping random terms like "focal length" and "shutter speed" tends to impress friends. To a point. Then they stop buying you drinks.

A trip across the Dubai creek is a nice, cheap way to imbibe some of the local lifestyle and culture.

You musn't shove anyone into the water. The locals do not take kindly to this, I have found.

Dhows at the Abra

The trick is to sidle up to these birds when they're looking the other way, then Whammo! -- whip on your handy bird-sized face mask with blinding speed (little pun there).

Falcon at the Heritage Village

More hypocrisy from the author...
How much time do I still have left on my hands a day?