Whole Again

2008-05-22T21:53:00.000-07:00

What I wanted most was to grab a shower and take a nap. I hadn't got to sleep until five o clock that morning. I dropped my clothes on the chair and walked into the stall shower, turning on the needle spray. I couldn't feel the tightness leave my muscles under the soothing warmth. The telephone rang several times while I was in the shower. I let it ring.

I did a lot for Wynn, but when I came out of the shower I picked up the phone and told his secretary that I didn't want any calls until four o'clock.

The ring of the telephone woke me. I never wear wrist watches, but I sometimes search for it on my wrist to look for time. Anyway, the phone said it was four. I reached for the receiver. It was Wynn himself. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon," he said. "Where the hell have you been."

"Sleeping."

"Sleeping!" he shouted. "We have a board meeting over at Haft office. We are due there right now."

"Sorry Wynn I didn't know."

"No worries, its next door from your hotel anyway."

Our meeting? It was funny the way things worked. One day I sat at his place sulking at my misfortunes and wondering what he could do for me, and the next, I'm his right hand man. I go to his meetings. I talk to his people. His clients. He was a good man. He understood well the little things in life, and trusted me. He knew what I was capable and not capable of, and made full use of that. Then and only then, this would explain the fact that he never frowned even when his right hand man was sleeping when it was time for a board meeting.

The meeting was ok. I came back and slept some more in my room for 15 minutes. Woke up, and called room service. While I was waiting for an answer, a knock came at the door. "Yes," I yelled.

From the bed I saw Wynn and Akad enter. When they came in the room, Wynn's face wore its usual worried look that bore no significance to anything whatsoever, while Akad's (an advisor of Wynn's) was smothered in a stone cold expression as always. They were always on the verge of getting what they wanted, and wore the same faces.

Room service finally came on the line. In the background, I could hear the clatter of dishes and suddenly I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I ordered three steak sandwiches, a bottle of milk, a pot of black tea, bottle of scotch for them and a double order of fries. I put down the telephone and looked up at them. "Well how'd it go?"

"You were there, it went good good." Wynn had a habit of repeating the word good, whenever he said it.

2008-05-22T09:04:00.001-07:00

Now I know.

Networking is worthless, and pointless without its leverage. The young saplings should be taught how to network in workshops, but should never be allowed in the real world with the practice, until they have...leverage.

After all, networking is like trading. You wouldn't walk up to someone to barter with, if you had nothing would you?

2008-04-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

There are 6 types of People in Pakistan. And Maybe This Can Apply to The Rest of the Third...err Developing World as Well.

The Middle Class
(Essentially the core thats keeping Pakistan's economy a performer. The honest, most productive element of the society)
Extremists
(Educated, religious zealots with agendas)
Organized Criminals
(Political party leadership)
Anarchists
(Political party workers)
Petty Criminals
(The thugs, robbers, thieves...basically anyone who may commit a crime)
The Rich
(The people who run Pakistan, and every country. Also see organized criminals.)
The Illiterate
(The giant mass, which all the above parties (except the middle class) may use and harness the power of, when needed.)

2008-03-12T23:08:00.001-07:00

About me

I take offense to someone being a jerk/asshole without reason.
I frequently do things on impulse.
My life often seems to have no meaning.
I'm not afraid to be the first to try something.
I always go out of my way to help others.
I dislike challenges.
In school, math was easy for me...to teach to others. I failed it often myself.
I enjoy working on easy crossword puzzles.
I genuinely enjoy helping people.
Being part of a large crowd is exciting.
I do not understand why stars twinkle.
I don't really care what other people think of me and I find that philosophy beautiful
I sometimes think I would like to do research.
I hate reading poetry.
I love perfection in oral poetry.
I enjoy meeting new people.
I am a hard and steady worker.
I love the hustle and bustle of city crowds.
I would like a job that requires traveling.
I can never multiply large numbers quickly.
I often feel anxious.
In a group, I never attract attention to myself.
If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well.
I get tired of doing things the same old way, but for a greater cause i'd be worth it.
I am good at inventing games, stories, or rhymes.
People will steal if they are sure they won't get caught.
I'm known as a wit.
I often think about the reasons for my actions.
I do not find Greek mythology interesting.
At times the future seems hopeless to me.
I wouldn't go to a party every night if I could.
I would rather work a hard labor job, given a choice.
I tend to be rightfully critical of others.
I rarely get angry with others.
I am fascinated by great science fiction.
I like not knowing what tomorrow will bring.
I rightfully hold grudges for a long time.
Sometimes I am hard to get along with.
Most people are nice once you get to know them.
I am a sociable person.
I would like to be an inventor.
I find it easy to act naturally when I am with new people.
I dislike detective stories.
When I'm in a bad mood, no one can please me.
When people are nice to me I wonder what they want.
I would like to be a deep-sea diver.
I have taken things apart just to see how they work.
Sometimes nothing seems to matter to me.
I have little self-confidence at times.
I strive for perfection in everything I do.
Most of the time I expect to succeed.
In school, I was frequently rebellious.
I despise competitive people and consider them pathetic.
When someone gives me a job to do I finish it no matter what.
I have never fully trusted anyone.
I sometimes pretend to know more than I do.
I am an overly forgiving person.
I often wonder how I got to be the way I am.
I do not work well with other people.
I am confused about what I want to be.
I am careful about my appearance.
It upsets me to hurt people's feelings.
I am good at telling jokes and funny stories.
I don't care if others like the things I do.
I expect to succeed in things I do.
Life is no fun when you play it safe.
I am always arguing with people.
I am not very inventive.
When I am in a bad mood, I let other people know it.
I think crowded public events (rock concerts, sports events) are very exciting.
My success depends on my appearance.
I like parties and socials.
I would rather work with facts than people.
I often analyze my motives.
I have a lot of friends, almost all who I consider acquaintances.
I never resent being asked for a favor.
I am usually calm.
I can get along with just about anybody.
I can use a microscope.
I like doing things that no one else has done.
I don't let little things bother me.
Sometimes I feel like a failure.
Entering a room full of people doesn't make me uncomfortable.
People think I am a nonconformist.
I would like to go mountain climbing.
I don't mind criticizing people, especially when they need it.
Happiness is not more important than fame and vice versa.
I am often irritated by faults in others.
Putting on an act for people is often necessary.
I seldom set high standards for myself.
I don't enjoy a game unless I win.
I always try to see the other person's point of view.
I am almost always too hot or too cold.
I am an ambitious person.
I would like to change a lot of things about my past.
I like to give orders and get things moving.
I have a good memory.
I can't do anything well.
My successes mean a lot to me.
Most people are not as honest as they seem.
I'm pretty careful in my work.
I would rather read than watch TV.
I would like to change a lot of things about myself.
I never resent not getting my way.
In school I didn't like math.
I think I would enjoy having authority over people.
I don't mind talking in front of a group of people.
I feel guilty about some of the things I have done.
I enjoy making people feel better.
I always notice when people are upset.
I don't care for large, noisy crowds.
I am a quick-witted person.
I am cranky and irritable when I don't feel well.
I am a leader in my group.
I would like to learn to scuba dive.
In school, talking in front of the class was easy for me.
I seldom pay attention to how I look.
I do my job as well as I possibly can.
I would enjoy skydiving.
I would rather stay home and read than go to a party.
I am a follower, not a leader.
When something doesn't work I usually want to know why.
I get depressed a lot.
I don't feel guilty about being the center of attention.
I get away with a lot of things.
I'm known for coming up with good ideas.
Other people's opinions of me are not important.
Planning things in advance is quintessential to life.
I never was and never will be a good salesperson.
Most people make friends because they want something from them.
If you want justice in this world, then you must be ready to fight for it.
Sometimes I am not sure what I really believe.
I never let others make my big decisions.
I don't have high standards for my performance at work.
I love it when the phone is ringing and people want to talk.
I sometimes put off doing things for people I don't like.
I have some powerful enemies.
Pictures of starving children don't bother me.
I always keep my word, whatever the cost.
I only out of necessity, ask other people for help.
People sometimes take me for granted.
Other people recognize my talent, although they may not always say so.
I do not feel nervous when all eyes are fixed on me.
I don't appreciate people giving me advice about how to do my job.
I have had several stormy personal relationships.
Sometimes I feel a kind of power around me.
At work, I am known as a colorful character.
I am indifferent to the suffering of animals.
Little things seem to bother me a lot.
I consider myself a loner.
I like to make a schedule and stick to it.
I take pride in the accuracy and precision of my work.
I would never take a job that is beneath me.
I believe in getting things done and shit
Because of my unusual gifts, few people are close to me.
People can often sense my power.
No one ever got ahead by being modest.
It doesn't embarrass me to make an honest mistake.
People sometimes think my appearance is a little unusual.
When people criticize my work, I usually ignore them.
At work, people often ask me to do more than my fair share.
I am a good listener no matter whom I talk to.
I think traveling in a group, to a foreign country would be stressful.
At work I am careful to check with my boss before making decisions.
My life is not very interesting.
People often disappoint me.
I often start conversations with strangers.
I usually try to tell people what they want to hear.
There are some people I will never forgive.
Sometimes I know what people are going to say before they say it.
People with my special talents don't need many friends.
People find me attractive.
Sometimes my life seems empty.
In groups, I am often one of the first to speak.
I have almost never broken off a friendship.
I can get angry quickly.
In a group, I don't mind expressing unpopular opinions.
I like work that requires close attention to details
I have my own private words.
I don't have many close friends.
I do not have a natural talent for leadership.
I am easily embarrassed.
I am a good role player.
My moods can change quickly.
Few people have seen what I have seen.
It doesn't bother me to criticize or contradict the persons who are above me at work.

2008-02-28T21:29:00.000-08:00

I read "The Great Divorce," by C.S. Lewis. Why because I watch LOST and everything that is referenced in Lost has roots. Its all relevant. They are clues.

The great divorce is an allegorical piece about heaven and hell. In the story, the narrator moves from hell to heaven on a bus. Everyone who has chosen to board the bus from hell to heaven has a chance to stay in heaven IF they divorce themselves from the "god" they have allowed to rule their lives i.e. grief, guilt, addiction, etc.. Even though guided by beings who have already achieved great joy and realize the folly of their previous "gods," nearly everyone visiting from hell refuses to let go of his or her baggage and prefers to return to hell.

The book is at most a two hour read and the parallels are significant.

If Losties (characters stranded on the mysterious island on Lost) are indeed dead, their struggle is with themselves and the baggage they carry. Why would Kate want to return to a world where she is a criminal, Jack to a world of disappointment, Sawyer to the life of a conman? Yet, these characteristics are what they are fighting so hard to return to.

Some of those who died on the island, Charlie, Nikki, Eko, all released their baggage and have now gone on to paradise. They had their addictions/evil deeds and confessed in some form on the island. If, indeed, the Losties are in between until each makes a decision, that would explain why no new children are born of inhabitants of the island.

The whispers are those who have gone on to paradise. Abbadon (Satan), a bad guy character in Lost, sent in his hench-woman to tempt people back to hell and that is why John Locke killed her. That is also why he asks Hurley if anyone else was still there-more for him.

2008-02-26T10:51:00.000-08:00

A memoire from a while back. Its changed and exaggerated at certain points to cover embarrasing truth, I confess. :) But I was reading it and I was very amused.

A few dollars in my pocket and my immediate bills paid for the next billing cycles, I had the pleasure of attending my brother’s engagement ceremony. It was an absolutely joyous occasion which brought a definite and evident happiness on my moms face. My brother was a step ahead. He was also hyper. A big teddy bear as his fiancé describes it. I personally was so glad that he found someone with such a great personality and understanding of the culture of both worlds. She is educated, and seems to bring out the best in everyone around her. Going to engagement was truly a wonderful experience. Getting there from the farthest point in the continental United States on short nothing was another. It was hard enough finding a good fare let alone seats. My new boss owned several travel agencies, and even he had managed to barely get me a seat. It took me a whole night of flying, along with a part of the morning to get from Seattle to Washington D.C. I changed three planes along the way, one of which was a tiny old Fokker, which made really fear for my tumultuous life. On the way back was worse. I had started out my day promptly at eight thirty in the morning. Taking the train to the airport, boarding a plane to Chicago and getting there earl at elevenish. Not too bad, I thought. My naiveness took over and I assumed smooth sailing from there. Little did I know, my connection was going to be late…and I wouldn’t set foot out of the airport until after ten thirty in the night. Almost eleven and a half hours later. Of course my acquaintances in Chicago were not available, so I gave up hoping to meet with them for a few hours.

My cell phone charger was lodged neatly in the middle of my jacked and sweats, in the bag that I had checked that morning. I turned off my phone, and began a hunt to find an electrical socket in the airport. Funny thing about airports that’s really not very funny. Besides the fact that terminals lack enough electrical sockets in terminals, and given the amount of electric gadgets in use today, the ones that do exist are in the extra ordinary of places. Secretly tucked in behind pillars near garbage cans, in the middle of busy aisles, one the side of information monitors and my favorite place…at the front bottom of the check-in counter at the gate! They had a few that were placed within a proper seating area, but what good is an electrical outlet without electricity, or better yet…and hole in the ground.

I used to love flying. It was an absolute fairy tale experience. I would dream about the moment we were in the air. I loved the smell, and the look of it all at the airport. The stores looked so sophisticated, the food seemed so much better as well as the people, who were way more nicer then in life outside the airport. I always looked forward to riding the escalator or the electronic walkway. It was fascinating. All of it. My views have remained the same except for a few things. I am now older, but have to worry about things other then just waiting from a directional nudge from my dad or my mom to tell me what to do. I have to worry about finding food, making sure I don’t miss my flight and finding a way to get a window seat at all costs.

2008-02-22T13:00:00.001-08:00

This blog is largely defunct. I have gone mad, and my mind has cease to function like it is supposed to. I feel alive, but in an ordinary sort of way.

2007-10-29T19:50:00.000-07:00

An open letter to the skeptic eye on the Pakistani Pie
boy did that sound dirty

You know, its such a sad and incredibly depressing thing when you can find better news results for Ethiopia and Myanmar. When you try to google pakistan for business news, good business....actually ANY business news is awfully hard to find. Why?

Everything that happens in Pakistan is put under a microscope and analyzed by each and every lunatic, scholar, blogger. This is not a bad thing, but being the center piece on the poorly executed war on terror, doesn't really help. Any car jacking, any kidnapping, any crime and every medium sized event in Pakistan is instantly associated with a failing country full of terrorist sympathizers. Atleast this is the understanding I have gained after trying to search on multiple search engines, that most of the first 10 pages is the same exact news...just a different version by a particular publication. There are plenty and tons of great economic news buried in the back...but one has to SEARCH HARD for it on western media outlets. I mean if I wanted to know about the telecom industry which is booming, and I tried to search the news for it all I would get is 30 google pages of the same story on a suspected terrorist that was arrested in some remote area of northern Pakistan!

I just wanted to share that life goes on, and Pakistan is in a better position then the bigots give it credit for. It has a head strong economy, its people are still proud and its military mighty. Given the chance of a fairer share of the news, Pakistan would be at the forefront of the companies that are about to leap into the industrial nation pool. Indian media and the unhelpful western outlets are pain enough...we have to contend with stupid Pakistanis worried about and too busy expressing their love for or trying to battle or demean another's political affiliation.

Given the consequences Pakistan is in right now, ANY other country would have given up, failed and had broken down into hundreds of tiny pieces about 10 years ago. Its not a miracle that Pakistan survives, its reality that people don't care to see. Everyday journalists love to invoke the name of Pakistan and relating it to terrorism or some juicy story related to a terrorist. Thats all they have. They smear the country with the pile of terrorist rhetoric as they fail to notice the quietly building economic infrastructure supporting and keeping the country alive.

2007-10-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

One of my own favorite characters. I hope i can use this sililoquy in a meaningful story one day

What was it with dames anyway? You stood in front of some two bit preacher for five god dam minutes and when you walked away, everything was inside out.

Before you were married, it was great. You were the king. She stood there with one hand on your cock to let you know when she wanted it, and with the other, tried to light your cigarette, wash your back, feed your face and smooth your pillow all at the same time.

Then came the magic words and you got to beg for it. You got to go by the book. You got to play with it, warm it up, treat it gentle. You got to rest your elbows and light her cigarettes and carry shit and open doors. You even have to thank her when she lets you have it, the same piece she couldn't stop offering you before.

2007-10-14T22:28:00.000-07:00

A friend returned from his annual trip to india

I developed and narrated passages on my friends travels to india and back. He told me in broken sentences about his travels, he was irritated, and I found it interesting. So I storied it and here we are. Enjoy:

India is a third world country. The exaggeration's about its "advancement" are self evident. Ever been to Madras? World class city it is. Yes of course. One doesn't realize it how remote and distant this country is from anything advanced. Soon as you step out of the plane you are slammed in to the sweet stench of rotting vegetation and open sewers. In the dark, it takes a while to figure out that the tin-ish building near you is the Madras airport terminal.

Inside the terminal, the wobbly ceiling fans only manage to stir up the hot air. Sweat drips off your nose. Thanks to a broken luggage belt, bags from who knows how many flights form a mountain in the middle of the concrete floor. Two porters fight each other while climbing to the top to retrieve the same bag. Three other porters follow you around, pestering to carry yours, as others watch the show. They simply don't listen when you tell them that you intend to carry your backpack yourself. All the while a beggar with a withered arm and an amputated leg scoots behind you, pulling and pushing himself along the filthy floor with his good arm and leg. Every once in a while he reaches up and grabs at the leg of your pants. It doesn't seem to matter how many rupees you drop into the pouch around his neck or how fast you hopped form one side of the terminal to the other. He just keeps following.

You finally surrender and give one of the porters some money to retrieve your backpack. You give him 50 rupees and he appears 20 minutes later with three, out of which one is yours. You are the only civilization here, it seems.

2007-10-13T18:29:00.000-07:00

I had begun to address my concerns as he interrupted me. I don't recall what he was saying. It didn't even matter. Because what I had planned to say was much more important. Its significance was in everything I was at that particular time and point. As he spoke, I rehearsed in my mind my soliloquy and strengthened the choice of words i was going to use, articulating and purifying my argument in my mind. It was imperative that I concentrated on what I had to say. It was after all the most important thing that had number one priority on my list. By the time I had stopped thinking, and was ready to interrupt him, he finished talking and got up and left the room tapping me on the shoulder. I unknowingly obliged to whatever he had said. It took me a further three minutes to reassess what had happened.

Cursing, I gotten up. I had severe attention deficit disorder. I had a hard time speaking and keeping up with acquaintances and life became even more excruciatingly difficult at work. It was simple. I was trying to get somewhere in life, and asking people to repeat complex and important tasks every second became too much an obstacle to do. So I devised a simple plan. To go with the flow. I could recall stuff that was said, but not totally. Keywords remained in my head and bounced around like tennis balls as i jogged my memory. That was the only way I could cope with the situation. People always say go to this doctor, go to that doctor. They do not want to go the extra distance by offering to pay for that damned famous doctor.

2007-08-24T22:49:00.000-07:00

After a series of uneasy communications (for me at least) Riz asked summoned me at his office earlier then my other partner. He was a short and busy man. I entered his modest looking office, hidden inside his travel agency he greeted me with a quick hi and asked me to hang around when he took care of meaningless tasks around the office, seemingly irritated.

Riz was a powerful man, according to the people I knew that knew him and had dealings with him previously. Google agreed, and I was even more impressed at his knowledge of international business surroundings. He seemed more old school then anything. I say that because he was not a web savvy person, and was absolutely clumsy and notable uncomfortable on his computer.

It was cluttered and he didn't even bother wasting time in small chitchat. He was a true businessman I suspected. I made a mental note of Googling him further. His conversation started out with a blitz of what he does. The two Bluetooth pieces on each ear made him look like a Pakistani Cyborg uncle. And he seemed possessed at times, as he eased in and out of phone conversations while talking to me, all of a sudden. It not only annoyed me, but confused the shit out of me since I have major problems concentrating at times. This had happened four times already, and we had just begin to chat about 15 minutes ago.

No wonder, I felt a bit relieved as Roth walked in. Roth was my partner, and Riz summoned both of us for this assignment. Roth was unlike other people in a sense that I was able to easily work with him. I had met him, a young Jewish entrepreneur, at a Pakistan day picnic. We connected instantly and we shared some business ideas that incidentally reflected universal career objectives for both of us. He was Lebanese, and one could never tell with his peachy hair and light complexion.

Although I was impressed with what Riz did for a living as he opened up the conversation once more from the top, since Roth's attendance. The small office was simply a DESK to him. He had a consultancy firm where he represented two of the top five richest Gulf Arab families. Especially the richest one. He waved his hands in front of our faces, telling us about what his vision is. I could care less, seriously...I had heard those a lot lately by people that really peeved me. But you could see the sparkle in his eye as he ranted. The man loved what he did. What blew me away, was what he proposed and asked me to do. I was mesmerized by the significance of the process I was about to be involved in. Riz, for an average looking man, with an average looking business, seemed to have very strong connections to the wealthy middle east crowd. I cannot sum up the actual deal I was involved in, but I can say this: Riz was a connector. His rollodeck must have been the size of a room, and he had spent a full year talking to senators, congressmen, international diplomats, business man to reach the CEO of a certain lingerie company. All in an effort to bring the two parties to the table.

Given the gravity of the situation, I have to admit at first, I felt overwhelmed. At this early on in my life, I was dealt a huge hand at a game I wasn't too familiar with. It wasn't a do or die situation, but I was now involved maybe the biggest deal of its nature ever in history. Not only that, I was expected to produce this complex and immensely important document within a weeks time that would be seen by a group of billionaires, all at the same time, in one room. A document that is usally done by Large PR firms, and takes months to produce. Such is what my life has become.

2007-08-22T21:59:00.001-07:00

"Do you believe in god?" he asked.
He was serious. My first thought was that he had some fatal illness and was looking for solace.

This was the type of bullshit that was repeated and flung around the room. Whispered sometimes, and other times as an announcement in the confrence room. The philosophical mumbo jumbo was quite popular with him, and he often made refrences to random religions with it. I don't know exactly what the point was, but I always responded with something equally stupid which was well recieved. Sometimes I had trouble hiding my amusement.

They walked in, as usual with smiley faces. The claim was that the VC had accepted their offer, and that the bank was nothing to worry about anymore. I didn't pay too much attention and the emotion on my face reinforced the notion. After all, they had said such things before.

It seems its a stable man's game. In fact, it is rich man's game. Making the choice may have not been a bad one, if certain circumstances were practical, but this was getting out of hand. My understanding of the impact of the failure was way too underrated. My backup plans were all but gone, and I had a few things to rely on at this point and time. The time seemed ripe to rescend and reevaluate, and deploy so I did.

2007-08-15T16:55:00.000-07:00

A developed and narrated passages on my friends travels to india and back. He told me in broken sentences about his travels, he was irritated, and I found it interesting. So I storied it and here we are. Enjoy:

India is a third world country. The exaggeration's about its "advancement" are self evident. Ever been to Madras? World class city it is. Yes of course. One doesn't realize it how remote and distant this country is from anything advanced. Soon as you step out of the plane you are slammed in to the sweet stench of rotting vegetation and open sewers. In the dark, it takes a while to figure out that the tin-ish building near you is the Madras airport terminal.

Inside the terminal, the wobbly ceiling fans only manage to stir up the hot air. Sweat drips off your nose. Thanks to a broken luggage belt, bags from who knows how many flights form a mountain in the middle of the concrete floor. Two porters fight each other while climbing to the top to retrieve the same bag. Three other porters follow you around, pestering to carry yours, as others watch the show. They simply don't listen when you tell them that you intend to carry your backpack yourself. All the while a beggar with a withered arm and an amputated leg scoots behind you, pulling and pushing himself along the filthy floor with his good arm and leg. Every once in a while he reaches up and grabs at the leg of your pants. It doesn't seem to matter how many rupees you drop into the pouch around his neck or how fast you hopped form one side of the terminal to the other. He just keeps following.

You finally surrender and give one of the porters some money to retrieve your backpack. You give him 50 rupees and he appears 20 minutes later with three, out of which one is yours. You are the only civilization here, it seems.

2007-07-23T14:04:00.000-07:00

The Difference Between X and Y

I attended a confrence and the day began with a presentation by trend guru Jane Buckingham of The Intelligence Group. Buckingham spent the time describing the difference between Generation X and Generation Y, stating that some marketers tend to group them into the same target but there are glaring differences.

We'll start with what shapes Generation X (born between 1965-1979):

One out of two families divorce, world of decay, threat of death (AIDS, gangs and violence).

They are pessimistic, realistic, independent, "savvy yet skeptical," and nostalgic. They feel a need to bring back the past since this generation lacks stability, they recycle trends, clothes styles, even drinks selections (the martini & cosmo), and feel that there is no guarantee in finding happiness and success.

What shapes Generation Y (born between 1980-1992)

-Believe that they can do things on their own -- starting their own business at 15, want to be famous because they think that they can because of shows like "American Idol"

-They have role models – they don't just look up to celebrities, they look for good elements in real people

-They are individuals, hopeful, entrepreneurs, optimistic, and "smarter than you."

-Extremely STRESSED generation

They are also extremely hard to manage because they strive for so much.

To sum it up she gave a quick overview on what's hot for 2006 including ARG (Alternate Reality Gaming), experience clubs, organic food, comedy (Blue Collar Comedy Tour), interactive billboards and podcasts to name a few and left us with this thought:

"There is definitely a shrinkage of the teen market. Today, teens acts like they're 20, and tweens act like they are teens."

2007-06-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

Ill never see her again, ill never get a chance. I cook up a distant future ahead, and see the flickering street light as it spreads out across the empty wet ground. It starts to sprinkle and through my head goes Her. Walking back to my car -what the hell am I going to do?

I don’t want to stay here in anymore, I said to myself. People are crazy and it seems too easy to play a gig in this town and keep a straight face. The best part about this town is thinking about leaving.

You’re never going to see her again, I think to myself again. My heart sinks and starts to swing its arms. But ...

2007-06-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Islamabad, Pakistan. It was a great little city, known for diplomats. I had no interest in it. I would go exploring in my bike, not the serene greenery that rests in the city, but the billboards that populate its commercial spaces. To me they were dull, and I used to contemplate constantly about them. I would see something, and I would wonder how to make it more sophisticated. How to make it more appealing and fun. I always was a skeptic for the status quo. Through out my childhood I would struggle with the fact that I didn’t have the power to make people see the fun side…of anything.

When my parents brought us to the states, we had no idea what was in store for us. I didn’t want to leave good old Islamabad. It was a nice little town, known for its diplomats. But here, the advertisements on the billboards, on magazines and tv were quite different. They looked like people had tried to put in some sort of effort into producing it. The schemes behind the ads were complex, the presentation was dramatic but the product was the same. They seemed to sell the experience rather then the product itself. While still 14, that gave me some clue as to what I would eventually want to do in life.

Somewhere during my sophomore year, as I gained access to internet on a regular basis, I became obsessed with watching commercials online. When I would go to the movies, I was more interested in what was going through the directors’ mind as he created the scene. When I saw a billboard, I wondered why the designer chose the wording. I would find flaws and go home and try to edit what I saw, usually on Photoshop software, where I would recreate a better version of that something. School was no different, where content of an assignment took a back seat, as I cared more about how the thing was presented. Every group task was an exciting opportunity to organize the content and if given the opportunity, present it attractively on PowerPoint, Video or through other visuals.

Obsession with form and function transcended into passion somewhere in my junior year. Creativity would ensue, as I started writing fiction successfully. Also, I would pursue my passion to better, through media, by simply creating a youtube account. I would form short clips birthed out of creative bursts, which gained a lot of attention. In my senior year, I decided to act on the blue print of social change after graduation. Specifically, I wanted to follow a passion in life which encompassed helping change the world through media. I want to be an enabler, an empowerer for the people in third world countries who long to standout through their creative ideas but have no formal means to. Particularly, I envision my self as the apparatus that incubates young people with creative ideas in Pakistan. I want to provide young dreamers with help so they can help themselves. It could be through a documentary, a commercial, through art or anything creative. As a kid, I wondered not just about the billboards, but about the world we can better around us through media.

2007-03-04T19:23:00.000-08:00

Random Thoughts, that collected

There are those, to whom things happen and those who die waiting. Perhaps, looking forward is key...?
Yesterday I saw a movie scene and it made perfect sense
The walmart truck always startles me
Do you ever wonder why you always see more pennies lying facing down then up? That defies statistical models. What is chance, then? And what about possibility?

2007-02-05T22:42:00.000-08:00

About Israel Kamakawiwo'ole

I just discovered this dudes song which appears in the ending credits of Meet Joe Black. An excellent movie for anyone, despite the chick flick labels. Anyway, this song Somewhere over the rainbow appears in uncountable commercials, movies, shows, etc... Its by a Hawaiin folk singer who makes nusrat fateh ali khan look anorexic. Once weighing up to 750 lbs. BUT his genuine and simplistic style of singing, and especially this song has struck a chord with me. Anyone who hears it, immediately likes it and not only that. They either instantly love it as a happy song, or a sad song. Judging by the vocals only, you could never guess the man behind the music. Apparently he is already dead, at the age of 38...predictably due to weight problems...

HERES his fanpage on myspace with the song on it...

Here's a comparison between Israel Kamakawiwo'ole vs. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

2007-01-29T13:11:00.000-08:00

Some pictures I took from the Ashura Procession in the Houston Downtown. More then 5000 people showed up. I saw many sunni friends there. There might have been others, but Houston is so big...The procession has been held every year in Muharram, and usually is on a Sunday. This tradition, in actuality has been in place for about 1400 years!

2007-01-16T20:12:00.000-08:00

Alright, its wierd but I JUST heard that song HOW TO SAVE A LIFE by the FRAY. I am behind the times what can I say. I must admit, it touched certain memories.

Here's my version of it..i goofed up on the chorus a bit, but I suspect simon cowell may approve. No download necessary, just click and play.

MY VERSION OF how to save a life

2007-01-07T19:11:00.000-08:00

This no job no money situation takes its toll at times...

Bored in Denver, with no job prospects I watch bugs fly in through a crack on the window. I have a racket.

I am now getting good at Bug badminton. I now play sitting down, and I try to be unpredictable so the bugs will never know when its safe. Sometimes they whir by my face or even land on me and I leave them alone. At other times they fly at full velocity several feet away and I slam them with an extended forehand.

HERE ARE MY RULES: I play left hand versus right hand, squash (or handball) style. That is, I switch hands whenever I try to hit a bug and fail to connect. At first, I switch hands whenever I try to hit a bug and fail to connect. Also, first I gave a hand a point just for hitting a bug. Then I made it more difficult by adding the "ping" test. According to the "ping" test, a hand scores only when the Bug makes a "ping" as its struck by the racket. If I hit a bug but theres no "ping", its a let and the hand must "ping" a moth on its next attempt, or the racket switches to the opposing hand. Three factors come into play here: bug size (small bugs rarely "ping"), stroke speed (only delicate swings produce "pings"), and racket position (most "pings" come from the racket's sweet spot). My racket is made of wood, and I've managed to misplace its racket press, so its beginning to succumb in the crisp Denver air. As a result, finding the sweet spot and successfully "pinging" becomes increasingly difficult. Scores drop rapidly until a good evening ends with a tally of left four versus right two, or something like that. I'm right handed, but my left seems to win more often then not, which pleases me, because I tend to root for the underdog.

2007-01-07T00:28:00.000-08:00

That sinking feeling comes and goes...

Even though it hurts my chest
I'm gonna stroke till I lose my breath
looking to sin since life began
Coming all the way out the water to get oxygen
Please help me breathe again, at ease again

When I close my eyes, I fear pain, the misery
Brought to me that will rescue me
These are the ways of the world
Now I have to choose between life or lose my sanity
Go where the streets keep callin me
These are the ways of the world

2007-01-04T16:59:00.000-08:00

Its January the 4th, 2007
Denver hasn't led me down. I have ventured out into the city. Mountains of snow at every corner, leaking water, are a common site. I have invested more time into writing. Cafes in the posh area where my mom's apartment is, have inspired me. There is a lot more to write, but I choose not to. The pictures should do most of the talking now...

2007-01-03T12:05:00.000-08:00

Its January 3rd, 2007
There have been some close encounters with the chilly wind, that is infamous for its skin piercing qualities. However I have managed to get around it by always dressing accordingly. One thing, I must admit, that I like about the weather is that it allows you to dress chic and all model like. As I have mentioned earlier, I have been feeling great about my self, and it is making a great difference. I have begun writing my literature again on a regular basis. The reflections that shine and bounce around in my head have been incredibly bright lately, and words do not seem to be a commodity. Emotions haven't drifted around like they normally would, and certainly there hasnt been a problem with motor control. By that I mean, I have been a few days here and already I have been taken the best shits in a while. No one said this is a g rated blog. The internet is still iffy. It goes on and off whenever it so chooses. Also, the Arabic food I had here has been some of the best I've ever head. Dishes like Garlic chicken, and the verastile Kafta Kebob have been incredibly delicious. Much better then houston's, chicago's, or nyc restaurants...Not dry and seemingly made by a human hand. The touch is the difference.

2007-01-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

Its January 2nd, 2007
I have been ambivalent about this new years. Denver is warmer then I anticipated. Obviously I am not talking about the weather, but the feel of it. I don't feel angry anymore and the bluntness has subsided. I feel I weathered a storm, literally. But in more then one way, I have done something most people would shit their pants. Humming my self to benny goodman's 20's style music, I sit outside on my moms apartment and look out to the rockies. In a wierd type of way, it feels so much better. I keep wondering, why I am here but the answer is harder then the question. I feel more energetic, and have moved the entire storage locker by myself into the apartment. This wouldn't have been the case in houston. I feel so refreshed. I can breathe through my nostrils, I do not feel like sleeping late and a clear thinking head is the highlight of the day. I have chosen to not explore the city until I take care of all the things I needed for my moms apartment. Also, the internet I've been stealing is weak as hell. That guy may need to invest in a name brand router, with a stronger signal. I keep cutting off at crucial times on the internet.

2007-01-03T11:43:00.000-08:00

Its january first, 2007
Its the new year, and I have ended up in denver. The route I took was impressive, in that I drove through one the worst ice and snow storms in years. Infact, as I slowly drove through the interstate through Kansas, little did I know, the state was under a state of emergency. Which would explain the national guard hurrying into Kansas, as I made my way out. A normal 6 hour route took me close to 11 hours. It was frustrating, going 10 miles perhour in a slippery interstate, laced with icy traps which were evidenced by atleast 20-24 wrecks. It was an adventure. I drove backwards on the freeway. My wiper came apart in the middle of no where, frost made it unviewable on the freeway, among other things. All in all, it was a challenge. I did not turn on the radio until I was in Denver, to hear the horror stories going on in the area. They had choppers looking for people stranded in 4 feet of snow. Some people went back to find just snow, where they had cars, only roofs showed beneathe their feet.

2006-12-26T00:20:00.000-08:00

I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret

I'm not gonna lie
I want you for mine
My blushing bride
My lover, be my lover, yeah...
Don't be afraid
I didn't mean to scare you
So help me, mola

This I can promise you
You'll stay as beautiful
With dark hair
And soft skin...forever
Forever

Make up your mind
And I'll promise you
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, mola

2006-12-22T09:47:00.000-08:00

random thoughts.

The effect is usually unbearable if any. I don't know. Is it relevant? Quintessentially, its defeating. Its purpose, its aims and its arguments, ardent in their cause, are against and never for.

morning. cripness. ants on beds. sick trends...

the song plays on. o'how fortunate we are. how should i start going by day. how do I conform. There are just many questions, identities lacking all. The power and skill is acquired, but self evident. Yet I never fail to fail.

2006-12-08T22:15:00.000-08:00

Waiting for the World to Change

There were no doors in the next exhibit. There was a hall you could walk through, with lush red carpet and the omnipresent velvet ropes that clung on as guardians near the exhibits. He was high. Everything scared him. The hallway with its high cieling, the deep carpet that gave way to his heavy feet all caving down as the guilt filtered through the sinking feeling in his heart. The Buddha statue in this room had a missing eye. That was the only thing imperfect in an otherwise perfect room. It bothered him and he felt sweat slipping on his neck under the collar. He dragged Hazeenh, his nephew, out of the hallway.

The next exhibit wasn't any less flattering. It had the picture of a dead woman covered in jewelery. She was hideous. He felt nauseas and announced to Hazeenh, that they had to leave. He walked, actually wobbled his way to the exit as Hazeenh followed. He passed the doorman on his way out, as his shifty eyes met the doorman's for a moment. Hazeenh passed the doorman a few seconds later.

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He wanted to do something but nothing seemed important. Everything was ordinary and everything he did seemed auspicious and forced. Hazeenh sat motionless in the passenger seat as they made their way home. Nothing they did seemed to excite or interest Hazeenh. "I want to be a role model," he thought to himself. That though drifted away and disappeared as soon as it appeared though.

2006-12-08T22:13:00.000-08:00

This Is Serious Man
When someone thinks about life, it is then critical to review and question some aspects of what your definition of life is. each of us has a differnt outlook. we weave a unique fabric in which there are a countless number of patterns, twists and turns. the needles we use to sow are variate as we choose. sometimes we stop and turn around and take a look at our designs. the ultimate goal for everyone is the same, that is to wove our cloth, but it isn't rocket science to observe that our projections compared to what we had in mind are way off. its revealed that the product is even more indifferent to what others have believed it to be.

its not, then, strange to find ourselves walking a path we have created. its life. the venue of life, or should it be considered an avenue, with religeon, friendship, perceptions, deceptions, et al being the building blocks of that avenue. where the dreams make up much of the blue print, with determination and willingness acting like the delightful brown bricks. the avenue then becomes complicated, complete with glittering stores, lights, and trees representing achievements.

thats not all though. fun and games aside, the problem with life is that a person can't help but get influenced. the incidents that incur, are like fires on the avenue; rips in the fabrics. its hard to replicate such structures with ease or confidence like the first time. after all, theres nothing like the satisfaction of the "first time" of anything.

take sex for example. enough said.

but when such a thing like your lifes work, or your avenue, melts away. erodes perpetually, with out getting time to rebuild, you stop struggling at a point realizing its absurd to rebuild what was lost. at some mark, you connect the dots, turn around and move forward once again. but its different this time. its less compelling. profoundly nauseating, and whats more, your ability to trust even yourself hinders you from constructing anything as pure as the first time. the choices you make from that particular point on arent dynamic. they are slowly formulated with tons of complex, mostly irrelevant inputs based on what others have. the process is then accelerated when someone else has an edge, and the result is devastating even though we dont realize. the problem is, the quality of life that we spurn in our world decays and erosion of pureness becomes self evident. an aura of selfishness instead transplants within the very fiber of our thoughts. subconciously most of the time, but apparent sometimes.

those of us who are nice enough to ignore the self righteousness of these people live a life of shock. they too like their counterparts spend the rest of their time building defensive forts of sorts. they never acquire answers, not just because they can't but because they wouldn't have time for it. they are too busy constructing road blocks on their avenues from the overwhelming stench that tries to invade their path like raw sewage in a dirty big city alley.

At least thats my view of it through a few metaphors. in essence, the question at hand, that hounds us, is why? why the fuck would someone do that? where does someone the potential to do whatever they do? problem is, as much as we'd like the answers to those questions, they are more or less rhetorical. and thats the danger in going your own way.

2006-11-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

Hopeless Minds:

People who sit in front of the portable fans in a particular mosque piss me off. They are usually fat, culturally backward or fobbish, and hence naturally ignorant about the uses of deodorizing products. Not only the room is flayed with unpleasant smells, which are coming from the air propelled by the fan behind the fat man, but its also the fact that literally no air is moving.

The fat man believes that the fan is his property and continues to sit in front of it and block the contents. Why? Because the man hasn't a clue as to what the culture is. He hasn't taken the time to assimilate in the society he is now in. It is new to him, but he does not care. It will always be new to him, and his cares do not lie with those concerns. The fat man. He is quick to judge the society he lives in now and even dismisses it as an "uncivilized" world, this west. Yet he continues to linger on his routine of sitting in front of the fan and stinking up the room, and scratching his crotch.

It is not culture I suppose. It must be the lack of understanding. The simple act of comprehension and taking to the time to understand, is lost upon this man. Go to hell fat man. Do not pass go, go straight to hell.

2006-11-09T20:26:00.000-08:00

They ask me where I find it. I cannot tell. It would'nt be sufficient.

Songs throw me into convulsions. They inspire. The video is automatic, it plays out its tones and flirts with my imagination. It is that point and time, that the crevice smoothes out and unending stream collects into my pen. The system works in spurts. I cannot explain it.

Sometimes I just feel it. Sometimes it streams. Sometimes it engulfs. Other times its in visions. Never in memories though. Its everywhere to me. Its in everything. It comes naturally it seems. Second nature would be an understatment. It is a curse at times, where the frustration of not being able to display it to my eyes in paper. Just being locked away in eternal memory has its consequences. The sad part is the lack of resources. Ironically the struggle kills.

But the music is powerful. It encourages. Its friendly. It takes me home. I tend to be a realistic person. The first and foremost thing I may look for, is warmth. It must be a representative of something people feel comfortable around. Warmth of life is a must. Metaphorical seduction is equally important. Once two of the conformities are in place, the images begin to appear. They aren't like dreams. they stay. Sometimes im the one that doesn't want to leave.

details come later. Once the synchronizing is in full swing, and the fit represents an accomplishment, the detailing then begins.

2006-11-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

Cold nights prevailed and renewed their chemist rivalry with me...the bout was their's once again.

The pigeons sitting under the car in the night time frightened me as they scrambled from underneathe like cartoon characters. Recovering from the shock, angry, I used the oppurtunity to get back at the pigeons by chasing after the remainder of the flock that chilled on the ground. They quickly nullified by pathetic attempts of chasing them by simply outrunning me complete with strategic and systematic body dodges. This setback upset me, but it was temporary. I managed to regain some pride, however. On the way back to my car again I did this: I yelled at one bird sitting on the grass, facing a truck, its back towards me. It flew forward with no strategy, and slammed into the clear windows of the truck. The thing, puzzled, flew away with a visible lisp...

Battlehardened and satisfied, I get back on my sadle, squint my eyes...faint smile and all...and ride off into the night...only to discover that the horse has taken a shit. I hadn't gone more then a few hundred yards, when the car had a loud thumping flat, and I saw the cheap hub cap that I had spent time shining, flying in harmony with the cold night. It spun back and banged on the windshield.

I swerved, jolted by the collision, and ended up off the road and onto the grass, under the tree, below the pigeons...that sat ready, then shat on me, which strengthened my belief, that under the pigeon tree, that the god that made the pigeon of the tree, was not a god friendly to me, who made the creature shit on me, whose fecal matter now spread on me, that slithered on my jacked like margerine, as I changed the tire under the pigeon tree.

2006-10-22T18:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday in Ramzan

Aaaah. The world floats at body temperature. Very nice, very nice. I'm in a seemingly better mood. My head is clear. Thoughts are coming one at a time, nicely formed. I like this. Well, I might as well admit it: sometimes chai is god DAMN pleasant. Godamn pleasant, do you say? I do indeed, my dear sir, godamn pleasant. Nice little interior dialogue, that.

hmm well what do you know. It's about time for iftaar. Well, aliG, time to give your bladder a release. Get up now, that's a good fellow. One, two, three. Up. There you go. Takes a lot of effor, and energy level seems low, but no problem with motor control here. Stroll over to the bathroom. Turn on the light. Oops, no electricity. Whats this? A little nausea? Let it out, then. There. That wasn't bad at all. And again? No problem. Just let it come on up. Perfect. Now sit down, let your bladder relax, too. Great. Rinse your mouth and head back to the couch. Take a detour for a glass of water. Here's a glass. Here's the water.

Fuck. What have I done. I'm supposed to be fasting. Was fasting. Am fasting. Gaah. Sit down on the couch and have some rest G. You've earned it. What time is it? acha, head for the mosque. which one. the one with the best food.

2006-10-01T22:22:00.000-07:00

About: Death. Mourning. The whole 9 yards of this awful vanishing act.

These words are golden. They help me when I think of my father.

“Death is a part of life son. Everyone has to die sometime. Mourning is painful. Sometimes it’s more than we can bear. We don’t mourn because our loved one is dead but because we loved that person. So if you don’t love, you don’t mourn. But love like death is a part of life son. It is hard to endure mourning but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

2006-09-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

17
The number of medications my pops is on, for life.

$ 500.00 +
The dollar amount of the sum of those medications, per month.

$ 49,000.00 +
The cost of the pacemaker and labor of the docs on my pops tomorrow.

Undefined
The number of days my pops will survive, even after the pacemaker. The docs simply don't know. How can they? How could they. They are professional guessers, blessed with lives of devotion to health, passionate all.

Infinite
The amount of love and honor that lay behind the closed eyelids of my father.

Zero
The number of regrets I have. I did more then any I know for their respective fathers...

2006-09-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

It used to rain in the night so hard the garbage in the streets floated in streams nearly ankle deep. It rained like that too often but the mountainous geography of the city didn't let it flood for long. But sometimes coupled with the agressiveness of the storm it took me that much closer to despair, as a kid. I was always scared of thunder.

Sometimes after the storm subsided after the rain, the August lightning flashed against the night sky occasionally. I used to look for the nearby mountains that surrounded the city, which were visible everytime the flash came. Most of the streetlights used to get burned out after the storm so the night hung like those thick curtains on a makeshift madarsa in the small small mosque beside the barber shop.

There used to be a few lights from the high-rise buildings in the distance and a few stores causing glare against the wet streets and on the limbs of trees, after the electricity was lost after the storm. The night was tinged with illumination but darkness loomed like a bill collector outside our houses.

So was the beautiful Islamabad, my home as a child. Its still like that according to an old buddy of mine. Next year...

2006-09-01T08:52:00.000-07:00

She was clutching her purse like she always did, when she was nervous...Giving some type of an alarming sign only I could detect, in my head. We were fighting. I was losing it. She`d already called me a bastard and an asshole, and I`d already called her a bitch. We`d lost track of what had set us off by then, but it still seemed immensly important that someone come out on top, if only so we could go to bed that night in complete despair and mutual agony and set the stage for a morning of sobbing and apologies followed by tender hours and warmth. Unfortunately, she stopped playing. She`d gone quiet and cold. Her car keys were in her hand. I couldn`t stop her. I was out of ammo. Then there was the sudden, cold sound of steel on mosiac as she pushed her chair back.

"It cannot be anymore"

My face was, as usual, calm, yet I found her's trying to look for some emotion on mine. She couldn't, because there was nothing there. There never is, on mine. What she didn't see, that for an instant, there was physical hurt inside. A breathless moment in my throat, a sharp pain form my chest to my stomache, then a flush down my arms to my fingertips.

Inside, after the calmness subsided, and my fingers back to their normal color, I started thinking about her again. I wasn't mad. I am never mad. I was upset though and hurt too. There was a sudden ease on my lips as they broke free from each other.

"any particular reason you'd like to tell me about"

The white tube light flickered and I could see her tiny fingers grasp her purse even tighter, as I had witnessed many times before whenever she tried to hide something inside. There was a small water residue on the table, something oblivious to her, which was teasing her elbow. I wanted to warn her but I didn't. This type of thing didn't require attention at this point. A tear went down her eye.

"I don't want to talk about it, but..."

I squinted my eyes and turned my head away, still cool. I was hoping I would freak her out with a smooth face, and felt pride when I saw a tear in her eye. I finally swallowed since the start of the converstation and walked out the door. The fucking beans were still on the stove, where I was, when she came home that evening for the last time.

2006-08-23T17:35:00.000-07:00

Things I have, Things I've lost

The dustiest thing in my room is a black hardcover plastic binder that sits under squeaky, my ailing bed:

I kept a binder at work where I made notes about known fixes and solutions to various issues I dealt with at work, just as refrences. It contained loose leaf paper notes, jotted with my writing and with many different inks and lead. After the loose leaf there were three plastic folders within the binder. The first one, I used to slip in printed notes handed out for troubleshooting; important company handouts were in the second one and random work related notices went in the third.

I have now been with the firm for four years, first two of which I had kept and updated the binder. I didn't bother keeping it or carrying it to work after that. Basically it symbolized the approximate time I stopped caring. It used to be a workplace, then just a job, and now it has dwindled to the status of a lum sum paycheck.

2006-08-21T21:52:00.000-07:00

After careful and meaningless consideration of an hour or so, it struck me like a jew strikes an unattended penny on the floor.

It appears that a ducks perception of me is based on wether or not I have a piece of bread. Which makes perfect sense, since it does not have the ability to actaully buy a loaf of bread. Mostly because it has no hands.

2006-08-17T13:40:00.000-07:00

The Haunting, I believed...
a short ass story

The evening was fun. I followed her all evening until she sat on yellow sofa, hard, shiny and plasticy sofa. The party was happening and full of night heat. She was gorgeous, and the way she carried herself appealed to me. I gathered my courage and I stood next to her. I think she offered me to sit, so I did. The seat had curvature on the sides, which helped me slide in on the chair, eventually bumping into and stopping next to her. She didn’t mind, I imagined, considering the guy sitting on her other side had quite some space in between. We sat side to side leaning forward, tilting and trying to understand each others words, I remember.

Then the music got louder, it forced us to make the conversation more intimate and we kept leaning closer and closer to converse, if I wasn’t mistaken. A cool breeze touched us under the open air, but I didn’t feel it. Her hair mildly moving, told me it was a breeze while the goose bumps on her arms told me it was cool.

We had a moment of pause. She looked right through me. I leaned back. I said something I don’t remember. She leaned back next to me, and joined me in looking to the sky, where I was looking. I said its beautiful out and you can actually see the moon and one whole star...or two. It took her a while and then she chuckled while gazing up at the moon still. She must have felt my arm slide behind her shoulder…she was waiting for it I supposed, since she did not protest the act. She eased her head on my arm and continued her staring at the moon, as I studied the infinite number of complex emotions on her face. A face that glowed in the candle’s light while shaded by the moons'. She closed her eyes.

Then something awful happened. Suddenly a man in a blue suit appeared from the crowded darkness, and I saw his hand come towards me. I did not see it coming until his hand went through my chest and gently touched her head. She opened her eyes and picked her head up off the sofa cushion she laid her head on. She smiled and seemed to recognize him and he helped her up. This neglect filled me with rage. Blood boiled in my veins as I swung at the man with full force. My fist went through both of them and ended up knocking the picture hanging behind the man in the blue suit. They turned around, confused and went about. I shouted at them, cursed them out, and watched them get in a yellow taxi that took them away.

What just happened? Its all coming back to me now, and this I know for sure: I followed her alright, and I sat next to her for sure…but I never actually spoke to her; I never felt the wind; she did not lean on my hand. She did not even know of my existence in fact. Ah, this happens all the time. See the thing is, I was there a month ago; at a similar party in the same exact location. I came in a red Lexus with my closest friends and all that I remember vividly. What I forget, is that I left that night in a plastic bag, in an ambulance, leaving behind weeping acquaintances. I overdosed while snorting that night and since then I have never set foot out side this place.

This cycle continues every night. My poor memory kills me. I feel alive but then the discovery or the moment takes place, due to an unexpected act like the one I have mentioned above. Usually after the moment, rumors about this club being haunted ring in my head, and become eerily familiar memories of acts I had committed. I usually sit down after this and try to have some water in a glass that I cannot touch. I never believed in ghosts. Now there are no ghosts but me.

Each day this happens. I try, then I remember, then it hits, then I shrink, and I forget.

2006-08-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

Need a hot Pakistani secretary without upsetting your wife? Easy.

A couple of months ago, I had a delicious lunch (at Manhattan’s Jaiya Thai, which seems to hold a monopoly on the Thai-food-for-desis market) with a friend who had just been to Pakistan on business. He told me about a company in D.C. which had outsourced its receptionist to Pakistan via videoconferencing. Mitra Kalita published the story in the Washington Post:

In a chic downtown lobby across the street from the Old Executive Office Building, Saadia Musa answers phones, orders sandwiches and lets in the FedEx guy. And she does it all from Karachi, Pakistan.As receptionist for the Resource Group, Musa greets employees and visitors via a flat screen hanging on the lobby’s wall. Although they are nine hours behind and nearly 7,500 miles away, her U.S.-based bosses rely on her to keep order during the traffic of calls and meetings…
She turns the camera — which is usually focused on her face — to offer a view of her surroundings in Karachi: a lounge, a cafeteria, a pool table… Just then, a phone call interrupts her. It is 1:15 a.m. where Musa sits. “Good afternoon,” Musa says brightly. “Thank you for calling the Resource Group.”

Musa went through some unique call center training:
“A smile can be heard,” Musa recited in an interview via her flat screen. She worked as a call-center operator before being promoted to secretary. “Posture can make a difference. A dress code makes a difference.”

The company’s Pakistani-American founder, Zia Chishti (PDF), previously cofounded the company which does Invisalign braces. He was born in the U.S. but grew up in Pakistan:
… Chishti co-founded the Resource Group three years ago after selling his shares in a California dental-imaging company he had also founded. That company, Align Technology Inc., left its operations in Lahore, Pakistan, after the 2001 terrorist attacks, and Chishti took the abandoned office filled with laid-off workers and asked them to trust his vision for a call-center empire.

Wahabis, Propaganda by the ignorant Western media and Indian progapanda machines haven't made it easy on foriegn investors that are interested and recognize potential:
… having been escorted by armed guards, Beringer acknowledged he did not feel totally safe. Being a Westerner made him feel, at times, self-conscious. “There was a bomb threat while we were there,” he said.

Although Pakistan remains far behind India in outsourcing, but its still impressive:
Pakistan remains just a blip in the offshoring industry, generating an estimated $550 million in revenue from software and related services last year, according to the Pakistan Software Houses Association. India, meanwhile, generated $12.8 billion.

But Chishti himself reports $170M of revenue in two years. Even if he made ample seed capital from Invisalign, that’s an impressive figure. The possibilities are endless. Besides, phillipines it taking a lot of business from India because they can broker a better accent then Indians. Pakistanis can generally guise their accent better and adapt to the American/British ones, in a much more efficient manner, plus the labor cost is cheap as well.

2006-08-03T21:33:00.000-07:00

The sun was low and unobstructed when I pulled into the parking lot. I cut the engine, walked to the end of the pavement, went up one side of the dune and down another, then slipped through a wormhole. Except for a lizard skittering past, the scene was unearthly. Gypsym circled me and mated with the horizon in the distant forever, where dunes rested, and rolled like waves. One look around and I was totally gone. There was the world of maps that I used to belong to (two airports, 40 miles each from my place, walmarts and countless gas stations) and then there was this - a vast rippling crop of searing, sultry nothingness. Mountains on each side lined up, facing each other, saluted their counterparts. As the sun sank behing them, the sand started to settle. Everything went still. The dessert went from sugar toned to the hue of dirty snow, and then the sun dissappeared completely and the sky blew up, it exploded, adn teh sun turned i a lustrous lunar lbue. I wondered some. Then some more, expecting to fly away. To keep grounded, I removed my shoes and dug my feet into the luke warm, and silky sand. The terrain made subtle shifts in shape and color.

I stood on teh surface of this moon and watched another one rise. My brothers and I.

2006-07-26T15:06:00.000-07:00

On request of a friend: A passage.

You sit behind a higher chair, wearing a black shirt and slacks, tastefully creased.

The cast begins to enter, filing into this chamber of brightly lit tubelights that house noisy insects and buff ac fans overhead. A man enters, with a flashy cell phone, is remorsely large, staggeringly, stutteringly eloquent. Another enters, a mortal enemy: righteously treacherous, impeccably dressed, unfairly confident. And radiant, confiding..his wife: someone that I find fascinating. Three people I know, one of which I hate, all players in this trial in my head, witnesses and liars all...

They are pursued by two hawkfaced men dressed in black and white: both forbidding, both obnoxious, hairs dripping with oily substance...two homosocial reflections of the same soul, in a cosmic house of mirrors, or uncanny coincidence? impossible to say.

A steady stream of others follows, their diversity the work of a skilled casting director. They take their places. They all sit. Silent murmurs, moving slowly, every hesitation well rehearsed. A brief but stylish crowd scene, and above it all I and my mortal enemy sit near by.

Then a pause, a silence. All eyes turn to his chair. He stands, a pharoah, an enemy. I must be patient however. To others, he is terrible almost-hero of a great story: powerful and magnificent. My temper flairs. I fight to control it. And then he is seated and it begins. Its dinner. My fists feel like the hammer of god himself. Perhaps this rage...where did I get this rage, flashes through my mind before vanishing forever...But the die has been cast. There is no going back.

It is a happy room. A gathering at a social climate. Yet none realize the villain here. I defy the nonsense, and imagine this a court. The hawkfaced men and accompanying others the courtsmen, him the accused, and I the prosecutor. My syliloquy as follows:

"He is a phony, Milord" I'd say. My remarks would reek of closure. "There can be no doubt here. No more facts exist to be found. The balancding of scales awaits. Redress for wrong is come. Tender humanity screams in fear, confronted by such a monster, and conscience weeps with rage. The law usually licks its lips at the prospect of punishing such a one, and justinc can shut its eyes today, so easy is its task."

I'd pause, my words leaping about the courtroom like shadows cast for innocense' sake in the flickering light of some dying candle. He'd be worthy of the punishment that followed; i confident; since the villian clearly'd deserve it.

2006-07-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

Random Thoughts make Good Poems.

Everything is ordinary upclose
Nothing is high or above one
I met a man who had too many faces
And I felt lost
I know that spades are swords of soldiers
I know that Clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds only blink for the hour
but thats not hte shape of my heart

2006-07-13T20:39:00.000-07:00

The skinny on a seafood I HATE:
Take an insect, make it bigger and tastier. Don't worry, I'll wait. There. Now you should have, in your magical hands, a lobster. Be careful: Their powerful claws have been known to rip the arms off of a grown man. (Note: This info came from a third grader). Their ugly faces and pinchy nature are why humans boil the beasts alive. Lobsters are not only the most delicious sea creature, but they are also one of the most expensive types of seafood in the galaxy. If you're too cheap to try some, you can get the same taste by rubbing grapes on a tuna-fish sandwich slathered in mustard. Fine…I admit it. I've never had lobster and have no clue what it tastes like. Up yours, you rich asshole. Now where was I?

2006-07-09T00:05:00.000-07:00

Holden Caufield

It rained lazily all day. I could have done stuff today but wasted it. No problem though. I took a nap to compensate and run away from reality and feelings of guilt.

I dreamed it was raining during the nap, and I tried to run and my legs simply gave out with each strive. Suddenly I felt like I was falling with nothing to cling on to. When I woke up, the room was darker than usual. You know, theres always something different about the darkness, when you wake up at an odd time in your room just before dawn. Something incredibly distant, almost alien.

I sat straight up in the sofa I fell asleep on. My heart was beating fast and I was sweating. I felt around the sofa for no apparent reason. There was nothing there. The remote had slipped through the crack of the cushions, but nothing out of the ordinary there. I leaned over, turned the lamp on, and glanced around the living room. I got up and walked around to make sure everything was ok and all.

I don't know why I bothered to even look around since I have a bad sixth sense and wouldnt know if someone was in the house, even if they sat next to me, but I do this all the time. The doctor says that suddenly waking up with blood gushing through my veins hurriedly is OK. And every time when I wake up like this, I try to look around not sure for what... hoping to retrieve something lost.

I came back to where I was and the Television was still on. Someone was trying to sell a video and claimed that by following the video, it could make me rich. He promised and pleaded like God Himself had approved the tapes embroidery. That was it. I had to turn the fucker off.

It stopped raining outside.

2006-07-07T13:56:00.000-07:00

Love Thy Terrorist, or be Consistent...atleast

What intrigues me are things that are placed in our society, which reek of psychotic hypocritical. They are straightforward examples of how people are blind to so many things. One such word, which has come to dominate our very existence here in the US, is the word terrorism.

Terrorism. Most people associate the word with a bearded man, with a turban who is a part of or works in conjunction with Al-Qaeda. Most people also associate Islam to that generalization, along with other generic keywords: Middle Eastern, A-rab, Al-Jazeera. While information involving these keywords is available in every median of our lives from TV to casual conversations, no such definitions exist. Mostly because no one is quite sure of what they mean. We have Fox news, CNN, MSNBCS, and the likes to thank for that. Meaningless propaganda with glittery candy-like words and "meanings," just to gain attention. Mind you, they sound like informative stories that great, but they fail to realize the repercussions of the divestment.
Other types of Terrorism is glorified though. I see it all the time. Infact in most cases it is promoted by the responsible entities as being cool and the "in" thing. Hollywood and the Gaming industry are great example, in this, then. Movies about the glorification of Triads, Italian Mafia (by far the most popular one. An example being Sopranos), Japanese crime lords, Street racing law evading deviants (fast and the furious), Colombian/South American drug traffickers, Caribbean cannabis smoking culture, Rappers promoting constant violence (50 cent in Get Rich or Die Trying), Russian Mafia, 1920's thugs and gangsters (idolized in virtually every movie or advertisement they are in) and the increasingly Violent street gangs (Grand Theft Auto, all parts!).

Ask any random American individual about the above mentioned terrorist organizations and more likely then not, you will get an answer that revolves around the words AWESOME, COOL, AMAZING and even INSPIRING unless ofcourse, the question is regarding Terrorism (what we define it as nowadays atleast) and the answer would be filled with hate (along with a frownie face), along with other generic words (but is not limited to) like freedom, nuclear, eye-ran, a-rab, middleastern, etc.

In essence it is in fashion for us to denounce terrorism (and rightfully so) but only a certain kind of it. Ethnic mobs, Black racists, drug traffickers, and illiterate celebrities are great in the sheeples' minds. Sure al-qaeda killed, what, 3 thousand people on the 11th of September, but what about these other terrorist organizations that are considered noble now. They too are involved in constant destruction of our society, and probably 100 times worse then al-qaeda. These organizations and people are contributing to constant drug trafficking, rapes, murder, theft, robbery, arson, and in turn the moral fabric of society is deteriorating because of them. Sure 3 thousand people were lost in one strike that day, but atleast 5 times that die EVERYDAY due to mob violence, gang activity and the likes.

Why is religious terrorism the only evil thing while other types of larger (yes, believe it or not) evil existence is cherished, loved, and gloated about? Why not hate that too? Atleast have some consistency.

2006-07-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

testing. attention please. heres my ten cents, cuz my two cents are free.