I Love Spam

This spam is no pig meat and all other unwanted piggy parts mashed into a tin can product. And no- it does not have any expiry date either. But yes, it does fry my space...and sometimes my humor.

I am talking about cyber spam.

"From the nation of Independent X Nation of Africa."

or

"engrogivosilificus temperamentalati erectoinstantati penesylium"

and the new

"you've won and apple 4 gig Ipod Nano"

Spam humors me. I know I am not supposed to like it. I've got spam filtering arsenal all loaded and gungho on my gmail, but I read them anyway. Just cause they are so darn funny. I mean, where else, in what kind of literature would you expect some African dude from some impoverished African nation that has only bones and archeology to offer wanting to thrust a million bucks in your account. Most often than not its the widow of a deceased high ranking official or bank manager in the bargain. For solo folks like me that adds some spin- who doesn't like a tall dark damsel in despair? Yet, I haven't replied to any... cause I know these damsels aren't really damsels, they are men in disguise. I go to Africa, sipping on my mineral water, and perusing the landscape of Sahara with my binocs and I spot my Mrs. X in Mr. X's clothes... only men are capable of causing and falling for such antiques. Women are the brighter species... they don't send no mails to do their job- they'll come themselves... and men wouldn't even know that they've moved on.

Now the second...with their claims that medicine, or miracle drug would turn me into Ricky Ponting's best guarded secrets- his darned wickets. I'd have Shoab charging at me and Kumble throwing me guglis. Basically, I'd be stumped in no time. Or whacked before by Ponting and his Aussie mates. Only if their claims had been in moderation.. I'd subscribe to the wonder pill. I'm no dog but who doesn't want to be bigger, longer and uncut...South Park?

Free apples...even Sir Newton didn't have those!!! It caused a dent in his head that sent physics all over its head. It was never the apple but the effect of the thump on his head that got his eyes rolling all over scientific stardom. And Stevey, yeah, I call him that... that .... that little cool cat is a shrewd businessman in all the positive of senses... how could he part with his products without a price? We know he's never going to become a Gates in his lifetime... cause Gates loads his customers with free stuff for which you need to buy 3 year warranties and wait on hold to a certain Monica, Jenny, Amanda... oooooooo...... Nancy over the phone for three fuming hours before they say in some foreign language, "Arrey baba... kis c**tiye ne yeh lene ko bola thaa.... mein sirf higher secondary pass huun... tumko babysit woh bhi telephonically kaise karoon."

Yup! I can proudly say, "I LOVE SPAM" whether tinned or untinned.

The Weather

I live in Pittsburgh now. It is an ancient American city in the state of Pennsylvania. I’ve heard myself say, “The weather is unpredictable in Pittsburgh.” Others have said this too. Statements about the weather are no revelations. They are mere fillers in silent soliloquies in the midst of strangers. It is something we residents of this land partake in. It might not run in our blood, this talk of weather, but it surely rubs onto our skin. I’ve lived in the free land for long enough to have this weather- talk sink deep into my epidermis. My conversations begin and end with the forecast, four days prior and two days hence, thereby covering a weeks estimation. The forecasters do their arduous job with any available honest effort. Proof of this being the truth in my small talk at bus stops, and smoke pit stops.

I am not expert on weather forecasting but have read a little into it. As Lorenz discovered, the weather is a dynamic, deterministic yet unpredictable problem. From him we get a convection model for gases in our atmosphere. And from his research the world coined the science of chaos. I am no specialist in Chaotic Systems. At best my understanding of this physical and mathematical concept is sketchy. I can write bits here that talk about chaos only superficially- but its God lies in the details, and I shall pretend to be no saint seeking him. I am a writer not a mathematician and will leave the mathematics up to the theorists. But I know this, flapping wings sometimes do cause tidal waves- in this case, the flapping being the movement of tectonic plates, and tidal waves being the harbingers of tsunami.

Maybe it is fear that has persuaded millions of Americans to stick to home runs, touchdowns, basket assists, and the weather in their casual conversation. No matter how tough a society one makes, its people remind themselves that all they have come to represent can be washed away in one breath stroke of Nature. She has the upper hand with her element of surprise. Therefore it is always comforting to know that man has been able to read her motives, thereby always keeping an eye for her unpredictability.

Continue your weathered small talk…it keeps me informed.

Providing you humor is not my job; it’s Letterman’s. This is a message to remind myself how important the weather is. It is no laughing matter. It is not a strange tale of pink cows grazing on blue fields. It is not abstract. It is real- if that is hard to believe ask a survivor of the Saharan Tsunami. It was no laughing matter.

The Theory of Darwinian Natural Selection

He combed his brows
And laid his eyes to rest
The spectacles dropped
His nose bridge was marked
Fingers clasped plastic
And put glass in its position

(a sure obstruction otherwise
if it were not for his need)

Eye brows turned crooked
Eyes had a knowing gleam
Spectacles stayed their own
The bridge let waters run
Fingers felt thin paper
As he read in a fixed pose

(a trance of sorts, meditative
if it weren’t for moving eyes)

Looking up; he did do so
A window- framed world
Looked back at him, stared
As he did gaze at the trees
If they had voices they’d say,
“Please do not look so strange.”

(but trees have no voices
we know of, but imagine they did)

His once combed brows
Now so naked in disarray
Pondered their existence
What they could do,
Given the situation -
Never truly functional
Never truly useful, now old
And ruddy in the middle

(they did not respect nature
for nature had been meaningless)

An eighty five year old soul
Drew air into an old body
Such times require contemplation
So he did; thinking very hard
The wavered brows indicated
Pain pilled in difficult capsule

(they said he was useless
that’s what was said, useless)

He combed his brows
And laid his eyes to rest
The spectacles dropped
His nose bridge was marked
Alas his eyebrows felt useful
They’d caught his forehead’s tear

(they held the moisture
and didn’t let go until it dried)