Archive for April, 2013

What is in a Geek: A rave-lation

I’ve always had a warm-feeling for geeks; despite my on-going attempt to boycott Facebook [8 months and counting], despite hating Ira Glass’s “gum-chewing” voice and not being able to tell the difference between a “geek”, a “nerd” and a “dork” – however much I goggled and read on the terms. In movies, geeks are made fun of, picked on and finally dumped for good-looking dumb men who happen to be the Captains of their high school football teams [Originality, again, thou shalt be missed]. Geeks are adorable in their goofiness. Geeks make devoted friends. And they scare easily. So, in the camaraderie-spirit of all those pushed, you root for them to get the girl. And how can you not? Not rooting for a geek is the equivalent to not stopping after hitting a deer, or not ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a video of an infant when his/her mother proudly shoves the smart-phone under your nose.

So I indiscriminately liked geeks, or thought I did.

Until yesterday.

He was a tall white guy, mid to late 20s, with large “Capote” style silver-rimmed glasses and a sandy hair. He was wearing the type of jacket young interviewees trying to look old, or teachers from the 70’s wear, with the strap of his computer bag held tightly by a finger across his chest. A sharply dressed dull gray ghost that is a common phenomenon to downtown Seattle. [As are gay men to Capitol Hill; and East-Indian men, carrying backpacks, to 6th Avenue].

I was walking down a side street, after having pushed through 20 more pages of “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking” [a book that is not only explaining why I burst into tears when hearing how a bunch of hooligans not just gave back the wallet but fist-bumped and thanked him for his services after learning the guy they were about to mug was a Veteran; but helping me embrace – nay declare – my highly-reactive nature]; with the help of a Venti Latte and an oatmeal raisin cookie at the Barnes & Noble of my choosing [forking $6:30 with tax for 4 days now; book only costs about 20 bucks]. He, preceded by two girls who were in deep conversation, was walking up my way. This was around 5:30 pm near west-lake union station. Peak hour, that is! Cars were honking. Traffic lights were blinking at the speed of their “disco club” brethren. And buses were laboring under their weight as well as the tight schedule they gotta meet.

There were men on bicycles, with their tight jerseyed-bottom impatiently in midair; and women on bicycles, fidgeting with the strap on their helmet, or the hair inside it. Valets infront of building doors, clad in their warm jackets, were chatting up smokers who are taking a leisurely break by a trash can. And manikins, lifeless and ammicably-dressed, were striking impressive poses from shop windows. Seattleites were comfortably spread out outside cafe-umbrellas, either tapping at their phones or talking about their boyfriends [“my boyfriend” is at the top on the list of most commonly-used phrases in Downtown Seattle. It almost always comes from two young women, 24-38, on or from their way to lunch. It’s said in a shrill-voice that would scald the back of your ears if it was able to occupy space and would chase you mercilessly down the street unless you dodged into the next street or slowed down and let it pass]. Bums were trying to do what bums always do, bum cigarettes off of strangers who are more likely to give it for free. The occasional street singer was drumming/plucking/blowing at some instrument with a sharp eye at his collection bag. And cackling Asian tourists were busy snapping a photo at everything standing – and moving.

The world was at peace in its rhythmic chaos (more…)

April 27, 2013 at 8:44 pm 2 comments

You do hear the birds…

I fainted.

Passed out.

Lost consciousness.

It was the most un-Ethiopian thing to do. Most — Gone with the Wind. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t a fussing niece-by-marriage with smelling-salt next to me. Infact, when I come to I was lying on the floor, wedged between my kitchen cabinet and my metal-mesh trash can [which got banged out of shape from my weight]. I looked up and saw, just the way you see in the movies, things separate from one another. First drawer doors, then bulb, then roof, then walls, then back to the kitchen cabinet doors I was laying against like a lump. Then a vague recollection of where I have seen those things came to me, where I have seen them last! A distant feeling of where I might be. Then I heard “the birds”. They were raising from the back of my head, my “majirat”, as we say. Raising slowly and noisily. And, with every flattering of wing, the fog that has covered my brain was lifting, leaving me with a cold sweat that was helping wake me up.

I closed my eyes for a few minutes, drained from the effort it took to concentrate. [Leave me alone, my mind waved away the mental arm that was trying to shake me out of my slumber, Leave me alone! I am going back to sleep!]. Then opened my eyes again, terrified at the thought of being in a place I didn’t entirely know. Doors. Bulb. Roof. Walls. Then kitchen cabinet doors. I realized that this was my kitchen. My kitchen! I’ve lived there only for about a week, remember?!, that must be why it didn’t come to me immediately when I first saw it – from the bottom-up. Everything was brand new, almost uncomfortablly surface-shiny, but this was my kitchen. Its a place I can trust myself in. That spinning, that was me, not this strangely familiar place with its shiny appliances and stagnant air.

I was too exhausted to think. So supported my head on the doors and slipped into a dazed sleep.

It was the flu. A winter flu I got from an ex I made out with a day after new year. He wanted to come over. I wanted him to come over more. So when he said “By the way, I am recovering from the flu. I hope that won’t be a problem”, I told him it wasn’t. I didn’t have the flu-shot, true, but this was me we were talking about! The sole survivor, the only woman-standing, of many a flu-attack that has taken down my colleagues through the years. When people are taken to hospitals or surrounding themselves with relatives to make their final will; I walked to work and performed my duties – with running nose, teary-eyes and super sensitive skin that makes me sneeze at the breath of wind. I was so healthy, I bragged, it bothers me. Just bring yourself around and be quick about it.

So he came over. And, reader, I kissed him, teeth, tongue and all; taking a break only when he came out to cough.

About a week later, (more…)

April 1, 2013 at 3:16 am 2 comments


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The blogger tries to think outside the box, or wonder why she sometimes can't.

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"I will speak for you, Father. I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint." - Antonio Salieri, from the movie "Amadeus"

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