Cock on the Bedside Table

Dave calls me up out of the blue and asks if we want to go to Hampi. I mention it to the wife. “Can’t you guys think of anything else?” She retorts. Hampi with an 'a' honey, I tell her. Oh, the women of today – they have a one track mind; not that I’m complaining!

We set off in Dave’s Scorpio. The car is packed with seven of us and his luggage rack is put to good use. The bags piled up on top limits our speed somewhat but we still make good time. Our plan on leaving early to avoid traffic works and before we know it, we are checking into the Hotel Malligi in Hospet. The hotel is set among what appears to be the ruins of Hospet but you leave the squalor behind as  you enter the gates. The rooms are spacious, the food is acceptable and the service is superb. They have a full bar – they even stock Johnny Black – and at prices that I havn’t seen since I was in high school.

Come evening, we are driving around the ruins of Hampi. A police car coming in the opposite direction stops us and asks us to turn back. There has been too much mugging lately and they don’t want us driving around lonely roads in the dark. It’s a sobering thought and we turn right around.

Hampi is impressive : Huge temples carved out of solid stone. A lot of it has been done by just one king over a span of 20 years. I wonder how many men it took to make all this; what looks like ruins today must have been teeming with activity a few hundred years ago. What must have been a rich and vibrant empire has been reduced to almost nothing now. It just goes to show that whatever wealth you may amass it will still be in ruins in a few hundred years.  I change my life motto : Don’t worry about building stuff in stone. Get stoned instead!

The queens bath is impressive; it’s as big as a football field. Either she was a big woman or there were many queens. I suspect that it is the latter. There is also a bunch of musical pillars. These are stone pillars that emit musical noted when hit with a stick. Different sections contain different sets of pillars that are set to different scales. Simply amazing!

All that walking in the heat is draining and I fall into an exhausted slumber (some may call it a drunken stupor ………….. and they may be right) I am woken early the next morning by the cock that the wife keeps on her bedside table. I don’t know where she got it because she picked it up when I was away in Singapore a few months ago. I was agast when I came back and found it staring at me. “Can’t you at least hide it away where it can’t be seen, honey?” I ask her. “No,” says she. “I need it here every night”. I resign myself to it even though I hate it. And get your mind out of the gutter – it’s just an alarm clock that cries ‘cock a doodle doo’.

One crow less in this world

Summer is here. Ah, long days and even longer nights! We have visitors from Corvallis and the time seems to fly. We do a few road trips to show them the sights – Belur, Shravanabelagola and of course, the Mysore temple. D is fascinated by the traffic. “How can they not hit each other more often?” he asks. I have no answer; I have wondered that myself a hundred times.

We end up at the elephant ride behind the palace which is clearly marked with different prices for Indians and ‘foreigners’. One of the mahouts taunts the elephant too much and it takes umbrage. It simply steps in his foot and does not let go. The other mahouts beat and berate the elephant and he finally steps away with one last squeeze leaving the mahout massaging his injured foot. Serves him right for torturing an animal in captivity! We get out of there, however; an angry elephant we can do without!

G is teaching a weekend class in Chennai and she has volunteered me as her travel agent. Of course, I am nowhere near perfect as she would like me to be (I am a work in progress) and she end up with no tickets for one of the weekends. But this travel agent has a good customer service policy - unlike the corporates of today who simply don’t seem to care – and I offer to drive her. We wonder which of the Hondas to take and it’s a short discussion – size and comfort wins hands down over economy and environment.

We have killed a dog on every trip to Chennai in the recent past and I am determined to watch out for them this time. It’s not that I care that much about the dogs; but they take out a bumper each time and bumpers are expensive. My diligence pays off and we reach there without incident. We set a speed record of sorts, at least for our family. We have driven 385 kilometers from home to the Cosmopolitan Club in 3 hours and 50 minutes; that’s averaging about 100 kilometers an hour and some of it through city streets. Midway through, just when I am beginning to think that I can qualify for the F1 trials, I am rudely brought back to the ground by a blimp in my mirror. I am flooring it at this point and the speedometer is hovering around 180. Nevertheless, the blimp quickly metamorphizes into an Audi Q5 which passes us and disappears over the horizon. The wife now knows exactly what she wants for her birthday. Damn!

Chennai is dry. The election results are to be announced and there is a big sign at the club telling us that all liquor is prohibited. Oh no it’s not; it flows freely in my room. Boy, am I glad I’m packing! We are up early the next day and head for the beach. The beach in Chennai is crowded. There are all kinds of shapes and sizes taking in their morning breath of fresh air. There are a whole bunch of people sleeping; apparantly they live on there. We notice one family of Dad, Mom and two daughters. All their worldly possessions seem to be crowded onto about ten feet square of cardboard packing laid out flat on the ground. All of a sudden that Q5 doesn’t seem very important; I say a silent prayer thanking God for the abundance that He has given us.

The bad luck with animals continues; or should I say, the bad luck for the animals continues. We are sedately making our way back from the beach when a crow takes a fancy to us and does a kamikazi style dive straight into our windshield. Wham! Blood, gore and feathers and one crow less in this world. No damage to the windshield, at least. A friend of mine once told me a story of how an eagle dived into his windshield and created great damage. I thought it was pretty funny, especially when he told us how he ducked instinctively; well, it’s funny when it happends to someone else; I didn’t find this funny at all.

We watch a lot of TV. Not having cable at home has its advantages; we have not seen any of the ads and laugh hysterically at some of them. There is an old cricket match playing and we watch. Bangladesh is bowling to Pakistan; the bowling lacks bite and the batsman takes a mighty heave at one sending it out of the country I think.

It’s a short trip and it’s time to head back soon. Dave and his family are coming over tomorrow and we are all off to Hampi. 

For a Good Time, Call Ambrose

Presents, presents, presents. It’s hard to buy presents because everybody seems to have everything. And yet Santa works overtime every year to bring everyone an abundance of presents that they don’t need. Our family is no different and Calvin is very excited about his presents. When I was a kid, I was lucky to get one present every Christmas. Nowadays presents are counted by the dozen. I shouldn't complain however. We are blessed with a contented kid. His list is not long and the first item on his list for the past four years has been the same "Everybody should be happy". I guess he's got his wish in a way. Looking back at the year, I can only say that I have been happy. And I think the wife has been happy too - at least as happy as one can be when married to an idiot like me.

I was part of a conversation last week that prompted some introspection. Somebody was telling somebody else that he does not suffer fools and is quick to and I quote ‘put them in their place’. What struck me was that this person had a certain pride in being this way. And the other person responded with admiration thereby reinforcing the behavior. In retrospect, I know a lot of people who feel this way and I might have been guilty of harboring similar thoughts myself on occasion. Is it OK then to steamroll someone just because he or she is not as intelligent as you?  How different is this from the bully in school who steals candy from his weaker classmates? Or even the thief who steals your wallet just because he has a gun and is thereby stronger than you. Yet, to ‘not suffer fools’ is not just acceptable in our society, it’s a quality that is admired! There is something wrong here.

I have been asked many times about the picture on my previous blog that says “For a good time call Ambrose” so I will put down the story here. On my last visit to Corvallis, we all went out one blustery evening for a night on the town. We started at Squirrels, moved on to Block 15 and a few pubs later ended up at Aqua in downtown Corvallis. The restaurant is sufficiently snotty to have a girl at the entrance with a reservations book. We tried to talk our way past her but she would have none of it. She finally said that she would check inside if there was a table that we could get. She swayed her way inside and I took the opportunity to make a new entry in her book that read “For a good time call E.N” and I put my buddy’s telephone number next to it. I was obviously not as surreptitious about it as I thought I was because by buddy apparently saw me do it. He had the last laugh because as we left, he wrote the same message on the specials lunch menu board at the entrance – the only difference of course was that he wrote my name and number instead of his. And he is much better that I at being secretive because the first I got to know of it was when I got an email from him the next day with a picture of the board. The restaurateurs also have a sense of humor because it was still there two days later. A friend who went there for dinner called asking me if I know that my name and number were on public display. I didn’t get any other calls though – the people of Corvallis do not like to have a good time or they don’t prefer to do it with someone called Ambrose.

Have Merry Christmas.

Small Farm Animals

I have lost S and K’s phone numbers. My emails to them draw a blank and I decide to cold call. Boy, am I glad I did. S has just shot a deer and we have deer steak for dinner. There have been a lot of animals involved with me during this trip – stop right there, you with the perverted mind! I am not talking about escapades with small farm animals! I first saw a skunk in P’s backyard, then I hit one on my way to Salem and he sprayed me. Not me, thankfully, but the outside of my car. I’m glad it’s a rental because I can smell him for weeks after! So, two skunks and a deer so far!

Thursday night is a small send off for me. Folks here seem glad to see me go because they have all come to say good bye and make sure that I am really leaving. There is even a couple that I have never met before. They wish me safe travels and I graciously wish them well in return. Ray likes the way I smell and makes no secret of it. It’s a new feeling for me to have a grown man smelling me up. This is what it must feel like to have a dog!

My argyle vest is quite a hit and I am made fun of for wearing too many layers. “Take off the vest”, the women tell me, “You look hot”. Well, can’t argue with that! But I relent and take off the vest and Steve promptly puts it on. We move upstairs for more dancing where I find that Steve has transformed himself into a beautiful woman. At least, the apparition is wearing my vest. Wow, he looks good and I now regret turning him down last week. But then I spot Steve in the corner sans the vest and heave a sigh of relief - I almost heard the closet doors opening there for a bit!  The vest is very popular and propagates even more before ending up on the floor in the corner. There is even talk of starting a vest club of Corvallis! Nic, the bartender is a friend of mine (as are all bartenders) and she pours me a whopper that keeps me going through the night. Soon it’s time to go and I find that someone has walked away with my jacket. I search high a low but can’t find it. It’s too cold outside to be without a jacket and I finally choose another one that fits me. My apologies to the owner but I come from a warm country and need a jacket, even for the short walk to my hotel.

Friday night is supposed to be a quiet night to let me recoup and pack. But no – I have friends in low places and they have other ideas. After karaoke at the El Prez, we move to P’s house. He has finally bought his new mattress. This one is high tech, he tells us. It’s got memory foam. Oh yeah? This one has a memory and your last one had just stains? And what memories does it retain? That of every backside it’s sees? Hmmm kinky! Now all he needs is mirrors on the ceiling and a video camera in the corner and he’s set.

P says that I have to see JP’s before I leave. He tells me that JP’s the roughest bar in town and that they will run me out because they don’t like people like me. Well, I am about to find out soon enough. JP’s does turn out to be rough but it’s got a DJ and some decent music. We get cut off and a bouncer takes the drinks away from out table. Jo doesn’t like it. “We paid for those” he tells him. “Give us back the drinks or give our money back”. I silently watch, hoping things don’t get ugly. The bouncer is about thrice the size of Jo and there are two of them. But Jo holds his own and they finally return our money and escort us out. One of the bouncers even stays long enough to make sure that we get in a cab and don’t try to slink back inside. Anyway, P has a way of making his words come true. They did run us out of the bar, even though he was more the reason for it than me!

The next morning is brutal. I find P on his knees praying to the porcelain god. I give him a few minutes of privacy and then walk into the bathroom to find him asleep on the floor. I help him back to his memory foam bed! Lunch is in woodburn with the two B’s. The big B has also shot a deer and we have a nice lunch with beer and deer. Finally it’s time to say goodbye and I reluctantly head out to Seattle. A great trip! Au Revoir, Corvallis, until we meet again!

Seaman on my Bed

I love Corvallis. Everything is familiar and it feels like a home away from home. I walk into the office and am overwhelmed by the hugs I get. Mostly from men, I might add. What is wrong with the men of America – aren’t men supposed to shake hands and not hug? But I’m not complaining – it feels good to get such a warm welcome.

There is a brew fest in Albany. We have VIP passes and we are supporting a good cause - we are raising funds for the Boys and Girls Club. Many large screens around the hall are showing the game. It’s my first football game in a while and I watch. UCLA wins by a last second (that’s right, last second) field goal! Hopefully, next week’s home game will turn out better.

From there we move to house behind Rays for pina coladas. P’s got this new blender which he puts to good use. V tells us that proper pina coladas have to be made with real bananas. She might have a point there, because it goes down smooth and easy. Soon the bottle of rum is gone and Jan and I move to the Peacock where there are quite a few people gathered. We go upstairs to dance the night away. I meet Steve who immediately starts hitting on me. I get worried after a while and try to talk him out of him. It turns out that he was joking but I still have my suspicions. We finish off at the El Presidente (where else) with one hundred push ups. The forced workouts that I had to endure have done their job – I out-push up everyone else at the bar.

Work hard and party harder becomes my motto. Its veteran’s day and I take half a day off. P and I go out looking for a bed that he wants to buy. He tries out various mattresses at the store by laying on each of them in turn. Join me, he yells at me, trying to embarrass me and gets a few laughs from the onlookers. I laugh too, little knowing that it was going to come true all too soon. We come back and hit the El Presendente and then the Peacock. P is a veteran too. He was in the navy - a seaman! Well, apparently the girls at the Peacock like seamen, and P gets his 15 minutes of fame. Somebody calls for shots and at that point, I knew that I could never let P drive home. I take him back to my room at the Holiday Inn and he takes my bed. Well, he got what he asked for, I guess, though it is nightmarish for me – Seaman on my bed! Ughhh!

The game sucks. It’s cold and raining and tailgating becomes an effort. We have great seats but for once we wish that we could see less of the game. I bet $10 against the Beavers – it’s not really a gamble. I am certain to win. All in all, the Beavers play true to their name. They are the Beavers and they play like @#$%s (insert the crude word for Beaver here).

The after game party takes us to the Peacock where I meet Bri. Bri is wearing a jacket that she tells us that she will only take it off if she can get one more drink. Well, that is a condition that is easily remedied. Unfortunately, Bri does has to work in the morning and does leaves early. It might have been interesting to find out how many drinks the other articles of clothing would have needed.

Immigration is a Bitch!

Immigration is a bitch! There is a high security alert and the airport is a scene of frenzied activity. I am asked to step aside and grilled for twenty minutes about everything from my place of work to what I did in Dublin. Finally, the guy decides that I am not suicidal enough and lets me through.  I am flying Delta for the first time and probably the last. They serve us a cold meal and then whiz past with the wine so quickly that no one has a chance to partake. I decline, mainly because I am never asked. I wonder if the airlines realize what their cheap cost cutting measures actually cost them. I for one am never flying Delta again if I can help it. There is a cost to cutting costs and many times it ends up being more expensive than what you save, but this is mostly lost in today’s corporate world where everybody works in silos and just wants to make their numbers.

I finally board the plane. I am seated by the window and next to me is an enormous woman with her young daughter. The plane takes off and the daughter promptly goes to sleep on my shoulder. I sit unmoving. After a while, I realize that the kid takes after her mother – she is heavy. My arm goes to sleep, but the rest of me cannot. I staunchly grin and bear it. It’s going to be a long flight!

Chicago is freezing but I am somewhat acclimatized by now. The drive to Milwaukee WI seems to take forever. Even in the dark I can see Obama’s stimulus dollars at work. There are orange flags every few miles or so and large signs that tell me that hitting a road worker could get me 14 years in jail. I slow down. The freeway is blocked off in one place and I am asked to detour. I am not worried – I have my trusty GPS to guide me. We go through the usual lefts and rights of any detour and my GPS asks me to enter the freeway. Drat, this entrance is closed too. This happens a couple of times before I realize that the GPS is bringing me back to the same freeway entrance every time. So much for technology; I switch off the GPS and decide to rely on the road signs instead. And before you ask, no I had not had a drink; in my defense, it was dark and raining and I had just got off a 16 hour plane journey.

A good day’s work at Milwaukee, a nice dinner and a night of solid drinking. The barmen in Wisconsin sure know how to pour a drink. The morning dawns bright and clear and it’s time for my drive back to Chicago. I get the exit row (see, United is better than Delta) which is a lot more comfortable and I catch up on my sleep. The drive from Portland to Corvallis is nostalgic. It feels like I’m coming home.

Good Friends ... Good Times

The days pass in a blur. There is so much to get done at work before I leave. Couple that  with a stream of visitors at home and I am left exhausted. I don’t have time to pack and G and Cal take care of it for me. Ah, the small pleasures of life – to come home late and find your bag already packed. I am flying Air France for the first time and a number of people scare me about their pathetic service. My fears are unwarranted as the flight turns out to be pretty good. We have two male stewards to serve us and I watch as they work their charm on the passengers. I am beginning to realize why French men are so popular with the women. I have a four hour layover in Paris and I spend a considerable amount of that in a bus getting to my terminal. We are packed six deep in the bus and there is barely room to stand. It’s not very comfortable having four grown men pressing on you from all sides but I put on my poker face and get through it.

I walk through the airport and am surprised that the entire terminal has just one bar and you have to stand in line to get a drink. It’s a long line and I pass. I don’t need a drink that bad and it’s 9 in the morning anyway. I always thought that Paris had a lot of glamor but there is nothing glamorous about the airport at least. The only good thing about this is that I can now truthfully say that I have been in Paris. I mention this to JD and he says so what, hasn’t everyone?

 It’s time to board at last and we are herded into another bus. The bus journey takes forever and I am beginning to wonder if they are planning to drive us to Dublin when we arrive at a little plane. A short flight but the seats are super small and super uncomfortable. I look out the window and watch the ground slip away from me as the plane gains height. Higher and higher we fly until everything below is a blur and we seem to be suspended in mid air. I know we are getting somewhere and pretty fast at that, but there is no visual indication of this. This is what it must seem like to be top management, I think. You are right on top and so far away from the little people that you don’t really care if they live or die. But you’re going somewhere in the meantime.

Dublin is sunny and warm; I seem to have brought the good weather with me - again! It’s Halloween here and all the people are dressed up. We go to the Ginger Man for a pint and a quick bite and then end up at Kennedy’s because they have a big screen TV. All my old buddies are there with a couple of new ones added in. Nobody looks anyone else in the eye, but that is probably because their eyes are glued to the tube above them. Australia beats Ireland narrowly and that is a big disappointment. There is too much sorrow and it needs to be drowned. We are up to the task.

Aimen has grown a pointy beard. The secret to a long beard, he says, is to stroke it often. The more he strokes it, the longer it grows. From the looks of his beard, it looks like he likes to stroke himself. Keep stroking, Aimen, if that’s what makes you happy. Back where I come from, we have a different name for it, but whatever dude.

The next stop is the No Name Bar which is actually a house converted into a tavern. It has thumping music and Spanish women. We lose a part of our group (who I cannot name for obvious reasons) who desert us in favor of going dancing with the Spaniards. We carry on and end up in Ray’s brother’s house. It’s quite a party and it looks like it’s been on for a while judging by the number of empties on the living room table. It’s a disaster waiting to happen and sure enough the brother over steps and crashes into the table. The result is chaos. Broken bottles everywhere and thankfully the little candle on the table goes out without causing too much damage. The bro is not finished for the night though. He goes downstairs and attempts to climb on to the 5^th floor balcony from the outside. The drunker he gets the more confidence he gains in his climbing skills. No matter that he cannot stand straight; climbing is different. Finally Katie convinces him that taking the stairs is climbing too. He is not happy and he storms back inside. Well, almost storms back inside because he doesn’t see the door in the way and slams right into it.

The party continues undeterred. I walk to the bathroom and surprise the couple inside. Apparently, the bro is getting the cut under his eye attended to. It seems to me that the attention that he is getting is concentrated well below his eye. I refrain from asking which eye they were referring to. Ray is too much in a hurry to wait for them to finish and heads out to the balcony. I follow him and point out a couple of potted plants as likely candidates for his use but like his brother, he cannot curb his climbing instincts. He hops on the wall and waters the plants five stories below. I just hope nobody else was trying to climb up the wall at that moment. They would have been treated to some acid rain!

We wind down finally and decide to call it a night. The next day sees more of the same. This is the only place in the whole world where I am honored as a cook and it instills a sense of recklessness in me. A dash of this and a splash of that, another glass of Jameson and I forget what we set out to make in the first place.  We cook two kinds of chicken, simply because two is better than one. It’s Halloween and there are kids in scary costumes knocking on the door. Candy is doled out generously and the monsters leave.

The days pass so quickly and it is time to leave. There is a heightened sense of security at the airport and I am grilled for a while before they decide that I am harmless. I finally get the required stamps on my passport and I am off to the United States. All in all a good trip. Got a lot done at work, good friends, good times. Au Revoir Dublin, until we meet again.

A Hole in the Head

I am growing old. It’s been creeping up on me for some time now but I guess I’ve been in denial. It’s so much easier to be in denial anyway. Why do people say that it’s not good to be in denial? Ignorance is bliss, is it not? Anyway, my eyes are now opened, my innocence is shattered. Well, acceptance is the next best thing to ignorance, so I guess I just have to learn to deal with it.

It all started with a simple hair cut. One fine morning, I decide that I have too much hair on my head. I need a haircut. I feel all powerful in making this decision: I and I alone decide what goes and what stays. I end up in a nice saloon and I drift off to sleep as the white coated guy goes about his work. I start to wonder why doctors and barbers both wear white coats, but let’s keep that for a different blog. I dream that I am back in Phuket where a beautiful girl is giving me a foot massage. I am rudely jolted out of my reverie by the razor wielding barber to tell me that he’s done. He holds up a contraption behind me so that I can see the back of my head and approve his work. I am not pleased.

“That’s somebody else’s head that you’re showing me”, I tell him. “Show me the back of my own head please”.

“This is a mirror, Sir” he replies stiffly, standing up to his full height in an effort to intimidate me. How stupid can this guy get? Does he think that I can’t recognize my own head?

“No It’s not,” I say, in my cold voice that I reserve for vermin like this. “I can see a hole in that head. It can’t be mine”. He stares at me woodenly. My mid life crisis does not interest him.

A hole in the head is serious business and my new found knowledge hits me hard. It would have been a lot easier if it had been the top of my head poking through – I could at least have pretended that I was growing taller. A lesser man might have moped around all day, but being a man of action, I formulate a plan. I need restoration - body and mind, the flesh and the spirit. Restoration of the spirit is very easy and I imbibe in pints.

With the spirit now in good condition, I start thinking about the flesh. I recall a biblical saying from my youth “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak”. My flesh is not just weak; it’s positively flabby and calls for immediate corrective action. I sign up the wife as a personal trainer for the month. I quickly realize the downside of this arrangement – I cannot call in sick! My life becomes a blur of squats, curls and dips. I’m not sure how much good it’s doing to my body, but at least I don’t feel guilty about hitting the sauce every night – hey, I deserve it!

I am due to travel soon and am looking forward to Dublin and Corvallis again. There is a bevy of beauties waiting for me in Corvallis and they are and I quote “conditioning their livers in anticipation of my visit”. I realize that I need to be ready for that. My spirit is now restored and overflowing and I am sure that my personal trainer will have my body in shape too.

Dublin and Corvallis ….. Ready or not, here I come!

Links to other Blogs :

Rockin' Down the Highway

Singapore : A Fine City

The Yellowstone Adventure

Corvallis

Dublin In March

One Night in Bangkok