Tuesday, November 24, 2009

A dangerous accessory

I'd been thinking to myself that what with the upcoming holidays and all, we should probably invest in a new speedlight for our camera. One never knows when one will want to whip the thing out to take some pics - and in today's world of HD, if you're in a pic, you want it to be with flattering lighting. Ask the movie stars, they'll tell ya.

So on the way home from work the other day, I found my legs wandering me into a camera store. Now, the people who work in the camera stores in New York are a creature unto their own. They are so passionate about photography, that any perversions or dilutions of the sport are considered outright offensive, and worthy of only derisive responses. Passion like that is to be both respected and feared. Especially feared.

There was a guy in front of me, speaking to the sales agent, so I waited patiently behind him.
"I'm looking for the kind of camera that's a point and shoot, but also takes HD video and is tiny and light."
Sounds reasonable, right? Too gimmicky for the sales guy, apparently.
"Kid, you shouldn't be in a serious photography store like this. For that kind of sh*t, you need to go to Circuit City or Best Buy. Don't waste my time."
"But... but...."stammered the poor fella, taken aback.
"When you're ready to take some serious pictures, and you aren't focused on video and being tiny and light, come back to me."
And that was that.

So you can imagine the trepidation which siezed me when it was my turn to go up. Coweringly, with much hesitation, I approached the counter.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for a new Nikon speedlight. I was thinking the SB-600..." I let my voice trail off.
I flinched (inwardly) and cringed (outwardly), waiting for his response in the deafening silence that followed.
But he surprised me (again).
"That's a great speedlight! You'll love it," he said, taking it off the shelf and handing it over to me. "Works best with the Nikon D-90, you should think about it if you don't have one already."
And he gave me a radiant smile.

I was so relieved I almost peed myself right there and then.

Somehow, I had made it through the camera store sans major mishap. And now, just in time for Turkey Dinner, we have a brand new speedlight to make all our subjects look like movie stars.

Monday, November 23, 2009

The tryptophan exculpation

In typical McDelta Thanksgiving fashion, we have committed the fraudulent act of ordering our Thanksgiving meal online. Yes - that's what city people do. An online Thanksgiving. Because the oven's too small, the apartment would smell of brussel sprouts, and we just don't have time. And the Fresh Direct guys, they deliver with a smile.

On the other hand - before you mock - I can assure you that all our guests will be a eating a considerably tastier meal than if I'd cooked it by hand. So there. It's a win-win, no need to turn in your graves, original pilgrims.

As we did last year, Delta and I are cuccooning together all our "orphaned" friends who have no family nearby to visit. It will be a merry affair, resplendent with decadence and tryptophan - our little group of friends who have become our family at home - and both of us await it excitedly.

Of course, the mention of tryptophan had me googling where else one might find it, and per Wikipedia:
It is particularly found in chocolates, oats, durians, mangoes, dried dates, milk, yoghurt, cottage cheese, red meat, eggs, fish, poultry, sesame, chickpeas, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds and peanuts.

Basically, tryptophan, which makes me drowsy, is found in everything I eat!

I ask you, Gawd, how am I supposed to make it in life, when tryptophan stands against me? No wonder I can only bring myself to wake up at 8 each morning. I thought it was me being a lazy b*tt. But no, it's the tryptophan in my diet.

From here on out, I am exculpated of all crimes that result from sloth. Just so you know.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The DNA test

I was on my way to meet Nooj for dinner this evening, when I got temporarily distracted by the conversation between the two women walking in front of me.
"You know what I did," one woman stated to her friend proudly, "you know that guy I went on a date with the other day? I got his DNA tested."
"WHAT?!" exclaimed her friend, (rightfully) surprised. "How?! Why?!"
"I got a brother-in-law who knows someone who can do it. And it's so easy to get someone's DNA, you know how it works."

There was a pause in the conversation, I can only assume her friend was as shocked as I was. But also, apparently, wondering the same question. Luckily, she asked it, before I inserted myself right into that conversation.
"But... why?!"
"Because you never know. If he's got something wierd-like, I'd rather know right now after the first date, right?"
I was horrified. Go on, friend, tell her off, I thought to myself, silently urging the friend to set this woman straight.
"Wow. You're the smartest person I know. I wish I could do the same."

That's actually what her friend said.

I did what, sadly, we have to do far too often in life. Just shook my head sadly and moved on.

The cost of toned abs

Two years ago, the fitness ball I used to use in place of a chair burst, and I hadn't quite got around to replacing it yet. But in a little spurt of inspiration yesterday, I headed over to the local sports store and picked myself up a new one. Of course, there was (as there always is), a snag in the plan. I hadn't thought to measure the height of my desk. So when I found myself staring at a wall full of fitness balls (35 cms, 45 cms, 55 cms, 65 cms), I was admittedly floored.


My first hurdle of course, is trying to conceptionalise what a number like 45 cms high actually means in real life. Up to my knee? Up to my hip? And then to try and imagine how this guestimated height would compare to my best guess of my desk height. As you can see, there was a lot of ballparking going on in my mind.


Which might explain, perchance, why I happen to be sitting on a ball today, that's, erm, somewhat shorter than I would have ideally gone for.

Bill the tech guy popped his head into my office yesterday afternoon. Once glance at me, and he shook his head in disbelief. "You're crazy," he said, hastily moving on.


Well, Bill, let's see who has the last laugh when I get my toned abs, eh.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I suppose the Developers, they must have their fun

I was quite excited about going to the gym today. So excited infact that I might have over-decked myself for the event. "Nice headband!" Eddie the doorman smiled appreciatively as I left the building.
"Thanks! Helps me bike faster," I rejoined, but mostly I was just a bit embarrassed that he had noticed I'd actually put effort into dressing for the gym. For the gym.

Why all this excitement, you ask?

They've introduced these new bike machines which, instead of the standard TV screens, are attached to video game portals. So you can choose your difficulty, choose your racetrack, and suddenly you're part of a bike race. Nothing like a bit of competition to give me the kick in the posterior that I need.

As soon as the race started, I surreptitiously glanced at the others on the bikes beside me. I wanted to make sure it wasn't one of those networked gaming systems that allowed me to compete with the guy next to me. I mean, losing to a computer might be ok. But losing to the eighty year old guy sitting next to me - less easy to deal with. So I started my bike race. I can't begin to tell you how much of a difference it makes to your effort level, the minute you know it's a race. So there I was pumping away furiously at the pedals, heart beating wildly, mind intent on beating the other virtual chappies I was competing with.

Also - the fancy scenery wasn't lost on me; I was intrigued by all the detail in the cliff sides and meadows I was biking by. And then I suddenly noticed a horse galloping through the meadow, parallel to the road. Running along, right beside me.

Oh. Faster than me. Overtaking me. I was just wondering about it, when suddenly the horse veered sharply onto the road and bumped right into me. What the ... ?!!

I might have been going a bit slow, and maybe a bit distracted by all the exciting scenery, but seriously? A horse ran right into me? And - judging from the "WORKOUT OVER" message that flashed onto my screen - apparently the horse ran me over and killed me.

Eh. I'm all for video game workouts and all, but do I have to die?

Well, I suppose the developers, they must have their fun.

Monday, November 09, 2009

A whole new world, right next door

Last weekend, we were at a loss for a defined plan, and the weather was just so beautiful it beckoned for us to be outdoors, and we still had hiking on our minds... - and it suddenly occured to us - hmm wonder what hiking might be accessible on public transport from NYC!

Thanks to that internet thing; all it took was a bit of nifty googling to find what we were looking for - hiking trails and public transport. So Delta and I, caught up in a burst of impulsive excitement, donned our hiking attire and jumped quickly onto the train.

We were there in less than an hour. I'm not sure what I expected in terms of hiking trails close to the city. Exercise and fresh air, certainly. Woods, definitely. But I was totally - entirely - unprepared for the huge mountains that loomed before us. Or how quickly the people dispersed, and suddenly there we were, just Delta and me, by ourselves.

Roaming through forest and wood. Glen and glade. Holler and berm. Just Delta and me, as though we were the only people in the world.

As though we had just stumbled, entirely unprepared, through a closet into our own little narnia. And all this, so close to home.


Friday, November 06, 2009

Garfield

Every once in a while, we try and put Queen Jaffa in a new place she hasn't visited before - like the top of a bookshelf, or a walk in the corridor outside our apartment, etc. You know - just to give her a new perspective and expand her horizons, dutiful parents that we are.

So yesterday was QJ's turn to explore the bar counter. She quite enjoyed being on it, spent some time sniffing at the fruitbasket (distainfully, for there was no meat there), and explored our cache of cellphone chargers (all things wire-like are strings to be played with. But soon enough, it was time for her to get off. And I was appalled to see, QJ couldn't figure out how to get off.

Where have her catlike instincts gone? Isn't she supposed to navigate the leaps and falls of life with grace and panache, relying only on her feline instincts?

"She's a city cat," Delta mused, as QJ miaowed at us pitifully to pick her off the counter and carry her to the floor.
"No way, QJ!" I admonished. "The counter's only four feet high! No cat of mine is going to be too scared to jump that."

QJ peered fearfully over the ledge at the floor below, full of trepidation of the feat she was going to have to accomplish. In a show of tough love, Delta and I pretended to be watching telly, so that she harboured no hopes of getting rescued by us. Ultimately, after much pitiful mewing and some general pathetically helpless looks in our direction, she took the plunge and jumped onto the barstool, a foot or so lower than the counter. There she stood for a few minutes, heart thumping in exhilaration, plotting her next jump to the floor. Finally, mustering all her mustard, she did the final leap as if it would be the last jump of her life.

I think she rather surprised herself, once she discovered herself safely on the ground, to realise how easy it was. And then she was embarrassed of the drama she had just created, so she strutted disdainfull to the rug, and stretched herself out with a bored yawn. QJ is all about appearances.

I, for one, was mortified at the extent of her inabilities. Like the kind of parent who is too embarrassed to watch their nerdy child participate in school sports.

I looked at her asleep on the rug, spreadeagled on her back, belly exposed to the world. Fat (I mean heavy), complacent, self-satisfied. OMG, we've got the real live Garfield.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

A great mayor for a great city

I noticed Mike Bloomberg in the baseball audience, which reminded me, of course, that it would be remiss of me to end the day without a little cheer and hurrah for the man. Couldn't say the election results came as a surprise, but that doesn't reduce the elation all the same.

It's rare to come across a politician that actually makes you dizzy with their vision and promise of all to come. The Obama's took the world by swing last year, but this year, in his own microcosm of the universe, it's Bloomberg's turn.

So, Mike, a couple of requests, if you please:

- Can we please try and finish up on the Second Avenue Subway? I know it's one of those legacy projects that has been going on since 1920 and all, and it would seem a disrespect to history to get it completed all of a sudden, but, well, could we please try? Especially now that the MTA has started digging the station in our building and all.


- More bike lanes, please. The one's you've put so far are great. But, like everything good in life, they've only made us greedy for more.

I hope that wasn't too forwward of me. I'm just excited, that's all. Here's to yet to another great term, MB.

A local World Series

In an surprising twist of Americanisation that I would have never foreseen for myself, Delta has successfully got me watching baseball. After many, many years (I've been told how many, but the details slip my mind like water off a ducks back), the Yankees are in the world series. And Delta, like half of New York, is duly hooked.

With the baseball being broadcast in our living room in truer-than-life-50-inch HD, there's really nothing to do but watch it. And so, without even trying, I've gotten somewhat acquainted with the cast of characters over the past week. The guys who can pretty much usually be counted on to hit the ball. The guys who pretty much always strike out, but then make up by pulling some rather eye-popping catches in the field. And those that fumble, and have me yelling, "I could do that for 20 million dollars too, you nugget!!"

"Why's it called the World Series," I asked Delta pointedly, "when it's really just the US?"
"Well there's Canada too, sometimes," he pointed out laughingly.
But I'm not convinced. Not when the "World Series" is being played out between New York and Philadelphia, I'm just not buying it.
Then on the other hand, teenagers all over the world are obsessed with getting to first base or second base. And once the teenagers adopt you, you've reached world class status. Just look what they did with Facebook and Twitter.

Besides, it has to be the sport with the guy who has the coolest name in the world. Melky Cabrera. Wow, I'd love to hear someone beat that.
"If we were planning to have a son, we'd name him Melky Cabrera," I told Delta.
"Even the last name?"
I tried to separate them out in my mind, but just Melky didn't sound quite as cool as the whole name together. It just has flow to it.
"Yep, the whole thing. The kid's name would have to be MelkyCabrera."

Now no one can argue with that. One of the best things that baseball brought to the world is the name MelkyCabrera.

Of course, maybe I'm not the best person to judge the sport. I still don't know whether it's a referee or an umpire, and I sometimes confuse bowling with pitching.

But at least, all in all, at least I've learnt to root for the guys with the stripes.