The secret life of geeks : Happiness is....

A pre-order HTC flyer tablet based on the latest Android Honeycomb OS and as importantly, the fabulous white case it comes in
I got my Flyer about 10 days ago, what a boost to the ego it was to receive it before the plebs got their hands on this piece of kit. The un-boxing experience had a sense of déjà vue since it wasn’t that different from the ipod classic. White minimalism, product image gets center stage on the lid, no reams of paper aka the user guide, but instead, the standard guarantee and quick start guide, power jack and headphones. Finally the piece de resistance, the Flyer White and pristine sans screen protector but with a brushed aluminum digital stylus! We like that!
Inserting the sim card was a bit of a struggle since the back flap isn’t super easy for people with bitten nails to access. No Micro-SD card included. Black mark for HTC there since including a memory card wouldn’t have dented the 500 plus GBP price tag.
On switching the device on you’re met with the usual HTC splash screen. Swipe the ring to unlock the screen, input your Google credentials and you’re ready to go. Unless you have a yahoo mail account then it gets a bit complicated to say the least. A Google search (surprise, surprise) unveils the manual credentials to install your yahoo account. Not too much of a stretch when you’re a geek, but God help the nulls. Next comes the all important transfer bit, you’d imagine in this day and age, devices would be able to talk to each other…Oh no. We’re a bit choosy about the company we keep in this house hold, the Flyer doesn’t talk to his poor cousin the HTC Windows phone which doesn’t really see eye to eye with el Mac who is in a constant sulk with Symbian…Sigh! And I thought I was out of college. Oh well, someday we’ll all kiss and make up, but until that happens, it’s each for itself.
Luckily on the software side, everything’s hunky dory, Facebook is totally ok with sharing all your contacts and every other piece of your life ,whether you like it or not. The result, Google is able to sync everything to well, Gmail. Glad someone’s getting along. Having said that, I was pleasantly surprised to see a pre-loaded bookmark to the Amzon music store in HTC’s music player. Wonder how long its going to be before they get their knuckles rapped by the friendly Android down the street. With 150k plus apps in it’s market place, Android is a pretty reliable first port of call for all your app fantasies. I’m at about 30 as we speak.
I’m still not a 100% convinced as to why I abought a tablet sure I’ll figure it out some day, but until then here’s to the flyer, full marks…so far.

The LBS (little black stiletto)

While I have every respect for the cult of Choo, the church of Blahnik and Louboutinism. I’ve never been one to go weak kneed at the sight of a tall, dark, spikey stiletto, I must admit the cracks beneath my practical exterior are beginning to show when I dedicate an hour to writing this blog. I guess denial is sustainable for only this long, one needs to come out of the (shoe) closet at some point.
Just as Coco Chanel revolutionized the world with the LBD, the LBS too has its place in history. I’m not going to wax eloquent about how and why because its still early days for me. What I am going to say is that just like a perfectly fitted suit, a perfectly shaped stiletto can make a women feel like a million dollars. Those extra inches make such a difference for those of us who don’t have legs up to our armpits. Though woe betide you if your day involves walking through cobbled streets and other such urban obstacle courses.
But all is forgiven when you see you’re brilliantly enhanced calf muscles, book-balancing posture and last but not least, the stylized walk which can do wonders for the collective confidence of the Amazon and the vertically challenged alike.
Of course nothing perfect comes cheap but unlike those must have ‘timeless classics’ that grace every sensible women's closet, a good pair of stilettos are an investment for life. No matter how many dress sizes your body decides to rise or fall, your feet remain constant.
The stiletto has been elevated to a universal symbol of sexuality. Imagine Cinderella, when she finally made it to the ball, parading around in trainers, I doubt the evening would have been such a roaring success. It was the glass slipper that done it!
So with that said, I’m off to get my own ‘glass slippers’ a fab pair of Louboutins. Selfridge’s here I come!

A french fairytale

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998 after watching a movie called ‘French kiss’ starring Meg Ryan

I watched wide-eyed while she fell in love with Kevin Klyne, totally stereo typed as a typical Gallic stallion sexy accent and all …that kinda explains it I think.

Then came my first brush with the real Paris, through the eyes of Adam Gopnik and Sarah Turnbull. Both ex-pat writers living in Paris, one American and the other Aussie. ‘From Paris to the moon’ and ‘Almost French’ became my survival hand book for the year I lived there. They came to stand for two extremely educational views on this beautiful city and its supremely elegant dwellers.

Even though it was a long time ago, there are some sights, smells and sounds that will be etched in my memory forever. For all you francophile’s out there, here’s a little taste of ‘my’ Paris

In a city where form determines function, imbibing the art of French ‘savoir fare’ took some getting used to. I mean where else will you get a manual in the box when you buy a scarf?

There’s a richness to the French way of doing things. Picnics on the banks on the Siene watching the sun set over the Notre Dame cathedral are complemented with a wonderfully frivolous beaujeaulous noveau, a rarity in this side of the world,

Fabulously simple meals enjoyed in neighborhood bistros take on a new meaning. While on the other hand Michelin starred chef's make combining tastes an art form.

Smelling mouldy sock odours becomes quite a pleasure when it takes the form of French cheeses.

Then there's the Jardin Luxemborg, with the famous carousel immortalized in Gopnik's book which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Remember Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche? Place de la concorde in its ornamental beauty hides its gruesome history.

My gasp of astonishment seeing Paris spread out before me as if illuminated by candle light when the lift doors opened to reveal fairyland on the top floor of the Montparnasse will forever remain in my mind's eye.

Art deco light fixtures, rude waiters and fluffy omelets compete for my attention while I sip a Kir Royale on one of Paris's many bistro terraces...heaven!

I remember hours spent on the Champs-Élysées, the mecca of people watching . The Arc de Triumph lit up at night, pays tribute to all the men and women who gave their lives in the name of Liberté, égalité, fraternité, and while negotiating its eight tributaries...viva Gallic driving!

The list is endless, but let me end with my piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…every 30 minutes.
I guess it suffices to say that this is the stuff that dreams are made of...welcome to Paris my friends. Enjoy the ride!

Glass houses

I’m probably shooting myself in the foot by writing this on the even of Ben Laden’s death, especially with all this sentiment floating around the net including a really good fake quote about the barbarism of celebrating someone’s death. Which I shall add here for posterity sake ‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr’’ I feel that I need to say this if I’m being true to myself and to this man hurtling to his death. This picture was the one image that brought tears to my eyes all those years ago. And for those of you who remember there were many such heart breaking images all over the media. Why does this image strike such a powerful cord? Well, its because I was imagining the desperation and the feeling of absolute helplessness that he must have felt before he took that final jump knowing there was nowhere to go but to his death. Maybe he was able to say his goodbyes, maybe he didn’t who knows. Then I think about his mum, his sister, his wife, his daughter …And all the other people in his life that loved him having to seen this image and knowing there was absolutely nothing they could do to help him, to break his fall, to come to his aid. Can you even begin to imagine what that must have felt like? I'm sure the people who’ve lost a loved one to a violent death, which they had no way of stopping, probably know the feeling. Would you fault them for celebrating the death of the perpetrator of their sorrow?I believe I am in a position to know what losing a loved one to a violent death feels like. Back in those days I know I would have celebrated if that murderer met his death. But today I’m pretty numb to everything, not because I harbor any humanitarian sentiment towards this animal but because of the futility of remaining angry. Neither celebration nor anger is going to erase 21 years of loss.I mirror these sentiments with regard to Bin Laden’s death. I don’t really care whether people celebrate or mourn the barbarism of this world we live in, the deaths that have led to this etc etc because its not going to wipe away the loss all those families felt. Nor does it do anything to diminish the horror all those victims, burning, jumping, asphyxiating to death, must have felt. What makes it doubly tragic, at least in my eyes, is that were being martyred for a political ideology they may or may not have subscribed to. They had no choice....Anyways, I’m going to stop my rant now with just one message and that's this... we live in glass houses, lets think twice before we start throwing stones. Thank you

Iron lady or fairy-tale princess

Like the millions world over, I watched the Royal wedding on Friday. Like the millions world over I was ecstatic when Kate Cambridge formerly known as ‘the commoner’ stepped out of the Rolls and into the arms of her prince charming and the future king of England. Nice one Katie! Ok, I admit I did turn a light shade of pistachio but then again, I’m a bit too old for him and I’ve had the wedding of the century. Young Kate you may have a shot at it plus I could never look that fabulous in a cinched waist dress.
Sat through God’s top ten, the signing of the register, kiss number one and two and a million banal interviews with everyone from the gardener to the family dog. Which is when things took a turn for the interesting, Sky TV panned into the going’s on at number 10 where a street party hosted by Mrs Cameron was on in full swing. Tables laid out with cakes and juice, festooned with balloons, clowns, making young and old laugh aloud. Yes, this was the royal wedding street party hosted for charities the Cameron’s sponsor.
That’s what brings me now to the million-dollar question, if given half a chance which side of Green Park would you live on? You could argue that the Buckingham Palace side is more permanent than the number 10 side, but for every Diana there’s a Jackie Kennedy. Even when it comes to the grand dames for every Elizabeth Regina Windsor, there’s an Angela Merkel. Titular head of state or economic mover and shaker…I know which side I’m on, hats off to you Mrs Merkel, you go girl!
Love you Katie, keep looking fabulous, keep the heirs coming and sure you’ll find tons to do in Angelsey. Fashion icon, ass kicker or humanitarian Godess, Samantha C, its your chance to make a mark on history!

The Great British 'staycation'

Welcome to the great British sea side, home of the legendary 'staycation'. For those of you not familiar with this turn of phrase, the 'staycation' is a neccessary evil those of us blighted by the recession have to make-do with when those much coveted Bank holiday week ends come about.
Treks to package holiday hell on charter air craft packed with screaming children and drunk groups of 20 somethings is now a thing of the past.
Instead long train rides, pebble beaches, freezing English channel waves, chalk cliffs, wafts of manure tinged air mingle with the clink of tea cups being sipped by old dears in fusty hotels on victorian piers. Those former times of flying to foreign shores are now replaced with trips to the great British sea side! With the rain in Spain, the British pound on life support and the Royal wedding around the corner, 'staycationing' on domestic shores is not such a bad thing after all.
What more could one ask for than lying on the beach listening to cheezy 80's music on "Cornwall's top radio station....pirate radio! ". Clearly I'm not alone in my 'staycation' euphoria if the masses of little people braving the artic water and their adult owners lazing in bargain basement foldable chairs, munching on tuna sarni's, is anything to go by.
Nothing comes close to thrill of knowing there's another three days of lazing in the Sun with no airport nightmares to brave so that we're back in time to watch Will's and Kate tying the knot from the best seat in the house, our living rooms.
With that said, let's raise a toast to the best of British!The Sea side 'staycation'. Cheers!

‘Fondle slabs’ and other pieces of kit

Do I or do I not join the ipad ranks? Do I or do I not succumb to the totally unfounded notion that I need to have the ability to connect on the move, over and above my ‘always on’ smart phone. Will I become a walking talking font of creativity if I have my fondle slab’s in grabbing distance incase that life changing idea strikes me and I need to record it before it flitters away. I think not…
However there are some that would vehemently disagree especially those who queue up for hours outside the Apple store four times in a row to get the ipad 2 and still don’t manage to. Why on earth would anyone waste four evenings of their lives (especially pertinent for us who’re not getting any younger) waiting to get their paws on something that’s going to be out of date in 3 or 4 months anyways? Do you or do you not shell out 500 big one’s to feel cheated in a few months? Yet another of life’s existential questions.
I for one will probably fall prey to the onslaught of the pad. Not because I’m a follower of the cult of Jobs but because technology has a way of molding the environment we live in. You either get on board or get left behind. Imagine a world where Facebook currency is legal tender. Paulo alto replaces DC. Zuckerberg runs for president. Scary thought for some (ok maybe the Zuckerberg bit would be) but for other’s it means a world where we’re a global village, boundaries become redundant, connectivity is a human right and we’re all plugged into making the world a better place. Orwellian night-mare or Utopian dream. I choose the latter…do you?

An Ode to Spring Time

Don’t you love it when the sun shines and you fall in love with the world once again?
The days get longer, the hem-lines shorter, people smiling at each other and saying hello like they mean it.
Mini convertibles with their tops downs being driven by beautiful David and Victoria Beckhams.
Young bucks and giggly girls spilling out of pubs, beer glasses in hand, linen’s and sunglasses galore.
White skin for miles around, it’s going to be a couple of weeks before the tans kick in.
Walking to the park means weaving through lines of twin or triplet buggies and yummy mummies in designer khakis.
Cheering dogs cavorting freely sans freezing owners, wow, what a turn around!
Green shoots, cherry blossoms, magnolia flowers abound.
Pastel colours, flowy fabrics, floral patterns, strappy sandals hit town
Wasted gym memberships, hay fever, flowing noses a few frowns
But what I love best are the amorous pigeons, with their struts, feathers puffed up, cooing sounds. Impressing those pigeonetts is hard but that’s what spring time’s about!

And there's life on Mars

There’s always a first time and this one’s mine. I’ve always written about the pains us women face when it comes to the opposite sex, especially in the big bad world of dating. Guess, what this post is about the men…and their dating nightmares. For those dating veterans like Ms. Rate a date (www.rateadate.blogpost.com) this might come as a bit of a surprise but it’s not any easier for the boys. I was talking to my favorite (and only) vampire today, he shall not be named as this was a pretty personal conversation and the last thing I want is to lose his super-natural friendship. Anyways, so he was saying that he tried this Internet dating malarkey and is totally put off by it. Who’d have thought that the Vampires would have the same problems eh? His pet crib was that he spent all this time writing the perfect profile, not too long or too short. Enough detail to show what an interesting guy he is.
His photo’s were vetoed by his female friends so no bloopers there either. He even went through the pains of reading the profiles of the ladies he deemed worthy and wrote openers that had to do with their pet fears …like flying…his advice, get flying classes, that should do it….Hmmm, I know I’d definitely respond to an opener like that, would you?
Yes, he followed the rules to the T. But lo behold, no one did him the courtesy of writing back to him. Bloody women eh!
As Vampires go, he is a good looking chap and yes the accent is very charming if you’re into that Meerkat thing.
My advice to him was to pick the ‘right’ type of women. Firstly, make sure she’s well travelled, accomplished, has varied interests, well read is good too the looks are pretty secondary I think (to which he agreed, hence the glowing reference). I think it’s a pretty fool-proof way to filter out the stereo-types. Pretty sound advice I thought, and given how pro-girl power I am. Another male friend say’s that its much like the real world, surprisingly enough. It’s usually the men who approach the women and not the other way round (bloody women eh!). Then there are the girls who go for the wrong types (sour grapes). And finally it’s a numbers game(if you live in the North Pole it is..and Finland I guess). My response to the ‘wrong type’ bit is usually that when we hit 30, we grow a brain so my sound advice to you gentle men is stay away from the little one’s its their time in the sun, let them play the field. Its 30 and beyond where our biological clocks take over . To the numbers game thing…I guess when you’re living in Finland it would be. There’s one woman to every 100 reindeer or some statistic like that. I guess there’s some truth in the adage ‘location, location, location!’
Take England for example we might have rubbish weather, no high speed internet, crumbling plumbing, shoe boxes for homes, rubbish collection disasters but hey, you wont find many places where match.com has a few million subscribers and there’s someone or something for everyone.
God bless Britannia!

Introducing the hassle free way to shop ...for men

Yes you've heard correctly. Welcome to the world of internet dating! My brush with this most interesting of pass times began about 3 years ago and via a recommendation from a girl friend. Yes, they're
always the culprits. The most challenging bit was writing that all important 'dating head line'. It's not easy articulating your 'unique selling proposition' in a few lines so that it does justice to your innate intelligence, humour, oomph potential, style, fit friends etc etc. Hell, that's what copy writers are for right? Besides the guys are going to make a bee line for your picture anyways given what shallow bastards they are. But hey, in this game you just can't take any chances just in case you meet a deep one, so we crack on with the one liner. After multiple consultations and deliberations with the girl friends we finally settle on just the right amount of detail to put in the profile so we don't lose that air of mystery. Then comes the next part, we choose a respectable selection of photographs which evenly show case the well rounded individual we are. Pay your three month subscription fee because by then if you don't meet a selection of potentials then you need to upgrade from a Tesco to a Waitrose and done, we're ready to go! Now comes the fun part. Dating etiquette for those who don't know where to start, begins with a subtle show of interest, you send a 'wink'. I compare it to scanning an unfamiliar aisle in a super market...say foreign food or something similar. There are all sorts of things there, stuff you can recognise and like and others you'd rather not go near. That's the male line up for you. So you sent or received a 'wink' from a can, oops, I meant man, you like. You then read the ingrediants to make sure it does what it says on the tin. There's his profile and then the pre-requisite ski shot / marathon shot (I'm sporty), holding a baby (I'm a caring metrosexual), having a laugh with friends (I'm fun), in a tuxedo (i could be the next James Bond), sometimes if you're lucky you even have the top less shot (six pack anyone?). Like what you see, send an email, meet up for a drink, its easier to run if he turns out to be ever so slightly 'bruised' (think fruit and vegetables here). If you're satisfied with the goods then head for the check out! If not then, come back next week and do it all over again. Happy shopping girl friend!

I am powerful, I am random, I am me

Its spring time and the sakura trees are in bloom. A strong breeze catches the petals and flings them into the air where they do a dance I call it the zephyr. They float along to the sounds of Sati while I watch from my window. I look across at the house opposite me, I see her standing at the window, a room with a view. She holds her baby up to the pane willing him to look down at his father starting up his motor cycle. He waves at his family and then turns towards the beast. I wonder if the thought crosses her mind that this might be the last time she’ll see him… She looks nervous sometimes and forces him to take the car. The baby makes everything different, its not for me, its for him she thinks…how many times have I heard this thought repeated in the minds of mothers world over. Suddenly life becomes about this little bundle of life that’s come into the world. Nothing else matters except the sacred bond that binds blood to blood. I turn around and get back to my reality. No motorcycles or bonds for me, at least not here and not now because I choose to do it that way. I am powerful you see.
I wonder what I want to be today. The philanthropist? The employee? The disruptor? The accomplice? The jester?
I turn up the volume on my ipod, yes I’m mindful of the people who live below me. I’m the good neighbor, I am benign.
I am powerful. I decide who I want to be . I decide if I want to walk in front of that bus if it takes my fancy. I do a little dance and sing on top of my lungs while I walk in the direction of home or where ever in the world I want to be. It’s springtime, the weather’s balmy. I can stop or start, turn left or right, skip of hop. Its all up to me, I am the master of my body, my mind, of me

I blog, tweet, face book…therefore I am.

I’ll bet Descartes had no idea how many incarnations that quote of his would take. Even though it's been a while since my blog runnith over, I still continued fancying myself as a blogger. That was before I got talking to my geeky near and dear ones. What an eye opener that was. I am the long tail of the social media universe. I am a....laggard….how I hate that word. That's the down side… for me. But the up side is for all women-kind and makes up for the beating my techgo (tech +ego) has taken.
It was a bit of an 'Alice in wonderland' moment for me when I accidently walked into this wonderful alternative universe filled with so many articulate, intelligent and accomplished women from every walk of life and part of the world, blogging about everything from climbing the corporate ladder with kids in tow to 'bitch slaps' http://www.redheadwriting.com/
What was even more heart warming was reading some of the responses to the blogs. The humor, good naturdeness and empathy shared by us women (and a few men in touch with their female sides) was all pervasive. There's definitely a community out there with the same hopes, fears, ambitions and dreams. And it’s open to everyone, there’s no red carpet or closed door policy.
The story began some years ago with the birth of ‘My space’. It still hadn’t permeated our collective conscience back home in India that there was a slot in cyber-space that could be uniquely yours; We were still digging face-to-face communication, phone calls to ‘foreign’ and snail mail. We were used to sharing our personal space (or lack of) with the billion others that were fighting for it.
The next chapter came around sooner than expected and it was called Facebook we laggards took up the banner pretty rapidly albeit slower than the technological savvy generation of the time aka 'ipod generation' who’ve now graduated to the 'always on' generation (I can still remember generation X and generation Y…. that date’s me dammit!) We’ve started living, breathing, talking Face book. I know my aunt does, and probably for the same reasons we all do, because whether we like it or not we Homo sapiens cannot function without our pack, our community. We love passing judgment, showing support, feeling important in the live’s of those who matter, stalking the lay of the land, keeping tabs, showing off, professing allegiance... we’re nosy bastards, the lot of us!
Then came twitter and that upped the ante, we had to cram the complexity of language (pauses, umms, ahhs and all) into 150 characters including links. I remember claiming that I’d never get on twitter because quite frankly, I had nothing to say.... boy, that came back to bite me in the ass like with most things I claim I’ll never do ( like ‘Googling’). Now I can't get off the dam thing, At first it was to read about the latest and greatest, now its become social currency, it's about collecting 'followers', being in the 'know', being the first to share something news worthy or witty. Re-tweets are the epitome of this, I have to say I’m guilty of checking how many of my tweets have been re-tweeted (not many). Why? Apart from the fact that I’m a navel gazer (there I said it!) unlike face book its more than the 150 real life friends (who give a shit about what you have to say) that’re listening to you. With twitter, re-tweets and all there’s millions…thousands…ok… well, hundreds then, of user names out there who feel you’re interesting enough to want to listen to and sometimes pass on your golden 150 characters! Guess what folks! I'm a celebrity in my own little virtual world! …Right! Maybe it’s time for my 'bitch slap' after all.

Pray, Love, Eat (in that order)

Eat, pray, love….God knows I’m trying! The latter bit I mean…I watched the celluloid incarnation of the book last night. I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while and finally went and bought the DVD yesterday because it was one of those really rubbish days where I needed a couple of hours of wallowing in self pity. There used to be a time when wallowing in self-pity meant working my ass off in the gym…but these days…oh no! Its all about eating a fun size bag of crisps. Throw in a diet coke or two and I’m in heart attack heaven!
While Julia Roberts looks fantastic, I thought it was a far cry from the book. The transformation from neurosis to calm takes an entire box set; a two-hour movie just doesn’t cut it. In spite of everything it did the trick. Here I am, writing my blog after what seems an eternity, clearly I’m still a bit rusty since the self pity isn’t flowing like it used to. Guess that’s what happens when you’re really low on angst, not the work kind but the personal kind. My job is still the Bain of my existence but life’s pretty good…when I take a break from navel gazing that is. Oh yes I bought the sound track for the movie too in addition to the book and the DVD. The only thing left to buy is the T-shirt and a one way ticket to Bali
So what was it I could relate to? Apart from the wanderlust, it’s the depiction of her need for closure that got me. Does closure equate selfishness? Is it Ok to relegate someone to the back of your mind because you’re unable to give him or her a front row seat? Its not because you don’t care its because you don’t want to care or you’ll never be able to move on or even stay stationary and give it your best. The older you get the harder you become. Survival of the fittest takes on a completely new meaning.
Which brings me to my next point. The art of tolerating…some say you get what you give but sometimes you take what you get. Is it worth it? I honestly don’t know. It’s more like (in marketing speak), what your objectives are. There are some who are focused on having the kids – so anyone with a decent gene pool and sperm count will do; then there’s the liberals looking for sex on tap; there’s many a puppy (younger man) more than happy to oblige. Finally the third and most common, those of us who’re looking for an illusion aka soul mate. Doesn’t exist ladies! Wake up and smell the coffee! Except perhaps if you’re Julia Roberts playing Elizabeth Gilbert. Maybe she also settles for the what she gets, not much choice I’d imagine if you’re stuck on a remote island in the middle of bum fuck.
Let me know what you think of the sequel to Eat, Pray, love. Its called ‘’committed’’ or as I fondly call it (and this is an Indianism) “Admitted”*

*Sectioned