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Written by Raj Grover aka Ross Grover
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2008-02-01 08:00:00 |
Four hours later, I was pacing back and forth in my hotel room. My feelings had blended seamlessly through a cycle of eagerness, impatience, irritation, confusion, bemusement, and finally resignation. Had I become a schizophrenic, uttering nonsense while the polite people around me eagerly nodded their heads somewhere in between “yes” and “no?” Was I experiencing a Twilight Zone style alternate dimension where time moves more slowly? I knew that morning had faded into afternoon as the muffled cacophony of crushing traffic below reached its crescendo. No, this was merely my first experience with “Indian Standard Time.” The irony couldn’t be stronger. Being of Germanic heritage, I suffer from a unique cultural fetish – Punctuality. We love our precise machinery, especially clocks. That word, “clock,” really doesn’t do justice to our obsession with precision. I admired my Wenger “chronograph” with its brushed steel band, onyx face, and auto-wind action. Muttering to myself that if only these people understood the beauty of Punctuality, I nearly missed the muted chimes of my house phone. |
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Written by Debbie Kar
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Column: Foxy Moxie - Adventures, Advice, and Agony of a Wolf in Chic Clothing*Certain names have been changed to protect the guilty
Getting past the velvet rope at an über trendy lounge. That's so 2003. Entrée into the VIP room? That has lost its luster, long ago. Claim to "party like a rock star"? That's a proclamation that has, all too often, escaped every Silicon Valley code monkey's lips at one time or another. Let's rephrase the question. How about "partied with rock stars?" No? Well, the world is just filled with "wanna-bes" who will…never be, isn't it?
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Written by Raj Grover aka Ross Grover
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 I awoke to the uncomfortable realization that the electricity had gone out in the middle of the night and my sweet western flesh was feasted upon by the local terrorist mosquitoes while I slumbered restlessly. After swearing a vow to Ganesh not to itch my newest collection of welts, I stumbled towards my most loving Goddess – the French Press, performed her ritual, and promptly dozed off again. |
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