Rogaine

This is exactly why I have avoided hair growth products...the results can be frightening.

iLike

Definately like the look of this new gadget. Definately was looking for a tablet pc before settling on my HP notebook. This is neither a tablet (where's the keyboard?) nor a kindle-type reader. To write up longer documents a touch keyboard would not work...even longer e-mails. Nevertheless, iLike. Oh, Bill, enough with the "i" in front of everything. iStop already!

Weekend, My A**!

The two days of rest signalled by the ever-gloried Friday afternoon never really occurs at my home. A case in point: this weekend.

Went to my mother's home at 9 p.m. Friday night after having dinner at home and blowing out the candles with Seth (the birthday boy). Slept overnight at mom's so I could be present to received the carpet installer. In my dad's absence, we are re-decorating his one room office.

After squaring up with the installer, came home to shower and take some goodies to LaserQuest (LQ), where we are holding Seth's 9th birthday party. On the way to LQ will pick up one of Seth's friends and then set up at LQ. My wife, in the meantime, has taken Tarah to ballet class, gone to pick up the cake and assorted goodies. Tarah and mom will arrive at LQ after the first game and then, "Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday to you..." then another game, goodbyes and back home to clean up.

In the evening, I will be taking at least one of the kiddies back to my mom's to check out the new carpet, install a shower head and fix the kitchen faucet. Also, will need to measure room for new shelving and possibly a new desk. Then back home.

Sunday: Go to Ikea in the morning, possibly bring items found at Ikea back to my mother's place and then? Seth has a birthday party to attend! What! What?

Oh yeah, the bathroom needs cleaning and need to vacuum the house. Kitchen floor to sweep and mop.

Ah, I love weekends....what was your weekend like?

What Am I Reading?

Spy (Thriller)
By Ted Bell

Ted Bell is a former advertising exec. turned writer. Spy pits Islamo-terrorism coming out of South America against the wits of a few "good Americans." A good read...but he's no John Le Carre.


The Frozen Leopard (Travelogue)
by Aaron Latham

Aaron Latham, journalist, ventures to Africa (Kenya and Rwanda) and tries to work his way out of his depression/writer's block. The chapters in the book are a little too episodic, but a nice easy read.


Schizophrenia: A Very Short Introduction
By Christopher Frith and Eve Johnstone

Frith is a Professor in Neuropsychology. Johnstone is Professor and Head of the Division of Psychiatry at the University of Edinburgh. (Yikes!) This a fabulous primer on the subject. By a stroke of luck, while prowling the bookshelves at the library, I came across this book which is one in a series of books on subjects like cosmology, psychology, Islam, Communism, etc. etc. Just picked up Galaxies: A Very Short Introduction...the book is much smaller than you would expect.

In reply to my previous post, Anwar Sumar asks:
"Can you describe that whole flesh wound thing...how it happened"

I don't normally indulge obvious attempts to mock me but....An Indian woman (looked to be in her early 20's) and her boyfriend/husband/whatever happened to have sat next to us at the pool that afternoon. They were, in my opinion, trying very hard not to look our way and smile or say, 'hello.' It was quite obvious that the woman in question was, how should I say without seeming arrogant, taken by me.

In order to attract my attention this girl...really, she was a girl...hardly a woman! Ordered a tall coconut drink complete with an umbrella. At least that's the way I remember it. I found this a little embarassing to be quite honest. Such unashamed attempts to gain my attention went on for a good part of the afternoon.

My buddy and pal -- Anwar; normally a schmoozer himself, decided to ignore the pool-side goings-on. He even hinted that this little girl's affections for me were a figment of my fecund imagination. And if there is one thing about me you should know...I do not take lightly people calling me fecund. No sir!

Anyways, to get to the moment of the wounding of my flesh and yes, even my heart...I was coming out of the pool where I had just gone in to void my bladder. I looked up to see my admirer doing exactly that. No. Not voiding her bladder but admiring me. True, the water was dripping off my man-boobs, my taut, muscled legs carried me ever closer to my seat and lo and behold what do I see? The girl in question was sitting in the middle of an inflatable ring complete with pictures of Disney characters. How cute I though to myself. I faltered and blurted out, "That's very nice."

She mis-judged my comment as being sarcastic and made a face which could only mean that our little romance had come to an end. I was Jack Tripper caught in a comedy of errors. Mr. Furley mistook me for something I was not and what ensued was that I ended up walking into my beach chair, scrapping a whole heap of skin (two inches of it) from top to bottom off my glistening shin.

And that, as they say, was that. I hope this satisfies your need to mock me Sumar! You may want to take a gander at Anwar's encounter with a Man-Maid at the Sheraton in New Delhi here. Who's laughing now, laughing boy?

Open Letter to the Park Hyatt in Goa

Dear Park Hyatt,

I know it has been quite some time since I was with you. My apologies for not writing sooner. Between getting back to Toronto, starting into work and family commitments, I simply haven't found any time to write.

I recently posted some more pics of you that Anwar had taken. You may remember him from our visit in late September of last year. Anyways, the pictures have brought you back to mind: Memories of having showers in your rooms...was it 348...how soon I've forgotten. Forgive me.

Your lush grounds which were meticulously kept by the battalion of grounds-people; chestnut brown meandering boardwalks leading to a white-sand beach which literally went on for miles and miles. Your multiple pools: so clean, curvacious and inviting. The fountains on the pathways leading to our room. The palm trees, the Masaai-red earth which nurtured such luxuriant growth, the birds and yes, even the lizards have me singing your praises.

I apologize. For not writing sooner, but also, for not squeezing more enjoyment out of our time together. For taking you for granted and caring overly much for my own comfort. Besides your memories all I have left are questions. Why didn't I take more pictures of you, explore your alleyways and touch the stone work I walked on or use the hot tub at night? Why is it not possible for my mind to be as still as a photograph and for long enough to lull me to sleep with you in mind.

There's a rock in the pool which is closest to the ocean. My friend and I spent a whole afternoon lazing next to this pool. There is a rock that forms the edge of one side of that pool; a seat has been carved into that rock. You know the one I mean? Where one can come out of the pool sit on the half submerged rock and admire the view of the grounds leading to the beach, and further on, the ocean. That was a great place to take a break from the swimming. I did recognize it at the time for what it was -- a sublime spot for a repose.

I hate to sound overly sentimental, but it is this way, especially when I think of you. What can one say in closing except, thank you.

p.s. I inadvertently scrapped two inches of skin off my right shin while walking around that pool. The bleeding wouldn't stop. My friend suggested calling someone to bandage my leg. At the time, it was painful and I was too busy dealing with the pain to give the flap of skin much thought. I tore it off and let it fall. Now, I think, wistfully, that perhaps you knew I would soon depart and this was your way of keeping a little of me with you.

I will return one day. I promise.

Article of Note: The War on Drugs

"Reading the stories of so many lives derailed by drugs and hobbled by poverty, one can’t help but ask: are we winning the war on drugs? It’s been exactly forty years since Richard Nixon declared drug abuse “a serious national threat” and coined the phrase “War on Drugs.”