.
Step One: You will need a great camera, a copy of Adobe Photoshop Lightroom, and these cheekbones… Let me know when you are ready for step two.
Archive for April, 2009
Apr
29
2009
A Lightroom Tutorial
Apr
29
2009
This is Not My Beautiful World
.
We wake to the shrill grinding sound of rebar being cut, in the construction site just outside the window. That sound is soon overtaken by the cacophonous grind of a cement mixer, which is again overtaken by the crashing gush of a truckload of rocks being emptied onto the construction site. A cloud of white rock dust presses up against the windows. This is not my beautiful world.
.
The construction site next door is active from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day. Thirty sari-draped women balance trays of wet cement on their heads while a dozen half-naked children play in the mountain of sand. Another twenty or so barefoot men scoop rocks and bend rebar and are digging six giant pits in the red earth. They are building a three-story shopping center. From my dining room window this looks like an archeological dig. I have just found out that the construction will take one year. Huge buzz kill.
We chose this place because be could live like Columbian drug lords for what a one bedroom apartments costs at home, and because it was a quiet sanctuary away from the Bangalore choking traffic and relentless noise. Now, we may as well be living in the middle of the road. Every surface of our house is coated with grit. I’m beginning to suspect that this is why the owners have chosen not to live in their dream home.
Pack your earplugs and dust masks and come for a visit!!!
Apr
24
2009
Fuck Yeah Cilantro !
.
OK so my new favorite daily read is the fantastic Fuck Yeah Cilantro site, a place where those of us with serious cilantro fetishes can gather without shame, share some cilantro cheesecake, have a laugh or just beat the crap out of unbelievers.
Living in India of course we run into cilantro every day in new and astonishing ways; therefore I have decided to make my contribution to Cilantro Culture by periodically reporting from the front lines, using a Fuck Yeah Cilantro press pass that I made out of construction paper, Elmer’s glue, and green glitter.
Today’s submission is an Indian specialty: the Fresh Lime Soda. Especially great in the hot hot heat here, when done right, they will bring you carafes of soda water, a small pitcher of sugar syrup (because if you use sugar crystals with the soda water you will be mopping up the table), and some freshly squeezed lime juice or concentrate. You mix to taste. In some cases they will garnish with lime, lemon, mint, or in this case…. Cilantro. Nothing more satisfying on a hot, humid day: it starts sweet, has a little playtime, then finishes with that special cilantro twinkle.
In India, we say, “Coriander.” Say it with me: COR – EEE – AND – ER. Niiice :)
For more, be sure to visit Fuck Yeah Cilantro and tell ’em Phil sent ya.
Apr
24
2009
East Meets West… Sort Of…
India is fantastic at being India. The markets are masses of ancient crazy beautiful chaos. The flowers are ubiquitous, the fruit and vegetables are fresh and bountiful, and the vendors are a blur of efficiency. But any establishment patterned after a Western model is a disastrous exercise in patience.
Every coffee shop, cellphone store, sunglasses counter etc., is staffed with roughly three times the number of staff reasonably needed for any job; however, the abundance of staff is completely offset by the inefficiency of each and every one of them. The good part is that it keeps nearly everyone employed; the bad part is that no one seems to know what they’re doing.
The seemingly simple act of buying a pastry can be an insanely convoluted process: getting close enough to the counter so people don’t have room to cut in front of you; getting the attention of one of the seven lost looking people behind the counter; and conveying your request, “I’d like the chocolate croissant please.” Having them hand you a samosa. Handing the samosa back and reiterating to them that you want a croissant, and not a samosa. Watching them painstakingly wrap the croissant in paper, tape the paper, put the paper wrapped croissant in a bag, staple the bag closed, put the bag in a box and hand it to the person standing next to them behind the counter. That person will then tell the person standing at the register that you have ordered one croissant. They will then look at the register like it is a spaceship that just landed. They will push some buttons until something makes a noise, then three more people will come over and stare at the machine, shrug, wobble their heads, talk amongst themselves, push more buttons until tape starts rolling out of the machine. At this point you will press your body against the counter, thrust a handful of rupees across the counter and say, “Can I pleeeeease just have my croissant ?”
Scenes such as this happen several times a day. No, I’m not exaggerating.
Maybe the worst part is that they don’t even pretend to know what they are doing; it’s like everyone in this country is at the very first day of their very first job. This can be funny, or this can be infuriating. Mostly it is infuriating.