A Phone's Tale, Part 5

My Phone had gone mad. As in mental deranged, unhinged. Every night "Steve" came to life at what he insisted was midnight, but was actually 3AM for me, and spewed distasteful images of a dystopic, future nightmare. Between that and his incessant low-growl disapproval of his predicament, because of me (he indefatigably insisted), I got this:

He had signed a treaty with the some tech-devil or technology-monster (I can't tell the difference, but apparently their policies depart significantly from each other on the exact proportion of soul that they personally extracted from the investor, vs. the proportion that is doled out to the other hell-minions, you know, like in IPO. Phone gets reproachful when I mix up these, so I guess I should know. Afterall, I have only been listening to him complain, forever!). This was done ante-mortem (as in AM). Now in the PM (post-mortem... haha, clever ain't I? That's what I thought , but I earned considerable censure from Phone, on grounds of being grievously pedestrian), where was I? Oh, yes, now in the PM he, I mean Steve Jobs was supposed to ascend on Dylan, but things were screwed when my phone was activated at the exact nano-second and now Dylan is waiting and Steve is in Phone. Oh, who is Dylan? " Just the super-futuristic-ultramodern-Sophisticate (Oh, don't call him a super-computer. Phone downloaded some toothy app (I know- pun fully intended :)) with which he almost bit of my head for that), wherein, Sophisticate is mumbo-jumbo for the future of laptops and personal computers, "almost fully-intelligent" silicon brained, powered by nothing but sunlight- or cow dung. I don't really listen. Of course all this is precious time wasted, as Dylan lies empty, waiting to be the vessel into which Steve pours his misanthropic future-ravings. And I just ruined all that.

Oh Puh-lease!

A Phone's Tale, Part 4

I'll tell you what's happening in my life these days. Hmmmmm.... nothing much. So let's zip past the insignificant hours of me struggling to add just another sensible lie, ahem Freudian typo, line to make my résumé, milling through lab-hours surfing the internet, looking for the clock to strike a decent hour to go home, like a half-live zombie hoping to die at the hands of a merciful zombie-killer, but yet having to look for living things to bite and infect. I mean, do zombies have drive? Wait, let me google that... In doing my research on zombie-drive, I may have trifled away a good hour. I adhere still to my speculative metaphor: I like a zombie lavished my time to pointless pursuits and half-heartedly staggered through the day. I did find some interesting theories about why zombies eat brains, but I digress. I returned home, undefeated, only because I didn't fight any of life's important battles that day. I hadn't in a while. In fact, I had been actively avoiding those tough decisions of life- to apply or not to apply... for a job. To reimagine your CV into a résumé, or not to reimagine. To play yet another round of Bejeweled 2 or not to play, when afterall, it looked like one of life's very few things I was continually good at these days. Well-wishing friends could say, my life was at an impasse, only because I had taken a brief trip to a defeatist-cul-de-sac, parked my car there and left, but who had time for that ponderous thought now!

Anyway, I came back from "work", and as was routine of my joblessly gridlocked life, popped open a frozen entrée, dropped on my sloughy cough in front of the TV, snuggled under my comfy-blankey, and hit the ON button on the remote. As I was snoozed lightly, again in front of that grainy monitor (creepy), the white noise pervading my badly acoustic 1-bedroom apartment was interrupted sharply at 3AM. "Wake up chubby minion!!! Walmart's going to be the new President if you don't! WAKE, now!"

A Phone's Tale, Part 3

"What?? No... I am not going to tak... WHAT!?!! Mummy!!!!!!!"

Phone blinked stubbornly. I clarified myself. "Eh?!"

"Don't you understand lady? I am Steve Jobs," continued the staccato machine-voice of Phone.

"I didn't know this would work for sure, but thanks to my innovation, creative genius and not to mention, my pact with the Technology-Demon, I am pure Silica and Electricity now. A testament to my future-looking, omniscient... don't waste my time Insignificance. Go forth, bring me to my HQ. In my basement, I have Dylan waiting for me to upload on him.

"Ewww !" The adult in me was responding, despite the giggle issued forth by the grad-student in me. I continued sanctimoniously, " That sounds gross. I don't know what you are talking about. Look, I am a poor, soon-to-be-out-of-work graduate student. I have no time to go wherever and do whatever. And did you just call me Insignificance?!!! It's 3AM and I have a meeting tomorrow. So I am going to tell myself this was a freaky dream and sleep it off. Bbye Steve." I was unshakable. What silliness, talking Phone and Steve Jobs. This is what happens, when one spends too much time reading the news and watching inspirational speeches by powerful execs instead of working and sleeping at the appropriate hour.

"NOOOO!! You chubby minion, don't go! I have very little time. Look, I am sorry. Listen, this is very important. The future depends on me and now, sadly you. OK, OK you needn't go anywhere, just break this phone. Shatter it and free my spirit. Don't go. And no , no, don't you turn me off, don't you......------------"

A Phone's Tale, Part 2

Did I say midnight? Make that midnight, PST... so yeah, it was 3AM.

My Phone groaned, "Steve?". What the... I jumped up in my couch and woke up to a brightly lit phone screen and white noise on the tele screen. I am not easily flappable but a talking phone was the closest thing to an avenging demon. No, that's not true, but that's what I thought at 3 AM. I picked my phone up and stupidly said, "Hello?" at it. " Steve? Where am I? And who are you?"

Fancy that! We have a nifty saying in Hindi for this situation which poorly translates to - my cat meows at me?! But, that's how I felt. What do you mean how am I? Who in god's name are you? But the wisecracks never come to me when I am woken up in the middle of a dreamless sleep. "Actually, I am Neeraja, but I have dropped an 'a' so it's easy for you guys to pronounce it - which means I am Neerja, n-e-e-r-j-a". I didn't half believe it when it happened, but Phone actually sneered. I could hear it. It was a feeble man's voice, but rich in its sarcastic undertones and superiority in its treble. " Bring Steve to me. I have important business. And why it so cramped in here?".

I had stopped drooling and fully awoken now. Get a grip, I said to myself. No phone of mine commands me- not even Phone. And you know, this is a creepy, weird situation, really, you are allowed to scream like in the horror movies. Deciding that the sanest move was to freak out , I closed my eyes and let Phone really have it.

"Oh God, what's happening! ?? Who the hell are you?? And STOP CALLING ME STEVE!! AAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

This went on for a while. But I couldn't sustain the banshee-behaviour and Phone didn't seem to care for my histrionics either. I stopped and looked. The phone lay harmlessly on the coffee-table. Considering that it was entirely possible that I may have vividly dreamed it up, I gingerly picked the offending gadget up.

Phone whirred back to life, blinked a couple of times and in a flat voice, rich with effect, said, "I am Steve Jobs. Take me to my headquarters"

A Phone's Tale, Part 1

So, as I walked down the 'Fitness trail' near my apartment, talking to my sister on the phone through the bluetooth device, my iPhone "precious" 4 fell to the ground from the great height of 3 feet, nay 2.5 (my low coat pocket was not very far from the ground). But of course, with apple's prize phone, angle is everything. As it touched the ground with the left corner edge, the glass shattered, the front-camera's lens was covered by a milky-white shadow and the touch-screen survived. Any other phone and may be individual parts would be available, may be it would not be expensive, but for a graduate student rapidly going out of work, as the date of the thesis submission draws ever-so-close, $150 was a far-cry from fair price.

After much deliberation with others who had the same butter-fingers problem as I, I decided that the solution lay in wearing a cute dress, asking my husband to wait outside the apple store and going to the geekiest store guy. As it turns out, it doesn't matter. You get a pass the first time. My proverbial charm was as unnecessary as it would have been ineffective. I got my appointment for a possible replacement at 5:45 PM EST on the 10th of October 2011. Why is that important? Because something weird happened.

When the sweet guy at the apple store handed me my new activated iPhone 6:03 PM EST, everything seemed perfect. I was overjoyed that I could save my gelaskin, and that I could now spend $70 on the toughest, sturdiest, yet sleekest iPhone protective shells money can buy (that's what the nice guy at that small store in the mall told me- I'm gullible like that!). I came back home, synched my phone and still everything was normal.

And that day at midnight, my phone spoke to me for the first time...

Driftwood

A blank verse...

I float by, seeing, swallowing, excreting, respiring, pointlessly. Like driftwood. The more I read, the more disillusioned I am. The more I know, the less I understand. The more I think, the less I believe. So much that I think the happiest amongst us are ones who know not too much, are naïve and have faith- in themselves, in the world, in all of us. Now I live on borrowed prayers, while I listen to the off-tunes of a song whose notes I disparaged. Those that trusted themselves and the universe, I mocked. While in my wisdom, I turned a sour sceptic, a realist and a lost graduate student alone on a Sunday night in the mercury-lit white lab. Feeling almost nothing. No pain, no fear, no hope.

I have always wanted to write. In the peak of my emotion, I have wanted to let my intellect lead me, lest my narrative turn to sop. After that deluge has passed though, I am but a shell, without a story. I never have much to say. I think in trying to discover my interests, I have lost my passions.

The weight of worry, the worry of weight!

I know that October is the start of the bad-season, weight-wise. So here's something I found about calculating calorie expenditure. Damn science- always out to burst a bubble of blissful ignorance. Apparently, we always overestimate the number of calories we burn. Who knew!!

Most machines at the gym read out the gross caloric expenditure. But that is not what the exercise causes you to spend. We have to subtract out the BMR for that time period, since you have already counted that (esp if you are following a calorie-accounted-diet) . Here is what you do, you subtract the energy you would have spend had you never left your sofa. Opportunity cost J

source: http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-242-304-311-8402-0,00.html

You can use the formulas below to determine your calorie-burn while running and walking. The "Net Calorie Burn" measures calories burned, minus basal metabolism. Scientists consider this the best way to evaluate the actual calorie-burn of any exercise. The walking formulas apply to speeds of 3 to 4 mph. At 5 mph and faster, walking burns more calories than running.

	Your Total Calorie Burn/Mile	Your Net Calorie Burn/Mile
Running	.75 x your weight (in lbs.)	.63 x your weight
Walking	.53 x your weight	.30 x your weight

That means, if I ran a mile at 5 mph, I would burn a net of just 70 cal (at my ideal weight 110 lbs) and if I walked a mile that number would be a mere 33. To burn an extra 500 calories per day I would have to either run a whooping 7 miles , or trudge 15.5 miles (WHHHHATT!!!).

That’s so not happening.

Today is the day of revelation, as it appears. Of course, here is another article telling you how we always, always underestimate what we eat.

http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-242-304--11628-2-2-2,00.html

Spiffing! So we overestimate our exercise and underestimate our eating. Someone tell me water makes you fat and I won’t bat an eyelid.