Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Tagging wagging...
It was almost a year ago that AWK had ushered me into blogistan. She had told me at the time that I would get addicted to blogging, she had predicted that I would enjoy my stay here, which she had said would quite likely be permanent, and she had promised that I would find many wonderful new friends. She was right on all counts, but her Nostradamic attributes are not the subject of this blog. We will come to the subject shortly, provided of course my knack for digressing does not redefine shortly once again. What AWK had not accounted for at the time was my absolute incompetence for survival in the techy world, and had it not been for sisterly duo AWK and Abez, I probably would still have been around in the blog world, but mine would have been a place a lot more boring and drab than it is today.
Despite some tutorial here and a bit of coaching there, there is a lot about the ways of blogistan that I can be amazingly ignorant about. This does not reflect, in any way, on the coaching skills of the wonderful and kind tutor I had, it just goes on to prove my incapacity for learning the simplest of things when they must be learnt through what I call the complication machine, also known as blogging medium, otherwise called The Computer. This is also my excuse, and a perfectly valid one despite what Jalali Baba might have to say, for many an act deemed uncourteous or uncouth in blogistan. Gracious fellow bloggers have, now and then, discreetly pointed out the intricacies of blogger code of conduct to me. At other times, my tube light has taken a break from its flickering, and shone bright for long enough to illuminate a point or two for me.
Having been tagged for the second time, I am begining to figure out that there is a certain etiquette about this tagging business. An etiquette that requires the taggee to respond pronto...post haste...ASAP...etc. etc. A whopping 50% of the times I have been tagged, I have not responded in time. As things stand now, I have succesfully failed to respond at all dismal 100% of the times I have been tagged. Here today, I make amends:
Moiz, thanks for tagging me. I am assuming one ought to thank the tagger, though, personally, laddy I could make you read my poetry from '94 days for doing me this good turn, just to get back at you. I notice though that you have apologised at the end which, while is a noble act warranting your getting off the hook, is also an implicit admission that the turn you have done me is not altogether noble. But then, what do I know? I am totally pathetic when it comes to the customs and traditions of blogistan.
So, you want to know what I would be, would do, or for that matter not be and do, if I could be something else than an almost bald, almost fat, almost bearded, completely bespectacled forwarding salesman, eh? Wonder why would you think that interesting! Here goes:
If I could be an Athelete:
That's a big could. Given that the only time I had any serious physical activity in the past five years, they had called it a spasm of coughing and sneezing. Oh, and lets not forget, for a few weeks I was driving a manual transmission car too, and that required a lot of pressing the clutch and changing the gears. I did play a lot of scoccer in my school days, thanks in so small measure to the courtesy of my classmates. You see, I was not the weakest link in the chain, I was the paper tape my class fellows had courteously, albiet begrudgingly, used to tape the chain. Fortunately for me, the Soccer playing talent in our class fell one short of a full team, and I was the last resort option everyone would rather do without.
My absolute lack of talent did wonders for the new comers. The soccer team was desperate to rid their team of the edge other teams had on them, and any new comer willing to take the field with the team could help them consign me to the bench. I think the zest and zeal with which they approached the new comers scared the poor chaps away - after all, who goes about offering a place in the class soccer team armed with chocolates, cold drinks, and promises of more goodies and instant frienship to a guy who has been in class only 40 minutes. I suspect the new guys suspected a prank, and played it safe in not playing with them.
Nonetheless, I stayed on with the team long enough to disprove myself in every position in the field. They finally devised a brilliant strategy. They put me in the goal. It was a stroke of genius. Immediately, the margin by which our team used to lose was reduced by half, thanks in part to the goals I was not scoring on my own team, or helping the rival team score on my team, and largely to the chances that were not being squandered in the front and the middle. I was still conceding enough goals though to ensure we continued our losing streak.
The sports committee finally decided to acknowledge my presence on the field, and awarded the rival teams a handicap of "-5". That was when we were able to secure our first draw in three years - a game tied at 5/5. At the end of that year's tournament, not only had we not lost a single match, we had managed to scrap a win too, a narrow one at 0/-1. There were a couple of mediocre teams in our pool too.
The following year, we went in with a lot more preparation. Our captain had great faith in me. He was a firm believer in talent, and knew when to encourage raw talent. He requested me not to waste my time in any training since there was little value addition, he said, that any training would bring to such raw talent. He also said, he wanted to put twice the focus on our defender, and that he could benefit from me not participating in the training.
To cut a long story short, very short indeed, at the end of the next year's tournament our team was chosen for a consolation prize for not losing any match despite some "inherent drawbacks" they suffered; our defender was voted the player of the tournament, and I was awarded the most crucial player of the tournament. I had a tally of 99 goals from 11 matches.
Given this back ground, it is rather hard for me to imagine myself in the sweaty shoes of an athlete - if I could be one though, I would want to be a long jumper. "Why?", you ask? "Why not?", I say.
If I could be a Doctor:
I would be one, to the joy of my parents. You see, I am the eldest of four siblings. I am the one who is most likely to be chosen to be designated the future doctor in a family, and I was too. For twelve years, I told people I would become a dcotor when I grew up. In the twelvth year, I half disected a frog, and promptly emptied my stomach of any break-fast. I also did my best impression of passing out after that.
Following this incident, I never said I would become a doctor. My father stopped saying so after my HSSC results were announced, and my mother gave up after I fell short by about 200 marks the next year, when the results from my improvement exams came in. HSSC students had an option to sit the exams a second time, if they were not happy with the results the first time around. It costed them only a year of their lives.
I could be a doctor though. I have a doctor's hand-writing. Actually, given that only the most experienced chemists are able to decipher my hand-writing, I think I would have made a very senior doctor at an early age. We know I would never have made a surgeon, nor an ENT specialist. Psychiatry, though, might just have been the thing for me. Don't ask, why? I have people like Coori, Mari, VGA, and Jalali Baba for friends.
If I could be a Chef:
I would not be working at the Burj-al-Arab. Secondly, I would be a fat one.
If I could be a Lawyer:
Personally, I think I would make a great lawyer. I am argumentative, love to walk when talking, like to talk when walking, and enjoy John Grisham novels. I do not think I would have made a great defense lawyer, nor a criminal lawyer. Corporate Law? May be.
I have a thing against all these conglomorates, and the franchisees of the world. They have just stripped the world of its flavors, and made into one big assembly line. I would have liked to see what the world might have had to offer had the Coca-Colas, McDees, CKs, Givencies and Armanis of the world not already dictated a uniformity in food, apparel and lifestyles. If I could be a lawyer, maybe, I could be one who could take the Blairs and the Bushes, the UNs and the IMFs of the world to court.
If I could be a Marine Biologist:
I would not know what I was doing in the world. I would be amazed and stumped by the beauty of Allah's creation, and His miracles under the water; I still am, thanks to the National Geographic people, but I would not be a marine biologist for long. I would not be an alive one for long that is. I have this symbiotic relationship with all things Marine - what with me being a shipping person and all!
Fifty percent of the times I have ventured into the ocean, the ocean has tried to suck me in. Were it not for the life guard 14 years ago, and for Jalali Baba two months ago, I would have been consigned to the bed of an ocean, to be found centuries later by a team of marine biologists.
Jalali Baba differs though - he says, the environmentalists would have ensured I was pulled out of the ocean bed before I could contaminate ocean life. Thankfully, and understandably, we have not had to find out the truth of his hypothesis.
Time to pass the stick on?
Aasiya, because we have close to a decade separating us, and I doubt she is already a shipping sales person, and so would like to see what she has to say.
Jalali Baba, because he would be better off being any of these five than being what he is ... an IT freak. Also because if he had a job that required him to interact with more people, perhaps his focus on me; which entails correcting the linguistically challenged me, teaching the ignorant me, trashing the ridiculous me, dissing the irritating me, and hating as well as extolling the optimistic me, would be diluted, and who cannot hope for that?
AA, because he is already a doctor, looks like an athlete, talks as much as the marine biologist would under water, and could argue against being a chef.
da Momma, because hopefully she will be blogging soon, once that container that's coming to UAE via Mexico arrives, and also because she can, with the decades of experience behind her, bring a richness to this "I could be..." exrcise that no one else can.
Crayon, because she hasn't been in knicqland in ages, and she ought to pay for that.
I would tag a lot more people, but I am not doing it for two reasons:
1. For fear, they might tag me back asking me to explain what five cities of the world would I go to for vacation.
2. Most of them have already been tagged.
*Phew*
That takes care of 50% of the tagging I am due on, and leaves just 50% to get back with....
In time. ¶ 6/08/2005 12:53:00 AM
Despite some tutorial here and a bit of coaching there, there is a lot about the ways of blogistan that I can be amazingly ignorant about. This does not reflect, in any way, on the coaching skills of the wonderful and kind tutor I had, it just goes on to prove my incapacity for learning the simplest of things when they must be learnt through what I call the complication machine, also known as blogging medium, otherwise called The Computer. This is also my excuse, and a perfectly valid one despite what Jalali Baba might have to say, for many an act deemed uncourteous or uncouth in blogistan. Gracious fellow bloggers have, now and then, discreetly pointed out the intricacies of blogger code of conduct to me. At other times, my tube light has taken a break from its flickering, and shone bright for long enough to illuminate a point or two for me.
Having been tagged for the second time, I am begining to figure out that there is a certain etiquette about this tagging business. An etiquette that requires the taggee to respond pronto...post haste...ASAP...etc. etc. A whopping 50% of the times I have been tagged, I have not responded in time. As things stand now, I have succesfully failed to respond at all dismal 100% of the times I have been tagged. Here today, I make amends:
Moiz, thanks for tagging me. I am assuming one ought to thank the tagger, though, personally, laddy I could make you read my poetry from '94 days for doing me this good turn, just to get back at you. I notice though that you have apologised at the end which, while is a noble act warranting your getting off the hook, is also an implicit admission that the turn you have done me is not altogether noble. But then, what do I know? I am totally pathetic when it comes to the customs and traditions of blogistan.
So, you want to know what I would be, would do, or for that matter not be and do, if I could be something else than an almost bald, almost fat, almost bearded, completely bespectacled forwarding salesman, eh? Wonder why would you think that interesting! Here goes:
If I could be an Athelete:
That's a big could. Given that the only time I had any serious physical activity in the past five years, they had called it a spasm of coughing and sneezing. Oh, and lets not forget, for a few weeks I was driving a manual transmission car too, and that required a lot of pressing the clutch and changing the gears. I did play a lot of scoccer in my school days, thanks in so small measure to the courtesy of my classmates. You see, I was not the weakest link in the chain, I was the paper tape my class fellows had courteously, albiet begrudgingly, used to tape the chain. Fortunately for me, the Soccer playing talent in our class fell one short of a full team, and I was the last resort option everyone would rather do without.
My absolute lack of talent did wonders for the new comers. The soccer team was desperate to rid their team of the edge other teams had on them, and any new comer willing to take the field with the team could help them consign me to the bench. I think the zest and zeal with which they approached the new comers scared the poor chaps away - after all, who goes about offering a place in the class soccer team armed with chocolates, cold drinks, and promises of more goodies and instant frienship to a guy who has been in class only 40 minutes. I suspect the new guys suspected a prank, and played it safe in not playing with them.
Nonetheless, I stayed on with the team long enough to disprove myself in every position in the field. They finally devised a brilliant strategy. They put me in the goal. It was a stroke of genius. Immediately, the margin by which our team used to lose was reduced by half, thanks in part to the goals I was not scoring on my own team, or helping the rival team score on my team, and largely to the chances that were not being squandered in the front and the middle. I was still conceding enough goals though to ensure we continued our losing streak.
The sports committee finally decided to acknowledge my presence on the field, and awarded the rival teams a handicap of "-5". That was when we were able to secure our first draw in three years - a game tied at 5/5. At the end of that year's tournament, not only had we not lost a single match, we had managed to scrap a win too, a narrow one at 0/-1. There were a couple of mediocre teams in our pool too.
The following year, we went in with a lot more preparation. Our captain had great faith in me. He was a firm believer in talent, and knew when to encourage raw talent. He requested me not to waste my time in any training since there was little value addition, he said, that any training would bring to such raw talent. He also said, he wanted to put twice the focus on our defender, and that he could benefit from me not participating in the training.
To cut a long story short, very short indeed, at the end of the next year's tournament our team was chosen for a consolation prize for not losing any match despite some "inherent drawbacks" they suffered; our defender was voted the player of the tournament, and I was awarded the most crucial player of the tournament. I had a tally of 99 goals from 11 matches.
Given this back ground, it is rather hard for me to imagine myself in the sweaty shoes of an athlete - if I could be one though, I would want to be a long jumper. "Why?", you ask? "Why not?", I say.
If I could be a Doctor:
I would be one, to the joy of my parents. You see, I am the eldest of four siblings. I am the one who is most likely to be chosen to be designated the future doctor in a family, and I was too. For twelve years, I told people I would become a dcotor when I grew up. In the twelvth year, I half disected a frog, and promptly emptied my stomach of any break-fast. I also did my best impression of passing out after that.
Following this incident, I never said I would become a doctor. My father stopped saying so after my HSSC results were announced, and my mother gave up after I fell short by about 200 marks the next year, when the results from my improvement exams came in. HSSC students had an option to sit the exams a second time, if they were not happy with the results the first time around. It costed them only a year of their lives.
I could be a doctor though. I have a doctor's hand-writing. Actually, given that only the most experienced chemists are able to decipher my hand-writing, I think I would have made a very senior doctor at an early age. We know I would never have made a surgeon, nor an ENT specialist. Psychiatry, though, might just have been the thing for me. Don't ask, why? I have people like Coori, Mari, VGA, and Jalali Baba for friends.
If I could be a Chef:
I would not be working at the Burj-al-Arab. Secondly, I would be a fat one.
If I could be a Lawyer:
Personally, I think I would make a great lawyer. I am argumentative, love to walk when talking, like to talk when walking, and enjoy John Grisham novels. I do not think I would have made a great defense lawyer, nor a criminal lawyer. Corporate Law? May be.
I have a thing against all these conglomorates, and the franchisees of the world. They have just stripped the world of its flavors, and made into one big assembly line. I would have liked to see what the world might have had to offer had the Coca-Colas, McDees, CKs, Givencies and Armanis of the world not already dictated a uniformity in food, apparel and lifestyles. If I could be a lawyer, maybe, I could be one who could take the Blairs and the Bushes, the UNs and the IMFs of the world to court.
If I could be a Marine Biologist:
I would not know what I was doing in the world. I would be amazed and stumped by the beauty of Allah's creation, and His miracles under the water; I still am, thanks to the National Geographic people, but I would not be a marine biologist for long. I would not be an alive one for long that is. I have this symbiotic relationship with all things Marine - what with me being a shipping person and all!
Fifty percent of the times I have ventured into the ocean, the ocean has tried to suck me in. Were it not for the life guard 14 years ago, and for Jalali Baba two months ago, I would have been consigned to the bed of an ocean, to be found centuries later by a team of marine biologists.
Jalali Baba differs though - he says, the environmentalists would have ensured I was pulled out of the ocean bed before I could contaminate ocean life. Thankfully, and understandably, we have not had to find out the truth of his hypothesis.
Time to pass the stick on?
Aasiya, because we have close to a decade separating us, and I doubt she is already a shipping sales person, and so would like to see what she has to say.
Jalali Baba, because he would be better off being any of these five than being what he is ... an IT freak. Also because if he had a job that required him to interact with more people, perhaps his focus on me; which entails correcting the linguistically challenged me, teaching the ignorant me, trashing the ridiculous me, dissing the irritating me, and hating as well as extolling the optimistic me, would be diluted, and who cannot hope for that?
AA, because he is already a doctor, looks like an athlete, talks as much as the marine biologist would under water, and could argue against being a chef.
da Momma, because hopefully she will be blogging soon, once that container that's coming to UAE via Mexico arrives, and also because she can, with the decades of experience behind her, bring a richness to this "I could be..." exrcise that no one else can.
Crayon, because she hasn't been in knicqland in ages, and she ought to pay for that.
I would tag a lot more people, but I am not doing it for two reasons:
1. For fear, they might tag me back asking me to explain what five cities of the world would I go to for vacation.
2. Most of them have already been tagged.
*Phew*
That takes care of 50% of the tagging I am due on, and leaves just 50% to get back with....
In time. ¶ 6/08/2005 12:53:00 AM
