Obama vs McCain--the Dalai Lama factor

Senator Barrack Obama's recent whirlwind European vacay has been well documented by our favorite media junkets.  The video diary will be up for sale soon, to raise money for his campaign.  Senator Obama has been photographed with the leaders of strategic Middle Eastern and European countries.  He wore a yammakah, at the wailing wall in Israel.  However, the best photo opprotunity did not present any yammakah-wearing; John McCain was holding the hand of the Dalai Lama.  Now, I love the Dalai Lama.  But, John McCain???? EWWWWW!  They had a meet and greet in ASPEN of all places.  Aspen--the haven for rich, white, over-privileged Americans.  Did Senator McCain take the Dalai Lama to a drink to his favorite bar for a cocktail or hot chocolate?

I am Pretty App-Happy!

So I didn't wait in line at the Houston Galleria for three weeks so I could get my iPhone 3G bright and early on Friday, July 11.  Incidentally, I was in Boston, sleeping in my "heavenly bed" at the Westin Waterfront.  Nonetheless, I decided that my iPhone EDGE is okay for now.  However, after a mere 15-minute download, I finally did get the iPhone 2.0 software.  The app store KICKS ASS!!!  I wasted a valuable 3 hours of my life downloading every free app available.  My personal favorite is the "Phone Saber".  It begins as just the handle; it then progresses to a choice between the rebel forces and Empire (green vs. red); and when you swing the phone just so, you hear the sound effects of the Star Wars light saber.  I could, like, fight a friend.  There is also the Pandora Radio app, which is pretty kick-ass, because I can listen to my playlist without actually putting any songs from my iTunes on the phone--NICE!  Of course, the Bubble Wrap--aah, the bubble wrap is quite soothing and strange, all at the same time.  For now, I am quite satisfied with my iPhone EDGE.  All Apple needs to do is improve the Bluetooth and ad a video capture camera, and I am sold.  I am sure someone will come up with a porn app, if not already.

Another Fun-filled Moment with Creepy Old Men

I am a HUGE sucker for a good sex scandal, especially if it involves creepy old men.  My current fixation is Ronald Ayers, a 60-year-old economics professor at University of Texas, San Antonio.  He has already been dismissed from his position for downloading porn on his work computer.  What a dumbass!!!  There were recently some emails released to thesmokinggun.com, which read like bad Penthouse Forum pieces.  The correspondence revolves around how little his female students were wearing around him and how much he thought they wanted him.  After all, he is a delusional 60-year-old man.  He refers to women's breasts as "chest puppies" and "lovely, fleshy mounds".  Chest puppies??????????  EWWWWW!!!!  In addition, he delightedly mentioned buying used lingerie from Goodwill with "the worn, unwashed thong with the delightful aroma".  Mr. Ayers is experiencing his weird D.H. Lawrence epiphany at 60 years of age, in his small university position, which he no longer has.  There is some code he uses, such as pron for porn.  Ironically, his byline at the end with his signature is "your partner in teaching excellence".  He continues to describe the saga of two women, one fat and one goth, with whom he wishes to engage in some "relations".  Who will he get. . .the fat or the goth. . .or the possible stripper/bartender. . .or the "sexy grannie"?  One will only know if they read the continuation on thesmokinggun.com.

Who R U?

 VH1 just televised "Rock Honors: The Who", and I really watched because I wanted to see some of my favorite bands.  Although I like The Who; I love "My Generation" and the song from CSI.  However, I really wanted to see Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters, and Incubus, whom I love.  I must say, Roger Daltrey is the same age as my dad.  However, I would still sleep with him.  He is still pretty hot.  I am sure that the Botox, Restylane, collagen, etc.  However, he is still a sexy bitch.  I am relieved that the spectators in the front were actually the old people who are big fans, and not snotty teenagers whose parents shell out all this money for them to spend frivolously.  One of the outtakes was rather humorous, when Jose from Incubus appeared rather irritated by the blond bimbo host.  Although I missed most of it, because "Project Runway" was on, I did catch the end of Pearl Jam, which rocked, of course.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I recently suffered and survived a major sense offense.  Obnoxious couples are amazingly irritating.  These married couples, who are in their late 20's to mid-30's, have small children, and are always inseparable.  The husband is wearing usually some athletic/geographic/collegiate T-shirt with cargo shorts and the wife is dressed either in an Ann Taylor Loft dress or walking shorts with matching flip-flops.  After they get married, they lose their true identities, referring to each other only as "Babe", "Sweetie", or "Honey".  Examples include, "Hey, Sweetie, did you get my Starbucks latte with 3 packs of sugar?", "Oh, darn it, Sweetie, I forgot!  Let me go and get the extra sugar, okay, Sweetie?", all spoken in extremely loud voices.  Sometimes, they actually have the audacity to form some sort of human to human connection, with the hand-holding and arms intertwined.  They are incapable of being apart, whether it be going to the grocery store, gym, Target, or even, Banana Republic.  The female member of this couple usually has blond highlights, make up, and/or hair pulled back into a cute pony tail.  The males usually have each strand of balding hair perfectly gelled and sculpted into a very careful formation, similar to blades of grass or mulch.  

These couples are an assault to every sense.  My eyes bleed at the sight of these perfect, white, country club, homecoming pairs.  My ears ring at the shrill voices referring to each other as the ambiguous "Sweetie" and "Babe".  My skin crawls at the combined sight and sound, and my stomach churns.  My mouth tastes like metal, and my nostrils convulse at the combined odor of Polo cologne and Estee Lauder Pleasures.  Obviously, I want to get married, have babies, blah, blah, blah.  But, someone shoot me if I transform into one of these spineless, identity-less freaks.

Stinkiest Airlines

I absolutely hate flying on airplanes.  If it weren't for Frank Rich's book, my iPod, and a cup of ice. . .err, Diet Coke. . .I would be driven to a Xanax, Valium, and Tequila cocktail.  Of course, I have a tendency to fly Southwest Airlines, and I am obsessed with being in boarding group A.  If I'm not in boarding group A, I am not having a good flight.

So, since I get my pick of the prime seats, I usually try to pick a window seat without pretzel and peanut debris that is as close as possible to the front and still a safe distance from the exit row.  Since I am South Asian, I am usually the one that people avoid, except for elde

rly couples who are interested in what makes me tick.  Occasionally, the single traveling chick sits in my row.  As we were nearing departure, and the middle seat next to me was empty, I was preparing to move my bag under that middle seat to secure extra legroom.  However, my 

plan was foiled, when a young man talking on his cellphone sat in the seat.  An odor began to permeate my nostrils very shortly afterwards.  My first reaction was to very casually get a whif of my own armpits, and all was well.  It eventually occurred to me that the young man adorned in athletic gear sitting beside me had been involved in a physical activity and did not bother to shower afterwards.  My instinct told me he probably had gone for several days without any cleansing procedure.  However, even stinky people are nice, and in spite of the B.O., he was kind of cute.  He asked to borrow my Rolling Stone magazine.  I 

would have burned it, however, I like the Obama cover.