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Friday, February 26, 2010

After three lack luster dates (technically two dates and a no-show), I have never been so happy to run errands. “We should really shop at Wal-Mart,” Jane says. (Posts 41, 14, 12, 9, 8, 7, ) “As a Minnesotan that is blasphemous speak,” I reply. She stands in front of an aisle end cap surveying discounted chocolate. “Yes, but these Target sale prices are the regular Wal-Mart prices,” Jane states. She tosses half priced M&Ms into the cart and we proceed to the registers.

In front of us I notice a family. The wife is desi, the husband is American (white) and the older woman, an Indian auntie, presumably belongs to the wife. I am determining what is familiar about the auntie when American husband says, “We have a full cart and the next line is short.” “Hey thanks,” I reply.

We move to the next aisle and Jane reaches for a magazine. OMFG! I suddenly place the square-headed Auntie with untrusting eyes. She’s one of my mother’s friends! The daughter is older than me and we weren’t friends growing up. I had heard the daughter moved to NYC. But never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d run into anyone I knew via Minnesota in the Bronx Target. And not them. This is embarrassing to tell, but I have found my parents’ richest friends are the cheapest. The family in the neighboring aisle might be one of the worst, rumored to have made their money as slumlords who squeezed the last penny out of poor college students. So I just assumed they were Wal-Mart shoppers!

I glance at Auntie who evidently wants to get mugged because she drips in diamonds. (Sidebar: Auntie should sell her earrings and buy upper lip laser treatments for her daughter. I can see that caterpillar of a moustache from 12 feet away). I also wish I wasn’t wearing nasty sweat pants. Just in case Auntie looks my way, I undo the pony tail and shake my head. Long strands of greasy hair framing my cheeks will certainly disguise me!

Then I develop anxiety, similar to what you experience when you need a loo and can’t find one. Crazed, I throw things on the conveyor belt. As fast as the sales associate can bag, I fill the cart and almost race to the elevator. I look back at Jane who SAUNTERS behind me. I leave the cart for a moment (not recommended in New York) and yank on her arm. Surprisingly this skinny girl with no ass is hard to drag out of Target.

Back at the elevator I look over my shoulder and watch the family go up the escalator. Like an un-diked dam, my panic pours out of me. I wasn’t ready to face the intersection of my past and present, in a Target no less. It is one thing to move to Manhattan to get married, admittance to desi auntie and her married local daughter is another.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

A few hours before I meet Vicky, I sit at the computer and think. Yesterday when we were finalizing our date, he asked what brought me to New York. His query caught me off guard. I mean, of course, there is Manhattan herself. But admitting, “I’m looking for my husband,” to a man, even one from a desi matrimonial Website, is going to send him running for the hills of Rajasthan. But it has me wondering. Do I disclose my writing aspiration? Do I confess to being more focused on pleasing my family than myself? Exactly how honest do I have to be with strangers?

The phone rings. Caller id says it’s Jack (Posts 14, 12, 9, 7, 2) and I pick up. “Hey! What’s up?” I say. “Do you want to see a movie tonight?” he asks. “I’d love to but I have a date! He’s coming back from Philly tonight.” “Has he called you today?” Jack inquires. “No, why?” I ask. “Have you been outside?” “No, I work from home. I can go days without leaving the apartment,” I state. “There’s damn near a monsoon coming through the Tri-State,” Jack says.

What? I bolt out of my chair and pull the curtain back. Hai bhagvan! Jack wasn’t joking. Sheets of rain cover everything in a wet, greyness. A light sprinkle in the City creates train/subway delays, accidents on the West Side Highway, and pond-sized puddles. But a real storm with lighting and thunder brings Manhattan traffic to a grinding halt, taxis are impossible to hail, train signals malfunction and airport delays can become cancellations. Is Mother Nature conspiring against me by stranding my date? That beeyatch!

As I watch the rain fall, Vicky texts me. Sure as sugar, he has no idea when he is leaving Philly. I text him back and tell him that I am free tomorrow in the afternoon.

Though I never heard from him again, I hope he made it back from the City of Brotherly Love. It’s okay anyway. How serious could I get with a man named Vicky?

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

To his credit, Stutter Much has selected a nice Upper West Side brunch spot. To my dismay, the MTA is yet again doing track work north of 168th Street. This means I have to shuttle bus it to 168th Street for the local train, adding 20 minutes to my commute. Oh…did I mention? It’s pouring rain outside. Yippee, flat hair.

Stutter Much is already seated when I arrive and we engage in polite, unexciting conversation. This is refreshing given my history with sex freaks and the emotionally challenged. After lunch the rain tapers off and we walk around a misty Central Park. This is when I first notice Stutter Much’s occasional pause in speech. We leave the park and go for lattes, allowing us to chat some more. I pay careful attention, but don’t hear the stutter. He offers to drive me home and I accept. I’m not getting the stalker-slasher vibe from him. Once in the car Stutter Much gives me a gift bag filled with perfumed soaps, lotions, candles and scents. While company swag is always divine, he clearly put some thought into this. S’nice.

A few days later we’re chatting on the phone and again I notice breaks in the dialogue. Hhhmm. Now I need confirmation about the speech impediment and agree to a second date where we sip margaritas and eat chips in Chelsea. Normally this is my idea of culinary bliss; I have yet to meet a tortilla chip I didn’t like. But the conversation is excruciating. When he stutters I can literally see the words move from his mind, catch in the back of his head for a few seconds and then finally come to his lips. I fight the urge to tap the back of his head like a ketchup bottle to get the words out. That can’t be good, right?

What makes this more awful is that he’s a really *nice* guy. I just can’t date him. And it’s not due to the Indian fascination of arranging fixed girls to boys without flaws (some matchmakers consider a speech impediment a defect). The problem is my mind races faster than my mouth, if that’s even possible. I fear in time, this loud, fast-talking desi girl is going to lose her mind “conversing” with a quiet boy permanently on stall.

But I sure do enjoy the candles and perfumes! Ooo la la!

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I cannot believe I agreed to meet a date outside of Macy’s. Not only does the store take up two entire city blocks, from 7th Avenue to Broadway between 34th and 35th Streets, it is located around the corner from the Empire State Building. All of this makes Herald Square so ridiculously congested with slow moving tourists from Kansas to Korea that locals avoid it like the plague.

Around 7:15 pm I glance at my watch and wonder if my tardy date operates under Indian Standard Time (Post 8). 7:20, 7:25, 7:30. At 7:35 pm I impatiently scroll through my phone and realize I don’t have Meet me at Macy’s mobile number. At 7:40 pm I call his land line.

“'Allo?” comes an elderly, accented female voice. Fantastic. Does he live with his mother? A curious detail he omitted in our previous conversation. “Can I please speak with Meet me at Macy’s?” I ask. “Sorry he is not at home. I can take a message,” she offers. I politely decline and hang-up. Thank goodness my Midwestern accent shields my desi-ness and saves me from sharing my “biodata particulars” with Auntie. Biodatas are seemingly harmless pieces of paper that are crafted into matrimonial weapons where parents detail their children: weight, eye color, skin color, body type (small, medium or large), degrees, universities, caste, hobbies; you name the topic, it can be found on this ultimate desi marriage resume.

I fume the entire train ride home. All 147 blocks. So I am calm once back in the apartment sitting in front of the computer ready to email him. While I mostly think he’s rude, a teeny tiny part of me considers the possibility he’s trapped under a very heavy bookshelf or that he was run over by a rogue deliveryman on a bike who soy sauced him. Almost immediately he replies. First he spells my name wrong. After living a lifetime in Minnesota where my bevy of blonde friends can do it, desis get no second chances at spelling or pronouncing my name correctly. Then he writes, “I thought we were meeting on Wednesday. Maybe my mind played tricks on me.”

I will be the first to admit I have flaws. However, I am far too OCD for mind games or showing up on the wrong day. I live and die by my calendar. I scroll through our emails and find yesterday’s confirmation email. I can only deduce that he is stupid or he stood me up. In either event there will be no future meeting with this puppie (puppie, like yuppie, only Punjabi).

Monday, February 22, 2010

I decided to follow my cousin’s advice and go out with multiple men at the same time. I have accepted communications, chatted on the phone and scheduled dates with three desi men. Luckily they are different enough that I won’t need flashcards.

Meet me at Macy’s: from his snap he’s a standard desi dude of Punjabi descent. He is 5’-6” which makes me nervous. What if he has that Napoleon Little Man Syndrome? In my heels we’re going to be the same height. I am actually 5’-2 ¾” and used to round up, until a 5’-3” woman went ape shit on me in a Minneapolis bar and REPRIMANDED for giving false height. Yikes, we’re both short. Just in case she was certifiable I stepped away before she poked my eyes out. I’m actually thankful for whatever height I got! My father is in denial and insists my mother is 5’-0”. This prompted me to measure her. She topped out at 4’-9”. (Sidebar: I added high heels to meat and alcohol as things I am not giving up for the sake of getting married).

Stutter Much: a fellow ABCD, lives in Connecticut, and works in finance for a cosmetics company. In his profile he states he’s a die-hard Knicks fan. I am sure this is so we ladies don’t doubt his heterosexuality. Which I appreciate. “They” say 10% of the world’s population is homosexual, which means there are 100,000 gay Indians or roughly 1/3 of the American population. I have overheard the aunties insist there are no “gay-shay” Indians, that we don’t come “in that kind”. Since Indians are uptight prudes who don’t discuss straight sexuality (despite being 1 billion strong) why would “underground” Bombay (Mumbai) discotheques ever register in the transoms of their deep-frying, temple-going, chai-drinking auntie minds?

Vicky: is a traveling consultant who told me wanted to meet a woman who spoke fluent Hindi, and how was mine? I said conversational at best. Now that I think about it, when I don’t know the Hindi word (which is often) I insert in the English one. So it is more hunt and peck Hindi…I should get me some Rosetta Stone. In any event Vicky has agreed to meet me when he comes back from Philly on Thursday. He has no photo, but he has a sleek and sexy voice, just a little touch of American mixed mostly with an Indian educated British accent. I cannot resist a well-suited, smartly scented man with a smooth American-Indo-British accent. Tom Ford has a cologne that is to die for! I am going to douse my man in it, once I find him that is!

Speaking of which, I should have some mantras chanted to enhance the timely resolution of my marriage.

Tom Ford Cologne

Friday, February 19, 2010

41. HOLA … NO-LA

I think most ABCDs can relate to this. On some level, we live in a nebulous Indo-American subculture. We’re American enough to blend into the suburbs and run for President. But not American enough to avoid the “ASIAN-AMERICAN” check box on every credit card application and census form we complete. Like me, ABCDs from Birmingham, Alabama and Columbia, Missouri to Phoenix, Arizona have spent a lifetime serving as ambassadors for all inquiries Indian. Yes, I have seen the magnificent Taj Mahal. No, I don’t know “that guy” Omprakash you once met in Omaha. Yes, Hindus believe in God. No, we don’t race camels down the streets of Delhi.

For the most part moving to New York ended my cultural attaché days. From the sound of the rumbling subway, to the sight of George Washington Bridge, my new life still takes my breath away. One day Manhattan will kick me down the stairs. Until then I want to remember how I feel now – giddy, free, possible.

A shout interrupts my reverie. Across the street a woman leans out of a mini-van and yells, ‘Hola chica’ followed by a stream of words I don’t understand. SURELY she is speaking to someone else. But we’re the only ones on the street. I have no choice but to ask, “Sorry? I don’t speak Spanish.” Why can’t I be witty on demand?

The combination of my Midwestern accent and my internationally Indo-Paki-Perisan-Greco-Latin appearance confuses her. She totally thinks I am Jenny from the Block, not Chaaya from Chandigarh. Then she says, “Can I park here?” Oh she CAN speak English. I point at the sign directly in front of her that reads “NO PARKING ANY TIME”. She sighs, “Do you think I’ll get towed if I leave my car here?” ARGH! Do I look like Rita the lovely Meter Maid?

I grew up following my parents’ animated conversations in Hindi and Punjabi. So I fully advocate preserving cultural heritage. However, public streets are not ideal for busting out your Spanish, Latvian or Tagalog. Despite what I “might look like”, she really should speak English if she wants my help.

This interchange annoys me and I go home to call Jane (Posts 14, 12, 9, 8, 7, 2) and complain. “Oh sweetie, it’s because of where you live,” she says. “Oh…You mean America?” I ask with fake innocence. Jane groans, “I mean Washington Heights! You can be a real pain in the ass.”

I know.

But I thought Manhattan was going to END my identity crisis, not start a whole new one!

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Tonight I want to curl up on the couch with a book and pretend the other 8 million people in New York City don’t exist. But my phone rings. Indian Cowboy. I almost don’t answer, but my cousin’s “picky” lecture reverberates in my head.

“Hello?” I ask. “Can you hear me?” Indian Cowboy yells. The call sounds tinny, like he’s inside a Diet Coke can. I pull the phone away from my ear and reply, “Yes.” “Guess what?” he asks. “What?” I reply. “You’re above me,” he says. “Guess how!” “I don’t know,” I respond and set my book aside.

“I realize you don’t drive, but in New York we have cell phone while driving laws…” As he talks, it suddenly strikes me; his competitive pomposity and drinking are about control. Unfortunately for him, credit scores and blue laws can’t reshape my spirit to fit his ideal (subservient) female mold. God gave me a very good education and a mind and I plan to use both. “Actually, I AM familiar with New York freeways. I watch the traffic reports every morning on the news to get my bearings,” I snipe and reveal my inner geek. “I am impressed!” he says. “You should be,” I reply. This man is going to DRIIIIIIVE me to drink. “I put my head piece on and clipped the receiver to the visor to talk to you. That’s how you’re above me,” he explains.

“Uh-huh. What kind of car do you have?” I ask. “Toyota Prius,” he replies. For the love of the goddesses! The virile, country-line dancing, teetotaler folds himself into a teeny tiny electric car? Every conversation we have is more ridiculous than the previous. So I say, “I CANNOT be seen in that. It won’t match my outfit…EVER!” To his credit he roars and cannot stop laughing, which is not good. He is driving. Then poof! No cell phone tower for you! And the line goes dead.

In the silence I feel certain the dropped call is a sign from Durga, a reminder to trust my instincts. And so I do. While I want to get married, it won’t be with a caricature of a desi man!

Toyota Prius

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

My maternal cousin (she lives in India) and I talk more often than our mothers, who are actually sisters.

“How is dating going?” she asks. “Not bad, about one a week.” “That’s it? You need to date five guys at one time,” she instructs. “I better get flashcards to keep them straight,” I mumble. “Who are you talking to now?” she asks. “A teetotaler,” I reply. “So? My husband drinks whiskey and eats meat. I don’t do either. Stop being so picky.”

“Indian Cowboy is weirdly competitive. Last night we discussed the waaaay sexy topic of credit scores,” I say. “And how is his score?” she asks. “INSANELY excellent,” I state. “Then what’s the problem? Do you want to marry a man with bad credit?” she asks. “NOOO! But I’m certain my culinary prowess, tandoori chicken to saag paneer, supersedes his, yet I refrained from boasting.” “He’s a man. He needs to feel superior to you, let him,” she replies. Is she purposely trying to make me crazy? “Indian women must make compromises. I adjusted. Do you think your Mum WANTED to live in Minnesota? You will, too” she states.

These are the times I feel like an ABCD --- American Born CONFLICTED (not confused) Desi. When I was a little girl my mother taught me about Hinduism. But it was the stories specifically about the goddesses Sita (the ideal woman) and Durga (the warrior), that resonated with me, and still do. While Sita’s greatness came from her self-sacrifice and suffering; in my eight year old mind she sounded like the slow kid who didn’t duck and got hit in the face by a rock. A thought that would surely offend (which is not my intent) selfless Indian women worldwide like my cousin and my mother.

Perhaps this is why Durga fascinated me. She was created by the fraternity of male gods to restore their power when they fell from the heavens. And she did. From atop a lion Durga was formidable and victorious in every battle she entered. In my young mind, Durga was smart and powerful -- the type of girl who could handle bus bullies. Back then I never cared that she was the only goddess not affiliated with a god.

Nowadays I think I missed the moral of the Durga story. Even though Durga is revered and celebrated, it doesn’t appear that Indian men desire strong Indian woman, they prefer Sita. So all this time I spent admiring Durga, I should have feared becoming her. Sometimes I wish Durga had stumbled upon Thor and romanced him. Imagine then, how different “herstory” might have been.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I am a creature of habit. Like clockwork I do laundry every Tuesday at 7:30 am.

“Are you a lawyer?” a woman’s voice asks.

I look up from tossing wet clothes into the dryer. It’s the Crazy Lady (Post 23) whose dogs terrorized me in the elevator. “Nope,” I reply. If I were, I should really be in court litigating not separating darks from whites.

“I need a lawyer,” Crazy Lady says. I need stuff, too. A man, a mortgage, a mini-me. Heck, why not toss in an Epi Louis Vuitton bag? And really, while we’re at it, I wouldn’t mind being a tall, slim super-model either. Okay, so some of that is more ‘want’ than ‘need’ ...

“I need to sue Albany,” she says. Against my better judgment I ask, “Why?” “I’m a substitute teacher and they fired me. Can you believe that?” This woman needed to brush her hair three days ago. Since I can smell her tuna fish breath from across the laundry room, her teeth, too. And her pants? I am fairly sure 1971 wants their bellbottoms back. While I don’t advocate home schooling, I would start rather than send my child to this wing nut. So OF COURSE I believe they fired her.

"Be careful," Crazy Lady says. "Of what?" I ask. "The Super. He doesn't like single women," she says. "What?" I ask. "My neighbor used to sell drugs and beat me up. Super did nothing. The Owner tried to kick me out. It's why I got the dogs.”

I don’t know what she is talking about. The Owner and the Super are nice to me. "They'll kick you out if they can find a better tenant,” she says. “Not until my lease expires,” I state. Doesn’t she know this is New York with tenants’ rights laws?

Just then the Super enters the laundry room and avoids her. Crazy Lady leers at me, laughs and leaves. “Stay away from her. She has animals and a dirty apartment,” the Super says. “And she’s crazy.”

Louis Vuitton Epi Leather Bags

Monday, February 15, 2010

The lesson learned from dating Cat Boy, the vegetarian (Post 5), is that desi dietary restrictions are sometimes tricky. In this, my second phone call with Indian Cowboy, I am getting to the bottom of the drinking issue.

“Did your college have a Greek system?” I ask. “Yes, but I wasn’t Greek. Were you?” he asks. “Yep. How else to get beer?” I joke, but really am serious. “So how much do you drink?” Indian Cowboy asks. “You made a reference earlier in the conversation.”

“A few times a week,” I reply. I might be a liiiiiiittle off, but cocktails are as Manhattan as taxi cabs, who really counts? “Is that a problem? Because my work and volunteering have social, sometimes drinking components,” I state, thinking this is going swimmingly! “I understand,” he says and adds. “You know I’m a teetotaler, right?”

Shoot a pickle. My parents are too, but don’t actually label themselves as such. They even have a full bar at home. Of course they don’t know this, but as a teenager I drank some of the vodka and gin and filled the bottles up with water.

Then he says, “I don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

Now I am WORRIED! Reigning in the drinking for THE ONE, is one thing. But frequenting the corner bar because I am not “allowed” to shake my own martini at home is crazy! And then what? I get into my car and drunk drive home? There are 19 million people living in this state! Does this sound like a good idea to anyone?

“What about entertaining?” I ask. “Of course,” he says. “I would never want our guests to be uncomfortable, I’d be okay with beer or wine … for them.”

Not for me? Something about his rigidity is bothersome, but for now, I drop the issue.

New York Census Quick Facts

Friday, February 12, 2010

I am on the phone with Indian Cowboy. He lives outside of the City, so should we decide to date, it will be like a long distance relationship --- long calls late at night and 36 hour weekend dates. And I find grocery shopping challenging enough.

Indian Cowboy is sharing that his Ivy League undergrad education was like a pressure cooker where all they did was study. While I did not attend an Ivy League, my alma mater was an excellent liberal arts college with the third best medical school in the country right behind Harvard and Johns Hopkins. And we partied ... hard. So I am sure that Indian Cowboy has three times the brain cells as me. But as long as I can fend off dementia for a few more decades, I have no regrets.

“So architecture huh?” Indian Cowboy asks. “Were you inspired by Mr. Brady?”

If I had a dollar for every time I was asked this, I’d own an apartment. Granted it would be on York Avenue, not Park, but it would be Manhattan real estate none the less. “No, it is what we do in family. My father, my uncles, my brother, too,” I reply. “I understand that. I chose engineering because I like the engineering behind the machines rather than the output," he replies.

Hhmmm, I can barely work my IPod.

“Did I tell you that I like country line dancing?” he asks. “Do you have cowboy boots?” I ask. “Yes. And I teach aerobics too,” Indian Cowboy shares.

Wow! Am I glad to be sober because it takes everything I have to process the image of a 6-1” tall, Billy Ray Cyrus loving, country line dancing, cowboy boot wearing, aerobics teaching Indian engineer. Just as I begin to think how nice it would be date a man who has coordination, the Indian Fred Astaire, he says, and I quote, "Don't worry. I'm quite virile."

The word conjures images of vigor and the stamina to father children. Without the actual production of children HOW does he know he is virile? Or does he have children stashed away in the closet that he plans to reveal in conversation number two?

Mr. Brady

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Unfortunately I suffer from Lucy Van Pelt Syndrome (yes from Peanuts). While bossy and sassy, Lucy was savvy, a female entrepreneur with her own psychiatrist’s booth. She was also SOOOOO in love with Schroeder that she tolerated being constantly slighted no matter how long she sat at the edge of his piano. Like Lucy, I spent a life time selecting Schroeder, who ultimately rejected me.

This is why Meera’s belief, that it is better when the man initiates contact, has merit. It means something in my profile or photos appeals to him. Because he has risked being accepted he is more likely to work at engaging my interest. Despite how many times I get hurt, I can’t stop believing he is out there. So when I receive Indian Cowboy’s communication request, I am hopeful.

From his photos he has a head of Indian uncle hair. It is parted too far to the left and stretched over the dome of his head. He is not bald, but it looks like he tried to straighten his hair – do desi men to this? According to the profile posted by his brother, Indian Cowboy is tall, fair, and in good shape. He is an engineer who eats meat and doesn’t drink. His interests include working out and dance lessons. He is described as chivalrous and funny sounds nice after (Dillweed Post 33 and Mr. Mustachio Post 25). Normally I am suspicious of men who don’t post their profiles. I worry that they are not serious about the search, still under the influence of mummy-papa or shy --- these are NOT the men I wish to meet!

Indian Cowboy's brother’s admiration is evident from his eloquent writing. It is obvious their family is a loving one and this appeals to me. Equally important is that Indian Cowboy is well read and highly educated. As a little girl my mother taught me to respect education and honor Sarasvati, the patron goddess of knowledge. I knew not to touch my feet to paper. I was to treat books as an extension of the divine and that my mind was a gift from God. Since I very much want to meet a man who values family and education – I accept.

Lucy Van Pelt
Peanuts Comic Strip

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

My hair has a mind of its own. Styling requires a regiment of hair products, brushes and hot rollers. Most days the thick, straight mane defies me with its refusal to curl. And if it’s humid, I don’t even bother. I simply pull it back in the manner of a Robert Palmer girl circa 1985.

On the up side I don’t have split ends. But my locks grow fast and are now in desperate need of taming. I do a Google search and find there are as many salons as restaurants in Manhattan. I need a more intimate source and call Jane. She has caller id at the office and answers, “Hi sweetie!” “I need a haircut,” I say. “Any recommendations? What do you pay?” “I know a great place in SoHo. I get cut and color for $400.”

Clearly we have different ideas on the cost of a bob. If I had an extra $400 I’d march into Bloomies and buy a Michael Kors tote, preferably pink. Better yet, I’d put a down payment on some new boobs. At least the bags and boobs are long-term investments. Because THAT is what the world REALLY needs --- Hindu Barbie seeks Hindu Ken for a lifetime of lentils in Barbie Dream Townhouse, with Elevator.

Michael Kors Tote in Blush
Barbie Townhouse with Elevator

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

There are only two reasons I would be late for a date, MTA delays or a shoe sale. With my Macy’s bag in hand I dash into the Port Authority. My date is visiting relatives in New Jersey and wanted to avoid Manhattan bound gridlock by riding the bus. Fine with me.

We’ve spoken so I know he’s a fitness fiend who watches a lot of TV and doesn’t drink. His family is from the Indian state of Gujarat. While my Punjabi peeps are gregarious whiskey drinkers, Gujaratis are known to be … how to put this … cheap.

Since I have seen his photos, I easily find Dillweed. “What sounds good for dinner?” I ask. “Burgers, American and Indian. Can’t stand sushi, Thai or anything Asian,” Dillweed replies. “But I just slammed a power shake so I’m not hungry.”

Okay then.

Since I have no idea what to do with this fellow, I suggest we walk along 8th Avenue. This is where Dillweed sees the world’s largest Chevy’s sign against the glow of Times Square. I don’t protest. My love for Mexican is unnatural. Blizzards don’t impede my south of the Taco Bell border runs.

We sit down and I order a margarita. I almost fall over at Dillweed’s root beer request. Who over the age of eight actually orders one in public? I nosh on chips and Dillweed talks about his basement with a pool table, gym and bar (strange for a man who doesn’t drink). "Do you want to see a picture of my TV?” he asks. “No thanks,” I reply. Too late. He is scrolling through his PDA photos as if I don’t know what a TV is. Indians are infatuated with life-sized televisions. My mother has one too.

“Oh here is my house,” he says. His McMansion with faux columns, brick veneer and aluminum siding offends my inner architect. “Are those attic windows or do you have a fourth floor?” I ask. He looks confused and then says, “I think it’s the attic.” He doesn’t KNOW? Clearly he bought the monstrosity to keep-up-with-the-Patels. They got a big house; let’s get a bigger one. They got a Lexus, let’s get two. They got a boat. But we don’t swim. Let’s get it anyway!

Our waiter returns with appetizers, Dillweed’s tortilla soup and my flautas. After four bites he pushes the bowl aside. “Is there something wrong?” I ask. He nods and says, “It’s too spicy.” Are you freaking kidding me? We’re in a Mexican CHAIN restaurant! He’s INDIAN! Did his mother EVER introduce him to a chili pepper? Or was she saving money by under-spicing his food?

When the bill comes he confuses me with a bank and asks if I can break a $20. I politely say no and suggest he ask the server. He puts down some cash and sliiiiiiiides the black plastic money holder across the table. I open it and the reason he is single becomes GLARINGLY apparent. He has a $3000 TV in a four-floor house yet leaves $10 on a $27 bill. Gujarati or otherwise I have never met anyone so stingy. WOW!!!

Monday, February 8, 2010

We are celebrating Rohit’s birthday. Other than Rohit and Meera I really don’t know anyone and sit down at the bar. Normally wine is my drink of choice, but tonight I decide on a “big girl drink” and order a lemon drop martini.

Around midnight, we loudly sing "Happy Birthday Rohit". By this point I am four planets away from sobriety and entering the solar system of wasted at warp speed. I am no lightweight, but, shoot, these are the STRONGEST martinis known to man. And I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that the room has started to spin, but I give my phone number to some desi guy, who is Rohit’s friend’s friend. He lacks all ability to flirt, but the attention is nice.

When my stomach starts to hurt, I slide off the bar stool. Immediately the room goes really dark. My heart races and beads of sweat run down my back. I’m overheating like a faulty radiator in the desert sun. Despite the drunken blindness that rinses over me I remember to grab my purse and run out of the bar. With cool air against my cheeks, I wobble down the street, turn the corner and hurl my guts out.

At some point, as I am heaving, I realize I am crying from regret. I should have become a banker. I should have lost ten pounds. I should have moved to New York years ago. I should have eaten dinner because the only acceptable reason to be vomiting in a Manhattan back alley at my age is influenza or turista. Then I have a completely lucid moment and whisper to myself, “Do you think boys cry when they puke? Stop being a such a girl and get it together.”

After my system is free of bile and vodka, I lean against the brick building and catch my breath. My head has stopped spinning so that’s a good sign. When my eyes come into focus I see a homeless man with a smudgy face staring at me. He is three feet away and I wonder if he heard my pep talk. I smile but he scowls, points at the puke and says, “Gross!”

Well isn’t this just dandy? I have managed to disgust a man who doesn’t bathe regularly and lives on the streets of New York. Aiy!

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Dear Readers,

Even the Hindu Valley Girl from the Twin Towns needs a day or two off to rest, or go on dates :). So I thought I'd post blogs 5 times a week, Monday through Friday.

I understand that life is busy, and it seems that 5 weekly updates rather than 7 is also easier to manage as a reader, and as the writer. However, if there is interest in daily posts, including the weekends, please let me know and I am happy to find a balance.

Happy Weekend!

Friday, February 5, 2010

This is TRAGIC! High Tea starts at 4:00 pm, and despite having two closets of clothes, I have NOTHING to wear. My dresses are more corporate raider, than porcelain plates and sterling silverware. The skirts are too flamboyant for a Victorian parlor where ladies lunch on white, lace tablecloths. Convinced that I must have something suitable I rummage through my wardrobe one more time and find a blue and brown patterned camisole, which I pair with pin-striped trousers and a cropped velvet shrug. Phew, crisis averted!

The phone rings and I presume it is Jane (from Posts 14,12,9,8,7, 2).
“I’m almost ready!” I say.
“For what?” my brother asks.
“I thought you were Jane. We’re going to High Tea.”
“Are you British?”
I groan.
“I won’t keep you from your crumpets,” my brother says and chuckles. “But we have some news.”
“What?” I ask.
“Are you ready to be a bhua?” he asks.

“Bhua” is the Hindi word for paternal aunt. For me to become a bhua, means my brother has kids or is going to have kids…which I realize, is why he is calling.

“Hello?” my brother asks. “Are you there?”
“Yes…” Words catch in my throat, not because of a lack of love for them, but sadness for myself.
“At least you won’t be like our bhuas!” he jokes.
Our dad has two sisters, who are gossipy and enormously fat. Paternal genes are all the motivation I need to live a righteous life and work out five times a week.
“Other than family we’re not telling anyone. Can you keep this quiet for now?”
“Sure,” I manage and hang up.

Immediately I feel like a bitch. My feelings of loss and inadequacy are not his fault. He deserves every good thing that comes his way. From helping me paint my condo walls, to installing laminate flooring, he is generous with his time. He’s unflappable --- nothing I say or do surprises him, even the things that should. And his patience is endless. Undoubtedly he will be an amazing dad who raises confident little girls and sons who respect women. Since my brother actually KNOWS how to save money, his kids will have a keen financial prowess that escaped me.

Maybe I’m just a misfit, who never belonged in Minnesota or my own family. In so many ways Manhattan, who doesn’t care about my cultural deficiencies, which are no husband and nor kids, is the perfect place for me and my shortcomings.

Lady Mendl's Tea Salon
New York Top 10 Tea Rooms

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Like a Manhattan sample sale where fights ensue over Botkier bags, grocery shopping today is combative. In less than five minutes I have been shoved, a little old lady searching for radishes drove her cart over my foot and shoppers playing bumper baskets in the next aisle knock down the orange display. I hear someone complaining about the price of lettuce and the deli line is twelve people deep. I am overwhelmed and over-stimulated before I squeeze my first tomato, which is all the motivation I need to shop fast.

Once my groceries are evenly distributed into plastic packets I head to the B/C train. At Columbus Avenue the light turns red and I wait. A homeless man pushing a granny cart stops next to me and says, “Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but I am really hungry and could you help me get a sandwich?”

Even though I just spent $50, I don’t have any cash and say, “I’m sorry I can’t.” He nods and politely says, “Forgive the inconvenience. Thank you for your time.”

He is not the first homeless person I have encountered. I’ve been going to India since I was 2 years old. While homelessness in America is truly tragic, with every Manhattan neighborhood having someone sleeping on the sidewalks, there is nothing that prepares you for New Delhi’s shanty towns filled with naked children.

I glance over at the man. Something about him breaks my heart and I realize I can help. Not with the sandwich he requested, but I have food, and ask. “Would you like some apples?” He smiles warmly and replies, “That would be great. Thank you. You are so kind.”

If I am kind, he is bold. I cannot imagine the toll homelessness takes to his pride. Is he all alone? Did he lose everything? Are his friends looking for him? What a risk to assume, asking strangers for help. Destiny is truly a fine line, and in a city like New York, what really separates the destitute from the bountiful? I hope I never find out and give him the fruit.

“Bless you,” he says and then adds. “You’re really beautiful.”

Okay, a thank you was MORE than adequate. And the way I look today (no make-up, pony-tailed hair that should have been washed yesterday, and an upper lip in dire need of waxing) I am the opposite of beautiful. He must be delirious from hunger. Good thing I gave him those apples.

Botkier Bags

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Desi speed dating is tonight, at a bar near Rohit and Meera’s apartment.

When I arrive at the event I find the men huddled around the TV and the women in the back chatting. Immediately I am reminded of the Indian dinner parties I attended as a kid. The aunties used to gather in the kitchen cooking dinner and knitting sweaters. In the living room, the uncles told stories and drank Johnny Walker Black. We kids hid in the basement, girls to one side and boys to another. Flash-forward to now, and we continue to segregate along gender lines. Are we our parents?

After we all check in, the organizer explains how the rotation process works and the dating begins.

Date One: is heavily accented, does not smile or find me funny.
Date Two: wears a suit one size too big and says, “I suppose you’re like the other girls and want a doctor.” I reply, “if I wanted a doctor, I should hang out in an ER, don’t you think?” He laughs, grabs his drink and misses his mouth. “Why aren’t you married?” he demands. OUCH! I didn’t ask him about the drinking problem he so clearly has. “Because I was concentrating on work and grad school. And now I’m ready to focus on other life decisions,” I reply. “Life decisions, is that girl code for marriage?” he sneers. I don’t know if he’s belligerent or insecure, but this eight minute date is lasting a lifetime.

I happen to look up and spot Meera and Rohit sneaking into the bar. I told them I was here but never expected to see them. Are they seriously going to watch?

Date Three: nurses a Scotch and is a freshly fresh FOB (fresh off the boat). He sits down and WOW does he smell like funk and ketchup. He should rethink wearing a polyester shirt. It’s trapping the stink of his body odor at the table and I can’t hold my breath for eight minutes. “Do you bhangra dance?” he asks. “Yes,” I reply and practice nose breathing. “We should go some time,” he suggests. Not until he masters Speed Stick.

At the end of the dates I’m relieved to see friendly faces and go the bar. “How was it?” Meera asks. “My choices are Moody, Drunky or Stinky.” The bartender (a woman) hears me, laughs and sets a glass of red wine in front of me. “So I’m sticking with single tonight,” I reply. “For now, I agree,” Rohit says in his big brother voice.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I am spiritual, not religious (I won’t even pretend to know why the cow is holy). Though my family eats meat, we abstain on Tuesdays and growing up, my brother and I never questioned why. As an adult curiosity compelled me to investigate and I learned Tuesdays were associated with the god Hanuman. Refraining from meat symbolized my respect and reverence for him and he in turned granted me with fortitude and strength. For me, not eating meat on Tuesdays is mock chicken soup for my soul and I continue the practice.

When a 43-year old consultant asks me out for a Tuesday dinner date I think nothing of it and accept. Besides, he’s decent looking and an eloquent writer (I will take brains over beauty any day). He works in the Financial District and I live in the Heights, but he selects an Upper West Side Latin restaurant, “for my convenience.”

I step into the broodingly sexy restaurant and am deafened by the music. I find my date at the bar and join him. He chats about work and his upcoming trip to New Delhi. This allows me to pipe in with my joke about the three religions of India: Bollywood, cricket and politics. He (FOB) seems surprised that I (ABCD) know things about India. I really wish Indians in India understood that American birthright did not negate growing up desi. I, too, had a sari-clad mother, smelled like cooked onions, and sprouted more facial hair than a billy goat. The difference being, I was a desi in the snow.

“We should share the paella. It is fantastic,” he suggests. I reach for the menu and my quandary ensues. The majority of the entrées are beef, which I don’t eat. While the paella is seafood, it is technically meat. But I don’t want my date thinking I’m an ultra-religious, temple-going devotee, so I say, “Sure, paella sounds great.” I will make tomorrow a “meatless make-up” day.

The next day I send him a thank you email, hoping the rest of his evening was pleasant. He went to a birthday party after meeting me. It occurs to me, Calle Oche might have been selected for his convenience, not mine. A few days later I remember he is leaving for India and wish him safe travels.

When Meera (Posts 26, 21) calls for a recap, she groans with annoyance. “Who goes to a birthday party on a Tuesday night? That was his escape! And you called him AFTER you emailed him?” “What’s the big deal? He’s probably busy and I was being polite,” I explain. “The big deal is he thinks you’re a stalker. Stop treating him like a friend. This is dating!”

Monday, February 1, 2010

My friend Meera (from Post 21), her husband, Rohit, and I are sitting in a wine bar. I am summarizing my dating highlights, or perhaps lowlights is more accurate. Rohit nods thoughtfully and says, “I think you’re funny and upbeat. I don’t get these guys.” “Thanks,” I reply. “Hhhmm, listening to you just now, it struck me --- you might the problem,” Meera says. Rohit’s head jerks and he stares at her with incredulous eyes.

Her comment intrigues me. I realize I’m not perfect. I work at being strong in my broken places. And if there are ways for me to better myself I am open to suggestions. I also know Meera would never intentionally hurt me; I trust her unconditionally and so I say, “tell me more.”

“I agree with Rohit, you’re great. But we’re you’re friends, we already love you,” Meera says, her hands gesticulate, emphasizing her point. “And this is New York with tons of single women, and not enough men. They are the ones who get to pick and choose. So you have to treat dating like a job, with a strategy and goal: how to make them fall in love with you. Then YOU decide if YOU want them.”

Meera continues, “I read this book called How to Make Anyone Fall in Love With You, and you should, too.”

Rohit laughs and quips, “And I read a book called She’s Read ‘How to Make Anyone Fall in Love With You’ So Employ These Tactics to Woo Her While She Thinks She Wooing You.”

“This book could help her,” Meera argues genuinely. Rohit shakes his head. She glares at her husband. “I think she’s intimidating. She talks too fast. Her mind is equally fast paced. She’s always over-dressed, has opinions and dark manicures. It’s too much for a guy,” Meera says to him and points at my nails painted in Chanel’s Vamp.

Irritation washes across Rohit’s face and seeps down into his body. “So she should say nothing and wear sweatpants?” Rohit challenges. “I think she should be herself.”

I think they should keep talking about me like I am not sitting here.

“I didn’t say otherwise,” Meera snaps. “It has been proven that whoever talks more on a date thinks they had a better experience. And the person not doing the talking won’t have a good experience because they didn’t learn anything. My point is she should talk less, wear lighter nail polish and be soft.”

Because Rohit and I cannot argue with statistics we simply sip our drinks.

“I also think you should maximize dating opportunities,” Meera says to me.
“What do you suggest?” I ask.

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The Miami Heat beat the Boston Celtics 97-87 in Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals.  The Heat advance to the Eastern Conference Finals to face the Chicago Bulls or the Atlanta Hawks.Dwyane Wade and LeBron James were fantastic in a series deciding Game 5 win against the Boston Celtics.  Wade scored 34 points while LeBron posted 33.  LeBron and Wade combined to score 77 of Miami's 97 points, and grabbed 17 of the team's 38 rebounds.

The age of the Celtics showed again.  Boston took an 87-81 lead when Nenad Krstic hit a jumper with 4:28 remaining.  Those were the final points the Celtics scored in the entire game, as Miami went on a 16-0 run to end the contest.


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Beyonce Has Just Release A Holiday Fashion Collection And Its Pretty Epic!

For the Beyonce Fan in your life!

Queen Bey’s 2017 Holiday Capsule collection come complete with festive clothing, gifts and decorations!

I mean, who wouldn’t want a shirt that reads “holidayonce”….Or an adult onesie that reads ‘yonce” You can also get phone cases, ugly Christmas sweaters and ornaments with Beyonce’s face on it!

Your baby can look cool too as there are baby items available too.


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Monday, June 22, 2009

10 Months in Borneo

Well I did it… I just finished the end of my time in Borneo. I left today with a beautiful send off by my colleagues and friends who escorted me to the airport. It was tearful as I know it will be quite some time before I see these people again but we all agreed that we weren't going to say "goodbye" but rather "see you later."

This last week was a love fest. My students showered me with praise, the faculty and administrative staff of IAIN had an official going away ceremony including the full gamut: microphones, opening ceremony closing with prayer and a bounty of gifts that made me feel so humble. I also did my best to do a bilingual speech, English, Bahasa Indonesia, and a smattering of Banjarese which made everyone giggle with pride. Of course I had help in writing it.

I was also given a party in my honor by the PPB crew (language department). They had great food, many photos were taken and I got a chance to say goodbye to the wonderful young and vibrant group of teachers whom I'd been working with this term; observing their classes and leading teaching strategy workshops.

Yesterday I was 'kidnapped' by my students. They took me and Puji to Batakan beach which was about a 3 hour ride from Banjarmasin, near Pelaihari. This was a fun place, a popular holiday spot for the locals with 15 min klotok boat rides that take you to a little island called Pulau Datu, or island of the ancestors. It has a grave yard, short hiking trails and big bolder rocks jutting out of the sea that the students were excited to climb all over as if they were conquering the world. Some rocks offered perfect perches for fishermen patiently waiting for dinner to nibble on whatever was tethered to the tip of their long bamboo fishing poles. Fishing boats bobbed in the distance as well and here the water was a milky turquoise unlike back on the beach which had the churned up color of coffee and cream.

Once back on the beach we ate lunch, chatted, and I took tons of photos of the many things that are constantly going on there. Young boys on ponies race up and down the beach and I was told they probably offer rides to people for a small fee. You can also hire a pony driven cart to take you around the beach and I saw many a family pile in and tour around. Goats wander around eating leftovers and rubbish left behind on the beach and cows were seen wandering in between the groups of people gathered on various tarps spread between the pine trees that offer much appreciated shade from the equatorial sun.

These kids were an amazing group. I loved their enthusiasm all semester. I had them do things they never even heard of. They diligently turned in 8 or more listening logs that catalogued things they listened to that was in English, citing new vocabulary and their opinions. I showed media on global issues and I had them do lots of talking in a class that was only labeled as "Listening." I will miss them.

I am now in Surabaya, Ea. Java. I volunteered for one last presentation on Academic Writing which will go on for tomorrow and the next day. After that Vacation! I will keep blogging even though I will not be in Borneo; my experiences from this journey are far from done.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Waterfalls and Dragonflies

With my time here winding down, I've been working harder to get out and see more, do more and be with friends more. Within two weeks I saw two separate waterfalls, one on Java near the city of Solo and the other near Pelaihari here in South Kalimantan. This country is vast, the archipelago of islands has span rivaling the width of the U.S. and I'm hit with regret that I've not seen anywhere near as much as I would have hoped to, but I also believe it is important to cherish the gems that I have experienced already and those I have yet to experience.

Last week, after my presentation in Pelaihari, the students guided me to Bajuin, about 2- -30 minutes away and up into a small mountain. In Bajuin there is a short hike up a hill that takes you to some fabulous vistas and to a waterfall that courses its way down the hillside in stages, some more extraordinary than others. When I'm hiking in the jungle, I'm reminded as to why I thought Borneo would be so fabulous. It is. We walked up the trail past interesting hairy trees, through a swarm of yellow butterflies, past a rocky vista point where we took in an amazing view of the valley below, all the while dragonflies buzzing in and out of the bushes. My photos of this place of course once again didn't do it justice. A photo just can't catch that feeling you get when you find yourself witnessing Mother Nature and all her amazing beauty and natural balance.

Finding balance is something I've been trying to seek while on my personal quest here. I haven't blogged about this much but I've been trying to understand spirituality more deeply. Before I came here to Indonesia I had visions of shadow puppets telling tales of Hindu lore, traditional dances that discuss the tree of life through animal stories. I had images in my mind of jewelry, batik, and amazing costumes. In some places, all of these rich cultural things exist in a mix of Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, and local lore and magic. Sadly, my experience of Banjarmasin didn't match this expectation I had. But perhaps it is being in this place that I've not taken for granted when I do encounter the amazing mix of historical influences.

While visiting my ELF friend Angela at her host city Solo two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to feel some of the 'magic' of this country. It seemed like every corner I turned, every event I experienced contained synchronicity and serendipity. One of the first places we visited was the Sultan's palace. A sister palace to the one in Jogjakarta, the complex boasts it's Dutch/European influence as well as a museum showcasing a variety of artifacts from the region: stone carvings of Ganesh, Arabian swords and knives, a Dutch colonialist era carriage and a shadow puppet display. It is here while looking at all these artifacts that symbolize this region of Java that I remembered my initial images of Indonesia. I remembered that I chose this country for its diversity of art and culture, and it got my mind wheels whirring. We went into the courtyard where there is a magic well with water that is rumored to keep you youthful. We splashed ourselves with the water and I got to thinking even more.

In the car ride to our next adventure, haggling for souvenirs, I asked Angela's friends and our tour guides of the day, Yusuf and Talfiq, if they knew anyone who could read auras. The practice of reading people's energy is very common here. In central and east Java there are the Dukun. They are a sort of shaman that go into the mountains without food, water, proper hiking attire, and they meditate centering their energies to practice magical feats much like alchemy. Yusuf turned around from the front seat and said, "My father can read energies."

That same evening, Yusuf's father and two of his friends who also practice this art of 'magic' came to meet us for dinner. Speaking in only Javanese, translated by Taufiq and Yusuf, I was told that I had a strong aura myself. Ahh, I bet you say that to all the girls… They asked me questions like why I'm interested in this, and asked us about teaching here, what we think of Indonesia… etc. But mostly talked about the responsibility one has when they can read people. A person who reads energies must take care when, if or how they tell another person what they see. It is not in the reader's best interest to influence the decisions or path that someone will take. These men are Islamic in religion but they also practice what the Dukun have known for many generations.

They sensed my intrigue and invited me and the rest of our touring group to join them the next evening for a type of a meditation ritual. I was told that if I wished, which they could tell my enthusiasm, I could open up my own personal energies and I too could begin to read people's energies, however it would be a mystery as to how it would manifest. Would I see things, hear things, get flashes in my mind like a movie? It could all be revealed in time as I practiced the meditations I would learn the next evening.

So the next day, we continued with our plans to go up to the mountains near Solo and go see a beautiful lake and a waterfall. What should have been about an hour's journey there at most, ended up taking longer AND we never made it to the lake. We used a taxi driver that Angela usually hires but his car was not well maintained so it burned up on us on the way, but we couldn't have been in the middle of more beautiful scenery and after a small hike down the road and grabbing ankots for transportation, we made it to the waterfall. We weren't stranded. We had Yusuf with us, our hand phones and even in the middle of where we were in the mountains; there are villages, people, and transportation for hire.

Taufiq came to meet us later half way down the mountain where we had a delicious lunch in a hut built over a river. The atmosphere was like visiting the Shire from the Hobbit, and here I ran around trying to take photos of this amazing place: the river, Yusuf building a paper boat and a dragon fly patiently letting it's wings dry after the rain. I realized in this moment that I was already much calmer in this type of situation than I used to be. A car breaking down in the middle of nowhere would have filled me with a huge amount of anxiety. Living in Indonesia for this length of time has increased my tolerance of ambiguous situations. It was then too I realized I was not only ready for whatever ritual I was going to witness that evening but that this was one of my most interesting and perfect days of my time here.

That evening I journeyed by taxi to meet Taufiq and we went alone to this event. Angela was busy working on a presentation for the next day and Yusuf, although it being his father's place I was going to, has no interest in this sort of event. Indonesians can be very, for lack of a better word, superstitious about things. Many people have told me that they've seen ghosts, seen black magic, white magic… many many stories abound. A Banjarese woman, a midwife, told me a story of being in the Loksado region where she's witnessed babies born through cesarean and the womb was closed with some magical substance the Dyak shaman put on the woman's belly. Puji has told me that her father was also trained in Dukun practices and could talk to spirits and they would protect the family. I was told that some people seek out to learn what I wanted to learn this night because they want the power and ability to control. One of the first questions I was asked when I arrove that evening was to test whether or not I was seeking to gain such power over other people.

Was this a ritual a series of amazing mind blowing events? No, at least not exactly. Things did not magically fly across the room. I did get to hold and see a couple of Yusuf's father's many kris, ceremonial swords and daggers with a curvy blade. If one is made well and with the magic inside, it will stand on its tip alone. His were of this kind much like ones Jacques and I saw in Jogja a few months back. The ones tourists buy cannot balance on their tip.

One of the men I met the evening before was there. He's the teacher or guru of Yusuf's father and I had told them the evening prior that he had looked very familiar to me. I was told through translation that he said the same thing and it was because of our auras vibrating on the same frequency. I never got his name but it was decided he would be my guide. He talked about the 4 elements: earth, air, fire and water and explained that we are made of these and that we should keep awareness of ourselves in this order: body, spirit and intention. If we contain all of these in our awareness, we will become more pure and higher beings of light. I really felt the room vibrate with energy and everything he said made so much sense. I've heard it before; it's the core beliefs of Native American medicine men, the Druids, Celts, Alchemists. At the end he had Taufiq pick a leaf from the bush just outside the window and he began to roll it in his hand, folding it up making it smaller. He said that this was for me as a memory and souvenir of the meditation. He continued to roll it in his hand; I could see this little gummy leaf, cellulose all broken down in his hand. I was then asked to hold out my hand and as he tilted his hand over, out from his hand rolling onto mine was a small emerald green glass gemstone.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Just Another Day as Key Note Speaker

Let me just preface this post that I have no intention of insulting the culture I am currently living in. I work with very bright and insightful people in Banjarmasin, but you can't live anywhere in the world where it's impossible to laugh at some people and wonder what is really going on in that cranium.

Yesterday I did a presentation 2 hours from here in a town called Pelaihari.  This was organized by our students who are doing a two month long community service program in a lesser developed region that is about 30 minutes away from Pelaihari.  The students worked really hard with a small team of local teachers and principals to put this on including a boxed lunch, door prizes, and of course a special photo shoot with a live American at the end of the event.

My topic was on reflective teaching.  In my presentation I talked about how I've been working with our language department teachers on reflective teaching practices.  I talked about how we hold bi-weekly meetings and how I offer my insights as a peer observer in their classrooms if they wish. I gave insights and a variety of examples for participants to try the reflective process themselves including self journaling and peer evaluations.  I had the usual combination of 100 plus participants including a strongly interactive principal who was a brilliant woman I had the fortune of talking to after the seminar. There were also some outspoken and motivated teachers, a typical group shy ladies looking demure under their sparkly jilbabs, and of course the group of men who pretend they understand you up until you ask them directly to answer a question or to offer their opinions/experiences during the presentation.

It was one of the participants from the latter group that will make me laugh until the cows come home (by the way Pelaihari is famous for raising cows so that idiom happens to fit well with this).  It was now the question and answer time for participants to share insights or ask me to explain something in further detail... or simply ask the standard question "How can I motivate my students?"  Now I'm still not clear on the true meaning of that particular question... sure maybe they want to motivate their students to want to learn English but it is always state so vaguely so I've come to the personal conclusion that the asker wants to hear his or her own voice in the microphone. I come to this conclusion based on the fact when I answer with some ideas that are a bit less generic as the question, I'm usually looking into a glazed-over set of eyes.  But see, now I'm off topic much like my participants get... back to the beef.

A man stood up with one of those Indonesian smiles that could mean anything from, "I'm so happy to get a chance to talk to you.." to "Your batik shirt is on inside out, I can see the seams."  His question went something like this, (of course not without its long introduction and the obligatory "thank you for this time"): "When I see this title 'reflective teaching reflective learning' I thought this is a good idea for your university in the U.S. or to use with University teachers at IAIN but I really don't think we can do this in our teaching at elementary, junior and senior high schools in the region of Pelaihari."

Was he listening to the seminar?  Did he take note of my most simple formula that I repeated like a mantra: 'Being reflective means looking back on what you taught and asking yourself what went well that you want to continue and what didn't that you would like to improve on?'  So my response was simply: "I disagree."  I repeated the mantra and then continued to say that this particular activity of being reflective can be applied to any job you do.  Any field of work can stand to have people self evaluate their work and set goals.  I smiled at him that could have meant anything from "Thank you so much for asking an insightful thought provoking question" to "Your head is full of air, I can hear the whistling from the breeze between your ears."

Thank you for this time....


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Harold Lavern Aurand
Harold Lavern Aurand
  • August 24, 1926 - June 14, 2017
  • Oceanside, California

Share This Obituary

Harold was born on August 24th., 1926 in Battle Creek, Michigan to Elisabeth (Hoekstra) Aurand of Dutch heritage and Charles Aurand of French & German heritage. His father helped deliver him at home.

He was the middle child of 5. He had 1 sister and 3 brothers. (Marguerite, DeWitt, Charles Jr. and James)

As young as 10 years old, Harold enjoyed building airplanes from kits. Airplanes would be a passion of Harold's throughout his life.

In middle school, Harold played the tenor saxophone and worked as a paper boy, delivering papers even in the Michigan winter on his bike. Harold was always a dedicated, hard worker.

He also worked with his father learning wood working and construction.

He was mentored by his mother's brother, Harold Hoekstra (for whom he was named) in aeronautical interests. Harold Hoekstra was in the first graduating class in Aeronautical Engineering from The University of Michigan and he encouraged Harold to follow that career path.

Toward the end of WW2, Harold joined the Army Air Corps and was to eventually begin pilot training. He was sent to Bakersfield, California pending an opening in the pilot training program. Before he could begin, the war ended.

He returned to Battle Creek, MI and married his high school sweetheart, Jean Buckley. In 1950, Harold graduated from The University of Michigan with a BS in Aeronautical Engineering.

His uncle, Harold Hoekstra, wrote a letter of recommendation and helped him get a position with the Allison division of General Motors in Indianapolis, Indiana, working on engine test stands.

While they lived in Indianapolis, Harold and Jean had 4 daughters: Elisabeth, Susan, Jean and Mary.

About that time, Harold changed jobs to North American Aviation and moved his family to Reynoldsburg, Ohio. He and Jean had their 5th child, a son, David.

The family then moved to Worthington, Ohio and started attending a new church. There, Jean befriended Susan Morris, who had recently lost her husband and had 2 young children, Paul and Jennifer. Jean talked to Harold about Susan, and said, "If I were a guy, I would go for her". Not long afterwards, Jean was diagnosed with Leukemia and died within a few days of a brain hemorrhage.

Harold asked the pastor of the church if it would be ok to talk with Susan Morris as someone he could discuss the struggles of being a single parent with children.

When he came to visit, Susan made an apple pie and served coffee - they talked about losing their spouses and quickly became friends.

In August, 1968, Harold and Susan married and began the process of putting their blended family together. Eventually, they decided they needed to raise a child together from the beginning and they had a daughter, Michelle.

In 1980, after enduring 2 devastating Ohio winters, and uncertainty with his current company, Harold moved his wife and daughter Michelle to southern California. All the other children were adults and living on their own by this time.

Harold started working for Rockwell International on the Global Positioning System (GPS) for the B1 for a number of years. Then he moved to Northrop Grumman and worked on the GPS for the B2. After which he retired.

During all this time, Harold was a faithful, practicing Christian. He was an elder with the Presbyterian church. Harold and Susan also spent many years studying and teaching bible classes.

Last year, for his 90th birthday, his family held a surprise party with 40 people in attendance at the Midway Museum in San Diego, CA. This event was filled with a great outpouring of love and was an indication of how much he meant to our family.

We will miss him.


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Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Journal 11 from Ilyas

1.) I think there are a lot of beter things about college then high school. But two things i found interesting in college than high school would be the independency and self motivation it has on us. College is more diverse than high school and it allows us to understand one another. College gives us an oppurtunity to start a new education. unlike high school, high school is small and every one knows each other's personality and characteristics. the other thing i like about college is its class schedules its less stressful and more relaxed than high school. As we feel vulnerable to our choices it allows us to balance our lives. The big change i found in college was its counselors. I find couselors in colleges are more determined and supportive than high school. They are nor demandng are carfree and will help you get into a major.The online scheduling is also a fun part and allows us to take control of classes instead of having school administers schedule for us.

2.) I find no frustration from the transitions of high school, thus far. But the only thing i felt was uprepared. I thought college was going to be more complex and stressful. but i find no challenges so far and feel more confident with my decisions in college.

3.) My biggest source in college is my older siblings and mother. they strive me to be influential and self-determined about my choices in life. As my siblings had college experience and know better about the studies they are my true supporters. they are the one that helped me choose my major wisely. without their support i would have been undecided and wouldnt know what university interested me.

4.) if i could change some things about OSU is with their branch partnership. I wish osu marion and newark offered more classes in delaware. I also wished they gave more oppurtunity to students about their classes. i would also change OSU back to quarters as i found it a better way for studens to get more credits in. it will also give students a head start for their majors.

5.) An adjustment i would make in college would be taking more serious with studing. As classes were a breeze for me this semester i know it will toughen up and get more confusing. i would have to partner up with groups for study time and creat good methods of studying with a certain amount of time. As i heardstudying at colllege is stressful i would make a great habit of studying more often and preparing myself with better resources to succeed. Nonetheless, college is more excitful and relaxed than high school.

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6 Youngsters England Hopes Are Ready for World Cup 2014 in Brazil

BR - England are looking ahead to the FIFA World Cup 2014 in Brazil knowing several young talents need to continue their development if they want to feature.

The Three Lions squad is an old one, with Frank Lampard, Steven Gerrard and Ashley Cole likely to be limited in their capacity by the time the tournament rolls around.

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PaPa-Slam1833d ago

Here's the thing - it's too late to fix things. they will get knocked out in the first round.


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5 Reasons to Think Barcelona Are Finally Back on Track

BR - After experiencing a rough patch in their season, Barcelona find themselves clinging to La Liga triumph and run the risk of a Champions League exit if they’re unable to overcome a 2-0 deficit against AC Milan this week.

While that may be the case however, the Blaugrana appear to be finding what every team going through a sticky bit of form wants to find: a way out.

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‘Girls’ Season 2: The Guys of ‘Girls’ Tease the Season

Girls Season 2 Preview Guys on Girls

If there’s one thing that the viewers, cast and crew alike of ‘Girls‘ have been dying to know, it’s what the guys think of the series. For as much relatable drama, humor, and the occasional boob shot as the show can muster, Lena Dunham’s ‘Girls’ isn’t what you’d think of as a guys’ show. No longer! Series creator, director, writer and star Lena Dunham has taken to teasing the upcoming ‘Girls’ season 2 by focusing on the men, and letting them tell the story in their own words.  See guys on ‘Girls’ inside!

Folk of all gender have been highly anticipating the season 2 return of Lena Dunham’s Judd Apatow-produced dramedy ‘Girls,’ but why let the women have all the fun? In promotion of the new season, Dunham assembled all the main men of the series, including Christopher Abbott (Charlie), Adam Driver (Adam), Alex Karpovsky (Ray), and Andrew Rannells (Elijah) to discuss their coming character arcs, including cocaine, meta-jealousy, and love-triangles.

In addition to the recent trailer and photos of the coming season, we also know that ‘Girls’ sophomore season will also include Rita Wilson as Marnie’s mother,  Patrick Wilson as a dreamy doc love interest of Hannah’s, Donald Glover as another new love interest for Hannah, and Shiri Appleby as a new romantic foil for Adam.

Check out the all-new featurette below, and tell us if you’ll watch the second season of ‘Girls’ when it premieres on Sunday, January 13!

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Early Recruit for 2011

Discuss the NFL, NFL in Toronto and NCAA Football

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Early Recruit for 2011

Post by Rids » Wed Jun 30, 2010 9:18 pm

The first in what could be a big recruiting class coming out of Canada has signed on to Boise State. Taylor Loffler a QB and defensive back from Kelowna has signed on as a safety.

Taylor was named the top Grade 11 player in BC last year and big things are expected from him this year.
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Upcoming Events | 150 Engage Illinois Office of Corporate Relations
Celebrating our Sesquicentennial 1867-2017

Upcoming Events

Saturday, April 14 2018

College of Fine and Applied Arts, School of Music
Gathering: A Sesquicentennial Musical Celebration Saturday 14 April 2018

To mark a historical milestone in our university’s history, a special Sesquicentennial tour will visit Chicago, New York, and Champaign-Urbana in the spring of 2018. The concerts will be performed by two of the school’s flagship ensembles. The...

Composer Dominick DiOrio (left) with soloists Todd Payne, Nathan Gunn, and Yvonne Redman


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Blog Entries

OneBrownGirl Has Moved...

I have come to love adore this blog and all that it has represented since I started reluctantly blogging as a compliment to my empowerment t-shirts so long ago.

It has come so far.

I have come so far.

But it's time for a change.

I will ALWAYS be One Brown Girl. Always. There are some things, you just can't change. *wink*

But now, you can just call me Tracey. =)

Read more »

Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good (Part 3)

"Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good"

is an ongoing series about travelers who give...

Meet Jennifer.

 Jennifer James (far left) in Ethiopia visiting health workers at a rural health post.
Name: Jennifer James
Age: 38
State: North Carolina
Occupation: Entrepreneur
Age When You Got Your First Passport: 35
Languages: English and just enough French and Chinese to get by.

Bio:  Jennifer James is the founder and CEO of Mom Bloggers Club, one of the largest social networks for moms who blog at over 19,000 registered users and Social Good Moms, the leading site for moms who use social media and blogging for good. Jennifer has been featured in Philanthropy, Forbes, Brandweek,, the New York Times, AOL and on NPR’s All Things Considered. She was recently named a Fast Company Most Generous Social Media Maven, a Top Blogger Changing the World by as well as a Blogger Out to Change the World by Water for People. She currently serves on the ONE Moms Advisory Council.

Tell us about your last volunteer experience:  I just returned from Delhi, India where I visited Social Good Moms' partners Save the Children, WaterAid, and Pratham’s work in the field. It was a fantastic trip. I was able to observe each of the NGO’s work helping Delhi's poorest firsthand. I saw the triumphs and learned about their acute challenges. It's a never-ending journey of working in partnership with others and scaling up to help those in abject poverty.

Tell us about your first volunteer experience (travel or otherwise):  My very first volunteer experience was with the Red Cross during junior high and high school. I loved every minute of helping people give blood to help others in need, even those who were giving blood for their own operations.

Jennifer James visiting Protsahan, a NGO school for at-risk girls in a Delhi slum.
Tell us about your next travel volunteer experience: While it's not a volunteer trip per se I will be traveling to Zambia in a few days with John Hopkins' International ReportingProject. I will join nine other new media journalists to learn more about HIV/AIDS, malaria and TB in the country. I am really looking forward to visiting another African country, but also seeing how differently the country deals with global development and communicable disease.

Best and worst thing about volunteer travel: I haven't had any bad experiences with volunteer travel. Knock on wood. The best thing about volunteer travel is learning along the way and meeting wonderful people. The relationships you forge are worth every bit of volunteer travel.

Advice for those that want to travel + giveIf you want to travel and give back, just do it! Determine to go off the beaten path of traditional tourist circles and have an open mind. Most importantly: make sure to coordinate everything well in advance of arriving in the country and get recommendations from people about their volunteer experiences there. That may mean a lot of Net scouring. Do your homework before you leave home!

Why you travel + giveI travel and give back because it's a really great way to get to know a country. Plus, it's a part of the work I do as the Founder and CEO of Social Good Moms. I love getting to know those who help and those are being helped.

Your favorite travel quote“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” – Lao Tzu

Meet Nadia.

Nadia Jones in Croix-des-Bouquets, Haiti during her second #Bloggers4Haiti press trip.
Name: Nadia Jones
Age: 30s
City/State: Jacksonville, Florida
Occupation: Niche Parent Conference Founder/Social Media Strategist
Age When You Got Your First Passport: 3
Languages: Proficient in Spanish, French, and Haitian Creole

Blog:  Justice Jonesie and The Niche Mommy

Bio: Nadia, known affectionately as Justice Jonesie by her blogging friends, is a savvy mom to three that loves to share her passion for motherhood, fitness, traveling, and food. A veteran blogger and social media enthusiast, Jonesie started blogging over six years ago at her first, an award winning about “three mothers that happen to be lawyers too.” Of both Haitian and Latina descent, she was named a top Latina blogger by LATISM and invited to Washington D.C. for a special, White House Retreat.

Tell us about your last volunteer experience: I went on the #Bloggers4Haiti trip to help raise awareness about sustainable economic programs for Haitian artisans.

Tell us about your first volunteer experience (travel or otherwise): I volunteered at a high risk elementary school after school program. I helped middle school children complete homework assignments and school projects. It was eye opening to see the impact that a lack of decent education had on these children, right here in America.
Nadia with Danica Kombol visiting the women of OFEDA in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
Tell us about your next travel volunteer experience: I will return to Haiti with #Bloggers4Haiti.

Best and worst thing about volunteer travel: Worst thing is that due to travel expenses you can only go a few times a year which never seems enough. Best thing is that you are making a difference.

Advice for those that want to travel + give: You can apply for a grant to help offset expenses. Friends are a great resource for helping to raise money or provide donations.

Why you travel + give: I feel it’s my duty to give back and give in some way. When you see how the rest of the world lives, you realize you are fortunate and have really won the lottery of life.   When you do volunteer travel, you realize things such as there are millions of people with no access to clean water. When you travel to make change, you become aware of alarming stats such as millions of people live with no access to clean water.

Your favorite travel quote“He who does not travel does not know the value of men.” – Moorish proverb

“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”

Click here to read Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good (Part 1)
Click here to read Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good (Part 2)
Read more »

Slideshow: Louisiana Bayou

A dreamy view of the enchanting Louisiana bayou.
All photos: @TraceyFriley
Here's my first attempt at a slideshow using Kizoa. These photos are from a swamp tour on the Louisiana bayou (via airboat) I took when I was in New Orleans last year speaking at a conference. So so beautiful.

Click on the slideshow below to start the music.

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Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good (Part 2)

Soleil - a Passport Party Project participant - taking her very first domestic flight.

When I think about traveling good, I often think about the girls that get their first passports via The Passport Party Project, an initiative I founded that helps to create global citizens out of American underserved girls.

I wonder if the seeds this grassroots global awareness initiative tries to plant about traveling responsibly and responsively will actually take root and grow, and if the lessons that travel brings about that my volunteers and I have tried so hard to get across actually gets across.

Perhaps Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good - an ongoing series about travelers + givers - might add a bit of fertilizer to this proverbial garden of young girls ready to take on the world by encouraging them to turn their empathy into action. Big or small. Here or there. In person or online. That is a part of the plan for these impressionable seedlings.

Meet Sojourner.

Cape Coast, Ghana. Circa 2005. Photo Credit: @SojosSojourns

Name: Sojourner Walker
Age: 33
City/State: Brooklyn, New York
Occupation: Small business owner, Freelance Writer & Travel Blogger
Age When You Got Your First Passport: 22
Languages: English, Conversational Portuguese and French

Bio:  A former NYC public school teacher fascinated and enamored with travel, culture and landscapes, Sojourner Walker is a fiction and travel writer, enthusiastic yogi and curious traveler. Currently working on a collection of short stories, she splits her time between Brooklyn, New York and Brandywine, Maryland.

Tell Us About Your Last Volunteer Vacation:  I traveled to Inhambane, Mozambique and worked as a Development Instructor for six months with the Institute for International Cooperation and Development.  My job was to train students at a teacher’s training college in effective classroom techniques for introducing primary aged students to the English language. I was also engaged in an agricultural project where we created a campus garden to provide the community with sweet potatoes, pumpkins, lemons and onions.

Tell Us About Your First Volunteer Experience (Travel or Otherwise): My introduction to volunteerism began at the age of 14. While I was in high school, I spent my Saturdays volunteering at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester, New York. I worked on the pediatric play-deck where I rocked infants, sang with toddlers, colored with elementary aged children, and played video games and table tennis with teens my age and older.

Teaching in Mozambique. Photo Credit: @SojosSojourns

Tell us about your next travel volunteer experience: My next volunteer travel experience will take place this July in Ochos Rios, Jamaica. I’m still working out the particulars but I’m excited because I’ll be introducing my two year old son to international volunteerism this round.

Best and worst thing about volunteer travel: The best thing about volunteer travel is that it personalizes the experience. You become so much more than a mere tourist. You meet, interact with and befriend local people, and get a greater sense of the culture. It is also great to give back to a host country, particularly if that country is a developing one. I like to be involved; I’m not an observer. If I have to chose a worst, I would say dealing with frustration. Different countries and cultures operate so differently than what I’m used to in the United States. At times, it can be so frustrating because it appears that there is no organization, or structure, but it’s just not the organization and structure that I’m used to (being from the West). That is always a difficult battle. I’m hyper punctual and organized and that’s not exactly a quality that’s exemplified in other parts of the world.

Advice for those that want to travel + give: Go, go, go! There are so many volunteer programs and opportunities available. Do your research and choose an adventure that is right for you. A lot of people think they don’t have time to volunteer travel, but you really only need a week in some cases. If you’re interested in say a year off or two, there are definitely programs that cater to that as well. There are many free volunteer programs, a lot of people are turned off by the notion of paying to volunteer.

Why you travel + give: I’m naturally a socially active person. I get super fired up by a lot of the inequalities in my own back yard and around the world. Volunteer travel in the developing world is my way to contribute to various causes. I know this sounds cliché, but you really do take more away than you ever can give. The friendships that you form can last a lifetime and there’s something so special about gaining intimate access to another culture and way of life. I am motivated and fueled by such exchanges.

Your favorite travel quote: “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” ~St. Augustine

Meet Nicole.

Photo Credit: @iluv2globetrot

Name: Nicole Brewer
Age: 31
City/State: Nizwa, Oman
Occupation: English Lecturer
Age When You Got Your First Passport: 21
Languages: English, basic French, basic Korean

Bio: A graduate of the University of Michigan with a BA in Communications, Nicole is an English language teacher by day and a travel blogger/writer by night with a future goal of starting her own NGO.  Nicole has recently been accepted into a Masters program in Germany to study International Humanitarian Action and Community Development and is looking forward to giving back to youth and helping mold them into future global citizens.

Tell Us About Your First Volunteer Experience (Travel or Otherwise): I volunteered for StreetLife Care Organization a few months ago in Nairobi, Kenya on my semester break where I helped feed runaway kids.  I also visited a local orphanage with some other volunteers from the volunteer house where I lived.

At the orphanage. Photo Credit: @iluv2globetrot

Tell us about your next travel volunteer experience: I'm looking for ways to volunteer with women's and/or children's organizations in Oman before I leave although finding volunteer opportunities as an expat has been a bit of a challenge.

Best and worst thing about volunteer travel: The best thing is the feeling of gratification and knowing you're doing your small part to make a difference in this big world. The smiles and joy on the children's faces that I saw, even for the short time that I was there, made it all worthwhile. The worst thing is the fear that your efforts won't be kept up in the future.

Advice for those that want to travel + giveDo your research! Take the time to look into the organization and make sure it is a reputable company and that they are actually looking for volunteers to contribute what work they can and are not just looking for a paycheck (i.e., you to pay fees to volunteer and do not do any volunteer work).

Why you travel + give: Because I want to make a long-standing difference in this world.  The best way to be happy is make others happy.

Your favorite travel quote: “The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” -St. Augustine

He who returns from a journey is not the same as he who left.
~Chinese proverb

Click here to read Travelanthropy: People Who Travel Good (Part 1)

Please vote for Phase 2 of The Passport Party Project DAILY through June 3, 2013 to help create global citizens out of underserved American girls. Your votes matter. Please click here to vote.

Read more »

Looking For A Speaker to Chat With Your Youth Group About The World of Travel? Book Tracey today!

Looking For A Speaker to Chat With Your Youth Group About The World of Travel? Book Tracey today!
Please send inquiries to Complimentary passport photos for all of the kids in your group! Photo: Paris, France (2012)

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Thursday, February 3, 2011

Purchasing Officer

1.S1 degree in business, economic or engineering
2.Minimum 4 years of working experience in the purchasing department
3.Familiar with customs regulation.
4.Familiar with purchase variances and participate in cost reduction program.
5.Excellent business network and supplier contacts
6.Good command of both spoken and written English
7.Having experience in purchasing system, vendor selection/development, supply chain management, material/stock control, export-import
8.Required computer skill of office applications (MS Office), and documentation skill
9.Excellent interpersonal, communication & analytical skill
10.Honest, Proactive, flexible, reliable, self-motivated & organized
11.Strong negotiation skill
12.Have experience supervising and mentoring a team

Qualified candidates are invited to send in comprehensive resume along with passport size photo to:
Human Resource Manager

All applications will remain confidential. Only short listed candidates will be contacted.

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Small Business Digest

Cyber Theft Vigilance Important During Tax Season And Beyond

Personal and business data floods the mail and Internet during tax season.

And according to Tim Zeilman of the The Hartford Steam Boiler Inspection and Insurance Company identity thieves are on the lookout.

Zeilman thinks small business leaders need to keep some things in mind.

ID theft is a big risk: Identity theft has topped the list of complaints to the Federal Trade Commission over the last decade, and that trend continued last year. There were more than 490,000 complaints of identity theft in 2015, and more than 220,000 tax and wage identity theft complaints.

Some thieves target income tax refunds: Identity thieves can use Social Security numbers and other personal information to collect other people’s tax refunds or apply for loans or jobs. The IRS routinely lists identity theft-driven tax fraud among its annual "Dirty Dozen" list of income tax scams.

The company is responsible for personal information: Almost every business keeps personal data on employees, customers, vendors and others and is responsible for the security of that information. It can be costly to respond to a data breach and there is also the potential of lost sales and damage to a company’s reputation.

Here are 12 tips small business owners can use to stay vigilant and protect themselves from hackers and cyber thieves who target vulnerable information.

  • Secure your computers. Computer security software is a simple, effective way to deter cyber theft. Make sure all business computers are using appropriate, up-to-date software – including Internet browsers.
  • Control computer use.Restrict employee usage of computers to business use. Do not permit employees to use file sharing peer-to-peer websites or software applications, block access to inappropriate websites and prohibit use of unapproved software on company computers.
  • Bank with separate devices. Use a dedicated device for online banking and use a different device for email and social media. Visiting just one infected social site could compromise your financial accounts.
  • Avoid recycling passwords. Don’t reuse them and don’t trust any website to store them securely.
  • Train your employees. Establish written policies about data security and educate your employees about their responsibilities in protecting sensitive data.
  • Always encrypt data.Mandate encryption for all data, and consider encrypting email that contains personal information. Avoid Wi-Fi networks, too, since they may permit interception of data.
  • Update internal procedures. Don’t use Social Security numbers as employee ID numbers or client account numbers; develop another ID system. Make sure that your procedures comply with any applicable state or Federal laws as well as industry standards.
  • Manage portable media. Smartphones, flash drives and other portable media are more susceptible to loss or theft. Minimize their use and allow only encrypted data to be stored on them.
  • Destroy unnecessary information. Shred old tax forms and other paper files with information you no longer need. Destroy disks and other portable media before disposing of them. Use software designed to permanently wipe hard drives, or physically destroy them. Remember that many photocopy machines scan documents before copying, so set the copier to clear data after each use.\Minimize data collection. Reduce the volume of information that you collect and retain only what is necessary. Don’t collect or keep information you don’t absolutely need, and minimize the number of places you store personal private data.
  • Safeguard necessary records.Lock physical records containing private information in a secure location, and restrict access to those employees who truly need it. Conduct employee background checks and never give temporary workers or vendors access to personal information on employees or customers.

Tim Zeilman is vice president for specialty products with The Hartford Steam Boiler Inspection and Insurance Company (HSB).

© 2017, Information Strategies, Inc.
P.O. Box 315, Ridgefield, NJ 07657


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Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Just Another Yesterday {Day 23: 365}

Where has the pinkmother gone?

Oooh how i miss journaling! Did time pass me by? Another blink brings me to March. Unbelievable how time swishes from now to tomorrow. Surreal, but today will just be another yesterday.

So, how have your yesterdays been?

I'd love to know.

Apart from the bliss of moving ahead, our life in retrospect is always worth going back to...

As for me, my past month -- in random order of appreciation -- looked something like this:

 ♥buying trip with hubby...{giddy for the new collection}♥

♥brainstorm sessions with the creative team for the first of summer trunkshow (!!!)♥

♥new layout for online shop now up♥

♥organizing my girls craft nook♥

♥getting my fat thighs back to the gym♥

♥sweetness from my only son♥

♥summer trip planning & hotel scouring on the net {foreverrr!}♥

♥getting a visit from Pastor Sam...{blessings in human form}

♥fabric stashing for my first swimsuit creation! {yipee}♥

♥Numbers App on my iPad...{why oh why did it take me so long to give in to you?!}♥

♥giddiness over a thrifted designer document bag...{ funny how it gave me 30% extra power to do more things }♥

♥my yllana turning 9 & my girls newfound love for boots & boho♥

♥and a new set of heels to go running in for the coming busy months♥

That's it so far. Would love to hear how yours have been.

bliss♥, pinkmother

  1. nice blog)

  2. oh hi there Lena! thanks for swinging by♥

  3. Followed you Pink Mother :)
    Thank you BTW for letting me join in the fun pullout. <3