Regressive metal...

I take pride in being a simple man. I hate progressive metal with the same passion that I hate Quantum physics and for a similar reason too. Its just too complicated. Quantum physics is complicated to begin with,because all that science is really difficult. But on the other hand, progressive metal is complicated because we made it complicated and after a point all this complexity becomes deliberate and excessive. I already like my quantum physics better and this is exactly what progressive metal has done to the earth. This is what it has done to music. It has put the textbook edge to something that just gives me sheer joy. It has made geeks out of the freaks. As we all know that the freak shall inherit the earth, and I intend on keeping my share.

Back in the day when progressive rock (differentiate from progressive metal) evolved, we had bands like Pink Floyd, Jethro tull and Atomic Rooster. I love and worship these bands, because as progressive as they were, they maintained the end in sight, which is to make good music. When this purpose fails, all the unorthodox time signatures and "boutique" scales become pointless. Progressive metal is defined as being experimental. But every experiment should have an objective. If your objective is to make good music, then it is fine by me. But if your objective is to write a song in latin which when read backwards is the chinese national anthem, and is set to a scale in which the tuning of the strings are in a logarithmic progression and played on a time scale that is in fibonnacci series and with a lead solo by a monkey with a ukelele, I am sorry I am not the guinea pig for that experiment.

It is perfectly appreciable if a good song demands an unorthodox musical structure. Pink Floyd and Jethro tull have many good songs, a lot of them in simple time signatures and scales. But when the song demanded the use of an unorthodox method, they would use it bravely. The quality of the music is not indexed by its complexity. The way progressive metal has progressed, I feel like it is a direct disabuse of the power that complexity of musical structure affords you. I would like to restate the words of a certain wise music critic "Even three-chord-trash is sheer aural ecstasy if it is done the right way"

I dont completely hate progressive metal bands. Lot of their work is really excellent. The others I think they are like confused teenagers, they just need more direction and focus. However, what I do absolutely detest are progressive metal fans. Among self-proclaimed rock fans most are posers and pretenders, but with progressive metal fans all of them are. Here is the point that I dont get. Progressive metal is defined by its use of complicated and unconventional music structure. How can you like something just based on the fact that it is complicated? Why does complexity make something cool? If you like complicated stuff why are you working in a meth lab rather than in a rocket science lab?

An average progressive metal fan knows as much music as I know Yiddish. That screws up things even worse, because when a purported progressive metal fan tries to head-bang, he cant do it! That is because the time signature is so complex and our quintessential progressive metal fan is so musically challenged that he cant keep up to the rhythm. When you headbang, you go
with the rhythm. That is the first and only rule of headbanging. They cant follow the singing because its too tough and the lyrics are in Sanskrit, so eventually there is not one element in the song that they can actually relate to. They probably will relate better to the chattering of chimpanzees.

When I look at a progrssive metal song I would look at it with the sense of amusement with which I would look at a towering skyscraper. But a kicking good rock song is like the Eiffel tower or the pyramids or something like that, it is monumental. Which is why I think that I'll rather stick to the classics.

The Immig-RANT Song

A friend recently asked me to help them compile a list of guidelines for graduate students from India coming into the US for the first time and here is some advice I could come up with.

The reasons are only as diverse as the crowd themselves. There are the truly aspiring ones, the ones with nothing better to do, the greedy ones and the ones pecked into the decision due to pressure from parents and peers. But nevertheless, as every fall dawns, they all join the “August Rush” in pulling the same end of the tug-rope trudging onwards towards the shores of the glorified “Land of the free and home of the brave”. They all come in carrying porcelain dreams as big as their oversized baggage.

The westward march is much akin to a military operation with complicated strategies and intensive planning. The troops are prepared and trained to be able to survive for a year with nothing but their cabin baggage, they are trained to lie to, cheat and scam border security officials and customs officers alike. It is a rather scary thought, but if all these strategic minds are put together on a single drawing board, we could invade the entire world.

The big problem with the entire westward exodus is that it a comedy of misinformation. As a responsible servant of my homeland, I really think it is my duty to ameliorate this situation. So I should clarify certain myths surrounding this glorious country.

Myth #1 : Terrorists and illegal immigrants do not cut their hair.

When they showed the photographs of terrorists on TV the other day, I was shocked. They all had very decent hair-cuts. I also saw illegal immigrants pumping gas at the station, again clean shave and clean haircut. To think of it, I was somehow tricked into believing that a proper shave and a haircut was a highly imperative factor towards getting a visa. In fact without my fancy long multicolored hair I looked more inconspicuous, I looked like a face in the crowd. Why would I try to look inconspicuous? Well, unless I was a terrorist.

There is no trick to acing the Visa interview, they know you are lying and for god’s sake half of us don’t even know to lie convincingly. Try to present a genuine case.

Myth #2 : The baggage check-in counter is a black hole.

My highly vocal aunt is very assured of her opinion that the check-in baggage counter at the airport is a miniature black hole and that anything put in the check-in baggage is lost forever. So it is very important to squeeze my entire house, refrigerator and kitchen sink included, into the cabin baggage. But it was mildly amused when at the airport, I did receive my checked in luggage. As ridiculous as it may sound I do have anecdotal evidence that checked in luggage do make it to their destination once a while.

Myth #3 : This is a land inhabited by carnivorous animals that do not brush their teeth.

I was really surprised when I went to the store the other day. But despite my initial disbelief, it is true, there are civilized human beings here too and they really sell toothpaste in the store. . If I knew earlier that they sell soap, shampoo and toothpaste in this country, I would not have brought 7 tubes of toothpaste, I would have brought only 5. That way, my last 2 toothpastes would not have cost me 60$ for the enormously overweight baggage that I was carrying. Talk about being penny wise and pound foolish

Myth #4 : Infants older than 3 yrs are not permitted to attend graduate school.

This myth is prevalent especially among parents. Well, my suspicions were confirmed but most students coming to graduate school are generally full grown adults. So mothers triple sealing packets of mango pickles in India, please rest your ladles for a moment and listen. Your sons and daughters are full-grown adults, they can talk, they can walk and they can feed and clothe themselves. They are not “struggling”. “Struggling” is what you do with your full time job, without a washer/dryer, without a dishwasher and without the luxury of pre-cut vegetables and meats.

(voice from the audience)

Best Mom Award winner : “But my son is just a baby, what do you expect him to do at this young age”

Sarcasm Guru : “How old were you when you got married and started running the home by yourself?? Think about it…. And I love you mom!”

So, if your kids complain about doing their own laundry and throwing out their own trash, please ask the whiny idiot to suck it up and start acting like an adult.

Myth#5 : Food is a scarce commodity here, and vegetarians are stoned to death by the carnivorous animals.

If this country is good at one thing, it will be its ability at making people obese. This is the fattest country in the world. No one and I mean no one has ever come to this country and lost weight. No one has ever gone malnourished, including vegetarians.

(voice from audience)

Grass-chewer : No! No! NO!... I am vegetarian, I don’t get any food here.

Sarcasm guru : That’s wrong, you are either narrow minded stupid who refuses to try the new vegetarian special on the menu or you are a cheese pizza hogging, veggie burrito gorging, alfredo pasta with zucchini and Portobello mushrooms devouring liar.

I really agree that the hundreds of condiments bundled in delicious parental love make edible, the monstrosities that these inglorious idiots cook for dinner (unless you are the guy with most friends… because you can cook). But nevertheless, the beer and Chinese food that are dialed in are still doing their part in making sure that they will need new clothes when they come home for Christmas. Reminds me of which they don’t need 45 jeans pants, 40 would suffice and they will be going up one pant size pretty soon anyways.

Myth#6 : All graduate students are overworked, homesick and depressed

Here are some pointers parents, sometimes your wards might not call you or attend calls on weekends or when you call on a Sunday morning they might sound very dull and diseased. This is generally because they were working very hard as a part of the “keg-floating-committee” the previous night. Also hangover is not a sickness or a disease, they will get over it. Please don’t advice them to take Crocin or other related analgesics it will only add to the acidity that they have from all the tequila shots.

Also, when in doubt, blame the kid. If he says he is overworked, he is lazy. If he says he is underpaid, he is greedy. If he says he feels tired, he is drinking too much. If he says that his life sucks, tell him that the old girlfriend was not worth it and that you will look for a beautiful alliance from the same caste for him.

The mind of a graduate student is a colorful salad of various emotions. Anxiety of a job hunt, tiff with the girl friend, victory over the rival school in football, speeding tickets, room-mate’s new play station, acing an exam, bungee jumping, maxed out credit cards, the Sunday barbecue to which the hot girl next door is coming to… Everything adds spice to the salad

P.S – Talking of salads, salads in this country can constitute an entire meal.

Myth #7 : Life will be the exact same here as it was back at home

They say this is the land of opportunity and damned right they were not kidding about that. Most people miss opportunity because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. Opportunity is there for the taking, but it never comes free. You chose to grab the opportunity, so now you have to prepare to work for it. They are paying you almost 3 times what they would pay your sorry ass in India and if you thought that you could get away with doing lesser work than before you really and truly are outrageously illogical. You thought moving to the USA will help you progress in your career, and simple laws of physics tell you that you need to do more work in order to scale the heights

A corollary to this myth is that life is mechanical over here, or that is what has become fashionable to claim. But however, the last I knew, machines did not go scuba diving in Florida. Nevertheless, it was you that decided to sit at home on a Saturday, eat your Dhaal fry with rice and watch a movie in Indian vernacular over online streaming when you had the opportunity to paraglide over a lake. Life is all about the choices you make. If you decide to make it mechanical and slip into the routine, that is a choice you have made. It is easy to blame circumstance, but in the end the opportunity was always there for the taking.

So wrapping up, its not that bad here, it is a different place, nevertheless it will be a different life, just be ready for it and try to embrace the change gracefully.

Why the dictionary should go to hell.

Full of words, but the meanings make no sense,
Its where the eggs always come before the hens.
Deaf dog ears and a hard-bound shell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Plain black and white from cover to cover,
Why describe 'blue' than to just show the color.
How do I look up a word that I don't know to spell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Five centuries of complicating crossword clues,
94.3% of the words I would never care to use.
Stacked up in shelves, not one copy does sell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism,
Is actually a real word in one of them.
Am allergic to dust and don't like an old book's smell
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell,

There are more than 400 meanings to the word "SET"
Everyone here probably has used one I bet
Why I own one myself, I just cant tell,
That's just why the dictionary should go to hell.

Sleeping Sickness

I haven't been reporting to work for two full days. I had called in sick but I havent been sick at all. The reason why I had stayed home was that I felt like sleeping. This was not plain lethargy, but a real desperate need to sleep, but my idea had been defeated.

It was a bad time for me to have guests in the house, because I had to now share my room with a friend who snores with the sound of a concrete mixer. I believe the concrete mixer was working well over time through the night because I was still tossing in the bed at 7 in the morning. My head and back felt as though they were completely cast in concrete, my bedding and pillow felt like they were made out of concrete. If only my ears were rather filled with concrete. I had gone to bed in my cosy apartment bedroom, which had all of a sudden transformed into a concrete jungle.

The other friend was sleeping in the couch downstairs and I should tell you he is such a sadist. He brought along with himself 2 puppies. I am sure he wedges the puppies' tails between the toilet door, waits for me to slip into the slightest of stupor and then slams the door shut. The howling retrievers bring me back to rapt wakefulness. I was wondering if he would believe me, if I told him that I was trying to just push the puppies back into thier crate using the barbecue fork.

It was about this time that the concrete mixer flipped over to his side and the snoring stopped. I was going to pop champagne in celebration (trust me a bit of bubbly wouldnt have been such a bad idea if it would knock me off to bed.) , but the joy was shortlived. He was snoring again but his pitch was slightly different, this time like a blunt saw rasping through fine redwood. Just hearing the sonorous depth of the snore, you could almost trace the wind through his pipes. With your eyes closed you could see his epiglottis and uvula reverb in violent cacophonous protest to the flow of air, like they would be happier if he choked and died.

It is a complete misnomer that sleeplessness makes you drowsy and groggy. To the contrary it heightens all of your senses. Every nerve ending and synapse works with sheer electricity. When you are unable to sleep, you are aware of everything, every smallest discomfort is magnified as though under a huge lens. My pinky toe was hurting, my throat felt dry as though I had a spoonful of dry plaster, the room was getting too bright, the air was getting heavy to breathe, and despite the riotous snoring I could hear the floorboard creaking as I turned in bed and my beard was feeling itchy even though I had no beard. I wished I was hermetically sealed in something like a ziploc bag.

Now that sleeping seemed to have become a lost cause, I thought that it would be a good idea to lie awake in bed and perfect my coughing technique. I tried to come up with a convincing "cough" which I could use in front of my boss when I reported to work in the morning. I was contemplating between a gentle tuberculosis wheeze, a dry throaty cough, or a wet phlegmatic chesty one. The trick was to strike the appropriate balance of believability and drama. It was among one of these congested wheezes that sounded like the batteries had died on an old taperecorder that I had finally and gently slipped into sleep.

In almost cinematic climax as I was typing this down, my boss shows up to ask how I was doing. I was in brief shock making frantic efforts to minimize the windows. My voice box failed me as I tried to reply and the bewildered and speechless vocal chords rang an empty dissonance. It was like my throat had gone sore from 3 days of flu. In afterthought, I must have sounded convincingly sick.