I’m a Marine now, mom. HDR effects make me look much grittier than usual.

After finishing up Two Diabetics back in November, I immediately got started with auditioning and then rehearsals for “Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo,” which opens tonight. I originally heard about it over a year ago from a fellow actor-turned-producer who knew I spoke some Arabic, and he was interested in either having me act as a language consultant (which was flattering but probably not the best idea!) or as an actor. Fast forward a year later and the play has been finalized for the 2014 season of Strollers Theatre, and I was given the part of Kev, a part which the Madison.com preview article describes as “a child with a machine gun.” Hooray!

In the program, I thank the rest of the cast and team for bearing with the fact that my Camaro doesn’t handle snow very well, and this winter has been so cold and snowy compared with last year that the issues were exacerbated.  Needing rides to practice or being slightly late was par for the course. Rehearsals were all the way across town (30 minutes if I’m lucky, 45 minutes in the rush hour traffic that I was sometimes required to go through if rehearsals were earlier). As someone who lives 15 minutes from work by bike, or 20 minutes by bus, I’m not used to being stuck in traffic. It’s quite irritating.

But the show is at the Bartell Theatre, a 15 minute bus ride from my home, so those rehearsal days are behind me now (although I feel for my castmates who now have to make 45 minute ride from the west side of town!) It’s a physically and mentally exhausting play for me, I know, and I’ll bet it is for some of the other actors too. Getting across PTSD and all of the symptoms associated with it wracks your body. I’ve had to do rather graphic things for this show I’ve never done before – and once again, I’ll bet other actors will say the same thing!

Here’s a trailer that was put together a few nights ago:

If you’re in Madison and interested in seeing it – here’s the ticket information!

I’ve been part of my third (recent) Madison theatre production for the past month. Our last three shows are coming up this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. My director from my previous play, Jan Thal, recommended me to the director of this play, Jon Siewert – possibly because once I shave my beard and mustache off, I have the facial appearance of a 15 year old that’s needed to play the role!

I play “young Andrew” (there is also a fellow who plays the main character, “Andrew” but I decided I wanted a smaller role for this production since it’s so soon after finishing 10 Thousand Moons from Here a few months ago). I am Andrew as he’s being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes as a high schooler, and his early experiences with learning to cope with disease, which he views as a “punishment like I did something wrong…only I didn’t!” Of course, this angry view spills into the adult Andrew character who is around 30 years old to my 15.

Here’s a shot of me getting my first insulin shot during tech week. That’s Nurse Nancy behind me – heh, our actual Nancy was out that week for work so we had another of the actors fill in for her roles, of which all of the minor characters have more than 1. (I have two, but some of the people have three or four).

Photo Credit: Heather Renken, Broom Street Theatre Artistic Director

And here’s a “trailer” video that was made by another friend of Broom Street theatre.

If you’re in Madison and interested in seeing one of our last three shows – here’s the show’s ticket information! From what I hear though, word of mouth has kicked off (we got a good review for our show and the other one act we’re partnered with, The Sweet Lowdown) and the seats are going fast!

I recently did a bit of house-call tech support for a friend of a colleague – helping with backing up files and the like. The user was having me check her antivirus programs on her laptop and desktop and happened to mention that she had “Pairsys Antivirus” on her computer as well. My curiosity was piqued – I had never heard of this company before, and I thought I’d heard of most reputable antivirus vendors out there… perhaps they weren’t so reputable.

She showed me the executable on her desktop, and where it was installed. I double clicked it to see what it would do…a progress bar appeared briefly, and told me that it “could not connect to the update server.” No splash screen, no antivirus dashboard, no nothing…it appeared to be a remote support application, and the Pairsys website seemed to point to that being the case.

I asked her how she found out about this software; who had recommended it to her – at first it seemed like a colleague or a friend from water aerobics had told her about it, but then as she thought back on it, it actually had been an Indian man who approached her while at the Capitol Lakes Senior Center near the Capitol building as she was waiting for her aerobics to start. He struck up a conversation with her (hmm) and eventually the talk turned to eBooks (hmmmm!) and then eventually to computers…and security (hmmmmmmm!). Apparently he recommended the software and spelled out its name for her, but didn’t press her too hard on it…no hard sell. But a few weeks later she had some computer problems (prior to having me recommended to her by my associate) and she then looked up the website the man had recommended.

Apparently she was sold the “Platinum Security Package” for $250 and a technician named “Joy” worked with her. That basically seems to be all the software does…sits there and if you have problems, apparently a technician remotely connects to your computer and assists you. Supposedly. If you trust them to do that.

I immediately thought back to an article I’d read on Ars Technica a few months ago about scammers cold-calling people to tell them that they were “from Windows” and that “your computer has viruses and errors that we can fix for you!” and then charging them a couple hundred bucks and doing a remote login (if you let them).

To me, this seems even more worrisome…if you can send a smooth-talking guy to a senior center to casually pimp your software to targets directly, you might be able to get more sales than with an indirect and impersonal phone call.

My user told me this morning, however, that after we uninstalled the Pairsys “remote support” software, she gave them a call and asked for her money back, and got $150 of it returned at least…after threatening to bring the Better Business Bureau and the police in to inquire as to their business methods. A more-or-less happy ending for her at least…but that guy that she spoke to at the senior center is still out there potentially, finding more marks.

I asked her to get a business card or more information from him if she sees him there again, and then pass it on to me…I’d like to have a word with him on the phone and find out a little bit more about the operation and what, precisely, they’re selling. After that, I’ll make some calls to the senior centers around the city and make sure that they’re warned about characters like this ambling in to take advantage of their patrons and visitors.

I can’t tell if they’re being ironic, but this “update your WordPress blog now” (for once, missing the soothing British tones of whats-his-name  who has been doing all the .x videos for as long as I can remember – please find him, give him a scone, and bring him back) is filled with hipsters doing hipster stuff…having beards that clearly exist for the purpose of “please notice my beard”, blogging about coffee, and constantly using Apple products. I didn’t see a single PC featured in this video, and only one Android device.

I’m curious, WordPress…do your statistics show that the majority of your users are on iPC computing devices? Otherwise, you might want to revise your videos to show a bit more diversity.

“Where the Sam Hill is everybody?!?”

Well, we’ve made it to New York City and Christine’s cousin’s apartment! We’re officially finished with our time in India and I have to say, as fun as it might sound to be in a giant country’s giant capitol city for their Independence Day…if you only have one day in said capitol, do your darndest to avoid it in Delhi, India.

We had hoped for a leisurely day of sightseeing a museum or two, and Mahatma Gandhi’s memorial site…but every single thing was closed. We had looked for restaurants for lunch around noon, but everything was locked and barred. The streets were almost empty, and it in no way felt like India’s second most populated city (although if you’ll recall our feelings about socializing from the end of my previous post, this was definitely a positive). A turbaned Sikh rickshaw driver told us as we were walking to the Gandhi memorial that he was positive it was closed, but we had been told back at the hotel that it should be open. “I will take you there myself,” he replied “if it is open, then no charge for my driving you. If it is closed, then 20 rupees.” Well, it only took 45 seconds and it was probably the easiest 20 he’d made in a while.

This is, unfortunately, the closest we got to the main thing we came to Delhi to see

He did, however, tell us what would be open – the fabulous Gundawara Sikh Temple, and at no charge, too. “80 rupees, or 50 if you’ll just stop by my friend’s shop…” This is a common strategy in India. Stores will give rickshaw or taxi drivers either a commission or a fuel voucher for bringing tourists to them, but in least at Delhi with us, the drivers were upfront with us that they were willing to pass the cost savings onto you if you had the time to spare. And he knew we probably did, because everything was closed.

So that’s how we ended up at a huge rug store, run by a Muslim in a long white robe who literally danced with happiness when he saw us. “My name is Happy!” he proclaimed, then twirled on one foot and snapped his fingers in the air. “Please my friends, enjoy a cup of tea with me while we show you the finest silks in Delhi!” He danced all over a pile of rugs that his employees spread on the floor for us, and we let him talk to us for 10 minutes when we politely found a way to excuse ourselves and get back out to our waiting Sikh taxi. “But my friends your tea has not yet arrived!” Happy (or Kursheed, in his own language) said plaintively. “I’m sure those two will be happy to drink it instead,” I replied, pointing to another couple tourists were being hesitantly ushered through the door by a rickshaw driver. Happy must give out the best coupons.

The pool was filled with curious catfish, like this fellow, and koi

The Sikh temple had a huge shallow pool behind it, with waters that were supposedly holy. Hundreds of Indians were clustered around its edges (it was about half the size of a football field) wading in it, dipping their children in it, or even full on bathing in it. One thing the Sikh guards didn’t like though, were people sitting on its edges…a couple of white robed old fellows with stout staves were making the rounds along the edges of the pool, sharply rapping the marble steps next to anyone like myself who sat down for a second. “Stand up now,” one of them grunted at me, and the other gestured with his staff. Alright then! So we went inside the temple itself (after procuring proper head covering for both Christine and myself; Sikhs might have their turbans but I had my dear, beat up old hat from Jordan – only Christine needed to find a shawl to wrap around her hair). Inside, people were bowing and prostrating themselves before an alter with a man reading a book on it, and then tossing money into a huge long slotted box in front of him. We found out that it was a copy of the Sikh holy book, which is given an entire room to itself when not being displayed (“like a woman,” the young Sikh man who we asked about the curtained room at the corner of the temple told us).

In the center, a turbaned sea monster lurks

Back outside, we had some Prasad, which according to our guidebook and tripadvisor, is well-known throughout Delhi for being particularly tasty at this temple. We each donated 10 rupees to a man behind a counter, received a computer printout with our donation printed on it (it made us briefly nervous that it wasn’t enough, but I craned my neck and saw that most people were donating similar amounts on their own slips), and then gave that slip to another man at another counter, who slopped a brownish paste into a tinfoil cup and handed it to me. Christine and I sat down under a silk awning, surrounded by other diners, and sampled our blessed snack – it was very oily, like a lot of the north Indian food I’ve had so far, I could see the butter/ghee dripping off of every bit I picked up with my fingers. It tasted a bit like popcorn, actually, if the shells and the kernels together had been crushed down to a paste and mixed with oil. It was pretty good, but 10 rupees worth was definitely enough for me!

All we need now is a large coke and “coming soon to theaters near you”

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The requisite “Taj at sunrise” photo. But we succeeded in beating 99% of the other tourists!

Just as we expected, the Oberoi staff (beardless young men in robes and turbans and attractive women in fake saris) were a bit confused when we trundled up the long driveway towards the imposing tan structure of the Oberoi Amarvilas hotel. “Are you staying here?” we were politely asked three or four times at various intervals as we made the long walk, dragging our luggage. When we got off the train, we figured that it would help our bargaining power with the rickshaw drivers if we didn’t tell them that we wanted to be dropped off at the most expensive hotel in the city, so we had our driver drop us off at the Taj Mahal’s eastern gate, about a kilometer from the Oberoi, and walked the rest of the way.

The touts and sellers are thick in this city, as you would imagine, and nowhere thicker than in that kilometer. To cut back on the pollution that is slowly staining the Taj from its magnificent white to a sludgy grey, only bicycle rickshaws and electric golf carts are allowed in that zone. Every few feet there was another bikeshaw driver grinning at us, or an ice cream cart, or a restaurant, or a jewelry salesman, or a kid selling postcards with the Taj on it. And we finally did tell one driver where we were going when he followed us for a hundred meters – “where you go? where your hotel?” – we replied, “the Oberoi, it’s very nearby” his eyebrows danced like black caterpillars and he said “ahhhh very nice!”

The Oberoi could be summed up as a perfect example of form over function. Everything about it was perfectly set – perfect volumes of music, perfect softness of bed, perfect temperature of the pool (Christine, reading this over my shoulder as I type, points out that it was astounding how the pool was attuned to the right level for the day’s heat) – and of course, the reason why it commands the highest price in the city – a perfect view of the southeastern corner of the mausoleum itself, visible over the tops of the trees on the private land that the hotel owns behind the building (that land itself, with no hiking access on it, must have cost the hotel an insane amount of money, but they have to keep it clear in order to guarantee that every room in the building can see the Taj, which is part of their brochure).

The window is a bit foggy from the fact that the A/C runs full blast all the time in here, but that cleared up by early afternoon

Of course, it seems to the fashion that any hotel that costs more than $150 in third world country charges outrageous amounts for internet access. I speculate that this is because they were probably some of the first businesses to have the internet, and their infrastructure is still set up to require it (versus just having a series of routers strung out throughout the floors like any American mid-range hotels might have). My parents and I found the same thing while staying on the banks of the Dead Sea in Jordan, too. For 400 rupees for an hour of access, it was flabbergasting – but they did have a free option: one half hour free, every 24 hours of your stay (when we checked out, I was 10 minutes into our 2nd 24 hour period, and it promptly logged me out and cancelled the rest of my 20 minutes because we were no longer in their system).

Ooh, the pillow menu! However, we were fine with the “default” goose down set of six our bed came with

But besides the the price on Internet and the extraordinarily high price of the minibar items (like the bottled water, which was selling for 75 rupees the same size bottle of water that would have cost 5 rupees in the city) the place was perfect. The pool area in particular was a multi-level series of terraces, trickling fountains that fed into waterfalls, and perfectly manicured turf. As we arrived at 7am, I watched numerous Indian employees in nondescript brown trousers and shirts painstakingly cutting the grass and bushes, practically blade by blade. They never spoke to us though – only the turbaned men and saried women did, smiling brilliantly and making perfect eye contact whenever we passed by. At the pool, if I would even so much as take a step in the direction of one of them, they would immediately stop whatever they were doing (except if they were serving someone else a drink or interacting with another customer) and wait to see if I was walking towards them or pass them, before they would resume their activities.

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