Elevators From Hell.

The UT campus resembles an incredibly lively, intellectually stimulating little town. I wouldn’t be astounded if a lot of the ‘citizens’ of this town shared this sentiment. However, one aspect of it that never ceases to depress me is the plain evil that seems to engulf every single elevator on campus. How many times have you taken the elevator anywhere on campus and walked out of it radiating with optimism? Okay, it’s a rhetorical question.

Picture yourself in an elevator that stops at a random floor. Generally, the people coming in seem to be happy and jovial, but the moment they enter into that confined space that is the elevator, every ounce of happiness from their face evaporates faster than you can say hypochondria, if you choose to say it. The most you can get from even the closest of friends you meet in an elevator is a pursed-lipped ‘hello’ rather than the animated “Hey, What’s up!!” anywhere else on campus.

My point is that elevators on campus do not quite facilitate human emotion besides all-consuming abjectness. This is rather unfortunate because studies show that the average human spends about eight days of his life in an elevator. That is eight days of your life standing in one spot staring at its insipid, colorless walls, silently pleading for the doors to open. The world could certainly be a better place if you (yes, you) put those eight days to some use. This could range from some creative endeavor to merely entertaining your co-passengers.

I believe that elevators have the potential to become the most intellectually invigorating work spaces at college campuses around the country. Perhaps that is a bit of a stretch, considering that we haven’t yet heard of ground shattering innovations originating in elevators. Yet, it is a shame that such time isn’t utilized to its fullest.

I recently came across an article about “60 things to do in an elevator” and decided to have some fun with it. It suggested things like “make car noises when anyone gets on or off”, and “offer name tags to everyone getting on the elevator” or “break into song, singing ‘Mary had a little lamb’ while continually pushing buttons. One of my favorite suggestions, however, was to stand facing the direction opposite to the door of the elevator. I actually tried this out numerous times with varying degrees of hilarity. During one of those times, I managed to convince a group of six people walking in that they would be getting out the other way. The looks on the faces of every subsequent incoming person were priceless!

On a more serious note, it probably is worth your while to do something more than just pray the doors would open sooner than it should. Just yesterday I decided to start talking to one of my fellow passengers and found out that he was actually my long lost lab partner from some obscure programming class. It made my day.

All I really want to reinforce is that every single elevator ride you take can be potentially life altering. So go out there, get into those elevators and change the world (for the better).

Drivers License.

When I was six, I remember looking around in awe at the people who were capable of driving a vehicle. To me it seemed like a skill that warranted a significant amount of respect.

As the years passed, the realization gradually dawned upon me that driving is actually a piece of cake. Perhaps easier. Despite this delayed awakening, my recent struggles with acquiring my drivers license had briefly caused me to switch back to admiration mode. Let me explain.

First, I can hear you snickering already. So cut it out. I acknowledge that you are aware that I'm about 22. However, I do have quite a few exceedingly legitimate reasons for not owning a drivers license all these years. I grew up in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates (as some of you might know) where you need to be 18 to even begin to drive legally, unlike in the US, where you can get your permit when you turn 16, and actually drive with an accompanied adult when you're still only 15(!). Personally, I think that particular age limit is preposterous, but that's a story for another day. So yes. I first came to the US when I was 17, and missed the cut in the UAE by a few months.

After I got here, considering that I knew absolutely no one in the city of Austin, getting my drivers license would have turned into an expensive affair if I had decided to take classes. Money was not a commodity I had in abundance. If I had to be perfectly honest, I was broke beyond belief. So there went that plan. A few years passed and voilà, I turned 21. As any rational 21 year old would think, it was clearly about time I was legally allowed to drive a car. But there was still the small matter of practicing somewhere and taking a road test. I think I ended up annoying a couple of my friends asking to borrow their car for me to practice with, for my driving skills did not seem to inspire much confidence in them and consequently, they probably quivered at night for the fate of their respective cars. But I persevered and they complied and they did a pretty awesome job of being patient with me. And for that I am thankful.

So I go in to the Department of Motor Vehicles and what do you know, I fail my vision test! Apparently I was blind as a bat and wasn't even aware of it. I now needed glasses, for Pete's sake. It was like the forces that govern the universe were conspiring to deny me the license to drive. And I ended up shelling out about 200 bucks for a doctor's appointment and a pair of glasses before heading back to the DMV. I felt fairly confident, and had every reason to be so, for I had been driving for a while now.

Yet, the miserable old hag who took my test claimed I did not 'have control' on three of my turns and established that it was reason enough to fail me. When I pushed her to elaborate, she retorted that I simply needed to 'practice' more. I fought the urge to punch her nose inwards and instead uttered some niceties. I thanked her for her time - not because I was genuinely indebted to her for being my examiner, but because there seemed to be a decent chance that I might have to see her again the next time I took it.

Two weeks later, I headed back to the DMV hoping against hope that I didn't encounter the same rude, ancient scallywag that took my test the previous time. Thankfully, a much nicer old lady greeted me this time and laughed when she found out who my previous examiner was. Apparently, Mrs You Don't Have Control was one of the more unpopular workers at that particular DMV and was notorious for failing test takers for nonexistent reasons.

Even on that attempt, I still remember dreading the moment my examiner would turn to me telling me I had failed for some inane reason. However, she had a grin on her face so wide it actually had me alarmed for a second. I made a 97(!) on my road test. She even claimed that she was baffled how I had failed the last time. Needless to say, I felt like how Einaudi must have felt when he finished composing I Giorni. I was so ecstatic that I was successfully able to control the impulse to shove my license down the previous old hag's face. I still hate her. Perhaps I am being irrational.

But I don't care. I can drive!

A brown kid's fascination with 'American' football

My friends from back home have been constantly vexed about my love for American Football. I often find myself having to patiently explain the intricacies of the sport, hoping that the details would not be lost on the few that cared to listen. Yet, how could I possibly blame them.

The very first time I caught a glimpse of this much maligned sport, I couldn't suppress my laughter. How inane would you have to be to run around in bizarre ogre-like costumes, jumping into a pile of men for three hours straight? My very first roommate (some would know him as Pingu) and I would actually watch football games with the sole purpose of snickering at this clown fest. This couldn't possibly be sport. Or could it?

As the months passed, the hilarity turned to mild amusement, to intrigue, to genuine interest. Then the 2008 season happened. I watched every game. Every. single. game. And if you were on the fence about whether you loved this sport, THAT season would have converted you into a fanatic. If you were a Longhorn, that is.

Contrary to popular belief, being a fan of American football does not automatically mean you're a fan of the NFL. As far as I am concerned, the NFL will never be anywhere near as exciting as college football. The only reason I even tune into the NFL is to follow the careers of former 'Horns.

At any rate, the purpose of this post (if it does indeed go on to have a purpose - I haven't quite decided yet) is not to edify you on the rules of the game, but to merely open your eyes to the possibility of watching an American football game if you have never done so.
As much as I love the REAL football (that's soccer to you Americans), the shenanigans on hand at the World Cup and even the Champions League before it was truly distasteful for the sport lover. The playacting has reached ludicrous levels and is an eyesore.

Besides, for those of you insecure in your manhood, how could your machismo ever be in question when you are able to carry a ball into the end zone knocking over 250-300 lb grown men, leaving them in your wake.

I do need to reiterate, however, that I am not trying to take a swipe at soccer. I still follow the Premiership and the Champions League. And indeed, cricket will always remain very close to my heart. Yet, I feel compelled to share the emotion that swells up within me when I watch my university take on the best football teams from around the country. And watching games at Darrell K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium, the Cotton Bowl and the National Championship Game at the Rose Bowl are easily some of my most cherished memories ever. This sport really is something.