Rich boys' club

I've never been a part of any cult. Not when I was in college, not when I first moved abroad, not when I worked for a music firm. I'm passionate about several things, just not enough to evoke that spark of fanaticism. Which is why it invariably intrigues me when I see people around me indulging in those.

My foray into the world of glitzy Apple products has been shamefully late. I still own a blackberry from 1965. But I do have a oh-so-yesteryear hand-me-down iPad from the other half. And I've finally bought a Mac but I still swear by my PC, more for the familiarity factor than anything else.

I met someone on the flight yesterday, a doc at that, who was traveling across the coast to be a part of a Tesla convention. Tesla, for the uninitiated, is the all-electric, sleek car made in the Silicon Valley which retails for about a 100k. It made me crease my forehead in slight disbelief as I probed. He came clean. A convention of Tesla owners was arranged to share experiences/ joy/ pride and discuss the upcoming features. So you buy a 100k car and then fly 5 hours to share your experiences? Yep, he went, not paying heed to the undertone of disbelief in my voice. Then it hit me. He was already converted. Just like millions of passionate followers of events/products from the Burning Man to Star Trek and from Lost to iPhone, this man, a heart surgeon, was undeniably a part of a cult. For a fleeting moment, I imagined being there. He must have read my mind because he volunteered, "it's strictly for owners."

I diverted my attention to the in-flight shopping magazine and to my seven-year old car that's in dire need of service and clean-up.

Of stunning mag covers

Stumbled upon a magazine cover. Stared at the stunning photo for a second and I seem to have figured out the process behind it. Sridevi's image has been superimposed on what I suspect is Kate Moss's. Then every pixel from Sri's body that falls outside the boundaries of Kate's body has been erased. Before you roll your eyes, know that realism comes from keeping Sri's face intact... well, at least the facial boundary.

So essentially, someone's face, someone else's body, chic jacket, image photoshopped to the hilt, the word 'fabulous' thrown in somewhere and you've got yourself a magazine cover! Boys and girls, that's your tip of the day.

ODing on TMI

Everywhere I look, it's confessions and more confessions. The reason couldn't be simpler. The urge to share far exceeds the wisdom to withhold. My social media timeline is a testimony to that. Whatever. One person’s poor judgment is another person’s entertainment. 

With FB graph search being rolled out to a large community of users this week, the topic couldn't be more topical. How much of venting satisfaction are we willing to get for potential foot-in-mouth embarrassment in the coming years? Food for thought.