Hot-pants Tea-party

Another Christmas come and gone meaninglessly. I don’t know what ‘meaning’ I expect out of it, but I guess I just think that if you don’t know or have a meaning, you shouldn’t have reason to acknowledge or celebrate the occasion either.
Santa is not enough of a meaning or reason.

In contemplation, I admitted without meaning to, that I am killing my spirit. I complain uselessly that my world is darkening and entirely too suffocating, but in truth I am probably the cause of it. The black is more within me than it is around me; if my world leeches the life out of me, then I am also leeching the life out of my world.
The Grinch. That’s exactly what I am. Every day of the year.

As much as I would like to hope otherwise, good things cannot be in store.
It is no more the time when I can say “I am becoming…” Whatever it is, I have already become.

Joyful, joyful.


“We're just alike. You think sex is so unimportant you don't do it. I think sex is so unimportant I don't care who I do it with.” – Niki

Air French Band – Sexy Boy
Whigfield – Gimme Gimme

Bravo, Capitan Obvious

I don’t have a bicycle. I remember when I had so wanted one and when I had one and wished it was better and when I’d stopped using it and wished I had the time to start again. I don’t have a bicycle anymore.
In cities such as this, it doesn’t matter what kind of vehicle you commandeer, you will eventually, knowingly or otherwise, willingly or otherwise, become a pestilence to the general public. Everyone tends to think that they are above average drivers, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Even if you did turn out to be above average, it only takes one ignorant dick to put that huge dent in your fender or his. Or hers.

One needn’t leave the city and then return to realize the awful state of our roads. Every day that you spend navigating the traffic gives you fresh instances of plain old moronicity. Pedestrians from hell… ineffective traffic police… and an unholy abundance of vehicles great and small. Tin-box buses that threaten to either explode or just come crashing down as they shake, rattle and rumble their way down the street. Auto-rickshaws that turn on a dime to reverse their direction of momentum; probably the most manoeuvrable machines in the universe, strangely beautiful and at the same time, utterly disgusting. And it’s amazing how many people can get their clunky two wheelers over foot high lane dividers just to beat a traffic signal.
On the whole, we tend to have absolutely NO traffic- (or for that matter, good-) sense at all. I don’t know if it’s something in the water, but it is something alright. After 10:00 am, one can just expect every traffic signal encountered to be completely choked for the remainder of the day. An ever increasing population coupled with a similarly rising economy leads to more and more vehicles vying for space that each believes it truly deserves. You will see construction workers on rickety bicycles with the exact carefree attitude that allows them to swerve across the street without so much as a backward glance at the traffic they are displacing behind them. At the same time, the Lords will take their chauffeured luxury cars down the narrowest of streets, incessantly blowing their horns for the lowly to make room.
Frustrating, disillusioning, blood-boiling affairs, but if one is ruffled by them, or so perturbed that one is afraid to experience it again, then one should understand that one has not the smallest right to live in this city, or indeed, country. For it is our given nature to live and grow in the midst of chaos and, by the looks of it, we are thriving.

Change topic: Celebrities. I often wonder what makes a celebrity… I supposed that you need to be ‘celebrated’ to be a celebrity. Wrong. Today says that if a whole lot of people know your name because/and if your paycheck/inheritance is made public… turns out you’re already a celebrity. Oh, and it also helps if you can entertain in some way. That comes in handy if you’re ever asked to justify why so many people should register your name in the parking lot of their mindspace.
But really, with all the people who are becoming famous overnight, I would imagine it’s sort of unnerving, even despicably unfair, for the already famous folk. They may well have had to work their way up through the layers of their respective industries by way of years of hard work/talent and agents of varying degrees and then suddenly in walks Johnny two-shoes with his unconvincing hairstyle and annoying confidence, rubbing shoulders with them after a stylist and two months of appearing on some sort of talent-search television show. From no-name to first-name basis with Jim Carrey.
And since I’m near the topic, I may as well go on a bit about TV: TV is boring. TV is a synonym for boring. TV equals reruns and reality shows, the instant success quickfix everything pill. The instant celebrity sea-monkey squad, except without the “sea” part…
Once you get used to the barrage of sub-quality offerings, even a moderately different idea seems interesting, effectively glorifying what would have otherwise been relegated to the halls of mediocrity.

Fin.


“You’ve got me...? Who’s got you?!” – Lois

New fav: Ellen Page

Donovan Leitch – Hurdy Gurdy Man
Iron Butterfly – In A Gadda Da Vida

The nature of the beast -or- Winterfall

Out of the blue, shocking news for me. Possibly not shocking, but definitely disrupting/disturbing. This kid I used to know a long time ago apparently died last week under mysterious circumstances. Scary stuff. I remember him ‘cos he squirted me good once, when I used to “know a long time ago” him. There we were, this little dude a coupla years younger and me… and there I was with two fistfuls of, well, two stupid water balloons and there he was with this big old gun, no, rifle. I needn’t spell out that he won. Stupid water balloons - once you’ve thrown them, whether or not you miss pathetically, you’re screwed. And when his gun was empty well and proper, he skipped off like it was nothing; but I didn’t forget that day of spray.
I’m glad I didn’t. Otherwise I would have had no reason to remember him at all.
Happy trails, dude.
I don’t deal with death very well; in fact I don’t deal with death at all. I know of quite a few people who have passed in the last few years; some family, some acquaintances, some known, some barely. But I don’t recall that I had much of a reaction to any of them, even while I was standing beside the open coffin, even when I dropped my handful of dirt. Pitiful.

I suppose I never actually learned how to react to death because I have been so shielded from it. Well, people death, anyway. I’ve buried budgies (and one parakeet) in the dead of night, though - pretty unpleasant business, that. More than a mild sense of remorse or a fleeting thought of a fleeting life, I cannot normally pour much emotion into it.
It’s really quite rude if you really think about it. Would I be satisfied if I died and a someone I knew didn’t care enough to wish that Superman would fly Superanticlockwise at Superspeed and turn back time so that Lois Lane would live again? I mean… so that I (not Lois) could live again?
People expect you to show, maybe even feel some grief, offer condolences, do the mopey, black tie and suit thing. And here I am, not. Pitiful.

In other news, you know who I like? Emma Roberts! (I do wish she’d stop saying ‘sleuthing’, though.) And MacGyver! And Herbert’s sister, Sara! Ok, I made that last one up; she doesn’t really have a brother named Herbert… or does she…??
And what the fuck is up with Calleigh Duquesne? What kind of messed up fucking world are we living in, where syllables are not spelled anything like the way they are pronounced?? Are we ALL SUPPOSED TO BE FRENCH??? George is getting upset!

In other other news, my barber disappeared. Very inconsiderate of him, actually… After my planning it out so I could enjoy the weekend without having to waste time getting my hair cut and then leaving work early Monday evening so I could first watch Jim and Pam get it together before heading off to Mr. B… he’s not there! His entire fricking shop just up and left… disappeared, I tell you! Really obnoxious chap, he is. Not only was my masterplan completely ruined, I’ll have to go a while with this awful hair before I can find a new someone to trim it for me.
And, what of our conversations? Did he conveniently forget the long and decidedly awkward silences while he snipped and I sniffed? The unnecessary nods of appreciation when our eyes accidentally met in the mirror. The abrupt bursts of chatter when I finally thought of something grown up enough to say out loud and the golden pauses that followed when I had said it all too soon? Where will he find those moments now??
The Ungrateful Man.


Foo Fighters – The Pretender
Miami Sound Machine – Conga

I’ll wear those shoes if you will wear that dress

Everyone wants to be a badass, but if everyone is, no one will be. Just like everyone wants to be unique; at least everyone with a decent sense of self. But in trying so hard, half of the lot end up being ‘different’ in the same old way. And for those who don’t want to be different, well, they’ve already begun imitating somebody else in that case.
You only get to be different when YOU decide how you want to be, without the influence of external stimulus. Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury of being able to think for ourselves. In a world of microwave ‘gourmet’ meals and instant gratification, who has the time or energy to invent new and refreshing ways of expressing their originality? Instead, let’s do the next best smartest thing and be like that guy on TV who appears to be cool because he’s different. Then we’ll be different, just like he… uhh… is. Hooray, mission accomplished! Clueless monkeys.

If I seem like a complete mess, a total fuzzbrain or an isolated imbecile, it’s not an altogether inaccurate perception. But at least I know (or think) that it’s in my own way. If there is someone else who also thinks they are a complete mess, mediocre to extreme fuzzbrain or any kind of imbecile, feel free to be that way but just don’t copy me!

That was such an empty statement because there are so many clueless people searching for an identity out there, that we are all in pretty much the same boat. Clueless, not because they want to be or don’t know any better; clueless because their lives have drifted to where they are no longer fully in control. There is hardly any value in anything much anymore and most people who are supposedly happy probably only think they are happy because they think they have the things they have been told they need to be happy. Now there's something you can tell your friends!
But it’s not as if that is going to stop anyone from being ‘happy’ at the first chance they get.


As someone said very recently, in an unexpectedly entertaining movie, “It’s not the age, it’s the mileage!” Time is still the greatest thief, as one already knows, but it is also a boon that not very many of us make the best use of. You may say that you are out of time, but up to that moment, all you had was time! A few minutes more when you badly want it and suddenly time is a bringer of joy. It’s hard to be angry at a frustration that often reverses its role without needing any prompting. In another form, it is a grocery list item to be given, taken and bartered, but still having the same effects as its nascent occurrences.
So, although it remains a creeping assassin, I’m always grateful for the gift of time and those who give it. That girl might know.


Damien Rice – The Blower’s Daughter
Coldplay – Warning Sign
Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch – Good Vibrations

Black within Black

Many choose to say that “people are basically good” and bad people are the result of bad circumstances. I say people are fundamentally assholes.

Just assholes who behave themselves most of the time, because it’s what is expected if they don’t want anyone else to be an asshole right back at them. Why do you think it’s easier to be a dick than it is to be well mannered as the Earl of Warwickshire? And power/responsibility brings it out slowly so you can’t feel it emerging; by the time you know it’s out, you don’t see the difference anymore. I have dealt with hundreds of people who would have all liked to tell me to go fuck myself. It’s true and I wouldn’t have blamed them. But they didn’t. These days I barely stop short of telling people to go screw themselves and their brothers at the slightest cause of irritation.
When I first saw it, I thought I was going through an “asshole phase” like a number of behavioural “phases” I’ve seen over the last 2 years, but now the sum of all those phases includes a more than adequate helping of that addictive product called “Prick”. It’s already hard enough for people to not dislike me at first meeting, so here I go further confounding things for myself.

In less than a month, life has gotten a lot more complicated than I would have expected. Surprises have hit me in the face and I’m not in any kind of position from where I can reasonably well decipher the consequences of either rolling with them or going against the flow. It’s probably just life as everyone knows it, but I’ve never been found especially resourceful at that sort of thing. Typical.


I’ve complained plenty about the state of our country, our traffic, our close mindedness, our religion-mania, our cinema and our people. While this gives me ample conversational fodder, it also presents me with an annoying conundrum to contemplate.
The easy to choose option is escape; move away to a place that actually offers me everything I ask for and grow old in contentedness. But neither side achieves anything real in the end.
The second choice is to stay and believe that we will eventually grow up. A large part of this belief is about modifying the definition of what is acceptable and setting expectations with a realistic upper limit in mind. Recognition of progress is another wheel on the carriage. I need to appreciate what I do have before I begin to want what I don’t have.
Presently, the so called cream of the social crop operates almost completely in the English language, setting the apparent benchmark for the rest of us to define our level of cool. It’s probably because I have been so influenced within the walls of an English establishment, rarely having to use another tongue, but rather than trying to belong among hip company, I make an effort to be acceptable to proper Hindi speakers. I mayn’t have seemed like much of a patriotic bastard thus far, or for that matter, ever, but the national language has a je ne sais quoi that quite appeals to me. It gifts you a permanent sense of identity. I have cribbed about the tendency of Indians to clump together wherever they have settled in foreign countries, but I would rather be tagged an Indian abroad, than just another coloured foreigner.
Plus there’s nothing like the look of a white dude wondering what the fuck’s going on when you switch over to the language of home.

For now, I’d rather drive on the left side of the road. For now, I’d rather miss the blonde with the cute ass. For now, I’d rather watch a cultural re-emergence.
But that doesn’t mean I’m setting down my martini.


I don’t get all these commercial advertisements and movies that show people lying in bed with just their feet sticking out from under the covers. Who the fuck sleeps like that?? When I’m in bed I like to make sure my feet are firmly tucked in beneath the covers, regardless of how well the rest of me is covered. What the fuck is the point of using the covers if you’re going to have cold feet all the while? Unless it’s hot… and in that case you wouldn’t need the covers anyway! Morons.

Pearl Jam – Yellow Ledbetter

“You give me the most gorgeous sleep that I’ve ever had
And when it’s really bad I guess, it’s not that bad.” – Underneath It All

Last of the Deserters

I’m miserable. It isn’t really any surprise, but I’ve suddenly begun to feel it hard. All the years of barely caring about most of the people I’ve known have finally come to fruition now that I have no one left beside me. I feel more alone than ever but I cannot bring myself to keep returning to old company; the change was always inevitable. From my point of view, this is just me being honest. If I can’t take the company, I would rather not fake it either.

After a whirlwind year during which things only kept looking better, in keeping with all universal laws of gravitation, conservation and order, the post-climactic decline has begun. The answer, the solution to stem the descent, lies in my own hands, within tightly clenched fists. Like with a sleeping infant, the fingers need to be pried open gently but with sufficient intent to let out the light. It’s just harder to open the fingers when they’re your own and something inside you is constantly labouring to keep them shut. Stories of inspiration provide momentary succour but eventually wash off as they would off the feathers of a mallard. Instead, recent months have seen the rise of new demons, self-imposed solitude, unhealthy eating and a blatant drop in work efficiency and the very desire to excel. I know where I am heading because I have already lived there and a second visit is most undesirable. The return journey this time will undoubtedly be much harder.

Memories of stagnant relationships and decaying friendships are a few of the many destructive components that make a disturbed mind. Discord between the heart and brain doesn’t help either. Even if I know what I have to do to stand back up, the willpower to make it so is conspicuous in its absence. Sloth is a cancerous vice awaiting a challenger. At a time like this, although I wouldn’t admit it under interrogation, I need a hand that will point me in the right direction and training wheels to keep me from falling while I get back on the path. I need a goal. I need to find a little humility and start working again. The recent high has left me literally high up on a horse so that my focus has been replaced by complaisance and maybe even a contempt for what helped me get this far. Ungrateful and now ashamed. I need all those things that one can recommend… I need a hobby, I need sport, I need motivation, I need to be decisive, I need to re-assess my priorities, I need a breath of fresh air, I need to get away from it all, I need a new perspective.
I need to go out and get hammered.

I need a companion.


When the time comes to choose between what is right and what is easy… I can’t complete the sentence exactly because of what the first part states. I know what the right answer should be, but at the same time I can see that it is not what I’m doing these days so choosing the right answer will not be short of hypocrisy.

Speaking of time, Time is the greatest thief ever. It comes and goes without sound or warning but claims what it wants at will. No amount of safeguard will be enough; this thief cannot be seen, cannot be stopped and what it takes can never be regained. That however, does not stop my reminiscing of the age when matters were simple. When innocence was a virtue to be treasured. When demons only existed under beds and in fairy tales, easily banished by the flick of a light switch.
I don’t generally display much affection for children, but looking at them takes me back to when I was so wide eyed, wild haired and ever chasing the elusive “something shiny”. If I knew right then what I know now, those days would have been so much more precious while I spent them. But, as I once heard a seemingly wise lady say, while walking in the Petrified Forest, “You always tend to look back in retrospect”. I could have died laughing.


Madonna – Take A Bow
Metallica – Enter Sandman

... Trix are for Kids

I’ve missed most of the Formula One season so far this year due to unforeseen circumstances, as most often are, so I’m only just starting to catch up. The one sport I actually follow with more than my eyes is the one that, unfortunately, draws a huge wannabe posse around here… dumbasses cheering for the red just to be in esteemed company. Tifosi, my ass. Motorsport is not soccer or tennis or any of those other games which are comprehensible to the everyday moron.

I don’t have anything against women in sport, as long as they compete against women ONLY. As far as I’m concerned, they can either watch and be silent or participate, but only when other women are involved (Although it would be incredibly easy to get sucked into the whole “women drivers” embargo right here, I am restraining myself due to constraints of time and sensibility). None of that “equal rights” bullshit. Feminism is the sorriest excuse for a movement since mankind was invented. It only succeeds in accomplishing the geometric opposite of what its supposed goals are.
A woman shouldn’t be competing in or commenting on men’s sport on the same plane as a man unless she’s exceptionally good at it. I won’t name names, but there are a few women today who can do with this advice. A guy, on the other hand, can often get away with some pretty mediocre shit.
The only formula feminity (or femininity??) that I know of are the pit lane chicks that glossy up the photo shoots and shade the drivers while they wait on the starting straight. That’s the way it should be, eye candy and nothing more. But now ESPN has a woman sitting AND SPEAKING beside an accomplished driver, hosting the show on raceday. Paula… baby… stick to Friday releases and Billboard countdowns and leave the men’s stuff to the men who know their stuff.

At the same time, in a city where pedestrians and motorists alike believe that they own the roads, I’m the one who, instead of swerving to avoid a woman crossing the street, waits to lets her pass. A guy in her position wouldn’t get the time of day from me, though. It isn’t purposeful chivalrous intent, but more of habit. The part that I really enjoy is the somewhat embarrassed, somewhat confused, somewhat amused and totally surprised smile that almost always flashes across their lips immediately after.


It’s no secret that the earth is in deep shit. Or rather, deep shit is on the earth. We’ve polluted, crowded and stripped it so badly that we’ve run ourselves out of home. Moon property is going cheap on the realty market with a highly optimistic idea of beginning to murder it too, starting 2015 (Nevermind that we have only ever managed to get two dudes to scout the damn place; and that is debatable too, apparently). Fossil fuels are rapidly vanishing as a natural resource while the world continues to guzzle without a care. Global warming has always been around, as a mild curse word that came up in classrooms but not where it really mattered. These days it can even be heard around celebrities and social activists but still not where it will really make a difference.

I do NOT believe that one person can make a difference, anywhere. And nothing was ever solved by a concert. It takes a concerted effort by a competent government that pushes the populace in the right direction. Whatever happened to government sponsored initiative?
Although it’s a smart thing, it’s stupid to ask someone to plant a tree. Unless you have a yard or a farm or just generally like to squat on public property, that isn’t likely to happen. But if we cannot contribute towards the solution, we can at least reduce how much of a part of the problem we are. Economize on electrical usage. Walk. Recycle. They all roll off the tongue quite easily, no?
This silly country seems to be playing the little brother card so that we can sit idly by and let the big boys make or at least attempt to make the major effort to clean up. According to yet another imbecilic “study”, apparently our “public” has the highest level of “concern” about the environment in the world. But that's where it stops, ’cos those same concerned assholes continue to disrespect public property, drive over a five minute walk and have fifteen lamps on at a time in their homes.
And while everything is going down the toilet, petty struggle over nuclear deals goes on in the background… sure, EXACTLY what we need!

At this stage, it’s no more about fixing the problem, we can only try to prolong the inevitable by making sure that we don’t doom our immediate generations. The beginning of the end arrived a long time ago.


I’ve actually had a pretty damn good year after many attempts at it and with the two four coming up in a coupla days, I’m not all that unhappy for once.

The Smashing Pumpkins – 1979
Marcy Playground – Sex and Candy

Silly rabbit...

They can’t tell us
They’re just jealous
‘Cos they don’t understand.

The traveling walkway drones intermittently in the background as I struggle to position my buttocks in the tiny seat so that I can lean back comfortably while taking the weight off my aching left leg. After walking with an embarrassing limp all day, I need some relief.
Looking around me, it’s like I’m already back where I started from. The faces, the voices… I almost know them. I may as well have been sitting at a restaurant in the city. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or pleased at the entirely too familiar surroundings.

A young man in a suit takes a seat at a reasonable distance away from me. Of course, I haven’t given him much of a choice in the matter since I’ve extended my arms to occupy slightly more than three seats. Indians most often tend not to understand the concept of personal space and in fact, perhaps even without intending to, do exactly the opposite of respecting it. The stretching is a conscious effort at establishing a boundary.
At closer inspection, it isn’t a very good suit. In fact, it isn’t even a suit at all. The trousers are a couple of shades lighter than the jacket and are missing the pin stripes. The shirt and tie do not match either in contrast or colour. He clearly isn’t very used to dressing up. Either that or he just doesn’t know any better. Why don’t they teach dress sense in schools?

I have more than an hour to spare, so I figure that I may as well rest my eyes for a while. It’s been more than a day already.
Then I have to worry about snoring or worse, letting my jaw fall open like a drooling monstrosity. Between maintaining an acceptable facial expression and having to shift in my seat every few minutes, I’m concentrating more on positioning my body rather than relaxing it. This isn’t working.
I open my eyes again and try to drown out the sights and sounds instead of focusing on them. In doing so, I am forced to watch the uncomfortably pleasant old couple making mundane conversation while sharing home made sandwiches from a Tupperware case, in what is apparently a very early breakfast. Sleep drifts from my mind, replaced by cynicism at their seeming contentedness.

Scratch that… before I’m done being cynical, my eyelids begin drooping of their own accord. A little girl skips back and forth across my field of vision every so often to read out the time on the big digital clock to her nervous mother; her shiny red shoes bouncing off the carpet, prolonging my lingering state of consciousness.
In the days of innocence I knew a girl named Dorothy…


Tomoyasu Hotei – Battle Without Honor or Humanity
Gheorghe Zamfir – The Lonely Shepherd

Again

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Barely literate motherfuckers, screwing the country out of a step in the right direction. The GOVERNMENT wants to ban the sale of condoms… well, A condom anyway.

I was surprised to discover that they actually manufacture and retail cool stuff like this here – it’s a ribbed condom with a battery powered vibrating ring. So what do the backward scum running this particular state do? Call for a ban on the product… it’s a sex toy and apparently sex toys are “tainted portions of western culture that we can do without.” Stupid sons of bitches.
In this goddam country with too many goddam people who just can’t stop squirting out more people, anything that puts the brakes on the population rise is as good as a gift from the gods. Shit, they should start giving them away in promotionals on the street! But instead of realizing that this will encourage men to slip on a rubber before banging, these no-brain dipshits choose to reject it.

Pricks, this “tainted culture” was the need of the hour right when your mommas couldn’t keep their legs together long enough to stop the foundations of your asses being laid.
But this country has always been too damn stupid to understand that more kids mean more mouths to feed and less space to live in. Instead it has always seen the picture as more kids mean more sources of income to the family. And then comes female foeticide, while illiteracy continues to compound the problem.

I feel sorry for the children. They are born into a country with an old tradition of stupidity that passes down from generation to generation and before they know it they’ve inherited the stupidity and begun passing brain cells in their daily excrement.

More ridiculosity?? They want to ban a social networking site throughout the country.
Why? Religious and political sentiments. Damn… if I had a buck for every time some new pretender mouths off on this religious/political/patriotic/bullshit bullshit, I would never finish calculating how rich I had become.
An unfortunate side effect of Google, orkut.com is frequented by an enormous number of users largely including South Asians with too much time and too little brainage. Accepted, the site is a pain in the ass and that is pretty much how I feel about all “social networking” websites. But if you want to block out a site, at least want it for the right reason.

Dickheads, this website, as with all “social networking” sites, is a haven for voyeuristic perverts. Know this. Screw your faux religious sentiment and screw your fake nationalist pride. When too many people begin to use public forums for slander, mis-representation and invasion of privacy as a means to feed their fetishes and frustrations, THAT is a valid reason to want to block.
If you can’t stop the pervs from peeping through the hole, you take away the hole.


I’m going to build me an ark and pray for rain. The country has been taking an incessant dump on itself (however the hell that is possible) and it’s about time someone hit the flush.

Stiff Upper Lip

I’m on my way home and again I’ll have to turn back the Blogger clock by a day so that I can fit this into May.

03:00, June 2nd, Changi, Singapore… I have no other alternative but to find a quiet spot where I can plug my computer into a power outlet and connect to one of the wireless hotspots here. Sleep is not an option for now. With nothing else to do for six and a half hours, I write. Although the mood hasn’t quite struck me, I still need to make the date.

I’ve had a good couple of months and rather than regretting that it’s over, I’ll choose to be glad that I had them. At the start of the year I was afraid that there was nothing to look forward to until my I took my winter break at the end of the year. Then this happened and it’s been incredibly refreshing. Work didn’t change by very much, but the environment made all the difference.
But again, I don’t listen to myself very much, so yes, I am regretting that it is over.

One thing that this trip has brought back to the surface is my biggest fear. No, not the fear of a whole year without anything to look forward to; I can deal with monotony one way or another.
It has tortured me ever so long: that dreadful moment when someone or worse, everyone realizes that I’m nothing more than a big, fat, fucking fake. I don’t even know what I know and I’m more convinced of what I don’t know. But as long as I keep up the façade, people will believe that I’m doing something worth something. Years of education, people’s time and money, down the crapper. It’s quite sickening.
Friends too. I don’t know that I give back more than or even as much as I take from them.

Anyway fuckers, and I refer to anyone who happens to read this, this is not your opportunity to call this stereotypical blogger emotional venting. This is not a web log and I am not a web logger. These are my thoughts placed here because I will otherwise lose them forever very soon. If you happen to read them, I cannot pluck out your eyes or drain your brain. I am not omnipresent and/or omnipotent because I am not a God.
You are however, free to think otherwise anytime you want.


Wednesday evening was a melancholy one as I stuffed my suitcases and worried about my botched internet check-in attempt. That aisle seat I wanted looked really far away right then. Music was on, but it was mainly serving the purpose of background noise. Suddenly I realized the song that was playing and everything vanished. Restart, on full blast and that moment made my entire fucking day! California Dreamin’. There’s never anything quite like some good, old fashioned, hard earned MUSIC to put the spirit back into things.

Today we see the murder of music. Very, very little of what poses as music, being created today has the stamina to weather the years so that future generations can appreciate what their predecessors appreciated.
Music used to stand for something. Liberty. Expression. Whatever you want to call that something. The same meaning is quickly being eroded by the very people who were born as a byproduct of it.


Sometimes, the easiest way to lose something is to want it too much. This is nice, but it’s horribly infuriating that I can’t remember where I heard it.

Coincidence?? I heard Bang-a-Gong on three different movies on three different channels on the same day – Saturday the 6th. Either T-Rex is still very much in fashion or something’s really going on!!
And that’s not the first time anything like this has happened. I’ve watched six different Lauren Holly movies in a single week, again different channels, all found while flipping through. Then again, three separate movies linking to Alfonse Cuaron in a single weekend. I had never heard of him before that.
I have been involved in so MANY coincidences like this, that I have stopped trying to count or recollect them all anymore. Weird life.

“TV on the Radio” is an actual band? WTFF?!!
I didn’t know that when I wrote the lyric.


Nelly Furtado – Say It Right
Black Box – Ride On Time

Heart

I’ve finally moved outside the homeland and quite unexpectedly, I’ve been having a good time. I didn’t expect to enjoy one bit of this, but here I am, wishing I had this chance sooner. I’m not an accommodating kind or the adaptive type, but I’m taking to it pretty darn well. I’m kinda worried that I disassociated from home too soon, though.
Moving between hotel rooms became like second nature for a few weeks and suddenly finding myself without anything to do on some weekend now has become an ordeal, as though it was never that way before I left home.

Alcohol has been a good friend and I miss her when she leaves me. But she always comes back; maybe I’m the one who always goes back, but there’s no need to get into the specifics of it all.
And ham. And Twizzlers!! Mmm, ham and Twizzlers…

April! It’s over!! I can now reasonably begin counting the days till the end of it all. Back to mundanity. That’s not even a fucking word, but I always care!
I miss April already.
Actually I miss the awesome end of March AND all of April. May don’t look so hot.

Happy Day, Mom. Early.


Today is actually the first day of May but I will pretend it’s still April. I’m good at pretending. Ask anyone I’ve worked with, they’ll tell you I’m probably not. And that’s why I’m so damn good!

Oh, and you can safely begin ignoring that picture to the left side there. It would be more than accurate to say that it’s been MANY moons since I resembled that.



Sophie B. Hawkins – Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover
Gnarls Barkley – Crazy

A Biker's Dozen

I don't have digital
I don't have diddly squat
It's not having what you want
It's wanting what you've got

Thank you, Sheryl. Now on to the blabber.


I am easily threatened but I am not easily intrigued. Now while those two emotions may not often be found in the same sentence, I have a point.

That girl sent me a link to some old blog, some old where, on the unfortunate network. After thus many years of practice, I should have listened to me; I didn’t. After reading one post I was curious about how someone could write and be that much like me. I read on, intrigued. It didn’t get worse. Eloquence and soul in one nifty package. I was suddenly considering reconsidering my “All Bloggers are Assholes” decision. The strange, uncomfortable feeling remained buried deep within, where I didn’t tickle it.

Then he/she/it started spewing words like “Blogosphere” and “Individualist Philosophy”. I don’t need to say how that strange, uncomfortable feeling surfaced like the Titanic on the back of a giant whale. For a second I was almost disappointed that I hadn’t found a similar entity after all; a pretender, at best. Then the defence came out in full force realization. Kiss my royal ass. I may say a lot of crazy shit but it’s still MY crazy shit. I was back from the verge of being un-unique.


No pretenders, no contenders, no part-timers and no shoe-shiners. Okay, that last bit was just for the rhyme and you should have got that. I hate having to explain myself.
There is just one me and if there are two then I was first anyway!

And I’m happy for it.



Metallica – The Unforgiven
The Doors – Light My Fire

Who Dini?

As usual, I’m tired. Weary of the un-creative rut I’m scrambling around in, trying to find higher ground. Every day, the rut goes deeper and it will only be harder to climb out when the time to run finally comes. Until then all I have to do is walk the line while looking to the horizon.

But every now and then, the time comes when I need to drop my bags, turn around, crack my neck, furrow my brow and grind my teeth.
I want to stand up with an unapologetic FUCK YOU to all the people for whom I have to be a sycophant and/or hypocrite.
I want to discard macho stereotype. So what if I enjoy a good romance?
I want to be free from the expectations of people who have willingly imprisoned themselves within societal confines.

And although the horizon remains as dark and distant as ever, the odd ray of light helps to pick up them bags and start trudging again.
Everyday life has its way of dulling the senses till you lose all feeling. A few sparks every once and again is all it takes to be reminded that you still mean something, even if nothing means anything to you.

And I’m happy for it.

Bonnie Raitt – Something to Talk About
The Killers – Bones

Goodnight Seattle

Zooey was on Frasier... Yay, Miss D!!


That is all.


My Chemical Romance - Welcome To The Black Parade
Rascall Flatts - Life Is A Highway

Dirty Little Secret

Christmas is long past and it never even felt Christmassy. All I cared about was a break from work and before I knew it, it was Christmas and then it was gone. That was it and that was my “Happy Holiday”. Of course, things got a LOT better starting around New Year’s, but the season was lost. Again.

This isn’t my first Christmas crib and it probably won’t be my last, but then that’s what I normally do around here.
December is now the embodiment of innocence lost. The days I used to wait for with bated breath now mean nothing to me. In days afore, 25th November would start the warmth flowing as the month-long countdown began. I so miss the days when there was a Santa and staying awake till midnight on Christmas Eve was an ordeal, but well worth it on the off chance that I’d see the jolly dude. Childish awe, reverence and excitement bundled together to make one tingly kid. Or even waking up later at night and looking for presents that I may or may not have deserved, but nevertheless, got. So what if Santa Claus was more Mr. Christmas than Jesus? If you were naughty in one book, you were naughty in the other too!
25th November has been replaced by 30th March, as the end of the Fourth Quarter always precedes the annual appraisal. If you know you’re on Santa’s nice-list, Christmas is on 1st May, when you see the first deposit of your incremented pay. Joy to the world, baby.

Christmas is supposed to bring with it a sense of good cheer and brotherhood and kindness and glad-to-be-alive-ness along with the mandatory presents. Fine. So where does all this disappear to for the rest of the time? Christmas is not about a day, it’s about a spirit. Christmas is everyday because it IS about a sense of good cheer and brotherhood and kindness and glad-to-be-alive-ness. But I guess nobody much sees it that way. I think that’s why I miss Christmas every year. When you’re so used to seeing indifference, you don’t recognize the good stuff when it actually comes along. And then it vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

I’ve only been writing biographical shit lately and it’s tiresome. I need to get more upbeat. Next time.


At least this holiday season left me with one good memory. For the first time in a long time, I helped decorate the Christmas Tree. Mom and I, 1:30 in the am, listening to AC/DC and Bob Dylan, hanging sparkly stuff on the tree.
Until she started singing along to Highway to Hell. I didn’t know whether to be proud or afraid…


Merry Christmas, pricks... and goodwill to all.


More


No Doubt – Underneath It All
Bob Marley – Redemption Song
Jimmy Buffet - Margaritaville

“It’s not a pet, it’s a wild invalid!” – George Costanza


You weren't REALLY expecting a secret now, were you??