The Shoat Statements

The Last Statement

2011-04-10T22:56:00.000-04:00

It's been quite a while, huh?

I started this blog because at that time, I had the world's most boring job and I was looking for a way to pass the time. Before I knew it, this blog had turned into a weird mishmash of friend-diary-activist platform-like thingy. Often, it was the only place where I could truly be myself and tell the world what I was really feeling, safely wrapped in the cloaks of anonymity.

I told a handful of people about this alter ego of mine. Some of them kept the secret, some of them did not. Others stumbled here accidentally and figured out it was me. Yet others thought that the best thing to do on an anonymous blog was not just 'out' the blogger but everyone she wrote about.

Now, too many people know that this is me. I no longer feel so comfortable airing my thoughts here. Friends, former friends, frenemies, colleagues, former colleagues, acquaintances, ex-boyfriends, girl friends of ex-boyfriends, ex-girl friends of ex-boyfriends...you get the general idea. The blogosphere has become too small for my comfort.

Somewhere along the way, it dawned on me that there were people out there - mostly strangers - who actually read my blog. Commented on it. Enjoyed it. I think that was by far the best thing to come out of this experience. So here's a HUGE thank you to everyone who ever stopped by, who shared a few words with me, smiled at me, hugged me when I needed it and made this blogger's day brighter.

This blog will remain open to comments, but this will be my last post.

Thank you, to all my wonderful, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious readers. I hope I'll meet you again somewhere, in a brand new avatar.

Be good, be safe and enjoy life.

Constitutionalized Tyranny

2010-09-08T22:28:00.000-04:00

I remember watching Mangal Pandey with my father, and he remarked that India won our independence for us. When I asked him what he meant, he said that the Indian independence struggle was a bloody one; and we reaped the benefits, with very little effort. I'm beginning to think that he was right; perhaps that is why Sri Lankans seem to value freedom, sovereignty and their country so little.

At one point in recent history, we elected a party to power who all but signed over part of Sri Lanka to the LTTE, and we seemed to be ruled by a consortium of foreign nationals who had everything but this country's best interests at heart. We valued the country's sovereignty so little that we didn't mind letting everyone else rule our land. Several elections, many bombs and yet another war later, I thought we were finally going to move forward. I remember watching TV on May 19, 2009, and thinking that we, the generation born into this war, were finally free. At long last, this country would prosper.

No such luck. An election between the devil and the deep blue sea had the voters choose the devil. And so here we are, watching as 60% of the voters constitutionalize tyranny. What else did they expect when they elected him back into power? We have just shackled generations of Sri Lankans to come with the 18th Amendment. I cannot think of a harsher curse.

30 years from now, we could still have the same president.

30 years from now, we could still have the same president.

That is a very very very scary thought. But maybe by then, they'll officially call him king. Because that is what he will be, right? In fact, that is what he is now, minus the crown. We are not a monarchy. We moved beyond that. Or so I thought. But infinite regression seems to be in vogue.

30 years we suffered for our great grandparents mistakes. Now we just ensured that our great grandchildren will suffer for ours.

Conquering The Crackberry

2010-07-28T11:18:00.001-04:00

I have always had good, long lasting relationships with my cellphones. All my Nokias and Sony Ericssons have been good to me, and I adored them in turn. None of us ever broke up, we each moved onto greener pastures after several years; some of them even hung around to form quirky threesomes.

And then I met my Blackberry, with whom I was certain that I would only have a casual fling. I mean, I didn't get it because I wanted a Blackberry, I just got it because it came with the contract. Yet, over time, the Blackberry turned into my Crackberry. Everything was on it, and I didn't even realise that I had become a crack addict.

Then, exactly two weeks after the warranty expired (I swear, these companies do it on purpose!), the unthinkable happened. Murphy's Law decided to kill my Crackberry. I went to sleep Sunday night, content with the knowledge that my Crackberry would wake me on time for work. I woke up Monday morning and the room was eerily quiet. I picked up my Crackberry to see why it had fallen asleep on my, only to find that it had presumably consumed too much crack during my slumber, because it wasn't working. At all.

I was greeted to a white screen with the image of a half charged battery with a red line striking it through. It wouldn't switch on or off. It wouldn't charge. Taking the battery out didn't help. Taking the SIM and the media card out didn't help. Doing it all several times didn't help.With bile rising in my stomach, I turned boxes upside down to find the warranty, only to find out that it had expired two weeks ago.

I went to work in a state of panic, and was unable to think until lunch time, when I went the Fido dealer who sold me the phone. The dealer was very nice, very polite and very helpful. And very unsuccessful. They tried different chargers, different batteries and different phones. The verdict? There was nothing wrong with the battery, so it was either the hardware or the software for the phone. I was out of warranty, so they couldn't help, but they called tech support for me to see if that would be fruitful. He also very helpfully suggested that I wait till May 2011 to get a new phone at a cheap price, and settle for a second hand phone for now, if the phone could not be resuscitated.

Tech support from Fido was almost as helpful as the dealer. They said I would have to try and restore the phone, meaning that I would lose all my data (I was ok with that, at this point) but if that failed, it was time for a new phone. Of course, I would have to wait till Tuesday to try the restore it, because the CD with the software was at home along with the USB cable, and the computer with a CD drive was at work.

I spent the rest of Monday suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms, and my phone, having consumed all the crack, retained the same bizarre expression on its face all day. And then all night.

First thing Tuesday morning at work, I installed the Blackberry Desktop Manager and tried to follow the detailed instructions emailed to me by Fido Tech Support (I told you they were super nice). But of course, because Murphy was still hovering about, the instructions and the program didn't sync, and the program didn't recognize the phone. After reinstalling the software a second time and going through the same motions, I tried a different tactic. I downloaded the Blackberry Desktop Manager from the Blackberry website and tried it, but again, it was a no go.

I refused to give up, and called Fido Tech Support once again. We spent a good 40 minutes on the phone, trying to resuscitate my Crackberry. He suggested I try a different USB port, the whole battery out-in thingy, restarting the computer, checking the battery terminals...all failed. He finally suggested that I call Blackberry themselves. And start searching Craigslist, because he said that he didn't think my phone would pull through.

I was in full panic mode now. The withdrawal symptoms had reached epic levels, and the thought of having to spend $300 on a second hand phone was starting to cause an aneurysm.

The call to Blackberry didn't help. At all. Unlike Fido, they very calmly informed me that since I was out of warranty, I could pay $50 just to speak to them and see if they could help, or ship the phone to them for $200 for repairs. Or, I should just invest in a new phone.

My Crackberry was all but pronounced dead, and in between hallucinations and popping nerves, I started going through Craigslist listings. Woe is me!

However, I still refused to give up hope entirely. Surfing the net, I found several others had also found their Crackberries to suffer from the same crack over dose that mine was going through. Unfortunately, most of those threads ended in tales of expensive paper weights. And the remedy in the few (three or four) cases that had conquered the crack? They had dropped their Crackberries on wooden floors at least three times.

My home & office are both carpeted, but why should that stop me in my final acts of desperation, right? Thus started my final attempts, which went something like this:
I took out the media card and the SIM, put them back in, took them out again and put them back in, repeating the prodeure alternately. In between the above procedure, I dropped the phone on the floor 3 times (as instructed, but on a carpeted floor). Simultaneously, I restarted the computer a random amount of times and reinstalled the Blackberry Desktop Manager on the computer 3 times. I also randomly took the battery in and out a gazillion times, and kept trying to reboot the phone by connecting it to the computer.

As my vein was about to pop, I noticed the Crackberry flicker as I connected it to the computer for the gazillion and first time. Instead of the Blackberry-on-crack image, there was that of an hour glass. Was this merely a hallucination induced by my withdrawal symptoms, or was this for real? I gulped some water and checked, and there it was...the hour glass symbol.

As I watched, the hour glass symbol stayed on screen for almost 5 minutes. And then, at long last, the Fido logo appeared! I immediately disconnected the Crackberry from the computer, and watched as the phone came back to life, data intact, battery almost dead.

*****************

It has been a little less than 24 hours now, and I am glad to report that after sufficient charging, the Crackberry seems to be back to its usual self. I too, am no longer suffering from withdrawal symptoms, though I still find myself checking the phone's pulse, just to make sure that it is still alive.

I am glad to have finaaly conquered the Crackberry and to have defied all diagnosis of death beyond repair.

I hope that it remains by my side for many more months to come.

Being Part Of The Pride

2010-07-24T09:09:00.005-04:00

There is something about having over 1.3 million people cheer you on that is quite indescribable. That's how I felt when I took part in the Pride Parade 2010 in Toronto earlier this month.

Let's rewind. I had signed up as a volunteer for the Global Human Rights booth, and hadn't actually planned on taking part in the grand parade. There was a day of training which went off quite well, and in the week leading up to Pride, we were loaded with reading material, to prepare us for our chosen volunteer sections.

Pride in Toronto was everything that you've seen or read about, and then some! There was such a sense of freedom, openness and unity that is very difficult to describe, and I was so proud to be a part of it.

The best part of it, for me, was something that happened when I was volunteering at the booth. While I was gathering signatures for a petition, this elderly gentleman walked up to me. He started by shaking my hand, and saying that when he was my age, he would have been jailed just for being himself. He didn't look so old, and my confusion must have been apparent on my face, because he went on to tell me that he was born in 1937, and what it was like growing up in those times, knowing that you were gay and the fear that was part and parcel of that knowledge. I could see the tears in his eyes as he spoke; he wasn't just crying about what they as a community had to endure, but also over how much had been achieved in 30 years. And then he thanked me for being part of the youth (and here he ended up using that term quite liberally) that still worked towards bringing these freedoms and rights to other parts of the world, and at that point, I felt my own eyes tear up. It was such a touching, happy and sad moment all at the same time.

Then, while I was at the booth, part of the organising committee came and asked me if I would like to march at the parade with the Global Human Rights for Queers contingent, and I was like hell yeah! Completely unexpected, totally up my alley.

So at 1.30 in the afternoon, with the sun blazing down upon us, I found myself standing in line, holding a placard in one hand, the main banner in the other (yup, not only did I get to march, I got to march right in front, helping to hold the banner) while the temperature hovered somewhere between 29 to 30 degrees.

The parade got under way in about 45 minutes, and for the next 2 hours (and 2 km or more), I didn't notice the heat, the distance or the time. There were approximately 1.3 million people watching us, cheering, clapping, appreciating (and dousing us with water!)...I felt like I was part of something so much bigger than just me...that I was doing something meaningful, and that people this the kind of thing that I as meant to do.

It was just an incredible, indescribable, awesome feeling.

Glam Nation Live!

2010-07-22T21:40:00.006-04:00

On June 19, 2010, Adam Lambert proved to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that America does not know how to vote. As part of his Glam Nation tour, Adam Lambert was playing exactly one concert in Toronto at the Molson Amphitheater. Guess who had to be there?

Fortunately for me, the tickets weren't as prohibitively priced as Bon Jovi tickets, so I was able to get a good seat right up front. I couldn't wait for the 19th!

The ticket said the concert started at 3.30 pm, which was strangely early, but I thought what the hell, let me be there on time. I should have had the good sense to realise that it looked suspicious, and in this day and age, it would have taken me all of 3 seconds to find the schedule on the internet. But noooooo, silly me, I just went to the arena at 3.30 pm.

I was quite surprised by the crowd - naturally, there were far more females than there were males, but what particularly surprised me was that there were some pretty old people there in the crowd - easily in their '50s. And it wasn't just a lone couple or two, but there were several people in that age bracket...I guess Adam Lambert appeals to all ages.

Anyways, I managed to get to the Molson Amphitheatre exactly on time, so I found myself in my seat by 3.30 pm. After the Bon Jovi concert, I knew that I should expect some annoying opening band or another, and right on schedule, some female started her song & dance routine. And after a few such numbers, she strutted off, and another singer came on for yet another routine. The crowd seemed to appreciate them a lot more than I did, and around 5 pm or so, I started to wonder...where heck is Adam Lambert? This is his show, right?

That's when my eyes darted about, and caught sight of the schedule for the evening. All kinds of singers had been booked to perform - this was, after all, the KiSS 92.5 WHAM BAM concert featuring Adam Lambert...but I didn't expect this many other acts. Adam Lambert was going to take the stage only at 9 p.m. What a bummer! For those in the know, the other artists were pretty good, and even Orianthi played, but I really couldn't get excited about people I had never even heard of. For the record though, Orianthi was damn good, and I definitely will hunt around for some of her music.

Fortunately for me, I found a book in my handbag, so I settled down to read it till the show really started - I know, I know, a music concert isn't really the ideal location to start reading, but I have this amazing ability to block out things around me when required. Luckily, the book was good (as Salman Rushdie always is), and before I knew it, it was 9 pm, and the show was about to begin!

Adam Lambert was spectacular! No, scratch that. He was phenomenal! First off, his voice is amazing - it sounds just as brilliant live as it does on his albums (and you really really must wonder why he wasn't the Idol winner). He could sing the phone book and make it sound good. Trying to explain how amazing his voice is would be a waste of your time and mine, because there is no way that I could string together words that would do justice to it. I won't even bother.

And true to his reputation, there was more than a touch of glamour. Leather? Check. Glitter? Check. Entertainment quotient? Through the roof! There were 2 - 3 costume changes, and by costumes, I mean costumes. The trademark eye liner was there, but there was also a feather topped hat, leather pants, black gloves, purple & black fur coat and boots to die for. Just to mention a few. Boy George would have been proud. And jealous.

There were also the synchronized dance moves (which he was awesome at), the not-so synchronized dance moves (which he was equally awesome at) and some incredible chemistry with his dancers and musicians...Adam Lambert is truly an entertainer and he is such a natural! It also helps that he truly is talented. He had the crowd moving, and we were belting out the numbers right along with him...and man, these Canadian crowds are amazing...they know how to rock, and we managed to get an encore out of Adam Lambert :)

The set list was:

For Your Entertainment (recorded version/intro)
Voodoo
Down the Rabbit Hole
Ring of Fire (Idol version)
Fever
Sleepwalker
Whaddaya Want From Me
Soaked
Aftermath
Sure Fire Winners
Strut
Music Again
If I Had You
Mad World (Encore - Idol version)

True, he doesn't have too much of a repertoire to sustain a full length concert, but I was damn impressed with what I saw. He was also introduced his entire band, back up dancers and the choreographer, which I thought was a very decent thing to do.

Overall, it was a fabulous concert, and I can't wait to see what else Adam Lambert has in store for us - and for future reference, I would not want to miss any of his concerts!

Here are clips of two of my favourite songs, just so you get an idea!

Girlfriends

2010-05-19T12:31:00.003-04:00

Not the kind guys have, but the kind girls have. I started thinking about this when a guy friend told me recently that I don't understand him because I'm not a guy, and I don't share his dispositions.

I went from kindergarten to Class 8 without having girlfriends. It was me myself & I, and that was about it. But then Class 8 happened, and suddenly, I was part of a very close knit group of girls whom I could really identify with. We had slumber parties and endless phone calls and trips to the movies and passing notes during class and indulged in all sorts of things you do with friends. Female friends...good times!

And then I left the country. And thus started another 10-odd years where I didn't really find girls that I gelled with, so to speak. It was me myself & I again (not that I minded) and slumber parties were non existent and late night phone calls were few and far between. There were a few female friends here and there, and while I love them, I can't say that I was part of a wider circle of friends. I think most people found me abrasive and my personality was more a curiosity to be peered at like a museum display. That's what you get I suppose, for not wanting to be part of the butterfly brigade.

Eventually (and by eventually I mean several years later) I graduated to acquiring a small circle of good friends, but, as it happened, they were all gay and none of them female!

Several months ago, I vibed well with a female colleague, and before I knew it, we were having endless phone calls and movie trips. And then that circle started getting wider. And wider. Now I have female friends who trust me, who call me up to chat (even if they don't need help in some manner or form), BBM, and who simply like hanging out with me. Females who don't find my personality a curiosity, but something they identify with. People who actually don't mind sharing a house with me. These women actually like me for me! I had forgotten what it was like to be part of a group. Not a butterfly brigade, mind you, but a group of like-minded, good friends.

I haven't had friends like this since I was in school.

I like it.

One Wild Night - Part 2

2010-04-11T16:21:00.005-04:00

AKA The Day I Went For A Bon Jovi Concert

This is a true story.

Showtime!

One by one, the band members walked on stage and we all went crazy! The whole stadium - each and every one of us - were on our feet, hands waving and screaming our lungs off. The whole atmosphere was electric - over 20,000 people, all of them howling in unconstrained excitement. Caroline was soooo right, and I knew the night was going to be awesome!

Bon Jovi sure didn't waste any time settling in. As soon as they walked on stage, we were greeted not by hellos or good evenings, but by the most rousing rendition of You Give Love A Bad Name I have ever heard. Is there any better song to open with? We were on our feet, singing along...and I should've known then that I (or anyone else in the stadium) wouldn't be sitting down for the rest of the evening.

I think after the first two or three songs, Bon Jovi finally spoke and wished us a good evening. But the most incredible thing he said all evening followed the greeting - what he said was:

"I'm not gonna talk too much. You paid good money to see me shake my ass and sing, so let's get down to it!"

Yes, he actually said that, and then he drove us mad all over again by not just singing, but shaking his ass as well. Repeatedly. If you weren't there, be jealous. Be very jealous. Very, very, very jealous. Because he was fabulous!!!!!!

The energy that man has is unbelievable. The band went on for over 2 1/2 hours - and had the crowd going from the word go. No pyrotechnics, no scantily clad chorus dancers...just a couple of 40-plus guys singing their hearts out. Every penny spent on this concert was so totally worth it!

Some of the songs, especially a few off The Circle got a few introductory words by Bon Jovi, and he just seemed so...so...down to earth. The album is essentially a working (or unemployed) man's album, much like Crush was about teenage angst. And for all his success and money, Bon Jovi showed that he still hadn't lost touch with the common man, when he told the audience that in these trying times, the most important decisions are made at the kitchen table, and asked us to make sure that love remained the driving force behind those decisions. The crowd kept cheering (the only time the Montreal crowd stopped cheering was either to sing along or to chant), but to me, what he said then remained the most touching, incredible moment of the whole concert.

When Bon Jovi asked 'Is there a doctor in the house?', I knew that I must have died and gone to heaven. I was at a Bon Jovi concert and they were going to play Bad Medicine! It is perhaps my favouritest Bon Jovi number, and also the first Bon Jovi song I ever heard. The performance of Bad Medicine was everything people had said it would be. And then some. The evening just seemed to get better and better and better. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

As a thank you to their legion of fans, a few songs featured a medley of video clips created by the fans themselves, and I was almost convinced that my next purchase should be a camcorder. Almost.

Somewhere towards the middle of the concert, we were given acoustic versions of Something for the Pain and Someday I'll Be Saturday Night, as well Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I had only ever heard the Bon Jovi version, though I knew that it was a Leonard Cohen cover. The song holds personal meaning to me, so I was ecstatic that they chose to play it, but the Montreal crowd were beyond ecstatic (what with Leonard Cohen hailing from Montreal and all).

Did I mention that the whole damn show was beyond awesome? Because I cannot repeat myself enough : Bon Jovi was spectacular x awesome x the power of infinity.

We even got a Richie Sambora song - his guitar solos were fantastic in and of themselves, but to I thought it was even more special to hear him sing lead on Homebound Train.

Along the way, Bon Jovi actually walked through the front row during a song, and not only did he pose for photographers, he actually kissed one of the women there. I think every women at the Bell Centre screamed in unison at that!

The audience was eating out of Bon Jovi's palm - if they had started singing Mary Had a Little Lamb, I guarantee you that the crowd would have been singing along to that as well. The band was magnificent - it is no mean feat to have a crowd of 20,000 plus - of varying age groups - on their feet, clapping, cheering and singing for over two hours. I am not exaggerating - the crowd was whipped!

When the band bid us good night, the crowd didn't even wait for them to walk off stage for the chant for an encore to start. We chanted, and the band obliged us with three more songs. It was as if we knew, because the entire crowd started singing Living on a Prayer all on their own, prompting Bon Jovi to ask "What are we, in New Jersey?". I don't think that there is a bigger compliment you could give a Bon Jovi fan, let alone a stadium full of them.

At the end of Runaway (I think), Bon Jovi had a small conversation with an 11 year old boy (who was lucky enough to be seated in the front row). He asked the kid how old he was, and when the boy said 11 years old, the band wondered aloud as to how old the song and came up with the answer - 28 years old. Remarked Bon Jovi "I like it. My fans are getting younger and I'm getting older." There was a little more banter where he made that 11 year old boy feel like king of the world, and then the songs continued. I wouldn't have minded being that boy.

When the band bid us a good night for a second time, I was sure that it was the end of the concert, but even after 2 1/2 hours, I had clearly underestimated the Montreal crowd. The chant for an encore (the second for the evening) went up almost immediately. The band looked as surprised as I felt (not that it stopped me from chanting right along with the rest of the crowd). And, unbelievably, Bon Jovi eventually obliged us with a second 2-song encore.

The third goodnight proved to be the final one for the evening, though I think we screamed and clapped for a good ten minutes afterwards just to show how much we enjoyed the show (as if the band wouldn't have guessed by now!).

I somehow made my way back on to the Mega Bus, experiencing a high I'm sure that even the highest grade crystal meth couldn't induce. And that high remained with me for days. I kid you not.

This Bon Jovi concert was incredible. Amazing. Awesome. Spectacular. Fantastic. No adjective that I can come up with adequately describes the incredibleness that the concert was.

And I was lucky enough to be there.

To wrap up, the set list was as follows (not in order of performance) :

Blood on Blood
We Weren't Born to Follow
You Give Love a Bad Name
Whole Lot of Leavin'
Born to Be My Baby
Lost Highway
Have a Nice Day
Thorn In My Side
When We Were Beautiful
Superman Tonight
We Got It Going On
Bad Medicine
It's My Life
Homebound Train
Hallelujah
I'll Be There For You
Diamond Ring
Something for the Pain
Someday I'll Be Saturday Night
Keep the Faith
Work for the Working Man
Who Says You Can't Go Home
Love's the Only Rule
Runaway
I Love This Town
Wanted Dead or Alive
Livin' on a Prayer
Twist and Shout
Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from Mars

In case my words have not done justice to Bon Jovi, maybe this video that was shot at the concert will give you some inkling as to how awesome the whole experience was.

One Wild Night - Part 1

2010-03-30T09:02:00.000-04:00

AKA The Day I Went For A Bon Jovi Concert

This is a true story.

Toronto

Sometime in November, Andrea walked into work and gushed excitedly about how Bon Jovi was touring Canada in 2010. I had to be there! The choice was between Montreal in March or Toronto in July. Not knowing where I'd be in July, Montreal was the obvious choice. (And the biggest 'thank you' EVER goes out to the person who convinced me to go!)

Being a creature who is perennially short of money, I had to settle for a modestly priced ticket - I hoped that the seat was decent. The ticket arrived in December, but I refused to get excited about it till March. I didn't want to start counting my chickens just yet. It was just too incredible to be real, and I didn't want to jinx anything.

Then came March. How would I get from Toronto to Montreal? The Greyhound cost about $100 (very likely more) - and that was just one way. And overnight stay? I seriously began to wonder if I'd have to hitch hike to Montreal and sleep on the side walk.

But then, diligent googling introduced me to Coach Canada (aka Mega Bus), an affordable means of cross country travelling. By ordering my ticket on line, I got a return trip for just $61! Plus, they had a bus leaving Montreal at 12.15 am, so I didn't have to worry about hotel stay. Finally, I had a proper plan!

The actual week of the concert turned out to be one of the busiest weeks of my life. I was working two jobs, literally from 9 a.m. till 9.30 p.m. On top of that, I was apartment hunting. Friday just could not come soon enough!

Friday morning, I woke up a whole hour early because I was too excited to sleep. The bus was leaving at exactly 9.30 am (and over here, people actually stick to the schedule). I was terrified of missing the bus, but I made it there with a good 40 minutes to spare. Imagine my smugness when I saw that the girl in front of me had paid $107 one way to Montreal, and that was with a student discount! Plus, she was travelling in the same bus as I was. Thank heavens for the internet!

Now, I have to dedicate a few lines to describe the bus itself. Firstly, it was a double decker. I, having never travelled in a 'decker' before, was elated. As soon as I boarded the bus, I took the back staircase (yeah, there were two staircases) and headed 'upstairs'. It was pretty much like flying economy class. Comfortable seats you could recline, overhead reading lights and a choice of radio stations for everyone who brought their own headphones. And a bathroom. I really wanted to go see what that looked like, but I never got around to it. And. And and and and. Before I finish describing the bus, let me add just two more points. The Mega Bus also boasted of 110V power sockets and was wifi enabled. That's right. The $30 per trip double decker bus with its own bathroom also came with power sockets and wifi! For a 6 1/2 hour trip, this was a good way to travel. The most awesome bus ever!

9.30 on the dot, we were off. There was one more passenger pick up point around 10 a.m., and after that, the bus was pretty much full.

Nowhere Town, Canada

I don't think I ever appreciated how vast this country was until I took this particular bus ride. I fell asleep almost as soon as we took off from Toronto, and I woke up to empty fields on either side of the road. Later, I realized that the empty fields were actually farms. Big, humongous farms. There were barns, and I actually saw some horses as well. After the farms though, it was mostly forest. And field. Forest field farm. Alternate repeatedly, in random fashion. Drop the farm bit, and then keep on alternating. That was the bulk of my view. Don't get me wrong - the scenery was beautiful. But it was just so much empty space. There really isn't enough people living here. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.

We stopped at a place called Kingston, for about 20 minutes. Got to stretch my legs, use the bathroom (not the one in the bus), grab a doughnut and then it was time to go.

I wanted to sleep, but I was too excited to. I could only doze for 15 or 20 minutes before waking up, though the rest of the passengers didn't seem to suffer from the same problem.

Montreal

They made the announcement that we were entering Montreal, and I swear, my heart rate went up. Before I knew it, we were at the terminal and I was off the bus, knapsack in hand, wondering which direction to head in. Because, in Montreal, everything and every person in it, was French. Not a single sign post anywhere had an English word on it. I might as well have been in France, for all the good it would have done.

I saw a building nearby which looked like a mall, and headed inside. After all, it was just 4.30 p.m., and the concert started at 7.30 p.m. I needed time to wash my face, use the bathroom, and above all else, eat. Turned out that it was not so much a mall as it was a few shops, a food court, a bathroom and persumably offices upstairs. Which was quite alright by me. I ate, I freshened up, and thought that I would do well to head to the Bell Centre sooner than later, because a) who knew where it was and how long it would take to get there, and b) what if there was a queue?

I followed the signs that said 'metro', and to my luck, ended up inside a subway station located in the same building. So far, so good. I walked up to the ticket booth, and asked the lady there how to get to the Bell Centre. Fortunately for me, she spoke English. Rather good English, peppered with a strong accent. She gave me a map, and detailed instructions on how to get to the Bell Centre. Which turned out to be a good thing, because all announcements on the train was in French, with zilch in English. I suppose I should have expected as much from Quebec.

After observing how much I preferred the Toronto transit system (and Toronto in general), and keeping both eyes on the map, and straining to match the French pronounciation of the subway stop names with how they spell it on paper, I finally ended up at the right place. It must have been a 10 minute ride, but it felt quite a bit longer.

Bell Centre

Bell Centre in and of itself turned out to be quite boring, unless you were a hockey fan. Which I am not. It also turned out to be a maze, and I went through endless corridors before suddenly finding myself outside the entrance.

People were there already, lots of them in Bon Jovi t-shirts, waiting for the doors to open. There were people from all ages - teeny boppers, 20-somethings, 30-somethings, and then the salt 'n pepper crowd as well. It was so interesting to stand around and just watch the different types of fans arrive, but they all seemed so calm and collected and...French. I actually started to wonder if the crowd would merely clap after each song!

There was a small promotional tent by Virgin radio, and they wanted me to sing a Bon Jovi song (karaoke) and in turn, I would win a spanking new t-shirt. Had the t-shirt been a Bon Jovi one, or if I had been with a group of people, I think I would have sung, but this time I politely declined.

While I waited, I ended up chatting with an equally devoted fan named Caroline. She was from Montreal itself, and assured me that the Montreal crowd was incredible (at this point, I found that a bit hard to believe, but I kept my opinion to myself). She (lucky bitch!) had bought herself two $400 tickets! One for Friday's show, and the other for Saturday's show. And damn good seats - for $400, what did you expect, right? She had a home-made banner with her, and was already making plans to attend the July concert in Toronto. I hoped the rest of the crowd would be like her.

Like any two devoted Bon Jovi fans, we talked nineteen to the dozen about the band, the songs and all things Bon Jovi. Before I knew it, it was 6.30 p.m., and the doors were finally opening. Caroline and I said our goodbyes, and I made my way inside. There wasn't a big crowd, and I really started to wonder about Montreal at this point. No queue, no rush...f***ing Bon Jovi was playing! Where were the damn people?!

There was a counter inside selling memorabilia, and much as I would have loved to buy half of what they had, my wallet chose otherwise, so I satisfied myself by getting a Bon Jovi 'The Circle' pendant. And wore it then and there.

I made my way to my seat. Not the best seat in the house, but the awesome thing about the Bell Centre is that the seats are so high up that you get an incredible view of the stage wherever you are. Plus, my seat was parallel to the stage, so I got a pretty good view of the stage. People were still milling in, and it really didn't seem all that crowded, and I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Bon Jovi.

Precisely at 7.30 p.m., the opening band came on. I have no clue what they were called, only that they were from Jacksonville, Florida. They were ok - lots of their songs sounded the same, and frankly, it was difficult to get pumped up for some nameless band when you were waiting for Bon Jovi. They did a cover of Summer '69 though, and, predictably, the crowd sang along with them for that one, which I think was more of a reflection on Bryan Adams than it was on the band itself.

By around 8 o'clock, the stadium was getting packed. Aaah, these Montrealers. They timed themselves well, skipping the better part of the opening band, and coming in on time for the main attraction. By 8.30 p.m., the stadium was packed. There was easily 20,000 plus people and I really couldn't spot an empty seat.

My row had quite the mix - from left to right, there were giggly teenage girls, 20-something year old guys, then 30 year old me, then a group who were at least in their 40s. Bon Jovi truly appeals to all.

When the opening band bid adieu, I got a glimpse of what the crowd would be like: a few started chanting Bon Jovi, and most of the crowd started cheering as soon as the lights dimmed. And they didn't stop. This crowd had hope...maybe Caroline had been right, after all!

Then, it happened. The lights went completely off, and the back of the stage lit up in a semi circle, like the album cover.

Bon Jovi walked on stage.

Shelby Classics

2010-03-21T10:30:00.005-04:00

This was the best part of the Canadian motor show that I went to in February, 2010. I spent hours in this section, and had the motor show consisted of nothing but the Shelby classics, it would have still been worth it.

Not much I can say, so I'm posting few of the pictures, and I hope you enjoy them!

The Allard looked so sleek! And to think I had never even heard of it (or seen it) till this show.

Please take special note of the price tag.

Pretty good looking for a car in original condition...

I should have posted these a good month ago, but just could not find the time.

Election Selection

2010-01-26T15:37:00.000-05:00

This is the only election in Sri Lanka that I am missing out on in the last 9 years. I am not sorry to be missing it. The choice really is between the devil and the deep blue sea.

I am one of many who voted MR into power; I did so with the sole hope that he would not sell the country out to the LTTE (unlike the much-maligned RW) and defeat them instead. He did. And I am not going to question the manner in which the war was won, or crib about human rights. A war is a war, and you cannot make an omelette without breaking an egg.

But is 'thank you' any reason to elect MR back to office? Because when we elect him, we are also electing his brothers, sons, cousins, the Mervyn Silvas and the rest of the rabble rousers. We are not a monarchy, and MR is not a king, despite the many roadside cut outs proclaiming otherwise.

I do not want another 6 years of thugs ruling roost. I do not want another 6 years of nepositic corruption surpassed only by the time of CBK. I do not want to see religion given undue importance because the president needs to bankroll a jumbo cabinet. Developing the country does not mean giving a Rs.300 million contract to your friend when the job could have been done for half the price. Had MR's negatives been less, a 'thank you' vote could have been considered; in this situation, it seems absurd.

But I do not believe a retired army general is qualified to run the country either. What qualifications does SF have, other than the fact that he is not MR? What little respect he had garnered from me dissipated when he decided to hobnob with political tigers (aka TNA). If those are the coming colours, then I would rather be in black and white. There is no point in promising to rid the country of corruption if we are to be watching the tiger dance all over again.

Devil or the deep blue sea - I'm sure I wouldn't be happy with whomever gets elected today, though I'm fairly certain that it would be MR who will be laughing all the way to parliament, once again.

I am also disgusted by the election spectacle we witnessed on Facebook and Kottu. People supported SF simply because he wasn't MR, blind to all SF faults and dubious allies. MR campaign seemed to be run by the same sycophants who erected his cutouts: king king king, war victor war victor war victor. All the irrationality available in the country seems to split between the two groups of supporters.

Ah well, whoever wins today, it'll just end up being more of the same.

Avatar And The Wheelchair.

2010-01-25T13:37:00.003-05:00

AKA Dances With Wolves In Outer Space, Where The Script Got Lost During Take-Off.

Ok, so the special effects were amazing. Outstanding CGI. Breathtaking visuals. But couldn't James Cameron have taken 1 year out of the 11 that went into making Avatar to script a better a story?

I mean, unobtainium? Really? Really?

Did anyone else notice that a gazillion years into the future, America has the technology to create Avatars but a wheelchair is still a wheelchair? No improved mechanics, nothing that is less cumbersome, no brain-waves operated wheels. That's right. They are able to create 10-foot giant Smurfs (on a diet) that are operated by the brain of a human who is miles away, but a wheelchair is still a wheelchair.

While we are at it, Avatar leads us to the following conclusion: a gazillion years into the future, America still does not have universal healthcare. In fact, a soldier injured during battle will have to bargain to receive medical treatment that would effectively undo the wound.

On to the 10-foot Smurfs and their planet. The giant Smurfs speak English. Randomly. Even though they despise humans. The giant Smurfs are also a hybrid of Native Indians and African tribes. No, really. They dress like Pocahontas, but they sing like the cast of Lion King (no, I didn't mean Elton John).

Everything, and I mean everything on Pandora is a stretched out, more dreamy version of Earth, past or present. No strange silicon-based life forms à la X-Files here (Firewalker, Season 2). All animals are variants of those from the Jurassic period. All plant life resembles what you would see if you went deep sea diving. Or took a walk through a rainforest. Everything is green, blue, pink and purple. I have seen more imaginative ideas on what alien life (good or evil) would seem like in '80s Japanese anime than I did through the entire run time of Avatar.

Dances with Wolves, this (sadly) is not. Unfortunately, Avatar also doesn't come up to the standard set by Cameron in classics such as Aliens or Terminator (yes, I am ignoring the bubblegum Titanic on purpose).

If James Cameron insists on making films like Titanic and Avatar henceforth, here's hoping that the next one takes 22 years in the making.

Winter Wonderland

2010-01-25T12:38:00.001-05:00

Should have posted this last month, but better late than never.

This was late at night in early December - I think the second day it started to snow.

One the way to bus halt...and yeah, unlike those who were whimpering in England and staying cooped up inside because of 5 cm of snow, this kind of weather didn't keep any of us indoors!

Then there was the squirrel who was completely oblivious to the snow, the wind and my camera!

(the dark brown blob is a squirrel)

Entertainment Of The Highest Literary Order*

2010-01-05T11:09:00.015-05:00

I was first introduced to him when I was in Class 6.

Once a week during one of the double English lessons, Mr. Marshall did something fun with us. During the latter part of Class 6, he started reading a specific book to us. And with that book, I was entranced. I didn't know what magical realism was at the time; for me, it was as if someone had written a book from the land of manga and anime that I loved so much.

But the school year finished before the reading lessons did, and I was determined to find out how the story ended (I didn't remember what the book was called at this point). So as Class 7 rolled out and a new English teacher rolled in, I walked up to Mr. Marshall during recess, and asked him if I could borrow the book he used to read to us. I must admit that I wasn't quite prepared for the ensuing question.

Would my parents mind my reading such an author, Mr. Marshall wanted to know. Parents?? I was so confused, but I very confidently assured him that my parents had no objections whatsoever in my expanding my horizons by reading. Not quite convinced (I'm sure), Mr.Marshall lent me the book anyway, after much pestering by me.

The book? Haroun and the Sea of Stories. The author? Salman Rushdie.

That was the first Salman Rushdie book I read, and it got me hooked for life.

Before I write about how I read each of his books, I'd like to say a little something about his writing. Salman Rushdie's writing is funny. As in, laugh-out-loud-that-was- so-funny funny. Also, funny as in that-was-so-brilliantly-sarcastic funny. The humour and witticisms go hand in hand, and he is a very lively author. You are never bored. There is always magic and mystery and surrealism and you get sucked into it and it just seems so natural. He makes the incred

ible believable. I'm not saying anything much about the individual stories, because hopefully, someone else who reads this blog will read his books so I don't want to give anything away.

******************

Haroun and the Sea of Stories was the first book Rushdie wrote after he went into hiding. On the face of it, it reads like a light hearted children's story, but there is so much more to it than that, and, in today's political context in Sri Lanka, perhaps a very apt book to read. To be very honest though, what got me hooked on it was the magic, and how effortlessly Rushdie weaved it into the story. The reader became Haroun, and the journey to the sea of stories is one journey that you'll never forget.

After reading the book, I asked my father who Salman Rushdie was. And he very patiently told me. That was when I realized that there was a depth to the story that I had not even begun to comprehend on the first reading. I was determined to read The Satanic Verses after that.

A good 8 years later, my parents asked me what I wanted from London. My request? The Satanic Verses. And they bought it for me. That was the firs

t Salman Rushdie book I owned. My aunt was so horrified that I would read such a book that she tore a page off a calendar and made a cover for the book so that no one could see the title!

The Satanic Verses will remain, I'm sure, my favourite Rushdie novel. It starts with two men falling out of a plane, mid-air, singing an old Hindi film song. And it only gets better from there.

I have read it countless number of times, and each time, I find something new. And, at least for me, I end up questioning what I believed to be true from the previous reading. There is religion, there is the question of faith (not just religious), there is the question of good versus evil and the bonds of friendship and that of love, politics, racism...and one brilliantly written story. A political education later, I was also able to see the critique of Thatcherism that I had missed earlier on.

But you don't need to know any history or any deep rooted knowledge of Islam or England or Iran or India to appreciate the book. There is a story at the centre of it, and a deeply compelling one at that. And a style of writing that, in my opinion, is sheer brilliance.

The next book I owned was Haroun and the Sea of Stories. My aunt wanted to know what I wanted for my birthday, and I told her. I didn't expect her to find it, but she did. My adult reading of the book did not diminish any of the charm the book held for me as a kid. I still loved it. I could see the undertones of the book, and I appreciated how Rushdie kept the essence of the story intact. A book I would recommend to anyone!

The Moor's Last Sigh was a birthday gift. My number two Salman Rushdie book. I love everything about the book! It is, in my opinion, a simpler read than The Satanic Verses, but just as rich. I loved the story, and perhaps cursory knowledge of the Indian political landscape made the book even more interesting. I think I began to appreciate his writing style more though, in this book. It is a regular on my night stand, and will remain a firm favourite!

Midnight's Children was the first Salman Rushdie book I spent my own money purchasing, and it was the one book that disappointed me. I know, I know, it won the Booker Prize, and the B

ooker of Bookers as well, but still, it didn't live up to my expectations. I liked it, as a book. I didn't like it so much, as a Salman Rushdie book. Don't ask me why - I am still not sure.

I next rushed out to buy Shalimar the Clown, and I think it is the only book I have ever bought as soon as it was released. Shorter than his earlier books, nevertheless a good read. Somewhere early on in the book, there is this quote:

"Always do something impossible right at the beginning of the show. Swallow a sword, tie yourself in a knot, defy gravity. Do what the audience knows it could never do no matter how hard it tries. After that you'll have them eating out of your hand."

This book does exactly that.

I liked it infinitely more compared to Midnight's Children. The ending...not my favourite, but I guess there was no other way the story could have ended. The richness of language should be enough to make you read the book.

The next book I read was borrowed from a friend. The Ground Beneath Her Feet, in my opinion, is the heaviest of his books, in terms of writing, story...everything. I loved the book, but it is a bit heavy. Excellent read, in small doses.

Within a rather short gap, I picked up Grimus at the Colombo Book Fair. Salman Rushdie's first book, and not much acclaim for it, but I liked it. I actually liked it far more than the award-laden Midnight's Children. It is nothing like his other books, and resembles Lost more than it does any thing I've ever read, but I like it.

The latest book I get to call my own is The Enchantress of Florence (the best

Christmas gift ever! You know who you are, and thank you so much). It seemed much smaller than most of his other books, but was deceptively longer. Unlike Salman Rushdie's other books, the entire story takes place in time periods different to ours, and he removes England and introduces Florence as part of the scenery. Emperor Akbar, Machiavelli and the Medicis all make an appearance.

Much like The Satanic Verses, religion plays a big role here, and there is a particular line in the book which would get another fatwa issued to him, if the fanatics ever bothered actually reading his books. There is hardly a female character worth her salt in this book despite the queens, concubines and prostitutes that walk through its pages. But Rushdie does not disappoint, and I am already looking forward to rereading this wonderful book.

I hope Salman Rushdie keeps on writing, because I for one am a fan for life.

*The title of this post is from a phrase used by a critic when reviewing one of Salman Rushdie's books. I forget the critic and the book - all I know is that it is not an original phrase from me, but it describes this author best so I have decided to use it.

******************

I shall end with one of my favourite quotes, out of Shalimar the Clown. It has no relevance at the end of this post, and I know that he has better quotes, but I love this because it is so sarcastic, so well said and so true.

"This tiny landlocked valley with barely five million people to its name wanted to control its own fate. Where did that kind of thinking get you? If Kashmir, why not Assam for the Assamese, Nagaland for the Nagas?

And why stop there? Why shouldn't towns or villages declare independence, or city streets, or even individual houses?

Why not demand freedom for one's bedroom, or call one's toilet a republic?

Why not stand still and draw a circle round your feet and name that Selfistan?"

Thank You, Mr. Marshall

2010-01-05T10:15:00.003-05:00

I was in Class 6. I was already an avid reader, but the books I read were anything by Enid Blyton, the Nancy Drew stuff, abridged versions of English classics and a few Sweet Valley twins thrown in for extra spice. Kid stuff.

Then Mr. Marshall happened. My English teacher, and his own curriculum introduced itself to my class. John Steinbeck, E.B. White...these were authors he made us read, and I happily realized that good literature did not necessarily mean having to put yourself through Dickens. He made us indulge in quality reading, but he made it fun. And believe me when I say this - any teacher who could make John Steinbeck fun was one special teacher!

Till I was in that class, my English writing had exclusively consisted of homework and exam writing. Maybe an additional three or four letters in between written to my parents when they were abroad. That was the sum total.

Then Mr.Marshall introduced me to 'The Journal'. We each had to get a book (like the CR books kids use in SL) and every week, we had to hand in a piece of creative writing. It could be anything - a story, an essay, letters...whatever took our fancy. He taught me the meaning of creativity. Mr. Marshall taught me to write.

I remember the first time I had to write my journal. I struggled and struggled to find something to write about and finally wrote a story based on a cartoon I had watched. Which was neither very creative, nor very well written. And having been based on a cartoon (that too one I remembered so poorly at the time), it had no ending. I was compelled to continue it every week.

I thought that my journal was doomed.

But Mr. Marshall kept encouraging me, and needling me to write shorter stories, because for some strange reason, he thought that I could. And I did. I think it was after a month (four journal attempts), but it could have been longer. I wrote a story that was exclusively a product of my imagination. At that time, it was the most difficult thing I had ever written.

However, Mr.Marshall wasn't going to be content with just that. Without even reading my first attempt at genuine creative writing, he asked me to read it aloud to my whole class. I was the new kid, just barely a month in school, with almost no friends and zero self esteem. And there I was, standing in front of everyone, with a story I lost faith in as soon as I had to stand up. I somehow managed to read it to the end. And at the end, the class applauded. Mr. Marshall applauded.

Writing, and writing my journal was never a problem after that, and it was with gleeful pride that I gave my journal to classmates who wanted to read the stories I had come up with.

20 years have passed since then. I've done a hell of a lot of reading, and almost as much writing. I am able to discuss the similarities and differences between Hamlet and Oedipus with random people in the subway (to which another English teacher, Mr. Siegfried also deserves credit) and I have enough confidence in my writing to have a public blog. But I know, that without Mr. Marshall, none of this would be possible. So.

Thank you, Mr. Marshall.

Happy 2010!

2010-01-04T20:45:00.000-05:00

Dona Dona

2009-11-27T00:24:00.007-05:00

The second song on a tape of English children's songs we owned (as far as I know, the only kids tape we had in English), it remained etched in my mind from the time I heard it. Maybe it was the haunting music, maybe something in the lyrics...I don't know.

It remained buried at the back of my mind, until I heard the tune today, being played on a guitar by a man near the subway.

Many hours and several Internet pages later, I find out that the song was written as "Dana Dana" in Yiddish for a musical and was translated later into English in 1941.

Don't let the surface value of the words fool you; it was not intended as a paean to vegetarianism, but had a deeper political meaning behind it. For me, it rings just as true today, as it did when it was written.

Dona Dona

On a wagon bound and helpless

Lies a calf, who is doomed to die.

High above him flies a swallow

Soaring gaily through the sky.

Chorus:

The winds laughs in the cornfield

Laughs with all his might

Laughs and laughs the whole day through

An half way through the night

Dona, dona, dona...

Now the calf is softly crying

"Tell me wind, why do you laugh?"

Why can't I fly like the swallow

Why did I have to be a calf,

Chorus

Calves are born and soon are slaughtered

With no hope of being saved.

Only those with wings like swallow

Will not ever be enslaved.

Chorus

- words by Aaron Zeitlin, music by Sholom Secunda

Al-Qaeda Recruitment Video

2009-11-21T22:14:00.002-05:00

This might be an old video, but I'm just seeing it and I thought it was as funny as hell, so for all those who haven't seen it yet, enjoy!

Halloween

2009-11-11T23:21:00.005-05:00

The last time I really celebrated Halloween was when I was in kindergarten and got dressed up as a fairy. But Halloween has always been one of my favourite holidays. You get to wear costumes, get all spooky, and have good, clean fun.

Of course, I had no plans of dressing up this year as anything but myself (some say that dressing as myself is a costume in and of itself) or making Jack O'Lanterns.

Then, I was asked to volunteer at a pumpkin carving competition, to which I readily agreed. Without ever having so much as touched a whole pumpkin, let alone carve it.

So on Halloween eve, I made my way over to Church Street, ready to help out. which initially consisted of putting up some tents (didn't think i had it in me to help put up those things!) before I got down to the main event.

There was myself and another girl and twenty five pumpkins, all ready to be gutted and cleaned. So we got to work. Cutting the top off seemed like the more difficult of the two tasks, so I let the other girl handle that while I did the cleaning. Boy, was I wrong!

First of all, I wore a pair of gloves, and had a big ladle to clean the pumpkins, neither of which helped much. The seeds and the stuff you find inside a pumpkin (I have no idea what you call them) seemed firmly stuck to the sides of the pumpkin, and the ladle wasn't having much success. Finally, I had to abandon it and use my hands to do the cleaning which was marginally more successful.

The more pumkins I cleaned, the more fun it seemed, and I was almost unhappy when more volunteers came to help us clean all the pumpkins on time. Eventually, we were done, and could sit back and watch while people carved them for the competition.

The more I watched people carve, the more fun it seemed. Some were rookies, but there were some real pros, who had battery operated pumpkin carvers, intricate designs drawn out on tracing paper - I had really underestimated this whole carving business. By the time I was heading back, I really wanted to carve my own pumpkin! It seemed like so much fun, and after all, this was Halloween, right?

So, on Halloween afternoon, I rushed to the supermarket, and quite literally walked away with the last pumpkin they had. I wore a hideous sweater, sat in the balcony, and started cleaning. Cutting the top off wasn't nearly as difficult as it seemed, and after cleaning around ten pumpkins the day before, this fellow seemed like a piece of (pumpkin) cake.

I was very careful with the carving, not very arty and extremely mathematical. It was not as difficult as I imagined it would be, though it took way longer than expected, and quite a bit of energy (BTW, pumpkins are incredibly heavy. Incredibly.).

I don't think my pumpkin looks too bad - what do you think?

Thirissannu

2009-10-31T13:50:00.001-04:00

I was actually in two minds about writing this post because with all the fake 'news' items - Channel 4 video, Hikka topless pics et al - I wasn't sure that this was a real story. Only after both Daily Mirror and Asian Tribune confirmed it did I decide to post it.

I'm talking about the incident where a youth was forcibly drowned in Bambalapitya on the 29th of October. I thought the video was fake, or rather a hoax, or edited together. It didn't make much sense when I saw it first - why were men beating a guy, with poles no less, refusing to let him come ashore? Why was there no sound? Why were the 50 plus spectators doing nothing to save the guy? And why on earth was the cameraman filming this whole sordid story, without going to save the victim? Surely this video must be a fake.

Alas, I was wrong. Apparently, the video was genuine, as was the incident because the ensuing outcry has resulted in the arrest of somebody, according to the Asian Tribune.

I'm not sure which facts of this story shocks me more - that at least a hundred people idly watched as a young man was forced to drown (couldn't at least one of them call for help, if not save the youth?), that a person was forced to drown because each time he tried to come ashore he was beaten with poles, that the people doing the beating were cops or that a reporter decided it was better to get a good story by filming the incident from his/her office instead of trying to save the victim.

And why pray tell, has only one person been arrested? I can see three people beating the hapless victim in the video. Is the Bambalapitya police so inefficient that they can identify and arrest only one person per day? How is the country supposed to have faith in the police, when on top of their regular vices, we see this video? Essentially, the cops beat a youth and left him to drown in the ocean because he threw stones at a passing trains. What a police.

(By the by, if you are robbed, raped assaulted or in some other type of danger, would you really want to step inside this police station?)

On to that macabre crowd. How do they sleep at night? Sri Lanka is inundated with mobile phones - could one of them not make a call for help? Out of the 50 plus people there, could one of them not intervene and help the victim? I'm prone to say the same thing about the cameraman: as good as it is to publicise these kind of atrocities, I think the better thing to have done was to go and try save the youth.

What is our society degenerating into, that we would stand by and watch a man being killed? At the drop of a hat, we have people to protest at embassies, protest against NGOs, protest against the war, protest against unemployment...the list is endless. Why is there no bigger outcry about an incident as ghastly as this?

Seriously - the guy threw stones at a train. Is that not enough indication that he was mentally unwell? Is this how we treat people who are mentally unwell - beat them up instead of getting them the help they need?

Had I been in Sri Lanka, I think I would have at least tried to organize all my friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances to stone the Bambalapitiya police station over the long weekend.

There is a Sinhalese word - thirissannu - which describes everyone caught on this video, better than any English word that I can think of.

The link to the Daily Mirror article: http://www.dailymirror.lk/DM_BLOG/Sections/frmNewsDetailView.aspx?ARTID=66260

The link to the Asian Tribune article: http://www.asiantribune.com/news/2009/10/31/youth’s-drowning-case-police-officer-surrendered

The video is given below (no blood, no gore but truly disturbing):

Ice Cream Shows

2009-10-15T23:38:00.000-04:00

I was talking to two friends today, and we were discussing TV programs of all types, and I got thinking.

Like, what on earth do people, especially women, find so fascinating about Sex and the City? The few episodes I watched were dull - they weren't particularly funny, not entertaining, and least of all exciting. Ok, the clothes are ( a bit) jazzy, but it's like watching fashion tv - not like any of us would actually where those stuff, right? Point is, I just don't find Sex and the City entertaining (I was told by a male friend that I didn't like it because I was barely female, but I'm going to let that one pass).

Moving on...there are apparently people who don't find Seinfeld funny. It isn't my number one comedy (that would be How I Met Your Mother and Frasier), but any random episode of Seinfeld always manages to be funny, like ice cream. Yes, I know, ice cream isn't funny, but it's one of those things you can eat, no matter what the brand. True, the quality isn't always that great, but till date, I've never come across ice cream so lousy that I couldn't eat it. Seinfeld is like that - every episode isn't great, but every episode is definitely watchable as in funny watchable.

I'm also beginning to wonder exactly how old I am, because there seems to be a generation of people who don't know what Doogie Howser, MD is...imagine if I started reminiscing about Small Wonder!

Aaaah, the good old '80s and '90s - they had the best shows those days.

The Tale Of An Autograph Hunter

2009-10-10T23:43:00.000-04:00

This is the story of how I got Michael Bublé's autograph.

For the last week, I have been seeing the poster, saying that Michael Bublé will be signing autographs on Saturday, October 10th at 1.00 p.m. at the Trinity Square, Toronto Eaton Centre. But like all smart alec's, I missed the fine print...the bit that said:

Wristband policy in effect on a first come, first served basis and will be handed out at 10.00 am on Saturday, October 10, 2009. Autographs are not guaranteed due to time restrictions.

Anyways, after a morning of fighting off the remnants of a stiff neck, I turned up at Trinity Square at exactly 12.55 p.m., nowhere near the 10 o'clock demanded by those giving away the wristbands. And the crowd...oh my goodness!!! The queue for autographs started at Trinity Square, near Sears, went all the way to the other end of Eaton Centre, then curved back towards Sears (but I didn't know it at this point). I was suprised by the crowd mix - there were the usual young girls, but a lot of older men and women as well.

I walked up to a security guard, and asked him where the queue for the autographs was. He told me that the queue was closed and they weren't taking anymore people in. This is when I noticed the queue. Rather disappointed, I asked a girl standing by clutching a Michael Bublé CD the same question. She told me pretty much what was on the fine print: that only the first 500 people were given wristbands, and thus, none of the rest of us were getting any autographs.

Before I could think of anything further, a chorus of girls started screaming, and I knew that Michael Bublé had arrived. He smiled, they screamed, he waved, they screamed some more, and flashes popped all round. It didn't take me too long to readjust my gameplan and camera in hand, I crawled my way as far up to the autograph stage as I could. It isn't easy to take pictures of a celebrity flanked by security, with waves of crazed fans piled up in front of me, but I think I did ok for a novice.

After a while, Michael Bublé took the mike, thanked all of us for coming, and said that he was going to sign as many autographs as he possibly could. That, along with the realization that the autograph queue seemed to have changed it's length, got the wheels in my head turning.

I left the sea of flashing bulbs and followed the queue, starting from the begining. Ok, so it still went all the way to the other end, but the curve back didn't seem as long as it was before. I made my way to the end, and asked the security guy there if this was the queue for autographs. Two girls had also joined me at this point. The security guy said yes, and when we asked him if wristbands were not required, he told us no, and we can stand in line and hope that our turn comes up before they close the session for the day.

And thus began the wait: the two girls ahead of me, the older guy behind me, the even older Filipino couple behind him (they were easily over 40). And there was an even bigger line up after them, but I didn't bother talking to them. The wait didn't seem so long though, while we talked about which album was released first, whether there would be a bigger queue if Josh Groban was here, and whether Michael Bublé should not have sung 'Spiderman'.

After a while, it struck me that I didn't have anything to get autographed! (only a dog-eared notebook in my bag constituted any type of writing material). Asking the girls and the guy to hold my place, I ran into a nearby bookstore (conveniently located on the same floor as us), bought 'Crazy Love', and resumed my place in the queue.

After a wait of 1 1/2 hours, we finally made it to the autograph stage. There were at least five security guys there, telling us to keep our cameras ready if we wanted to take pictures, because we weren't allowed too much time there, and 'no posing with Mr. Bublé' due to time restraints. Oh yeah, and only one item to be autographed per person.

So I finally made it in front of Michael Bublé, shook his hand, got my CD cover autographed, and told him that I loved his songs and he should visit Sri Lanka. The last bit I think got drowned out to some girls behind me screaming 'I love you Michael' but he did say thanks! Then I got shooed off stage by security.

I took a few more pictures afterwards, and the autograph queue was closed soon after, so I think I got mighty lucky.

Did I mention that throughout all this, Michael Bublé was always smiling?
That 1 1/2 hours was so totally worth it!

Thus ends the tale of the autograph hunter.

Are You Smarter Than An American?

2009-10-09T19:01:00.007-04:00

Below is a hilarious clip by some Aussie dude (I think) asking the average American some basic questions. Watch the clip - it is totally worth your time!

Some of my favourites are given below, just as a sampler:

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Interviewer : What's the religion of Israel?

American 1 : Israeli?

American 2 : Muslim?

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Interviewer : What religion are Buddhist monks?

American : Islamic? I don't know.

*************

Interviewer : Who is Fidel Castro?

American : A singer.

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Interviewer : How many sides does a triangle have?

American : Four.

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Interviewer : What is the currency of the United Kingdom?

American : What is the United Kingdom?

*************

Interviewer : In terms of the war on terror, who should we invade next?

American 1 : Italy

American 2 : India and Pakistan

*************

Interviewer : Kofi Anan is a drink, true or false?

American 1 : Coffee is a drink, true.

American 2 : It sounds like a law firm.

*************

Interviewer : Who is Tony Blair?

American : Tony Blair is an actor.

*************

Interviewer : Who was the first man on the moon?

American : John Glen

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Interviewer : What is a mosque?

American : Don't have any idea.

Interviewer : Wanna guess?

American : An animal.

*************

Interviewer : How many world wars have there been?

American : Three.

*************

Interviewer : How many Eiffel towers are there in Paris?

American : I say about ten.

*************

Interviewer : What is al-Qaeda?

American : A suicide group in Israel, in the Middle East. They do suicide bombs and stuff. And the president of it is Yasser Arafat...everyone knows that.

*************

The clip, with much much more ridiculous answers:

How Gazala Ayana Found A Time Machine

2009-10-04T23:10:00.005-04:00

This article by one Gazala Ayana prompted me to write this post. In case you don't want to peep into the weekend version of the Daily Noise, here's some of what this 'lady' has to say, inspired by those topless pictures which she still believes to have been taken at the Hikka fest.

"Although roses, hearts, cupids are used as symbols of love, a lady is the spirit of love. It is through a lady that a man feels the love and comfort of his mother"

"A woman can be compared to a flower that expresses her beauty, tenderness and love that makes her a “lady”. It’s pathetic that some or rather most women at present don’t realize this."

And the most stupefying sentence to have ever been published in the Sunday Observer:

"Our ancestors were wise, in saying; a woman belongs in the kitchen. It could be the excess freedom given in the “modern” era that gives her the audacity to go over the boundaries."

All together now - OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She rambles on further about how men date many women to find the 'correct' wife for himself, and how this has become the accepted norm in society for a man, though it is unthinkable that a woman should do the same.

She finishes off her Taliban-inspired article with another gem:

"It’s only if a woman tempts a man, that he’ll be tempted. Being a woman, does not necessarily make her a “Lady”. "

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when I read this (I still don't). A woman belongs in the kitchen? Do we still have people who actually believe that (let alone publish it)? The whole article is just too bizarre for my comprehension. Did I miss a gazette notification somewhere? Is Sri Lanka supposed to be going back in time?

And I'm itching to ask this Gazala Ayana woman - what is she doing writing for a paper, without being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen? Isn't that where her rightful place is (though she seems better suited for the barn). Sri Lanka produced the world's first female Prime Minister, and she thinks women should stay in the kitchen? (that noise you are hearing right now is probably Sirimavo spinning in her grave).

I pity Ms. Ayana's parents - imagine how many people must be cursing them right now. Were I to advertise my stupidity on a national newspaper in such a manner, I would at least have used a pen name.

And er....'love and comfort of his mother'? Ms. Ayana clearly has found her way into a time machine - she has also found time to drop by Freud's offices before she made her landing at the Middle Ages.

On another note, since when did Sri Lanka become a 'conservative country', as she puts it? A conservative country is Pakistan, or Malaysia or Saudi Arabia.

I cannot emphasize enough on how backward and sexist this article is, and I'm ashamed to see that a woman actually wrote it. I'm still more shocked that the Sunday Observer thought fit to publish such tripe. Are they out of writers or articles? On second thoughts, perhaps they want to be out of readers.

But if anyone else out there is as offended as I am in seeing such backward, sexist baloney being published, please follow the link and write to the Sunday Observer about what you think.

Undercover in Budapest

2009-10-01T23:43:00.004-04:00

I was filling out some forms in the staff room today, and there was this guy - let's call him 'Jack' - who had come from the head office for some reason, and he was speaking to my (Hungarian) boss - let's call her Andrea. He had all our attention when he said "Andi, you never told me about how weird the prostitutes are in Budapest".

Andrea looked at him with the goldfish look - "Weird?" asks she.

Jack went on to explain to all of us: apparently, in other countries, you know who a prostitute is when you see them. They hang around street corners, sluttishly dressed, just waiting to be picked up.

Not so the ones in Budapest, apparently. In Jack's own words:

"You walk down the street, and stop by an outdoor cafe, or a pub. A woman is seated outside, having a beer. Hello, she says. What is the natural human reaction to hello? You reply - hello. The woman is being friendly, you think. Then she asks - sex?"

We were rolling on the floor laughing! I could almost picture the scene.

Jack said that these women were apparently prostitutes - according to him, they were more like undercover prostitutes.

Andrea's reply? "Oh, they might have been Ukrainian. Hungary got down prostitutes from Ukraine to work the streets because Ukrainian prostitutes handled the cold better and were able to stand outside for longer."

The Thin Yellow Line

2009-09-29T17:41:00.009-04:00

Two books, same industry, different topics... similar agendas?

Didn't know the Sri Lankan literary world could get so interesting.Autobiographies I understand, and with it the naming and shaming game,that becomes part and parcel of a true story, though usually with enough dramatizations to blur the line between fact and fiction.

But a thinly veiled work of 'fiction' to take potshots at people you don't like? That's just cheap, thinkst I. Of the two books in question, I haven't had the pleasure to read either, though I have read one of the early drafts of one. For simplicity, let's call the books 'A' & 'B'.

One friend called 'A' well-written and entertaining, though it doesn't take away from the fact that it is a book that takes pot shots at personae non gratae, frequently presenting fiction as fact and vice versa.

Another read 'B' and had this to say (I'm quoting verbatim here) :

He thinks that just because he backdates an incident 40 years and changes a few names, no one will know.

You know, that book is so bloody corny, just slightly below the drama level of 'Bold and the Beautiful' - there's a line that goes (upon which reading I fell on the floor) :"Did you sleep with my husband?"

And the title really takes the cake - (it should be) "His life, in third person".

Which makes me wonder what the point of such books are. It doesn't take much to write events as is, and just change a few names - hell, even I could do that. (I don't know how good the actual writing is in either books, so I'm going by the comments made by my friends).

But if you are going to talk about real people and real (as well as fabricated) events, albeit with changing few basic plot points, why not be man enough to own up to it? Why not say it is autobiographical, or at least semi auto biographical? Because that is the truth of it.

How sad to not have enough balls to stand by fact, and hide behind the banner of fiction.

And if the characters have been picked out of the flora and fauna of one's own life, I guess the entire duty of characterisation as an author becomes wholly unnecessary. I'm guessing neither 'A' nor 'B' will provide future generations with Lady Macbeths, Michael Henchards or even Charlie Browns.

Now moving on to the main point I wanted to make. People are all up in arms at the publication of 'A', yet are unseemly quiet when their friend publishes 'B'. So what differentiates two books identical in all the intrinsic points? (for the record, I think neither books should have been written, let alone published, in the manner that they have)

I guess anything goes, as long as it is done by a friend...aaah, the hypocrisy of people.

Book List

2009-09-29T15:13:00.000-04:00

Was chatting with a friend and recommending her some books she should read, and ended up giving her my top ten 'must reads'. All things considered, I thought I'd post the list here, while rejuvenating my blog.

Back to the list. This is a rather varied list, jumping continents, time periods and genres, but it is my top ten favourite reads, and probably forms the books I would take with me onto a deserted island. They are in random order, but are my absolute favourites, and I've read each of them more than a few times.

The changes I made is replacing 'Crime and Punishment' with number 6, because while I would put the former on for a reading list, I prefer the latter book and replacing 'Beloved' by Toni Morrison with number 9. Doubtless ' Beloved' is the better book, but it just is not a book I would want on an deserted island with me - it will certainly give me more nightmares than any demon ever could. Besides, I love 'The Exorcist' waaaay too much not to include it here.

Feel free to add your own recommendations.

The List (in random order):

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Sophie's World - Jostein Garder
Hamlet - Shakespeare
Satanic Verses - Salman Rushdie
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Foucault's Pendulumn - Umberto Eco
The Moor's Last Sigh - Salman Rushdie
The Exorcist - William Peter Blatty
The New York Trilogy - Paul Auster

Let's Ban Together!

2009-08-25T18:20:00.000-04:00

In view of how our society is degenerating due evil Western and Indian forces, and how much evil is out there tempting our youth, I've made up a list of things that need to be banned in Sri Lanka, for the betterment of society in general.

Lets all fill up this list, and then petition H.E the president to help us - you all know how he loves publicity, and how he would help us purify Sri Lanka.

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1) Mobile phones - our forefathers didn't have them, and see how they built up this country? Therefore, we don't need it either - especially school kids!

2) Washrooms in girl's schools - washroom at schools serves no useful purpose. Its banning would avoid situations like two girls chatting unsupervised (dangerous) or a girl being left alone to her devices (scandalous). Further, the removal of the washroom will teach girls that they should control, nay, deny all natural physical sensations that emanate from their bodies for as long as possible.

3) Girl's schools - it'll better protect our young girls.

4) Private TV stations - no more imported, lustful, violent programmes to lead our youth astray.

5) Pinnawela Orphanage - what use is government institutions if people with power cannot abuse it as and when they wish?

6) Movie theatres and movies - any film that does not promote a life guided by religion is lascivious, and leads our youth astray. Ban the cinema halls, and we will not be faced with such horrors.

7) Private radio stations - refer 'Private TV stations'

8) Ipods - refer 'Private radio stations'

9) Computers, the internet, CDs, DVDs, TV sets, Hi-Fi systems, DVD players etc - refer 'Mobile phones'

10) Odel - this is what teaches our young girls to wear clothes that do not reach their ankles. Oh, the shame of it!

11) Cameras - no ability to take pictures will reduce pornography, which will reduce corruption amongst the youth.

12) Sigiriya - such a relic, bathed in both violence and pornography cannot be a part of our proud history. Those dastardly Indians would have sent it here. Ban it, fast!

13) Pen & paper - this is what the youth use to write love letters. No paper, no temptation.

14) Windows in houses - so our youth will not be tempted by members of the opposite sex who dare walk down the road, attracting unwanted attention.

15) International schools - surely no elaboration is needed?

16) Salons, make up etc - If girls are not tempted make themselves look better, boys will not be tempted to chase girls.

17) Magazines - refer 'mobile phones'.

18) Beach parties - refer 'international schools'

19) The airport - to minimize foreign influence

20) Majestic City - refer 'international schools'

21) Use of steering wheels - this will reduce accidents, and vehicles will become redundant, then we'll have to use bullock carts to travel, so people will stop eating beef!

22) Use of the word 'ducks' - because it sounds funny and we don't want humour corrupting our children.

23) English - then our youth won't be able to understand the proceedings of underground mafia/radio stations/publications and become corrupted by foreign forces.

24) Holidays - idle time is surely when all the degeneration takes place.

25) Ban Ki-moon - no foreigners!

26) Sri Lankan actresses - Anarkali also to be exiled.

27) Public transport - that way no one can get anywhere.

28) Alcohol for anyone below 45 (or maybe 50?) - that way only the head of state and ministers will be able to enjoy the subtle pleasures responsibly.

29) Contraception - that way people won't feel safe having sex, and thus there will be no sex except for purely reproductive purposes (like our noble ancestors Homo Erectus did - take that, Charles Darwin!)

30) Coloured clothes -when people look plain, bland and boring, there will be no temptation. Every pure, holy citizen of Victorian Sri Lanka, and follower of Olcott Buddhism shall wear only white garments of rough texture, that cover every bit of skin from their neck to their finger tips to their toes, to their animal desires.

31) The Isurumuniya lovers - thise lustful, shameless stone statues having sex in public and giving our pure, uncorrupted youth ideas!

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We must all unite and preserve our holy, pure culture before it is too late!

Buying Mountains

2009-08-19T20:56:00.005-04:00

After watching a Doraemon movie , I found myself gripped by (a somewhat regular) nostalgia for most things Japanese from my childhood. I came across this song that we used to love (an old '80s Japanese hit by Yoshi Ikuzou), and after listening to it several times, I began to wonder how many Sri Lankans living outside Colombo were saying the same words to themselves...

The original song was obviously done in good humour then, and certainly, it is an exaggerated setting even for Sri Lanka...but then again...hmmmm...

Here, have a look at an English translation of the lyrics below:

(We have) No TV, no radio,
there aren't even that many cars that drive by

No pianos, no bars,
just the one police car that goes round and round

I wake up and take the cow,
for a little two-hour stroll

(We have) No phone, no gas,
the bus only comes once a day

I hate this village,
I hate this village,
I'm gonna go to Tokyo
Once I get to Tokyo I'll save money,
and raise cows there

(We have) No guitars, no stereo,
I've never even seen them from the day I was born

(There are) No coffee shops, no hangouts,
the only young person here is me

Grandma and Grandpa,
they just pray to the sky

(We have) No pharmacies, no movies,
only a story-teller who visits sometimes

I hate this village,
I hate this village,
I'm gonna go to Tokyo
Once I get to Tokyo I'll save money,
and drive a horse-cart there

(There are) No discos, no voyeurs,
What on earth is a laser disc?

We do have karaoke (empty orchestra),
but I've never seen a gadget that does it

(There are) No papers, no magazines,
only notices (gazettes) that come by sometime

(There are) No traffic lights,
not like there could be,
my village doesn't even have electricity!

I hate this village,
I hate this village,
I'm gonna go to Tokyo
Once I get to Tokyo I'll save money,
and buy a mountain in Ginza!

Aaah, I can just imagine the local version...

The original song is posted below:

Of Elephants & Parades

2009-08-05T19:05:00.007-04:00

The kidnapping of two baby elephants by the DN for two temples in Kandy reminded me of something that happened about three years ago, during the Gangarama temple perehara.

I was driving about near the Vihara Maha Devi Park, and it about 3 p.m. I knew that the perehara was to start in the evening, but as always, the Colombo traffic plan was something known only to the traffic police. No sooner had I turned the car onto Green Path, I was stopped by the cops, and told to wait on the side of the road till those who were taking part in the perehara had passed.

To see, I wasn't the only one parked by the side of the road. True, there were other vehicles, but what caught my eye were the elephants. All dressed up to take part in the perahera, they too had been requested to stand aside and wait till it was their turn to assume positions.

At first, they just seemed like over decorated animals, like poodles in a dog show. But the longer I waited in my car, disturbing thoughts kept going through my head. Surely, these animals are feeling the heat as much as I am? Add to that, they had covered the poor elephant in layers of cloth, which is not part of the animals nature. Surely - elephants have been on this planet for longer than humans. If they really wanted to wear clothes, they would've figured out a way to do so, without us having to drape them with uncomfortable, garish fabric in the height of summer.

There they were, draped with cloth, painted for added benefit, soaking in the sun, twitching uncomfortably to and fro. And that's when I noticed why they were twitching. All four of their feet had been chained, leaving very little room for either comfort or movement (much like in the image).

No wonder they were twitching! Doubtless they had been chained so that they wouldn't run amok and disturb the perahera, but again, it is not in an elephants nature to enjoy being paraded around streets, garishly decked out, for the sole amusement of us humans, and to satisfy some outdated religious myth.

I cannot put to words what a tragic sight it was, to see these elephants straining against their chains, only to be chided and hit by their mahouts.

It is cruel and inhuman to use these noble beasts in these parades. I don't care if these peraheras are culturally or religiously important to us. Why can't we have the perahera without elephants? Is our momentary enjoyment in seeing them paraded around so much more important than their suffering? Is torturing animals the cost of keeping Buddhist culture alive?

I swore to myself that I would never, ever watch or support these perahera, so long as it used animals. But I'm just one person, and I doubt any of this would matter to most people who throng to watch these.

Now, we have two baby elephants kidnapped, and practically speaking, that is the best word to describe what has happened. Despite the public outcry, our esteemed president has decided to legitimize the kidnapping ( http://www.island.lk/2009/08/06/news2.html ).

What a life these poor babies will have - separated from their mothers even before they're five years, made to live in a garage and beaten into docility. And what joys they have to look forward to when they grow older - make-up & costumes in 30 degree weather, all while being chained like a prisoner. And all this, again, in the name of Buddhist culture.

Tell me, can you ever watch a perahera again?

Boys, Girls & Our Pure Buddhist Culture

2009-07-29T14:07:00.006-04:00

This is what 'proper' Buddhist girls and boys should be like:

They should have no interest in the opposite sex - never mind the fact that from the time a girl starts menstruating, her body is saying that it is readying itself to bear children, and likewise for boys, except that they don't menstruate.

In effect, we teach a legion of children to rebel against all natural physical reactions of their body, and follow a puritanical code of moral conduct that has been deemed 'proper' & 'Buddhist'.

To add to this dangerous foundation, we deny them any kind of entertainment, and the sole focus is studies. The entertainment available is so 'un-Buddhist', anyway. Sports or music/drama is encouraged only for competitive purposes.

Anyone elder to you is always right - dissent or argument is unheard of (again, that is part of being a 'good Buddhist').

Parenting is akin to taming a wild animal - you first break the animal's spirit. Fear, fear and more fear is the way to go. 'Discipline', a word much bandied today, is the be all and end all of life. Heaven forbid you disappoint your parents - oh the shock, the humiliation of it all!

Oh yeah, if you can't handle the pressure of it all (especially the humiliation) at the tender age of 14, don't think for a moment that this country will understand your suicide, because it won't.

Girls shouldn't wear anything short, or sleeveless, or trousers, because that is just not the way of the true Buddhist.

Porn - a concept imported exclusively from the West - is a strict no-no. Boys and girls being attracted to one another(and homosexual attraction even more so) is so unnatural. Curiosity about sex, the same sex or the opposite sex could bring our pristine Buddhist culture crashing down in no time. Likewise the mere hint of violence, usually found on TV.

What has our society turned into - and how on earth is this, ultra-rigid, puritanical, neo fascist society justified in the name of Buddhism?

Wasn't it in this 'pure' Buddhist culture of ours that women walked around bare-bodied? Where kings had concubines? Where almost all our historic sites depict 'artistic' porn, albeit with over-weight women?

From my knowledge of Buddhism, this puritanical crap has nothing to do with it. Buddhism does not preach how one should dress, what relations with the opposite sex should consist of or any such gobbledygook.

So what is our clergy and our politicians on about? Have they confused Buddhism with the Taliban?

All I know is, in their quest to protect this 'pure Buddhist culture' of Sri Lanka, they are doing irreparable social harm, and they are doing more harm to Buddhism than any 'outsider' could ever even dream of doing...hold on, Afghanistan, we're right behind ya!

Imported Lust

2009-07-27T22:45:00.004-04:00

This incident happened about 4 weeks ago, but I've been way too busy to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) till now.

I was being driven to Colombo, and the driver had put on some Sinhalese radio station. Initially, none of us paid too much attention (that's father, mother, sister, driver & moi).

However, our collective attention was soon transfixed. The DJ (is that the right term these days?) had a voice like Wimal Weerawansa at a May Day rally, and was not so much speaking as he was screaming. The topic (from what I gathered at this initial stage) was why rapists and pedophiles were not given the death sentence, and frequently had their jail terms reduced only to commit even more heinous crimes when they were released.

While that is a topic in and of itself, it is not my purpose to discuss it here today.

Callers (mostly, I noted, from outstation) kept calling in, and their point, along with the host, seemed to be as follows: if Mahinda Rajapakse could ignore international opinion and take on the LTTE, why can't he implement the death penalty?

At this point (maybe fifteen or twenty minutes from when I started paying attention) I figured this was yet another bout of 'lets bash up our president/government', a seemingly popular game in Sri Lanka.

But noooooooooooooooo, that was merely the appetizer. The host had worked himself up to a rabid frenzy by now, and the whole show was sounding way worse than a May Day rally. He had moved away from the president and the death penalty, and was asking his listeners to look at the 'real' reason as to why such crimes were taking place in Sri Lanka, a country with a rich, peaceful, Buddhist culture...(add as many phony adjectives as you see fit - they were all mentioned at some point).

When no listener seemed wise enough to crack the code, he started dropping helpful clues. The first clue (aptly enough), was CSI and its host, cable TV. Such a so-terrible programme, that CSI is, he said. Not only is it violent, that is how our criminals learn to commit violent crimes and get away with it.

Get it? They studiously watch CSI every night, and learn the art of committing the perfect murder.

Pity X-Files was no longer running - we could've all blamed the aliens and then be done with it.

At any rate, cable TV was apparently such a terrible, violent influence, and naturally, violence such as that found in CSI could have only been imported from the West.

If you thought that was the end of it, you're in for a surprise. Because, you see, CSI only shows us how to commit the most grizzliest of crimes and get away with it. But the need to commit such crimes must have come from somewhere, yes?

Yes. Most emphatically. We were now told how a culture as innocent as ours had been brainwashed by Indian and Western programmes, that have introduced lust to us. 'Kaamaya' was the word used; lust I feel is the closest English translation.

Scantily dressed women dancing to Hindi songs, a woman in any Western entertainment number of your choice, and the like were all harming our innocent youth, who, apparently would not have known what lust, sex, porn or even the opposite sex was if not for these evil instruments of destruction.

He went on and on and on in this vein, and had soon whipped up enough adrenaline in his regular audience so that they started calling up one by one, all agreeing with him, some even going to the extent of telling him how and where teenage boys buy porn (yeah, I wonder how they know).

The internet soon joined the bandwagon of this particular axis of evil -I found it particularly amusing when the host actually mentioned a porn site (tell me, how did such a holy man come across Naughty America ?)

The cure, naturally, was to ban cable TV, Hindi movies, Hollywood movies, Hollywood magazines, mobile phones, the internet, DVDs, VCDs and such. Because you see, Sri Lankan men, Sri Lankan women, Sri Lankan would-be pedophiles, Sri Lankan would-be rapists and teenagers in general, do not know what lust is. It is apparently not a natural, physical sensation, but an abnormal, evil, imported concept from the West (mostly, and the rest from India).

When I wasn't frothing at what this goon was preaching to the masses, I was actually amused by the sheer absurdity of the notions he was peddling. By his count, the Sigirya frescoes -in fact, the whole concept of Sigiriya, given the violence and mayhem that gave birth to it - could not have been created by any Sri Lankan. Maybe it was done by the Indians. Or the Brits. Or those aliens Mulder & Scully kept running after.

And I'm guessing that till Western (and Indian) cinematic influences came to this holy island, we picked our babies of Baby Trees, because since lust is such an alien concept to us, how on earth would our forefathers ever have had sex? Or maybe it was asexual reproduction, like amoeba. Which seems a more likely explanation, and would directly explain our host's genealogy.

Had this radio station actually advertised itself during the time I was listening, I would have actually mentioned it here. And had they given out their hot-line number, I would have surely called up, and told that dim-witted, amoeba-origined host exactly what I thought. But I had no such luck, and mercifully, I was dropped off first, or there's no telling how scarred the driver may have been, hearing my thoughts on the topic.

I can only describe the host (and the show) in the same words the TIME magazine used to describe Ayatollah Khomeini -"a fanatic whose judgments are harsh, reasoning bizarre and conclusions surreal".

No wonder our society is the puritanical mess that it is. What with only a handful of co-ed schools, maniacal media figures like this, and a fervent belief that our 'pure' and 'innocent' and 'lust-free' culture trumps that of the rest of the civilised world, I shudder to think what our youth and children will turn into.

Chitter Chatter

2009-07-08T12:07:00.003-04:00

People should take note of their surroundings before they start airing dirty laundry.

I was at Commons today, having lunch with a friend. After a while, two teenagers, a girl and a boy, sat down at the next table. Soon, my friend and I were unable to have any kind of sustained conversation. The voices at the other table drowned out even our thoughts, so speech was a foregone conclusion.

We found out, for instance, that they used to go out. We were also privy to the facts that she still wears his ring, that sharing a bed with numerous people doesn't mean one 'got dirty', that the best way to avoid fights at parties is to invite only one's own grade...

I don't think that my friend and I would've had much of a conversation even if they weren't so loud; we were too busy stifling our giggles. I'm sure you get the gist of their conversation, going by the highlights mentioned above.

Seriously though, why would you discuss such intimate details, at such a public place, at such a volume?

Gemologised!

2009-07-02T08:28:00.002-04:00

To pick up where I left off, I shall start with a recent dream I had.

I was standing by the side of a road, waiting to be picked up by The Drifter. I could swear I was near some small hotels in Hikkaduwa, but I couldn't say for certain. So Drifter comes, picks me up and we're off. We're clearly in Sri Lanka, the boards on the roadside shops say 'R.A.De Mel Mawatha', but it's not like any part of Duplication Road I've ever seen. So I ask Drifter where we are, and he promptly replies 'Duplication Road'. I tell him I've never seen this part of Duplication road, and he says that 'it's the other side of Duplication Road'.

Other side?? What other side, I think. I ask. He looks at me as if I'm a complete idiot, and explains that it's the side of the road that stretches from Mattakkuliya. I refrain from asking anymore questions because I'm just too confused.

By and by, the road drives through a huge, lavish building, with really fancy balconies, structures...the works. I gingerly ask Drifter what it is, and he explains that it's an apartment complex housing the richest people in the country, and thus the obvious luxury.

Somehow, we're suddenly out of the car, and walking through this building now, and it seems more like a hotel than an apartment complex. There's a indoor waterfall and pond, beautifully laid out, and I'm thoroughly fascinated. There's also a butler-like gentlemen, explaining something to Drifter, but I can't remember exactly what it was.

We then walk into an indoor garden, and suddenly it's a museum. There is also a bunch of schoolgirls on the other end, and a lady in a suit explaining something to them, and for some reason I assume that she's part of the staff.

Now comes the weirdest bit...there were animals in this indoor garden-cum-museum...except they weren't normal animals. Their entire body was made of gems; precious and semi-precious stones. And they were alive. Shiny, precious stones covering their bodies, and these creatures were alive. There was an owl, some birds, a turtle, and I think a dog as well as a peacock. I only knew they were alive because they were moving.

I'm so confused and shocked at this stage, I ask Drifter what has happened to them. He looks at me, not for the first time, as if I'm a dunce, and says 'They've been gemologised'.

Gemologised?? Huh?? Clearly, I'm the only one in the room who hadn't heard of 'gemologised' animals. As I very confusedly follow Drifter, staring at the astonishing creatures around me, my mobile starts to ring. Annoyed, I look to see who it is, and it's someone called 'Alarm'.

I remember being just a tad confused, and then I woke up.

The One With The Dreams

2009-01-21T09:55:00.004-05:00

I have ultra weird dreams, and weirder still is the fact that I remember them in great detail the following morning. So, in tribute to my weird dreams, I've compiled a few of them below.

***************

The One With Bon Jovi

Bon Jovi has come to Sri Lanka, and is having a concert at the Mount Lavinia Hotel, on the beach. The whole event is being handled by a small ad agency, which was formed by a few people who left a much bigger one. I go to the concert with a friend, mega excited. But the concert gets cancelled, because the Chairperson of the aforementioned bigger agency has called in with a bomb threat. Why? Because she couldn't handle the fact that her breakaways were handling the event.

In the ensuing mess, the hotel fights with Bon Jovi, demanding that they pay the hotel for the cost of putting up the concert. Bon Jovi in turn demands that the hotel charge the bigger agency since they made the bomb threat. Poor old me bitch about the concert getting cancelled...then I woke up.

***************

The One With The Fridge

I've redesigned a fridge (yes, truly, the dream went like this). Somehow, my goal was to design a fridge where one could put more stuff inside, as opposed to a conventional fridge. So I've designed a fridge where instead of having shelves inside, I've fixed revolving, spiral, stepped shelves. Now my problem is that I know for a fact that this new fridge is more convenient, but I don't know if the original goal of being able to put more stuff inside has been achieved. So I call my mother, to see if I can borrow her fridge to do a comparison. When I realise that her fridge is a much bigger model, I'm stuck...then I woke up.

***************

The One With The Fish

I'm on a beach trip with some friends. We have a torch, which, when flashed at oneself, makes one smaller (this is actually a tool from a Japanese cartoon, Doraemon). One of my friends makes herself smaller, and perches on top of a fish tank, watching the fish. When I come back from the beach (or was it lunch?), she's missing, presumably eaten by a big nasty fish.

The rest of us transform back to our normal sizes and take the fish, calling her name out loudly while we try to see if the fish had actually swallowed her. But this fish, nasty huge fellow that he is, jumps out of the tank and start snipping at my heels, such that I wind up on top of the table. We eventually got hold of the fish, and rushed to hospital to see if a doctor could cut it open and rescue our friend...then I woke up.

***************

And believe me, these are just a few of my weird dreams...feel free to add your own ones.

Why Is It That....

2009-01-02T02:21:00.003-05:00

...women have to wear a sari to court in Sri Lanka? A woman can so easily look professional without having to wrap herself up in 6 yards. I can understand the colour restrictions (applicable to both sexes) but not the whole sari thing.

I mean, if women have to wear saris, shouldn't the men be wearing the national? Why force a colour and a costume on women, but only a colour on men? Plus, as pointed out by so many people, a sari reveals so much more of a woman's body than a suit (pants or skirt) possibly could.

Retarded, chauvinistic rule says I.

***********

...that motorcyclists have absolutely no fear for their own lives? I've lost track of the number of times I've personally wanted to run over a motorcyclist. They overtake from the left, right, on pavements, kiss your buffer, the sides, the mirrors and all this at times without even a helmet...but if a car so much as grazes them (and it's usually their fault), rest assured that there will be a mob at hand to chop your head off.

Seriously, does it not occur to them that a trip to the garage for me could mean a trip to the morgue for them?

***********

...pedestrians feel the need to cross the road five feet away from the pedestrian crossing? It is so annoying that after waiting at a crossing for people to cross, you have to brake and wait less than three feet ahead, because some morons feel that a pedestrian crossing stretches across infinitely.

***********

...my love life is of such paramount interest to my extended family? Why can't they just watch Mahagedara instead?

***********

...there is never any edible vegetarian food at family gatherings? A token plate of rubber-like fish does NOT count, for those of us who have chosen not to eat meat (and yes, chicken is meat). And a salad is a salad. We cannot eat rice and salad and be satisfied with it.

***********

...people ask for treats? If you want to eat something so badly, go out and buy it yourself. I'm sure the vast majority of us would like to treat our friends & colleagues daily, had we the ability. If we aren't giving a treat, it's because we have a good reason not to, so I wish people would just take the bloody hint.

Last I checked, plenty stores sell Christmas cake/cakes in general/biriyani/wattalappam/kavum/kokis et al, so go get it yourself.

***********

...Pizza Hut is still in business? Most of their pizza taste the same, the seafood is conspicuously absent from the Seafood Supreme, the menu sucks and the prices are exorbitant.

They've also lost most of their sense, because the Pizza Hut marketing dept. seems to think that the best way to entice us to eat their pizzas is by letting us know that mice live inside the pizza crusts! Blech!!!

Did I mention that the portions have also gotten smaller?

***********

Hmmm...that's it for today. Feel free to add your own burning questions here.

Happy New Year

2009-01-02T02:10:00.004-05:00

Just a short post wishing everyone a great 2009.

May it be infinitely better than the one that just passed!

The Ten Commandments

2008-12-30T00:04:00.004-05:00

The 100% non-religious commandments I try to live by.

1. Always try to make a positive difference.

2. Don't bite the dog, even if he bit you.

3. Question everything. Always check everything, even your most cherished thoughts, against the facts. If they don't hold up, it's time for the dustbin.

4. Enjoy your sex life, and let others enjoy theirs. What people do behind closed doors (and with whom) is none of your business, and doesn't concern you at all.

5. Always do the right thing. Even if you don't benefit from it.

6. Give gifts. It will always make you feel good.

7. Do not tolerate evil, injustice or stupidity.

8. If you have a dream, chase it. Never mind whether you'll achieve it or not.

9. Keep the child in you alive.

10. Never shy away from love, no matter how many times you've been burnt. But don't let your life be defined by love, or whom you love. You are your own master, always.

If I Was Your Mother

2008-12-17T09:50:00.004-05:00

When I read the title before I heard the song (by Bon Jovi), I thought it would be one weird song, what with a title like that. Who wants a love song that compares you to a parent (of either gender)? But then I heard the song, and it made so much sense. Maybe this isn't why it was written, but I saw it as a love song, sung by someone who was very, very desperate. What touches you is the raw emotion. The frustration a person must feel to say words this desperate - unrequited love is so perfectly captured here (if you haven't been there, you won't understand it). I don't know why it was actually written, but this is my take on it.

I dedicate this song to myself and to one more person who'll read this blog while having his breakfast - I don't have much hope for myself, but I truly hope she comes back to you. Here's to us...

If I Was Your Mother

If I was your mother
Would you let me hold your hand
Would you say you were my baby
Would you always be my friend

If I was your mother
Could I teach you what's right
Could I tell you stories
Maybe tuck you in
And kiss you sweet goodnight

Tell me what I got to do
To make my life mean more to you
I could get so close it's true
If I was your mother

Would you always believe me
'Cause I'd wake up in the middle
Of the night
Just to see if you need me

Tell me there's no mother
To who you're telling your secrets
And would you tell me
'Bout all the boys you been
Bringing home to meet me

Tell me what I got to do
To make my life mean more to you
I could get so close it's true
If I was yours

Mother, mother
If I was your
Mother, mother

When love is blood
You're never on trial
Love don't get deeper
Than a mother & child
Oh baby, I got to get that
Close to you

Tell me what I got to do
To make my life mean more to you
I could get so close it's true
If I was yours

Tell me what I got to be
To make you a part of me
There's no one else you'd ever need
If I was your

Mother, mother
If I was your mother
Mother, mother

Mother, mother
If I was your mother
Mother, mother

- Bon Jovi (Keep the Faith)

I'm Afraid

2008-12-12T04:23:00.003-05:00

I am afraid...of being unsuccessful

I am afraid...of never finding a person who loves me

I am afraid...of always being a failure

I am afraid...of never being good enough

I am afraid...that my dreams are too big for this world

I am afraid...that I will soon lose my strength

I am afraid...that the Christmas spirit is lost

I am afraid...that I'll change into a creature that I don't recognize

I am afraid...of losing the twinkle in the eye forever

I am afraid...that I've already changed

I am afraid...of what hate can do to a person

I am afraid...of it being too late

I am afraid...of caring too much

I am afraid...that I'm taken for granted

I am afraid...of others

2007, 2008 And Now 2009...Same S*it, Different Smell

2008-12-12T03:54:00.005-05:00

Last year was so bad, I thought that it couldn't get any worse. Then it turned out that 2007 served merely as a teaser to 2008, which was the worst year of my life. Unequivocally. And now, as 2008 draws to an end, I find out that 2009 is definitely going to be worse. When I plan my life, it gets royally screwed, and when I don't plan it, I still get screwed. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.

What's the point of being alive, when you are unhappy all the time? I really wonder that I don't

take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.

Again, I put it down to lack of strength. And my ultra-detrimental quality of actually worrying about others.

I thought I had friends; real true friends that I could lean on, but I was sadly mistaken (yeah, I never learn). I keep throwing myself at people who don't want me. It is so apparent that I'm unwanted and unloved, yet I pigheadedly choose to walk down the same blind alley. And then get terribly hurt. Yet, lacking the strength to turn around, I keep wandering down the same lousy road.

I used to think that I'd leave, and then, like it or not, this cycle of misery will end. I'll surround myself with strangers, not get close to a single soul and thereby avoid all the mistakes I've made in my entire existence, and thus get by without this pain or heartache. But looks like I'm not leaving.

And that translates into another year of pain, another year of loneliness, another year of hurt, another year of misery that I don't know how to extricate myself out of.

Ah well, look at the bright side - at least there won't be any surprises. I know exactly what to expect.

That Cheap '70s Horror Movie

2008-11-26T06:19:00.006-05:00

Decided to post something mildly (very mildly) amusing, instead of the usual rants. I lived through a cheap '70s horror movie. No, I really did. This incident happened a good month or so ago. Without further ado, here goes...

******************

3rd floor, living room with ceiling-to-floor glass sliding doors, opening out onto the balcony. Early evening, maybe around 6.30 or 7. My friend, the Drifter and I sit around the open doors, him drinking coffee, us talking, having a nice time. I noticed a cockroach behind him, and sealed its fate with the sole of my slipper. Maybe five or six minutes later, his brother met the same fate.

Then we decide to move further indoors, and sit in front of the TV, and continue to talk. Maybe for another 45 minutes, perhaps an hour. One of us decide we were hungry, and I decide to look for food in the kitchen, which adjoins the living room.

But...da da da daaaa...

I couldn't take more than a few steps when I noticed another cockroach. As I killed it, Drifter comes to see what the commotion is about, and spots yet another cockroach.

"Yeah, got him" says I, as I frantically chase the cockroach with a slipper.

But, turns out Drifter was talking about another cockroach, different to the 2nd one I was trying to slay. We got rid of him too, and stood with our hands to our hips, wondering where on earth these creatures were coming from. We couldn't wonder too long, because we spotted another two or three cockroaches, and Drifter had the good sense to close the balcony doors, which is where they were crawling in from.

He felt too icky to kill them, so I had the odious task of running about with a slipper in hand, while he looked for cockroaches, all the while both of us shivering in fright. A chance look onto the balcony assured Drifter that far more cockroaches were armed and ready to enter.

As with any cheap horror movie, we were out of weapons. There was not a single can of Mortein or Baygon in the house and to reach the closest supermarket, you had to exit via the roach-infested balcony. It seriously wasn't funny, and we had never seen so many cockroaches in one place.

The slipper was soon becoming overwhelmed, and Drifter put his fears aside and decided to risk the balcony to get the weapons we so badly needed. He somehow made through the sliding doors, but I know not how he managed it.

In his absence, I valiantly flailed about with the slipper, until stubborn roaches forced me to find a weapon out of desperation - the bleach bottle. While the slipper (and my arm) took much needed rest, the bleach bottle rose to occasion and helped me slay several more horrific roaches.

After what seemed like an eternity (but in fact must have been less than fifteen minutes), Drifter appeared on the balcony, spraying in all directions. A-ha! the hero makes it, and manages to bring the weapon too!

The poor bleach bottle and the even more overused slipper took a backseat while Mortein was sprayed in all directions. Those stubborn roaches kept knocking on the door, and crawling out of hiding places, and for a few minutes I thought the Drifter had done the terrible mistake of buying just one can, which we were soon running short of.

Well, though it was just one can (a mammoth one), we managed to defeat the invasion of the roaches without depleting all the ammo.

The whole house smelled of Mortein but we were waaaay too scared to open the balcony doors. And we just barely managed to order pizza before they stopped taking in orders.

******************

Believe me, it was a real, live, horror movie, complete with the ultra-cheap monster. We were invaded by cockroaches, for heaven's sake! But I kid you not, this story is real, and it happened exactly as I related it. We don't know where the roaches came from (and it was only roaches). It had never happened before, and hasn't happened since. The weapons were cheap, the characters were scared, and the monsters would have been laughable, under any other circumstances. And whoever we tell this story ends up laughing.

But it was real, it was scary, and it really did happen.

Beware, the invasion of the cockroaches...coming soon, to a balcony near you...

Resources For Coping

2008-11-19T22:32:00.004-05:00

Was reading up on suicides. Don't ask me why. Came upon this interesting site. Perhaps the most interesting thing it said was that suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.

I found that extremely interesting, and very well put. It went on to say that the best way to avoid suicide is to increase your resources for coping, and some such in the same vein. Anyways. What caught me was the resources for coping bit. It so very well describes the exact situation so many of us find ourselves in. We have so much shit thrown at us, and not only don't we know what to do, we also have no one to turn to.

It also pointed out (quite accurately), how uncomfortable the idea of suicide makes other people. And how that anger or belittlement just adds to your frustrations, as opposed to relieving them.

All in all, I don't think I've ever come across a site/place/person who actually said suicide was ok. Of course, the site gives umpteen ways to prevent it, but it somehow didn't treat suicide has a huge stigma, or taboo topic.

Anyways, feels good to finally come across some honesty, even if it's on a website.

Fool's Paradise

2008-11-19T04:10:00.002-05:00

A fool's paradise aptly describes my world. And I, the fool.

When I started out in life, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, either from this world or the people inhabiting it. But in the recent past, I seem to have done a mighty wonderful job in deceiving myself about all the important things, events and people in my life. I'm supposed to be smart person - in fact, by all accounts, I'm supposed to be smarter than your average Joe. Clearly, I'm not. Makes sense, then, that I eventually pay for my hubris.

I amaze myself by my incredible ability not to see what is right in front of my nose; even after suffering third degree burns, I still seem quite unable to realise the danger of fire.

I cling, like a fool, on to hope when all hope is clearly lost. I make plans when it is futile. I actually have the audacity to think that I can change people, when I do not seem to have the strength to even change myself.

It'll be better tomorrow. Or the day after. Next week. Next month. The month after that. But it never is, is it? And yet, I the fool actually believes the revolving calendar holds hope. A revolving deadline to postpone the eventual unhappy truth, is all it is.

Funny thing is, it isn't even a very nice paradise that I've buried myself in. And yet I refuse to leave. Fear of greater misery making me hold onto this one? I don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm sure it'll end up making me the fool, which sort of fits in perfectly.

It's my birthday next month. Since I'm quite certain that the day will bring nothing but three phone calls and bushels of misery, perhaps it'll give me the push to leave this paradise.

But here I go again, hoping. When I shouldn't even count on myself.

Independence

2008-10-13T07:14:00.003-04:00

Tact. As always, conspicuous by its absence. From those near and far. And it manages to upset me every time. But it's a good thing that I have time to reflect. Because reflection shows that people, near or far, are not bound by anything under the sun (or moon) to take my feelings under consideration. Why should they? Laugh, joke and go about your own business. In this big wild selfish scary world, we need to be able to take care of ourselves.

Being independent isn't just about being able to pay for oneself (which, incidentally, I barely manage) and taking care of oneself. I think it also means being insular to the world around you. It means not expecting anything from anyone - whether it be big or small, and whether they be near or far. It means getting used to tactlessness, to selfishness; in short, getting used to this world we inhabit. When one doesn't have to rely or expect anything from anyone, isn't that being truly independent?

One day. Someday. Soon. I shall be truly independent.

Perceptions

2008-10-02T07:44:00.002-04:00

I was called:

An apologist: For those of you who don't know, an apologist is a person who argues in defense or in justification of something, such as a doctrine, policy, or institution. Of course, uttered by one who didn't know what pedantic meant, the meaning of an apologist was naturally convoluted to mean "one who argues against something merely for the sake of arguing". Given that this rewriting of English was done by a (senior) English copywriter, I have let him stew in his ignorance. One of these days someone is bound to laugh at him, and then his arrogance will be cut to size.

But onto the main point: the idea that I am someone who argues against something merely for the sake of arguing. I would have found it offensive, had I not found the comment, the notion (and at that moment, the person) laughable. The fact that I disagree with most, or all, of what a person says does not make me an apologist (his definition, not the correct one), but only a rare breed of people who are never afraid to speak their mind. Further, I am happy to retain my (very strong) opinions on almost every subject under the sun, even if it is diametrically opposite to what the rest of society believes. I'm not part of the herd, and never do I wish to be.

The fact that he prefers to name call and not argue the point only shows either a rather weak opinion, an insane amount of arrogance (hand in hand with the need to be always right), or just plain childishness. Call me whatever you want; I am what I am, and I'm damn proud of it. (Also proud that my vocabulary is clearly better than so-called English experts).

I was also called:

A woman who doesn't want to have kids: This comment I found particularly offensive. I've never said I don't want kids. So then, Traditional Male Chauvinist (TMC) must have come to this conclusion on his own, right? Why am I a woman who doesn't want to have kids? Could it be because I'm strong, and not a shrinking violet? Because I have, and want, a career, instead of sitting at home and having my personality defined by my husband and 2.5 kids? Because I live in this century and not the last? Because I take care of my own needs without needing to be babysat by a man? Or maybe it's because I can't (he thinks) cook. Hey, wait, maybe it's because I don't go all gooey-eyed over babies and kids (particularly his).

In short, when a woman is strong, and is just like one of the men, the natural assumption is that she is a lesbian who hates men and doesn't want kids. Personally, I have nothing against either lesbians or women who don't want to have kids. But I find it extremely offensive that merely by being a strong modern woman, I've been squeezed into a stereotype that doesn't fit. At all.

I am a woman who always dreamed of adopting a kid (because love should transcend blood, and there are too many orphans who need love and a family), and where I come from, that falls under the category of wanting to have kids. Will I someday have kids of my own? That depends entirely on finding a willing partner, but clearly it hasn't been ruled out.

In essence TMC offended me more than he could possibly imagine, and my barbs at him will continue till something far bigger distracts me each time I see him.

Morons, the whole lot of them.

Ranting

2008-09-30T06:00:00.003-04:00

The shoulder has been killing me for days. Lift a pencil and there starts the pain. I need to find another job. Again. By the end of the month. Wow, so much time, and in such a happening industry. Joy! I need to find money. Again. Before the end of the month. What else is new? Levi's customer service sucks, as do their stock. Again, nothing new. I can't find a single pair of sandals that I like, so I had to 'settle for' something, just to make sure I wasn't going to end up being a barefoot babe. I ended up settling for sandals with soles so smooth that I managed to slip and fall on a bloody escalator at Crescat. Maybe the other shoulder will give way as well. Client cancelled a campaign. Woo hoo! 22 visuals was art class, I suppose. I dropped my phone. Again. For the 50 zillionth time. Now it switches itself off as it pleases. Not very helpful. People are annoying. Usual story. Had someone walk out on me in mid-conversation. An important conversation; I'm a wall flower, here's my card. Class this evening. Much rather be home, curled up on the couch. Forgot to buy lip balm. Again. Endless calls from mother. I suppose I'll wind up picking up tailoring that isn't ready. Again. What a familiar word, that 'again'. Keeps making an appearance. Again and again. This bloody nauseating heat. When will it rain? Sushi. Unaffordable. Again. Manolo Blahniks, then? Apparently, that too is unaffordable. Hmmmm. $24 for a DVD. Dare I indulge? Money, again. Needed. Again, repeated. Soon the sun will set and this day will end. How many from this list will be repeat telecast tomorrow? Raspberry mousse. Not nearly enough to satisfy me. Tummy ache. Still there. Men with BO walking around my room. Or was that the stink of fakeness? Whichever it is, it smells terrible. He said he'll call on Monday, and it's Tuesday now. Men and their lines. Except it's business. Still. Men and their lines. Honesty is such a lost art these days. Homework. Untouched. Due today. Cut work early and hit the library. Don't want to, but must. Life sucks. Again.

White Picket Fences

2008-09-25T07:43:00.003-04:00

With a friend pouring her heart out about her marital issues, I'm compelled to write on the topic. She's newly married, and fairly miserable with her husband, and from the sound of the story, he must be equally miserable, if for different reasons. Clearly, they don't quite gel, and they don't sound like two people who should've got married to begin with.

At which point I'm reminded of what I said few weeks ago about loving and falling in love. She clearly didn't realise the difference between the two when she got married. Love and marriage are so much more than exchanging rings, keeping framed photos of each other, and the usual candy hearts, stuffed toys and flowers. The love buzz is all nice and fine for as long as it's there, but can you really build a future on it?

Reality isn't a white picket fence with 2.5 kids and two cars in the garage. Photo frames and flowers don't help much when you're fighting like cats. People have to realise that to share a life of love, it needs a little more than just being in love.

The sad thing is, pride and fear will keep her from doing what she should. Too proud to say that she made a mistake, and took a wrong turn. Too proud to say that she defied her family for the wrong man. To afraid to face life alone, she'd rather stay with a man she will soon be unable to stand. Pride and fear are two terrible things. I don't understand how people willingly choose unhappiness over chance. I mean, it seems fairly simple to figure out if one is happy or not. And if the person you're in love with isn't making you happy, or is causing unhappiness, doesn't that say something? Is that really love? Would a person who loves you really watch you suffer?

I read on Cosmopolitan that sometimes people delay breaking up (or divorce) by up to two years, though they know that they should do it. How sad is that? But it's probably true. In the case of my friend, it seems spot on. I'm guessing she will unhappily stay in this marriage, becoming more and more unhappy by the day, but unfortunately, not having the required guts to walk away.

Crash Test Dummies

2008-09-25T07:01:00.005-04:00

Be warned: as bizarre as the following two stories are, they are nevertheless true stories.

True Story 1 - Part 1:

A couple of months ago, I was involved in producing 03 TV commercials featuring Lasith Malinga. Last week, I had the following conversation with a colleague.

Insane Copywriter: Queen, you worked on those commercials with Lasith Malinga, right?

Me: Yes...why?

Insane Copywriter: Can I have his phone number?

Me:??!!!

Insane Copywriter: Can I have his phone number?

Me: What??

Insane Copywriter: Can I have his phone number?

Me: Umm...uh....I don't have it...why?

Insane Copywriter: Well, there was this interview in which he mentioned this doctor who had helped cure his knee problem...I need that doctor's details.

Me: ??!!! I can't just call up Lasith Malinga and ask him for his doctor's details!!

Insane Copywriter: Why not? You worked with him. Why can't you call him?

Me: You can't just call up celebrities and ask them for their doctor's number, especially when you barely know them.

Insane Copywriter: Why not? You did a commercial together. He should understand.

Me: Uh....I don't have his number (then I ran away and hid under someone else's table for the longest time and emerged only in the late afternoon).

True Story 1 - Part 2:

Later that day...

Even Crazier ECD: Queen, can you do me a favour?

Me: Sure...what is it?

Even Crazier ECD: Do you have Lasith Malinga's number?

Me:??!! (thinking 'oh no, not again') No, I don't.

Even Crazier ECD: See, the Insane Copywriter wants his number to get his doctor's details because her husband has a similar leg pain...can't you get Malinga's doctor's details from him? You used to contact him for the shoot, right?

Me: Uhhh...no, I used to call his agent (blatantly lying at this point).

Even Crazier ECD: So can't you get the number from his agent?

Me: Ummm...let me ask client if she can help, ok?

And then I stayed away from the both of them for as long as I possibly could. Honestly, what on earth were they thinking? I can understand one person being crazy enough to think that I could call up Lasith Malinga, but to think that her boss could surpass her in a display of stupidity was incredulous. Next thing you know I'll be asked to find out who his hair dresser is.

**************

True Story 2:

At a brainstorm for a cookery product with a shoestring budget, members of the agency and client were trying to come up with various promotional ideas that could be executed. The brilliant young AE from the agency volunteers this gem of an idea: a sticker that can be pasted on the bottom of a frying pan (or saucepan), so that every time somebody cooks, they are reminded of the product.

A gentle pointer that a sticker cannot be placed in the cooking area of a pan only elicited an even more exceptional idea: how about pasting the sticker on the bottom of the pan? After all, each time the pan is washed, the brand will be seen (never mind the char burned mess it would be after a stint in the fire).

**************

Honestly, what on earth do these people carry on top of their shoulders, because it certainly isn't a head. Common sense is conspicuous by its absence. I shall not say anything ore, because I'm certain that these stories speak for themselves.

"There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe, and it has a longer shelf life."
- Frank Zappa

Of Snow White And Sleeping Beauty

2008-09-18T01:31:00.005-04:00

I was thinking about this after reading The Drifter, and am now inspired to write a post on it.

Why do most of us live life, all shackled up in chains, too afraid to reach out to another, too afraid to take risks, too afraid to love, too afraid to love and be hurt by it, to afraid to let go, too afraid to break out of the mould, too afraid to take a leap of faith, too afraid to leave the herd? Why do we act as if we are dead to the world of beauty and colour and joy and excitement that life could be?

Because we've suffered from either the Snow White effect, or the Sleeping Beauty effect. Either, like Snow White, we happily went through life until we came across some psychotic person of evil who tried to put us down. So we ran past the woods, and despite being hurt, made attempts at several new beginnings. But the psychotic person of evil got us in the end, and the spirit we had finally died.

Or we suffer from the Sleeping Beauty effect. We went through life, full of innocence and joy, till some act (which had precious little to do with us) ended up scarring us so badly that our spirit is in permanent cryogenic sleep, practically dead.

If only we could realise that we aren't dead, our spirits aren't dead, and before we actually start to feed the daisies, we have a chance to reach out and touch the sky. Our spirit, or soul if you like, is not dead, but merely asleep.

The only question is, whether like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, are we going to wait for the kiss of life from some elusive entity, perchance risking permanent sleep, or do we have it within us to shake ourselves awake?

Because remember, unlike the princesses, we haven't been cursed. We don't have to stick to the script.

Affirmation

2008-09-18T01:31:00.002-04:00

I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe that your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

I believe forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

- Savage Garden

The Art Of Giving

2008-09-16T06:38:00.002-04:00

The joy that comes from giving, or gifting, is knowing that you have brought joy to someone, brought something special. It is essentially a selfless act, done for the happiness of another. It is an expression of something greater, not a be-all and end-all that has meaning in itself.

You cannot give to a person simply to satisfy oneself. But there are those who do. Those who give gifts every three weeks, like the trimming of a moustache or the rising of the moon, more for the satisfaction of their own inadequacies, than out of any genuine feelings. Or those who buy birthday gifts for every Tom, Dick and Harry to maintain their reputation as opposed to it being a celebration of a genuine relationship of some kind.

You can see it in the gifts, can't you? Coffee cups and candle stands that will (probably) clutter already crowded houses and paper weights and ornaments that are usually senseless even to the person who made it. Flowers, flowers and more flowers that's gone in a week (could we possibly find a gift less permanent?). Books and t-shirts bought from the corner shop (or Odel), checked merely for size, colour and price. Gift vouchers at least shows a touch of practicality, if nothing else. This morning I watched while a colleague bought a dog tag for a 'friend'. Puh-leeaase! A dog tag??!! Who on earth gifts a dog tag to a person? Next thing you know, they'll be buying each other leashes.

Is there anything special about these things? Does it show any foresight, feelings or thoughts that went into the gift buying process? None whatsoever. I plan my gifts weeks in advance, because I want it to be something special and meaningful to the person receiving it. What's the point in giving someone a bouquet of tulips just because it's my favourite flower? As a policy, I buy birthday gifts only to those who are close to me, or to those who are special to me. Isn't a genuine wish from the heart more meaningful than a coffee cup that took exactly two seconds to pick?

Serving It Up

2008-09-10T06:48:00.003-04:00

Separate incidents, all highlighting just how pathetic the service in this country has come to. In chronological order:

Last week, Wednesday to be precise, I ordered a Mexican Veggie Pizza from Domino's to keep me company while I watched One Tree Hill reruns, along with bread sticks. The pizza that was delivered to me? Mexican Chicken Pizza. Tired as I was, I called to complain. After being kept on hold for a good 8 minutes or so, I'm told that "they are very sorry, but next time, I should take down the name of the person who took the order so that they can follow it up, investigate it and take appropriate action". I (not so politely) informed them that taking down names was not my job, though taking down correct orders was part of theirs. The only offer from Domino's was to send the correct pizza that night, which I refused. After much humming and hawing, the manager says that while it isn't their policy to give remedial action on another day, they shall make my case an 'exception', and I can have my Mexican Veg pizza on another day. Grrrrrrrrrrrr!

*****************

The next day, I decided to help out a friend by getting his prescription filled at a pharmacy. But after visiting almost every pharmacy in Colombo only to be told "out of stock", I had pretty much given up hope. Then I happened to wander into the Laugs supermarket opposite D.S. And voila - they had the cough syrup I was desperately looking for! Overjoyed, I was about to pay them when I noticed the expiry date - September 2008. Angry and aghast that they would actually sell medicine that was expired, I pointed it out to the sales clerk that she had given me expired medicine.

She said "Anh, it is expired! (took another bottle) So is this! They are all expired! (looks at me) I'm sorry, we don't have fresh stock."

My fast disappearing lunch hour, along with the rain clouds, compelled me to leave without creating a scene. Honestly - a pharmacy in a leading supermarket in Colombo, selling expired medicine. I'm just glad I had the presence of mind to check.

*****************

Later that week, I visit Barista's down Horton Place with two friends. One of them orders a jumbo hot dog. After taking a bite, she announces that it "tastes funny". My other friend takes a bite, spits it out, and announces that it is past its sell-by date. Knowing my penchant for tantrums, they demand that I remain seated while they sort it out with the manager.

Barista's response to a rotten sausage? "No ma'am, we will replace it with another item if you want, but it isn't bad. Just half cooked." Seriously. They said that. And they were quite unapologetic about it. Half cooked sausages?!?! I'm no meat eater, but there has got to be something wrong with that picture!

*****************

The latest incident? A friend walks into Keells, and buys a pack of cigarettes for Rs.320/=. Since he gave the cashier a 500 rupee note, the cashier decided to be a moron by whining to him "Aneeey, do you have change?". A reply in the negative had her rummage through the cash register, only turn around and tell him "Aneeeey, give me change, will you". His ensuing lecture (read tantrum) on customer service, having spare change et al was put to an end only by the intervention of the manager, who pulled the required change out of his own pocket.

*****************

Wrong orders, expired medicine, half cooked sausages and whiny sales girls. This is what our leading stores have to offer us.

My advice? Look at every item twice before you buy it, and be very, very careful about what you put in your mouth. Oh yeah, and always throw tantrums.

Of Loving And Falling In Love

2008-09-08T00:57:00.004-04:00

A very interesting article off Cosmopolitan, which I've shamelessly cut, cropped, edited and pasted, because I think there is a lot of truth in it. It was actually written from the perspective of analyzing a man, but I feel that it is equally applicable to a woman.

A person might fall in love, which requires the capacity to idealize. That means thinking and feeling like his/her partner and the relationship are uniquely special, enabling him/her to ignore imperfections (in the other as well as the relationship). This in turn, makes him/her feel valued and special.

Loving, on the other hand, involves connecting with the other person, understanding her/him, and wanting to be with her/him for who s/he is, not who you’d like her/him to be.

While it might be difficult to decipher the difference between the two, one clue is the test of time. Falling in love happens early on in a relationship, when a couple barely knows each other. Once they become more intimate and learn more about each other’s positive and negative traits and the initial love buzz is gone, the problems and fights will start for those who only fell in love. And the inability of either parties (or both) to make a commitment to each other should be a sure sign of a couple who fell in love, without loving.

Another major telltale sign of real love is selflessness and the ability to care. Relationships are all about give and take, but love is more about giving. An inability to make sacrifices and an inability to put his/hers wants and needs before yours is a sure sign of someone who has fallen in love, minus the loving.

Flowers, teddy bears and candy hearts are all about falling in love. I'll take the real thing over candy floss romance any day.

Of Death, Dying And Leopards

2008-09-05T05:13:00.003-04:00

Last night I dreamt of being eaten by a leopard. No, I did not survive the attack (I think). Now, believe me when I tell you this, once you've dreamt of being eaten by a leopard, the fact that leopards don't hunt during the day, or don't hunt humans, or are rare, or aren't found in Sri Lanka is immaterial. It is a big, fearsome animal, and being eaten by it, even in a nightmare, is SCARY. It chills you to the bone, and that feeling stays with you for quite a long time (and since I'm writing this at 3 p.m., I can say that the feeling remains for the better part of the day).

A friend comments that "your writing suggests that you are dying", which I assume is a partial interpretation of the dream. I'm guessing here, because he hasn't offered a detailed theory, and I'm a bit too freaked to analyse my own dream right now. Perhaps I should ask the Sandwich for help here, since I hear this is within her area of expertise.

Anyways. I consider this to be a lousy way to start the weekend. Attempts to remedy it so far have included a healthy dose of cheese cake (whose remedial powers, I'm afraid to say, is largely temporary except on my belly), planning to spend time with others (except that they are spending time other others), working (except I have no work), blogging (would've worked if I wasn't reliving it again)... I think I'll go try shopping now (except that I have no money).

And for the record, my writing does not suggest that I am dying. What it does suggest, is that part of me is already dead.

Prelude To A Farewell

2008-09-04T01:17:00.002-04:00

I don't think I'll be missed when I'm gone.

Well, technically speaking, I will be. For a week or so by some, for a month or so by others. But even in that week or month, it will not be a sad, throbbing loss. It will be a fleeting emotion, a sense of loss that will come up only when they miss the end for which I am the means. A means that can, and will, be easily replaced.

The clock in the hall will not have a sad sort of clanging. Lives go on, and people will move on (rapidly at that). And I will wonder if I actually made a difference to anyone, or meant anything at all. Didn't I leave an impression; didn't I mean anything; is the void that I create so easily filled?

Time-pass, as Indians would say. That is what I am. An entertaining movie, easily replaced by another.

All the world's a stage...it's time I looked for another theatre, another time slot where I'll entertain another audience, until it's time for the next change.

Being Cassandra

2008-09-04T01:11:00.003-04:00

The problem with having Cassandra's gift is that you also inherit her curse.

I keep foreseeing the future, but no one believes (or listens) to what I have to say (including myself). When my predictions come true, all I can do is either console my friends or console myself. Not a nice place to be in, and the foresight is completely wasted.

Why is it that we drive into that brick wall, knowing full well that it's there? Knowing that a crash could only end in disaster? Why are we too arrogant, too proud and too stubborn to turn around, knowing that anything else would be a catastrophe?

Cassandra, your gift is a hard one. I hope Apollo doesn't bless anymore of us with it, because your curse is too painful to bear.

Smadness

2008-09-03T04:29:00.002-04:00

When love awakens your heart, it expands,
Straining to capture, to experience the myriads of emotions
that fill it and invade it,
overwhelming and overpowering it
When unrequited... anguish, despair, longing, love and desire
Clash and collide
filling your senses with excruciating but sweet agony.
All at once you are more alive, more awake.
Sensitive to every sight, every sound,
Every blur of colour
every wave of emotion,
Every strain of thought
Crashing, bursting, turmoil and tempest
And in spite of the fury of emotion battling against will and sense
You secretly delight
Delight in the overwhelmingly painful but exhilarating, vivifying experience
Of being in love and being alive

- By RDM

Trapped

2008-09-03T02:29:00.006-04:00

In a world in which kissing ass and yes ma'aming are hallmarks of a valuable employee as opposed to hard work. A world in which it is more important to look good than be good. A world in which every second decision I make has to guided by bank balance and not by my needs. A world in which selfishness is actually a virtue. A world in which it is a crime to wear your heart on your sleeve. A world in which it is better to be fake and move up instead of being real and thus having to stay at the bottom. A world in which platinum circles not only exist, but are also encouraged and molded. A world in which being a dumb blond entitles you to have the world fall at your feet. A world in which friends are as fickle as the weather. A world in which flowers, stuffed toys and candy hearts are signs of genuine love as opposed to real feelings. A world in which some people always have to pay, and other always get to reap. A world in which a flutter of an eyelid means more than a bleeding heart. A world in which success is measured by the car you drive and your bank balance. A world in which doing right is always wrong. A world in which, if you're pretty enough, you can get away with murder. A world in which, if you're pretty enough, someone else will commit murder on your behalf. A world in which being a strong woman is a personality defect. A world in which a man who cries is an abnormality. A world in which youth becomes an excuse for everything. A world in which thinking is not encouraged. A world in which backstabbing is par for the course. A world in which a pretty girl can have anything and anyone she wants, even if her heart has been replaced with stone, and her head with a golf course. A world in which being part of the herd is preferable to individualism.

In a world in which my greatest fault is being myself.

I Don't Want to Be

2008-09-03T02:24:00.002-04:00

I don't need to be anything other
Than a prison guard's son
I don't need to be anything other
Than a specialist's son
I don't have to be anyone other
Than the birth of two souls in one
Part of where I'm going, is knowing where I'm coming from

I don't want to be
Anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do
Is think of me and I have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms
Wondering what I've got to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me

I'm surrounded by liars everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by imposters everywhere I turn
I'm surrounded by identity crisis everywhere I turn
Am I the only one who noticed?
I can't be the only one who's learned!

I don't want to be
Anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do
Is think of me and I have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms
Wondering what I've got to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me

Can I have everyone's attention please?
If you're not like this and that, you're gonna have to leave
I came from the mountain
The crust of creation
My whole situation-made from clay to stone
And now I'm telling everybody

I don't want to be
Anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do
Is think of me and I have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms
Wondering what I've got to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me

- Gavin DeGraw

Friends

2008-09-02T02:03:00.003-04:00

Then there are those who seek me out only when they need help. I'm sure I've ranted about this before, but since I'm experiencing deja vu, you'll have to bear with me.

"Friends" seem to gravitate towards me whenever their lives hit the doldrums. Last night I played Agony Aunt to one distressed friend (who called me after months to tell me that 'there was no one else he could talk to about his problems'); this morning I found myself consoling yet another. The numbers would just keep piling up if I started counting those from last week.

I notice two things in this pattern. Firstly, I'm not the one who is called when people are looking for a good time, just chilling out, gossiping...you get the drift. I'm the helpline. The go-to person in times of trouble, depression and all things negative.

Secondly (and this is far more annoying), half these people are not available when I need help, a sounding board or just a shoulder to lean on. It is incredibly annoying and extremely hurtful that people I consistently help out, or at least make time for, hardly ever reciprocate.

I know, I know. When we do good unto others, it should be without any expectations. And it isn't...it's just that I'm also human, and when I'm let down by people when I need them, all this just hits you in the face (and not for the first time)...I never seem to learn.

Thank You

2008-08-29T04:26:00.004-04:00

I passed. In spite of all the drama, alcohol, tears, stress, office, money worries... in short, the roller coaster life I lead. Can't say that I passed well, but looking at everyone else, I guess you could say that it's ok. At least I have the relief of knowing that I didn't waste a year, or a hell of a lot of money for nothing.

Unfortunately, I'm not happy. It's rather disappointing to think that I was actually expected to fail. People have an uncanny knack of ruining everything. Anyways. Hopefully, the joy will kick in again in a couple of days.

This might also be a good time to thank all my friends who helped me through it - the one who bought the books for me all the way from England, the one who chose to forgo his own pleasure by forcing me to study, the one who kept reminding me of what my priorities should be, the one who kept encouraging me despite my incessant whining, the one who bought me food when I was happy to starve myself and the three who were just there for me.

Thank you all. There is no way I would've passed without all of you.

HIV Positive

2008-08-27T06:08:00.003-04:00

"I am HIV positive" read the band on my colleague's table, a relic from a previous ad campaign intended to raise awareness of HIV. I had never taken particular notice of it, and I doubt that even she had. Until a hot-shot senior executive was recruited, and for some reason has ended up sharing our room. He saw the band, and asked her, in all earnest, what it meant. She told him it meant that she was "HIV positive". He stepped back a good 5 feet or so, and declared that he should stay away from her.

The two of us were shocked - not only from his obvious ignorance and blatant discrimination, but also by his tactlessness (what if she had been positive?). While she did the goldfish thing with her mouth, I explained to him that HIV was not an airborne disease, and he wouldn't contract it just by being around someone who was HIV positive. His answer was that "you never know" and "must be careful". At this point my colleague found her voice and quickly stepped into explain matters to him, when she saw the steam coming out of my ears - not that it helped clarify things to him. Grrrrrrrrrr!

Sometime later in the day, I found myself alone with the two of them again, where we patiently explained that though she wasn't HIV positive, his reaction highlighted his ignorance about the illness, and also showed a lot of prejudice. He was completely unmoved, and maintained that his attitude was the safest. Due to the risk of being put away for murder, I declined to argue further, though I made sure he knew exactly what I thought of him.

These are the people who form the so-called "Colombo Crowd"; the know-all and be-all of society, going to all the right schools, hanging out with all the right people, drinking at all the posh places...if this is the level of ignorance manifest in them, I have no hope for the rest of the island.

My Worlds

2008-08-18T05:30:00.016-04:00

Loved everything about Japan. The sushi and the kamaboko. The paperdolls and the parks and the fireworks. But most of all, I loved the cartoons and the tv shows that made my childhood special. In the mangas and the animes, I found the friends that I never had at school (or anywhere ele). Plenty of losers I could relate to, who still managed to have cartoons revolve around them. And with all that magic, mystery, mayhem, aliens and saving the world every evening, I found hope, dreams and a goal. Worlds in which I wanted to live. worlds I thought would actually materialise if I wished for them hard enough. They taught me to dream and imagine as nothing else could. Maybe that's why I still go there. To keep the hopes and the dreams still alive.

In honour of that, in random order, here are the anime, movies and shows that defined me, added colour to my childhood...and are simply the best ever!

1. Lupin : A trio of thieves, a dedicated cop and the sexiest woman in anime. The storyline was simple enough I suppose: three thieves out to get anything they could lay their hands on, the cop who's ultimate mission is to catch them, and the woman who played everyone against each other. But the comedy, the action, the antics were all to die for! Completely over the tope, you just can't get enough of it! Of course, the content was meant for a teenage to adult audience, so I have no clue why a 5 year old me was watching this (perhaps it explains why I'm the way I am!). Anyways, still love Lupin, still watch it, and definitely a must see.

2. Doraemon: Every kid's dream. A big blue robotic cat from the 22nd Century lands in '80s Tokyo to help a 10 year old loser better his prospects in life, in hopes that his descendants will then have better lives. His tools? A magical pocket with torches that helps you change size, a door that takes you anywhere, caps that make you invisible, a phonebox that grants your wishes...the ensuing mayhem includes (but not limited to) aliens, robots, demons, dragons, time warps...you haven't lived till you watch a Doraemon.

3. Asarichan: Definitely not everyone's cup of tea, but one of my favourites, for obvious reasons. A rather unlucky, not-so-bright girl, always bullied by her perfect elder sister, forever berated by her parents and not a friend in the world. No wonder I loved it! Pathetic in every sense, Asari still managed to be the heroine, and lived to fight another day. She was my hero!

4. Urusei Yatsura: More unusually sexual cartoons for 5 - 8 year old to be watching A story about how an ultra sexy alien girl gets engaged by accident to the most lecherous loser on the planet. The whole town is touched by craziness from that point onwards, with walking, talking ghosts, aliens dropping into earth on almost a weekly basis, teenagers with their own personal armies...very light-hearted, very bizarre, it put a smile on my face every time.

5. Sukeban Deka: More signs that my parents were on some strange type of drug to have let their kids watch this. This one was a TV series (again, quite bizarre), about a delinquent teenage girl who is then roped into doing undercover work for the cops. '80s melodrama notwithstanding, I was addicted to all 3 seasons (and the movie). Perhaps here is where all the kick-ass attitude came from.

6. Touch: Baseball and a love triangle. With my hero dropping dead in the first season, I cannot fathom what compelled me to keep watching Touch (and the ensuing movies a good 3000 times). But it was addictive in its own way...and so true to life. Right guy dies, which sort of turned out well for him because the girl fell for the wrong guy, who then had to emerge from the right guy's shadow. Sounds convoluted? It has to be watched to be believed!

7. Dirty Pair: Sukeban Deka meets Urusei Yatsura. More aliens, more girl power (two girls), more disaster. And lots of fun. Again, lots of skin show and I must wonder where my parents were when I watched all this. At least this serves to explain the length of my skirts nowadays. One more show that proved to me that girls can do anything a guy can.

8. Creamy Mami: Quite unlike everything else here, this was a really girlie series. Still, it caught my fancy - alien pets (those Japs sure loved their aliens!) and a magic wand that transformed an ordinary girl into a 16 year old singing sensation. With the guy of your dreams running circles around you to boot! It was the stuff dreams were made of.

9. Laputa: Not a anime series, but a Hayao Miyazaki movie, I fell in love with it the moment I watched it. I still watch it at least once a month. There is just so much magic and hope in it. Flying airships, pirates, castles floating in the air, mysterious crystals...and how any ordinary person can become special. Everytime I watch it, I find something new in it.

10. Ginga Tetsudo 999: Rather morbid this story was, so clearly, I was a disturbed child from a rather young age. Like almost all the stories here, this one too has a fair share of aliens; in fact, this takes place almost exclusively out of earth, in a futuristic space train that makes stops in various planets. A street kid wants a robotic body, he finds a mysterious woman who'll take him to the planet where he can find it, and till the series ends, I travelled with them from planet to planet, where they usually managed to escape horrific monsters or evil rulers by the skin of their teeth.

Growing Up Is Hard to Do

2008-08-18T02:55:00.003-04:00

How old do you need to be to know the difference between right and wrong? 8? 18? 28? How can anyone take all the wrong turns and then hide behind the label of being 'too young'; of being a 'kid'? 16 year old boys used to go to war. 16 year old girls used to raise families. Lots of them still do. So don't come and tell me that 22 is young, or that at 22 you're still a kid.

You play adult games and make adult choices. That makes you a goddamn adult. You can't suddenly do a U-turn and say 'oops, sorry 'bout that, I'm going to go back to being a kid, so you'll just have to deal with the whole sorry mess on your own'. If you play with fire, you're going to get burnt (and the way you played with it, it's a wonder that the house didn't burn down with everyone still inside). High time you dealt with the mess.

All this crap about being 'too young' and being 'just a kid' is just that - crap. Bullshit. It's just a New Age way of not dealing with the mess you yourself created. A guilt-free way to be supremely selfish.

Grow up, the whole lot of you. And kindly deal with the mess you created.

Seeing Stars

2008-08-12T06:45:00.003-04:00

Last Thursday found me making a dash for my cousin's wedding at the Hilton. Poruwa at 6 p.m. meant that I was in no way going to make it on time, but I dutifully told my mother that I'd be there by 6.30 or 6.45 p.m. I was outside Hilton by 6.45p.m., and happily drove into the car park. Only to be told that I had to drive through to the other side since the function was at the Ballroom. No probs, think I. I soon find myself outside the Ballroom entrance, only to be told that the parking is full, and I must therefore park in the main parking.

So I do a full circle and find myself outside the Hilton main entrance, once again. This time, before I make it into the parking lot, a valet/bellboy/some such person tells me "Ballroom parking other side". To which I replied "Ballroom parking full. Can you valet park this please?". And then I proceeded to lose my temper when they very rudely informed me that they do not valet park at this hour (what, the drivers turn into mice by 7??), and that even if they did, the hotel doors are closed and therefore I cannot enter the hotel. Then the moron simply walked away.

After I sat on the horn for several minutes, another valet/bellboy/some such person comes along and repeats the same lines. So I asked them what to do, and they tell me go park at the Sports Centre, and cross the road, walk, and enter the Ballroom. WTF??!! This is a wedding, for which the couple is paying good money. With all the money they charge, surely Hilton can organise themselves better?

I was saved from exploding on the spot by pure chance, when my uncle's driver who happened to be loitering around came running to my service by driving me to the correct entrance and then parking my car heaven-knows-where. I wonder how many guests were crossing the road after the wedding, looking for their vehicles.

I suppose they're called five-star hotels because we end up seeing seeing stars there (and not just for the bills).

Someday I'll Be Saturday Night

2008-08-11T03:59:00.002-04:00

Hey, man I'm alive
I'm takin' each day and night at a time
I'm feelin' like a Monday but someday I'll be Saturday night

Hey, my name is Jim, where did I go wrong
My life's a bargain basement, all the good shit's gone
I just can't hold a job, where do I belong
I'm sleeping in my car, my dreams move on

My name is Billy Jean, my love was bought and sold
I'm only sixteen, I feel a hundred years old
My foster daddy went, took my innocence away
The street life aint much better, but at least I get paid

And Tuesday just might go my way
It can't get worse than yesterday
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind
But somehow I'll survive

Hey man I'm alive I'm takin' each day and night at a time
Yeah I'm down, but I know I'll get by
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life
Like I ain't got nothin' but this roll of the dice
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night

Now I can't say my name, and tell you where I am
I want to roll myself away, don't know if I can
I wish that I could be in some other time and place
With someone else''s soul, someone elses face

Oh, Tuesday just might go my way
It can't get worse than yesterday
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind
But somehow I'll survive
Hey, man I'm alive I'm takin' each day and night at a time
Yeah I'm down, but I know I'll get by
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life
I'm gonna pick up all the pieces and what's left of my pride
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night

Saturday night
Here we go
Some day I'll be Saturday night
I'll be back on my feet, I'll be doin' alright
It may not be tomorrow baby, that's OK
I ain't goin' down, gonna find a way, hey hey hey

Hey man I'm alive I'm takin' each day and night at a time
Yeah, I'm down, but I know I'll get by
Hey hey hey hey, man, gotta live my life
Like I ain't got nothin' but this roll of the dice
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night

- Bon Jovi (Cross Road)

Carpe Diem!

2008-08-06T23:36:00.004-04:00

Carpe Diem, they say. I'd sure like to carpe the diem. Carpe it till it's blue in the face and then we won't have any more days left to deal with. Wouldn't it then finally be an ideal world?

There are no white picket fences. There is no such thing as making it on your own. Love does not ever last. People don't send you flowers, only memos. Doing right eternally ends up going wrong.

Why am I ranting so early in the morning? Because I'm tired of life tripping me up every three weeks. I stopped making choices after the last one, hoping that by doing nothing, I could not go wrong further than I already have. Apparently, that option is not available to me, because if I, god forbid, stood around and waited for life to happen to me, I'm the one who'd go blue in the face. It would be nice if my life stopped spinning, and turned instead. At 28, I'm pretty certain that people are supposed to have a better hold on things. At least if I understood the language in which the script was written, perhaps I'd be getting by a bit better.

Oh look, familiar territory. Misery Isle. Perhaps this isn't depression I'm feeling, but nostalgia. Which would be refreshing, because that means I have depression to look forward to (it should be doing the rounds pretty soon).

Hmmmm...I should start playing Pollyanna's Glad Game. I should be glad to get emails and memos instead of flowers, because if I got flowers, I wouldn't have a vase to put them in, whereas I get to improve my language skills with the former. I should be glad white picket fences don't exist, because if they did, can you imagine the cost of painting it brilliant white all the time? Right going wrong all the time? Should be glad about that too. If right went right all the time, my life would either be perfect, or I'd become a saint; either ways, my life would become so boring that I'd die of boredom. The way it is now, I get to set new records by reaching depths beyond the Mariana Trench. Plus, I'm sure I serve as a source of amusement to somebody out there, and as a bad example to others.

So. Some more right going wrong choices will be served soon, another ride on the roller coaster (aka my life), definitely more blog posts from Misery Isle and another round of the glad game.

Carpe Diem!

More Plagiarism

2008-08-05T07:45:00.004-04:00

I saw Lady Divine's post, inspired by Wackster and Drama Queen which prompted me to write my own version of it.

I remember how lonely my childhood was.

I don't want to hurt anyone.

I want to be successful.

I hate being used.

I wonder whether I’ll ever be loved.

I have tasted fear.

I know that I’ll never give up.

I wish I knew where my life is heading .

I love being pampered.

I won't stop trying to change the world.

I think I have a little bit of Pollyanna in me .

I hope that someone will step off the edge of the earth and through the waterfall.

I can be an A grade bitch.

I enjoy armchair moments.

I truly believe that we can all make a difference.

I will go on helping others.

I try to do the right thing.

I demand that people listen to me when I talk.

I desire knowledge.

I choose my own destiny.

I Want

2008-08-04T05:35:00.004-04:00

I want:

To be appreciated.

Blame to be placed where it's due.

Everyone to be treated equally.

People to mind their own business.

A day at office where only good things happen.

To feel special.

To be smile and be happy by the little things.

Tulips.

Strawberry ice cream.

An extra hour every day.

To go back to Unawatuna.

To be pampered.

Everyone to be honest.

People to stop shooting the messenger.

A pair of boots.

Lobster.

Longer hair.

A new boss.

To play in the rain.

A massage.

Pretty clothes.

To be able to live my life the way I want to, without having to answer to anybody.

A Screwdriver.

The law of averages to start working soon.

Doraemon.

A hug.

A Dose Of Toad

2008-07-30T06:04:00.002-04:00

On my AE's wall, it says that if you swallow a live toad every morning, nothing worse can happen to you for the rest of the day. So apt. What could possibly be worse than swallowing a live toad?

Good advise moreover, for days like these. Stress, stress and more stress. The harder I try, the harder I fall. It never ceases to amaze me how my banshee of a boss can only find fault with me (even when I've done no wrong), when everyone else gets off scot free. Practically everyone else here screws up. Is there a neon light above my head that helps her gravitate exclusively towards me? I must be the ugliest woman in office, a seemingly safe bet for the most lecherous client ever, but no. He'll do anything that moves. More trouble for me.

And then we have soggy, foggy, marshy miserable wasteland that is also known as my personal life. All I did was be a good friend. Perhaps a slight lapse in judgement, but all things considered, I don't think it was a major one. Sleeping over at a guy's house is not normally something I do, but given the circumstances, I really didn't think it would catapult me into the 'slut' category (especially since no one even thought of touching each other). But apparently, good intentions is not enough to keep you from getting crucified. Funny how similar life & law is: motive is irrelevant. So I was wrong. Like no one else have ever made mistakes, right? At 28, I'm supposed to be perfect, right?

Back to office. Why is it so hard to find five minutes of solitude? Even after complaining aloud (and by aloud I mean really, really loudly) about the number of (unwanted) people in my room, and the noise pollution, they still can't take the hint. To add insult to injury, every topic discussed only manages to raise my blood pressure. I have to walk out of my own room to look for a moment's peace.

Every evening, as I lay in my bed, I hear the frogs croaking. Usually, I'm terrified of them, and keep thinking of calling someone to chase them away. Tonight, I think I'll just put my fear aside and catch a couple of them. That way, the worst thing that could happen tomorrow would happen in the safety of my own home even before I meet the outside world. How bad then could tomorrow possibly get?

Lost In Wonderland

2008-07-25T08:13:00.003-04:00

Wonderland, in fact, is not as wondrous as it sounds. A nice, innocent girl, whose tragic flaw is that of initial boredom and curiosity finds herself trapped in a strange land. Much like real life. Too much like real life. And if you thought the story actually progressed, you'd be wrong.

Chapter after chapter follows the same sick format - Alice is eternally the wrong size, she is practically chasing an illusion (in the form of a rabbit), she is constantly surrounded by caterpillars and mad hatters and cards (all of whom vie with each other to be the most obnoxious), she is forever lost and it's always the wrong door. Oh yeah, and food and beverages constantly appear to make a bad situation...equally bad.

Life, I am beginning to think, is much like Alice's Wonderland. I'm surrounded by Mad Hatters and Caterpillars, it's always the wrong door, I'm always the wrong size, I'm most definitely lost...and as for the illusion, I've been chasing it practically forever. And the Cheshire Cat? I guess we all have one or two loony friends who helps us out here and there. I'm as lost and confused now at 28 as I was at 21. Same feeling when I was 24. Things really weren't very different in between either. I suppose sooner or later, the nightmare will cease.

Ah well, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Stepping Off The Edge Of The Earth

2008-07-25T05:08:00.007-04:00

Disorientation is loss of the East. Ask any navigator: the east is what you sail by. Lose the east and you lose your bearings, your certainties, your knowledge of what is and what may be, perhaps even your life. Where was that star you followed to the manger? That's right. The east orients. That's the official version. The language says so, and you should never argue with the language.

But let's just suppose. What if the whole deal - orientation, knowing where you are, and so on - what if it's all a scam? What if all of it - home, kinship, the whole enchilada - is just the biggest, most truly global, and centuries-oldest piece of brainwashing? Suppose that it's only when you dare to let go that your real life begins? When you're whirling free of the mother ship, when you cut your ropes, slip your chain, step off the map, go absent without leave, scram, vamoose, whatever: suppose that it's then, and only then, that you're actually free to act! To lead the life nobody tells you how to live, or when, or why. In which nobody orders you to go forth or die for them, or for god, or comes to get you because you broke one of the rules, or because you're one of those people who are, for reasons which unfortunately you can't be given, simply not allowed. Suppose you've got to go through the feeling of being lost, into the chaos and beyond; you've got to accept the loneliness, the wild panic of losing your moorings, the vertiginous terror of the horizon spinning round and round like the edge of a coin tossed in the air.

You won't do it. Most of you won't do it. The world's head laundry is pretty good at washing brains: Don't jump off that cliff don't walk through that door don't step into that waterfall don't take that chance don't step across that line don't ruffle my sensitivities I'm warning you now don't make me mad you're doing it you are making me mad. You won't have a chance you haven't got a prayer you're finished you're history you're less than nothing, you're dead to me, dead to your whole family your nation your race, everything you ought to love more than life and listen to like your master's voice and follow blindly and bow down before and worship and obey; you're dead, you hear me, forget about it, you stupid bastard, I don't even know your name.

But just imagine you did it. You stepped off the edge of the earth, or through the fatal waterfall, and there it was: the magic valley at the end of the universe, the blessed kingdom of the air. Great music everywhere. You breathe the music, in and out, it's your element now. It feels better than "belonging" in your lungs.

- Salman Rushdie (The Ground Beneath Her Feet)

*********************

Why do we let our fear control us? Why do we let it rule our lives? We are all strong. We can all step up to the challenge; rise to the occasion. So why do we rotate round the same spot while the world passes us by? Especially when we know we aren't even happy doing it. Fear. You've lost not because you couldn't do it, but because you didn't try. Your life is out there waiting for you; but instead, you let your fear sit at the steering wheel. Sitting on a couch and looking into the darkness - is that really better than the unknown? Do any of us really want to have to turn around at 44 and live the next 20 years in regret? Fear and regret - are they the only ones who have the license to drive?

This post is going out to a special friend. A friend who, I hope, will step off the edge of the earth and through the waterfall. Into the magic valley.

Searchin' My Soul

2008-07-23T08:03:00.007-04:00

I'm watching one of my favourite TV shows all over again, and am amazed by how true to life (at least to my life) the show is. In honour of that, and the fact that it's simply a bloody great show, here's a selection of some of its quirky quotes:

***************

Ally McBeal: When guys are persistent, it's romantic, they make movies about that. If it's a woman, then they cast Glenn Close.

***************
Ally McBeal: Law and love are the same - romantic in concept but the actual practice can give you a yeast infection.

***************
Ally McBeal: I like being a mess. It's who I am.

***************
Ally McBeal: I've been dumped before, Renee. This isn't pain I'm feeling, it's nostalgia.

***************
Judge Jennifer "Whipper" Cone: No, I don't think you're nuts, but I don't think that you have both feet on the ground either.
Ally McBeal: You mean some people do?

***************
Renée Radick: Well, don't get me wrong, Ally...
Ally McBeal: Why does everyone say that to me? Do I get everything wrong?
Renée Radick: No, it's just that what I am about to say may sound like an insult, so I want to buffer it.
Ally McBeal: Oh, okay.
Renée Radick: Emotionally, you're an idiot.

***************
Elaine Vassal: A lot of people forget what they're saying in a fit of rage, so I'll be happy to take the minutes.

***************
[Ally's psychiatrist plays a tape of people laughing]
Dr. Tracy Clark: Sometimes when a patient says something so competely naive, I find that my own laughter just isn't enough.

***************
Ally McBeal: Remember, when you're with me, it's the only time you're not the strangest person in the room. So go ahead, get weird with me.

***************
Georgia Thomas: Ally, what makes your problems so much bigger than everybody else's?
Ally McBeal: They're mine.

***************
Ally McBeal: We're women. We have a double standard to live up to.

***************
Rabbi Stern: Are you always such a bitchy little thing?
Ally McBeal: Bitchy?
Rabbi Stern: Coming in here, insulting the Talmud, insulting me!
Ally McBeal: What kind of rabbi calls somebody bitchy?
Rabbi Stern: I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
Ally McBeal: 'Cause I'm bitchy? God has no love for the bitchy?
Rabbi Stern: Get out.

***************
Ally McBeal: So how has it come to this? We're smart women, we're fairly attractive...
Renée Radick: I'm even hot.

***************
Richard Fish: She told her that you told her about what she told you. I'm in the middle and clueless. I feel like Elaine.

***************
Elaine Vassal: I'm sure she's quite stupid, and in time, gravity will get her.

***************
John "The Biscuit" Cage: The world is no longer a romantic place. Some of its people still are however, and therein lies the promise. Don't let the world win, Ally McBeal.

***************
Ally McBeal: Maybe I'm happy and I just don't know it.

***************
Richard Fish: "Problem" is just a bleak word for challenge.

***************
Ally McBeal: Sometimes... there's no point in the truth if the only thing it will do is cause pain.

***************
Ally McBeal: The idea that when people come together, they stay together. I have to take that with me when I'm going to bed at night, Even if I'm going to bed alone.

***************
Richard Fish: Everybody's alone. It's just easier to take in a relationship.

***************
Richard Fish: Helping others is never more rewarding than when it's in your own self interest.

***************
Richard Fish: Let me tell you something. I didn't become a lawyer because I like the law; the law sucks. It's boring, but it can also be used as a weapon. You want to bankrupt somebody? Cost him everything he's worked for? Make his wife leave him, even make his kids cry? Yeah, we can do that.

***************
Ally McBeal: Uh, let the record reflect that the deponent is a fat, arrogant, overweight, bald pig.

***************
Richard Fish: Make enough money, and everything else will follow. Quote me. That's a Fishism.

***************
Elaine Vassal: Oh, forgive my bluntness. It's a device I use to cope.

***************
Ally McBeal: Whenever I get depressed, I raise my hemlines. If things don't change, I am bound to be arrested.

***************
Ally McBeal: Hi! I'm Ally McBeal, homewrecker. Here's my card.
Georgia Thomas: I already have it, thanks.

***************
[on Elaine]
Ling Woo: This woman drips with sarcasm at my personal expense.
Nelle Porter: Ling, one of the disadvantages of having magnetism is that you bring people out, people that otherwise would go unnoticed. The fact that she can be so annoying is really a tribute to you!

***************
Ling Woo: Nelle is like a sister; when she's in pain, I throw up!

***************
John "The Biscuit" Cage: [to Nelle] I'd sooner puke my intestines and snorkel in them than see you naked.

***************
Ling Woo: I'm rich. I only go into work to wear my outfits!

***************
John "The Biscuit" Cage: I'm not going through an odd phase, I really am odd.

***************
Richard Fish: Objection! Your Honor, this is boring!

***************
Ally McBeal: Wow... I have a boyfriend.

***************
[Watches Nelle Porter unpin her bun and shake out her long, beautiful blonde hair]
Ally McBeal: It's official: I HATE her!

***************
Ally McBeal: Love isn't always enough.
Larry: Yeah, it is. You go without it long enough and you realize it's everything.

***************
Renée Radick: A penis is not a share toy.

***************
Ally McBeal: Here I am, the victim of my own choices. And I'm just starting.

***************
Georgia Thomas: At the end of the day, life is just this big wall of reality that we all crash into.

***************
Ally McBeal: Maybe I'll share my life with somebody... maybe not. But the truth is, when I think back of my loneliest moments, there was usually somebody sitting there next to me.

***************
Ling Woo: So Jackson Duper, you don't tell a woman your real name?
Jackson Duper: Hey, for all I knew...
Ling Woo: You knew me well enough to go to bed with me.
Jackson Duper: Look...
Ling Woo: Why the alias? You wanted?
Jackson Duper: No.
Ling Woo: Certainly not by me.
Jackson Duper: Excellent. Do I get to talk?
Ling Woo: Fine. Quick, think up something.
Jackson Duper: Look...
Ling Woo: We're back to look.
Jackson Duper: Hey...
Ling Woo: We're back to hey.
Jackson Duper: Ling...
Ling Woo: How do you know my real name? Oh that's right, I *gave* it to you. What an odd thing to do.

***************
John "The Biscuit" Cage: That's the trouble I suppose in coming at people with honesty, some times they counter with it.

***************
Liza Bump: [to Nelle Porter] Do you talk, or do I have to pull a string?

***************
John "The Biscuit" Cage: Love. We all want it. Don't all get it. I remember telling my mother in high school I wanted to wait for the perfect girl. And she replied, "Idiot! Even if you found her, she might be holding out for the perfect man." She also said I wouldn't recognize love unless it bonked me on the head. And I retorted, "Well, why don't you come along with me, mom, and if you see love, you hit me on the head so I'll know." It was difficult as a young man taking my mother on dates. And then, one night, not a date night, but just one evening, I turned to my mom and, as i looked into her eyes, I could see... she was dead. She'd passed on quietly from an aneurysm, right there at the table. All she said was, "Ip." Sitting in a chair: a quiet little "Ip". It was her request to have her last words put on her tombstone. And I see people at the cemetery snickering when they read: "Joanna Cage. Beloved Mother. Ip." I miss my mother. Even though she's not here... I know she's still with me, smiling down on me... hoping I'll find love.

***************
Renée Radick: Snow White. Cinderella. All about gettin' a guy. Being saved by the guy. Today it's the Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Pocahontas. All about gettin' a guy.
Ally McBeal: So basically we're screwed up because of...
Renée Radick: Disney.

Tears For Fears

2008-07-14T07:56:00.003-04:00

What a weekend. From midnight Friday to midnight Sunday, 5 people (4 friends plus me) winded up in tears at the state our lives were in. Almost everyone I knew (and was with) got depressed on Saturday; much of the crowd remained depressed throughout Sunday.

Common themes ran through all of us: broken hearts, empty lives, the fear of being alone, the fear of not being good enough, dealing with 'other women' (a psychotic Barbie doll and a slut to be precise), rejection, jealousy, casual sex and the ensuing mess...

All this lead to my first nicotine puff. Well, more than puff. Can't say I'm proud of it, though I have a better understanding now of why people smoke. Why good people suffer - and so many of them at that - will always remain a mystery to me. I'm not sure that any of us managed to resolve any issues, but at least we know that we're not alone. And we know that we should be able to find at least two people somewhere out there who genuinely care that we suffer.

It's amazing what a shoulder can do for you during trying times.

Beaten and Broken

2008-07-11T08:38:00.004-04:00

I know that tough times are meant to make you stronger, but I'm sick to death of being made stronger and stronger and stronger. I've come so far, and I'm so close to finally seeing my dream come true. Why is it all being taken away from me? Isn't this the time when the law of averages is supposed to catch up? Can the shit please stop happening?

It's when you're going through tough times that you realise exactly how alone you are in this world. People say family is everything, but that is such a whole heap of bull. On a good day, mine has zero understanding, and at times like this, their empathy and understanding have reached negative figures. Is it really so difficult not to nag, and sympathize instead? Is it really so difficult to comprehend that one's children are different to oneself? I know I can't count on them. I don't want to count on them.

Which leaves me with friends. That I can count on one hand, and still have fingers left. In this situ, not much they can do. Except hold me while I cry. Which seems to be happening far, far too often. Of course, a vast majority of them are hell bent on wearing blinders, while paying no attention to the fact that my life has turned into a bonfire.

So. Friends who are helpless, and a family that could easily drive me insane. One really learns what being alone means at times like this. And what it is like to have to start from scratch, for the nth time in life. I keep telling myself that I'm too old for this shit, but unless I kill myself, I have to deal with it, right? Except that I don't know how to anymore. Everything is going wrong simultaneously, and I see no light at the end of the tunnel. I'm out of ideas, out of options, and most of all, out of strength. I'm bone weary of having to deal with one crisis after another.

I remember Kipling :

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

I don't know that I have it in me anymore. I don't know that I can hold on anymore with sheer will alone. I remember Kipling again. And I feel ashamed. So thoroughly ashamed of myself. But I've almost given up. There is only so much strength that a person has in them. I've been tested too far, too often.

I give up.

Drop Dead Gorgeous

2008-07-11T08:29:00.002-04:00

I know I'm not. Not even close. I know the difference between looking beautiful and being beautiful. Sadly it seems, the rest of the world hasn't caught on as of yet.

As right as I know I am, the world out there still manages to get to me at times.

I hate:

Always being thought of as too fat or too thin, but never the 'right' size.
The fact that there is a right size.
People saying that beauty is only skin deep, and then looking for fair people.
Having to wear makeup to make myself look good. I don't wear makeup and I don't look good. Deal with it.
Men who say they love women with flaws, and then turning around to go chase the porcelain beauties.
Having a personality and not being valued for it.
Women who denounce anorexia and then go on diets.
Women who can get anyone or anything, just because they look good.
Men who fall for that.
Having to feel inferior when I know I'm the better person.
Photographs of myself.
Barbie dolls. Especially in real life.
Creatives who insist on 'a fair, pretty girl', despite the fact that majority of the populace looks otherwise.
Beauty companies. And Fair & Lovely. And the magazines that feed off them.
Having to look in the mirror.
People who agree with what I say but still goes and prays at the altar of beauty.
The fact that we were all not born blind.
People who look like Greek gods (or goddesses) but have personalities that could curdle milk.
How such people are worshipped.
The expression 'easy on the eyes'.
Being judged for something I have no control over.
The notion of being 'feminine' and 'feminine beauty'.
Beauty pageants.
The idea of eternal youth.
The feeling that I'm part of an extinct species on this planet.

Summer Wine

2008-07-11T07:45:00.003-04:00

(NANCY): Strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things

(LEE): I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled to
A song that I had only sang to just a few
She saw my silver spurs and said let's pass some time
And I will give to you summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine

(NANCY): Strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
Ohhh-oh summer wine

(LEE): My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not speak
I tried to get up but I couldn't find my feet
She reassured me with an unfamiliar line
And then she gave to me more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine

(NANCY): Strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
Mmm-mm summer wine

(LEE): When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes
My silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size
She took my silver spurs, a dollar and a dime
And left me cravin' for more summer wine
Ohh-oh-oh summer wine

(NANCY): Strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time
And I will give to you summer wine
Mmm-mm summer wine

- Lee Hazelwood & Nancy Sinatra

Long Overdue

2008-07-10T03:27:00.004-04:00

You got the best of me. And what did you do with it? You threw it away. I always had to be there for you. When you needed a friend, I was there. When you needed a counsellor, I was there. When you needed a shoulder to cry on, I was there. And when you reorganized your life's priorities and decided to kick me out of that life (without so much as a by-your-leave), I had to shut up and take that as well.

Did you even bother to discuss it with me? Noooooooooooo. I was just unceremoniously thrown out of your life like a piece of used Kleenex (do excuse the cliche). One day I was driving you to the doctor's at four in the morning, and the next day, not so much as good morning.

Yeah, and I had to just sit back and take all of that. I had to ignore the hurt and pain I felt, I had to take a crash course in insensitivity, and take it. You just got on with your life - I was the one who had to deal with not just my feelings, but also the curious questions of the rest of the world.

And now you want to chit chat and pretend nothing ever happened? How do you have the audacity to ask me about my life, pretending as if you actually give two shits whether I'm alive or dead? Am I some kind of puppet whose strings you can pull every which way each time you change your mind?

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of having to wonder what every look, every question, every conversation means. I'm sick of wondering how far I'm allowed to prod into your life. I'm sick of being looked through at 10 a.m., only to be joked with at 3 p.m. I'm sick of you blowing hot and cold all the time, and my not having a clue why. I'm sick to death of pretending that nothing ever happened.

If you want to be friend again, how about starting with an explanation? Maybe followed up with an apology? How's that for a start, because the way you're going about it just ain't gonna cut it.

Or maybe you don't want to be friends (A far more likely explanation). Maybe you just want to be cordial colleagues. Guess what? You're still going about it the wrong way. I still demand an explanation. I have feelings too, and it's about time you paid some attention to them.

But hey, maybe I'm wrong on both counts. Maybe you just want to pretend nothing ever happened. Even though I could write two encyclopedia volumes and still have more left to write, you perhaps, want to erase it all. Too bad you didn't think of that before you kicked me out of your life.

Because I cannot forget any of what happened. Because the hurt is still here, and so is the pain. And I'm so goddamn angry with how you think you can pretend nothing ever happened. I refuse to play your game anymore, and this time round, you can field the questions from the press.

A Season for Rejection

2008-07-07T05:41:00.004-04:00

In the last three to four weeks, I've seen a lot of rejection happening by (or to) people around me. It genuinely feels like the season for rejection. As if the stars said to themselves 'let's all align ourselves such that at least one heart will be broken every two days for the next four weeks'. What is with that?

As always, I shall start with myself. I got hit on by a friend (and a really good one at that) that I hadn't even in my craziest, most bizarre dreams thought of in 'that way'. I think it was just the sex he was interested in. I hope it was just the sex he was interested in. How do you let down a friend, because I really, really did not want to hurt his feelings any more than necessary (true to the spirit of the season, he was dumped by his on again off again girlfriend four weeks or so earlier). Believe me, saying no to a friend is only marginally better than being rejected yourself. I didn't want to lie, yet the whole truth and nothing but the truth would have been even worse. So I opted for part of the truth - and now because I left part of the truth out, he thinks there's some hope. There is only so much flirting one can ignore without appearing completely obtuse, and therefore the choice was between continuous hurting or appearing incredibly stupid. I chose the latter. I feel awful, knowing that I'm hurting a friend who needs someone now.

In a different train of thought, why do we want people that we know we can't have? He knows better than most that I'm off limits. I, on my part, want people that are beyond my league. And thus the vicious cycle continues. A wants B, B wants C, C wants D and D wants E...maybe we all should take a dose of E.

Of course, my friends have it even worse. They are in semi-relationships and have got themselves neck-deep in heartbreak. How can two people suffer from the most incredible of cross-connections? A thinks that she's in a sex-free (soon to happen though) relationship with B. B thinks he's being a real good friend (and only that) to A. By the time B has smelled the coffee, A is already planning the wedding. And when you're dealing with nice people, with friends, it becomes so damn difficult to say no!

And those are just the stories I'm in the mood to put down. At last count, some five of us were rejected or have rejected others (all friends of some sort) within the last two weeks.

Why do we want people we simply cannot have? And how do you say no to a friend without hurting them?

Radio Nowhere

2008-07-04T08:33:00.003-04:00

I was tryin' to find my way home
But all I heard was a drone
Bouncing off a satellite
Crushin' the last lone American night

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?

I was spinnin' 'round a dead dial
Just another lost number in a file
Dancin' down a dark hole
Just searchin' for a world with some soul

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm

I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I was driving through the misty rain
Yeah searchin' for a mystery train
Boppin' through the wild blue
Tryin' to make a connection with you

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?

I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel some rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm
I just want to feel your rhythm

- Bruce Springsteen (Magic)