Monday, August 31, 2009

Revolutions begin with Haikus in Loos.

Sometimes you need a template that matches the mood (mood = dark, not constipated; also, NO, the mere reference to a toilet in the header does not mean you're invited to make toilet jokes. I've heard them all, anyway. I've even made a few.)

Speaking of headers, many thanks to this girl, whose habit of arming herself with permanent markers and skulking around communal bathrooms occasionally produces interesting results. ;) Welcome to National League of the Underperforming, Jodhpur - even our showers are educational. As the man has rightly said, Revolutions begin in the Bathroom*

We are toying with the idea of doing a whole series of these. 

If you were religiously inclined, for example, you would no doubt appreciate this little effort in that direction (I cater to the masses; after all, it has been so correctly said, pee is the great equalizer*) : 

And now I sit me down to wee
Dear God, I hope the seat is clean
I hope the pot, of proof, is free
Of someone, earlier, having been.

Haiku enthusiasts? 

one stream of water
showerhead blocked (surprise?)
bath will still happen.


O soap that vanished,
i left you on the wash-stand!
soap thief!! i smite thee.

More as and when inspiration/insomnia strikes, or public enthusiasm/support is shown. 

Oh and before I forget - Revelsign, this post is dedicated to you. 

Please don't kill me. I couldn't resist. :D


*Or Charles Dickens did, only may have used the words 'Charity' and 'Home' instead. Quiet down, nitpickers, I aim to capture the spirit of quotes; accuracy is SO 1997.

*Susanna Moodie in Life in the Clearings versus the Bush, 1853 (though wrongly attributed to Thomas Carlyle) and she was talking about death, but it's a fairly flexible phrase, no? Oh shut up.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Hello, trolls..

.. you little shits. I love receiving email from you, if only to marvel at the creative spelling and the vacuous mind that thought it was kewl to spell that way. I also wonder, idly, where you get my email from, but that is probably my fault, my ID is everywhere on the internet.

Dear illusion_of_the_mind, I quite enjoy my sarcasam, thanks for asking. I gathered from your long and rambly email to me that you do not like my sarcasam. Because it shows I have a 'cowardly mind which cn only make fun n not fight bravely'. Tell me, dear illusion_of_the_mind, is your ass nice and roomy? It must be, no, considering you sit on it all day to think up these startlingly novel critiques? Why don't you stick your clever little head up your ass and rest in peace, then? Unless your posterior has an inbuilt modem, I doubt you will ever be troubled by my sarcasam again. The day your ass acquires an internet connection, do email me, I'd love to hear all about it. Also, compliments from my sarcasam. He loves to be the centre of attention, and the next time you write in, remember he enjoys truffle pastry. Thank you for writing in. :)

Dear sumit, thank you for writing in. You were greatly amused by my post on f****** like b******, and told me I was "cool.... to be writin on f****** wid girlz" . While I blush delicately with delight that you have enjoyed my blogpost, I must express my horror at the idea that I enjoy writing on asterisking with women. I was brought up well, and in my family we do not asterisk with women. We do not asterisk with men either, nor pets, and none of the household appliances has ever complained of being asterisked. Asterisking is frowned upon - nay - asterisking is taboo. I assure you, dear sumit, we do not asterisk.

Fucking is different though. Everyone enjoys a good fuck.

Keep writing in, sumit! :)

Dear elvenwindow, hi. No, not interested in an ab machine, though God knows I could use it. Which reminds me, how did you know I was a fat slob simply through my blog? Perceptive. But creepy.

Do keep writing in, elvenwindow..... NOT!

heh. Sorry. I'm a bit of a sucker for not-jokes. :D


The above are the only three trolls I've had the privilege of interacting with over the last year. Last year there were only two, one of whom tried to sell me Viagra at an unbeatable price. These people simply do not do their market research properly, do they? Who tries to sell a poverty-stricken, celibate law student Viagra? What would you try to sell me next? Prams? Pampers? Breast pumps?

The rest of nice people who wrote in with funny stories and all (numbering a grand total of two), thanks. :D I read your email, I just don't reply.

But for all of you trolls out there? Do write in, loves, mommy's simply aching to write back to you. ;-)


Saturday, August 15, 2009

What Would Uma Thurman Smoke?

So, the Lord of the Rings. Shoot me, but I've never felt the magic, and god knows I've tried. Due to my policy of not watching the movie until I've read the book, I have no idea what you're talking about when you rhapsodise over the perfection of the casting system that picked Gollum, or was it Gandalf. Dude with the long hair that should have been Dumbledore, yo.

I like Pulp Fiction. As a rule, I do not watch movies more than once. I barely watch movies at all, but I have watched Pulp Fiction three times. All three times, my breath has caught a little bit at that moment that the camera follows Uma Thurman's bare ankles and feet around the house. If there is one moment in modern cinema that exudes pure, effortless Sex, this is it.

School reunions sadden me. We have not grown out of the shadow of the people we were convinced we'd be by now, and we have not grown into the people we will become. Somewhere in between what should have been and the absolute least that we could be, we've paused in an uneasy sort of equilibrium that we try to defend to everyone else with high-pitched laughter and different clothes. No one ever tells anybody else exactly what they've been doing for two years. No one is going to get along like they used to; indeed, no one ever got along quite as well as their memories would have them believe. Why do people do this to themselves?

Me, I go for the discounted pepsi and the smiley potato patty things. :)

Sometimes it feels nice to simply be quiet. Six unbroken hours of silence, and you float quietly through the day. Perspective, order and unless I am very much mistaken, acuity. Watching your average joe emote while tuning out the bullshit he is saying generates a far clearer picture of what he means as opposed to what he'd like you to believe he means. Intuition is not, I think, the word for it; in any case, the closest to a 'gut feeling' I've ever had is indigestion.

Apparently the only close-to-healthy way you can eat Maggi, is by cooking the noodles by themselves in water, draining away the stock, washing the cooked noodles in cold water and dry tossing the masala in, as you would toss a salad. I'm probably also the kind of idiot that would rather die than switch from Marlboro to Nicorette, but if this was the only way to eat Maggi, I would not eat Maggi. No offence to Maggi - baby, you've been by my side through thick and thin. Though these days, you are tending more and more to thin... it's all the cost cutting at the factories and as an informed enjoyer of a quality noodle of generous thickness, I protest the new Size 2 Maggi. I like my Maggi old-school: fat, soupy and simply exploding with the goodness of Vitamin FUCK-this-is-bad-for-you.

There's an age and a personality to perfumes. Chanel No.5 is for the quiet sexiness that comes with some age, much maturity and a comfort in one's own skin, like those women who modelled Chanel's early suits, wearing berets and seamed stockings. I don't know if the pictures ever showed them smoking cigarettes, but in my mind, they always are. And this might be an anachronism - I have no idea, does anyone know? - but in my mind, they are smoking Gauloises. Why? Because it is French, and also because it is short and stubby and unfiltered and black and so totally not marketed towards the chicks, but they smoke it anyway, and of course, understated rebellion is so feminist, and so very 1920's Chanel. No?


Coco Chanel in one of her own suits, and happily enough for me, smoking a cigarette. Is that a Gauloise?

It could be any other cigarette, of course. I know nothing about cigarettes.

Speaking of things I don't know, I don't know Chanel today. Karl Lagerfeld and suntan-in-a-bottle are BFFs and I don't like my designers orange.

Chanel No. 5 is one of the few perfumes whose progressively changing scents I both noticed and liked. Lacoste's Touch of Pink smells dramatically different at first go - aggressively bright and citrus, like one of those chirpy , vacant girls who used to annoy you in school, but by nightfall it is all gently sweet and wistful and musky, and I can't help but like it. I am convinced that more people would both try and buy perfume if not for those annoying people in malls who follow you everywhere with perfumed paper strips and stick em into every visible orifice, until you smell like a flower market, but you don't know because all you can smell is alcohol. But I mean, paper strips. Really?! Philistines.

Also -> boy readers who wear Axe - please don't. Thanks. :)

Simply out of curiosity, why are you opposed to consensual, non-procreative incest?

I wonder when this topic-jumping incoherence is going to end.