Ummm... Pass the chocolate please

Soundtrack to write break-up scenes to:

I Know it's Over - The Smiths

Try - Macy Grey

Somebody That I Used to Know - Gotye feat. Kimbra

You - TV on the Radio

Shake It Off - Florence + The Machine

Love is a Laserquest - The Arctic Monkeys

Mr. Brightside (acoustic) - The Killers

Don't Speak - No Doubt

Cup of Coffee - Garbage

State of our Affairs - Mt. Desolation

Pyro - Kings of Leon

Nothing Compares 2 U - Sinead O' Conner

When Doves Cry - Prince

Rant!

So I've been doing a lot of writing... and a lot of reading. And I really really have to do a hands-up-in-the-air waving yelling rant so that I can go back to sane.

Why are American publishers so darned lazy? Why do they publish books with such poor grammar and pathetic spelling? Do they leave big words in the text, irrespective of their meaning, simply because they look impressive?

I get that in America mold means mould and is not a fungal growth. So when I read about a 16 year old growing up and breaking out of her "small town Christian mold" I might snicker to myself, but I understand that it's the vernacular that fails not the publisher. And fine, the extra vowel a or o thing is confusing so I'll let esthetic go even if it looks wrong, and admit that I find esophagus not so hard to swallow. I even grudgingly accept that they are too lazy to learn extra words (shone, lit, thrice) and let shined, lighted and three times be.

But I find the following sentences are worthy of a go straight to hell do not pass go do not collect mineral water card.
"Butterflies assaulted my stomach." (With what? Teeny tiny machine guns?)
"I ran out to the car and slung open the door." (Slung the car door where? Over your shoulder?)
"I never use to feel that way." (Dude. Everyone uses to feel that way.)

And final prize for terrible thought and editing:
Why would you name your brooding, mysterious, dark hoodie clad hero Dank???

countdown to 30?

So found old post here and discovered that a lot of these are no longer list. Blue hair? No. I've watched the LOTR in one go. The writing is a push-pull work in progress. Popcorn? Check. Ceiling is orange and I like it that way. Clean rooms have been achieved and discovered to be over-rated. Got the Pratchetts. Stopped the SMS...

Go snorkeling.
Watch the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy at a single sitting.
Stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Learn to cook Wasabe.
Die my hair blue. - ummm NO.
Learn to juggle.
Lose 4 kilos.
Buy myself a Lava Lamp.
Write something that I actually want someone to read.
Paraglide.
Drive a Porche.
Make a perfect bowl of popcorn.
Paint stars on the ceiling. - ORANGE
Clean my room and keep it that way for more than two days.
Own all the Granny Weatherwax Pratchetts.
Adopt.
Visit Delphi.
Learn to read character from handwriting.
Not send a single SMS for 24 hours.
Read an entire Fantasy series in chronological order without discovering half way through book 7 that there is no way that I can keep the plot in order anymore.
Swim in the Pacific.
Make smores.
Make that 6 kilos....

So, not bad, huh? I feel so full of achievement!

Infatuation of the day - Post: 01

Dustin Nguyen & Trevor McCarthy
- Batman: Gates of Gotham.

I died,
went to heaven,
and the angels wear cowls.

When it rains...

Bombay is a competent and busy bustling 30. She glances briskly at the greying gloomy crowding streets and says - "Ignore it. Just take the local a few hours later today; get some more work done meanwhile. Here, have a hot onion pakora and a tiny glass of ginger tea while you click away at your keyboard and ignore the water dripping marginally cleaner streaks down your smogged up window. And then, once you're done, rush with all the other rushed busy people, past all the damp and water stained history, each of you hurrying to tiny apartments of your own so you can sit for a minute and efficiently plan tomorrow's work."

Madras is frazzled and filthy after a tiring day with too many kids. The jasmine in her hair is wilting and overpowered by the smells of wet and hard worked humanity. She tucks her sari half an inch higher and pokes her umbrella at a passerby out of random annoyance and short temper. She says petulantly - "You, with all your needing this and needing that... Do you think I have time for this? Does anyone stop and check that some rotting tree hasn't fallen on me? Does anyone notice that the beach is now cluttered with sharp and dirty debris? Even the sea is angry and lashes out if someone goes there. Why should I care then? I didn't volunteer. Nobody cares anyway. Just shut up and don't get in my way."

Bangalore has her shoes and socks off. She dips her toe in the swirling, browning water that rapidly fills ditches and roads alike. The ribbons that were neatly tied in her hair just this morning are undone and flap bedraggled behind her as she splashes through puddles; all responsibilities washed away. She sticks her tongue out to catch a huge drop of water and sings to herself - "Pretty pretty! See the leaves dance? And water gurgle? Let's look for rainbows! Let's build damns and pretend we can't hear when they call us inside... Work? NO! Drain all this happy splashy water away?? NO!! Let me race paper boats and get soaked and float in roadside rivers and stare at the wet leaves swirling toward that conveniently tiny drain hole. Let's make bets about whose street gets clogged and overflows first! Look at the pretty sparks from the shorting transformer! No power? Not my fault. Call someone else..."

Holy self reference Batman!

So way waaaaay back in Feb '09 when Bruce Wayne was "dead" and Dick Grayson inherited the cowl, Peter Tomasi had given us a disconnected snapshot type Nightwing farewell for Last Rites (Nightwing #151).
I hadn't loved the comic at the time. The story was premature cos it felt like a final goodbye to Nightwing when there were still 2 comics to go. The art was so-so: Dick looked 40 not 25-ish etc etc. But I liked the concept of various goodbye rituals. I particularly liked the family style movie night 3 pager. The total silence with which Alfred, Dick and Tim go about an obviously well worn tradition. The choice of movie. The bleak 'click' that ends the movie and the chapter. It was a neat way to show a grieving family soldiering on.

So it was a pleasurable surprise to see that Tomasi re-visited the tradition in the 3 page intro section to this month's Batman & Robin. The family at ease, chattering, ribbing and normalcy restored.
(Incidentally I like the Gleason/Gray art better even if Bruce looks a bit more bouncer than knight.)

The top 5 reasons Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series has been voted off my island.

5.

Her magical high school is not sufficiently fleshed out.

Where are the unicorns? Where are the rainbows and fluffy lambs? Wait. What? It's not a magical alternate dimension paradise?

Then how come a 17 year old new girl, who is painfully negative and unsociable all the time, is so instantly popular? Bella Swan (yes, ironic initials) "stumbles", "stutters", "glares" and "mumbles" through the whole miserable series and yet she is strangely attractive to all the boys.

*cough*BS*cough*

4.

Ms. Meyer treats punctuation like confetti at a parade.

Throw a random handful in the air, watch it fall prettily and let it sit wherever it pleases.

3.

The "dust moats stirring in the sunlight" sentence.

Although I am curious about that one... Do dust moats still need a drawbridge? Is it like quicksand? Does the sarlacc* lurk under the surface?

2.

The vampires sparkle.

For no known reason since there is absolutely no creation myth given to support this. They just step into sunlight and ta-dah! Sparklefest. And just to make it more confusing, they only sparkle in sunlight. A photosynthetic allergy sparkle that only reacts to the correct frequency spectrum.

1.

Edward is horrifying.

And no, I do not mean in a sexy chill down my spine vampirey way.

He's condescending and superior, calls her an idiot often, "sighs" at her attempts to do anything by herself, threatens her "for her own good", creeps into her room and watches her sleep, is jealous, moody and controlling. He graphically describes the way she would look dead, licks her tears and objects to her friendships with anyone other than the pre-approved Angela. He even takes her truck apart so she is forced to stay home when he says she should. Sex with him leaves her covered in bruises.... Am I the only one who sees domestic abuse parallels here?**

Bonus point:

Ms. Meyer seems to follow the "Baby Kangaroo Tribbiani" method of synonym use.

Right click, pick one, run with it. The bigger the better, right? Even if you end up with phrases like "feathery barrenness", "his eyes dissected my expression", and "little sprouts of hope... budding in my mind."

Edit:

** Went loafing cyberspace tonight and discovered that I'm not! Check this out. Weird but true. :)

Also see this for grammar and editing fun-a-palooza.

Echo

Happy New Year to my much beloved total lack of readers!

Now that FB has taken over the world, we've all become used to getting responses to everything we say or do on the internet. Status updates become long chains of witty repartee, single coughs get diagnosed, sympathised with and 'liked' with joyful abandon. Menu choices and genuine emotion are equally valued. This is my last corner of semi quiet exhibitionism. See, I put all these playlists, and break up woes and nostalgia and attempts at humour out there in cyber space... where no one can see them!

So this is me, throwing a pebble and listening to the vast cavernous silence. 2011 rocks already.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be

So I'm updating my little sporadic footprints in the blogosphere. And in the process I'm taking a cyber trip down memory lane... Have you ever noticed that the person you thought you would be in 5 years is very very rarely the person you are?

According to my 23 year old self I should have done a lot more with my life by this point. Travelled. Done huge new things. Kept a non-sporadic blog.

Siiiigh. I'm trying to decide if I should feel depressed and slap my underachiever sticker onto my forehead...

Then again, if memory serves, according to my 8 year old self (and a highly confidential spy kit my sister and I had set up for ourselves) I should have been able to fly a helicopter, an F-16, know 6 foriegn languages, be an expert at various hand-to-hand techniques including Krav Maga and have 6 alternate identities.

I think I'm still having just about enough trouble figuring out my one singular identity, thanks.

P.S. : Some things haven't changed at all. I still feel like this whenever it rains. I've just decided that's something I can revel in.

Riding into the sunset.

Ahhhhh, happy endings... how I miss thee.

Answers

Why is it that people ask questions to which they don't want the answers? Next time someone asks how many roads a man must walk down etc etc I shall say 42.

How to Get Over a Break Up

(An Amalgamated Guide of Advice from Everyone You Know that will Only Succeed in Confusing You)

• Take time and get back in the game.

• Avoid places that your ex might be and go out partying with your friends more.

• Give your home a drastic spring clean and take comfort from the familiar.

• Talk to your friends about it but don't dwell on the past.

• Realise he wasn't worth it but cherish fond memories.

• Do something out of character and life changing, go skydiving! And spend a day curled up with pop-corn and a good movie.

• Take a complete break from contact but stay friends with your ex.

"A word to the wise ain't necessary, it's the stupid ones who need the advice." - Bill Cosby
Hmmmm... And it's the really stupid who take it, I guess!

It's me!

I got a 3D avatar thing... happy me! Makes me wonder why a self confessed photophobe gets such a kick out of a vector self portrait!

2:30

I was wise but now I'm free... One tooth gone. :)
25 years old and only 31 teeth.
Wisdom is overrated.

On Autorickshaws and Cruelty

There I stand in the chill morning with my hand stuck unavailingly out. Waving desperately at the smug little black and yellow three-wheeled bugs as they speed by.
Either they are already occupied, and my lucky fellow commuter gives me a glance that is an equal mix of pity and self-congratulation.
Or there appears to be some mysterious, and probably world-saving, reason why the driver cannot venture onto MG Road. Maybe the space time continuum will be disrupted? Maybe aliens are tracking him and he must hurry to a place that is less populated to save human life? Maybe the terrible mutant contagion that infests an inconspicuous jar at his feet needs to be rushed to a secure facility... I don't understand why else my simple request is met with such loathing and derision.
As one goes through the ritual morning after morning, a shell of cynicism develops. A sneer appears on the face of the hardened auto catcher. She no longer shows her hurt at these brusque and disdainful brush-offs. She wears a mask of disinterest and sticks her hand out with impunity. Nothing can jar her anymore. The situation could not possibly be worse...
This morning could. Insult to injury type worse.
There I stood in the tried and tested auto catching stance. The regulation 5 autos went by...
It was the 6th that gave me a pain in the heart. The lone passenger nestled smugly in the back seat, at ease and totally self satisfied. I stared in envy as the huge bunch of bananas whisked by, smirking all the way. It's a-peel must have been better than mine.

Etch unto their own...

Miami Ink's Ami James had made a limited edition tatooed MotoRAZR! I know people who will WANT that.... It has a dragon wrapped all around the phone. Nice. Actually I want it too!

More on new people

Yeah so I was talking about the variety in music. Did I mention the variety in language?
I have a theory that every office has its own catch phrases and terminology. And as people switch jobs they carry the lingo with them. And then like all good memes the good phrases survive, spread and mutate. And so we end up speaking an advertising dialect all of our own that ensures that out non ad friends gradually understand us less and less.

Random post

Sitting in office and listening to old old music that I only vaguely know... It's nice to have new people in office. It really shakes up the i-Tunes pool!

Redone!

Given my blog a touch up. All bubbles and blue-green and happy happy joy joy. This is like repainting my bedroom walls. Same old junk with a new shiny look...

Depressed.

Babies are being bottle fed Bombay sea water and deities are being spoon fed milk...
Sigh. If string theory is to be believed, multiple universes are not just possible but probable. Our world apparantly includes somewhere between 10 to 26 dimensions, depending on the specific theory... But at this point I really doubt that any other reality is quite so bizarre.