one of those days... no point to make

4 penguins perish in freak Texas truck accident: Octopus unhurt, exotic fish not as lucky en route to temporary home Yepp! They are LIVE allright... cute and cuddly too.
“The rest of the penguins kind of stayed together in the ditch... We’ve worked several wrecks involving cows, horses, pigs, even fish, but this is the first where the live animals were penguins.”

The accident could've been worse, says Texas Dept of Public Safety Trooper Richard Buchanan.
“There was another truck full of snakes and alligators that was an hour ahead of them, so luckily we didn’t have to deal with the alligators.”

In case anyone's interested, the Octopus was bound for Moody Gardens, a tourist destination in Galveston... ... nothing. Just thought it was one of those days.

still a slow news day...

How to be an anonymous author and stay that way:
Trust no one.
Don't meet people. I conduct 99% of Belle-business through an anonymous, encrypted email account. No one meets me who doesn't have to.
Seek advice from the people who know. The aforementioned email account? Recommended by Jet Set Lara. The agent? Recommended by Mil Millington.
Guard your private details. Protect your name like you would an asset. Even now, most people associated with the book have never known my real name, and none knows my address.
Don't be afraid to cut people off. If someone smells like a rat, they are.
Keep good records. My call girl name, my writing name and the pseudonyms the people who've met me use - all unique, all unrelated.
...But don't write too much down. There really are people whose job it is to go through someone's rubbish. Consider investing in a crosscut shredder.
Ignore the hype. Parties and expensive lunches and book signings are probably great, but I'll never know. Similarly, meet people in unexpected places. Belle de Jour does not, alas, take lunch with her editor at the Ivy.
Trust no one. Worth repeating that one. Think you can keep a secret? You're going to have to keep it from everyone you know and everyone you meet, possibly forever.
Get lost. Take a holiday after your book comes out. Turn off your phone. Stop reading email.
Do interviews by email. No photos, no meetings, no voice recordings. There is no contract in the world that will convince someone to keep your secret if they really want to shop you out.
Be patient. The media lose interest eventually. Until then it's a long (and nerve-wracking) road.
Anonymity costs money. I never begrudge the fees that go to my accountant and the byzantine arrangements that mean I can be paid without the publishers knowing my name; it's just what the privilege of anonymity costs.
Build good will. If you're a writer, be an on-time and on-spec writer who says yes to everything, and delivers. I've only had one bad run-in with features for print media, and I reused the material elsewhere, so it wasn't so bad.
No, really, trust no one.
Luck is the end result of a good plan. I got lucky, because I worked with the best in the business. Someone is only as good as his word if he has as much to lose (or gain) as you do.
http://belledejour-uk.blogspot.com/

by the way...

...yup, slow news day. somebody needs to invent the transporter, pronto. Partly so that I can be where I want to when I want to, but mostly to avoid watching Ice Age 2: The Meltdown, Firewall, Eight Below, that Amanda Bynes As You Like It "inspired" chick-flick, Failure to Launch, Iqbal, some Pacific-Island indie, Jodie Foster at the Actor's Studio...TWICE! On the inbound and outbound flights. The total journey was 1275.4km [792.4968mi...but you knew that] greater than the earth's equator. Talk about getting jipped.

sunday forum - ask gollum

Gollum, how does Karan make his koffee?
Gollum: Nice Karrran. Nice Karrraaan... He swears to do what you wants... Precioussss. He ssswears!!!
He makes Amitabh talk and Abhishek listen... brings Shahrukh and Kajol together again... makes Kareena deny... and Rani defy... makes Preity spill the beans... and Saif the coffee!
He hungers for sweeter meats... ... And when he throws away the bones and empty clothes, then we will find It! [Sméagol:] And take It for meeeee!!! [Gollum:] For ussss. [Sméagol:] Yes, we meant, we meant for us.

Gollum, what is section 31? Is it Heidegger's VERSTEHEN of Dasein? (see post 07/28/06)
Gollum: While the ancients were careful observers of nature, their knowledge of human anatomy was deeply flawed, and their scientific treatises survive only as text - no figures. Shown here is a print from Heidegger's Section 31. With this "precisely shaded" and "carefully labeled" drawings, he revolutionized both the study of humans and the art of scientific illustration.
Flay them, preciousss. Flay them all, yes, if we gets chances...

Me-times and Me-spaces

My 'chu-ha' has asked me to give her some space. She needs her privacy she said. She said she wishes she could choose her own goddamn owner. That were her exact words... "goddamn owner"!! What the f**k is that all about??

Chu-ha! I can squish you like a bug! Do you know that?! Silly dog! Yes, I said it! Silly DOG!

So, do you want some coffee?

Recently Overheard at a Yale Architecture Student Design Jury:
Kenneth Frampton: ...I could tell you to cut six more slots into this thing, and it wouldn't make a difference. It's a negative critique of the project, but it's also a critique of the whole god damn situation. You have to have a principle, otherwise you can not communicate anything to anybody. Why should I invest my money in this, as opposed to some other project? You have to have a reason; otherwise the architects don't even talk to the society. Don't you see that predicament? These computer renderings produce aesthetic effects very well, seamless, very seductive, but they are not about anything. They are delusions! They are mirages! I'm sorry, it's very aggressive to say this, but aren't we going to start talking? It's just ridiculous to say, "Ok -- individual interpretations," "So on and so forth." One has to talk about something fundamental, otherwise we're never going to talk about anything anymore.
Demitri Porphyrios: I'm not sure what you're talking about.
Frampton: I'm talking about the fact that there is a total degeneration...
Porphyrios: Do you want some coffee?
Frampton: No, I don't. Sorry, I don't...
Porphyrios: Look, look, look. This is a disgusting situation. It's not right to get upset...
Frampton: It's something to get upset about. We always have polite discussions; we have to sometimes get upset, because otherwise we just don't talk about the things that matter.

heat, sweat and sea breeze

day 0.5:
My over-enthusiastic buddy frowns at me suspiciously and wonders if I am sick. I flash an apologetic smile and wonder in amazement at the Samuel Adams statue next to me. She doesn't look too convinced.

I am on one of the fancy-schmancy tourist "trolleys" to kill 3 hours before my hotel check-in. The pictorial maps with handsomely drawn landmarks, the thick red, green and blue route lines do not look too promising after a whole night of flight, 95 deg of heat and 110% humidity. 3 days, 4 nights, 30 landmarks, 10 landmarks per day, 3 overlapping circles to conquer, X marks the coffee places as bases for attack. I start doing the math fast, as I would on exam nights. Must see historical sites, must see Harvard, must see Trinity Church, must take pictures, the voice in my head nags. Shut up! I don my shades to doze-off as the over-friendly tourist guide in his garish costume flashes his nice dentures, and drones on in heavy superlatives. Zzzz... mall, John Hancock... zzzz... hardrock cafe, Ben Franklin.... zzzz... graveyards, Beacon street... zzzz... finally a tap on my shoulder, we have reached back to the hotel.

day 01:
Quick peek into the Convention Center, quick registration, Exhibitions, Animation theatres... Not one to live in guilt, I decide to assure my over-enthusiastic buddy that I am still pursuing "the cause". I flip the bird at the screen midway and walk out of the animation theatre... a rare act on my side I should admit... to my over-enthusiastic buddy's dismay. Run, run, run while there's still time... run for the sake of humanity...

X marks the spot. Starbucks. Probably the most wonderful place on earth. Arched passageway with vines. Blue port with white boats. Downtown view. And sea wind. And the gulls. Yes, indeed the most wonderful place on earth. I snug in a chair, with an iced mocha, my ciggies, and a book. No, not one to live in guilt. A boy on roller skates sneaks up, leaves a card on my table and flees. The card shows a new line of underwear... WowUnderwear, the W taking the shape of a curvy hip and thong. Aaah... found my bookmark. I look at the pesky tourists on trolleys, loud tourist guides, and snigger at their helplessness. Get out, save yourselves... I want to say to a guy in the trolley who gives back a blank stare and a confused smirk.

day 02:
Convention Center, old school mates, professors, lunch engagement with school advisor. I have a stupid grin on my face, that exudes from being stupidly happy. Can happiness ever be stupid? People smile back... curious about my nonchalant, non-scurring art of living? Or at my wayward perkyness? I decide to act like a tourist for another 3 hours and visit Harvard square. I take a picture like a true tourist, touching one foot of Harvard himself... pleading my brain to erase that memory afterwards. I am ashamed to have touched someone's foot and smile gloriously. The humble courtyards calm me down. "In the presence of knowledge and greatness" I mutter to myself. My over-enthusiastic buddy, who by now has learnt to live with my idiosyncracies, looks at me with an understanding smile. She seems pleased with my placidity.

It's past noon, time to go back to my "watering hole". I sit near a deck this time, next to my coffee-place, one that I've discovered losing my way the last time. An open-air Opera starts just in time. The aria wails through the sea wind... my first live Opera! I read a book on Pirates and smell the wet sea air, and look at the gulls. I laugh to myself. The book is really funny.

day 03:
A friend accompanies me to my watering hole this time. I have successfully established a ritual, marked a sense of belonging in a strange city. We talk about life in general. A dark tan on my already brown skin displays my glory days in the sun. I look like a layered chocolate cake, a punishment for wearing clothes. My plane leaves soon. I say proper goodbyes to the people, to the hustle and bustle, to the heat, the dampness of the sea breeze, and to my lazy two afternoons... time to go back home, where other rituals await.

ironical

KJ is struggling to let go.
It was hard work to say goodbye after working at how never to.

Traces of subtlety?

Harold and Kumar go to White Castle

Nerds are only nerds, unless they are geeks.

Downward mobility is the upward trend.

Yellow comes in different shades.

Fun is always to be had at the other’s expense. The Other, of course, is interchangeable.

In the end it is fashionable nonsense, albeit a zero-sum game.

Impaired Vision

It is impossible to say "last week, this time, I was...", since I didn't have a Sunday last week.
The hole that has housed me the past seven days has a breathing terrace. More importantly, it has a vew. The spine of skyscrapers ending in the harbour bridge and the opera house. All laid out in an uninterrupted panorama.Flanking it are other terraces, much like the one I am on. With people on them, also enjoying the view, I suppose. And eating their dinner, like I am. Some wine. Some small talk. Smoking, maybe. Random church bells from somewhere that is not part of the view. I like rambling writing. Gives the illusion of being clever. I think on the whole, my ambitions far outpace my talents. I wonder how the real estate landscape would look like if the view ceased to be in the buyers' sights? The middle-of-things may become valuable. For all the talk on marginality, the periphery is still a privileged place to see the view. If only people could see that.
I had dinner for the first time on top of a hole. Tonight. Some stir-fry with rice. Enjoying the view. Eating out in the open that way, at sunset, surrounded by life scenes, I felt terribly alone. I am unsure if it was a good alone or a lonely alone. Only it wasn't unfamiliar. I suppose it is good to have travelled, and be travelling. Though I don't know if that makes me a traveller. Either way, so be it. I have this urge to fly a kite, the wind is perfect for that. I think of flying kites in the pols. How have I ended up here? What happens after an accident? I miss ___. I was going to write "you", but that has become problematic.

When the inexhaustible got exhausted

...repeatedly! I notice that I am probably the only participant at ___ not associated with a university. I feel thrilled..um, briefly, that is! It is not often that such uniqueness, such distinction simply, and effortlessly, falls into one's lap. In fact, I cannot recall this happening to me at all. By the way, it has felt strange to be asked two questions, and two only...which university? and, when is your paper/when do you read your paper? (reminds me of certain second-class train journeys. The inqueries were also limited to two questions, a bit different in nature). I wish I was a negative on both, rather than just the one. I would love to see the look in people's eyes - "what are you doing here"? But I digress...back to the point - This is when I decided I would start a new vocation, all on my own, just like that. I am a tourist who has begun to visit conferences. This one is the first one, but "has begun", I think, holds a promise to it. Much better than "recently commenced" or "just started". So my vocation, at least today, is to be a tourist at conferences. See the sights - nervous phd students desperately trying to extract papers out of 15000 word long dissertations, Eileen Fisher linen apparelled, fancy ethnic scarve bearers speaking passionately of ethnicities and sloppy tweed jackets rambling on about Ben-ya-meen. Oh, and students queing in for free food. And occasionally a germ of an idea. I don't have a dissertation pending. No paper criteria. I am here as an accident, I feel. An illegitimate. A bastard, really.

Sadly trying to establish relations that constantly are just beyond my grasp. No, I have not read Heidegger's Section 31 of some writing - the name of which was uttered in German, and I did not catch on - it is supposedly on endings & beginnings. Knowing Heidegger, it would be hopeless for me to even begin, for I will be pompously reminded that that was precisely where I lost something I need to recover (besides my intelligence, or maybe my intelligence). [moan]. I am intrigued by a paper on "gossip as a theatre historian's friend?" How do you legitimize a page3 methodology? One paper claims that to write a history of art one must operate as artists do. The other quickly issues a rebuttal that the work of art becomes a work of art through the critic. O-kay. In the session around architecture, of course Corbu makes an appearance. Good old Corbu! He never disaapoints. The whipping boy of stodgy historians. I can imagine Corbu saying "fuck you all". But then again, probably not; not if there was a project at stake. I don't know where I am going with this. Historians think anthropologists are lucky, in that they can play with form. Anthropologists seem to think that of Cultural Studies-ists. Ditto for Visual Study-ists. And finally, Visual Study-ists seem to think that ultimately it is the one that produces, the humble artist, who is lucky in that it is s/he who can truely experiment, unencumbered by the disciplines of an institution. H-uh?

But, that is the end of the itinerary. The ticket has expired. The sights recede, I am on a flight back home. 'Til next time, I suppose.

nymph-o-mania: the good, the bad & the muddled

"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss..."

Sirens (greek); Selkies (scotland); Merrows (ireland); Merry Maid (cornwall);
Lorelei & Meerfrau (germany); Rusalka (russia); Mermaid (hans christian anderson);
Narf (shyam-osaurus)
Nymphs seduce men. They entice tired handsome travelers and keep them hostage under the cold dark water for the rest of their unfortunate(?) lives.
Sirens (bird-women turned nymphs) sing hypnotic songs to lure sailors into destruction.
Merpeople "do not take kindly to those who enter their domain". They do not sing, but screech when above water. They have yellow eyes, broken teeth, wear chokers of shark fangs and carry spears to poke anyone who enters "their domain".
Mermaids, the fairer and kinder of merpeople, fall in love with mere mortals, give up their voices alongwith their immortality to be with one, and eventually turn into sea-foam to sing to lost sailors.
Narfs are confused nymphs with absolutely no mystical powers. They have bad hair-do, bewildered looks, and whiter-than-white albino skin that separate them from the rest of us. They come from the "Blue World" to warn, help and "awaken" humankind. Humans carry them around and use sign-language to communicate during narf-ous breakdowns.

Hylas & the nymphs: artist Waterhouse, 1896	Merpeople: harry potter (goblet of fire)
Sirens: artist Herbert Draper, 1909	Narfs: Shyamalanesque Lady in the Water

Shyam-Alan, you are still a cutie...

An_other coffee place

It isn't often that you hear a complete CD at one sitting in a coffee shop these days. I was very surprised to meet with an old favourite then. One hour of comforting anguish with Coldplay wailing over a rush of blood to the head. If only my feet were taken care of, I would attend to my head. I discovered yesterday that wet shoes keep blisters away. It is an incredbly beautiful day today (and I have an impending blister) in a part of ___...more like a Spanish colony, than an English one. Warm, soft and golden sunlight on stuccoed cream colonial buildings speak Spanish, or Portugese. English is made for sterner weather. And is probably more ordered. I wonder what language I dream in? My foot hurts...a tiny spot at the side of the arch. It is definitely the onset of a blister. Did I say it is a gloriously perfect day? I like to see places in peoples' eyes. I wonder what my eyes hold? When I try to gaze into my eyes, I see mirrors. The hotel I satyed in before my present accomodations had the awful idea of placing parallel mirrors along the corridors to the rooms. Needlessly glorifying the walk to the room. Amplifying the aching feet. Or the urgency to pee. It was a boutique hotel. I read somewhere that artists without friends weren't worth calling artists. The hotel was not friendly like.. It is obvious I cringed in it. Fancy hotels force you into seeing sights. Doing things. Walk ridiculously all day from sight to sight. Beautiful sights, without respite. Today I saw a Thonet Chair painted pink on Boundary Street. Do ruins ever become ugly? It would be quite something to go see a sight which has an apology mounted on it: "we are sorry about the ugliness of this once beautiful ___". Most ugly buildings identified as such are lived in buildings. In use. Put to use. Ab-used? I travel differently now. The more places remind me of another, the more I feel different. That I have changed. Since yesterday. Since a year ago. Five years. The Coldplay has finished. This next CD is rather melancholic. It is reminding me of my walk back. Groan! I think I should learn rollerblading before my next trip. I am done with walking.I came to ___ Street to shop. The only shops I seem to stop at today are ones with seats or restrooms. Today I met a chap who is a bodyguard with Cirque Du Soleil. I have never met a bodyguard before.He asked me if anyone had told me how beautiful I was, today? I answered that it was 7 o'clock in the morning, so no, not yet. A simple Thank You would have sufficed. But either way, I would've been presumptious, I think. I infinitely prefer having been to places than being in one. The pressure to do things is crushing. To my feet, especially. I saw my first "Whole Foods" woman. Says something about the n'hood. It is strange how 'diverse' for me has come to include the presence of "Whole Foods" people. Ethnicity isn't enough, it is habits. And the appearance of lifestyles. Apparently, the bodyguard remembered my smile from yesterday. What is going on? Do I have a smile permanently plastered on my face? Ugh! I think I will conclude my shopping day. I bought nothing. There is an accomplishment in that that I do not want disturbed. This winter, though, I am definitely wearing boots. The music has perked up. Maybe this is a good time to leave.I think people who shop are terribly optimistic. And I am getting tired of these one liners. One of these days, I should venture into staying with a thought long enough to see it go stale, purtrify and smell. Arbitrary endings still don't make sense.

s[L]ight seeing

There is an unexplainable terror to sight seeing these days. A sort of should-do with a must-do tinge to it, but do-I-have-to making repeated entrances. Want-to, one can guess by now, is absent.
I have found my slacking watering hole! Un Petit Creme, a small little tiny cafe, complete with a very frenchie sounding frenchman of obscure age and smooth voice. Has a naughty way of leaning in and asking one to repeat one's order. Of course one does it with a gratified smile. Makes up for an incredible start to the day.
Australians seem to like ketchup. There is a dissonance when I get it at my frenchie place, and when there are no fries in sight. Besides, it doesn't make its appearance in abottle, but is carefully placed in a petite ceramic condiment bowl.
My breakfasts are big. One way I can justify being in the cafe for as long as possible. There's a small white flat coffee, cereal, baguette, butter, two poached eggs (with cayenne and spring onins as garnish), orange juice and sausage links. Yum. Thankfully, I don't need to eat the rest of the day. Coffee and Camel Lights suffice (sadly, no American Spirits here).
It rains a lot, it seems. But I have discovered that walking in wet shoes keeps blisters away. So I won't complain.
Everyone should go to an opera at the SHO. It beats jostling around with hoards of tourists to get a glimpse of some concrete, or china-mosaic or glass.
Disney is everywhere. The latest incursion is in the Aquarium, where finding the fish Nemo becomes the common thread one hangs on to. Besides, every 'environ' comes equipped with its own background music. After all, watching a shark swim around has to be different experientially than watching a saltie just lie there, not doing anything for one's amusement.
But these are first impressions. More research is required...:)

Time Off

I would like to think that after a long time I had trouble with Tyme. Literally, I didn't have it, so there was no question keeping it. Grey skies and an 'every-place' light didn't help either. Everything seemed to be contriving to keep Tyme away. From me, that is. (Don't get me wrong, this place is not timeless). My hotel lobby had no clock (it was one of these contemporary 'boutique' hotels, aspiring to timeless-ness). The receptionist didn't wear a watch (passe). The hotel room didn't have an alarm clock (and refreshingly, didn't have a Bible either). The hotel TV didn't have cable, so no scrolling TV guide, which incidentally keeps Tyme. See what I mean? No timekeepers. I knew it was there, Tyme that is, for how can there not be A time? But for now, it was not for me to have it.
So I played along.
Didn't ask anyone directly for Tyme. Didn't put the radio on (in fact, I hadn't realised it till now that that would have been a way to get Tyme, for sure). Actually, it wasn't so much as didn't put the radio on as much as didn't think of putting the radio on. Took a long soak in the bath tub, as I promised myself I would through out the long flight. A really long soak. One where one dozes off and wakes up to find oneself quite frozen. So one soaks again. The ritual repeats several times. No Tyme interfering still. One steps out, dries oneself, and decides to take a nap. A snooze. A shut-eye, if you will. And then it happens....when does one get up? Tyme's nagging absence keeps me awake. I try to guess the time, so that I can guess when to wake up. Refreshed, hopefully. Doesn't happen.
I give in, eventually, when it is indeterminately dark outside but the place is still buzzing with activity. I walk into Un Petite Place, a Frenchie-owned coffee place that serves a short flat white coffee (more on that later!!!), and ask 'what time is it', and against all hopes, they answer numerically, 'half-past eleven, love'. Tyme on.

my whacky God, where are you?

Hermes kills Argus, artist Velazquez
Aphrodite/Venus, Goddess of Love and Desire, had an affair with Ares/Mars, the God of War. Love and Conflict goes back a long way.
The gloomy God of Death and Underworld, Hades/Pluto, abducted and married Persephone, Goddess of Fertility, only to set her free in spring and summer to create new life. Life and Death are symbiotic after all.
Athena/Minerva, Goddess of Skill and Wisdom, had grey eyes, and sprang from Zeus' skull. Where else can wisdom spring from?
Neptune/Poseidon had dangerous mood swings, had a knack for making sea-monsters, and was pretty bad at creating land animals. That's what being hormonal is like... welcome to my world.

'morning after' at a celebration of Dionysus, artist Alma-Tadema
The oldest Greek tragedies were religious rituals of sacrificing goats on stage, to honor Dionysus/Bacchus, the God of Wine and Tragedy. Wine and tragedy, well I'll be damned...
Cupid/Eros, son of Aphrodite, was a sadistic God who had gold tipped arrows to make people fall in love, or lead-tipped ones to dull passion. He married Psyche, the personification of human soul. Eroticism strives to become beautiful with a touch of soul.
Artemis/Diana, Goddess of moon, never married, loved skinny-dipping, and turned spying men into stags. You go girl!
Hermes/Mercury, God of travelers and thieves, was swift, clever and athletic with winged heels, and stole sacred cows of Helios, the God of Sun. Eccentricity has it's downs...
Circe, the beautiful sorceress, had power for spiritual purification, and turned men into pigs. Spiritual purification and turning men into pigs jive well together.
Apollo/Helios, God of Sun, Light, Music and Healing was possessive, ruthless and was famous for his mortal loves. He sent prophecies through Oracles in sacred shrines. No comment.

A Rembrandt of Hades kidnapping Persephone
Zeus kills Phaëthon, son of Helios, artist Sebastiano Ricci
Zeus & Hera, by James Barry

Venus in Botticelli painting. 'Calumny' is the female holding a torch, dragging a man. Ignorance & Suspicion, whisper to Authority. Treachery & Deceit, arrange Calumny's hair. Scrawny Envy, gains a hearing for Calumny.

Zeus, God of Sky and Lightning, ruler of Gods on Mount Olympus, seduced humans, nymphs and other beings, sexual fidelity never his strong point. Power and promiscuity feed on each other.
Hera/Juno, Goddess of Happy Marriage, wife of Zeus, ironically spent vengeful, spiteful times tormenting Zeus' lovers and illegitimate children. Nobody can hold a grudge like her. That's like a true wife!
Anemoi, the Wind Gods, (Boreas, Notus, Zephyr, Volturnus, Eurus and Aeolus) were imprisoned by Gods in stables, and would be let loose by Hera to cause disaster. Hell hath no fury...
Hephaestus/Vulcan, God of fire, forge and craftsmanship was crippled after Zeus flung him from the heavens in rage. He married Aphrodite and had a trio of cyclopean assistants. Spent much of his life chasing Aphrodite's lovers..
Aurora/The Dawn, "rose-fingered" Goddess, painted colorful morning skies from Isle of Aeaea. Yawn!


Zeus' daughters: the nine muses depicted by Raphael

Final Words:
My muses have left me. All my nine muses have left me, one by one.
I am suffocating in my museless existence.

sunday forum - ask gollum

Gollum, yesterday, my neighbour's big, vicious dog snarled at my sweet little pup 'Chuha'. She freaked out and yelped. Why can't people keep their dogs under control? My poor pup was so scared... poor thing!
Gollum: My pet bacteria got attacked by a vicious, mean, nasty virus, Preciousss. Gollum is sad! My Bacteria has feelings... and it is human... but nasty men, dirty men does not want!! Sméagol hates nasty hobbitses! Sméagol wants to see them...dead!

Gollum, why are kids these days glued to the TV? What do you think of TV Programs?
Gollum: Patience! Patience, my love. We lead them to the Public Libraries "family life-style" section, the winding stairs... Up, up, up, up the stairs we go and then we come to... the tunnel... And when they go in, there's no coming out... Italian Cook books, Yoga books and Computer books... Do not digress into other sections Preciousss!... No!! Public Libraries, dirty hobbits!! TV is a bitch.

Gollum, what do Lions do on rocks?
Gollum: Lions is brave, Preciousss, he conquers rugged rocks without fear. He's always hungry. He always needs to feed. He must eat. All He gets is filthy oxens. And they doesn't taste very nice, does they, precious? No, not very nice at all, my love...

Gollum, why do super men wear capes?
Gollum: Gollum! Gollum! Supermen is free as a bird, runs like the wind, like an eagle, He soars across rivers and moutain tops. We hates them. He's a horrid fat hobbit who hates Sméagol and who makes up nasty lies!

Won't you miss me/won't you miss me at all...

"I know a mouse, and he hasn't got a house / I don't know why, I call him Gerald / He's getting rather old, but he's a good mouse"... [difficult, to the point of unlistenable] He is perhaps the least listened-to pop artist to have ever received such fulsome and, some might argue, extravagant posthumous praise. I just read that Syd Barrett, co-founder yet short-lived member of Pink Floyd, died. At some uncertain time. In some uncertain circumstance. Apparently the best songs were about him. Pink Floyd went on to become one of rock’s most influential bands. Many of their songs and albums dealing with the disintegration of the mind were either directly written about Barrett or influenced by his decline. Pink Floyd would then spend their musical careers answering criticisms that they were cashing in on their founder’s collapse. Syd's was a quintessentially English leavetaking - suburban anonymity.

umm...

... nothing.
Just feeling like this since morning... Useless and ... pouty.




Bollywood hero Shahrukh Khan in Devdaas

Isn't every Bollywood movie a superhero movie?

Okay, a confession. Maybe more of stating the obvious than a confession. Or maybe both. In any case, I haven’t seen Krrish (seriously, why is the spelling so…rrrrrr?), nor do I really intend to. The reviews were engaging enough, so why be indulgent? But, much like like-minded people, I was a bit perplexed as to what made Kr-rr-rish that different from the rest of the stud-men brigade to deserve the category of Bollywood’s First Superhero (BoFS for short):

Yes he flies…but isn’t that a perception issue? If you watch things in slow motion, stud-men seem to be flying across the screen anyway.
But he flies like a bird…ahhhh, that’s a taste-issue. Kr-rr-rish chose a bird, some choose aeroplanes, and some others, maybe flies and bugs. Who knows? The point is that the choice for the analogy is subjective.
He runs like the wind…this seems to be an eyewash. What does wind run like? Does he run as fast as the wind? But wind can be really gentle as well (halu-halu-waara). Come to think of it, I run like the wind – gently.
Like an eagle, he soars….don’t get me started on that, but so does John Ashcroft. Soars straight into a cringing headache.
Grave as a lion, he does something on the rocks ...h-uh??? (I apologise, but there seems to be a bit much of the Nature Channel here).
And then some be-you-tea-fool lady enters his life (and takes him to Singapore…why?)…okay, I agree that would make any guy feel like a superhero, but you would have to fly longer, soar higher and be grave-er than those damned animals to be a superhero on that account.

post script: a case can be made of there being a basic mis_ in Bollywood's understanding of Hollywood's superhero genre. But as it has never understood it, it hasn't been misled by it.

my new 'it' guy

Kevin Smith | Silent Bob speaks!
one long entertaining speech on
Superman, giant spiders, gay R2D2 and Tim Burton.

summer camp no-nos

while we are still on this

Don’t Talk With Your Mouth Full…
"I'm not going to talk too long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long. Gotta go home. Got something to do tonight."


Permutations and ruminations

let yo' body mooove...

they maybe at loggerheads with poor people, even if that's goofy...
but when Dubya is having a good time something is distinctly spooky.

party's just startin'. what the...?

quite chatty...boys will be boys.