Friday, April 27, 2007

pop music is shallow. discuss.

In a world of Grammy-winning smooth-edged dudes finding new ways to talk about their sexual prowess even as they address their ditties to their dirty babes, it's refreshing honesty to see a young man jumping around waving a lightsaber screaming 'why don't you like me, why don't you like me?'

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

dispatches from planet cretin

We are house-hunting again. Every classified we have read has been scrupulous in indicating that they only want tenants of ‘decent family.’ How many more generations, I wonder, before stipulations for an ideal tenant include the really important requirements, like personal hygiene? Or no screaming children? Decent families always seem possessed of screaming children, as far as I can tell. ‘Social menace’ obviously means very different things to different people.

In a bid to save ourselves the embarrassments of the last such exercise we undertook, flatmate #1 rang up the agent who took us to a house that we felt was livable-in, and asked him if they had any restrictions on their ideal tenant profile. The agent said no. #1 asked if they would object to us having friends over. The agent said no, and then amended his statement with, ‘…but no boys must come to visit.’

#1 asked, “Why can we not have boys to visit?”

The agent asked her, “Well then, how about if I came to visit?”

We hung up and crossed the house, and the agent, off our list.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007


The odour of sanctity in Dakshineshwar is the chana dal and puri breakfast that is sold in stalls all the way leading up to the temple.

The hibiscus is odourless, so it figures.

More to come. It's a Canon Powershot AD550, incidentally. Thanks for all the help. :)

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

try digging yourself out of this one, greg

Ohoho. Wow. This is going to take the whole shebang apart. Just when Greg Chappell, India coach, critic and hater-at-large said a couple of things that may or may not be true but sound extremely plausible about how hard attitudes in the Indian cricket team suck and you thought the BCCI was going to get around to talking of taking note, someone rained on the snark-parade. And this isn't your snark-for-snarker Sourav Ganguly, or our perumal of belaboured dignity Rahul Dravid. No, it had to be Sachin Tendulkar.

Whether or not you would cross the street to spit on this particular stand-in for a cricket team if they were on fire, you've got to laugh. I'm part of that half of India that would worship Sachin Tendulkar whether or not he went out and scored ducks from now to eternity in every game he played, and whether or not he bullies three hundred of our best and brightest little chickens into submission in the confines of the dressing room. If he says that he's hurt, then goddamnit, those who hurt the little wonder must pay. (Why am I so fond of choking whiners?)

It's really a good thing that Greg Chappell seems as enthusiastic about staying as Sourav Ganguly staring the opportunity for a cheeky single in the face.

Having said that, I would probably pay good money to read a book full of Chappell's vitriol. It's psychologically acute, refreshing and, if not exactly oozing class, displays stark signs of an intelligence that is painfully lacking in cricket babudom.