After years of exhaustive research, I have decided that the position of India's top mass-produced chocolate ice-cream must be shared between Dairy Day, and Amul. Both, in their own way, are mindbogglingly good.
Dairy Day brings to the table (and the bowl) a very deep, dark flavour. Dare I say it, a South Indian interpretation of chocolate. The underlying current, though, is rather shallow. The knockout punch is seemingly delivered in the first bite, but then it falls flat on itself. Yet, it is the sort of ice-cream that you will not hesitate to rob small children of. Cheap too.
Amul. That very word brings to the mind's eye countless Gujarati ben-folk massaging bovine udders, dressed in all manner of shiny colourful mirror-festooned lehengas, singing "Jahaan doodh ki nadiyan behti hai...". Unfortunately, chocolate is something that comes from Brazil. And messrs Kurien, Modi, Patel and Anand haven't quite mastered that yet. It tastes like Amul milk chocolate. And that was more milk than chocolate. Amul chocolate was for the cheap parents who wanted to make sure their kid got his share of doodh and did his bit for the poor. And it still brings those feelings to the fore. But still, a very very good ice-cream.
Unlike our friends from Kwality Walls. I mean, what sort of a name is that anyway? Is Q-U-A-L-I-T-Y such a tough ask? And walls? Don't they hold people in, like in prison? Or school? What sort of kid wants to be reminded of school while eating ice-cream? AND IT'S NOT EVEN ICE-CREAM!!! It's low-fat frozen yogurt slim light delight CRAP. We want FAT! We are Indians, we don't do diet! Go away! And don't give us the world's favourite bloody dessert, the Youbetta!
Blech.
But I hear Mother Dairy is coming to town. That means a whole new review system in place, for 3 separate competitors. It's a tough job...
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
I'm still alive. Barely...
My head is empty. Full of shit, and so empty. Much like my life. I don't know what the fuck goes on everyday. I live in some crappy place now, where the sun don't shine. It's like living in someone's ass. It's gloomy and dark and my floor has shiny white tiles and I have a fluorescent tube on my wall. It's a lot like something from a bad sci-fi movie, except I don't have a tri-phase module to blow my enemies up with. And I can't talk to Scottie, because cell-phone reception is zilch. My computer is back online, and it's only now that I remember how much it SUCKS. It's like a zoo of viruses or whatevers, and it can't get through a single porn movie without shutting down or rebooting or hanging. And these are only 10 min movies.
I'm done complaining. Oh, and I'm really fat. But the fat is good, because putting on it is so pleasurable. Cheesecake, mousse, biriyani, pizza, burgers, chocolate, hot chocolate, hot chocolate fudge, ice-cream, chicken, cookies, 'Appy fizz, cake, gulab jamuns, Pepsi, Coke...the list goes on till dawn, and it rocks rocks rocks.
Like that northie haracry said, I'm fat and sad. Time to hit the gym.
Yeah right.
Anyway, looks like track day has either been cancelled, or at best, postponed. So I guess we have to stick to street racing for now.
My head is empty. Full of shit, and so empty. Much like my life. I don't know what the fuck goes on everyday. I live in some crappy place now, where the sun don't shine. It's like living in someone's ass. It's gloomy and dark and my floor has shiny white tiles and I have a fluorescent tube on my wall. It's a lot like something from a bad sci-fi movie, except I don't have a tri-phase module to blow my enemies up with. And I can't talk to Scottie, because cell-phone reception is zilch. My computer is back online, and it's only now that I remember how much it SUCKS. It's like a zoo of viruses or whatevers, and it can't get through a single porn movie without shutting down or rebooting or hanging. And these are only 10 min movies.
I'm done complaining. Oh, and I'm really fat. But the fat is good, because putting on it is so pleasurable. Cheesecake, mousse, biriyani, pizza, burgers, chocolate, hot chocolate, hot chocolate fudge, ice-cream, chicken, cookies, 'Appy fizz, cake, gulab jamuns, Pepsi, Coke...the list goes on till dawn, and it rocks rocks rocks.
Like that northie haracry said, I'm fat and sad. Time to hit the gym.
Yeah right.
Anyway, looks like track day has either been cancelled, or at best, postponed. So I guess we have to stick to street racing for now.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Today it rained.
I sat alone and licked clean a spoon of cake. I missed you. I sat by the window, the empty chair in front of me mocking. Little rivulets of water ran down the glass, streaking along like tears across a face. Someone opened the door, and a sheet of water rushed in. The streets were deserted, save for a few autos lurking hopefully. People ran for shelter. I wish I could run. I ate to push my sorrows away. Cake and quiche. Sunny food, to be eaten in the wash of bright sunshine. Now the cake is done, and I toy with the spoon. Shoo the waiter away, to sit alone in peace. The buzz of teenies resonates. Yet it is silent. Noise it may be, yet there is nothing to listen to. I wonder which cake to choose. Choices. One or the other. No one to choose but me. No one to know but me.
I miss you. Like the deserts miss the rain. I wish I could do better. Not do what I do wrong. Do it right. Just do it. I am what I am, but I wish I weren't. You make me want to be a better person.
"She says "we've got to hold on to what we got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not""
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free. I wish I could be serious when I should be and full of joy when I can be. I wish I was right. You know you're right. And I forget just what it is that makes me smile, I find it hard and it's hard to find. Oh well, whatever, nevermind.
How did so much become so little? And something so small grow into something so big? Where is all the promise? Why is there so much to look forward to?
"...sometimes I wait forever, to stand out in the rain, so no one sees me crying, trying to wash away the pain."
I sat alone and licked clean a spoon of cake. I missed you. I sat by the window, the empty chair in front of me mocking. Little rivulets of water ran down the glass, streaking along like tears across a face. Someone opened the door, and a sheet of water rushed in. The streets were deserted, save for a few autos lurking hopefully. People ran for shelter. I wish I could run. I ate to push my sorrows away. Cake and quiche. Sunny food, to be eaten in the wash of bright sunshine. Now the cake is done, and I toy with the spoon. Shoo the waiter away, to sit alone in peace. The buzz of teenies resonates. Yet it is silent. Noise it may be, yet there is nothing to listen to. I wonder which cake to choose. Choices. One or the other. No one to choose but me. No one to know but me.
I miss you. Like the deserts miss the rain. I wish I could do better. Not do what I do wrong. Do it right. Just do it. I am what I am, but I wish I weren't. You make me want to be a better person.
"She says "we've got to hold on to what we got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not""
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free. I wish I could be serious when I should be and full of joy when I can be. I wish I was right. You know you're right. And I forget just what it is that makes me smile, I find it hard and it's hard to find. Oh well, whatever, nevermind.
How did so much become so little? And something so small grow into something so big? Where is all the promise? Why is there so much to look forward to?
"...sometimes I wait forever, to stand out in the rain, so no one sees me crying, trying to wash away the pain."
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
darnkess falls. like some primitive call, bass beats pound the air at the watering hole. all the apes, some more naked than others, line up for their fix. ice flashes, teeth glisten bare as males guard their mates. in the only species where the female is more decorated than the male, there is often more ornament than garment.
still the bass thuds through the night air, calling all those who are swayed by its lure.
little pieces of paper are passed back and forth, and entrance is gained. for some it is a sacred shrine. for some it is a fleeting visit. you enter and you smell it. the smell of alcohol, of skin, of smoke, of sex, of money, of dior and gucci, of puke, of pepsi. it makes your head spinn.
you push your way through. bodies gyrate like a million places around the world. the scene at any nightclub on the planet. the floor is packed with girls trying hard to rub against anyone, and boys trying hard not to rub anyone the wrong way. you keep your hands behind your back and fight your way to the bar. one beer is all you ask, if the bartender will be so kind.
"...she's crazy bout her daddy..." and you taste the cold beer. you hit the floor, and if you're good it shows. if you're not, well, thank god it's so crowded.
practice your meanest stare, if your mate is with you. learn to fight. bar brawls are not only for movies. drunk people are easily provoked. luckily they are more easily felled. your beer bottle is useful long after it is empty.
still the bass filters through every pore of your body. your heart is one with the beat.
"...and now for the last track of the night..." but it's only eleven. And then you remember. When you first came. When you entered free because you knew everyone. Or just the bouncer. When you had to hide so that you didn't spend the whole night saying hi to your friends. When the music was hot and new. When it was an every weekend thing. When the place seemed like a class reunion, or a private party. When you stumbled out at 3 in the morning, too tired, and the party was going on, and you wanted to go to The Club and get on hardcore trance. When you came home at 7 am after a whole night out. When you were younger...
"dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room"
still the bass thuds through the night air, calling all those who are swayed by its lure.
little pieces of paper are passed back and forth, and entrance is gained. for some it is a sacred shrine. for some it is a fleeting visit. you enter and you smell it. the smell of alcohol, of skin, of smoke, of sex, of money, of dior and gucci, of puke, of pepsi. it makes your head spinn.
you push your way through. bodies gyrate like a million places around the world. the scene at any nightclub on the planet. the floor is packed with girls trying hard to rub against anyone, and boys trying hard not to rub anyone the wrong way. you keep your hands behind your back and fight your way to the bar. one beer is all you ask, if the bartender will be so kind.
"...she's crazy bout her daddy..." and you taste the cold beer. you hit the floor, and if you're good it shows. if you're not, well, thank god it's so crowded.
practice your meanest stare, if your mate is with you. learn to fight. bar brawls are not only for movies. drunk people are easily provoked. luckily they are more easily felled. your beer bottle is useful long after it is empty.
still the bass filters through every pore of your body. your heart is one with the beat.
"...and now for the last track of the night..." but it's only eleven. And then you remember. When you first came. When you entered free because you knew everyone. Or just the bouncer. When you had to hide so that you didn't spend the whole night saying hi to your friends. When the music was hot and new. When it was an every weekend thing. When the place seemed like a class reunion, or a private party. When you stumbled out at 3 in the morning, too tired, and the party was going on, and you wanted to go to The Club and get on hardcore trance. When you came home at 7 am after a whole night out. When you were younger...
"dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room"
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Something is bothering me. I was reading through previous posts, and the tone of this place has changed. Like a school that starts out small and idealistic, and turns into Baldwin's, this place is losing its joy-joy feeling. So I am on a mission to make happy cames. To this end I am eating Calicut halwa and listening to the He(eeee)-Man theme.
Now I will watch the oh-so-80s Livin' On A Prayer video and jump about a little. Scratch about at my pockmarked face. Eat a little more halwa. Bang some doors shut. Make pigtails out of my hair and dance about a little more. Sleep.
Strange, the things people do to be happy.
"When I smile, tell me some bad news,
Before I laugh and act like a fool."
Now I will watch the oh-so-80s Livin' On A Prayer video and jump about a little. Scratch about at my pockmarked face. Eat a little more halwa. Bang some doors shut. Make pigtails out of my hair and dance about a little more. Sleep.
Strange, the things people do to be happy.
"When I smile, tell me some bad news,
Before I laugh and act like a fool."
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Things I remember. Things I long for. Things I can't have.
Sunday morning. Parathas and fried-eggs, sunny side up. Tracy Chapman and The Beatles. Bush 8-channel TV. Being tucked into bed. Going down to play. Special ice-cream treats. Separating home clothes and going out clothes. Six bucks for a big Pepsi, if you could finish it all. Ten minutes from MG Road to Indiranagar. Rickety old Fiats. Smiling parents. School. Being awkward around girls. Discovering rock music. First kisses. Playing in the rain. Wanting to learn to drive. Cycling. Exploring. Hide and seek. Short cricket. Spelling tests. Uniforms. Craft periods. Lunch baskets. Sunday afternoon desserts. Birthday parties. Chocolate custard. Small Wonder. Doom. Wolf 3D. Bus stop friends. Apartment friends.
It's funny. You wait to grow up and be free, and then you wish you were as free as a child.
"...and I wish you could know how it feels to be me,
then you'd see and agree that every man should be free."
Sunday morning. Parathas and fried-eggs, sunny side up. Tracy Chapman and The Beatles. Bush 8-channel TV. Being tucked into bed. Going down to play. Special ice-cream treats. Separating home clothes and going out clothes. Six bucks for a big Pepsi, if you could finish it all. Ten minutes from MG Road to Indiranagar. Rickety old Fiats. Smiling parents. School. Being awkward around girls. Discovering rock music. First kisses. Playing in the rain. Wanting to learn to drive. Cycling. Exploring. Hide and seek. Short cricket. Spelling tests. Uniforms. Craft periods. Lunch baskets. Sunday afternoon desserts. Birthday parties. Chocolate custard. Small Wonder. Doom. Wolf 3D. Bus stop friends. Apartment friends.
It's funny. You wait to grow up and be free, and then you wish you were as free as a child.
"...and I wish you could know how it feels to be me,
then you'd see and agree that every man should be free."
So some girl in NPS killed herself. Over exam results. Nandita something. This is not a reflection of her life or anything. I don't or didn't know her.
What was she thinking? I mean literally. When she strung herself up, and looked down and said, well, this is it, what was she thinking? No more ice-cream. No more hugs. No more madness. No more giggles. No more blue skies. All for some stupid results. Which she'd probably do ok at anyway, considering it's NPS.
Maybe her parents suck. Maybe they put too much pressure. Maybe they didn't care what she thought or wanted or did, as long as it was what they wanted. Maybe they were living their IIT/MBBS/LLB/B.Com/whatever dreams through her, much to her angst. Maybe they didn't keep their eyes open. Maybe they didn't tell her how much they loved her and cared about her, no matter what she does. Maybe they never told her they were proud of her. Maybe they are really sorry right now. I hope they are.
I wonder how it feels to have nobody to love. Nobody to hold. No shoulder to cry on. No arms to fall into. No eyes to look into. No ear to listen to you. No hand to clasp warmly. No songs to sing. No skies to look at in wonder. Nowhere to go, no one to go to.
I thought this random person's death didn't affect me, but I guess it does. In ways that I'm only beginning to discover, I feel a sense of loss and outrage. Goodbye, random chick, and godspeed.
I thought I'd end with a single line. It became a couplet. A sonnet. Now it's a song.
"She's taking her time making up the reasons
To justify all the hurt inside
Guess she knows from the smiles and the look in their eyes
Everyone's got a theory about the bitter one
They're saying, "Mama never loved her much"
And, "Daddy never keeps in touch
That's why she shies away from human affection"
But somewhere in a private place
She packs her bags for outer space
And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come
And she'll say to him
I would fly to the moon and back if you'll be...
If you'll be my baby
Got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?
She can't remember a time when she felt needed
If love was red then she was color blind
All her friends they've been tried for treason
And crimes that were never defined
She's saying, "Love is like a barren place,
And reaching out for human faith Is like a journey I just don't have a map for"
So baby's gonna take a dive and
Push the shift to overdrive
Send a signal that she's hanging
All her hopes on the stars
What a pleasant dream
She's sayin
I would fly to the moon and back if you'll be...
If you'll be my baby
Got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?"
What was she thinking? I mean literally. When she strung herself up, and looked down and said, well, this is it, what was she thinking? No more ice-cream. No more hugs. No more madness. No more giggles. No more blue skies. All for some stupid results. Which she'd probably do ok at anyway, considering it's NPS.
Maybe her parents suck. Maybe they put too much pressure. Maybe they didn't care what she thought or wanted or did, as long as it was what they wanted. Maybe they were living their IIT/MBBS/LLB/B.Com/whatever dreams through her, much to her angst. Maybe they didn't keep their eyes open. Maybe they didn't tell her how much they loved her and cared about her, no matter what she does. Maybe they never told her they were proud of her. Maybe they are really sorry right now. I hope they are.
I wonder how it feels to have nobody to love. Nobody to hold. No shoulder to cry on. No arms to fall into. No eyes to look into. No ear to listen to you. No hand to clasp warmly. No songs to sing. No skies to look at in wonder. Nowhere to go, no one to go to.
I thought this random person's death didn't affect me, but I guess it does. In ways that I'm only beginning to discover, I feel a sense of loss and outrage. Goodbye, random chick, and godspeed.
I thought I'd end with a single line. It became a couplet. A sonnet. Now it's a song.
"She's taking her time making up the reasons
To justify all the hurt inside
Guess she knows from the smiles and the look in their eyes
Everyone's got a theory about the bitter one
They're saying, "Mama never loved her much"
And, "Daddy never keeps in touch
That's why she shies away from human affection"
But somewhere in a private place
She packs her bags for outer space
And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come
And she'll say to him
I would fly to the moon and back if you'll be...
If you'll be my baby
Got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?
She can't remember a time when she felt needed
If love was red then she was color blind
All her friends they've been tried for treason
And crimes that were never defined
She's saying, "Love is like a barren place,
And reaching out for human faith Is like a journey I just don't have a map for"
So baby's gonna take a dive and
Push the shift to overdrive
Send a signal that she's hanging
All her hopes on the stars
What a pleasant dream
She's sayin
I would fly to the moon and back if you'll be...
If you'll be my baby
Got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?"
Drive. Keep driving. Safari. Baleno. On road. Off road. Slush. Tarmac. Rain. Shine. Shout. Weep. Dad. Mom. Goa. Alcohol. Party. Study. Service. Prerana. Steeroid. Sleep. Ambika. Fish. Exam. Alok. Kababs. Pepsi. Chicken. Hot Chocolate Fudge. Guns 'n' Roses. Results. 21" Monitor. Palm Meadows. Golden Enclave. Christ College. Acropolis. Car Fancy. Crap. Tia. Suicide. Ignore. Die. Live. Drive. Keep Driving.
"...where the grass is green an' the girls are pretty,
Oh won't you please take me home?"
"...where the grass is green an' the girls are pretty,
Oh won't you please take me home?"
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I have traced the root of my problem. It lies in wheels. I desire ultra-light matte black/gold/silver/blue 15 inch alloy wheels for my car(s). But I can nary afford them. So I am sad. Then I am a little more sad. Then I see all my town, and they prance and they dance in their shiny wheels. And they are of many exotic names from many exotic lands. Enkei, OZ, League, BBS, HR, Hijoin, from places afar as Germany and Japan. And I have none. Thus I feel deprived.
And then I feel poor. And I wish I had wheels. For I am deserving. What have I done to not deserve them wheels, eh? Do I not help them old people across the road? Do I not refrain from honking the minute the light turns green? Am I a bad person? WHY GAWD WHY!??!?!
Then I picture myself walking into LCD, and all the OZ and Enkei boys point at me and say, hahaha STOCK RIM FUCKER!!!
These nightmares taunt me. I break into a cold sweat. It's like I can hear wheels rolling. They are just out of my reach. Then we enter a tunnel, the wheels leading me. I see a light at the end. But no, it's a pair of Xenon beams. The last thing I see before I am run over is a bling set of 17" HR wheels.
I wake up, and my head spins around. It spins like a chrome spinner, and it hurts my eyes to see my chrome spinner spinning. I wish I didn't wish for wheels. But I wish for them too. I wish I had wheels.
"Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel..."
And then I feel poor. And I wish I had wheels. For I am deserving. What have I done to not deserve them wheels, eh? Do I not help them old people across the road? Do I not refrain from honking the minute the light turns green? Am I a bad person? WHY GAWD WHY!??!?!
Then I picture myself walking into LCD, and all the OZ and Enkei boys point at me and say, hahaha STOCK RIM FUCKER!!!
These nightmares taunt me. I break into a cold sweat. It's like I can hear wheels rolling. They are just out of my reach. Then we enter a tunnel, the wheels leading me. I see a light at the end. But no, it's a pair of Xenon beams. The last thing I see before I am run over is a bling set of 17" HR wheels.
I wake up, and my head spins around. It spins like a chrome spinner, and it hurts my eyes to see my chrome spinner spinning. I wish I didn't wish for wheels. But I wish for them too. I wish I had wheels.
"Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel..."
Friday, May 12, 2006
This is a rather bad description of what I sell my soul to experience...
Come down the last turn...shift down to second and the engine whines in protest, but you're already on the gas, edging forward. the black vtec is behind, pulling, its secondary cam profile kicking in. it grows larger in the mirror. but it can't push you off the line. you are approaching redline and suddenly WHAM, the shifter bangs into third. the honda is closing in, the 500 extra revs in a gear helping. but then he shifts, and you hear the cam whine die down. the main straight....you see the stands...the guys are waving...the arch approaches...you're hitting over 150...3rd gear is almost at redline...the arch is overhead...dab the brakes...change line NOW....hug the inside...come down to c2...where every car guy loses it sooner or later...bang back into 2nd, and the revs rise to over 7000...mechanical overrev, the ecu is powerless to prevent it...you're doing 120 in 2nd in the baleno as you dab the brakes, commit to the left, and power through. you're not karun or jd, so your tyres squeal. you see rupees being burnt, as you lay a thick track of rubber down. you grin. the car straightens out...you look to c3...anything is easier than c2, and the left hander passes easily...oh no its the s and the hairpin...straighten the s...you can NEVER get the right line on the hairpin...power out of it wheels spinnng again, yes you're grinning...where's that vtec now? bang into third down the small back straight...time for the slow left, but you know this line down pat...shift to second, power over the bridge. ride 2nd to third into the last turn...out of it in 2nd...you're down on revs so you shift back into 2nd...power out big...the main straight awaits and the honda is now next to you...
Come down the last turn...shift down to second and the engine whines in protest, but you're already on the gas, edging forward. the black vtec is behind, pulling, its secondary cam profile kicking in. it grows larger in the mirror. but it can't push you off the line. you are approaching redline and suddenly WHAM, the shifter bangs into third. the honda is closing in, the 500 extra revs in a gear helping. but then he shifts, and you hear the cam whine die down. the main straight....you see the stands...the guys are waving...the arch approaches...you're hitting over 150...3rd gear is almost at redline...the arch is overhead...dab the brakes...change line NOW....hug the inside...come down to c2...where every car guy loses it sooner or later...bang back into 2nd, and the revs rise to over 7000...mechanical overrev, the ecu is powerless to prevent it...you're doing 120 in 2nd in the baleno as you dab the brakes, commit to the left, and power through. you're not karun or jd, so your tyres squeal. you see rupees being burnt, as you lay a thick track of rubber down. you grin. the car straightens out...you look to c3...anything is easier than c2, and the left hander passes easily...oh no its the s and the hairpin...straighten the s...you can NEVER get the right line on the hairpin...power out of it wheels spinnng again, yes you're grinning...where's that vtec now? bang into third down the small back straight...time for the slow left, but you know this line down pat...shift to second, power over the bridge. ride 2nd to third into the last turn...out of it in 2nd...you're down on revs so you shift back into 2nd...power out big...the main straight awaits and the honda is now next to you...
Ever seen true beauty? I could describe the flowing lines of the Miura. Priyank will shout to the heavens about form following function on the Carrera. Boticelli holds the key to nirvana for some. I can see someone in the corner of my mind rooting for Aishwarya Rai (ugh), and I bet my mom will shout out SUSH in return. JC calls the Humber Bridge (whatever) and the AM Vanquish the most beautiful things he's ever seen. Many people are intrigued by the inherent logical beauty of mathematical equations (ugh again).
But the most beautiful thing I've ever seen is when the little girl on MG Road smiles when you buy roses from her.
But the most beautiful thing I've ever seen is when the little girl on MG Road smiles when you buy roses from her.
Ever felt sad? So sad that you thought the rain was an extension of your tears. That the rainbow is muddy? That no one cares? That life was not worth living? That it's just so bloody unfair? That whatever you do makes not a jot of difference to anyone's life? That you are so utterly insignificant? That you were born to perish in a heap of agony and sorrow? That life is but a stepping stone to a sad and miserable death? That hell holds no fear for you, after having lived a life so dismal?
Ever felt happy? So happy that you could fly? That every lyric in every song you've ever loved is true? That you owned the world? That nothing could stop you? That you were walking on clouds? That you could do anything you wanted? That you were so grateful for your life? That you wanted to live forever, because you were so bloody happy? That your teeth would fall out from smiling so much? That the only thing you were afraid of was fear itself?
"Cherish the past, enjoy the present, fight the future"
Ever felt happy? So happy that you could fly? That every lyric in every song you've ever loved is true? That you owned the world? That nothing could stop you? That you were walking on clouds? That you could do anything you wanted? That you were so grateful for your life? That you wanted to live forever, because you were so bloody happy? That your teeth would fall out from smiling so much? That the only thing you were afraid of was fear itself?
"Cherish the past, enjoy the present, fight the future"
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Erm, it seems my computer has been invaded by a host of mean things that slow it down. I should have known that Mongolian porn wasn't such a good idea. But then again, who can resist wrinkly women cavorting in yurts?
So now it's back to the old techie standby...format c:/y. Time to buy a new HDD too.
In a way this disk is a reflection of the state of my life. Things get cluttered up, I bear with it. Things go worse, I clean up a little. Things go kaput, I change everything and dump everything else, and start again. Things get cluttered up...well that's the story.
My room sure looks like it. Even I'm now bugged with the whole wire-meets-tshirt thing. I mean, I have a cupboard fit for Ken and Barbie only. I can't fit my hand in without being attacked by garments of various size and vintage. There is zero space. Add to that my talent for not bringing out anything on the first try...ok basically I'm on a crib that I need better furniture in my room and newer nicer clothes and someone to arrange them.
I'm being ungrateful for what I have but what the hell, not like I do it every day.
While I'm being ungrateful, I'll rant about how petrol is ridiculously expensive, and I wish I had a superbike. To be precise, I wish I had my superbike right now. And a lot of money. A rich dad. A large inheritance.
Well, that's it really...the inheritance really defines it, doesn't it? What more could I want? I'm (reasonably) healthy, happy, and in love. So I don't need those.
Give me some money or bugger off!!!
So now it's back to the old techie standby...format c:/y. Time to buy a new HDD too.
In a way this disk is a reflection of the state of my life. Things get cluttered up, I bear with it. Things go worse, I clean up a little. Things go kaput, I change everything and dump everything else, and start again. Things get cluttered up...well that's the story.
My room sure looks like it. Even I'm now bugged with the whole wire-meets-tshirt thing. I mean, I have a cupboard fit for Ken and Barbie only. I can't fit my hand in without being attacked by garments of various size and vintage. There is zero space. Add to that my talent for not bringing out anything on the first try...ok basically I'm on a crib that I need better furniture in my room and newer nicer clothes and someone to arrange them.
I'm being ungrateful for what I have but what the hell, not like I do it every day.
While I'm being ungrateful, I'll rant about how petrol is ridiculously expensive, and I wish I had a superbike. To be precise, I wish I had my superbike right now. And a lot of money. A rich dad. A large inheritance.
Well, that's it really...the inheritance really defines it, doesn't it? What more could I want? I'm (reasonably) healthy, happy, and in love. So I don't need those.
Give me some money or bugger off!!!
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
I guess before I go ahead and start to use my ID to lambast various other dorks, I should set out a bunch of ideals that my blog shall live by. No matter that these will die a sad death while I go hammer and tongs after some weed smoking 12 year old...
ok ideals:
1. take no shit from anyone
2. give shit to whoever deserves it.
3. take a little shit maybe, if it seems the giver knows his or her shit.
4. actually, 1 sounds best.
5. dont be pretentious (see, the punctuation has already disappeared!)
6. be happy.
7. smile.
This list looks suspiciously like my Coda Vita, not so much a blog thing...
ok ideals:
1. take no shit from anyone
2. give shit to whoever deserves it.
3. take a little shit maybe, if it seems the giver knows his or her shit.
4. actually, 1 sounds best.
5. dont be pretentious (see, the punctuation has already disappeared!)
6. be happy.
7. smile.
This list looks suspiciously like my Coda Vita, not so much a blog thing...
Aarambh
Upon reflection, maybe I should go further than a single and rather redundant word.
By my standards, that's a pretty long sentence. I hate long sentences. I hate long words. I like long engine bays. Long hair's ok. Long meals are fun. So are long songs. Stairway to heaven.
This is what, blog number...3? Or is it 4? Before the B word became the buzzword, I had my own little space on blogger. Of course I've lost it. Then there was another somewhere. It's probably rotting in cyberspace, dusty, trying to make friends with a Guatamelan coffee seller's Excel sheet.
Then there's the build blog. projectbuild.blogspot.com
So what else?
Upon reflection, maybe I should go further than a single and rather redundant word.
By my standards, that's a pretty long sentence. I hate long sentences. I hate long words. I like long engine bays. Long hair's ok. Long meals are fun. So are long songs. Stairway to heaven.
This is what, blog number...3? Or is it 4? Before the B word became the buzzword, I had my own little space on blogger. Of course I've lost it. Then there was another somewhere. It's probably rotting in cyberspace, dusty, trying to make friends with a Guatamelan coffee seller's Excel sheet.
Then there's the build blog. projectbuild.blogspot.com
So what else?
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