What do you mean, "Flash Gordon approaching"?

We beat Pakistan, I step out for cloves.

2011-03-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

2011-01-22T23:47:00.000-08:00

Nathan Englander's The Ministry of Unusual Cases is the best thing I've read this year.
Also. The saddest.

You would do well to read it.

2011-01-02T11:01:00.000-08:00

The National has definately rocked my world this year.
I tried getting into the Darwyn Cooke Parker books but the misogyny puts me off.
I fear Skippy Dies will not be life-changing.
Reading Franzen is making me feel old.
My poetry group makes me feel....?
I'm down to the last of Jordan's PBR. I cannot.
Geography thwarts me.
The new Chicane is really that good.
Telefon Tel Aviv and Apparat did a single together. It's really good.
Titus Andronicus, we tried. We did.
The Adventures of Ook and Gluk, Kung-Fu Cavemen from the Future is everything it promises to be.
The Age of Adz is growing on me.
LCD Soundsystem and Gil Scott-Heron were worth it.
Curtis Lane - totally charming.
Scott Pilgrim...if you were there, you know it to be.
44 in Chest was like Sexy Beast but in reverse...so it wasn't like that at all I suppose.

Douchetastic statement of the day #1

2010-10-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

"Ultimate Frisbee is not so much a game as it is about strategically navigating spaces."

2010-10-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

Haters will hate.

2010-09-29T22:48:00.000-07:00

Siege

Riots!

Glossary-

Ayodhya - apparent birth place of Hindu god Sri Rama, and the capital of the ancient Kosala Kingdom. This Hindu holy city is described as early as in the Hindu Epics.

The Ayodhya fuckery - A political, historical and socio-religious debate that was most prevalent in the 1990s in India, centred around a plot of land in the city of Ayodhya. The main issues revolve around access to a site traditionally regarded as the birthplace of the Hindu God Rama, the history and location of the Babri Mosque at the site, and whether a previous Hindu temple was demolished or modified to create the mosque. The Babri Mosque was destroyed by hardline Hindu activists during a political rally which turned into a riot on December 6, 1992.

The Ayodhya douchbaggery - The issue of the disputed structure had remained inactive for four decades, until the mid-1980s. The Hindu Nationalist movement pressed for reclamation of three of its most holy sites which it claimed had suffered at the hands of Islam, at Ayodhya, Mathura and Varanasi. L K Advani, the leader of the BJP in his memoirs argued, "If Muslims are entitled to an Islamic atmosphere in Mecca, and if Christians are entitled to a Christian atmosphere in the Vatican, why is it wrong for the Hindus to expect a Hindu atmosphere in Ayodhya?"

By the middle of the 20th century, Hindus in the area were claiming that the Mosque had not been used by Muslims since 1936, and they took over the 'unused' mosque in 1949. A movement was launched in 1984 by the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP party) to reclaim the site for Hindus who want to erect a temple dedicated to the infant SriRama (Ramlala), at this spot.

On 6 December 1992 the structure was demolished by 150,000 fuckwits, despite a commitment by the government to the Indian Supreme Court that the mosque would not be harmed. More than 2000 people were killed in the riots following the demolition. Riots broke out in many major Indian cities including Mumbai, Delhi and Hyderabad.

The Allahabad High Court will pronounce its verdict on four title suits relating to the Ayodhya dispute on September 30, 2010

My life would be Kafkaesque, if he were a member of the Stooges

2010-09-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

Bovine Flood Warning

Jats, who are agitating for reservation under the OBC (Other Backward Class) category, are planning to raid Delhi roads with their bulls and buffaloes to press for their demand.

Yashpal Malik announced here on Thursday that nearly 20 crore (200 Million) cattle will be used to jam all roads leading to Delhi from all corners on the first day of Commonwealth Games.

Announcing a slight change in their agitation plan at the CWG venues, Malik said, "A large number of Jats have bought tickets to conveniently enter the games venues. But we won't disturb anybody during the games because our boys would be participating in various sports. However, the Jats will raise their voice before international media at the end of the games at the venue."

This thing on?

2010-09-15T22:32:00.000-07:00

Elif Batuman - Get a Real Degree

In a series of inspired readings, McGurl demonstrates that the plantation in Beloved, the mental ward in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and the bus in Robert Olen Butler’s Mr Spaceman all function as metaphors for the creative writing workshop

....

[I]f I wanted to read literature from the developing world, I would go ahead and read literature from the developing world. At least that way I’d learn something about some less privileged culture – about a less privileged culture that some people were actually born into, as opposed to one that they opted into by enrolling in an MFA programme.

...

McGurl never quite articulates the law that enjoins some writers to write what they know and others to find their voices, but he comes close to it during a discussion of Bharati Mukherjee’s essay ‘Immigrant Writing: Give Us Your Maximalists!’ (1988)... ‘Chameleon-skinned, I discover my material over and across the country, and up and down the social ladder,’ she writes, striking that note of naivety mixed with self-congratulation often sounded in the programme discourse by ‘writers on writing’. As McGurl astutely observes, the ‘facts of literary history’ belie Mukherjee’s claim: it has been largely ‘white writers like William Styron and Russell Banks and Robert Olen Butler and Neal Stephenson who … assert the privilege of other-narration’, while ‘minority writers … have typically been asked to slot themselves into a single ethnos.’

*groan*
...

The continual production of ‘more excellent fiction … than anyone has time to read’ is the essence of the problem. That’s the torture of walking into a bookshop these days: it’s not that you think the books will all be terrible; it’s that you know they’ll all have a certain degree of competent workmanship, that most will have about three genuinely beautiful or interesting sentences and no really bad ones, that many will have at least one convincing, well-observed character, and that nearly all will be bound up in a story that you can’t bring yourself to care about. All that great writing, trapped in mediocre books! Who, indeed, has time to read them?

and finally

I think of myself as someone who prefers novels and stories to non-fiction; yet, for human interest, skilful storytelling, humour, and insightful reflection on the historical moment, I find the average episode of This American Life to be 99 per cent more reliable than the average new American work of literary fiction.

Andrew Seal response.

What really bugs me about this comment is that, despite her distaste for the literature of "developing nations," she holds up Don Quixote as a great beacon of literature when, if there is any single work of literature which justifies a belief that an extraordinarily talented writer can invent a new fully-fleshed form almost ex nihilo, it is Cervantes's novel.

...

Batuman shorthands it by saying that it's due to "the loss of cultural capital associated with whiteness, and the attempts of White People to compensate for this loss by displaying knowledge of non-white cultures,"... Preferring Dunkin Donuts to Starbucks or James Patterson to Toni Morrison makes no white person any the less part of the system of reproducing white privilege. The reasons why William Styron could write a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel ventriloquizing a black man go well beyond the coffee table.

...

I dissent because the logic of Batuman's formalism—if it's been done before, it's no longer revolutionary—doesn't admit of the fact that literary texts interact with the times in which they are written and read, and their revolutionary quality or their hackneyedness isn't a formal problem but a social one.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me: I suspect that's me projecting - writing as bread and butter and writing as bourgeoisie excess.

I don't think I've actually parsed it all the way through

Colleague: I don't think I have yet either

Me: Because isn't that me making a sweeping statement about 'what is worth reading' versus ' what should/must be read?'

Isn't that precisely why we end up with a generation of people 'sweeping floors with their lust' as they channel their inner Winterson

(homage my ass)

Colleague: ...No, I think you're allowed to be judgey about this

I'm still not sure where I stand on any of this debate (except the race bits, which were familiar and therefore relevant)

Denis makes a sandwhich

2010-08-24T03:49:00.000-07:00

The most important thing about the sandwich

is its structural integrity.

First comes the bread.

I use fresh bread.

I start the sandwich with a slice of meat.

This slice of meat isn't there

to provide the meat element,

but so that the liquids of the other ingredients will not leak

in to the bread and compromise its structural integrity.

I always use mushrooms, which

I generally place in the middle

of a slice of green pepper. The green pepper keeps the mushroom

from falling out by providing an encasing border.

Next will come tomatoes and pickles.

I prefer fresh off the vine, and sour pickles in brine.

I might also add salsa and top it off with mozzarella.

I might also subtract or add banana peppers or sauerkraut,

but otherwise I top off the sandwich with another slice of bread.

Then I place the sandwich

in to the microwave

and set it at 30

or 35 seconds

to melt the cheese.

The cheese is always placed on top or in the middle, because

when it melts it acts

like a glue holding everyone together.

I find that mozzarella works well

for this purpose. At this point I

might open up the sandwich and add horseradish or

if I already put salsa in, I might add sour cream.

Making a sandwich requires a certain finesse, but

I try to make it a science. I feel that in the end

the sandwich I make in principle

is like a strong slice of the Soviet Union.

Assholes from my social circle

2010-08-24T03:47:00.000-07:00

Surdy's friend invited him over to celebrate his birthday.
By having a group of artists donate money and create a collaborative work revolving around his 'dynamic personality'.

fuck this noise/

You must buy this!

2010-08-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

http://blaftblog.blogspot.com/2010/03/kumari-loves-monster-sneak-preview.html

Out now.

Send off

2010-08-06T04:07:00.000-07:00

"I look like a crack-whore."
"Pshaw! You look adorable."
"No, look at me, I look like a crack-whore."
"Lady, have you ever even seen a crack-whore?"
"You think I'd be in a bar like this if I didn't know what a crack-whore looked like?"
"..."

Just another Wednesday

2010-07-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

Hi ....

I just got your illustrations for Book 8. We all loved the elephant one, very adorable.
But we were concerned that some schools/parents might have a problem with:
1. The exposed butt crack
2. the elephant nipples
3. the lascivious grin on the first elephant
4. the ears look a little off, could that be changed?

Thanks
Me

Why I might never be Tragically Hip

2010-07-01T09:07:00.000-07:00

Batmite!: I'm ready for my poetry groupies now.

I'm a modern day Bukowski.

JP: First you must pass the test of the poetry rock star.

Question the first: Do you mock the establishment while at the same time craving its treasures?

Batmite!: but ofcourse

i'm poor, I have no money

but I still smoke parliaments and write in moleskins.

JP: Question the second: You come into a party. You pursue which of the following:
A: The attractive blonde dancing
B: The bookish type sitting on the sofa
C: The nice Indian girl who clearly comes from money.
D: The dark-haired woman in a skirt with striped leggings who is standing condescendingly in the corner as she scans the room through her square-rimmed glasses

Batmite!: By ignoring C, making a drunken, loud play at A, and then rejecting A (before she rejects me) I pull in both B and D. I namecheck yoga style and generic Buddhism and save C for later, for when she's ready to 'rebel-against-parents-fuck me down the line. I walk out with B. Come back an hour later drunk, and D will gravitate towards me.

JP: I award you a bonus point for that answer.

Question the third:

What the fuck is this?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkVzQ1dJ7I8&feature=related

Batmite!: Fritz Lang's made for TV (sponsored by the German tourism board) India Trilogy.

Long forgotten, and considered lost, stars generic American starlet

you probably haven’t seen it, but its his best work other than M.

...do I pass?

JP: You pass. The video clip was unrelated. I just happened to run across it three minutes ago. I award you a full fledged scholarship to the school of pretentious rock-poets.

Batmite!: woohooo fist pump

aw shit

JP: I'll let it slide this time. You clearly meant the fist pump ironically

Batmite!: ofcourse, yawn, so what do you think of the new LCD Soundsystem album?

JP: It's whatever

Batmite!: yeah. Whatever. Not as good as his early stuff. You might not know it.

JP: It's so overplayed.

Batmite!: It’s like early Blue Roses, but without the Joy Division influence.

(bamf) name checked 3 bands in 3 lines.

I should get bonus points.

JP: yes, but you showed pride. Minus two.

But you used a batman-esque sound effect.

Plus three.

Google has proven me wrong.

The reference is nerdier than that.

It's the sound effect associated with nightcrawler

or an abbreviation for Bad Ass Mother Fucker.

We both know which one you were referring to.

Batmite!: I was clearly going for the Tarantino reference

c'mon!

JP: I'm torn

Hipster Batmite! goes Tarantino

The REAL Batmite! goes Kurt Wagner

(Bonus points to JP for knowing Nightcrawler's real name)

Batmite!: Faux Batmite! goes Richard Wagner.

Oh Internets!

2010-05-11T21:01:00.000-07:00

The meteoric plummet of intimacy

2010-05-10T22:08:00.000-07:00

A Young Readers chick-lit book is sitting on my desk.

I changed ‘thrusting’ to ‘canoodling’.
My boss changed ‘canoodling’ to ‘cuddling’.
Another editor changed ‘cuddling’ to ‘whispering’.

That’s what goes to press. This is how books are made people!

2010-05-06T21:55:00.000-07:00

I work with an illustrator who works from home. As I write 6 children's book this year (To be out by September) I often come up with what illustration I want on my page. And since this woman is a freelancer, I can't share the pages with her so she gets a series of emails or text messages with whatever ideas I come up with.

I love the idea of this woman, sitting at her desk, dreading her next missive from me, wondering what batshittery I have in mind now. These are the few instructions I gave her sans context.

Could I have a picture of an elderly woman with elephant legs?

A picture of an angry looking duck with a wooden leg and maybe an eye patch?.

Should be panel of random dinosaurs fleeing in panic as they are chased by a huge dragon/creature with outstretched hands holding a knife and fork

In the jungle, the mighty jungle The lion sleeps tonight

2010-04-29T01:38:00.000-07:00

Hunt on for Kerala jumbo sex maniac
Tusker In Heat Killed 12 Female Elephants In A Yr
Ananthakrishnan G | TNN

Thiruvananthapuram: In the sticky summer heat of Periyar Reserve Forest, a team of wardens is hunting for a serial lady killer—a 25-year-old tusker with an insatiable sexual appetite who stands accused of killing at least 12 female elephants.

“Between February 25 and June 16 last year, eight female elephants were found dead in Periyar. Post-mortem reports and other evidence suggested that these were caused by the same tusker. Two more females were found dead on March 12 and 21 this year. The nature of injuries point to the same culprit,’’ Kerala’s chief wildlife warden K K Srivastava said. Two other elephant deaths are also attributed to the rogue tusker named Alpha. He has been on the run for three years and gored the females to death as they resisted his sexual advances. Experts attribute the behaviour to ‘musth’ (a state of heightened testosterone-fuelled aggression in bull elephants).

The department was first alerted in March 2009 when six elephants (five females and a male) were reported dead in just two months. A 15-member committee set up to track the killer elephant concluded in its report that five of these deaths were due to “fights between elephants’’ and appeared to have been caused by the same tusker. Subsequently, an elephant tracking team was put in place. Experts from the Periyar Foundation cocoordinated the work and processed the collected data.

On March 27 last year, the unruly pachyderm was spotted on the forest fringes, where another young adult male tusker was killed a week ago. The rogue animal was tracked for a month and was found to be in the peak of ‘musth’ characterised by “frequent increased sexual activities’’ (like drawing out his organ and indulging in self pleasure). The victims bore puncture marks on their rear, ample proof that a male had tried to force them from behind and gored them when resisted. Forensic tests too established Alpha’s culpability as the wounds matched the dimensions of his tusk.

The panel suggested the animal be radio-collared, its movement tracked and its tusks trimmed. But it was easier said than done. “The tusker has to be tranquillised first. But when the dart is fired, the animal will run with it for some time and may collapse inside the forest. If it fell flat on its chest, it will die instantly. So we need to follow it and lift it as soon as he collapses,” said former deputy director of PTR P P Pramod.

Hi My Book-> My Trysts With the Venusians

2010-04-13T01:44:00.000-07:00

As spoken over the phone here I am submitting a prototype of my book titled “My trysts with the Venusians”.

To begin with, my book speaks about my real life romantic escapades with 12 different girls from 12 different Sun signs. Nothing is concocted except their names, even the religion and the communities they belonged to remain the same. Apart from my profession, being a hobby astrologer for years my book essentially merges three different worlds my true tender encounters with women, which makes it a saucy read as it’s a human leaning to scratch out what is happening/happened in someone’s life + the fundamentals of understanding needed to consolidate a relation or why does a relation fail, and what women look out for in men, generally as well as on a date which makes it educative for my not so fortunate brethren (I have learnt and picked some through all these years) + the astrology part of it which makes it intriguing, where one can know his/her partners overall basic nature (only) based on six simple different parameters.

The day finally arrived and I went to see her at her south ex residence. As the norm in north her house had a huge garden with two ferocious, beastly looking Alsatians named Scooby and Dooby.

The countess blushed and looked at me speechless. In a typical alluring feminine fashion she raised her hand till her open mouth and said “oh my gosh! You are such a flirt” to which I sassily responded “thank you for the flirthood title my lady, but it’s just your nobility, tantalizing demeanor and thoughtfulness with words which make me so, otherwise I have been a despondent failure at it so far, this is by far my best your Excellency. The countess went gaga which was revealed so in her coming mails.

This gem was in my inbox. I should have emailed it to you already. If I haven't remind me - share it with the world.

Our cultural obsession continues

2010-04-08T02:51:00.000-07:00

Hi
We need to cast foreigners in Delhi for the Rin commercial shoot in Pune between 20 to 29th of this month . Would require blond and light haired cast .
The breakdown is as follows:
10 Basketball playing girls (age 12-16 yrs) - need video tests to judge their basketball playing skills.
we also need the below mentioned cast for the shoot in pune.
Male coaches (age 30-45 yrs) - pictures would suffice. Women physio (30-40 yrs) - pictures would suffice.
Firang mothers (35-50 yrs) - pictures would suffice. Firang fathers (35-50yrs) - pictures would suffice. Firang kids (under 10 years) - pictures would suffice.
Regards

XXXXXX

SAHEB PRODUCTIONS
XXXXXX, Malviya nagar
New Delhi – 110017
Office phone- XXXXXX

Notes:
Rin is a laundry detergent
firang is Hindi slang for foreigner, but generally applies to white people
I could not bring myself to blank out the name of production company. Saheb, is the actual name of the company
Someone I know who runs an expat group sent this my way.

Sorry Jordan, the stress on blonde means you're out.

Joh-den: The shirt had a source

2010-04-05T03:21:00.000-07:00

Dear World bank, thanks for all the fish.

2010-03-31T10:44:00.000-07:00

1. Book launches need to specify where in their swanky hotels they're hosting cocktails.

2. World bank employees need to stop being all scruffy looking.

3. People need to stop making assumptions because of my bowler.

4. I need to stop my dad from getting near open bars and people. Especially people with breastuses.

5. Publishing houses and U.N. organizations need to put up more signs at events identifying who they are.

6. Booze needs to stop tasting so damn good.

7. The World bank needs to stop displaying 7 kinds of cake and pie.

8. Pretending to be a Moroccan race car driver needs to harder than misusing articles and prefixing statements with a 'how do you say'.

9. People need to stop responding to fake "Lovely to see you; are you well"s with "good to see you again".

10. Economist PhDs need to continue looking super hot and smart.

Surdy, this is god talking to us through meat!

2010-03-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

1. Flute recitals still rock my world. Shocking!

2. Book launch bitches!

3. I love being witty and wasted....

4. Why thank you parking lot attendant for complimenting my peeing skills ("Apne badiya kam kiya").

5. Ladies remember dudes in bowler hats.

6. So do pissed off authors.

7. Pants are the external manifestation of my internalized colonial subject.

8. Random people don't think batman underoos are as awesome as I do.

9. I made go happen.

10. Dear Kakori Kebab. You are the anti-life equation.

"But many parents are Marxists.

2010-03-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

They are only obsessed with their child's marks in the examinations".

Overheard at a librarian's conference at (ironically) the Russian Cultural Center.

Ekrem

2010-03-07T23:14:00.000-08:00

"The most memorable character in the film, soaked in romance, is the cinema projector and the broken cinema reels that the travelers screen during the journey."

2010-02-21T20:53:00.000-08:00

Can you kids spot the eleventy things that are batshit insane in the following?

2010-02-18T00:26:00.000-08:00

“Some of them might be kidnappers, in the guise of pani puri vendors, planning to carry out acts while they serve the tasty snack on roadside,” cautions Basaveshwaranagar Police Station Inspector H Hanumanthappa. Hanumanthappa is just back from Bhind in Madhya Pradesh, after rescuing a local astropalmist from the clutches of kidnappers who hailed from a northern State and were running the trade of pani puri vendors in Bangalore.

Le source

Dear Down South,

You warm the cockles of my heart.

Sincerely,

The world.

The day Shit Got Real!

2010-02-08T20:50:00.000-08:00

Back from our adventures exploring the French union territory of Pondicherry.

Adventures and batshit insanity were had.

Will send postcards with highlights.

My favorite quote of all time might be from Jordan:

That is the most delightfully charming example of racism I have ever encountered!

Crisis at work

2010-02-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

So because of the World Book Fair (at which I was shameless shilling my grammar books at the education panel), our entire editorial team is busy.
So when I wandered into work today to fill out some paperwork and get some time off, the fine people at Sales and Marketing dropped a doozy on my lap.

We have 90,000 copies of a children's book about funny animals and the sounds they make (you press the dog, a woof sound is played; the cow, you get a moo, blah blah blah).
So as we keep introducing more and more animals they are piled on top of the each other.

At one point, the pig is standing on the cow and who in turn is supporting the duck. And this page, this page could lead to the death of hundreds, nay thousands not to mention millions in property damages.

Apparently some right-wing nutjob is insulted that the sacred cow is carrying the pig and this is a religious slight and there will be riots. This potential fear is enough for us to sit on these copies. So as Editor Poobah, I was asked what we planned to do.

Changing the animal means pulping every copy we have, not to mention re-illustrating, not worth the cost of printing.

So, my solution is to pacify the nut-jobs by claiming, hey these are American cows, not as sacred.

I can't wait for my boss to come back.

2010-02-01T09:20:00.000-08:00

So I just bought a car.

I paid for most of it, taking out a tiny loan so that i can have a tax footprint as my dad claims.

Truth be told, I've been going through the motions mostly. I used to have a driver whose sole job was take me where I needed to go. Not because I needed one, but because my station demanded it.

One of the things about India, or to be fair, my life in India is the blank slate approach my parents seem to take. For instance, as far as they are considered, this is my first car. It calls for celebration. It will be tiny, and bright, and they will choose something with great crash safety ratings, for a city in which a car rarely reaches 30 km/h.

A part of me fears that this could quickly become another anchor of grown-upism that weighs me down. Or... maybe when they deliver it to my doorstep, I might feel different. I might jump in one day and keep driving, never stopping till I reach Goa.

Or, I could enjoy the fact that I'm driving a car so tiny, that trying to imagine JP cramming his Godzilla like body into it would be like watching a Clown car in reverse.

Edit:
Wait, wait. How can I be worried about being a grown up? I let an 8 year old paint me up as a tiger with a sharpie.
I should worry more about my boss's lack of reaction to my Olivia Newton John shirt yesterday.

Darkseid Hungers!

2010-01-22T00:42:00.001-08:00

Perhaps the most hard hit by the economy is the former lord of Apokolips!

PA

2010-01-17T09:10:00.000-08:00

So, Kim's christmas present(s) finally got here.
And this might be the greatest summation of small towness ever!
And JP! Fuck yeah, those are indeed The Garbage Pail trading cards.

Also included but not pictured is the most heartbreakingly awesome letter...and

An OLIVIA NEWTOWN JOHN TOUR SHIRT.

I'm wearing this work tomorrow...once I finish downloading Xanadu ofcourse.

Cannot Compute!

2010-01-15T02:58:00.000-08:00

I love this. Even Microsoft Word is like, "Too many errors, fuck you man!".

I used to get papers like these my first semester teaching until I realized I needed to say "first draft" not "rough" draft.
This was the screen of the girl that works next to me at one point in time.

2010-01-12T00:08:00.000-08:00

So I remembered I have this thingamabob.
Bob.
Thingamabob.
Bob. B-ob.

Right, enough of that.

I wanted to make a year end post, one of those-deep-reflections-about-the-past-year-decade-kinda thing. But then I started drinking. And I didn’t stop till I sent our incoherent emails.

Yeah

I write children’s books. That’s what I do now, and I like it more than my previous job, although the advantage of the previous job was due to its hours, I could atleast talk to you. Why yes, You!

Now I commute, which is kind of exciting, I’ve never commuted, unless you count JP and I rushing to Der Kommisar’s class…while bopping along to the Der Kommissar's in town stuck in insane Morgantown traffic.

Right, so due to my educational background (huh?) I get to roll out the English curriculum books for grades 6, 7 and 8. And they want it in house, so I get to compile the books and accompanying workbooks from scratch.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t overwhelmed. But I’m doing something not entirely awful, and I’m still involved in some peripheral way with education and I sit in a blue chair with hippo legs. I’m clearly not qualified to mould anyone’s mind – after all I was a listless layabout in school, during my undergrad, and if anyone was in my drama class in 2008, you’d know just how listless.

And it feels weird, like I’ve let 13 year old Batmite down because now I’m writing the same books I never wanted to read and was forced to. I have become The Man. To myself.

While putting together an instructional booklet for teachers and a bunch of workshop activities, I started to struggle with something I’d pushed down deep into the recess of memory. It took me the weekend to sort it out; I found myself reading Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, a copy of which was still floating around in my email courtesy Virgil and I was surprised slightly, to discover how much of it informed my own idea of what I wish teachers had done when I was younger. Not that I’m doing that now. Instead I come up with fart and poop jokes (can you guess the illustrations I’m using for the punctuation chapter?).

Now lest you think that all is calm and the universe is not tinged with batshit insanity, you’d be wrong. WRONG!

I car pool with a 24 year old girl who is dating a 54 year old whom she keeps referring to as ‘Lover’ (Wtf? Did we do a full 180 on language and softly settle our fevered brows on the pillowy bosoms of trashy novels?).

And the best part…she’s a poet, a struggling poet! I tried to discourage all conversations on poetry by bringing up the tools I studied with in Buffalo and Morgantown. Stupid rookie mistake, she took that to mean that I simply “haven’t read anything that resonated with me yet”. Yeah, clearly that’s what I meant.

I don’t even open my work email because she keeps sending me these erotic poems (how many pulsating throbbing organs and emotions must I endure?) one, entitled “How to cut fish” was pretty good…if you know, the part about the fish-hook had been left out.

One of them went something like

Her chemise sways gently,

Bruised fistfuls of nipples
Her soul bared.

Now apart from the fact that she felt the need to gender every single line, in the event I was too stupid to note, WOMENZ HAZ VAGINAZ AND FEELINGS, its…fucking awful, it has the erotic subtlety of a gang bang.

And today is only Tuesday, aka day 2 of week 2.

sigh

Assholes from my Child-hood Part 3 - NT

2009-11-16T10:50:00.000-08:00

It is the nature of narrative cinema to expand on the pregnant pauses in life

2009-11-11T13:36:00.001-08:00

Many years ago, a cousin, or maybe a cousin of a cousin or whatever decided to get married on our ancestral island of Monkompu. Big Fucking Yay!

To hear my parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, great- grandparents, grand-uncles, grand-aunts tell it, this was "God's own country". All I heard about during the three day train journey was, how the houses stood on little stilts and the sun's rays danced like fireflies on the water and at night the sound of the Kerala backwaters lapping the support beams directly under you was like being cradled in the palm of Brahma and the milk from coconuts was the sweetest you'll ever taste and the fish and prawn so spicy and playful that your tongue would be plagued by phantom dreams and shit like that.

What my family, caught in the toophan of Proustian nostalgia, forgets is that most of them have never been there. Their memories are entirely inherited from their parents and their parents, all of whom fucking bolted as soon as they were able (or were chased out by the Portuguese, details get a little hazy here).

So that was the train journey, and then the 7 hour bus journey followed by a boat trip to make it to this island for a hardcore South Indian style wedding.

Fuck those guys, I attended a court wedding in Philadelphia last year and it was awesome. Wedding was at 9 am, took 10 minutes and then we all had pancakes! EPIC WIN.

This wedding took three full days, from 3 a.m. till 7 p.m. Because half the ceremonies require fucking dawn to be cracking over the horizon. Needy much, celestial beings?

But this isn't the crux of the story, it really isn't. This is merely the back story, setting the stage as it were.

So I'm in Monkompu bored out of my mind, I can't leave the mandapam and by the time the days' ceremonies are over, I'm too damn tired to anything other than pass out in my hammock. Weddings especially Indian ones really tend to take a toll on the women present and South Indian ones doubly so - every occasion requires a different dress and often they need to co-ordinate with either the jewelry or the Sari the bride is wearing. Hell men don't even need to wear pants. No, really. You want to show up in a vaishti (think sarong only shorter) then you might just be over dressed. Of the 4 suitcases we took with us, my dad and I just needed half a duffel bag for our weeks' clothes, the rest were just my mum and sister.

Right anyway, so nature abounds and stuff but there's only so much to explore and mostly, my other cousins and I are in the way. We're bored, we're noisy, we fight amongst each other, etc… And all grownups are getting pissed and they don't have time for this shit, and OMG it takes 3 women to wrap whatshername in a 12 yard sari (or maybe it was 7, no I think sister's was 7 but we cheated added extra folds so it looked like it was 12 – hmm When is ANTM going to do a Kerala edition, I bet Tyra would lose her shit but hardcore).

Simply put, Monkompu is the kind of town where you either found god or you fucked off.

Right, so we get sent into town and told to watch a movie. Woohoo! But what's this? This town has only ONE movie theater. And it plays only ONE movie and has been for 3 years now. Fuck it, we'll take it. Maybe it's really that stellar a movie – I'd watch Conan every day for three straight years.

We go inside this makeshift tent with wooden benches and sit anywhere you want. It takes us a while to navigate the dynamics of this. The tent is already full, and everyone seems to have a fixed seat that they make a straight bee line for.

We find a place to sit and prepare for the best value that Rs. 3 ($0.0167) can afford us. The movie starts, complete fucking silence descends on us.

Yes, that is what was playing. That, libes kind was the most popular (possibly only) movie on the island. And let me tell you this, everything you see on that poster? Happened before the opening credits even began to roll.

My mind was blown! To this day I shudder to think of the impact on my wee cousins.

And the crowd, mien got!! They had this skinemax reject memorized! They knew when to hold their collective breath, when to talk to each other, even when to have their 'tiffin'. But the truly free-market inspiring, pro-globalization, celluloidal love grafting detail! No one knew what was being said. This movie was broadcast in Punjabi, something I barely grasp and absolutely no one, NO ONE, down south would know.

Yeah, that's right – Art transcends.

Info Dump

2009-10-26T04:48:00.000-07:00

Stuff:

Read http://hobotaxi.blogspot.com/ It's angry, sad and unapologetic - like a crusty old man without pants.

OSIAN film festival this week. I can't make them all, so recommend stuff (I'm looking at you, Turk)

I have an essay coming out in next years Silhouette. Email me if you want a copy.

I bullshitted my way onto the Queerfest visual arts panel thanks, John Berger!). Expect rant to follow.

The Cordite burns my lungs mother.

2009-10-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

Generic Diwali greeting.

The human condition? Is there a cream for that?

2009-10-14T23:18:00.000-07:00

So using my Patton Oswalt patented bullshit techniques, I managed to swing an invite to the British Council’s book launch for William Dalrymple’s Nine Lives: In Search of the Sacred in Modern India.

So I’ve only ever read the White Mughals, liked it in a very historical-fiction way and this was a pretty big shindig, Susheela Raman was going to perform, fancy pants drink were going to be made (Note: New Bondian drink – Double Absoluts, splash of lime cordial, topped by tonic water and mint) and beautiful, smart people were going to talking about beautiful smart things.

So I’m there for 5 mins before the local MSNBC affiliate asks me for a pull-quote on “The state of Literature (capital L) in India and its representation abroad” (Can you guess how I was dressed dear reader?).

But I enjoy my drink(s), my fancy snacks and listen to the reading and it takes me almost 20 minutes to focus on what Dalrymple’s reading and realize that I am maybe one of 20 Indians in an event where there are 200 people.

There’s a reason I never majored in Post-Colonial theory when I was in grad school – I was never smart enough to wrap my head around all PoCo-PoMo formulations and perhaps, more importantly, I felt it would hypocritical for me to do so. Sure, my undergrad thesis was a long love letter to Salman Rushdie but towards the end of my undergrad, I realized my struggles with PoCo are because my own locus of identity was never geographically rooted – I am privileged and come from a place of privilege.* For me to talk about the voiceless subaltern would be bullshit because what do I know about the voiceless subaltern? I grew up speaking English, watching star wars, playing Mario and ‘enjoying’ euro-centric pornography. As any of you can attest (I’m looking at you Denis, Jordan, Diane) I’m as far removed from the subaltern as possible.

So I focused on what I thought was the big picture – The radical postmodern, the overlap of socio-economic fixtures through technology i.e. I played video games and wrote a blog.

So that it took me as long as it did to realize there was only a few Indians at this gig (and while I didn’t avoid them, I didn’t actively seek them out either) is a big deal. And when faced with a hurdle I don’t know how to navigate, I did what I always do, I drank. Lots.

My undergrad education was almost militant in its application. I was in Women’s Studies and those people don’t fuck around. Armed with liquid courage, I decide to face off against the William Dalrymple. He’s a sweet guy, I liked one of his books, but he’s made a name for himself writing about India. And this new book (In Search of the Sacred in Modern India, really?) reeked of a kind of exploitive PoCo mapping, where once again, only the White Guy can understand, assimilate and feed me my own bildungsroman. The two pieces he read out where so exoticising that I winced. But when I got to him, he was visibly drunk and had his 5 year old next him, holding his scotch. So I sat down, told him he could be the next Orhan Pamuk if he wasn’t white and drank with him.

I didn’t sellout, I tell myself, I bought in.

And at some point, inbetween signings and well-wishers (he got my name wrong while signing my book *sigh*), we talked about traveling, and the lack of a Scottish film identity (Shallow Grave and Breaking the Waves but they’re by Danny Boyle and Lars von Trier, so that doesn’t count). If I’ve given you the impression that I was being witty and charming and oh so suave, that was not my intention – I was my usual, loud obnoxious self, punctuation every statement with a reference to Batman or Darkseid’s Omega beams.

But when I left, it was an odd experience, because I felt more relaxed and comfortable than I have in several months. The correlation I see is troubling. Most days, I feel like a casual observer, today that hit especially close.

* While writing this, a cup of tea was prepared and served to me simply because I was up.

I promise, the next post will be about how much I love Ladies’ bosoms!

Assholes from my Child-hood Part 2 - NT

2009-10-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

Assholes from my Child-hood Part 1 - NT

2009-10-08T13:26:00.001-07:00

Crisis of Infinite Viveks

2009-10-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Citizens of Earth Prime.

You may not be aware, but a Great Crisis™ is upon us.

The Metaverse, dear reader, is collapsing.

Is it Sinestro? A rogue sun eater or perhaps the combination of Taco Bell and Buffalo Wild Wings.

It matters not.

Alternate realities are spilling into our own, our very universe is at risk.

I but barely destroyed Nubian Batmite and 80’s Batmite, but be warned – other abound.

Print out this handy-dandy reference guide to help you defeat these invaders from another verse!

inspired wholly by Ekrem's letter.

It hugs back

2009-09-20T01:57:00.000-07:00

The movie that could have been

2009-07-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

If only we had a video camera to complement it all ...
hey, it's the perfect time to make an extremely [pretentious] film in black in white with many, long pauses, with cigarettes and coffee.
I could break in to Russian and you in to Hindi, and talk, we would talk, and the subtitles would be "the significance of what they are saying is to profound to translate in to English, hence why they are speaking in different languages, but their intentions and their meaning is in harmony, what they are saying is perfectly understood though for the language they use is not tied down though political implication, they communication in the synchronization of facial expressions and body gestures, they are in metapolitics" or some other [bullshit], of coerce, you will be saying that big boobies are fun to squeeze, and I will say stuff that doesn't make any sense.

I'm Capitalism!!

2009-07-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

This is the story of a man who wanted things. He dreamed toys and comic books and fellatio. And one day in a fit of space-madness he took upon himself to find a 'job' as it were. A 'job' he naively reasoned would lead to money-dollars, dance moves and ice cream.

Alas, drunk on the wine of his youth, the young man insisted that not any 'job' would do, but a 'job' that imbued him satisfaction, self worth and purpose. The naivete of the young man eclipsed suns.

Finding himself with a 'job', the young man eagerly awaited purpose.

None was to be had.

It is Day 5 of Week 2 of the Young man's work day. It is 3:30 am. His tie glows strangely against the gentle cathode glow of his computer screen. It takes less than an hour to edit a badly written essay by vengeful 18 year olds hopped on hubris and spray-tans. It takes less than 7 minutes to edit an article written by professional Associated Press journalists armed with spell check.

The hours tick by slowly. First cracked, then Tvtropes, then Jezebel, Boing Boing and finally...the modicum of sanity - comic book messageboards.

But in a comically characteristic moment of panic our protagonist agrees to freelance for The Cambridge University Press who can't seem to find funds for a position, but can find work and cash monies for blurbs apparently.

A courier arrives every other day with a badly xeroxed tome that must be read/skimmed and have choice pull quotes red inked for back-cover blurbs. But these are never exciting tomes featuring lawyers from memphis, a race against time or dragon riding evil overlords. They feature essays Victorian Christianity, improved editions of Ye olde Legal English tracts and complete crap. It would appear liebes kind that Cambridge UP only produces stuff that is read by the the kind of person who coins the term sodomitical transaction to describe coitus (Okay, I have to break the 4th wall here, but c'mon there such a sweet joke to be made about sodomitical transactions and ATM machines because in the porn it means Ass to mo... wait don't go! I'll be good)

Our titular hero also extends himself further by working part time for a risk analysis venture which might someday reward him with huge dividends and an ostensible interest in real estate.

He dreams of electric sheep.

I fail at failure!

2009-07-04T14:09:00.000-07:00

It’s 2 a.m. I’m in front of a lcd monitor wondering what the fuck happened to my life.

No, this is not another porn-fueled bender where I wake up wondering what the fuck I was doing on 4chan and why I’ve drawn penii on all the batman memorabilia in my room.

I, dear reader, am at work!

Workies!

So after a vacation brimming with guilt-inducing undertones, I decided to bite the bullet and get employed. I hate it btw. It’s cold and dark and there’s no ice cream and everyone’s wearing a tie.

I work for (essentially) the grown up Ziff Davis. Essentially, this publishing magnate distributes Time, Newsweek, India Today, The Economist around South-East Asia. However, what this means is that each of these magazine also have to include a few ‘regional-specific’ pieces to compliment their varying readership. So if Time has a fluff piece about soccer moms in Montana, the edition in Malaysia should have something similar in vein but more specific to Malaysia i.e. Malay parents signing up their children for Kumon classes.

Some poor jackass armed only with a copy of Adobe In-design has to sit down edit and insert one of these articles into the raw templates that come in. Some poor jackass who never gets to triumphantly yell “STOP THE PRESS” ala Lois Lane but has to get it in before it goes to press. Say some poor jackass working from 9:00 pm to 5:00 am.

When I was an undergrad, I worked similar hours in the library, but I also had remote connect running, built a miniature golf course in the library stacks, played starcraft against Korean savant-children and often went on long, whimsical taco & wine runs.

I also managed to somehow (I really don’t know) accrue freelance work from Cambridge University Press who need their old manuscripts digitized and sporting fancy new blurbs but won’t actually employ me. Instead a courier shows up with a mysterious package, and I get to read Heidegger on the crapper trying to see how the fuck you can jazz that shit up:

German Existentialism might be the new black?

Nothing compliments the entire run of Twilight more than some crazed German moaning about the sublime!

And, because really, when the waves come in, they truly crest – I also (probably) seem to have agreed to edit a series of boring ass investment proposals by some friend on a friend floating a risk-analysis firm.

I just went from unemployed deadbeat drinking He-man beer to being over-employed and not-naked.

Why am I not happy?

Our Hero is Two-tired...wait what?

2009-07-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

So.

Australia was interesting. I can't really get a bead on the country as a whole since it seems to lack any discernible identity other than "We're Australia. Not England, Australia!"

Which is fine I suppose, but it does seem odd, even off-putting at time.
You know that old O. Henry story about a guy who travels all across America trying to find 'The Voice of the City' only to lose his own? I can only imagine that story really working in the US, it wouldn't work in England, where (BNP politics aside) the core identity of cities and town is London and !London.

Australia is a kind of AmerEurope creature. The European aesthetic with the longing for Americaness.

I say all this because while I was wandering on holiday, it was stressed to me over and over how easy it would be for me to emigrate and/or find a job there. And I was very tempted. I guess I so desperately wanted to do something the idea of scuttling of to a new continent was tempting.

And then Bangkok!
It was gorgeous and epic and exotic and heartwarming and mindbogglingly epic.

I had a good time, I had a 'different' kind of holiday. One that I haven't had in a long time. (Here's looking at you Istanbul!)

Where I got to visit the floating market, the canals along the Chang Prao river, the rice farms outside Laos and the LadyBoy shows, I also got to eat dubious street food (Thanks Indian Immune System!), wander the streets in Tuktuks at 2 am, run out of money, scrounge my pockets for euros, dollars, Australian dollars, rupees and end up changing them into Baht at a brothel (only place that was willing to take an odd assortment of currency in the middle of the night), and enjoy a fantastic foot massage on a street corner while enjoying a spicy snake on a stick.

That's a dude btw!

Filthy Lucre Abounds

2009-05-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

My interview with the Saudis was this week. I wasn't particularly keen on the job, well perhaps the job itself, just not in Saudi. But I figured, no harm in an interview and hey, I look good in a tie.

So I wait outside some conference room in a hotel for x hours. There's like 5 people in their with interpreters that I have to face plus there's 54 ahead of me. As I sat there waiting my turn, allow me to share with you a rare glimpse into my thought process as this shit goes down:

Ho-hum. How many damn positions are there? There's a kajillion people here. Wtf?
I should have given this a miss.

Dammit, Its past lunchtime. This coffee tastes awful, you're a fucking 5 Star hotel, how do you not know how to brew coffee? Did you use a steam press or your goddamn ass-cheeks?

I bet pin-stripe guy is going to get it. I can tell, where did he get a pin-stripe suit? I wish i had a pin strip suit. I'd have to buy a violin case though. And wing tip shoes, where would buy those?

I want a burrito. Actually a plate of garlic noodles and some chicken manchurian would hit the spot. Can I duck away? Fuck it, the minute I walk out they'd call my name and beard guy would get it.

I wish I had a book. Or a unicorn, I would call him Atreyu! Arrggh, how has it been, my ass fallen asleep.

Okay, Show time Synergy! Walk in, don't play with the tie, don't play with the tie. Ohh, is it silk?

Hand over documents, smile smile, too long too long, he's suspicious, he's re-reading my resume. Dammit.

He's smiling great, wait. Do i make eye contact with him or the interpreter, who do I talk to, should I ignore this guy? That'll be rude, is there a mid point to stare while talking, great now i look fucking cross-eyed.

He's scribbling on paper, oooh numbers. Wait, that's it? That's not much that's stupid.
OOOOOOOoh. per month. Wait that' s in Riyals, are you shitting me? Isnt' a riyal like 12-14 rupees. How much is that? Dammit Math brain function, multiply, wait, do I carry the 4 over? Dammit, no no, that's can't be right how did I get a fraction?

Is it rude to use my phone to calculate this? Man I wish my phone had more features. It's still in black and white for fuck's sake. i wish I had an iphone...what would i do with it? Hmmm, I guess I throw some Venture bros on there, I could have watched that while waiting. Wait wait - he's talking some more, more figures.

"Uh, no. No spouse. Just me. hahaha"

Wait, I'm getting more money for being single? That makes no sense. That's stupid, unless that's party to 'entertain' myself. What am I, stupid? hmm Why would i get more? Sweet! Wait, is that because I get a smaller apartment? Well I guess that's less space to vacuum right?

"Fantastic. Wonderful. Oh tomorrow? Well ofcourse"

I got it! I got it? Shake hands, count to 5. He's got a wet fish of ahandshake, c'mon guy you're supposed to move it up and down not just let it twinkle under the overhead light. Do I shake the interpreter guy too? What if he's not really an interpreter? What if he's like me with French, where I can identify among other languages but know fuckall - that's be funny. I land up in Riyadh and discover I'm really there to give up a kidney. I'd laugh, maybe in theory. Oh Milton Green, Milton Green. Give a Kidney - damn song's stuck in my head now.

Haggle with rickshaw guy. Should I grab food? Meh, I'll just have them deliver it home. Then I can have them send some beer to. I wish I had stocked up the fridge better.

Okay, lets see this magic sheet. What the fuck does "Like Native" mean? What native, who?

Hmm, okay so if i include the transport allowance the total is....भेन्चोद

Are they serious? Did I add an extra 0? 85,000 rupees a month? A MONTH? Doesn't surdy only make like 33? and he's a fucking architect!!!

* To give you an idea of scale, the last job I interview for offered 25,000 rupees which is considered fairly reasonable. This, this is just fucking pots of money.

Right. So I spent all night thinking it over, talking to people. And I had to let them know the very next day. I had to send my passport over so they could stamp it or whatever and yeah.

So after much pondering, I decided...
Not to go. I know, I know. I'm never going to see that much ever again. I'll never have nice things, blah blah blah. I just don't want to go. Maybe, i tell myself, if it was somewhere else, maybe if it was at another point i my life. But yes, I didn't just close this window of opportunity, I stuck my great big rear out of it and took a rocking dump.

So yes, I having something new to bitch about (yay me) and I'll be off to australia/thailand day after.

I wonder If I'll punch a billionaire in the face, or maybe just flush a cache of diamonds down a toilet. Who knows?
Only like native? Am I supposed to lie of a bed of nails to prove my authenticity guy?

Devil Dinosaur is Classy

2009-05-22T04:00:00.000-07:00

And hates monkeys

Jobbity Foibles

2009-05-20T00:30:00.000-07:00

Two more job offerings have cropped up.

And none are within publishing which is where I want to be headed (have you seen the free swag these people get? Tintin managed to get me the Star Wars pop-up book and that be baller!)

One is in Saudia Arabia, for the consulate of India. I was born in Saudi. My dad was stationed there in the late 70s, we moved soon after my sister was born. I imagine it being oddly symmetrical, me going off to seek my fortune (can we bring this concept back?) in Saudi. Ofcourse, as I am told, Saudi of the 70s is not Saudi of now. Its where Fun goes to die. The internet is heavily censored, as is all reading and visual material entering the country. There is no booze.

That's what did me in.

The other offer is from the princeton review working on various test prep packets. Its near Defence Coloney which has the best dumplings and shwarmas in Delhi. Other than that, i don't see many upsides. It does however pay more than all the other jobs (except the Saudia Arabia offer since the exchange rate is in my favour and I don't taxed!). But I just hate the place on principle - I hate the monopoly ETS and their ilk has on anyone trying to get their shit together.

But I like Moneys.

Another book launch tonight. I shall drink too much, attempt to schmooze and possibly imply that the author has sexual relations with this mother. Batmite Out!

Our erstwhile hero makes democracy happen!

2009-05-10T01:26:00.000-07:00

My voter registration card arrived last week. Well it arrives everytime there's an election, and there was that year where it arrived twice in 6 months (stupid unstable coalition governments).

This was my first time voting. I've been eligible for years but I've never been around during election time. So I was pretty stoked! I scrubbed my nails so that when they marked it to show i'd cast my vote (I used to think it was a purely symbolic thing, but I'm told in outlying villages and areas, that how they actually prevent 'double voting'), I could proudly show it off!

Ofcourse I haven't followed Indian politics in years, sure I know the major parties, but not the current players, I know their policies but not enough about the individual candidates themselves.

As I get to the booth, there's a long line of people from my neighbourhood (they divide us by neighbourhoods and blocks apparently, so I'm Block H building 31, and there's a line for that).

I realize i don't have a clue for whom to cast my treasured exercise in democracy and civilization. There are the 5 major parties, and this time we have 7 independents running as well. All I have to go on is their party symbols, which from listening to the crowd, is what everyone was basing their choice on. My dad voted for a stethoscope - "Us doctor types have to stick together". My mum saw a blackboard - "Oh goody, a fellow teacher". Me, I was vacillating between the hacksaw and pressure cooker.
But once I was in the little booth, and I saw all the symbols laid out in a row, I couldn't do it. So I decided meaningless gestures are where its at. The Communist Party of India got my support.

53% of New Delhi came out to vote (which is huge it seems) and of that only 18% were what the media dubs 'Intellectuals Elites". So yeah, Democracy a Go-Go!

God who'd wanna be such an asshole?

2009-04-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

So I realize that I have finally become a trope. I mean shit, I'm putting up song lyrics and I'm going to post about something that bothered me on the internets! (nothing good comes from the internets, except zombo.com). I imagine my next post will be about that no-good, ne'er-do-well deposed nigerian prince who hasn't repayed my millions.

I was reading Bukowski's What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire that was lying in my bathroom (sandwiched between Spectacular Spider-man 592 and The Secret [I knows, I knows]). Anyway, I haven't read this in years and it something i really enjoyed during undergrad. I make the mistake of googling one of the women that 'Chinaski' makes a reference to and I stumbled up the premiere Bukowski forum on the internet. And I start reading. My search takes me to a thread on Women, a book I remeber having truoble reading. And surprisingly, the women that he wrote about are posting in this thread. And I got sucked into this thing for hours. And now I have trouble reading Bukowski especially as he seems to fall into a camp (afaik) where you either revere him or have never heard of him.

I realize that as a card carrying member of the Literati, I should be all "Death of the Author" about it. Clearly, I am not. How does that happen?

You know, I never have such problems reading Batman. - Argh, I lie. I grow tired of explaining why Batman's back-up personality Zur-en-la is way cooler than Bruce Wayne in current post-crisis continuity.

not being able to love fully
they will consider your love incomplete
and then..

Our Eponymous Hero Looks up

2009-04-23T22:46:00.000-07:00

I had two interviews this week. Hell I was so awesomactive that I arranged my second interview while in the midst of my first!

Ha! Take that elementary school teacher woman, I can take initiative.

Right first things first...It is hot as balls here. How the hell did I ever get used to this?
Somedays I step out of my house and it feels like a bad day in Tatooine.

Right, company Une- The Financial Clearing House.
I applied on a lark when I was whiling away in CT and we emailed back and forth. They are a Venture Capital group thingy that essentially uses a lot of acronyms and stuff and wanted someone to head their editorial team (of two - see what I mean, how do you head something, if the guy next to you is the deputy head, do you exercise your dominion over the stapler, the waste basket?). Right, job description sounds incredibly easy and its not too far from my house, infact it exists in a (I shit you not) satellite city, called Cyber Park. That's right, an entire sub-city has sprung up in my absence that caters only to the continents IT needs.

So I walk in and the security people pat me down, confiscate my ipod and I'm made to sign a form stating that I won't divulge any corporate secrets while I'm there. WTF? What if I'm there to deliver pizza?

I WAS THERE FOR 5 HOURS!
Is this how interviews work? First I'm given an elaborate examy thing that tests me on current affairs, micro economic theory and exchange rates. I was given 2 hours - it took me all of 2 minutes to discover I don't know shit. I sat around for a bit, and then broke down and called the Job Possibility #2 and arranged an interview for the next day. Clearly I could see the writing on the wall.

Then head honcho guy comes in and asks me to explain Indo-US relations and my understanding of the Global Recession. I fucking Killed! Thanks NPR, This American Life and a certain blogger I know. I pontificated, I made grand hand gestures and I used their fucking white board to draw squiggles.

Then I got to ask questions, glee, I had a few simple ones like "What am I even interviewing for? Why does your position posting not mention requiring an MBA equally pointless degree? Why do you use unnecessarily circuitous acronyms for simple concepts?"

Needless to say, it didn't look like I was getting the job, but wait...there's some confucion, they are interviewing people for Knowledge Processing BLAHBLAH (Trivia tip #1 - this company created the term KPO - the sound made by children when they relive battle scenes from The Last Starfighter).

So now, we do this all over again, only know I have to wait for a different flunkie and he opens with a question - What do I know about diminishing marginal returns. Channeling all my econ classes from undergrad, I think its when you keep adding people to production until you reach a point where they aren't adding to ouput, infact they start eating into the operating capital (Contemplator, that sound right?). He makes a note.
What do I know about Synergy? - It's the computer that turned Jerrica into Jem?
Trivia Tip #2 - MBA people are humorless dicks.

How would you draft a business plan or an investment portfolio?
I actually do manage to answer this.

An hour later I leave.

Company Deux - The MindGlobal Company
That is the name for a company that keeps inhouse editors. This place sounds more interesting. They were founded by a bunch of people from the New York Times 4 years ago and apparently, they handle all the outsourced project from Newspapers and magazines around the world. As in, their biggest coup, they did the Obama innuagural coverage, from articles, to layout to final bylines, which they then sold to which ever newspapers wanted them. Same for their political coverage of the Thai Elections and the Doha Round.

Ofcourse they name doesn't hint at any of this, infact to make things work, the address of the place is Sector 62, 47/56. As I bitched and moaned to JP while waiting to be driven there, where the fuck outside of Dystopic Futures and Star Trek do you even find an address (ahem, co-ordinates) like this? And what the fuck is that fraction all about? Its like asking me, are you smart enough to solve this to get the correct building?

But once I get there, what a contrast. There is nothing around this building, a bunch of hippies smoking cloves under a large Banyan tree. Clearly I was overdressed for this crowd but dammit, I fucking look good in a tie, and this was a Norman Rockwell print too!

So my 'interview' takes places with an extremely attractive english/journalism major, who even recognized the book in my hand - Kenzaburo Oe (I learnt from the previous place, so I brought along something to kill time). She wants to me to copy edit a few pieces, and in one hilarious sample, have me identify the indianisms in an article and re-write it for a Singaporean audience (sample statement - It was raining like anything)

This place was baller, I was there for 4 hours and all I did was shoot this shit with a bunch of people under a tree, then move into the main office where someone constantly kept refreshing my coffee and bringing me tea biscuits. TEA BISCUITS!!! That's right, they have a full time cook/flunky whose sole job is to keep them supplied with cookies, food and caffeinated beverages. Oh and get cigarettes when they run out.
Then I talk to the main guy who is so friendly that I suspect its a trap. But no, they're excited, he asks what I did in grad school, what i liked best about it, what I hated. He told how he quit grad school and ran off to work for the Baltimore Sun - I spoke of my love for David Simon and The Wire and the guy looked like he was ready to tear up.

I was fucking in! And then he tells me to think it over, shop around, and when I'm sure this is the place for me, to give him a call, we'll meet for drinks and talk logistics and all that "HR jazz".

The only foreseeable problem? This place pays awful, I mean truly awful, may not even cover my monthly commute awful.

It feels like looking at parallel universes, come here blackberry in hand, 401K in pocket, or go there, turtle-neck attired with a copy of William Carlos William sticking out of your back pocket.

familearity in Flux

2009-04-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

As if shit in my life wasn't chaotic enough.

The flight that was supposed to take me from San Diego (where my sister lives) to Connecticut (where my stuff lives) develops a fault - i.e. the plane was missing rivets on the tail section. Oh Joy!
Ofcourse this meant they had to move us to a whole new plane - one that was significantly smaller than the one we were currently on.
You know, in all my years of flying this has never happened to me. Every other conceivable fuck-up - oh yes, but the whole, "Do you mind delaying your flight by a day, we'll include one free round trip anywhere, a hotel and money dollars" has not. And the one time it does...I need to be on the damn plane.Grrrr.

So I make it to CT to discover my phone has finally been disabled (Fuck you sprint, I asked for END OF THE MONTH, for which you even charged me extra not 8 SECONDS AFTER I ASK FOR IT TO BE DISABLED END OF THE MONTH).

2 hours into packing...I get a phone call, my Great Aunt is really really sick and is being put on a respirator. My uncle and aunt here in CT had to book an emergency flight back to India, driven to JFK at breakneck speeds by yours truly, only to have to drive back in preparation for my own flight.

JP should know this - hey remember when we had to vacate the apartment and I hadn't managed to accomplish anything and I only had a few hours to get everything packed and out? Deja vu.

So if I haven't had a chance to call you yet, sorry things are a little hectic right now.

Because sometimes, the internet provides.

2009-03-25T22:59:00.001-07:00

So I'm packing, well mostly sorting.
3 piles.
Stuff I want,
Stuff I need,
Stuff I really don't want to throw away.

Ugh - is it sad that I look at my stack of Batman comic and my stack of pedagogy books and is it obvious which one of these gets the charcoal treatment?

Our titular hero makes a decision.

2009-03-21T11:20:00.000-07:00

A year or so ago I remember sitting at the Sports Page and coming to a startling epiphany. I slammed down my beer and yelled at JP (a: Because yelling in a bar is a manly thing to do & b: My 'ride' was busy singing out loud to Hmmmm...Bop)

I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS DRINK, TYPE UP THAT PAPER, SAVE MY RELATIONSHIP, SAVE THE PRESIDENT'S DAUGHTER AND BE A CHAMP!!!!

I bring that up not to
a. Highlight my failures (hmm, which of the above did I manage?)
b. Appear totally badass
c. Use the word 'champ'

I bring it up, because once a upon a time I used to be like Dirk Anger (pictured above). I made grandiose plans, I knocked over my ice cream and BY THORS GOLDEN LOCKS I TRIED TO ACCOMPLISH STUFF!!!

I am not that man anymore, I am instead a passive, cuttle-fish rearing, scrabble playing dweller of basement.

Enough, I slam down my gently crafted ginger tea and emphatically declare:

I'M MOVING TO INDIA, FINDING A JOB, WEARING PANTS AND SORTING MY LIFE OUT.

I will miss you terribly, but this thing, this thing it needs doing.

Sometimes I ask superman "is the future ours to see"?

2009-03-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

An unfortunate Car-icature

2009-03-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

Espying Morgantown WV fading into the distance in my automotive's rear view, I settled myself for a long, quasi-comfortable ride.

Phone charged? Yes.
Ira Glass glibly introducting this week's theme? C'est Certaine.
Smug sense of satisfaction at having met everyone? Check.
Sense of accomplishment in managing car inspection and registration? Most definitely.
Ruminating on tasty pie served at JP household? Word.
Existential crisis averted? Mayhaps.

Fast forward several hours and several hundred miles.
Mood. Grim. Snow Awful. Cold Seeping. Ira Annoying. Phone Beeping. Torso Cramping. Matter Eater Lad. Pretty. Batmanning. Dreaming. Sandwich. Humus. Soup. Espresso. Tiny Cup. Pinky. Extended. Humming. Turtle Necking.
Explodo.

Allow me to illustrate albeit poorly.

So yes, I am sans car. However, valid license or not, the insurance company did give me money dollars - stranger still, they gave me more money dollars than I actually paid for my car when I first bought it.

I wonder if the crash somehow changed the molecular properties of my once proud automotive, if its freon had leaked into its catalytic transdislocator and it was a car now capable of flying through dimensions?

But fear not friends of mine - I am working on new transportation -

Suck it Electric Avenue!

2009-01-26T17:21:00.000-08:00

I'm a cultured guy, after all it has been said that while I enjoy the finest french pornography my friends might be found watching dogs go at it on the street *cough*toolan*cough*.

And in the same vein of cultural superiority, I discover a play near me promising foul language & graphic puppet fornication (emphasis mine!). Fortunately I managed to finangle tickets from my uncle who owns seaon tickets (or however it is that people who see plays see plays) (witty sentence structure=1 me=0).

This play fucking delivered! Avenue Q is fucking hilarious, the saga of a recent English graduate who moves to the big and discovers himself unemployable (sound familear?). Oh, and it features, Gary Coleman as Gary Coleman, succesful child star turned failed cultural icon.

When your plays opens with the song "What do you do with an B.A. in English" stop digging, you've struck oil!

And other winners such as "Everyone's a little bit racist"

But rest assured dear reader, I wasn't simply sitting there singing along to "The internet is for Porn" I was networking, getting my jobbity mack on!

The person sitting next to me was the Director for Public Health and Education, who upon discovering my personal lament during the first song, confided that he needed a grant writer.

Its easy he tells me, the current grant writer they have now is terrible and all I have to do is read the instructions, type up a few pages and I'll be showered with money dollars. And cake.

I interviewed the next day (I wore a tie!!). And the very next day, I was shown to my desk with a stack of papers (the grant + itemized expenditure of said grant) towering against the ceiling.

Now before you start congratulating me (which you should btw) and start forwarding your resume (*cough*JP*cough*) I have to clarify. I'm working on a contractual basis, I'm going to write the one proposal and hopefully on the basis of said work, the Board might hire me, shower me with money and cake and I will leave all you no good ne'er do wells in the dust.

My official title is Public Health Associate, but it might as well be, Dept. flunky. On Friday my boss tells me he wants to test drive his new bike, would I be willing to meet a US senator and just listen to him talk. I say no.

I find myself in front of Chris Dodd anyway, trying to remember anything at all about Medicare. I fail and instead bring up anecdote about GTA health insurance, he laughs and everyone moves to breakfast. According to JP, lying to a govt. official is probably a felony. Like all failures, mine will be epic!

Escape this Snake Plissken

2009-01-07T18:22:00.001-08:00

Gentle reader, allow me to submit before you my tale of woe. Be warned dear reader that like Sisyphus before me, I too push that insurmountable boulder of failure and missed oppurtunities ~~(WTF? Stupid English degree, that last line doesn't even make sense. Edit!!)~~.

Right, anyway - This my new year's adventure. Read. Weep. Buy me stuff.

Click on the picture to make large screen goodness happen.

My first Star Wars reference!

2008-12-19T13:10:00.000-08:00

So I got a job offer yesterday.

Wait, wait, I'm not finished. There's more.

I will get on with it if you stop interrupting.

Well I didn't mean to mislead you, I was going for a dramatic entrance.

No its not stupid. Your face is stupid.

Oh fuck of...GUN! GUN!

*BLAM*BLAM*

Right, no more cold opens. I'll leave that shit to CSI:Miami.

So. I get a call late last night. I was offered the post of Project Manager for a publishing house (rhymes with Tandem Mouse). Not editorial assistant or jizz mopper, which weremore akin to the positions I actually applied for but straight up Project Manager. In India.

That's like the issue of Batman in which a judge, hoping to appear tough on white collar crime sentences a poor Kenneth Lay lookalike called Worthington Davenport III* to Arkham Asylum instead of Blackgate prison. So instead of a minimal security correctional facility, they row this poor bastard (still in his tux**) to the island prison where he has to worry about not making eye contact with the likes of the Joker, Two-Face, Killer Croc, Calendar Man, Bane, etc... (you know this might be the only issue where these people are actually in prison as opposed to poisoning the city's drinking supply).

Okay, that analogy makes absolutely no sense.

Anyway, the point I'm trying (unsuccessfuly) to make is how strange this is. This isn't the first job offer I've had from India either. When I graduated, I was so concerned with finding relevance that I only wanted to work in non-profits or within publishing or for universities. Over the months as desparation and madness set in, I realized I would lay aside their unrealistic expectations and take up anything. Absolutely anything.

But as you know (when i bitch, I bitch loudly) this job hunt is not going well. I even thought about Alaskan shrip fishing - the sea, the wind in my face, the spirit of comaraderie, the 21% mortality rate. Needless to say I talked myself out of that option.

The reason this offer from back home jars me, is how strange it is. One of the reasons I came to the states is that there's no love for the liberal arts back home. Apparently after decades of a pro- STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering & Mathematics) educational system we have humanities deficit. And it is this hippie-less nation that now desparately wants me.

It's like (better analogy forthcoming) looking at a parallel earth (lets call is Earth-2 and this Earth Prime), where I am valued, I'm offered mad money-dollars, where I finally had sex with Loni B. and my first time was not like playing Duck Hunt. A world where I'm top dog instead of nameless henchman.

Batmite! in Earth Prime Batmite! in Earth-2

And yet I can't help but feel that moving home is in a sense, a step back, an admission of failure.

And Worthington Davenport III? He get eaten, eaten by Killer croc.

*Clearly DC comic's ideas of rich people come from Archie Comics

**What judge would sentence a man to certain death but let him wear a tux? And who wears a tux to court anyway?

PSA: Cafe Spice is my martinopia!

2008-12-11T10:19:00.000-08:00

You know my obsession with brightly coloured drinks! And in my quest for drunken clarity, I stumbled upon an indian-fusion restaraunt called cafe spice.

Une caveat fellow epicureans - this place is all solitary candle, paper lantern, ambientfusion romanctic dalliance kinda bar. And while I was flattered by the timid asian who worked up the courage to buy me a drink, I doubt I will return without ovarian re-enforcements.

The Revolution will not be televised, it will be a pop-up book.

2008-12-08T19:25:00.000-08:00

I'm just going to come out and tell you that this is too good of a title and reference for this post.

While rummaging for reading material for the bathroom I stumbled upon this little gem.

Now I know what you're thinking - "Batmite!. You're mocking a children's book that's trying to inculcate tolerance and understanding. Low blow".
I admit dear detractor you have a point. But I'm going to do it anyway because this book sucks and I have a pedagogical point to make.

The aim of the book is to teach children the importance of tolerating the various value systems of people.
Such as vegetarians:
Now apart from the fact that I seriously doubt some kid will throw rocks at your child in the playground while chanting "Green Bean Lover" - there is something really odd about this image.

Could it be the obvious unease of Sue's face? Maybe.
Or the submissive posture she seems to be in? Tres possible.
Or the intense Charles Manson look Tony seems to be giving her while caressing that package of hotdogs.

The message I seem to get is, if you don't eat the hotdog Sue, Tony is going to make a windchime out of your shins.

This is how I would explain the value of a nutritious veggie only diet:
Here's a little vignette on the value sports ideologies -
My complaint here is there's no option for anyone who doesn't watch sports. Looking at that poor bored child on the left, the only lesson I can take is "Pretend to love football or your daddy won't love you anymore, move out forcing your mother to start drinking until she slowly starts falling behind on your autistic brother's tuition."

Harsh.

Allow me, gentle reader, to present you with the true tale of tolerance.

You might want to click to enlarge (enlarge, hehe - I'm such a child!). Stupid Paint!

Take this next scene, on tolerating a difference in musical tastes:

Are you insane? Have you never been on the internet? Or outside? Music Snobbery is everything! Plus, you're 11! Ofcourse your musical tastes suck. If we all took a page of out this book (metaphorically, not literally like I did for this crappy scan that I didn't make in my cousin's make shift office) we'd all be listening to Raffi and Harry Belafonte.

This is how this scene should have gone down:

Now you're ready to tackle the posers in the playground. Tell them you liked the "Banana Boat song" better when it was on the original vinyl on 72 rpm.

This is the last page

There is no possible context that I can give you that makes this panel make any more sense.

Maybe its me, but having the Asian kid just point at the Black kid's nethers while the Indian kid looks in some strange voyuerist way just makes me wonder if they're shattering stereotypes.

"That's not well hung, that's a malignant growth Tony!"

If you've got a better caption, post way!

notoriety

2008-12-02T13:31:00.000-08:00

Jordan to me:

you come of quite well in my stories of you... but i dont select the ones that:

1. involve comic books
2. involve "graphic novels"
3. involve tums being snacks
4. involve sleeping all fucking day in india

Which reminds me of a conversation with pal Toolan:

Me: I would totally admit to knowing you in public
Toolan: You don't now? :-(

On with the yuk yuks

2008-12-01T13:39:00.000-08:00

My niece walks in with her latest creation at daycare or wherever it is that they send hyper-active 3 year olds who interrupt Guitar Hero time.

Astute readers might notice that I am not on that list.

It's a trade-off that I can live with, but this is precisely the kind of "warping my child, bad influence, overstaying his welcome" aura that is beginning to permeate.

Thamba! Bhenchod

2008-11-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

Everyone's been to Bombay. I've never met anyone anywhere in India who hasn't been to Bombay at one point.

You have to. Its a rite of passage of sorts. Its the city with the most money, the most people, the most culture all crammed into a tiny space at war with the sea.

The city didn't exist till the British made it so. Every year the city tries to reclaim land from the sea to expand on and every year it fails.

I suppose if you've been nature's bitch since your inception, bombs and assaults can be shrugged off.

I've always resented Bombay. No one from Bombay wants to live anywhere else, no one anywhere else wants to live in Bombay. Its a city so insular, so unique that its nothing like the rest of it. The nationalists tried changing it by force - they made it 'Mumbai' (more phonetical), they renamed the airports, the film industry; its alien origin had to be erased.

It didn't take, the only people who call it Mumbai are the ones who don't live there.

It's also the city with the largest jewish, christian and parsi populations in the country.

My first trip on my own was when I was 15. I went to visit my friend Leo. Leo's a journalist now.

At the time he was, just Leo. We walked about everywhere, hopped on trains, hopped off before the Ticket Collector showed up. At 3 am we sat down on the pavement to rest. We weren't ready to go home. Leo broke out his sketch pad and decided to sketch Churchgate station. I just watched. A security guard walked over to see what we were doing. He disappeared only to appear 30 minutes later with freshly brewed tea. He sat next to us. I didn't speak Marathi and he didn't speak Hindi. Leo being Leo didn't speak either.

I think we gave him the sketch before we walked home.

My buddhist architect turned economist buddy left Philly to go back to Bombay. He works in the financial district. I haven't heard from him. I imagine he's fine.

I spoke to a friend a while back. He sounded tired. He couldn't wait for "things to settle down". I asked if he was okay, "No yaar, I have to work tomorrow." Apparently, a siege changes nothing.

Meanwhile another friend's Last.fm songs have been very cheerful picks of late. Like he's sitting on his terrace singing out loud to Abba.

The Fascist party is excited. Already they're talking about bombing the shit out of everyone. My family here in the states is glued to the news. My family back home is deciding where to eat out. My family in Bombay is curious if they have work tomorrow.

Gift for JP!

2008-11-18T13:14:00.000-08:00

Cafe Press that shit!

Batmite! A Man for the People

2008-10-27T22:12:00.000-07:00

Batmite! supports the war on terror

Batmite! supports your right to bear arms

Batmite! enjoys the suport of lovable children's characters

Batmite! is pro-life

Batmite! is not a Nazi!

Mission Accomplished!

“Get off my lawn you pesky whippersnappers”

2008-10-26T16:03:00.001-07:00

I wish I was this guy. Instead of being old, insane and awesome, I'm just old and insane.

Its 5 in the evening and I'm enjoying a tasty cup of coffee, two Tylenols and I'm looking forward to perusing the internet and reading my John Berger book.

I'm not in college anymore, and you know that because I use words like 'peruse' and 'John Berger' and 'humdinger'. That and apparently my idea of a good time on my wild weekend bender was letting an Argentinean guy massage my shoulders (hmmm, maybe I'm not old as much as entering Oscar Wilde territory).

So, to recap – I met a girl from Venezuela at a job fair in Philadelphia. I was the epitome of respectability (I had a tie!!) and I was the only (obvious) other international in a crowd filled with ex Meryl-Lynch employees. The job fair was the suck; there was no one apart from several defense contractors and the Pennsylvania Department of Social Services (an organizer with a taste for irony, must be an ex humanities grad-student). So having nothing better to do we chat and agree to hang out over the weekend.

Le week-end commence – I imagined 'hanging out' was a euphemism for sipping over priced coffee drinks and talking about Batman (hmm, is this why my friends no longer call?). No, 'hanging out' means running the entire gamut of the American college experience in a single evening.

As soon as I arrive at her apartment I'm introduced to 8 of her friends all from South America. There is much hugging, and somehow a glass of wine finds its way into my hands.

"Do you know that one day Peru will rule the world?" Someone asks me.
"Oh" I know where this is going, I've heard Indian and Turkish versions of this joke.
"Yes, when everyone else is already in space".

There is laughter and another glass finds its way into my hand.

Everyone's speaking Spanish and once they realize all I have are Gato, Pantalones and Taquito for what passes as language skills everyone switches to English, except now it feels like I'm surrounded by various doppelgangers of Fez from "That 70's Show".

So several drinks later the consensus is reached that I'm the oldest (not by virtue of age, I feel the need to insist) but because I've been living in the States the longest. So I have to decide what we're doing tonight. Suddenly thrust with the onus of leadership (Onus! Ha!) I suggest the bar, I mean what else would I do with a gaggle of foreigners other than get them soused?

So we barhop on Sanson st. where Andreas the Argentinean decides we need to talk.

"What do American girls like?"
"Tall Argentinean guys in leather jackets. You'll do fine Champ"

By now our crew has grown, there is more hugging and drinking. The girl I originally came to see is nowhere to be found, maybe she never left her apartment?

Someone asks if we could go to a disco. Not without a time machine I reply. My witty repartee is met with silence. We go to a fancy nightclub on 2^nd st. I'm fairly sure the bouncer only let me in because it looked like I was the ring master at a Model shoot.

I ~~won’t~~ ~~can’t~~ ~~shouldn’t~~ dance. Andreas won't leave my side until I tell him how to charm the group of girls by the dance floor.

"Say Hello".

We head over to someone else's apartment and I think hey, its over, maybe its finally nap time. Nope! More drinking is done, and by now no one remember how to talk in English so I end just nod enthusiastically. Judging by the results of one conversation I may have said yes to "Do you want my manly arms kneading your neck and shoulders?"

I have never known such comfort.

Strong Men Also Cry

2008-10-24T12:43:00.001-07:00

Reading JP's latest post made me realize that according to the wonderful people over at Popular Mechanics, I am not a Man's man. Where JP can claim to know atleast several of the things listed there, I can't:

It turns out that real men should be able to tape drywall, set up a ladder, build a fire in the woods, iron a shirt, operate some basic power tools, change a diaper, drive a stick shift, tie a necktie, hitch up a trailer, parallel park, change a tire, fix a toilet-tank flapper, shovel (I don't see how anyone could screw this up), mix concrete, prune bushes and small trees, ride a bike (again, this is a challenge?), jump start a car, and fold the American flag

In truth, I don't even know what some of those things are (a toilet-flapper sounds like something I'd have to pay an escort extra to do), I've never even held a shovel and I sure as shit can't parallel park as many of you know.

In a momentary lapse of sanity, I wondered if I lacked something in the manliness dept.
"Bullshit" my rugged reflection cried out from the mirror. "Fuck Popular Mechanics. Goddamn Garden gnomes! True Manliness is decisive action, not some lame Things to do before you die shit (Hint: Destroy Skynet)".

So here's my list of shit a Manly man does, and some of us (*points to self*) do every goddamn day!

Batman : The manliest thing you could do is be Batman. However not all of us have our parents gunned down before our eyes and swear solemn oaths of vengeance. But if given the opportunity, become Batman.
Know what is "Best in life"
If you didn't know that, then just fucking leave, get off my internet and go operate a power tool or prune a small bush or something.
Quote From RoboCop
This is just self-explanatory, but you get bonus points for quoting Dick Jones in any meeting.
Find Free porn on the internet
Now this may seem simple but 'free' porn on the internet is a task that rivals balancing a checkbook on the internet – You know its possible, but you don't quite know how, unless you're a real man!
Recite the Green Lantern's Oath.

Anyone whose first words on waking up are not "In brightest day, in blackest night" is no friend of mine. You don't need any special occasion for reciting the oath, the oath is occasion enough:

6. Crying at the death of Optimus Prime
I've gone over this before, but let me reiterate, if your eyes are not deep pools sadness, then you are not a man sir, because "Strong men also cry... strong men also cry"

7. Real Men finish Contra

8. Real Men Fear Ninjas

9. Real Men don't drive
Don't scroll down. Look at it. LOOK AT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The Specter is riding a dinosaur MADE OF FIRE!!!

10. We wear totally sweet Hats.

So suck it Popular Mechanics:

You know what's beyond Gasoline?

It's called the Thunderdome.

Anatomy of Awesome!

2008-09-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

Kim T: You feel like jumping out of a plane?

Me: Every night in my dreams.

Kim T: Yay! We're going skydiving.

Me: Oh.

So I can't do this,
But this weekend....I can do this!

“Total and utter cosmic stuff”

2008-09-02T01:40:00.001-07:00

There once was a point when I dreamt of a lifestyle life this.

A typical day for me involves waking up in the middle of the afternoon (every morning I try to wake up around 9 a.m. but give up once I realize there's nothing I have to wake up for), I make coffee.

I'll make a breakfast/lunch hybrid that often involves pancakes and bagely things. I'll fire up the internet, waste time, apply for something, get distracted by something shiny, silently envy the success of friends, in short…I do nothing. This is the quintessential Bertie Wooster gentleman of leisure stuff. Since I'm house-sitting I'm not paying rent or utilities, I putter about, sometimes I'll head downtown to walkabout, grab coffee, ogle at the hipster girls and wonder when I became so damn old.

I used to dream about this –large house, a no responsibilities, pants free life. Its driving me insane. Since there's no one I know here. I'm getting tired of exploring on my own. How ironic, I finally move to the 'Big City' and I'm still bored. I'm reluctant to meet new people since I figure I'll be moving soon anyway. However I feel constantly on edge as if there should be something more I can do, but apart from looking at various postings and applying for the ones that I (barely) qualify for, I don't know what else to do.

I had originally envisioned that I'd have found something by now and I'd make a smooth move from here to wherever. Instead I think I might have to wander from cousin to cousin till something works out. I hate moving. I'm all about unpacking though, its like all your old stuff takes on new life an intersection of familiar and new.

I try to keep myself motivated, I've been discovering tons of cool music, watching a lot of movies, some good, some bad, most forgettable. One of the first things I did on moving here was shave my head and inadvertently give up meat. That was a strange happenstance. I found a vegetarian cookbook in the kitchen I've been teaching myself to make stuff. Some edible, some terrible and all made by me! I didn't realize it till this morning – I've become that crazy Hare Krishna guy who haunts airports and College Student Unions.

I know I'm supposed to enjoy this moment before life as a grownup kicks in but I can't help but wait for that first shoe to drop.

I saw a sign on a Church lawn that said "Volunteers needed. Get free hoagie". I can't decide if that's the funniest thing I've ever seen or the funniest thing I'll ever see.

A shot in the dark

2008-08-27T20:04:00.001-07:00

There's a character in the Marvel Universe that I'm secretly fond of called Longshot. Longshot is a mutant and his mutant ability is having really good luck. He unconsciously manipulates odds or influences the universe in ways… his power is that he is really fucking lucky:

Unable to remember his real name, Longshot becomes an adventurer and takes the name "Longshot" after several humans call him that due to his incredible good luck. While recovering, Longshot befriends the human stunt-woman named Ricochet Rita and works as a movie stuntman himself.

(Yes, I know, I know, Ricochet Rita…ugh).

Anyway, my point being that during the later half on my life in Morgantown, I was channeling Longshot. Not just me, JP too, infact I would say anyone wandering into our collective presence might have found their life improving in subtle ways, sometimes it might been displaying newly discovered wii tennis acumen or simply finding a tasty sandwich.

You might not realize this since all you've ever heard any of us do is bitch and moan about our lot in life, but that's kinda our thing, its what we do. But if you payed close attention you might have overheard conversation akin to this:

Me: Oh this? This is a cake, why yes I am having it, infact I am eating this very delicious cake.

It took us a while to discover this most magnificent of properties – after the umpteenth incident of not doing work for class and simply getting away with it became being reward for not doing any legitimate work.

"Oh, 20 page seminar paper due merely hours after a party where I consumed far too much alcohol, no problem."

"$200 water bill? Oh, Evil landlord will take care of half? Cool"

"No food? Oh, kindly friend brought over fudge and brownies. Yaysies"

"Apathetic French TA – more yay"

"Department sponsored cake? Woohoo!"

"20 page seminar paper on sodomy due in hours? Time for Tacos"

"You need to get to the airport in the next 30 minutes? Bah, plenty of time for noodles"

"Developed a cat allergy? Bye evil cat"

"Girlfriend goes batshit insane post coitus? Post Coitus, so yaysies!"

You get the general idea. These were never great victories like solving world hunger or developing an adequate sense of self worth, but more along of the lines of having the vending machine spew out two twix bars for the price of one. We took our victories where we could.

We were Bulletproof.

If you're one of our ilk, you know how this story goes. The Greeks (who according to The Wire gave us democracy and ass fucking [Thanks Bunk]) man's greatest flaw – hubris. As soon as we realized our luck, we abused it, kept pushing its limits. It wasn't until we left Morgantown that we discovered, it wasn't Longshot we were channeling, it was the Wonder Twins.

Our powers only worked in conjunction with each other. Suddenly things began to go wrong, I got the world's most expensive parking ticket while driving through DC (stupid GPS, stupid NSA parking lot, stupid shortcut). Our 'kindly' landlord introduces to the Greek discovery that wasn't democracy. I misplaced my playstation memory card. Our respective automotives start giving us grief within days of each other.

In short our Wonder Twin powers activated and instead of a pail of water and an eagle, we produced a sadness pile and a despair hillock.

What I do when I'm not being rejected by employers

2008-08-26T02:16:00.000-07:00

So I finally got around to watching Tropa de Elite, the film/faux-documentary about Brazil’s BOPE the Special Police Operations Battalion of the Rio de Janeiro Military Police. I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while, but I’ve been uncomfortable about what my reaction to it might be.

warning:soapboxish

The BOPE are similar to the German GSG 9 in terms of skill with urban warfare (the fact that almost each country seems to have a division that exists specifically to quell regional unrest, speaks volumes) but ethically, they’re like my beloved Mumbai police and their ‘encounters’ which is a euphemism for state approved murder. Courtesy Wikipedia: Encounter killings is a euphemism used in India and Pakistan to describe extrajudicial killings in which Police shoot down gangsters and terrorists in alleged gunbattles. Encounter killings were common in Mumbai, India, during the 1990s till mid 2000s and some of the Police officers involved came to be known as 'Encounter Specialists'.

/soapbox

My initial concern with Tropa de Elite was that it might simply be a propaganda movie albeit a well made propaganda movie like Parinda or even Saving Private Ryan and while I enjoy them whole heartedly, there’s always a part of me that feels guilty for doing so.

Thematically, Tropa de Elite feels like the spiritual successor to City of God. It does have some great action moments, but I don’t think it ever glorifies or revels in violence, infact it’s almost uncomfortable to watch at times. And surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprising) it never morally ambiguous, its very clear in pointing out the fascist nature of the BOPE and what it says about a system that cannot exist without it. (There are points in the movie where I feel Tropa might be channeling David Simon).

What really floored me were the reviews I read. Surprised to discover that none of the cinema critics I normally read hadn’t commented on it I turned to rottentomatoes (I tend to have a problem when any site/system which exists on a point or grade system for movies…How do you assign a how many points a thing is worth?). I’m not to familiar with how the site works or where it culls its reviews, but honestly – some of them just reeked of cultural condescension.

It's a bit like a Latin American episode of The Bill written by Richard Littlejohn and directed by Chuck Norris.

Wow – way to go guy, not only does that not mean anything, but anytime someone does the whole ‘Its like x only set in y with a bit of z’, its means they need to be beaten with a rolled up copy of The New Yorker.

Or my personal favorite:

Nothing is clear-cut in this intense brew of brutality, stupidity and genuine tragedy. We’re left lamenting that it will go on, unless Brazil engages its brain before its fist.

Thanks Guardian reviewer, lets take an entire culture to task for something that’s become a hallmark of democracy since the 19^th century. The fact this excerpt comes from an otherwise glowing review makes it all the more inane.

And,

A tough and realistic cop story that stays believable from beginning to end while delivering the truth about loyalty, courage and gut-wringing fear on an inner city military mission with no second chances.

Did we see the same movie? I think this describes every Delta Force movie.

I guess this is why I’m so reticent to trust reviews of any kind regarding anything. They rarely ever seem to take context into account, and while I understand the need for ‘the work’ to stand on its own, we have to take into account a cultural barrier that’s made all the more difficult by television and sound bites. Some of the more intelligent reviewers have a hard time following the BOPE sergeant's justification for the brutality. I can understand that since he is essentially a likable guy who does some very terrible things. His logic doesn't really make sense, but neither does truth, that the drug trade funds NGOs and non-profits since the government can't (ironically, because they're spending billions fighting the drug trade). I was shocked that RT only had one Spanish reviewer, since the reception of the movie in its home country says a lot given its very political nature. The copy I came across was a heavily seeded torrent with fan subs and a primer at the beginning of the movie. The translation left a lot to be desired, often misspelled and using strange cultural similes that were hard to follow –a labor of love nonetheless. And the viral popularity of this movies would indicate there’s more to it than ‘quaint cultural artifact’ or ‘Latin remake of something old and English’

You beautiful frosted murder cake

2008-08-24T14:42:00.000-07:00

The Season 3 finale of the Venture Brothers airs in 5 hours and 23 minutes!
I couldn't wait and I saw it last night on adultswimfix.com.

The Venture Brothers is the Magnum Opus of the 21st Century - a glorious tribute to sublime failure.

Why aren't you watching it?

Like the Monarch, I too planned my assault on the working world, from the energetic "vroom vroom" sounds made while making go happen in the VivekMobile to having to relieve myself in awkward places (never again Kirwan Heights!!!)

The Monarch: Ahh, that's just what Venture expects us to do! But we won't expect this! You and your two best men! Me and my... men. We keep it slim! Elite forces!
Dr. Girlfriend: Great idea. One of your [air quotes] elite forces is playing Tetris on his cell phone while the other is peeing into a grande chai latte.
Henchman 21: Oh my god I wish! It's like there's a vice on my wing-ding. You guys gotta stop talking so I can get into the zone.

My battle against my own personal arch enemy (Sgt. Unemployment) echoed the Monarch-Venture Battle of this final episode...failure!
Where the Monarch had his new Deaths Head Panoply, I had a newly reworked resume (minus the henchmen eviscerating options).And like the dreaded Monarch butterly from which he gets his name, I too soared to great heights, Soaring, all powerful, death dealing, whirlwind of success and future prosperity, BUT NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I flew too close to the sun curtailed in swansong I crashed to the earth, drenched in my own filth.

And how does it end?
The way all things end, with a transsexual sipping champagne and plotting my downfall.

The Wandering Hobo has come unstuck in time

2008-08-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

So I’m in Philadelphia now. With a third of my stuff…and as I quickly learnt, the unimportant third – I wish I had grabbed the ps2. Insanity is setting in. I found myself drinking mountain dew and inciting riots on message boards…”Hal Jordan needs to bag my groceries!” I dream of RPGs, of leveling up, grinding for hours killing rabbits before acquiring skill points for a rusty knife.
Is this the onset of madness?

Bah, I’m a gradumacate, I didn’t just pass French suckas, I pwned it!(70 out of 50 on the final bitch!) And yet, I feel no accomplishment, maybe I left that in the wrong suitcase as well? What I am is bored, mind numbingly, soul wrenchingly bored. Short of sparring with fanboys on the interwebbity, I haven’t had contact with another human being since Sunday. When I do answer my phone or email the conversation eventually goes toward Ye Jobe Searche. I have none. I wish I could understand the etiquette of the workplace, I want to be able to walk into someone office and simply declare “I will do this work for money dollars” and then we’ll hug and listen to Kraftwerk, eat cake and I will wear a tie.

I’m heading to Syracuse this weekend to visit the Duke of Hatred and the Sultan of Ignominy, but I’ve also realized that I can’t afford the gas to go travelling much.

If it wasn’t for my rent free accommodations I might live on couches from friend to friend. But then I remember something…many of friends, love them as I may, live in cold infested ratholes, the kind where bullet holes are the only things allowing ventilation.

I should download more Air Supply.

2008-07-30T11:26:00.000-07:00

So I discover that my French final is a week away. So in one week, assuming I pass this class (of which I am fairly....somewhat confident) I have officially gradumacated and get to leave Le Ville de Morgan.
So I'm putting together a list of things left to do in Morgantown. I realize not all of these are feasible nor should some of these even be done, but I feel like I should atleast try to do these.
Suggestions, advice and stomach pumps welcome.

1. Eat a Fat Bitch.
hmm, Qualifier - I mean the questionable sandwiches from the cleverly named "R-U-Hungry?" The idea behind every one of their sandwiches seems to be, "what would be tasty after a heavy night of drinking and debauchery? Well lets put all of that in one super sandwich!!!"
Okay, amendement, I'd like to see someone eat a Fat Bitch

2. Apple Annies (sp?)
Contemplator has raved about this place...and they have their own gift shop?

3. Visit this place!!!!!
See the beauty and mystique of the Far East revealed without leaving America. Now you can enjoy an exciting royal afternoon at the Palace of Gold!!

Hot diggity damn!!!

4. Enjoy a show at 123 Pleasant St.

5. Swim in the Mon river
Its not St. Patrick's day Timmy.

6. Develop Skin Cancer

7. Enter the Beard Growing contest.

More updates forthcoming as I revisit the Morgantown Tourist bureau.

The Galleys are here!!

2008-07-13T20:53:00.000-07:00

I don't know how I feel about it since the final edits resulted in something completely different and better than what I initially turned in.

Spotted while walking around LA

2008-07-12T12:06:00.000-07:00

I am big for you

2008-07-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

Click it damn you.

So while illegally downloading tv shows since I'm 'teh pirate!', the intarwebbity informs me that Britney from Morgantown has a crush on me. Clearly this crush is based on the variety of things 'Britney' has observed me doing on the internets!!!!
Can it be?
Have I finally found someone who loves batman, buttsex, batman-buttsex, show tunes and naked John Cleese? Holy shit, its like someone cloned me, added boobs and threw me behind a monitor.
Another win for Science!!!

The claim to fame of a friend of mine was her purchase of 3 hotdogs and a fountain drink at an Ikea for....a single, solitary Canadian Dollar!!!!
Well, Leo's has 3 hotdogs for $3. For the average economist (you know who you are) not a deal perhaps, but keep in mind that this 3 measly earth dollars includes
1. Salmonella
2. White Power
3. Star Trek Pinball Machine
4. a Hug - Yes, I couldn't bullet time my way out of this, I got a creepy-old guy-possible epileptic-hug from Leo.

I have 3 (count 'em 3) friends working for Microsoft.
I have 0 (count 'em 0) employee discounted xbox 360s coming my way.

My future potential employer might be schizophrenic.
I learned the word for Orgy in french, I imagine it'll come up soon.

I'm designing a grad syllabus on magical realism for a professor who bribed me with ramen.

I tripped over a loose weight in the gym. I now have a 'work out bruise'.

One of the people in this room is a spy.

To the 2 people who get this - Where's the foil love?

2008-06-27T23:03:00.000-07:00

My holiday is over. Tomorrow I catch my flight back to Morgantown (more accurately, Pitsburgh where JP is going to pick me up - thanks buddy!) so I can attend French 4.
This trip has been great, infact its been so damn great that in typical english majory fashion, I have begun viewing it as a metaphor for (what else) sublime failure.

I've been spending most of my days on the beach, eating fun exotic foods and tramping about wineyards with my family. Then it struck me - thing are never going to be this sweet again.
The universe is taunting me, telling me that I should have gone to law school or become a mule.
Instead, its like paradise the color of hellflames consigning me back to a life of ramen, joblessness and a crippling sense of inadequacy. W00t!

That said, I am looking forward to drinking with my friends, watching terrible movies (I have Machine Girl)

I'm in a happy place

2008-06-19T10:44:00.000-07:00

Thanks xkcd. This pretty much sums up my first year in college.

I Eat Green Berets for Breakfast!

2008-06-08T00:38:00.000-07:00

My parents are in-country, and we’ve been making pilgrimage after pilgrimage to every long lost cousin, second-cousin or ex neighbor we have. Most of them have been really nice and some have been taking me around introducing me to people – aka I’ve been networking, which is code for firm handshake, booze and funny anecdote. So after yet another distant relative expresses quite surprise at my heteronormativity, I wondered what made people overlook my obviously masculine aura.

This is a new section we’re adding over here at Mongol, Know Your Batmite!. Today I’d like to address the pinnacle of manliness that is me that may (by lesser mortals surely) be mistaken for effeminate:

1. My Love for any movie featuring Queen as the soundtrack

See here. If you do not see the awesomeness that is every John Deacon bass line, followed by the sweet, sweet falsetto that is the Merc. Fuck you!

Check out that awesome moment. Flash has disappeared, presumed dead, Dr. Zarkof has been brainwashed by General Galla’s mind machine, Dale is being fed a roofie and forced to marry Ming and as she voices the question we’re all asking “Who will save us? Who will save us?” Flash miraculously appears on a rocket cycle with an army of birdmen and you hear the sweet bassline kick in, and the question is answered in a glorious moment of testosterone by the Merc. “FLASH!!!!!! AHAHAHA, SAVIOUR OF THE UNIVERSE. HE’LL SAVE EVERYONE OF US!” Fuck yea Flash! If that does not grip your shit and never let go…leave!

I bet Walker listens to "Princes of the Universe" on his walkman while he's working out on the total gym. That's right Walker, inside you flows the blood of kings!

2. Crying like a child when Optimus Prime dies.

The Autobots are up against Orson Fucking Welles in Mongolian Robot form and they’re completely out of Energon cubes. Moon base 1 is assimilated by Welles (who probably used the parts for Touch of Evil – haha, I’m so witty!), Moon base 2 is ambushed by the Deceptons who kill everyone onboard and launch a sneak attack on Autobot city. Unfortunately for the Deceptocreeps, they’re spotted by Hot Rod who warns the other Autobots.
We then get the single greatest fight scene in cinematic history, step aside Bruce Lee-Chuck Norris, go back to obscurity Rowdy Roddy Piper-Keith David. I defy anyone, ANYONE to watch Optimus Prime and Megatron battle it out and not feel pumped!

Optimus Prime: One shall stand, one shall fall.
Megatron: Why throw away your life so recklessly?
Optimus Prime: That's a question you should ask yourself, Megatron.
Megatron: NO!! I'LL CRUSH YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!!!
Kup: Finish him off, Prime! Do it now!
Megatron: No more, Optimus Prime! Grab me mercy, I beg of you!
Optimus Prime: You, who are without mercy, now plead for it? I thought you were made of sterner stuff!

OOOOOOOOh Snap! Feel the burn Megatron. Fuck no, it's a trick!
PRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Picture it, you're watching the sweetest, most satisfyingly epic battler ever! You know in your heart of hearts that the good will win, Prime will win! But what's this? Its only 12 minutes in, and they killed the only transformer anyone gives a shit about? How inglorious That's like watching Batman, and Bruce Wayne dies of dysentery before the fucking titles roll and then watching his funeral for the next 88 minutes.

I defy any man to watch Transformers and not shed a tear. Only damn dirty communists don't appreciate epic human pathos. Fuck that Rodimus Prime guy!

3. Appletinis
Much has been made of my love for Appletinis, but let me assure you haters, drinking one of these is manlier than donkey-punching a grizzly bear! Bear with me here (haha, my wit, it overflows!).
The misconception of an appletini no doubt comes from poor misguided fools, who don't realize what goes into the making of this ping-pong tiddly of a concoction - Liquid Kryptonite.

That's right suckers, my veins are coursing with kryptonite, a drink so fucking potent that even Superman can't touch it. Observe!
This is Lex Luthor circa the Golden Age
This man before you, this man is a joke, his paltry ambitions, his Junior Detective Chemistry Kit, his inability to defeat a nemesis who decides to blow out a chemical fire with his super breath from a random window. Really Lex? How hard can it be to kill Superboy?
After the years of failure and ineptitude have caught upto Luthor
Let me get this straight Lexy, you can bring inanimate stones to life (as opposed to animated stones) but you can come up with the formula for rogaine?
But you see, everything changed with Lex here discovered that Kryptonite, vermouth and vodka made for a diabolically tasty drink!
Ambrosia, Nectar of the Gods, and you can't touch this.
Luthor transforming, Luthor transformed!
Is this the kind of man who enjoys a PBR? I think not!

4. Chow Yun-Fat
I can't believe I even have to explain my love for the Fat. Fine I admit, I'd totally run my hands through his chest hair, I won't live a lie!
Hey, remember that totally boss moment in A Better Tomorrow when seems all it lost? The Fat's been shot multiple times and is bleeding to death and Hero Guy 1 is cornered by the Triad who want the tapes back but help is on the way in the form of police sirens in the distance. Only we realize too late, the cops are dirty, and so its Hero Guy 1 by himself in the abandoned factory armed with a 6 shooter and a plethora of bad guys closing him, and we're all asking "Who will save us, who will save us?" (oh man, if only John Woo prime had the budget to get The Merc. do the soundtrack for this....) and the Fat shows up out of nowhere bleeding and he's got a machine gun and an endless supply of bullets. BOOYAH!
Hey takes down everyone, only to be shot in the back by Generic Gang boss, but Hero Guy 1 gets the tapes to the cute investigative crime reporter who also happens to be his girlfriend. The day is saved, but at the cost of the Fat.
But lucky for us in A Better Tomorrow 2, we discover that the Fat's twin brother is a chef in America in San Francisco's Chinatown. Hurrah!
After an obligatory moment of exposition, Generic Chief Inspector unlocks Fat2's secret gun powers by pretending to be obnoxious customer disrespecting the rice!
More shoot outs, more tragic endings, more pigeons than on a statue in a park, everything culminates into Fat3's struggle to by his friend time so he can (i forget, maybe hand over a tape, or secret dossier) and is shot by the cowardly boss. The day is saved, but at the cost....wait, wait, I realize how similar these plots are, but focus people! Fat2 dies in America, not Hongkong and this time the tears are real.
Then A Better Tomorrow 3 came out.

5. My indepth knowledge of Jem and the Holograms.
Now, I know what you're thinking, there's nothing manly or badass about Jem and the Holograms. Spoken like a Captain Planet dork.
Yes, even though Jem and the Holograms was created by Hasbro to push a new line of dolls to 6 year olds girls, I'm going to show how David Cronenberg-subversive this show truly was.
Check out the MisfitsDoesn't Pizzazz look like a badass Chrissy Hynde? The Misfits were totally Punk!
If you're 6 (or 9 as I was) course you were cheering for the Misfits, hell, right after the show got over, you'd walk upstairs put on the Ramones and then go out kick over some garbage cans.
The Misfits - making Siouxsie Sioux albums popular!!

Although, I have to give props - remember the episode where Kimber and Stormer split from their respective bands and form their own super group? It was like having Morrissey as the frontman for the Clash or in more American terms, the awesomeness of Robert Smith (ala The Cure) with the sweet rhymes of Soul Coughing.

Ipso Facto, Jem and the Holograms was bad ass and Pizzazz could kick your ass.

Word G.

I bet they make some sweet glasses in there

2008-05-22T12:31:00.000-07:00

While my right eye recovers I thought I might amuse you with this picture I took while hiding Boston a few years ago.

Why yes, I am a child.

Le Fenir?

2008-05-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

Holy shit.
I'm done. Two long years and I'm finally done.
Well, not entirely, I still have to take French over the summer, but for what its worth I'll never take a grad class again, I'll never stay up nights wondering what to write for my sodomy class, I'll never use the words 'agency', 'pedagogy', 'discourse' or 'historiography' again.

Sweet. Its 4 o'clock, I haven't showered, I'm playing video games, eating ramen and thinking about going out for ice cream.

I realize that once this quite contentment wears off, I'll probably develop cabin fever, talk to inanimate objects and wear a hat made out of meat, but for now it seems nice to not drink a cup of coffee first thing in the morning, or check my mix for student emails.

For now my immediate concerns are wondering if I should regrow this sweet 'stache.

My life as Experimental Russian Space flight Metaphor.

2008-05-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

I wish I was productive.

Come to my bodacious 80s party this Thursday!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My astute reader(s) and fellow Bolsheviks have exposed me for the charlatan that I am:

Denis:I don't get it. I would assume that by your streak of posts that this is somehow supposed to be a metaphor of misfortune. But the soviet union was the first one in space, by a long shot. So, this leads me to conclude, that, under tyrannical rule and with great loss of life you will be prosperous. You will become world famous only to then be sent to your old job and die, unfortunately, only to remain an important but politically sanitized from context, as a mere figment in world history.Or something else..

Namely
my Milkshake
lies
broken

I can hear the Ocean when I pee!

2008-04-05T16:38:00.000-07:00

Many of you already know of our recent Water-related tragedy!
For those that don't, allow me to present
One day

Landlady is called
At the offices of the MUB

Our bill is $233!!!!!
Send money...and pie.

"I'm gonna give 'em everything I've got!"

2008-03-30T12:21:00.001-07:00

Fuck yea Meatloaf!!

We can do this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"There's no bears here". "You Lie!"

2008-03-08T12:50:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to post a few pictures from my rocking weekend biking around DC but I've been distracted by the work that's piled up since and my boss being his usual douchey self.
So I was invited to partake in a naked bike rally, I opted out given
a. how cold it was
b. how much a bike seat probably chafes
c. I'm a pants on in public kinda guy.

I couldn't take pictures, but let me assure you, a bunch of hippy, new age cycling enthusiasts dangling in the wind is not as rocking as you think it might be.
Then I got dragged Hiking up a trail called - The billy goat trail.Yup.
But its gets more interesting, despite my friends' attempts to distract me from them, I saw signs warning hikers of bears. Bears Bitches!!!! That's the number 1 threat in America right there!

This is our fearless leader plotting our hike - See the warning she's trying to cover up?
This is me on top of some peak! I'm fucking awesome, I'm rocking so hard, your highlights fall out!

I discover there's no prize, and I have to climb down this fucking behemoth. My crushing sense of inadequacy returns.
Bah!
I am rewarded with tasty treats for being Awesome!

We take the train to DC to bike about and adventure.
Sweet!
Books. I haz them.

Turn your Soviet to a Sovi-Nyet!! (courtesy JP)

2008-02-19T21:07:00.001-08:00

So, Ecolometrics is in town to visit! Which is tres cool, and also very pressure filled as he is the first (and possibly only) friend of mine from Buffalo to meet my friends here (not counting Pauline, who visited at a time when no one was around). Which puts a lot of pressure on poor Ecolometrics since he's representative of the (according to wikipedia) bohemian humanties crown I was associated with. So I got to show the man around town, and 4 minutes later, we went for ice cream.
This is him with his elaborate command center. recreated in our living room. He is being appropriately shady.
This is JP not reacting well to the Ruskie's presence, he fears his goldfish crackers are becoming Bolshevik.
This is the Uke examining our petite bourgeois cultural artifacts. He was unimpressed.

So, to sum up the visitation:
1. We discussed Susan Sontag and the ethics of photography.
2. We traded a cubit of films
3. My blood pressure rose.
4. The toilet was clogged and it took our lad 2 hours to unclog it using unconventional means since it didn't occur him to call me and ask where teh plunger was.
5. We got ice cream.
6. We went to the blackbear, we ogled at the hipster women and moaned about our pretentious wraps.
7. He took a shit load of pictures of people using his antiquated vintage camera. People were perplexed and a little wary. He cared not.
8. He is watching Red Dawn and rooting for the Russians. I don't have the heart to tell him, they lose!
9. He and JP duked it out over the (arguably) awesomeness of The Hunt For Red October. It ended when JP emphatically declared "Sean Connery could play Malcolm X. Game. Set. Match.

I tried finding this elaborate image where Boris held a plunger in his hand, had a sweet CCCP shirt on and was in wrist deep in poop. It has been lost to me, so enjoy a flighty image of idyllic artiness.

Why I love comics part Duex

2008-02-04T19:22:00.001-08:00

To make up for lack of posting...I offer you why comics are awesome and you suck!

You put the poison in me

2008-01-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

The zombiepocalypse is nigh and I dear reader am going to make it!
As you are doubtless aware, a killer strain of gastrojpdouchitis has suddenly gone airborne. Read the story of patient zero here.
As JP 's condition slowly worsened, I laughed and occasionally took out all the light bulbs to make him think his eye sight was going...life was entertaining.
But alas, hubris was to be my undoing. Proudly declaring, nay proclaiming how I had the immune system of a third worlder, and hence could never get sick I found myself feeling somewhat queasy yesterday afternoon.

Bah! Batmite! Fears no eather malady, Batmite!'s white blood cells strongest there is!! To prove how I could possibly not get sick, I treated myself to a horribly greasy lunch at the local tavern (read the blue moose, yes the place with the duct tape toilet, go figure) followed by a hefeweizen.

Ha! The constitution of a god! As I perambulated homeward I felt the beginnings of what can only be described as a long, hard rape of the soul. Everything hurt.

I made it home just in time to violently throw up my somewhat nutritious and wholly pretentious pesto and feta omelet. As I fetalised on my bathroom floor, I thought of ways I could murder JP, the most obvious involved, drugging him and forcing him to have sex with a leper.
But thoughts of scandalicious JP-Leper sex quickly left my mind as I went through several more spasms.
Following a tip from Renton (ala Trainspotting):
"one room which you will not leave; one mattress; tomato soup, ten tins of; mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold; ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of; Magnesia, Milk of, one bottle; paracetamol; mouth wash; vitamins; mineral water; Lucozade; pornography; one bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus; one television; and one bottle of Valium"
But make it, one bucket for vomitus, one bottle of Nyquil and one questionable acquired copy of Omkara. I was all set to sleep of my ailment, rise a well man, and gloat in life's face!

A few hours into my own personal nightmare coma, I get a frantic phone call,- a friend is trapped in a burning building and I have to fight through a cadre of ninjas to rescue her, no wait, she and her mother are stuck in the colisieum after a Reba Macintyre show and need a ride home. Yes well, we do the best we can with what we have.

I am very tempted to tell her to sod off. But no! The son of Odin would do no less, so I shan't either. I enter my metallic steed and delicately place a small "in case of emergency vomitus" bag inbetween my feet and set out. If she noticed, she and her mother very politely declined to point out that their hero of the hour looked like a heroin addict (minus the weight loss) and had a giant bag inbetween his legs.
I drop them home, and I realize that I feel somewhat better. I may not be at full operational strength, but I accomplished my quest and since I was already downtown...well gin cures more than malaria.
Two G&Ts later, I am back in the apartment and and once again find myself wishing for swift sweet release. A tip, faithful readers - Fuck gin!
More Nyquil and I crashed like a Topolov on a mountain top.

For those of you astute readers who want a more specific explanation as to the state of my mental affairs, allow me to demostrate with the help of these fine gentlemen from this years NY Asian film festival.

Thank you gentlemen, you've been great.

I woke up this morning, and did not want to die, ergo I am clearly the victor.
Life=1, Batmite!=1 quintillion, Jp=0

Why I love comics

2008-01-20T09:52:00.000-08:00

Alas, too late McDonald's, too little too late.

Wait, why is there a police line? Does Batman know?

Courtesy Chris' Invincible super blog.

Without You Everything Loses Significance or How I learnt to Shed a Life

2008-01-18T20:31:00.000-08:00

Ever since I decided to “terminate” at the M.A. (what an odd choice of word, not finish, not achieve, but terminate, which is strangely fitting) I’ve found myself somewhat lost. I would say I was suffering from ennui, but I feel that’s a symptom, not so much the cause of my general disinterest in life.

If I’ve ignored you, not called you as much as I should or just been non-committal, I’m sorry…I’m finding it harder to motivate myself to do anything these days. Know that I dream of you.

I graduate in 4 months and x days (the human countdown clock finds himself at a loss for specifics). I find myself terrified at what happens after. As far as I could recall I’ve had a plan, well a sketch, okay, a general idea then - Academia. To discover that I would ‘stop’ at the M.A., that there was going to be no ph.d no life elbow padded life after, well it’s enough to cause anyone to unravel. Ofcourse when I unravel, it is (much like all events in my life) a spectacular, melodramatic, pointless implosion. Until a year ago (or maybe before, no I think I always knew after my first month here that there was no afterwards) I knew what I wanted and I was excited and passionate and it was worth every sacrifice (or so I thought, remember the part about melodrama and solipsistic pointlessness?). Now I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself, in killer robot terms – I lack purpose.

Most of you have heard me lament about finding a job. “What am I qualified for” is a question I toss around in my head a lot, the actual question is not so much, what can I do as much as it is what should I do. Given that my whole sense of identity and space came from being a potential future academic, to find it fall apart has left me…fragmented to say the least.

I interviewed for a job at a children’s publishing house in my recent trip to Delhi. I’ve been toying (well not so much toying as much as “seriously considering”) heading home once I finish here. It doesn’t feel like home, but I imagine its like trying on an old suit, it’s a little small in places, but you eventually squeeze into it and there you go, the past and present become palimpsested through cloth. There’s a premade identity lying there, it should be easy enough to work my way into it.

Or I could try and become one with the everything and last time that happened, I was chased by a breast the size of a Volkswagen.
There are a few things in which I still find a sense of joie de vivre – the hope that Julie Feeney will realize a second album, rediscovering the perfect grilled cheese, Chacun son cinema (courtesy http://scotobuki.livejournal.com/) but mostly, this guy:

"Are you okay Mister?" - Dear Children, I am not the poster child for failure you take me for.

2007-12-24T20:37:00.000-08:00

The airline lost my suitcase. Which is not surprising given my luck in life – किस्मत ही ऐसी है.

I made a friend while waiting in London - a steelers fan, which evoked a strange disconnect. I had no prior awareness of the Steelers before moving to W.Va. and yet here I am kicking my heels in Heathrow talking to a football fan, She talked, I mostly listened – an unfamiliar position for me, but oddly pleasing.

I picked up Craig Thompson’s Carnage de Voyage for Tintin (shouldn’t it be du Voyage?). It’s a sketchbook diary of Thompson’s trip through Europe and Morocco while promoting Blankets. This is the second sketchbook journal I’ve read this year (Kochalka’s American Elf was the first). I can’t explain what it is I love about them, and even though Carnet is supposed to exist as this nebulous not quite a finished project, but not quite nothing work, I loved it more than Blankets.

Its strange, since there’s such a sudden shift in priorities and how everything from geography to cuisine reflects so much guilt and insecurity. Perhaps because I’ve been in a similar place for the last few months, this really speaks to me. I am envious of how much Thompson’s willing to share, But does it help? The book doesn’t end so much as it just ceases. Nothing seems to have changed, infact he admits a reluctance to ever doing (or sharing) another journal.

I’m also really excited to finish Galatea 2.0. I’ve had that on my shelf for almost 2 years and I’ve never found (read made) the time for it. I hope to finish it before I reach delhi, and maybe pick up something for the way back, I’ve been tempted to give Spook Country a try, but I haven’t read Gibson in years and I’m skeptical if I’ll enjoy it as much as Nueromancer. Ofcourse if I was a better student, I’d get a head start of the books for class or practice French.

We like: naked women, stockings, lesbians, and Sean Connery best as James Bond, because that is what being a boy is. - Stephen Moffatt

2007-12-21T23:54:00.000-08:00

Moi Tovarish,

I've going on a quick weekend trip to India, If you send me your address (via email or the comment function) I promise I'll send you a postcard from le Homelands.

You've Been Hit By A Smooth Criminal !!!!

2007-12-14T07:54:00.000-08:00

Contemplator just tagged me for an IntarWeb meme, and since I skivved out on the last one, I should attempt this, although I did wish I had dark secrets to hide, instead of blurting them out in public.
Rules I has them.

1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight ( or whatever number) people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Okay, 8 Random but not really secret facts about me.

1. I don't drink milk, I can't stand the taste or the smell or the infantile looks of happiness on people's face drinking the stuff. When we were young and living in Saudi, my dad convinced me that a Lion (I know, I have no idea why I would believe that) took a piss in my milk bottle, since then I refuse to drink it unless its heavily diluted with Coffee, tea or Kahlua.

2. I like my discipline though I mock it constantly. Yes, there's a million things wrong with it (People and Institution) but the dream job for me would be an English Professor, where I get paid to talk endless about stuff I like. And even though Grad School has shattered what little self esteem I had, deep down I really do regret that I'm such a terrible student and I do regret that the programme and I are parting ways and it does hurt that our break up is anything but amicable.

3. Its almost midnight and i spent the evening drinking with my man-at-arms Haroldus. I really adore my sister's downstairs neighbours - they are the sweetest people ever + and one of them has the initials D.M.G. and finds it as funny as I do has forever endeared me to her! Plus they have Guitar Hero, so i find myself slightly less worried about sister-person navigating this new space.

4. My friend Al, who hates all things and life indescrimately has accused me of being a significantly bitter human being. "I hate like a scalpel, Batmite! hates like a bat!". I would like to remind new readers, that once I was the most cheerful, optimistic, saccharinely positive person I knew. Blame life

5. The single best news of 2007 - a moment that I will cherish more than my nighmarish attempts at producing an A seminar paper in 22 hours - the saga of DobbyDawg (ask JP!)

6. Not many people may know this, or worse, perhaps everyone always suspected as much: My mum had hoped I was gay. (I realize terrible stereotyping will follow, all apologies). My mother once confessed to me, after each of us had one too many G&Ts that since she never found my porn, she assumed I had much love for the dudes, and she fancied herself a modern, progressive woman with her gay, literature loving son with whom she could indulge in catty comments and attend musicals. While I may have confessed to the contrary, she still holds out hope.

7. I think ManPudding is the best nickname ever, but I have to wonder who might be the recipient for such an appellation?

8. Fairs of all shapes and sizes scare me.

Je suis le goddam Arc de Triomphe

2007-12-10T15:07:00.000-08:00

I am a goddamn rockstar!
I am Chuck Norris' Beard!
I am BetaRay Bill!
I am every turtle that fucked your shit up in Mario!
I'm A Doombot on Rampage!
I'm every sweet solo Tom Morello plays!
I'm finished with my George Eliot paper.
I'm finished with you!
I'm every Batman Villian after 1977.
I'm Bob Agent of Hydra's blog.
I'm 5 months short of finishing a debilitating disease.
I'm 1.5 hours away from drinking more booze than Loki.
I'm 4 hours away from playing video games all night
I'm 8 parsecs away from replacing everyone's Christmas presents with Dictionaries and Pens.
I'm an accomplished motherfucker
I have a tie.

My life is now 8% better!!!

2007-11-30T13:32:00.000-08:00

The new Scott Pilgrim is here.

"How would you know what a Diploducus looks like?"

2007-11-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

Hello fine denizens of the interwebbity, mark my return to the nexus of all despair.

My trip back was fairly entertaining, but not the extent that my trip to India was. My flight from Delhi to Paris involved a long conversation in French with a dotty old biddy on Bridge (other than in Agatha Christie novels, who the hell actually places bridge). DOB wouldn’t let me sleep or get any George Eliot reading instead, she would poke me in the ribs and read out some strange incantation from her book Le pont est le vrai temps passé pour les gens sophistiqués. I don’t know Mabel, why does the caged bird sing?

The next leg of my journey had me seated next to a 22 year girl who wanted to talk about her long distance relationship and the travails of dating someone from a different culture. Do tell Jackie. Needless to say, I didn’t get any work done but to give the young lady credit, it was a hell of lot more entertaining than listening to Mabel excitedly point to some gobbledygook in her book…No he didn’t? And you did…where? Incredible!!!

But before I begin a summation of my trip I feel I must emphatically clarify that my getting lost in Paris was not my fault. To all 2 of you that weren’t a part of the massive attempt to ascertain my whereabouts when I did not arrive in India on my scheduled date, let me elucidate.

After spending a greater portion of my day in New York with Jordan (mainly spent trying to decide on a place to eat) barely making it in time to catch my flight from JFK, I discover my flight has been delayed. As a result I miss my connection in Paris. I have to kick around for a little over a day. I have a hotel room and food, but no money and absolutely no linguistic skills.
I learnt three important things that will stay with me for life:
a) The French love Law & Order
b) Using permutations of the words le petit déjeuner, de déjeuner, a perdu, l'étudiant (breakfast, lunch, lost, student) you can finagle a drink from a bartender
c) The human body has a fixed tolerance for couscous.
That said, It was fun roaming about the Champs Elysees (meanwhile my parents were concerned I had ended up in Botswana or somewhere being mauled wildebeests).

So, the wedding itself – Absolutely Batshit Insane. It took almost 3 days for whatshername to get married, each day requiring more and more ceremony (and several changes of clothes on all our parts).
Poor sister-person, that looked uncomfortable and I'm sure it took forever to put on.

The city of Madras (chennai) itself is a strange hybrid of rathole and space station. Occupied by a veritable legion of IT people, most of whom telecommute and rarely leave the house. On entering the city I was greeted by a large sign that simply said “Buy Brands. Build Personality”. I went out one night in search of a drink with a few cohorts – we found ourselves at the sketchiest bar ever, where each drink was accompanied with a bowl of sprouts and freshly cut cucumbers. Strange.

Right, wedding done, we travel to Delhi, host reception I meet 500+ people shake hands, claim I work in hedge funds don’t drink enough, drink too much, visit excellent lounge bar, fill suitcases with food and books and make my return. Customs guy mocks me and filches my electric diya, I get bullied by mean lady on my jfk- Pittsburgh flight, JP takes me to a rocking noodle house, I return to Morgantown, cry and pass out.
The end.

Oh, And Tintin gave me Shaun Tan’s very excellent The Arrival. Which might be the most beautiful thing I’ve read this year.
Oh, and amazon had screwed up my shipping of the new Scott Pilgrim. Frowny Face.
Oh and I met this guy at the airport. He was striking that exact same pose.
And somewhere in all that I discovered I had failed my French translation exam. woohoo!