I doubt that Mel Gibson (let's call him Mellow for the time being) will ever read this, but if he would, he'd certainly agree.
"What's a good movie without good clothes?"
The operative word being 'without'.
I'm not sure what drugs he was doing when he filmed 'Apocalypto', but if you do know, please be sure to consume the same before you watch it. Of course, if you can't guess that i thoroughly enjoyed the film, despite (rather because of) the mindless violence, gory details of morbid anatomy, heaps of mayan corpses (churned out on a daily basis), rivers of blood, mundane predictability, utterly inappropriate censor rating, hoards of stunned spectators going 'wtf?!' (many of them walking out); then you must not know me at all.
(You are free to read through that convoluted sentence again if its length has caused you to forget how it started.)
And if you are a budding doctor, please consider becoming Mel's psychiatrist. It oughta be a fun job. Also watch the movie if you like cardiology. There's a free demonstration of a cardiectomy (i know that you think there's no such thing) as a bonus.
And to those Drunkards Two, I can't imagine watching such drivel with anyone else!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Read 'em and weep
Pune never fails to inspire my best cynicism. If you spend most of your formative years in this city, it's like an education in the school of sarcasm. Public places in the 'real' Pune have a tradition : Treat all people like trash. Give them no credit for the iota of intelligence they have.
Here's some evidence to support the above.
(all the lines below are translated from puneri marathi, the dialect in which the kindest word sounds like a four-letter word)
Written outside a gate to a house (waada): Do not park any vehicle in front of any gate.
On a menu card in a restaurant: Once an order is placed, it takes at least 15 minutes before it is served. Please do not ask unnecessary questions to the waiter while awaiting your order.
Again, on a gate: We are vegetarians, but our dog isn't.
Another gate: Do not ring the doorbell more than twice. We are the ones paying the electricity bill.
At RTO: We are not responsible for anything.
On the door of a ground floor flat in the same building as MTDC Industries' corporate office:
Please do not ring this door to ask us the address of MTDC Industries.
On a shop on Laxmi road : We have no other outlet except this one.
Another shop: If you have nothing to do, don't do it here.
Here's some evidence to support the above.
(all the lines below are translated from puneri marathi, the dialect in which the kindest word sounds like a four-letter word)
Written outside a gate to a house (waada): Do not park any vehicle in front of any gate.
On a menu card in a restaurant: Once an order is placed, it takes at least 15 minutes before it is served. Please do not ask unnecessary questions to the waiter while awaiting your order.
Again, on a gate: We are vegetarians, but our dog isn't.
Another gate: Do not ring the doorbell more than twice. We are the ones paying the electricity bill.
At RTO: We are not responsible for anything.
On the door of a ground floor flat in the same building as MTDC Industries' corporate office:
Please do not ring this door to ask us the address of MTDC Industries.
On a shop on Laxmi road : We have no other outlet except this one.
Another shop: If you have nothing to do, don't do it here.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Whose wedding is it anyway? Part two.
Any conversation at my place somehow segues into something about the wedding.
Me: Doesn’t this guy playing the flute (on the radio) sound great?
Grandmom: Why? Is someone gonna play the flute at the wedding?
Me: Why does this door-knob not work?
Mom: We must get it fixed before the wedding.
Me: I didn’t like this daal you’ve made today.
Mom: We’ll tell the caterers not to make this at the wedding.
Me: I saw a case of psoriasis today.
Mom: What is that?
Me: A skin disorder with….
Mom: (to my sister) You should get that acne treatment pack before the wedding.
Me: Who ate the last bit of chocolate I had saved for myself?
Grandmom: It must be your sister.
Me: What? Where is she?
Grandmom: Don’t say anything to her… it’s her wedding in a few days!
Me: I need some rough paper.
Mom: Tear ‘em from the book I wrote the wedding guest list in.
Me: I had lunch at ‘German bakery’ today!
Mom: Should I invite that German colleague Morganthaller?
Me: That baby in that advertisement is so fat!
Mom: I can’t believe I still haven’t remembered baby mavshi’s real name!
How do I invite her?
Me: I watched ‘Guru’ today.
Mom: I have to call the guruji to finalise the puja timings before the muhurat.
Me: I forgot my mobile at home.
Grandmom: My God! Your mobile number is on the invitations!
Me: Doesn’t this guy playing the flute (on the radio) sound great?
Grandmom: Why? Is someone gonna play the flute at the wedding?
Me: Why does this door-knob not work?
Mom: We must get it fixed before the wedding.
Me: I didn’t like this daal you’ve made today.
Mom: We’ll tell the caterers not to make this at the wedding.
Me: I saw a case of psoriasis today.
Mom: What is that?
Me: A skin disorder with….
Mom: (to my sister) You should get that acne treatment pack before the wedding.
Me: Who ate the last bit of chocolate I had saved for myself?
Grandmom: It must be your sister.
Me: What? Where is she?
Grandmom: Don’t say anything to her… it’s her wedding in a few days!
Me: I need some rough paper.
Mom: Tear ‘em from the book I wrote the wedding guest list in.
Me: I had lunch at ‘German bakery’ today!
Mom: Should I invite that German colleague Morganthaller?
Me: That baby in that advertisement is so fat!
Mom: I can’t believe I still haven’t remembered baby mavshi’s real name!
How do I invite her?
Me: I watched ‘Guru’ today.
Mom: I have to call the guruji to finalise the puja timings before the muhurat.
Me: I forgot my mobile at home.
Grandmom: My God! Your mobile number is on the invitations!
Friday, January 19, 2007
Whose wedding is it anyway? Part one.
Being around a bride-to-be can be quite an education. And don’t forget the mother-in-law-to-be. For the past month, my brain has weathered a barrage of instructions about wedding etiquette. The next guy who asks me how the preparations (i.e shopping, shopping and more shopping) are going will find himself buried in my backyard.
It goes without saying that the most damage was incurred by my Y-chromosome. I now am aware of too many types of sarees (to the extent that I can now recognize a bomkai or chanderi saree blindfolded… not something to be proud of, I know).
I recently had to visit a ladies’ tailor for the first (and the last) time. I was forced to listen to an hour-long brainstorming session about the right kind of jewelry (something called a thushi, if you must know) to buy. I have been trained in distinguishing colours known only to puneri women (anjeeri, sonsali, baingani and daalimbi amongst others!). I know the pitfalls of using a powder make-up base as compared to a liquid foundation. Surely, by the end of this month, I will have learnt why a nose-ring looks more traditional on the left side.
And don’t even get me started on invitations! Why are the envelopes made from some recycled cloth-like paper (though it looks great)? Why are the envelopes only marginally bigger than the invitations so that it is almost impossible to stuff those suckers in? Why are they covered with sparkling chumki? Why don’t Indian stamps stick by just wetting them? Why do they taste like detergent (not that I have tasted that)? Why do the invitations bear my mobile number where it says R.S.V.P? Why do we have to invite baby mavshi from Bhandara? (or ‘baby Bhandara’ as we like to call her. Sorry, baby mavshi, we do not know your name, or surname, or your address or how I am related to you. However, I do know that baby mavshi from Nagpur is actually hemlata deshpande.)
In case you didn’t already know, the general rule is that the further away a person lives from the wedding venue, the lesser doubt you should have about sending them an invitation.
It goes without saying that the most damage was incurred by my Y-chromosome. I now am aware of too many types of sarees (to the extent that I can now recognize a bomkai or chanderi saree blindfolded… not something to be proud of, I know).
I recently had to visit a ladies’ tailor for the first (and the last) time. I was forced to listen to an hour-long brainstorming session about the right kind of jewelry (something called a thushi, if you must know) to buy. I have been trained in distinguishing colours known only to puneri women (anjeeri, sonsali, baingani and daalimbi amongst others!). I know the pitfalls of using a powder make-up base as compared to a liquid foundation. Surely, by the end of this month, I will have learnt why a nose-ring looks more traditional on the left side.
And don’t even get me started on invitations! Why are the envelopes made from some recycled cloth-like paper (though it looks great)? Why are the envelopes only marginally bigger than the invitations so that it is almost impossible to stuff those suckers in? Why are they covered with sparkling chumki? Why don’t Indian stamps stick by just wetting them? Why do they taste like detergent (not that I have tasted that)? Why do the invitations bear my mobile number where it says R.S.V.P? Why do we have to invite baby mavshi from Bhandara? (or ‘baby Bhandara’ as we like to call her. Sorry, baby mavshi, we do not know your name, or surname, or your address or how I am related to you. However, I do know that baby mavshi from Nagpur is actually hemlata deshpande.)
In case you didn’t already know, the general rule is that the further away a person lives from the wedding venue, the lesser doubt you should have about sending them an invitation.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
The Bottom Line
If the following lines are not true, then i don't know what is.
According to her-
"There is nothing above bottoms on the crisis scale. Bottoms are our natural enemy.
Having a bottom is like living with the enemy. Not only do they spend their lives slowly inflating, they flirt with men while we're looking the other way."
According to him-
"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name!'
When man invented fire, he didn’t say, 'Hey, let’s cook!', he said, 'Great, now we can see naked bottoms in the dark.'"
AMEN TO THAT!
(This is inspired from a sitcom.... if you can guess right, you get your bottom kicked.)
According to her-
"There is nothing above bottoms on the crisis scale. Bottoms are our natural enemy.
Having a bottom is like living with the enemy. Not only do they spend their lives slowly inflating, they flirt with men while we're looking the other way."
According to him-
"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name!'
When man invented fire, he didn’t say, 'Hey, let’s cook!', he said, 'Great, now we can see naked bottoms in the dark.'"
AMEN TO THAT!
(This is inspired from a sitcom.... if you can guess right, you get your bottom kicked.)
Friday, January 5, 2007
A Blog About Nothing
I have heard that it is a tradition to start blogs by first explaining why one converted from a non-blogger to a blogger.
For a while now, I've believed that blogs are not for me. For starters, all bloggers nurture strong opinions about the burning social issues. I, on the other hand, am almost devoid of such fierce beliefs. I lack the fervour. I cannot commit to being passionate about mass concerns. It reflects my innate fear of introspection. However, when it comes to petty debates(the existence of Davy Jones' locker, techniques of destroying remote controls and evoking equivoque about other sundry quandaries), my tongue cannot help but wag.
I was also averse to blogs as i thought it was a time-killer and more importantly, i WAS a lazy lump of corruption. And now i have run out of excuses. I had no clue it was so easy. No wonder all the dunderheads i know swear by blogs.
Other factors played a role in the creation of this blog. I didn't want to miss out on being the person of the year( TIME magazine)! Awright, i know the year is over, but what the heck! And i was egged on by a friend who also is a recent convert when it comes to blogs. She also mentioned that writing blogs tended to be cathartic and i was in quite a crummy place then. I thought to myself, "I could use some catharsis."
Simultaneously, the plagiarist within me, influenced by watching thousands of "Seinfeld" reruns, 'borrowed' the idea of writing about nothing. So before i get cracking on 'begging for comments', grant me the freedom to try out this not-so-novel concept. After all, don't you guys believe in the maxim-
To each his own. (it sounds way better in french: chacun a son gout).
So let me be, won't you?
For a while now, I've believed that blogs are not for me. For starters, all bloggers nurture strong opinions about the burning social issues. I, on the other hand, am almost devoid of such fierce beliefs. I lack the fervour. I cannot commit to being passionate about mass concerns. It reflects my innate fear of introspection. However, when it comes to petty debates(the existence of Davy Jones' locker, techniques of destroying remote controls and evoking equivoque about other sundry quandaries), my tongue cannot help but wag.
I was also averse to blogs as i thought it was a time-killer and more importantly, i WAS a lazy lump of corruption. And now i have run out of excuses. I had no clue it was so easy. No wonder all the dunderheads i know swear by blogs.
Other factors played a role in the creation of this blog. I didn't want to miss out on being the person of the year( TIME magazine)! Awright, i know the year is over, but what the heck! And i was egged on by a friend who also is a recent convert when it comes to blogs. She also mentioned that writing blogs tended to be cathartic and i was in quite a crummy place then. I thought to myself, "I could use some catharsis."
Simultaneously, the plagiarist within me, influenced by watching thousands of "Seinfeld" reruns, 'borrowed' the idea of writing about nothing. So before i get cracking on 'begging for comments', grant me the freedom to try out this not-so-novel concept. After all, don't you guys believe in the maxim-
To each his own. (it sounds way better in french: chacun a son gout).
So let me be, won't you?
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