Curtain Call

Blegh. It's that time again. Year-end.

The air is dense with reflection. No, the heavens have not been engulfed by a swarm of mirrors; the atmosphere of late is just heavy with intense thoughts of deliberating folks.
Folks who take time off to look back on what they've achieved this past year (blah, blah), and to set new goals for the coming one (more blah, blah).

In case you haven't got the gist yet, i'm not all that big on this reflection business. I'd much rather hop a ride on my big, fat cloud of denial and wave princess'ly while (whilst?) I float gloatingly past those miserable contemplators.

But this year I was kinda co-erced into contemplation. A friend brought up the topic and invited me to join in her speculation. Now it's just rude to say "Thanks, but I'd much rather watch your goldfish poop little poop-strings," so i begrudgingly slid off my cloud.

"So what has changed for you over the past year?" she asked wistfully. "My shampoo," I wanted to say, but I decided against it. Apparently sarcasm is still my forte'.

So I gave this looking-back concept a shot. Hmm..what had changed?
Well, in the beginning of the year I was studying like mad for my Recombinant DNA-Technology exam, and now i'm nearing the end of my probation at a PR firm. At the start of the year, my brother was still in school, and now he's finished his first semester of college. One of my best friends is now engaged, my cousin gave birth to her first child, and I've shifted my sweet-tooth craving from chocolate to cheesecake.

Maybe this annual mulling-over is not so bad an idea after all. Now, what would I want to change for 2009?

Zilch. Nada. Well..nothing that I can think of anyway. I'm not saying i'm the perfect human being (i'm not saying it, but you're more than willing to go ahead); I just don't believe in waiting for the start of a new year to want to improve. Might as well resolve when the fault is fresh eh?
So yea..i'd much rather handle situations as and when they present themselves/punch me in the face. I'll deal with them then.

We stress too much, we do. We all want to change so much, too much at a time. Sure, some things are a given (get healthier, stop biting nails, must see the good in Paris Hilton, etc.), but let's just take it easy for 2009 shall we?

Life's too short to add on to the worry wrinkles. Why waste good money on botox when you can have cheesecake instead?


Happy New Year everyone. Here's wishing you the best of everything. *clink*


Cheers.

Happy New Year?

Disgusting. Heartless. Mindless and Brutish. Oh..i'm being nice here. If i didn't make it a point to censor this blog I could come up with a few more terms befitting these barbaric animals.


250 people were killed yesterday. Within the space of a few minutes, 250 Palestinians were gunned down like they were worth nothing. 250 families lost a family member/lover/friend. Child-bearing women, guiltless children, aged parents; either dead or paralysed to a point of no return.

How anyone can sit back and order bloody murder of another human being, let alone 500 is beyond me. What is it you want and didn't get? Land? Money? You perverse children.

Think of your own. Think of the family you get home to everyday, and imagine them burnt to a char in a second. They don't deserve it. Nobody does.

I flaunt a peace pendant but now I want to throw it away. I'm grateful to be living to see this day, and now i'm ashamed to. We read the papers, shed a tear and get on back to our daily rituals. While on the other side of the world, grieving souls pay their final respects to the ones they loved the most.


To all those who suffered in the recent attacks, and to all victims of terror across the globe. One day your time will come.

Toon Tutors

It's true when they say that most of life's lessons are taught outside the classroom. Most of mine I've learned from my fav. cartoon characters.


- Wile E. Coyote taught me the importance of perseverence. One day he will get that damn bird!

- Daffy Duck taught me that people will still love you even if you have a speech defect.

- Bugs, Jerry and the Road runner taught me that the bad guys never finish last.

- Garfield taught me to not stress. Wait for things to come to you.

- Elmer Fudd and Sammety Sam taught me that nothing good can come out of guns...or bad aim.

- Marge Simpson taught me that life goes on even on a bad hair day.

- The Ninja Turtles taught me to always have respect for the Sensai.

- Batman taught me that it doesn't matter if you can't fly or sprout nets out of your wrist. As long as you have a Batmobile..you're cool.


Consider this a tribute to Hannah Barbara, The Warner Brothers and Jim Davis. I owe you guys.


Cheers.

The True Hero

28 year-old Iraqi journalist, Munthadar Al Zaidi made it to the wall of fame last week when he pulled out his shoe and hurled it at President Bush. Naturally he was restrained, and jailed immediately after.
The man turned into a hero overnight. He made the headlines in every newspaper, worldwide protests were staged for his release, and the facebook support group launched in his honour reached a membership of 50,000 within just a couple of days. Before you know it, he'll be in the running for Time Magazine's next Person of The Year!

So you hate the man. Is throwing foot apparel at the object of your hatred the way we handle social fallouts these days? So what is it then that sets us apart from animals, if we've lost all ability to think our actions through? Al Zaidi deserves to be locked up if you ask me. And I honesty cannot conceive even the slightest hint of martyrdom in an act so childish.


If anything, I believe it is President Bush whom we should be glorifying. At this point in time, I admire him than I ever will Al Zaidi.
Munthadar was lauded for his inability to keep his temper in check when Bush is the bad-guy for being the one able to control his fury.

George W. Bush gets himself out of bed every morning despite being completely aware of the fact that he is despised all over the world. He goes to work, and visits those countries where he knows he is not welcome. People have written and published books centering around his many gaffes; and yet he is not discouraged.

Now tell me; what is courage? Which of the two has more dignity?

I'm not saying that I love the man, nor am I stating that can do no wrong. As the President of a very influential superpower, he has made some pretty terrible descisions, sure. But I'm taking into account the Man, and not the President.


So to all those hero-worshipping a man with enough decorum to fill Barbie's teacup; get your priorities sorted!
For: "The strong is not the one who overcomes the people by his strength, but the strong is the one who controls himself while in anger." (Sahih Al-Bukhari)



Cheers.

The Mollycoddled Offspring

So my brother's back for hols after a 5-month stint in Malaysia. Now let me tell you, if you want to have the folks at your feet...leave home for a considerable duration of time.

We're all glad to have him back of course. Naturally his favourite meals are prepared ('Poor boy, he must miss home-cooked meals'), and he's being taken out to his favourite restaurants ('Poor boy, he must miss Crispy Chilli Chicken from China Town').

But since when is he allowed to get away with being sloppy. And since when did his sloppiness become 'cute!?' 'Haha..he's left his coffee-mug to rot in his room again!' Or 'Haha..he still leaves his clothes all over the floor!'

A friend of mine warned me of this phenomenon before the arrival of bro. She too has a brother studying abroad who comes down occasioanally for a session of pampering/smothering. 'Just wait and watch shaz,' she cautioned. 'There comes a point where they'll even do somersaults at his bidding.'

This is not jealousy talking. I'm more than happy to have the rents out of my hair for a month..ideally more. I'm just intrigued at the immense power my sibling holds at this point in time.

Wow..i think an experiment is in order. Watch this space for updates on my acrobatic parents.


Cheers.

My Way or The Highway!

"Never judge a book by it's cover!" I've been warned many a time. Literally speaking.
"Always read the review!" they advise.

So I did. I read the blurgs, and made sure that each book I bought had that 'Read This!' stamp of approval by some big-shot at The New York Times or The Daily Mail.
I applied the same for a new movie release. 5 stars out of 5 meant it fell into the 'Must-not-miss-even-if-you've-got-a-hernia' category.
So I read the book, and did not miss the film; strangely, I was almost always disappointed.

But it makes sense doesn't it..to not agree with the accolade of reviews a book/movie has to it's name. Especially when you realize that the aforementioned recommendations come not from Superman, but from just another ordinary person like yourself. Just another individual with his/her own taste in literature, and his/her own opinion on the newest box-office hit.

How on earth could I have even conceived that a stodgy old man with a penchant for satire would ever approve of a film with light humour or a book of the same? Or that a spoof enthusiast or chick-flick activist would ever consider anything but?

So from here on forth, every book I pull off the shelf I will take into consideration only what I expect of the read. And every movie I choose to catch is 'caught' based solely on what I thought of the promo. At the most I'll regard the viewpoint of someone I've found to have similar taste.
So this way I'll have none to blame but myself (although it's always nice to have someone else to accuse) for that terrible feeling of having just wasted my time on a perfectly useless novel; or of having spent Dhs30 (plus nachos) on a pointless film, when I could've just bought myself a Brownie Sundae at BR instead.

Pfft..so you're Ima Hag from the The Times! I'm Shaahima Fahim of Chronicles of a Testtube!!


Cheers.

Green Today, Gone Tomorrow?

Now that Leornado Di Caprio's doing it..we all a piece of it too.
Here's introducing the latest fad to hit the world this season: Going Green.

Honestly, it's all over the place. All of a sudden most multi-national firms are now doing everything in their power to target that eco-friendly stamp, clean-up drives have gathered momentum with noticable urgency, and everyone's planting enough trees to make up for every toothpick they've used. Our planet has been thrown into a state of panic.

For decades scientists, activists and weather-men from all over the globe have been warning their population of the looming threat of global warming; the effect we're having on the extinction of endangered species, and the rate at which our increased levels of carbon emissions is going to generate a considerable boost in sales of gas masks withing the next century.
But no! We kept on spewing out those putrid fumes, and never thought twice about whether that aerosol we sprayed was contributing to that massive hole in the outer hemisphere. And we most certainly didn't give a damn if our clothes were organic.

It's pretty pathetic that all we needed to jump-start our contribution to the planet was a documentary from a Presidential-hopeful, and another from an Oscar-nominated celebrity. Just like we needed Madonna to get us thinking about adopting abandoned children, and the likes of Angelina Jolie to highlight the plight of those living in under-developed nations.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. Who cares about the means as long as we achieve the goal right?

What worries me though, is the likelihood that like every other celebrity-endorsed fad, this other one wil bite the dust as well.


Cheers.

Creativity at it's Best

So with the Dubai Mall having just opened it's doors to the public, and what with the Burj Dubai reaching new heights (sorry..couldn't help) with every passing day, EMAAR decided to launch yet another pretty thing in it's name.

A fountain. A super-sized dancing water-work gala, with music, lights and just about everything that makes you want to go 'Ooooh!'. And in order to rouse up some publicity (like they need it),they devised a competition. Dhs100,00 to the one who could come up with an innovative, yet apt name for this aqua-marvel.

So over the course of 2 months, more than 4,000 entries were sent in; not just from the UAE, and not just from the gulf; but from across the globe. Contributors from over a 100 different nationalities were said to have attempted their claim to fame.

And now the judges have decided. Hearty congratulations to the winner of this challenge; you deserve every dirham for the sleepless nights you must have sacrificed to win this trophy. And the judges! Kudos in accomplishing what must have been a Herculean undertaking.

The fountain at the base of what is to be the tallest building in the world now has a title worthy of it's glory:


'Dubai Fountain'


Cheers

Veni, Vidi, Visa..I came, I saw, I shopped!

I don't think there's anything (or man) in this world that can pry away a woman on a shopping spree. Not even Colin Firth. A shirt-less Colin Firth holding out his wallet though..mayybe.

Nothing comes even close to the comfort of purchases weighing down on our arms, the triumph of scavenging that 'last piece' from the bargain rack, and of course the heady rush resulting from spotting that magical 4-letter word: SALE.

'Tanzeelat' is easily my favourite word in the arabic dictionary. And the term 'shoe' has a calming effect on my nerves that not even a bubble bath can achieve.

But you can't blame us women for this particular 'weakness' that we possess. It's in our blood!

A while ago, a friend of mine (let's call her Barbie shall we?) and I decided to lighten our wallets for the wholesome pupose of a wardrobe update. She met up with me at our mall of choice with her 5-year old cousin (let's call her Kelly) in tow. 'Just until her folks come by,' she reassured me.

Now whe Barbie and I go shopping, we're the considerate sort. We make it a point to visit every retailer (for everyone deserves a chance), and to try on as many outfits as the trial-room-lady will allow (to make sure we have no regrets later, ofcourse).

This arrangement didn't suit Kelly all that well however. She did try to be patient (the poor thing), but by the time we had arrived at the 3rd try-on at our 7th stop-over, her impatience had become very vocal.

When  her parents finally did show, she ran towards them like a marooned man to a ship. Barbie and I were relieved too; now we could return to our business without the nagging guilt or constant promising to drop-in at the toy store.

But believe it or not..just 10 mins since we went out individual ways, Barbie got a call from Kelly's parents asking us to come back and collect her again. Turns out she actually enjoyed our company and wanted us to take her back! We were quite surprised, but welcomed back our little protege' and proceeded with our spree..making it a point to pay a visit (as promised) to the Sweet Shoppe first.

So you see, it really is in our genes. All women are born with this innate desire to buy pretty things, and with the ability to quash our conscience when it comes to debating a purchase. It's a sickness we know, and I extend my heartfelt apologies to all our brothers/boyfriends/fathers and other men in our lives.

But it really is beyond our control.

Cheers. 

Moan, Groan, Go Away...

It's been a month now since i've officially joined the workforce, and i'm a tad sceptic. Why? Because everything's perfect..that's why.

The people are fun, my boss is great and I love what I do. Everyone wishes you a 'Good Morning' like they actually mean it, and they even wipe the sink for the next person once they're done washing their hands! Oh..and every Thursday is free lunch day.

So where do all those horror stories come in? You know..where your supervisor is a nightmare, the merciless office politics, and the fact that you have to drag yourself out of bed every morning?

So yeah..thanks to you lousy bunch of groaners, I can't love my job without the slightest uncertainty. I keep waiting for the axe to fall n' that bubble to burst. Thanks to you..i'm waiting for my boss to peel of his 'happy mask' and reveal his horns. I'm waiting for my colleagues to stop whistling while they work (yea, they whistle while they work), and for the office help to stop bringing me my daily cuppa with a smile.  

The thing about pessimism is that it's contagious. Contagious to the extent that it seeps into your sub-conscious and scares all those happy, satisfisfied thoughts right out of your cranium.

Quite the bummer really..coz' there actually are jolly people out there. If only you'd let them.

Cheers.

Things You Learn as a Salesperson

A week's worth of selling magazine subscriptions at GITEX (Gulf International Technology Exhibition) taught me the following (the hard way of course):

- Everyone is a potential customer : Who would've thought that 6th grade girls would be more than willing to fork up 20 bucks for a quarterly subscription to a tech magazine?

- Gimmicks work : Two girls wearing an afro wig and outrageous heart-shaped glasses attract more customers than a pair of ordinary-looking (comparatively) lasses. Fact.

- Know the language : A 50-year old arab man asking you to "Gimme keess" doesn't necessarily means he's trying to get fresh with you. Turns out he just wants a bag.

Material Girl turns 21

So when mum asked me the other day what i'd like for my 21st..I was stumped. "The new Sony Vaio in crocodile brown?" I thought out loud. "Or maybe a mall-wide gift-voucher? Ooh..or the new title from James Frey??"

But the voice with which I verbalized my musings seemed hollow; as if it was some other person expressing her thoughts and not me. Did I really not want what I said I did? What is it then that I really do want for my birthday?

This called for a good bout of speculation. So I made myself a cuppa and went up to my room; my speculation spot. What did I want? What did I really want?

I closed my eyes, attempted to shut out my conscious mind, and willed the voice at the back of my head to speak out. It's about time you had a go.

What I really want...is to get all my friends down to celebrate with me. And if could fly my brother and cousin down..that would be 'perfection'. I want those birthday calls at 12am and those well-wishing texts that last the rest of the day. I want for mum and dad to be proud of me, and for myself to be even more so. I want no enemies and I want more friends; not just the additions to my facebook list, but to my speed-dial.

I want everyone I love to have everything they've ever wanted. I want second chances for all those who wish they had them (myself included), and no regrets from here on out. And what I want most is a lifetime guarantee of satisfaction; not even eternal happiness...just plain old silly-smile-on-the-face type satisfaction.

Good Lord..am I slipping? Is this the same girl who could'nt take her eyes off those new leopard print pumps she'd sighted on display at NineWest? Hmm..turns out the best things in life really can't be bought.

To actually prefer chicken soup for the 'soul' over haute couture for the 'sole'...I really must be growing up.

Cheers. 

If all the World was a Stage

Apparently there's a reason why little girls love their Barbie dolls and the little (and not-so-little) boys adore their car-sets. For the very same reason, the loveless turn to romance novels for reprieve and the bored-with-their-lives seek refuge indulging in the lives of others. Turns out it's human nature to hunt down and cling on to the stuff missing in our own existence, or what we hope will shape ourselves in the near future.

Above-mentioned little girls would love to be as pretty as Barbie, and the boys long to one day own cars as cool. The broken-hearted want faith in romance again, and the drama-less want drama.

Most of us resort to a self-prescribed dosage of the idiot-box to get us through. The chick-flicks for a guaranteed happily-ever-after. A high-powered action film where the bad guys always finish last. Or a good old musical where there's a pinch of tension, but everything really is right with the world.

But at the end of each movie, we have to get back to our oh-so-real, drab and unfair lives. Where we can't just do things on a whim and expect everything to turn out alright. Where there actually is such a thing as unrequited love. Where people die and don't come back two episodes later. Where everybody's skinny sans-lipo.

If only real life did resemble the movies. All we'd have to do to elevate world peace say, is get the nuns to sing: 'How do we solve a problem like nuclear warfareee?,' and soon all will be well with the world. If only the bad guys really would end up last. If only all men were like that chap in P.S-I Love You, and all women were well..oh I don't know. Lara Croft? And how great would it be, like in Grease, if given no notice whatsoever everyone knew the lyrics and steps to a sudden song and dance routine. 

But then we wouldn't have to rely on the TV for relief any longer. Unless it's those brocolli-stuck-in-teeth moments we're after..or wedgies.

Cheers.

 

For a Rose would Smell as Sweet...

I suppose the biggest hurdle an entrepreneur must overcome is the task of assigning a name to his/her brainchild.

Some just can't be bothered I'm guessing; just replacing the preceding article and capitalizing (the grammatical, not the political term..relax) the noun will suffice. 'A shop' will be elevated in rank to 'The (pronounced 'thee' for extra flashiness) Shop.' A publishing house will acquire the honourable title of 'The Publishing House.' If you get my drift.

Then there are some who are downright witty with their alias of choice. I found the tag 'HeadMasters' for a pouplar (obviously!) salon in Colombo so intelligently appropriate that I wanted to just drop my things in the middle of the street, and applaud. 

And finally, there are those enterprisers that I genuinely worry for; the selected designation is so random and unapt that I just know my 3-year-old nephew could come up with something more befitting.

Eg: 'Hyperpanda.' Hyperpanda??!! I honestly fail to comprehend how that one came into being. For (correct me if i'm wrong) the first thing that comes to mind when I'm told that the supermarket giant 'Hyperpanda' has just opened up in town, is the rather disturbing image of a massive, super-tripping marsupial running up and down the aisles like a child on a sugar-fix from the most mind-blowing lollipop in the world. Thanks very much, but I'll pass.

Inexplicably enough, Hyperpanda ia doing as well as HeadMasters which in turn seems to be on par with The Shop. For on the long run, all we want as customers, is a great haircut, top-of-the-notch service and fresh produce; even if it means running into a giant bamboo-devouring creature while we shop.  

Cheers.

You know you're unemployed when...

- You know the names of all the CNN anchors, including the weather reporters.

- The concept of a new chore is appealing.

- You become overly bummed-out when you reach the last page of the 'Appointments' supplement.

- A pigeon smashing against your window is the highlight of your day.

- Finding that missing sock is a mission on par with The Big Bang experiment.

- Time-management is a fast-diminishing notion, and the significance of a calendar is forgotten.

- That painting on the wall is never hung straight enough.

Bummed-out Buyer

Two weeks ago I was flipping through the TV, for want of something better to do (cut me some slack, i'm unemployed) when I found Oprah half-way through one of her advertising stints; the one she likes to call 'My Favourite Things.'

Brownies, Flab-hiding tights and some sort of stationery item later, I finally got to watch the program I was waiting for.

Now just yesterday I paid a visit to the local hypermarket, and having strolled (oh-so-involuntarily) into the stationery aisle I came across one of the products on Oprah's must-have lists.

And believe it or not..i got excited. Like, excited enough to exclaim out loud when I saw the thing on display...and still excited enough to joyously prance with it to the check-out counter.

I go home and the first thing I do is hurry up to my room to carefully tear open the cover-case...like some post-birthday party birthday girl.

So this thing I bought..it's called a 'Flag-pen.' It's a pen-shaped device having two operational components; a highlighter with which to..well, highlight, and an in-built post-it cartridge to flag the page you've highlighted on...all in one gadget!

Yea..it's not all that big a deal is it? No more than 5 minutes after I had experimented with my new purchase, the veil of  stupidity lifted and revealed the (much more reliable) demeanour of common-sense. I had become yet another victim of Oprahganda.*

So this is how they operate, is it...those darn marketing gurus? Big celebrity+little-known useless product=unimaginable profits. And oblivious customers running around screaming like excited little girls.

Call me bitter, but you would be too if you're just done studying and stuck with a gadget intended to aid that very purpose.

Hmm..maybe they'd let me exchange it for those tights...

Cheers.

*Oprahganda-Anything that changes a person's opinion after watching or reading something from Oprah. [urbandictionary.com]

Birdy Birdy Go Away...

I was half-way through another blog entry when an exceptionally loud THUD almost shocked my young and fruitless life out of me. Turns out a pigeon had misconstrued my apparently spotless window for the pearly gates leading into my living room.

Now i'm not a fan of birds in general, but I think if Forbes had a list of Most Valueless Creatures, i'm damn sure those ugly grey things we call 'pigeons' would fall right on the top spot, easy.

They sight human heads as targets for their poop, construct nests on your window AC's and make crude noises that serve no purpose whatsoever other than to irritate the pants (for want of a less obscene term) out of you.

I've tried to see the good in them..honestly I have. But after just 5 minutes of observing those avian beings, I had come to the conclusion that they choose to live their lives simply fluttering with one another from AC vent to AC vent (musical vents?), and treating themselves to an occassional session of baby-making.

Conclusion: Pigeons avail no worthwhile purpose in this 'circle of life.' Seriously..where was their presence in Pride Rock when Simba was born anyway? Useless I tell you..useless. Too many a time have I fallen prey to their excellent aim, to be convinced otherwise. 

Cheers.

The Gentleman's Game?

In Sri Lanka, cricket is a passion that borders on religion. And I don't just mean that as a comparison.

The day of a match, productivity at workplaces hits a slump, and school kids smuggle in little radio's to keep up with the scores. That cup-wielding beggar on the street pavement can serve as a reliable enough source to fill in an uninformed passer-by on who just got whom out. We buy the team jerseys just to wear when we're at home watching the game, hoping our supportive vibes will somehow radiate through the TV and onto the players.

All this, just for a test match.

So you can just imagine the hype involved in a proper one-day, let alone the World Cup.  

You should watch my mum. No-one who sees her on a day-to-day basis would figure that this woman can transform into a rowdy fanatic at the click of a button. Dad's the more sober sort..but if a wicket goes down in our favour, the fan in him will an oh-so-dramatic 'yes!'

The team players are revered all over the country, via billboards and adverts that that have absolutely no relevance to the sport. We can recognize their wives from the stands, and their cars on the streets; sort of like what football is to the rest of the world.

In fact there's a match taking place as I type. Those fortunate enough to have access to cable can bask in the luxury of pressing their faces onto their flatscreens. But my poor deprived (yet dedicated) soul will have to settle for reading the play-by-play commentary online.

It's dangerous, this addiction we possess, but as a county that's been through so much for far too long, this is the tape that holds the broken pieces together. And our heroes in blue, save us in more ways than they'll ever know.

Cheers.

Exam Mania!

Walking to a friend's place the other day I couldn't help but stop and read what some kid had finger-written on the dirty windshield of an abandoned car:

"IGCSE: New Horror Movie"

Not only was it hilarious, but the fact that this 16-17 year old had abandoned the more popular "CLEAN ME" in deference to this slogan, was an obvious reflection of his/her brewing frustration. This was probably the closest thing to vengeance the poor kid could muster.

I remember sitting for my boards (I realize I sound senile, but i'll take that risk); the sleepless nights, the caffeine dependency, and probably the one stage in our life where the girls looked terrible and the boys couldn't care less.

The atmosphere in the examination hall was ominous to say the least. Literal pin-drop silence where you could hear the person at the far end of the auditorium erasing a portion of an unsatisfactory diagram, or a calculation gone wrong. The ticking clock on the wall was your arch-nemesis, and the invigilator it's closest cohort.

But on the day it was all over, we celebrated with whatever energy we could summon; the majority of us calling it an early night so as to catch up on months of lost sleep.

Looking back, I think I speak for everyone when I wish I would've taken it easier. Sure, the results are crucial to shaping our future (blah, blah..), but it's not that life-and-death situation we allow ourselves to believe. The fact that in actuality there are kids who take their own lives over one measly point, is just not funny.

I'm not some presidential hopeful, or brilliant sportsperson to be asked what message I'd like to send out..but I'll say it anyway. 

Work hard...but get some sleep!

Cheers.

 

Glow's over folks!

"You don't live here do you?" inquired a just-acquainted acquaintance only a day after I had landed in Sri Lanka.                                                                                                                                     

"How on earth did you figure that?"                                                                                                  

"Coz' you've got that glow..that i'm-on-holiday radiance. The rest of us here have this i've-got-to-get-back-to-work-tomorrow dullness that makes it so easy to single your sort out."

I thought the concept highly amusing..amusing enough to ponder the thought long after my meeting with afore-mentioned personality was over. The very notion of me beaming a  supreme radiance as soon as my flight grounded, and diminishing into a drab demeanor towards the latter fraction of my holiday was a curious phenomenon indeed..curious but plausible.

So when I hit the streets of Colombo I made it a point to make this a personal experiment; single-out the holiday-goers from the residents. I'm not quite sure I was entirely successful. My judgement may have been hindered by what people wore rather than how they glowed.

But now that i'm back, and my 'period of leisure' officially over..I think I can actually feel the sheen leave my face. Maybe that's what was responsible for that tingly sensation I experienced when my flight landed on Arabian sands (technically tarmac, but i'm entitled to poetic license)..or that could've just been my mild aerophobia acting up again. Either way, call me a believer.

Heading back from vacation is a real bummer..and the very thought of getting back to routine is enough to make you want to scream into a pillow. But that's just it isn't it..that's the way the brownie crumbles.

Cheers.

Facebook: I'm lovin' it?

I can't believe I've gone a whole two months without a single mention of the genius that is FACEBOOK! Shame on me.

It's quite the hoot isn't it? What can you not do with it? Care to give the ego a bit of a boost by having a look at the number of friends you've accumulated? Find a childhood playmate perhaps? Or maybe even stalk an old ex (or a new one for that matter).

Facebook really is the 'social networking site' it brags to be; thanks to this Zuckerberg-send i've managed to track down a staggering amount of old friends I thought I might've just lost for good. What's not to love in all those groups, photo tagging options, and innumerable networks?  And the privacy options...what a treasure! Keeps prying extended family members at bay, and disallows creepy-stalker types from perving over your profile page. 

However, although most of us might possess the sanity to keep our 'FB' activity comparatively low-key...there are always those who take it to ridiculously new levels.

1,000 friends?? Nobody's that 'popular'! And what's with the gazillion applications?? Having to locate just plain-old 'wall' among the super-wall, fun-wall, and supercallifragelistic-wall is too tedious when all i want to do is say 'Hey! How've you been?'

And those random-out-of-the-blue friend requests!. 'Complete Stranger has just sent you a friend request.' If you've got mutual friends, it's probably just memory-lapse on your part..someone you've met once and can't quite recall, maybe? But when you've got no friends in common with this person from the Antartica network who's looking for 'random play'...the 'decline' button is clicked almost involuntarily.

But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty (pardon the ghastly cliche'), one or two facebook peeves are just as easily smothered by an avalance of it's pets, very much like that irritating jam-layer in your chocolate cake...you'll eat it all the same. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a TextTwirl game pending.

Cheers.

 

 

The Green Goblin

Apparently there are some things that just aren't done. Ordering the Chicken Caesar Salad at Mc.Donalds for instance.

Frankly, I don't quite understand what the fuss is all about. I just felt like eating healthy for a change, and they did have the salad on the menu.

'I'll have the chicken caesar salad please!'

'The what?'

'The chicken salad??'

'Oh..yea..sure.' *looks at me strangely as he reaches for my order from the back of the refrigerator*

So I think my salad looks great..the lettuce is all fresh and crunchy-looking, and the chicken strips seem devoid of any trace of oil, fat, grease or any other lard'ish counterpart. Little did I expect that my fellow diners would 'look' a 'great' deal as well!

I started feeling the eyes on me as I walked my tray back to my seat. The curious 'watcha-got-there?' folks were intrigued to find out what was so astoundingly green on my tray. And as I sat down, the couple at the next table stared unabashedly for a good 5 minutes, then went on to whisper to each other oh-so-obviously. And I know those weren't 'sweet-nothings' they were exchanging.

Already feeling like I had broken some sort of code of conduct, I proceeded to scatter on my croutons, sprinkle my pepper and squeeze out half of my salad dressing ( I want dressing on my salad, not salad on my dressing!). And just when I was starting to get used to the occassional double-takes of tray-bearers passing my table, a sweaty faced kid, fresh from the play area decided to come to a halt just next to me..and stare.

She stared at my salad, then stared at me...and then back at my salad again. I don't think the poor thing's ever been exposed to anything that's not in a bun..or not fried. I might as well have been feeding on a horse carcass off my table..and grown horns to boot.

I obviously ignored the girl; I've learnt from experience that you can never out-stare a child. Either way, I began to question what was on my plate myself. Who orders a salad at McDonalds anyway?

But my dinner tasted as fabulous as it looked (a penny for everytime I hear that line in another conversation), and was worth every double take and curious glance it racked up. So the next time I pay a visit to good ol' Ronald, I might just order the same thing!

And maybe even..*gasp*..just the garden salad!!

Cheers.

Vanity Affair

It's true when 'they' (some sort of secret authority figure) say that you never realize the value of something, until it's taken away from you. Be it a pet, electricity, mirror....yes, mirror.

Having recently purchased a new cupboard for my room, i've had to detach my full-length mirror from the wall, and keep it aside until the handyman came around (it's a big job alright, holes have to be drilled and stuff!).

And oh, how deprived I have been! Putting aside the need for a reflective surface to pop my lenses in (I manage with my compact), what about all my other mirror necessities??

Where else am I am supposed to look while crooning along to Colbie Collait into my mike-slash-hairbrush? And how on earth am I ever going to find out if my ass looks big in that dress? Or if those shoes match with my purse? And that ghastly contraption (the weighing scale) is not always the best opinion when it comes to weight loss/gain y'know!!

So until that beloved looking-glass of mine finds it's way back onto my wall, i'll just have to assume that I weigh a 100kgs and that my tush is size of a planet in anything I wear!

Cheers.

Survival of the Fittest

I don't know the exact phrase, but apparently 'they' say it's money that brings out the worst in people. I say it's traffic.

Not that i'm a officially lisenced (yet), but being on the passenger seat is proof enough. Sort of a sympathy versus empathy thing happening.

Horns will honk loud enough to surpass the sound barrier, and fenders will not just touch, but merge into one!

For those on a schedule, or a hurry to get someplace there's a whole other story altogether. The most meek of individuals will discover they have a vocabulary so colourful that it'll put a rainbow to shame. As for the frequent swearer's, they'll accumulate enough swear-miles to buy themselves a house!

Chivalry dies a merciless death and road-courtesy is an extinct phrase. A certain finger is brandished as the weapon of choice, and the common temperament is enough to make the chirpy baby in the 'baby-on-board' sticker cry.

Mini-coopers give Hummers a run for their money, and fresh-faced motorists 'cut' past the veterans of the road.

Blood pressure's rise above doctor's orders, and even the cheery radio jockeys are too irritating to bear.

But once that bout of jam is surpassed, and only smooth riding is foreseen, we breathe again. A smile slowly seeps in, and that rock-solid exterior turns into mushy, pleasant again. Until the bell for the next round sounds..all's well with the world.

Cheers.

The Decline of the Personal Statement

Everyone's going on about how technology is making our lives so much easier; everyday appliances almost eliminate the term 'chore', and communication has bridged the divide on a whole other level altogether.

Before the advent of the telephone (let alone it's cellular equivalent), snail-mail was the popular choice (for lack of any other alternative) for keeping in touch. Much before that were the effective usage of homing-pigeons, but let's just not get into that.

So anyway, post; the good old pony express. For an 8-year old I don't think anything else can quite match the thrill of recieving a hand written letter from a pen-pal, or an actual greeting card on your birthday. Sifting throught the letters in your not-so-virtual inbox was like waiting for an acceptance letter...everyday. And seeing your name on the envelope was the cream on the cake.

And then came the e-mail. At first it was exhilarating, sure. But eventually the excitment died down. Typing in your password and waiting for the entire contents of your inbox to pop up on the screen could never be as exciting. The mystery of the letter's substance was exposed with the 'help' of the subject box, or the sneak preview. Much like the friend who couldn't wait for you to watch the movie, so did you a 'favour' by revelaing the end.

Birthday and congratulatory cards sent via signals were just viewed and not felt. Sort of like the 'Look, but don't touch' sign at an art gallery.

Concern is now expressed through mail-forwards warning you of cancerous products, and emotions have been substituted with 'emoticons.' 

Texting has replaced the need for actual calling, and now Facebook has replaced the need for actual texting. 

It's true when they say that one day this planet will be taken over and run by robots. Those automatons they're talking about...that's us. 

Cheers.

A Tribute To Levi Strauss

Jeans/denim (as defined by urbandictionary.com):        - a girls best friend; simple, comfortable, cute, classic, completely wearable and flattering on anyone.                                                                                                                                          - the working man's leather.

The title is an obvious give-away. But for those who haven't quite figured it out yet, this post is dedicated to the one man who achieved the impossible; combining fashion with comfort.

I think I speak for everyone (and I mean everyone) when I say that denim is a revolutionary piece of clothing. I don't think I know of anyone in my generation who doesn't own a pair (at least), and i'm quite sure the majority of the older folks have found them equally versatile. Even babies are made to don them, without even having learnt to walk!

I suppose it's the fact that they're so flexible (I mean jeans, not babies). We've really got it made. Skinnies, Bell's, Staright cut, Boot cut, Capri's and Shorts. It's almost as though Coco Chanel and Monsieur Strauss had some sort of a thing going on. And I'm not just speaking on behalf of womankind here; the boys get their empty palette as well. Choosing their size and shade of blue is quite the power struggle. 

I personally own 3 pairs; skinny, everyday wear and a pet pair that I wear at will. Pretty much everything else I own is meant to go with either of the 3 choices.

Emergency outing? Just slip into a pair (no ironing necessary) and a matching crease-free top will just as easily follow.Night out with friends? Glam top, a pair of heels, and of course..the darker denims. I'm not dishing out fashion advice here, I'm just trying to highlight the ease with which we are able to take for granted, owning a pair of those miracle pants.

The way we wear our denims have evolved over the decades. The hippie loving bell-bottoms of the 70's to the high-waisted ones of the 90's. And now the 00's have heralded in the crisp, snug-fit.

It's pretty fascinating...try doing the same with any other pair of pants. I highly doubt it.

Cheers

For Real!

Now that my exams are done with, of late i've been submitting myself to the idiot box quite willingly; I don't have a consience to answer to anymore.      

                                                           

So I was channel-surfing this afternoon when i came across this utterly rubbish excuse for a valid TV program. It was this reality show (shocker) that tested a group of worthy individuals and determined finally who was to be crowned the best..pirate!! Seriously..seriously??

I can't say i'm anti-reality television..they're quite the entertainment source. And I unabashedly admit that i'm a devotee of the likes of American Idol and Hell's Kitchen.

But of late it seems that the television production business is a rat race of desperation. Reality shows are getting more and more absurd by the day.                                                                       

I'm terribly wary of the concept of Wife Swap (self-explanatory), and the likes of The Apprentice and The Bachelor seem like very publicly blown-up examples of everyday challenges; in this case a job interview and singles-night respectively.

But then again..it's a reflection of the viewers isn't it? If a gazillion people show interest in the aforementioned pirate picker, then that must mean there's some sort of demand. Either that, or there are worse shows out there, and this one's the lesser of the two evils.

It's intriguing to see what they'll come up with next though. Watch out for the season debut of Knicker Knitter everyone!! 

Cheers.

OMG!!

I've never been much of a 'LOL'er. For the plain reason that I can't get myself to believe that the person on the other side of the screen is actually ridiculously 'laughing out loud' everytime I make a funny. So it should'nt come as too much of a surprise that i'm also a critic of the ever-so-plausible LMAO and  ROTFL as well.

I much rather prefer (in tune to my apparent 'irritating' politically-correct ways) to appreciate witticisms via msn with a simple (but realistic) 'hehe' or 'haha', and if it's really funny, a 'HAHAHAHA'!

BRB and GTG are fine in my books because there are times when I really do have to go, and really will be back (hasta la vista?).

This i've been proclaiming far and wide (hyperbole), preaching to anyone who'll listen, the evils of the chatroom abbreviations...until I was proved wrong.

The other day I was in the library chatting (real life) with a couple of friends (in our defence, there really was no 'silence' sign hung up) when we happened to recall a funny video we had come across recently. So this one friend started describing it to the other. I say 'started' because she never really got around to do it. On recollection of a particularly hilarious bit, she literally collapsed into a fit of giggles, tipped over(!) to the floor, and (get this) rolled from side to side!!

Now that was an ROTFL if there ever was one! I tell you, my faith has been renewed...i've seen the error of my ways. If there actually are people out there who ROTFL, who am i to judge anymore?

Maybe I really can LMAO if i try hard enough.

Cheers

Mars vs. Venus

On the bus ride home from uni the other day, I overheard (overheard, not eavesdropped mind you) a snippet of what seemed to be quite the interesting conversation. The two people involved were having some sort of debate to decide what the official antonym for feminism would be, and came to the conclusion that it had to be chauvinism.

Now I don't know if that's actually registered as correct, but in my opinion, it just can't be. If antonyms are supoosed to be opposites of equal weightage, then in my books the two just don't add-up.
I'm sorry girls, but i'll have to side with the boys on this one.

It actually is rather unfair that a woman can get away with doing the exact same thing a chauvinist hopes to achieve, and even rise up on top. That's because feminism is recieved in a much higher light than chauvinism, oddly even with a touch of respect.
What i'm trying to say is, a man can never get away with saying 'Girls are stupid!' (for instance) without having the suffix 'pig' added to his chauvinist title. A self-proclaimed feminist (a.k.a ball beater) on the other can get away with 'Boys are stupid!' with not a scar to her name! See where i'm getting at?

It's all a bunch of cattle faeces if you ask me! Feminism and that whole 'equal rights' jazz. Why broadcast the fact that we're 'poor, innocent women, slaves to society', instead of just shutting up and proving afore-mentioned society wrong?
Understandable if you want to bring to light actual issues like wife-beaters and breast cancer, but the boys suffer from the same and you don't hear them whinging about it! In fact, in a survey taken on domestic violence 40 out of 100 cases were reportedly violence by women against men! And we're not oblivious to the fact that men are prone to breast cancer as well.

All i'm saying is stop trying so hard to up one another and realize the potential of your own sexes...and achieve it!

Happy Father's Day everyone.


Cheers.

Hi, I'm Gertie!

If there's one thing i'd really like to change about myself, it's my gullibillity (i realize that's not a real word but it has immense potential don't you think?).

Honestly...i'm as gullible as the next goldfish! You know how those bright-tinged suckers swim hurriedly to the top of the fish tank everyime you dangle you fingers there, thinking it's food they're getting? Yea..that's how bad i am.

Tell me a highly unlikely story and i'm likely to believe it. I won't be surprised if i look down to see if my sneakers are actually untied, even when i'm wearing flip-flops.
Go on..try me! Tell me that my fire-proof safe is ablaze or something. Tell me that you're going to live in the hills to find your inner calling...that eskimo's are in reality allergic to snow. Or that you're not planning anything for my birthday, when in truth you're throwing me a massive surprise bash! Ok..I might've had an ulterior motive in mind with that last one (hint).

I seriously think it's some sort of disease; a syndrome at least. Definitely an incurable one anyway. I never do learn.
After having fallen prey to a recent prank, I'll try and counter-strike (no, not the game) by refusing to believe in anything at all; blindly calling everyone's bluff, and rubbish'ing even world truths. That phase will probably just last a few minutes anyway..once a sucker, always a sucker eh?

Ah well..everyone has their weak spot I suppose. If only I was shrewd to replace being so darned good-looking! ;)


Cheers.
 

Option A?

We're spoilt for choice aren't we?

This little revelation happened to strike me the other day, when I headed to the local cafe' to quench my insatiable thirst for that cup o' java (see profile). I went up to the counter quite certain that all I wanted was a latte...then i happened to look up at the menu board.
Frappucchino, Mochacchino, decaf or expresso? A once you've scratched your head past that set of multiple-choice options, you're given your next. Skim-milk or whole milk? Then small, medium, large, or this-size-will-guarantee-you-never-sleep-ever!?

How far we've strayed since our neanderthal predecessors! 'I want food!' has evolved into 'Chinese or Mexican?' 'Dine-in or take-out?'
Forget food options and graphical illustrations of variable french-fry portions even. Take our clothes, cars, furniture and even letterpad font! I can change the colour of my i-pod (hypothetically speaking..i don't really own one) to whatever shade (not just clour, mind you) I prefer, and even add a 'hello kitty' motif (not quite the fan..but again, hypothetically speaking) to my moblie phone!

The scary bit is, our tendency to let ourselves be spoilt for choice is heading towards dangerous ground. Does the term 'Designer Babies' ring a bell?
Now that genetic engineering is common jargon for even the Layman, everyone wants their share of the deal. Turns out in a couple of years, parents-to-be will soon be able to actually create their own baby to fit their perfect picture! And by inserting/incorporating the right genes (tall gene/brown-eyed gene) here and there, scientists will be able to give them exactly what they paid for!

You know there's something amiss in humanity, when we stop celebrating the miracle of life and resort to choosing whom we love.


So here's where the biggest of all decisions comes into play..when all other options and choices take a back seat.

Click 'RIGHT' or click 'WRONG'?


Cheers

Unintentional Perv

Everyone knows that the biggest difference in the transition from childhood to adulthood is the loss of innocence.

The innocence i have in mind is the sort that enables a child to say whatever he/she wants without being questioned.
You know what i'm talking about. When's the last time you were able to say 'I like salted nuts!' without anyone in your audience bursting out into a not-so-muffled guffaw?
I honestly don't know when this happened..when we realize we aren't able to say just anything without it having a double-meaning. And mind you, the amount of sniggers isn't proportional to the intelligence of your company, anyone at all will do!

So for those of you who have fallen prey (once too often) to these accidental slip-ups, here's a list of phrases you might want to avoid:
                         'My, these balls are bouncy!'
                         'Those buns look good!'
                         'That's my sausage!'
                         'I'll have the breast piece please.'
and of course  'I like salted nuts.'

You might also want to refrain from making yummy noises while enjoying a particular dessert or favourite food.


Cheers.

Our Unsung Heroes

Dubai is a great city.
It's new, it's hip and it's got a cultural mush of more than 185 nationalities. The roads are clean and the buildings are tall. Life is good and everyone is happy.


But behind every clean street and architectural marvel are the little-known, little-acknowledged people responsible for it being there. They work long hours in 45degree temperatures to build structures they'll never be allowed to enter once they're finished. They clean the streets they'll never be able to afford to drive through, and they're housed in jail-like labour camps waiting for their meagre pay..always late.

To the not-so-fortunate in South/South-East Asia, the stories they hear about Dubai make it seem like the light at the end of that methaphoric tunnel; their saving grace. Work opportunities seem promising and there are plenty of benefits to be reaped. Enough money can be made to send home to the family and to tend to oneself as well.

So they bid farewell to their wives and kiss their children good-bye, leving behind the promise of a better future.
But as soon as their feet touch the sands of this promised land, reality hits. 12 of them are herded like cattle into accomadations meant to house 5 to a room, and are informed that work starts the next day. The hours are painstakingly long and the rising mercury makes them seem even longer. Some collapse and are rushed to the hospital, only to be proclaimed fine for work the next day.

They want to leave but they can't. They work their way up in debt and have nothing to show for their families back home. They watch the happy middle class and envy the snub of the wealthy. Frustration seeps in.

They can't go home for shame, and denial steps aside to give way to the fact that they will never be able to pay back the money they owe. So they climb to the topmost floor of the builiding they're shaping..and jump.
Others have a better solution. They say their prayers and cross the deadliest of highways..hoping that their blood money will be sent back home to the family members they left behind.


This is the real story behind Dubai. The beckoning city of many an opportunity; the so called 'Pearl of the MiddleEast'.
So remember these troopers when you complain of the heat from the comfort of your living room. Remember these heroes when you drive by renowned structures of the likes of The Burj Al Arab or The Palm. For they are our unsung heroes..and that's the most heroic kind.


Cheers.
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1779365_1779366_1779370,00.html

Murphy And His Law

Now Murphy (though a fictional fellow), was a smart man. He's probably come closest to having all the answers to our existence than the non-fictional sect of philosophers.
And what was this wise man's theory? Ahh, the wise man he said :"Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way." Now that my firends is life in a nutshell! At least my life in a nutshell.

How else would you possibly explain when your calculator stops working right in the middle of a math exam? Or when you spill something indelible on the sofa, just when you're expecting company? Or when you realize at the checkout counter that you've left your wallet at home! Ooh..or when the presentation that you spent all night preparing, doesn't open on the day it's due?

Sure we may complain (and don't we just love to do that), but if you think about it, how terribly bland would it be if nothing ever went wrong? If that guitar string didn't snap in the middle of a serenade, or if the mustard from your hot dog didn't spill over on your new shirt..where would all the punchlines go? So much for witty conversation at dinner parties or any narration beginning with 'You'll never believe what happened to me the other day!..' People would just rant on about their perfect lives..their horrendously boring perfect lives!

So, I think every mishap happens for a reason; that it serves a greater purpose of sorts. I might not necessarily feel the same way at the point where i'm the victim, but hey, at least i'll have a story to tell!
And I take your leave with this borrowed verse:

I never had a slice of bread,
Particularly large and wide,
That did not fall upon the floor,
And always on the buttered side.


Cheers.

Incomplete Rainbow

So my brother is colourblind.
Oh i'm serious. This is not the opening line of a joke or anything; my brother is colourblind.

Contrary to what the name of the 'disability' might suggest, a person afflicted with colourblindness is not unable to percieve any form of colour entirely; he/she is just not able to differenciate between what may appear as very similar hues. Between blue and purple for example, or even red and brown. 

I like to attribute the discovery of my sibling's shortcoming to myself (thanks, very much)..to 15-year old me actually. It's not rocket-science really. I didn't have any suspicions and hold up some colour charts to his face or anything. I just happened to stumble upon 11-year old bro sprawled on the floor, colouring the pacific ocean in his history map...purple.
Now, my brother is a trouble-maker, but not in a "Hah take that!" sort of way. He's more likely to set up camp in the 'wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time' category. That's why i figured his violet equivalent of the Red Sea wasn't intentional. So after stopping him from creating what seemed like a diseased ocean, I held up some colour pencils for him to differenciate. On coming to the conclusion that he really did have a problem, we marched over to tell the folks of our breakthrough. It took a while to get dad to take us seriously, but mum was in denial..she still is.
There really is nothing you can do to change the fact that you're colourblind. Perhaps maybe, an operation of sorts, but it really isn't a life-changing discovery. We did have to make some minor alterations to our lifestyle however.
Firstly, i had to be sure that brother dear wouldn't mistake my toothbrush for his (we share the same loo). So whenever we did buy a pair, i'd go out of my way to make sure that the colours were as far apart on the spectrum as science would allow, even if it meant mine being a garishly yellow brush while his was a dull blue.  
Another thing we learned was never to ask him to bring us a green colour pencil (hey i used them in school!) or a green folder, because the poor chap would just as innocently get us the brown one.
Strangely, he's never had an issue matching his clothes. Although at times he does need a little advice on whether this tie goes with that shirt. But then again who doesn't right?
I asked him once if he could decipher when the colour of the traffic lights changed from red to green (or vice versa).
"Even if i couldn't," he declared, "I can see the lights change can't I??"
I knew that! I was just..erm..checking.
 

Cheers.

We Don't Need No Education!

I've come to conclusion (after much thought ofcourse) that being a dunce is the only way to go! Even my average-student status is jumping the gun a bit much, if you ask me. Patience..don't get your knickers/boxers in a twist just yet. Don't i always explain?

So i'm telling you, i've got facts! There's at least one college/highschool dropout at the topmost rung of every career ladder in this whacked out world of ours.

Pursuing a career in IT? Look to Bill Gates for inspiration; he figured Harvard was not good enough for the likes of him!
Aspiring to be a renowned film director/producer? I'm sure Steven Spielberg will be more than willing to stress on the insignificance of education.
How about Kurt Cobain? Sure he had issues, but don't we all love Nirvana? The band..not the state of mind. But then again..whatever works for ya.
Or maybe you dream of one day turning the world around with a mind-numbing, sock-dropping physics theory? Yes Albert Einstein, was a vagabond of a physician in his day.
George W. Bush? Well, since we're discussing truly inspirational figures, (ahem) he must've graduated (at least twice), if you know what i mean! ;)

So I say, relaax. Take it easssy. Take a mid-semester vacation or something! Let those class toppers rough it out coz' in the long run we know that's it's us back-benchers who will rise to the occasion in the end.

Until next time,

Cheers!

Marital Menagerie

Having recently turned 20, and having been born to a community such as mine, i'm starting to get accustomed to the rising tension associated with conversations containing snippets of 'we must start looking for a good boy..' (mum) and 'you know shash, it is our obligation as parents..' (dad).

As the months fly by i've also noticed the increasing frequency with which mum asks me if i have a 'boyfriend,' and have learned to amuse myself with parring frequency; at first it was 'No ma, relax,' then i tried 'Yes mother, i've got a harem of suitors each waiting for their turn,' and finally i had a go at 'Actually mum, i've been having a 3-year relationship with the shopguy downstairs who's currently planning our elopement!' That last witticism earned me a glare that could've put the Huns to shame, but it was oh-so worth it! Not-so-surprisingly i haven't heard much on the subject since.

But honestly, the arranged-marriage system is a farce and a half! Now now critics, don't get me wrong..i'm all up for a little selective breeding, just hear me out. You remember how as a child you'd visit the zoo? You'd stop at the different enclosures, study each inmate, and at the end of the trip you'd decide which creature was your favourite. Well..that zoo-trip is a pretty accurate description of the afore-mentioned process.

Ok i admit..i'm probably exaggerating a tad. The ways of the hired hit-man cupid have definitely evolved over the years. You'll see less adverts in The Daily's marital column (parents seek pretty, domesticated girl for their 26-year old, not-so-attractive son), folks are now willing to consider their offspring's take on the issue, and gone are the days when the bride's trousseau (including wedding-night intimates) were openly displayed to all those holding an invitation card.

It's not so bad a game, this. Just a terribly amusing one.


Cheers.

Stereotypically Stereotypical!

Stereotype: A fixed, commonly held notion or image of a person or group, based on an oversimplification of some observed or imagined trait of behaviour or appearance.

I never did understand stereotyping. I've always thought it's society's way of making things easier. Think of it this way..the universe is one big filing cabinet and each individual being it's files; the secretary is society personified, and the act of arranging each file chronologically a metaphor for stereotyping.
The need to classify the 'geek' or the 'intellectually challenged' is beyond me. I am yet to find one person that fits each shoe perfectly.
Take me for example: I hate to cook, yet love to clean (domestically-adept or domestically-challenged?). My taste in music has no boundaries (not a rocker, not a hippie?). I adore both a good crossword and a challenging sudoku (words AND numbers?). I appreciate the occassional chick flick and war movie too (man or woman??). I'm cool with fast food for lunch and fine dining for dinner (Filet Mignon with FrenchFries?). 

Quite the stereotypical nightmare eh? Here..let me help classify me. As proclaimed from the wise saying on a friend's t-shirt: 'I am what i am.'


Think about it..cheers.

Greetings blogosphere!

It's about time methinks! Starting up my own blog that is. Best alternative in satisfying my literary craving i s'pose..after many a failed attempt to compose that Pulitzer-Prize winning novel, i figured this was the next best thing. Why 'Chronicles of a TestTube'? I don't quite know really..how about i just attribute it to epiphany? :)
So do bear with me and my random rants ( i like to call them musings). Here's to the many posts to come! *clink*

Cheers.