Archive for February, 2009

The Importance of Being Idle

Posted: February 23, 2009 in Uncategorized

The product of boredom, some paper, and ballpoint pens…

Denial


Boredom‘s doldrums were unavoidable, yet also a primordial soup for some of life’s most quintessentially human moments…
A long drive home after a frustrating day could force ruminations. A pang of homesickness at the start of a plane ride might put a journey in perspective.

Increasingly, these empty moments are being saturated with productivity, communication and the digital distractions offered by an ever-expanding array of slick mobile devices…

But are we too busy twirling through the songs on our iPods – while checking email, while changing lanes on the highway – to consider whether we are giving up a good thing?
We are most human when we feel dull.

Lolling around in a state of restlessness is one of life’s greatest luxuries – one not available to creatures that spend all their time pursuing mere survival.

To be bored is to stop reacting to the external world, and to explore the internal one.
It is in these terms of reflection that people often discover something new, whether it is an epiphany about a relationship or a new theory about the way the universe works.

Granted, many people emerge from boredom feeling that they have accomplished nothing.
But is accomplishment really the point of life?
There is a strong argument that boredom – so often parodied as a glassy-eyed drooling state of nothingness – is an essential human emotion that underlies art, literature, philosophy, science, and even love.

The Joy of Boredom, by Carolyn Johnson

Thatta Motta Kukul Betta

Posted: February 22, 2009 in Uncategorized

Remember that old rhyme?
Wtf is it insinuating anyway.
Direct translation: baldness, bird-poop. Uh.. 😐

In the recent 35 degree Colombo heat, I have contemplated shaving my head bald.
Hip length hair doesn’t cope too well with the heat, you see.
Mummy darling didn’t take too well to the suggestion though.

Me: So like, I’m gonna shave my head bald.
Mum: Ok dea- WHAT?
Me: Ehehe.
Mum: Who is putting these deviant ideas into your head, child? Girls these days.. I don’t know what.. (somethinsomethin about the difficulty of finding a husband)
Me: -_-

I mean, what is the practical purpose of head hair anyway?
Besides the obvious aesthetic pleasantness, the bit of insulation (useful when it’s cold), and the money and time squandered to keep it clean and smooth with water, shampoo and conditioners, it’s pretty pointless.

Wouldn’t it be cool if human head hair had a superior purpose, like the flagella of bacteria helps with locomotion…?

For centuries, bald people have been ostracized and cruelly giggled at.
And a woman going bald is almost completely unheard of. Unless you’re a cancer patient or a hippy, or an actress playing one of the two.
And bald people in general public (except for some boys who can pull it off nicely) are often considered Freaks, evil villains, egg-headed-creatures, or all of the above.

Well, lemme tell you, bub, though hopelessly balding is definitely uncool, Bald can be pretty cool.
Personally, I think it accentuates one’s features, so if you’ve got the features, I say go for it.

Examples of Uncool Bald:

Britney-bald/ Awkward-midlife-crisis-bald(ing)

But behold, the ranges in Cool Bald:

David-Beckham-bald/Michael-Jordan-bald

Star-Trek-bald

Hot-celebrity-bald (not to be confused with Britney-bald)

Cool-villain-bald

And the ultimate Cool Bald, Avatar-bald:


Ok, so I was bored and started Image-Googling variations of the word Bald.
SUE ME. 😛

Besides my justification of Baldness, and my hopeless wish that society and Mother will permit me to fulfill my bald fantasy some day (OHOH with an Avatar arrow painted atop!), I watched two kickass movies on the weekend.

1. Across the Universe (2007)
Thanks for the reference, Sig! This movie-musical is awesome purely for one reason: it had ALL my favourite Beatles songs in it!

2. Fight Club (1999)
Yeah I’m a little late on this one. 😛
Hands down, one of the best movies EV0R!
I heart Edward Norton.
And the movie is like, the inside of my brain. o_O

Who’s a Real RocknRolla?

Posted: February 21, 2009 in Uncategorized

“People ask the question… what’s a RocknRolla?
And I tell ’em – it’s not about drums, drugs, and hospital drips, oh no. There’s more there than that, my friend. We all like a bit of the good life – some the money, some the drugs, others the sex game, the glamour, or the fame.

But a RocknRolla, oh, he’s different. Why? Because a real RocknRolla wants the fucking lot.”

The opening to Guy Ritchie’s brilliant 2008 production,RocknRolla.

The storyline is an entertainingly sensationalized portrayal of Underground London: the fight for power among the kings of corruption. The movie adds that glamorous touch of class to the lives of British mobsters; they’re not ‘gangsters’, oh no, they’re merely entrepreneurs. 😉

And am I the only one who thinks guys with British accents are hot?
Cuz they are. Srsly.

At the top of the hierarchy is Lenny Cole (Tom Wilkinson), the self-proclaimed God of London (“There’s no school like old school, and I’m the fuckin’ headmaster! Got it?”); is he in the Mafia or something? you might ask. He IS the Mafia, babe.
At his side is the smart and efficient Archie (my favourite char in the movie), who also plays narrator.

The story unfolds as Russian entrepreneur Uri Omovich opens a business deal with Lenny.
Uri lets Lenny borrow an expensive painting, his ‘lucky painting’, till their deal is closed. The painting goes missing, and things aren’t going too well for Lenny.

Along the way, ‘The Wild Bunch’ is thrown into the mayhem, the underdogs in the game for power, Handsome Bob, Mumbles and One Two (Gerard Butler). We’re also introduced to Uri’s mysterious and irresistable accountant, Stella (Thandie Newton), a player in the game as well, albeit surreptitiously.
Also interesting are the little glimpses into the life of Lenny’s estranged rockstar son, Johnny Quid, who isn’t as unintelligent a junkie as they estimate him to be.

The struggle for the ‘fucking lot’, as the opening words put it, seems to be the story’s central theme, deliciously accentuated by the soundtrack Black Strobe’s I’m a Man, the catchiest beat to shake awake that little part in all of us that secretly dreams about living the life of a rock ‘n’ roller.

Rich with sardonic humour (my favourite kind), guys bitch-slapping each other, razor-sharp screen shots and direction (almost as sharp as the script), and with an unforgettable finalé, RocknRolla‘s an instant favourite on my movie list.
A must-watch.

Rating: 8.5/10

The sequel, The Real RocknRolla‘s coming up soon. Can’t wait!
Some words to ponder about, courtesy of Johnny Quid, philosophizing life based on the 2 sides of a box of cigarettes…

All you need to know about life is retained in those four walls.

You will notice that one of your personalities is seduced by the illusions of grandeur – the gold packet of king size with a regal insignia, an attractive implication towards grandeur and wealth, the subtle suggestion that cigarettes are indeed your royal and loyal friends, and that, Pete, is a lie.

Your other personality is trying to draw your attention to the flip side of the discussion, written in boring bold black and white, it’s a statement that these neat little soldiers of death are in fact trying to kill you and that, Pete, is the truth.

Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I’m addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren.

That that starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet.

Duhleeriyuss

Posted: February 20, 2009 in Uncategorized

3 AM. Was woken by mosquitoes and the heat.

It’s like, freaking hot. And the mosquitoes are fat arsed and merciless.
Burnt 2 mosquito coils for the room. Again. But it’s officially blood suckage season.

Well, waving them away and hiding under the sheets didn’t help: heat collects under cotton sheets like an oven.

Then through some opening, the fat arsed little vampire bastards sneak in and swivel around my head.
Making that annoying noise in my ear.
Neener neener neener!
Stop taunting me goddammit! Shoo, scat! End up smacking myself in the head several times while failing at killing the bugs.
Neener neener neener!

Why do they do that? I heard from somewhere it’s because the noise makes the blood run faster and thus gives their homies lounging near the ankles and arms a healthy amount of juice.

I think they’re just doing it to annoy me.
So I finally got tired of thrashing around. I mean, you’d think bugs that are one-hundredth your size would get scared and flee when you wave your limbs around wildly while yelling fuckofffuckofffuckoff! but nooooo, our Sri Lankan peskytoes are determined little buggers.

Face is inches away from pedestal fan. Talking into the fan cuz it sounds funny.
Disoriented. Weird thoughts popping up inside brain.

How is it possible that Chris Martin’s Viva La Vida is playing on the headphones but Chris De Burgh’s When I Think of You is playing in my head?

Why is the Pope always a really arthritic-looking uberold man?

Why do my pajamas have carrots on them? Why would someone draw carrots on pajamas.

I want pet mosquitofish, Tilapia and Killifish in the name of biological control. First I’d have to genetically modify their genes so they’d be mutant fish that could walk around and eat mosquitoes as opposed to waiting for bug larvae to fall into the fish tank.

Cookie is so ginormously fat these days. Wonder if she’s preggy. If so, I’m naming one of the kittens Jedi.

I wonder if recent increased cig usage will cause premature wrinklage. Woah, I didn’t know wrinklage was an actual word.

I have a crazy urge to learn to play the piano after watching this byootipul performance by the G man.

Where are my slippers? My slippers have this silly habit of disappearing and then reappearing in some odd place, like the garden or the pantry or something.

BISKIT PUDDIN. There’s some in the fridge. Must eat nao.

Heeeeywaiddaminnut.. how’d they find out about that one time? >.<

Sticks and Stones…

Posted: February 19, 2009 in Uncategorized

Whacko was saying the other day how society is loaded with people who just cannot appreciate good humoured insults, and how that is leading to Insult Jedis having to curb their mad skillZz.

Seriously mean, trashy or lame insults – low blows -are the product of ninny assholes. eg: ur a fkin idiot! lolololzz!11
But there is a certain class of intelligent Insults, you see, that is so richly laced with wit, sarcasm and sardonic humour. A class of insults that are cleverly thrown around, not as cheap slaps in the face, but rather as an entertaining tool of Pwnage.

You know, the ones followed by a cocky grin and you give the victim a good natured slap on the back, and they laugh along with you or counter with their own pwnage.
But if their face starts to look like this instead (which is more often the case):

…Run.

Being a member of the Insult Jedis R US Corporation myself, I enjoy crafting such insults in my head all the time.
Alas! People do not take too kindly to me testing them out on their sensitivities.

Person: Hey give me your pen.
Me: Oh the ink is over.
Person: What? You just bought it this morning!
Me: Yeeah.. all the ink sorta ran out cuz I was using it to work on this insanely huge calculation..
Person: Woah that huge? Calculation of what?
Me: Your mother’s surface area.
Person: …
Me: Eheheh.
Person: Asshole! (stalks off)
Me: Whaaat, that was funny!

See the witty sneakiness snazzying-up a lame old ‘yo momma’s so fat’ joke?
Sheer brilliance I tell you.
I try to appreciate mad-skillz-insults as much as possible too, mind you.

Me: Dude, that movie was so lame, I didn’t know whether to laugh at it or throw up in disgust!
Dude: Really? People have the same confused reaction when they look at your face!
Me: Woah you bastard! Not bad at all. Would give that a solid 7 out of 10.
Dude: 8 out of 10 if I had replaced ‘face’ with ‘mom’ no?
Me: Deffa.

Some classics by fellow Insult Jedis…

  • Your ignorance makes Hiroshima look like a pin-prick.
  • You’re so fat that your body parts have separate time zones.
  • You suck so much that black holes have gone out of business.
  • You’re like the love child of Einstein and Jessica Simpson. (‘Aw sweet thing to say’) I meant his looks and her brains.
  • You’re so gay that Elton John and Brokeback Mountain combined look like a conservative Rabbi in comparison.

‘You’ in the above cases can of course also be replaced with Your mom or Your (relative) or Your face and such. Soon, with much practice, you too shall learn the dark arts of the Pwnage, young padawan.

Craft something brilliantly insulting and gimme your best original shot! I dare ya.

Meanwhile, a joke by moi you can complete as creatively as you like-
What do your mom and Biology tuition class have in common?

😀

The Ultimate Chick Flick

Posted: February 18, 2009 in Uncategorized

Remember that one movie Britney Spears acted in? And everyone said it sucked like a black hole and so nobody bothered even watching it?

Well yeah. Crossroads. I watched it because I wanted to witness for myself the black hole suckage.
And cuz, you know, Britney Spears attempting to act… that’s as irresistible as a seat at the Bearded Woman show at the circus.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t as disastrous a train wreck as I expected! I was disappointed.
Crossroads is the winner of two Razzie awards (no, not a good thing), one for Worst Actress and one for Worst Original Song.

It is, in short, the perfect chick flick. Has all the essential ingredients:

1. ‘Omg lets b frends 4evah!’ bunch of giggly girls.
2. A blonde, wide-eyed, chweet protagonist. a.k.a. Britney.
3. An oh so adorably cute love interest, who seems dangerous at first but is actually a big softie.
4. Girl-powah! scenes: all 3 girls get into a karoake contest, murder a song together, and win prize money for it. Sing-along girly song scene, girl-punches-asshole-boyfriend scene etc etc.
5. Huggy lovey dovey scenes: the ‘frends 4evah!’ get all emotional-bonding, solve each other’s problems, and huggle and such. Quite sickening if you’re not in the mood, but it made me giggle. Condescendingly of course.
6. Hot make-out scene between protagonist and love interest.
7. Everyone wins in the end. Girl-powah! again.
8. Closing scene: protagonist lives her dream of being a singer. Strangers applaud at performance. Cheesier than a cheese-crusted cheese lovers pizza with extra cheese.
9. Everyone lives happily ever after.

What made it less forgettable were the little twists towards the end of the movie, that make you go ‘oh, that’s a tad different’, but then when #8 happens, you go back to ‘man I hope nobody catches me watching this shit.’

Quite hilarious was the fact that the protagonist’s Dad (Dan Aykroyd, that guy from Ghostbusters) who plays a control-freak super protective parent all throughout, gives his daughter a supportive ‘go live out your dream, my precious cherrub!’ smile at the very end, when:
a. His only 18 year old daughter makes out with some much older guy he’s never seen before.
b. She’s on stage wearing a blouse that’s just barely keeping things from falling out.

I mean, if that’s not pure chick flickyness, I don’t know what is.
My only serious complaint was Britney’s awfully nasal performance of songs in the movie that for me were cringingly embarassing.

Rating: torture for the serious movie critic, but enjoyable if you’re in the mood for some frivolous sillyness.

Also enjoyable was Overprotected when the credits were rolling.
THERE, I SAID IT! I like a song sung by Britney Spears! And know some of the words too!
*Runs and hides inside a hole to avoid being hit by rotten tomatoes*

OH and speaking of Girl-powah! check out our latest local talent: someone oughta take all the wannabe-gangstuh crap off TV and put some real talent on like this.

Creatures of Death

Posted: February 17, 2009 in Uncategorized

A gut-wrenching, blood-stopping, wtf-inducing scream pierces the calm atmosphere. The scream is wet with fear and terror and panic.

What monster has caused the fair damsel to gather her skirts and take refuge atop my table and express her horror in such an infuriatingly unshuttapable way?

My cat. -_-

I know a lot of people who quite certainly and fully fear felines.
I understand possible dislike for cats, as they seem pretentious and rude to some, or even disgust towards them, as many just can’t stand furry moving things, like people who shudder at spiders and stray dogs.

But fear?

The woman is easily freaking nine times the cat’s size. The cat (100% lazy, domesticated, and doesn’t live on human flesh last time I checked) is calmly lying down ten feet away.
And here she is, pointing at it and yelling incoherently, jumping onto furniture, scared shitless.

These Catphobic Patients (CP) aren’t necessarily even wusses in general. Some are the tellers of the most blood curdling horror stories, the wildest of Truth & Dare players, and the toughest Rambos if a snake or wild monkey should cross their path.

But for some unfathomable reason, this tiny furball of harmless sweetness minding its own business manages to strike mad fear into the very same hearts.

Typical CP Scenario, last week:
Bunch of people seated all over my bedroom, chatting.
Tray of drinks placed in centre of bed.
Cookie saunters onto the first step of bedroom doorway.
Ear shattering scream as CP literally jumps off bed.
Another ear shattering scream (me, this time) as drink glasses almost topple over onto precious bed quilt.
CP is half-hanging onto the curtains at one end of the room, screaming words that once deciphered (had to filter out the high pitched ‘AAH!’s inbetween words, you see) translated to:
Get that evil monster of doom and death and destruction out of this vicinity at once or I shall die a swift and panic stricken death!

Hmm. Well needless to say, what with my evil quotient, many a time have I purposefully attempted throwing cats and kittens in the faces of CPs, just to freak the bajeezus out of them.

But it puzzles me so. Alright it’s fine perhaps if you had some childhood traumatic encounter with a vicious rabid wild cat and you’re relapsing now.

But what excuse do ordinary people have? And the phobia isn’t even a rare case, I know atleast 30 CPs personally. And they all turn into Paul Tergat when a cat crosses them on the street.
Not yet come across boys stupid enough to fear cats (and even kittens! the nerve!), so it must be a girl thing.
But what explains it? Is it an Asian thing? A Sri Lankan thing? A mental condition thing?

Whatever it is, I’m going to have to get to the bottom of it.
Cuz I don’t think Cookie’s poor heart can take anymore of strange adult humans waving their arms around and screaming like she’s Godzilla everytime she makes an entrance.

Or maybe, she rather enjoys it. 😉