Archive for April, 2009

I’ve got a lot of friends who are fans of Hindi songs, some of which I must say sound wonderfully moving (a big fan of A R Rahman, tbh).

But what bothers me about this is that they don’t really have any clue what they’re singing, when they sing along to these tunes.
Which is kind of why I can never be interested in modern day pop Hindi.

One of the most beautiful things about a song to me is what it conveys.
Needless to point out, most pop songs today of most languages just convey either someone wanting to hump someone or someone wanting to hump someone in dis club. -_-

So meaning is a big deal in my books.
I actually found out what a popular Hindi song with a catchy beat meant the other day.
Turns out my friend has obliviously been enthusiastically singing for all to hear, about how much she wants to ‘kiss you hard till you can’t hold it in anymore! yo yo yo!’

Dude, wtf.
Hold what in?
No, don’t answer that. I beg you.

Another popular Thelungu song that my nine year old cousin has been singing after several youtube listens, turned out to be about two teenage village girls.. (sounds good so far) …who are burnt to death by an angry mob of villagers for having an illicit lesbian affair (dammit!).

Then I got a Maldivean song Raarukugaa translated, which had been one of my uber-favourites because it sounded like it was a tragic melody about a lover who had disappeared at sea or something romantic like that.

Turned out it’s about a farmer who sits on a toddy tree and gets eaten by a ghost.

And my favourite part of the song? Where the singer’s voice gets all deep and his face scrunches up in pain as though his heart was being broken by betrayal?

Uh, turns out he was saying, she ate me! she ate me!

Yep, he was in pain alright. -_-

Melodies are beautiful and just the pure sound of it, though you may not understand its literal meaning, can help you escape, make you forget, or remember.

Does it matter that you might be singing about cannibalism, death and sexual deviance, while not even knowing it?
What do you think?

Twitter! The new much-hyped-up about application ’round town these days.

Facebook stats wilt in comparison to the adoring Twitter fans and Twitterculture that is now freakishly on the rise.

So I joined some while ago, must see what the haahoo is no?

And it was fun to use for a while, yeah.
In times of boredom, ze bloggersphere’d be there to twitter-chat up with.
Special thanks to chavie and pseud0random for their constant HAAAIs. πŸ˜‰

But then, uh, wasn’t that what chatrooms were made for?

Mhm I left Twitter.
And people were like, OMG WHY IN GOD’S NAME?! WHYYYY?!
And I said, Come, child. Let me tell you. For you have much to learn…

The big deal about Twitter, itseems, is that the twitter updates let everyone know what you’re doing at every moment of your day.

Ok, what?

‘I’m walking to the bathroom now, need to go pee.’
‘Oh look, I found a cool bug on the way to the bathroom.’
‘I’m sitting down to pee now.’
‘I’m standing up now.’
‘I’m washing my han-

Dude. NOBODY cares. -_-

Sometimes it’s like…
Hey man, what were you doing talking to Blahblah at Barista’s?
‘WTF?! How the shit did you know that?! Are you STALKING ME?!’
Uh no, I’m just following you on Twitter.


People wanted to stay in touch with their friends: Facebook was made.
They wanted a medium to chat with those friends and see what they’re upto: MSN and Yahoo Messenger were made.
Then they said, eh I can’t be bothered chatting to them, I just want to find out what’s on their mind these days: and voila! Facebook and Messenger status/personal messages were created.

So, like… what exactly does Twitter do?
Tell the whole apathetic world things about your life that they don’t much care about?

Sometimes it’s like..
‘Isn’t it funny how cheese toast tastes even better than Pringles?’
And everyone else is like..
‘@you: Omg yeah! Have you tried frying it with way too much butter? Even better!’

And it goes on. An utterly pointless yet immensely fun discussion.
Thing is though, with constant twittering, Twitter lags like a fool. And the discussion gets all mixed up in order or you just can’t be bothered to reply cuz of all the lag.

There’s also a 140 word limit to all twitter updates.
So this whole twitterific pseudo-chatting business is pretty lame.

Well, you don’t fool me, Mr cute-twitter-bird-who’s-winking-invitingly-at-me!
I have come to the conclusion that you’re just a ripoff of other applications.
And a tool to lead the masses, because it makes people feel *speshal* that the rest of the world is getting constant updates on their own insignificant little lives.

So nya! πŸ˜›

*Awaits the wrath of the Twittersphere to descend upon her*

Boobs: what’s the big deal?

Posted: April 26, 2009 in Uncategorized

Not to be lewd about it, but being a girl, I find the impact that boobs have on today’s mass society rather LOL-worthy.

A popular lingerie company’s billboard advert was taken off the main road after its stay there for a month.
Car accidents allegedly caused by the billboard’s.. ahem, distracting cleavage.
I kid you not.

Men gawk at them as if they’re some sort of advanced technology in par with godliness.
I’ve witnessed people stopping in the streets, bumping into other people, forgetting their train of thought, or just staring stupidly, slack-jawed: whence an oblivious woman walks by with a bit of cleavage showing.

Men dedicate time talking about them, making movies based on them, writing books about them, and even a few blog posts. πŸ˜›

But when you think about it…
Scientifically, boobs are nothing but secretory glands layered with fat.

Observationally, an otherwise intelligent (heterosexual) man can be reduced to a blubbering pool of awe-stricken-ness, over a mere pair of bare fatty glands.

A guy friend said its sheer appearance or just cleavage (rare in SL, mind) most often triggers a stupefying total-blankness of his male brain.
Which implies that boobs, glands layered in fat, have the same effect that that flashy-gadget the Men In Black use to make people forget what was happening for the past hour.

In other words, female glands are weapons of mass distraction.
And most women don’t even know it.

It’s absolutely hilarious I tell you!

Maybe I sound like I’m exaggerating just a tad! And am cruelly generalizing all men like a big fat sexist would. πŸ˜‰
But practically, you put a topless woman in the middle of city traffic, and try and tell me it won’t cause total and utter chaos. πŸ˜›

Interestingly enough, remember how all this chaotic drama on the blogosphere started?

Yep that’s right.
Some woman-in-Shanghai’s boobs.

You throw the banana peel in the laundry basket.

You’re found fast asleep at the office. Albeit, arms and head resting on the photocopy machine.

Your mum claims you woke up at 2PM, told her the ‘carrots need washing’, and went back to sleep.

You slap the mosquito on the LCD screen. And realize it’s your cursor.

You wake up and wonder why you’re wearing only one sock and how your bedroom turned into your friend’s veranda.

You spoon kanji into your dish and don’t realize the dish is a flat plate till the tablecloth’s stained.

Someone keeps playing loud baila music all night. And no one but you can hear it.

You wonder why your shampoo feels so cold between your palms, before noticing it’s toothpaste.

Your friend says he’s going to tell a joke and you start giggling before he even gets to the funny part.

You wonder why your PC headphones don’t seem to be working.
Then your Aunt walks in and asks you why you’re holding an aliceband to your ear.

You call the baby cousin ‘kitty’ and pat its head.

So I’ve been sleeping at the oddest times lately, and acting weirder than a tourette syndrome kid with hyperactive disorder.
A friend worded it best when she said, ‘your body clock is so screwed up, it makes Britney Spears look like a phD major.’


Stirring Shit Up

Posted: April 23, 2009 in Uncategorized

So today, after reading up on all the latest catfights and spartan battles ensuing on the blogosphere, I felt really left out from all the psychodrama.

So I’m going to stir shit up too. Cuz it’s trendy.

Um.. let me see.. how do I start..

I HAT U!!111

Also, I used my GPS tracking device to follow a bunch of you around, and used the Russian spies in my basement to tap all your phonecalls, guys.

It’s true.

And the following are the shocking revelations I made.

Whacko is actually a parttime tuk-tuk driver.
DeeCee and Chavie are really Russian spies. Living in my basement.
PseudoRandom‘s real name is Sirisena.
PapareBoy is actually a really hot girl from Visakha.
Sigma has been collecting barbie dolls for the past fifteen years.
Gehan stole one of the barbies when he wasn’t looking.
Unsilent Dawn hasn’t had a bath in almost two weeks.
Aufidius is in rehab for allegedly running over someone with his bicycle.
Messiahofmadness and Gypsy are actually pimps in disguise.
Jack Point sings Britney Spears songs in the shower.
T, gutterflower and Delilah sing backup.
Serendib Isle and Azrael are having a steamy online affair.
TMS is an eskimo.
Darth Vader writes a blog under a pseudonym… Lady Divine.
Dili writes love poems to teen magazines.
The poems are all dedicated to indi. Who smuggled a panda into his garage and named it Gary.
DramaQueen is an automated bot planted to catch online pedophiles unawares.
David Blacker actually has an afro beneath that fake-bald wig.
RhythmicDiaspora is a figment of your imagination.
NB has cooties.
Oh you already knew that last one?

Anyway, this is just a warning message to all you bloggers out there.
Right now, I’m watching you, from outside your window. O_O

(And I have ninja bunnies for minions!)

So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll mail me a bunch of chocolates.
Or I will be forced to expose even more precariously private information about yourself as I have so efficiently done in the previous paragraph!

(Maniacal cackle with a backdrop of lightening and thunder for dramatic effect)

Writer’s Block

Posted: April 22, 2009 in Uncategorized

I apologize for my on-and-off sporadic appearances on the blogosphere, dahlings!
Just been experiencing a bit of writer’s block ever since the demise of the holiday.

Staring at the screen and waiting patiently for inspiration to come didn’t work either.

This afternoon..

3 hours later..

So yeah.
I tried sleep, biscuits, coffee, whacking myself in the forehead with a roll of newspaper…
All efforts are futile.
It’s like a giant.. uncooked gulabjam (!) jammed into my skull, therefore suffocating my brain into non-function.

I blame the weirdassness of that metaphor on the previously mentioned writer’s block.

In other news, paranoid insecurity in regard to my chosen career is seeping back in again.
Have I mentioned how ahem.. indecisive (to be kind).. I am when it comes to that subject?
What do you want to be when you grow up, Makuluwo?
Age 7- A barber!
Age 10- A fashion designer!
Age 12- A cardiac surgeon!
Age 14- A painter!
Age 16- A writer!
Age 17- A biochemist!
Age 18- A journalist-cum-designer!
Age 19- Medicine is more reality than I can stand. Writing and painting don’t guarantee a good pay. Clothes designing is too frivulous.
What pays great, is important, and involves some sort of creativity?

I guess so..?

How come everything on the list is a job that’s either unpredictable or unreliable, financially and in terms of success!

Why is the term struggling artist seemingly redundant?!

Going Back In Time

Posted: April 16, 2009 in Uncategorized

My holiday is almost over no!
After this weekend spent in Kandy, I must return to nonholiday routine yet again. Woe woe.

You know what kicks ass about holidaying with your bunch of immediate cousins?

Things change drastically as you get older – people change, friends change, the world as you perceive it changes, and naturally you’re forced to familiarize with new things.

But for some reason, things seem to stay static when it comes to holidays with the extended-family bunch.
Everything we did 10 years ago still applies.
The same case with everyone?

We still..
…sing the godayest songs together and know all the lyrics to em.
…crack the same lame jokes and spend hours laughing till we’re too delirious to remember the joke.
…tacklefight each other for a chance to get to lick the batter-bowl clean while making pudding.
…scream and fight for the computer, the remote control, and the seats in the car and at the dining table.
…watch cartoons together. With avid interest.
…think we’re a hundred years from ever being Grown Ups.
…play every card game in the book.
…cheat at every game and then profusely deny doing so.
…dance in a rather hilariously goday fashion.
…subconsciously limit insults among ourselves to the very basic fool, idiot, monkey and donkey.

It’s like nothing has changed.
Except maybe we’re a little taller now, slightly larger in number, and the old babas in diapers have rightfully transformed into big-mouthed pandithayas.

I remember a convo I had with my adorable 4 year old toddler cousin fellow a few days ago.

Me: Um, why do you have pen marks around your nose?
T: Cuz I wanted to have whiskers like a cat!
Me: You silly goose.
T: You silly monkey.
Me: Donkey!
T: Monkeyface!
Me: Donkey-monkey-hybrid!
T: Monkey!
Me: You said monkey twice!
T: You said hi-breed! S’not even a word!
Me: It is, fool!
T: Shuthupp! (that’s how he says shutup)
Me: No you shaddup!
T: I’ll kick you!
Me: Go men!
T: No you go men!

This continues for another 15 minutes till we’re distracted by homemade pizza or a weird pattern on the ceiling or some such thing.

And so it goes.
Days spent singing and dancing and eating icecream and biscuits and watching cartoons.

From 9 year olds to 19 year olds, the rituals resume.
Except its Britannia instead of Tikiri mari, and its Ben10 (which, btw, is AWEsome) instead of Thundercats now.

And you know what sucks ass about holidaying with your bunch of immediate cousins?

Holidays only last a few weeks. 😦