Archive for June, 2009

You find them lurking around MC and other malls, standing there in a group of two to seven, ogling madly at anything that moves.

If you appear muslim, you’ll likely receive the standard salamalaikum, maiini! in a tone of voice that was meant to be seductive but comes out plain creepy (maiini means sis-in-law though, wtf?), or it’s the equally tepid hi sweetie or hey baby or *anythingbutcharming grin.*

Their victims are usually girls between 13 and 25, often groups of them, but unlike hardcore creeps, they slither away quickly if a grumpy looking older person steps into the scene and gives them the stink-eye.

The funny thing is this doesn’t seem to be a passing fancy, like it is for most guys who stare a little or let out a wolf-whistle if they see someone good-looking on their way to work or something.

These guys just seem to stand around all day, on several days, in the same spot, with nothing much else to do than stare at girls and repeatedly fail at getting them to be non-repulsed by their advances.
Atleast if you’re going to choose this as your permanent vocation, make some real effort will ya:
Greesy gel-bathed hair, wannabe-preppy clothes (preppy is bad enough), a clear lack of PR skills judging from the lame one-liners and the scary staring, these guys are in dire need of social grooming (a polite way of saying Rehab).

Some flip out their phones and take pictures of the female passers-by, some strut around accentuating the ridiculousness of their droopy at-the-butt jeans and silly bandanas, some even go the extra mile by walking up to total strangers and saying u r very beauty or can i have ur number? or worse, actually giving them their name and number in a piece of exercise-book paper.

While the more faint-hearted grimace in horror and walk away really fast, girls have now become less tolerant in their responses to such weirdo behaviour: ranging from gestures of contempt (The Finger in other words), cruel rejection (‘Uh no. Loserface.’) to all out stinging pointing-and-laughing.
As a result, Creepy Godayas have widened their means of creepiness by approaching random females via Network sites like Facebook or the most infamous CG haven, hi5.

Where do these guys come from anyway? Are they exclusive to Sri Lanka or is it a worldwide phenom? What are they doing wandering places with that blank expression on their faces except for the occasional skin-crawling grins to accompany revolting lines from the book titled How To Fail At Hitting On People?

Are they coming from some secret lab that is breeding a line of highly (sexually and otherwise) repressed men who have no other way of expressing themselves? Why do they wear so much hair gel? Why will no one buy them belts to make sure their pants don’t sit on their butts the way they do?

So many questions. Will they ever be answered?
O_o

Oh em jee, aney!

Posted: June 29, 2009 in Uncategorized

Wow.
And I thought those ‘ohmygahd lyk totalleh! gigglegiggle’ types only existed in the american-highschool-blondes universe.

Boy was I wrong.
Ranting post ahead.

Was out with two friends and two people I’d just met, the other day.
And I was blown away.

If blown away was code for bored out of my skull, that is.

The topic was such blah, I don’t even remember most of it due to all the zoning-out I was busy with.
I just remember a few lines floating around…

“omg I hate her she’s such a bitch”
“yeah I wanted that shade of eyeliner”
“lolol totallehh!”
“OMGOMG CUTE GUY. that guy over there is like, SO cute.”

Somethinsomethin.

Slowly zoning out. Words are becoming hazy. All I can see is the blahblahblah of the rapidly moving mouth.

“GASP!”

Quickly zone in. Whadappened?! Is there a fly in the coffee?! Did the waiter step on someone’s foot?! Anything would be insanely thrilling right now compared to the past half hour.

“james marsden is SO HOT. doesn’t blahblah totally look like james marsden?”

K back to zoning out then.

One of my friends whispers apologies for the lameness of the reigning convo between the other two.
Nah that’s ok, I guess all 14 year olds act that way so it’s excusable..
“She’s 17.”
Dayumn.

Apparently a lot of girls centre their everyday-all-day conversations around make-up and cute guys, all the way into their twenties.
Each to her own I guess.

I mean, yes, James Marsden is indeed gorgeous, and pink is ok if you pick the right shade…
Nevertheless, if it were up to me, we wouldn’t have to talk about the depth of Churchill’s philosophical meanderings or the life and times of a dung beetle, but I’m sure we could think up of something more interesting to talk about for hours on end than… eye paint and Jason Whatshisface’s abs?

What say you?
Come on, type it with me… “-_-“

Guilt Post

Posted: June 24, 2009 in Uncategorized

…for being so relatively neglectful of the blog lately!

Utterly uninspired to be honest.

This usually happens when things get ordinary.
I’m far from idle, and life’s far from boring, but it’s definitely predictable.
Predictable. Yeck. I hate that word.

I want to just open the door one day and find a dead body on the porch.
Or find a hidden stash of dynamite sticks under the bed.
Or go out and see fighter jets swooping so low to the ground that they rip the coconut tree in the garden off its roots.

Childish, I know.
But it doesn’t hurt to dream.

So till I get my mojo back, here’s the swan song, one of my favourites.
A tune as calming as breeze on an empty Monday beach.

Girls Aren’t Funny

Posted: June 22, 2009 in Uncategorized

Far be it from the notion that I’m trying to be sexist here (since I’m a girl with a love for comedy myself) but, on the spot, tell me, how many female comedians do you know?

Really funny women?

Uh.. Ellen Degeneres, Kathy Griffin, Tina Fey.. Sarah Silverman… uhm…
that red-head in How I Met Your Mother is kinda funny…?

And how many funny guys do you know?
Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Dave Chapelle, Russell Peters, Jack Black, Ben Stiller, Sacha Baron Cohen, Seth Rogen, Adam Sandler, Chris Rock, Robin Williams, Mike Myers, Will Ferrell, Jerry Seinfeld, Ricky Gervais… and the list goes on.

Celebritydom aside, of the people who make you really LOL personally, how many are girls?
I for one have to say the funny guys to funny girls ratio in my circle of friends is a clear 5:1.

One interesting explanation I got from a funny person about this issue was ‘laughter is something that’s essentially kiddish and girls grow up at 16 while boys don’t grow up till they’re… well they don’t grow up.’
Another one was ‘girls are just too serious, too sensitive’, obviously referring to a very rare tolerance by the fairer sex of slapstick jokes or personal jabs.
“I made a yo-momma joke at a female friend once, it’s a friggin joke, and she didn’t talk to me for a week,” whines Mr Funny Guy. “Never happens with the boys.”

And I’ve found from observation that though lots of girls absolutely appreciate comic art on TV and what not, it’s very rare that they take steps to apply the comedy in everyday life.
But if I had a penny for every time some guy said something out of a Seth Rogen or Russell Peters act and cracked up over it with the gang, I’d be pretty damn rich.

Now this is not to say women are humourless hags (I’m going to wear protective armour for a while anyway just incase the feminazis have read this), but although it’s a generalization, the stats don’t lie.
Or do they?
Is it just an overrated social setting we’re stuck in, where the guys are supposed to do the frivolous jester stuff while the damsels giggle in ‘hee hee ur so funny!’ appreciation?
Or are girls on average (uh oh, she’s gonna say it) just not funny?

Speaking of comedy, I’m on the lookout for the ultimate LOL-inducing movie.
Suggestions?

Well that’s got to be the longest title I’ve ever used for a post. ๐Ÿ˜›

I’ve always been a bit of a clumsy klutz.
Whether it’s stubbing my toe on a table leg, getting my finger sandwiched in a door hinge (ouch!), or running into things, I’ve been there.
I’m contemplating asking Warner Bros. to sign me up to play that clumsyass goofball role they’ve got in every comic cartoon.

Friends claim I just do it on purpose to make em laugh (if only!), some say (and I vehemently agree) that all non-living objects are just out to get me, while others have other fascinating theories…

“Perhaps your body is struggling to keep balance due to its disproportionate nature.”
What are you implying? -_-
“Your cranium is a little big.”
WHAT? My head is perfectly normal-sized!
“Sigh. These are the first stages of denial you know.”
STFU before I headbutt you with my massive skull.

And that was the end of that conversation.
So apparently I have a slightly bigger-than-average head.
My theory is that while evolving from a humongous chubby toddler (I was a miniature sumo wrestler) to a reeeally skinny teenager, my head forgot to reduce in size in proportion to the rest of my skinny self.

Or I just have no sense of direction and daydream too much to pay attention to oncoming inanimate objects.
The cranium theory is more plausible though, surely. ๐Ÿ˜›

Whatever the reason, clumsiness though often painful is incentive for some hilarious ‘The other day-‘ chitchat sessions.
The latest incident was when I went down to the pier last weekend.
Seated on the rocks and watching the tides crash into them, I hadn’t noticed the tide rising, and then, SPLASH! big wave hits me square in the face.

People ogling. Awkward. Must pretend like I meant that to happen.
So I wear this ah-how-refreshing-! grin on my face, patting the water off my (urgh! drenched!) clothes as though dusting off a bit of dirt, and shimmy on up to a higher rock.
Good save, I kid myself.

Then there was the time I was checking out bracelets at the store and my own dangly bracelet got thoroughly tangled onto one on the rack.
Stupidannoyinghookthinggrrahssddjasd;’@%$#!

“Hi, madam, may I help you?”
No, I’m fine, heh. Just checking out this lovely bracelet. *stops struggling for freedom of wrist, pretending to examine bracelet on rack*
“Ok.”
(Ten minutes later)
“Um, madam?” [says suspicious saleslady, who is ready to call the police for fear that crazy girl standing in one spot with her hand on an item is in the middle of a very stupid shoplifting heist]
Yes, my hand is stuck, get me out. -_-

Then there was the time I ran into a concrete wall, while playing run-and-catchers in the school corridors and not looking straight ahead.
You know how cartoons show stars and birds travelling around in circles above a woozy person’s head?
The yellow canaries, the fireworks, I saw it all.

Doesn’t it just suck when your foot somehow ends up standing in a paperbin, or your shirt gets hooked on the edge of a mat-slide leaving you dangling in mid air, or you drop a box in a shop sending thousands of tiny dotpins scattering all across the shop floor, or you get stuck in a dress for ten minutes (and your head still hasn’t emerged via the dress’s head-hole), and of course there’s the several falling-off-chair/bed occasions-

What?
You’ve never experienced any of that?

Oh. Er. Um.. yeah.. heh heh… me neither. *walks off whistling*

BOOMBLAGRSSHHH!

Posted: June 12, 2009 in Uncategorized

is the sound of my mind exploding, from watching Thriloka’s live concert, Thrilogy, at the Bishops College auditorium tonight.


Just got back, and I cannot even begin to describe to you in mere words the sensation of being there listening to those performers.
I died and went to heaven.
But that might just be the endorphins talking.

I sat up front, blown away by the opening performance followed by their popular Chimera.
And during recess, after buying two copies of their album Bisura (yes, two), lo and behold! I find The Puppeteer.
And this very familiar looking fellow sitting beside her.
Turned out to be Whacko, couldn’t recognize him at all with his new hair! *snigger*
These two might claim that they made me believe he was actually Whacko’s identical twin brother (who doesn’t exist) for a few minutes, but don’t believe their pack of lies. ๐Ÿ˜›

Anyway, long story short, their performance was nothing short of mind-blowingly brilliant.
If mortals could create magic, Thriloka and the Contemporary Chamber Orchestra alongside them have mastered the art.
I couldn’t help but sit there before the stage, with a stupid grin on my face, in awe, my jaw occasionally falling to the floor.

The music wasn’t just music, it wasn’t just people playing instruments, it was a mind-trip.
It was movement. At some point, I closed my eyes, and I could feel the whole room swirling in one mass of colour… and no I have not been smoking illegal substances. ๐Ÿ˜›

The piano, the guitars, the orchestral cellos and violins, and man, the drums!
Although the drummer was amazing, the performance I adored even more was the playing of the traditional percussion drums.
You could, literally, feel the beat in your chest, as if possessed by the music.
They called themselves “storytellers” and I don’t think I’ll soon forget the stories they told in that hall tonight.
Ecstasy, despair, wrath, were some of the songs their instruments sung with precision, and the 15 or so performers on stage wove tales as just one sole entity.

I think what made the night so insane was the connection that these guys seemed to have with their music, the emotion that just burst out of their performances and pierced right through everybody on and off stage, the passion that made all their separate instruments come together as one roaring epiphany.

I am just high on it right now, as you’ve probably noticed from all the hippy-like rambling.
So high on it and energized that I have this sudden urge to run across a huge field screaming at the top of my lungs.
Scary, I know.

Thriloka is raw talent fused with creativity, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind that they’d blow minds worldwide if they worked for the fame.
But they don’t.
Their music isn’t work at all.
It’s life, it’s being human, it’s as innate as breathing air.

All That Jazz

Posted: June 10, 2009 in Uncategorized
Listening to a bit of the oldies, I rediscovered my love for this genre while a bit of snazzy Pat Barber played in the background.
The old gal inspired me to draw the fella at the piano up there.

Remember back when people tapped their toes to clever lyrics doodley-wopp-ed to the quick beats on the piano, trumpet and trombone?

When the lead singer shouted ‘hit it, maestro!’ and would croon away sweet little rhymes in his deep baritone voice?

Aaah Frankie Frankie, I miss you ol’ man!

Not that I was even born back then, let alone even been inside a jazz bar… ๐Ÿ˜›

Nevertheless!
I’ve always been a big fan of lounge, jazz and blues music.
Pure art, I call it, and it’s got high class without the snobbery.

Frank Sinatra! The man equals what jazz is all about.
He was mainstream once upon a time, jazz was mainstream.
What happened to that?
The clever little subtlety in songs about love, life, etcetera, all seems to have gone up in smoke.
And replaced with things… less subtle, to put it politely.

Mainstream today is mostly about someone boinking someone or some such lewd reference to nether regions (The Lonely Island’s parody says it best).
No more mystery and wit in the words, nor depth in the sound.
Just… Noise… Blatant. Literal. Gaudy.
Like a huge, shiny, conspicuous pimple on someone’s forehead.

Quote from Akon ft. Snoop Dogg’s “no. #1 hit” *cough*:

I see you winding and grinding up on that pole
I know you see me lookin’ at you and you already know

I wanna *bleep* you, you already know
I wanna
*bleep* you, you already know, girl

I don’t think even Ma-hinder making an appearance on Galle Road in fuchsia-coloured shorts can top the ugly loudness of that chorus.

Oh well. Screw mainstream.

Mr ChubChubs likes Frankie too.
And here’s his squirrelly rendition of fly me to the moon!

[ChubChubs audio clips have been temporarily removed]