Liberation of Postal Service

Has Moved

2008-11-18T10:01:00.001-08:00

Indiecision
India's #1 independent music blog.

Sweet, Sweet Music

2007-03-21T08:30:00.001-07:00

Here...

Go, NOW!

Paperslut Is Indie

2007-02-24T03:09:00.000-08:00

Hymen buggers.

New music blog here.

Liberation may still continue.

John Lennon

2006-12-08T09:06:00.000-08:00

Because he was someone worth being
Because he was cool

And he was John Lennon from The Beatles

Camera Obscura And The Summer That I Missed

2006-12-02T23:14:00.000-08:00

They've been around for about a decade, but I've just 'discovered' them, and what a brilliant discovery it's been. I got hold of their newest album Let's Get Out Of This Country and it's been such a refreshing change from everything else that's been happening in the last few weeks.

So on today's show we have...

Let's Get Out Of This Country
Camera Obscura

It's spring vacation again and everybody you want to be with is in a VW minivan that's taking you through some scenic locales by the Italian seaside. Once in a while you decide to stop, by a particularly open, grassy plain. There's a picnic bag, a bottle of red and a frisbee. It's a bright sunny day and you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. For a whole 40 minutes. And then, again.

Tracyanne Campbell could well be some spawn of Cliff Richard's parents. It like listening to the soundtrack of a summer movie where kids are jumping into a small blue lake, and labradors are running about with the reckless abandon of a bone well stolen. Of course it helps that it's a Scottish band. But obviously the charm extends to more than just the origin. It's the intricate simplicity of it all. Like being at a giant fair with a ferris wheel and candy floss. The melodies are effortless and consistently charming, well supported by arrangements that come out of the pictures in one's head when one thinks of a circus carnival.

The immediate connection though is with the innocence. They mean to do no harm, only to keep you on the minibus for a long, long time. Now I have to get my hands on the rest of the catalog.

PS. Country Mile is an angel of a song. "I don't believe in true love anyway. Who's being pessimistic now."

Here's an interview they did with Pitchfork a few months ago.

Camera Obscura - Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken (MP3)

Courtesy: Popfrenzy.com.au

Wolfmother Is Colossal

2006-12-01T00:02:00.000-08:00

Absolutely. They kick the shit out of everything that's come out of Australia in the last two years. Their eponymous debut is probably the most complete and consistent effort I've heard from a band in a very long time. It's the epic-ness of their sound that is so gripping, the I've-got-a-bazooka-and I'm-not-afraid-to-use-it thing that only bands like Black Sabbath and Audioslave (era Audioslave) can claim to have. And they sound great even after three cups of coffee and two swigs of Benadryl which is the acid test for hard rock bands these days.

The Oasis gig was super. Of course since the internet speeds here would put an asthmatic snail pulling a six tonne hippo to shame, all I could catch live was Noel starting Don't Look Back In Anger and staying in that position for the remainder of the hour. Thankfully, MSN kept the stream up for a while and then had the individual songs available for viewing. So I watched all the songs like music videos. I didn't mind. Noel and Gem were at their best in a semi-acoustic setup that included some guy on a snare. They even played Strawberry Fields Forever and some french chaps who'd obviously had too much beer (or schnapps) started jumping up and down and getting all excited and all. I turned the volume up.

If you haven't noticed, I've got this cool slidey thingy on my page now. It's pretteh cool and tells y'all the rubbish I've been listening to these days (okay, okay, Tenacious D isn't rubbish). And if you've been following really closely, you'll see it pretty soon here too.

It has recently dawned on me that I love every Travis song ever written. Even U16 Girls. Especially U16 Girls.

The Unlike No Ones are going into acoustic studio to record some demos. When they come out, I'll post some mp3s.

What is it with lists?! That reminds me. Here's a good top 5 of the last week.

5. You Won't Know - Brand New (new to the charts)
4. Kickapoo - Tenacious D (non-mover)
3. Colossal - Wolfmother (HOT!)
2. A Kiss To Send Us Off - Incubus (big move)
1. 6th Avenue Heartache - The Wallflowers (what?! huh?! woo!)

Noel And Gem Live Tonight!

2006-11-28T07:11:00.000-08:00

You won't hear this often (especially on this blog), so listen up. "God bless MSN!" As part of their promotional tour for Stop The Clocks Noel and Gem are playing a series of live gigs (they're acoustic I think) that'll be streamed live on MSN. Woo! The Definitely Maybe DVD completely changed the way I looked at the way Oasis played live. Seriously, they looked like a bunch of kids who'd just got out of public school and realised that playing in a band wasn't such a bad idea after all. Those were the good ol' days when Guigsy and Bonehead stood at one corner of the stage and looked perfectly happy playing bass and rhythm even if no one looked at them. That's why they could get away with wearing shades when they played indoor gigs. Ah, '93-94, the wonder years. Saved on good ol' DVD.

And on today's show we have...

The Repulsion Box
Sons And Daughters

Adele Bethel could well have been a waitress at some small pub in Glasgow where they served drinks at night with a round of community singing around a piano and a guitar. It's really that simple with Sons and Daughters, like the songs on The Repulsion Box wrote themselves after a particularly good night at Smith's Beer and Chips.

Their inherent folk-iness (or beer buzz as I'd like to believe) sets them apart from a tonne of other Scottish bands who're trying too hard to be Britpop, 10 years too late. Scott Paterson (second vocals) adds a bonus range to their songs that would've been good enough if it was just Bethel singing. And the unavoidably catchy thump, thump, thump is just irresistible. They had me at just Bethel's divine Scottish accent. And it's just the same when she lets out this mirror-shattering screech like on Gone. There's a certain predictability to what they do after the first few songs but that's forgivable given the economy with which they create these bombastic tracks. This is not your average pub band who've had too much to drink before getting on stage. It's a bloody good way of saying "I love you" without a hesitant tone, and then sleeping with the neighbours wife.

----

Axl Rose has got some lip (and nerve). If only he used it for singing.

Chris Cornell May Be Cool

2006-11-26T23:49:00.000-08:00

Call me lame, but I loved Casino Royale. Maybe that's because I love all Bond films and I think Eva Green is hawt, but this one was great. Oh come on, her name is Eva Green for crying out loud! What? She's the villain in the end? Teheh.
*points finger and laughs*

Here's something for everyone who's wondering what to do with all that free time.

I first heard the new 007 soundtrack before I watched the film, and the first thing that came to mind was the scene from the South Park movie when the Terence and Philip movie is playing and all the adults in the theatre are wondering what happened to Canada. It was that bad. And then you have two really boring Audioslave albums as a rider and that just totally killed any hope of career rejuvenation that Cornell was trying to surface with a Bond movie OST. "The coldest blood runs through my veins, You know my name." I mean serial dude. But then a 10:30am show happened, and what we have is a song that just kicks the shit out of every other Bond soundtrack that we've had till now. So some may not agree, but at least here's something that's been on my playlist for the last few days.

Zero is one of, if not the best band in the Indian Rock 'scene' (as it is lovingly called). I first saw them at Independence Rock 2003 when they covered I Alone by Live. They've got this stand-back-get-outta-the-way thoroughness about them that kicks the distortion out of every other band on the Indian m3u. Hook, their first (technically their second) self-released EP, was the coolest thing from an Indian band that I owned till they released Procrastination. Their live shows are a blast to be at and trust countless minor wounds when I say that you'd better not be in the moshpit when they get to the chorus of PSP 12". Here's an interview I did with them a few years back before they released Procrastination. Playstation was never so much fun. Since then they have continued to be cool. So cool that we cover my favourite Zero song. A link for the blissfully ignorant.

Zero - Old Man Sitting on the Back Porch

It may not work, in which case, crib here.

Everybody else's been asleep over the weekend.

Stephan Jenkins

2006-11-24T03:51:00.000-08:00

And on today's show we have...

Third Eye Blind
Third Eye Blind

The first story Stephan Jenkins ever told me was of an angry boy standing on a ledge, waiting (wanting) to jump. The picture was vivid, so vivid that I forgave him for screwing up everything around it with a rubbish reggae arrangement that screamed Bob Marley but meant The Who. Eventually, I got to listening everything he had to say. I was my first introduction to the Mushroom Syndrome - having music 'grow' on me. It was exciting 'cos the possibilities were endless. Maybe I could actually understand what Pink Floyd was all about or how Matchbox Twenty got their cheques.

So Stephan and I began our journey, a long one at that but never boring. We lost a whole year and flirted with uncontrollable sleeping. It was almost immediately obvious that whatever we did involved a lot of drugs. But these weren't any ordinary drugs? These were wolves garbed in little rubber ducky outfits and jumping around like Cornershop was playing on the radio. It wasn't of course and that's what made the whole experience a lot more believable. Especially since they also talked love and how it was being lost and whether everyone involved was satisfied with the physical and all the strings attached. He didn't force me to listen. His friend Kevin Cadogan told me that it was alright to be the outsider and shoegazing was cool if you didn't know you were doing it. I believed it all.

In a world where nothing is any good if other people like it, the Rolling Stone stands out as a beacon of popular culture and so-so taste.

Same Size Feet by Stereophonics and The Hindu by Oasis have exactly the same riff. Which is a discovery only a very bored, but terrifically alert listener can inform you. He may also discover that it's about time he laid off the coffee for a week or a year.

I've always liked Pitchfork. Sure they're snobbish, self-righteous and desperately obnoxious. But they've got that thingy thing working for them. You know, the one that allows them to be heartless to anything that over 50 people listen to. That's a good thing of course. Because without them, Damien Rice would be just another Irish crooner with too many confessions to make. The Guardian's got the loop. Heck, if they say Swan Lake is good, I think I'm gonna believe them.

It's almost official. Noel, Liam, John, Paul, Bono, The Edge and Ringo (George) have all but lost it to Westlife. Come everyone, let's all drink schnapps and pretend like its 1994 again.

Country House

2006-11-23T03:29:00.000-08:00

No, this discussion will not involve the words Roll With It, even though that was a complete pisspot of a song and would still whoop the butt off most of Blur's pre-1995 discography (okay, so Parklife was... good). Today we focus our rapidly fading attention to another battle of the Brit goody goodknicks. On the left corner of the ring, weighing 26 big ones, we have Love, a theatrical exercise intended to please those who haven't let it be just yet. And on the right corner, weighing 18 wholesome tunes (20 if you're Japanese), we have Stop The Clocks, a contractual obligation intended to keep 50,000 30-something Englishmen drinking ginger ale all winter. The options are before you and it's time to measure. The Beatles, arguably the greatest band in the world, keep us holding on for that "new Beatles album" that presumably Ringo Starr has been hiding in his pajamas since 1969. Oasis, proclaimably the greatest band in the world, keep us holding on for that "good Oasis album" that presumable Guigsy took away with him when he left for Zanzibar. Who'll win the battle of the Bests? Will it be Lennon's boys and their wonderfully produced circus act? Or will it be the brothers Gallagher and their memoirs of a wonderful mid-90s? Neither apparently. England seems more fond of real boys.

As we get closer to the end of this year it is important to decide whether 2006 was, to put it simply, a good or bad year for music. Let's start with examining the facts. I have been satisfied on more occasions than I have been disappointed. So one point to good. Third Eye Blind hasn't released a new album. One point to bad. Oasis haven't come to India yet. One more point to bad. Come back tomorrow for the continuation of this thrilling story...

Everyone wants to be Jay-Z. But can we all be adequite? What's the point, huh? What's the effing point?

Noel's not on the NME 2006 Cool list by the way. Which wouldn't be all bad if Liam wasn't on it either, which he is. Worse still, Thom Yorke beat Liam, which means that basically I better listen to what he's been up to 'cos it was all downhill after Kid A.

It's hard to find things to write about when the music dries up for a few days. Back to The Beatles... Or Oasis.

We Can All Be Free

2006-11-21T22:24:00.000-08:00

Everytime I listen to Cat Power I feel like somewhere in the world, at that very moment, someone is discovering that the grass is just as green on the other side as it is where he stands. I didn't particularly like The Greatest, but I could listen to You Are Free a gazillion times a day. And feel perfectly peachy about life, the universe and having the hots for someone who's not as immediately visually appealing as say, K-Fe... I mean Paris Hilton. What? You too? I Don't Blame You.

Oasis is out with Stop The Clocks - a supposed greatest hits compilation. NME has, as expected, given it a 10 on 10. Everyone knows you buggers are closet Blur lovers. However, for once, I think they might be right. Most of the songs on the double disc are pre-1997 era when the whole world was wondering what the hell happened to any other band. Or at least they thought that way. And were they wrong? Both Definitely Maybe and (What's The Story) Morning Glory were, for me, the albums of the 90s. The Masterplan had B-sides on it that were better than some songs on both! Liam's unabashed and often out and out prudish attitude so brilliantly reflected in anything that Noel wrote at the time. Somehow I'm glad that Liam only decided to write much later. But regardless of what, they're my boys. And they'll always be rock 'n roll stars.

They've also got an absolute wonder of a video for The Masterplan. IE only though. The way Liam walks is priceless.

Got my hands on some Brand New B-sides and rarities. They sound like kids in their early days. Maybe it's because they were back then. But my, how they've grown. Rolling Stone gave 'em a 3/5 though. Ptooee.

This is the coolest thing since sliced bread.

And these are the coolest guys since The Beatles.

Look at their eyes. They're all on Champagne.

You Won't Know

2006-11-20T23:51:00.000-08:00

There's something about The Beatles that gets to me like no band prior 1970 gets. Everytime I listen to them I find something new and cool. It's like a Simpsons episode that never ends. Sir George Martin was inducted into the UK Music Hall of Fame a bit ago, and to celebrate, I listened to Abbey Road in it's entirety. God is that a brilliant album. It's a never ending discovery when it comes to The Beatles. Something that hasn't been the same for The Who, The Kinks or even Led Zeppelin. I won't go to the blasphemous extent of saying that they aren't good. But I can't listen to Quadrophenia or Houses of the Holy more than once or twice a week. I could listen to Help!, Abbey Road, Revolver and Let It Be on loop forever.

Maybe this has something to do with it...

Look at their eyes. They're all on pot!
Wasn't everyone?

Top five tracks of last week
5. A Kiss to Send Us Off - Incubus
4. Kickapoo - Tenacious D
3. O! Valencia - The Decemberists
2. Wait - The Beatles (another 'discovery')
1. Jesus Christ - Brand New

I want to be rich enough to own a racing team. Damn you Kanye West, I will have the last laugh. For the longest time I thought your name was Kayne.

Regardless of what anyone thinks, Kasabian rock. So do The Rapture.

The good thing about mediocre artists is that they're just so many of them that in the end only a few people end up listening to the good ones. And maybe that's what Rock music is all about.

The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me
Brand New

Circumstances and internet forums had built this up so much. And like all albums that have been so efficiently 'built up' this year, I didn't keep my hopes too high. But if the leaked untitled demos were anything to go by, this would be a worthy follow up to Deja Entudu. Sic Transit Gloria completely changed the way I would look at this band. And thank God for that.

I never really liked anything that screamed at me, or forced me to listen by some trick of guitar, voice or noise. Jesse Lacey has a way with words though - stating the obvious but without making it sound absolutely lame. "Jesus Christ I'm not afraid to die, I'm a little bit scared of what comes after". Bordering on the verge of perpetual damnation as all Christian Rock bands usually are, the new album blows the gut out of anything that moves with the word 'Alternative'. It's not a concept album, but it's a theory I just can't seem to get enough of. This one's going to be right up there on my Top 2006 list.

Out today.

Some Sad Song

2006-11-20T06:22:00.000-08:00

The Pad is back! After a year of keeping me away from other Indian Rock forums, I finally have another place to waste precious time that could have been spent completing a dissertation that is somehow looking very, very far from done. But that's a story for another depressing day.

There's absolutely no album I'm looking forward to for the remainder of this year. And that sucks, 'cos I just cleared up about a gig and a half on my hard drive, and now I have nothing really special to fill it up with. Somebody recommended Swan Lake, but I'm not terribly excited by an indie super-band, especially not after Wolf Parade.

Tehehe.

I read an interview with Tom Morello somewhere and he said he still believed a good Rock song has to have a good riff. By 'riff' he was quite obviously referring to the distinctive guitar parts in such Rock greats as Black Knight, Smoke On The Water and the rest of the Deep Purple discography. I don't quite agree with Morello though. I wouldn't go as far as restricting the 'theory' of a riff to a guitar. So anything that one identifies with a song becomes its riff. The 1-2-1 kick of We Will Rock You, the chorus of The Call Is Songed, the fireworks in the sky when Cochise takes off. One wonders then about the concept of 'song' and therefore of verse, chorus, bridge, Pete Townshend, A Hard Day's Night vs Daytripper, and how someone like Tom DeLonge is making money. So much thinking has killed the last remaining mouse on the wheel in my brain. Goo goo goojoob.

Still too overwhelmed with Light Grenades, The Crane Wife and The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me for a full review, but here's a happy picture to keep y'all busy till then.

A Kiss To Send Us Off

2006-11-18T21:02:00.000-08:00

Oh man! And I say this with in the gravest, most deep and purposeful OMFG tone you have heard all year. The first person I told about it replied with almost the same sense of overwhelming flabbergast as myself - "HOLY FUCK YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME". And given my being so coy and typically evasive, I won't explain myself.

Okay fine.

It has passed the three-repeat test, something that A Crow just about managed to. Now on the fifth repeat and going strong. Anyways, OMFG!

In other related but unrelated news, kids in England are wild. Underage clubs! How cool is that?! They could've saved me from the embarrasment of a childhood permanently scarred by N'SYNC and those retards from the Backstreet Boys. "Our girlfriends would get hit on by dirty old men so we decided to get our own club." This kid is 15 years old. When I was 15, I thought the prosecute was someone who had promiscous sex with everyone. Goddamn I feel old. And to think it was only yesterday that Bye Bye Bye was the coolest thing on the planet since chocolate wafers.

Confessions of a dangerous mind and all that jazz.

What? A November post without The D? Of course not.

My Top 10 albums of 2006 list is going to be a while. Oh, the confusion and pressure of it all!

The Greatest Band In The World

2006-11-18T00:48:00.000-08:00

A long ass fuckin' time ago, in a town called Kickapoo...

Like Rolling Stone magazine said, any album that kicks off with that line can't be all that bad. The only thing they got wrong is that they wouldn't know a good Tenacious D album if it slapped them in the face with a stale fish. Okay, so I'm terribly, pathetically, desperately biased. But that doesn't take away from the fact that The Pick of Destiny is one of the coolest albums of 2006. Yes, I will get off my D trip, but give it a bit. In fact, give it a lot. 'Cos any band that can claim to be "the greatest band in the world" and pull it off without looking like cleverly packaged emo buffoons (read Angels & Ariwaves) are the greatest band in the world. Or nearly there.

In completion of my dissertation I need to interview people about Rock music and what it means to them and what they think about it. And I have realised that one can't really be stupid enough to think that this would really work. I think I'm more confused now than when I started. Which is cool, 'cos then I see pictures like this and I'm happy.

I intensely dislike the fact that I have everybody's music. And that that is my problem.

Advisory Committee

2006-11-17T01:26:00.000-08:00

Continuing my discovery of the wonders of lo-fi, we return with Mirah's second and not so lo-fi album. It hasn't sunk in completely, but immediately, I like the first one better. Slightly only though. There's places she's gone wild, in a thoroughly indie sense of the term, with Recommendation. But that's nice. It's like what The Postal Service must've been thinking when they wrote Such Great Heights. Fortunately, I can't see any Ben Gibbard in Advisory Committee. Or at the very least, just a little. Cold Cold Water sets it up for another 10+ songs about how we're not normal people anymore. What's fun is how you can still hear some fuzz on the acoustic guitars, but you know they've spent time cleaning it up. Eight and a half on ten?

Everyone's been talking about the All-TIME 100 albums and that's cool. Sure, everyone has an opinion about who's in and why Pink Floyd fails to make it to this gracious list. So I thought I should get a word in too - Time is a gleaming example of how people think. Hurrah to everyone who doesn't know who Pavement and Muddy Waters are. Word.

By the way, this is also Courtney Love's first true moment of glory.

Pleasantly surprised to see Oasis there. But they got the wrong album.

I think Light Grenades is the last album of 2006 I'm really looking forward to. I'm slow. I haven't heard Anna-Molly yet.

Today is such a boring day in music that VH1's Rock Clock lists the birthday of one of the Hanson boys alongside Britney Spears filing for divorce from "sperm donor" (*snigger snigger) K-Fed. I'm so bored, I actually read that crap.

The 10th Crime

2006-11-16T01:43:00.000-08:00

Is when I can't listen to a song for a long time because a reference has been created that isn't the same as the original. Love Will Come Through fell through the trap door and hasn't been able to climb out yet. It's been over a year. Damn.

Stupidclassraisedhandedness: Broad assumptions based on data generated through the retardedness of a generalisation created because of personal bias and experience.

The new Decemberists album is sweet. Colin Meloy and his vague but endearing stories of Japanese bird women is a lovely contrast to the emo grinding visuals that Jesse Lacey has been subjecting me to almost day and night over the last few days. Picaresque was the first experience I had with The Decemberists. Actually, Pitchfork takes that honor when they featured Of Angels And Angles in one of their usually obscure but pleasantly surprising Top Something Songs of Some Year lists. Meloy hasn't got a very distinctive voice, or any exceptional sense of music. But The Decemberists stand out as more than just a novelty. It's not the fact that you're listening to some fabled story of adventures and romance, but more that you're listening to why you should know it. I also like the way he's totally ripped off the 'riff' of When The War Came from the Cranberries, and Laura Veirs' vocals on Yankee Bayonet.

"Why aren't you Bill Gates?"
"I'm just an old man."

It's a wonder what context does to conversation these days.

Why is it that regardless of how retarded these guys look, I will always love them?

It is described by Francis Healy as "a song about love, not in the classic context of that sort of holding with love, you know the one that you see in the pictures "I love you/I love you too" and it's not like that. It's love that you have with your mum and your dad and your friends and stuff, love that equals hope in the face of everything, the love that conquers all, and its dedicated to that love."

That man rules the world.

Scared of What Comes After

2006-11-14T12:37:00.000-08:00

There's a reason why, regardless of how much they fight, how many hotel rooms they trash, how many times they get arrested for drunken misbehaviour, I will always love Oasis. The reason is called Definitely Maybe. 1994 was a tough time. People were doing all sorts of crazy things, like making bad music and stuff. And that sucked right. 'Cos we all know what bad music can do to the world. I mean, look at Armenia and what happened to them before System of A Down showed up. 2002 was a tough time too. A reasonably obese, and thoroughly klutzy boy of 18 had just a year and some earlier been introduced to the phenomenon of Fuckin' In The Bushes. It wasn't earth-shattering, or clutter-breaking but for our boy, and a boy he was. He didn't know the ways, means and beans of the world. And then, suddenly out of nowhere, he was at a music stall. Where he bought a tape. For half price. That is Rs.63. And it was cool, 'cos he'd had a hundred bucks to spend and now he could buy the chicken roll at the bakery stall. It was good. So was the roll.

But basically, the album was like the turning leaf. It changed the way he looked at the world and all the worldly things inside it. Like pride, self-esteem and the fact that girls would be something he always had a problem with. Till now. But more importantly, it made him cool. Like Liam, Noel and that guy who had all the right things to say at the right time. He was the Rock 'n Roll Star and he would Live Forever Up In The Sky in the Supersonic Digsy's Dinner of knowing he would never be Married With Children. And so, we all Slide Away...

'Cos we all know what good music can do to the world.

They say a picture is worth...

Reviews later. Much later. Know only that the remainder of the year is not going to be the same.

Kickapoo

2006-11-13T06:35:00.000-08:00

"Hey, how's it going dude?"

"Fantastic"

I mean what the fuck. Seriously? Bring on the floating unicorns and ET and lets just have a powerpuff party.

And on this week's show we have...

When Your Heart Stops Beating
(+44)

What really miffed me about the whole +44 thing was that last.fm didn't allow me to tag the MP3s as (+44), so I had to tag 'em as Plus 44. Now that sucks for more than the obvious reason - Plus instead of + is like calling fat people horizontally challenged. Euphimisms is not something that Rock music does very well. Take a look at bands like Third Eye Blind, Jars of Clay, Guano Apes and The Velvet Underground. To the unsuspecting and unknowing eye it may seem as if there are forces greater than creative thinking at play. Like potty thoughts for example. Anywho...

Before I had the album in its entirety I'd just heard Lycanthrope, When Your Heart Stops Beating and a shorter version of No It Isn't. Frankly, No It Isn't was the only song that really got me. Everyone looked at Angels & Airwaves and (+44) with the hope that there would be something, at least something, that reminded them of blink-182. Goshdarnit, I wanted another What's My Age Again. Angels & Airwaves was the bummer of the century, so the impetus on Mark and Travis to bring back blink glory was double, if not more. Sure you wouldn't say it outright that you were waiting for another blink, but I know you wanted them, like I know you're never really satisfied with anything till it gets old and then it's classic. Obviously. They didn't make Tom's mistake of playing it up; if they did, this review would be a whole lot different.

There's nothing that really gets me about this album. It's a solid piece, but I think they've played it safe. Travis' drumming is brilliant as usual, but Mark isn't his usual expressive self. They've held back, just to get it right. Just right. But it could've been bigger. #2 will be. But for the next two years, its just No It Isn't and When Your Heart Stops Beating that'll get repeats on my playlist.

In other related news...
The Pick of Destiny has stood the test of three repeat plays. Go D! Full review in another post, but know this, the D is back, and if I don't see the movie soon, something bad's gonna happen to the mouse that has inhabited my room.

The brand new Brand New demos are brilliant. The anticipation of a new album that I'm already so terribly biased towards is, well, terrible. Considering I've already heard some of the new material, I have to say there is a need for me to step away from the Winamp for a while and take a walk or wash some clothes. Brand New have been a sort of revisited welcoming for me. I had dismissed them to the depths of the only-one-listen basket where Thursday, Taking Back Sunday, Taproot, As Tall As Lions and Senses Fail currently reside. I may need to go there more often.

About

2006-11-11T11:09:00.000-08:00

Conspicuous consumption of popular culture.
Obscure judgements using flawed perceptions.
Big words for little things.
Angels & Airwaves is ridiculous even after repeated plays.
Not forcing oneself to like something.
Piracy breeds contempt.
Who is divine?

But seriously. I can't even force myself to listen to A&A.

Why do you listen to Coldplay? Why do you prefer Led Zeppelin to Limp Bizkit? How are The Beatles any different from say Judas Priest? What is it about listening to obscure bands? What is music?
And why is nothing good if other people like it?

Modern Music has already given The Pick of Destiny a 5.1. On 10! Crap! Don't fail me now Jack Black. The man has always reflected a sort of Big Pimpin' attitude that I would like to be associated with at more than just a subliminal level. And Kyle too. They're like Batman and Robin for me. And I used to like the whole "Kablaam", "Kapow", "Holy Jews on fire Batman!" thing. I think I still do. It's just that these days with globalisation and everything... The thing with India is that the movie is probably too obscure to come here. So bring it on spy-cams!

Jay-Z also rules.

Gary Lightbody

2006-11-10T06:04:00.000-08:00

This post comes in the wake of a particularly successful session of Snow Patrol. Okay, so they're mainstream, they're pop, they're the decaf of the music world. But they rule. Just like Zero, but in a different way. Their music has style, panache and a certain something that I like to call Northern Irish charm which only bands like The Divine Comedy and Stiff Little Fingers have because they are the only other bands I have heard that come from Northern Ireland, that is.

Happiness is a warm gun and somethingawful.

The wait right now is for the new Brand New (*it's like rain, on your wedding day*) album which the whole of the internet community tells me is going to be brilliantly brilliant. There was a time when purevolume.com/brandnew was owned by some kids with too much time and a rotten band. Now I'm contemplating Latin.

What's this?

Here's my top 5 bummers of 2006 (subject to change till 01 January, 2007).
5. Audioslave - Revelations (I deserved more Chris, much more)
4. Breaking Benjamin - Phobia (Wtf?)
3. Jet - Shine On ('nuff said)
2. TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain (at the risk of the wrath of the indie world)
1. Angels & Airwaves - We Don't Need to Whisper (cos they're gonna keep us on mute anyways)

Tenacious D better rock my socks off.

Swimming Into View

2006-11-08T20:51:00.000-08:00

The greater good of scrobbling is that it gives me the opportunity to listen to everything I've ignored for a while and then gloat in the knowledge that I truly have the greatest music in the world. And I say this in the complete humility of one who has made (regretted, been reminded of) the revolutionary and life changing remark "As Long As You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys is my favourite song", and other greats like "Death metal rules! *growl*". But who am I to judge? Just 'cos K-Fed is now Fed-Ex, and The Rapture is only the coolest band in the whole wide world (Whoo! Alright-Yeah... Uh Huh), doesn't mean that boybands aren't gay and Death metal rules.

Here are the things you need to listen to, to grow up and not be pansy

And the happiness of procrastinating a case study knows no bounds. Just like
Does he not know
He knows not
Knows not does he
Not he knows

Enough.
For now.

Welcome To The Black Parade

2006-11-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

I like My Chemical Romance. They've finally got big band confidence now. Something I saw in

Green Day with American Idiot
blink-182 with Take Off Your Pants And Jacket
Travis with The Invisible Band
Kaiser Chiefs with Employment (they got it in one)

Something I'm waiting to see in (and I'm not saying they're not good)

Alien Ant Farm (3 albums and counting)
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (don't think they want it)
Brand New (50-50)
Fall Out Boy (they're trying too hard, aren't they)

Something I'm sure I'll see in

Arctic Monkeys
(+44)
Franz Ferdinand (it's only a matter of time)
The Unlike No Ones (*snigger snigger*)

Something that these guys got opening

Audioslave with Audioslave
Oasis with Definitely Maybe
Tenacious D with Tenacious D (oh, so you want to argue now, is it?)
Coldplay with Parachutes

Gerard Way has got that thingy in his voice that fakes you into believing that they haven't had to work too hard on getting the music down, like it just happened. That's when you've got it. Defiance. Rock music, right?

Once again there is much work to be done, and not much time. But a lot of it apparently. See, the fact of the matter is that the only true currency in this bankrupt world is a conversation between two uncool people. And therefore my friend, you and I are millionaires.
You know what time it is?
Tenacious D time...!

Teenagers scare, the living shit out of me.

Throw It Back To You

2006-11-05T13:51:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again when a judicious combination of boredom and the urgent need to complete something, umm, urgent, leads one to do something that puts off both. There's an art to writing stuff that seems to mean a lot but if read carefully would reveal that the writer was essentially, beating around the bush.

This week's urgency...

5. Miss Murder - AFI
4. Pretty in Scarlet - Guano Apes
3. Admiration - Incubus
2. 9 Crimes - Damien Rice
1. Million Miles - Mirah

If it wasn't for the internet, uncool people would rule the world. And those who seemed to have it all would be destined to the realms of perpetual mediocrity.

What is it with music?
"I dig music"
What is the difference between hearing and listening?
"To begin with, everything"

The problem with good music is that it just puts off sleep so much. And then Benadryl does absolutely nothing to help, does it.

No Need To Argue

2006-11-04T05:55:00.000-08:00

How do you know when something goes out of fashion?

And who decides?
"Them"?
Who are these unnamed individuals?
Are "they" individuals at all?
What is individuality?
Is everyone the same?
Or is everyone trying to be different?
And therefore, is everyone the same?
Who needs to know?
For what?
And how do you know what makes you stand out?
Do you just 'know'?
Or does someone tell you?
So if you're the same,
When do you go out of fashion?

You Think It's Like This
But Really It's Like This
Mirah

Somehow I'm about six years off the ball on this one, but I don't mind. At first I thought this was Laura Veirs' little sister; about 10 years little-er. Mirah's well worth my ignorance. And then there's all the Wiki and Pitchfork pages I needed to read up on to seem smart at what I like to call 'art conversations' where nobody really knows what the other is talking about, but it's cool to nod your head and pretend like this is what you do for a living. Thank God for the internet.

The 14 year old choir girl singing to me about relationships and how everything's so frail that I don't really need to be old to be mature, has got a point - you don't need to sleep with someone to be their friend forever.

Apart from that...
Photographs like this is what makes bands like the Arctic Monkeys cool.

May Photoshop be with you.

Whatever You Want It To Be

2006-11-03T03:37:00.000-08:00

And on this week's show we have...

Shine On
Jet

After Get Born, this is, though not completely rubbish, somewhat potty. I heard it once and said mournfully to myself, quite like a shrink who doesn't care if he gets his money but just wants the quack out and out now, "Why Jet, why would you do this to me? Me, who loved your stuff despite the tonnes of web pages and people with too much time on their hands saying that your songs were rip-offs of those by The Beatles. Me, who jived to Are You Gonna Be My Girl even though My Sharona was on the same playlist."

But I persisted, and after a few listens, it grew on me like a zit on the butt, and hey, the first single isn't all bad. And then, I further try to justify why I shouldn't entirely dismiss this album to eternal mediocrity, but I fail. It struck me somewhere in the middle of repeat #7 that maybe it was time to move on and come back just for Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is, which too, if it wasn't the single, I'd probably avoid. Ah, the confusity.

In part two, we take a look at what not to do before a submission...
I have taken it upon myself to explain in this complexity of phrase and verb how and what. How is it possible that regardless of how hard I try, the words pour out slow as a reluctant dog beign dragged into a bath, when I need to write about that which I do not like. Unlike here, where I can write unflinching almost without thought with the only restriction being time and lethargy. Oh, Bohemian Rhapsody of my life, let the game of one song after another in this tender device that we run on computers and machines take my mind away from all I need to do but haven't done, being constrained by my restrictions.

I could be talking about drugs you know.
*but do you*

If Art Is Still Inside

2006-10-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

She didn't look too old. Maybe 30, 32. She hopped on to the train while it was moving already. The empty bottle she held in her hand looked at least crumpled and at most broken. Still, she filled it with water from the tap. When it was halfway full she let go of the tap and hurriedly screwed the lid back on the bottle. She didn't think twice about getting off. The woman walking in the opposite direction to the movement of the train was a blur; the train had picked up a bit of speed, almost a full sprint. She stepped off the train and though she was ready for the obvious run the inertia would induce, she was weavy. The woman walking in the opposite direction had no premonition, and no way to stop her. She ran staight into the woman. And before anyone could say anything, she fell under the train.

I don't know what happened thereafter. Everyday.

------------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I wanna bleed
Show the world all that I have inside

- Bleed, Cold

The sadness of knowing that everything that works sometimes doesn't work at just the time you want it to work, sucks. And so, in continuation of everything that one stands for, and everything this blog stands for, and all the thinking involved, is tiring. Therefore dear ones/one/two/loveless loner, the stories end. The music, however, never does.

1,2,3,4 And There You Go

2006-09-19T12:32:00.000-07:00

Because time isn't as easy as it seems.

-----------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

How will you get yourself
Out of this one
You stand by watching
And this is how
Your life is turning out

- Stunt Show, Something for Kate

She picks up the pieces of the broken mirror hoping she would cut herself by mistake. Tiny shards of glass on the cold floor seemed much warmer than the life she wished to flow out of her hands. He didn't care about either. She knew he would do something like this. He always did. And that was the worst. The look in his eyes, saying miles more than any words that came out of his pressed lips. The curses she could take, the violence she couldn't.

Like two sides of a coin that's spinning in the air waiting for a decision. It's more and more words of a story that isn't going anywhere. But it's told well. His voice is mature, lazy and sober. Like last night was good. Like there's the nothingness of a brand new day to sleep through waiting for another good night.

He knew it would happen, again. She had slept with him, again. She didn't have to show it for him to know. Why couldn't she just leave him? Make things easier for the both of them. Why is life so complicated? It was better before when he didn't know. And he didn't want to leave her. So he got angry. And when he got angry, she usually got hurt.

They play as if they know very few people will listen. The guitars are here, the voice is there. The beat stops, starts, trots along and plays itself into a rhythm not defined by time, person or place. Measured but indifferent. Deliberate but uncaring. Crafty but finally slipping away into something of a chorus in this lecture of hurt.

She didn't do it this time. All she did was talk to him. Why won't he see that? Why does it always mean what it was before? She's tired of explaining. But she can't take the pain. That's why she does what she does. In the inevitability of something that's bound to happen, he opens his mouth. To scream again.

It's a slow dance into oblivion. A conversation that isn't meant to get over. The chorus calls out to the waiters holding glasses of wine for the buffet that's about to begin. At the line they wait for the signal. And then they go and feast like hungry guitar players waiting to haunt someone with a tune that's not really a tune but something that they can put words to. It doesn't make any sense. And that's the best part.

He can't take it anymore. The constant thinking, the perpetual noises in his head he doesn't want to hear. Outside seems inviting. *inside wants out* Who will you be tomorrow? What are you trainspotting? He moves to the door, turns the latch.

She cries. Again.

I'm Fightin' For You

2006-09-03T02:10:00.000-07:00

If only life could be as peachy as pink and orange shorts.

-----------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

Pleased to meet you
Take my hand
There is no way back
From here

- No Way Back, Foo Fighters

The bruise on your right eye has started bleeding. In the midst of the already blurred sweat and fatigue, there's now a red that fogs vision further. That's fine though. You got him good. He didn't see it coming. The jumping around helped. He let his guard down for the swing and just as he thought he'd got you, you ducked, and as the saline of perspiration kissed your lips, the jab to his gut made him reel.

They chuck you into the pool knowing bloody well you can't swim. It's like falling down one of those long, twisty water slide things that never stops. And you didn't want to get in the first place. It's an impressive beginning that grabs you by the crotch and sits you down next to the window you're about to be flung out of. Listen.

You can see the anger in the impatience of his movement. He doesn't intend to leave your face in the shape it currently is. And as if to make the message clearer, your gloves feel sweaty and the blood refuses to clot. Quite a day job. Somehow the doctor option didn't seem right. The pain of leaving the hope of a father behind was nothing compared to the blow he delivered to the side of your head, chucking dreams and a whole bunch of red out of your system. It hurts like a migraine in the middle of a thousand migraines circling around your head waiting to pounce the minute you take another hit.

It's always the point of no return. You can't move much further (unless they push you) and you can't move any back. They tell you to speak to your God. The plane is spiralling out of control and you're the only one without a safety belt. The cat has cornered the mouse. The gun is pointed to your head. The pounding of the drums never stops.

The winner is the one whose hand stands taller than his head.
The loser is the one whose head stands as tall as your feet.
The drunken orgy of a boxing match that has gone on for longer than you intended hits you harder and harder. Like the punches that knock the air out of you. Hard, fast, precisely where it hurts the most. Blue was not really the colour your body was intended to be, but tomorrow morning will not be a pleasant start. The humidity of a hall too filled with the gawkers and those perspiring with money on the line, clings to your face, eyes, chest and everywhere where there isn't blood. Yet. You're the mouse now. And it's not nice. In fact, nice would be being crushed by a garbage compactor. This is bad. And it doesn't stop. He doesn't stop.
*stop*

It's like standing at the end of the runway waiting for the plane to take off above your head. It's like jumping in the way of a moving bus. It's like that scene in Fight Club when they beat the crap out of each other and then drink beer. But them is just him. And this is just you. And there's no way back.

The loser is the one whose head stands as tall as his feet. And right now, his shiny white shoelaces are all you can see. "1! 2!" The rocketship countdown has begun, only this time it's backwards. And this countdown is for the rocketship to crash into the rummage of a small ring, burning itself and the hall it crashed into a volcanic flame. "3! 4!" Some kind soul encourages you to stay down and let this madness end. "5! 6!" It should end this way. A prize fighter always goes down in flames. A fight is never won. It just ends. So the one who stands tall, is just someone standing. And anyone can do that. "7! 8!" He certainly seems happy with this result. The indifference of an outcome surprises you somehow. All you want is that damn beer. "9!..." And it's time to get back up again.

"This Is So Messed Up"

2006-08-23T00:19:00.000-07:00

And all the time they wait for the hypocrite...

--------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

He keeps his hands low.
He doesn't wanna blow it.
He's wet from head to toe and
His eyes give her the up and the down.

- Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades, Brand New

He'd slept with many girls before. This would be his final conquest. The last one that would mean the end of everything. Mostly. And she didn't look too hard. She would be his. And he would love her. Till they woke up.

It's like standing at the same place shuffling your feet a little and bobbing your head to an imaginargy beat. That's real. So what if people look, stare and laugh like they're superior somehow because they wear clean underpants and comb their hair the right way. I'll keep to myself, thank you very much. Wait till I get my friend though.

She didn't look like she was enjoying the music. And she didn't look alone. But that hadn't mattered twice, maybe three times before. They always looked better when they were with someone else. He walks up to her, the unmistakable swagger of someone who knows what to do and what to say. She glances at him once over the shoulder of someone who really doesn't matter. He looks at her and smiles. He knows she will smile back. She does.

And then it's like sliding down one of those twisty water slides knowing you don't know to swim, so hopefully when you hit the water, it won't be too deep. The edges of the tin of riffs opened up cuts with its jagged little metal serration. Don't stop running.

They don't talk much. But whatever he says, he looks into her eyes. She doesn't need to believe him. As long as she hears. As long as she listens. At the back of his mind is the thought that after this, there would be no more. So he needed to enjoy this. The noise of everything else was easily drowned by the silence of her saying nothing at all, but giving in. And he loved it.

We're shuffling our feet once again.
up the stairs, the station where, the act becomes, the art of growing up
The water slide is fast, windy and kicks the air out of you. And just when you think you can breathe in, you're in the water.

She didn't offer much resistance. Which was a pity because he'd hoped for a fight. It wasn't his best, but his work was done. You can never grow old if you know never to stop. And he had to grow old.

So Kiss Me Hard

2006-08-16T13:06:00.000-07:00

She always knew that he knew. And he knew that she did. So hiding was only for confusion.

And that never worked.

-----------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

And all the best deceptions
And the clever cover story awards
Go to you

- The Best Deceptions, Dashboard Confessional

She's dressed to kill; bright red lipstick, mascara, the red dress that's just long enough, everything. He's three thousand miles away staring at the blank screen of his computer that he shut down in the desperation of nothing to do and nowhere to be. She's already four drinks down and she can feel it. He hasn't bathed in two days and misses her terribly; it hurts bad cos she's there without him. She's walking across the floor, drink in hand, blurry eyed. He's scared.

It's a wonder what one can do with six strings. The complexity of everything else fades in comparison to the absolutely beautiful plucks of finger to string. And the sounds that it brings with a voice that speaks, not talks, makes you listen, not hear. Because the start is the first impression. And first impressions stay.

He knows he shouldn't have shouted at her. She's thinking but not thinking at the same time. He wishes she were here with him, if not with him, at least here. She sways to the sounds of a music she doesn't know but which sounds just as good. He thinks he should pick up the phone and call her. She's tripping on people and alcohol. He wants her. She wants someone.

There is an honesty in his voice you want to believe. It's nearly naive, but has a soothing clarity behind it. So you can listen to every word. The story he tells could be you.

She's looking for anyone who cares, even anyone who doesn't. He still hasn't moved, but is there a point? She sees someone across the floor, and glides towards him. He can't imagine what he's lost. She makes her presence known. His life was one failure after another. She holds his hand and pulls him to the floor. He gets up from the fake comfort of his chair and walks to the balcony.

It's cold, the things he sings about. It's the truth. And it's done so easily because it's simple. And honest. There's no problem. No solution. Just a description of what happened.
*of what happens*

She brings him close and tightens her grip around her drink. He looks down at the noise of the big, bad world. She wants him but someone else will do. He wishes that she is happy, and will be always. She can smell his inebriated breath. He grips the rail and puts a foot across to the place where there is no looking back. Her lips meet his, as the glass she held falls to the floor. And as he leaps into the nothingness that waits, the crash of glass, the love that ends, the void.

I'm Not Surprised

2006-08-08T09:29:00.000-07:00

Rap music, lies, food, insight, shit, you don't know me like that

get back muthafucka

---------------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I hear you howl
But I don't listen no more

- Fever Dog, Stillwater

*This was written a while back, when the skies were green and hopes were blue.*

There comes a point in a man’s life…

What is Rock ‘n Roll?

As the drums begin and the screech of a guitar that's been waiting kicks in, one thing is clear; you cannot, take its power for granted. The overwhelming feeling of letting yourself be devoured by a piece of sound, the surreal emotion that overcomes you as nothing, not even the insects that hover across the screen, can distract from a meaning that is so clear, you can hardly see it.

The only true currency in this bankrupt world…

The body inhales the cold vaporub, but the mind attempts a discovery of wholly un-phlegmatic issues that, people would argue, needs a truly ‘open’ mind to see. The issue can be avoided in similar motifs of flowery literature hiding behind a façade of sleepiness. But rock ‘n roll prevails.

Where do you go for comfort? What is it that you do when you’re confronted with another F in a learning you couldn’t care less about? Or when the one you love leaves with the one they love? Or when someone you hardly knew passes? How do you feel when you know that there are others who’re better than you at every single thing you do, and they’re right next to you all the time, so you can’t help compare?

What is Rock ‘n Roll?

You need to keep telling yourself that the ‘system’ is wrong, because you’re too afraid to believe that maybe it is you that needs to change. And so what if you can’t play the guitar as well as you should? And so what if people tell you that there are ‘better things’ to do with your time?

Your life.

That’s what Rock ‘n Roll is about; faking yourself into a belief that the system needs to change, so that you can hide behind the façade of a brilliant crescendo of music comprising instruments of sonic amusement, voices of childish fantasies and a cataclysmic response to some holy feeling that more often that not has been induced.

Or so I say.

But who am I? There comes a point in a man’s life…

Ladies and Gentlemen… all the way from (insert hometown name here), the greatest band in the world, (insert band name here)! The crowd goes wild. The lights go out. Anticipation. Excitement. It’s the edge of a huge orgasm waiting to break itself. Waiting. The band comes on stage. Four, sometimes three, sometimes five, men, because the world is still patriarchal, deal with it, who hold in their hands the power to engulf the stadium in a fanatic frenzy. The power to create a feeling of salvation that only God, or a healthy dose of acid could provide.

What haunts you is not the aura, the ambience. You could be sitting in a crowded train with people spitting all over the place, and the rain pouring outside reminding you of how truly pathetic your existence has come to be. But the place doesn’t matter. Neither does the time. Or the people you’re around. Sometimes it does, but that’s mostly because you’re concentrating on two things at the same time.

What haunts you, as the bass line moves to a higher note, is that single touch of plectrum to string and the arpeggio that follows. Sure you can’t see anything yet. But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Are you, and can you ever be really free?

Yes.

Save Yourself

2006-08-05T14:12:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in her life when she doesn't know where to stand.

---------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I'm not a martyr
I'm not a prophet
I wont preach to you
But here's a caution

- Cochise, Audioslave

Look out! The bullets whiz by as you sit behind the lifeless rollcage of a car whose family where one of the first to go. They knew who was coming, and they didn't waste any time leaving. Unfortunately, they got caught; a situation you might soon have to deal with if you don't move. Now. All around you the world is falling apart. Apart from a life that hasn't had much to do till now, there isn't much left to lose.

Like an automatic weapon that's shooting everything in sight, they kick things off. Now this is a build up. It's so good a build up, you can actually see the men in asbestos suits sitting behind the pyrotechnics, licking their lips, one finger on the trigger, waiting to set them off. And as the last kick of the snare thunders in the dark clouds, the sky turns red.

The rubble - bricks, broken homes, blood - is all that's left of the city. The fighting tore everything. And this is certainly the end. There will be no more left of this place but a memory of what could have been. But never was. The shrapnel of a grenade falls near where you are crouched. The sweat trickles down your neck, into your shirt that hasn't seen detergent in over a month. Where was the promised cavalry? We are dying...

It's like God. But like a Fonzie type God. And he wants you to see *hear* this message that he's plastered all across the big red sky. He wants you to know that he will strike down with vengeance; a crunching riff as a weapon and a crashing beat as punishment, tearing down the high ground you stood yourself on. The earth crumbles below you as the missiles of a destructive chorus hits the ground.

You crouch below the window of the shattered vehicle, lifting your head ever so slowly to make a judgement of things. The sharp clang of a round of bullets against metal cautions the ascent. I am so dead. But then, aren't we all? Suddenly, the picture of your mother. I so wish I were with you right now. There is no warmth in the image, just in the thought. And that too is destroyed by the rocks that have disintegrated into a million flying projectiles near you.
The pain is blinding.

It's all blowing up now; flying everywhere in words, effects, crash, boom, bang. He so has you. Fonzie God always did. He knew it. But was he really God? He's shouting in your pain. He is your pain. And you submit.

It's not as fast as you wished it would be. Your neck is not wet with sweat anymore. Slowly, like a drink that's made just right, the feeling is leaving your fingers. Arms, feet. The picture is just white now. Even if they didn't get you, it would end badly.

Give Me A Gun

2006-08-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

The aim is to always be better than what is expected of you. That way there are always surprises. And don't we love surprises.

*don't they love surprises*

The creativity of ambiguity...

--------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I love the sky
But I hate the birds
I love poetry
But I hate the words
I love getting high
But I hate the drugs

- The Call Is Songed, The Unlike No Ones

What is boring about this lecture is not the subject, but the subjectivity. Everything is everything, not like Lauryn Hill said but more like marketing gurus need to be kicked in the nads. I mean seriously, can anyone explain to me why there is a need to make the simplest of things seem so unattainable. The purpose of the exercise is not to learn, but to show off.

There's a crash, like something has now been let loose. And a beat that adds to the feeling. And just as you think that maybe it was a false alarm, an... err... alarm rings. Once, twice... the emergency beckons. The muting takes you towards it. Slowly though, the fire's not started yet.

You can hear him talking but you can't seem to listen. The indifference is more a frustration than a lethargy. And the frustration is one that could easily turn to anger. And the anger is one that could easily turn to retaliation. There is a dire need for something to be done. A dire need for someone to take a stand. A dire need for a hero, the protagonist, Don Quixote, el Desperado...
*you*

There is an definite impertinence. It could easily be mistaken for impatience, but thats not it. Just yet. They're willing to wait, and the alarm rings again. Once again we walk towards what seems to be the source of the emergency.

You're on the table now, looking down at the one who talks. He may not be the source, but he is one of the minions. And he must be stopped. You look at the rest. Their sleep has been broken, and they look at you with eyes of surprise and eyes of anticipation. They are waiting for you to do something. You beckon them to rise with you. They hesitate at first, and then slowly, purposefully, one gets up and joins you. Then another, and another, and another until they are all with you. And all looking down on the minion.

Action! This is where it's at and it's telling you what to do. How to get by, what to use, and who is to be at the receiving end. There's a fighting call, a war cry. And shouting it, you feel better. They do. So they do it over, and over again. Till they finish.

You tear the literature in front of his eyes. And then you stare down into them. This is the moment of truth, the clincher. With a stern look on your face and the trembling of a growing confidence in your heart, you say the words; the line in the movie they'll all remember, the catchphrase that captures their hearts and minds, the slogan that they all will shout.

Don't look at me. You said it.

The Hand You Hold

2006-07-29T06:45:00.000-07:00

Because if you don't try hard, you shouldn't try at all.

And other related crap.

-------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I think you like to be the victim
I think you like to be in pain
I think you make yourself a victim
Almost every single day.

- Everything to Everyone, Everclear

"Will he live doctor?"
She breaks down even before he replies. This can't be happening. Oh God please don't let this happening. Not now. Not to me.
*not to us*
He's wearing the oxygen mask lying motionless on the ambulance bed. It doesn't look good. But then, it never did.

It sounds like an emergency. Like something's going wrong. Or is going to go wrong. Heck, his first line even says it. It doesn't leave you hanging though. It takes you right there, and keeps you there. The bass line guides it into what seems like passive verse; but you have to hear it over and over for it to really sink in.

She never knew he meant this much to him. It only struck her recently. The sneaky smiles, the cautious glances, the missed period. Goddamnit, no! Not now. Not like this. The pensive faces of the doctor and the medical assistant weren't encouraging. Neither was the desperately persistent beep of the heart monitor. Hold on baby. Everything's gonna be okay.

It's a tempo that doesn't lift too much. No booming chorus, no shredding riff, no extra effort spent in making a point that the words have more than done.Thankfully. Anything more would've been overkill. It's almost flippant the way they demand your attention, without the frills. You don't mind giving it.

The rain blurs the view of the city outside. The ambulance is racing on streets they walked. She can't think straight. Everything means nothing. If only she could turn back time. Things left unsaid, things said in a hurry, things implied. Oh why was he so arrogant! He just wouldn't take no for an answer. He just won't take no for an answer? The tense of her thought was scary, and the beep was shaky.

And this is where it gets weird. Like they're testing you. Hah! We can do this, and you can't do a goddamn thing! Do you want to? You wait to see where it goes, and just as you expected, it comes back. The predictability is comforting. And just as soon as it started, it gets over.

The ambulance isn't taking the road too well. The road isn't too well either, just like everyone it's accomodating. Especially in the siren vehicle. The red light means nothing in urgency. The siren crosses the zebra but the truck that it didn't see is in its way. There's no stopping now. There never was. And as the scene comes to a close, the fade out is of the girl clutching desperately to the boy's hand. She's smiling though.

You Better Listen

2006-07-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

And then, everything became normal again. For the start. Again.

-----------------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

She's a woman
You know what I mean
You better listen
Listen to me

- Woman, Wolfmother

She doesn't look like someone who'd do it. Inconspicuous is the name of the game. Nobody's looking at her either, except the kid at the candy store she just walked by.
*is that a gun in your pocket*
She's waiting. It's a perfectly pleasant day for a lift.

Oh yeah! That's what they're saying to themselves, licking their lips as he plays the opening riff. It's so familiar you almost don't know where you've heard it before. It's catchy to the point that its grabbed you by the crotch and thrown you straight into the pit. And boy are they waiting for you there...

She's running. As fast as her scrawny little feet will take her. Hah! Lifted it right under Mr. Chineesy-Grocery-Store-Owner's nose. The adrenaline's pumping her thighs into leaps and bounds of excitement and urgency. The polluted air of a city that hardly cares fills her nostrils and hardens her heart as it beats faster and faster.
"Stop her! Theif!"

It's a long, long, long drum section. You think they're stalling, but they're not. They're making you wait. There's a difference and they know it. Goddamn it! Where's that goddamn riff! It's like a barrel roll down a rocky cliff. Tumbling down with the ferocity and clumsiness of a predator that doesn't really know what's going on, but is jumping in to join the fun anyways.

They're chasing her now. And though it's not really an 'epic' Steve McQueen-ish chase, but to her it's an action-adventure thriller in the making. Boxes and crates of everything from vegetables to cheap Chinese dolls to broken toys *shattered dreams, wounded hearts* are toppled over in a simultaneous attempt to run away and catch up. She doesn't seem to be winning.

Annnd, we're back! The beat is as bombastic as ever it was.
No love lost,
no passion spent,
no tempo lowered,
no sanity.
Yet. The final roll into the riff, chorus, shredded up into fifty million pieces that finally... stops.

They've pinned her to the floor. It was never going to work, but the hunger of a life incomplete and the audacity to actually do something about it told her otherwise. Mister Chineesy wants it back. She reaches into her jacket, never for once taking her eyes off him. And as she hands over the fruit, shows him the finger. Perfect.

I Can Hear It Call

2006-04-29T12:32:00.000-07:00

What made the difference was that suddenly, without warning, remorse or reminder, everything had fallen into place. It was somehow as if this was meant to happen. As if through a series of events that no one could help the skies had opened up to dreams that didn't know what they were doing in his head.

*never knew, always wanted*

------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

Really got to ramble
I can hear it callin’ me the way it used to do,
I can hear it callin’ me back home

- Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You, Led Zeppelin

It's a short drive but a long walk home from the show. And you'd rather walk. Because you want to be alone. Because you smell like a sailor at a cheap bar. *a sailor and a cheap bar* Because you don't have a car. Because it's always better to walk when...

It is a strange sensation knowing that they know they are good. Possibly one of the best. It's strange because even before you hear the acoustic guitar you somehow know the expectation will be satisfied. The sound is faint, almost purposefully so. And like the insignificant light at the end of the tunnel, promises to take you somewhere else. You have no choice but to follow.

The night is glazy, but maybe thats the six *seven* cheap joints rolled by somebody you didn't care to know enough, but enough to know that the white lady's cheap friends would show you around the clumsier parts of town. The interesting walk towards home. Whatever that represents. Comfort? Joy? Love? Depression? Forget it. The pretension that the buzz gives is meant to be savoured.

No one can sing it like him. Anyone else would seem just cheesy. A way with words has two meanings. He has the latter. The opera has begun. And the concerto or whatever is underway. They know you're hanging to to their every word. So they go on playing.

A car passes by. Someone. You didn't care to know enough. The ones you don't need. Because you know the ones who matter are safe. They're laughing in their vehicles. Vicious tongues, backstabbing nonsense and everything that made so much sense when you did it, but seemed pretty stupid when you woke up and your head ached. Coffee?

And the charge of drums raises the barre. This is fun. They're flippant with you. They're playing with your head. And they're just so bloody good at it. The drums have gone again. And you know that just as true as he's screamed, they're coming back on. There they go...

The walk is an empty road. Sea breeze is cool, and like the whiff of clarity that you needed. Smoky bars, smoggy worlds, clouded thoughts and only a heavy head to show. What would the world say? Hah! Like you care. What matters is you, and knowing that whatever happens everything will be fine. Wont it?

------------------

Terribly sorry. Will try and update more often. Thanks for coming back. While you're at it though, say "Hi!" to Smellmyundies.

Go. Now.

2006-03-27T07:04:00.000-08:00

Click you jackass.

Takes All The Love We Own

2006-02-06T10:39:00.000-08:00

He sat confused staring at a blank ceiling that seemed to have all the questions but no answers. What he wanted and what he got were somehow just not enough. And if that wasn't enough, he knew he needed neither, or both. He sat confused...

And it was painful. Though he knew it shouldn't be.

And all he thought was right somehow became wrong. And all he thought was wrong somehow became so imminently acceptable that throwing away everything suddenly seemed an option. But it couldn't be. Because he needed it. Everything.

----------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

Friday's dust
Turned into a Saturday's
It wasn't meant to be this way
It wasn't meant to end so late

- Friday's Dust, Doves

Step right up folks! Step right up! Put your eyes through the looking glass and witness the life of 'Nothing Man'. He's no ordinary man ladies and gentlemen. No! Let him dazzle you with everything inside; the things you want to see but you're not supposed to. Stare into the face of oblivion and let it be known that once you look in, you won't be the same again.

You feel faint. The circus of soft horns and vague organs create a mesmerising concoction. The strings remind of the windy autumn evenings in Spain spent walking aimlessly around cobblestoned streets looking for treats to eat and delicacies to watch. The setting could not be more perfect, but the nagging at the back of your head that something is wrong, issued with the coming darkness of maybe a harsh rain, is... nagging.

That's right folks. Let him show you his stories. Feel like travelling? Take a ride on the magic carpet of fantasy, let him transport you to the places you've always known you never wanted to go. You better hang on tight though; one false step, one small bump and you'll fall into the neverending abyss of lost dreams and perpetual nightmares. What was that Guvner? Is it scary? Of course not. If your eyes are closed that is.

He sings of something you really know nothing about, so if you listen enough, you make your own meaning. Which is the way it is supposed to be. And the way it is. So even when the confusion of everything playing at once clears, you can still imagine whatever you want to.

Don't you wonder why it is that the ones you love don't love you in return? Doesn't it press your conscience that you're somewhere and someone you're not supposed to be? Why is it so hard to sleep at night; knowing that someone else knows? Where do you really want to go? Where do you really want to be? He'll show you the inside. Don't be fooled by cheap imitations. They'll take you to the places, but they'll never tell you the stories.

It's getting over and that sinking feeling begins again. A cacophony of all seemingly unrelated sounds ring out in a synchronisation you can only hope will last that little bit longer. And it does. Before they have to leave.

So what're you waiting for folks? Step through the door and get ready for an experience you are likely to never forget. The adventure is priceless. I'd let you in free, honest. But you'd never come back...

Jesus On An Aeroplane

2006-01-28T22:13:00.000-08:00

He was more confused than when there were more than one. The feeling was sinking lower into the pit of his stomach leaving him wondering not whether it was right or wrong but whether it was enough that he did nothing.

*of course not*

But that's how it went. And what he couldn't do about it plagued him as much as what he didn't do. Helpless? No. Of course not. Everything was where it had to be...

--------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

You don't know what it's been like
Meeting someone like you
You don't know what it's been like
Meeting someone like you

- Superman, Stereophonics

The pilot announces that bad weather and a heavy aircraft are not essentially ideal flying conditions, and it is likely that the ride may be bumpy. Hah! Like it made any difference. The woman sitting to the right is sleeping, her head resting on your shoulder. Or did she pass out? Her breath smelled of one too many martinis and her hair smelled of something musky. It was tempting to stare down the cleavage of her hugging red top, but that would just spoil the moment. Heck. You did it anyway.

It's 'smooth'. Like they're not trying too hard. Like a good scotch sitting at the bottom of your glass mixing it with enough cubes of ice to keep you busy for a while. A nice strong bass makes itself found, like the lady in the red dress. It too has had too much to drink.

The ride has more ups than downs. You knew it was about time things got evened out. And it would be stupid if you didn't expect it because everything you did until the moment you boarded the flight was begging for a chance to get back at you. She could be talking in her sleep but the only voice you are listening to is the things the one was saying as you left her stranded and hanging while you did something and someone else.

He sounds like the Bee Gees after Octoberfest but it fits. With a lackadaisical drawl that reminds you of the time life was just about a half-full (empty?) bottle of stale beer and old peanuts. Interesting, just enough.

It seems unlikely that the flight will land safely. The roar of a deep blue thunder outside wakes her up. She looks at you with eyes that want to say more than can be told. Everyone has secrets... it's only the good ones we remember though. Windows look like they could smash in any moment; oxygen masks descend from the roof and you remember that play where the angels glide down from the sky and lift the slain ones. Or were they demons?

No. It's not going anywhere. It seems to want to leave or elevate, but somehow it's better this way. Spiralling downwards...

This is it. Neither you nor she have the masks on. You put your arm around her, the smell of her hair is soothing. The moments pass by as the Gods outside scream hate and hunger. They want you, and eventually, they'll have you. But till then, you'd rather listen to her speak.

Not Plays Dead

2006-01-07T08:48:00.000-08:00

He was unaffected by the unconcerned concern of the others. Simplicity suggested that life was more than just what somebody else said or did. She was right, and he knew her well enough. The others were always wrong .

------------------

in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I
Want a God
Who stays dead
Not plays dead

- Nietzsche, The Dandy Warhols

This laziness is noxious. The induced pleasure of one drink too many plays with your head. It feels good. And bad. More bad than good, but the good was over last night when the alcohol and conversation mixed like the thirteen cocktails that were consumed way too fast for it to really be. Good.

They're just playing with you. Immediately. Because they know they're good.
You don't care what the thought behind it because it is also likely to be induced. But you can't be sure. Assumption and uncertainty make pretty happy bedfellows. The lead is a direction. Its easy to see where they're going. And you're happy you hopped on for the ride.

*drums*
*again*

Maybe there's no such thing as a bad idea. Heck, it didn't stop you from shooting your mouth off at those who cared enough not to listen. So really, from the moment the table cloth got stuck in the zipper of your pants when you stood up to the moment you dropped the screwdriver on your expensive shirt after making the most blasphemous speech of your life, it was all good.

The bass, like a waking engine silencing a deafening traffic jam, is throbbing. And still the lethargy is deeply pervasive. The voice helps. And the sound of fingernails running down a chalkboard (or is it) is beautifully obscene in the drowsy picture of everything that should be wrong.

And as you unhooked the cloth from your pants, you looked at them bathing in the prejudice of not knowing. Pretending to have not noticed the stain on the garment of your conscience you turn around, and leave.

We'll Do This Right

2005-12-22T06:00:00.000-08:00

Trying to sleep was almost as hard as sleeping itself. And waking up was like lifting the tonne of bricks on his head. So when he did get up he wondered whether he'd passed out, or...

Trying to stay awake was almost as hard as staying awake itself. And sleeping was like skimming stones over rapids, never quite sinking them. Just bouncing around and touching the water enough so when he did sleep he wondered whether he was awake all along, or...

Enough.

------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

We could stay here
Stay here all night
No one will know
Us in the moonlight

- Night Drive, Jimmy Eat World

The best part about the long night that seems never ending in the long blissful silence of perfect company, is that it's right because you know it's wrong. And the ugly sight of everything that a dirty morning chucks in seems as distant as the sound of the engine slowly warming out to the icy cold outside.

Its a tambourine. Purposefully drawing the pictures in your head towards what he's trying to tell you it is. He draws well. Well enough.

The setting couldn't be better. You're both staring out through the wiped windshield at the lights of the town below and the mountains beyond silhouetted by the moonlight.
*no one will know you*
The blanket isn't enough to keep you warm but just by being close you don't feel cold. It's better this way because both of you don't exactly know what the other is thinking but your assumptions are almost right. No one has to reach out. The fingers just meet each other halfway. Like they were meant to.

Inside you're smiling. And outside, you're satisfied.

Still, it's so wrong.

The stars shine blue reflecting a warm moon that watches over the isolation and the need for everyone. Physical is an expression. And you need it so you know. What's wrong. Because only then can you feel it right.

Thankfully the night is long enough to figure it out.

And Darling, We Go A-Drowning

2005-12-17T04:48:00.000-08:00

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. When you see your frustration personified into a black cat that crosses your path at exactly the most inopportune moment; when you thought that everything was right and wrong at the same time and it didn't matter if a dead fish slapped you in the face. It did. And then you wonder whether you were dreaming, and the smell is just you. The stench of days unslept and wonderous clouds of missed dreams and lost faces of people who don't care anymore. Tired days, working nights, the need for caffeine and the craving for being elsewhere. So he laughed. And as the cogs of humour ticked in his brain, he realised that what he was reading didn't make any sense. Or did it make all the sense in the world?

When you think too much, you listen too little.

----------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

There's a swallow
There's a calm
Here's a hand to lay on your open palm
Today

- Of Angels And Angles, The Decemberists

Let it rain. It's more a patter anyways. Plip-plop like the beating of your heart when the water on the outside mixes with the water in your eyes.

It's a thumbed acoustic. You wish it would just go on forever, like the song that is just too short. The creases on your forehead recede and your ears open to the sound of the voice that is surprisingly loud, but calm. Like you want to be.

You could mistake it for something you've already heard, but it stands out.
*plip-plop*
Thoughts of your dog sitting by himself waiting for you to come home. Images of walking through the forest hand in hand with the one. Sounds of all that wasn't said. The silence that was so loud.
*plip-plop*
It isn't that you don't feel the need to be overwhelmed by the sea thats blocking everything but your ears. It isn't that the water is cold. It isn't even the fact that you are listening too little and thinking too much.

Honestly. Slowly. Like it was meant to happen this way.

And as the water completes its blanket over you, you realise that going this way was worth it.

A Silence I Can't Ignore

2005-12-13T06:26:00.000-08:00

What happens when it all comes crashing down? You were living some stupid lies almost forcing yourself to believe that everything was alright, and then suddenly it hits you so hard. You're spinning away on the impact trying to hold on to everything you thought true but wasn't. Or was it? The eternal confusion plays with you like a disturbed serial killer waiting to pounce on anything you give him. Or not. In which case you were actually just too tired, and needed to get away from the computer.

But you're still here.

-------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

I'm only pretty sure
That I can't take anymore

- How's It Going To Be, Third Eye Blind

By this time the CD already has you. The park is almost a fake green. You wish the grass were yellowing and dying, wilting away like the slow death you want to face yourself with. You hope someone would look and ask you what went wrong, who did it and why. But you're the only one there.

The solitude acoustic is like diluted morphine. You're almost lethargic, and you're almost active. Its confusing and you don't know how things will turn out. The beat is simple, like it wants to help you figure out. And the lead is so well thought out, or a fluke of brilliance. Finally, the words make sense.

Percieve or pretend it to be what you like but you know what its like, and he tells it like it is. And you listen.

Someone walks by and you want to know who they are. But you need to keep still and think. Its difficult being where you are and you want out, but you want to stay. Stupid choices, defining moments, ridiculous thoughts, lethargy, numbed mind. Nothing. Oblivion.

And before you know it, you're launched into something you wish never ended. He's screaming and you know that it's about time you screamed back. Because you don't want to be swallowed inside. Someone will hear you. You hear him. It fits perfectly. Like a bridge to eternity while you cling on to what you love the most by the tips of your fingers.

You still don't know. But at least they do.

I Drew A Line

2005-12-07T00:30:00.000-08:00

How many special people change... Ah yes, life has its whimsical humour. Especially when you expect it the most. Its like a little child laughing at you as you stand drenched in the mucky water splash of a passing unconcerned car. And while you wait for the rain to clean your clothes you know that if you were on the other side, you'd be laughing as well.

In that horribly vulgar, self-satisfying, sadistic moment of humouring yourself, the present breaks itself from the mundane routine. You are immediately distanced to the parallel series of situations even though you are stuck in the same reality. But because you're there, though you're still here, life becomes relative. And that's why its funny.

--------------

Fuck the world. That's right. Fuck the world.

--------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

Turn in
To something beautiful
You know
For you I'd bleed myself dry

- Yellow, Coldplay

It's almost raining. Almost. You look up and the sky is almost dark; you can smell the rain that is waiting to pour. But for this moment, it holds back. And the sand on the beach is hard, the water of the waves isn't reaching you, but like the rain, you know it too is waiting.

The acoustic downstrokes lead into electric; simple, like they couldn't think of anything else, but it makes so much sense. Or does it? He starts singing. This lazy voice that sounds like its recovering from a hangover of cheap liquor and loves lost. Its so innocent, almost naive but you want to hear it because you're already thinking too much.

You're walking down the beach. The movie in slow motion is actually not in slow motion. As usual the words don't need to make sense as long as they make sense to you. In this implicit understanding that you make what you want of it, it gets a little louder. And you wish the one were there.

The second verse is almost as difficult as the first. Because now you have no idea where you're going. The beach has an endless horizon. But do you really need to know? What difference would it make, when all you have is all you need? You don't need to answer.

The light drizzle tastes like heaven. And it gets louder again.

What would you give? What do you have? A moment where you are ready to submit yourself so completely. Its not scary, because its not real. Will it last longer than the four minutes of fantasy that this song is? He tells of a sign.

The stars are shining.

But I Don't Know How

2005-12-01T01:23:00.000-08:00

It's not easy believing in things you can't see. Like someone who is far away thinking of you while you complete your life oblivious to what's happening there. But you still do because without it you don't have much, in fact, anything. And you wait with decreasing patience and increasing frustration as the time for you to meet is unsure. It's hard to hold on, but you have to. Because you believe.

...

If you could only see. Everything. The blurred lines of understanding fade into the confusion of reality, so no one really understands what is real or realises that something needs to be understood. But it doesn't matter and it shouldn't because ignorance is bliss, and any nonchalant attempt at repairing your happy unknowing will probably fail. It is adviseable to wear your fancy blinkers and be sarcastic about things you don't really know anything about but explain the broken opinions of others to make yourself feel and seem good. So orate your cheap elaborations and live in your hazy world. Because if we didn't have you, you would care.

---------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

Backbeat the word is on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt

- Wonderwall, Oasis

You can't hum the opening acoustic. But you can feel it. It compels you to pay attention with its serene flow almost like a morphine induced sleepy high that you wish you had more often, but were too scared to try more than just the few times you did.

Liam can never pull off the same semi-nasal vocal live. Its like he's not meant to; so everytime you press play on your CD or whatever you're assured that what you're getting is the best. And after the first verse is done, the second begins with the big string bass.

A light drum beat supplements the flow almost as if it was the missing piece of the ridiculously English jigsaw puzzle, that they call Morning Glory. The words hardly mean anything, and you're not sure whether it was meant to be that way. Until they get to the chorus.

Where you make you want of it, because you have no real clue what the title means but you make a simple assumption of support. Everything stops, and then continues as if nothing happened, but inside you've already started thinking.

Verse becomes an article of display because they know you're waiting till they get to the chorus. When you wonder about the person that matters and wish they were here with you and if they are, you're lucky. Because after all...

Pleased To Meet You

2005-11-26T23:51:00.000-08:00

Flying through a nauseating dream, the clouds of inducement cover what you believe to be real, and the dirty rhetoric plays in the background like the soundtrack with no actors or situations but your life. You can't wake up because you're not really sleeping; in a state of temporary mental paralysis where everything is static and she is the only one moving. And as your eyes follow her, you wish you were there.

-----------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

When I feel heavy metal
And like pins and like needles
When I lie and I'm easy
All of the time but I'm never sure why I need you

- Song 2, Blur

The drum beat starts. It doesn't give anything away. But you can tell the tornado is coming; the fake lull before the storm without the bass pedal. And then suddenly, like the sound of a super-charged roadroller steaming over a city of a million. The bass line, heavy distortion (pedal of which you can almost see being crushed to a thousand tiny pieces by a faceless foot) and booming beat kick in simultaneously and you feel yourself being tossed back into your seat without that disgusting pit in your stomach that you usually feel when a forty thousand horsepower rocket ship launches you out of the atmosphere.

Albarn starts singing, but you can't really make out what he's saying. Does it matter? Not really.

The verse accompanied by its simple beat/guitar rhythm leads into the chorus as suddenly as an egg thrown against the wall shatters into its obvious oblivion. The bass line is too powerful to be real, but it is. As real as the illegible vocal that screams out like its being sucked into some black hole of heavy metal.

And almost as soon as it started, its over.

*press play again*

God Bless The Indian Summer

2005-11-24T11:30:00.000-08:00

If life was as hard as you thought it was, it wouldn't be because in confusing your life, you've only confused yourself. Everyone needs complications, like the need to hide the fact that no is really independent, and living a life of fakery and continuous untruths is what makes life interesting. In describing existence as a defence mechanism for an inherent insecurity, life becomes simpler, in the complication of the pressing environment that leaves a bad taste in the mouth and a bitter cold in your mind. The only true currency in this bankrupt world is a conversation between two uncool people. The only true feelings in this almost meaningless existence is the fake hope that today's relationship will be better tomorrow.

I feel so old. Almost 21.
------------------

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

(You need to listen to these songs while you read... because I say so)

Or shall I be or shall I not be
I don't know I just don't
Feel like it tonight

- Walking Down The Hill, Travis

So you see, it's really simple. You have to make believe that everytime the song changes on your playlist, iPod, gramophone, you change. And because of that you need to keep listening... in this perpetual state of static dynamism or dynamic staticism or wishful thinking, so that there eventually comes a point when you've stopped hearing and started listening. Does it matter what? Yes.

But the right music...
And what is that?
Imagine an empty farscape of land. Fill it in with who. What. And whichever thing you like. And give it a soundtrack.
Of course, you could just ask me.

*indifference to cynicism is what makes life beautiful*
*said the cynic*

And when it gets over, the next one plays.

The Songs Are The Truth

2005-11-21T10:19:00.000-08:00

And as the world broke into a million pieces of falling hopes and shattered dreams, the magnificent grey sky turns black; you turn around and wonder why it made no difference that you didn't spend countless hours chasing people and describing the reasons why your life sucks.

- Thought in Basics of Research... when the world sleeps, and I stay awake to point a finger and laugh.
Take my advice. Don't.

The topic of today's monologue is time-management.
As is widely known, individuals are oblivious (ooh... oxymoron) to the fact that things need to be done so that other things can be done, and then, further things can be done, till this unending chain of events climaxes in the completion of one's existence. Till one wakes up the next morning.

Yes, fellow procrastinators, undead and financially starved elvish piglets, it's about time you did something. So you can get on with doing something else. Confused? Don't be. Coz then you won't have time to be surprised when you find out that the thing you were supposed to do after finishing the thing you were doing wasn't to be done until someone else finished his thing. It's disgusting how much time you waste reading this drivel, so go on, do something.

I apologise for not posting regularly. I'm too busy not doing things.

-------------------

What happens when you realise that at that particular point in time, in your life, you figure that everything doesn't matter? Lately it's getting harder figuring out what I'm doing wrong, if at all there is a need to identify whether any activity I indulge in is right, or wrong. But there is. Because nothing seems to matter. Except...

Everyone needs people. Some people need everyone.

When Did We Leave?

2005-10-29T03:22:00.000-07:00

What's confusing about people is not behaviour. That's situational. The funny thing is, people create situations. Goddammit.

As of this post, Liberation of Postal Service will be dedicated to my opinions on why some people suck ass and why others are on their way to that level of vacuum like rectal dysfunction.

How do you know your life is a colossal mess if you've not tried it first?

Picture this simple situation.
There are only four people in the world. In this quadrantial existence, each individual has a specific role to play. If he, or for that unlikely matter, she, is unable to perform this responsibility, there are one of two outcomes.
a) The world comes to an uneasy, unhappy, and undergarment misplacing end;... or
b) The other three 'do' something.
As yet, it is unclear what the other three do. What is crystallic however is the fact that the need to do something is immediate, urgently so.
The reverse of the situation will only reveal that people have in fact descended from apes.

What's great about Rock music is that you don't need a band to enjoy it?

Losing A Whole Year

2005-10-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

There comes a point in a man’s life…

The question I have taken upon myself to answer this night at 1:30am, as Led Zeppelin fills my single headphone because of faulty wiring, is one that could “ramble”, or finish simply in a few lines of non-existential rubbish.

What is rock ‘n roll?

As the drums begin and the acoustic guitar still hasn’t been replaced by its electric counterpart, one thing is clear; you cannot, take its power for granted. The overwhelming feeling of letting yourself be devoured by a piece of sound, the surreal emotion that overcomes you as nothing, not even the insects that hover across the screen, can distract from a meaning that is so clear, you can hardly see it.

The only true currency in this bankrupt world…

What is rock ‘n roll?

Your life.

That’s what rock ‘n toll is about; faking yourself into a belief that the system needs to change, so that you can hide behind the façade of a brilliant crescendo of music comprising instruments of sonic amusement, voices of childish fantasies and a cataclysmic response to some holy feeling that more often that not has been induced.

Or so I say.

But who am I? There comes a point in a man’s life…

Are you, and can you ever be really free?

Yes.

Don’t pretend to ‘let yourself go to the sound’, or whatever it is that people do these days. Rock ‘n roll is not what someone tells you it is. But before you close up and leave the screen, read on for a bit. I’d like to ramble a little more…

It Would Be, Wouldn't It?

2005-09-16T22:56:00.000-07:00

Yes, well life is peachy.

Rain falls bringing down the insects and temperature, and everyone seems to care only about what to do on the 19th. Special day that.

Shirley and I won (okay we came second, but the first ad sucked ass) the pre-MICANVAS (MICA's annual B-School fest) ad making contest, Column-Centimeter. We were given four lines of copy, and had to come up with an ad for any one. As it turned out, we made three!

Here they are...

The first line was, "Do you want fries with that?"

The second was for the Taliban Institute of Terrorism (TIT)
This we completed in the last 7 minutes before the submission deadline.

And finally, the one that won us the glory, praise, and promises of promiscuous sex, Wander Bra.

*glory, praise, promiscuous sex*

I can never resign myself to mediocrity.
I'll leave that to the lessers.

"What is freedom?" you ask. Anything you want it to be. Just like a prostitute.

Incubus is brilliant Alka Seltzer.

If Wishes Were Horses

2005-09-08T07:48:00.000-07:00

In which I talk about everything in general, but nothing in particular.

It’s not easy being human. Rather, it’s not easy being a man, or a woman. Human is too broad a term to represent the broad spectrum of innate individual behaviour. So it’s not easy being a personification of a sexual difference. If you look at all the instances in history in which individuals of stature have cried out against their sex of birth (except Michael Jackson) you will notice a definite trend.

Take for instance, a certain Mr. Shakespeare (Billy to his friends). Historians, sociologists and gynecologists alike have, yet, been unable to consensus on whether he was happy being a ‘he’. The implications of so many statements in his plays are contentious to say the least. “To be, or not to be”. Sure you think that’s Hamlet speaking, but alas, that is the fallacy of popular perception. Billy was queer. Just like Elton John. But before your misguided mind jumps to the ridiculous conclusion that I’m being judgmental, listen me out. As is well known and accepted, several of our male ‘celebrities’ in this fickle, media constructed world of ours are members of the ‘Jolly Boys Club’. George Bush of course is the chairman.

So where were we then? Ah yes, trends. Since the inception of civilization as we know it, man has always been part of some trend or the other. And history can be chronologically broken up into periods of these trends. Currently, we’re part of the “Homer Simpson trend”. Life has become a perpetual wait, for the next beer… er… meal. There’s nothing really substantial that one has to look forward to, except food. Think about it. Like Homer said, “Mmm… bee… err.” It might not hit you instantly, but the thought is immensely profound. And socially relevant. The craving for something so fundamental leaves one wondering whether there is any meaning to existence. Are we here just to eat? If you think yes, say ‘Doh!’, and end your worthless speck of a life now.

But looking at the world from a macro perspective it is not surprising to find that life is pretty sucky. Sure there are anomalies that make us feel good about ourselves like Amsterdam, and Drew Carey. But overall, things are pretty depressing. People are killing each other for reasons long forgotten, nature plays spoil sport whenever she has her ‘lady days’, and Zee English will never, mark my words, never show Season 10 of Friends. Yes dear readers, there is reason to be worried. Every single day could be your last, and no amount of life insurance can make you feel secure. Where does one turn to for support? To whom, or what, can we console ourselves in? Hope? Nah, too overrated. Love? No, too easy. Alcohol? Maybe, but none of that White Mischief rubbish. The foolproof answer lies with…

Noel… first toured with a band called The Inspiral Carpets. When his younger and arguably more bashful brother Liam started a band, Noel joined. And Oasis was formed. Through the 90s they ruled everything in England. And England is where everything started. Colonialism gave to the world what nothing, except legalized prostitution, could… easy access. You may argue that even pre-colonial society, and Courtney Love, offered easy access, but colonialism gave a certain legitimacy to it. Easy access allows one the choice to order stuff off the internet, to watch 40 different channels on television and to give one’s right hand a rest.

It also lets one sleep placid in the blissful knowledge that the next morning, there’s another breakfast waiting to be eaten.

So let not life get you down.

After all, if wishes were horses, you’d be riding your way to hell right now.

Pathetic

2005-08-31T08:44:00.000-07:00

From Cnn.com

Two things.
The death toll in Iraq is set to cross 1,000.
For all practical purposes, I consider the United States to be a "Third World country".

I'm It

2005-08-26T02:19:00.000-07:00

Laurian's tagged me. I'm incapable of coherent thought. Therefore, this should be interesting.

Q1. Who killed JFK?
Ans. Ah yes, well, that's a tough one now isn't it? I am aware that the deed was done, but by whom is a question my lack of knowledge of political history fails to bring to surface. It would be uncharacteristically uncreative of me to blame it on the Butler, so I shall describe the situation to you as it presents itself to me. Records in the archive of IMSODUMB (Institute of Mindless Surreptitious nOnsense in the Department of Uncharacteristically-uncreative Missions of Braindamage) show that the murderee in question, a Mr. JFK (Judith Francis (K)Lewenstein), janitor at the offices of IMSODUMB, was in fact, not murdered at all. On a suspiciously normal day at work, Mr. (K)Lewenstein (Louie to friends, and the guy who sold the local hooch) was found lying in what seemed like a pool of his own blood. On closer inspection (and a conversation with Louie himself) it was found that in an argument with a Mr. (N)Wenstein (a hired contractor... the nerve) who was painting the corridor of the entrance to the IMSODUMB headquarters Weinmeister (as he was known to his only friend, the local hooch guy) had accidently tripped on Louie's broom and spilt his bucket of red emulsion. Louie, in an attempt to protect his clothing (and himself, coz Mrs.(K)Lewenstein, three times consecutive champion in the local women's wrestling arena, would certainly not appreciate Louie's dirty laundry) slipped on the floor he had recently wiped, and fell, face first. The magnitude of the situation suddenly hit him (as did the falling broom), and he decided against moving from the area for a few hours. Today, he enjoys a happy life as Head Supervisor to the Assistant Janitors Workers Union. His fractured arm, broken ribs and bruised ego have now fully healed. Mrs.(K)Lewenstein won the championship the following year as well.

Q2. Ever cheated/lied?
Ans. No. ... Okay, okay. This one time, at band camp... Heheh. But seriously. (or not). My life is built on a foundation of un-truths. Take, for example, a situation, as today, when one asks me one of the following questions:
"How's your headache?", or
"Do you feel well?", or
"What is it about you that instantly attracts women?"
My constant, and obvious, reply is "I'm fine", following which I make my way to my room and pop a few Disprins.

Q3. You have one last meal before you're zapped by the electric chair. What do you order?
Ans. That's easy. A double chocolate, chocolate layered, chocolate burger. I could eat without guilt, and fear of zits the next morning.

Q4. If you could go anywhere RIGHT NOW on a plane, where'd you go and why?
Ans. To Priya. RIGHT NOW.
But let's assume Priya's with me. Where'd I go then? On a plane. Hmmm.
First, I'd take a flight from here (Ahmedabad) to Bombay. Then, from there to Switzerland, to the giant chocolate swimming pool that I've always imagined to be there. You need to wear trunks though.

Q5. The worst place you've ever been to in the world?
Ans. Yes, well, this morning I'd just completed brushing my teeth when I made my way into the loo, and by God was it the worst place I'd ever been to! The cleaning contractors should really consider conducting their work in the morning rather than in the afternoon when there's no, or hardly, any'thing' left to be done. The smell was nauseating to the point that when I exited, you could've stuck a naked woman in my face and I'd have shrugged you off.

Right, so there you have it. If you want to be tagged, leave a comment, and depending on the quantity of chocolate available at the moment your questions will have varying levels of incredulity, ridiculousness and total disregard for common decency.

Ridiculously Lethargic

2005-08-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it's been a vulgar delay.

The Unlike No Ones

It’s always tough to fill a void. And they don’t really want to do that. It’s tough to do something that hasn’t been done before. And that’s just a waste of time for them. It’s tough to be cool and keep all the desperately excitable cute women away. And you ought to know that THAT is them.

MICA has its first band. They’re the one, the only, the Unlike No Ones! *crowd cheers and women fanatically drown all sound in maddeningly loud screams* But why a band? Fundamentally speaking, the aim of the Unlike No Ones is to do things unlike anyone. Confused? So are they. But by God they do their job well, or at least that’s what the cute chicks say.

Let’s get to some introductions, shall we…

Srinivas Venkataraghavan – What? Could you repeat that? Yes, you read right. Introducing drummer extraordinaire, Daddy long legs himself, Venky! Hailing from the greener pastures of the south, this 6 foot 5 inch skin bashing machine brings to the band (and MICA for that matter) a smooth, uber cool and simply delicious style of drumming. Need a beat? He has it! With musical interests ranging from Gemini Gemini to Iron Maiden to Bob Dylan, he certainly knows his stuff. If you disregard the fact that due to logistic constraints his tools of trade are three buckets, a tambourine wrapped in a towel and two desperately worn out drumsticks, you’d know that this guy is worth his weight (or height) in gold!

Anshul Nanda – If depression was a person, we introduce to you Mr. Nanda. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that this guy is the best guitarist on campus, or, for that matter, the worst backing vocalist. A Floyd (Syd Barrett to be precise) worshipper since the ‘impressionable’ age of 16, Anshul has the innate ability to produce lead guitar on demand, and convince you that life is, in fact, very sucky. A Stephanian economics graduate, he’ll tell you your demand curve from your supply, and will flabbergast you with his knowledge of all the sitcoms that have been on air for the last two years on Star World and Zee English. Go figure…

Arjun S. Ravi – Unfortunately for the women here, he’s already taken. If you haven’t heard of him yet, your hearing aid needs a clean-up. Ask someone on campus about him and you are likely to get one of two replies; the women would say “He is a sexy guy, and we dig him”, while the men would first squint, adjust their glasses and say “If it wasn’t for him, I’d have a girlfriend by now.” He sings, plays rhythm guitar and has also egoistically assumed the position of face of the band. Brit-rock maniac, vulgar consumer of chocolate, Labrador lover and he always smells nice. This Xavierite will confound you in conversation, but bowl you over with the music!

Ruling the airwaves in MICA is their hit single, Courtyard Blues, an insight into the first week any PGP1 has here. Soon to be released is their next song, The Lies of a Loner, before they come out with a full length album, A Nice University (don’t ask why). MICA has a band folks, and WE are IT!

Download the official wallpaper here.

I know. It's so obviously self-satisfying.

Pics from the first gig.

This is the most awesome thing ever. It's a poster made by my batch for the gig. How'd they do it? They stuck 116 A4 sheets of paper together! The artwork is phenomenal, and we are eternally indebted.

The post gig 'press' photos. We like publicity.

I'm on the left. Anshul's in the middle. Venkat's on the right. We're not always this enthu. Often we surprise ourselves.

It's not that I don't get time. It's just that I can't manage it.

Thanks for coming back.

Set In Your Eye

2005-07-13T11:06:00.000-07:00

I am lead singer of The Unlike No Ones.
*See the stone set in your eyes*
My band rocks. Really.
*See the thorn twist in your side*
We use my tambourine and 3 buckets for drums.
*I wait for you*
And today we recorded a cover of U2's With or Without You.
Download it. You'll need to use Download Express.
And let me know.

Will make the updates longer, and the recording better next time.

Harder To Breathe

2005-07-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

It is becoming increasingly hard to find time to update, but I will persevere. In fact, I have a test for which I shall study till 4 in the morning.

I woke up this morning exactly 296 seconds before the start of my first lecture.
296 seconds: F**k, f**k, F*******K! Jumped out of bed.
270 seconds: Have already applied toothpaste to brush and have rushed to toilet without care for man or beast.
210 seconds: After completing the fastest toothbrushing exercise in the history of fast toothbrushing exercises, I move on to completing the fastest undressing in the history of fast toothbrushing.
193 seconds: Wait! Underpants!
180 seconds: Shirt! SHIRT! Which f***ing shirt!
153 seconds: Same trousers? Newly washed trousers?
151 seconds: Same trousers.
110 seconds: Come up you goddamn left trouser leg. UP!
90 seconds: Deospray, don't fail me now.
73 seconds: Shoes! Oh, and socks!
41 seconds: Lock, lock, lock! Where the f**k are you!
23 seconds: Run! Complete the fastest sprint with notebook in the history of fast sprints with notebooks.
-7 seconds: Phew! Only a few seconds late, and a few bruises to sizeable ego.

Comics will return. When I get time.

Heaven Help My Mademoiselle

2005-07-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

Hey Lyla
The stars about to fall
So what you say Lyla
The world around us makes me feel so small

I shall go to class tomorrow with the confidence of having completed all my pre-reads for all my lectures. "Why?" you may ask, would I do such a silly thing. "Because" dear readers, I am today a very happy chappy. It is but the fact that there are certain standards of 'decency' (ptooooeee) society expects me to adhere to, that is keeping me from running around naked on the campus with a banner tied around my waist saying "I Love Juan Pablo".

-------

I wrote that yesterday. The joy has still not faded.

Whirlwind

2005-07-08T10:24:00.000-07:00

I don't know how much I really need medical insurance considering the only remotely 'risky' thing I do is try to play lead while jamming. But today 16 of us were ushered into an ambulance, the air-conditioning of which was effective only in the front part of the vehicle. So for me, sitting squeezed in between two people near the end, it was hot and sweaty.

Eventually, we got to the hospital. A city looks so different when you're away from 'civilisation' even for ten days. Thankfully, the central air-conditioning in the hospital was effective. We were made to sit in the 'Executive Waiting Lounge' where I made several pathetic attempts at humour, before being asked to visit the doctor. For my physical check-up, you ninny. I am 3 kilos overweight, and will remove this anomaly very soon.

Luckily the coffee that I didn't drink at the hospital was free.

I needed to get a recharge for my phone, so we stopped off at Fun Republic in Ahmedabad city, which is one of the bigger malls there. Inside, the lady at the Hutch counter looked like a guy. And for a moment, I was gonna call him (rather her) "boss".

In the evening we* were discussing how to increase the number of tourists in the state of West Bengal, and one idea we came up with was Bongstock - a five day music festival where local, national and international artists would perform. And though it was obvious that the music would be largely classical, my wish list included the regulars**.

*we = the class is divided into several groups, for each assignment, and in each course. I have absolutely no idea in which group I am for which course. My confusion is compounded by the fact that I am still unaware of most of my batchmates' names. Crap.
**the regulars = Oasis, Coldplay, Foo Fighters and Kylie (for her brains, obviously).

Wish You Were Here

2005-07-07T02:09:00.000-07:00

Courses, courses everywhere but not any time to study.

I have realised that people who 'slog' it out at B-schools have very poor time management skills. Managing studies is really not all that difficult. What's difficult is managing all the other rubbish that you do. Like basketball, band practice, and arbit discussions about egoistic plans to rule the world. Now THAT's difficult.

Today, for the first time since I've been in MICA, I went into a lecture with the satisfaction of knowing that I had completed an entire pre-read before the actual lecture. I felt good, and didn't feel sleepy until only the last five minutes. That, my friends, is an achievement.

Will upload pics as soon as I can.

This morning I gave my blood. We had a blood test for our health insurance. I've been pricked before, so it wasn't that big a deal, but it was for others. After that, I had to pee in a cup coz they needed a urine sample too. By now, almost everyone in my batch is familiar with my spillage theory, which as the name suggests, deals with the concept of spillage while peeing in a cup.

What was surprising about last night's dinner was not the fact that the fish was good, but the fact that the dessert sucked ass. How could they dupe us into believing that the meal would be complete and then provide us with such rubbish dessert? I love sea food. Especially prawns.

Hurt

2005-07-06T03:43:00.000-07:00

In about an hour and a half I'll probably be going to Ahmedabad city to play the guitar. Sounds cool, but basically I'm helping out in the production of an ad for MICA by playing rhythm for the soundtrack. I know. I wish it were Woodstock too.

It is becoming exceedingly difficult to stay awake during lectures. Take today for example. The first lecture was at 9.15am. and by 9.45 my eyelids were already drooping. I need to find innovative methods to catch up with sleep in class. The physical act of closing one's eyes would be impossible as one is in direct view of the professor. And hiding behind anything would be too obvious.

The meals here are really very good. Had lassi with lunch today. 3 glasses to be precise.
*sweeet*

It's a little disconcerting to be wading through water 2 feet deep, on a lane right next to a national highway, in one of the most industrialised cities in the country, in the 21st century. Arjun 'Si-Senore' Ravi reports on the choas in Ahmedabad during the rains.

There are somethings you take for granted happen only in places like Bihar, and little towns in Somalia, or Zimbabwe. And it really stikes you as surprising when you see it happening in a place as 'big' as Ahmedabad. But it really is flooded here. And I, for one, am very, very surprised!

Ahmedabad, on a dry day (pun intended - it's a dry state) is a great city. Sure it's difficult to find a non-veg restaurant, but there are things about the place that make it a wonderful visit:
1. Khandvi, dhokla and aam ras - how can you resist?
2. Gujjus - they have all the money in the world and aren't afraid to spend it.
3. There's the biggest Big Bazar in whole wide world, et cetera, et cetera.

But come the end of June, and chaos reigns supreme. It rains. And when it rains, it floods. The city has no working drainage system, so it is not unusual to find a helpless man pushing his Maruti 800 out of what seems to be a brown swimming pool in the middle of the road, or kids practicing their backstroke on the road that the city's seemingly ancient local buses travel.

You Oughta Know

2005-07-05T04:14:00.000-07:00

The saga has concluded. The war is over. The enemy is now the friend. The clothes have been given for wash. And the sun is out again. Which makes the current living condition, very hot, and a little sticky.

Tension, anxiety, and crickets filled the air last night, as a consensus was attempted to be reached.
Should we do it?
And lose whatever self-respect we had left?
But what if today's the last day?
And what if it isn't?
Dude, I think I like lipstick man...

Yes, you could say we were confused. And before we could make a decision, they came. And they were angry. Where the f*** was the f****ng make-up? The lipstick and nail-polish appeared, and was smeared.
Ewww.
We were marched - "left, left, left right left" marched - to the other hostel courtyard. Case was taken till around 2 in the morning. And then just as it seemed that everything was lost, water. We were doused. And they were doused. And it was over. The 'initiation' was complete. To some extent, it was even fun.

Everyone danced. I jiggled a little. We had coffee and chicken lollipops. And I slept at 5.45am. Before waking up at 8.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club does wonders for mental health.

I dislike pre-reads completely. I have been unable to go through even a single one entirely prior to any of my lectures, totally defeating the purpose of the exercise. Its not that I don't want to, it's just the lethargy, and the excitement of watching South Park at four in the morning.

I must leave now, and lazily pick up tomorrow's pre-reads.

Ps. thanks to everyone who sympathised about the ragging rubbish. I am now free to wear shorts to class.

You're On Fire

2005-07-04T05:39:00.000-07:00

Wow. I never imagined I could pack a day with so many things to do, and so many things left undone. Take, for example, the concept of pre-reads that I have been introduced to. As the name suggests, these are to be completed before going to class. We are told that for every hour we spend in a class lecture, there's three hours of pre-reads to be done. Which means that if my 3 lectures get over by 2pm, technically, I should be studying till 11pm every night. That's a nice thought, isn't it?

It's 12.40pm. We are near the middle of my final lecture of today. And I'm really, really sleepy. The eyelids are falling. I look around me. Those not in direct view of the professor are fulfilling their need for mental rest by noiselessly, and unobtrusively, engaging in slumber. Lucky pigs. It is impossible to 'rest one's eyes' when one is in direct view of ze professore.

This is a mail that was sent to all the PGP 1s (my batch) today.

"your dress from 8 pm tonight is this:

GUYS

Tshirt and track pants
shorts worm over the t shirt and the track pants.
Nail polish in hands,dark  lipstick, dark rouge on
the cheeks, surma in the eyes.
socks on both feets worn over the tracks, sports shoes on one
feet and chappal on the other
oil in the hair, one pony and pallu over the
head.....

GALS

Tshirt and track pants
shorts worn over the track pants and the t shirt tucked
in
dark  lipstick, dark rouge on the cheeks, surma in
the eyes.
socks on both feets worn over the tracks, sports shoes on one
feet and chappal on the other
oil in the hair, 3 ponies and scarf tied over
the head.....

NOTE: Guys plzzz take the help of the females of your batch to
get dressed.
          
After 8-9 o' clock tonight everyone should be seen in this dress
code..."

One would assume that after spending a year in communication school, typos could be avoided, and grammer could be better. Still, to each his/her own. We'll find out what happens in a little while.

Empty

2005-07-03T07:04:00.000-07:00

Friends, Romans, Indians and country hens. Blend me some coffee. It has been a very interesting 24 hours, hours which will be significant to no one but a young north-south Indian man whose feet, at this very moment, hurt like hell.

Last night's 'cultural' was, to put it lightly, awesome. We (Anshul and myself) were originally scheduled to play third, but change is what managers control, and we were sent in first.
"We are The Unlike No Ones"
*applause*
Anshul leads in to a blues intro. I join in after one beat.
"One, two, three, four"
The crowd can hear the distinctive opening guitar notes of Wonderwall. Could it be?
"Today, is gonna be the day"
*applause*
Yes, I could get used to this. We played the medley.
*more applause, and some wild cheering*
"wooooooo!"
"The next one's a surprise"
A rendition of the Smells Like Teen Spirit bass line is played.
*wooooooooooooooo!*
"Load up on guns..."
It went well.

After we're done, we're informed that we must continue to perform, as the next act needs time.
*crap*
Not knowing any other song that we could play together, it was decided that I play Don't Look Back In Anger followed by The Scientist. They told me it was a 'good job', but I'm not sure if they were just obliging.

At night, we were rudely called out for another ragging session. And that's when I felt a certain line was crossed.

We slept at 2, and got up at 5.30am for another 'physical training session'. There was a slight drizzle as we trudged through the muck to the main lawns. Five rounds and some exercises later, two teams were made. A soccer match was to be played.

Spirits were up, and so was the sun, though the later was only beginning to make its appearance. Three minutes into the game and a series of great passes brings the ball forward. A neat cross is made, and I efficiently direct it into goal.
*woooooo!*
Brilliant way to start the day.

Everyone should try it. Really. But bathe afterwards, please.

Blood?

2005-07-02T03:14:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been to a blood test, and then not given any blood, because the blood test was cancelled? And have you ever watched every F1 Grand Prix for the last four years, and missed one because it was impossible to know whether your seniors would allow it or not? And has it ever occured to you that it may be a good idea not to allow a stray rat into your room? And have you ever been warm, and had a cold at the same time? And will this inane question-asking ever stop? And if it does, will you promise not to hold it against me? And if you don't, will you be a doll and make me a cocktail?

The 'cultural night' will be 'conducted' tonight in the auditorium. Anshul (a batchmate, eternal pessimist, and Syd Barrett fantasiser) and I will be playing a medley type thingy of Wonderwall and Time Of Your Life. It sounds pretty good, and hopefully our screw ups won't be heard.

My underwears were washed today, so a major calamity has been averted.

No One's Lifting The Veil

2005-07-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

I am soo screwed. The workload has suddenly increased 10-fold, and it seems highly unlikely too that I will be able to watch the race on Sunday. This problem has two facets:
a) The increase in workload has been contributed by the fact that I have to submit a major assignment tomorrow morning by 9, and it's 7pm here. Work has not started, but I'm assuming this will be an all-niter, complemented by the fact that the goddamn thing has to be HANDWRITTEN. Thankfully, I have a good stock of glucose biscuits.
b) The not watching of the race has been contributed by the fact that the seniors will probably not give me 'permission' to watch it. I shall attempt reason, but it has failed me on more than one occasion here already.

The fact that the seniors have ordered that lights be out by 10.30pm doesn't help. No, it doesn't help at all.

This evening we were put through a 'Physical Training Workshop' which I am told is compulsory for every batch, but which appeared to be an ego satisfying activity carried out by seniors wanting retribution for something that may, or may not, have been done to them.

Appearances. Can be deceptive. Only can.

Tonight, we have a cultural night in which we have to display our varied talents to our seniors, via song, dance, theatre, and other assorted means of embarrasing oneself. It was supposed to happen yesterday, but it didn't coz of th rain, and it does seem as if God is in a pretty good mood today, so he'll let it stay dry between 11pm and 1 am.

Yes, I am so screwed.

I'm Bach

2005-06-29T05:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes. I know it's been long. Thanks for coming back to check. Will be more regular (read daily) today. Things have been muchos interesting, as you will soon find out.

Let's start from the top.

My feet are wet, and I'm sitting in my hostel room. "But why are your feet wet?" you may care to ask (or not). To which I would reply "Coz I haven't been wearing socks, and it was raining outside, when I was wearing different shoes on each foot."
"Wtf?!", "Huh?!" and "Mmmm... choc-late" are several things you may wonder.
"Coz when your seniors tell you to NOT wear socks, you just DON'T wear socks."
"Seniors? Aren't you too old for this?"
Tell me about it.

Saturday.
The college is in a place in Ahmedabad, Gujarat called Shela. It's a few miles away from everything in general but nothing pressing in particular. There's a few things you need to know about Ahmedabad:
1. There is no working drainage system. Anywhere. Which means that the 10-15 days of rain here a year are cause for total chaos. The roads are flooded, and I mean flooded. Murky brown water runs about a foot or two deep, and things are pretty sucky.
2. There is an almost complete lack of any quantitative or qualitative public transport system. Local buses look like they've not been to a mechanic or a garage since independence. I'm sure old people probably rattle whatever teeth they have left to bits while travelling in these monstrosities of withering metal.
3. Everyone who lives here thinks it's the greatest place on earth. And whenever someone's told me about it's sterling qualities I am forced to wonder... what if wishes were really horses and housing development was really rubbish.

The campus is very, very cool. It's organised, neat, well maintained, and best of all, had wi-fi everywhere.
*muahahah*
It's also very green.
I put my stuff in my room and was hanging outside at the hostel verandah meeting the other guys from my batch. This senior comes up to me and says
"Why aren't you in formals?"
"Coz I don't feel like it"
"Don't smile at me"
"Hi. I'm Arjun. You are?" hand outstretched.
"Why aren't you in formals?" a little more rudely, and loudly now.
"Does what I'm wearing intimidate you man?"
"Yes it does"
"Well that's too bad"
"We'll see later" he walks off.

Weird, yes, but I didn't think much of it. Mistake? Also, yes.
The hostel rooms for guys are double occupancy. You have no idea the pain I endured to drag my trunk around 50 metres from where the car dropped us, to my room. You really don't. I have everything every other guy in my batch has, and then extra for another. Batch, that is.

I'm in the midst of introductions with the rest of the guys from my batch when this group of seniors come up and start 'talking'.
"Why aren't you guys in formals?"
"Is that a prerequisite, or a rule?" I ask
"Yah"
"Then why aren't you in formals?"
"It's only for PGP 1s" (that's what the first year students are called)
"Who made the rule?"
"I did"
"And you are?"
"Your senior"
*no shit sherlock*
"That's great. I'm Arjun, and your name is?" hand outstretched...
This follows into a sizeable argument, and this one guy even threatened, "Dude, half the people in the business are MICA. I'll just call one of them and tell them you're a smartass and thats it."
Tch, tch. Unfortunately, not realising that it works both ways.

Dinner was consumed in the dining hall. It's by far the best hostel dining hall I've ever been to, without the shadow of a ridiculous doubt. Take today for example. For lunch we had tastefully prepared paneer (cottage cheese) and for dinner chole bature (really dunno how to translate that to English - wheat bread thingy and some medium sized grain preparation).
*sweet*
After dinner, I returned to the hostel area. I'm still standing in the verandah, when I see "the seniors coming".
"Nikal jao behen ke laudo" (literally translated to - Come out you sister's penises) is this one voracious Rajnikanth looking dude's cry. Very loud, and very ugly.
Everyone, chicks included, assembles in the verandah.
"Wear your formals". Most of the people are already in formals.
"Dude, do you have a problem?" some senior asks me.
"No man"
"Then why aren't you in formals"
"Coz I don't want to be" by now everyone's getting assembled.
"Dude, just let that guy go back to his room, he's not part of the 'fraternity'" says some guy who had, apparently, witnessed the afternoon's occurences.
I go into my room and sort some files.
Two guys enter and tell me to get back outside, where everyones lining up in 3s.
They call me to the front. Of everyone. Lots of crass language is being thrown about by the senior guys and girls alike to align the juniors in what I can only describe as a complete embarrasment to everyting that 'communication' implies. Everyone's made to look down at their shoes.
"Look DOWN!" some guy says to me.
"I am looking down dude" I'm actually looking a little diagonal.
"You got some problem?"
"No man"
"You don't respect your seniors?"
"I respect what you do, not this"
A loud "Ooooooo" passes around among the seniors.
I am told to walk towards one end of the hostel corridor and stand facing the wall.
I do that.
"Anyone who doesn't agree to this, is not part of the MICA 'fraternity'" a senior announces.
Whatever.
They tell everyone to leave, but not before an hour and a half of conscious efforts to bring out the horrors of the holocaust, and the more voracious of the respected seniors are coming to 'take care' of me. The General Secretary of the students comes up to me and says, "Just play along man, it's only for some time." and other monologue about the pros of being ragged.
Ah yes, the joy of having to wear a 'cape', a loose tie, and a chunni tied around my waist to resemble a tail.
And I gave my 'consent'.
Then I was 'allowed' to go to sleep.

The gist of the deal is - life here hasn't been very peachy. It should clear up in a few days, but till then, 'respected seniors' continue to take case.

Four weekdays of an immensely sleep inducing orientation programme has been completed, and this is what I've learnt about MICA.
1. If you step on an insect on the way to the water cooler, don't worry, it's the lull before the storm.
2. Air conditioned class rooms and seminar halls are really NOT that great when you walk in a little soaked from the incessant rain.
3. The 'laundromat', which is basically a collection of dhobis, will not wash your undergarments, or socks. It is adviseable to attempt to pay the cleaning amma a certain amount to do the same. I shall attempt to tomorrow.
4. If there is a certain position that you need to stand in, in a cartain part of your room, to have 'decent' cell network, memorise it, as it is impossible to find another.
5. The Director's alsatian Roxy is probably the most famous 'celebrity' on campus.

Regular classes start from tomorrow. And it is expected that life shall get miserable further.

There are several other things that you will need to know, and I will need to tell. But there's a time for everything, and everything in its time.

Come back tomorrow beeyatch.

Apologies

2005-06-24T02:04:00.000-07:00

The amount of packing left to be done in the less than 24 hours remaining for me to leave is tremendous. The next post you see will be written from a little village a few miles away from Ahmedabad. With 24 hours wi-fi access.

Wish me luck.

Let There Be Love

2005-06-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

The elevator operator and me have the most intense conversations ever. Here's how they go:
I enter the lift. My house is on the 10th floor. He knows me, so he presses the button. I am a little wet from the rain outside, and he looks at me. I attempt to make a witty comment about the weather as the elevator begins to move up.
"Buh"
Yup, very witty.
He's still looking at me. Floor 1. Floor 2.
He shuffles his feet, and I have the feeling he's going to say something. He doesn't.
I look at my feet. Then at the digital display of the floor numbers changing.
"I should make polite conversation, shouldn't I?" I think to myself.
"Yes, I should."
I look at him purposefully.
"Unnhh..."
"Did you say something?" he asks in Hindi.
I shake my head.
Floor 5. Floor 6.
It's sad that I have to live on the gawdfriggindarnit 10th floor.
I take out my cellphone, and press the following buttons - Unlock, *, Menu, *, Unlock, *, Menu, *
Floor 7.
The lift stops. Nobody enters.
Pesky servants kids keep pressing the lift buttons and running away.
It start again.
He's still looking at me.
"Buh" I explain again.
Floor 9, Floor 10.
"It's here" he describes politely.
I mean to say thanks, look at him, and once again explain "Buh"

The new Oasis CD is now in my possession. Finally. And I've already heard it twice. There's not a song that I could skip on it. It's not great, but it's pretty damn good. I also picked up the Best of Blur CD. I had the tape a few years ago, but who listens to tapes anymore?!

And if I had a lot more money, there's a 12 CD Aerosmith box set that would be in my possession. And another Nirvana DVD box set.

If money grew on trees, my home would be an endangered forest.

I went all the way to office today, and again (!!) forgot to return the loo key. Vaibhav complains that he may have kidney stones soon.

*muahahah*

Step, Step Up

2005-06-21T05:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a hard day. I've been shopping. Shopping is hard. I have been forced to purchase several things that I deem completely unnecessary, but which my parents think will be of immense use, to me. The principal of these defectors are:
1. An electric kettle.
2. Plastic jars, one each for sugar, coffee and milk powder.
3. Bedsheets that look like they're from the house of the three sleeping bears.
4. Toothpaste and shaving blades to last me all my 2 years.
5. Locks.

I am in desperate need of sleep. Linkin Park DVDs and Coldplay Live concerts (muahaha! I know you want them!) keep me up till 4am. And this is supposed to be the time I need to catch up on sleep before I got to MICA where apparently four hours of sleep is a luxury. Nice.

My laptop has a soundcard that records! This means that whenever the lethargy fades, I can record songs, edit/enhance and upload them. I recorded Fake already, but that was just a trial. Still, it sounds pretty neat. Priya says it doesn't sound like me, so I'll leave that to posterity.

Of late there are many things that have been pissing me off. Like the fact that I've suddenly discovered infinite things to do. And I can't spend much time with Priya. The fact that despite my not consuming any beer at all, I still have a beer belly. The fact that my left big toe aches somehow, very often. The fact that using my cellphone keypad could be compared to pushing your fingers against a rock, to no avail. And the fact that the dermatologist doesn't believe that my hair is falling off, even though I've been to him twice to tell him.

"Eat more protiens" my ass.

Blech

2005-06-20T02:01:00.000-07:00

It really was pathetic. I felt 'betrayed' in a way. Goddamnit. It was horrible. Rubbish. Sucky. Loser-ish. Conniving. Unreasonable. Farcical. Ridiculous.

My post race review, French GP preview:
"The US Grand Prix was a black day in Formula 1 history. The sport was let down, miserably. Politics, deceit, everything that makes a great Robert Ludlum, made a lousy 'race', if it can even be called that. Discussion about this race is destined to go on for a long, long time, so let's just focus our attention on the next one.

The French Grand Prix at the Circuit de Nevers Magny Cours is one known very well by the teams, and particularly by the defaulting tyre manufacturer, Michelin. So for starters, at least we're guaranteed that 20 cars will take to the grid."

I think I'll go into depression for awhile. Till Magny Cours.

The only consolation is that the rains have arrived. And there's been a sudden 10-15 degree drop in temperature. Which is nice.

I feel as if something has been taken away from me. How!? How could they allow it?! I watched the whole race, the ridiculous sight of 6 cars doing 73 laps, waiting for them to call it off. To put an end to the mockery. This was not Formula 1. It wasn't even sport. It was the biggest farce in the history of farces. I cannot begin to imagine what it must've been like, sitting in the grandstands, and watching the ridiculousness unfold.

I desperately need to get some air. Or rain.

Enter Sandman

2005-06-18T03:37:00.000-07:00

I slept at 4am. And woke up this 'morning' in time for lunch. That was nice. I feel so relaxed. It's like the feeling you get when you've eaten too much and then take a nice big dump. Ugly, but you get the hint.

Arun is a genie-ass! I had a problem with my laptop's DVD drive yesterday, and he fixed it for me. Actually, he told me what to do, and I did it. But the idea was his. That kid spends so much time playing games, it's a wonder he's got perfect vision. He drives like ptooeee though. But his lap times in NFS Underground 2 are phenomenal and probably the best in the country. Oh, if only real life were that simple.

I have now taken on a freelance position with JAM, and since Vaibhav's having a tough time coming up with article ideas, I thought I'd help him out. Here's part of my first freelance piece on Spyware:
"Don't you just hate it when your dad is using your PC and a pop-up window opens displaying women in... er... compromising positions, offering to do... er... compromising things? Yes, you do. And Arjun 'Vicious-Verbal' Ravi tells you how to rid yourself of that, and other spyware problems. So read carefully, and close that pop-up fast!

There are a few things as rare as common sense. Common sense will tell you that you shouldn't really get off a moving bus. Common sense will tell you that it isn't absolutely ideal to shoot tequila a few minutes before your term papers. And common sense will tell you that when you see a banner on a webpage saying you're the lucky one millionth visitor and that you should click on it, you probably shouldn't. But then, you do it anyways."

Grand Prix 4 is getting really frustrating. I have to save the game after every lap I play coz I know I'm going to screw up the next one. Damn.

Rider On The Storm

2005-06-17T03:43:00.000-07:00

Since I've left work, my day is spent doing everything in general but nothing really in
particular. Here's my daily schedule:
10.00am. Arise O great one! Arise!
10.15am. Arise O great one! Arise!
10.30am. Reluctantly the great one arises.
11.00am. The great one bathes.
11.15am. The great one is still bathing.
11.30am. After completion of bathing, the great one and his dear mother leave home to buy things the great one will need in college.
11.31am to 2.30pm. Purchases are made in smouldering heat, and to his home the great one and his dear mother return.
2.45pm. The great one eats lunch, and then some more.
3.00pm. The great one plays some Grand Prix 4.
4.00pm. The great one updates his blog and does other assorted things on the internet.
5.00pm. The great one takes his doggy for a walk. Rather the doggy takes the great one for a walk.
6.00pm. The great one meets the girly friend.
8.30pm. The great one returns home for a sumptous dinner that the dear mother has prepared.
9.00pm. The great one pesters his useless brother to give him games for his laptop.
9.01pm. tp 2.30am. The great one plays games and watches South Park on his laptop. He also watches bits of Star Wars movies.
2.31am. The great one resigns to deep slumber.

Wooohooo! Race so soon!

There's some problem with the DVD drive of my laptop. This totally sucks ass. Will get it fixed on Monday. Damn you non-working weekends.

I made this awesome wallpaper for my laptop in photoshop. Will post it later. It's got all the album covers of my favourite albums. Very, very cool.

The great one needs to take his doggy for a walk.

Lethargy

2005-06-16T03:53:00.000-07:00

Not working is weird. Before leaving office yesterday I got all nostalgic. It would be the last time I made a visit to the men's loo (keys of which I conveniently forgot to return, so till the time I go there again, all the guys in the office are gonna have to use the stinky public loo... ot hold it in... *evil*). It would be the last time I had lassi from 'that' guy. It would b the last time I used my souped up office PC. It would be the last time I fell down the trippy stairs. Damn... so much lost.

This laptop is the major cause for my lack of sleep.

The collection of essential things that I will need to take with me to MICA has begun. My father has insisted that wholly unnecessary things like electric kettles, pearl pet jars and ethnic Indian clothing be taken. "That's not me" said I defiantly, and we proceeded to eat pizza that had a really hard base so my jaw hurt like hell after the consumption was complete.

A really great song to listen to right now is Love Burns by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. What a name for a band that is! I've decided that when I have a band, it shall be called Purple Paranoia for Heavy Drinking Thugs. Our music? "Straight-up Gangsta Rap". Hit single? "Sober Is Da Shit".

*sweeet*

There are no signs of rain, and you cannot begin to comprehend the quantity of 'suck' that that news brings. If you were to be requested to enter an oven, you would thank the person who made the suggestion.

Song 2

2005-06-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

Here's the deal. Since it is already headline news that my laptop kicks ass, I shall now describe why.
- It's an Acer 4150 series, Intel Centrino 1.5Ghz processor. This basically means it's very fast.
- I upgraded it to 512 MB RAM and a 128 MB graphics card, so that I can play al the cool games. Yes, it is a gaming monster.
- 60 gigs of Hard Drive space, 15 gigs of which I've already filled with my music, movies, games, music and other assorted software. Did I mention music?
- It's Wi-Fi compatible, so I can download more music at hotspots (muahahah1!).
- A DVD/CD-RW combo drive, so I can burn music.
- It kicks ass.

I've been up till 3a.m. the tast two nights. Playing games. And watching movies. Right from the comfort of my own lap. ... that didn't sound right, did it?

And my Coldplay poster's back. Woohoo!

If you look closely, you can see me in the poster. In my boxers, taking the photograph. Don't look too closely though. ;)

It's still not raining. Goddamnit!

Saw the new Batman movie (Batman Begins) yesterday.:
"To be completely honest, BB is a disappointment. Comic-book superhero movies have great expectations to live up to, and with BB the expectation is kinda like when Sachin comes out to bat - if he scores a century it's cause for celebration and people remember it for a while till the next time he scores a century, but if he screws up, you feel bad, but more for him, than for yourself. So to put things in the perspective of this film, BB is like watching Sachin get out in the 90s - so near, yet so far."

"I'm Listening"

2005-06-14T06:27:00.000-07:00

No pics or comics today. In a hurry. You see, I'm on my laptop now. And since it kicks everything's ass, I am way too enamoured to type too much. More tomorrow. Really.

I feel so happy.

Win = Finn

2005-06-13T04:10:00.000-07:00

Yes. You must've heard the pounding. I'm sorry. Jumping around naked in my room in the middle of the night was inevitable. And if Juan Pablo hadn't been Black flagged, I would've gone on throughout. Till early this morning, when I woke up with a severe pain in my neck.

I can 'feel' today's a good day. The shuffle on my WinAmp's been playing some really good stuff - Don't Panic by Coldplay (Cold... play... mmm...), Prosthetic Head by Green Day and this brilliant cover of I'm Only Sleeping by the Stereophonics and Oasis. Now if only the rain would come down, and wash away the pain... er... heat.

There are a few things that I feel are necessary to say at this exact point in time. These are:
1. There are few people who are like guavas - nice and juicy on the outside, but inside they're all balls. Women!
2. Sometimes, it doesn't really matter if you had a mango lassi first or a regular lassi first.
3. If Jennifer Lopez and Rakesh, the office accountant, were to do a music video together, Jenni would thank her lucky stars. *not*
4. Would you believe it, only another week till another race!

Poetry In Static

2005-06-11T01:42:00.000-07:00

Priya likes poems. So I wrote one.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
It's really hot outside,
And so am I.

I know that it didn't rhyme,
But I don't really care,
I've been a little kooky,
Ever since I cut my hair.

And now you may ask,
"Why is Arjun so bored?"
Does he feel like a typo?
Like penis mightier than the sword.

There is no logical reason,
You cannot understand his plight.
It's friggin hot outside,
And his underwear's too tight.

Tada!

I hate politics and politicians. My plan for world peace is to have counsellors, selected by me, who tell people what to do via song and dance. The list includes Chris Martin, Noel Gallagher, Kylie Minogue (we need somebody to dance) and Jennifer Lopez (for posterity, or a posterior).

*screw you guys, I'm going home*

Would you believe it! It's already race weekend!

Did It All For The...

2005-06-10T04:49:00.000-07:00

With superhit singles like Clocks and The Scientist, saying such simple things with their music in such a beautiful way, they cemented their position as one of the biggest bands in the world. They were marrying movie stars, naming their children after fruits, not accepting Royal invitations, and giving all their fans something to cheer about with music of the highest possible quality. And they were still clean, as they are now. It's their music that they're known for. The music that inspires people, makes them happy, and gives them hope. And THAT is why we love them.

Yes, I know it's overkill.

Many questions are being asked about my new haircut. "Why did you do it?" "Is this an admission requirement at MICA?" "Did Priya put you up to this?" "Can I get your phone number?" Yes, dear friends. It is, in fact, like that. And that is, in fact, the way it is.

Yay! (so Gay!) There will be a laptop in my house come Saturday. And I will of course be overjoyed.

Race weekend coming up. The time difference means that while the race goes on in the afternoon in Canada, it will be the middle of the night here. Which means that I have to convince my parents to let me use their room for the night, coz the TV is there. And convincing parents to do anything is not something I am adept at.

I know you're sick of hearing it, but the Coldplay CD is really, REALLY awesome. Kill me now.

Yes. I know I look like a nerd. That's why the pic is in black and white, edited in Photoshop.

Short, Very Short

2005-06-09T04:32:00.000-07:00

The stars shine for them. And with millions of albums sold worldwide, one wouldn't think otherwise. Arjun 'X-Y-Z' Ravi finds out what makes Coldplay one of the biggest bands in the history of Rock music.

What is Rock and Roll really about? Drugs? Sex? Alchohol? Quite often it is easily forgotten that the genre of music in discussion is just that, a genre a music. Music is the essence. The rest of the frills are ancillary. And that's the essence of arguably Britain's biggest rock act. Coldplay are clean. And make good, clean music. And that's what sells the millions of records. And that's what has fans clamouring outside ticket counters for hours. And THAT, is what makes them 'big'.

Quote of the day:
Dhruv, explaining - "Don't call me a gay boy coz inside I'm a woman."
Don't ask me, he said it.

You have no idea how difficult it is to be finally confronted with the sight of your ears, after having them hide behind the shaggy facade of your hair. You really don't. My hair is short now. Very short.

Is "Holy shit" shit that has a halo around it?

The Coldplay CD is awesome. I heard it in it's entirety last night, after which I slept a very satisfied sleep.

I'll have my laptop by tomorrow evening. So my coolness quotient will be restored.

X, Y & Z

2005-06-08T01:57:00.000-07:00

Screen 6
Obi-Wanna Potty and Ana-crap fight.
Obi-Wanna Potty: You were the one Ana-crap. You were supposed to save us all from the Shit. Why? WHY?
Ana-crap: Oh don't give me that senti dialogue. This is not another one of your romantic comedies. Sure, there's mushy love scenes, and Chewbacca, but do I look like I'm in the mood for A Life Less Ordinary?

Screen 7
Fart Vader vows to venge himself against the Jedi.
Chancellor Palpitations: Ana-crap, you ate all the laxatives yourselves. I pronounce you Lord Fart Vader.
Fart Vader: Yes, Fart Sidious. Considering Number 1 and Number 2 (snigger, snigger) were a bunch of 'gas' (get it? get it?), we, the Shit, have finally hit the ceiling.

Yesterday you could have asked me why I was running around my room naked and overtly excited, even though I wasn't, and I would have smiled at you and pointed to the large roll of paper lying on my bed. If you unfolded that large three and a half feet by two feet paper, you would have noticed a large picture of four men, sitting on the floor, leaning their bancks against the blue painted wall behind them. Those four men, are Coldplay, and once I stop running around, the poster that is in your hands will be framed and put on display in my room.

I bought the new album yesterday. And the X part of X&Y is superb. Still have to listen to the Y.

If all goes well, and I mean 'well' in the most negative of ways, I shall have a haircut in the evening. And you have no idea how much that sucks.

Floundering

2005-06-07T04:59:00.000-07:00

Screen 4
Ana-crap Skywalker meets Chancellor Palpitations.
CP: Come with me to the Dark Side Ana-crap.
Ana-crap: But isn't the Dark Side a very evil power.
CP: No. In fact, there's no power at all. They call it the Dark Side because of BEST's constant electricity cuts.

Screen 5
A pregnant Madme and Ana-crap talk.
Madme: Is there something bothering you Ana-crap? Is it the Dark Side?
Ana-crap: No. I can't extract myself from your hair! I'm stuck! C3PO!

It's less than 3 weeks for me to leave. And that sucks. Not only coz I have to leave Priya, but also coz it's less than 3 weeks till my cell number gets disconnected. This number's been with me through so much. Weight loss, girlfriends, bunked lectures, attended lectures (so few of those), work, more work, drinking sessions, humourous incidents that do not come to mind at this moment but will when I'm 80 and senile, et cetra.

It's sad.

An article I'm writing about the India Today college rankings:
"Anyone "in-the-know", when asked about the committee that decided these rankings, will elaborate to you a picture of a bunch of old-fogies sitting around a table quietly dipping bun maska in their cutting. Or something to that effect. Year after year, India Today's rankings decrease in significance because of poor ranking procedure. How else can one explain St. Xavier's continual dominance of the Mumbai commerce colleges, even though the college only offers B.Com. admission to working and underpriviliged students, for evening classes?"

I really, REALLY have to buy the new Coldplay disc. NOW! You cannot believe the urgency of the situation.

Monday Is A Sun-day

2005-06-06T01:53:00.000-07:00

Yes, that was bad.

Here are five things you will not catch me doing today:
1. Sunbathing
2. Making solar kitchens
3. Praying to Ra, the Sun God
4. Warming myself in front of a fire, and
5. Standing outside in the middle of the traffic signal junction wearing a black suit, and a black cap, with a black sweater, black socks and black shoes.

If you have not already guessed (you need help) and if it was any hotter, the petrol inside of large cars and buses would not require a spark plug to ignite.

There is nothing as endearing as having your girlfriend burrow her head into your shoulder while the sequel to a horror flick plays out on a very, very large screen in a theatre, seven feet from where you sit. There really isn't.

Quote of the day:
Vaibhav asked Rachana (the villain named Raju) - "Who are the members of your 'mental family'?" referring to Raju's reference of family members in one's head.
Raju - "Bobby Darling... (a little later)... I'm not going to entertain your stupid questions."

And yesterday was a super-awesomo-ultra-ubero-sooper-dooper-coolio day. I got the new Lifehouse CD. And the new Bizkit CD. And finally picked up American Idiot. "I'm so happy... I could cry." Bizkit's okay. Apart from The Truth, the rest of the songs just sound like Durst is trying too hard. Lifehouse will be heard on the way back home. And Green Day tomorrow. Coldplay's new album is out today. I got this cool poster thingy that came with the press release. Vaibhav wanted it, but it is only because of me that he 'realy' likes Coldplay.

Today's my Dad's birthday. Surprisingly, I feel very old. Very.

Forfeit The Game

2005-06-03T04:57:00.000-07:00

An emergency meeting of the Jedi is called.
Yo-duh: Trouble, we are in Break Windu. Bananas, we all have been fed. Constipated, we are all. And laxatives, Gravy has run away with!
Break Windu: But we have reasons to believe that Chancellor Palpitations may be behind it all.
Yo-duh: Correct, you are. Young Ana-crap, we will send. Gullible, he is, and connection, this film needs with the 1970's one. No other logical solution, I can come up with.
Break Windu: Fear not Master Yoda. In Star Wars, logic is like Jar-Jar Binks, an unnecessary commodity used only for comic relief.

Liberation of Postal Service

*You love the way*
*I look at you*

Quote of the day:
Rachana (first name Raju), doing what she, rather HE, does best - "And if my mom sees me coming home sober, she's shocked..."
*It's like that*
*And that's the way it is*
*Unnhh*

I'm going to get a quotation for my laptop tomorrow. Woohoo... Should have it with me by the end of next week!

Talk This Way

2005-06-02T05:41:00.000-07:00

Chancellor Palpitations is rescued.
General Gravy: Ha! Despite you being twice as strong as me, and me coughing and wheezing all the time, I will easily make my escape, leaving you to die in this crashing ship.
Ana-crap: Beam me up, Scotty.
Obi-Wanna Potty: You have a lot to learn young Ana-crap. Like your lines. This is Star WARS, not Star TREK.

I saw Kung Fu Hustle last night. Super-cool-awesome-neato funny flick. The original Japanese version had subtitles, but the smart alec distributors here decided that they'd rather have it dubbed. So basically the movie I saw yesterday was a poorly dubbed special effects extravaganza. Come on, if you're getting a Japanese movie dubbed get it dubbed by Japanese people, and not by ageing parsi ladies. Blech.

Arun just called to tell me that I got the Clifton CD in the mail. How cool is that?! And how unbelievably sweet of those guys to send it?! It is not often that such acts of kindness are shown. Honoured, I am.

I've started my own cartoon strip. It's imaginatively titled "Liberation of Postal Service". Will have a new one everyday. Don't worry, in case it sucks, the other comics I've plagiarised from the internet will continue to feature.

Prota Gonist. Hehe.

Weather is a two-faced, double-crossing bitch. It was hot as Charlize Theron again today. And only air-conditioning could save me. Air-conditioning will save us all!

Revenge of the Shits

2005-06-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

Obi-Wanna Potty: I'm Obi-Wanna-Potty. After two really 'shitty' prequels, I finally get some good lines to say... but I still sound like I'm doing a reding of Little Red-Riding Hood.
Ana-Crap Skywalker: Yes, I did look like a Planet of the Apes Reject last time, but I've finally gotten rid of that squirrel stuck to the back of my hair.
Madme: I'm Madme. I'm completely out of place in this movie, and change my hairstyle only 5 times. Crap.
Yo-duh: Cute, I am. Do, I not much. But part, I play big. No acting talent, even animation can give me.

Screen 1
Ana-crap Skywalker and R2D2 fight off Clone battleships on their way to General Gravy's command ship. Obi-Wanna Potty follows.
Ana-crap: R2! We need to fight off these clone spider thingies that're destroying our ship.
R2: Bleep bleep boop bleep. (No problemo. My processing power has recieved a quantum leap in this film, so finishing these insignicant wastes of titanium-alloy is like taking candy from a baby, or C3PO.)

Good news is brought by dark conditions. The sky is grey. The temperature is down. The rain is coming. And the Arjun is overjoyed. I haven't been this glad to see the sun go away since last year when the rains came. And I was decidedly thinner than I am now. Which was awesome coz now-a-days I feel like a pregnant pig. Who's had too much to eat.

Finished 'The Song She's Dying To Sing' last night.
Tip to anyone who's having trouble fitting words to a song:If you need lyrics for a bridge, and just can't seem to get any ("just can't seem to get any"... heh), use a line from your first verse, and repeat it for the rest of the progressions. This gives listeners the impression that there's some 'deeper meaning' to the song. Which is cool, coz then not only have you saved a whole bunch of time, you've also made people 'think' about your music. Talk about two birds with one stone.
For more ridiculous advice on writing music... don't ask me.

Quote of the day:
Rachana (rather, Raju), in fine form - "I wet my pants."
In her defence, she read it as out loud from a newspaper. But we didn't know that, until later.

Whatcha Say, Whatcha Say

2005-05-31T05:21:00.000-07:00

Is it often that you find yourself mumbling lyrics you cannot understand, from a song you have no liking towards, of an artist you think is a skunk?

I wrote most of a song last night. It's called 'The Song She's Dying To Sing'. I think it's the best I've ever written. Tell now. And until the day my laziness fades away into a mash of old sandwiches and smelly ear wax, you'll never hear it, coz I'll be too busy not eating my food and digging my ears to get a recorder and record. Damn lethargy. Hail sarcasm.

Quote of the day:
Rachana, explaining how she filled in her... rather his... he's been rechristened Raju... explaining how HE filled in HIS answeres in an exam - "I applied logic, and left it empty."
Perfect.

Am writing a spoof on the new Star Wars movie. It's called "Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Shits"

I think Fart Vader will be evil. And smelly.

I need to buy a laptop soon. It'll be awesome. Arun and I have already decided all the games we're gonna play via serial port. I've already been spending most of my time at home playing Grand Prix 4 which Arun and I 'upgraded' for the 2005 Championship. It kicks ass. And it's the only game I'm good at. Apart from Mario, which is a classic.

I need to sleep. A lot.

When She Says

2005-05-30T05:42:00.000-07:00

I almost cried yesterday. Why Kimi?! Whhhyyyy?!

The race was frustrating in more ways than one. With 23 laps to go, the maid's husband decides that it's about time he screwed around with the electrics. And everything goes black. So I run around the house, shouting, muffled curses (mum was around), and finally deciphering a way to get the TV working. But the fans were off, so it was really hot. And I was sweating doing nothing. Worse, I had a bad throat, so no cold milk to cool off either.

And then, the suspension failed.

My race review for the next race:
"Something's happened to F1 in 2005. Apart from the fact that a red liveried driver has yet to make it to the top step of the podium (stunning isn't it?!), the number of people talking about the sport has incread at least ten fold. And by "talking", I mean bitching. There's drivers telling each other off. There's team bosses letting their tongues run away. There's the FIA changing rules as often as Minardi drivers retiring from races. And this, even if you're an outsider to F1, is bloody good fun!

The US Grand Prix brings us to half-way point in the 2005 championship. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway is one of the few circuits on the calendar that is actually more famous than the Grand Prix itself, in that the circuit hosts the prestigious Indy 500 CART race. Juan Pablo Montoya is the only driver in the current championship to have driven in both the Indy 500 and the F1 races. Traditionally Indianapolis has been a Ferrari hunting ground, but as we've seen this season, traditions aren't... oh, what the hell... Ferrari have sucked. And it's going to be really difficult for them NOT to suck at Indy."

Work. Damn. It's a little confusing how I have so much to do, in this heat.

Thank You, India

2005-05-28T04:56:00.000-07:00

I had lunch today at this place called 'Camp'. Vaibhav and I hazarded the location, though this is his regular haunt. Anyways, so we went in, and sat down at a table that was already occupied by two gentlemen, yet to complete their meal. And this was perfectly okay, coz, as Vaibhav describes it, "It's a no-frills place". So, we ate. And they ate. And they finished, and they left. Odd. But vaguely 'quaint'.

The issue is finally done, and work is completed. Till Monday.

And Kimi will start from the front row tomorrow. Whoopah!

We Have To Walk Are Winding

2005-05-27T05:46:00.000-07:00

You must admit, spam emails are undeniably funny.
First of all, they have the most hilarious subject lines. "Looking for companionship?" "Viagra, Cialis... cheap!" "Only quality fake Rolexes!" or "She's waiting for you." Apart from the obvious attraction to that last one, it's as if the guys who make these mails know they're gonna be deleted straight off. And we get tonnes of it at work everyday. Only to laugh at, and then delete. All that copywriting effort gone to waste.

Quote of the day:
Suhani, the newbie in the office, describing herself, somewhat aptly - "I'm a sleazy criminal."
Ah yes, if only you were privy to these conversations...

It seems unlikely that I will leave work today. Yes, it does.

My stomach has quit being a beer belly. It can now be classified as simply a belly. Crap.

The mind is a fickle thing. But the Indian rock community is better.

Better Off This Way

2005-05-26T01:46:00.000-07:00

One of the stories in today's Asian Age.
"Irrespective of a glorious past, Mumbaikars ignore one of the city's oldest resident: the bus ticket"
Er... I kinda dunno what to say. It's like having an ulcer an being unable to describe the pain. What. The. F**k?Is this news? I mean sure I can understand yellow journalism and all (being kinda a part of it), but what pale shade of jaundice is this? Bus tickets! And the article is supplemented with a photograph of some 35 year old bus ticket, covering the face of a spectacled man (dark, maybe has eczema), who's holding it up for the press photographer, who I'm thinking was wondering at that very moment why, oh dear God why, does he have to photograph ancient bus tickets while his friends (alchoholics, regularly drunk on a cheap brand of beer called Khajuraho) get to photograph buxom models at Cannes. But bus tickets?! What's next? 20 year old phone bills? 12 year change from a cab ride? Hmmm...

And seriously, I think the "city's oldest resident" is that lady who sits at the 83 bus stop and asks me for money, even though she looks reasonably middle class. It's freaky.

I hate the fact that for some people religion plays a role in deciding whether you are 'allowed' to love a person or not. It sucks ass. Like brinjal.

Pour La Homme...

2005-05-25T02:02:00.000-07:00

Some really annoying black-flying-insect-thingy just got splattered against my dusty, yellow pinboard courtesy a press release about clothes for teenagers, that had pictures of children between the ages of 5-9 wearing aforementioned "clothes for teenagers". I hope there aren't any more... black-flying-insect-thingies.

Was playing WWE on the N-Gage. Damnit. I really have to prioritise my spending. I need so many things. Gawsh! Did I tell you about the wallet I wanted? The one that respawns cash as soon as you take some out?

An article that I've been working on for about 2 months now seems unlikely to be published. It's a little frustrating, but... CRAP. So much research. I feel old. Very old.

My hair feels very 'frizzy' today... and aprt from that being the stupidest thing I have ever said in my life, I think a shower would do good to everyone in general.

Who? Me? No!

2005-05-24T03:47:00.000-07:00

"Made" this...

Now the guy on the left, he's a pirate. His ship was scuttled after half his crew had been devoured by a large squid that didn't quite like fast food. He escaped on a boat made from a few very hard slices of cheese that he hijacked from a girl scout regiment hiking n the Swiss Alps. Licking his wounds he made it to the shores of a strange island abundant is nerdy looking, sleazy women who slept with at least 3 men, at a time.
The woman in the centre, she's a he... as can be observed from a few strands of unshavenness from this morning when he forgot coz his coffee was boiling. Anyways, so 'his' name is Gobi-Tan-Chanobo, and he likes his eggs sunny side up.
The guy on the right, he desperately wants to be a black rapper. So he's pierced everything on his face that can be pierced and every sentence he says starts with "And yo momma's so fat..."

Completed my Star Wars review:
"There's something about Star Wars that stands out from any other fantasy flick. Sure there are creatures of all different sizes and shapes, and sure there are epic battle scenes fought in superbly produced technicolor wonderlands, but there's something other than lustful dreams about Princess Leah that one leaves the theatre with after watching a Star Wars movie. In it's essence, Star Wars is the quintessential Good vs Evil movie, but in substance it is something much bigger. You find yourself yearning for greatness instilled in you by the drama that has unfolded in such a phantasmagoric-ally visual fashion on the cinema screen. And no LOTR or Harry Potter can do that."

Work. Plagues.

Making Monte

2005-05-23T06:08:00.000-07:00

It's been an awesome weekend.

First of all, Arsenal beat Manyoo on penalties. And I watched. And was amused. Coz considering the team we had, and the way we played, we should've lot. I say this sitting thousands of miles from England. Such is the fellowship I harbour to the club. It's sad, coz I don't really 'support' many Indian soccer clubs.

Secondly, this...

What made it better was that Juan Pablo finished in the points too. My preview for the next race:
"You know this writer is happy when McLaren is on top, but by God (!), what a season it has been! We've seen Ferraris with flat tyres, Red Bulls scoriing points, Jacques Villeneuve back to his top 'Capt. Bonkers' form, overtaking in Monaco... goodness gracious me, F1 is back!"

Priya was with me to watch the final few laps. And she actually stayed awake for them. Which is cool. I know deep down inside of her there's a McLaren fan waiting to burst out. She likes Shakespeare. And so, "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds..."

And I'm swamped with work. I also may be hosting an Oasis special on Sunday. Rogeroo might play, if Darryl agrees.

Dhruv and I checked if he sucked ass.

Damn it.

I've been eating much food. And doing little exercise.

Wishin' I Was There

2005-05-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

Picture this:
Rachana has borrowed my Discman, which I very, very reluctantly parted with. I have these huge headphones (expensive) which she's wearing. The phone rings. She can't hear it. Vaibhav shouts to her. She understands (finally), and lifts the reciever. She brings the reciever to the ear. With the headphones still on.

And then she wonders.

Gautam told me this:
"What will happen if the world revolves 30 times faster?"
"We'll get our paychecks everyday, and all women will bleed to death."

I have inane conversations with everyone I know. And they don't seem to mind.

Which is nice.

Monaco on Sunday baby! And Kimi's looking good for a podium at least. I pray for him and Juan Pablo every Sunday at church. And David too. Of course.

Priya's mother returning has not bode well till now. And it seems unlikely that it will in the near future. Which sucks. Still...

And I'm Sorry Mr. Jones

2005-05-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

It's time...

There's so much work. Crap.

Got R.E.M.'s new CD. From what I've read online, it sucks. Will hear it on the way back home. I've always had a certain 'arty' respect for R.E.M. Like Ingrid Bergman, or for that matter, Hootie and The Blowfish. Hmmm.

And today Priya and I are 8 months. That's nice. I wish we could do something special tonight, but parents just suck. She's everything.

My stomach hurt like hell, again, this morning. It was really bad. I contemplated sitting on the pot all morning. But that wouldn't have solved much. Just like ice-cream.

"Can mice fly?"
"Sure. Just like monkeys..."

I'm going to need to control the urge to spend a shitload of money on CDs before I leave for MICA. It's a terrible, terrible urge. Especially since I have so much disposable income now. Damn. It.

Live: 2003

2005-05-18T02:21:00.000-07:00

*It's just one of those days*
*When you don't wanna wake up*

Yes, o thoroughly bored ones. It is.

Had a horrible stomach pain this morning. One that would put my horrible-er knee bruising to shame. It pained like a bitch. Giving birth. To 25 pups. At the same time.

Someone asked me on the 14th how old was I?
"Too old, too old, too old."

Anyways, so I'm feeling a bit better now. And I'll be listening to Live 2003 (Coldplay you ninny) on the way home. So that helps.

I dislike national politics immensely. As I do Brinjal (egg plant). But there's something I dislike more than any of these domestically relevant and vegetable matters. And that is, no cell network in my office. Now that completely sucks ass. More than stale sandwiches even.

Have you ever wondered why you don't get to watch too much TV these days? I have. And I'll watch at least an hour today.

Check out the finished Joe Satriani video. It's pretty neat. And if you're bored, watch Part III again.

Y! M! C! A!

2005-05-17T00:09:00.000-07:00

The third video is done! Yes! Watch it... (!)

The trinity is complete. The truth is revealed. Lo, and behold!
Yes, it's very, very cool.

Working on the Joe Satriani video. Has an awesome intro which when watched will cause viewer to praise me greatly.

Quote of the day:
Rachana, when being asked about her 'manly' features: "When I like the rugged look, I don't shave."
"Ewww", you might say. And "wtf" you might add.

And Priya's mum got back at 4 this morning. Which sucks. Obviously. The mice have played sooo much since the cat's been away. Muahahah. Still, I'd rather she NOT be back. Can't have everything. Dammit!

I'm also terribly tired, and my knee's only slightly better.

I must go home now.

Twenty One

2005-05-16T01:53:00.000-07:00

Coz I've found it all.

Was supposed to post this on Saturday. Couldn't.

The gig yesterday was awesome. Sat blew everyone away. Me included. This is the best pic of the lot.

I was like 5 feet from the stage. And making those guys who'd paid for those really expensive passes insanely jealous. It was fun. Muahahah. That, and I was soooo tired after standing for almost 6 hours straight. Ah yes, the things I do as a journalist. For posterity I consumed 500ml of 7Up on the way back.

And I'm 21 today. Blech.

Getting older sucks. But more than that, having your parents forcefully throw you a birthday party, and that too on the day AFTER your birthday! Ptooeee. And more blech.

Treated everyone at work to lunch. Expensive. But very wholesome. Here's the cake they got me.

There was a lot of chocolate. That I ate. And enjoyed. Selfishly.

And this is today.

The party last night was neat. I got a little high on beer. And then started singing. Lol. But not like the "last" time. Ah, now that's a story to tell... over beer, and U2.

Anyways, so Priya got me some awesome stuff. Like this awesome new leather wallet...

I wish she'd put some money in it though.

Mum made some really good food. Pics later. To make you jealous. Obviously.
And I insisted on playing 'depressing alternative' throughout the evening. Coz it's only depressing music that keeps me happy. That, and chocolate. She got me Rum 'n Raisins Temptation.
*sweeeet*

She also got me the entire Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy set! It's super-coolio-bestest-neato! Yes, yes! It is!

And the new song is done. I played it for a few people last night. They say it's good. Must... record... soon... now... go... jump...

I busted my knee really bad against a bus. And it hurts. Really bad. NooooOooo!