I can't fall asleep. Second night in a row. I dislike this. I've been tossing and turning for ages now and this is starting to piss me off. So I reached for my trusty powerbook and decided to inflict this post upon you.
Keeping with my mood, which is pretty bad I shall...
I'm tired. I can hardly keep my eyes focused, but I am not fucking able to to fall asleep. I'll end up sleeping until noon and that will screw my schedule for the entire day.
I plan to get away this weekend. Let's see if that happens.
Clean breaks are hard to come by. Just when you think a clean break has been...achieved, your mind decides to fuck you up. To those who know what I'm talking about, go for the surgical amputation.
On a far more cheerful note, the weather here has gotten much better. And that means just one thing. Every attractive woman in State College is wearing as few clothes as she possibly can. This is a most desirable state of affairs.
On a far less cheerful note, I'm still sick. The cold and the flu have decided to make a comeback. Rajneesh's sickness, the sequel starring Influenza as Flu Jacobson, a cop with a mysterious past and the Common Cold as H A Chu, the comical yet deadly bounty hunter from the far East. The name of the movie is, of course, One Flu over the Haachooo's nest.
Gah.
The worst part about being sick and alone is being alone. Nobody to pamper you or take care of you. It's one of the worst parts of being an adult.
It's begun to dawn on me, with growing horror, that I am an adult. I have no idea how this happened. I turned around and the world aged on me. And took me along for the ride. I said some time ago that I felt old. I do. But I do not feel in the least bit mature. I am the last person in the world I would trust to do the sensible, grown-up thing.
(Blank line)
(Suitable Conclusion)
(Lame Joke)
(Obligatory Reference to cat)
Goodnight folks.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
My blind spot...
Now normally I am pretty resistant to the efforts of salespeople. I can look them squarely in the eye and say no, nada, nix, nein...you get the idea. So in most cases I can avoid buying those things that people end up kicking themselves for later.
However I do have a blind spot.
Continue to read gentle reader and you shall discover it.
I have unruly hair. Not your ordinary garden variety unruly hair. That would be manageable. My hair cannot in all honesty be called merely unruly. It should be called rebellious. Violently rebellious. More in the nature of an armed insurrection. Think the Intifada, the non-cooperation movement, the October revolution and a particularly violent Football game (The American variety where people slam into each other with the gay abandon of berserk locomotives) all rolled into one.
That too would be fine if the insurrection was aimed against the same target. However that isn’t the case. Not only is my hair rebelling against me, each individual hair is rebelling against all its neighbours. And not just the neighbours, tensions are also simmering between hairs that have never seen each other. They dislike each other on general principles.
Now while I am the last person to object to people disagreeing with each other, I do strongly believe that it is in my greater interests that this rebellion must be stamped out and the order restored. My hair just as strongly believes that I should fuck off.
But I am of stronger mettle than that. I have persevered through the ages. I have fought the good fight and I have more often than not, lost. I have been soundly defeated. You can hear my hair partying after each victory. The sounds of champagne corks being popped and guns being fired off fills the ether. Not into the air as would be sensible… when the guns are fired off it usually means that fresh hostilities have broken out up there in that long, never ending war.
And that brings me to my blind spot. In my efforts to subdue my hair, I am a sucker to almost everything that the barbers here recommend. Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the barbers here are female, young and usually very attractive. Back in India I was used to grumpy men who wielded the scissors like swords, and who would consider taking off an inch of skin a mark of their skill. So while I am used to grumpy men growling at me, here I am confronted by pretty women, who in dulcet tones convince me to buy a whole bunch of fucking expensive hair products. These gels and creams and other assorted chemicals (solids, liquids and semi-solids) slowly gather dust in my bathroom cabinet and glare at me every morning. A painful reminder of how weak I can be when the forlorn hope of subduing my hair meets an attractive woman peddling products for a commission.
On a happier note, Congratulations Chilli aka Mr.MBA. Wish I had been there to cheer you on. That’s one more treat you owe me when I finally can visit. And Kiddo looking forward to meeting you when you get here.
However I do have a blind spot.
Continue to read gentle reader and you shall discover it.
I have unruly hair. Not your ordinary garden variety unruly hair. That would be manageable. My hair cannot in all honesty be called merely unruly. It should be called rebellious. Violently rebellious. More in the nature of an armed insurrection. Think the Intifada, the non-cooperation movement, the October revolution and a particularly violent Football game (The American variety where people slam into each other with the gay abandon of berserk locomotives) all rolled into one.
That too would be fine if the insurrection was aimed against the same target. However that isn’t the case. Not only is my hair rebelling against me, each individual hair is rebelling against all its neighbours. And not just the neighbours, tensions are also simmering between hairs that have never seen each other. They dislike each other on general principles.
Now while I am the last person to object to people disagreeing with each other, I do strongly believe that it is in my greater interests that this rebellion must be stamped out and the order restored. My hair just as strongly believes that I should fuck off.
But I am of stronger mettle than that. I have persevered through the ages. I have fought the good fight and I have more often than not, lost. I have been soundly defeated. You can hear my hair partying after each victory. The sounds of champagne corks being popped and guns being fired off fills the ether. Not into the air as would be sensible… when the guns are fired off it usually means that fresh hostilities have broken out up there in that long, never ending war.
And that brings me to my blind spot. In my efforts to subdue my hair, I am a sucker to almost everything that the barbers here recommend. Matters aren’t helped by the fact that the barbers here are female, young and usually very attractive. Back in India I was used to grumpy men who wielded the scissors like swords, and who would consider taking off an inch of skin a mark of their skill. So while I am used to grumpy men growling at me, here I am confronted by pretty women, who in dulcet tones convince me to buy a whole bunch of fucking expensive hair products. These gels and creams and other assorted chemicals (solids, liquids and semi-solids) slowly gather dust in my bathroom cabinet and glare at me every morning. A painful reminder of how weak I can be when the forlorn hope of subduing my hair meets an attractive woman peddling products for a commission.
On a happier note, Congratulations Chilli aka Mr.MBA. Wish I had been there to cheer you on. That’s one more treat you owe me when I finally can visit. And Kiddo looking forward to meeting you when you get here.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Weekend wrap up...
I wanted to make the title sound like a cheesy news show. I hope I succeeded.
I think I’ve finally solved the problem with my poor computer. The sound card seems to have gone kaput, and that’s causing the crashes. First time I swapped cards out of my computer. I feel all techy and geeky now.
I’ve figured out what my alcohol limit is…I finally threw up. Fortunately, not at Players.
And speaking of Players, Iranian women are hot…smokin’ smokin’ hot.
Nice op-ed piece on the Ramayna, Chilli. I tip my hat off to you.
Final sidebar…a female friend of mine asserted that women think of sex ninety percent of the time that they are awake. Interesting…what?
Later all.
I think I’ve finally solved the problem with my poor computer. The sound card seems to have gone kaput, and that’s causing the crashes. First time I swapped cards out of my computer. I feel all techy and geeky now.
I’ve figured out what my alcohol limit is…I finally threw up. Fortunately, not at Players.
And speaking of Players, Iranian women are hot…smokin’ smokin’ hot.
Nice op-ed piece on the Ramayna, Chilli. I tip my hat off to you.
Final sidebar…a female friend of mine asserted that women think of sex ninety percent of the time that they are awake. Interesting…what?
Later all.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Monday, March 07, 2005
To show solidarity with chilli...
...This blog has no title.
A cheap joke, I know but it seemed to fit.
Well...here we are again. It's that time of the month/week/day when I decide to put down my thoughts again. This should now be followed by several pages of blankness...utter blankness.
Got hit by a virus today, courtesy of chilli.
.....
Update : the virus is gone
A cheap joke, I know but it seemed to fit.
Well...here we are again. It's that time of the month/week/day when I decide to put down my thoughts again. This should now be followed by several pages of blankness...utter blankness.
Got hit by a virus today, courtesy of chilli.
.....
Update : the virus is gone
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Where we WWE'ed...
Heh, I bet Chilli wants comments to be enabled in this blog now. Well, too bad.
It was a rather full weekend. Players(the nightclub) on Friday and Saturday and ice-skating on Saturday too. Add a dash of Thon on Saturday and Raw on Monday.
Yup good fun.
Ice Skating: I wasn't very good, but neither was I the worst of the lot (That isn't saying much since the worst of the lot were really, really bad). I fell repeatedly, and then I fell some more. And for good measure repeated the falling bit. I do think I improved slightly during the course of those two hours. We shall see about that this weekend.
Everybody did assure me that no one fell as spectacularly as me, and even if I do say so myself, I fell with a flourish, with a certain je ne sais quoi.
(Gah, took me ten minutes to find the right spelling for that)
This was the thon weekend. It’s something to do with dancers and a cancer charity. I still haven’t quite figured it out yet. I doubt I ever will.
RAW was good mindless fun. Certainly an impressive spectacle. And I’m quite sure that the guy with the mullet sitting next to me was quite sure that all the fighting was authentic. Heh…good mindless fun.
All in all a good time was had by one and all.
Scroll down….
Now, scroll back up.
It was a rather full weekend. Players(the nightclub) on Friday and Saturday and ice-skating on Saturday too. Add a dash of Thon on Saturday and Raw on Monday.
Yup good fun.
Ice Skating: I wasn't very good, but neither was I the worst of the lot (That isn't saying much since the worst of the lot were really, really bad). I fell repeatedly, and then I fell some more. And for good measure repeated the falling bit. I do think I improved slightly during the course of those two hours. We shall see about that this weekend.
Everybody did assure me that no one fell as spectacularly as me, and even if I do say so myself, I fell with a flourish, with a certain je ne sais quoi.
(Gah, took me ten minutes to find the right spelling for that)
This was the thon weekend. It’s something to do with dancers and a cancer charity. I still haven’t quite figured it out yet. I doubt I ever will.
RAW was good mindless fun. Certainly an impressive spectacle. And I’m quite sure that the guy with the mullet sitting next to me was quite sure that all the fighting was authentic. Heh…good mindless fun.
All in all a good time was had by one and all.
Scroll down….
Now, scroll back up.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
We dont need another hero...
The title has nothing to do with this post. It's just the song I'm listening to right now.
Oddly I seem to have acquired a case of blogger's block. Similar to writer's block, except for the fact that writer’s occasionally do come up with something worthwhile. I naturally leave out Ayn Rand and the rest of her ilk.
Hmmm…My keyboard is a tad dirty, I should clean it now.
No.
Must focus…
Must type out words of wisdom for posterity…
(Ellipsis in the previous lines removed the annoying Word Grammatical error)
Trouble is I have nothing to say. Well, I have lots to say but nothing I would care to read once I wrote. There is nothing I feel passionately enough about that I would care to plug for here. Correction, there are things I am passionate about, but I do not care to share them on this blog.
Have thought about deleting this blog a few times, but I do not think I will. I’ll come back in thirty years and laugh at the nonsense I spouted.
Make that twenty years…or ten.
(Note to the future Rajneesh: Keep track of if you laughed at any of the posts)
I acknowledge Inder’s valiant effect to keep the Monkeys dancing. Onward Bengali soldier.
I’m trying to read Alex Haley’s roots. Gotten past the first few chapters and it seems like a fairly good read. Have gotten side tracked to a bit of Gemmel’s pulp fantasy however.
A friend had come over to my place for dinner on Monday. Naturally RAW was on and he was mocking it. Until the hot women came out, at which point the mocking stopped and the drooling started.
The coming Monday I’ll be watching RAW live at the Bryce Jordan Center. Shelled out fifty bucks for the tickets.
The indoor auditorium here at Penn State is the Bryce Jordan Center affectionately known as the BJC. It’s right next to Beaver Stadium. Even for a mind not as perverted as mine, that should suggest some opportunities for low humor.
And that, gentle reader was today’s pearl of wisdom.
Oddly I seem to have acquired a case of blogger's block. Similar to writer's block, except for the fact that writer’s occasionally do come up with something worthwhile. I naturally leave out Ayn Rand and the rest of her ilk.
Hmmm…My keyboard is a tad dirty, I should clean it now.
No.
Must focus…
Must type out words of wisdom for posterity…
(Ellipsis in the previous lines removed the annoying Word Grammatical error)
Trouble is I have nothing to say. Well, I have lots to say but nothing I would care to read once I wrote. There is nothing I feel passionately enough about that I would care to plug for here. Correction, there are things I am passionate about, but I do not care to share them on this blog.
Have thought about deleting this blog a few times, but I do not think I will. I’ll come back in thirty years and laugh at the nonsense I spouted.
Make that twenty years…or ten.
(Note to the future Rajneesh: Keep track of if you laughed at any of the posts)
I acknowledge Inder’s valiant effect to keep the Monkeys dancing. Onward Bengali soldier.
I’m trying to read Alex Haley’s roots. Gotten past the first few chapters and it seems like a fairly good read. Have gotten side tracked to a bit of Gemmel’s pulp fantasy however.
A friend had come over to my place for dinner on Monday. Naturally RAW was on and he was mocking it. Until the hot women came out, at which point the mocking stopped and the drooling started.
The coming Monday I’ll be watching RAW live at the Bryce Jordan Center. Shelled out fifty bucks for the tickets.
The indoor auditorium here at Penn State is the Bryce Jordan Center affectionately known as the BJC. It’s right next to Beaver Stadium. Even for a mind not as perverted as mine, that should suggest some opportunities for low humor.
And that, gentle reader was today’s pearl of wisdom.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Gah...
A lesson learnt today, tis easier to give good advice than it is to follow your own good advice.
This has the potential for turning into a long rant, but I shall try to restrain myself.
Sigh, noticed an error in the database. Looking at it right now. WIll get back to this post in a bit.
A few hours later...I'm back.
The answer is an unequivocal no.
The beauty of burning bridges is that they stay burnt.
Back when I make more sense.
This has the potential for turning into a long rant, but I shall try to restrain myself.
Sigh, noticed an error in the database. Looking at it right now. WIll get back to this post in a bit.
A few hours later...I'm back.
The answer is an unequivocal no.
The beauty of burning bridges is that they stay burnt.
Back when I make more sense.
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