Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Friday, July 03, 2009
Compressing through a Key Hole
Whenever I sit in front of a computer to write a blog, my mind goes blank. Conflicting views, a flood of thoughts and my stream of conscience goes on a roller coaster ride. People who blog need structure, patience and need to have an idea to express to the world. Right. Well sadly, I find myself lacking on the first two, and have way too many things to tell the world - if need be. And like all bad writers, I usually come up with what I write by thinking but 10 seconds of the composition of the sentence.
Most important, however, a blogger, at least who wants readers, has to be and should want to be a wanton exhibitionist.
****
I opened the door, as I heard the doorbell ring. A kid whose face was red and had little expressions was standing with a woman draped in a maroon sari, who I guessed should be his mother. "Hello is your mom there. this is Rahul. He..", I smirked - the sample set for Indian names had come down drastically. Kids I come across these days rarely have names people have not heard of ( Come on, no one names their kids "Pulakesin" these days :( ) "is my son." I had seen the woman before, she was the big eyed woman who kept looking at me from the next door window. Our houses were adjacent, her and mine - my room was one on the first floor and had a window which opened almost right into her kitchen. As my windows have no curtains and the computer was in my room, my privacy was always under check. Nevertheless, she never complained even when I played music louder than normal, - though most of the time , I do try to keep the volume under check. Unlike me, she also did something useful through the day and ran a Kindergarten under the franchise "Kidzee". And yes, unlike me, she probably gets along with all those cute little monsters who get dropped at her doorstep every morning.
"I heard you play your guitar. Can you teach him how to play? I am willing to pay", she asked.
I blinked. Me? Teach someone to play the guitar? For a second there, I was happy - heck, she must think I am real good. In fact the reason she probably keeps looking through the window and giving me expressionless stares when I played the guitar was because I was that damn good. Ha.
But Wait, there usually is a catch to such offers.
"I could teach him for an hour or two everday, how much could you give me?", I asked her shamelessly.
"I will give you 400Rs for every hour you teach him. But you should teach him everything. He should be able to play songs as soon as possible". I blinked again. Not bad money at all.
"I am not that great a guitar player, myself ...... why don't you take him to a music school instead?"
"He is 4. The music school at least wants him to be 6 before they can teach anybody"
I looked down at the kid. I almost felt sorry for him. Soon, it will be time for him to enter a school,get into coaching classes and do more ridiculous things that society expects him to do to get ahead in life. The kid was actually, I am pretty sure, shorter than my guitar.I decided to let this opportunity for making a quick buck pass. Besides, I don't like kids too much anyway. And besides, I guess that poor kid is going to suffer anyway - I already see him five years on, coming to me for JEE advice and 2 years after that for CAT advice. (yes, they do think highly of me)
"No Aunty, I really am no good. MOM..." Exit stage right.
I went to the hall and turned on the TV while left the neighbour and mom alone. There was some small chat and she left. India vs South Afica day 5 2nd Test. A I was multitasking - reading a book called 'V' and watching TV. No sooner I had brought my head down to read the book than I heard the commentators and players screa m; India had got a wicket - Amit Mishra was the bowler and the batsman was Prince. Neo Sports broke into an advertisement break.
The advertisement has a girl walking out of water in a swimsuit. It caught my attention. And then out of nowhere, the ad screamed "Vishwas hai, ismain kuch khas hain. JK cement." That's it folks. With this, Indian advertising had been taken to an all new level.
Ta says that this is an example of Poe's law.
Ironically, I found the best definition of Poe's Law on Conservapedia: Poe's Law is an internet law stating that "Without a winking smiley or other blatant display of humor, it is impossible to create a parody of Fundamentalism that SOMEONE won't mistake for the real thing." Again, iIronically, it also says that it was originally proposed by Christian Forums user Nathan Poe. The best example of this law was illustrated when some conservatives mistook the The Colbert show to be seriously about taking up their cause. Yes, some people think that Colbert is serious when he says " They weren't booing at Sarah Palin at that Hockey game. The crowd was just getting in the Halloween Spirit. BOOOOOOOOOO. This Is the Colbert Report!". You don't wink, it's not a joke. The widget on the side which says "Donate to me and I will save Rainforests" is not an example of Poe's law because I say so :| Do donate to me. err...And I will save Rainforests. But donate to me, ok?
Poe's law (Mathematically):
So according to Ta (who claims that she can think like a woman, because she is one), a woman has designed the ad, and is probably laughing her ass off somewhere. On the other hand, it works for advertisers - as people are watching the ad (? O_O)
Meanwhile, I am still trying to find a video of this online. Can someone help me?
Most important, however, a blogger, at least who wants readers, has to be and should want to be a wanton exhibitionist.
****
I opened the door, as I heard the doorbell ring. A kid whose face was red and had little expressions was standing with a woman draped in a maroon sari, who I guessed should be his mother. "Hello is your mom there. this is Rahul. He..", I smirked - the sample set for Indian names had come down drastically. Kids I come across these days rarely have names people have not heard of ( Come on, no one names their kids "Pulakesin" these days :( ) "is my son." I had seen the woman before, she was the big eyed woman who kept looking at me from the next door window. Our houses were adjacent, her and mine - my room was one on the first floor and had a window which opened almost right into her kitchen. As my windows have no curtains and the computer was in my room, my privacy was always under check. Nevertheless, she never complained even when I played music louder than normal, - though most of the time , I do try to keep the volume under check. Unlike me, she also did something useful through the day and ran a Kindergarten under the franchise "Kidzee". And yes, unlike me, she probably gets along with all those cute little monsters who get dropped at her doorstep every morning.
"I heard you play your guitar. Can you teach him how to play? I am willing to pay", she asked.
I blinked. Me? Teach someone to play the guitar? For a second there, I was happy - heck, she must think I am real good. In fact the reason she probably keeps looking through the window and giving me expressionless stares when I played the guitar was because I was that damn good. Ha.
But Wait, there usually is a catch to such offers.
"I could teach him for an hour or two everday, how much could you give me?", I asked her shamelessly.
"I will give you 400Rs for every hour you teach him. But you should teach him everything. He should be able to play songs as soon as possible". I blinked again. Not bad money at all.
"I am not that great a guitar player, myself ...
I looked down at the kid. I almost felt sorry for him. Soon, it will be time for him to enter a school,get into coaching classes and do more ridiculous things that society expects him to do to get ahead in life. The kid was actually, I am pretty sure, shorter than my guitar.I decided to let this opportunity for making a quick buck pass. Besides, I don't like kids too much anyway.
The advertisement has a girl walking out of water in a swimsuit. It caught my attention. And then out of nowhere, the ad screamed "Vishwas hai, ismain kuch khas hain. JK cement." That's it folks. With this, Indian advertising had been taken to an all new level.
Ta says that this is an example of Poe's law.
me: The JK cement ad is absolutely ridiculuos7:29 PM Ta: the woman?i think a woman made it:ppoe's law
Poe's law (Mathematically):
So according to Ta (who claims that she can think like a woman, because she is one), a woman has designed the ad, and is probably laughing her ass off somewhere. On the other hand, it works for advertisers - as people are watching the ad (? O_O)
Meanwhile, I am still trying to find a video of this online. Can someone help me?
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Baster
Betty Boughter bought some butter
But she said the butter's bitter
If I put it in my batter
It will make my batter bitter
You are all basters.
But she said the butter's bitter
If I put it in my batter
It will make my batter bitter
But a bit of better butter
Will make it better
Than the bitter butter
So she bought a bit of better butter
And put it in her batter
And her batter was not bitter
So t'was Betty Boughter
Bought a bit of better butter And put it in her Batter
And her batter was not bitter.
You are all basters.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
THERE WAS ONCE - Margaret Atwood
“There was once a poor girl, as beautiful as she was good, who lived with her wicked stepmother in a house in the forest.”
“Forest? Forest is passé, I mean, I’ve had it with all this wilderness stuff. It’s not a right image of our society, today. Let’s have some urban for a change.”
“There was once a poor girl, as beautiful as she was good, who lived with her wicked stepmother in a house in the suburbs.”
“That’s better. But I have to seriously query this word poor.“
“But she was poor!”
“Poor is relative. She lived in a house, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then socio-economically speaking, she was not poor.”
“But none of the money was hers! The whole point of the story is that the wicked stepmother makes her wear old clothes and sleep in the fireplace-”
“Aha! They had a fireplace! With poor, let me tell you, there’s no fireplace. Come down to the park, come to the subway stations after dark, come down to where they sleep in cardboard boxes, and I’ll show you poor!“
“There was once a middle-class girl, as beautiful as she was good-”
“Stop right there. I think we can cut the beautiful, don’t you? Women these days have to deal with too many intimidating physical role models as it is, what with those bimbos in the ads. Can’t you make her, well, more average?”
“There was once a girl who was a little overweight and whose front teeth stuck out, who-”
“I don’t think it’s nice to make fun of people’s appearances. Plus, you’re encouraging anorexia.”
“I wasn’t making fun! I was just describing-”
“Skip the description. Description oppresses. But you can say what colour she was.”
“What colour?”
“You know. Black, white, red, brown, yellow. Those are the choices. And I’m telling you right now, I’ve had enough of white. Dominant culture this, dominant culture that-”
“I don’t know what colour.”
“Well, it would probably be your colour, wouldn’t it?”
“But this isn’t about me! It’s about this girl-”
“Everything is about you.”
“Sounds to me like you don’t want to hear this story at all.”
“Oh well, go on. You could make her ethnic. That might help.”
“There was once a girl of indeterminate descent, as average-looking as she was good, who lived with her wicked-”
“Another thing. Good and wicked. Don’t you think you should transcend those puritanical judgmental moralistic epithets? I mean, so much of that is conditioning, isn’t it?”
“There was once a girl, as average-looking as she was well-adjusted, who lived with her stepmother, who was not a very open and loving person because she herself had been abused in childhood.”
“Better. But I am so tired of negative female images! And stepmothers-they always get it in the neck! Change it to stepfather, why don’t you? That would make more sense anyway, considering the bad behaviour you’re about to describe. And throw in some whips and chains. We all know what those twisted, repressed, middle-aged men are like-”
“Hey, just a minute! I’m a middle-aged-“
“Stuff it, Mister Nosy Parker. Nobody asked you to stick in your oar, or whatever you want to call that thing. This is between the two of us. Go on.”
“There was once a girl-”
“How old was she?”
“I don’t know. She was young.”
“This ends with a marriage, right?”
“Well, not to blow the plot, but-yes.”
“Then you can scratch the condescending paternalistic terminology. It’s woman, pal. Woman.”
“There was once-”
“What’s this was, once? Enough of the dead past. Tell me about now.”
“There-”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“So, why not here?“
Hello World
Welcome to VDG's blog world
*****
Since my first post cannot be a tag post, I wont post a tag post. Ok henceforth, you shall be reading a lot of incoherent sentences, words that dont make sense and somethings that seem almost too good to be true.
But learn to believe
Yours truly,
VDG
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