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Madame, hand me your properties

This is the Tamil equivalent of “D’ya like dags?” I am given to believe. In any case thats how my driver greeted me upon arrival.  Presently, my properties are refusing to be unlocked no thanks to his vice like grip  while transporting them from the Arrivals section to the coach.

Coimbatore this morning has the same dense feel as an Orwellian novel. And both are laden with “hot roasts”.

 That obviously didn’t make any sense much as I expected. Though you will have to admit that it was a clever way of introducing the fact that I am currently rummaging through the finest corporate debris in a city in Tamil Nadu which is not Chennai.

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Categories: New Slang, Un-relevant

I am a genius

Is the feeling I share with myself ever morning when I place an apricot between my tongue and the upper ridge of the mouth. 5 more months of this I shall have a glitzingly perfect falsetto.And then who knows where it will take me.
However, this is not about nuts in my throat. Not at all. This is about you. How have you been?
Well, I suppose. Unless you live in Bombay. In summers, the city sucks pornstar phallus better than Lupe the innocent.
Apologies for the consistently barren hinterland of a blog that this has come to be but I have Leon Festinger to deal with this semester.
Lots of dissonance. (Ok no one except that half a shrink who reads me would get this joke. Nevermind.)
Psychology is weird like that. Conceptual and methdological do not mix. Social Psychology is excellent from a conceptual point of view – no demons of intrapsychic structures etcetra – and yet it is ripe with phenomenology which, as an idea, is deeply confusing.
The only thing good that comes out of this is that now breaking up is easier. No more of its me-not-you shpiel. Just blame it on “phenomenology”. This is who I are. (In the present.)

Anyway. Not much is going to happen here from now till July, possibly. Here is my Tumblr. It’s where I post such uncool things that they turn 180 degrees and become infinitely cool.

I think I just cracked post decisional dissonance with that.

Categories: Un-relevant

No degrees of separation

February 12, 2010 4 comments

1. Alexander McQueen is dead.

2. According to a Facebook meme I look like Mila Kunis. It’s as close as 90%. The second closest is an 85% match with Lara Dutta. Upon scrutiny, I have come to realize that Mila Kunis and Lara Dutta look nothing like each other. Where does that leave my face?

3. I’m fooking around on the computer when ideally I should be out gathering mountain air in my lungs.

Children are the human variant of pesis wasps

January 27, 2010 Leave a comment

Apologies for not updating with a blog post a day recounting the mundane activities I partake in but I was been busy following up on literary bloggers bludgeoning each other like common neanderthals on various sites. God willing, most of them will end up in my patient pool someday, soon enough.

Aside from that I am trying to complete a project in developmental psychology that involves a lot of interviews with perfectly idiot children. Ask them relatively innocuous questions like “Do you like school?” or “How do feel about your father sleeping with the sitter?” and they more likely than not to serve a right hook to your nose in the purest tradition of knuckle-boxing, in response. Japanese torture films have nothing on a 2nd grade classroom.

Children are the human variant of pesis wasps. (Jean Piaget)

Quite similar to the propositions of children is the one of butlers for most butlers were children once. Have you ever possessed a butler? Legally or illegally. I haven’t either way. Last week an acquaintance’s cousin was foaming at the mouth exhorting the values of butler culture. If indeed England should export anything of value, it’s butlers should top the list because they would definitely garner more revenue than t pickled herring, Hugh Grants and the visigoth revivalists combined together. The gentleman remarked how the real dent in our progress towards a civilized race wasn’t made by the discovery of fire or wheel or group sex. Advent of language was equally wasteful an effort; we are more obtuse a race today than in the pre-verbal era. No sire, those were mere crumbs in the plate of acculturation. The real piece of cake was when grown up men decided to hire other grown up men to take of their “butteries” while ironing their newspapers and underpants. That was the glorious moment when we finally arrive at the doorstep of a definitive sort of social progress.

And so he blabbered forth while I fought the maddening desire to unleash a nice mouthful of Torrete’s on him. He is English, of course, and now lives in Cheltenham and by the virtue of doing so is 1257th in line to the throne. They have a butler at their estate (Wiltshire really?) who is verging on the 87th year of his life. “Yet never a day when he calls sick. We won’t let him”. More than extract their pound of flesh from him these spa city sherlocks.

We do not have such disgraceful cultures in India, thankfully. Enslaving the old and the feeble is for those with a weak mental consitution; we prefer disenfranchisement of the relatively young, bordering on nubile, when it comes our servant class. Ask any of our popular film actors and industrialists.

Some popular butlers from the olde times include Samuel, the tiresome poet and the 15th Archbishop of Canterbury who incidentally was also the Count of Limerick. Perhaps the literary types I mentioned earlier in the post might benefit from some lessons in butlery.