Quiet, Cold Nights

That’s when I miss you most.

Words

They’re here somewhere. It’s almost three in the morning and I can’t sleep because I can feel them. They won’t let me.

They're somewhere underneath. Waiting. Crouching. Ready to pounce. Looking for a way out. Stringing themselves together. Lazily floating through each other, joining, disassembling. I close my eyes and the letters are right there, behind my eyelids. All jumbled up and swimming around me randomly.

I have to let them out. They leave me no choice.

 

I’m glad they don’t.

Landmark, you disappoint me.

I visit you often. There is no way you can deny that. I come see you about once a month, on average. Not only do I visit you, I spend time with you. I wander your shelves,  lovingly caressing the spines of volume after volume. Picking them out at random, reading the blurbs, even a few pages. I've even 'stolen' three books by reading them entirely in your hallowed halls.

And you know me. Almost every time I've walked into your outlets, I've walked out with at least one heavy bag, filled with books. And you have records of the kind of books I've picked up. You remember them all, don't you? Of course you do. Don't pretend. You even made me one among 'The Fellowship'. The Fellowship, Landmark. Know what that means? It means you promised to value me. To remember things about me. Wish me on my birthday. Send me a little reminder when I'd stayed away too long. To let me know when that book I had my eye on came back into stock. To gently prod me when new titles released in my favourite sections, softly filling the words, "Come see me again..." in my mind.

Then why? Why did you send me this, Landmark?






No, really. What did I do to deserve this? I don't seem to remember buying the Twilight series.

Then why?

I am heartbroken.

For those of you who miss me loads

So there’s a wedding happening in my house. Going to be busy running around organising and whatnot. Naturally, no big posts coming.

However, I will be microblogging (140 characters and all that) from my phone once in a bit (read: every couple of hours). If you’re interested at all (which I know you will be *heh heh heh*), the action is all on my Twitterpage.

Seeya in a bit!

For two and a half years, my baby cousin sister, who I adore, has been asking me – no, begging me – to get framed the painting that she stayed up three nights to make and give me as a birthday present.

Today, I lost it a cab in front of VT while taking it to get it framed.

Now Playing: My Life

This may sound a little repetitive to the two of you who used to read my blog a year or so ago. But then again, seeing how my posts aren’t that memorable, I think it’s safe to proceed.

Doesn’t it just knock the wind out of you when the radio (or your shuffle playlist) pulls up a song, out of the blue, that perfectly describes the state of your mind?

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Because I don’t have the time

This was meant to be at least two long beautiful posts, but it won’t be.

Two things on my brain right now, no time to post:

1. I’ve switched jobs. Started two days ago.
2. Dad’s in hospital since two nights. Is better now, thanks for the wishes in advance.

I’ll be back when I can.

Why I Need A Stressbuster. And Fast.

A good few years back, when I was your quintessential lad o' pairts (see, I'm always striving to improve your linguistic skills and general knowledge), I spent about five hours a day generally running around and playing cricket and climbing trees and being a general menace to society and whatnot. And in that, my youthful exuberance and exploratory aggression had a healthy outlet.

Since the end of college and the time I sold my soul to the Devil (it's so easy doing business with oneself, it's not funny) (read: got a job), I haven't had the time for any of that. And I miss it. The 'menace to society' bit most of all. = )

Anyhoo. The point of all this rambling: It's been almost two years now since I've had a decent outlet for my frustration. The closest thing I had to it was our office LAN parties, and those were more a mental release than anything else (seriously, how much physical frustration can you wear down by yelling at people to stop giving you headshots and then screaming jubilantly as you snipe them the next round and immediately getting fragged by one of their teammates and then setting off to crush them both the next round and buying the most expensive guns only to have yourself killed in like 15 seconds and it's a colossal waste of money, so you start going at them with the deagle just to act all 'oh, look at me, I'm playing with a mofo'ing bad-ass pistol'... oh, sorry).

You get my point, yesno? No? Umm.. too bad.

Again. Anyhoo. Moral of the story. I need to start playing a sport or start being physically violent in some way and work off my frustration. Why, you ask? Well:

As usual, clicking on the image
will make it all big and awesome.

Awesomeness, no?

Yeah, for those who didn't already guess, and especially for those who did, that screen is supposed to show me the time, battery charge, signal, etc., etc.

Yeah. Awesomeness, no?

The WTF Marketing Idea For The Day

I was randomly trawling the internet like I always do, and stumbled across this
[link to original].



I know. It's in German. The description on the vid reads:
Jung von Matt/Neckar lässt für Eichborn, den Verlag mit der Fliege, 200 mit Bannern bestückte Fliegen auf der Frankfurter Buchmesse starten.

Now, my German is a little rusty (read: non-existent), but I know enough about languages, translation services and advertising to know that this is what happened:

1. Random-goddamn-pseudo-effin'-intellectual publishing house wants to have a hoity-toity, attention-grabbing launch.
2. Said goddamn publishing house approaches a smart-alec ad agency known for their 'edgy' ideas.
3. Among other things said during the briefing, someone accidentally uses the phrase 'We want to get off to a flying start'.
4. Head-up-their-arse copywriter/planner/ideator latches on to that line, and adopts it as their brief.
5. Said individual thinks, "Hmm, what would be a really cool way of showing something got off to a flying start?"

Result: This ridiculous excuse for an idea.

What surprises me most is the fact that journos are happily going about snapping pics of the little things flying around. Now I'm not your biggest environmentalist/animal lover/save-the-planet-love-all-its-creatures hippie. But did no one have a problem with this?

I'm going to sign off with the best reaction I've seen yet to this video. Cheers to illustriouschin:

"yeah combining the two most annoying things in the universe, buzzing flies and advertisements. all they need now is to glue a screaming baby and a barking dog to it and they will have the ULTIMATE ANNOYANCE. the only bad part is that it drives people to kill instead of buying their shitty product, not like there is a difference though."

I Don't Know What To Call This

They walked side by side, slowly. Savouring each step. Bodies accidentally brushing against each other every few steps.

The hour was late, the night quiet. Except those slight murmurings only lovers can hear. They didn't have to say a word. The night said it all for them.

Hello Again!

I know, I know. I've been gone too long. You have missed me like no one's business. I know. But please. Calm yourselves. Yes, all four of you (I love how this statement puts on that beautiful farce of humility. I know there are more than four of you, but I say this just to look cool and play down the number of readers I have. Though actually, I don't know anymore. Haven't blogged in ages, post frequency was waning before that... Hmmm. Still, pretentious enough, methinks).

So it's been an eventful couple of months. Yeah, I know. If it’s been an eventful couple of months, then how come you haven’t heard about it? Well, quite simply, I just haven't been in the frame of mind to write for the longest time. Also, wasn't in the postlet frame of mind either, where I could rattle off a 15 word post and put it up (and when I was, the bastard Twitter stole the thunder).

Methinks that desire to write may return soon. I can feel it on its way back. Big developments happening too, so when they do, you'll be sure to hear about it.

I intended this to be a nice, long, well-written, crisp piece of prose you'd want to come back to every time you wanted a warm, fuzzy feeling deep down in your gut. But clearly, that's not going to happen, and if it does, that's probably bile, so...

On that wonderfully tasteful note, this is a signoff. Not a goodbye, because I know I'm going to be back soon.

I goddamn better be.

Reactions

He stared absently at the blur that was the street whizzing by. As the rickshaw slowed to a halt, he wished his mind would, too. No such luck.

A red Maruti 800 pulled up next to him. The child in the passenger’s seat looked at him and smiled.

He couldn’t even return it.

Of Dirty Walls, Sundays and Stained Fingers

This Sunday gone would have seen another edition of The Lazy Sunday Photoblog making its way to you. Instead, it found me halfway between Mahim and Matunga Road stations, brush, paint and spray cans in hand.

The stretch of wall from Mahim to Dadar (about 4 kms) has been thrown open by the Municipal Corporation to the public to paint. If that wasn’t enough of a shocker, they even brought paints, brushes and whatnot for people to use. Friggin’ awesomeness. I haven’t been in much of a writing mood for a while, so I’m going to let the images do the talking.

Just throwing this in as an intro: The only things I really wanted to do were
a) share one of my major philosophies in life, and
b) introduce the world to one of my bestest friends

I did both. Here’s the life lesson:
(as always, click through for a bigger image. Hansa, this is as close as I can get you to being there)

And here’s my friend:

The whole thing was really one section, as you’ll see in the holistic view below:

Of course, I wasn’t alone in this. Of course not. I possess the artistic abilities of those fabled monkey-owning typewriters. Wait, what? Gah, never mind. You get what I mean.

So let’s just put into the open the fact that without the shady abilities of @wanderblah, I’d have been lost. Of course, without my able supervision, she’d be lost as well, really; it wasn’t like she’d made something without any help from me before…

Umm.. yeah. Whatever.

So I got her to do my slave labour help me out with some bits,

while I ably supervised the whole thing.

And of course, she wasn’t the only one. This here is the whole gang of peeps we managed to round up, starting of course with His Awesomeness who was the first to reach there.

 
Standing up: Jai (really cool artist dude with an awesome piece of art next to ours) @Spitphyre, @adityab and @wanderblah. Kneeling/sitting: @Ideasmithy and @shawnlewis
And that’s @Spitphyre’s wall behind them.

Here are some more of us awesome peeps, denying each other Crimson Bovines (which we got for free). And believe me, you really want to zoom in on that pic on the left. Also, there’s us generally looking cool while really just sitting around under trees, doing nothing.

 
                                                                     (that’s @VagrantSeeker’s bro {you try remembering 
                                                                       his name in just one go} Hmmm. Rhyme.)

@Ideasmithy, @adityab and Jai had their own ideas on what their wall art should be. As you can see, they include alien boobies, weird sexual acts and random violence.

Also, since most of us here knew each other from twitter, things were incomplete without a twitterstream. Hence, our timeline:

 

 

And this is me shamelessly plugging myself on twitter.

 

 

And of course, the best thing to come out of this? My kickass new dispic. Kudos to @wanderblah for the steady hand, 'cos I tried doing this, and it’s NOT easy.

Why So Serious? Because You Have Really GOT To Be Kidding Me.

This is the commercial currently playing in India for the new Honda Jazz. This damn post has been in my head for near on three months now. Someone please tell me what the fuck this ad is trying to say.

That this car is so awesome that it will make the transparent cars of geriatric (and closet homosexual) senior executives explode into little bubbles?

That a 9-year old will like this car more than a transparent car made of plastic?

That cute college chicks will leave their bubble-blowing boyfriends for me?

And what the fuck is it with that stupid cactus plant? No, really? What are you trying to say?????

GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGHHH!!!!

If anyone out there understood this ad, please, do let me know. Really. Because it’s killing me to have to see this ad on TV all the time.

 

Oh, and fucktards, that music you’re playing, it’s not jazz, it’s swing.

Floodgates

He sat there, staring into space, fingers twitching nervously. It just sat there next to him, saying nothing, doing nothing.

He cradled his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes, trying to erase the images. His hands were shaking now. The visions took over.

Sitting there on the porch, he lit his first ever cigarette.

Simple Things

It's amazing to see what reactions you get if you just get out of a rickshaw and thank the driver. The simple shock on their faces is worth it.

Yeah, I know I've been away a while. Hopefully, this marks a comeback.

The Lazy Sunday Photoblog – Vol IV

        It’s been a productive work week (Pt.1)                             People *love* my ideas

                    Meter matters (Pt.1)                           Go on. Tell me how much money I need, too.

 
     The Erstwhile Ant Army (post to follow soon)          2030 hours, Thursday. The Recession *is* here.

              Childish thoughts, anyone?                                Encouraging signs at famous eatery

        It’s been a productive work week (Pt.2)               They always said it was harmful, but DAMN!

                    Meter matters (Pt.2)                                                 Uncaptioned.

As usual, clicking gives the full size image. For those who know where to look, there’s more here than what you see now.

Realizations

The past couple of weeks have held quite a few startling revelations for me.

Realization One:
As a copywriter, it seems my duties include adjudicating matters of literary dispute. The case in point was an accurate definition of a 'workaholic'. One party held that a workaholic is a person who has an option to leave the office, but chooses instead, to work. The other party was of the opinion that a person who works when there is a need to work, no matter what would be worthy of being called a workaholic.

Now, I take my literary responsibilities very seriously, as any of you who have spoken with me for more than three minutes and/or been corrected more than twice in three sentences will know. This mission was taken on with similar gusto. After a few moments spent deep in thought and carefully weighing the options before me, I realized I agreed with both parties in part. How to proceed now?

Simple. I put together the parts that I liked from each. Ergo, this becomes my definition of a workaholic:

A person who
a) has an option to leave the office, but
b) perceives a need to work, and therefore
c) chooses to stay back

As I was conveying my definition to the two original parties, I realized it was a perfect description of me. Memories of my manager saying, “There’s no designer, let it be. We’ll finish it tomorrow,” and me replying with, “No. This is important. I will do it myself. You leave.” flashed across my brain. The first party saw fit to verbalize the same.

Realization Two:
I am the needless martyr. If the above example wasn’t enough to show how I crucify myself, here’s another little anecdote.

I usually send rough copy to my designer (I’ve mentioned K and his music collection before) to put in a layout, then I refine it at his desk. I did the same thing recently, and when he was done with his layout, I made him move over and edited to my heart’s content, after which he came back to add his final touches. When we were done, it had to be sent out to a couple of people for approval.

K’s typing out the mail. He turns to speak to someone for a second, and I reached over to move his hand from the mouse to attach the file myself. He turns to me with an incredulous stare. This is when I realize what I’m doing.

It seems I love taking on other people’s work and getting screwed for not doing my own. Woo the hoo!

Realization Three:
The past week has been good. I’ve woken up these past two mornings with dreams that would have become posts under ‘Thoughts A-stupor’.  I don’t remember them well enough anymore for them to become posts now, but that’s not the point.

I’m dreaming again. = )

The Lazy Sunday Photoblog – Vol III

A few hours and a couple of weeks late, it’s here nonetheless.

(Click any of the pics to see full size images.)

A View To Offend

It’s two am. A traffic signal blinks desolately yellow at a now-ignored intersection. The most activity comes from a pack of fighting dogs and three cows. The yeasty crawling of Jack London’s Wolf Larsen is all but at an end.

The jagged road makes a swathing cut through the hutments, the pale yellow lamplight a lame attempt to divide, to cut through a living, breathing mass of the city. The distant road marks a bejeweled, outlined crown.

Surreptitious meetings take place in dark alleyways. Shaken hands, whispered words, short walks together. The sound of the odd vehicle passing by is alien, foreign. It intrudes on the beauty of this silent spectacle.

Cigarette smoke and friendship waft before me, my silent companions in a dark, secluded balcony, reminding me of those I’m with. And those I wish were here.


Inspired by the view from Maniak's balcony.

Utter Randomness meets Utter Nothingness

I don't really have anything that I want to say. It's just been a while since I blogged. Or for that matter, since I let my fingers free on a keyboard. Let them roam randomly wherever my brain may send them. Without any instructions from me, of course. Total loss of control.

I've wanted to do this from home, but since I got the awesome keyboard at work, the one at home is just so rough and clunky that I don't feel like typing at home. So for those of you who haven't guessed yet, and especially for those of you who have, yeah, I'm at work right now. Not the best time to be at work, yes? 11.30 on a Friday evening. But meh, we do what we will. Besides, I'm not working right now, just chilling with some music.


Sorry about the delay. Oh wait. You didn't notice, did you? That last line was typed 15 minutes ago. I'll remember to mention that next time. Anyway, we just ordered food here at the office. Two plates chicken lolipops. The working non-vegetarian adult's escape to childhood. It just got here. Yummy! Awesome chicken smell!

All our wallets emit moths. = )

Yo's gone running to the ATM to pay for it...

2 minutes 49 seconds later...

Damn, those were good. And after a long time, too. * satisfied sigh *

Ah, well, nothing much more to say right now, so I guess I'll see you when I see you.

Note to self: Fingering the keyboard is awesomeness. I need to do it more often.

Moron Couldn’t Keep His Birdie(s) Hidden

A man was arrested on Wednesday for attempting to smuggle 14 birds from Vietnam into the US [link]. He was nabbed when an airport inspector with a wayward glance spotted copious amounts of bird poo on his socks (the journalist would like to assure you that he really wishes he were making this up).

It is still unclear how and why said official came to be inspecting the perpetrator’s socks in the first place. Foot fetish has not been ruled out as a possible alternative.

Investigators believe the smuggler, one Sony Dong, was motivated by deep hatred of his own name and a latent inability to keep it in his pants. Not the name, that is.

Animal rights activists across the world have condemned the incident. On the other hand, Human Rights organizations across the board have unanimously stood up in support of Dong, saying a man thus named could not possibly be blamed for his actions. Legal experts close to the incident expect Dong to plead insanity and mental trauma caused by being named after a large reproductory organ , a product that rivals the male (see defn. #9) and a horrifically valueless currency.

In what is being seen as a shocking fallout, indicative of the trauma they went through, none of the birds involved have tweeted about the incident.

Racing along a lonely highway, two buses, side by side.

He looked out the window and there she was. Searching.
Looking for a familiar face? Seeing her own face in every other.

He smiled when she caught his eye. There, in that moment,
they connected.

His bus slowed and stopped. Hers went on. But those few
seconds were enough.

(Just wanted to let you know, I think of you always)

Reboot

One old rechargeable battery. A seven-year-old movie ticket. A tie pin with a chimp on it. An old, chipped, marijuana-leaf locket. A pouch with Grandpa’s spectacle lenses, bottle thick and slightly scratched. A pink pocket comb, fading to white. A compass, rusted. A gift pen case.

Stories, all of them. Memories of an age long forgotten. Gingerly, he traced the edge of the tie pin. Picked up the pouch. Felt the weight of the lenses in his palm. Held them up to his face. Looking at the world through his grandfather’s eyes. Reverently, he returned them to their pouch, and his fingers came to rest on the pen case.

Carefully, he lifted it out of the box; for a while, just staring at it. Then slowly, he lifted the lid. Lying in repose on the grooves in the fabric inside, like the sculptures of kings on tombs, dormant, were four pieces of chalk. Only one of them was intact, retaining it’s perfectly cylindrical shape. With trembling fingers, he lifted the other three pieces, one by one, out of the case, setting them on the table. Two rooks, one pawn.

And it all came back to him. The days of sucking up to his teachers in school, just so they’d put him in charge of the class cupboard. Bringing them fresh boxes of chalk from the staff room. Filching them slyly to make rocketships, cars. And a full-blown, self-made chess set.

The days of sitting at the back of the class, scratching away at a piece of chalk with the compass, an old and disused pen cap, and the comb – his greatest discovery in the art of chalk-carving. A tool with ruthless efficiency at making straight-line cuts. The memories all came flooding back.

Absently, without even thinking about it, he picked up the compass and the last piece of chalk, starting the second pawn.

Goodbye For Now

I am not me.

Jhayu seems to have left the building. I don't know where he is or when he'll get back. This may seem familiar to you, but it isn't to me.

Till I can find him again, adios.

Jhayu's Theory of Hair Length

Over time, I have noticed a trend in the appreciation I receive for my hair. Here it is now, in an easy-to-understand graphical form.

Blogging is no fun

= ( yes my friends, I'm afraid it's true. Office has dropped the hot bun. And I have to juggle it till I can hold it without screaming.

Relax, relax. It's not as bad as it sounds. The office has switched me to Ubuntu. I now use the Gnome version of Intrepid Ibex. I was on KDE before, but I had an issue with it on my second day, so I've switched back to Gnome. And I just wanted to say this so I can show you people what I had to go through. Imagine, if you didn't know what I just said, I have to use all that.

My biggest argument is the fact that Windows Live Writer is now a thing of the past. And what a beautiful thing it is, too. So here I am on Linux, desperately looking for a decent blogging tool.

And currently, that search has drawn me to Scribefire, a Firefox extension. It appears to have some promise, but let's see. I still miss WLW.

I know this wasn't a real post, but meh, I've got some posts lined up in my head, so when I get the time, I'll put them up. Work's kinda crazy right now, so let's see when that is.

Thassall.

Does This Mean I'm Rich?

And just when you thought Facebook couldn't get any more retarded, they pull out this little ace in the hole. You think I could use this to score some chicks?

*insert evil grin here*

Look Out for the Erupting Volcano Before You Leap

My mobile phone bill was due on the 22nd. And I hadn’t paid it till today. You know why? Because they never sent me the goddamn bill. And until I saw my bill, I wasn’t going to make no damn payment.

I made the damn payment this morning. I hadn’t seen my bill yet. How could I have backed down from my ideals? How could I have let this happen, you ask? Well, simply put, Vodafone are a bunch of persuasive b@$tards. How’d they persuade me, the man with the iron will, you ask? Well, they had to try, that’s for sure. They called me like a gazillion times, but I steadfastly held my stance. And every last one of their telemarketers was stumped by one question I asked: Where’s my bill?

But today they tried a new line of arm-twisting. They deactivated outgoing on my phone. So I went into their office to dole out some ass-whuppin’. They gave me one of those token thingies and asked me to wait my turn. I did. Then some guy calls me forward to his desk. With the confident swagger of one about to stare down yet another tie-sporting, smug, “How may I help you, Mister Jhayu?” schmuck.

I sat down at the desk in front of him, leaning back, preparing myself for the pleasure of seeing another man fall before the salvo I was about to fire off. In that usual, aggravatingly deferential tone, paced for the average Bugatti, he began with, “GoodafternoonsirwelcometoVodafonehowmayIhelpyou?”

Ha ha! Nice try. I was waiting for it, so his attack was wasted. And, I must admit, with not just a little smugness, I replied, “Yeah, I haven’t paid my bill. ‘Cos I never got no damn bill. Two of your people assured me that they’d have a duplicate bill dispatched to me ‘within two days’. The last time that happened was four days ago. They even asked for my email id so they could mail me a soft copy. They haven’t even done that.”

The guy blinked. I waited for a more extreme reaction. It didn’t come. I couldn’t believe it. Nothing more? He simply drew a breath, and casually started off himself. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforsharingthisinformationwithmeI'dbehappytohelpyousortthisp
roblemcouldyoupleasesharewithmeyourmobilenumberandfullnameandmailingaddressa
nddateofbirth?”

It was my turn to blink. Several times. I hate to admit it, but I was kinda blown back by this. Not only did he simply blink away my powerful argument, he fired back with questions of his own! Somewhat meekly now, I answered. He smiled. I think he sensed that the jugular was exposed, because his grin got wider and his fangs stood out even more. With evil glinting sharply in his eyes, he began again. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforsharingthisinformationwithmeifyoucouldpleasewaitforamom
entI’llverifythestatusofthedeliveryofyourbill.”

Only a few mouse clicks later, he grinned and pulled out his ace in the hole: “MisterJhayuI’mafraidIhavetoinformyouthatwehaveconfirmationofthereceiptofyourbill
atthatmailingaddress.” And suddenly, just for this bit, he regained his powers of normal speech. “It was received at your mailing address on 9th March. The contact number provided on the courier slip is XXXXXXXX.” That grin returned to his face. You would probably have seen the blood on his teeth.

But I didn’t. I was too fazed. I had almost stopped listening to him in the middle, but at the mention of the number, my attention sprung back to, well, attention. Familiarity and realization dawned over me.The number he read out was my aunt’s phone number. My aunt who lives upstairs.

Shifting nervously in my seat, I asked him to wait a moment while I confirmed this. Called Dad. Asked him to ask. And sure enough, my aunt had not only received, but also kept my phone bill, without mentioning it to anyone.

Sheepishly, I asked the man where and how much I was to pay and left. But I wasn’t quick enough to avoid his last, ingratiating jibe. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforcomingdowntotheVodafoneofficetoclearupthismatterIhopeI
wasabletobeofassistancedocomeagainhaveaniceday.”

Weakly, I smiled at him and left.

Moral of the story:
Look left, look right, then look left again. Then ensure there isn’t a volcano erupting somewhere halfway around the globe. Then cross the street.

Facebook Needs To Get A Life

Yeah, ‘cos I’d be such a better friend if I sent a Top Gift. I mean, like, OMG!

Mes Apologies

Sorry about the disappearance. And for the delay in replying to your comments. Yes, that means I will be replying to all those comments I’ve missed so far.

And expect something by later tonight. = )

After that whole flurry of posts at the beginning of this month, I don’t feel like blogging now. I don’t feel much like anything, actually, right now.

Oh, and I’ve realized, that I don’t think I want anyone other than the ones who came up with the name to call me Jhayu in person. Online and all, it’s fine, it’s typed, so I’m hearing myself say it. But I don’t think anyone can say it like it was meant to be said, and how my buddies from the colony and school do.
Bummer, yeah.

In other news, I’ve realized that the reason I avoid coming home in time for dinner is because I simply cannot stand the sounds of my family at a meal. As for how I’m going to live the rest of my life, I don’t know.

Don’t really feel like I have much more to say; I’m having second thoughts about where this blog is headed and who’s writing it. There may be some downscaling of stuff that’s happened here recently.

Meh.

There is a feeling of immense satisfaction washing through me. I just sat and chatted with Dad over a mug of draught beer. Mommy and Bro were there too, but they were having soup.

I paid for dinner. Dad’s birthday. There are waves of satisfaction drowning me (have I said that already?) and I can’t get this stupid grin off my face.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, people.

My First FB Tag

This is the first remotely interesting tag I’ve come across on Facebook.

This is the cover of my first album, Love Is To Listen
with my band, Chares of Lindos.

Here’s how it goes:

1. Go to Wikipedia. Click “Random article” from the left navigation pane, or just follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
   The title of the first random article you get is the name of your band.
2. Go to Quotations Page and click "Random Quotes" from the left navigation pane, or just follow this link: http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
   The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.
3. Go to Flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”, or just follow this link: http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
   Find a pic that suits your fancy, and that will be your album cover.
4. Use Photoshop (or MS Paint if you’re not that cool :p) to put it all together.

Here’s what I got:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chares_of_Lindos
The first duty of love is to listen - Paul Tillich (1886 - 1965)
And for my album cover, I got this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7823190@N03/3354586720/

I’m not going to turn into my own worst nightmare and tag anyone with this. If you think it seems like a fun thing to do, go on ahead. Be nice and tell me about it, too.

The Lazy Sunday Photoblog – Vol II

 
                Athos, Porthos & Aramis                                     Rest in peace, big guy


               Coffee and conversation                                                 Why me?

 
      Will Mom ever let me wear these again?                       Lightspeed Superhighway

 
                       Holi Whodunnit!                                           Disclaimer gone wrong

(Click on any of the pics to see the original resolution)