Tiny Little Fractures

Some things have come full circle while others are still complicatedly hanging out to dry. And I’m typing this on the same old keyboard that I typed my first post on and will have to wait for the same tiresome SLT dial up connection to kick in to upload this, the irony. 

I’ll probably return sometime in the future when life has calmed down and the creative juices have built, but to a new, on a need to know basis, location.

Til then, adios!

I’ve always hated those phone calls, the ones that jerk you out of consciousness at times when the world should be sleeping. Ever since I was nine, those calls for me have been bad news, harbingers of death and grief.

This Wednesday was no exception. And now I find myself in the last place I would have expected a month ago, 30,000 feet over Japan waiting for this never-ending flight to end in Hong Kong, after which another flight will take me back home. A home that is now bereft of the most influential person on my upbringing, the closest person I have ever had to a father. 

I don’t think the shock has sunk in yet, that what was a fairly standard hospital visit (at least in the last few years) suddenly, catastrophically turned into heart failure. I usually love that early morning drive from Katunayake to the house, the anticipation of seeing family, friends, fun. Now I’m dreading it, I’ve managed to hold myself together while everything around me went to pieces, managed to ensure the cousin’s needs were met with social security numbers, plane tickets, food, etc; managed to make sure all the loose ends at work were taken care off, all the action items listed, everything filed to ensure easy access so none of my projects gets derailed in the two weeks I am gone.

All that I’m waiting now for is the meltdown and that will come, when I see my arcchie, when I see the empty chair, don’t hear him complaining about my hairstyle, my clothes; I’ve been on the edge of sanity and the abyss awaits at the end of that drive. Thankfully the boys being around in LA and the hectic work schedule helped keep my mind off things. But that abyss was always an unguarded moment away. 

I and the whole family will miss him more than any words can express. He was the one we always turned to when we were wounded, hurt, for guidance. He and I had a rough relationship at first, understandable when you think the generational gap was so much larger than a normal father and son relationship. It did end with a healthy respect towards each other though and I learn’t to love him for what he did for me and not what he didn’t. As the people at work said if he had that much influence on me he must have truly been a good man. I have to agree, my good qualities are all because of him, my bad are my own.

I just hope I can live up to what he expected of me, what he did for me, for which I will be eternally grateful.

So there I was perusing my daily academic when i chanced upon this rather charming article from the Excalibur, York University (the Canadian one,not the UK one). Apparently the students of the esteemed is using the York University Tamil Students’ Association (YUTSA) is using the LTTE , oh I’m sorry the Tamil Eelam (take a right at Neverland, pass Atlantis, go about 20 kilometers and you’re there) flag to use to promote their Tamil culture.

Apparently the flag being used is not affiliated with the LTTE because the words LTTE are not included. Thus it is a representative of ‘Eelam,’ not the LTTE. Of course this does ignore one small fact. That it was Prabhakaran that was the Betsy Ross of the ‘Eelam’ flag. In fact he designed it based on a matchbox (Inside an Elusive Mind. M.R. Narayan Swamy. Sri Lanka: Vijitha Yapa Publications, 2006.). This revelation would of course not come as much of a surprise to those of us who have lit a furtive cigarette in our youth from saivar kade matchboxes. I always knew there was something familiar about that flag but never placed it until I read the book.

So this is what I really find amusing. After a couple of millennia of cultural achievements ranging from the Brihadeshvara Temple to the Chola bronzes (and some might even say the invention of the crepe) the esteemed students of the York University (the Canadian one not the UK one) Tamil Student’s Association led by Sahabthan Jesuthasan have chosen to represent that with a matchbox inspired flag designed by a psychopath.

You must make your people proud.

The posts ranged from hysterically blaming the government for the blasts to equally ridiculous postings that the country has reached a morality level of lunacy. To the people who seem to think the sky has fallen…well…it hasn’t. Yes these blasts are terribly but there is a context to these attacks. Either these people do not remember the late eighties and nineties or just weren’t in existence then. For fuck’s sakes we had an insurgency in the south, a terrorist group in the north and an invading army from India in the country and we are still in one piece. Sri Lanka has endured worse, much worse. And to those who say I say this while being comfortably out of the country…fuck you. Almost all my loved ones are still in Sri Lanka as is all my heart and most of my head. It is a matter of time until I come back for good and I would like to have a country to come back to.

As for blaming Mahinda, it seems a bit strange to me. Are those same people wiling to point fingers at Ranil about the bomb blast that happened in 2004? Or have they forgotten that already? I think Mahinda is an idiot; I am under no delusion about his and his cohorts’ inherent corruption. But Ranil is an equal idiot. They are all fucking idiots and have always been. To the people who blame Mahinda, please do explain your reasoning. The way I see it we don’t really have a choice but to fight this war. Granted it’s easy for me to say that when I don’t really have to fight it but I can have an opinion. 

No peace is possible with Prabhakaran. He is not simply the leader of the LTTE he is the poor delusional fools’ God, the Sun God. With him alive, you can negotiate until you are blue in the face, but all that will happen is you will die of asphyxiation.

Feel free to blame Mahinda for the rising cost of living, blame him for the blunders of our foreign service, for the waste and corruption, the lack of a coherent political package for the minorities. Blame him for all that, because he deserves that…and more. To blame him for the blasts however is ridiculous. There is only one man to blame for that, Prabhaharan. His obstinacy, his delusions of divinity, his inability to comprehend a life without bloodshed, an existence without bloodshed is what caused those 20 odd innocent people to lose their lives in Colombo. It is what makes negotiations impossible and every day of his existence causes more death and destruction.

So last weekend I went on a date. A proper American style date, which for me is an extremely, extremely rare event. Funnily enough I tend to date more in Sri Lanka than anywhere else, though dating there is a totally different ball game. Over here you date a girl to get to know her, generally from the very beginning. In Lanka however you tend to meet a girl with a group of friends, get to know her a bit while in a group and then ‘thin’ her from the herd for various nefarious activities. Personally I prefer the latter experience because if a girl is annoying for one thing you have other girls you can hit on without serious damage (well most of the time) and you also have your chums you can go get drunk with to forget the craziness that is womankind.

Anyways I went on this date, the hook up which was generally thanks to the obsession with photography and the wonder that is facebook. And it was…pleasant…it wasn’t super but it wasn’t bad either. But it was an odd experience. For one thing somehow both of us talked most of the time, didn’t listen to the band but just chatted. Unfortunately it was during the conversation and dinner later on that I had a dawning of an epiphany. That I actually do know what I want in a girl, and this girl though very nice, and I mean very nice, just didn’t fit the bill. 

I like independence, attitude and a hint of naughty. Nice girls turn me off, sheltered girls turn me off and someone who doesn’t push my buttons, well isn’t as much fun. In fact what was eerie was that as the date progressed I came to realize more and more that this girl was almost a carbon copy of the ex, right down to the school. For some reason I kept hearing a voice in my head going ‘danger! Will Robinson, danger!’ and it got louder and louder as time progresses. I sincerely hope that it did not pop out of my mouth inadvertently as things have been doing recently, especially since I tend not to realize when something that was supposed to be in my head comes out of my mouth unless I cotton onto the shocked looks of the participants in the conversation.

At the end of the day the experience wasn’t a chore. Would I repeat it? I honestly don’t know. It’s hard to judge someone from those first sweaty palmed interactions and to be fair I think I may have come across as a somewhat alcoholic, nicotine addicted workaholic and I’m definitely not a workaholic. So there’s no guarantee that she would even want a second round, besides geography has raised its head again so that may indeed be a moot point. Ambiguity still reigns as choice is somewhat limited out here and the formula of intelligence, independence, brown eyes and stark raving nutter are difficult to come by these days. So much for curing the one-itis.

What a strike for the Sri Lanka Air Force, barely a few weeks after apparently their intelligence capabilities were decisively destroyed, a bunker buster was landed directly on the ‘smiling’ Tiger’s head. Of course the pro-Tiger media and the subservient sections of the Tamil Diaspora are all up in arms that a ‘moderate’ and a ‘peace negotiator’ was targeted by the Sri Lankan government. Seriously, who is dumb enough to take that in?

For one thing Tamilchelvam was never a moderate and there has never been evidence as far as I know that he was one. He was miles away from Balasingham who had to his detriment actually voiced some moderate views, Tamilchelvam was just a smooth operator monkey, trained to jump when Prabhakharan wanted him to. The people who are claiming that this one act is a ‘death to the peace process’ don’t seem to understand that there is no peace process, there has never been a peace process. Prabhakharan has never been and never will be interested in peace, negotiations and settlement. His very existence is built on blood and the spilling of more blood. Without that he loses his power and he will not any under circumstances want that. 

Killing Tamilchelvam strategically was a brilliant move. He was exceptionally dangerous with a smiling visage gave the Tigers the briefest veneer of respectability. You could almost see the naiveté of the foreign dignitaries who met him and gushed giddily about how sweet his smile was. Surely someone with shiny clackers like that could not condone the killings of thousands for one man’s twisted dream, could not be a proponent of suicide bombing? If only Osama had learnt from Tamilchelvam I’m sure he would have been more accepted in the West. He should have flossed and shaved instead of looking like a particularly deranged Father Christmas in his calls for Jihad and he would have had the Norwegians and Canadians cooing over him.

Tamilchelvam was a terrorist, short and sweet and he got what he deserved, which in the world we live in is a rare thing. Targeted assassinations are the way to go, this war can be won, this peace can be won only by eliminating the old guard in the LTTE. Prabhakharan, Pottu Amman and the others who have nursed a nascent struggle for liberation and rights and twisted it into a bloodthirsty battle for one man’s supposed divinity have to be eliminated. Hopefully a somewhat moderate leadership will arise in its place and that combined with a political package aimed towards devolution, minority rights and economic development of ALL parts of the country might stand some chance of achieving peace.

I don’t think the words Master Trainer emblazoned on the man’s back gave me any confidence in his abilities. For one thing when I spotted him I initially thought he was one of the old guys who on doctor’s orders, after years of heavy drinking has to come to the gym to try and squeeze a few more years out of a cirrhotic liver. His shambling gait across the gym floor only added to this impression and I’ll admit I was more than a bit taken aback to see that he was the cream of the crop of a personal trainer. Makes me glad I never bothered.

You see a long, long time ago, in a place called Costa Mesa, where the girls in the gym were incredibly hot and friendly I joined 24 Fitness, mostly in a bid to get rid of the excesses of the binge drinking and general lethargy of writing up a thesis that had taken a toll on my BMI. Of course the girls I saw going into the place on a regular basis weren’t too bad of an incentive either. As I signed the paperwork and paid the exorbitant fees for getting my feet through the door the person I was dealing with asked if I was interested in some ‘discount’ personal training lessons, at around $100 an hour or so.

Eyeing some of the hardbodies around I inquired as to who would be my trainer. Without batting an eyelid the guy in front of me said he would be my trainer. 

I laughed out loud, I was that surprised. I tried in the interests of political correctness and politeness to stifle the laugh and replace it with a sneeze slash cough but I’m not sure how successful I was. You see the guy who was offering me personal training at the rate of a $100 an hour, certified though he may have been weighed somewhere in the region of 300 pounds. I mean this boy was big, from one to the other he was two time zones. Now I may not have a washboard stomach (yet) or bulging biceps or 3% body fat but the ludicrousness of what he was suggesting was hard to escape. I mean would you take English lessons from George Bush? Etiquette lessons from either of the two Silvas?

I mean if you are going to pay an arm and a leg for someone to torture you into fitness levels you’ve never dreamed off, you would hope that person has some concept of how much you are suffering and empathize and inspire. Keep an eye on you to prevent injury, etc.

Not wander off to get a donut when you miss a rep and get pinned to the bench by a barbell.

The dumbest statement of the decade 

I saw a rather disturbing thing while on the treadmill at my local gym today. And no it wasn’t the hideously overweight thing that waddles across the floor at 6.30 every day. Someone so fat I still haven’t figured out whether it is female or male, as to how one eats oneself to the point of asexuality I don’t know. No the rather disturbing thing I saw was on the TV screen in front of me, where the figures flashed on CNN showing the projected cost of the Iraq and Afghan war for the next 10 years, a rather jaw dropping 14 trillion dollars.

An impressive figure but one of those that is really in the end too large to comprehend but then CNN did something very smart (I know I was surprised myself). They broke it down, that’s $8,000 per person over the next 10 years. I was so surprised my knee buckled and almost ended up face first on the person next to me. Giving the girl a rather weak smile I straightened by knee with a quick blow to its back and went back to running and tried to slowly absorb this figure. 

Now that’s a fair fucking amount of money and of course it being a true democracy out here when there are costs for such a thing like a war both the rich and the poor (and of course the middle class) will probably pay equally for it. To be honest I don’t want to pay. I mean the Afghan war maybe. After all those Islamasists (as one person I know who despite being nice is rather stupid refers to them as) flew planes into those towers and killed some 3,000 people. Fine, I mean most of the nutcases were Saudi but apparently they were being kept in bed and breakfast by those turbaned nutters the Taleban. So smoke them out, that I can understand.

Of course 6 years after the event apparently Bin Laden is still waltzing around with his dialysis machine and is nowhere being closer to being caught than when he was being groomed by the CIA to fight the Russians. Then we get Iraq, a country that had nothing to do with September 11, a country that was pretty much secular that was invaded on the pretext of a preemptive strike in the ‘war against terror’ by a president who cheated his way into the White House. Riiight…so Saddam (who is..er..was..I will endorse a complete wanker) was captured, executed, no weapons of mass destruction were found and a bollocking shit storm was ignited in the newly liberated land. 

What was really funny was how within a few months of the invasion and it was painfully obvious no weapons of mass destruction to be found, suddenly the nitwit who leads the land of the free was bleating the line of ‘saving the Iraqi people.’ Of course while they are busy saving them they haven’t even bothered keeping count of how many have lost their lives. I mean that’s a bit strange, you go into ‘save’ some people and don’t bother keeping count of how many have died since you ‘saved’ them.

Anyways I could go on ad naseum about how stupid all this is, how those people who lost their lives back in 2001 have still not seen justice, how the old white men have fooled the American people and made a bundle of money but then I’d be here all day. The bottom line is I don’t want to pay, I have better things to spend my money on than paying Blackwater to knock off Iraqi civilians. And my solution is rather simple. Get the triumvirate of fools who started this mess, George, Cheney and Rumsfield pay around 80% of their wealth. I think that would be fair. I don’t know about Rumsfeld but Cheney seems to rake in a fair amount of dough and George is rolling in it. 

So you three wankers, put your bloody money where your mouth is, pay up!

It was a strange thought to have while struggling with impenetrable chaparral on a site visit. What was supposed to be a simple task to photograph some future geotesting sites turned into a four hour odyssey, literally bushwhacking to the sites wondering when a rattlesnake would launch out of a bush and go for my jugular. Maybe it was the sun but all I could think of while I inhaled about a tonne of pollen was that I never thought I would end up here. 

Mind you it’s not a bad thing, I enjoy my job and site visits are the best part of it. I just never thought I would be a development consultant when I was growing up (this might be a bit obvious though as I cant imagine a kid who would know what a development consultant is, much less want to become one). I knew from the tender age of 10 what I wanted to be…well before I was 10 my ambition was to be a tracker at Yala. But after 10 I wanted to be Gerald Durrel, a brown version of him at least. A life dedicated to obscure species and the saving of them from extinction. I had it all planned out. A breeding center up in the hills, tanks in a climate controlled building, enclosures for the larger animals. Yes I was an ineffably weird kid.

And then I grew up, well actually I went to college and learnt what conservation really was about. That it as about people, livelihoods, habitat protection, poverty alleviation and a plethora of other related and diverse factors. I also discovered (well before college) that I enjoyed drinking, clubs, girls and those other material frivolities that interfere with being a hermit up in the mountains obsessing about frogs. There was also the rather frightening discovery that the biologists, ecologists and conservation biologists I met were rather boring people. 

In fact even through grad school I came to the realization that I couldn’t, didn’t want to be someone who did one thing in life. I found that I was deadly scared of being pigeonholed, of being known as an environmental scientist, an engineer, anything that involved doing one thing. It doesn’t really matter if the projects are different every day but the concept of a fixed career path scares the beejesus out of me. That probably explains why at various times of my life I have been an office manager, a biologist, a mortgage salesperson, an environmental scientist, a failed arrack importer, a fundraiser for a non-profit and a land use planner. It’s why I want to do a PhD in International Development; it’s why I’m obsessed with photography, why I want to start my own company.

It’s because at the end of the day, when I grow up (and some might say that’s going to be awhile) I want to be a land use consulting, social entrepreneur, regular entrepreneur, development consulting, writer, photographer. That’s not asking for much is it?

 a tad smoky up front

Coming into Simi Valley yesterday was like a ride into the apocalypse. Despite it being around 4pm, the sun was a fiery, hellish ball behind a screen of smoke. The fire season has kicked off here in the heartland again with the Santa Ana winds blowing across the land and fanning the flames. The winds are something else; coming down the Keuhner pass, every second was a fight with the steering wheel. The wind shear tried to fling my car to the left, the curving road, gravity and centrifugal force tried to swing it to the right all the way down the pass. Then there was and me trying to remember my high school physics and alternatively praying to the pantheon of higher beings, fighting to correct the steering and not trying to wet my pants. 

Being the inimitable photographer that I am as I came down the Pass I took a few moments out of my nervous breakdown to take a couple of pictures. Not too impressive, but then this was at 60 miles per hour with a camera phone and a Denali up my ass. So cut me some slack.

This morning was no better, not only was the wind howling around the house but a stray breeze had blown open my bedroom door. I woke up to the sweet strains of the Schizo Schitzu trying to find his metaphorical keys in my garbage can. Stepping outside was no better, the early morning sky was still a muted angry orange colour and the smell of embers was nauseating. I was a bit miffed because of all the ways to enjoy second hand smoke; bushfires are pretty way down my list. And besides, I don’t smoke in the mornings and not having a choice in the matter was sort of pissy in an ironic way.

Right now things are still literally heating up, N just emailed saying he was being evacuated and I’m religiously checking the Ventura fire updates hoping the fire doesn’t spread south to Moorpark. Hopefully these damn winds die down and everything comes back under control…after all I am rather too fond of the pooch to see him barbequed.

The sun obscured by a haze of smoke.
 

One of the most overwhelming feelings that I used to experience when sitting through the classes that compromised my Masters in Environmental Technology was that of hopelessness. The statistics were just too depressing, the levels of pollution, poverty, extinctions, CO2 increases and the policy inadequacies and political idiocies that were making change a slow painful process when any progress is made that is. The naïve ideas that I grew up with reading Gerald Durrell that conservation and protecting the environment was all about breeding species, fencing off protected habitats were quickly lost. The reality is environmental protection is as much about people as it is about animals and plants.

This was really brought home to me during a couple of research stints in Agrapatana and in Moneragala, where the forest ‘reserves’ are ridiculously disturbed. The thing is you can’t really stop it, how do you tell a villager that she cannot use wood from the forest to boil water for her child? And for what, an obscure concept of biodiversity dear to people who already have all they need to survive and more. The only way to really protect the environment is lift people out of poverty, give them alternatives to chopping firewood, lives that are more than just about survival. Entrepreneurs, both the regular kind and social ones have as much to do in the battle for saving the life systems that support us as do conservation biologists. 

But this is where I lose hope. I’ve worked for a non-profit in the US but was a bit disturbed by the general attitude I found, a lack of understanding in the ground realities in the developing world. The people were admirable but showed hostility towards things such as outsourcing that I found hard to stomach as for me, activities like outsourcing are about giving people chances. A way up in the world letting poverty go, a way for countries to get less reliant on their natural resources. Of course raising people out of poverty is a double-edged sword, the more affluent they become the more they consume, the more pressure they put on the ‘system’ so to speak. Whether a balance will be found and more sustainable ways to provide for the billions who live on the bottom of the pyramid is an answer that will probably only be evident in hindsight.

Another reason that I lose hope is the lack of inclusiveness in the environmental movement. Everywhere I look there is a lack of cooperation, a lack of understanding of an alternate view. It’s the developers vs. the hikers, NGO’s vs. governments, governments vs. the common people, etc, etc. As usual everyone is looking out for their own interests and the messages get lost in the confusion. Of course there are exceptions, but they’re frightfully rare. 

Where do I see my part in all this? I started out as a kid wanting to save species at all costs, heal the environment and all that good stuff. I have lost hope in that in my opinion the battle is already lost. We will lose a lot of species in the coming decades, maybe even suffer an environmental catastrophe, one that is probably necessary before humanity will change the way it conducts its business that will cause a lot of people to lose their lives. Whether humanity will survive or go the way of the Mayans is to me a dicey question. I know I sound pessimistic, but it’s better to face the truth than bury your head in the sand. For one thing just because the fight is lost doesn’t mean there is nothing left to save.

I for one want to keep fighting.

Pre-flight scorpion

My boss gave me a scorpion. Well he didn’t as much as give it to me rather I asked for it. As P mentioned I probably made all brown people the world over proud and upped my weirdness factor at work by asking for the little critter. My boss had come across him nestled in his kid’s clothes, unfortunately when the clothes were already on the kid (he lives up in the mountains so this wasn’t as surprising a discovery as it seems, well unless you were the kid).

The boss wasn’t really fond of the scorpion, especially since it had nicked the kid a couple of times. Luckily it was only a baby so obviously didn’t have as much venom in its system so no long term damage had been done. This story of course made me aware that in addition to rattlesnakes, cougars and mentally retarded mule deer I had one more creature to keep a wary eye out for on my site visits (as if I needed another threat to my well being).

On inquiring, surprisingly without any raised eyebrows, as to what in tarnation I was going to do with the scorpion the boss was somewhat mollified by hearing that I was going to kill him and take some macro photographs. Now before the animal lovers get on my case, the boss was going to kill the scorpion already so I was just taking on the sin for him. Also I really, really wanted to take some good macro shots of the little bugger…and since it’s a scorpion…I wasn’t really going to do it while it was alive. You know with that sting and all.

So I spent the day with the scorpion perambulating eerily around its jar on a shelf in my office before I took it home. I scheduled the shoot for Sunday following my whale watching trip and let P know to grab me some Kenko extension tubes while I jury rigged a temporary lightbox. The scorpion appeared to have kicked the bucket as he lay motionless in his jar and staid like that for a couple of days.

Sunday dawned and just to make sure that the scorp as dead I poured some water into the jar. To my surprise he immediately arched his back and scrabbled his legs. But it was brief and then he was still, lying in his watery grave as I assumed. Note I know this sounds cruel but I didn’t really have a choice. Remember that weirdness index at the office I was talking about? Well one of the reasons I figure so highly on that is because every time a spider shows up in the office, while everybody is ready to splat it I’m usually to be found on my knees wasting valuable client billable time rescuing it and setting it free outside. So there, I kill with great reluctance!

P rolled over and we had a quiet smoke on the balcony and then experimented with the lightbox, minimum focusing distances, lighting and all that jazz that us aspiring photographers like to talk endlessly about. After a few shots of cigarette packs and miniature cologne/perfume bottles we decided to bring out the main show. Using a pair of tweezers I fished the scorpion out and placed him in the lightbox. P and I noted with some interest that it seemed to be a bit ‘twitchy.’

So there I was taking pictures of the ‘dead’ scorpion moving his little claws around when it suddenly dawned on us that maybe he wasn’t really dead. For one thing he was starting to look mighty alert and aggressive, which is something dead animals rarely do. Loathe to end our photo session I suggested P take over with the camera and I would empty the jar and bring it back just in case the scorpion got more active.

Of course as luck would have it as soon as I walked out of the room the scorpion decided to leg it, obviously emboldened by P’s lack of experience with creepy crawlys. All I could hear as I hurriedly threw out the water in the jar was P’s rather frantic, slightly high pitched entreaties for me to come back as he was ill-equipped both physically and mentally to handle a scorpion. I re-entered the room to find that the scorpion had disappeared behind the TV stand that we had set up our mini studio on. 

A conundrum if I ever came across one. Especially because this was a baby scorpion and the prospect of spending the next year growing old with a scorpion wandering around my room was not a prospect that I was looking forward to. The only thing worse that I could think of at that moment was the possibility of growing old with the last ex. Spurred on by this cheerful thought I bade P spare himself and I put myself in harms way. After all I was the older and more experienced of us two. The first thing that I noticed behind the TV stand apart from a plethora of wires was an old towel that had made its way behind there. Figuring the best thing to do would be to remove that I cautiously fished it out. This was when I made a rather startling discovery.

It appears that scorpions can fly. A fact that I was far from happy to discover as it suddenly the scorpion flew out from the towel, missed my leg by a whisker and landed on the carpet. Needless to say I was shocked. But being the inherent woodsman that I am I quickly recovered, grabbed the jar and trapped the scorpion. P and I had another smoke, this time a bit shakily after all the excitement and debated how to go ahead killing the scorpion. 

I had read that nail remover imbued cotton wool works on insects but I searched high and low and couldn’t find any. We decided to compromise with the miniature perfume bottles and poured them out on cotton balls and placed them in the jar. I’m not sure who suffered more from that exercise though, us or the scorpion. He didn’t seem to like the perfume that we provided much and as P was leaving he was still spiritedly attacking the cotton wool. When I checked on him last he appeared to be dead so now I just have to extricate my sinuses and then pull him out for the photoshoot…maybe sometime this coming weekend.

Of course now every time I’m out on a site not only do I have to be wary of rattlesnakes (which at least rattle) and panthers (which are fairly large)…now I have to look out for flying scorpions. How one protects oneself against that I know not…

There she blows again… 

It may have been a side effect of waking up so early on a Saturday morning that a decidedly odd version of that infamous Sixpence none the Richer was playing in my head. It’s been awfully long time since I’ve woken up late on a Saturday in my own bed…and in fact it looks like it’s going to be awhile until I get to in the near future. The fact that I was hauling my congested self out of bed at six in the morning to see the mightiest animal that has ever existed on the planet may have also had something to do with the bizarre lyrics.

Actually early mornings are starting to grow on me, especially those that I wake up sans hangover and with an exciting day to come. The throaty growl outside indicated N had turned up in his Z, about 15 minutes early which was very un Sri Lankan off him. We scarfed down some McDees breakfast while I gave my camera equipment a final look see. 

Body…check

4 gig card (would prove to be horrendously slow)…check

1 gig card (high speed)…check

1 gig card (high speed)…at P’s…I reckon I should start renting him rental for that.

2 gig card (high speed)…forget…dammit

zip lock bag jury rig (necessary to keep spray off my lovely L lens)…check

batteries (useless performance for some reason)…check

And it was off to Santa Barbara to meet S, J and this chap whose name escapes me but who I’ve pegged in my head as the seasick chap (now I don’t have to explain that do I?). The Condor Express which was to take us out into the Channel and traverse Santa Cruz island was an impressive sight in the early morning light. I yawned, chewed on 10 altoids to keep my sore throat at bay and climbed on board. We all, being the chandyias that we are decided to go to the bow and stand in the full might of the wind as the Express tried to prove exactly how high speed it was.

It was exhilarating, if a bit chilly. The boat bounced through some moderate chop and the back kicking spray somehow miraculously missed us and drenched a rather surprised girl next to us to the bone. Laughing at her (discreetly) and sympathising with the seasick chap, who almost immediately felt dizzy and had to sit down, N and I enjoyed clearing our lungs and lowering our core body temperatures. After awhile we were both a bit cold and bored, but neither of course wanted to admit this to the other. So we stood and froze until finally the captain yelled out “there she blows.” 

Now if I was a blue whale and I heard that yelled out, I would most probably lift my skirts around my ankles and skoot (or whatever whales do) and with good cause because for the last couple of decades that cry was usually followed by a booming sound and a curious burning itch followed I’m going to guess by incomprehensible pain as the harpoon grenade explodes. It is somewhat scary that we puny humans almost managed to wipe out the largest living creature that has ever lived in the course of a few score years, from around 300,000 prewhaling to less than 5,000 now.

The first whale we saw was a pretty young though and thankfully must not have experienced the niceties of the whaling industry. The experience of watching a whale is almost like that of elephants in Yala. The whale breathes on the surface for awhile, entertaining us with its spouts and then with a graceful arch of its back and a goodbye wave of its tailfins goes down deep. We would then wait out the whale until he surfaces anywhere from a few 100 feet to half a mile yonder. The sort of like the safari jeeps in Yala the boat is gunned to where the whale is languishing and the cycle is repeated….well…maybe in hindsight it not very similar to watching elephants in Yala. 

The trip was a fascinating way to spend four hours, a bunch of Dall’s porpoises came by to check the boat out and left without posing for my camera and then we did a perambulation around the island of Santa Cruz. I’m not sure if anybody out there is as geeky as me, but I was quietly excited to see this island close up because of a book I loved as kid, the Island of the Blue Dolphins in which the main character was marooned on one of the Channel Islands. The book was actually based on a true story and looking at that island I could only think that being marooned on such a god forsaken place would suck…there was not a single tree to be seen. I personally like palm trees to be present if I get marooned on an island.

The trip back to shore was dramatic to say the least. We were initially joined by what seemed like a couple of hundred dolphins which took a break from lunching on some bait fish to come leaping over to play with the boat. I’ve decided to petition whoever is in charge of reincarnations that once I die, I want to be reborn as a dolphin. Seriously it just looks like they have so much fun. The speed at which they flew through and out of the water was breathtaking and with such little body movement. N and I couldn’t keep our cameras straight and I almost beamed a little kid in the head taking what seemed like a couple of hundred pictures of the dolphins. 

As if that wasn’t enough excitement there turned up not one, not two but three blue whales. And these guys were not juveniles. That was one of the few times that I have felt true awe in my life. The majesty was just unexplainable, all we could see was the grey backs as they came up to breath but the sheer size was inescapable. There were two males fighting over a female, the female leading and the males following (thus proving that even with a brain the size of a small car, common sense does not prevail). All three gave us a fascinating show with their habit of arching their backs excessively during their preliminary breaths and then on their penultimate breath heading down with a languorous wave of their huge flippers. It truly was a sight I felt privileged to see and that’s no hyperbole.

As we saw the last tail fin whip out of the water and the boat started heading back to shore I looked behind. Seasick chap had his head between his knees and seemed to have missed everything. Poor guy…and that silly song was still in my head.

Whoever said life is weird wasn’t kidding. Work’s currently bollockingly hard, I mean ulcers, stomach churning hard. But the weird thing is I like it, I like getting those billables  out (heck I even made it to the top three in the company in my fourth month) and I like learning about buildings and land use policy and geology and the other myriad of things I have to learn and apply to get my projects through. The life of a consultant is full of stress, but at least for the next couple of years should be interesting.

On a personal level life has taken an upshot as well. For one thing the photography is getting more and more interesting. What was an inkling of a fascination has turned into a full blown obsession. All I seem to think about now is aperture, f-stops, composition and the other bewilderments that play a part in trying to capture that perfect image, you know the one ‘where the whole world holds its breath.’

I’ve also rather encouragingly met a couple of buggers who are fun to hang out with, real chilled out island boys. The type that can drink, joke and take a joke (unlike these pesky, tootsie Yanks).  I still miss my boys, R and his jokerness, which is probably only matched by me, CP who is getting married and will be going down that road of housewifery, Evil, Bounty and PV. Not to mention the girl, who seems to be intent on mentioning coming down to SL every time I’m in touch with her. The lack of communication is more a survival mechanism for me than anything else. The fact that I really don’t have time to text at random hours, etc does in a way help my cause. My take on that is blind faith, if it’s meant to be circumstances and timing will make it happen. If not, well that’s just the way things were meant to be. 

Where my enjoyment really hits a clunker is with the family, speaking to the grandparents is something I try to avoid as well. Again that self preservation instinct kicks in, it’s just too tough to hear that they miss me, especially considering the fact they are old now and I don’t know when I’ll be home again. That I’m thousands of miles from the only family I’ve ever been close to, really close is something I try not to think about, just for the sake of my sanity. The plus point is that my relationship with the sibling is a lot better, which considering the growing pains we had a few years ago is nice.

That’s the trick actually. Everything has a plus point. I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t have to trick myself to be happy, I actually am. Life’s active, fun, I managed to somehow download the new Band of Horses album, there’s plenty of pictures to take, sites to see and friends to drink with. Yet at the same time I miss the grandparents trying to tell me how to live my life, R’s brotherhood,va certain pair of smouldering eyes and the looking glass light of home.

I guess this is what bittersweet is.

Mamme being taken for a walk (from here)

 I’m leaving the floor open to anyone who can come up with a funny caption. The funniest one gets a bottle of Old Reserve on me in Lanka in Dec ‘08. Alternatively if you come over here  I’ll take you to Disneyland and drink a bottle of my latest addiction with you (I would offer a bottle but at nearly $30 a bottle, I need some as well).

My humble contribution:

 Its like the buffalo leading the buffalo (rather obvious play on the blind leading the blind)

Politicians eating out (from here)

That’s what I think every time I read about the grinning fool and his idiot brigade of 200 munchkins wandering around China, New York and LA wasting our money, or when I read about how the nitwit with anger management problems is waltzing around Colombo in fine Italian sports cars.

Of course as it turns out its not only the Lankan government that feels like the public’s money is there to fiddle away with whenever they feel like it. It turns out the US Feds are just as bad, wasting a spectacular $146 million (that’s a gadjillion, trillion rupees at tomorrow’s exchange rate as I predict it) on premium business class travel. This is where my 30% Fed tax goes!!? Fucking business class tickets for a bunch of nonces? To think I’ve started to despise local governments (after dealing with them day in and out) now I despise the Feds as well. I have to save up for yonks for this beauty of a lens so some prick at the Pentagon can get champagne on his flight!

Fucking wankers.

I’ve come across some interesting posts and reactions to posts recently that really got my wheels clinking on the subject of Sri Lanka as a failed state and how we would be so much better if we were still a colonized country. This theory of course ties into the view that we are a ‘failed’ state. I personally do not buy into either theory. This is not to say that there is a lot and I mean a lot wrong with the country, evidenced by the fact that I am currently not living there (again that has its reasons which I will elaborate on later). 

To me the view that if we were colonized that things would be better is a form of running away. It is the old adage that ‘someone else’ can take care of our problems for us. What these people fail to appreciate is that democracy and a mature country is not something that comes up overnight. The British were very good at producing infrastructure; they left us with a network of roads, railways, national industries that were once amazing. What they unfortunately did not leave us with is institutions, which are the fabric of civil society, of law and order, of political management. Infrastructure at the end of the day is relatively easy to build, some money, raw materials and labourers and you have a road, or a dam.

It is institutionally that the colonial powers that be failed miserably, the vacuum left by the colonial countries leaving have been filled either by the political panderers as in the case of Sri Lanka or rebels who have little idea of mature governance as in the vast majority of African countries that had to fight for their independence. Institutions and mature governance do not spring into being overnight, anyone who thinks America has been the (flawed) democracy it is now for the last couple of hundred years is a fool (just google George Bush). The Constitution may have been signed into being in 1787 but that was not democracy. A true democracy is a country where everyone is equal and has an equal say in the country’s governance. The US wasn’t even close until recently, don’t forget segregation was a reality until only around 40 years ago. The US is still a scarily racist country, just look at what happened in Jenna. 

Similarly the Magna Carta may have been signed in 1215 but England was far from a democracy until recently. What people don’t seem to understand is that democracy is a process, an evolution. Some countries such as England and the US have had a hundred years in which to develop the institutions to uphold law and order and ensure equality for all. And it is still very much in evolution.

After all look at how these countries treat their indigenous peoples. Those ‘bastions of democracy’ such as Canada, Australia and the US are the very countries that refused to sign the Indigenous People’s Rights Bill passed by the UN recently. Their reason – that the bill gave ‘excessive property and legal powers to indigenous peoples’  . These are the same countries that have for hundreds of years exploited and abused the indigenous people. So even in these ‘developed democracies’ the fight for equal rights is very much an ongoing process and indeed a battle.

Where does this leave our sunny isle? Well we’ve had almost 60 years of independence and we started off hobbled. We were handed leaders, the Bandaranayakes, Senananyakes and Jayawardenes who at their best were sycophants. A generation of leaders who knew the ins and outs of sucking up to whoever gave them benefits. Such a mindset was never going to provide us the political maturity and will to drag us forward, witness the infamous 1956 policy. Whatever gave them power they would do. And it is a rot that runs deep and will take time to prize out. A similar situation can be seen in some African countries such where leaders came who were essentially bush fighters and military commanders, ill-suited to the sheer responsibility of being a democratic leader. 

So what is the solution? The easy way out, the way of immaturity is to cry out for someone to take charge, for the colonials to take over again. For one thing this is flawed because the British were ever only interested in what they could take from us. This mindset is still present, aid is tied and nothing will be given to us if it means a real sacrifice on the part of the West. And that is why we must take responsibility; we have to fix the problem. We have to grow up and evolve, it may take a hundred years but it is a fight that we have to fight, not expect someone else to dictate to us. Never forget that in the Western countries that we look up to as ‘shining examples’ of democracy those institutions did not spring into being overnight. People, usually of minorities had to sacrifice had to die for what they have today and are still doing so.

Detractors will say that I sit comfortably in the West and talk about Sri Lanka not being a failed state. True and I will admit to that. But at the end of the day I am not here because I enjoy it, there is knowledge to be learnt and skills to be sharpened that just cannot be done in Sri Lanka. There is however a significant body of people, expatriates who mean to come back, to fight for what is ours with the skills we have to build our country. Yes they may run into the Malakas of Sri Lanka and get the shit kicked out of them but they will keep coming. At the same time every person who speaks up against the stupidity, the corruption and the fools who run our country is striking a blow for democracy as is every person who just comes back and carries out his/her job responsibly. It is literally one small step blogging about the idiots of today but a giant leap for the country (apologies to Neil) that people are willing to do this. Just look at the tremors that the Burmese junta is feeling with the protests and the publicity the bloggers are bringing to them.

Democracy has always and will always be an evolutionary process and Sri Lanka is evolving. Crying for the white man to come and make it better is foolish and will never happen. We alone are responsible for our country.

Is pretty bloody steep…and P and I have been in the thick of it. Little did we know that his innocent comment to me at Lanka Fest when we met only for the second time, asking if he could assist me at my next shoot would have lead to where we are now. 

From a small outing to Santa Monica for some street shooting we moved onto an abortive attempt at being ‘official’ photographers for the Lanka Day at Santa Monica. Though this didn’t go as planned we still had a blast, P especially got some winning shots with N’s Xti and my 70-200mm F4 L. Then through the usual Sri Lankan randomness we got our first ‘gig’ which we initially thought was to assist the photographer handling the Iraj and Ranidu concert in Long Beach. We were both perturbed to turn up and be told by A that he was too busy with organizational headaches and we were essentially on our own. A conundrum since I had never shot with a flash before and P hadn’t either. 

Some pointers, much experimentation and a Canon 5D in P’s hands and we were off, working the crowd, running around in front of the stage, behind the stage and all sorts. It was all learning on the fly as never before…in the deep end with nary a life vest to be seen. P came off the better man and he got some absolutely amazing shots, I seemed to lose my mojo somewhere as the cheap batteries that had come packaged with my 430ex started packing up. A desperate rush to get workable batteries threw me completely off my dial and though I managed a few decent shots I washed out. But then one must fail to learn to succeed I thought as I consoled myself with the few good shots and admired (a bit enviously to be true) the brilliant stuff that P had shot.

What neither of us had really bargained for was the vast amounts of post-processing, backing up and watermarking that producing the final package that was required involved. Also once the ball started rolling it didn’t stop with a party starter friend of mine calling me up and requesting my presence at a club in Sunset to shoot Lucid Dreams for a 30 minute set. With some valuable lessons in mind such as shooting in RAW, a greater understanding of the M mode and some high capacity batteries the two of us headed down to the Roxy last Friday, P with my 17-40L in hand and me with my 50mm 1.8.

Never have I had such an adrenaline filled 30 minutes (well I have but not for awhile). Once the boys got on stage and started rapping both of us were in the crowd, on stage, ducking and weaving, composing, recomposing, chimping, changing shutter speeds, dialing up and down on our flashes and shuttering away. I still have little idea about what their music was about because I was on my own high. Over 300 pictures in 30 minutes and my arms were aching from constant moving around trying to get that perfect image, Paper with his hat on, the girls in the crowd, Love crooning away, everything had to be immortalized.
 

The crowd going wild

There was a moment of humour once their set was done, I took a picture of the above two fine young ladies and moved over to have a quick chat. The Asian one asked how she could get copies of the pictures to which I graciously responded by handing her my card and telling her to drop me a mail. As I was going to take a few more pictures of them and close the deal P bumbled in like an eager puppy, tongue practically lolling out, handing out cards and flashing like crazy. Kids I tell you, completely ruined my set-up…but eh…not a big deal and it gives me something to take the piss out of him every now and then. 

Of course as usual post processing was a bitch and has to be stuck in between work, gym, getting my car maintained, a sorry excuse for a social life, recovering from hangovers and of course sleep. We finally got some pictures out to C today and he wants us for another show in Malibu. On top of that we have other gigs on the way, the Red Bull Air Races on Saturday in San Diego and all kinds of fun things in the pipeline.

When the ball is rolling, gotta keep it going.

A millisecond later and this would have been an absolutely beautiful image. I still like it though!

I’m talking about none other than His…erm…”Excellency” Nimal Siripala jowls de Silva. He seems to have a fairly decent background, as in he wasn’t brought up by wolves or bonobos or anything like that which might have warped his sense of reality. Of course his comments at the recent International Congress of AIDS in Asia and the Pacific belies any possibility of him having any semblance of a reasonable worldview. I could come up with a number of erudite, meaningful reasons for why old jowly should retire but I think it’s pretty simple to sum it up in a few words (I’m also tired and lazy).

He’s an idiot.

Well not totally down but it’s getting there. After all the world’s stock markets have plunged, the City people are losing jobs and even champagne sales are down in London and I share some responsibility in that. I’m sure you must be wondering what on earth a land use consulting, former non-profiter, environmental scientist has to do with the plunge of the world’s markets. You see before I went to Sri Lanka in 2005 to lose part of my liver and most of my mojo I worked from late 2004 until the end of 2005 as a sales representative for a sub-prime mortgage bank over here in sunny SoCal. Why? Because the money was brilliant and more than enough to fund my excessive debaucheries in Vegas, San Francisco and eventually in Sri Lanka. Of course there is a price to pay for all things but that’s a different story.

You can barely take a peep at the business section of any paper or website these days without bit hit in the face with how the sub-prime mortgage market and its collapse in the US is going to well…destroy the world. Well I participated gleefully in that market when it was at its peak and what a market it was. There was the thrill of hitting multi-million dollar targets, from $5 million initially to a whopping $30 million a month at our team’s peak. There was also a very attractive Filipino girl that I worked with that was the icing on the cake (yeah she was married but so what, technicality). Times were good, the money was rolling in, I had a fast sports car and who cared if we lent to people who couldn’t pay back.

It did eventually get to me though. At heart I’m a reasonably decent human being and seeing people getting fucked on a daily basis, the greed of the brokers, the number of lines we were asked to cross and the stupidity of the average borrower became too much and I cracked. I should have ended up in Angoda but I’m back here reasonably well adjusted and happy (well as happy as I can be out of Sri Lanka). I do feel a smidgeon of guilt however every time I read the news about more stock market plunges. Too think our little deal makings are having repercussions like that befuddles me. I truly am very sorry for the ignorance in which I worked back in the days and for the way that’s hit the poor suckers who bought those toxic bonds that those Liar Loans were packaged in.

If it’s any consolation to those who have lost bundles on the market these days there’s an incredibly beautiful half Latino, half Filipino stripper in Vegas who to this day must be utterly astonished by the rather extravagant tip left for her by me one drunken night in Sin City. Incidentally I’m still a bit pissed about it and have henceforth kept my hundreds (oh wait I don’t have those anymore) strictly separate from my ones.

This is what the monkeys are going to look like after a few weeks of solititude on my desert island, well I hope at least (Saira Mohan, from here)

Apologies drac old boy, I have zero imagination when it comes to titles, but here is a breakdown of what I would pack if I was err….forced to be ‘exiled’ to a desert island. A fate which I would obviously rail against with all my heart…sigh… 

So there’s my choice. Now I’m going to go figure out how to in turn generate solar energy for my CD player using only a coconut frond and a monkey’s tail and ponder on whether there’s an outside chance Saira Mohan might come floating into my metaphorical lagoon. You know because coconuts aren’t that companiable. Unless of course one figures out how to convert them to arrack.

 P.S. I tag the following five peeps: Rastiadu, RD, Darwin & Spectral (who hopefully will give me some heads up on some new tunes) and Pissu (because I’ve always wanted to know what crazy people listen to).

Not exactly the way I wanted to enjoy the weekend. I was looking forward to using a dream boat of a 400mm L Prime. Unfortunately the carpets were being cleaned and the stairs were wet. Something I forgot for a minute second, minute enough for the world to suddenly turn topsy turvy in front of my eyes. My monopod attempted to take a chunk out of my arm, my butt received a buffing that was not intended and the 400mm tried to replace my spinal cord. I did however manage to stop myself before I reached P and catapulted him through my front door. Which as it was closed would have been a relatively painful experience.

The worst part about the experience was that the lens I had rented was busted. Actually the filter was busted and was jammed in so tight I couldn’t take it off. Thank the munchkins I did in fact get the damage waiver so I’m off the hook for the damage. Now I’m going spend the rest of the weekend icing my bum.

Just you know, to be on the safe side. Precipitated by my office suddenly seeming to take a liking to the Tiesto podcast issuing from my speakers and appearing to dance along to it. It was to be fair a pretty small earthquake (3.5 on the Richter scale) unless of course one was actually experiencing it first hand. I’m a tad spooked, not spooked like babbling on the floor, cowering in fear, needing a change of pants kind of spooked. But spooked enough to buy me one of these, now should I calculate the pooch’s needs as well….that’s the question…to which I should really find the answer before the Big One…possibly…hits…

Hmm…came across this quote and figured I’d memorialize it somewhere. I could email it to myself but then that would just get buried in the avalanche of crap that constitutes my email account.

"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘Press On’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race."
–  President Calvin Coolidge 1932

 To be honest I rarely take a liking to quotes from American Presidents, what with "I didn’t inhale" and "Mission accomplished" being the more memorable of the recent ones, not to mention "I did not have sex with that woman" (just used her to cut my cigar) but…disgusting jokes aside I really like that quote. Never follow it of course, being the lazy bastard that I am, but I’ll show it to my kids someday. If I ever getting around to making any that is…

Fuck off that is. What an absolutely bloody miserable day at work. Or was it a really good one? I’ll be buggered if I knew. For once when I needed it to be a crazy day it wasn’t. It’s bad enough that R keeps badgering me to come back in Dec and akks is starting to get on the same train, but the two couldn’t shut it for a bit. And off all the things I needed as I rolled into work was a text from the very reason I don’t want to go back this December (well 55.99% of the reason I don’t want to go back). 

I don’t know whether to be bummed or strangely elated to be missed. Like I needed my head fucked or fucked again if I go down for three years in a row. I’d much rather freeze my ass off with a bottle of rum and a blonde, mindless sudhu badhuwa when the winter season comes around. Get drunk and have mindless sex. Hopefully at her place so I can get the hell out the next morning without that breakfast awkwardness.

What pisses me off is I still don’t know if I’m pissed or happy. Fuck.

So R akki forwarded me this email the other day of the 10 most obvious questions people ask and some smarmy answers. Very kindly she sent it to a bcc’d it to a bunch of people saying it reminds her of me, can’t even defend myself because I don’t know who got the email.

Off the 10 my personal favourite was the below: 

At a funeral: One of the teary-eyed people ask…

Stupid Question:-

Why, why him, of all people?!

Answer:-

Why? Would it rather have been you?

Of course I have been in that situation at cricket matches where I’ve had people ask me what I’m doing there, in the morning asking if I drank too much the last night and to be honest I do give snarky answers. Most notably I pissed off one of my bosses when she said “oh you’ve had a haircut!?” and I replied “no, no…I just got run over by a flipping lawnmower.” I think the straight face that I delivered it and the snort of laughter from my coworker pissed her off and I got a bit of a talking to. American’s don’t have much of a sense of irony.

The latest was a few nights ago. I suddenly jerked awake. The first thing I noticed was the Frans Lanting print above my head swinging back and forth. Before that really registered I noticed, not with mild disinterest, that the whole room was shaking. One, two jerks and everything calmed down. I looked up at the print to make sure I wasn’t going to be brained by the print falling off, turned over and snuggled into my duvet. As I was about to resume my blissful sleep, the unc knocked on my door.

“That was an earthquake!” 

“The fact did not escape me”

“What are we going to do?!” 

“Well it’s over now, so I’m going back to sleep….”

"Oh…" 

Seriously some people…

I was reading this article about one of my favourite rugby teams and their preperations for the upcoming World Cup and I must say I was struck by the odd choice of photographs included in it. I’m wondering if anyone shares the sense that whoever chose the pictures probably doesn’t like Wales too much, observe:

A charming portrait of the captain, Gareth Thomas. He looks like Vol…I mean He-who-must-not-be-named..here. I refuse to believe there is not another picture in existence where he looks better than this.

The coach Gareth Jenkins flipping the bird. Surely the person who chose this image must have noticed the rude gesture!

Anyone else think this is weird?

A philosophical hobbit, but I’m just better looking…much better looking (from here)

Well dogfight detagged me, but RD, indyana and Pissu tagged me (I think that was it). So umm…here goes. Of course seven facts barely make up the convoluted individual that I am, so feel free to judge or even condemn.

1. I appear to have this knack of making people laugh, mostly girls. Don’t ask me why but I’m not blowing my own horn here (that would be one-handed as opposed to two handed) but its something I constantly get told. It’s also strange because my humour is, well, fairly offensive. I reckon its because I tend to talk more to random girls than guys (though after our last session at Bob’s diner R may digress with me on this fact). I do love those moments though when something happens and the perfect comment comes out of my mouth and the results have everybody rolling around on the floor, even the subject of the joke.
2. I detest people who think that their worldviews are somehow better than mine. Now don’t get me wrong, if I have a notion that is wrong and someone points this out to me and provides me with supporting evidence I have no problem admitting my mistake. Hey every day’s a learning experience isn’t it? Let me provide an example to make it easier, if someone doesn’t believe in pre-marital sex that’s fine, I respect that. I believe in it and attempt to engage in it at every opportunity presented (which to be honest is not saying much). If someone however thinks that they are superior to me just because they don’t engage in it then that’s a load of bollocks. Personal belief vs. arrogance. 
3. Everyday I wonder what I missed out in life by not having a father, seeing my mother a handful of times in nine years and my sister once in the same time period. I might be a different person now and I just wish I knew how I would have been different.
4. I’m a pretty calm person, I rarely panic or get angry (I bitch and get loud, but not angry). I’ve fallen into rapids and kept my nerve, I’ve had a car crash at 80mph and kept my nerve, last night there was a 4.5 Richter earthquake here. I made sure my Lanting print didn’t fall off the wall onto my head and then went back to sleep. If you do piss me off though don’t be surprised if I try and stomp on your head until it splits or crack you over the head with the nearest bottle (two things incidently, that I have done).
5. I love to read and (this is rather eerily similar to Pissu) I have a love for South Asian authors, especially Romesh Gunasekera who’s Reef is probably my all time favourite book. I’m not sure what it is but there is something hauntingly familiar in a good South Asian’s writing. It’s sometimes difficult to see that we have meaning in our lives and reading stories like Reef lets us to look into ourselves in way I guess. That said I also love Tolkien, maybe I’m just a philosophical hobbit in denial. 
6. I’m still trying to figure out whether I’m doing the right thing by not moving to Sri Lanka right now. I know what my dream is but either I’m scared of following it or I’m slowly working my way to it. I’m not really sure, I guess time will tell.
7. I’m an island boy at heart. There’s nothing more enjoyable to me than sitting by a warm tropical Indian ocean with a cold Reserve and coke in one hand, Bounty scratching his bald head and sweating copiously, R adjusting himself and pouring huge drinks, CP mumbling unclearly, Evil being Evil and R akki saying something silly to entertain me. Also a nice, slim, dark, brown baduwa would be nice to put line to as well. Oh yeah and a spectacular sunset. And a camera, to take lovely candids of the aforementioned brown girl. That would be nice. 

So yeah that’s seven random, somewhat deep, somewhat irreverent things about me. I didn’t dwell on my flaws because…well…if you read this blog then you know them already.

Hmm…there’s really noone left to tag is there? Well lets see, Darwin, Evil, Spectral, Cerno, drac (hehe…I couldn’t resist), Manshark and Nirmal.