I promise I’ll do anything you ask…this time……
There was no rum…
Because today I realized I’m a proud parent, well in a manner of speaking. No Evil, I did not receive an indignant alimony letter from Sri Lanka, at least not yet, well hopefully never…I think…I hope….
Brief but rambling introduction
Well I digress, greatly, so let me start from the beginning. Many, many moons ago, when the world was young, tectonic plates were still ashifting and I had my mojo intact, I decided on the spur of the moment, with a yearning for my halcyon days spent with my arms and sometimes my head in a tank or a pond, to raise some shell dwelling cichlids. Why? I honestly have no idea; it just seemed a good idea at the time.
Unfortunately many things combined to crush this dream in the early stages of setting up the tank and cycling and getting it ready for its finicky inhabitants; including amongst other things an extended ‘vacation’ to Sri Lanka, the losing of my mojo, a sojourn in San Francisco and the pickling of my liver. Most of the people who visited the house and eagerly peered into the aquarium were alternatively dismayed and amused by what they found inside:
A lone danio resolutely circling what looked like a watery recreation of the goby desert with an expanse of white sand and a few majestic looking limestone rocks. You could almost hear the poor guy muttering to himself, “this is all a dream, this is all a dream. You are going to wake up and be back in the tropical river you love, with Mrs.Danio stretching languorously next to you…this is all a dream.” In my defense I did try and provide the poor chap with some company but I was evidently shopping in the stupid section of the pet store. Every danio that I put in with him somehow managed to get stuck in the filter and die a horrible death. Either they were all exceptionally moronic or the original danio was exceptionally murderous.
New beginnings
A few weeks ago though, resigned to the fact that I would be stuck in suburbia for the next few years I figured I would make the most out of it and resurrect my tank. A spot of research and I settled on Kribensis, which seemed relatively low maintenance for an African cichlid (my favourite type of fish) and sufficiently colourful enough to keep my simple mind entertained. So off I went to the fishstore, supplemented my sand with some black gravel, got a new filter, plastic plants (real ones are a pain in the ass) and some new lights. I also hopped down to Home Depot to get some clay pots that I buried in the gravel/sand in order to provide the ‘caves’ the Kribs like for their cribs.
With the tank all suited and booted off I pootled to the fishstore to obtain a pair of Kribs. I was armed with the information that one sexes Kribs by noticing that the male Krib has more of a chin that the female. Now maybe someone out there who knows more about fish than I do will correct me, but I will be damned if I have ever seen a fish with a chin, have you? The chap at the fishstore looked at me blankly when I asked him if he knew to sex Kribs and then a bit suspiciously at me when I asked him to catch me the male with the gruffest moustache and the female with the sylphest waist. Obviously fishstore people do not have much of a sense of humour.
Female Krib above and male one below, anyone spot a chin? (from here)
With what I thought approximated a pair of Kribs, four danios to accompany the psychopathic loner that I had in the tank and an algae eater I repopulated my tank. True to form one of the danios promptly threw themselves under the aquatic equivalent of the train and I had to clear his mangled remains from the filter. The original danio did however look suspiciously smug as he watched this process, I still don’t trust that bugger. Anyways life in the tank progressed, the algae eater got the shit beaten out of him by the Kribs, who also ignored all the lovely little caves I had painstakingly made them and put up home in a hole in the limestone rock that conveniently faced the back of the tank. Animals I tell you! They did start to colour beautifully though, with the female especially becoming more ovoid with a wonderful cherry red belly, the male’s chin grew day by day. The new danios circled in the upper reaches of the tank while big Danio alternatively looked wistfully at them and at the filter.
The Kribs are breeding! The Kribs are breeding!
All was quiet on the tankern front until I walked past the tank today. I gave it my usual quick look over hoping to see Mr. Big coercing one of his smaller peers into the filter. What I did see however gave me some pause for thought. It initially appeared that I had two female Kribs. On closer inspection however it looked like both the female and male had turned a similar bright colour and were inordinately defensive over one of the plastic plants. On closer inspection I was delighted to see that in the privacy of their limestone cave both Mr. and Mrs. Krib had been consummating their relationship with gusto, the end result being a small crowd of fry swimming around pecking at the plant and being guarded jealously by the parents.
Krib with fry (from here)
Me being the naturalist that I am I pulled a chair to the tank, heated up my dinner and diverted the fan to said chair. This last exercise earned the wrath of the pooch, who had been peacefully reclining on the floor enjoying the cool breeze. Upon deprivation of his aeration he raised an eyebrow and glared at me balefully out of one eye. With a snort of annoyance he got up, waddled over, nipped my ankle (to let me know who’s boss) and curled up at my feet. I went back to eating and avidly watching the Kribs and their progeny.
Both parents were absurdly protective but the male was also incredibly moronic. He noticed me peering into the tank, charged through the rocks and proceeded to have a kaleidoscopic epileptic fit against the glass. I was less scared and more intrigued by the display. He got into the habit of wandering around to the other side of the tank on a regular basis and beating up one of the Danio’s, mid beat-up he would glance over, realize I was still looking, leave the befuddled Danio and treat me to a seizure. In the interim the much more serious female kept the fry in a closely bunched huddle and led them around the tank to feed. I felt very David Attenboroughish watching all this, the Danios twirling around in the top of the corner, the male Kribi alternatively getting into a fight and having seizures while the female led her troop over the tank and the fry pecked at the tank debris.
I must admit I am very proud of my two horny Kribs, two weeks and already they’ve made me a grandpappy. I am still a bit worried about the fry either getting sucked into the filter due to their miniscule size or being coerced into it by Mr. Big because of their naiveté. Fingers crossed they should grow up into mini-Kribs soon and I can hand off some to N, whose fish had collectively decided to emigrate to his filter, possibly on being tipped off that Hale-Bopp was going to be seen again. I’m not entirely sure what it is with fish and filters, but then fish aren’t exactly the Einsteins of the animal world.
He always spent more time looking out for others than for himself. Ever since he entered our family at the age of 12, when I was still a carbon atom floating in the upper troposphere, he became more than a brother to my two aunts and my father. He became the caretaker to my grandparents; he worked harder than anyone I have ever known. He was exceptionally close to my father and once he died most of that loyalty and love was transferred to me.
My favourite memory of him is the Kandos chocolates he used to bring in the front pocket of the national dress he always wore when visiting. He is probably the single greatest reason why to this day I would choose Kandos over La Maison any day. There is also that family legend of how at the tender age of six, while accompanying Uncle C on one of his deep sea fishing expeditions in Trinco, I had hidden terrified in the folds of his sarong as a storm lashed our little boat. Underneath his gruff, abrupt exterior was a heart so full of concern for those close to him that it had to be experienced to be believed.
My own relationship with him was convoluted. I think he actually had an easier time dealing with me as a kid rather than a young adult. Back in the day we spent more time together, he would walk me back from my grandparent’s place after math tuition. We would discuss politics and the foolishness of the current leaders as the crows cawed their way home and dusk fell on Anderson Road. He always looked out for me when I was a kid, so many of those old photographs have him in the background, carefully keeping watch over me and my sister as we splashed in a rock pool or ate out of the trooper on the side of the road.
When I moved to England and later out here to the US we lost touch. Our main point of contact was my very infrequent phone calls to the ‘other’ grandparents where we mutually inquired about each other. On my trips to Sri Lanka I was too preoccupied with all the distractions of short visits, the partying, the friends and the girls. I never spent time with him as I used to. When the knock on my door in the early, grey light came and the news was delivered all I could think was that I never said goodbye. This last time, when I left I was in emotional turmoil but it was no excuse. I can’t believe I simply forgot, saying goodbye to him was such a tradition, it was such a given. All I can think of is that I didn’t this time. I can’t even mourn, it’s too far away, I can’t be crippled by grief, and I can’t feel too much this far from home. I will grieve for you later, when the time is right and the place is where I can remember you for who you were and what you mean to me.
But I am so sorry I could not say goodbye. So goodbye Piya mamma, your fate was to care for others above yourself and none of us really deserved you. May you attain Nibbana.
I couldn’t help it, he just scampered into the middle of the road without looking! The mater yelled at me but it was either me or him, as any sudden maneuvers in the RAV4 are…err…ill-advised.
There was an almost imperceptible thud sound which caused me to wince. I glanced at the rear view and did a double take. There on the hard, baked tarmac he was spasmodically flipping up and down. For an insane second it looked like he was doing push-ups in a bid to show how tough he was (despite his lower half being a pancake).
The suggestion of “flipping a bitch and delivering the coup de grace” earned a withering look from the mater, possibly because it was delivered verbatim as it was typed. Apparently the idea of running someone over twice was in bad taste, how was I to know? Well I’m not going to lose any sleep over contributing to road kill. For one thing the squirrels over here are not exactly the cute, little lenas that fellow bloggers have displayed affection towards. One of my most terrifying memories from a short time I spent living in the US as a kid was a squirrel jumping a pigeon in Woodley Park. There was just something so wrong about a carnivorous squirrel.
That said I hope the little bugger’s mates took the lesson to heart…and learn to look both ways the next time.
Maybe…I’m currently on the hunt for a decent LCD screen (and a photoprinter, three lenses, another laptop, etc, etc) that I can colour calibrate and start doing some heavy duty photo manipulation. So here I am blogging about trying to win a 24” wide screen LCD monitor from John Chow dot Com, a blog that helps you make money. The contest is sponsored by BlueFur, who wants to let you know that they’re hosting Canada.
So…er…fingers crossed.
“Can I ask you something?” says the oddly gypsy looking lady who just handed me a flier at the Civic Center.
“Err…sure, I guess..”
“Have you ever had a tarot card reading?”
“Can’t say I have…"
“I see something big in your future…
Like a pick up truck, a loku, kalu baduwa? Something ominously unpleasant?
“It’s too do with love.”
I restrain myself from beating her over the head with my 70-200mm lens, not because I was scared of getting arrested but I think I’m slightly in love with the lens and value it above a leg. God knows it been more fulfilling than any girls I’ve known (bar maybe one).
“Err..ok,” and I wander off.
Obviously fortune tellers and their ilk get their wires crossed. I say this because while I was in Sri Lanka in January, the worried grandmother dragged me to a disheveled looking house somewhere down Thimbirigasya road to have my (near) future told. I think she was just wanted to make sure that unemployed and alcoholic were not to be my forte for the next few years. Or at least to get a heads up if it was.
She was mighty pleased to hear that the worst thing in my otherwise successful life was going to be my marriage. This was funny (and to be honest slightly worrying) because my horoscope done at birth said the same thing. Of course I did balk a bit considering relatively speaking with my current quality of life (or rather lack of) it sounded like I was going to be marrying a female Attila the Hun, probably with a beard to match.
So here was this gypsy, looking at my sweaty face, saying the opposite thing. Obviously they got their information from different sources.
Either that or the future wifey is going to be 400 pounds with a beard (and a nasty disposition).
I think I’m going to watch the booze in Vegas in the next couple of weekends.
Nope its not sex on the tap. Don’t get me wrong that’s nice but you can always head out somewhere, drink a bit, chat up a five, head home and then shock yourself in the morning once the alcohol has worn off. No what I really, really miss about not having a significant other is having to iron my own shirts, especially now that I work somewhere where for four days of the week I have to wear pants, shirt and a tie (ah the days of going to work in shorts and flip-flops).
I wonder whether I should use this as a closer the next time I’m out, “umm…I have a Rival Premium Iron with auto-shut off, care to finish that drink and come try it out?”
Somehow I don’t think that would fly.
It makes me green with envy sometimes, these people who graduate, get a job at a multinational, get married to someone within a year or two and just settle down. They just make it seem so effortless and I just can’t fathom how they do it. To settle just doesn’t seem to be in my vocabulary, there is always something that’s better, somewhere to be reached. What’s even odder is that I can clearly see where I want to be, it’s crystal clear but the route is sort of like the way to Mordor, wreathed in darkness. The settlers just make everything seem so easy I either feel stupid, confused or just both.
What I would love to do is just for a week live the life of a settled person, just to experience it for a bit, a 8-5 job where one is a cog in a big machine, come home to the wifey who also works in a similar company and watch some telly, eat some take out and hit the sack (I’m assuming sex is reserved for Friday and Saturday nights and its strictly missionary instead of say the ‘congress of a cow’). I’m assuming that’s the life of a settled person as opposed to mine, living in temporary digs for the greater part of seven years, soon to be going on eight, the desire to work at a job where I not only get paid, but I improve myself, easily bored, only time for relationships is on holiday (recipe for failure) and a constant hunger for something. I kind of get what Christopher Ondaatje was going on about when he penned the phrase “the devil drives.”
I suppose at the end of the day I want to be a settler, domestic bliss would be nice. But it has to be on my terms, not some drudgery of a job to make ends meet, but something I truly love to do (i.e. wander about the jungle with a camera and then write about it) and in a time and place of my choosing (i.e. Sri Lanka sometime in the next decade). I reckon settling now would kill me slowly with boredom. I need to do that Europe walkabout, follow Bryson’s footsteps in Aussie, spend a month at the Shack diving and just being a general beach bum and not have to worry about a significant other, a mortgage or a brat. So for now (or at least the next half a decade) I guess, I’m going to wander.
(Actually that’s not strictly true, since I’m going to have to hold my next job for at least 2.5-3 years so I can move back home and start a stint of real wandering, so I guess I’m wandering in the metaphorical sense)
There are three types of cigarette experiences, boredom, camaraderie and the regret cigarette. I’m not including post-coital (the usual cliché) simply because I’ve never really needed a cigarette after sex, just sleep.
The boredom experience is the most common in a club, especially as of late. I generally have nothing to do in clubs anymore, one can’t have a conversation with a friend without endlessly going ‘eh’ and there weren’t any random pretty girls to hit on and grin stupidly at. The alternate for me is to smoke a cigarette, watch the glowing front recede towards the butt, feel the smoke bite into your lungs and billow in front of your face as you exhale. The main thing I remember about smoking in clubs is the glow of the cigarette, lightening as you inhale, darkening as you stop.
The camaraderie experience is completely different, I’ve noticed I light up as someone else lights up. Sitting around a table on a quiet night having a few drinks, when someone reaches for a pack, taps it and pulls out a smoke, you can be guaranteed that at least two more people will do it. Smoking around a table while chatting and drinking the only act of smoking that I am aware of is lighting it, mostly because someone else will light it for you or if you initiated the session, you will be lighting the others smokes. There is of course that old story about the bad luck that accompanies lighting three people’s cigarettes with one match originating from I’m assuming one of the World Wars. With the flare of the match an enemy sniper would only have time to adjust and pop the last person whose cigarette is lit, a good thing to keep in mind if lighting up in a war zone.
The last most intense smoke is the regret smoke, a smoke that one does to try and clear your mind, let the nicotine rush deaden the pain of chances missed and friends and family lost. Your self-destructive focus is entirely on the cigarette, the lit match close to the brown and white tip, which rapidly turns black as you inhale deeply. You can almost hear a crackle as the flame races up the cigarette, feel the smoke entering the deepest parts of your lungs, you close your eyes as the ‘high’ takes effect and lean your head back, rest it against the wall behind you. You hold it in, savouring the deadly flavour, before exhaling it in a languorous, slow swirl, the smoke whirling before your now open eyes. Yes it is deadly, but during that microsecond, all you are aware of is the smoke, the heat and the taste, nothing else matters. That I guess is the deadly beauty of an addiction, that pure moment where it’s just you and what could, if you let it, destroy you but is yet so pleasurable.
NB: Before people start emailing me either hate mail, for promoting smoking or concerned mails demanding me to stop, I neither condone the habit and am making a concerted effort to quit, it’s a slow process but I will get there.
So I seem to be going a bit crazy for sunsets today, not only did I get some prints but I took these pics down on Marine Drive, a typically spectacular Sri Lankan sunset. Next assignment, go help with the vegetable shopping at Pettah on Sunday, taking my camera with the 50mm 1.8 only and see what I can get.
Also can some one please help me with some Sinhala nomenclature, nobody and I do mean nobody seems to know the English name for paraw…anyone? Anyone at all want to shed some light on this conundrum?
I always wonder what people think when they look at certain images, so I though it would be interesting to put up three pictures that I took recently and request the world out there to tell me what comes to mind when they see them. It could be one word, it could be a sentence, but please do let me know. Incidentally these pictures were manipulated some in Photoshop CS and I’m going to print them up, matt them and present them to my mom as a peace offering for my irresponsibility over the last few months/year. So if they do happen to evoke emotions or actions like ‘hit’ or ‘throw frying pan at progeny’ let me know!
This image has a dynamism that brings to mind fun afternoons at the beach with the outstretched arm and the sun beams underneath the girl’s elbow.
This to me is kind of a cliché image, but there is almost a sense of relief that the girl is eclipsing the sunlight. I also like the dynamism in her blown up hair.
So this image brings to mind quietness and peace and a sort of brooding, because the girl herself is not very clear in the image.
So those are my rather poor attempts at describing some of my images and why I like them, go ahead my dear readers and please, do feel free to be as harsh as you want.
In terms of writing anything meaningful, the last post is going to be a bit tough to follow for a bit. So here’s the worldwide premiere anouncement of the existence of my shutterchance account. Most of the pics may be familiar from my Flickr account but they look prettier in Shutterchance and I’ve included a bit more information about them. Please do let me know what you think and..cough…cough…if you want to buy/license any of the images…hey I can wish sometimes can’t I?!
http://ngun.shutterchance.com/
My assertion that we have matured may have been just a tad premature in light of this weekend, well week actually. A quiet drink on Wednesday snowballed into an interesting night at Tabu on Wednesday, involving far, far too much Old Reserve and Asti. Some friendship barriers were crossed, mostly due to me pushing buttons but thankfully no permanent damage was done. Just some additional therapy hours for some of us, which for some are long overdue.
The early morning shenanigans ended it was babies for breakfast, Chinese for lunch and some silence, arguments and confessions for tea. A misled flight plan meant I was solo for the night at Onyx, well solo in that none of the girls with us really tickled my nizzle so to speak, despite most being lookers. I think I need more than my fair share of therapy. The night was still pretty good, pickled my liver with white rum and toasted my lungs with Benson and then filled my belly at Holiday Inn.
This was all a warm up for Saturday though; the agenda was a chilled sunset and drink at Buba. Unfortunately due to my inability to comprehend text messages whilst half asleep and a resultant mix up in directions we ended up at Buba once the sun had decidedly set. Two bottles of white rum and six hours later in the idyll of Buba at night the mother of all club hops was conceived, Buba to Mambos.
In short, two hours, the highest recorded speed in the Fairlady, offers to lick Evil’s starfish and countless shit scared dogs later we were at Mambos, drinking, dancing and trying to spot some ladies. I as usual was bollockingly crap, my radar was somewhere over the Atlantic at that point I think, not much use when I’m standing by the Indian Ocean. I did however have my wingman moment with quite a smooth cigarette lighting hand-off to Y. Too bad he didn’t get anywhere with the Middle-Eastern bird, but at least he tried.
The drinking was followed by Y and I stuck at an officially ‘closed’ Rotti Stop where if not for the kindness of a stranger, and our ability to squeeze something out of nothing the lack of three rotis and a cup of tea would have resulted in our sure death from starvation. Bounty and Evil turned up from a detour in the World Heritage City to drop off some partiers and pick us up a largesse that even the six of us in our famished state could not finish. Satiated and worried by D’s attempts to put line to Chuti the Rotti Stop wench we decided to call it a day and….well try and figure out to do for the day. Debating on whether to sleep in the cars or try and figure out hotel rooms was enlivened by what looked like a Doberman the size of a Shetland pony charging out of Rotti Stop. I quietly sought refuge in the Fairlady leaving the rest to their fates before it was established the gargantuan dog was actually Great Dane going for his morning ablutions on the beach.
A bus thunders by in the early morning
It was finally decided that Evil and D were good to drive (though the latter assertion was highly questionable) and Evil with me as co-pilot headed off with Bounty and Y in the back. D and P headed off in the Fairlady (now doesn’t that sounds like an interesting pun) and we all headed off in the early morning light back to Colombo. My job was to keep Evil up, which I tried by roundly abusing him at every opportunity provided. Unfortunately I just didn’t have enough material to keep me going, ended up falling asleep and then waking to what appeared to be an Intercity bus driver trying to park in my lap and with a feminine yelp of fear all sleepiness vanished. Evil simply smiled his evil smile, content with his achievement, swung back into his lane and continued on his way.
I then proceeded to keep myself entertained by continuing to abuse Evil and taking pictures of oncoming traffic. Most of the moments were pretty tame compared to S driving back from Hikka last weekend, but there was one moment that not only did I have momentary heart failure and coughed up a kidney but my camera was frightened out of its wits.
My camera has an apoplectic fit
That’s the only explanation I can make for the picture below, which I took as the bus passed us by a whisker yet looks like something out of my old college shroom-induced hallucinations. Colombo was reached with minimal drama afterwards, Y and Bounty slept like babies the whole way, DP ran out of petrol but still managed to get home and Sunday was spent in bed that has never been as inviting as that.
Being a sucker for punishment I was out with the Akkis last night, well my excuse is that I don’t get to see them very often and at their decrepit age its most likely the next time I come down one or both will be married and boring and that will be a great lost to humanity. The fourth night ended with off-tune singing, wandering down memory lane, a female Indian fist in my mouth and a slapping of said female Indian’s arse, all in much required self defense of course.
Got back from Hikkaduwa, extended my flight and trying to get busy and actually accomplish some stuff this ‘holiday.’ Need to find some time to write about the trip, maybe when I get back from lunch, but in the meantime, here are some updates on my Flickr account, enjoy and let me know what you think!
Thinking at Buba
I’m not sure why I’ve never been to Buba before? The folks in Mount appear to have been keeping the place a well hidden secret all these years. Trying to choose between a sweaty, cigarette stale night at Onyx and sitting on the beach with some friends is like trying to choose between a Singaporean style kidney caning or a luxurious full body massage from Eva Longoria. Maybe I should have listened to N when she used to invite me to sit on Mount Beach instead of pickling my liver and smoking my lungs at Clancys all those years ago.
I don’t want to step into a club for the rest of my stay here, just sit on the beach and try and work up the courage to not think and just do. Forget about consequences, timelines, commitment issues, feelings and all that jazz that complicates life, just jump. I just don’t understand why the boys (and some of the girls) prefer to sit inside what looks like a mini jungle for the singular purpose of having a drink, either my liver finally got through to my brain or I’ve matured a bit. Eh, growing up aside, Buba is a place I would highly recommend and sitting on the beach and staring at the ocean the best activity to do there, having a beautiful male or female (depending on which way you swing of course) next to you is helpful as well.
I do hope I get to go there again before I leave, and next time, no thinking. Just eyes closed and hop into the deep, cold, dark end without a lifejacket.
Of MasterCard ad rip-offs and Finding Thomians
So Chinky Pinky sent me this email, which though not exactly original rings very true:
Ticket to Sri Lanka $1435
Changing the ticket coz the travel agent was stupid $86
Phone bill for bitching about changing the ticket $40
Spending New Year’s Eve in Sri Lanka - PRICELESS!
Of course the heartache I had to go through for that end objective was a bit more than detailed above as was the amount I spent on my ticket, but the benefit to my mental health should be disproportionately larger. On that note is there anyone around for some quiet drinks, discuss blogging, photography, life in general? If so hit me up, childof25@gmail.com…
On the note of making connections does anybody know this chap Viraj Senewiratne featured in the Sunday Times this week? Ok ok I know it’s a bit dodgy trying to get hold of a 30 year old Thomian, in fact both Chinky Pinky and R on being asked this question snorted and mentioned that six months in San Francisco was probably six months too long. Fear not though I don’t have any nefarious intentions on this fine young gentleman I was just taken with the possibility that there might be some environmental entrepreneurs in sunny Sri Lanka and think that connecting with such people can only be a good thing. So if anyone does know him…please do let me know.
P.S. Was that request weird and stalkerly? I really hope not.
I took the plunge finally, after six years, hot water, new razor and plenty of moisturizer.
What it was:
Well maybe not this bad….but you get the picture
What it is now:
Again, obviously not literally…because that would be a bit weird
Currently my face feels like this
Cricket captain thinks I look like a 10 year old and to be completely honest I am a bit surpised by what I see in the mirror. CP’s reaction when she swings by should be interesting as should be the fam’s on Monday.
I’m just really hoping the fiery sensations shooting across my face dies down soon.
Whoot (I am unashamedly stealing this phrase from either drac or sage, I’m not sure)! Managed to catch the Lost premiere despite the many, many obstacles thrown my way, which included a planned giving class until 7.30, pissing rain, a smelly old Chinese lady on the bus, lackadaisical friends and even more rain. After braving all those dangers I managed on the dot to make it in front of my TV at 9 for a season premiere for what is probably my all time favourite show…and it was bloody well damn worth it. Now all I have to do is tear my hair out in frustration until next week when the next episode rolls around…sob….sob.
On another point ‘Freckles’ did look absolutely scrumptious, if a bit nervous (which given the fact she’s a captive of the Others, that’s to be expected). Man do I adore spunky girls…
P.S. Thank you for all those who shared with me their shameful secrets (well not that shameful) of liking Grey’s Anatomy, the candidness was well appreciated. I feel a lot, well somewhat better! Cheers!
I lamented in a previous post about how the stupidest 1% of Sri Lanka’s population holds the reigns of power in the country and some of my readers kindly pointed out that that’s because the “geniuses who make up the other 99% vote the dumb cunts in.” Sad but true I guess though there has always been a lack of decent people in politics (or they get knocked off very early in their careers) so the choice has in all fairness been limited.
What is a bit disheartening, or possibly heartening depending on ones view of the world is that the countries in the developed region of the world are suffering similar problems. This is an excerpt from an article by Mark Morford, a SF Gate columnist (Check out that link for a truly orgasmic electric super car),
“Did you already calculate that if even a fraction of the $300 billion — a truly staggering amount — we’ve wasted on BushCo’s failed and disgusting war could have gone to revolutionizing our nation’s energy infrastructure (like, say, funding large-scale development of the Roadster’s technology), instead of annihilating a pip-squeak nonthreatening nation over its oil reserves while simultaneously serving as the most successful terrorist-recruitment poster in world history, the United States could be considered the epicenter of integrity and invention once again? Of course you did.
But oh wait. Such an obvious, lucid redirection of resources and ideology would require someone with true vision in the White House. Someone with integrity. And intelligence. And fearlessness. And an articulate understanding of complex ideas. And a Congress to match. Never mind.”
So obviously the lament for quality leadership is not just confined to us ‘Third Worlders’. I remember back in 2000 I was talking to an American fellow about Dubya’s chances of getting elected. He said rather ominously “the American people are voting someone in who thinks just like them.” The weird thing is I haven’t met too many Americans who think like Bush though this could possibly be a reflection of the fact I live on the relatively liberal West coast and not say deep in the heartland of Kansas.
My question is where does this leave us? Us individuals who are concerned about social justice, the environment, equal rights and who just want to live in a decent, safe world so we can enjoy the pleasures of life and bring up little versions of ourselves, what do we do in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles to normalcy. I’m open to ideas to this semi-rhetorical question but I do have some sort of answer. That is that we are aware of what goes on in the world, that we use every opportunity to speak up against injustice whether to another person, on a blog or even in your head.
Ignorance, sticking your head in the sand and disowning the fight is not enough unless you are willing to take bombs in your backyard, threats to your health, assaults on the environment and your culture without nary a complaint. It’s not easy and can’t be done 100% of the time, thinking about and analyzing such things is exhausting. Writing this post was emotionally exhausting, but it has to be done. Sometimes I sit on a Sunday and wish I had the energy to write about an injustice I read about, to make people aware about it but just don’t have the willpower. I just file that away for later and hope I can get to it when I have the emotional fortitude to address it.
We the individuals make up the global democracy and despite what Bush, Blair, Mahinda, Prabha, GE, Newscorp or any of those entities that make up the system in our part of the globe do or say the only way they will win is if we keep quiet. Speak up; act out once a week and you are helping form a new world.
P.S. on a completely unrelated subject, I’ve posted before about the travails of my early morning bus ride. Well today I had a reasonably cute blonde sit next to me. After about five minutes I noticed a strange odour piercing my early morning haze. It was with something approaching horror that I realized it was the girl.
Now this to me was like the laws of physics being upended or evolution being disproved. I like girls because they smell nice, it’s not the only reason I like them but it’s a major reason and the concept of a pretty, smelly girl just doesn’t gel with me. Now before I have a load of feminists deluge me with hate-mail I would like to point out that I find anybody being smelly objectionable, its jus that girls usually do smell nice (and dare I say should). It was just too much to handle that early in the morning. She did get out a few stops later and got replaced by a 300 pound, fat, sweaty executive type who kept sliding into me when the bus climbed the hilly routes of San Francisco.
All in all not the best start to a morning.
Has anybody been following this story on BBC? Subramaniam Sivakumar a shopkeeper in Willesden was found dead in his shop with his “hands by his side, with a shoelace around his neck and bags of rice placed over his body.” The report goes on to mention a group called the Tiger Boys had visited his shop on the 5th of January presumably to follow up on a request for some money as Subramaniam had noted in his diary that he was going to give the Tiger Boys 15,000 squids. Subramaniam Sivakumar was a Tamil Sri Lankan.
Tiger Boys, Sri Lankan, a request for a fairly large chunk of change, could this possibly be extortion by LTTE agents in England. It seems a possibility at first glance, though the BBC doesn’t make this seemingly obvious connection. Anybody out there know who the Tiger boys are, or have heard of them? Or even know anything more of this case? Apparently Subramaniam was restrained and he had puncture wounds near his ears and he died of a heart attack. Seems interesting but I can’t find much else regarding this case on the web.
P.S. While googling this I did stumble across the “Truth in Britain!” Yipes, take a read to see how fucked up us coloured people are!
My ideal weekend would be one where I achieved nothing and did absolutely bollocks (i.e. nothing to all you British slang neophytes). The itinerary would run something along the lines of sitting around staring at the TV, watching a tacky movie, reading a book or having pointless conversations with equally jobless friends. These activities would then usually be followed by having a ‘few’ drinks and heading off to a watering hole nearby to see what if anything the night has brought out in terms of cuties.
My last weekend was by these standards anything but perfect though not without some entertainments. For one I managed to see Earth on Friday, the second in Deepa Mehti’s elements trilogy. I’ve read “Freedom at Midnight” by Larry Collins and Dominique LaPierre and was deeply affected by the horrors that accompanied the fracturing of the Indian subcontinent. Earth helped to put a no less distressing but human face on that tragedy. I thought the movie very good though it was strange to see Amir Khan play a baddie. The kid was an amazing actress though and Nandita Das gave a smashing performance and was unbearably cute, all in all an excellent way to spend two hours of my life.
After the rather somber end of the movie we decided to cheer ourselves up by hitting a friends place for an Aunty and Uncle dinner accompanied by Old Reserve!! Having a few shots of the Reserve was the highlight of the weekend and I can’t wait until my quota arrives from SL end of next week. What was funny to me was the Uncles at the dinner looking at us weirdly because we were drinking Reserve, apparently they don’t think much of it. Oh well, more for us to drink!
Once everyone was properly sozzled we decided to hit the Supper Club. Now this has to what I think is one of best concepts for a club, the dance floor is surrounded by beds as is the second floor! Alcohol, girls, house music and I can lie down, heaven I tell you! Reminded me off the good old days at Glo when I used to grab chinky pinky or KP as a pillow and have power naps in order to survive the killer after parties that place used to have. The situation was a bit awkward though cos it was two couples, me and a girl I really couldn’t be arsed chatting with. My solution was to drink more and engage in completely random chit chat with her, there was again a distinct lack of cute girls in the club for some reason…I think I need to get a new drink cos the Vodka/Red Bull isn’t working its magic anymore! All in all actually one of the better nights I’ve had in awhile, I guess it’s a slow recovery from mind fuck and things are getting better gradually.
Saturday involved moving into my new place in the Marina district. By moving in I mean transporting my suitcases over, unpacking them and piling vaguely related items here and there in a bare room. I have to go about the stressful venture of trying to get some damn furniture to complement my sleeping bag and solitary chair that is in my humble abode right now. Also in the game plan is trying to adjust to the relatively loud street noise that filters into my room from Lombard Street. The last time I had to deal with a similar level of noise was when I lived off Earl’s Court road for a year and the traffic’s going to get some adjusting to. I swear I heard a huge accident happen outside my window while I was half asleep early Sunday morning but there was no sign of it when I stepped out around 11. It may just have been another manifestation of me losing my mind.
There are pros and cons to living in the Marina. The pros involve the fact that it is a very pretty area of SF to live in; the ocean is a couple of blocks down, as is the gym and there seem to be a disproportionate number of hotties on the street. I’ve spent most of the last couple of days wandering about in a daze due to this and lack of sleep. The cons are that its relatively far from work, well 30 minutes on the bus isn’t that bad and the only place I have to shop is the most expensive Safeways in the world. On the plus side and completely randomly this same Safeways rumour has it is rated one of THE best places to pick up in the city. Guess I’m going to go in there a few more times.
I should thankfully have internet access at home soon and once I have that and a few hours of sleep I think I’m going to post on matters that need a bit more concentration (as opposed to the mindless rambling in this post) such as activism, revolution, Lebanon, Sri Lanka, etc. Until then I’m off to go sailing in the bay and fast until the troops come home (or at least until noon tomorrow).
At around 3pm we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. The city looked absolutely amazing, sunlight glinting off the buildings downtown and the waves sparkling in the bay. One of the girls in the car giggled “home, sweet home” and then mentioned how glad she was to live in San Francisco. It struck me then that after almost two years I’m a big city boy again! I don’t think LA counts as I lived in the suburbs and worked in a ‘satellite’ city. I’m hoping San Fran will live up to my London experience, which was absolutely mind blowing and eye opening.
Now I just have to get off my arse and go explore the city. First on my list is the Asian Art Museum, though this time I’m going to print out some directions and get myself a compass. The first time I was in SF I tried to check the museum out, took the wrong turn a block away from the place and ended up wandering through some of the dodgiest neighborhoods. It was an interesting experience though, the highlight being a guy in a wheelchair head into an intersection at a red light to beg for food. Someone gave him a banana and he proceeded to sit in the middle of the intersection and calmly eat it while the light turned green and traffic surged around him!
If I see the purple lady again though I am heading straight home.
I think I’ve been spending too much time in the sun. I swear this little old Chinese lady in purple was following me around the whole day. I saw her in the morning getting into my mate’s car, I saw her on Market Street going for training and then I saw her on California while walking home. What’s really disturbing is the last time she saw me she had a small, knowing smile on her face, the sort of smirk you would imagine the grim reaper would have when sizing you up for immediate immolation. Insanity is surely knocking on my door; well actually if you ask my friends they would probably say it’s long overdue!
The grim reaper disguised as a geriatric Chinese lady aside, I’m off tomorrow for a three day company retreat at a mountainous place where apparently there will be no internet or cell phone coverage. I’m having visions of Deliverance before my eyes, despite being a few thousand miles yonder of the inbred belt. What’s worse is that I’m going to miss the damn play-offs and the SL/England cricket match! I’m hoping the Chinese reaper stays behind.
No sports, crazy visions and non-stop fundraising talk are not things I will be able to handle concurrently.
Quarter century, two balls left & batting strongly
Right so that was a hectic weekend and start to the week. The short story is I drove up with R on Friday to some godforsaken house my mates in SF were at out in the countryside. I found R’s trust in my driving skills endearing, she calmly proof read a paper while I proceeded to shave an hour off the 5 and half hour driving time from LA to our destination. It was a wonderful contrast to the family, who usually claw at the dashboard and try and climb up the doorsills in fright when I drive. I don’t think my mom and sis have come to terms with the Sri Lankan style of driving quite yet. R only got a bit concerned when I sailed through a STOP sign at around 50mph while looking for the damn house.
Spent the rest of Friday night and a good portion of Saturday morning in a hot tub, had to leave that at around 5am to hit the sack. For one I was getting quite pruny and we were sharing the hot tub with some dodgy sudhu badhu for which I don’t think was enough Bacardi in the world for me to handle. Saturday night was all in all more entertaining, had dinner at Uncle’s place, with some real life Sri Lankan uncles and aunties. Had to be on our best behaviour until they left, after which the party really started as the house was pretty 420 friendly.
Midnight passed and I hit the quarter century mark, received half a bottle of Reserve as a birthday present (yes my friends are that greedy!) and an apple bong. The latter singed my lungs, not doing that again. I’m pretty impressed with the fact I’ve lasted this long considering I’ve had about 5 close shaves with death with the most spectacular of those being last year, must see whether I can make it another five years.
In other news I’ve quit smoking (420 don’t count 
), two weeks now without a puff and minimal cravings! Also started work on Monday…think I’ve had a stroke of luck here. Everybody seems amazing, if a bit wide eyed (the cynic in me coming out), I’ve lasted two days without getting my arse fired and just started typing out and discussing my workplan for the next year with my supervisor…Damn…it’s not going to be an easy year. Have to build up a hell of a lot of skills and work my arse off in what looks like is going to be a hell of a demanding environment. But I’m kinda looking forward to that with a touch of masochism.
P.S. the two balls in the title refers to this interesting testicular debate, some very funny reading!
P.S.S. Geoffrey Boycott…go fuck yourself you pretentious wanker…Murali and our boys will always be more naturally talented than the English, despite the fact they’ve been playing cricket for a century more than us and we are treated shoddily by the ECB…Well done Sri Lanka!
Finally got off my arse and got myself a Flickr account check it out here…
Well my sister’s dog wants me to stop smoking. No I haven’t turned into Dr. Doolittle I’m just assuming this because every time I light up the bugger takes a nip out me. It’s not that big a deal considering he’s around six inches high but still makes for an exhilarating smoking experience. Onto the subject of biting, it is one habit that I thoroughly dislike especially when humans do it. My sister took a chunk out of my back once and I still have the scar but I don’t really hold it against her since she was about five at the time. I have however been bitten as a teen and I really haven’t enjoyed those experiences.
I remember once playing cricket on the street in Colombo, the batsman popped me a catch. As I was going for it he decided to take the novel approach of distracting me by running up to me and taking a bite, not yelling at me or hitting me with the bat but biting me! Needless to say that was the last time that particular person was invited to play with us. The only time I ever bit someone (in a non-sexual way) was when I was about sixteen. A sociopath from school who was a couple of years older than me and had taken a significant dislike towards me had me cornered in school with a vice like grip around my neck. I tried everything I could to get him off but once I started seeing dark spots in front of my eyes I decided to take extreme measures and bit down on him as hard as possible. I’m not proud of it but it was either life or dignity and I chose the latter. I did gargle as soon as I got back home though just to take all precautions against catching anything communicable.
The latest biting episode I had to endure was in Clancy’s in January. There I was, drink in my hand enjoying the music when I felt a sudden, shooting pain in my chest. Looking down I was surprised to say the least to see a girl attached to my chest. I proceeded to remove her from my chest and asked her what the hell she was doing. Her response: “I only bite people I like.” I’m assuming she was just horny because the next thing I knew her tongue was in my ear probing for god knows what. I’m sorry but there was nothing remotely attractive about either of her two actions and I was especially pissed off because I had my favorite lime green Lacoste t-shirt on, which now sported a nice bite mark. In the end I shook her off, got some ice for the lovely mark on my chest, shook the excessive saliva out of my ear and went home making a mental note to get a tetanus shot the next day.
I actually don’t even like biting in a sexual way, nibbling maybe but anything that involves teeth is a no no. It is surprising though how many girls don’t seem to get that, I’ve been chewed on many a time in bed and boy is it a mood killer. Anyways back to the smoking, I started smoking when I was fifteen and been on and off for the last ten years. The thing is I only smoke when I’m drinking or when I’m stressed. I can go for months without smoking but as soon as I get a beer in my hand, the overwhelming compulsion to smoke starts. Writing my MSc thesis was another time I was smoking around 20 rollies a day and currently being stressed, unemployed and bored I’m up to around five a day..Can’t wait to quit again
So there are a few trips I would like to make in the next ten years and I’m not talking about going back home for a couple of weeks or even the World Cup in the Caribbean next year, I’m talking about adventurous trips. The one problem I have is all my friends are completely non-adventurous, so just need to find a few fellow lunatics.
1) Sri Pada
Ok this is a trip a friend and I have planned since we were about 10. Now I’m not talking about simply climbing Adam’s Peak, already done that and have something a bit more ambitious in mind. The modified plan is to climb up, abseil down the steepest side and then trek out of the Peak Wilderness taking the longest possible rout out. The original plan was to para-sail off the top but I don’t think I’m that crazy. This venture was inspired by John Still’s Jungle Tide with his tales of jungle covered valleys, strange inscriptions and leeches is the stuff I dream about doing. I reckon this trip is doable on a three week trip to Sri Lanka if I can drag myself away from the partying for a bit. Oh yeah and my mate has to be in town, which might be a bit tough to coordinate since I’ve only seen the boy once in the last six years.
2) Kali Gandaki
Another adventure that was inspired by a book, I can’t remember the title but it was about a trip rafting the world’s deepest gorge, the Gandaki looking for two mammoth like elephants in Nepal. That trip would combine some of my favourite elements in life, white water rafting, remote areas, jungle and of course big dangerous wild life. I hope to do this trip sometime in the next two years.
3) Capetown to Marrakesh
This was a trip a friend of mine from college did back in his twenties. He spent two years sorting the trip out, one year outfitting a Defender 110 and getting visas and one year driving. Now if that’s not the trip of a lifetime I don’t know what is. I plan to leave the US in about 10 years and move back to Sri Lanka and I reckon this would be an ideal trip to take in between the move. Once again need to find someone nuts enough to drive through Africa for six months to a year.
Well those are the major trips I want to take but in the meantime before I go rafting in Nepal or bumping across the Sahara there are a couple of other smaller trips I want to do in the near future, London for Thanksgiving, Cabo San Lucas for New Year, the World Cup in the Caribbean, Sri Lanka family trip next summer oh yeah and a relaxing sojourn in the Maldives some time before it goes under. Now if I can just find a job to fund these ventures and would give me some time off! (or for that matter any job cos I’m broke!)
So old Vasu is going to try and be the mayor of Colombo, I want to make a coherent comment on his policies but I’ve been typing bloody cover letters the whole day so it will have to wait until tomorrow. What I really find interesting is one sentence in the manifest “The high incidence of lung cancer and respiratory disease among Colombo residents is mainly due to the high CO2 emissions.” Umm..now coming from a biological and environmental sciences background I could have sworn that carbon dioxide is a non-toxic gas and in fact it is carbon monoxide and sulphur dioxide that really fuck one up. It’s just a small mistake, but I reckon if one is to formulate policy on matters like these at least getting the name of what is killing people in Colombo is pretty essential eh?
Oh yeah and this sentence is even better “Canal transport and leisure boats will b introduced, so that one could travel from Wellawatte to Kelani Ganga through the lakes and wet lands of Colombo where there is plenty of fauna and flora to watch and relax while commuting to work.” Ha ha ha….
Out of sheer boredom I went to the grocery store twice today in the morning. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to hop into a car, put in some hip hop (in this case Krishan’s album Asian Avenue, which is bloody awesome) and tear about the wide streets in California. I enjoyed it despite the fact I was only driving my mum’s old RAV4 but brought back memories of my good old RSX. Well actually it was a brand spanking new metallic green 2005 RSX Type S, ahh what a sweet ride it was: 210 HP and 143 pounds of torque! I know the latter is a bit low but it was a hell of a high revving engine, redlining at 7800 RPM and the VTEC kicked in at 5000 RPM making the engine roar like a wild animal. I used to love tearing around windy roads at 80mph, dropping the clutch at green lights and trying to hit the car’s top speed, the highest I ever got was 135mph, ran out of freeway before I could max it.
Now notice everything is in the past tense due to that fateful trip I took to San Francisco on the 13th of October. I should have known better than to drive the 500 odd miles from LA after working from 6am to 7pm, but the foolishness of youth won over. All I remember is passing a semi on a straight stretch of freeway somewhere past uhh..Damn forgot the name of that insignificant town, and then off all things to do I fell asleep. The next thing I was aware of was the car spinning out of control at 80mph, flying off the freeway. Luckily for me I didn’t have anything significant to hit on the way out apart from a small phone box, which took out my passenger side window. The glass imploded into my face, which was an entertaining experience to say the least. Strangely all I could think was ‘fuck! My insurance premium is going to go up!’
So the car gracefully flew over an embankment, over an exit street and landed plumb in a field. I had visions of cars exploding a la Bad Boys II playing in my head, so I quickly switched on my hazards (not sure why, the only thing that could have hit me would have been a farmer on his tractor which would have been especially surprising considering it was around 11 in the night) and hopped out of the car with my ipod and cell phone. Proceeded to call a friend to let him know what had happened just in case I passed out or something and then flagged a truck down to ask where the hell in small town America I was. The left side of my face was covered in blood, which thankfully was just from a scratch in my ear. The medics finally turned up in a toy-like fire truck, checked to see if my neck was broken and then proceeded to make me sign a waiver to the effect that if I happened to kick it after their examination they were not liable. Only in America would it be a priority to make a blood covered kid shaking with shock and cold sign a liability waiver. The medics and the cops who were in presence all commented on how ‘nice’ my car was; which was nice of them considering the left side was completely destroyed, one wheel was off and it was steaming like a newly laid turd.
The situation got even better for me with the only option for me being to go with the tow truck driver to a one McDonald town and get dropped off in front of that fine establishment to wait for my friend to drive the approximately 130 miles to come pick me up. I really had to pee but the waiter in McDonalds out of the kindness of his heart informed me the restaurant had closed and I couldn’t use the facilities, I guess he was used to piss-tight, blood soaked Sri Lankans turning up at his door at midnight. I returned the favour by pissing on his front door. So I sat outside McDonalds, surrounded by my worldly possessions, depressed by the destruction of my car and the fact that I had left my Oakenfold CD’s in the car’s CD player eating kottu with small pieces of glass in it, dying for a stiff arrack and coke until I was picked up by my friend.
Looking back on that experience it was pretty traumatic but its amazing how blasé I was about the whole thing at the time. It did however give me a new appreciation for life, not many people get to walk away from an experience like that with all limbs attached. Lessons learned included:
1) never ever use cruise control especially on long drives
2) never ever buy a brand new car, fuck the depreciation arguments, its just an accident waiting to happen
3) no matter how invincible one feels in their youth, its actually pretty easy to kill oneself
4) never go to McDonalds again, I will however on every anniversary of my accident take a piss on one of their front doors
5) always take ur CD’s out of the car when u crash it
One of the reasons I love Sri Lanka is the ability to really chill there. There’s something about sitting on a verandah with a fan swishing near your ear, the hot sun outside and a cool beer in your hand that just cant be replicated anywhere else in the world (at least where I’ve been). Last Sunday for example was such a day, three of us lounged around with Rockland rum and sprites in hand watching the Grand Prix and then the cricket. The combination of good friends and two mind blowing sports events was amazing. This Sundays a bit different, been on the computer the whole day looking for employment and fighting to keep the dog from destroying my possessions that are scattered around the living room. And people ask me if/why I miss Sri Lanka!?
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « Apr | ||||||
| 1 | ||||||
| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
| 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |
| 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 |
| 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 |
| 30 | ||||||
