Why Not? - 8/24/11
I hate it when my computer tells me I don't have permission to perform certain actions.
Who does??
Who does??
The World is Lucky I'm Not Famous...Yet.
The death of Amy Winehouse has brought on many things today - sadness, disappointment, a drastic increase in the world's heroin supply...but most importantly, I'm finally working a new article, after almost eight months! So thank you, Amy. In addition to years of laughter at the raspy growth on your head, which you freely called hair, you have also provided me with the inspiration to begin this new article!
What is it with our obsession with other peoples' lives? Why do we, as fellow human beings, find it so outrageous that Ryan Gosling walks his dog, or some British guy, whose mother was a princess, is now getting married to some other British chick? Have people really become so tired of their own day to day lives that they need to cling onto others' lives to be entertained? Before you ask me, YES I do understand the psychology behind why it is so surprising to see a celebrity. It's the same reason you need to get drunk before meeting up with the girl you met online. It's because you have seen this person dozens of times, speaking, smiling, laughing, perhaps crying - but you have never seen them right in front of you. It's a strange phenomenon. It is one of the only situations where you can see someone a hundred times, but still not know how tall they are, what color their eyes are, what they like to do for fun...it's like having a close friend you know absolutely nothing about. The moment we do see them in person, a rush of curiosity, naturally, comes pouring out. Which is fine. It's perfectly human. What isn't human is sticking a fucking camera in their face while they're getting Starbucks and asking them personal questions. That's just sick. If you have such little value for your own life that you will accept paychecks for meddling in someone's personal moments, just do us all a favor and kill yourself, instead of interfering with the lives of other people. You're probably better off dead, instead of absorbing valuable oxygen and resources that would be better off with the starving children of the world. Or subway rats.
Now, do I think all paparazzi are scumbags? Certainly not. The morning Michael Jackson died, I didn't hear it from NBC, CBS, or FOX. I heard it from TMZ, because they were the first ones to know. In fact, hours after I heard it from TMZ, it was still not official on any of the major news sources. Michael Jackson was a musical legend - an icon. His death was a significant point in history, because it literally marked the end of a large portion of a particular generation of music. That was important news to me, as it was to millions of people, worldwide. Full-page articles on Justin Beiber grabbing the ass of his underage girlfriend is not only trivial, it's borderline perverted. I don't even want to think about the number of 42-year-old men looking at those photos and drooling while fondling themselves, with their own teenaged children in the next room. People will pour love and adoration onto a celebrity for years and years, but the second the person acts like a regular human being, we start attacking them and slandering their reputation. They're not fucking zoo animals! They're fucking PEOPLE! Haven't YOU ever had the sudden, crazy urge to :gasp: get lunch with a friend at a restaurant??
What I don't understand is the double standard for famous people and regular people. If I came to your table at a restaurant, and started taking photos of you, your family, your kids, or your chicken marsala, you could very easily tell the management, call the police, and sue me for invasion of privacy. Furthermore, if I took those same photos, and posted them on the internet, in a public domain, for EVERYONE to see, I could face some serious jail time. So why do these same principles not apply to famous people? I think my favorite excuse people often give me is, "Well, you know, Rishi...these people have chosen to be in the spotlight, okay? They knew exactly what they were getting into." Go fuck yourself, you uppity douchebag. What a great idea! By that rationale, doctors knew what they're getting into, as well, right? So, next time I need advice on how to trim the excess fat from my stomach and legs, and inject it into my ass to make myself look like a fucking Kardashian, maybe I'll just sit down next to a plastic surgeon and his family in the middle of their dinner, and ask him. I mean, why not? After all, he is a doctor. Didn't he become a doctor to help people, and give medical advice? Why is that so wrong? Ohh, that's right...because HE'S FUCKING EATING. He's not in the office. He's not on call. He's not wearing a fucking lab coat. He's at fucking Denny's with his wife and daughter, enjoying an appetizer sampler.
When an actor acts, on the screen, that's their job. When an athlete plays his or her sport, that's their job. When a politician visits a foreign country, and attends meetings, that's their job. It's their livelihood. Whether it's Michael Jackson, or Michael Jordan, or Michael Douglas, they're bringing home a paycheck for what they do. Some might be better than others, and sure, their paychecks are much heftier than ours, but it's still a piece of paper with numbers on it. They still have days off, and they still have personal lives.
People get so disgusted with celebrities who are in a bad mood, and push a camera or two out of their face, yet they have no idea of what it's like to be in that life. Imagine you have been given $180,000,000 to make a film. You are 22 days over schedule. The studio has given you ten more days to get your crew of 400 people, and shoot three entire scenes around New York City, otherwise, they will fire you, take the remaining money out of your hand, and give it to one of the dozens of other directors waiting in line to finish the project. Your lead actor just had a major drug overdose and died, with two scenes still left to shoot. Your assistant just quit, and making this film is literally costing you $7,000,000 a day in expenses, and you're running on coffee and 2 and a half hours of sleep. Now, you get an hour to get lunch and talk to your producer about how to most efficiently shoot the next scene, to save time and money. All of a sudden, three fucking goobers with shitty little Nikon cameras come running out of a Prius, and start asking you why you ordered the Arnold Palmer instead of the Unsweetened Tea. Are you gonna buy them a fucking baguette?
That's what I thought. More to come...
What is it with our obsession with other peoples' lives? Why do we, as fellow human beings, find it so outrageous that Ryan Gosling walks his dog, or some British guy, whose mother was a princess, is now getting married to some other British chick? Have people really become so tired of their own day to day lives that they need to cling onto others' lives to be entertained? Before you ask me, YES I do understand the psychology behind why it is so surprising to see a celebrity. It's the same reason you need to get drunk before meeting up with the girl you met online. It's because you have seen this person dozens of times, speaking, smiling, laughing, perhaps crying - but you have never seen them right in front of you. It's a strange phenomenon. It is one of the only situations where you can see someone a hundred times, but still not know how tall they are, what color their eyes are, what they like to do for fun...it's like having a close friend you know absolutely nothing about. The moment we do see them in person, a rush of curiosity, naturally, comes pouring out. Which is fine. It's perfectly human. What isn't human is sticking a fucking camera in their face while they're getting Starbucks and asking them personal questions. That's just sick. If you have such little value for your own life that you will accept paychecks for meddling in someone's personal moments, just do us all a favor and kill yourself, instead of interfering with the lives of other people. You're probably better off dead, instead of absorbing valuable oxygen and resources that would be better off with the starving children of the world. Or subway rats.
Now, do I think all paparazzi are scumbags? Certainly not. The morning Michael Jackson died, I didn't hear it from NBC, CBS, or FOX. I heard it from TMZ, because they were the first ones to know. In fact, hours after I heard it from TMZ, it was still not official on any of the major news sources. Michael Jackson was a musical legend - an icon. His death was a significant point in history, because it literally marked the end of a large portion of a particular generation of music. That was important news to me, as it was to millions of people, worldwide. Full-page articles on Justin Beiber grabbing the ass of his underage girlfriend is not only trivial, it's borderline perverted. I don't even want to think about the number of 42-year-old men looking at those photos and drooling while fondling themselves, with their own teenaged children in the next room. People will pour love and adoration onto a celebrity for years and years, but the second the person acts like a regular human being, we start attacking them and slandering their reputation. They're not fucking zoo animals! They're fucking PEOPLE! Haven't YOU ever had the sudden, crazy urge to :gasp: get lunch with a friend at a restaurant??
What I don't understand is the double standard for famous people and regular people. If I came to your table at a restaurant, and started taking photos of you, your family, your kids, or your chicken marsala, you could very easily tell the management, call the police, and sue me for invasion of privacy. Furthermore, if I took those same photos, and posted them on the internet, in a public domain, for EVERYONE to see, I could face some serious jail time. So why do these same principles not apply to famous people? I think my favorite excuse people often give me is, "Well, you know, Rishi...these people have chosen to be in the spotlight, okay? They knew exactly what they were getting into." Go fuck yourself, you uppity douchebag. What a great idea! By that rationale, doctors knew what they're getting into, as well, right? So, next time I need advice on how to trim the excess fat from my stomach and legs, and inject it into my ass to make myself look like a fucking Kardashian, maybe I'll just sit down next to a plastic surgeon and his family in the middle of their dinner, and ask him. I mean, why not? After all, he is a doctor. Didn't he become a doctor to help people, and give medical advice? Why is that so wrong? Ohh, that's right...because HE'S FUCKING EATING. He's not in the office. He's not on call. He's not wearing a fucking lab coat. He's at fucking Denny's with his wife and daughter, enjoying an appetizer sampler.
When an actor acts, on the screen, that's their job. When an athlete plays his or her sport, that's their job. When a politician visits a foreign country, and attends meetings, that's their job. It's their livelihood. Whether it's Michael Jackson, or Michael Jordan, or Michael Douglas, they're bringing home a paycheck for what they do. Some might be better than others, and sure, their paychecks are much heftier than ours, but it's still a piece of paper with numbers on it. They still have days off, and they still have personal lives.
People get so disgusted with celebrities who are in a bad mood, and push a camera or two out of their face, yet they have no idea of what it's like to be in that life. Imagine you have been given $180,000,000 to make a film. You are 22 days over schedule. The studio has given you ten more days to get your crew of 400 people, and shoot three entire scenes around New York City, otherwise, they will fire you, take the remaining money out of your hand, and give it to one of the dozens of other directors waiting in line to finish the project. Your lead actor just had a major drug overdose and died, with two scenes still left to shoot. Your assistant just quit, and making this film is literally costing you $7,000,000 a day in expenses, and you're running on coffee and 2 and a half hours of sleep. Now, you get an hour to get lunch and talk to your producer about how to most efficiently shoot the next scene, to save time and money. All of a sudden, three fucking goobers with shitty little Nikon cameras come running out of a Prius, and start asking you why you ordered the Arnold Palmer instead of the Unsweetened Tea. Are you gonna buy them a fucking baguette?
That's what I thought. More to come...
Why Not? - 11/23/10
College students, on Four Loko: "Get 'em before they're illegal!"
Pedophiles: "Get 'em before they're legal!!"
Pedophiles: "Get 'em before they're legal!!"
Why Not? - 11/12/10
Since when did looking out for one's own interests as a priority become a bad thing?
Why Not? - 11/11/10
My friend Jason is a model human being.
Last year's model.
Last year's model.
Why Not? - 11/10/10
Sex is probably the ONLY thing in this world that is all of the following - healthy, enjoyable, and not only 100% natural, but virtually necessary...and humans have made it taboo. What the fuck is wrong with us?
Why Not? - 11/9/10
If there's one thing I've learned, it's that people tend to stay away from people who have marker on their hands and face.
Why Not? of the Day
This is where I will be depositing my random and mostly useless idea, thought, or quote from the day. May make you think, or may just make you mad, but who gives a shit. That's what the feedback area is for. See?
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
The sweet music of Entourage.
All Entourage enthusiasts will tell you that Sunday nights hold a special place in their minds, and it’s not just occupied by football. Almost every episode ends, leaving us begging for the fastest possible week ahead, a wish that must be made on TWO eyelashes when the show takes a week off, a period I angrily call Entourage’s “bye” week, usually immediately following the season premiere. But there are certain episodes that really make a lasting impression after they air – so much so, in fact, that by Tuesday evening, we are reconvening over drinks to watch it again, with another possible screening before the weekend. But what makes certain episodes leave us with that “Fuck, I can’t wait to see that again” feeling? Sure, it could be the boobs, but I think the average male sees those enough from other sources, as well. And the sharp, witty humor on the show really only has a one-time-use kinda style. (Yes, I think this includes Ari’s brilliantly bruising banter with practically everybody he encounters.). No, I think the biggest re-drawing factor is the intense, and often cliffhanging, endings to most of the episodes, fueled further by the incredible music selections by the series’ music department. I have taken time out of my precious free time to compile a virtually useless list of, in my opinion, the five greatest end-credit songs from the show - the most perfectly-executed combinations of music and action to close out various episodes of Entourage. I’m pretty sure you’ll agree that these episodes left you sitting on the couch, like “…what the fuck…really??!” Here goes, in order by season:
Song: “Stranglehold” by Ted Nugent
Episode: “Sorry, Ari”, Season 3, part 1
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftsMze0WOw4
Full Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c3d7QgZr7g
Ahh, the shock we all inevitably felt when Ari got the boot, even when it was blatantly hinted at, right at the start of the episode. It was one of those uncomfortable moments you desperately didn’t want to happen, but knew all along was going to happen at any moment. The dreadful slideshow preparation by the agency sealed the deal, and the ensuing conversation between Ari, Vince, and E was just delaying the inevitable. Ari, as always, tries to talk his way out of a bad situation, but E, not taking any more of his shit, jumps in and lays down the coup-de-grace: “Ari…you’re fired.” This song perfectly expressed the end of one era, and the start of another, and evoked the feeling from the audience that Vince can actually be a tough, unforgiving guy. I have seen this one scene over and over, and it is easily among the greatest of the entire series.
Song: “Good Life” by Kanye West
Episode: “No Cannes Do”, Season 4
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNc51WJxNF4
This song is now old news, and is way past its “overplayed” stage, but I don’t even think the hit single was released yet when we first heard it as Vince and the guys got on the jumbo jet with Kanye himself, and jetted off to beautiful Cannes, France. Although the following episode would prove otherwise, this was one of the most feel-good moments of the show, complete with on-board massages. The song immediately rose to fame directly following this episode and became the quintessential party song for college students everywhere, and when I would watch this episode on repeat later, I actually, for the first time, looked forward to the end of the episode, just out of excitement for this song.
Song: “Fake Plastic Trees” by Radiohead
Episode: “Gotta Look Up to Get Down”, Season 5
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ud_7kueosCM&feature=related
After all their ups and downs, it’s undeniable that Ari and the guys have a special bond. When Ari received the studio head offer from Warner, a big chapter of their time together was almost closed for good. Sure, they would still be close friends, and Vince would still work professionally with Ari, but as Vince put it, he wanted to “finish what they started together”. This scene was one of Jeremy Piven’s most incredible acting performances from the show, along with the scene where he is begging the dean of a private school to grant his son admission. I’m not exactly sure what Vince was feeling when he closed the window shade of the plane as Ari looked on, but the song worked perfectly here; so much so, in fact, that this scene would have worked just as well, if not better, as a season closer.
Song: “Lucky Man” by The Verve
Episode: “Drive”, Season 6
Clip (without audio - DAMN COPYRIGHT!): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSxhAEdWgnc
Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-G4E9nKPdDk
The first 25 minutes of this 26-minute episode were happy and joyous, but the end did a complete one-eighty. I don’t care how much of a man you are, the end of this episode was sad as fuck. For sixty-six episodes, we had seen the gang have all the fun four (mostly) single guys, with tons of cash, living in Hollywood, could possibly have. They became like brothers, living together, eating together, going out together. But now, Turtle has a girlfriend, E is trying to get his back, and Drama is actually working, and, for the first time, Vince comes home by himself to a dark and empty mansion. This song plays as he comes inside, and sits alone on the couch where just hours before, the four of them were laughing, and having a good time. The song reminds us how much we (oh yeah, and Vince) took their close companionship for granted, and at the time, this scene seemed to really set the tone for the rest of the season.
Song: “Space” by M.I.A.
Episode: "Buzzed", Season 7
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnavhCUgUqE
You can’t tell me that the moment Vince jumps out of that plane and this song starts up, you didn’t get an ominous chill down your spine about what kind of person Vince is slowly becoming. This entire episode was groundbreaking for the series; Vince chopped off his trademark curly hair, Ari and Lizzie actually showed signs of their compatibility at work, Drama was stressing out over his acting career (okay, not everything was different), but after six seasons of constant bickering, Drama and E actually begin a professional relationship for the first time, with E managing Drama’s career through yet another rough time. Amidst all this craziness, Vince is showing strange and steady signs of a drastic personality change, which leads to a spontaneous decision to jump out of an airplane, while on a conference call with Ari and E. The two are both surprised and angry at him, having just realized that Vince cut his long hair short, in the middle of production of his new film, without giving any notice to the director. He has nothing useful to say, so he hangs up on them and leaps out of the back of a plane with Scott Lavin, bringing the brave cameraman along for the ride. As he free-falls down to earth, the hollow, ambient vocals of the song start playing, and the beat kicks in right as the credits appear, in true Entourage fashion. This is, in my opinion, probably the most perfectly selected and placed song in the entire series.
BOOM! Enjoy. More to come...
Song: “Stranglehold” by Ted Nugent
Episode: “Sorry, Ari”, Season 3, part 1
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftsMze0WOw4
Full Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c3d7QgZr7g
Ahh, the shock we all inevitably felt when Ari got the boot, even when it was blatantly hinted at, right at the start of the episode. It was one of those uncomfortable moments you desperately didn’t want to happen, but knew all along was going to happen at any moment. The dreadful slideshow preparation by the agency sealed the deal, and the ensuing conversation between Ari, Vince, and E was just delaying the inevitable. Ari, as always, tries to talk his way out of a bad situation, but E, not taking any more of his shit, jumps in and lays down the coup-de-grace: “Ari…you’re fired.” This song perfectly expressed the end of one era, and the start of another, and evoked the feeling from the audience that Vince can actually be a tough, unforgiving guy. I have seen this one scene over and over, and it is easily among the greatest of the entire series.
Song: “Good Life” by Kanye West
Episode: “No Cannes Do”, Season 4
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNc51WJxNF4
This song is now old news, and is way past its “overplayed” stage, but I don’t even think the hit single was released yet when we first heard it as Vince and the guys got on the jumbo jet with Kanye himself, and jetted off to beautiful Cannes, France. Although the following episode would prove otherwise, this was one of the most feel-good moments of the show, complete with on-board massages. The song immediately rose to fame directly following this episode and became the quintessential party song for college students everywhere, and when I would watch this episode on repeat later, I actually, for the first time, looked forward to the end of the episode, just out of excitement for this song.
Song: “Fake Plastic Trees” by Radiohead
Episode: “Gotta Look Up to Get Down”, Season 5
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ud_7kueosCM&feature=related
After all their ups and downs, it’s undeniable that Ari and the guys have a special bond. When Ari received the studio head offer from Warner, a big chapter of their time together was almost closed for good. Sure, they would still be close friends, and Vince would still work professionally with Ari, but as Vince put it, he wanted to “finish what they started together”. This scene was one of Jeremy Piven’s most incredible acting performances from the show, along with the scene where he is begging the dean of a private school to grant his son admission. I’m not exactly sure what Vince was feeling when he closed the window shade of the plane as Ari looked on, but the song worked perfectly here; so much so, in fact, that this scene would have worked just as well, if not better, as a season closer.
Song: “Lucky Man” by The Verve
Episode: “Drive”, Season 6
Clip (without audio - DAMN COPYRIGHT!): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSxhAEdWgnc
Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-G4E9nKPdDk
The first 25 minutes of this 26-minute episode were happy and joyous, but the end did a complete one-eighty. I don’t care how much of a man you are, the end of this episode was sad as fuck. For sixty-six episodes, we had seen the gang have all the fun four (mostly) single guys, with tons of cash, living in Hollywood, could possibly have. They became like brothers, living together, eating together, going out together. But now, Turtle has a girlfriend, E is trying to get his back, and Drama is actually working, and, for the first time, Vince comes home by himself to a dark and empty mansion. This song plays as he comes inside, and sits alone on the couch where just hours before, the four of them were laughing, and having a good time. The song reminds us how much we (oh yeah, and Vince) took their close companionship for granted, and at the time, this scene seemed to really set the tone for the rest of the season.
Song: “Space” by M.I.A.
Episode: "Buzzed", Season 7
Clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnavhCUgUqE
You can’t tell me that the moment Vince jumps out of that plane and this song starts up, you didn’t get an ominous chill down your spine about what kind of person Vince is slowly becoming. This entire episode was groundbreaking for the series; Vince chopped off his trademark curly hair, Ari and Lizzie actually showed signs of their compatibility at work, Drama was stressing out over his acting career (okay, not everything was different), but after six seasons of constant bickering, Drama and E actually begin a professional relationship for the first time, with E managing Drama’s career through yet another rough time. Amidst all this craziness, Vince is showing strange and steady signs of a drastic personality change, which leads to a spontaneous decision to jump out of an airplane, while on a conference call with Ari and E. The two are both surprised and angry at him, having just realized that Vince cut his long hair short, in the middle of production of his new film, without giving any notice to the director. He has nothing useful to say, so he hangs up on them and leaps out of the back of a plane with Scott Lavin, bringing the brave cameraman along for the ride. As he free-falls down to earth, the hollow, ambient vocals of the song start playing, and the beat kicks in right as the credits appear, in true Entourage fashion. This is, in my opinion, probably the most perfectly selected and placed song in the entire series.
BOOM! Enjoy. More to come...
Om Crazy Om.
I write here today, a humbled man. A humbled man, still continuing his Indian adventure, but now with a new sense of appreciation for my life – a life which I had zero control over yesterday, at the hands of a maniacal Mumbai taxi driver…
It began like any other day here: wake up, kiss my grandmother good morning (yeah, that’s right), tell my grandmother who I am, shower, get dressed, tell my grandmother who I am, eat breakfast, chat with my uncle for a bit, tell my grandmother who I am, brush my teeth, grab my bag, tell my grandmother where I’m going, and I’m off…by the time I get downstairs, I usually get a text that reads: “Who are you? - Grandma”… okay, no that last part is a joke. Sorry. But this morning was different. After the normal “Hello, how are you?” exchange with the cab driver, instead of a “Fine, thank you”, or an “I’m okay, how about you?”, I got an extensive explanation of the driver’s exuberance as a result of his love for God, accompanied by what may have been the creepiest smile and stare combo I have ever seen.
Remember that ghost story from when we were kids, where the girl is running away from some scary ass dude with a strange, random deformity, and she gets into a cab, and explains what he looked like, and the cab driver turns around, spooky-as-fuck, and yells, “Was it like THIS???”, revealing the same gross shit she just ran away from? (Right, so you’re telling me that there are actually two guys in the world with green, coiled-up hands and feet that smell of old Burger King whenever he sneezes? I don’t buy it).
Anyway, this moment was exactly like that. This guy was batshit. So, we started the hour-long journey, and I pretty much knew as soon as the meter started counting that this guy was gonna cut off my fingertips and store them under his pillow, but I smiled nervously, and put on my iPod. For the next fifteen minutes, he went on and on about how Bhagavan (God, in Hindi) was his savior and how people are always looking for happiness everywhere else. This also included a two-minute re-enactment of a hypothetical scenario where a cab driver arrives someplace to pick someone up, but the person calls him and says that he went to the wrong place, and he is waiting to be picked up somewhere else. Yes, he played the parts of both people. No, I don’t have a clue how this applies to God. About halfway through Poker Face, I was interrupted when he turned around and asked me if I was listening to music. I removed my HEADPHONES, and asked him what he said. He again asked me if I was listening to music…only I could see the humor here. I nodded, and he offered me his music phone, complete with headphones, and told me to listen to his music. I was fully expecting an audio of babies crying or the Blue Velvet soundtrack, but what I heard was religious chanting and singing, which is probably even creepier, if you think about it. He even had a photograph of the female vocalist laminated by the speedometer. Before long, this guy was doing 75 on the expressway, eyes closed, and, I shit you not, clapping along to the holy words. This guy had headphones on, his eyes closed, and his hands off the wheel, all because of this damn song! I guess when you’ve found God, smell and taste are the only senses you need to drive a FUCKING AUTOMOBILE. I was crouched in the back corner of this car, my eyes fixed between this guy, and the road. I felt like I was eight years old again, keeping an eye on my dad on a long drive at night, when he would always seem to be on the verge of falling asleep.
I somehow made it to work alive, and with all of my fingertips, but I was left with a strong confirmation of my belief in the utter stupidity of religion, and how it makes people fucking insane. 75% of the world’s biggest problems today are probably a result of religious differences, directly, or indirectly. Here I was, going almost 80 mph, swerving from lane to lane, because this fucking nut was having an Om Shanti sing-a-long hour.
My whole life didn’t flash before my eyes, but I definitely got a few years worth. But hey, I’m here, I’m okay, and if all goes well, maybe I’ll get a trip to the Greek Islands, too! Not to mention a publishing deal, a new iPod touch, a year’s supply of raw fish, and free tickets to a Man U game!
Too soon?
Everyone wish my sister a speedy recovery today, she got three wisdom teeth taken out. Also, I tried out the over-sized, fancy magazine-style letter at the beginning of this article. Deal with it.
No Namaste today…fuck that noise, Sally. More to come…
It began like any other day here: wake up, kiss my grandmother good morning (yeah, that’s right), tell my grandmother who I am, shower, get dressed, tell my grandmother who I am, eat breakfast, chat with my uncle for a bit, tell my grandmother who I am, brush my teeth, grab my bag, tell my grandmother where I’m going, and I’m off…by the time I get downstairs, I usually get a text that reads: “Who are you? - Grandma”… okay, no that last part is a joke. Sorry. But this morning was different. After the normal “Hello, how are you?” exchange with the cab driver, instead of a “Fine, thank you”, or an “I’m okay, how about you?”, I got an extensive explanation of the driver’s exuberance as a result of his love for God, accompanied by what may have been the creepiest smile and stare combo I have ever seen.
Remember that ghost story from when we were kids, where the girl is running away from some scary ass dude with a strange, random deformity, and she gets into a cab, and explains what he looked like, and the cab driver turns around, spooky-as-fuck, and yells, “Was it like THIS???”, revealing the same gross shit she just ran away from? (Right, so you’re telling me that there are actually two guys in the world with green, coiled-up hands and feet that smell of old Burger King whenever he sneezes? I don’t buy it).
Anyway, this moment was exactly like that. This guy was batshit. So, we started the hour-long journey, and I pretty much knew as soon as the meter started counting that this guy was gonna cut off my fingertips and store them under his pillow, but I smiled nervously, and put on my iPod. For the next fifteen minutes, he went on and on about how Bhagavan (God, in Hindi) was his savior and how people are always looking for happiness everywhere else. This also included a two-minute re-enactment of a hypothetical scenario where a cab driver arrives someplace to pick someone up, but the person calls him and says that he went to the wrong place, and he is waiting to be picked up somewhere else. Yes, he played the parts of both people. No, I don’t have a clue how this applies to God. About halfway through Poker Face, I was interrupted when he turned around and asked me if I was listening to music. I removed my HEADPHONES, and asked him what he said. He again asked me if I was listening to music…only I could see the humor here. I nodded, and he offered me his music phone, complete with headphones, and told me to listen to his music. I was fully expecting an audio of babies crying or the Blue Velvet soundtrack, but what I heard was religious chanting and singing, which is probably even creepier, if you think about it. He even had a photograph of the female vocalist laminated by the speedometer. Before long, this guy was doing 75 on the expressway, eyes closed, and, I shit you not, clapping along to the holy words. This guy had headphones on, his eyes closed, and his hands off the wheel, all because of this damn song! I guess when you’ve found God, smell and taste are the only senses you need to drive a FUCKING AUTOMOBILE. I was crouched in the back corner of this car, my eyes fixed between this guy, and the road. I felt like I was eight years old again, keeping an eye on my dad on a long drive at night, when he would always seem to be on the verge of falling asleep.
I somehow made it to work alive, and with all of my fingertips, but I was left with a strong confirmation of my belief in the utter stupidity of religion, and how it makes people fucking insane. 75% of the world’s biggest problems today are probably a result of religious differences, directly, or indirectly. Here I was, going almost 80 mph, swerving from lane to lane, because this fucking nut was having an Om Shanti sing-a-long hour.
My whole life didn’t flash before my eyes, but I definitely got a few years worth. But hey, I’m here, I’m okay, and if all goes well, maybe I’ll get a trip to the Greek Islands, too! Not to mention a publishing deal, a new iPod touch, a year’s supply of raw fish, and free tickets to a Man U game!
Too soon?
Everyone wish my sister a speedy recovery today, she got three wisdom teeth taken out. Also, I tried out the over-sized, fancy magazine-style letter at the beginning of this article. Deal with it.
No Namaste today…fuck that noise, Sally. More to come…
Greetings from (GMT +5:00)
Evening flight outta Newark International, quick hop in-and-outta Brussels, and “pfft!”, I landed with a cloud of dust in Bombay last week. Of course, I’ve been here before – it’s part of every Indian-American’s life plan to check in every half-decade, or so, to make sure the traffic is still claustrophobic and the homeless still put their six-toed babies on display for their next meal. All stands, except now, after the release of Slumdog Millionaire, they get even less than they did before, because who wants to fund what could be child prostitution and the production of gross eye-melty stuff?? This is my first time experiencing the working life here, and being pretty much on my own, with the exception of having a place to come home to at my uncle’s spacious apartment. I am here for a month, and I am anxious to see how this goes.
I must say, Bombay kinda has a bad rep in America. Sure, it’s pretty dirty, and really crowded, but isn’t Manhattan, where yours truly was founded? People are chewing paan (a betel leaf, often mixed with tobacco), and spitting out the remains, coating the streets with their concoction, but as any frat dog will tell you, packin’ a fat lip or crushin’ a tin is essential to the life of a true gentleman. Their English speak is nauseating in its vocal fluctuation and severely outdated terminology, but come on, it’s their second language. And as a native of Staten Island, it could be "a lot fuckin’ worse, bro". The city ain’t doin’ ALL too bad, considering India has only been an independent nation for a little bit longer than my dad has been alive.
However, the city definitely has a long way to go. On my hour-long commute to and from work every day, I get a chance to survey my new surroundings. Almost everywhere I turn, everything I look at could use serious improvement. The streets are clogged, the police are virtually invisible, or inept, the air is thick and polluted, and there are buildings on top of buildings – one here, one right next to it, another one right behind it, another catacorner, across the alley there – all completely void of any pattern or organized street structure. Oh, and there are more on the way. Many more, judging by the endlessly sprouting scaffolding sticking up everywhere. The idea of expressways and bridges has seemed to just catch on, finally making its fair attempt at improving traffic. However, the quickest form of transportation (train) is, of course, also the fucking deadliest in India, and one of the deadliest in the world. Look that shit up! In 2008, 17 people died every day, Monday to Friday, while traveling on the rusty old pieces of shit. I guess even the trains need a weekend to relax after a long week of ruthless manslaughter. I got to try out the infamous railway system my first work day, and I was scared shitless, but then again, that could have been the tap water I drank earlier. Luckily, I made it off the train with all 3 limbs…
Namaste. More to come…
I must say, Bombay kinda has a bad rep in America. Sure, it’s pretty dirty, and really crowded, but isn’t Manhattan, where yours truly was founded? People are chewing paan (a betel leaf, often mixed with tobacco), and spitting out the remains, coating the streets with their concoction, but as any frat dog will tell you, packin’ a fat lip or crushin’ a tin is essential to the life of a true gentleman. Their English speak is nauseating in its vocal fluctuation and severely outdated terminology, but come on, it’s their second language. And as a native of Staten Island, it could be "a lot fuckin’ worse, bro". The city ain’t doin’ ALL too bad, considering India has only been an independent nation for a little bit longer than my dad has been alive.
However, the city definitely has a long way to go. On my hour-long commute to and from work every day, I get a chance to survey my new surroundings. Almost everywhere I turn, everything I look at could use serious improvement. The streets are clogged, the police are virtually invisible, or inept, the air is thick and polluted, and there are buildings on top of buildings – one here, one right next to it, another one right behind it, another catacorner, across the alley there – all completely void of any pattern or organized street structure. Oh, and there are more on the way. Many more, judging by the endlessly sprouting scaffolding sticking up everywhere. The idea of expressways and bridges has seemed to just catch on, finally making its fair attempt at improving traffic. However, the quickest form of transportation (train) is, of course, also the fucking deadliest in India, and one of the deadliest in the world. Look that shit up! In 2008, 17 people died every day, Monday to Friday, while traveling on the rusty old pieces of shit. I guess even the trains need a weekend to relax after a long week of ruthless manslaughter. I got to try out the infamous railway system my first work day, and I was scared shitless, but then again, that could have been the tap water I drank earlier. Luckily, I made it off the train with all 3 limbs…
Namaste. More to come…
Put your wallet down. There might actually be something useful in her purse. (just call me the opposite of The Happy Feminist.)
So, you're out to dinner with a girl. Chili's, cause nothing says "I'll wait 'til the 10th date" like bottomless tortilla chips and Southwestern egg rolls. The check comes, and the girl will do one of two things. She will either whisper an awkward "Thaaanks..." as you try to jam your credit card into the little plastic slot thingy on the check. Would it kill them to make it ONE FUCKING CENTIMETER wider than a credit card? If I was a credit card company, I would make my cards just slightly wider than everyone else's, and watch the world burn to the ground. Wallets wouldn't close properly, credit card machines would be rendered useless, it would be chaos. Beautiful, magnificent, chaos. But I digress. If she doesn't present you with the gracefully eloquent "Thaaanks", then she will fumble with her purse for a second and offer to pay her share. Don't worry, though. She won't put up much of a fight. After you say "No, it's ok, I got it", she'll say...you guessed it - "Thaaanks!" I was watching Jersey Shore the other day, and when Snooki was burning photos of her ex-boyfriend, she mentioned that she paid for one date they had when they were together. I know, hard to believe she was actually bringing in a paycheck before she was a glorified can of spray tan with a pulse that you can fist-pump to. The kicker, however, was Sammi "Sweetheart"'s response. She said "You paid? Not okay." I am here to ask these women of the world - why not? And then, without waiting for answer, I say "Fuck you, if you want paychecks, pay for a damn meal every now and then."
The great thing about the world today is that women are earning much more money than ever before. They are becoming more and more independent, which, in my opinion, is fantastic. Unfortunately, this trend has not seemed to have much effect on the unspoken rules of dating. Men are still expected to pay, open doors, and drive. Am I saying I hereby refuse to do these things? No. I am merely questioning the true intentions of women who claim to want "equal rights". It isn't just the fact that guys have to be chivalrous that chaps my hairy ass. 99% of the time, whenever you ask a girl if females enjoy sex as much as males, she will say yes. But somehow, when she wants a man to do something she cannot, she becomes some Holy Grail of pleasure, threatening her male counterpart with "no sex" unless he does what she asks. How is that a legitimate threat if she enjoys it, too?!
If you are a hardcore feminist, who has managed to make it to this point in my rant and wishes to go further, know this - I am fine with you fighting for the advancement of the fairer sex, but don't expect many opened doors or freebie chimichangas, unless you have something I want, which you probably don't, because...you're a feminist. No offense. Ah, fuck it - offense. Why do they call it the fairer sex, anyway? I don't think me picking you up, driving to a restaurant, NOT drinking while you tell me about your little brother's softball game (I'm driving, remember?), then opening the door for you, and driving you home, only to be rewarded with a hug and a "I had fun!" is all too fair.
Of course you had fun. What isn't fun about a free app and a ticket to The Ugly Truth?
Sha-bang-o. More to come...
The great thing about the world today is that women are earning much more money than ever before. They are becoming more and more independent, which, in my opinion, is fantastic. Unfortunately, this trend has not seemed to have much effect on the unspoken rules of dating. Men are still expected to pay, open doors, and drive. Am I saying I hereby refuse to do these things? No. I am merely questioning the true intentions of women who claim to want "equal rights". It isn't just the fact that guys have to be chivalrous that chaps my hairy ass. 99% of the time, whenever you ask a girl if females enjoy sex as much as males, she will say yes. But somehow, when she wants a man to do something she cannot, she becomes some Holy Grail of pleasure, threatening her male counterpart with "no sex" unless he does what she asks. How is that a legitimate threat if she enjoys it, too?!
If you are a hardcore feminist, who has managed to make it to this point in my rant and wishes to go further, know this - I am fine with you fighting for the advancement of the fairer sex, but don't expect many opened doors or freebie chimichangas, unless you have something I want, which you probably don't, because...you're a feminist. No offense. Ah, fuck it - offense. Why do they call it the fairer sex, anyway? I don't think me picking you up, driving to a restaurant, NOT drinking while you tell me about your little brother's softball game (I'm driving, remember?), then opening the door for you, and driving you home, only to be rewarded with a hug and a "I had fun!" is all too fair.
Of course you had fun. What isn't fun about a free app and a ticket to The Ugly Truth?
Sha-bang-o. More to come...
3-D. Distracting, Degenerative, and a fucking Disaster.
The other night, I was sitting at home, bored as usual. I was in the mood to watch a simple movie to kill some time before I got tired enough to pass out. Scrolling through my expansive On Demand list, I came across several viable options of brainless and thoughtless titles - Hotel for Dogs, Failure to Launch, Twilight (yeah, I said it), but nothing caught my eye - until I came across one cinematic masterpiece I had been waiting to get my hands on - The Final Destination. In 3-Fucking-D. No, not just Final Destination, or even Final Destination 2 or 3, where G. Reaper comes back for more, I'm talkin' about THE Final Destination... the one and only, apparently.
What is it with this seemingly new trend of simply adding the word "The" to a previously existing film title, and calling it a brand new movie? That's bullshit, how lazy are Hollywood execs getting? Obviously not lazy enough to keep them from signing Vin Diesel's paycheck for THE Fast and THE Furious. I mean, what's next, The Saw? The Men in Black? The Pulp Fiction?!
So the movie starts at a racetrack, with the usual gang of obnoxious high-schoolers who use several more "fuck's" and "shit's" because their parents aren't around...EVER. (Seriously, where are they all the time?) This FD is different than the others, however, in that it doesn't waste time in the beginning with suspense or skillful camerawork. Why should it, right? It has 3D! Almost immediately, the main character starts freaking about the stupidest shit going on around him, like a wall with cracks in it, or some retarded mother sticking tampons in her kids' ears. First off, find me a wall that doesn't have a damn crack in it, and I'll show you my most surprised face ever. And as for the tampon thing, well... ok I'd actually be pretty taken aback if I saw a MILF shoving those babies into her kids' ears. Before you know it, some oil spills for no reason, a piece of metal makes its way to the middle of the track, some guy in a cowboy hat does some shit, and bada-bing bada-boom, cars are flipping into the stands, tires are taking people's heads off, and little kids are being crushed or burned alive, or both. Normally, I would revel in this kind of mayhem, but not this time. This time, I was tempted to press STOP right then and there, and put on Nanny McPhee instead.
It suddenly became clear that this movie was made for 3D...and that's it. In regular, normal, human, plain-ol' 2D, this movie was no better than being on a virtual reality ride at Universal Studios, where only the platform and screen move, but it feels like you are flying through the Mesozoic. Except, instead of being a sweaty patron on a sugar rush, you're the guy working the attraction, pressing a button, then watching a bunch of shit pop out of nowhere, over, and over, and over. And, because it was in 3D, the effects were given a more animated and CGI'd feel than any attempt at realness and accurate dimensions.
3D is great when the effort and skill are behind it, supporting it, but without that, all you have is a piece of crap with confetti stuck all over it. Still crap. Still smelly. A good friend of mine informed me that a 3D crew makes four times as much money as a regular film crew does, for half the work. I added that the movies are clearly twice as bad, thus, they are essentially getting paid 16 times the amount they should. Somebody please put an end to this madness, and put 3D to bed for good. At least for the mainstream stuff.
More to come...over and out.
What is it with this seemingly new trend of simply adding the word "The" to a previously existing film title, and calling it a brand new movie? That's bullshit, how lazy are Hollywood execs getting? Obviously not lazy enough to keep them from signing Vin Diesel's paycheck for THE Fast and THE Furious. I mean, what's next, The Saw? The Men in Black? The Pulp Fiction?!
So the movie starts at a racetrack, with the usual gang of obnoxious high-schoolers who use several more "fuck's" and "shit's" because their parents aren't around...EVER. (Seriously, where are they all the time?) This FD is different than the others, however, in that it doesn't waste time in the beginning with suspense or skillful camerawork. Why should it, right? It has 3D! Almost immediately, the main character starts freaking about the stupidest shit going on around him, like a wall with cracks in it, or some retarded mother sticking tampons in her kids' ears. First off, find me a wall that doesn't have a damn crack in it, and I'll show you my most surprised face ever. And as for the tampon thing, well... ok I'd actually be pretty taken aback if I saw a MILF shoving those babies into her kids' ears. Before you know it, some oil spills for no reason, a piece of metal makes its way to the middle of the track, some guy in a cowboy hat does some shit, and bada-bing bada-boom, cars are flipping into the stands, tires are taking people's heads off, and little kids are being crushed or burned alive, or both. Normally, I would revel in this kind of mayhem, but not this time. This time, I was tempted to press STOP right then and there, and put on Nanny McPhee instead.
It suddenly became clear that this movie was made for 3D...and that's it. In regular, normal, human, plain-ol' 2D, this movie was no better than being on a virtual reality ride at Universal Studios, where only the platform and screen move, but it feels like you are flying through the Mesozoic. Except, instead of being a sweaty patron on a sugar rush, you're the guy working the attraction, pressing a button, then watching a bunch of shit pop out of nowhere, over, and over, and over. And, because it was in 3D, the effects were given a more animated and CGI'd feel than any attempt at realness and accurate dimensions.
3D is great when the effort and skill are behind it, supporting it, but without that, all you have is a piece of crap with confetti stuck all over it. Still crap. Still smelly. A good friend of mine informed me that a 3D crew makes four times as much money as a regular film crew does, for half the work. I added that the movies are clearly twice as bad, thus, they are essentially getting paid 16 times the amount they should. Somebody please put an end to this madness, and put 3D to bed for good. At least for the mainstream stuff.
More to come...over and out.
