My butt comfortably settled into the sand, I watched voluptuous smoke puffs drift away into nothingness. What do people need to be happy? I stared at my friend gulping down wine. He looked perfectly happy; he might have been happier with a few more bucks in his pocket, but he was definitely happier than I was.
Was I too ambitious? Was it that hard to want not to be lonely any more?
I loathe all forms of virtual interaction. I hate the cyberworld, this place where people hang around, faking impersonations of their own selves. Above all else, I hate those people who just come round, pretending to be friends with you, but who wouldn't spend even half a day with you in the real world. I have nowhere to go now, and I'm left with only the real world, this vast unknown place full of constantly connected people.
Friends are people you spend time with. Spend time with your friends in the real world. After all, the amount of time you spend with someone shows how important that person is to you.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Shit Me Not - The Minds of Guys
"Beauty is the expression of inward purity"
a) Inward purity? Wtf is that?
b) That's bullshit. Beauty doesn't reflect purity.
I haven't lived long enough to say that I've seen everything in life, but what I saw a few minutes earlier was indeed a grave case of self-admiration.
There was the picture, and the profile. The person (a 17 year old female student of DMC, who goes by the name of Jaisha) had her profile up on a friends-network site (hi5). Guys were pouring beautiful comments on her pictures -
"hi dear u got a superbe smile"
" an exotic beauty, what a goddess..."
" u r just gorgeous babe!"
etc, etc.
Which made me wonder - how many of them guys actually read her profile? What does it take to logically deduce that a person is totally self-centered, and lives only for being beautiful?
Maybe it's just the very limited amount of neurones in a dick. Heh.
a) Inward purity? Wtf is that?
b) That's bullshit. Beauty doesn't reflect purity.
I haven't lived long enough to say that I've seen everything in life, but what I saw a few minutes earlier was indeed a grave case of self-admiration.
There was the picture, and the profile. The person (a 17 year old female student of DMC, who goes by the name of Jaisha) had her profile up on a friends-network site (hi5). Guys were pouring beautiful comments on her pictures -
"hi dear u got a superbe smile"
" an exotic beauty, what a goddess..."
" u r just gorgeous babe!"
etc, etc.
Which made me wonder - how many of them guys actually read her profile? What does it take to logically deduce that a person is totally self-centered, and lives only for being beautiful?
Maybe it's just the very limited amount of neurones in a dick. Heh.
Humour Across the World
Having been exposed to various kinds of humour, I thought it would be interesting to give some people an overview of what "funny" means across the world. Here goes my story on the puppy, and the different versions it might have:
Innocent puppy lapping up milk from a tin plate.
Japanese humour:
Master comes along, and swings a 100 Kg hammer on puppy. Puppy doesn't die. "Nani isherundato?" exclaims the master [What the hell are you doing?] as he pulls out the milk box revealing "Milk for baby whales" on its side.
French humour:
Camera moves backwards and you can see that the puppy is actually being licked from behind by another gay puppy.
American humour:
Trap door opens right below puppy, and puppy falls into canyon which was never there when the movie started. Puppy is flattened out as he hits the ground, but doesn't die.
Chinese humour:
Another puppy comes round and starts lapping milk from our hero's tin plate. Our puppy is irritated, and enters in combat mode; follows a strange fight of doggie fucking, tail whipping and flea attacks. Cat ends up lapping all the milk, and both puppies end up as friends as they go through the world hunting the evil cat. Finally, to defeat the evil cat who wants to conquer the world through the milk industry, our hero puppy joins a buddhist monk temple to study the venerated art of tail fighting. Movie ends as our beloved puppy waves its tail and exclaims: "After lapping up the holy milk, I find myself in peace with Buddha. I cannot go back home - there is no home. The world is my kennel."
Kafka humour:
Milk has special ingredients mixed with it, and puppy transforms into a dark mysterious insect-like creature, while still keeping all its former innocence. Puppy is forsaken in the end by its master.
Edgar Poe humour:
The master is watching the puppy grow fatter by the day, for soon he will use its fat to make candles to light his house and finally bury the puppy's remains in the wall. Puppy doesn't die till the wall crumbles, and reveals to the SPA agents the horrible acts of its master.
Innocent puppy lapping up milk from a tin plate.
Japanese humour:
Master comes along, and swings a 100 Kg hammer on puppy. Puppy doesn't die. "Nani isherundato?" exclaims the master [What the hell are you doing?] as he pulls out the milk box revealing "Milk for baby whales" on its side.
French humour:
Camera moves backwards and you can see that the puppy is actually being licked from behind by another gay puppy.
American humour:
Trap door opens right below puppy, and puppy falls into canyon which was never there when the movie started. Puppy is flattened out as he hits the ground, but doesn't die.
Chinese humour:
Another puppy comes round and starts lapping milk from our hero's tin plate. Our puppy is irritated, and enters in combat mode; follows a strange fight of doggie fucking, tail whipping and flea attacks. Cat ends up lapping all the milk, and both puppies end up as friends as they go through the world hunting the evil cat. Finally, to defeat the evil cat who wants to conquer the world through the milk industry, our hero puppy joins a buddhist monk temple to study the venerated art of tail fighting. Movie ends as our beloved puppy waves its tail and exclaims: "After lapping up the holy milk, I find myself in peace with Buddha. I cannot go back home - there is no home. The world is my kennel."
Kafka humour:
Milk has special ingredients mixed with it, and puppy transforms into a dark mysterious insect-like creature, while still keeping all its former innocence. Puppy is forsaken in the end by its master.
Edgar Poe humour:
The master is watching the puppy grow fatter by the day, for soon he will use its fat to make candles to light his house and finally bury the puppy's remains in the wall. Puppy doesn't die till the wall crumbles, and reveals to the SPA agents the horrible acts of its master.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Long Wait
He rose from the old bench and looked back. There was a time where it had been all white and clean. It was now all gray - pieces of white paint had fallen off and drifted away towards unknown destinations.
He had spent his life waiting. He remembered his youth quite well. He had waited for everybody to come back. One after the other, the women he had known and fell in love with had gone away - some promising to be back one day, and others simply disappearing.
He had lived to wait, and waited to start living. It's always hard to face the truth. The theist who has always worshipped God is terrified to even contemplate a situation where the Lord doesn't exist. They all tend to slam their fists on their belief, yelling to block the voices of the others - NO, NO NO! Well, for once, he stopped and placed his hands in his pockets. He had wasted a good part of his life believing and trusting others. He hadn't lived for himself.
It was there, the cold, solid truth. There was no mistaking it. He had wasted his life on something which had never existed in the first place. He was still glad he hadn't spent each and every Sunday at the church. The shade of the great tree extended towards the grayish bench was however worth it. He walked towards his new life, and felt greatly relieved.
He had spent his life waiting. He remembered his youth quite well. He had waited for everybody to come back. One after the other, the women he had known and fell in love with had gone away - some promising to be back one day, and others simply disappearing.
He had lived to wait, and waited to start living. It's always hard to face the truth. The theist who has always worshipped God is terrified to even contemplate a situation where the Lord doesn't exist. They all tend to slam their fists on their belief, yelling to block the voices of the others - NO, NO NO! Well, for once, he stopped and placed his hands in his pockets. He had wasted a good part of his life believing and trusting others. He hadn't lived for himself.
It was there, the cold, solid truth. There was no mistaking it. He had wasted his life on something which had never existed in the first place. He was still glad he hadn't spent each and every Sunday at the church. The shade of the great tree extended towards the grayish bench was however worth it. He walked towards his new life, and felt greatly relieved.
The Virtuality of My Life
I am tired of the virtual world.
The virtual world - this place that theoretically exists in between two nodes of the network, an illusion of the protocols; a dream of IpV4 and IpV6; services and requests; ports and sockets - they simply make me sick.
Cyberspace as it is, is not something bad. It's just the fact that people can actually entertain relationships through those networks and be satisfied with them that makes me mad. This abstract world should exist only as an extension of the real world. Virtuality cannot replace reality. One day or the other, people will want more.
Let's just face it. Virtuality sucks. I wish there were some kind of standard protocol to make virtuality become real. A component, or dll, or COM+ object I could just integrate into my own code, and call the MakeReal() method...
The virtual world - this place that theoretically exists in between two nodes of the network, an illusion of the protocols; a dream of IpV4 and IpV6; services and requests; ports and sockets - they simply make me sick.
Cyberspace as it is, is not something bad. It's just the fact that people can actually entertain relationships through those networks and be satisfied with them that makes me mad. This abstract world should exist only as an extension of the real world. Virtuality cannot replace reality. One day or the other, people will want more.
Let's just face it. Virtuality sucks. I wish there were some kind of standard protocol to make virtuality become real. A component, or dll, or COM+ object I could just integrate into my own code, and call the MakeReal() method...
Sunday, November 13, 2005
The Path We All Tread Upon
People like to think they are in control of their destinies. The truth is, by the time most youngsters realise they can actually steer their lives in the direction they want, they've already been cannonballed high into the sky with a predetermined angle by their parents or guardians. They can only choose how the parabola will look like, and where they will crash.
There is a template for the typical Mauritian middle-class born boy/girl:
1. Education
1.1 Primary School
1.2 Secondary School
1.3 University
2. Job & Life
2.1 Get a job
2.2 Get married
2.3 Live in another house with wife
2.4 Buy a car
3. Kids
3.1 Have a kid
3.2 Start worrying about income
3.3 Set template for kid's future
et cetera, et cetera...
Some middle-class born people might not have lived their lives exactly like that, but the main ingredients are here. It's neither a right path, nor a wrong path. Come to think of it, nothing is really right or wrong in this world, but that's another story.
This path has been proven to be relatively "safe" (i.e. minimum struggle) and socially acceptable. There are some slightly different paths that you can follow, e.g. moving to another country, but those paths are known to be less safe but with possible greater rewards at the end.
Whatever your social background, there's already been a template readied for you. The princess isn't expected to marry the poet, and the son of the butcher isn't expected to become a ballet dancer. Are we really who we should be, or are we simply following our templates? Note that the only reward at the end of the template would be an epitaph which would read - "Had a nice life, followed the template properly."
There is a template for the typical Mauritian middle-class born boy/girl:
1. Education
1.1 Primary School
1.2 Secondary School
1.3 University
2. Job & Life
2.1 Get a job
2.2 Get married
2.3 Live in another house with wife
2.4 Buy a car
3. Kids
3.1 Have a kid
3.2 Start worrying about income
3.3 Set template for kid's future
et cetera, et cetera...
Some middle-class born people might not have lived their lives exactly like that, but the main ingredients are here. It's neither a right path, nor a wrong path. Come to think of it, nothing is really right or wrong in this world, but that's another story.
This path has been proven to be relatively "safe" (i.e. minimum struggle) and socially acceptable. There are some slightly different paths that you can follow, e.g. moving to another country, but those paths are known to be less safe but with possible greater rewards at the end.
Whatever your social background, there's already been a template readied for you. The princess isn't expected to marry the poet, and the son of the butcher isn't expected to become a ballet dancer. Are we really who we should be, or are we simply following our templates? Note that the only reward at the end of the template would be an epitaph which would read - "Had a nice life, followed the template properly."
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The Girl From Domaine Anna - Part 2 [final part]
I was strolling nonchalantly towards Suresh's shop, to get something to cook for lunch. As expected, I saw my friend standing over there, his hands in his pockets, looking abashed. Yes, it was yet another episode of The Girl From Domaine Anna.
- Haha! Man, how you doing?
- I'm okay.
- You look like some dude just raped you
He looked at me with vitreous eyes. I could've sworn he was going to cry. It was almost funny.
- It's the girl, isn't it?
- Yeah, it's her
- What did she tell you?
- No no, I haven't talked to her already
All sorts of possible scenarios scrolled in my mind. Could it be... he saw her with her boyfriend the moment he was walking towards her, a rose in hand? Or maybe he wrote a love letter and kept it where she usually sits - and the wrong person picked it up. Or...
- She's older than me
- Oh... well that's not...
- She's a muslim
My friend being a hindu, dating a muslim girl would most probably be frowned upon by his parents.
- You know, it's not that impossible, if you just...
- She's married
I stopped short. Married? What the fuck! I tured around to face the great tree. She was sitting there, with a cute handbag and her hair always short. She was really beautiful. And she looked young. But... married? Fuck. I felt really sorry for my friend.
- Well man, there's more fish in the sea.
- Yeah, but that was a big one...
- A really big one.
- A really cute one...
- I'll second that.
- I need some porn.
- Yeah, that should help you all right.
- You know who told me she was married?
- Who was that?
- Yvon.
Yvon was the old man of Flic-En-Flac who knew absolutely everybody and everything in here. He was the oracle of Flic-En-Flac, who accepted queries in form of cigarettes and beer.
- I didn't ask him about the girl directly, I just asked about the Domaine Anna van which comes by to pick the employees up. He might be old, but he instantly knew what I was talking about.
Yes, with age comes wisdom. It didn't surprise me that Yvon was such a sharp guy. Although he's going to be 60 next year, walked real slowly, and drank rhum mixed with wine, his mind was fucking intact.
- Well then, I'll go back home make a post on my blog.
- Bastard.
- See ya!
- Haha! Man, how you doing?
- I'm okay.
- You look like some dude just raped you
He looked at me with vitreous eyes. I could've sworn he was going to cry. It was almost funny.
- It's the girl, isn't it?
- Yeah, it's her
- What did she tell you?
- No no, I haven't talked to her already
All sorts of possible scenarios scrolled in my mind. Could it be... he saw her with her boyfriend the moment he was walking towards her, a rose in hand? Or maybe he wrote a love letter and kept it where she usually sits - and the wrong person picked it up. Or...
- She's older than me
- Oh... well that's not...
- She's a muslim
My friend being a hindu, dating a muslim girl would most probably be frowned upon by his parents.
- You know, it's not that impossible, if you just...
- She's married
I stopped short. Married? What the fuck! I tured around to face the great tree. She was sitting there, with a cute handbag and her hair always short. She was really beautiful. And she looked young. But... married? Fuck. I felt really sorry for my friend.
- Well man, there's more fish in the sea.
- Yeah, but that was a big one...
- A really big one.
- A really cute one...
- I'll second that.
- I need some porn.
- Yeah, that should help you all right.
- You know who told me she was married?
- Who was that?
- Yvon.
Yvon was the old man of Flic-En-Flac who knew absolutely everybody and everything in here. He was the oracle of Flic-En-Flac, who accepted queries in form of cigarettes and beer.
- I didn't ask him about the girl directly, I just asked about the Domaine Anna van which comes by to pick the employees up. He might be old, but he instantly knew what I was talking about.
Yes, with age comes wisdom. It didn't surprise me that Yvon was such a sharp guy. Although he's going to be 60 next year, walked real slowly, and drank rhum mixed with wine, his mind was fucking intact.
- Well then, I'll go back home make a post on my blog.
- Bastard.
- See ya!
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