I tried to Fine Tune this. I promise.

Make me a Politician, somebody.

Phase 1: Alexander

Back in the day, there was a young man who decided that he was going to be remembered for eons for what he did. Whether it was for good or bad – well, that’s your opinion - but he undoubtedly did it for the power. I’m not too well-versed in the details, I’m just running with an idea. His empire was vast, stretching from parts of India in the East to the borders of Western Europe. Some of the people around at the time, particularly in Greece (I wonder if This is why we call them great philosophers), were influenced by his thoughts and actions, because although Alexander was a violent conqueror, he had a very apparent… what’s the word…. Humanity about him, which appealed to people, I suppose. The Greeks and the Romans were influenced in many ways by what he did. And this gave birth to a school of thought which is both beautiful and horrid.

Phase 2: The Roman Empire

The Romans took inspiration from the deeds of Alexander, and decided that they could do as good a job, if not better. From the days of the Roman Republic, things developed into something much larger, when Julius Caesar declared himself Dictator for Life. He then proceeded to expand borders like few before him had. They were real estate holders on a global scale, you could say, because when they conquered a country (and remember, Europe was still a jungle at the time, with tribes and the like), they immediately set about developing it, which was a progression of sorts from the destruction the Macedonian indulged in. The Letter of the Law (which is STILL Latin) was respected, and construction of roads (All Roads Lead to Rome, anybody? J) and buildings, along with a lot of other civic infrastructure was carried out on an unimaginable scale. The Greco-Roman Calendar was put in place, and Christianity was the religion. From Turkey in the East, to all of Western Europe. And England.

Phase 3: The Raj

It took a while for this to affect a lot of Europe, because we’re dealing with a LOT of countries (for want of a better word, at the time). The Roman Empire eventually collapsed in the 1400s, when Byzantine fell to the Ottomans (Who had, incidentally, been part of someone else’s empire themselves). And Europe took the mantle over in style, going all over the world. Even if they were racist (a mistake they made which still affects the world today), they were as good as the Romans when it came to developing the countries they conquered. England were pretty good at it – they had a presence in every continent (Africa too, I think) – at some point of time or the other during the years 1600 – 1950 (approximately), they were in America (North and South), Europe, Australia, and, of course, Asia. No wonder they call English the world language. The U.S were a colony to start with, and India succumbed too. We were cut off from the Himalayas in the North, and by water on the other three sides, so we decided to fight among ourselves, with princely states cropping up all over the place. The British saw an easy target, and there were a lot of pound signs in their eyes. Anyway, to cut a long story short – we were a colony for a Heck of a long time, it pains me to say. But our country did gain a lot, in terms of civic infrastructure and Industrial development.

An Interlude…

The Americans, having successfully thrown the British off their rather large patch of land, decided to form states and go through the usual infighting process, before eventually settling on a single country. They built it with the toil and sweat of a lot of slaves, and made the foundations for the way we view the world today. They were enterprising, and they had some revolutionary thinkers who were also politicians (a combination which is delightfully rare these days). The country decided that they’d had as much land as they could take, and went for the money instead – using military might not to conquer in the literal sense of the word, but to establish control over places (a term which is used very lightly). No one in their right mind would doubt that that country today is pulling the strings all over the place. And they’re Helping Eeveryone in exchange for that small (?) loss of control. Investors are pouring money in on a global scale these days, and benefiting. As are people who get jobs with multinationals and software giants (it comforts me to think of the number of Indian giants we have, to be honest with you - Reliance, TATA, Infosys etc, you're all doing a great job of globalising India).

Alright, maybe that wasn’t an interlude.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is this. Our country has the infrastructure. It has the brainpower (almost in excess J). It has the will to win, and our politicians are showing more steel than they did in the past (we can believe!). We’ve got people all over, and I mean literally ALL over the globe. And I’ve got a gut feeling in my stomach, the sort of which I haven’t really felt since December the 8^th 2004, when Steven Gerrard scored against Olympiakos. Liverpool went on to win the Champions league on the 25^th of May 2005. And this gut feeling will not be ignored. We just have to realize that we can’t all live in the past. ("Hypocrite", I hear you say)

History was made so that we could learn. And this is almost an open book test, in that sense.

Everything is in place. We have to pull together. And make this country even better than it already is. The attitude is what we need to have. I’m not trying to be incendiary in ANY sense of the word, I promise.

Alright, this is a little theory I came up with as a means to an end. I want to believe that our nation is going to be one of the most powerful nations on the planet in years to come, not dissimilar from what the U.S are today. We’ve got the potential. We’re the people who have to make it happen. And there’s a lesson to be learnt for every country on the planet. I was using India as an example out of a fierce sense of patriotism, but the whole world needs to sit back right now and think about what's going on. (Call me a hippy, and I'll kill you!) I’d like to think I’m right, but I guess history will be the judge of that.

The Rise of the Capitalist Imperialist World

Weren't they all?

Right, I’m trying one last time, from office, because nothing seems to be going right with either internet connection. (Excuses, excuses, I hear you say)

I know it’s been a while since I dared start this up again, but I’ve received a lot of positive feedback for my last post, so I’ve decided to go for it again. As you know, I’m no stranger to blowing my own trumpet. And this post will prove that, without a shadow of a doubt. Anyway, into the breach…

I attended an all-day brainstorming session in order to come up with a new five-year plan for my company. A fairly interesting thing, a good opportunity, perhaps.

Cue waking up at half past five and rushing to work with my fly open. No specific reason for that, of course… I just happened to be in a hurry. When I got there, the ever-friendly security guards told me that the first two vans had left (the brainstorming session was being held in a country club somewhere near Bangalore – this is supposed to stimulate creativity, by the way) and the third hadn’t turned up yet. So I waited, along with the other unfortunates who had managed to turn up 3 minutes late. Eventually, the van arrived, and we were off. The next half an hour or so was pure torture, as the music being played in the van was God awful. How standards have slipped since the heyday of A.R.Rahman back in the mid-nineties. The same could be said of pop/rock music today, of course, but that’s worth a whole new blog.

The session itself started pretty well – there were a few warm up games that had me in splits, primarily because it illustrated how unfit everyone else is compared to me (Oh, how I flatter myself). Then it was down to business, and for the next eight hours, I sang “Wish you were here” and “All shook up” in my head while pretending to be interested in what my team members were saying. (They kept asking why my feet were moving non-stop). I was taking notes for a presentation in the evening, but the process was purely mechanical. (The presentation actually turned out pretty well, in case you were wondering).

When I finally staggered out of the conference room and onto the lawn at half past nine, I was badly in need of a drink. These all-day sessions usually precede a massive booze-up in the evening, at the company’s expense. There were around thirty of us involved with the brainstorming, so imagine my surprise when I found the place teeming with company employees – apparently, they’d gone and combined our “party” with another one, for all the freshers in the company. Lots of kids just out of college, a fair few of them older than me, and the odd 35-year old. The chairs were arranged in a MASSIVE circle, instead of in groups of 4 and 5, and the bar had been open for a while. I’d say at least 2 hours, judging by the smile on Ramnath’s face. Ramnath is a good pal, in case any of you were wondering, and he’s usually the MC on occasions such as this.

All the newcomers were asked to introduce themselves to the senior management (the VP and the Head of the Division – my direct bosses, incidentally), over the mike. After the usual run around the circle, someone (I think it was Ramnath) decided that the old employees should introduce themselves to the freshers. Once again, cue several men telling us stories over the microphone, which was quite entertaining. I had my beer for company, and was rather enjoying just taking the atmosphere in. Until my boss (the div head) spotted me lurking on the edge of the circle.

Him: “You’re still relatively new here, come on!”

Me: “Erm…”

And he dragged to the centre of the circle, where the ever obliging Ramnath thrust the mike into my hand. I wasn’t particularly high, but I was feeling pleasant enough. Before I continue, a little bit of history (this seems to be becoming a habit).

When I was younger, a LOT younger, my aunt (bless her) was an assistant director for a well-known filmmaker. I had the good fortune to act in a couple of films, one of which was Bombay, which had Manisha Koirala in it. The role was just a bit part, but I did have a couple of lines of dialogue, one of which had me saying “I love you didi” or something to her. I haven’t told anyone at my company about this, but word got out (as it usually does), and I didn’t deny anything. Anyway, some people knew about it.

The place was pretty empty, as everyone had gone off to eat, so my nerves weren’t really on edge.

Me: “Why do you want me to introduce myself? There’s no one here…”

My VP (standing fifteen feet away): “I’m here, Vishnu!”

Me: “Oh, right… Anyway, My name is Vishnu, and I joined the company in June 2005…”

Anonymous Heckler 1 (from off to the right): “He studied in London!”

Me: “No, I was born and brought up here (note – age 1 to 5 is nothing, so people have no right to pretend that their British, and I don’t, all the real proper growing up was done here)… Anyway, I studied Mechanical Engineering in…”

AH2 (from the left, this time): “He acted in a film!”

Me: “That’s irrelevant, anyway…”

AH1: “Don’t call him Vishnu, call him Peter!”

Me: “…Erm, good luck everyone” (hand mike to Ramnath, try and hide behind a tree)

Ramnath: “Have any of you seen these two films…”… etc etc “…said ‘I love you’ to Manisha Koirala”… etc etc “…he looked, and still looks like an Amul baby…” and on and on.

I was, naturally, pretending to be embarrassed by all this, because that is supposed to be the modest thing to do. Secretly, of course, I was lapping up the attention. It’s nice to be the centre of attention from time to time, eh? And then my VP walked up to me.

The Boss: So, you’ve met Manisha Koirala?

Me: Yes sir.

The Boss: Have you… touched her?

Me: Er… um… what do you…?

The Boss: Tell me one thing… have you shaken her hand.

Me: (realization dawning) Of course, sir!

The Boss: (says nothing, shakes my hand… walks away… then turns back and starts to wax lyrical about how beautiful she was in Mudhalvan… which she was, mind)

It’s an old trick, but I thought it was a nice touch. Apart from being a fantastic boss, by the way, he’s also one of the nicest men I know. (Am I saying this to get out of trouble in case someone reads this at work? Do I have an ulterior motive?)

I eventually got home at around half past twelve. Lunch, by the way, was a nightmare… the food was bland (I mean, I’m used to low salt and spice at home, and the food’s delicious, but this was beyond tasteless) and I had to eat quite a bit (I was hungry!).

Although the butterscotch ice-cream was a nice touch. Served off a plate, which pissed me off no end. I love butterscotch ice cream...

That was one of the most pointless things I’ve ever written. Thanks for the patience.

I’ll finish with a quote:

“Things always seem better in people’s minds after they actually happen. The anticipation is the only thing to be worried about.” – Some big-headed philosopher

I really shouldn't be telling you this

I wanted to put this off for a bit, but my fingers won’t let me.

I feel the need to emphasize, before I start, that I am as sane as any of you reading this blog, so please don’t think badly of this after reading it.

Last night I left work in a good mood. I was going to catch a bus home, and my spirits were high, until I reached the booking office, where they told me they’d just sold the last ticket to Madras. When was the next bus? Oh? Never mind.

Right, well, at least there’s football on the telly, I thought, one which kept me going for the rest of a fairly dreary afternoon, punctuated by naps which seem to come out of nowhere for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. I think I may be sick. In any case, I put the TV on at half past six, only to find my sports channels blocked. Why? Apparently, the subscription had run out. Spiffing. Did they tell me I was running out of time? No. Was I able to contact them on their mobiles? No, they’d changed their numbers. (Maybe they predicted this would happen). So I panic, because Liverpool are on at 7.30, and I don’t have a TV to watch them on. Now, if you’re a football fan, you’ll know that this is a crisis. (I must add that there’d been no football worth watching on the telly for a good coupla weeks, so I’d managed to work up a bit of an appetite). So I run outside and hail down a passing auto, and tell him to take me into town, where my cable operator’s office is.

At the office, I am told that I’ll get my football back by this Monday at the earliest. This wouldn’t do, obviously, because my team were on in half an hour. Then I decided, what the hell, lets get a cheap hotel room with a TV. I figured shelling out 250 bucks on a game would be a one-off, and well worth the investment. As you would. Well, most of you. Make that some of you. Actually, very few of you. You know what, I think I may be the only one. Bugger. (Did I overdo that?... Really?... Thanks!)

So I’m off hunting for a cheap hotel. The first one I came across I shall call Red Light Inn. That isn’t its real name, of course, but it could have been. I went in and ask the guy at reception for a room. He says Single or Double? Single, I say. Rs.350/-, inclusive of taxes, he responds. Fine, I say, I’ll take it. I’ll transcript the rest of the conversation, it’ll be easier. Everything’s in Tamil, roughly translated, except where mentioned (look out for this):

Him: Do you have any ID?

Me: Here (Pulling out my license)

Him: Where do you work?

Me: At Titan. Why do you ask?

Him: Do you have any proof that you work there?

Me: No, I only have my license on me right now.

Him: Where are you from? Where do you live?

Me: I live in Hosur. I’m from Madras.

Him: We don’t give rooms to locals. Are you single?

Me: Yes. I asked for a single room.

Him: Why?

Me: There’s a match on and I need to see it!

Him: You want a room to watch a match?

Me: Yes! I’ll be out of here at ten!

Him (In ENGLISH): What’s your problem?

Me (Shocked that anyone could be this rude while sitting behind a reception desk): What’s YOUR problem?

Him: No room for you.

Me: Fine. Silly old …. (under my breath)

So I stormed out into the street and made my way to another hotel. I didn’t have my hopes up because this hotel was usually full.

At the reception desk, I was informed by a very distracted receptionist that there were no singles, only doubles. Fine, I said. Do they have ESPN? Absolutely, he went. That’ll be Rs.550/-, taxes extra. No thank you, I said, and slithered out the front door.

Before I continue, for those of you who don’t know me, I feel I must give you a little bit of history. When I joined Titan in June 2005, I had no accommodation, and was forced to stay in a hotel, which I will not name here. This place was the only one which offered monthly rates at anything like a reasonable price, but it also happened to be very seedy, dingy, and a little dangerous (I thought)… well, I wasn’t too fond of it, if you get my drift. When I moved out of there last September, I promised myself I wouldn’t go back..

Well, I had to break that promise last night, and I walked up to the reception with a smile on my face. The old fellow behind it was dead eager to give me a room, and handed the keys over sharpish. Do you get ESPN, I asked, and he was nodding all over the place, so I said Great, and went upstairs. The game would have kicked off by now, I thought to myself. When I opened the door I told the lad who had accompanied me to my door what I wanted for dinner, and he was off. Then I turned the TV on. No ESPN. Every single channel EXCEPT ESPN. I didn’t know what to do with myself. This can’t be happening, I thought. No. I went down and told them to call their cable operator, and was dismissed with a nod, a smile, and a message in Hindi that the cable operator would not be available till Monday. Hurrah. Then I panicked, and called a friend, who managed to let me work myself up so much I realized that the game had already kicked off and I’d better get home, at least to follow it on the internet. Off I went, only to be chased by a waiter with my food in one hand and a bill in the other. After a little bit of Keystone Kops, I set off for the homestead with a parcel of food and my wallet considerably lighter, as the hotel wouldn’t give my money back, seeing as I’d booked the room for the night, and that a refund was SIMPLY impossible. I didn’t have time to argue, so off I went (the food caught up minutes later). My dad called to tell me Liverpool were one down, in spite of dominating the game. Brilliant, I thought. At this rate I’ll get home, walk through the door, and the lights will go out. Which they duly did. I was ready to kill someone, when the power came back on. I dashed to my computer and followed the rest of the game, which Liverpool managed to draw. Lovely.

This is so irrelevant to the problems in the world today, and I can’t imagine an awful lot of you really caring, that much, but let me just say this: A fan and his football team are a permanent relationship – even weddings can end in divorce. But I’m a fan, and I’ll love my team forever.

(I wonder how many marriage proposals I’ll get after this one. Crikey.)

not really about South Park

I was about to take a shower when this irrational fear gripped me. Most bathrooms have locks on the outside as well as the inside of the door, right? The bathroom at my house in Madras has TWO doors – one leading into the bedroom, the other opening out onto the living room. And both have locks on the outside. For some reason, I started worrying about what it would be like if, by chance, BOTH doors were locked from the outside, I was stuck inside, and there was no one else at home. Kinda scary, because the only other way out would be through the window, and it would take a file to get through those bars. Hmmm… Maybe we should keep files in all our bathrooms. Anyway, the doors weren’t locked (from the outside), and I got out okay. End of. (I belong in the loony bin.)

In any case, today I thought I’d write about a topic which really pisses me off. A lot of you might have watched this episode of South Park called ‘Cartman joins N.A.M.B.L.A’.

The episode basically starts with (8-year old) Cartman telling his little friends that they weren’t mature enough to be friends with him, and that he wanted to find older, more mature friends. (‘Screw you guys, I’m going home’)

He goes home, gets online, and enters several chat rooms, introducing himself as “a young boy wanting to meet mature men for fun times”. Predictably, 500,000 paedophiles reply, and he selects one to go out with. On their ‘date’, the older man is arrested (with good reason), and Cartman is very, very pissed off, because he thinks his friends are trying to sabotage his attempts to have a ‘mature’ relationship. To cut a long story short, Cartman eventually chances upon ‘NAMBLA’ – The North American Man-Boy Love Association, an organization whose only goal is to legalize sexual relations between men and boys as young as 8 years old (they actually have 2 goals – the other involves love between a man and a boy, but you probably figured that out). The episode, as you would expect, descends into farce (as most of these episodes do), but the end is pretty good.

Oh well, I thought. Funny episode, that.

It never really occurred to me that such an organization could exist. It just seemed… unfeasible. And disgusting. And illegal. And very, Very disturbing.

And then I picked up this book last night, by a talk-show host named Bill O’Reilly. In the first chapter, he talks about an interview he did with a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union, a national organization which defends the right to free thinking/speech/action etc. Before I continue, let me just say that this could only happen in the United States.

NAMBLA exists in real life. They have a website (which I imagine would be nauseating, if I ever visit it), and they actually advocate sex between men and boys. They are, of course, under the notion that there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing. Sickos.

This repulsive organization is actually canvassing to bring about a law change which would allow them to offer physical ‘comfort’ to as many kids as possible. And the ACLU supports them. In fact, the ACLU, which is one of the richest, most powerful advocates of free speech in the world, is pumping millions and millions of dollars into defending these slimeballs whenever they’re taken to court by (justifiably) shocked/disgusted people who have been directly or indirectly affected by NAMBLA.

Only in America. I don’t know what else to say.

A Prayer for a cow, and the perils of driving in the rain

Spurred on by my increasing boredom at work (see? It Does have a purpose apart from paying the bills!), I’ve decided to treat you all to a birds-eye view of one of my rare forays into the magical world of blogs.

I’ve been out of the office the last few days, because I had some work in town. I’d come in at half past eight and leave by ten or so, before returning to office at around 4.30/5.00pm, dead on my feet and in dire need of a beer. Yesterday happened to be a colleague’s birthday, and he asked me to pick up some chocolates on the way back. I stopped at Nilgiri’s, which is on the highway, picked up a few dozen Perks, and stood in the check-out queue. The thing about this shop is, it has HUGE plate glass windows, which afford a wonderful view of the highway, which is actually missing the point. I wish I hadn’t been looking out of them though. It was a little bit like something out of a film, with the wide screen to boot.

As I stood there with my wallet in one, hand, waiting for the girl behind the counter to give me my change, I noticed a cow crossing the highway, ambling across slowly, as they usually do. What happened next was in slow motion.

The road was fairly wet, as it was drizzling. Driving on a highway is difficult at the best of times, but when it’s raining, you have to be extra careful. When you’re driving a really heavy vehicle, like a truck, you have to be extra extra careful. Actually, it doesn’t matter, because if something’s going to happen, it will happen. Even if you take every precaution against it happening, fate usually deals a fairly assured hand, and all your pathetic little precautions are rendered useless.

Back to what happened next. This big truck came barreling down the highway. He must have being doing at least 80 kph, which is fairly dangerous in that sort of weather. The had just crossed the median, and it was almost over to the other side. I’m fairly sure the driver of the truck was blowing his horn, but then I couldn’t hear. I’m also fairly sure he’d hit the brakes, but then that’s what I would have done. The next thing I know, the cow’s flying one way, and the truck’s toppling over on one side. It was a glancing blow, but at that speed, it’s pretty damn dangerous. The cow ended up on its side, on the median, while the truck ended up on its side, off the road, pretty much.

The driver of the truck was out almost immediately, scratching his head and looking pretty dazed (as you would), but the cow wasn’t so lucky. The girl didn’t even give me my change. Everyone was outside. You know, the ghoul factor (is that what it’s called?). I sauntered out, feeling pretty disturbed myself, because it looked nasty. Now, I’m not one to get involved in things like this, especially when there’s over 50 people on the spot within 20 seconds of the event. As I watched from a distance, three people tried to pick the cow up and get it back on all fours. Twits. The sounds it was making were pretty heart-rending. Eventually they gave up, but by then I reckon it was too late. The poor thing. As I turned away to go back into the shop and get my change, I prayed silently for it. Why did that have to happen? Especially considering cows are among the most gentle, harmless creatures on the planet. Along with chickens, fish, lambs, pigs etc. Which is why I wish I were a vegetarian. In fact I am, but I went and made a complete hypocrite of myself by eating meat at my friend’s birthday party. Perhaps by telling you all, I’ll be redeemed, but it’s still something I regret doing.

I feel pretty bad for cows in general - they always seem to get a raw deal. I’m tempted to make a joke about what’s at steak for humanity and our principles here, but I won’t, because that wouldn’t be very nice. (“Well done”, I hear you say). Sorry.

Actually, I have no clue why I wrote that post. Explanations? Anybody?

A shameless plug... forgive me

"Maybe I don't really want to know
How your garden grows
I just want to fly
Lately did you ever feel the pain
In the morning rain
As it soaks it to the bone

Maybe I just want to fly
I want to live I don't want to die
Maybe I just want to breath
Maybe I just don't believe
Maybe you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
You and I are gonna live forever

Maybe I don't really want to know
How your garden grows
I just want to fly
Lately did you ever feel the pain
In the morning rain
As it soaks it to the bone

Maybe I will never be
All the things that I want to be
But now is not the time to cry
Now's the time to find out why
I think you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
You and I are gonna live forever
We're gonna live forever
Gonna live forever
Live forever
Forever"

This is a shameless plug. I said it. There.

It took me almost no time at all to figure out why people blog. We need to be heard. We want our views to be read, sometimes analyzed by other people. People who may not share the same opinion as you. People who may agree with everything you say (spineless twits!). People who haven’t got a clue what they’re reading, but do so nonetheless, because they haven’t got anything better to do (that’s my category there).

Anyway, I watched a DVD today. I don’t do this very often, mainly because I don’t have the time (that’s supposed to make you think I’m really busy, by the way). This DVD was a commemorative edition released to coincide with the 10-year anniversary of probably one of the greatest albums of all time. Those of you who know me have probably guessed what I’m on about by now.

Definitely Maybe.

Oasis are a band from Manchester. They make proper music. And they’re my favourite band. Now, my loyal readers (all 10 of you) are aware of this, I’m sure. I go on and on and on about them, because, at the end of the day, the music they make means a lot to me. Many of you may not have favourite bands. Well, if you don’t, pick Oasis, and listen to Definitely Maybe. Even if its just for one song. All the songs are pretty good, which is rare for any album, but there’s one track which stands out. Live Forever.

The first time I heard this song, I didn’t much of it, mainly because someone had told me it was pretty good, and I figured I should give it a casual listen. The guitar solo stood out, of course, but nothing made any sense. And then I figured out the lyrics, and listened to it again. And again. And again. This song compares, quite easily, with the likes of Imagine by John Lennon, in terms of its lyrical content. Noel Gallagher (the songwriter/lead guitarist) said recently that he wanted to write a song that could be mentioned in the same breath as Imagine. What he didn’t realize was, he’s already done it. And probably written something far, far better than Imagine ever was or could be.

Right now I’m thinking, Why am I writing all this? Do I have a pathological need to make people love Oasis as much as I do? Not really, but I figure if you’ve come across something that you think is good, you share it with as many people as possible. Which is what I’m doing.

The 16-bar drum intro to the song is fairly well-orchestrated, but you don’t have an inkling as to what’s next. And then you hear the first lines:

“Maybe, I don’t really want to know,

how your garden grows, cos I just want to fly”.

It just takes off from there. The drums and bass complement the lead guitar perfectly throughout the song, and at the risk of repeating myself, the solo is phenomenal. Short, but brilliant.

Noel says the song is about friendship, and I figure he’d be quite right there. I figure it’s also about ambition, and about wanting to be the best you can possibly be. Although these lyrics shatter that little theory of mine:

“Maybe I will never be, all the things that I want to be

Now is not the time to cry, Now’s the time to find out why”

Philosophical. Especially coming from the fingertips of an 18-year old who’s never been out of the dark half of Manchester, but wants to take on the world. (He did, by the way. Haven’t you heard “Wonderwall”?)

If you haven’t heard the song yet, GET it, for God’s sake. And listen to it.

On an unrelated note, the last few days have been fairly difficult. Work has sucked. The personal stuff has sucked. Liverpool won, though, so that’s a bit of a consolation. And I still have my music.

A few engineers joined my company recently. A couple of them, both girls, have been posted in the Systems Department, and they sit together. I call them the Davinci Twins, because one of them is named Mary, and the other’s Magdalene. Coincidence? I haven’t got a bloody clue.

The End. For now.

Some of you may be wondering what the hell I was on about there… well, the fact is, I’m nursing a massive hangover, and trying to do some work (“On a Sunday?”, you exclaim. “Yep”, I say). When I get home I’ll get online and post this. Listen to the song. Many of you may not like it, but those of you who do will be thanking me for the rest of your lives.

And now for something completely different. You’re not going to read it, though.

I'd like to buy the world a coke...

I know, I’m supposed to be working now. Bollocks. I had to get this out of my system though, for whatever reason. This is one of those posts, you know – kinda… I dunno, really. You probably won’t enjoy it, but for my sake, give it a go.

Yeah, that’s the spirit! Last night, I was sitting at home watching Seinfeld or summat on Star World, and this ad came on. Now, I’ve forgotten which brand it was, but that’s irrelevant. The thing is, Catherine Zeta-Jones-Douglas (?) was in it, and looking incredibly beautiful. As usual. It would take a brave (and blind, I might add) person (man or woman) to call her anything BUT beautiful. I mean, she’ll be 70 years old, and she’ll look just as lovely as she does now. Before you write this post off as a guy thing, let me say that women might actually enjoy this more than us men.

When I was very young (well, a few years ago), my mum told me that there is no such thing as an ugly woman. Some of you may disagree, but I’d just tell you to shut up. Every woman, no matter what – be it wrinkles, big teeth, bushy eyebrows, or even an Adam’s apple – is beautiful, and you can’t deny it. I may sound like a sentimental sop here, but that’s how I feel. Men just can’t compare (I haven’t spent any TIME comparing the two, but you know what I mean) when it comes to sheer gracefulness, poise, intelligence… I could go on. That’s of course, not to mention the emotional quotient.

Take me, for example. Being a man in the metrosexual age, I like to think I’m in touch with my emotions. Poppycock. Us men are either big sops or incredibly repressed, sometimes both at the same time, if that’s possible. I haven’t got a handle on my emotions – either they all come flowing out with no control whatsoever, or I keep them corked up tighter than a bottle of wine (I want to name one here… erm… 1960 Bordeaux?). But women are just a heck of a lot better at it. They also mature faster than men.

Anyway, back to the point – Catherine Zeta-Jones. She is stunning, isn’t she? For some reason, though, I don’t look at her and size her up or imagine what she would be like in bed. She’s just… beautiful, and you could look at her face for hours on end (well, I could). With most women (and I’m not referring to anyone in particular here), if they look attractive, 99% of the time a guy looking at her pretty face will be undressing her with his eyes. Men do lech, much as I hate to admit it. I’m not one, though. (Did I just shove my foot into my mouth so hard I lost a sock? Oh, no… Come on guys, I’m just illustrating a point).

The sort of beauty I’m talking about is just… there. And it’s very, very rare. You can’t count your immediate family in this list though. You’re mother, sister, daughter, grandmother, aunt etc will always look beautiful to you, no matter what. Or your wife, if you happen to be married. Or your girlfriend. Actually, let’s just stick to celebrities.

The few I can think of off the top of my head are…

Catherine Zeta-Jones (obviously)

Jennifer Connelly

Hm. I’ve been thinking for half an hour now. That WAS a short list.

In any case, I’ll stop before I make a complete fool of myself. Women are wonderful, and us men are really lucky. So if you’re a guy, tell the women in your life how much they matter to you. And if you’re a girl, whack him on the head and tell him to go cook dinner. (Where’s the cereal?)