Another terribly exciting day

Cuteness (a.k.a. C, the ex) and I stayed up late chatting on messenger last night. I sort of miss that..

Cuteness sometimes reads my blog, so he asked me what deep, dark secret I was talking about. That's right, I have so many deep, dark secrets that it's hard for him to keep track sometimes. So I said to him, you know what secret! He was still clueless, so given how bad he is at reading my mind (men are such pigs!), I had to tell him. And he seemed umimpressed, like it wasn't nearly deep or dark enough to warrant secrecy. But he's like that, nothing really impresses him. If I told him I'd just 'killed someone, cut them up into a thousand pieces and then mixed those pieces in concrete and tossed that into a lake' (thanks Sriram), he'd just say, 'well, I'm just glad you didn't drive to the lake in MY car, because your stupid metallic purse would've scratched the door.' Okay, I'm exaggerating. Because he doesn't say 'well'.

And the other exciting thing I did today was clean. Well, mostly we just threw out old stuff. Stuff that previous residents hadn't bothered taking along with them. Like old pots, pans, grill cleaners (we don't HAVE a grill), wires, cords, boxes with no lids, lids with no boxes. Yes, how exciting. The new flatmates seem nice. We have another one moving into our 'cursed' bedroom tomorrow, it seems to attract the messiest, nastiest, most obnoxious bitches.

So flatmate one is out drinking with her buddy 'Drew:he's single, just putting it out there'.
Flatmate two is at a party hosted by some of her fellow countrymen, where they'll probably dance the samba and reminisce about Rio.
And I shall be staying home tonight.

Irishboy called just as I was about to hit the publish button. Party on Sunday with the mad euro crowd, and a particularly fun individual named Fay. (Friend of mine, on being told that Fay was gay: Fay! You mean Fay! Fay's gay?? Fay's not gay!! Fay's gay? Seriously? Fay's not gay! You're right, Fay's gay, he really IS gay. Wow, Fay's gay. I never would've guessed. Yes, he IS gay. It's pretty obvious now, coming to think of it. Yes, he's gay alright.)

Lots of good beer and drunken company.

Ah, Rio. And she dances on the sand..

What rhymes with stupid?

Now there are some things about me that I would never reveal to anyone. Well, unless I were married to them or in a very serious relationship with them. Because some things are just too embarrassing to reveal to the world, sort of like admitting to writing Vogon poetry. But it's amazing how old friends can sometimes pick up on stuff like that.

An old friend guessed something about me that I always thought I hid very well. He said it wasn't obvious at all, but he had always strongly suspected it. Now I'm not telling anyone what it is, even if you ask REALLY nicely. You'd just laugh, and I'm not having that.

So anyway, in the spirit of revealing deep, dark secrets, here's some Vogon poetry. It's rather angsty, as you can see.

Gliddlebooped poopmeister shrooble
I blaggerwormed the woggleguzz
Krooptory. Measly krooptory!

Damn those wagglechests
Fookerfliggs on fleeglefests
Krooptory. Blasted krooptory!

But blizzling blaggleblazes
I wanted them smishtered
Sequestered and schlestered.

In that fabled fruzzled frunxning
As only quibbers flound, but failed.
T'was krooptory. Schneaving krooptory!

Dschinghis Khan - Moskau (Ретро FM Live)



If it were up to me, I'd make it compulsory for schools and madrasas to sing trashy 80's music, and not this.

How can you not love the sheer flamboyance of that?

I have the best luck with men

An old friend decided to set me up with a random guy. One of those friend of a friend of a friend, I'm sure you'll like him sort of things. And I was bored/curious enough to acquiesce. It's not like we were meeting or anything, so any possible awkwardness would begin and end on the internets, as the Prez sez.

Dude's an NY attorney. We talk on the phone. He seems interesting. We exchange pics. He isn't repulsive. He tells me his plans for the day, which include jet skiing. I ask where. He says, why, in my backyard, of course. He then asks if he's sent me a pic of his backyard yet. I said he hadn't, berating myself for overlooking this gross negligence on his part. I mean, you judge a dude by his backyard, right? How else would you know he was the one?

So he gets on his webcam. No, I don't have webcam, because that's like meeting for real, but with much worse lighting.

Proceeds to show me his backyard. I'll say this. It was one helluva backyard. I could see the boats/jet skis pass by.

So he invites me over for a vacation in NY. After all, we've known each other for how long, a full ten minutes already? I tell him that I'd love to, but I'd first need some evidence to the effect that he wasn't a psycho killer/stalker. (Other psychos I can deal with, and have been known to in the past.)

So he asks me to google him. I google him. I find he's passed the bar exam. Yay! And I find his cousin's blog, and his cousin happens to be living in my city. His cousin's this famous-ish ex-NYT now Reuters reporter who's roughing it in the third world. In my hometown, specifically. So I'm thinking, hmm, no way he can be a psycho killer/stalker if his cousin's a famous reporter living in MY city. I mean, that's just the logical conclusion that anyone would draw, right?

And then it happens. Webcam drops. Oops. Our NY attorney's not wearing pants. You sick people, of COURSE he was wearing shorts. Naturally, I express some shock. He apologizes profusely, says it's a mistake, he'd never have done a thing like that intentionally. And then, as if to prove his point, he reveals to me that he's submissive. Yes, in the S & M sort of way. I politely excuse myself and hang up before he gets into details.

*sigh*

Edit: On a completely unrelated note, I finally got around to watching the Pinker Spelke debate. In my very humble opinion, Pinker kicked Spelke's ass. Of course, I was biased to begin with. Spelke's suggestion that the SATs should be modified so men and women score equally well on math is ludicrous.

Also, in a previous post, I said I wouldn't date a baron. Well, I would if his last name were Cohen.

Edit 2: Hanging up after talking to my mom is becoming increasingly difficult. I heard my dogs barking in the background. They have no idea I still exist, but I know they'll be their usual waggy-tailed clingy selves when I go back home.

Another update: Appliances tend not to work when they're not plugged in. I learned this the hard way.

And another update: Upon re-reading this post, I felt the need to go back and move some commas around. Yes, I'm pedantic. And I also reserve the right to switch inexplicably between past and present tense. Because I don't believe in time. Time's just a myth the media wants us to believe in. And no, I'm not pedantic/anal enough to treat media as a plural word. Here's why.

Dear Visitors from Haloscan..

I am honored that you've clicked on the link that says 'puke here'.

But please stay longer. Read my pointless ramblings. Browse my pics. Leave a comment or two. Tell me how much you love me. Tell me how much you hate me. Puke here, if that's your thing. But do stay. I'd offer you some orange herbal tea if I could do that electronically.

To everyone else who has no clue what I'm talking about, I used trusty Statcounter to find that my blog was getting a large number of hits from people entering via Haloscan. (Will somebody please explain to me what haloscan is, btw? I gather it's some sort of forum.)

Because somebody posted the following message on haloscan:

for Your Highness to puke on-

http://hotshortypartquarantedeux...x.blogspot.com/
Anon. | 08.24.06 - 11:41 pm | #

For obvious reasons, he/she/it chose to remain anonymous. Anyway, if any of you would like to improve your blog readership, just link your blog to some forum and ask His Highness to puke on it. I wish I'd thought of that before Anon.

Because it really does work wonders.

Update: I now know what the the Maanga is. Thanks for the tip-off, Nath.

Birds are evil.

In a rare display of political correctness that I am sure you will appreciate, I have decided to use the biological name of the bird in question, because its common name might offend some (And I won't call you lily livered, far be it from me to make that judgement, but the rest of the world is less kind) people, owing to the unfortunate fact that it rhymes with what some might consider a VERY offensive word.

The bird, therefore, will henceforth be referred to only by its biological name, Aix Sponsa, so as not to cause mass offence.

Oh, and for those of you who are still wondering what that offensive word is, it's fuck.

And if you still don't know what bird I'm talking about, here's a picture.

Click here for a pic of an Aix Sponsa, that I DIDN'T take. Click where I say click here, if my template doesn't show that in a different color.

And to any kindergartners reading this, here's a helpful hint: They quack.

I hope that helps. And if you're a kindergartner reading this, I'll say this. You're smart. I couldn't read big words when I was three, although I did often allow myself to be seen with books titled 'Schopenhauer's shopping hours' and 'Wit against ein Wittgenstein'. This helped contribute to the idea that perhaps I was not so dull-witted after all. Also, if you are a kindergartner, please go away. Come back when you're old enough to shave. Or discover the wonderful world of Tampax. Because you shouldn't be reading some of this. Really.

And I won't be judgemental of any kindergartner who can't name this bird. Because I remember being acutely embarrassed about not knowing the difference between a tiger and a lion. I would walk around in mortal fear of anyone ever finding out my dirty little secret. This scared me more than the prospect of confronting a real tiger or lion. And people say three year olds don't have problems. Apparently, the fear of not being able to distinguish a lion from a tiger is quite common. My favorite ex suffered from this too. He'd vouch for it if not for the fact that he's sworn off my blog because he absolutely hates my new template.

So yes, back to the Aix Sponsa. I spent the better part of my afternoon trying to photograph it. It wasn't my easiest subject, let me tell you. It showed what can only be interpreted as the Aix Sponsa equivalent of tons of crappy ass attitude. It didn't have its agent present, so obviously, I considered it fair game. But it kept giving me that 'you'll be hearing from my lawyers' look.

Look, don't get me wrong. I like Aix Sponsa as a species, in general, despite the very annoying quack. But this one wasn't particularly good looking. I mean, it was more or less average. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to warrant that kind of attitude!

This wouldn't have been a big problem if I had had a decent camera. When I say decent, I merely mean a camera with the ability to capture a picture of say, a bird, without having the bird co-operate by flapping its wings in a very photographically appealing manner, and doing so at a distance of under four centimeters from the camera. And the trouble with most birds is that they don't do that. Some stupid bullshit about the survival instinct, apparently.

Obviously it's because they're stupid. They're bird brains. Get it? Bird brains. Hahah!

Anyway, Aix Sponsa and I had a conversation. I know Aix Sponsae don't speak English, not the ones I know anyway. But we still conversed using sign language. Okay, Ameslan, if you must know.

Look, Aix Sponsa, I said. I think you're quite charming. I'd like to take a picture of you, and then I'll be on my way.

Rude quack.

Aix, (because the first name approach sometimes works) you're really being quite paranoid. I don't normally discuss my food habits with birds, but I'm vegetarian. You really have nothing to fear.

Another rude quack, and the bloody thing swam across the pond.

So I walked over to the other side, and tried to reason with it.

Look, this camera. This not gun. I good. I no shoot.

Nothing.

I then considered doing an Aix Sponsa call, but decided that I'd just look stupid, so I opted for the more socially acceptable whistle instead. So I whistled at Aix.

Angry look from Aix. Aix is now swimming in circles, a safe distance away from me, in that typical, pointless, Aix fashion.

I attempt to take a picture, but alas, Aix is still too far. Aix decides to swim to the other side, again. So I walk around. Again.

It's clear to me by now that Aix is thoroughly enjoying this little game. We do this thing a few more times where he swims across to the other side of the pond, and I walk around it.

Then finally, in a dazzling show of cunning, I cleverly pretend to give up. I lie down on the grass at the edge of the pond, and wave a white piece of paper at Aix. I know he's watching. I resolutely resolve to stay absolutely still. And I manage it for fifteen full minutes. And finally, success. He's swimming towards me. I flash out my camera.

And the little bastard flies off before I can click.

Yes, I totally got fucked by an Aix Sponsa.

Polytheism is perfectly acceptable!

My parents are followers of that polytheistic religion called Hinduism, so I'm often tagged a Hindu by people who don't know me well enough to know that I think religion is, to put it very unoriginally, the (insert drug of choice) of the masses.

So I've had to put up with loads of people telling me that polytheism is stupid. It's inferior to monotheism. And I've never really bothered trying to refute the claim, partly because I probably bought into it myself, given the historical progression from a mainly polytheistic world to one where monotheistic ideas became dominant.

Because it's easy to make the naive assumption that the further back you go in time, the stupider people were. To counter this, consider the heliocentric model of the solar system. The ancient indians, arabs, and certain greek scientists knew that the earth revolved around the sun. Go here for details. But the theory of heliocentrism was lost in obscurity, later on, in medieval Europe. When the debate was rekindled, the church stepped in and pushed the Ptolemaic idea that the sun revolved around the earth. Random waves of stupidity are quite common, even in eras where scientific thought generally progresses. Like the creationist wave. Because despite the existence of creationists, no one would argue that we're not making technological leaps.

So what are the other reasons that monotheism is regarded as being superior? Does monotheism provide a simpler power structure? Surely the idea of all the power in the universe residing in just ONE god is a far more primitive idea than a dynamical, extremely complex power structure! But you might disagree with me. And we could spend hours arguing about it, and sound as intelligent as two kindergartners (or fashion designers) arguing over the relative merits of the colors red and green. Red may be in this season, but that doesn't mean that green won't make a comeback eventually. (Who decides what colors are in, anyway? Do all the desingers have a secret conference in Milan or somewhere where they take a vote on what colors are in?)

The polytheism vs. monotheism argument is a pointless one in the first place. It's like two people arguing about how to misspell the word 'house'.

The misspelling of house is h-o-w-s-e.

No! It's h-o-w-s!

No, it's h-o-w-s-e! Because that's how Paris Hilton is misspelling it these days!

You get the idea.

Polytheist apologists annoy me. Why should you accept the idea that polytheism is a second rate belief system? All SANE countries allow you to practise any religion of your choosing. Nobody should have to put up with monotheistic arrogance. And stop making excuses for your polytheism. You can cry yourself hoarse about how all the gazillion gods are merely incarnations of one god. But why would you bother? STOP apologizing!

BECAUSE MONOTHEISM IS NOT BETTER THAN POLYTHEISM!

I once found myself in a debate with a friend over idol worship. Unaware of the fact that I'm one of those evil godless types, she says to me, you know, you polytheistic folk, you tend to worship idols a lot.

Like idol worship is a bad thing!

If I want to worship an idol, I will. If I want to worship my Barbie doll, I'll do that too! I'm well within my rights to do so, as long as I don't go blowing up planes and buildings in the process. (And by the way, people, blowing up stuff is just SO passe, so early 2000s! This is 2006, so try to get with the times?)

I'll worship a phallic stone in the mountains, a man on a cross, a stone in the desert, a cute puppy like this one, or a plastic bottle like this one if I want to.

And I won't apologize for picking one over the others, either. They're all equally cool. Or uncool.

A big pre-emptive FUCK YOU to anyone who disagrees with me.
A big pre-emptive FUCK YOU to anyone who's about to tell me I'm going to go to hell. I don't want to go to your stupid heaven anyway!
A big pre-emptive FUCK YOU to anyone who says that Indians are morally and culturally superior to, say, Americans.
A big pre-emptive FUCK YOU to anyone who says that Indians are morally and culturally inferior to, say, Americans.
A big pre-emptive FUCK YOU to anyone who tries to convince me of how some religions are inherently superior to others.
And finally, a big FUCK YOU to that bitch who lost my pink toy keys when I was two years old. That was my favourite toy! You ruined my life, and I will NEVER forgive you!

I dare to go u-less. Do you?

Genius that I am, I FINALLY figured out why my template changes didn't take effect.

It's because I spelt colour with a u. And the good folk at blogger just don't take too kindly to that sort of thing.

All that is now changing though.

Because I'm officially dropping the u. It's just baggage from the British era that I can do without. And if I want baggage, I'm perfectly capable of supplying my own, thank you very much.

So here goes.

Color. Humor. Valor. Candor.

It sounds so wrong, and I feel naughty just typing that. Dropping the u is like going out topless!

I want to see how long this new u-lessness will last though. Just to show that I am dead serious about this, apart from going u-less, I'll also try really hard not to giggle when people say erb instead of herb. Because I could just never do that. Unless I'm doing a Cockney accent.


Note: I swear I know more words than that. I just happen to think four words are perfectly adequate in order to get the idea across without giving the impression that I'm out to impress with my jaw-dropping vocabulary. I'm not really given to sesquipedalianism.

I'm in one of those moods. I want to offend. I want to titillate. I want to shock.

I want to be wild, whimsical, wanton. I want to be me.

But..

I am my own censor. It's the unfortunate truth.

I live a lie.

Monkeyin' around wid Ali G.

Kent Hovind, you are a GENIUS. When you try to rubbish evolution by saying that it's pure religion, what exactly do you mean?

Just to see if I got this straight..

If something is pure religion then it's plain old garden variety bullshit, but if it ISN'T pure religion, i.e., it's impure religion, then it's an acceptable belief system?

Either way, you'd have to believe you're going to hell.

You probably never knew this, but monkeys have human babies all the time, but there's a massive conspiracy to cover it up just to make creationists look stupid.

Whoa! 12th richest? Let's party!

So India is the 12th wealthiest nation in the world.

Yes, that's what the headlines screamed.

Awesome.

But keep your shirt on and think about it for a second, will you? Why did that make headlines?

Because it shouldn't have. With the second largest population in the world, being ranked 12 is hardly an achievement. I'm sure wealthy Luxembourg isn't too concerned about being ranked 64 on that list.

Because little Luxembourg is ranked 4 on the Human Development Index. And India? 127. Of 181 nations.

So please excuse me if I don't seem too enthusiastic about patting my nation on the back each time it takes another sluggish little baby step.

I'll celebrate when the number of Indians living below the national poverty line is halved to about 150 million.






Yes, that's when I'll celebrate.








Pic: http://www.samgoeswalkies.com/

Data: World Bank, Wikipedia

The man and his machine.

G has started opening the car door for me.

No, I'm not delusional. Because I know it's not chivalry or a change of heart on his part. He's still a mannerless ass and we still hate each other in our usual affectionate sort of way.

He just bought a new car, that's all.

He's scared I'll scratch the door with my nails. He gives me dirty looks when I lean against it. Because I'm not supposed to make any kind of contact with it whatsoever. I'm pretty sure he believes that it's made of anti-matter that will annihilate when it comes into contact with matter. Or anti-anti-matter. Which is matter again.

He's completely fucking anal, but in his defense, there are people out there who are MORE anal.

What's the deal with dudes and cars anyway?