Terribly disappointed in the team's performance tonight. It was a lacklustre game from a tired team. Barca would NEVER have gotten away with a 2-0 victory if it were a ManU that was playing even half its best football. Sadly, we couldn't even do that tonight. Really missed Fletcher's presence in midfield and, ultimately, we were outplayed by an inspired Barca team that played some truly excellent football. It was a bad, bad game...and I'm just sad it had to happen when it mattered most.
However, no matter what - we stand as one. Despite the taunts of other EPL fans, despite all the naysayers, despite all those who doubt our heritage and our commitment to Old Trafford...We are Red Devils. Forever.
GLORY GLORY MAN UNITED!
P.S. - to any Liverpool/Arsenal/Chelsea fans I may have pissed off - you thoroughly deserve it.
“My picks are Rahul, Rahul and Rahul,” gushes Anamika Chatterji, 24. “He is unaware of his amazing looks, charisma and success. That’s what’s hot,” says Neena, 17. “His dimples are so cute!” says Preeti, 23. “I’ll be heartbroken when he marries. I wish he never does, though he’s 39,” chuckles Neha Vermani, 20.
---
*sigh* The women in our nation's capital sure have their priorities straight, don't they?
Also, no Sachin Pilot? This is an outrage! I can hear the gushing girls already: "Eee! His teeth are so shiny, no?! Hai! So cute, only..."
NB: Mahi got only 8.5% of the votes. Apparently, news of our impending shaadi is spreading fast.
[Apologies for not updating in ages - home got the better of me. Proper blog post to come soon, though. 2:14AM (Zambia time) + jetlag make writing well and/or thoughtfully nearly impossible]
So, I am at an event sponsored by the Indian Army (go figure), on stage, singing "Latoo" (see previous parentheses). In the front row sits the love of my life. After the show, he enters my "dressing room" (which, by the way, looks exactly like my sophomore year dorm room: broken window shade et al), tells me that he was mesmerized by my singing and wants to do some baat-cheet.. After a short while, he gets up and just as I think he's about to leave, he turns to me, smiles and asks for my cell number. And then saves his number in my phone...as Mahi.
----
Yes, friends, I just had the most vivid, technicolour dream of the first scene in my love story with MS Dhoni. Either this is: a) a manifestation of an IPL overdose, b) the first symptom of love-induced clinical insanity, c) proof that he and I are meant to be. I'm going with (c). Shaadi ke cards are being printed as we speak. Ask your postman in a week or so.
NB: I apologize to those of you who are sick and tired of hearing me gush about Mahi since 2005. Also, just warning you, it's probably not going to stop any time soon :P
I should have lots of words right now. I'm 5 hours away from a homeward bound journey that I have been dreaming of for a very, very long time. I bid my closest and dearest friends in the world mournful goodbyes - in all honesty, I don't know what life will be like without Brown '09 - as they (my ex-classmates) prepare to graduate. I finally let go of a Love that has tortured and taught me so much over the last 2.5 years. Everything has changed in the last two days. And I should have words, dammit. WORDS! But right now, in this moment, I just feel a sadness that is paralyzing in its numbness. Bottomless emotional pit, thou art a myth.
I hope to be able, some day, to put down my many overwhelming emotions into words. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I'll let the music and my tears do the blogging for me.
OK, yes that was corny...but can you really blame me? I am DONE :P
Wrote my exam this evening (which, by the way, went very well) and just finished re-re-re-editing my final final-paper. Tomorrow, I will print it out. And hand it in. And grin broadly...a lovely semester draws to a close :D
I am currently folding-stacking-packing for the journey home! Zambia is a few, short, itsy-bitsy nights away. And I have never looked forward to going home this much - and, also, for the first time, I'm not looking forward to it because I want to leave something behind. That distinction, though subtle, has made all the difference this semester. Finally, I love where I am. Who'da thought? Ahh, Hahvahd...
I deserve something yummy for all my hard work, don't I? So, a DELISH Red Velvet Cupcake from my roomie, Across The Universe from Netflix and a new shade of bright pink nailpolish from Me-Myself-and-I. And if any of you cool-dudes thinks that's a "girly" way to celebrate...at least there isn't any mention of bubble baths and red wine, OK. Gosh.
Hokay now I must go and celebrate freedom. More later.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
to every beautiful Mama in every blessed corner of the world.
To My Mother - Robert Louis Stevenson
You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.
For MY Mummy
Tulips. From my street.
...like in "Dekha Ek Khwab".
I love you so very much, Mama Bhattacharya! See you in 7 oh-so-short days :)
I've thought these thoughts a thousand times In manic corners wrapped in soft sleepless sheets. Quiet stories I'll never let you hear. My hands jammed firmly in blue-jean pockets, I imagine fingers interlocked. Yours. And hers. (always, hers) I think here, sitting in pink, of us. Of what you look like through Chardonnay glass eyes. Your far-too-loose arms around my silver shoulders Bodies scorching. The weather man says it'll rain tomorrow - Blood-red veils of monsoon weather. Oh please - Won't you ask me out to play?
1) Choose 12 films that you would want to run at a theatre near you. 2) Explain why you chose them. However you want to. 3) Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre's post 4) Tag 5 other people: Any and every blogger who's reading - Tag!
Women Do It Better Sukkar Banat aka Caramel [2007] - Nadine Labaki Lost In Translation [2003] - Sofia Coppola
Shakespeare, I Love Maqbool [2003] - Vishal Bharadwaj Romeo + Juliet [1996] - Baz Luhrmann
To See Like They Do Bacheha-Ye Aseman aka Children of Heaven [1997] - Majid Majidi La Faute à Fidel! aka Blame It On Fidel [2006] - Julie Gavras
Gin & Tonic with the Brits Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels [1998] - Guy Ritchie The Royal Tenenbaums [2001] - Wes Anderson
Love Is The Soul of Genius Pather Panchali [1955] - Satyajit Ray Mossafer aka The Traveller [1974] - Abbas Kiarostami
My Heart Belongs To Palestine Gaza Strip [2002] - James Longley Slingshot Hip Hop [2008] - Jackie Salloum
N.B. - SO many movies missing :( ...butbutbut. must. stick. to. rules.
Hard drive crashed last night. I was halfway through a paper when an ear-piercing, agonizing screech emanates from the machine. And then deathly, black silence. I knew...it was the dreaded...Technology Fail.
I then spent 1.5hours on the phone with a most surly, boring gentleman (I was REALLY hoping to speak to someone in BANGALORE! But, of course, got stuck with some loser, dude-wannabe named Bill. Lamebeans) trying to figure out what the hell was going on with my piece-of-crap laptop. Moral of the story: DELL needs to die. The idiot was trying to put it on me at some point, "Umm so do you download your music?" No, fool, I play my Michael Jackson cassettes on my tape recorder. So I try to be nice and say "Do you think it's better to just get an external hard drive and put my music on there?" and he says, "Well if you're downloading free files, this will always be a problem. So maybe you might consider buying music?" YES! Because clearly I will find Activa's white label vinyl records on iTunes a day after he spins them at some obscure club in Poland. Thanks for nothing, douchebag. BLURG! As much as technology failure annoys me, having to deal with people is so much more tedious and GAH-inducing!
Anyhoo...
So, all of today has been spent in the library with me working my tush off. Oh, so productive. Comfy wooden chair (I know that reads like an oxymoron, but it's not). Big windows looking out onto the Yard. And lots of (goodlooking) people watching :P. Also, this is Amartya Sen's part of campus - so I am really hoping he'll walk in with his wise swagger and sit at the table next to my booth. Maybe if I lay out a few sugar-free roshogollas? Clearly, Amartya Sen is my Santa Claus.
OKAY!
Paper done. Hungry belly. Time. To. Go. :D
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Mad Girl's Love Song - Sylvia Plath
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
Thank you for reading the last post. Thank you for a 2.5hour long phone call which makes me feel like you're in Cambridge/I'm in London ("you know, my phone bills could feed a small family. mine, actually" lol!). Thank you for listening to EVERYTHING. Thank you for being a presence in my life that is so thoroughly un-psychotic (god, such a change for us both, right? haha). Thank you for reminding me of all our notorious gossip sessions with the other CK girls on the blue benches. Thank you for brightening my day. Thank you for reminding me about friendships that truly are unconditional. Thank you for being my Nazia "Chuck" Bass :D
Missing all my Jai Ho's terribly today!!! SUKU SUKU! Summer will be epic :)
A friend just sent this to me: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other" - Mother Teresa
I truly have forgotten.
I want to apologize for my mad ranting. Some parts of my last few posts got a little personal and I want to say if I hurt anyone - I'm sorry. I know what it feels like to be disappointed in friends and the people I love(d)...and I don't want to do that to you (you know who you are). I apologize.
Tuned in to my favourite Thursday Trance radio shows. As always, no joke, I am at my most lucid right here-right now. These tunes always make me see the light. They always make me see what I'm doing wrong. They always make me believe in love.
Despite it all, we must hold on to the people we admire and trust. That's the only way we'll make it through, unscathed.
<3. Always.
[I won't lie. There were other catalysts. For instance, this piece of good news :) (well, minus the banning of INIPSR) Although this may give rise to further self-pity and more calls of "oh, poor us. the whole world is against us! what have we done to deserve this?!", I'm not thinking about that right now. Let's just pop some champagne and celebrate. And wow, never thought I'd ever feel such joy seeing a group of people disenfranchised.]
{N.B. - This post was written AFTER calming down. No joke.}
Bad week for the 3P's [Politics, People, Papers].
Why?
a) [will always and forever top any list of this kind] The Zionist entity. Come on, Justice - isn't 61years of colonial bloody occupation long enough for a "nationalist" movement to feel legitimized? And yes, 1948. That is what we want back.
b) White people and their goddamn hypocrisy (re: UN Racism conference). How telling is it that the only people boycotting the conference are white.white.WHITE. Also, it annoys me that those diplomats barely represent their nation's citizens! UK boycotting the conference because it is "anti-semitic"? The country which has led the most successful Boycott-Divestment-Sanctions Movement against israel? REALLY?! And, can I just say that the fact that ALL the press/air/print space has been focused on Ahmedinejad means that we haven't actually talked about anything else that's happened at the conference! Yes, because all our attention must singularly be focused on the jewish people. Anything that offends them must immediately be of utmost importance to the world. It's OK, let us conveniently ignore the murmurings of the grievances of those black and brown people. Let us reserve our right to be forever racist and imperialistic. All's good in the whitewashed hood!
c) Wannabes. Not the cool Spice Girls kind; the annoying as hell don't-have-my-own-identity kind
d) Orientalists! [HUGE overlap with point (c), above] Especially the smart kind, who can justify their disgusting cultural fetishization with big ideas and long words. Although, i suppose it's what *they* are taught to do - make up for their own lack by taking from another. And then claiming it as theirs.
e) Nonsense like this. You cannot make such bigotry up.
f) Writing completely ineffectual, boring papers. When a professor says something like "These films we watch...well it's pointless to try and put into words what we see or understand. It's a medium that defies such things" and then assigns 60pages of writing for the semester....Yeah, mmmkay.
g) People who are complaining about how arduous a task it is to register to vote in India. Seriously? Pull yourself away from trash TV and your gossip sessions and get your crap together. Jeez, democracy really is a waste on some people. VOTE!
h) White people making films about people of colour. There, I said it. [Liked Slingshot Hip Hop? It wasn't made by a white person. Disliked Slumdog Millionaire? It was.]
i) BSi -- Brown Students for israel. Nuff friggin said. I would give a lot to be able to punch one of those clowns in the face tomorrow.
j) Girls who have the SAME drama with every.single.one of the 50,000 boys they like. Ever stop to think that there might be something wrong with you?
k) Friggin indie music. Shut the hell up with your discordant sounds! Also, your painted-on skinny jeans are probably preventing you from having any kids, ever. Actually maybe that's a good thing.
l) Grudges. Not used to holding on to them. Feels a little heavy....
Quote of the week: "What do I think of Western civilization? I think it would be a good idea." - Mohandas Gandhi
[is definitely a fitting title, but is also the most overused of all science laws in literature. jeez, we humanities folk should really do more research into what other clever science people [ahem, nerds] have said. oh, and don't say "Eureka". please.]
HAH! Wow. How very emo that last post was...
So, it took a little more than the stipulated 4minutes, but I am most definitely over it. I think part of it can be explained by the fact that, except with my politics and my Trance music, I'm not particularly obsessive about anything. Which means that I am not emotionally attached to most...erm, people. Thank god for that, right?
To those of you who sent me messages/e-mails/frantic GTalk chat openers ("YOOO! TELL ME HIS/HER NAME MAN!" yeah...classy.) after reading the post - thank you. Really, it wasn't that serious - like I've said before, putting words to emotions makes them seem so much more dramatic than, perhaps, they truly are. I'm up and running again, no worries. But, of course, your messages were certainly catalysts in my getting there. Thank you, Merci, Bedankt, Shukriya and (my personal favourite) Zikomo. I was wrong about people not being willing to listen, I really was.
Doesn't mean I have forgotten what yesterday felt like, of course. I just don't care enough to simmer in it. As Nina Simone (oh god, how I love that woman....nay, goddess) once said,
It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life for me And I'm feeling Gooooood
:D
Plan for today: write paper about Bob Dylan's lyrical magic as translated into film. cook something yummy. and, of course, TE alldayandallnightlong :)
[note: i chose to keep this post PG so i used "crap" a lot. replace with whatever expletive you deem fit]
you know that metaphoric bottle i own? the one at the back of my metaphoric closet - where i store up all of other people's crap (which, by the way, always seems like it's filled to the brim)? the one that i choose never to empty out, for fear of hurting someone. well...oops, i slipped. and dropped it. and now all your crap is all over the place. my bad.
but, hey - thanks for not offering to help clean it up. especially since it is your crap. great.
people ask why i choose to listen/internalize vs talk/externalize. it's because days like today remind me that it's less painful to be the listener. because, on days like this, when you finally do need to talk...you don't get hurt when the people who are supposed to be listening, aren't.
so, yeah - i was having a thoroughly WONDERFUL day. well, until i was reminded that despite this epic wall of SOUND that i have created to keep them out..."friends" still manage to creep in. yuck.
although, i must say, the good thing about being old - i'll forget that i care in about 4minutes. nice.
usually, i wouldn't write...i'd just play a song that expresses exactly how i feel. but suddenly, i don't like sharing.
iMisanthrope. and, to complete the look - Kafka and a bottle of Scotch. hah. kidding...
"Henceforth let your souls alway Make each morn an Easter Day." - Gerald Manley Hopkins
A Prayer for Easter (thank you, Pastor Cummings)
Help us to remember
That you are with us in every time of perplexity to guide and to direct; That you are with us in every time of sorrow to comfort and console; That you are with us in every time of temptation to strengthen and to inspire; That you are with us in every time of loneliness to cheer and befriend; That you are with us even in death to bring us to the glory of your side.
Make us to be certain that there is nothing in time or in eternity which can separate us from you, so that in your presence we may meet life with gallantry and death without fear.
You turn our darkness into light, in your light we shall see light.
Roseland Ballroom, NYC 04/04/2009 A State of Trance II with ARMIN VAN BUUREN (aka Hubby dearest) [For more on ASOT I, see here and here] Epic.
Words may fail. Hence, photos.
First of the night. Early.
Yeah, slightly awkward angle. From the second row. But right after, this very cool black guy who was in the front row turned around, saw me and shifted a tad so that I could squish in. I promptly proceeded to yell to him "Yupp, we people of colour gotta look out for each other!!" He looked puzzled for a second, grinned broadly and gave me a high 5. I'm pretty sure he was on E. I don't know what I was on.
Signature pose. He did this approximately 54,489 times during his 5hr set. I won't lie, it got a little annoying after the 6th time.
L.E.D. There Be Light Trance Energy
He's a cutie-patootie. I love. Also I remember taking this photo during "Back To You (Aly & Fila Remix)". Which makes it priceless.
5:10 AM. 5.5hrs of nonstop dancing, without water or a bathroom break. So worth it. [and let me take this opportunity to brag about the many many instances of eye contact throughout the night. it was romantic.]
My favourite photo of the night
Snippet from an online conversation with a friend on Monday afternoon:
Him - so yo...was it everything u hoped for? "technicolour splashes" and all that? Me - yes. i danced danced in the blazing lights. i flew! at the risk of sounding crazy, i was one with the universe. i suppose...i lived :) Him - u are nuts.
"Given a choice between grief and nothing, I'd choose grief" said a very brainy William Faulkner in his book (which I haven't read) The Wild Palms. I met this quote in passing at a party thrown by Jean-Luc Godard in 1960 entitled À bout de souffle (in bold, because this is a film [I know my analogy didn't make that clear. sorry.] that needs to be watched by YOU as soon as possible). I have not been able to stop thinking about this quote since our first meeting. It interrupts my silent chai-making morning routine. It causes my unsteady hand to slip during my salad-sporking at lunchtime. It forces me to toss and turn, despite nighttime commanding me to sleep. It haunts me.
Admittedly, it is the greatest truth of my life. Life lived any other way would be...eerily quiet. Checklist: Constant, hurtling motion. Beginnings that are sudden. Endings that are devastating. An unsteady heart. Eyes that are constantly moist. Lips, always dry. Free falling.
Save your lists and timelines, plans and order for the rest of the world. My life's OST is one monstrous, bellowing, reverberant "SOD OFF".
I am listening to Wagner's Walkürenritt(Ride of the Valkyries)as I type this. Which, of course, can mean only one thing - I am enraged.
Some time ago, a fellow feminist directed me to a most yucky website - AskMen.com. Just typing out the web address has almost induced a stress-related heart attack. It is your typical run-of-the-mill website for men (according to the website "7 million readers a month"). It joyfully brings together pages and pages of half-naked women to objectify and subsequently "rate", stupid conservative political commentators/writers who must be rich (AKA white/Jewish/South Asian) and thousands of articles on staying at the Waldorf-Astoria-buying $10,000 watches-picking the right kind of Premium Vodka.
It also hosts the writing talents of a man named Matthew Fitzgerald - the author of a fascinating, illuminating piece of work called "Sex-Ploytation: How Women Use Their Bodies To Extort Money From Men". I know sarcasm doesn't always transfer well in written work, so I'll just say it: I EFFING HATE THIS MAN.
Most instances of misogyny and sexism are cleverly masked in our society - you have to dig deep and think hard to realise that most of the dominant views of and assumptions about our world are gendered and anti-woman. In that regard, I must hand it to Fitzgerald - he is brave enough to openly parade his malevolent sexism and "say it like it is". Of course that also makes him a bigot and a complete idiot, but I guess youwinsome-youlosesome. His newest load of bullcrap comes in the form of an article on AskMen.com entitled Training Your Girlfriend [Statutory Warning: If you are a self-respecting woman, this article will cause your blood to boil. Dr. Bhattacharya's recommendation: Read this article in an isolated space, where no living or non-living beings may be harmed by your wrath]. It is, quite possibly, the most infuriating thing I've ever read. The article basically equates women with dogs and cites "common obedience problems", including: Aggression (feminism), whining, barking (because silent/passive girls = good girls), begging, not fetching (a beer, that is) and more... It is repulsive.
Now, one may argue that this is a joke. Firstly, going off of Fitzgerald's track record, it probably isn't. Secondly, I really do not care for such a low standard of "humour" so LOL I will not. It also amazes me how men continue to find the same age-old stereotypes funny. It's quite pathetic. And, perhaps most importantly, what kind of world do we live in where something like this can actually be paraded around and "joked about"? Why the hell is it OK for us to laugh at such hateful, offensive characterizations of women?? Would something like this get widespread viewership/tacit approval if it were, for instance, about Jews or African-Americans? NO! But, of course, joking about women and gender is never out-of-bounds.
Which brings me to my final point. How do we, as feminists, counter sexism that is masked as "humour"? It's something that I personally struggle with a lot - many of my (guy) friends seem to think that throwing about sexist "jokes" in my presence is cute. Of course, their inflammatory remarks get the desired reaction. My outbursts, usually riddled with feminist theory, are almost always countered by a stupid, condescending smirk (which every man seems to have perfectly mastered) and a "Jeez. Sensitive much?" comment. GRRR. So, this anecdote in an article by Gina Barreca really made me smile.
For example, after Liz Carpenter worked for the Johnson administration she wrote a book about her experiences working at the White House. The book was out for a while, did pretty well. One evening she met Arthur Schlesinger at a cocktail party. He came over to her and smiled and said "Like your book Liz. Who wrote it for you?" Now, clearly dear Arthur meant this as his little joke. If she had stammered and blushed, he would win the point. He could then say, "see, you just can't joke around with these women." If she'd pounded her fist on the table and threatened to call a lawyer, he could say the same thing.
Instead what Carpenter did was to say in response, "Glad you liked it, Arthur. Who read it to you?"
All she did was take his format and adapt it for her own purposes.
So, misogynistic jokers (AKA every man I encounter at any Indian dinner party) - BRING.IT.ON. We women are armed and humourous! (OK, that was a bad joke...I'll get to work on it ASAP. ahem.)
Bursting through my black and white existence comes this. A Technicolour splash of salvation. Rhythm Harmony L.E.D. Trance. Energy. He is coming. The countdown HAS begun.
It's Spring Break. Time of fun, frolic, frothy iced-drink sipping. Thanks, but no thanks.
I am sick. No joke. Like headache, lack of appetite, sunshine-hurts-my-eyes sick. Bleagh. While other people put up pictures of sunny Puerto Rican shores and trips to Science Museums (I mean if the company is right, even that can be fun, right?), I plan on staying in my tea-stained Brown sweatshirt and crumpled jeans, guzzling Orange-Mango juice, devouring every novel I can lay my hands on and gorging myself on as much 30RockHouseMDFamilyGuyGilmoreGirlsTheSimpsonsGossipGirlTheColbertReport as my feeble stomach will possibly allow. Food may feature at some point...I'll get back to you on that one.
Blame it on my barely-open teary eyes, but my world seems a little "meh" right now. Not bad. Not sad. Just...meh. If Vicky Cristina Barcelona (which, by the way, EVERY human being should watch ASAP. manic, moody, riotous, sultry, addictive...absolute magic. definitely, my pick of 2008 - as is often the case with Woody's genius, this film too is underappreciated and inexcusably ignored. also, if you were planning on, don't watch it with your parents. just throwing that out there.) hadn't swooped into my life on Tuesday night, I may have resorted to keeping a pet rock out of boredom. What to do when you're stuck in a rut? One can do nothing, but wait...
And entertain oneself with Telugu videos that are so insane, they're fabulous. Like Haute Couture, really.
After watching the first 25minutes of it over the weekend, I winced and decided that I just couldn't get through its contrived predictability.
Like in the film, Magik got its second chance. Tonight. And, I loved it! Yes, it's predictable. No, I wasn't moved to a point of numbness. But, you know what - the music is boomtastic (this coming from someone who experiences mild nausea at the hint of a rock song), the actors are aesthetically pleasing, the story is solid, the dialogue flows, and they wear Converses in more scenes than I can count. Good times.
"Hoton pe jis ke Koi to geet hai. Woh haare bhi to Us ki hi jeet hai. Dil mein jo geet hai Gun gun guna lijiye Phir dekhiye..."
Someone hand me a leather jacket and a camcorder. I'm going out to live. (I find meaning in the fact that my flying fingers erred and typed "love" first)
My mood when I woke up this morning (a carry-over from last night): "Dil hi to hai na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyon?" - Mirza Ghalib (My own embarrassingly rough translation: "A heart it is, not a stone nor a brick. Why then should it not feel sorrow?")
I have an epic paper due on Tuesday, which my mind used as an effective diversion. She is a clever mind...a ruthless military strategist. Hah. However as I worked ferociously on my paper, happily distracted from thoughts of broken hearts and dejected friends and chipped souls, I also forgot to look out the window. And so, only at 4PM did I notice how beautifully sunny it was.
Like an egg yolk.
Of course, by that time, my bum was so firmly sunk into my mattress and my grey matter so deeply immersed in Stendhal's theory of "vanity-love" that it would be impossible to go out there and join hands with the emerging blades of grass and revel in the wonders of Spring.
Oh, Spring is HERE! :) (hmm I hope I'm not being presumptuous in declaring this so emphatically)
You know what I want to do to celebrate? I want to put on a knee-length scarlet dress with barely-there black stockings...lay out a white bedsheet on the drive way...eat blueberries and crunchy vanilla macaroons...sip on Raspberry Lime Rickey...slap on a pair of sunglasses (yes, at night)...and watch Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain under a clear sky. Mmmm.
infinite I want poetry to be whispered in the wind. I want us to stop hurting. I want this heaviness to go away. I want dreams to float. I want love to give. I want multicoloured rain. I want Destiny to not be malevolent. I want a crimson sky and a lemon-slice moon. wants
You'll never see this. But I want you to know. That I do wonder.
I do not ask for much. But, please. Do not stifle creativity. Do not curb freedom. Do not choke love. Oh, and please allow more magical things like this to transpire:
(impatient children, the "high" of the song starts at 2:51...however, I suggest you start at the very beginning, press play, close your eyes and let good things happen to you)
Instructions 1. Put your music player on shuffle. 2. Press forward for each question. 3. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING... [How dare you suggest I'd cheat!]
What does this year have in store for you? Masakali - Mohit Chauhan [Delhi 6] (I like! good start...)
What's your love life like? Starlight - Muse (emo progressive rock. gee, thanks.)
What do you say when life gets hard? Gaata Rahe Mera Dil - Kishore Kumar & Lata Mangeshkar [Guide] (how appropriate!)
What do you think when you get up in the morning? Bamboo Banga - M.I.A. (niiiice)
What song will you dance to at your wedding? One More Time - Daft Punk (LOL! so that would mean: a) I'm getting married in bxtn b) this will not be my last. perfect!)
Your favourite saying? The Power of Bhangra - Snap! vs Motivo (haha! sick song yo)
Favourite place? Jump Around - House of Pain (err ok. oh, 90's hiphop...)
What do you think of your parents? Time To Say Goodbye - Armin van Buuren (LOL! fyi: not true haha)
Where would you go on a first date? Celtic Spirit - Riverdance (I promise this isn't rigged)
Drug of choice? The Importance of Being Idle - Oasis (I told you Sloth is one of my top 3 sins)
Describe yourself: Good Morning - Kanye West (actually, yes.)
What is the thing you like doing most? She Wants Him (Blake Jarrell's Panty Dropper Remix) - Moussa Clark feat. Terrafunka (so much inappropriateness here. swiftly moving on...)
The song that best describes your school principal: Anonymous - Bobby Valentino feat. Timbaland (hahahahaha)
What is your state of mind like at the moment? Main Agar Kahoon - Sonu Nigam & Shreya Ghoshal [Om Shanti Om](*sigh*)
How will you die? A State Of Trance 2007 CD 2 (In The Club) - Armin van Buuren (death in a state of trance...at the hands of Armin. hmm. where do I sign up, again?)
The song that will be played at your funeral? Breaking Ties (Above & Beyond Analogue Haven Mix) - Above & Beyond pres. Oceanlab (yes, I'd like that, thanks)
Your blog post subject Not Enough Time (Andy Duguid Remix) - Cosmic Gate feat. Emma Hewitt (AH! what a beautiful track and, incidentally, my favourite song of the moment!) **OK, I'm spending WAY too much time on iTunes...it has begun to be able to read my mind.**
Also, for all you doubters of my eclectic music library - check out the diversity! only 6/17 fall under the genre of Electronica. BOOYAH!
Musical miracles. Sparkling silhouettes, ominous in a deserted arch. So many lies. O, the Thrill of watching fires devour ticket stubs and mute your smell of cigarette smoke. I wonder, will you notice? That, today, it's just me and a shattered sky.
An unending night. Dreamless sleep. Gaping love holes in a Mughal Emperor's Twilight.
paralysing-damning-charming-hypocrisy, i want you to know: hookergold and charcoalblack i was, for one last night, made-of-love. chokingback tearsonatrain "i see in your face the eyes of a stranger" how much you hurt i heard i can never forget. and so it goes... a never ending moment. and one long silken burnt bridge.
Apologies for the oomph-lessness of "Strange Times, My Dear". Caught in a mire of work and reading and reorganising the mess that is life. Promise to blog with integrity once the weekend and feminist-critiques-of-Dickensian-women is done with.
Coming soon: Film review of Waltz With Bashir which I watched last night. Hi-larious double entendre quotes from Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure (rightly called Jude the Obscene by critics of the era)
But for now, something silly. LOL photo of the day:
Yo! This is sick! Trippy Devdas. Took the words right out of my mouth, Anurag Kashyap. Right out of my XTC-rolling mouth. Patna ke Presleys have it bang on with their take on love: emotional attyachar (torture/manipulation).
March 3rd, it comes out on D(e)VD (see what I did there! clever, na?) - it's already sitting pretty at the top of my Netflix queue. The rest of you can just stand in line (unless you live in India and have anyway been able to see it in the cinemas since Feb 6th. argh!)...this self-destructive haraami is all mine!
After a weekend of beautiful visitors, Valentine's Day shopping, hot chocolate & macaroons, late night chats over steaming cups of tea, warm hearts & frozen fingers...WORK. Anti-climactic is right! So all of yesterday and today was spent tap-tap-tapping away at a weary laptop. For le moment, essays are done, printed, handed in. And I have returned!
Some LOL news from the BBC (note to un-cool people: LOL = laugh out loud). For those of you too lazy to read the article - a study of confessions carried out by Friar Roberto Busa, a 95-year-old Jesuit scholar reveals the following amazing fact::
Top Deadly Sins for Men: Lust Gluttony Sloth
Top Deadly Sins for Women: Pride Envy Anger
HAH! Not that we needed any more proof, but now we have evidence from god's messengers that men are more carnal/gross than women! Lust-Gluttony-Sloth...imagine being married to that...*shudder*. So what are your "top 3 deadly sins"? I'd say mine are...hmm...Pride, Anger, Sloth. Impossible to live with, I know.
Also, here's a super-funny WTF piece (WTF = what the f...you know). Ole Billy Shakespeare is doing cartwheels in his grave.
AND it just started to snow...niiiiice. Sometimes, life really IS all Ha Ha Hee Hee.
Look no further than Preity Zinta. Here's the latest bakwaas from a woman who proves that it takes a lot of work to be this dim-witted and uninformed. "a bra-burning psychotic chic [sic]" = a Feminist?!?! I think such outdated characterizations of Feminists are only touted by the completely illiterate or the frighteningly-conservative (I am fighting the temptation to say "one and the same"...oops :P). I am not the biggest fan of Preity Zinta (read as: if I had to choose between a date with a cobra and an evening out with Zinta, I'd emphatically choose the former) and I always knew that she wasn't, by any standards, the brightest bulb in the box (read as: she makes candle light appear sunglasses-worthy). But thoughtless crap like this? REALLY? It is an embarrassment to brain cells everywhere. And, just in case you think this is a slip-up from an otherwise intelligent, talented actress...please, watch this:
I think the only disservice the Feminist movement has done to our world is to provide integrity and a public space for this woman to voice her opinions.
No matter that it's Friday the 13th. Today is the luckiest day of my life. I cannot be thankful enough to whatever greater force controls our lives for this day - and for the greatest gift of my life. Thank you for making me a part of your world, thank you for always reminding me to be a better person, thank you for being the sister I never felt like I didn't have.
Tina is really one of the most incredible people I have ever met. She is warm and loving, fierce and opinionated and you only have to watch her belt out Ek Pal Ka Jeena* to know that she's the very definition of the word 'cool' :P She is one of those rare people who inspires hope, from the very moment that you encounter her. And, despite the whole world sniggering at us - we've dreamt many an idealistic dream together.
Wisdom, empathy, love, kindness, pagalpan, and a huge dash of golden-spirit...mixed together in a bowl and sprinkled with cinnamon (coz I know you love it) and garnished with just-ripe blueberries = Tinu didi. My love, my inspiration, my joy.
May the year ahead and the future see your life happier and more blessed than you can even begin to imagine. And may you grow to be the person that the world needs you to be. Have a lovely day, my jaan. I love you :D
"The past is not dead. It isn't even past" - The Sound and the Fury, 1929
The title of the film comes from a ghazal by the god-like Mirza Ghalib
hazaaron khwaishein aisi ki har khwaish pe dum nikle bahut nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle
rough translation: a thousand desires like these, each worth dying for many are fulfilled, but still they remain unfulfilling [alternatively, "yet still more remain"]
One of the most overwhelming movies I have seen in a very long time. And, yes I'm glad I waited this long to see it. I don't think I would've ever understood the crimson depths of this film if I had watched it a day earlier. It is maddening, liberating, challenging and draining. And timeless. The only kind of film really worth watching. It says so much - about politics, revolution, love, quests, desire, (in)justice, loyalty, terror, loss, restlessness, awakening, joy...India. The soundtrack will search the darkest, most unexplored parts of your soul. It will converse with you. It will teach you about love and belief.
This is not hyperbole. Netflix it. Watch it online. Buy it. Travel to India for a copy, if you must. Just...WATCH IT.
I had a problem setting up our wireless router in the apartment today. So I excitedly called the 24/7 tech support phone number provided on the box. Excitedly? Why? Because I knew there would be the familiar Hindustani lilt at the other end of the line. And, today, that would come as a blessing. As the tone phur-phur-phurred away, my heart held its...err, beat. And then suddenly, "Hello, this is Smita from Belkin support speaking. How may I assist you today, please?" I sputtered, with tears in my eyes and a frog in my throat, "I can't seem to configure my router..."
I miss India so much. All that yelling and screaming I did at it way back in January...sigh, how I regret it. In all honesty, India is like the bad boyfriend in an unhealthy relationship - it can be quite painful when you're together, and it's unbearably agonising when you're apart. I feel like Devdas right now. O, the tragedy.
So, the cure? My Paroreplacement? (Oh, stop looking so puzzled and watch the movie!) "Masakali" on the subway, the purchase of a bottle of Hyderabadi curry paste with which to make dinner tonight, six cups of Tetley Masala Chai and the DVD of Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi.
I really didn't want to talk about Slumdog Millionaire anymore. It was a wonderful experience and I feel like I said all that I needed to (and more). Also, there are other things happening out there! However, I visited Amitabh Bachchan's blog today and thought this post contained two interesting takes (one is inward-looking, the other is just...well, a lengthy not-so-complimentary analysis) on the film -
http://bigb.bigadda.com/2009/02/10/day-291i/
Also, something I absolutely do NOT want to do is react to what other people have been blogging/writing about. Seriously, people, enough! I'm glad the film changed your life and has made you think about the world in new and fresh ways. But, stop being so reactionary and move on. Jeez...to think such a feel-good film about love and selflessness could make people (on either side - critics and lovers) so bitter! The irony kills...
OK that's it. No more, I promise. If you really have nothing better to do than to read yet MORE opinions on the film, feel free to click on the link. If not, I applaud your ability to rise above what's en vogue. Till the Oscar's then...
Ahh, the penny-pinching of cheapo hoarding-wallahs!
So, after receiving complaints from the Salon and Beauty Parlors’ Association of India (yeah, I thought it was a joke too) about the offensive nature of the term "Barber" in the title of the upcoming Red Chillies' Production Billu Barber, Shah Rukh Khan has decided to drop the word from the film's title. Less than a week before it's release. Therefore, it is now called Billu. Wow, what a slick name for a movie! Not.
As Amit Varma cleverly points out, 'If Raj Kapoor’s Shri 420 was released today, a Thieves and Dacoits Association of India might well have turned up to protest at the title—and the producers would then have to cut “420” from the title, leaving just “Shri.”'
Mera Bharat Mahaan!
P.S. - Tinu didi, notice the date of release! Heppy Early Birdday! :P
Priyankar sent me this article a few minutes ago and I just got done reading it. Very, very interesting take on the events orchestrated by Pramod Mutalik and a bunch of deranged goons, collectively known as Sri Rama Sene. Enough cannot be said about the ridiculous double standards that exist in all patriarchal societies (uhh, the world?) - but, as India is a country that is facing Western-style modernization at a rapid (rabid?) rate, it becomes more obvious how gendered this whole culture-clash situation is. Women wearing short skirts, women going to bars, women talking about sexual desire, women having unconventional jobs, women voicing their opinions LOUDLY...all these things appear to be symptoms of a "deteriorating" Indian culture. Men doing all these things? "Arre, India is going to be the next superpower in X odd years, yaar!" Anyway, my anger causes me to digress...the article. Haan, ji, so...
Much of the writing by women that revolves around the events in Mangalore have tended to focus on the hypocrisy in which the "culture war" is steeped - basically, that women are the only ones who are made to feel like they are caught in some ideological cultural whirlwind. Sagarika Ghose shies away from being a woman-writing-about-women (not that that's not a glorious/beautiful thing.) and instead takes a firm and well-articulated stance on the class war which, she contends, is manifesting itself as a 'culture' war. She argues that the newly wealthy class of India is wasteful and frivolous in its spending. And that the neo-conservative religious outburst is being played out against this backdrop of monetary vulgarity - basically, these young unemployed men could give a rat's ass whether or not you're going to a bar or hugging in a park...they are more upset that they are jobless in a dying econoomy while the affluent no less than flaunt their assets (err, interesting word choice, I know). A nation of les nouveaux riches. Sigh.
I'm not writing off the dominant argument that there is some very sinister misogyny, outdated cultural restoration and blatant religionism (that should really be a word) acting as serious inspiration for these folks, but the idea that the privileged are leading lives of frivolous waste and in a manner that has become offensive to many people is something that is worth considering. I don't think Ghose is arguing that we all give up our monthly paychecks to start up soup kitchens and orphanages (though what a grand idea, no?) tomorrow or that we declare abstinence from alcohol, parties and spandex. I think what she is calling for is what Barack Obama also reminded us of. The adoption of a lifestyle of modesty and compassion. One in which we don't spend a million dollars on cricket players in the IPL while poverty is rampant and hundreds and thousands of people are losing their jobs every month. One in which we don't judge other people or their children based on which corporate company they work for and how many lakhs they earn, but what their ideas are, how hard they work and the goodness of their hearts. A rethinking of modernity and independence. One in which, as women, freedom doesn't come from wearing bikini-top-cholis at weddings but realising that not getting married at the age of 26 is a viable option. Imagining a nation where a female journalist can pose controversial questions to government leaders in the smallest villages without fearing for her life. Where, as a man, going to a bar to talk to women or zooming through the streets on the latest Japanese-imported Mitsubishi motorbike to pick up women isn't a marker of personal freedom - but being able to take part in honest and true conversations with women around you, including them as fully in your life as you would any man...that is modernization.
While that ideal India marinates, I shall courier my pink chaddi (a flowery, frilly one no less) to Mutalik. Also, can I just say that I don't like how Ghose trashes the movement/idea/facebook group and then bangs out the disclaimer that she's a part of it. Err, defensive much? Sure, Sagarika, it won't change too much. But if their dramatic outburst is based on some concocted notion of vulgarity, let's up the ante. Also, it's symbolism...remember?
Update: Muthalik retorts. Apparently he has a sense of humour. I'll gladly wear that sari. But only if I can pair it with a blinged-out strapless choli and then go to a flashy bar. And also, only if he promises to wear a dhoti-kurta for the rest of his life. Done deal.
Walking out of Slumdog Millionaire, I couldn't help but feel the most agonizing burden of ambivalence. The person who once had a passionate argument with a fellow jobless individual about whether green Froot Loops are more tantalizing than yellow ones (I picked green) had mixed feelings about a film that the whole world had emphatically chosen as its film of the year. There had to be something wrong with me, I concluded. I don't know what I can add to the din that already surrounds this film. Everyone seems to have very strong feelings about it. And, honestly, I don't. Don't get me wrong - it wasn't that I didn't enjoy the film or that my vision of it was clouded by everything that I have read/heard about it. The film had all the makings to become the 2 greatest hours of my life - India, hope, guns-n-gangStars, Irrfan Khan, Mahesh Manjrekar (!), unrelenting love and a heavy share of chatpatta Boombai masala. Everything....but, it just didn't seem mine.
Danny Boyle's Trainspotting is one of my favourite films of all time. It is a fast-paced, racy trip (hah! pun intended) through the manic lives of a group of heroin addicts in Edinburgh. Often critiqued for glamorizing the horror of heroin abuse, it is an interestingly flashy portrayal of pain. And, while Slumdog hasn't achieved quite the same rapturous intensity, there are moments in it that feel oh-so-Danny-Boyle familiar. My favourite portion of the film is this one. It is everything I had imagined Slumdog Millionaire would be.
AR Rahman beats, M.I.A.'s nasal growl, stunningly dire visuals, running boys - their footfalls so firm on the Dharavi streets your heart pumps, la tendresse in the grime. For me, sadly, there wasn't enough of this in the film. After the first 30 minutes of the film, I felt like it degenerated into a string of plot-driven events and circumstances.
That's not to say that I wasn't curled up like a nervous hedgehog in my cinema seat, eyes as wide as tea saucers, madly whispering **spoiler alert** "Jack Hobbs" when Jamal is faced with the first-class hundreds question. And that's not to say that I wasn't bouncing up and down in my seat when Salim's phone rings-and-rings-and-rings during the last question ["Come on Latika! Pick up the goddamn phone man!!"]. A fantasy plot meets the venomous reality bug. It's not like it hasn't been done before, and it certainly has been done by Danny Boyle before. It just didn't work for me in this movie.
But enough about me! Let's talk about Slumdog.
You know what was really great about the film? How many full-blown masaledar bindaas Bollywood cinema techniques it embraced. The relationship between two chalk-and-cheese brothers - one who lives for rising out of the grime, by any means necessary -- one who values naught but family, love, companionship (Deewaar, anyone?). The shots of Latika's foray into the musty redlight district are so similar to Hindi cinema shots of courtesan/bar girl scenes that I had to bow down to cinematographer Anthony Mantle's keen sense of cinematic vision (also, anyone else notice how the familiar strains of "Choli Ke Peeche Kya Hai" were AR Rahman-ised in "Ringa Ringa"?). And, really, the Jamal-Latika love-defies-all-odds story is child's play to any Bombay film industry wallah. Also, has Danny Boyle pulled a Yash Chopra with his shooting of Jai Ho in VT Station? Let's wait and watch if we have Hollywood producers lining up outside Laloo Prasad Yadav's office to try and grab spots to shoot their love songs in various Indian railway stations. (I'm only half-joking by the way)
It's interesting watching Danny Boyle stray away from his indie noir-comedy and trying his hand at making a commercially viable, universally appealing film. But perhaps I've watched far too many Hindi films and, therefore, Slumdog seemed like a poor man's attempt at classic Bollywood. The melodrama quotient was altogether too subtle in Slumdog. Perhaps the songs should have lingered longer. The characters been more spicy. The dialogue richer. The lead actor (Ila will kill me for this) better. Dev Patel made for a rotten Bombay slumdog, I must say (although, A+ for effort, mate). The accent was atrocious, the wide-eyed marvelling at the city rang false and, in general, he was unconvincing. And the argument that Loveleen Tandon/Danny Boyle couldn't find a single actor in India to play the role -well, that's just a plain lie, isn't it? I'm not saying you need to cast Shah Rukh Khan or Hrithik Roshan in the role. But, why didn't you just pick up an (older) kid from the slums, like you did with Azharuddin Mohammed Ismail and Rubina Ali if you were gunning for 'authenticity'? And hey, I thought all the supporting actors in the film (from Irrfan to Saurabh Shukla to Madhur Mittal) did an excellent job in their roles...guess what, they're all Indian. So, really, Dev Patel was a deliberate choice.
Also, I wish people would stop talking about the film like it's a work of activist cinema. No, it's really not. It's a film in which two young boys find ways out of a glamourized slum using a keen sense of enterprise and a whole lotta luck. It's happy. Where the good guys win, and the bad guys...well, we lose them, somewhere between becoming overnight millionaires and mushy "kiss me" love reunions. It's not a film about Poverty - it's a film about Jamal Malik. But also, why are some people acting as if this is the first film in which an Indian slum has been portrayed? Clearly people have NOT been watching enough cinema coming out of the country if they think this film has done what no Indian film has done before. You don't even have to stray too far from commercial Hindi cinema to find dark, dreary images of the slum life - Ram Gopal Varma and Madhur Bhandarkar have instant poverty all ready for your DVD player. But also, if you're living in India or have lived in India, and you need a flashy film to tell you that slums and inhuman destitution exist in our country...really, Yash Raj Films and song-and-dance sequences are not the problem at all.
OK, this is beginning to sound like a rant post. And it shouldn't be that! I liked the film. I promise. Enough to see it twice. Enough to cry like a baby during both viewings and every time I've watched the trailer. It's a beautiful film...but I can't help but feel that too much about it was just too deliberate. The tears and the trauma, the smiles and the soaring spirits, the loss and the love...it all just felt too practiced and packaged. The reeling, rolling abandon of the opening clip is quickly lost in gasping-for-breath breakneck storytelling and, somewhere, the universal appeal of the film is lost and Jamal's individual story becomes the focus of the narrative. It's a film that is a visual marvel...but an intellectually/emotionally unchallenging one.
Having said all of that, though, I will be cheering my tush off for Slumdog Millionaire, Danny Boyle and AR RAHMAN at the Oscars. Because ultimately, they brought together the Ska/Dancehall grit of M.I.A. and the exuberance of Jai Ho. Because, I will forever be indebted to them for the scene (from which this agonizingly beautiful photo is taken) in which Jamal (played by the altogether too perfect Ayush Mahesh Khedekar) braves sabotage and defecation to secure an autograph from Amitabh ji. And, for creating a motion picture in which we all realise that, somewhere deep down in all of us, is a scabby little slumdog, fighting his way through a not-so-great world by living off of that magical fairy dust that always makes things better...love.
The Super Bowl was this past weekend. What is this "Super Bowl", you say? Well, it's the championship game of the NFL (National Football League) - the highest award in American football. It is a Sunday when huge chunks of the country come to a screeching standstill as men, women, children, cats and dogs all gather around buckets of chicken wings and barrels of beer to watch the game. With an estimated TV audience of 80-90 million viewers at any given time and a TV rating of 40 and 60 share (i.e. 40 % of all households and 60% of all homes tuned into television during the game), it is, undoubtedly the biggest night in TV. And, where there are people involved, there will be money involved. Stacks of it.
A sub-culture of the Super Bowl that has emerged over the years is the commercial. Of course with such HUGE reach, big corporations realise the advertising potential of the evening. So, people will tune into the game (and, if you've ever watched a game of American football, you'll know that there is a commercial break every half-a-breath) to catch some of the most creative ads companies can come up with. It is rumoured that a 30-second spot on TV during the game can cost upwards of $ 2.7 million. Yeah, that's a lot of zeroes after the 2.7 There have been some interesting ones this year: the 3D SoBe ad (if you have 3D glasses on hand, use them - it's pretty cool!), all the lavish Coke-Pepsi ads and (apparently the most popular ad of the year -- please don't ask me why) the Doritos: Crystal Ball ad.
Having finished all my reading for the week and having countless hours at my expense, I decided to watch a few of the SuperBowl ads (you can too! on hulu.com). And, my feminist ears couldn't help but prick up as the adjective "sexist" was whispered through the cosmic, online galaxy. Here are a few of the best (read as: worst) ads:
Pepsi Max - because replacing 10spoons of sugar with carcinogenic preservatives instantly transforms a drink from macho to sissy. if you thought the gendering of Scotch-on-the-rocks vs Apple-tini was the stupidest thing ever...think again.
Bridgestone - because we aren't creative enough to come up with anything except the age-old stereotype of "gabbing girls" and women as "passenger-seat-drivers"
Teleflora - because what's not funny about crushing the (stereotypically) shaky self-esteem of a young woman with the threat of eternal damnation of the soul, i.e. leading a man-less life
I feel so inspired! I think I'll get out of my pink pajamas, grab a bowl of low-fat cereal+skimmed milk, take a bubble bath and think about my massive school-girl crush on this totally hot guy who sold me DIET Coke at the cafe yesterday. Commercial media, is that a feminine enough way to start my day?
Tulips. From my street.
First of the night. Early.
Signature pose.
L.E.D. There Be Light
He's a cutie-patootie. I love.
5:10 AM.
I am listening to Wagner's Walkürenritt (Ride of the Valkyries) as I type this. Which, of course, can mean only one thing - I am enraged.
He is coming. The countdown HAS begun.
After watching the first 25minutes of it over the weekend, I winced and decided that I just couldn't get through its contrived predictability.
Ahh, the penny-pinching of cheapo hoarding-wallahs!
