Quirky News

abababaaabbbbbaabbbbaaabbbbbbbbbb ...
-means, long time, no 'C'

How many of you guys have had grudges with the urinals? And how many of you know that there are some art galleries that display urinals? :D Read this article:
http://news.scotsman.com/topics.cfm?tid=609&id=27002006

Thinking of which, urinals probably are the only creations that like to be heard, "That one looks just the right place to pee on."

Bun, Tea, aur Bubbly

-pic courtesy of some genius- i didnt take the pic :)

I was watching Bunty Aur Babli. And I noticed some off-focus things that kept me awake. Here they are:

In that 'Dhadak, dhadak. Dhadak, dhadak. Dhuwan udaye re...' song... whenever the 'dhadak, dhadak...' chorus comes, there will be a train somewhere in the terrain.

When Bunty and Babli scams that bald 'phirangee' by selling Taj Mahal to him, they throw him a wedding bash. The name of the band that played in the procession is called Milan Band.

In the Taj Mahal scam, Bunty proposes the fake news (that Taj Mahal is for sale) to be printed in Agra Times, whereas the bald guy is shown later to be reading the news from The Times of India.

Bunty carries a cricket bat in his shoulderbag, but does not even talk of cricket during the whole movie. Much like SRK draping those monochromatic sweaters of different hues around his shoulder and not wear it even once in that rash-breaking Mohabbatein movie.

After Babli makes a call from her mobile to the airport control tower to give a bomb scare, and when Dasrath calls back on the cell, Babli does not know how to switch it off. Wouldn't you have dumped the cell as soon as you made the call, or kept it on silent or vibra mode?

With Dasrath hot in their pursuit, Bunty manages to take laboring Babli to the hospital, have the baby delivered, and abscond from the hospital with them, all before Dasrath even manages to reach the hospital.

After the capture, during train ride with Dasrath, Bunty monologues and says that he does not want to be a train ticket collector like his father... judging by absurd, bollywoody scripts and the serendipitous turn of events, I was fully expecting his father to open the door and ask for their tickets.

After Dasrath decides to let them go and the duo step off at a platform, the movie pans from a tea stall with a board 'Jungle Mein Mangal' with a painting of Amir Khan in his Mangal Pandey look. (Mangal Pandey had not been released then... Coincidence?)

And in Babli's arms is a too-huge-to-be-only-a-few-days-old baby who is not bunldled and is naked to the chest.

After B&B settle down in Fursatganj, Bunty's hometown- one morning, Babli lovingly lathers Bunty's jowls with a shaving cream while he talks to their kid. After the kid leaves, Bunty wipes off the cream without shaving.

What We Wear to Express

I wanna be your underwear.
-Bryan Adams (did he really think this through?)

During a micro-ride today, I happened to 'have to' listen to a pathetically interesting FM program. There were two anchors, a guy and a girl. The program had a call-in feature, and they were discussing with a caller the present fashion trend in Nepal.

The woman was saying- There are two types of people. One kind adopts fashion to feel good, and do it basically for themselves. The other kind is more concerned about wearing skimpy clothes (in her words 'angapradarshan garne lugaharu') to attract attention from others.

And she was openly against the second type of people. She was asserting that people should be doing this way and behaving that. Why should she be making such 'ought-to' judgments? Self-expression in whatever way is a right. What I mean is, if I feel uncomfortable with somebody's clothes (for instance, if I happen to sit across a hairy person wearing a newspaper), I hold myself to blame for feeling such discomfort, not him/her. And while I am not going to stare at the man's crotch even if the news there says 'Gold Mine Discovered in Kupondol Heights-Govt. Says Come Take It For Free', I will not tell the man that he is polluting my eyesight.

That having said, please do not come IN banana peels the next time you come to see me. But you can visit me WITH bananas. But again, dont bother visiting if the purpose of your visit was to hit me with those bananas.

My personal guideline is 'dont let them stare at your wear'.

Top 10 reasons why a newspaper is not a good clothing material:
1. You're in deep shit when it rains.
2. In cold winters such as this one, you will get a bonechill with numerous uncontrollable drafts through various cracks.
3. You will tend to get a lot of stares from the passers-by. And you wouldnt want to look stupid if you could help it.
4. You can hardly choose the clothing texture, pattern and design. The last one is an important tool for self-expression. You have to skim through many many newspapers to come up with a nice and appropriate picture in the entertainment section. Can you imagine an executive officer in a meeting wearing a scantily clad angelina jolie on his chest? What if his employees hate anjelina jolie?
5. Newspapers are treacherous when it's windy. They tend to crumple, flap, rip, and tear.
6. When you walk, they rustle. When you run... well, you can't run wearing a newspaper. Refer to #5, coz when you run, you gather wind.
7. It's highly probable that your undies will show. I hope they're not made of newspaper too.
8. Newspapers come in standard sizes. Especially since this size is too small, you have to conjoin many papers together. And newspapers are unstitchable with thread. What else would you use? Stapler?
9. Newspapers can become notoriously unmanageable when it comes to fasteners, like buttons, velcro (you know what's gonna tear first), zippers. So whatever your initial design may be, in the end you will just end up taping the papers to your body.
10. At best, they are good for one time use only.

MBA Pass

Those of you who are psychokinetic, please raise my hands!!
-dont know who

Now that I have finished my MBA, I thought I could finally launch the art project that had been on my mind since my bachelors' days.

This installment is going to be displayed out into the open, with a 'take-it-to-the-audience' concept. I am proposing the location to be at the center of the Thapathali traffic junction.

It is a clay sculpture, roughly twice the size of the computer monitor, mounted on a potter's wheel that is 6 meters across. The sculpture is a tubular mass of clay dumped in such a way that it is arranged conically, like in an ice cream, with the top end of the tube sticking off like the end of an ice cream cone. The sculpture is going to be hollow with minute perforations on the areas facing upwards. A small vapor producing machine is to be installed underneath the wheel to conceal it from the view of the audiences. The produced vapor is channeled through the tube and out of the perforations to give the effect that the sculpture is giving off steam. Much like a pile of shit.

The title of the project: Sham Poo.

Yappy New Hear 2006!!

What's the difference between me and you? About 5 bank accounts, 3 ounces, and two vehicles.
-Some Gangsta Rapper

Yappy New Ear? Happy Near You? You Nearly Happy? Appear Huey and Nappy? Wear New Yappies? Happening Yappies? Ears of Nappy Hens? Wearing Your Happy Ears? When Ears get Nappy? Pay to get your Ears Happy and New?

Ok ok... 2006 is here. So what? Yesterday's still yesterday, tomorrow's coming only tomorrow, and we're in today. What's going on with the booze and parties? Oh, I see it- it's basically a synchronized pretext of making merriment. Nothing bad about it. It's pretty cool. What's not cool is when people make lame jokes like:
Oh, I'll only see you next year then!
Oh, I had a HRD case submission due last year, and I (still) didnt do it!

Grunt! Actually, in fact, incidentally, and to maintain precision, I have to admit I gave in to the impulse to crack the joke myself. I think it was the first one. But still, it's uncool.

But I can see what the fuss is all about. The British Secret Service must really be looking forward for the 007 year next year, right? Speaking of which- earlier during the evening, Sid and I were conversing about whether there exists a superhuman in reality, and he ventured that there is Superman, but Batman is more real, and James Bond is a pure myth. Personally, I think Spiderman is just bogus, a huge Hollywood scam. If you look into the bowels of NYC, you will definitely find a fiber-making factory that supplies gossamer to Peter Parker. And Parker is most probably wearing contacts. About his build; well, I have not seen him personally, and I would like to venture that he is not that well-built. I mean, a 'fateful' bite from a spider, and you're suddenly a friendly, neighborhood spiderman? There's definitely something black in the lentils.

But I would like to think that superheros do exist, just in much nondescript way. An example, David Dunn, the very-real superhero. He acted in Unbreakable by M. Night Shyamalan. It does not matter whether he is for real. The movie just presents a case "Why should there NOT be a superhero in real?". Got any comments from your side?

I do not recall last new year that it was this cold. I mean, around here in Kupondol, we have to gently tap our fingertips so as to ensure the blood flow, and when I blow into the mirror, the mist does not stay- the breath just bounces right off. Ignore the last statement if you did not get it. But you are welcome to visit my frigid abode to witness a demonstration; with an appointment, of course- I am a bit busy exhibiting KTM people how the bouncing off is really working.

Wussup? I think Im starting to mint out more than one blogs per day!

Rodeos Riding Rocking Wild Bulls

Have you ever watched those rodeo cowboys doing bullrides on TV? It's weird watching it without knowing any rules. While channel-flipping, I came across this game in Reality TV.

It just seems pointless... I did not see much skill or finesse at play. After a few seconds, the enraged bull, with its rear jumping more than 7 feet up in the air, invariably throws off the 'brute' from its back, and while still jumping, tries to gore the fallen guy.

The commentator, with a Southern drawl, exclaims: "Ow! That's stepp't on really hard right'un the back!" or "Tha wus a daiiirreckt hiyet (direct hit) raaitt aun hies ribs!"

Each one of them somehow manages to get up, runs to the nearest fence, and makes expressions (sometimes even shaking his head in disbelief) as if wondering how he got fallen off. If I had a chance, I would have told him with an unagreeing bull like that, he probably had less than half a percent probability that he would stay on the back- that too, with no guarantee that his spinal cord would not snap. Obviously. Seriously, he was not exactly riding a horse!

At this point, the commentator will be saying something like: "He's catching his breath niaou. He don't look too good!" or "Paramedics- theyrr all here. He's in good hands niaou!!"

I have decided that I would never ride a bull. I mean, with men flying in the air in weird angles and shapes, I am sure that I can find a more amenable competitive edge. I had tried the trampoline back when I was quite a kid and was in the mindbending (literally) Gymnastics Club, and I could not make myself enjoy the midair experiences and the consequent meeting with the ground (most preferably on feet).