Listen Up, Y'all.




I have made a startling discovery. The more I sleep, the less rested I am.


Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?
Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?

So here's the story. When my dad came to visit a couple of months ago, the expected happened. He and my mum had an argument, and for some reason, that made my dad want to visit this giant bookstore near our house, and since I was a wastrel around the house even back then, I went with him, hoping I'd get some supplies in the bargain. And I did. Bestowed upon me was a wonderful sketchbook with 160 creamy texturised pages, that were comfortably smooth to allow happy shading, but smooth enough not to screw up your drawing. (I even blogged about this book when I just got it in this post). And then I spent many a happy day, making exactly THREE pieces of art, that too, not even for myself. Then, like an idiot, I lost it.

It would have been alright had I known WHEN I lost it, thereby making it easier for me to FIND it, but I don't even know when exactly it was lost, so I don't even know where to begin. I miss my sketchbook very much, even more because the mother has chastised me for being irresponsible and I'm not going to be given a replacement. 

The sketchbook is largish (slightly larger than your average A4 sheet) with a white cover and cardboard back. It has a Mountain Lion on the cover. The first page is blank with a margin, the second page has the face-portrait of a man that I never finished, the third page has a sketch of two people coloured in 60s style, and the fourth page has a rather elaborate pencil-outlined-with-ink drawing. I have not written my name on it (yes, I am rather stupid in such matters). If you find it, will you PLEASE let me know?

I miss my sketchbook. I never did much, but at least there was that little glowing bubble of knowing that if I ever felt like drawing, there was a very nice sketchbook waiting patiently for when I am truly inspired. It's not fair. I didn't even complain when I lost my Macbeth text before the exam and had to improvise my answers, I didn't whine even once. Because it didn't really matter to me, that Macbeth book. But my sketchbook really, really matters, and I am very, very depressed. I miss my sketchbook very much.

Carmen Sandiego, won't you return?

Playlist - 
This River is Wild - The Killers
Crazy in Love - Snow Patrol
Sexy Boy - Franz Ferdinand (Listen to this one, it may just seriously beat "Michael" as my favourite song by them)

I know I keep posting my most recently-played songs all the time, and it's often kind of horrifyingly cute how Snow Patrol pops into all of it all the time, but this is truly, truly disturbing. All iPods have an auto-playlist where the Most-Played 25 get gathered together to fuel your obsession further, and THIS is what my list (in order, I think?) looks like - 

Woman Like A Man - Damien Rice (Bloody Fantastic.)
The Planets Bend Between Us - Snow Patrol (Best chorus, ever.)
The Golden Floor - Snow Patrol (Un-Snow Patrol Snow Patrol)
Michael - Franz Ferdinand (You saw this coming.)
Lifeboats - Snow Patrol (I didn't know I liked it that much.)
An Olive Grove Facing the Sea - Snow Patrol (Instruction Guide for all Elementary Stalking.)
Unplayed Piano - Damien Rice (It's a song for Peace, that means I give a damn.)
Set the Fire to the Third Bar - Snow Patrol, Martha Wainwright (Again, not unexpected.)
Crack the Shutters - Snow Patrol (Shut up)
Accidental Babies - Damien Rice (Again, Shush.)
Butterflies and Hurricanes - Muse (It's all good until you hear me try to sing the piano bit.)
Grazed Knees - Snow Patrol (Whaaatt? Stop staring at me.)
Whipping - Pearl Jam (I'm as relieved as you are, believe you me.)
Somewhere Only We Know - Keane (Sure.)
Crushcrushcrush - Paramore (Why yes, I like Paramore. Bite me.)
Party for Two - Shania Twain, Mark McGrath (*squeals, runs away and hides*)
If There's A Rocket, Tie Me To It - Snow Patrol (Aw, Here it goes again)
In Command of Cars - Snow Patrol (This is a little scary, innit?)
Possum Kingdom - The Toadies (Yay!)
Lazy Sunday (SNL) - Chris Parnell, Andy Samberg (If you can call it a song...)
All You Need is Love - The Beatles ("She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!")
The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice (The first Rice song I ever heard. )
Rootless Tree - Damien Rice (If you knew the chorus, you'd get why it's often played. I dare you, Google it.)
I'll Make a Man Out of You - Mulan Soundtrack (Oh God. Oh No.)
Cold Water - Damien Rice (This list is over. Do not attach any value judgements, ok?)

This is scary, it really is. Although it is somewhat funny to find one of SNL's Digital Short raps on the list, and yes, it is a little mortifying to find that song from Mulan (but hey, atleast it's classic Disney), there is just too much of DR and SP.

I thought I was diverse and all. But I'm just a obsessed maniac. 

Eh well.

Care for a Smoke?

Adt got mint cigarettes to school today. Remember when we were little, there were minty ciggies that came in a disgustingly green box with a cheap picture of Charlie Chaplin? And they were red-tipped? She found those. I ate two of them, and I still want more.

And they cost about Rs.4 for ten. 

Playlist - 
Shout - The Temptations (!!)
Jigsaw Falling into Place - Radiohead
The Lightning Strike - SP (!)


A Mother begs. She wants her son's corpse to just open its eyes one more time, so she can whisper to him the goodbye she never got to say.

The sister is dead and the brother cries, she has gone away.
An infant is orphaned, another is carried to safety and his father is tired yet triumphant.

Shrapnel. Bullets, debris. Attack, defend, attack. Men in uniform, bathed in sweat, blood, tears.

And all we can do is hope for the best, and that is the only weapon we have? The other side has Kalashnikovs and hand-grenades. 

The only thing under siege is the fate of humanity.

Ok, first, a bit of background. In school, I'm part of this class called Pit Ensemble. In essence, it's an opportunity for me to slack off and play piano, xylophones, vibraphones, assorted percussion instruments (bongos are serious fun), or, in some cases, steel drums. A rival Catholic high school called Santa Margarita started a steel drum band a few years back, so we had to have one also. Because of this, I have played the steel drums a little bit since the school year started. Now, fast forward to present day. It's currently Thanksgiving Break (an excuse for us Americans to be gluttonous and pretend we're thankful for everything), during which I have an entire week off of school. During this time, I convinced my teacher to lend me a pair of steel drums. So, I've been practicing on-and-off during the week on my fantastic, amazing, incredible, jealousy-from-Sahana-inducing steel drums! Well, it's late at night and I got bored, so I decided to teach myself the wretched melody from Soulja Boy. Let this be clear first: I loathe that song. When I hear the cursed tune, I instinctively reach for my ears, not to cover them from the torrential onslaught of noise, but to gouge my eardrums out so they may never again have to endure the Aushwitz level suffering that is induced by the...*sigh*...Soulja Boy. Anyway, here is the video. And in case you are wondering which piano video I am referencing in the Soulja Boy video, look at my other videos, there is a nice clip of me playing the piano solo from "In My Life" by The Beatles. Anyway, without further ado, here is me playing (with terrible light and poor audio quality) Soulja Boy on steel drums. Enjoy!

Artsy Eskimo Lover.

It's not that great, but it kind of fit in with the lyrics from "What if this Storm Ends?", Part One of Lightning Strike, from A Hundred Million Suns. (Yes, I'm that obsessed. I wanted to draw Golden Floor, but I need time for that. And I have LOTS of artwork to finish first.)

Under the girl, the lyrics are - "The perfect halo of cold hair and lightning sets you off against the Planet's last dance."
And for the dude, the lyrics are - "Just for a minute, the silver forked sky lit you up like a star that I would follow."

Also, if you're up for some pretty lyrics, please see the chorus of "The Planets Bend Between Us". The lyrics are - 
"I will race you to the waterside, 
And from the edge of Ireland shout out loud
So they can hear it in America,
It's all for you."
Man, that Gary can write.


Seriously, I think I may have a problem. I have tons of homework to do, yet here I am, writing up a post on blogger. Maybe it's because I feel bad because Sahana's been spamming the site lately, I don't know. What I DO know is that I do not feel like doing homework. Hell, I actually have no clue what I even intend to write about, I just knew I needed to write something, and here I am. This is very stream-of-consiousness-ey. I feel like Virginia Woolf.

Well, I have been succeeding in school as of late. In the same week, I got an A on my APUSH exam, a 9/9 on the Free Response Question that we took the day after that exam, an A on my AP Chemistry Exam--the list goes on. I feel like such a good student, yet I know that it will have to come to an end eventually. But, in the meantime, I'm flying. Perhaps I should go do work in order to maintain this ecstatic feeling. When I'm done with this post. Let's see...I need something substantive to talk about. If I just ramble the whole time I'll end up deleting the post, and wasting more time.

Oh, I know. Here is my official (updates will come when I think of additions) list of things I must do before I die.

-Play Butterflies and Hurricanes with a full band in front of an audience.
-Travel the world. And I mean all over the world. At least 75% of all countries.
-Visit Sahana. Maybe we'll go to a bar.
-Be in some sort of touring rock band.
-Deliver a speech to over 1,000 people.
-Make some sort of positive influence on the world.
-Invent and subsequently patent something.

There, was that such a bad blog post? Shakey start, but I would say I saved it. And it does have a cool Emily Brontë-esque feel to it. But less feminist. And more cheuvenistic. And much, much more awesome.

Oh, and Sahana--

You're welcome. :)

And you listening to Queens of the Stone Age, Steely Dan, Franz Ferdinand, and Snow Patrol is amazing. Seriously. Fantastic tastes.

The Hundredth Millionth Sun

Two successive Gary posts in a day. Somewhere in the world, something wonderful must be happening. Maybe  HotBody Lightbody is googling his own name and he finally found this blog. Hallelujah, 'tis been a long time coming.

I reviewed the album. You saw that coming, didn't you? I spent an hour on it, and listened to it twice. And even wrote half an essay on Chekhov, so I feel quite empowered right now. I tried not to sound like a know-it-all, but I can't help the comparisons and the references, its not my fault I've heard all their songs. Being a GL stalker is hard work.

One thing is for certain. Snow Patrol has certainly cheered up. 
While Eyes Open was a heart-wrenching word description of the trajectory of a failed relationship, filled with sensitivity (Chasing Cars), frustration (It's Beginning to Get to Me), penitence (Make This Go On Forever), separation (Set the Fire to the Third Bar), desolation, and acceptance (The Finish Line). Eyes Open brought with itself a set of fourteen masterpieces that merged into one to give the world Snow Patrol's best album. It was an album that defined poignancy, and each track stood out as favourite, and the album as a whole made one surrender, made one float, and made one soar. 

A Hundred Million Suns comes two years after Eyes Open, conceived in Germany, and partly in Ireland, in a house that was located on a cliff that overlooked the sea. The band firmly maintains that this is their best album yet, while most fans tend to believe that with AHMS, they've succumbed to the pressures of chartbuster-music, brought on because of Chasing Cars. Their opinion is that SP's best album is still a toss between Final Straw and Eyes Open. That's what the general mass of them thinks. 

And quite obviously, I disagree.
Yes, AHMS is not Eyes Open. It's cheerful, it's happy, and it's reflective, but in an optimistic way. Both albums make you feel nostalgic, but while Eyes Open will make you think of the days when you felt your worst, and of the days that you wanted to curl up and die just at the thought of another day in your dreary existence, AHMS will bring to your mind the colours of an amusement park flashing past your eyes, the smell of buttered popcorn, the feel of your favourite blanket on a cold night, the taste of your favourite food on the day that you feel the sickest. I wouldn't exactly call it upbeat, but it's definitely one of those albums that will make you smile. Eyes Open reopened wounds and made you cry inside, and AHMS is a phantom kiss on your forehead, it is a reassuring hug, it is a wonderful band-aid.
Snow Patrol goes all out in this album, reverting back to their more gutsy songs, reminiscent of Final Straw's Spitting Games and Tiny Little Fractures. Although their lead guitar has definitely mellowed down, and yes, their bass guitar is not that discernable anymore, Snow Patrol has definitely mastered the art of combining all the standard band instruments, mellowing them down to their style, and throwing in a few piano chords in the mix to make it unique. The chorus of each of their songs is more crowd-friendly, with simple background vocal effects that exude the aura of a large stadium without compromising on the homeliness of the band. Snow Patrol has always maintained that they are not one of the bands that will be remembered for on-stage theatrics - their music and their entire persona is based upon their approachability and their easy going attitude. AHMS amplifies this very maxim. 
Eyes Open was an album which when played in the order of listing, started off with the atmosphere-creating "You Are All I Have", became softer with Chasing Cars, reached a crescendo with Make This Go On Forever, employing martial drum beats, church-choruses and the persistent piano, then quietened again with Set the Fire.., and died down with The Finish Line. 
AHMS is not an album that requires you to play in order, but if you do, then each song will make you wish you had heard it before, because the chorus is so infectious, you wish you knew how to sing along. There is the notable introduction of an acoustic guitar which lends a somewhat pleasantly jangly note, making you feel like you were at a live bar listening to them jam. Take Back the City, the first single from the album, is one of those very songs, bordering on an anthem-like sound, an acoustic bass-line and a tune that grows on you. I know someone who hated it at first listen, then went around humming it the rest of the week. It'll catch your attention, and it'll stay there. My favourite track as of now is Crack the Shutters, with a soundscape reminiscent of You Could Be Happy (high, isolating piano tinklings!), but this song is just so uplifting, it's amazing. A first listen will get you hooked, but by the time you read the lyrics, you wish this song had been written for you. Lifeboats is another one that is racing up my most-played list; I think it's because of the pitch - it just sounds a little different, like half-an-octave off the regular. Of course, I might be wrong, but I think that's why. The Golden Floor is slightly off the beaten track for Snow Patrol, with a very interesting beat that piqued my interest. However, the song that got me all curious was Snow Patrol's first 16-minute long song, called The Lightning Strike. The Lightning Strike has three parts, What if this Storm Ends?, The Sunlight Through the Glass, and Daybreak. All three parts are isolated songs on their own, bound by a common thread. While I would think it ambitious of Snow Patrol to infringe upon long songs that are normally the territory for more "hardcore" progressive rock bands, it's a brave try, and while I wouldn't say that the experiment entirely succeeded, it's nice to see that they're constantly try to reinvent and challenge themselves musically. It's not that I don't like it, but I just really don't see the point of having one long song, when clearly, it's just three songs. I'm assuming they know something I don't?

Conclusively, I'd say that AHMS certainly does not deserve the criticism that it has been the receiving end of. Most people who listen to Snow Patrol are those lovers who've only heard Eyes Open, and a few famous old ones, like Run, Spitting Games, and Chocolate. Yes, Eyes Open got them attention, and yes, it made them very, VERY famous, but it's presumptious to claim that the generally radio-friendly nature of AHMS is a desperate, Billboard-hungry claim to fame. No, Snow Patrol is not trying to knock anyone off the charts with this album, but it's rather clear why they say it's their best album ever. It's subtly diverse, with different beats, different styles. 
But before I finish, I do have to lech over Gary Lightbody.
This guy is just unbelievable. I have ABSOLUTELY no words for him. He is just hot. The dishevelled wild look of Chasing Cars, the clean, light-stubbly Chocolate, and then neurotically love-struck in Crack the Shutters, this man makes me melt. And as if his visual appeal wasn't enough, he has an Irish accent, an amazingly English sense of sarcastic, wordplay humour. And he has pretty eyes.
And on top of that, he is about the most sensitive lyricist that I have heard of. He is one of those people who manages to write flattering and wonderful things about a girl, without being even a tiny bit corny, or cheesy or cliched. In When It's All Over, We Still Have to Clear Up, he makes being a stalker sexy with An Olive Grove Facing the Sea. He makes bonfires adventurous with Firelight.
In Songs for Polarbears, he sang Velocity Girl, and we all know what that did to me. In Final Straw, he brought on the apocalypse with Chocolate, became a high-school stalker in Spitting Games, and showed the magic of plain and simple piano with Same and also, the violin in Grazed Knees. And then in Eyes Open, we all forgave him for his mistakes, and we all fell in love, even though the album was penned by Lightbody in the avatar of a repenting philanderer. 
And then in A Hundred Million Suns, he finally pushed me over the edge with Crack the Shutters. 

Thanks a lot, Gary. Because of you, my expectations is the opposite sex are soaring high. They need to be tall, they need to be songwriters, and they need to be friendly.
Bonus points if their name is Gary.
Bnous browniepoints if their surname is Lightbody.

Oh God, I need to get a life.

I'm in Love.

I'm very sorry, potential beaus. You can all shove off and go to hell. (Or stick around and worship from afar.)
I love Gary Lightbody. 

And if you still want to change my mind, then I challenge you to write something more beautiful than the lyrics of "Crack The Shutters Open". (songlink)  (lyricslink)

(Or you could just listen to it and float away like I did.)

P.S. - I f***ing HATE our postal system. Is it that hard for you guys to actually do your job once in a while, you lazy, bureaucratic, sloth-like, gosh-darned c***s?

Update - (19-30) 

Dear (Nicholas) Michael (Way too lazy to type all your names) Stropko, 
Thank you.


I'm Going Slightly Mad

I wonder if this happens to everyone? Every time that I actually want to sit down and study, something keeps happening. Like, if I'm googling something for an answer, I'll start Facebook-ing (is that even a word?), or I'll start up conversations on MSN, and have about seven tabs open. If I'm doing Math with my iPod plugged in, I start doing karaoke and I start bopping (What a godawful word) to the beat, and then it goes downhill from there. I haven't studied at all (honest) this weekend, or even today, and the thing is, I want to but I feel somehow incapacitated. I open a book, and I cannot decide where to start, and by the time I start, I'm already bored. And I find ways to run online, or watch TV or something. I know, yeah, this is just EXTREME procrastination, but it's getting to a point where I'm beginning to scare myself. I'm not under any sort of pressure or anything (Psh, the ISCs are ... well, okay, I lied.). The thing is, I've never behaved like this before. I'm startling myself - I've never been one for studying much, but I'm not studying at all, and if I EVER want to escape to college I need to get through this.

Obviously, spending twenty minutes blogging about it has not really helped.

Playlist - 
Do It Again - Queens of the Stone Age
The Caves of Altamira - Steely Dan
Spitting Games - Snow Patrol
This Fire - Franz Ferdinand

(As you can see, Disturbia is off the list. Happy?)

Reviews, Lists, and TAG!

I just got home from watching 'Dasvidaniya - The Best Goodbye Ever.' It's a beautiful movie, and if you can, then do watch it. It is the story of a man who lives the most unimaginably sedentary life, and how he loves making lists, and how he makes and fulfills his penultimate list of Things to Do Before I Die. How one man is so inspired by death that he resolves to live life, fall in love, fall out of love, make a family, be famous - all in three months... it's a well-scripted movie with a strong plot. The background score is by Kailasa (Kailash Kher's band), and they produce some very rustic and earthy tunes that go wonderfully with the homeliness of the film. I would compare this score with Vedder's score for Into the Wild - it's very simple, it's very acoustic, it's lyrically rich without forced language, and it's got the feel of being very grounded. Vinay Pathak is effortless as the bumbling protagonist, but I loved the woman who played his mother, she was splendid in her scenes. All in all, a well-packaged, tightly scripted gem that I would definitely recommend. Most definitely.

What the film made me think about is my list of Things to Do Before I Die. I am morbidly afraid of death. Not in the way some people are paranoid and are afraid they are being trailed by mad hitmen and assassins; my fear is more of the kind where I worry about what happens when you die. My dad's father died when I was thirteen, and I remember some people crying with all their might, and I remember some people sitting quietly and contemplating. I remember my dad being stonily impassive through all the proceedings (he's never been the openly emotional kind), I remember seeing him glassily stare as they shaved his moustache, and I remember how the family looked for a suitable photograph that we could frame for the wall. I found the picture they finally used, he was smiling in that photograph, but what was he thinking before he died? Did he know, or was he just thinking of what he was going to do that day and then was interrupted by the Grim Reaper? Does he exist somewhere, spiritually maybe, physically he's just another set of ashes set to sail in the Ganga, does he like the picture we picked out, does he worry about where I'm going to go to college, is he even there?
And what happens when you die? What happens to the world you leave behind? Would you miss me, would you think of me when my favourite song came on the radio, would you delete my e-mails, would you visit this blog, would you wonder of what we could have still been had it not been for death? Would you cry, or would you put your grief in a box and grieve in seclusion, would you grieve at all? Will you remember me?

And here's a little more morbidity. My list of Things to Do Before I Die - (no particular order) (will be updated, keep looking.)
1) Publish a Book.
2) Go to a Snow Patrol and a Pearl Jam and a Damien Rice concert.
3) Throw a party for everyone I know and like, and tell them what I truly think of them.
4) Visit Stropko. (Like for real-real, not webcam or otherwise.)
5) Go to Russia. ( In the winter.)

You can do this tag if you want to, I just thought it would be interesting. (I'm tagging Michael in particular, but again, 'tis optional.)

Listening to - 
Disturbia - Rihanna (Surprising, innit? It's not a bad song, and it's rather catchy.)
Tell Me Baby - RHCP 
Viva La Vida - Coldplay
Textbook Love - Fleet Foxes

I hate the beggar babies outside school. There are two sets of them, one near the BITM bus-stop corner, and the other set lives next to the mosque, close to the place which sells all that junk-food. They're pretty horrible, these children. Every time you buy some street-food and savour it on the way back from School, (before you're forced to share it with the people in the carpool), they'll holler at you while hanging from the metal bits of the bus-stop railing, and they'll turn their eyelids upside down until your entire appetite disappears, and you're forced to relinquish your food to them. Friggin' beggars. I hate the ones at the bus-stop. 

Not as much as I hate the ones around the mosque. This one time, some of us were eating ice-cream outside the gate after one of the papers and a whole bunch of them descended and went, "Ey, Ey, Ey, Ami-o achskrem khabo! (x N, N=ad nauseam.) (Translation: "Ey, Ey, Even I want to eat ice-cream".) Then they circled us and sang that. Then the tiniest one tried to grab the ice-cream. A little while later (after we came out of hiding), we saw that the tiniest one had been abandoned by the rest. Although it looked kind of happy, because it was sitting on the goat that the people from the mosque had tied to the railing. (This was before Bakri-Id.)
So, anyway, I hate the beggar babies outside the School. Very uncouth.

But, this post is not about them. This post is about the only beggar babies I like. Near my house, there is a flower-store run by this oldish lady, and she sells really old and bad flowers, but people still buy flowers from her store for some reason. And near her store, on the pavement, there are these two little children who play and squeal all the time. I just assumed that they were part of the Indian-Suburb scenery. Not that I live the suburbs.(Tollygunge is hardly the suburbs, but still, it's sort of quiet-ish on the street where I live.) 
Then this one morning, I was waiting at the gate for my carpool to arrive, (It's always late.), and then I noticed the two beggar babies (one of them is five, and the other is two), skipping along the street barefoot, going, "Lalalalalalalalalaaaaaa!!". And since they spoke in my language of the Lalala, I grinned at them, and they grinned back. My mum, (who'd been watching from the balcony above all this while, the sneak) later told me their story. It's sort of sad, but it has a happy ending.
The two beggar babies are the grand-daughters of the old lady who sells bad flowers. The flower-lady's son was married to the mother of the beggar-babies, but then he died (well, that's what they presume), and then, their mother ran away and abandoned them. So, their grandmother adopted them (unofficially, duh), and now they live with her. They even go to school because some extremely nice rich guy in the neighbourhood has been financing their pre-school education. On days when they have no school, the two beggar babies (they are both girls), help their grandmother by skipping along to every house in the neighbourhood within walking distance and deliver flowers. I'm assuming the only reason the old lady still has customers is because her little delivery-girls are as cute as hell. They always run barefoot on the street, despite the fact that they both own shoes. They are friends with every stray dog in the locality, and all the dogs do their bit to protect them in the mornings, when the deliver the flowers. There's always a stray dog that accompanies them when they walk along, and every time a vehicle comes by, the dog nudges them to the side. They thank the dog by trying to climb over it, but I really don't think that the dog minds it. I have a feeling it likes it.
The two-year-old tries to even ride bareback on the dog on the return journey, but that is something even the dog won't put up with. 
So that's their story. Two abandoned little girls who are growing up as neighbourhood children. 
Sometimes, all it takes to change the world is a random act of compassion. (I didn't make that up, it's a quote from Evan Almighty.)

Also, in completely unrelated (well, not really) news, I've finally done a little more artwork. I did this on one sheet of paper, but I don't have a scanner, so I had to take a picture of them, which was essentially pretty sub-standard, so I cropped and made them separate images. I know the signature is not very necessary, but I'm like that, so there. 
I was actually trying to draw the beggar babies, but they look nothing like this, but it's still quite good, so I'm going to put it up. You can critique the art, but be nice. I'm not normally this artsy.

Listening to - 
Apocalypse Now - Muse (They amaze me with every song. Except Starlight, which was a piece of bullshit  - Well, it's not that great, Pff.)
Schrei - Tokio Hotel (Stuck in my head. And it's German, and the only part I can sing is "Nein nein nein nein, Schreeeeeeeiiiii!")
Whipping - Pearl Jam (Bloody awesome bass riff.)
Matinee - Franz Ferdinand (It's never complete without a seductive song by FF, now is it?)

Well, the election is finally over. Two years of ponderings, debates, scandals, arguments, speculation, and mindless drivel has finally ceased, so I figure I'll take one more look at the results and give my personal opinion on them.

We'll start with Barack Obama. He seems to be quite the lightning rod these days...I've never heard anyone express an indifferent opinion towards the guy. He's either the second coming of Jesus Christ, who will free America of all of its burdens, escort in a new era of prosperity and wealth, and bring CHANGE! (who woulda thunk it), or he's the Anti-Christ, a demon who was sent here to turn us into socialist weaklings who get terrorized every week, have abortion kiosks in malls, and allow men to marry inanimate objects. It's simply amazing how people can have such differing opinions on the exact same guy, with the exact same issues, and the exact same information. Anyhoo, while I personally would have voted for John McCain, I do wish Obama all the luck in the world. He's gonna need it.

Sarah Palin. Gah, why did McCain have to pick Palin. Yes, she did excite the base for awhile. Then, it kinda kicked in that she's a hockey mom with no foreign policy experience. And she's so. Damn. FOLKSY. Seriously, is it necessary to wink at the camera every five minutes? We know you're a mother who's incapable of naming her children names that will not scar them for the rest of their lives, but take this seriously. We know you're folksy. Show us that you can do, you know, political stuff. I think it might be rather important, no?

John McCain. Ahh, John the Maverick. Creating political turmoil for everyone but himself everywhere he goes. He doesn't conform to one party, he gets things done. I kinda like John (despite the fact that I think his constant reminder that he's a maverick is a bit weak--you're in Washington D.C., not the Old West. You're just a politician.), and I'd say I agree with him on a lot of issues. However, he kinda was the fall guy this year. After eight years of Bush, the conservatives didn't stand a chance. I think he ran a great campaign, he had a lot of dignity, and I've got a lot of respect for him.

I'm not even going to touch Joe Biden, because no one really knows about him. I will, however, leave you with a quote that he said during the Primaries. "The presidency is not something that lends itself to on-the-job training". I hope that Obama keeps that in mind when he picks his Cabinet.

Oolf and the Girl

Listening to - 
Michael - Franz Ferdinand. (This GAY song keeps getting stuck in my head.) (Oh, and haha.)
In Command of Cars - Snow Patrol. (Very, very moody. Unknown, and awesome.)
Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend. (I don't know, but it's very hooking. "Why would you lie about something dumb like that?")
Red Morning Light - Kings of Leon. (Just like that.)

Seriously, just because Anushka wanted to marry a wolf when she was four or something does not make her a true wolf addict. In any case, not that I care. However, you should know, that I am, and that I shall always be, the first of the greatly vocal wolf-lovers. 

I'm not going to tell you when and/or why I began loving wolves. Trust me, it's a very embarrassing story that only about two or three people know. The fact is, I fell in love with the amazingly masculine wildness that wolves embody. There is something so mysterious in their eyes, and their eyes have so much depth, so much of that erudite shine. There is that fantastically stately aura about them, that sense of power, that sense of dignity, and yet that slight strain of humility that stops it from becoming arrogance. There is that body, that shape, that streamline of a vicious hunter. The powerful ribcage, the ripple of muscle underneath that fur, the claws that are capable of unleashing utter bestiality. Sharp ears, alert ears. Powerful legs. The walk that borders, yet respectfully refrains from being a swagger. That gait, full of mastery. The turn of the head. The magical silhouette. And the howl that is just so raw, and so rugged, and so haunting.
Wolf is just hot, okay?

Yes. If you will excuse my animalistic lechery, I shall tell you more reasons why I am Oolf Lover Number One - 
I can draw a perfect wolf silhouette in under 10 seconds. It is an art. 
I did a 25 page project on wolves. The Iberian Wolf, to be precise.
I once had an imaginary wolf pet called Cinnamon. This would ordinarily be cute, but it's a little bit scary considering that I was 15 when I said this.
Cinnamon was a Cinnamon Wolf. I may not be original, but I have my facts right.
Besides, I love Wolf. I wanted to call everything Wolf. 
And if you notice, even this blog is slightly wolfish.
I always WOLF my food down. This is off-topic, but still.
I can also Howl like the Wolf.
I am always Hungry like the Wolf. (For food.)

And since I have begun babbling, its time for me to hit Publish. Hahahahaaa!!

I hate this weekend, which is saying a lot, because school sucked this week too.

A fifteen page Physics project, Chem orals, a random debate, Rogue Badminton(!). There's only so much I can do running on sleep-deprivation. And then comes along glorious Saturday, and then in the morning I realised that the Math tutor was arriving at 3.30, and I hadn't done any of his homework, so I had to solve three hours worth of Math in four hours, then the mother ranted about stuff, so I couldn't slack off in the evening either. I spent my evening studying Alternating Currents Theory, and I just noticed that the set of numericals at the back has 76 sums, not counting short answers, multiple choices, and higher level questions. And that inventory is for one book, and I have two books on Physics, so there goes Sunday. Solving about 200 sums on currents that go up-and-down, periodically. Whee. Grr.

Screw weekends.

My jailer is being an absolute mother this week. And reports come out next Friday, so in essence, I need Cyanide. Or Happiness. Either will do, but I may require a lot.

Oh, and By the Way...

"The last time we talked, Mr.Smith, you reduced me to tears. I promise you that won't happen again."

I saw you today, but you didn't see me, 
But maybe that was because I was hiding behind a tree.

For a long while, I debated over whether I should say "Hello", 
Or whether I should just look at you, and then let you go.

I didn't quite see what you were doing, 
But that was okay, because I was busy debating.

At first sight, you seemed just as you were sometime before, 
Then I realised, I don't hero-worship you anymore.

This what they meant when they said, "Move ON!"
But back then I was too bust crying over the fact that you were gone.

See, the thing is, I still like you, 
But it's just too much of a bother to love you, 
Because, when I do that, I become an anti-me, 
And I'd much rather be happy and be lonely.
You're not worth the trouble I put myself into, 
Screw You.
By the way, the situation is something like, 
It's your problem, all yours, not mine, 
Your loss, all yours, not mine, 

I've moved on, as is evident - 
I just thought you'd like to know.

Well here I am. Another Sunday night. Another load of homework to do. It's times like these that I ask myself, "Why the hell did you do this? You weren't that busy this weekend. You could have knocked out half of this already." But no. Of course not. I must yet again torture myself in the name of homework and procrastination. How much longer can I keep this up? Am I going to be like this when I'm older? Is this something I just grow out of? Gah, I'm much too speculative. And yet, these questions nag me. Sure, I could be like most people and just take my procrastination in stride, taking things day-by-day and living for the moment but no, I must persist in my constant worrying. And to top that off, I need to be reading, not writing blog posts. Oh well.

And on top of that, which college am I going to go to? I'm not even going to get into that. I'm worrying too much, I need to relax. And do AP Chem. Gah, I just realized I have AP Chem.

Yeah, this is starting to feel all rambly and stream-of-conscious-ey, so I'm thinking I should just stop. Yes, that's probably the best idea. Ok, I'll blog post sometime when I'm less introspective. Bye all of you Indian people...

Oh, and what's with the lack of comments? The only comments I've received are from Sahana correcting typos. Thanks for the hearty welcome. Psh.


Okay, just a teeny post-it sort of blogpost today. First off, Stropko, congratulations on the license, now you can sneak around the tempting hamlet of SJC on four wheels legally. 

I noticed just now that this blog has three followers. We're getting popular, aren't we? Eight-odd readers and three followers, how perfectly peachy. (Yes, I said 'peachy'. Get over it.)

Not a lot has happened this week, aside from three days of school. And I haven't ditched yet, and I don't plan to. I feel very responsible. (*evil laugh*)

We've begun studying Quantum Physics in class, which is quite a trip. When your first lesson includes a Nobel-winning theory and something called Planck's Constant, you know you're in the major league. In the same vein, I must add here that I can now name all the major bones of the body, something that makes me feel very important. And I just have to, HAVE TO, add that my Bio teacher (M.Ali, not DrD) has the oddest sense of humour, ever. 

Learning about bones, he remarked : "The femur is the most powerful bone in the body, I should know. Why? Because a medical student once hit me over the head with one."
And then, he told us the story of how he used to play cricket in college, and the med-students got annoyed over some faulty umpiring, so they came to beat the opposing team up, with ten hockey-sticks, and one THIGH-BONE. So much for dinner-table anecdotes. 
OH! And I passed Chemistry. Sometimes, the big guy up there can't resist proving his presence to us non-believers. 

I'm also indulging in a spot of artwork, which makes me feel at peace with myself. Ah, love. 
Snow Patrol's album just leaked onto the Internet, and I am resisting temptation. I am NOT going to download it. I am NOT going to download 'A Hundred Million Suns'. 

Two-Odd Months to Christmas.

Playlist - Blackest Eyes, Porcupine Tree;
 House of the Rising Sun, Muse;
 Who Wants to Live Forever, Queen.

P.S. - A slightly happier alter-ego post is in the works. Maybe this time I'll focus on the relationships instead of the breakdowns.

I am an officially licensed driver as of today. While it is extremely exciting (combine that with the fact that I now have my new laptop and you have one fantastic week), it got me thinking as to what it means to have a license. While the implications may not seem like much, I'm beginning to see that I'm not going to be hanging around home any more. It's a bit of a wake up call--while still under the complete jurisdiction of my parents, I will be out of the house soon. I'm becoming more independent, taking on more irresponsibility, and preparing myself for the ominous "real world" you always hear stuffy adults talking about.

And am I ready?


I still feel like a kid. Yes, I have reaped the benefits that have inevitably come with age, and while I have grown much more intelligent and accumulated an impressive vocabulary, I by no means feel like an adult at heart. I'm not ready to hold down a steady job, or pick a career for that matter (sorry Sahana, I'm still not sure about the whole Cardiologist thing). I see an impasse approaching, but do not know what to do but avert my eyes and shield my face. Where do I want to college. What in the hell am I going to do with my life? I've got unbridled potential but no direction. As of late I've been leaning towards doctor of some sort, but sometimes I think maybe a lawyer would be cool. And then there's the rebellious side of me that wants me to just travel the world and fuck it all. He is in constant battle with the diligent, responsible part of me, who wants me to go to college and get a career. While I think when I get out of college I'm going to travel, I don't want to get tied down to some career I don't like. So much in this life you see people doing boring jobs, and being stuck there because they have a family to support. I want to avoid this, but I don't know what to do. Gah.

What to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do
what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to doooooo?

I'm confuzzled.

Oh, and P.S.--Something really annoying is happening. My PreCalculus teacher always likes to make up words that sound like other words (for example, he'll say slob instead of solve, or cluckulate instead of calculate), and it's rather infectious. Combine that with the fact that I have Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd stuck in my head, and I keep getting the line "to be a slimple....kind of man" stuck in my head. Damn Mr. Bakhos.

It's time for a rant-post!

Listening to - All sorts of Country Music by Shania Twain and Carrie Underwood.

Lot of random blogging to be done, so bear with me here.

The most important thing that happened this week would be that I returned to school. Now, if you can ignore Stropko's loud whoops of extreme joy and victory. One day of school made me more tired than two weeks of holidays. I went to school on Wednesday, and spent most of Thursday morning agonising over strained leg muscles, then I did school on Thursday (I would NEVER miss school on Thursday), then VOICE, then Chem. and then I collapsed. So much so, that I skipped Friday.

We've more or less entered the last term of school. Ever. And Winter terms are always the shortest, so by all standards of sentiment, I should have a countdown up somewhere. People have already started doing that, by the way. Every event that we have is greeted with the shout of "This is our last in school!", followed by some dopes who start bawling their guts out.
It happened on Teacher's Day, when we had that really amazing programme. While the majority of the student body was most fussed about the teachers leaving for lunch so we could feast on the leftover food, some dumbass yelled out this thing about this being "Last Teacher's Day EVER", and that-perfectionist-in-Humanities started crying, although I didn't really notice until after I was done stuffing my face with the cake. 
In any case, my point is, it didn't really matter to me. Somehow, all this talk of leaving, and of farewells doesn't really bother me. It's a little scary to sound so indifferent, especially because I have absolutely NO idea where I'm going for higher studies, or whether I'm passing at all (which would make all farewells futile).  I know it sounds callous. On numerous occassions, Anushka's asked me to stop being such a black-hearted-nutcase and show some feeling. Even over talks of the VOICE farewell. I don't get it. I really don't. Like I keep saying, I'll be happy to get out of here. It's not as if I'm not going to miss school, but quite frankly, 12 years is kind of an okay point to give it a rest. It's been a great 12 years, and I've loved all the three schools I've been in, and I've never regretted any of it, but I want to move forward now. 
Maybe that makes me an "Stone-Queen", like my mum puts it.
Whatever. I'm just choosing to focus on the 'entering a new phase' more than the 'leaving of an old one'. 
I don't even think it makes me emotionless in any way. People who know me well enough know that emotionless is not really my kind of label. I'm more of the throw-yourself-into-it-with-all-you-got-who-cares-what-happens sort of person. I'm just throwing myself into the other side.

At the start of 2008, I decided to keep a diary, because the conformist-sentimentalist in me wanted to record the events of my last year in school. It contains -
Some entries from that brief phase when I dotted my i's with hearts. 
Entries from when I was completely pissed off because I wasn't made a prefect, when some other people were. 
An entry cursing my Hindi teacher (Quote - "I hate you, you killer of English thoughts. I could curse you in a thousand vernaculars, but I'm afraid I'll spell them wrong. I hate you, Hag-ess.")
One page with the words of 'Hey There Delilah', a song that now annoys me.
Lots of scratched out doodles.
And finally, lines in multiple pages saying "I love bio. What would I do without bio? Bio should just marry me." etc. in a similar vein.

I don't know why I would choose to put up this on a blog. The six of you don't really need to read this if you don't want to!


P.S. - Shania Twain and Mark McGrath's 'Party for Two' is stuck in my head. It's extremely nondescript, but oddly infectious. Don't listen to it.

On second thought, Do.

If VOICE members are reading this, please campaign for a larger cake. I guarantee we have funds.
Snow Patrol's new album releases in less than seven days. I need to conserve bandwidth for downloads, UNLESS..


Before I begin, I just would like to say that I am jealous of the story-telling ability of Sahana. I am not nearly that poetic or eloquent. Anyways...

It's about midnight here in Southern California, and my little brother is just getting around to doing his science project. He needs to find out a way to make an object more four meters without pushing it off...he's using a small tank of CO2. Now, it is extremely hypocritical for me to be telling him to do his homework, as I myself am still working on AP US History. The difference between us, though, is that I am a reasonably responsible student, while he is a slacker. I have mostly good grades, all of which the result of self-motivation, while he is always at the risk of being sent off to boarding school. No joke. If his grades fall below a B- average, he is sent to boarding school. Because of this, I (due to some form of pity for my brother) helped him search for a vehicle to be propelled by the CO2, and have motivated him through the night. Whatever, he'll probably end up in boarding school anyway.

Oh, and in other news, I found an AMAZING website for classical sheet music. has a ridiculous array of sheet music for all kinds of instruments, and as they're all public domain, they're all free. Hooray!

Just a quick post on how I'm getting my new laptop. I'm VERY should be here in about two days. I doubt anyone cares, but I thought I would inform all six of you anyway. Cheerio!


(Note - I didn't publish this, Stropko did, but the typo was too painful.. sorry Nick, but I'm a maniac like that.  - Sahana)

"I never knew the taste of blood till now, 
 It's clear I never should have known."
"If you shut your eyes very tight and you try to forget something with all you might, you might, End up eventually erasing the condemning memory, but all that effort will almost make you taste blood - make you feel the strangely intense power of the blood that flows within you,that makes you feel red, make you see red., and the realisation will make you feel giddy; it shall empower you, it shall frighten you, because it is in that fascinating moment that you realise what you truly are capable of doing in you anger"

She shut the book and flung it across the room, stunned and slightly pleased to hear a sorry 'thud' as it hit the wall and slumped to the floor with a crumble and crackle of pages. The blood, her blood, was rushing through, humming pleasantly in her ears, and she stared at her ink-stained hands all red and sweaty from the arguments and the subsequent writings.The clammy warmth was new - now she looked up, now she saw him.

He saw her writing furiously, her hands a blur as she struggled to pen the thoughts that raced in her head. He saw her fling the book across the room with a carelessly powerful flick of the wrist. She saw the glimmer in her eyes, and he watched transfixed as she stood against the window, staring incredulously at her own hands. She was wild, she was a silhouette as she stood, a black figure against the glaring sunlight pouring through the windows, her hair a mass of wispy flames that looked both incongruous and perfect against her face.

She saw him at the edge of the room, he was looking at her, as if he had never seen her before, in a way that he had never looked at her before. He cut a lean figure in the shadows, a face too childish, and an expression too serious. He had always been so secretive, and everytime he spoke to you, you felt special, because it felt like you were good enough to know what he was telling you. He had always been distant, she'd never understood it, 
she had admired it, but never been envious. Today, she wanted nothing more to do with it.

No one ever understood why they had ever bought that house - the hallways sliced through the architecture, cordoning off parts of the house, relegating sections to permanent illumination and total darkness. They fell in love with it instantly, it was a house, they thought, built especially for them. 
She was a creation of the Sun, she was born for the daytime, for all the spotlights, she was born to shine, she needed to glow, and the light was hers.
And the darkness was his, he revelled in the shade, he revelled in her shade. He loved to hide, to observe unnoticed, always the queer half-smile, always the slightly supercilious expression.
She was the fire, he was the darkness - he was that darkness in the heart of her flame, and they co-existed;

Everyone was slightly afraid of them - jealous of them - amazed at them. They were a whirlwind, chaotically impulsive, inexplicably destructive, one's presence sparking off the volatility in the other, at once it was calm, they were serene, silent, separate, and it was 
just the calm before another storm.

But that was all in the past, the final storm had raged through, even they could not withstand it, and even now, the debris lay strewn.
She had smashed his favourite record against the wall - "I never really liked it anyway", she had whispered, with glittering eyes.
 He had ripped her favourite book, the cover in one hand, torn pages flying out of the other - "I didn't like it either", he smiled back, with 
cold, cold eyes. 
He had pulled the curtains shut, closed all the windows - "Hurts my eyes". She had set his desk on fire, "Likewise."
They stood, he having cast darkness where she had shone, she having brought light into all his shadows.
They felt exultant, they felt feral - he could see how madly her eyes glinted, she could feel his cold wrath rising, and it was exciting. They realised then that it was all over, she had burnt it down, he had covered it, and there was nothing left.

He saw her now among the ashes, while the torn pages whistled around. She looked up at him defiant, and as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, she heard the faintly satisfying crunch of broken vinyl. 

"I'm leaving tonight", she said, flatly.
He nodded, "Alright", then clicked the door open,
And walked out into the sunlight.

(Note: First off, this isn't really inspired by anything, if you must know. I just wrote it last afternoon because it was too hot and I didn't feel like doing Math. I don't like it anymore, but whatever. The opening paragraph on blood is something that I actually wrote a while ago. I promised you an Alter-Ego post, and here it is. And yes, it's in a story-format, not actually inspired by Anushka's story, just a startling coincidence. Much thanks to Snow Patrol's song 'Making Enemies' (Album - When it's All Over, We Still Have to Clear Up) for the title, and also the song 'Ways and Means' (Album - Final Straw), because the first two lines are lyric quotes. They're also very nice songs, in case you're looking for downloads.
Oh, and specifically, the argument didn't really happen, but I would, oddly, love to have such a ferociously enervating fight. Yeh, yeh. I'm done.)