Masters of Power Metal

Rammstein

Exclusive catalog added on iTunes!

I'd recommend picking up all the versions (remixes) of 'Du Riechst So Gut', especially the one by KMFDM, 'Stripped' (covered by Rammstein & the Charlie Clouser version) and the 'Du Hast' remixed versions. This stuff's good if you've just gotten off work and you're in the mood to pick a fight! Or may be just play the air guitar violently in front of your mirror audience. Pyrotechnics not included.

Funny You Should Say That!

Well, here I am... It's almost an hour past midnight and I can't sleep. Reuben, my trainer from the third compartment of Hell made me do a bunch of new exercises giving the impression to repelled onlookers of me being transportable in a Ziploc bag. Uhhh.. My belly hurts... And now for an equivalent of the Sunday Morning Protein Shake; a little dream sequence into the harsh world of personal training according to a select few. I'm just a mere pawn in their well dumbell curled arms. I ain't nothing, NOTHING! Where most misshapen humans are considered degenerate maggots, products of rotting filth, and the healthy muscular generation emits divine ooze and sensuous sleaze with every passing breath...

The stage was set. I'd just finished me fourth round of a superset and good ol' Reuben went to get a drink of water. I was catching my breath and guess who walks by!?! Yes, the distressing duo consumed by the dynamism of their deadliness. Paul and Lady Paul. I guess Lady Paul was beaming today. Must be the T-X testosterone coupled with some nail polish. And Paul, the muscle was really bulging upto his reputation. I bet the guy's so tough, he calculatively shits five pound steel ingots that go 'kapah-klunk' each time they hit the ceramic bog. Lady Paul on the other hand must have the capability to purge like a jet engine. Atleast she gives that impression. Tough little lady, this!

Umm, did I mention the other trainer dudette? For now let's just call her C. That's because if she finds out, I would be the protaganist of a new action thriller flick called 'Close Encounters with the Barbell Kind.' Me not taking any chances. She walks by you like God personally took the redeye Southwest Flight outta Las Vegas and gently placed her with both hands into the gymnasium to assist you in becoming a better idiot. Just for that day! You smile out of courtesy and all you get in return is a whiff of wind and a 'humph!'

C is somewhat of a trainer slash ass-kicker. A peculiar component in her training consists of cardio-vascular convulsions for the victim in question and then about twenty minutes of kick boxing. She speaks very loudly when this part ensues. I guess the first half of training has the victim's heart pouding loudly like a mating call drumroll for Tarzan from Jane. The tiny victim in question swings, kicks, punches and jumps around like he accidentally stepped on a bull-ant ziggurat, while C instructs him on the finer points of doing it right. "Your kick should be like a yoyo; let loose, contact and drawn back!" "Think! Think of yourself as a mouse that's just made eye contact with the quickest of cats!"

A few more jumps, spins and kicks; he realizes that he looks like a neanderthal kicking and gasping for air while sliding down a waterslide without prior knowledge of it's purpose. Come to think of it, I must've missed the part where she accidentally kicked him in the nuts. The numbness that followed must've blown a fuse or two and interfered with his ability to comprehend. One straight, well placed sock can do the trick! Most guys know that. She'd asked him to express each action vocally. He did let out a short, sharp, squeak as if an entire Wehrmacht battalion had stomped his foot collectively. The area where the sock made contact with the soft dangling contents of his gym shorts must've been still smarting like a light bulb flickering under low voltage. By the time he was done, the poor fellow was shaking like a plate of jello on a science lab shaker table. I can only sympathize. Anyways, the captain's going to call it a day, my fingers are sticking to the keycaps like my nails were oozing epoxy. YAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn.. Ahem, G'nite!

Gau's Incredible Bus Ride and the Idiot Squad

A Wednesday morning and the incredible wait for the bus. I've been waiting at this stop for the last twenty five minutes and I feel an overwhelming sense of frustration. That, I'm being framed to qualify for this meaty position at the top of the heap of the Idiot's Guild of the World. And 'Long, Grammatically Incorrect Sentences Academy.' To qualify, all I need to do is stand around like this for another fifteen minutes and a search party will track me down with the expert assistance of a toilet snake and a renegade milkman.

Yes, I am blogging from a bus stop, furiously moving my stylus over my pocket PC with my raspberry out while other passengers waiting around are giving me the evil eye. Utter contempt. "Humph! Asshole! Show Off! Twit!" would be varities of words chosen to pick yours truly. Truth be known, I don't care! Fuck y'all! It don mattuh whu de playah! It mattuh who de human nipple!! I know for a fact that if I don't get to work on time, I will be sacrificed in a ritualistic ceremony, complete with a mojo and a provocative dance sequence inspired by mating primates. Ah, at last. Here come de bus, playah! Far ...out!!!

30 minutes later...

Glory be to the Lord of the Rings! I'm in the office, finally! Although the lady that drove me to work was the kind that would strike fear in the hearts of the bravest of middle aged warriors. I handed her the transfer with a "How ya doin'?" tip of me hat, followed by a "thank you, you're very kind" tip of me head. Her left cheek flinched like bovine skin as if to dust off a fly, while beads of sweat trickled down her nostrils, the size of genetically engineered donuts (Winchell's crossed with Michelin in some remote science lab). I tiptoed into the back of the bus before she breathed fire and turned me into human toast.

You'll be wondering what am I doing , typing my blog, when I'm supposed to be busy at work? Patience, my overanxious apple of the Partridge family eye. My workstation's grunting furiously at a render which gives me enough time to chew cud on this 2.8 giga'hurtz' baby and spit the nuts out in the most charismatic manner. But it's still crazy as hell in here! To add chaos to the commotion, Alex is mastering his cartwheels to his favorite playlist. Music from and inspired by the movie 'Gut Wagon Buzzards in Heat.' I don't have a clue from which desolate music store he picks up those infernal CDs. Most of the time it feels like his corner of the office is a dark cloister with huge groin buttresses complete with cobwebs, large gargoyles and eerie stained glass motifs. Somewhere in this dark bowel of belly-hell, he sits, sipping squirrel blood from a goblet sculpted out of a single piece of earwax. Fucking Alex! Bah!!

The rest of the day will be the equivalent of the peak hour (repeated back to back, eight consecutive times) on a Saturday evening at the Moscow Circus. I will be the chief clown-in-charge while the other idiots scurry around wild animals (the clients, et al) in an apparent attempt to amuse an audience (more clients, et al) with the iq level of macadamia nuts in a chocolate chip cookie. Well, wish me luck, my good friends...

The Office Gang.

The Brood

Another Anthem In the Making...

Chaos.
When you've worked fiercely towards a purpose and you dont see the light, you falter. My steps have faltered a little too far. I'm still searching, all I see is darkness. I have learnt a lot from my mistakes. In my mind, I'm fifteen years older than I should be. Yet, when you've given it your best, circumstances are beyond your control and failure confronts you again, what do you do? Too many things to accomplish, time seems to be slipping through my fingers. I'm still struggling. Fucking Reznor, knows what's in my head. Take a minute off, listen to this track. You'll know what I mean. Best buy has a bunch of streams... Click here.

Pick 'Everyday is Exactly the Same'.

Dwell.

(source: NINHotline.net, BestBuy.com)

Some excerpts from the lyrics.:

Everyday is Exactly the Same

I believe I can see the future
Because I repeat the same routine
I think I used to have a purpose
Then again, that might have been a dream

I think I used to have a voice
Now I never make a sound
I just do what I’ve been told
I really don’t want them to come around
Oh, no.

Every day is exactly the same
There is no love here and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same

I can feel their eyes are watching
In case I lose myself again
Sometimes I think I’m happy here
Sometimes, yeah, I still pretend
I can’t remember how this got started
But I can tell you exactly how it will end.

Che Bruta: David Chase and his Monster

The Sopranos

.....This thing of ours. The life. My fascination for knowing more about the Cosa Nostra has never been more fanatical! The means and methods adopted by a quasi-corporation had no boundaries to observe but just one objective to fulfil; Developed over many years, turning into a fierce juggernaut that almost bled America dry. "We're bigger than US steel...", Meyer Lansky was quoted saying in the 50s. I've read books, watched documentaries, even walked around Mulberry Street with a map like an idiot, the area in Queens which had the infamous Ravenite Social Club; the den of Johnny boy, Frankie Loc and Sammy the Bull.

For many avid readers, the initiation starts with movies like The Godfather, Donnie Brasco or Goodfellas. All the events depicted in these movies are based on a timeline where in the mafia was at its strongest and had its roots in every conceivable business. If there was money to be made, the wiseguys would be there counting the bills. Among the five families that were predominant in New York, the Gambinos and the Genoveses ruled with an iron fist and competed with unparalleled ferocity. The Godfather was a movie set in the heart of the Corleone family, with events depicting the rise of a man pressed by circumstances into a Mafia boss. The spread of evil into his family was inevitable and the reigns were handed down from one generation to another.

Goodfellas on the other hand was a movie that told the story of wiseguys from the street level up. Jimmy Burke, Henry Hill and Tommy DeSimone were no capos. They weren't even "made" or sworn into the code of Omerta since Jimmy was Irish and Henry was only half Italian. They were soldiers under the leadership of Paul Vario, a capo in the Lucchese family. Yet, the lives they led, the 'heists' they planned, the muscle they commanded, the loansharking methods left us in awe and intrigue! The time line stretches from the early 70s through the late 80s when the FBI and Justice Department forged the RICO (Racketeering Influenced Corrupt Organization) act, the mother of all laws and indicted hundreds of wiseguys, soldiers and even bosses. The heat was on! Each time the then District Attorney Rudolph Giuliani cracked the whip, a hundred indictments were handed out. With the fall of John Gotti and the 'ratting' of Sammy Gravano, a lot of the soldiers and even wiseguys became turncoats and 'sang like canaries'.

Admist all the crack downs, another family from New Jersey was silently climbing the rungs and 'spreading the money around' in the 90s. The DeCavalcantes. Vinny Ocean and Joey O Masella. David Chase's crime saga, The Sopranos is roughly based on the structure, and rise & fall of the DeCavalcantes. What I like most about the Sopranos is its ability to carry a tale in today's world. Especially running a 'family business' with the FBI watching you 24/7 and yet becoming the most feared and respected family in NJ isn't as easy as it seems. The body count is real, the rats and informants are your closest friends and everybody wants a piece of the action. Each character in the serial is carefully sketched out and even as an observer without a biased attitude, it's yet hard not to like them! The storytelling is unique and the events are a complete surprise at times. But the performances are awesome! Gandolfini is truly a mean capo! Corrado "Uncle Junior" Soprano strikes fear in the heart of the courthouse artist by simply giving him his undivided attention in spite of his court hearing being in progress! Paulie Walnuts and his crew, the coolest fellas. Especially Moltisanti's visible anger over Paulie's policing techniques. The sense of humor is amazing! Moe Greene Special. What more do I need to say?

On a final note during the Presidential debate, Democratic candidate John Kerry had this to say about Dubya, "Being lectured by the president on fiscal responsibility is a little bit like Tony Soprano talking to me about law and order." Nifty.

Prelude To Gooseflesh

I purchased some tracks off iTunes. Amazing scores from movies we've loved... Here goes...

1. David Arnold - Orion (From "Stargate")
2. Hans Zimmer - Main Theme (From "Rain Man")
3. Hans Zimmer - Spectres in the Fog (From "The Last Samurai")
4. James Newton Howard - Noah Visits (From "The Village")
5. James Newton Howard - Rituals (From "The Village")
6. James Newton Howard - The Vote (From "The Village")
7. John Williams - Raiders of the Lost Ark (From "Raiders of the Lost Ark")
8. The London Symphony Orchestra - Main Title March (Alternate Version) (From "Superman")
9. The London Symphony Orchestra - Prelude and Main Title March (From "Superman")
10. Thomas Newman - Ghosts (From "Road to Perdition")
11. Thomas Newman - Road to Chicago (From "Road to Perdition")
12. Thomas Newman - Rock Island, 1931 (From "Road to Perdition")
13. Thomas Newman - The Baudelaire Orphans (From "Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events")
14. Vangelis - Across the Mountains (From "Alexander")

I found an imix called 'Soundtracks that Move' on itunes by another user.. Most tracks have been selected from that. Great Stuff!

Deep-Fried Death Wish

Bah!

My gameplan for Sunday night was well chalked out. I had somehow coaxed me room-mate, good friend and ganglord Arun to visit our favorite desi movie rental, Mohan 'the Mech' Mallu uncle's realm and rent a brain tenderizer. Anshu accompanied Arun to the rental store while I furiously battled bell peppers, cottage cheese and a motley assortment of veggies armed with only a kitchen knife and hypnotic curry powder. When the duo returned, they brought this movie... 'Karam' (meaning, fate) which our very own Mallu uncle promised to be 'gangster saga with a desi thumka*'. Arun had called me on the phone while picking the movie and uttered some keywords like 'gangster', 'mafia', 'hitman' and 'Priyanka Chopra'. The trick had worked as I had nodded violently and asked him to pick it up. I'd sealed my own fate. By the time the movie had ended, Arun had drooled his intelligence away and suffocated on the couch. I had experienced the penultimate degree of torture far beyond the threshold of human tolerance, a diarrhetic implosion, i reckon. In a nutshell the movie had some splendiferous moments which unfortunately were levelled violently by the incompetent ones in an apparent foul-play attempt.

Now, it's my turn to subject you the reader, to a quasi-similar if not similar whiff of brain tenderizing throes. The protagonist of this movie is a hitman, a cold blooded killer. His hits are cold enough to coagulate the blood of even the sharpest of internet surfers, squatting behind sixty seven foot firewalls with buttplugs in their ports and Nortonne AntiChrist Virus shields. The capo who employs his services and pays him to clip homosapiens is called Captain (played by stage veteran Bharat Dabholkar). As if that were hard. They should've given him a code name, like Captain Eggplant or maybe Perennial Potroast. Captain's favorite past time is dropping bodies like crumbs while buttering his toast. Captain has this gorilla of a human bodyguard who picks up losers and flicks them around like toothpicks. That stuff rhymes! Captain used to lift weights in his prime and now he lifts the sagging blubber under his arms. He has a sharp katana and he practices his samurai skills with the renewed vigor of a five year old who's just found use for a plastic light saber. He uses his tanto and wakazashi to size up unsuspecting carrots. His moves are so funny, its not even funny. All his croonies stand around his palace like a bunch of knuckleheads. He is the kind that spends years practicing maneuvers with a katana and brings a broad sword to the fight! It's like going to see a beautiful waterfall and making your own little contribution in short bursts. No, really. He does in the final battle. A broad sword that looks like a cardboard cut out with a hilt big enough to fit a cleverly disguised wad of delectable chocolate chip cookies.


The heroine, Ms.Chopra's role demands three difficult facial expressions. Smile, cry and samba. Smile is of course, to smile while standing aimlessly next to the hero as he pouts and flexes his biceps while solving calculus papers. Cry she does for two hours in the two hour thirty minutes length of the potboiler. Samba is when she's wearing eye popping tattered pieces of cloth designed by a fashion expert who's been in far too many fist fights. And poetry. She eats, breathes and shits poetry; the crummy shitty kind that is usually camouflaged in short burps and short breathes that follow thirty six hours of tears. Unfortunately, Ms.Chopra doesn't display much talent even when the gorilla of a bodyguard sizes her pinky up to convince the hero that the baddies mean business. John Abraham, as John the contract thriller is very good in his role as a baddie with a good heart.

The camera work, the use of filters and the shot composition is breathe-taking. Sanjay F Gupta's directorial skills have strong shades/influences of Mark Romanek and David Lynch. But may I also add that the take on these directors by our own is subtle and complementary. I think if the plot had more grit and focus on the protaganist's attempts to execute his last contract (clipping five top businessmen) while combating inner demons, the story would've kicked off on a much richer note. Unfortunately, the mushiness is way over line and the movie that starts off as an ice cold serving of 'mercenary chronicles' turns into a 'sticky summer of separation'. Too bad!

Uh Oh

You Are a Dreaming Soul

Your vivid emotions and imagination takes you away from this world So much so that you tend to live in your head most of the time You have great dreams and ambitions that could be the envy of all... But for you, following through with your dreams is a bit difficult You are charming, endearing, and people tend to love you. Forgiving and tolerant, you see the world through rose colored glasses. Underneath it all, you have a ton of passion that you hide from others. Always hopeful, you tend to expect positive outcomes in your life. Souls you are most compatible with: Newborn Soul, Prophet Soul, and Traveler Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

How Much Of A Nutbag Am I?

You Are 30% Extrovert, 70% Introvert

You are quite reserved You aren't afraid of social situations... But you very much prefer to go it alone And why not? You're your own best friend!

Are You An Extrovert or An Introvert?

The Twit In Me

Your Dominant Intelligence is Spatial Intelligence

You've got a good sense of space and how the world around you looks. You can close your eyes and "see" images. You have innate artistic talent. An eye for color and shapes, you're also a natural designer. Since you think in pictures, visual aids and demonstartions help you learn best. You would make a good navigator, sculptor, visual artist, inventor, architect, interior designer, or engineer.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Donnie Brasco Trivia

L-R : Al Pacino (as Lefty Ruggiero), Bruno Kirby (in front as Nicky), James Russo (as Paulie), Michael Madsen (as Sonny Black), Johnny Depp (as Donnie Brasco/Joseph Pistone)

Did Al Pacino's character, Lefty Ruggiero, really get whacked as the end of the film implies?
No, he did not get whacked. Benjamin 'Lefty' Ruggerio was picked up by FBI agents as he left his apartment on August 30, 1981. As a result of Pistone's work, Ruggerio was sentenced to serve twenty years in prison. In the early 1990's, he was released from prison, and on Thanksgiving Day, 1995, at age 72, he died of cancer in his New York home.

What happened to Michael Madsen's character, Dominick 'Sonny Black' Napolitano, who was also responsible for bringing Brasco into the family?
In early August of 1982 surveillance agents noticed workmen dismantling Sonny's pigeon coops on top of the Motion Lounge. On August 12, 1982, Sonny Black's body was discovered in a hospital body bag in a creek near South Avenue close to the Geothals Toll Bridge that connects Staten Island to Linden, New Jersey. His hands had been cut off, and his body contained several gunshot wounds.

So, if Lefty Ruggiero (Al Pacino) was never whacked, was the part at the end of the film where he removes his jewelry just for dramatic effect?
This is said to have happened, but it wasn't Lefty. According to a source of Court TV's Crime Library, it is said that before leaving his crew for certain death, Sonny Black removed his jewelry and gave it to them.

Did Al Pacino's character, Lefty Ruggiero, really receive a lion?
Yes, he did. In reality the lion was still somewhat of a cub, and it could be handled more easily than the adult lion depicted in the film. Donnie Brasco and Lefty fed the lion twenty to thirty steaks a day, and Lefty could at times be seen walking the lion up and down the street. When the lion became too big for them to control, they took it to a park, tied it to a tree, and had the police called to come take the animal.

Donnie Brasco's cover in the underworld was as a jeweler. How did he keep his cover if he really wasn't a jeweler?
To protect his cover, Joe Pistone (Donnie Brasco) went to school to learn about precious gems and diamonds. He also had friends who were jewelers. In a Jonesville Station interview he said that most of the time if he really didn't know something, instead of lying, he would just tell them that he didn't know, figuring that nobody knows everything about their profession.

Had Donnie Brasco (Pistone) ever been given contracts to whack anybody?
Pistone said that he had been given four contracts to whack people. He claims that he never did though. Undercover agents would do such things as stage fake hits with the police, and then take the supposed-to-be-dead individual into the witness protection program, as he discusses in the Jonesville Station interview below.

How much was the contract for that was put on Pistone's head?
At the time when his double-agentry was revealed, there was a $500,000 contract on Joe Pistone's head, according to FBI informants.

Has anyone ever made an attempt on Pistone's life after his double-agentry was revealed?
No, but Pistone doesn't take any chances. He appears for interviews and photos in disguise. He doesn't disclose where he lives, and his neighbors are unaware of who he is. He simply says that he resides west of the Mississippi and has developed a fondness for horses.

What does Joe Pistone (Donnie Brasco) do today?
In 1986, Joe Pistone retired from the FBI. He currently does international lecturing and training for the organization. He also works as a consultant for them as well. He is the author of several books (right) and the co-owner of a production company. Besides being involved in the making of the film, he has also been involved in the television series "Falcone," in which Jason Gedrick plays the character of Joseph D. Pistone. The series is based on his experiences undercover.

(Source: ChasingTheFrog.com)

More Interesting Read.......... Capeci's Column on Dominick "Sonny Black" Napolitano

The Jed-Eyes & the Greasy Bastage

The Legend Reincarnated

We at the office have a few urgent issues to address. Us. To begin, I must say that my colleague Alex, the schwooklipzutherdude cracks me up each time. He just bought a plane some days back and now he's going to spend his weekends flying in and out of Catalina Island in search of better corn cake. I must say that it didn't take a table saw to slice up his new 'piece of the action'. Before I dive into the crux of the matter, taking furious liberty in wasting more of your Rolex Oyster sponsored precious time...; allow me to introduce you to 'the crew' at this outfit. I know Dooce indulged in this sort of unholy musing and earned herself a pink slip, but I'm going to risk this upto some degree. After all, the general feeling in the office is each one of us is a lumphead, carefully handpicked by overlord-in-chief, B. A. N., AIA Arch. He is not to be blamed. Here goes:

Brian: Commander in Chief. Sultan a la Supremo. Capo-Di-Tutti Capi. Overbearing Overlord. Hulking human, intimidating icon. The Boss. The moolah distributor. Shylock's shylock. The SUV in a world of compacts. The The. The Lord of the Architecture-Engineering: The Fellowship of Plan Checking. If I say more, what will happen is elaborately put in the words of Black Adder the Third: "..knighting you rather clumsily with this meat cleaver..."

Alex: Dood. Aerodynamic Milkwagon. Aeroflot-enabled jet propelled tortilla soup lover. See's Candy representative, mascot and No.#1 consumer. Cherry Coke pumps through his veins like Sprite through his veins. Believes he was put on earth for remastering the gentle art of promoting World Peas (not peace, mind you). Has a voracious appetite for good humor about blood, guts, snot, grease, guts & flesh and brain pieces. Thinks Ed's his bitch who'll make him some money. Sole wish is to see Ed in fishnet top and nipple rings. Dont ask me!?!? The Greasy Bastage.

Amilcar: Thinks he's Frank Lloyd Wright trapped inside the body of Le Corbusier. Serenades his women by singing Italian classics, theme songs from the Spanish Inquisition and Papa John's Pizza Commercial jingles. Takes about one hundred and fifty seven minutes to explain a doubt about any drafting program. Walks with a scientifically calculated interpolated swagger and has the clams to back it up, if the need be.

Ed Jr: Bullet time breakfast burrito enthusiast. Free thinker, banana nut loaf cake and Vanilla Mocha believer. Has a 'Vanilla-Mocha Fer Life' tattoo. Spasms out of his momentary screensaver and deep thought moments by violently shrugging his left shoulder. Believes architectural design solutions can be concocted by taking frequent catnaps. Is currently working on franchising Carrows Diner t-shirts in shades of chocolate shake and vanilla.

Karim: The fire-breathing fiscally fit father of a three month old bundle of joy. Doppio Con Panna enthusiast. Likes his burritos like he likes his pen-weights; Thick! Hates the French; speaks fluent French. Lets out a short violent exclamation when he 'Seas' food. Furiously addicted to soccer; is a team player. Believes that the law should size up the digits of bad drivers with a pair of bolt cutters. Flips everyone each morning while driving to work.

Ohh.., Nav: Structural Engineer in the making. Is a violently strict vegetarian, obsessed enough to spell 'could' as 'cud'. Eats only twigs and leaves; Ruminates, sometimes. Wears formal clothing on weekends, laughs for anything. Thinks Alex is the funniest human being since Charles Manson. Glides in & out of office like a whiff of smoke. Has a collection of cookies, chocolates, pop corn and snazzy eatables around his desk, yet is thin enough to swap through a card slider.

Finally...........,

Me: Just another nice guy. Potential madman, pyscho in the making. Furious procrastinator. Terribly homesick homing beacon. Tropio con Panna enthusiast and the only 'made guy' in this outfit who talks to Neutral Gender Gino at Starbucks. Got his button last November, after whacking a harmless squirrel. Prankster Numero Uno. Prone to frequent violent confrontations with self-proclaimed Don Juan De Archo Amilcar.

Next Update: The FBI's line up and Noteware Family (Santa Monica Mob) members and structure poster.

Infinite Dreams: Iron Maiden

Infinite dreams I can't deny them
Infinity is hard to comprehend
I couldn't hear those screams
Even in my wildest dreams

Suffocation waking in a sweat
Scared to fall asleep again
Incase the dream begins again
Someone chasing I cannot move
Standing rigid nightmare's statue
What a dream when will it end
And will I transcend?

Restless sleep the minds in turmoil
One nightmare ends another fertile
Getting to me so scared to sleep
But scared to wake now, in too deep

Even though its reached new heights
I rather like the restless nights
It makes me wonder it makes me think
There's more to this I'm on the brink
It's not the fear of what's beyond
It's just that I might not respond
I have an interest almost craving
But would I like to get too far in?

It can't be all coincidence
Too many things are evident
You tell me you're an unbeliever
Spiritualist? Well me I'm neither
But wouldn't you like to know
The truth
Of what's out there to have the proof
And find out just which side
You're on
Where would you end in Heaven or
In Hell?

Help me. Help me to find my true
Self without seeing the future
Save me, save me from torturing
Myself even within my dreams

There's got to be just more to it
Than this
Or tell me why do we exist
I'd like to think that when I die
I'd get a chance another time
And to return and live again
Reincarnate, play the game
Again and again and again

Written by Steve Harris

Re-Animated Nursery Rhymes for Violent Times!

Mary Had A Little Lamb.
Mary had a little lamb,
It's fleece was white as snow.
Everytime that Mary dealt,
The lamb packed an Excalibur crossbow.

Jack Be Nimble.
(this one's not written by me, it's from MAD; I dig it!!)
Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be slick.
Jack see mugger,
Jack give kick.

Hickory, Dickory, Dock.
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The rat ran up the block.
The cop stopped him with a sharp sock,
The rat was dealing rock!

Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Wall.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty made the call.
All the junk food and the training,
Couldn't move Humpty's ass with a U-Haul!

Jack and Jill.
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch an inkjet plotter.
Denied of credit,
Jack broke down,
To the Best Buy clown,
And Jill went ghetto with laughter.

Barber, Barber, Shave A Pig!
Barber, barber, level the pig!
The shy was three points over the vig.
If the cash don't show , that ain't enough!
Give the jamook a pinch of the rough stuff.

Ding, Dong, Bell.
Ding, dong, bell
ID theft is swell!
Who gave you the pin?
Online transact--ing.
Who smacked him in the mouth?
Agent Big Tommy Stout.

Hope you liked 'em... Any suggestions, hate mail or simply comments are most welcome!

All rhymes, torn, shredded & hacked by Gautam R Shenoy. Except where specified! Copyrighted stuff, do not mess with dis!

A Show of Hands

This morning's early workout was nothing short of uber-satisfying. You have to understand that this docile creature of lard typing away at the keyboard has not been acquainted with words like "healthy", "fit" and "slim" for a long time. In spite of repetitive attempts by a very dedicated set of parents to bring the baby elephant to the water. Hence the regular summary of shaolin style "fly-by-tofu" ass-kicking served by quasi-mutant Reuben "ehhh.." Gubah. And yes, muscleman Paul was there. Performing a very difficult task like trying to read off the computer screen. "Paa... pe.. pers... purse... son... purse-son-.. ah. .. ah .. *mummy* ... purse-son- ull.. ah ah.. ah.. ", he exclaimed at the site of Bally's personal training program.

I didn't pay much attention for long, there were too many consequences. To begin with, it would be losing my nuts n bolts in a jiffy. Anyways, I'm back home, massaging my poor arms and a not-s0 aerodynamic rotunda of entertainment... I have to go work today. I'll probably carry a pineapple grenade. I'd saved up some, from my covert operations in remotely located McDonalds outlets. Speaking of which, I took the liberty to treat meself to a Carl's Junior Catch fish sandwich last week. Reminded me of the days at USC. I know! I know! I didn't get the fries or the coke, I was sincere.

What's with the name, anyways. Catch fish. It's not like when you order the meal, the reps in the back jump into a tank filled with fish and furiously chase them with assault rifles fitted with sniper scopes and RPGs. Neither does the rep behind the register pull a gun in your face and make you run for it. Bet if the fish were martial arts experts (self-defensive maneuvers, hah!), they'd call it Carl's Junior Catch Fish Knuckle Sandwich. Knock yourself out. Literally! Huh, my sense of humor's not working today. I'm typing gibberish. I better call it off before I start typing absolute nonsense. Anyways, have a lovely Saturday my friends, while your poor aquaintance toils away without shedding a tear...

Desi "Billy the Kid": Bullets & Bisibelebath*

Rajnihound & Greyhound

The God of style. The 'auto' in the autorickshaw. The 'squint' in the quintessential. The man who flicks a match into thin air and lights a smoke. Faster than a speeding bullet, quicker than the quickest of cats, meaner than a misdemeanor, Rajni doesn't just rock the banana boat, he skins it! No actor across the world can parallel his antics, his style and the sultanian** ass kicking he delivers, right to the doorstep of baddies. I know you would find it hard to believe, but he is truly a gifted actor and an immensely gifted growler. Am I being critical? Huh, not even close!

Background Scenario: A tired cop, defeated by the red tape in society, beaten to the punch. Constantly reminded of a cruel end which will arrive without warning, thanks to a tumor throbbing inside his law-abiding cranium. Months roll by as the baddies gnaw furiously at Chicken McNuggets while shamelessly watching the five hundred pound gorilla-heroine dance in skimpy clothes to the glorified whistles of the heartless cinema hall patrons.

Scenario One: The final battle begins. Good guy versus extremely bad n plump guys. Guns blaze, knives exchange hands in the cross fire, a punch here, a kick in the nuts there and the final moment is forged over a mound of innumerable henchmen bodies. The hero runs in slo-mo, our own Rajni in a barrage of bullets while the upper echelon of gun totting bad guys unleashes several rounds of .38's across with unabashed accuracy. A single bullet finds it mark. While in his flight, Rajni's firing too and all the bad guys except the supreme bad guy of bad guys splutch across the screen like moths across the windsheild of a speeding car.

The single bullet. Shoots across the scene, suddenly the frames shift to bullet-time and the projectile punctures the skull of our hero; The frames change to X-ray vision and the bullet makes contact with the lonely tumor which in turn disengages itself from the frontal lobe and what remains is an exit wound in the shape of the ... tumor. For some odd reason, the tumor resembles a very vocal and well plucked cauliflower pod. What we did NOT know was a team of government financed brain surgeons spent a gruelling thirteen hours carefully etching a bullseye with a laser on that tumor. Mission accomplished. A hearty reunion follows. He will live, afterall...

Scenario Two: The final vendetta. Two baddies left. Our hero speeds across the screen like a helpless man yielding to a defeaning, ear-splitting call of nature with a revolver in one hand and a jack knife in the other. Now, to the curious observer either he's going to shoot one bad guy and knife the other or, he's going to circumcise them both. But no! Rajni has another brilliant idea..rr. He stops running, and not because he's wet himself. He aims ahead while the two baddies stare back at him waiting to see what happens. The poor souls. He skillfully places the knife a few inches in front of the barrel of his revolver and fires. The bullet exits, splits in half and finds both the targets. The baddies drop dead. Instantly. Fucking brilliant!

Scenario Three: The great wall. That separates the bad guy from our good guy. Our knight in shining armor is left with two revolvers, a single bullet in each and a predicament. He cannot fire through a ten inch wall to kill the villain and he cannot let the villain escape. So he does what a genius with seventeen pancakes in his belly would do. Fling one revolver into the air and with amazing precision fire at the trigger of that revolver. The firearm in question thats dangling in mid air tilts at the calculated angle of 67.53 degrees 13 minutes and at the same time, the projectile from the other firearm makes contact with its trigger. And you thought rocket science was more calculated. BANG! The second firearm thats still dangling in mid air goes off killing the villain on the other side. Instantly.

End Note: So, like I said. Brilliant is an understatement. There isn't a single language in this world which can describe Rajni's creativity and disposition on different methods of making bad guys meet their match. Don't even think about it pal. If Rajni gets a word of it, you'd be in no position to find a place to hide your sorry ass.

*Desi: As in East Indian, uberchutzpahmeister
**sultanian: Akin to the style of a Sultan
*Bisibelebath: A spicy South Indian mainframe dish made with rice lentils and gunpowder.

The Mess that Bihar Is.

PATNA: A murder almost every two hours, a riot in an hour and eight kidnappings and three rapes a day. The crime scenario is truly alarming even by Bihar standards in 2004.

Of the 1,15,216 cognisable offences recorded between January and December, 2004, there were 3,861 cases of murder, 1,297 dacoities, 9,199 riots, 2,977 kidnappings, including 411 kidnappings for ransom, 1,063 rapes, 2,162 robberies on the road and dacoities and 57 cases of bank dacoities and robberies, an official report said. Notwithstanding the daunting task faced by the law enforcing machinery, the police-public ratio is 0.65 per 1,000 people, meaning there was not even one policeman per thousand population and only 6.5 policemen for a population of every 10,000 - one of the lowest in the country, state police headquarters sources said.

They said the figures compiled by the police department may not present the full picture as many cases go unrecorded with victims not reporting all cases. According to available data, there were 9.74 policemen per 10,000 people in West Bengal, 10.38 in Orissa, 10.56 in Uttar Pradesh, 12.16 in Madhya Pradesh and 13.59 in Rajasthan. In respect of their deployment per 100 square km, Delhi accounted for 3550, Punjab 13.6, Tripura 120.9, Assam 67 while the corresponding figure for Bihar is 54.6 only.

The state police has the strength of about 70,000 which includes 167 IPS, 372 deputy SP, 553 inspectors, 4,409 sub-inspectors, 4,240 assistant sub-inspectors, 10,466 havaldars and little over 48,000 constables. The state police had recently submitted before the Patna High Court that approximately 20,000 individuals, including politicians, present and former bureaucrats and people from other walks of life were granted houseguards or bodyguards or both.

(Source: TimesOfIndia.com)

The Work of Mark Romanek

Video: The Perfect Drug
Artist: Nine Inch Nails
Director: Mark Romanek

A 10-Year Tangent

Romanek’s music videos met great success and Romanek soon found himself on a 10-year tangent from his dream of becoming a feature filmmaker. This tangent also just happened to coincide with the real explosion of MTV in the early and mid-90s.

“It was a time when MTV was a vital, interesting area, when it was still showing videos and when the directors doing them included some of the best directors in the world, like David Fincher, Jonathan Glazer and Spike Jonze,” says Romanek. “I mean these were really great filmmakers who happened to be making music videos. So it was very inspiring and exciting.”

Romanek brings artistic and cinematic sensibility to his music videos, and is well recognized for his work for Nine Inch Nails, Madonna, David Bowie, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Johnny Cash and others.

• Read On...
• 
  
• The Official Site
• 
  
• An Interview
  

(Source: apple.com, tiscali.co.uk)

"Summer' 68", Atom Heart Mother: Pink Floyd

Would you like to say something before you leave?
Perhaps you'd care to state exactly how you feel.
We say goodbye before we've said hello.
I hardly even like you,
I shouldn't care at all.
We met just six hours ago,
The music was too loud.
From your bed I came today and lost a bloody year.
And I would like to know, how do you feel?
How do you feel?
Not a single word was said,
They lied still without fears.
Occasionally you showed a smile, but what was the need?
I felt the cold far too soon in a wind of ninetyfive.
My friends are lying in the sun, I wish I was there.
Tomorrow brings another town, another girl like you.
Have you time before you leave to greet another man
Just to let me know, how do you feel?
How do you feel?
Goodbye to you.
Childish bangles too.
I've had enough for one day.

Written and Performed by Richard Wright

Here we go again...

WASHINGTON - The recording industry intends to sue hundreds of college students accused of illegally distributing music and movies across Internet2, the super-fast computer network connecting leading universities for researching the next generation of the Internet, industry officials said Tuesday.

The Washington-based Recording Industry Association of America, the trade group for the largest labels, said it will file federal copyright lawsuits Wednesday against 405 students at 18 colleges with access to the Internet2 network, which boasts speeds hundreds of times faster than the Internet.

Researchers at Internet2 once demonstrated they can download a DVD-quality copy of the popular movie"The Matrix" in 30 seconds over their network, a feat they said would take roughly 25 hours over the Internet.

Internet2 is used by several million university students, researchers and professionals around the world but is generally inaccessible to the public. "We don't condone or support illegal file-sharing," said Internet2's chief executive, Doug Van Houweling. "We've always understood that just like there is a lot of file-sharing going on on the public Internet, there's also some file-sharing going on on Internet2."

The recording industry said some students were illegally sharing across Internet2 as many as 13,600 music files — far more than most Internet users — and that the average number of songs offered illegally by the students was 2,300 each. It said it found evidence of more illegal file-sharing at 140 more schools in 41 states and sent warning letters to university presidents.

"We cannot let this high-speed network become a zone of lawlessness where the normal rules don't apply," said Cary Sherman, president of the recording association. The Motion Picture Association of America also was expected to file federal copyright lawsuits Wednesday against college students with access to Internet2.

"The high performance of Internet2 makes it attractive for a lot of applications, not just file-sharing," Van Houweling said. He cautioned universities against filtering data to block illegal activity in ways that would slow the research network's performance. "It's possible to attack this problem in ways that do compromise the performance," he said.

(Source: msnbc.com)

Do's & Don'ts : A Basic Guide to Human Courtesy for Complete Muppets

Do's:

1. Leave your name, number and a brief message after the tone.
2. Flush after use.
3. Clean up after you eat.
4. Dry your hands before you leave the 'Area-Washbasina'.
5. Chew with your mouth shut.
6. Smile back at people.
7. Offer your seat to senior citizens.

Don'ts:

1. Do anything for love, but don't do that.
2. Litter.
3. Talk while you chew. Chew while you talk.
   
4. Show off your canine skills with paper towels while drying your hands.
5. Leave your apartment without using a deo.
6. Pick your nose in public; No one's landed there yet.
7. Just sit there, do something!

Note to the casual reader:
Please add if you have any suggestions. Thanks!

Tongue-In-Cheek, External Oblique

Well, I'm back again. For some reason I keep coming back to the blog today. My fingers are all itchy to blog the heck outta my mind. I have to concentrate on work. But my mind suddenly feels like a drained carton of fruit juice. The fruity content remains, the essense is lost. I have absolutely no clue, why I'm typing away. It's one of those incoherent moments of chique chutzpah. I don't like using unnecessary jargon in ill timed instances, but I'm helpless. I need to go home. If I sit at this desk for another half an hour, my brain's going to melt and flow outta my nose and ears. Sigh.

Breaking News! Breaking News!

This Just In:

I just managed to spill a mouthful of coffee (my lunch supplement) onto my nice, crisp formal shirt. For some quirky reason, my brain registered my lips to be an inch lower than the actual designated location. I guess I've dropped a few notches in the proverbial food chain, I just lost my World Heavy Weight Title to Triple Yecch. The coffee cup made contact with my chin and I felt something warm, gradually turning to hot on my chest. i guess I'm putting the Ugh, back into Ugly. Que, No?

Dr.John's telling me something. Click below to layeth the Check Out:

Recipe: Sunday Morning Protein Shake

Ingredients:

• Two cartons of milk
• One muppet trainer
• Three almonds
• A few nuts and bolts
• A sweat band
• A self indulgent guava (guayaba)

Method: Knock Yourself Out. Simple.

Digression: Heck, bodybuilders and trainers. I salute you. My experiences at Bally's have reinforced some of my conclusions when it comes to these newly developing species. They are one big muscle. Most of them. Big mooks, the size of frigates, corvettes and every naval vessel conceived minus the intelligence. The ladies have more definition than Hi-Definition. The men, are embedded with a trivial 32 kb cache. Short term memory is a thing of the past.

Then there is Paul Doe. (I partly concealed his name since it'll take him a few years to realize what internet means and a few more to understand the art of blogging. Right now, to him blog is a new kind of toilet seat, I reckon.) The man, the muscle, the super muppet, the redefinition of vitamin driven village idiot. His favorite activity is bouncing twelve pound exercise balls off of a trussed, built up training area so as to generate maximum noise and cause severe irritation to other dedicated plus size people working on their abs. The likes of me. I like to call him The Wall. Cause he's huge. I mean huge like HUGE! A gargantuan jack rabbit in a world of peanut sized marmots. You could glue an entire propaganda poster designed by the Soviets from the old days and you'd still see his silly incisor upon the sickle and the hammer. Yep, his incisor is huge too, its like an armor-tooth. His intelligence level is unparalleled. He is the kind that can convince you that one fish plus one fish is equal to holy fish. Don't even think about math, it's nothing short of devicing Operation Overlord, all over again. Facial expressions, human emotions weren't designed for tough guys. This tough guy wasn't designed to feel. Maybe he feels hungry sometimes or even the urge to poop. But that's the basic garbage in garbage out apostle. Big Paul Doe isn't human. He falls into the category of homoproteinsapiens.

Such is my love for this kind. Paul recognises you every full moon day, and on other occasions his 'recognition-coherente' skills are limited to twelve pound excerise balls and tall glasses of protein shake. When he smiles at you to show his courtesy, the incisor shines on you like God's own palm. And then there is his girl. The Lady-Paul. She beats him hands down at it all. If he was Czar of a new state known as 'Muscleville', she would be the Goddess worshipped by the muscles. Offerings would be made in large amounts of heat patches, pungent perfumes, tofu and soyabean based concoctions and arm and head bands. She walks around the gym floor sporting a cap with a three inch perfume enabled force field, sweats and a whistle ready to give anyone the count of fifty on all their fours. You cross her path mister and she'll lift that pretty head of hers, come closer to you as you choke on her vile scents and beckon Paul. Your ass, after this is bench-pressing history.

To conclude, I have nothing against the personal training kind. I'm desperately trying to lose some well accumulated pounds due to the nature of my new hobby, which I unfortunately cannot reveal at this time. My trainer, Reuben is Godsent. A very good friend and a ray of light in a dark sea of lard. But I hate to read stupid words of inspiration like "You are strong, let the weak catch up.." in little offices for this elite kind. I am a little bothered by your egomaniacal disposition. Firstly, no one's weak. You may have spent a lifetime trying to stay in shape and guide others. We were busy trying to get an education and make the world a better place. Please be courteous enough to return a smile. We're only human. And love, friendship, courtesy and brotherhood will only make this world a better place.

Classic BlackAdder Lines

Edmund: Well, you could appoint him a high-court judge.
George: Is he qualified?
Edmund: He's a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.
George: Sounds a bit overqualified.
----
14 year old Prime Minister: I intend to put up my own brother as a candidate against you.
Edmund: Oh, and which Pitt would this be? Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt the Glit in the Milkman's Eye?
----
Edmund: Yes, Baldrick. I've been meaning to ask you: do you have any goal in life other than the acquisition of turnips?
Baldrick: No.
Edmund: So if I gave you a thousand pounds, what would you do?
Baldrick: I'd buy a little turnip of my own.
Edmund: And what would you do if I gave you a million pounds?
Baldrick: Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big turnip in the country.

If Philosophy was Spelled 'Jack Daniels'

As it turned out, my premonition was well placed and well timed. My weekend was nothing short of a five second commercial from hell, minus the pretty girls in provocative you-know-whats'. All I had was exactly two-and-a-half minutes to breathe, six minutes to sip coffee and three minutes to make observations about a well groomed belly after a heavy meal rocking like it were at sea. I wasn't getting sea sick, but my eyes felt heavy most of the time. I had about fifteen minutes to make contact sideways with a fluffy personality and toss around like a helpless meat patty. I am such a loser. Well, sometimes.

Most of the time my spectacular personality (you can call it my alter ego, in a blue suit with red underwear) is busy making people feel good about themselves, as I rescue their cats from trees and feed their puppy dogs clam chowder soup, as I fly around tall buildings striking efficiently calculated poses straight out of a body builder's guide to math. My other traits include writing incredibly wrong, grammatically incorrect sentences so as to make the reader hate himself/herself for reading this segment and commit harakari in sheer disgust. Ah, what a lie. Most of the time, I brood. About my life, my job and my job. Did I mention my job?

Saturday started off on a rather religious note since it was Ugadi, the New Year commenced for some of us. Well, Happy New Year, ye Hindu Cows. So, most of my morning was spent at the Hindu temple in Malibu where I was at my best, indulging in a pious celebration and making greedy demands to the Almighty to grant moi a wish or two. Everything was perfect, except my mind, my ability to stay focused.

The Whacking Incident.

Me: In the office building elevator.
Why a self portrait?: I happened to notice the plastic wrapping on the elevator floor and walls.
Immediate thought: Someone's gonna get whacked, while someone gets a button.
Influencing factor: Innumerable number of gangster movies glorifying the 'take care of that thin' fer me' statement.
Ensuing Thoughts: Louie the Lip, a fictious character concocted by Billy Crystal; The Chin, a real time gangster, boss of the biggest crime family in North America, the Genoveses'.
Final Note: Need to pick up two more books, 'Murder Inc.' and 'Valachi Papers'.
After-thought: It's going to be a heckalotta busy weekend. Sigh.

I am just a new boy.

[Man:] "Hello?"
[Operator:] "Yes, a collect call for Mrs. Floyd from Mr. Floyd.
Will you accept the charges from the United States"
(Phone is Hung Up)
"He hung up. Is this your residence, sir?"
"I wonder why he hung up..."
"There must be someone else there
besides your wife to answer."
(Phone Ringing)
[Man:] "Hello?"
[Operator:] "This is the United States calling."
"Are we reaching?"
(Phone is Hung Up)
"See he keeps hanging up."
"But it's a man answering."
(Operator cuts connection)

Rape of My Tradition: Patenting Yoga

You've heard of the open source software movement, now it's the turn of yoga to fight for 'open source' in the US courts. Copyright and trademarking of yoga practices, something that is likely to shake up the roots of the centuries-old tradition, is now taking centre stage in the US.

While there's still some way to any decision, the California courts are now hearing the case for copyrighting of yoga routines, and lawyers and practitioners say this will have far-reaching implications on yoga practitioners all over the world.

The case comes out of a long-standing legal battle between the popular US-based proponent of Yoga, Bikram Choudhary, and an organisation of yoga-studio owners and teachers called Open Source Yoga Unity (OSYU). Choudhury has written a book, which is duly copyrighted, on a routine of asanas which he calls Bikram Yoga.

Some time back, he sent notices to a series of yoga studios to cease and desist from using this routine, as this constituted a copyright infringement. The studios formed OSYU, and are fighting it out in court. Vanessa Calder, chairperson, OSYU, objects to Bikram Yoga's claims, "One cannot copyright, or own in any manner, an exercise routine."

Traditional proponent of yoga, Prashant Iyengar, son of the legendary BKS Iyengar, rejects the very idea of any form of trademark or ownership over yoga. "We are not teaching a new brand of yoga, though our pupils like to call it Iyengar Yoga. We are following the age-old traditional methods of yoga. We can't claim ownership."

Lawyers beg to differ. Rahul Mathan, a patent expert, says, "US trademark and copyright laws are the broadest in the world, while their application is not global, they create an unhealthy precedent."

(Source: TimesOfIndia.com)

More Muscle: A Democracy Re-arms

The United States has offered India advanced weapons like Patriot PaC II anti-missile systems, network-centric early warning and battlefield control and command systems as a follow up of Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice's announcement of plans to engage New Delhi in closer strategic partnership.

"We intend to follow up on the rhetorics to reality and re-draw the strategic map of Indo-US relations," senior US Embassy officials said. In the coming weeks, the two countries proposed to engage more closely with External Affairs Minister Natwar Singh going to Washington and Commander-in-Chief of the US Pacific Command Admiral William J Fallone making his maiden trip here. A high-level US delegation has been here recently and made presentation to Indian defence officials about the Patriot PaC II systems which is a follow-up of three Indian observers being present in Texas during the live demonstration trials of the missile shield system, officials said. They said US aviation majors Lockheed Martin and Boeing would aggressively bid for India's plan to buy 126 multi-role combat aircraft and were hopeful of bagging the contract as the fighting falcons and F-18s were the lowest priced and offered cutting edge technology. US armed forces, the officials said, proposed to give a new dimension to military-to-military engagement between the two countries by undertaking company level joint exercises in California in June and taking these manoeuvres first to battalion and then to brigade level by 2007.

Indian Air Force's wishlist to engage in joint manoeuvres with F-16 and air early warning aircraft would be realised, US officials said referring to the planned joint exercises in November over Kalaikunda base in West Bengal. This would be the first ever brush of the IAF with this advanced technology. India has ordered three AWACS from Israel, the first of which is likely to be delivered only in 2007. Strongly asserting that US was committed to a "serious energy dialogue" with India, including on civilian use of nuclear energy, the officials said this issue would receive a boost with the upcoming visit to Washington by Singh and Petroleum Minister Mani Shankar Aiyer.

"India and US are both energy deficit countries and a close cooperation in this field is viewed by us as mutually advantageous," they said. Declaring that US viewed its strategic engagement with India in a global context rather than regional, US officials said an indication of this was that from zero in 2000, defence sales between the two countries had shot up to 200 million US dollars in 2002. Reading out details, officials said in government to government sales, US had now supplied two ANTPQ-37 firefinding radars which are currently undergoing acceptance trials.

India has earlier received two similar radars on lease from the US Army. Besides this, Washington has supplied combat free fall parachutes for the special forces. Spare parts for the Sea King helicopters, aircraft protection systems for the VVIP aircrafts, night vision devices and precision guided weapons were listed by US officials as other military sales made to India. But they insisted that this was just the begining with much bigger sales in the pipleine, including upgraded P3C Orions, naval long range maritime and anti submarine helicopters and Seahawk H60C helicopters.

(Source: TimesOfIndia.com)

Nothing much to say.

I have absolutely nothing to blog about. Except this elevated, vitriolic, seething, hatred towards people who claim to be friends and abandon you when you're at your weakest. Abandon you for more money, alcohol or maybe a joint. God bless your soul. I will always be there for you, it's too bad you can never be. Fuck it.

And,

May I also take this moment to express elevated, vitriolic, seething anger towards the "*.dll" driver set in the 'System32' folder in the root directory. You fucked me up this morning. As a result, I've been reduced to changing configurations in my BIOS, losing precious customized settings, arriving two hours late to work thanks to failed recovery attempts through the crappy, clunky recovery console, preparing a weighty list of forty nine programs to reinstall with additional backups, not to mention tweaking utilities. See? Even grammatically speaking, the error is gargantuan.

I can't perform any of the installations until after Saturday. I should've used a ghosting utility. My remote access has been compromised. You are responsible for me spewing profanity in unusually large helpings, since this morning. F**king C**ks**ker!

There. That's better.

Damage, Inc.

Dealing out the agony within
charging hard and no one's gonna give in
Living on your knees, conformity
or dying on your feet for honesty
Inbred, our bodies work as one
bloody, but never cry submission
Following our instinct not a trend
go against the grain until the end

Blood will follow blood
Dying time is here
Damage Incorporated

Slamming through, don't fuck with razorback
stepping out? You'll feel our hell on your back
Blood follows blood and we make sure
life ain't for you and we're the cure
Honesty is my only excuse
Try to rob us of it, but it's no use
Steamroller action crushing all
Victim is your name and you shall fall

We chew and spit you out
we laugh, you scream and shout
All flee, with fear you run
You'll know just where we come from

Damage Incorporated

Damage jackals ripping right through you
sight and smell of this, it gets me goin'
Know just how to get just what we want
tear it from your soul in nightly hunt
Fuck it all and fucking no regrets
Never happy ending on these dark sets
All's fair for Damage Inc. you see
step a little closer if you please

Metallica Rulz.

I don't know what to do.

I opened my 'tear stained' eyes at five past six this morning. There was grief in my heart, and strangely I felt angry too. Staying away from your loved ones can take its toll on your mind. You miss the smallest of things that you once didnt pay attention to. I had a dream. Being in a place full of rooms. The walls were painted a bright white and there was a strong sense of familiarity about this space. I walked around, I was ten years old again. My striped half shirt was half tucked in my shorts, I was lugging my bicycle along. My old tape recorder was dangling from the handle bar and a familiar tune filled the air. I suddenly felt somebody calling me. The all familiar 'Gautamaa! Gutmam!! Hey Gutmam!!!'

I followed the voice approached a flight of stairs, laid my bicycle against the wall and began climbing. The treads had red marble tiles and the landing had a bright window with black bars running across. I ran upstairs and into a vestibule with more doors and two more windows. Familiar; like my home in Mulki, my native place. Sharada. Named after my grandma. I looked out the window to my right and I could see my uncle standing on the terrace looking at the huge mango tree that branched onto it. It was his characteristic pose, his left hand on his waist against his kurta and his fingers holding the loose end of his dhoti. I opened the first door to my right, just past the window and stepped onto the deck.

He started talking about how the mango season this year was going to be, how we'd have a crop of almost a thousand mangoes and all the gifts we'd have to send to our neighbors, baskets of mangoes wrapped in dried grass. The grass would keep the mangoes warm and help in the ripening. His smile was as bright as the sunny morning and his voice was filled with childish excitement. He reached for one of the leaves and showed me how the colors were changing. He picked a raw mango from the branch and pointed how the sap was building up, which meant, a very sweet crop.

I opened my eyes. It was 'today'. Such were my moments with him, trivial at the time. But today, they're not trivial anymore. I can't live them again. I brood and brood more. I can't seem to get over his demise. I talk about it to my aunt sometimes and I end up recalling that cursed evening of November 10th. The way he suffered. The way the ailment took away his ability to walk. This was a man who carried two bags of medicine samples from town to town, met doctors as a representative. The way it made him bleed to death. Trays and trays of blood. He bled from his mouth, from his nose. My aunt, his elder sister sat there and saw him fall apart. In a matter of a few hours. She had performed a lot of prayers, a lot of poojas for him. She even smeared some holy vermellion onto his forehead, that evening. He smiled gently. It consumed him with every passing minute. Everybody was helpless. Even the fucking doctors. She sat there and saw him fall apart, in a matter of few hours. From a conversation to emptiness in a few hours. She recalls how he would follow her around, like her shadow, the kid brother.

It was a similar morning on the 10th of November. I was woken up by a phone call from my maa. Her voice trembled and she broke down as she said, "Your Pabamam is serious. He may not make it through tonight..." , it was 7:00 am in Los Angeles, 8:30 pm in Mumbai, India. A few hours? What? He was recovering well from the chemo therapy until two days back!!!! I asked her several times, who said so, why? How was it possible? She was crying and I couldnt do anything but grip my phone harder. To my mother, he was a father figure. By the time I'd gotten ready and reached office, I was on the phone all the time with my maa and then with my second uncle in Mulki. As I sat at my desk and spoke to him, he heard the other phone ring and answered it. It was 10:10 pm in Mulki, 8:40 am in Los Angeles. A minute later he came back and said, "it's all over.. he's gone." I didn't even get to say good bye or thank you, for making me a responsible human from a total disaster.

Corporate Blasphemy!

Could PlayStation consoles be banned from U.S. stores?

There was a close call last week. A federal court in Oakland, Calif., ordered Sony Computer Entertainment to stop selling the PlayStation and PlayStation 2 and 47 Sony games because they violate a patent for touch feedback -- that is, the technology that makes game controllers vibrate so players feel the action on screen.

But U.S. District Judge Claudia Wilken granted Sony an immediate stay of the order pending the company's expected appeal.

Wilken also ordered Sony to pay $90.7 million to Immersion Corp., holder of the patent for force-feedback technology. Immersion sued Sony and Microsoft a few years back for patent violation, eventually leading to Microsoft licensing its technology in 2003.

Sony opted to continue fighting the battle in court. So far, it's losing.

Source:

Detroit Post
BY HEATHER NEWMAN
FREE PRESS COLUMNIST

Speak the Rhythm All Alone

Another classic track stuck in my head on this Tuesday afternoon. From Soundgarden's Badmotorfinger. Specifically, a song written by Thayil.

Find it here..



Nevermind the 'Can't find it in the US store' message... it's there.. look up the sg page.

Room a Thousand Years Wide
Listen, hear, he is inside
One who lives while others lie
I close my eyes and walk a thousand years
A thousand years that aren’t mine
It seems he’s near me as I walk
One who loved what love denied
He lives these years that I walk blind
All these years cannot be mine
Tomorrow beget tomorrow
Beget tomorrow
Beget tomorrow
A thousand doors a thousand lies
Rooms a thousand years wide
He walks in the cold sun and wind
All these years will not begin
Tomorrow beget tomorrow
Beget tomorrow
Beget tomorrow

The blow's like a twelve gauge shotty.

Makaveli in this... Killuminati, all through your body
The blow's like a twelve gauge shotty
Uhh, feel me!
And God said he should send his one begotten son
to lead the wild into the ways of the man
Follow me; eat my flesh, flesh and my flesh..

[Makaveli]
Penetentiaries is packed with promises make
Never realize the precious time the bitch niggaz is wastin'
Institutionalized I lived my life a product made to crumble
But too hardened for a smile, we're too crazy to be humble, we ballin
Catch me father please, cause I'm fallin, in the liquor store
That's the Hennessee I hear ya callin, can I get some more?
Hail til' I reach Hell, I ain't scared
Mama checkin in my bedroom; I ain't there
I got a head with no screws in it, what can I do
One life to live but I got nuthin to lose, just me and you
on a one way trip to prison, sellin drugs
We all wrapped up in this livin, life as Thugs
To my homeboys in Quentin Max, doin they bid
Raise hell to this real shit, and feel this
When they turn out the lights, I'll be down in the dark
Thuggin eternal through my heart, now Hail Mary nigga!

I'll have a Samuel Jackson...

"It'll get you DRUNK Muthaf**ka!!"

MMM.. Mmm.. MMmmm... Bitch!

I take his weapons from him. Both of them..

Awesome!

Mickey Rourke's splendid as Marv! Will write more shortly..

Declaration of Hate

Lesson learnt on a bright Sunday Morning:

If you are fat, you are considered ugly, downright repulsive and unfit to live among the common folk. I've learnt this lesson time and again, from the closest of friends to the most unsuspecting stranger who crossed my path. It's still a Nazi regime out there, with a small difference, the mighty purge is now completely based on appearance. So, my fellow bipeds have seemingly concocted different levels of disgust to repel even the most harmless of us, the fat & unfit. I feel especially sad for the likes of these who consider themselves pressured by the annals of society that decides what's beautiful and what's unfit to survive. Like Marilyn Manson's lyrics read, 'God is in the TV'.

A few days back, a friend of mine, another unlikely contender in the rat race sent me a link from an eminent magazine that had some write-ups pertaining to pictorials of the ladies in the first season of the reality show, 'The Apprentice'. The write up starts like this, "Thank God, Mr.Trump hired some pretty faces and didnt hire some ugly people to star in the show". I have a question. Who the fuck decides who's ugly or beautiful?

Let's take another example, the movies. In most heart melting, feel good movies that tell tales of little boys trying hard to be good, the fat kid's the bully and tormentor. The fat kid snatches food from other kid's lunch packs, pushes them around and rubs their faces in dust. I've ben fat all my life, and my days of school are definitely filled with good memories and also affectionate pet names like 'lardbucket', 'fatso', 'jellyboy'. To you it may sound funny, to me it was living hell.

I don't need your fucking sympathy, neither do I need your concern or take on what's rude and what's not. Just be courteous and treat me like a human, I'm no different than you are. I'm not ashamed of what I am. Don't rub me with your quasi-effective 'keep away' vibe, say it in my face if you've got the minerals. Be a fucking man or a woman.. Stand up for what you think is right. And if you think fat is ugly, fuck you. If you can't say it, back the fuck off and let me do my thing. For if you push me, I will fucking tear you apart. Go find yourself an excuse or a TV channel to bitch and moan about your unsuccessful efforts at getting a six pack or simply choke on a bottle of Gatorade. To me, you are no different than a fucking anti-semite, a fucking racist or a misanthrope. As i said, in the most eloquent way I can phrase it, FUCK YOU!

Woe to you, O Earth...

It's pretty late, if not very. The sound of fingers running wild on a fret board echoed in my ears as I lied in bed with the headphones booming 'Juanita'. I couldn't help but start to think about how to best pen or simply key a 'melee' of words to describe the pleasure I derive from listening to these perfected symphonies. The credit goes to Adrian Smith, Janick Gers and Dave Murray who have made the term, 'harmony solos' synonymous with Maiden anthems. It feels like as I grow older, my appreciation for Maiden grows stronger. "If you had the time to lose, an open mind, a time to choose, would you care to take a look, or can you read men like a book.."

When lead and rhythm guitar players serve a solo in absolute unison, it feels like there's nothing better. Be it, the wild intro to the futuristic 'Somewhere in time', the menacing 'Genghis Khan' or the lonely 'Juanita', the craft has been perfected, like I said! There, 'Somewhere in Time's playing right now. I've been listening to this album for more than nine years now and still the sound remains, fresh and pure. A good, uncompromising taste of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal.

Then, there's the lyrical content. '22 Acacia Avenue' or 'Sheriff of Huddersfield', capture the beauty and diversity, the City of Angels has to offer. On the one hand Dickinson assures you that if you're feeling down and need a place to go where you're accepted for what you are, 22's the Avenue to go. Meanwhile, the Sheriff of Huddersfield's locked in his castle, hocking and spitting while trying to acclimatize his methods in this mighty city.

My eyes are decieving me right now, the clock is going to jump a good hour as we into Day Light Savings time. I'm going hit the sack. To summarize, Maiden rulz and Rock lives on!!

Here I am, will you send me a bagel?

The mighty transition from blogspot to modblog shall take place over this weekend. Question is, are you tough enough to handle the truth? Trouble is, my toughness runs thin with the few encounters of modblog that I've had. Seems like the gui is pretty simple, but the amount of variables one can change are infinite. Fact is, one glance at those variables have made me swallow hard and gently twiddle my thumbs in disbelief.

What's inevitable is, it's just a matter of time before i'm able to draw fire from the friction between my thumbs and then indulge in the rain god dance by throwing my thumbs up in the air, one hand at a time while break dancing maneuvers that I've craftily mastered over the years wreak havoc in my shorts. My blog shall consist of absolute nonsense and the occasional moment of clarity which occurs when one's about to clip a cuticle the size of a PT Cruiser visor.

I'd better get back to work, or my boss, the diesel powered, gasket enabled, triple V engine compliant, grease lubed, steam hissing entity will poke a finger into my eye thereby impairing my superhero vision for a few seconds. Can't let that happen. Must concentrate. Must focus. Must tell the difference between tangerine and orange. Must save the world........

So from next week, for regular updates on necromancy, wet noodles and coffee, go...

HERE!

... where you'll have more to read, polls to answer, notes to compare, vendettas to forge and belly buttons to pick... SEE YA THERE............

The Apple Pie Chronicles, Vol 1.

Toddler 1: " May I have that piece of apple pie?"
Toddler 2: "Depends on how you look at it my friend, the idea of dessert is merely metaphorical."


(With all apologies to the Gowers', I dunno 'em personally, but they have two vewy adowable kiddos!)

The Apple Pie Chronicles, Vol 2.

Toddler 1: " Why the speculation, guv'nor?"
Toddler 2: "There's not enough apple pie in this world to compensate for our woes, friend."


(With all apologies to the Gowers', I dunno 'em personally, but they have two vewy adowable kiddos!)