Now You Wait Your Turn...

Thank You.

Dear Mr.Reeves,

On the eve of the return of one of comic book's most legendary characters, I thank you as a fan and the enchanted five year old. While we were growing up, you made us realize how beautiful the world could be, to live in with a hero like Superman even if it was but a fantasy. Many of us, have idolized and loved this character over the years and our affection has only grown because of your potrayal of a true hero. I say this because Superman should be role model not only to kids but to everyone who firmly believes that world peace should be given a fair chance.

Your struggle in your personal battles was another example of how much this character was inherent in your intellect. While fighting paralysis caused by a spinal injury, you displayed superhuman strength, perseverance and unbelieveable reserve. We are unlucky that we will not get to share your joy at the unfolding of this new era which is fuelled by your diligence and passion. Wherever you are, I hope you are at peace and smiling upon us today as we embark on a new chapter, for a new world. Thank you.

Your's truly,
A dedicated, hopeful fan.

An American Angel

Correction; Goddess!

Although I am a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, I have never indulged in posting pictures of lovely women on my blog to celebrate my hopelessness... I can't help myself when it comes to Scarlet. She's Perfect. A twenty one on ten. Ravishing Beauty, oodles of talent and oomph. The first time I saw her was in The Man Who Wasn't There. Then of course, Lost In Translation and Matchpoint... Her Calvin Klein campaign left me skipping a heart beat every time.... Is she for real? God, have a heart!

Think Like A Cactus

“I got a business card made, because I want to win some lunches. That's what my business card says: "Mitch Hedberg, potential lunch winner.”

"This product that was on TV was available for four easy payments of $19.95. I would like a product that was available for three easy payments and one complicated payment. We can't tell you which payment it is, but one of these payments is going to be a bitch. The mailman will get shocked to death, the envelope will not be sealed and the stamp will be in the wrong denomination..."

Ive Strapped Myself In.

It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead,Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead,Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead, Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead,Goddamn this noise inside my head. It wont give up it wants me dead,Goddamn this noise inside my head.

Spirit Of Benares, Channulal Mishra

June 26, 2006 Vol. 167 No. 26

Bombay's Boom (World / India Inc.)
Brash, messy and sexy, India's biggest city embodies the nation's ambition. How Bombay is shaping India's future--and our own (TIME.Com)

This issue of Time celebrates India and one of it's foremost and progressive cities; Aamchi Mumbai. With articles penned by Mira Nair, William Green the issue takes an indepth look at the next emerging economic power and how the world's largest democracy is coping with changes. A must read for every Hindustani.

We're Waiting. Save us.

Summer Tune For A Rainy Day

The Dirge of The Prisoner:
(an ode II)
I try to look away. She sits there caressing her hair, playing with her locks, gently blowing them away from her angelic face as they trickle back like dark clouds embracing the skies. She may just have become my weakness, my addiction, my suffering. She wears black mostly; it complements her lovely blue eyes, her dark drapes of hair that hide them as she smiles. In my eternal loss for words, I feel helpless and brood like a lonely child looking for a friend to play with, someone I can count on. I could probably get lost in this forest of mystery, my fingers tasting the softness of her locks, my eyes drinking from her beauty, seeking rejuvenation from ages of heartache. I could probably fall asleep in her arms, her soft breath keeping me warm, her gentle hands holding me close.

Her smile, it has the feel of a soft wisp of perfume, the gentleness of a baby's giggle, the colors of two rainbows. I could just sit there and look at her as my scars inflicted from the agony of emptiness, heal painfully. Yet they resurface, each day, time and again reminding me of how empty this fake world that I have chosen to dwell in, is. She has strum a rare chord in my heart, it makes me celebrate her beauty at times, and sometimes I feel shamefully helpless. I guess it's my weakness that I hold her in such awe as she disregards my pain, my anguish. As she sits there and smiles, little does she know what it does to me.

To her I don't exist; I am but a drift of dust. Yet as I dance to the tunes of this gentle breeze, I feel a strong sense of melancholy flooding my veins and it helps me fade away into this darkness. I crawl back and I look at her with my dreary, tired eyes and it is a short lived smile that I share with that moment. I havent dreamt in long, please don't haunt me this way. Fighting this feeling seems impossible as I rise each morning with the thought of vanquishing my demons. As dusk sets in, my heart is as heavy and dark as it is lonely. Tell me, how can you sit there and take on each moment as I burn here in absolute anguish, in all consuming misery? There is no hope for me.

(imagesource: lomat.org)

Shweeet.

Awesome Daniel Maas NASA Mars Pathfinder Animation set to "Sunspots" by Nine Inch Nails.
(uploaded by rgbfoundry)

Grain of Sand Or A Rock

Why'd You Have To CLip MY Wings?

Amateurs.

Introduction to Drunken Stupor, If That.

Yes, I did it. After 16 months of keeping away from the forbidden alcohol binges, I indulged. Just a one time deal, mind you! It was a fun filled evening with some friends, a strikingly beautiful bartender, a psychotic teeth-chattering waitress and some wrestlers. Nothing’s more satisfying than metamorphosizing from a sober, sane individual to a drunken, gibberish babbling twit. A couple of us ended up at Barney’s this evening and I took a trip to the place I haven’t been in years. Of course, my head spun like a caffeine induced turbine and I danced my way to the men’s room every 20 minutes while singing ‘Rudolf the shitfaced reindeer’.

The guilty party included Gurmukh, Will and Justin with cameos by Shane & Gary. I didn’t feel much embarrassed since there were other morons who were giving me a run for my money. Some decided to chat up pool cues while others appreciated the audacious characteristics of beer kegs. Everybody was hitting on the women present in the bar. Trouble was, these ladies were also drunk and in a state of mind to only check their lipstick and perfect the art of slurry speech. I laughed, giggled and kept wiping my forehead. I chugged down half a pizza like I was wiping my face with it. While I was at it, I came up with some insane yet comprehensible conclusions. Please take a moment to read these and giggle at my stupidity.

• I don’t have a face; it’s more like a surface
• White Russian’s not just a concoction of Kahlua, vodka and milk
• It’s rocket fuel. When mixed with Jack Daniels
• If alcohol’s a crutch, Jack Daniels is the wheelchair (thanks Robin Williams)
• A thumb in my eye after six white Russians feels like, nothing
• One tends to hallucinate about ‘Nacho Libre’ wrestlers after a few drinks
• Alcohol makes you horny and crave for cigars
• If I ever drink again, it’ll be when people realize that cut okras is a conspiracy to convert everyone
• If I ever drink again it will be when I am able to score more than 160 on an IQ test by cheating
• If this face ever makes contact with booze, it’ll be when mankind realizes that chicken pot pies are actually alien ships

So there, I said it.

Aces High!

On Thursday, Dr A P J Abdul Kalam stepped aside from his regular presidential duties and donned the mantle of a pilot. When Kalam completed a 30-minute sortie in a Sukhoi-30 MkI from the Lohegaon air base of the Indian Air Force, he became the first Indian President to fly in an advanced fighter jet and also the oldest Indian to do so.

Kalam flew in the aircraft piloted by Wing Commander Ajay Rathore, commanding officer of the `Lightning' squadron. According to the IAF, the President was required to operate a few control panels sitting at the back.

While aged test pilots are employed by some aircraft manufacturers abroad, IAF officials said air chief marshals can fly a fighter jet before superannuating at the age of 60 years. IAF spokesperson, Wing Commander S M Sharma said there are no records to establish that somebody older than President Kalam has flown a fighter jet either as a pilot or a co-pilot.

The President, who had undertaken a submarine voyage in February, flew at a height of six to eight kms (approximately 25,000 feet) in the air, Banerjee said. He later watched a mock fight involving ten Sukhois and three Jaguars. On his arrival at the Airbase earlier, the President was received by Air Marshal Ajit Bhavnani, Vice Chief of the air (VCAS), Air Marshal PK Mehta, Air Officer Commanding in-Chief, South Western Air Command (SWAC) and Air Commodore M Banerjee, Air Officer Commanding Air Force Base, Pune. Air Warriors of the airbase presented a ceremonial guard of honour to the President at the lightning squadron tarmac.

(article & photo: times of india dot com)

Life Summarized, As I've known It.

• Fifty six to sixty hours of work
• 32 shots of espressos
• Half eaten mediterranean sandwiches
• Three gallons of water and Zipfizz
  
• Injured pectorals and lumbars
• Three, two hour sessions with the physical therapist
• Sixteen hours lost at the gymnasium
  
• Blood in stools
• Agonizing, all consuming heartache
• Mouth ulcers
• Twelve pounds vanquished
• Two hundred pounds lifted
• Sixty dollars wasted in two hours
• Five mixed use facilities visualized in seven days
  
• Eight new music albums, three artists discovered
• Thirty pages of an ex-convict's struggle to survive in Lala land
  
• Violent headbanging at eleven am while staring at the computer screen
• A minor car accident
• 2400 mgs of motrin
• Sleep induced by homesickness and worry

Life's great, I can't stop complaining! Sissy.

You Better Turn Yourself Around

The music of Thin Lizzy.

Tch.. Tch.. Now.. Now...