For the Trivia Buffs

I have been following the OMG-Facts Twitter feed since it's early days and absolutely love it. It is perfect for my need for random fact enlightenment and needtoknoweverythingevenifitsuselessness. IF you like silly trivia, you will love this, too.

I further love the fact that it was thought of and is run by a couple of teenagers and was then supported and nourished by the kids who came up with GivesMeHope.

The fact that there are smart entrepreneurial kids out there in our mind-numbing day and age gives me hope.

Hush

I owe you more than a poem but this is one of my favourites and will have to tide you over until I can post properly.

Hush

For my son

The way a tired Chippewa woman

Who’s lost a child gathers up black feathers,

Black quills & leaves

That she wraps & swaddles in a little bale, a shag

Cocoon she carries with her & speaks to always

As if it were the child,

Until she knows the soul has grown fat & clever,

That the child can find its own way at last;

Well, I go everywhere

Picking the dust out of the dust, scraping the breezes

Up off the floor, & gather them into a doll

Of you, to touch at the nape of the neck, to slip

Under my shirt like a rag—the way

Another man’s wallet rides above his heart. As you

Cry out, as if calling to a father you conjure

In the paling light, the voice rises, instead, in me.

Nothing stops it, the crying. Not the clove of moon,

Not the woman raking my back with her words. Our letters

Close. Sometimes, you ask

About the world; sometimes, I answer back. Nights

Return you to me for a while, as sleep returns sleep

To a landscape ravaged

& familiar. The dark watermark of your absence, a hush.

- David St. John

Chemical Poo Survival Guide

About a year ago our entire corporate team was restructured wherein we all report to one Boss Man. Mr. Boss Man of 2007-2008 was replaced for us all in January 2009 by the prissiest of all Mr. Boss Men at the company. Old Mr. Boss Man was relocated to become CFO of some subsidiary and everyone in my department was moved under New Bratty Mr. Boss Man. This was inevitable for me regardless as I had been shuffled to work for both his and my old department hence the company joker/bitch/Pranjib/slave/shit-shoveler/whathaveyou moniker.

With a boss like New Constantly PMSing Mr. Boss Man, you need to quickly learn a set of essential rules for survival. These include, but are not limited to, the following:

1. If you have not already done so after living in the mean city of Cairo, develop a thick skin very quickly
2. When Mr. Boss Man barks, zone out
3. When Mr. Boss Man starts speaking for large blocks of time about a vague 'vision' or 'message', zone out
4. When Mr. Boss Man says he wants an "Investment Banking" style presentation, that is code for make it incoherently complicated while fitting everything in pretty boxes
5. Lean the To Do List hierarchy: a) When Mr. Boss Man calls your desk to tell you to do something, this is not important; b)When Mr. Boss Man sends you an email to tell you to do something, this is more important than a phone call; c) When Mr. Boss Man calls you up to his office to tell you to do something (this is invariably at 5:00 pm when you are packing your bag in a hurry and impatiently waiting for your laptop to shutdown), then, well... Fuck.
6. Find ways of getting Xanax into his coffee without him noticing. This will allow you time to go have a long lunch
7. When Mr. Boss Man is PMSing (because men PMS, too - although his is nearly constant), this means he has not has sex recently. Either get him laid or get him drunk enough to think he got laid. The latter is easier than it sounds - spike his coffee with Midol and hard liquor
8. Every night, pray that Mr. Boss Man gets remarried. If you can, have everyone at your church/mosque/synagogue pray with you. God is more likely to hear you in numbers
9. Finds ways of sending Mr. Boss Man across the Atlantic. Soliciting meetings with large funds or Investment Bank conferences does the trick. The time difference makes it virtually impossible for him to catch you
10. When in doubt, claim to not know. You did not receive the incriminating email, were not working on that project, or did not see that slide. IT WASN'T ME! Then promptly suggest another person higher up in the hierarchy to blame
11. Make sure you send emails late at night about once a week. Even if it's completed during the day, send it just before you go to bed. This makes it seem like you're working harder than you are. Same goes for weekend emails

This list will be updated periodically when new and improved Dealing With The Boss Man Methodologies are developed. Suggestions are welcome. Stay tuned.

If It's Worth Having It's Worth Fighting For

With my major girl-crush on all things related to Girls Aloud, please indulge my posting of Cheryl Cole's first solo effort. In her defence, she was never the group's strongest singer, and the song is pretty infectious after a couple of listens. Plus, she's looking mighty fashionable in the fat man pants and MJ-tribute shoulder pads. Rock on, Cheryl!

Now in relation to my previous post and my need to self-analyze my every half-baked attempt at emotion, should I follow her advice? He's definitely worth having, but is he worth fighting for?

Getting to the Root of Things

I mentioned before that at the very core of my being is a tiny librarian trying to fight her way out of the distractions of life to live amongst the stacks. If I could live in any room in the world, it would be a strategically lit room filled to the brim with towering bookshelves stuffed with thousands of books. I can't think of a happier place.

You'd think someone who loves books the way I do would have recommended more than just the passing novel here and there, right? Well, my darling devotees, tonight is the night I get around to listing the books I think everyone should read before they die (all these are books I have actually read and am not merely recommending because other more glittering members of the literati have praised them. If I haven't read it, I won't recommend it). This is by no means an exhaustive list. I will be adding to it whenever something else pops into my head, or if I ever get around to reading the 1000000+ list of books I'd like to plow through. Enough babbling; let's begin:

1. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. This is my all-time favourite book. It contains the most well written sentence-cum-paragraph ever concocted in the English language. I won't quote it here so that if you bother to read it you'll come back and guess in the comments. Wishful thinking on my part, but one can dream...
2. We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates. A rare moment in time where the power of writing just seeps into your subconscious. You don't realize what Oates is doing until you're already deeply entrenched in the novel and never want to get out.
3. The Road by Cormac McCarthy. This one really hurt to read. I could only go a few pages at a time. Truly powerful stuff.
4. East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Long but worth the effort purely for the descriptions of Salinas Valley.
5. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. The fur coats alone should be temptation enough.
6. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. I lobbied hard to get this book onto a lit class reading list even though I hadn't had the chance to read it prior to that class. My gut just told me I'd love it. I'll be damned if it isn't the finest introduction to the world of Toni Morrison EVER. Many people will disagree with me, but if you have to read one of her books (and I hope you choose to go through them all), this is it.
7. 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Also my introduction to Marquez. You may have noticed that I like to tackle authors head on. Although I love him with intense blindness, this is his standout work.
8. I Know This Much Is True by Wallie Lamb. If it makes my drought-ridden, dammed up eyes leak, then it is worth every penny you spend on it.
9. Sophie's Choice by William Stryon. Beautiful, heartbreaking and also much better than the movie.
10. Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. If I liked it enough to voluntarily write a 15 page paper on a play where nothing happens, you will like it enough to finish it.
11. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. There are lots of great little sentences in this one. Plus, it's the only non-fiction book on this list.
12. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Great descriptions, observations, vanitisms and generally cool quotable sentences in this one.

That's the start of my book recommendations. If you're interested in an extended list of honourable mentions (which will probably be more diverse in genre/taste), feel free to ask and I'm happy to oblige. Conversely, tell me what sort of thing you're looking for/like and I'll come up with a list of recommendations suited to your specs. Happy reading!

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz

I may not mention books often here, but once upon a time I was a voracious reader (or as my parents like to say: I don't read books, I devour them). Nowadays, I don't read nearly as often as I'd like to. Part of it is lack of time, part of it is a lack of desire to abandon the easier world of shows and devote said time to the more tasking effort of reading, part of it is disillusionment with the quality of today's books and another with the importance of the classics: how can a book be this praised yet this boring? But every once in a while, I still get completely sucked into the world unfolding on the pages of a particularly good novel. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz is one such book.

As the title implies, the story revolves around Oscar, a young second generation Dominican-American and his family: his beautiful elder sister Lola, their hard downtrodden mother Hypatia "Belicia" Cabral, and their ancestral past. Narrated by Oscar’s college roommate and Lola’s sometimes boyfriend Yunior, the book chronicles Oscar’s family’s multigenerational misfortune as they are plagued by a particularly strong fukú, or evil eye type curse.

I won’t delve into the plot as that defeats the purpose of recommending a book. Obviously, the title gives the ending away, but for once the ending is mostly an end to the means. And what a means it is! Díaz’s style is charmingly, hilariously heartwarming; you fall in love with every broken, imperfect character and root for them to make it. A character-driven writer in a character-driven novel, he is a Dominican David Foster Wallace with gangster rap flavourings and a Trekkie thrown in for good measure, breaking down just about every expectation or stereotype that must exist about who and what should constitute such labels.

He also does that with his deliberate juxtaposition of two polar personalities: Oscar and Yunior. Both are Dominican-Americans with dominant matriarchs and lustful tendencies. Both are aspiring writers. But that is where the similarities end. Oscar is overweight, a dork with a thesaurus for a tongue, a loser, a hermit and a virgin – even though he desperately tries to lose that latter title. Yunior is a gangster player, a typical Dominican culo-chaser and as academically unmotivated as they come. Throwing such characters together is Díaz’s way of throwing the spotlight on how being Dominican, or black, or white, or Asian or Arab does not mean you need to think, act, speak, or believe a certain way. It is his way of tackling conformity, stereotypes and ethno-racial expectations. The novel is rife with similar multicultural points. It should have been required reading for the Tochni course I mentioned in my last post, as it would have made several pertinent arguments without touching too many American or Arab nerves.

Surprisingly, Oscar’s story is probably the weakest story in the novel. Díaz’s brilliance comes in his portrayal of the women in Oscar’s family. He depicts the Dominican woman beautifully. All three major female characters are strong in both will and body, loyal, steadfast, stubborn and gorgeous. A subtle comedic note is the fact that Oscar’s sister, Lola, puts their mother through the same hell as Beli put her own matriarch, La Inca, through. Karma can be a bitch, can’t it.

However, it has to be said that in several parts of the book, it feels more like a Sparknotes version of events rather than the actual novel. More books like this and we won’t need Sparknotes for lit classes anymore.

Parts of the novel are set during Oscar’s grandfather’s lifetime under the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo who is, in true Latin American form, a Saddam Hussein meets Ghaddafi meets Hitler tyrannical philanderer. Díaz provides the reader with very funny footnotes throughout the historical sections of the novel to keep the reader informed on the often-gruesome history of the Dominican Republic. Many of the stories hit home, as this could have very easily been an Arab ‘president’. Who hasn’t heard of someone mysteriously disappearing after being dragged off by the secret police?

Díaz’s sentences average 75% English 25% Spanish, but you won’t need a translator handy to catch his drift. I might get around to looking some of it up just for the comedic appreciation aspect, but I didn’t need to to understand what he was going on about. It again reminds me of Egypt; most of us speak in that sort of Arablish reminiscent to the Spanglish he uses.

Even though the ending was merely an end to the means, I wish it weren’t. Díaz’s biggest flaw here was fizzling out towards the end. He may have been too attached to Oscar (who very much resembles Ignatius J. Reilly form A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole) to let him go, but I think he did his otherwise brilliant first novel a disservice by ending it as nonchalantly as he did. It felt like the Sparknotes of the CliffsNotes, and even the luminously written final paragraph couldn’t make up for a rushed or underdeveloped ending.

Remembering I'm 22

I have a tendency to think that I am above asking for help. When I am sick, I'd rather tough it out than wake someone up to bring me medicine. When I am struggling to do something, I'd rather research, work at it and figure it out on my own than ask someone to show me the easy way out. When I'm really sad or frustrated I will rarely speak up; I'd rather get over it on my own and in my own time. 

I think I prefer to do things on my own because of the learning experience that comes with working things out for myself. I make mistakes, I struggle and I eventually (most of the time, at least) succeed on my own terms and in my own time. The added sense of accomplishment that comes with that fight makes it worthwhile. 

But I know what you're thinking. That's all great, but there is of course a downside to not asking for help when I need it. What if I can't help myself? What if I'm in over my head? What if reaching out to someone is a necessity rather than an option? What will I do then? I asked myself that question today and I don't know the answer, to be honest. 

Roonies and Bambi are apparently concerned by my lack of enthusiasm for my social life. They think - and I agree - that I'm much too young to renounce all social interaction for the sake or because of routine. You and I know that I've been feeling that way for a while. But I never asked for help to get out of my rut. It never crossed my mind to call Bambi and say, "hey, I need help getting my lazy butt out of the house, would you please help motivate me?" I just figured it would happen when it happened. 

And the result? It did happen, but it could have happened so much sooner had I just let my stubborn little ego-guard take the night off and reached out to my friends. I had a genuinely good time in forever this weekend. The mile-wide ton of flesh following me around jiggled to the beat, my rusty social skills were put to good use and I even went for a 4 am post-clubbing McDonalds run; I never say no to free food. I felt good loosening up with real people instead of the lovely folks on TV. I felt my age again. Even if I did wake up after only 5 hours of sleep with the beginnings of a hangover. Don't worry, caught it with a big ol' breakfast. Nothing works better than an egg yolk to stop a hangover in its tracks. 

Moral of the story: let your guard take the night off every once in a while and ask for help, even if you think you can handle things on your own. Sometimes, the helping hand will treat you to a steady flow of Moet and vodka-cranberry. 

A Study in Music

It is neither Monday nor Thursday, but let us not limit good (yes, a relative term - don't hate) music to a predetermined date for the moment. 

Ch-ch-ch-ch-check this out. The original is an electropop doozy of a song that is pretty awesome. The remix is, well, you listen. Amazing what can be done with one song. 

If you like La Roux, check out 'Quicksand' as well. 

Tip jar: Fruitcake. Thanks for the eye-opener buddy!

In for the Kill (Original Mix):

In for the Kill (Skream's Let's Get Ravey Mix):

Enter the Freakshow

Ladies and Gentleman (yes, I am aware that there is only one of you),

Allow me to introduce the latest, greatest and most entertaining new escape from normalcy in our land of the interwebs.

This death-defying feat of laughter, of skill and of high-flying acrobatics will astound and amaze you, or your money back.

Come on, come all to OUR FREAKSHOW, an exciting new blog about the BB Messenger shenanigans of Eureka and Rocksteady (aka Mrs. Fallon to the six and a half eaders here).

Kindly visit www.ourfreakshow.blogspot.com to change your reading habits as you know them.

Mellow Music Mondays (M-Cubed) #2

Over the last couple of days a bunch of split-my-spleen-laughing-then-snorting-at-the-split-spleen moments have graced me with their surprising presence. I haven't laughed this hard in ages. 

As much as I'd LOVE to share them with you, they are of the "you had to have been there" types. Not funny at all when relayed. They don't even make sense when relayed, really. 

I also can't remember most of them to begin with... But I felt the need to inform you 3 and a quarter readers remaining that I have been having a grand ol' time over here on my side of the screen. 

Have have you been doing? Lets hear YOUR stories for a change (I don't know change from what exactly, it isn't like I've been telling stories recently, either. Grapes, don't tell yours. I already know them.)

Which then leads of very nicely to the purpose of today's post. Mellow music. How does asking about you lead to this, you ask? Well, it doesn't. Not unless your name is Susie Suh and you're singing "Give Me Heart". Kindly forgive the video - I don't think Ms. Suh has an official video out for this one. However, it is lovely, and heartbreaking, and worth every moment of the 5:43 minutes you will use up sitting there floored.

Something Old, New, Borrowed, and Sometimes Blue

Seeing as I seem to pretty much suck at posting decent content on a regular basis, I have decided to try borrowing ideas off other more successful blogs. 

At first I thought I'd take ideas or themes they discuss and present my take on them. However, I have the mind of a highly influential 12-year-old, so I will rarely - if ever - veer from the consensus on all issues. If anything, I'd just repeat their ideas verbatim and not even realize that I had no input whatsoever. 

So I thought to myself, what do I enjoy on a daily basis that I could share with others? Aside from posting links I find interesting, of course. Because then I'd just become a very bad version of The Huffington Post, minus the intellectual bits. 

Then, lightbulb moment. I listen to my iPod every day, don't I? And I'm constantly looking for new music, aren't I? So why not recommend songs I like? Sort of like Let Me Like It and Music Ramen, minus the in-depth analysis, consistency, and coolness factors.

I will do this on a trial basis, beginning with Mellow Music Mondays, where I will recommend the kind of depressing music I listen to in the mornings before I've finished my half litre of coffee, and at night as I nod off. Thursdays will be of the Thumpin' kind, which basically means it'll be everything Mondays are not: loud, anthem-y pop and rock to get us into the weekend mood. 

Sometimes I will add my thoughts to the post, sometimes I will not. We'll see how it goes.

Thus, to inaugurate Mellow Music Mondays, kindly turn your attention to Matthew Perryman Jones singing "Feels Like Letting Go":

Highlight of My Day - Inauguration Special

If there was one reason to watch the inauguration, this was it:

“REV LOWERY: Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors
rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day
when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around, when
yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man, and when white will
embrace what is right. Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen.

AUDIENCE: Amen!

REV. LOWERY: Say amen --

AUDIENCE: Amen!

REV. LOWERY: -- and amen.

AUDIENCE: Amen”

Oscar Buzz

Baby Kangaroo just posted a fun little competition of sorts on his blog. He's suggesting that participants read up on the ongoing Oscar (Academy Awards if you prefer) buzz and post their own predictions. Winner is paid about $20 from each loser.

Not a bad pot (depending on the number of people who join in) for doing something you're bound to do in your own head anyway!

On A Related Note

I almost forgot to mention this:

Yesterday, I left the office 10 minutes early for 2 reasons.

1) I was silently protesting the fact that Mr. Boss Man only every remembered to call me with work a second before I walked out of the office;
2) I was totally avoiding being in the office to receive said daily call because I needed to go home;
3) I hadn't been home at a decent hour in forever and missed seeing my room in the daylight;
4) I still resented the fact that I had to work all weekend. Yes, I hold a grudge when I can't even claim overtime.

Fine, that was 2 squared. Same difference. I never said I could count. I have Excel and calculators for that.

As accurate as a fine-tuned Patek, he called my mobile phone at 4:56, meaning he'd called my desk and not found me.

Now, check me out in all my suck it glory. I ignored his call.

Wait, wait. It gets better! I never called back! I know! I'm such a rebel!

Eureka wags her tail in giddy self-congratulations.

This morning, I called when I arrived at 10:08. He wasn't in yet so I had time to drink my home brewed coffee. Some of which had already scalded my left butt cheek. The very cheek I mentioned in the previous post because I happen to favour it. The universe is a twisted place, I know. In my morning grumpy stupor, I forgot to snap the travel mug closed, so when I lay it on the seat next to me, it leaked.

Thank my lucky stars my skirt was black today. Because walking around with a brown stain on my bottom all day would definitely lead to too many questions and a pay cut. If they were feeling generous.

So, yeah. He calls me back a little while later. After business was taken care of he asked why I'd disappeared the other afternoon.

I am such a badass. I lied my way out of it by saying there was an emergency at home and in my hurry I left my phone on my desk. Half convincing, too!

I should be a professional excuse maker-upper. I'd so make a killing.

Ken Leeeeeee!

This had me in stitches all morning. Totally made up for the fact that I had to work all day.



Thanks T-$!

Countertenors Are Awesome

His name is Nick Pitera. I wonder if he'd be willing to lend me his voice. I'd be happy to take his boy voice seeing as he likes his girl voice so much. You have to check out his youtube channel, too.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Yes, it is time this blog was used in yet another selfish attempt at bringing the internet's fickle limelight one step closer to my anonymous ego.

BK and I have set up Diablogue Soup. It is a forum in which anyone can participate and through which all and sundry will be discussed.

Yes that does include politics and pseudo-serious issues.

Feel free to roll your eyes and navigate away from this blog now.

Oh, you know you'll be back tomorrow.

Destination: Relaxation (And Wife Hunting on the Side)

Babar and I spent most of the day in his office as we were one of the few idiots to go to work today. We are also one of the few idiots to go to work tomorrow. Not because we are dedicated (well, he is, but seeing as I am not, he must conform) but because we have nothing better to do. I forwarded my calls to his phone (preparation for the unlikely event of my boss calling) and exchanged stories from our long weekend.

Babar, who is the loveliest person in existence (which means I am actively channeling Austen's Emma and hunting for a wife for him - eligible ladies apply within) spent the last three days in Marsa Alam (as yet unspoiled Red Sea fishing village) and came back in ecstasy. He also came back redder than a Man United jersey and with most of his head peeling off, but that's another story.

Note that Babar is very difficult to please. So if he fell in love with Marsa Alam and came back completely relaxed, then Marsa Alam should equate that to divine blessings from the Pope and the Dalai Lama combined. The ground visibly shakes when Babar is in the vicinity. The whole floor must be warned when he enters the building to find cover and protect their eyes from his holy glow.



His Grace described crystal turquoise waters, abundant marine life, untouched beaches and all that jazz, as you can see from the photo above. Babar had a very stressful couple of weeks at work, so he needed this. I should know, I had to wiggle, jiggle, contort my face, tell embarrassing stories and make a right fool of myself several times in feeble attempts to cheer him up. So anyone in need of a break, Babar recommends Marsa Alam.

And now, a few words on Babar himself (for all you ladies waiting with bated breath. You know I wasn't going to disappoint):

Babar is a gentle giant. Fantabulously talented, he is very good at what he does (and juggles a million more responsibilities in several positions than the average 25-year-old) meaning he will go very far in life. He has countless interests and will give everything a try. He is intellectual without being pretentious. He is kind, patient and compassionate without being soppy. He is spontaneous, he is hilarious, his joie de vivre is enviable, and he is an amazing friend and gentlemen. He even paid for lunch today. Yes, those kinds of men still exist! In a word, he's perfect.

So ladies, email your resumes. I'd take him myself, but I can't bring myself to put him through all my commitmentphobic baggage and megalomaniac complexes. The boy is much too good to be damaged.

Remembering to Breathe

Some days life just isn't worth living. I should know, those days seem to chase after me like they're Eureka-seeking missiles.



It is those days where you need to remember to stop, count your blessings and just relax.

Otherwise, you'll miss out on the good as well. Like enjoying the view at St. Andrews (see above). Or having a glass of wine with the people who make you laugh the hardest.

And finally arriving at the end of the tunnel and having a reason to feel accomplished.

I can't wait for that day.

If you're having an off minute, or week, or even lifetime, just think about that sense of accomplishment when you finally pull through.

It'll make it all worth it.

Hey, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

Bob Geldof with George W. Bush in Africa

This is just unbelievable. Bush can utter a coherent sentence sometimes! I am shocked.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/africa/article3510768.ece

Spaz does not find this the least bit funny however. I know she's right, but I couldn't help giving you reason to giggle.