In Good Company

Ello All
The last few days have been mad hectic for me as I travelled to Pune for the weekend and then Matheran for the remaining weekdays. Pune was awesome. Matheran not so much.
The most obvious reasons were that in Pune we had a warm dry home to come back to and in Matheran we had a smelly, damp and cold bunch of bed linen to sleep in. There were also bugs.
Thing is, I've stayed in far worse conditions with far less complaint and it is certainly not my age that made me want to leave Matheran so much.
I believe, very firmly, that there is a level of connection between any two people, which is so immensely impactful, all other relationships fade into non existence. I call this level, the click. It's kind of like a pen. When the cap is off, some covers just click right in and some take a bit of effort before they click. Some just don't click.
A few months ago, through no planned arrangement, my girlfriend, my best friend, my sister, her boyfriend and I ended up chilling together. There was singing, there was chattering and there was a lot of laughing (key ingredient for optimum clickage...).
Last weekend in Pune we met again and it was just as awesome. There was no will to leave, there was no false smile, there was no hidden feelings, there was nothing but the good time we were all having.
At the end of it all, we all hugged waved and shouted our ba-byes before heading our separate ways to do our own things and it struck me how awesome this particular click was. We meet, have a blast and then head back to the less 'clicky' worlds we normally occupy.
I had a ball in Matheran. It was one hell of a trip, but something in me was trying very hard for the previous click and obviously that wasn't going to happen.
I suppose what this is boiling down to, is wherever there is a click, whoever it may be, cling onto it and protect it like none other because clicks are a lot harder to find than we'd like to think.
One of my existing clicks is fading currently. (Well two, but that's a whole other blog and probably even a book) She won't say it but it's been getting pretty blatantly clear that the boredom of old click is bothering her. I'm trying to figure out how to rejuvenate this click without having to pull the cover off the pen. Even if it's momentarily. I'm sure we'll get there but like I said, one must always protect their clicks. It's the greatest thing you'll ever have to protect.
To the Lawbreakers.
I've just spoken to the inappropriately mistitled 'fading click' and as always she has a far better metaphor. The metaphor itself is long and if reprinted here could result in injuries for me. Point being- the click is not fading but is in fact as awesome as always. I could extend my metaphor and say perhaps the color of the pen is not as exciting as it once was, and I feel it is my duty to brighten up and make her enjoy the clickiness of it all.
Now. Figure it out yourself and get back to me because I swear to God I haven't the slightest...

These are the days

Ello All
This was honestly supposed to be a spontaneous post 3 days ago, but some very stupid moves and a trip to Matheran means it's had to wait till now.
Well, the day I wanted to write this, I'd just had a small meal with two friends from the Journo class. Nothing significant happened, nothing that really changed anything anyway. We ate, talked about inanities, caught our trains and left.
For some reason though, that experience of eating and walking home and being tired and chuckling and yawning is somehow very deeply ingrained in my memory.
On the same day I'd just had a gruelling session which had me drained entirely.
When I'm 56 and I'm talking to my kid/s and they look up at me and Kyra and ask us about college, these are the experiences I'll tell them about. And no matter how many ipods and net connections you throw into the fray, they'll always seem old and outdated.

I realise now that this post isn't going ANYWHERE and probably was never supposed to. But there's a very pleasant, almost comforting feel to this particular memory and it just strikes me how awesome it is to do something and then relive it later on and still come out with a similar if not stronger feeling.
Yea I'm just trying to blog more often. This is what happens.

While writing this post I started watching the Wimbledon Final, and man!
Fuck me!

Again

Ello all
It's that time of the year again. I'm leaving the place I'm staying in. I'm going to be staying with a friend for a bit and then, well I don't know.
The absurd frequency with which this happens is fairly freaking disheartening and every time it does I start to appreciate the security and sheer sanity of having one home you can sort of track back to whenever you like. Even if it's just in your head.
It struck me, as always, when I went to pee and realised I'll be peeing in a new bathroom all over again. And then I'll start to get used to that loo and I'll end up moving yet again. I certainly wish things would hit me in more poetic circumstances but there you go.
These past three days I've just had my head in such an unbelievable jumble over this and honestly, what bothers me most, is that I don't have that thing a very dear friend of mine has everytime she's moving around. She'll just up and go like it's this very ordinary step. God, I wish I fucking had that. It just always kicks in too late and I end up with these couple weeks of jumble.
Michael Jackson dying hasn't particularly helped. Not that I hold it against him. But shit. It's over. No phenomenal comeback. No righting what went so wrong. Just end para, 'King of Pop' is gone. It's time like these you have to thank God we have the internet. Noone will ever forget, or even let diminish the significance of his passing, and I suppose, it's the least he deserves.
I digress. I suppose.
Sorry for the ramble/whine. Just figured a post might help the jumble go. Not worked so far.
Ah fuck it. Let's hope the next post's a little cheerier.

Oh I wish I was a design student with flowers in my hair...

Ello all
These last few weeks have been possibly my most tense weeks in a while now. Some readers may know that my family's financial scene isn't the prettiest, yet somehow they maintain the same level of expectations they did when we did have money. It's admirable in a way, but it's also very frustrating, and as I mentioned worrying.
At some point after school I decided I wanted to be an idealist. The kind of person who took a job regardless of pay, as long as it was a job that fit my ethical threshold. My Father did this. After a very successful tenure as a bank manager, he realised his heart wasn't in it, so he took to a job that didn't pay well, guarantee longevity, or in fact, reward diligence. Perhaps it was bad luck and bad timing, but the point is, while he did follow his heart, it's not led him to a particularly secure place.
This scared me shitless. On the one hand, I desperately want to follow my heart and live my life without a dependance on money. On the other hand, I want a family. I want to have a nice internet connection at home. I want to be able to buy cold cuts and nice cheeses so I can have sandwiches whenever I want to. I want to randomly splurge on my wife. I don't want to be rich-rich. Just, you know comfortable.
Thing is, that takes money, and while yes principally and even morally I may be a bit more comfortable as a journalist, maybe it's worth the compromise if I can earn a decent living out of advertising. The picture isn't nearly that black and white. Sure I could earn a lot as a Journalist, and sure I could earn nothing as an ad-maker.
The bitch is that I'm so unbelievably petrified about what I should do after the year's done. Go to Australia, try for elsewhere, stay in India?
It just amazes me how we can spend so much time and energy doing things we don't particularly like or love, to the extent that we don't have anything left for what we DO like or love. And the fact that somehow, that could potentially even be worth it.
I don't know what I want, what I need, or what I should be doing. All I know is I'm at that point where I've got to make a decision that'll define everything. Sure I could change at any point, I'm not that linear to believe that the path I choose now is the path I'm stuck with. But the truth is, if I do pick the right one, it'll make shit a whole lot easier.
The only thing that's really pulling me through right now is the comic, and the fact that I've got a year to amp up my portfolio.
Growing up fucking blows.

The Unmasking

Ello all
Just a short one to let you all know that I've finally mustered up the courage to officially launch the web comic.
A few disclaimers are in order though. Firstly, the layout is rubbish but I'm working on a new banner which may take some time considering I have an exam in 2 days. Secondly, the image quality is equally rubbish and I think it's a glitch in my camera. I'll probably have to end up scanning though. I'm still in a testing phase. Thirdly, I've never done this before so if the actual strips themselves are rubbish, well let's hope and pray I learn soon.
This isn't something that'll grow into anything commercial, rather something I desperately want to do and figure it's worth the effort. At the moment it's all very rudimentary but I'm hoping I can make some progress and fast.
Anyway with much trepidation I present to you- http://rupees100.blogspot.com - a webcomic.
Credit to Anish for somehow locating the damn thing and commenting on it two whole days before I even told anyone I'd come up with a name. He is, in fact, the best.
Be gentle...

ADVERTISING IS EVIL! AAAAAHHH!!

Ello all,

My laptop cable went kaput! about a week ago and as a result I've not just missed a couple of posts, I've also ended up delaying the webcomic reveal. Hopefully I'll do it tomorrow.

Anyway, I had a long talk with an ex- professor of mine today and it sent me on a bit of a spiral thoughtwise. Inner hyperlinking if you will. And all of a sudden I realised just what my problem with Advertising as a profession really is.

I remember in Kyra's second last semester she'd done a post about how it blew that she had to write copy, convincing copy at that, about a restaurant she'd never actually been to. At that point something about the whole idea of advertising made me cringe, but it was until today that I was able to really get just what it is that irks me about it.

Imagine all the brands in a certain segment are people. They have personalities, plans, failures, achievements and quirks. Some are excellent at what they do, some are quite rubbish. But at the end of the day, the only ones who really prosper, who really last long are the ones who seem to be the best. Advertising as a profession ensures that.

Now, it's unfair to assume that all brands with good marketing are poor brands. It's equally unfair to presume they're all good. In certain segments it's reasonably fair, and in certain segments in not. Vodafone, is an amazing brand, introspective and evolving and always concerned. Their media plan reflects that and they succeed.

On the other hand Mandvi Beach in Gujarat is possibly the most beautiful beach in India, yet due to a better media plan Goa will always seem like the premier beach destination.

Al Rees and Jack Trout believe that 'perception is reality' and unfortunately they're right. If Nokia looks and sounds like a better product, then no matter what Sony Ericsson offer as a product, they'll always be at a disadvantage.

And yes, it's all very well and good to just go along with this ludicrous concept but what we're essentially doing is sacrificing a definition of better which is deeper for one that is shallower. It's bullshit. And the sad thing is, there now exists a multi-million dollar industry dedicated solely to ensuring that this concept be pushed as far as it can go.

Yes there's seven billion of us. Yes there's far too many variables and dynamics to be successfully idealistic anymore, but what bothers me is the flagrant ease with which awesome pure ideals are dropped.

I'm not saying advertising is all nasty. The creative process involved in brand building and the insight derived from analysing consumers is amazing. The kind of work some firms put into humanizing products and brands is incredible. The way stuff like Saatchi and Saatchi's lovemarks extends to better management or the way Audi and Honda ads can leave people with their mouths gaping, is not something you can scoff at.

But not only are these values rare, they honestly appear to be the exception rather than the rule. And I don't know, it kind of seems like that ever-looming air of 'nasty' that lies over advertising is neither something that'll go away too soon, but something that doesn't really deserve to.

Luke Sullivan has this joke which goes something like this:

I've just started dating a devout Christian with a very strong moral fibre. My dad's in jail convicted of murder, my mother's a madam and my three siblings are extortionists. But I'm not sure I should tell her I'm in advertising!

Home is where the dogs are II (but not in any way a sequel...)

Ello all
Avid readers of the blog would know I've done a post with this title before. Actually that's not true. But I have done a post with the same title before. Except that that post was more about the home part, whereas this part is about the dogs part.
My parents recently adopted a new family member. His name's Oz and he's a 'Great Dane' by which I mean breed. He's born in Rajasthan and I doubt he's ever even heard of Denmark since Chiquita, our lab is from Punjab and probably doesn't know herself.
Anyway, he's taller than her already (about 2 feet high) and he's fawn. Thing is, since he's only 4 months old and very much a puppy, he comes off this big clumsy oaf. Tejas figures he's a dinosaur, but the point is, he's just a bit too big for his age and while a little furball tripping over itself and sitting on the other dog is cute, when he does it, it just seems retarded...
The point of the post is not a write up on my parents' dogs but rather, the amazing impact they have had on me whenever I've gone back to the farm.
I'm sure anyone who's read or seen Marley and Me would feel I'm just saying the same stuff but I just have to.
Dogs do not wake up with agendas. They do what they want, when they want and most importantly of all, IF they want. When they hit 3 years old they aren't concerned about college and when they hit 8 they aren't concerned about retirement. Sure they haven't invented electricity or whatever, but I honestly believe, that the manner in which dogs live, is indeed the exact same lifestyle countless spiritual leaders and thinkers across the planet have tried to get us humans to live.
Dogs do what is necessary and when it's necessary. If they're thirsty they drink. If they're hungry they eat. If they're hot they pant, if they're hotter they stick their heads in a bucket.
If they're upset they cry and if they're excited they bound. It's amazing. It's ultimate 'live for the moment' ness.
And the result of it, to me atleast, is the sheer amount of love any dog is capable of. Obviously a dog who's had his ears clipped and his tail cut and has been taught to be a vicious prick will eventually give in and be an asshole but for the most part, when dogs are left to be dogs, they can love almost anything. They can care for and comfort anyone and most amazingly, they'll do it even if you've been a real asshole to them.
Chiquita, our lab, came to us as a fat little pup with an intention to chew on everything. We got her as company for our previous lab Maggie who unfortunately passed away a couple months after Chiquita came. Since we were in Dubai, it meant that Chiquita grew up alone, without us and only our caretaker and gardener as company. Did she go into depression and neglect her health? No.
She ate as much as she could and became the gardener's best friend. Every time we came home she'd love us and sit with us and cuddle us every opportunity she got. When we left she'd be sad but she'd get over it and go back to her old routine. She continued this for about 4 years until my parents moved back. Then she just went on being as warm and loving as ever.
To me this is incredible. The fact that everytime I visit her nothing has changed. There's no resentment. There's no hard feeling at being abandoned the way she was. Only love.
I used to say in my next life I want to be a dog. Truth is, all I seriously want to achieve in this life, is the ability to be as warm and as loving as my dogs are.
If ever anyone needed more inspiration it's the fact that these dogs are subsequently the most loved as well. That is no coincidence.

Armageddon outta here!

Ello all,
The other day I thought of an awesome idea for a script. Initially I was totally psyched and the thoughts were swirling. But then, when I thought about completing it practically I hit, what I hear is called, a snag.
And that snag is the same snag that snagged me whenever I started trying to write the graphic novel.
The snag is this,
I'm convinced we're all going to die, or something very close to it, in around 3, maybe 4 years time.
I don't know how or what or where or when, but I'm convinced it'll happen.
When that huge tsunami struck a few years ago, everyone was all boohoo and concerts and funds for about 6 months and then we all moved on.
Some, admittedly MORE than earlier kept at it, but for the most part where right back at square one.
And I'll admit, maybe I don't know nearly enough to be proper worried, but come on, we've been burning and cutting shit up for a good 4000 years now! I'm pretty sure the planet's going to give up soon.
I'm not usually one for believing conspiracy theories wholly, but something tells me that the 2012 hoohaa might actually have something to it. I don't know if it'll be a flood, a flash or a bang. I don't know if it'll be one of them, and I don't know if it'll be all of them, but I know some bad shit is GOING to happen. I just know it.
The problem is, that now all my plans, involve hurried success. In that I HAVE to do the graphic novel AND the movie by 2011 otherwise once 2012 happens, it'll be too late.
If I have a brilliant script about football and bloggers, will people still want to watch it after whatever hits us in 2012. Will people give a shit about India and democracy and a young comic artist when we're living in fallout shelters and eating worms?
I'm not saying we'll all die. I know we won't. It can't be that easy. But I don't know, I've just got the feeling that it'll suck for a lot of us and the REST will die.
Does anyone else share the feeling?

Bad day

Disclaimer: Tejas and Kyra are awesome.
So today morning, when I woke up, I noticed the sun was shining just a little brighter than it usually does. Actually, it was shining a lot brighter. So much so, my first words were "Wuuurrhth" which is groggy talk for "what the hell?"
My curtains were missing. The bright orange, soul of the room, mood making, house-warming present-from-Kyra-and-Sairu curtains were gone. So I freaked out and eventually learnt that the cleaning lady had taken them to the wash.
But just as I was starting to calm down, I noticed she'd left the window open and two pigeons had flown into the room and were presently, having sex on top of my cupboard. After shooing the fuckers (heh.) off, things were back to relative normalcy, except for the man gawking at me through the hole in my window.
Anyway, I then chilled for a bit and eventually set off to do some bank work for the exam bound Kyra. Sure enough, when I had to show the ticket collector my pass, I'd left mine at home. Instead I had a pass that expired in February.
So 10 minutes and Rs. 250 later (he was sweet enough to forego 4 bucks since neither of us had change), I reached the bank and guess what-
It's a bank holiday.
So in a huff I caught a rickshaw and came here to Kyra's where I'm presently blogging. But before I came upstairs I had some milk and decided to smoke in the surprisingly pleasant breeze only nice neighbourhoods are allowed.
While I was smoking, it suddenly occured to me, that while a whole lot of bad things had happened to me today, it wasn't actually a bad day. In fact, I actually felt quite pleasant and genuinely didn't feel stressed, or fried or anything like that. I even realised my tooth's stopped aching.
And it got me thinking, during the semester, usually even fewer 'bad' things happen to me in a day, but for some reason, it always tends to bring me down. The two people closest to me, Kyra and Tejas, usually tend to get overwhelmed and depressed by things like this, and it always used to amaze me how they'd anticipate something bad just so they could further compound the wretched day they'd be having. And with both of them, I saw that if something did go their way, because they were so expecting it not to, they wouldn't actually be happy about the something good, in fact they'd be just a teeny bit sad that it didn't work out the way they thought it would.
And, like all great introspection, I noticed I was doing the same thing only after I saw them doing it. Don't get me wrong, I love the two of them to peices but this is one of their more frustrating traits (frustraits) and I've had it the whole bloody time.
Now, I'm not saying one must smell the flowers or any of that shit, but I don't know, the sudden change in perspective I got today's got me wondering if everytime it feels like a shitty day, it's really not, but because the bullshit's picked up so much momentum, we just end up thinking it's a bad day anyway.
I'm not particularly sure what this whole post's been about anyway, but I must say, after pigeons getting jiggy, me getting fined and the bank being closed, I still had a pleasant day and now I'm sitting next to the pretty Ms. Mathews. I think it might have been the cigarettes. Or the milk. Or the breeze. Or Kyra. Probably the cigarettes though. So yes, smoke. It'll make a shitty day a not so shitty day.

Agin' and Ragin'

I'm not too sure if this post is better suited for the other blog, it's just that it's extremely personal so I figure it's only proper if it's here.
I just watched Gran Turino. I've only ever cried in two movies in my life. The first being Rugrats (I was young) and the second being When a Man loves a Woman (I was breaking down).
I did not cry during Gran Turino, but I certainly felt like I wanted to.
The film for those of you who don't know, is about an aging Vietnam war vet played by Clint Eastwood, who grows past his biases and prejudices in a shit hole ghetto, where he lives, along with his dog Daisy and his '72 Gran Turino, which for the layman is a beautiful muscle car.
To say the film is moving, is to say Kill Bill is violent. It doesn't cut it.
What prompted me to write this though, was the way it hit home on a topic, or idea really, that I've been haranguing myself with for the past few months.
I'm turning 21 this year, and I'm in that phase between comfort and the real world- college. And everyday I find myself upset with what I am and what I'm becoming, and everyday I feel a little more uncomfortable in myself.
So I try to remember and emulate easier times, when things were clearer and I could honestly say I was hitting my peak everyday. And obviously, this has led me to miss my life as a teenager. To wish I had the drive and clarity of that time, when I could dream easily without being cynical. When I felt like I was the protagonist in a super movie where the plot keeps getting better and better and I could count on what would happen next. When everytime I was working there was this awesome music in the background, and I was the center of this killer montage.
But ever since the script that comes with school and parental control went away and I reached this place where MY choices decide the plotline, I feel like I'm floundering. Now that my first year is gone and my second year too has ended, the 'exploration' part of the film is over and like the bridge of a Bon Jovi song, I'm in that part where the harmonies come together slowing everything down, leaving you completely uncertain about whether or not the song is ever going to be the same again.
But then there's the key change and the chorus BURSTS out louder and clearer than ever, making your chest swell like you're about to fucking scream (or Yawp! for those who've seen Dead Poets Society).
In the movie Dazed and Confused, there's this line that goes something to the effect of "I'm tired of treating the present like it's some sort of inconvenient step on the way to whatever my future should be..."
That got me thinking. We all know all the bullshit about 'live life' and 'live in the present' and all matter is just energy and all of that, but why do we treat it like it's some academic bullshit we can use in an argument at some point, or to nod 'I know' when someone else is trying to sound intellectual.
My dad and I have had all these talks, and in school, debating and in class we've been over all of this. I've read Tuesdays with Morrie and I've seen a whole bunch of movies that are all SUPPOSED to have inspired me. But somehow I've never actually done it. I've always admired people who do shit, even if it's not fully thought through. Who up and travel, or shut up and learn, or get down and practise. But for some bizarre reason, I'm just struggling to be any of that and over these past few weeks, it's been hitting me harder and harder, that the only thing all these guys have in common, is that they aren't bothered about the end result or the way things were. All they care about is what's at hand and what needs to be done. END OF STORY.
Clint Eastwood, is an old man struggling with past sins and mortality, and I'm a young guy struggling with past glory and future failures.
I've gone ahead and got myself caught up in all the fucking nitty gritty bullshit and complete forgotten what really matters- that I'm a 21 year old guy who can't draw his own characters and needs to practise.
Fuck.
I've always felt, if we all knew less we'd get more done. It's sort of like expectations. Either expect everything or expect nothing. Know nothing, or know everything. The mid part is just weird.
Anyway. I've said enough.

Sucks and the city?

Ello all
I’m smoking a cigarette and waiting for my bath water to fill. While I’ve been doing this I unfortunately caught about ten minutes of Sex and the City.
Now before I move further with this rant, I must make it clear that I am contractually obligated to never bitch about Sex and the City. The contract is my relationship with Kyra and the consequences are painful guilt trips, yelling and generally a little bit of arm hair pulling.
But today’s show was particularly painful because Carrie Bradshaw has decided she’s a cynic who doesn’t believe in love and her friend ‘Cute girl with dark hair’ (Can’t recall her name now…) is the one who always believes in love.
Anyway they went on and on about how you’re supposed to believe in love and you’re supposed to put yourself out there and then it’ll come to you and blah blah blah. Now. This is all very run of the mill right? I mean it’s on every single show on American television. But it suddenly reminded me what I hate so much about this widely accepted notion that love is the indefinite mystery which exists and floats around and controls people’s hearts.
I’ve been a proper Indian lover for about 15 months now and I’d like to finally, categorically put forth my own notion of love, which believe me, is a far simpler fucking notion.
Love is boring. It is not a good movie script. It is barely even a good memory. It is nothing more than a really good feeling. Love is the unhindered belief in something’s core, something’s essence. The reason people spend so much money and do so many things for other people is because they trust deep down and count on the other person’s deepest self.
People love money right? If you love it and work for it you’ll get a hundred bucks which you can then spend on candy. And then you’ll think ‘hmm money’s dependable!’
With people, you don’t always get the candy. Sometimes you get the wrong type of candy. Then you get disappointed and you cry and your heart breaks and you lose faith and you think ‘hmm people- not so dependable!’
Most people wear masks to hide themselves because they don’t think they’re more valuable than what’s on the mask. Which is horrible right? It’s a fucking mask for god’s sake. There’s people with values and experiences and dreams and hopes and memories- who presume a plastic mask is more valuable.
It’s true masks are fun. And they’re wonderful at times too, but when all you have is your mask, you start to fantasize about what love really is. And you romanticize it and you build it up and completely miss the reality of it all. My love for Kyra is not the flowers I got her on our anniversary, it’s the idea that she’s worth the effort to make happy. Love is not something you wait around for- it’s something you DO!
Marxists love Marx and capitalists love profits. Hindus love Shiva. They just do. Everything I do and feel for Kyra is because her core, her self is so fucking awesome to me I can’t help but love it, NOT because of a baby with a cross bow sitting on a crowd in designer diapers!
My point, at the end is, if everyone just went ahead and loved and got, that when it doesn’t work out, it’s because it didn’t and the world is not against your middle class urbanite ass. Men are not assholes. Women are not sluts, and if we keep believing in the bullshit they’re feeding us on most TV we’re just going to get confused.
For me, the truest depictions of love in American Cinema are the relationships in the movies ‘When a Man loves a Woman’ and ‘Marley and Me.’
Love IS like Oxygen. Not in a romantic ‘Oh so can’t live without it’ kind of a way- more in a yes it’s there, and yes it’s fucking awesome and yes I’ll always appreciate it, but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
That is all.

Run to you

ello all
It would seem like I'm going to blog on the 31st of every month. But I'm not. I could say it and all but the truth is February has only 28 days. I would otherwise though. What?
Last month because I was a bit low on cash, I was walking a whole lot more and amazingly, the long walks down the sky walk or to stations or just randomly walking around at night, were the most therapeutic (for lack ANY other word) moments I've had in my recent slump. As a result I'm feeling a little taller and from being a screw up who did a few decent things, I've started to see myself as a decent guy who screws up a few things. Pretty killer I'd say, it's just that there are still those screw ups.
Anyway before this thing gets anymore alcoholics anonymous, I need to get this out. Walking when you're fucking tired, dry in the mouth and just fucking sick of everything is the best thing in the world. You're completely exhausted at the end of it but not in a groggy pass out way, in a puffy eyed feeling good tonight sort of way. I've realised my hunt for comfort was only fun as long as it was a hunt, because prolonged comfort is just fucking stagnation and I do not appreciate it.
I could never elucidate the way walking works better than Tejas did in one of his last blogs (back when the lazy fucker still wrote) but man, with Franz Ferdinand (THE most trancedental band I know), Bon Jovi and more recently the awesome hootings of Reel Big Fish, there is fucking no problem you cannot deal with when you're on the road. I don't know why and I couldn't be fucked to, but that's how it is. My mum always tells me when you work out and stuff the oxygen reaches your head quicker or something and you do better. Whatever it is, it works.
I've realised most of the greatest lessons I ever learnt, I took for granted and basically forgot. Funny thing is, most of the lessons are the really obvious ones you learn in school. I just sort of waved them off as being too simplistic for this oh so complex life I lead. What fucking shit. The longest lasting compliment I ever got was in the 6th grade playing squash with a friend of my dad's. The guy told me he could never beat me because I ran for every shot on the court no matter how far away it was. I don't know if I have that tenacity anymore, and it's a fucking shame if I don't. There is no logical justification for my 6th grade self being a better guy than my present self. Sure I know what a media plan is and why deconstructionism is a pain in the crotch but how the fuck is any of that going to make me a better writer?
Anyway now that I have cash I'm taking more cabs and blowing most of it. I'm not the wisest guy around now am I? Working on it anyway. I pretend I'm broke and sometimes manage to get shit done. I've started a journal for my more honest, less articulate and yes deeper thoughts. That's right I'm pretentious, wanna fighd aboud it?
Not much else on I suppose. There is ofcourse the very resolute group of over achievers wearing Arsenal badges pretending to be the team I'm supposed to link my existence to, but I don't know what to make of it anymore. I don't recognise or love that club the way I did only 3 months ago and it's a fucking shame. I'm sure our lives still have that bloody relative thing I'm always on about but right now, that is not a football club with the values I could spend hours arguing about. I love the club to peices but someone needs to change something somewhere in the cosmos before this club becomes anything like the paragons who murdered direct football all these years. Samir Nasri though, is in my opinion, signing of the season, and Denilson, Robin, Djourou, Sagna and even Song all deserve fucking medals of honour but it's not enough and I'm already working out the bright sides of UEFA cup football. I don't have to hope they show our game and not United's next year. That's something. Personally, I just hope I can see a full strength Arsenal doing some of the total football GM they're known for, before the end of the season. Even once, and even if we lose the game 5-4 to Stoke while we do it, I don't care. I just want to know that it still exists.
Anyway that's all for now. Rambly blog today. Needed to write. Need to write. Will Write. Haha.