my kingdom for a laugh

I can't help it. I love making fun of people, always with that blade of truth. Especially Wonderwoman. It's especially agudo when I've had a few drinks...

We used to read Spanish poetry together.
(No explanation required. She's NEVER going to hear the end of this.)

Yes, there was an ongoing policy of discouragement with him.
So, you invite him to stay at our flat...you're really good at giving mixed signals.

Are you making fun of me again?
Dude, it's not ALWAYS about you!

No capes!

'The Incredibles' has to be the best all-around movie I've seen in ages. Intelligent animation?!?! Maybe Americans are beginning to see the light of their Japanese counterparts... Edna Mode is by far the greatest character - a hilarious cross between Anna Wintour of Vogue and Mr. Yunioshi from 'Breakfast at Tiffanys'.

sun and warmth forecasted

Highs for the coming week:

24c in Delhi
18c in Kohima (still in shock that Kohima actually exists at weather.com)

Maybe the ancestral gods will spare me this time and I won't fall sick...

English people make the worst houseguests

(Ready for a rant?)

I agree whole-heartedly with this astute observation. Our flatmate's mother is a very sweet woman. But sooooooooooo English I imagine blood shooting out of arteries because I've shoved nails into my neck. The first word out of her mouth when she arrived was 'sorry' and she uses it in virtually all of her conversation-openers. Sorry for getting in your way (we're not even in the same room), sorry for making a mess (what mess?), sorry for using the ironing board, sorry but may I use the washing machine, sorry but have you finished with the bath, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry for breathing! Woman, I wouldn't notice you if you didn't say sorry every other second for things I couldn't care less about! The English apologise for everything, short of their existence (ironically enough...). But it's politeness you say. RIIIIIIIIIGHT. Saying sorry is really only meant to excuse any ridiculous or offensive behaviour that may follow said remark. Not to say his mother has done anything offensive. Quite the opposite. But (sigh) I guess they can't help it. Anything and everything is offensive in English culture. Except getting disgustingly drunk and being obnoxiously loud or starting fights in Soho at 11pm.

to no one and everyone

i won't apologise if you're offended.
i refuse to sugar-coat the truth.
i'm your f*%^ing friend, not a yes-man.
if you don't like it, can't take it,
if you refuse me the same respect,
then why the hell are you talking to me?

Polish tastebuds

I love speaking to people who are learning English - you learn the most interesting things about their native language. For example, my Polish friend was telling me about her experience with vanilla Coke:
I could not sense the difference. Perhaps there is something wrong with my flavour cups.
OK, sense is used for taste in tons of languages but flavour cups for tastebuds?!?! That just made my day.

(sniffle)

Am sick with a cold. My punishment for the weekend of revelry. The movie Gandhi and red wine (Shiraz, blech) on Saturday. Veuve and Ketel One for the picnic on Sunday, followed by a night of Absolut Citron shots and Chesterfields at the house club. And then nothing. The little spiky viruses were slowly replicating on Monday. And then they exploded, attacked with a vengeance on Tuesday. And then, no more drinks, no more solid foods, no more animated chats. Beef consomme cubes and lemon. Of course I didn't work on the draft of the term paper due Friday (thank GOD I wrote the other paper Monday!). I made the mistake of attending my morning class today. The professor's voice reverberated and drowned in the tinny buzz around me. But, I still accomplished to crack a few good jokes in the Shame seminar. So maybe I'm not that sick. I continue to be the jester...
Rushdie doesn't seem to like women.
Really? I didn't notice.
It was 287 pages. Everything borne of women bred death, violence, or debauchery. They were either over-protective wombs or bloody praying mantises.

get better get better get better get better get better faster faster faster faster

Cause Big Brother and Yogi Mama are coming in 10 days! And then it's off to the misty hills of Nagaland!

death row it is

He brought a panettone, 2 pates, biscuits, and a bottle of Absolut Vanilla. A testament to the fact that nice guys do finish last. How...unfortunate.

feigned intelligence - even better than the real thing

Looking back on the past week, I can't really say I've produced anything. That of course begs the question, 'what is the incessant need to produce? Where is that from?' But we all know the answer. It's from the Man! So, I stopped that line of questioning and really tried to think about what I had done or experienced...clarifying conversations with K-boy, a hilarious scolding from my South Asian lit teacher where she accused the entire class of being capitalist, dinner at St.Christopher's Place with a fellow lit student (we are so few after all), best cosmopolitans (ice crystals and all!) ever with Sarah and her uncle, and getting through classes by the skin of my teeth yet appearing perfectly charming and intelligent.

The only word I said in the 2-hour session on Ibsen's dramas on Friday was 'boring!' in response to the professor's question, to which her face lit up and she got all excited and proceeded to direct the next 5 minutes of lecture to me. And after 2 hours of mind-numbing Marxist theory on Wednesday, my head drooping the entire time with the most bored and pained look on my face (and of course, me sitting smack in front of the professor), I perfectly answered (by perfectly, I mean succinctly and with the most unimpressed and lackadaisical aire) the only question brought up in class. And I wonder why I worked so hard in high school...so many wasted years!