Monday, July 16, 2007
The best things in life run in parallel and this blog is the one exception. I am now updating my blog-life at an almost parallel blog at Wordpress because I find Wordpress nice to look at. I am doing this for the same reason celebrities have plastic surgery done on important body parts - the paparazzi.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
PH: I wasn’t in jail; I was at a correctional facility. You make it sound so gross.
LK: You were behind bars, weren’t you?
PH: Bars are for hardened criminals and houses in Trinidad and I am not a hardened criminal nor was I in Trinidad.
LK: How was your stay at the correctional facility and what was being corrected?
PH: Larry, you know a judge sent me there because he thought I was a menace to society. He thought I should be taught a lesson and my behavior was what he was trying to correct. And I think I was corrected.
LK: That sounds so profound coming from one who is so blond. Are you a true blond?
PH: Didn’t you see my movies?
LK: Let’s not go there. Miss Hilton, there are those who love you and those who hate you. Why is this? What do people hate about you.
PH: I know people hate me for my looks, my partying skills, my vanity, my money, my dog; Tinkerbell, and I am a natural born beauty with a perfect figure. What’s not to hate.
LK: But some say you’re dumb.
PH: Dumb is a four letter word that should never be used to describe people you are not related to. I am the perfect package so it’s natural for those who envy me to find one little fault in me and make a big deal out of it. I am not dumb; I just don’t have the time to be smart.
LK: So then why do you have so many fans?
PH: My fans are those people who appreciate perfection not brains. I don’t choose my fans they choose me. People don’t like you or hate you because of your IQ. You can’t always take IQ to the bank but you can always bank on beauty.
LK: You cried like a baby when they were taking you to prison; you called for your mommy. Was jail for you a turning point in your life?
PH: I had been handcuffed before but never like this. I cried because I couldn’t take my friends with me and they all should be there. Yes, it was a turning point for me, and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I had time to reflect in a sober mode and for the first time in my life. I am sure I am a different but better person, a more responsible person who appreciates the consequences of not wearing makeup.
LK: Was that the reason you were whisked away from the paparazzi when you were released?
LK: Are you real or are you a made up girl.
PH: Feel this Larry…just joking, I know about your hearth condition.
Cough, cough! Larry almost falls off his chair.
LK: You almost pulled my plug there girl…what would you say would be the biggest change in your life after prison?
PH: I will party less, look at Discovery Channel…and the Larry King Show, naturally. I will wear underwear more often, learn to read, find out where the bookstores are…there are a whole host of things I was putting off.
LK: Would you call yourself a bad girl?
PH: Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t bad the new goodness?
LK: Would you say your parents brought you up in the wrong way?
PH: What is the right way? I was born to look good and that is my calling. The public need me Larry, they need to look see what they are not. We are all not equally blessed and why should I pretend I am not who I am.
LK: You sound smarter than you look. I am impressed.
PH: That is what I do best Larry, I impress.
Beer trucks are slower than the trucks of their corn flavored counterparts. What they lack in speed and aggression they make up for in causing traffic jams in narrow country roads where the people-to-bar ratio is legendary. Beer distributors claim using smaller trucks would be uneconomical since they would cause less traffic, giving people less reason to drink. The main reason men drink beer is not to relieve stress but to attract females by developing an appealing beer-belly. Like corn curls, the beer-belly is a wealth indicator.
SUVs deliver children to schools and contribute positively to global warming. Not only is the SUV fuel-inefficient but also their drivers sport oversize sunglasses to hide wrinkles and hangovers. By driving an SUV a person makes a bold statement about what they are and that statement says, I may not be pretty but I sure got money. The typical SUV driver talks about the dangers of global warming while driving. They justify buying an SUV by claiming the roads are bad, and that is why they swerve from every pothole they meet. In most wealthy countries, the SUV and its owners are considered as important as corn curls and beer as wealth indicators.
We are a wealthy nation.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
I have been drinking Diet Coke and Coke Light for years and I do feel fat when I taste the regular Coke. Numerous studies suggest all foods, including diet drinks and curry duck, can cause you to suffer and die in a Government run hospital by age fifty. The main cause for concern in diet drinks is a sweetener named aspartame, an evil sounding word coined by rat-killing scientists. Searching on Google, I didn’t find any conclusive evidence that suggest aspartame will harm you any more than being hit on the head by a falling Julie mango will.
The alleged dangers of diet drinks was first raised by and alarmist looking for new ways for people to die from food. Alarmism is the world’s fastest growing second-job and it attracts those who are not only caring, but social oddities. The alarmist warns anyone who is bored enough about the dangers of everything, including alarmist and activist. According to the alarmist, there is nothing in the world that’s safe. Manufacturers have acknowledged this and now place appropriate warnings on products in their finest print.
Beer brewers now warn people that drinking and driving can be dangerous, and driving should be avoided rather than drinking. I agree; why should beer manufacturers promote the auto industry. Manufacturers’ warnings are legal loopholes that send profits up and customers to opticians. Even razorblades now come with the warning “sharp edge,” and I certainly hope so. Cautions are too common, and alarmists are even more so. The warnings are unnecessary and obvious - sleeping tablets can cause drowsiness, thongs may stick, rap music sucks. Vital information is lost among the clutter and the needless. Google is crawling every nook and blog to populate their databases.
We can no longer tell good from and bad so we listen to Britney and look at Paris. Our information filters are defenseless and our brain is overloaded. More dangers lurk than ever before and our blogs are useless. Information overload is turning us into zombies writing warnings in blog-form that no one will ever read. I feel like a cigarette pack.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Why I want to be a journalist 101
I am not sure if I want to be a journalist more than I want the stipend. Being a journalist is more than driving big cars and partying with the latest lingerie models. It’s seeing my name in print and getting letters from people who imagine I am good looking. Journalists rub shoulders, and sometimes breast, with the best. Top journalists know unnamed sources and even a few reliable ones. Reporters are knowledgeable people and that’s why Stephen Glass is my hero. Journalists are quite unique and have the power to save the world in one column, but only after editing.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
The female mosquito lives up to five times longer than a male mosquito and this has been linked to a diet high in greasy foods and too little activity, making the male fat and easier to whack. Swatting a mosquito is the second most enjoyable thing a man could do, and swatting a male is the most gratifying thing a female could do. Domesticated mosquitoes live within a one mile radius from its breeding site, until they become teenagers and learn to drive. Mosquitoes can detect a human from 100 feet away by sensing body heat and the scent of the human’s CO2 emissions. The mosquito hum is the most irritating sound known to man, and is second only to the voice of his wife. The female mosquito sucks blood and the male simply sucks. This is not surprising since all females, regardless of specie or wingspan, are programmed to draw blood from males. Men only want a female and blood type is not important. Mosquitoes can cause havoc and one mosquito at a nudist camp can cause more panic than a plague of photographers with 10x zooms and high-speed Internet access.
The mosquito evolved long before man and only Darwin, or Dawkins knows why. But, like the cockroach and political opportunist, mosquitos will be here for a long time to come.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Paris Hilton has been described as a socialite, heiress, sexy, over-sexed, brat, spoilt-brat, airhead, dumb, blond, dumb-blond, narcissistic, intellectually misunderstood, prison-bound, and enhanced. Half of what you know of celebrities is normally untrue and the other half is silicone. She is grossly misunderstood and needs to learn English. In order to understand Paris you need to put your self in her shoes - preferably one of the pink pairs. She can sell a man anything but it’s not for sale.
Being born of rich parents is no guarantee that the media will seek you out, but a sex-tape and no underwear, especially if female and pretty, is a sure thing. The media craves what the public craves and the public craves a beauty less ordinary and a bald Britney. We make celebrities by feeding their starving egos, and they in turn feed our hungry imaginations, and our desperate blogs.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
The swimsuit section is actually the skin-wear section and is judged on the creativity and beauty of gyrating female hips. Nothing above the navel has a serious impact on the points a contestant receives. All the bikinis have to be the same and over-gyrations are frowned upon by wives and girlfriends. Tall contestants leverage more points but being too tall strains the eye movement of the amateur judges.
The winner of the 2007 Miss Universe competition is Miss
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Some say the best part of the rainy season is waiting for a hurricane to nearly hit
The Rainy Season can be unsympathetic to insurance companies and their customers' premiums. The rain doesn't claim to be anyone's friend or anyone's enemy. The rain is simply a natural occurrence made worse by Global Warming and disaster movies. We can either love the rain or collect it in buckets, it doesn't care. We can blame the weather all we want but we still have to buy new wiper blades and life rafts. The Rainy Season is not a living thing but it is necessary for our existence and that of umbrella salesmen. The Rainy Season is not here for our convenience or entertainment. It is here because that's how the Earth spins.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Dear aka, I know this may sound as senseless as your blog but I needed to ask you this before the correct answer is made public. I read this question on another blog and think you need to answer it properly this time. My question is - do short people fall less often than tall people, and do thin people feel less pain than fat people.
Firstly, short people are now called vertically challenged and tall people are called by their names. A recent study of one hundred falling humans have revealed that a tall person is ten times more likely to topple when dropkicked than a short person. Researchers also discovered that short people are poor targets for dropkicking and should be punched hard in the stomach instead.
A recent random pinch test conducted on the streets of the nation’s capital revealed that the police only responded to one out of fifty incidents of random pinching. The test also showed that fat people were slower to slap the pincher and it was harder to find something to pinch on the thin people. One researcher observed that fat people wore tighter jeans, and received large amounts of oggoling while thin people pretended not to care. The study concluded that both fat and thin people felt the same amount of pain and almost the same amount of embarrassment in clothing stores and popular beaches.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
My comment in response to Mike Johnston's blog on
Some of these silver-boxes are even more expensive than a DSLR, but look more fashionable and can fit easier in a shirt pocket or wallet.
I get the impression that Mike Johnston is either being a devil’s advocate, or an aggrieved photographer. Incidentally, the aggrieved photographer is becoming trendy and they, more than likely, may displace the poor and the needy as the object of charity and tax breaks.
I believe Mike Johnston is suggesting that if you only have a limited time on this planet you might as well use it on something useful like real photography or cussing. I almost agree with him.
Not everybody who can afford a BMW buys one and similarly not everybody who can afford a DSLR believes they are worthy of such a device. The average BMW owner craves a status symbol and comfort, and has little appreciation for the intricacies of how the engine really works or why the car must be rebooted every weekend. The average DSLR owner hopes to make the quantum leap forward in his/or her photography, but usually ends up blaming the lens.
What I have discovered is that the world doesn’t come to an end, or become less happy because people are not interested in photography. I don’t know anything about classical Indian dance, or appreciate why the Mona Lisa is such an overpriced painting, but I am happy with that ignorance. Some may scorn me for my ignorance but it’s their scorn and my bliss. Similarly, millions of people are happy with their silver light-capturing boxes, fitted with Leica lens, and set on the green auto-mode because they don’t want to learn the difference between an f-stop and a bus-stop. I doubt these people want to go through the frustration of acquiring photography knowledge, and the even more frustrating process of applying that knowledge in the pursuit of creativity and impressing others.
Because we are not all the same we all seek different pursuits for happyness. Unfortunately, some may not be happy with this latest state but, as the old saying goes, that’s life.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
One day, as bad luck would normally have it in April, the cleric was discovered hiding in his closet by a bunch of his most possessed followers. He was humming along to an Elton Wrong song being played on his iPod while eating a fruit. Pink with embarrassment and fearful for his life, the goodly man declared he didn't know it was Elton Wrong and thought it was Dire Straight - It should be noted that turning pink while eating a fruit was not considered helpful in such situations and shouting Dire Straight had only a minimal effect on the amount of blows received - This enraged the loyalist even more and they started to shout imaginary passages and a real nursery rhyme from their collectively small minds. He begged his followers for forgiveness but they didn't know the meaning of the word and no one walked with a dictionary that day. The mob demand answers and a full cash refund, but he still could not explain why he seemed to have a passion for eating fruits in closets. Maybe he had a thing for seeds.
The followers, believing that love not only changes everything but should hurt, agreed on some good licks. They dragged the MP3 player by the ear buds, along with the fruit by the bag into the parking lot and leh go some good wood onto the deviants. The followers knew that lehing go some good wood was the answer to all the world's problems, and things like kindness and understanding were for marketing purposes only. The mob then called for an embargo on all iPods and Mac computers because its maker was closely associated with a major foreign fruit. Fearful of contamination by ignorance, the mob also stopped eating vegetables since most followers had great problems distinguishing real fruits from real vegetables in nightclubs. The cleric couldn't understand what all the fuss was about since after a few drinks they all tasted the same anyway.The preacher man finally succumbed to pew pressure and turned his life into a bigger mess. He started to eat straight meat and poultry, but no hen. He took part in village fruit-hunts, where even jams, jellies, marmalades and the better quality fig newtons were not spared a good trashing. But he didn't care anymore since, along with kindness and understanding, it was removed from his job specification. All they required of him was to carry a straight public face that was washed in a gold, fruitless sink all year round.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The writer twiddled the pen over the blank sheet of paper for over an hour as his thoughts flowed right out the window, completely bypassing the pen. Maybe he should close the window.
He was in the twilight of his life and all he had to show for it were three-dozen successful books and a goatee. It was true that the books were highly regarded and not the goatee but that's how it was with goatees. It was also true that he had won the most prestigious awards for his works, but despite his successes he had this empty feeling deep down inside, and a little to the left. He thought it might be those damn mixed feelings again.
The local University was honoring him for his lifetime achievements and he wondered if they were going to serve pholourie. It was not a Pakistani dish. He liked the speeches and tried not to fall asleep. Some of the best minds in the land were invited to ask him questions about his work so he pretended the sound system was acting up. But the public wasn’t fooled; it was a DJ Lallo system. The next day they forced him to wear a suit and sit in a hot room with three hundred exam-ready teenagers. The teens asked him questions about the easy way to success and he told them go blog themselves. The press smelled blood but all he smelt was gas. That was when the effigy burning began. He even bought two to take back home.
For all his life there were only a few moments he ever wanted to give the young ones stock tips like do your homework, obey your parents, floss daily, find out who your father really is, but those moments had long since disappeared together with his once-prized Theroux's inscribed first editions. In his opinion, if there was one thing the young ones needed apart from a good pimple cream, was an early introduction to recognizing good books by their covers. If you want to fake intelligence you might as well go all the way, he chuckled.
Maybe it was his age or maybe it was the Johnny Walker, but she looked too good that day. He remembered his friends telling him she didn’t deserve him and he was better off with the scotch. He should have listened. Like all wives of celebrities, she became the object of insults, and not just from him, but the public. She created quite a stir and it felt odd that reviewers now reviewed his wife as much as his books. They even speculated on the current state of his sex life and he didn’t like the intrusion one bit. His wife didn't like his either. The writer felt that his bed life was his private life, or as someone once said, the life of his privates.
She became the shadow he didn’t want and he became the bank account she never had. He wrote, analyzed, lectured, and signed only new books. She sniffed them for age, the books that is. He was honored for his work. She acted like it was hers. He remembered thinking how a writer’s life was so difficult and how a writer’s wife could be so easy. But he was old, and needed someone to help him be obnoxious when he was tired. That is what they liked about him and that is what they hated about her. She was just what the PR people might have ordered to keep his audience curious between books.
The writer longed to return to his homeland since it was where it all began, and where the honorarium was good. With his enormous success in the literary world he didn't need any more honors, but at his age, he needed to let people know he was still alive. And this he did, so they wrote about him in the newspapers everyday. He could tell they had mixed feeling about him so he ordered mixed drinks and wore shorts by the pool. It wasn't a pleasant sight.
He sat in his first class seat and pretended not to notice the flight attendant was bending over just enough to make him happy to be alive. Then he looked across at his wife and wondered if they loaded all his baggage. Losing baggage is not always a bad thing, he thought. In a strange way, it was sad to leave but he was taking back with him memories of a place he should never forget and a few little bottles of shampoo. It kept his goatee soft and manageable. The plane was delayed for only half an hour, but at least it gave him some more time to figure out how to insert the metal flap into the buckle. He was tired. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and passionately squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, as lovingly as any flight attendant could, considering how close his wife was. But she didn't notice, she never does.
The plane took off and he rocked his seat back. The writer was happy for the first time since he was last happy. He was about to start a new chapter in his life.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
B.C - Sir V.S, I understand that even as we speak there is good-sized mob is burning an effigy of V.S. Naipaul in the car park. How do you respond?
V.S - Mimic Men!
B.C - But Sir, are you not a least bit disturbed by this vile and grotesque action?
V.S - No, and I am actually pro-effigy burning. I might even have said so in one of my books, but I don’t have them all in my head. It’s a lot safer than burning the author, when you think about it.
B.C. - Why would anyone want to burn an effigy of you?
V.S - Ignorance and stupidity can make people do the strangest things; look at politicians. I think people who have never read or understood my work want to burn me. But then there is the intellectual set who think they understand my work and want to desperately sound as if they do; British accent and all.
B.C. - I did a satirical piece on Miguel Street which was.........
V.S. - ....My lawyers will be paying you a nice little visit in the morning. Do you have any court clothes?
B.C - Ahem! ok. Let's move on. There is a classic question which people ask you that you don’t seem to give an acceptable answer. The question is……..
V.S - ....It was a simple omission, a bit of forgetfulness, call it Nobel fever if you will. How many times do I have to imply that I am sorry! Wives!!
B.C - No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask – the question I have in mind is “What advice can you give to budding young authors”
V.S - What are you, a school child! That is not a valid question, please, can we move on. You are a past-paper oriented society. Get out into the world and immerse yourself. Do the bloody work child, and if you are any good maybe one day someone will ask you to autograph one of your books. I have said it before and I will say it again, literature was meant for adults and adult literature even more so.
B.C - Sorry I asked!
V.S - They usually are.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
“Five doubles, two with no pepper, three without, six in all.” Naturally this order for doubles had the doubles lady cleanly stumped like a lackluster West Indian cricketer during a World Cup Match held somewhere, except
Some say the secret to world peace is to have more mind and less mouth, but such humans are not evolving anytime soon because of some genetic dispute with human nature and the low wages paid to sheep-cloning scientist. The non-believers and the believers, despite their disagreements on whether the Milky Way is really a galaxy or a chocolate malt-flavored nougat and caramel bar covered with milk chocolate, have both agreed that the world not only needs more love, but less mouth. Personally, I believe that more mouth and more love can happily coexist depending on the technique applied. I also believe the world could do with a more equitable distribution of human fat and mirrors which make people look as good as they think they should. Judging from the success of the war and human strife channel, CNN, it appears that world peace is still as elusive as a Miss Universe contestant wanting something else.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
I, like most of the over 300 or so people in Screen 1 at Movietowne yesterday, thoroughly enjoyed the movie called 300 (pronounced chee hundud when chewing gum). It was hard not want to be a Spartan before the movie ended and I still have the urge to continually shout in a deep testosterone rich voice and grow a Spartan beard. I am so taken in by 300 that I also have this cavernous urge to buy a spear, a sword, and a good multipurpose, arrow-resistant shield, but my greatest urge is to seek out a new body by dusk. I will go shopping for these items tomorrow.
Despite rumors floating around in critic’s circles, this movie wasn’t made to generate international support for Sparta, or to expose current Persian aggression, but simply to entertain those who are so inclined to be entertained. If there is any criticism about this movie I hope it’s criticized for what it was intended to be rather than what the reviewer thought it was. This movie wasn’t intended to be a Driving Miss Daisy Home and it did not have those moments. 300 will not receive a best picture nomination and I doubt any of the cast will receive nominations for anything other than body of the year, or best male voice in a mainly computer generated gladiator flick. The only real criticism I can level at this movie is that it sorely lacked the usual amount of revealing female bodies that male moviegoers are accustomed seeing for $45 at Movietowne.
300 was rated 14+ in Trinidad and Tobago but in the US it's rated R for graphic battle sequences throughout, some sexuality and nudity, all (female nudity and action)of which I thoroughly enjoyed and clamored for more. Apparently, young Trinidadians are not too affected by what affects young Americans since it appears we are almost Spartan in nature.
Friday, February 09, 2007
In this country we have a history of vindictive leaders who care more about their fragile egos than their country. All these leaders have forgotten they were and are simply public servants who work for the people. They may be, and have been the top public servants, but that’s all. That is why their arrogance and contempt for the people is always hard to stomach. Yesterday, people saw the re-announcement of the Chatam Smelter as an act of revenge on the people by the Government. What else could it be? It could be to distract the people from the uncontrollable crime situation. It could, but it seems more like an act of revenge. What kind of leader purposely inflicts revenge on the people for complaining? That is not a rhetorical question.
The message, which was intentionally sent to the people, is “shut up and don’t complain, the country belongs to the Government, not the people.” Maybe the Prime Minister is annoyed that that everything his Government touches turns to stone. Maybe he is simply feeling we don’t appreciate the know-it-all cabinet decisions. I agree that people make mistakes but when they do the mistake makers should own up. If we are to count the amount of mistakes this government has made by the amount of times they owned up we would come up empty handed. If we count the amount of mistakes the people think the government has made you would fill every page of every daily newspaper for five years.
What Governments always fail to understand is that the people and Governments should never be at war. The only reason a political party is elected and a small group selected to "govern" is simply because most people wouldn't get time off to attend cabinet meetings and fly in private jets. The Government and the people should be one but recent industry trends show they are two separate bodies with two separate agendas. Is it any wonder the country is falling apart.
For any Government to be effective they need feedback on their performance from the people. If the Government ignores or sends four police Jeeps to stifle this feedback then the people are doomed. The former Government was like that and the present Government is even more so. The best and most effective Government will always be one that serves rather than commands, and listens rather than dictates. Clearly, judging from the state the country is in, and the rudderless direction it is heading, we need an effictive Government before it's too late.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Drunk with joy is probably no different to being drunk with Scotch and coconut water on Christmas day. I believe what we want in life is not to be drunk with Scotch and joy, but to be constantly challenged to get a drink. Yes, we want to be challenged but not challenged to stay alive as it is in some countries like
Man has always been under the constant threat mainly by our own kind so we (yes, I am human) didn’t evolve into creatures of happiness, but rather creatures of survival. We men (yes, I am male) are in our element when we are in survival mode, rather that lying on the beach gulping beer while watching bikini strings go by. That is probably a bad example but what I am trying to say is that the main reason people blog is to survive and the only reason we want to survive is because we are not good at anything else.