Monday, July 16, 2007

Parallel Lives

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

Larry vs Paris - The Blog Interview

LK: Welcome Paris. How was jail?

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?

PH: Yes.

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.

A Wealthy Nation

Corn-curls are important to any nation aspiring to become developed. You can tell by the speed and urgency which the corn-curls delivery trucks pelt down the highway at six in the morning. I have nothing against early deliveries but driving like a menace to meet an unrealistic delivery schedule is criminal. All corn-curls investors want a high rate of return on their investment because they have boats and girlfriends to buy. In order to make more money the output per corn-curl worker has to be increased, thus giving rise to speeding trucks at daybreak. Higher profits mean increased employment and the employed not only provide for their families, they provide them with corn curls. The more corn-curls a country possesses wealthier the nation.

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

This Thing Called Lite

A Diet cola is a sugar-free drink bought by people who need to reduce their waistline by reducing their guilt. Diet cola is an acquired taste and people who have been drinking the stuff for years manage to convince themselves that it taste better than its sugary sister. To say one thing taste better than another is to say one girl looks better than another, or that Chinese taste better than Indian. It’s all a matter of the personal taste an individual develops after years of patronizing countless fast food joints and porn sites.

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

The Journalist 101

A local daily newspaper with variable circulation and don’t know why, advertised for trainee-journalists who are willing to work for a stipend before being rejected for the job. They requested a resumé, and a written reason in one hundred words or less, why you want to be a journalist. I am not that inclined but writing anything in one hundred words or less is too tempting to turn down. I clocked 101.

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


There is no love-hate relationship between man and mosquito - only hate and bug spray. Mosquitoes serve no useful purpose and that is one similarity they have with man. Other similarities are, mosquitoes spread diseases and bite people. Mosquitoes evolved around the 9th of June, 170 million years ago and for no good reason. Since then, things have never been the same.

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

Paris Hilton is doing time for violating a three-year probation for drunk driving and possibly bad acting. She should be forgiven since she is young and has too much money to need a real brain. Miss Hilton was initially sentenced to 45 days in jail but had it cut in half for good behavior and nice legs. Paris Hilton will be serving semi-hard time in a 12-cell special needs section of Lynwood Century Regional Detention Facility, also known as the county slammer. With semi-hard time she will be wearing the same outfit everyday. She also has special needs and to be locked away is one of them.

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

Miss Universe 2007 etc

Until she fell, the Miss USA delegate at the 2007 Miss Universe Contest was hardly noticeable. Some critics said it was her fall and prompt recovery which landed her in the top five. It probably also earned her several boos. She is a very pretty girl and had the typical bubbly Miss USA delegate bubbliness. Even as the other delegates counted her down time, she appeared only momentarily bothered. Slowly, her embarrassment showed as her shock wore off. She developed an appealing blush. Miss USA is not the first Miss Universe contestant to hit the floor and, if my memory serves me right, Miss Philippines toppled in Trinidad and Tobago in 1999 and still made it in the top three.

If Miss USA was very pretty then why was she scarcely noticeable until the fall? It is a well know fact that too much of a good thing is bad for you and too many pretty girls on one 32 inch TV, though not necessarily bad for the average man, makes individual beauty elusive. I had trouble telling Miss Brazil from Miss Japan. I mixed up everybody. But, then she fell.

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.

Trinidad and Tobago did not field a delegate this year and it was the first time in sixteen years this happened. The official reason is not enough sponsors. The real reason is that pretty girls don’t need this added stress to become famous. They now use YouTube.

The winner of the 2007 Miss Universe competition is Miss Japan and though she is Japanese, she is not foreign-used. I doubt a bad selection for Miss Universe could ever be made since the selection is highly subjective and never political. The Miss Universe competition is losing its popularity because the Internet makes smart and pretty girls more common. I don’t think the competition can be easily revived with everyone knowing a prettier girl than the prettiest girls competing. It appears great beauty is no longer hard to find.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

The Rainy Season

The start of The Rainy Season is a happy time for most people. It signifies the end of bush fires, the Sahara dust, and WASA's dam prayers. It brings with it, not only the greenery, but also half a dozen old fridges floating down and blocking up the neighborhood ravines. The rains have a way of exposing bad habits and faulty people. The showers can make flowers grow and carpets smell. It also brings with it warm cozy feelings and frequent TV appearances of the minister responsible for flooding.

Some say the best part of the rainy season is waiting for a hurricane to nearly hit Trinidad and nearly miss Florida. There is always misguided eagerness that hurricanes and storms bring out in people who never had their houses end up in another neighborhood or island. Some say God is a Trini and that is why they don't bolt down their roofs or think before they vote. I say, God is migrating sooner than they think, and it has nothing to do with West Indies Cricket this time.

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 - again

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.


Dear Questionable,

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

aka_lol's respones to - How To Choose a Digital Point-and-Shoot by Mike Johnston

My comment in response to Mike Johnston's blog on

How To Choose a Digital Point-and-Shoot

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

The Goodly Cleric

Once upon a time, on a tiny diagonally shaped island located not too far away, there lived a goodly cleric. He was loved by all the people, revered by his followers, and even tolerated by his wife.

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

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 vs V.S

My version of B.C vs. V.S

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, The Mindless-Mouth and World Peace

“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 Trinidad and Tobago, in the West Indies. Sometimes people say stupid things which can make a doubles line grow unbearably longer, and that was definitely one of those unbearably longer times.

We all make mistakes with our words when our mind has left our mouth to fend for itself for any time longer than it takes to say the shortest word in the world which, incidentally, is no longer floccinaucinihilipilification. I am yet to meet a mouth that could live peacefully without a mind and the mindless-mouth phenomena is the reason countries start wars, politicians give political speeches, men say I do, and young people drop dead from old age in slow moving fast food lines at Church’s Chicken in Grand Bazaar. The mindless-mouth is generally the cause for all forms of human suffering, except ingrown toenails and the reappearance of the dinosaur formerly known as extinct.

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

300 - Not Just A Number Anymore

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

To Serve, Not Command

The Prime Minister was visibly more angry than usual with the line of questioning from reporters at yesterday’s news conference. Unfortunately, he once again didn’t come across as a leader but as a spoilt child who is not getting what he wants – praise, power, and his own way.

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

Why We Survive

Portuguese Man o' War - a potentially lethal pink creature which is in no way associated with this blog or the current crime wave sweeping the country

The main purpose of a newspaper is to report bad news while pretending to look for good news. Every unsuccessful newspaper owner and vendor knows that good news, like hair spray for bald men and skimpy carnival costumes, will never sell. That’s human nature, the nature of baldness, and our lack of passion for revealing clothes. I am beginning to wonder if a human begin could even survive in the imaginary and blissful world that John Lennon and many others described. In my opinion, human begins need conflict and an enemy or two because it gives one the best reason to live – revenge.

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
Iraq and Trinidad and Tobago. We want to be surprised, but not by bandits, kidnappers and stupid Government Ministers mumbling on TV. People want the freedom to choose from good choices. People need brief, but regular periods of happiness and to see a constant light at the end of the tunnel.

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.