The Rice Mother

A great book is one which causes the reader to think about it long after the last words are read. It is a book which makes you forget you are reading and throws you through the pages into another world. The Rice Mother by Rani Manicka is one such book. This book drained me emotionally at times but I don’t know how it did, or will affect others.

Before I finished reading The Rice Mother, I started to think about my ancestors and realizing even more there is merit in understanding our relatives of old. I don’t only mean understanding them historically but also emotionally. This is not about dwelling in the past but about understanding the struggles which brought us here today. You may find out that you are a chip from some old blocks, a replica of a good soul, or a completely new but unclassifiable branch of the family tree.

In every family there are skeletons in the closet but some families have more than the average amount of skeletons and, as a result, closets. However, what is more important is appreciating the day to day burdens which people endured in order to ensure the future generations are born, and hopefully into a better life. It is important to understand where the skeletons came from. Studying our ancestors may show that we are a product of both kindness and cruelty, and sometimes to the extreme.

While reading the book I kept asking the perennial question; how could the same two parents raise children, some whom came out as angels, while others ended up as perfect examples of strife and family shame? The reality is that no two people are alike and parents are rabidly judgmental about their children. Life is never fair and parents even more so. Yes, in the end both parents and their children are responsible for their own actions but when one family member takes misguided action, the others members also suffer, and shaped or distorted by its results. Whether we like it or not, a large part of who we are today is a result of who our ancestors were, the choices they made, and the fate they were handed. The rest is our history to create for the future.

p.s.1 - This book was recommended to me by Tunks :)

p.s.2. - I took the photo above during the wee hours of this Sunday morning. I clicked the shutter while the book lied captivatingly on a table which, incidentally, might be Malaysian :)

Night Lights

The night lights of St. Augustine

I took four photos last night (22nd. July, 2005) using a 2-second exposure time. I actually took more than four shots but the choosen four were shot from the same position on the tripod. I was trying to capture the streaks of light (white and red) from the passing cars. I then put the pictures together in an animated GIF file. I think the inspiration to do this came while flipping through the pictures. The effect created is almost the same as a movie flip-book.

Bin and Bomb

Humor masks our greatest fears and an event yesterday proves I am still full of it, the fear I mean. This blog is my mask.

Blame it on a sick sense of humor and fear, but I laughed when Shelly Dass on TV6 reported that the police were still investigating what caused a "garbage bin to blow up in down town Port-of-Spain on July 11th ". I laughed when a friend told me that the police was now on the hunt for Dust-Bin Laden. I laughed all the way to St. Anne's.

The reason is not important, but only the fact that I had to take a trip to mid-town Port-of -Spain starting from somewhere on the extreme west of Park St. My regular route through Victoria Square soon turned into a nightmare when I suddenly noticed that I was surrounded by bins upon bins (see illustration above). If the amount and the placement of these bins (poor attempt at small circles on the drawing) were typical, I could not say because like most people, I never paid attention to garbage bins before. Take a look at the drawing. Wouldn't you say the amount of bins and their placement are strange? This had to be the work of a sanitation engineer gone mad or the Government.

Gripped with fear, my mind, independent to my brain and body, told me "get the hell outta here." The only two other people in the Square were vagrants. I made this assumption because they had that very calm, not-a-care-in-the-world look about them and their sense of fashion begged to be forgiven. Their calmness was reassuring but their distance from the bins weren't.

As good fortune would have it, I came out of the square physically intact but mentally shattered. I couldn't help but wonder if I was the only one in the country who reacted, and is reacting this way. I think not. My humor only hides my fear but my ski mask probably does a better job.

Imperfection

This is the first real drawing exercise in the book. The actual drawing from the book is much better and much less flawed. It's strange though, how people admire perfection, never realizing the better part of interesting is the imperfection.

Flat Glass Bottle

I distorted this image using Photoshop while waiting for the ever-popular Tropical Storm Emily to either hit, or not hit. The original image was that of a flat glass bottle. Yes, such bottles do exist and this image is partial proof of that. The full proof is on its way, threatening to silence the skeptics forever.

Hitch Upon a Star

Shouldn't a blog tell you something about the bloger? It should, but what is says is not always useful. I posted this blog to prove my case.

I decided to collect ticket stubs from Movietowne because years from now I hope to retire and live a lavish, and occasionally vile lifestyle, on the vast sums I will have made from the sale of these collector's items. The future is brighter than I could have ever imagined, as you can see from the preview of my collection above.

What's the saying again, Hitch upon a star, or is it Wish upon a star? I could never remember but that’s what I have done.

Q.E.D

Girls of Red Square

I captured these shots from the DVD Paul McCartney - In Red Square. This photo montage I put together could be called Girls of Red Square, The McCartney Red Square Concert Girls, The Cameraman Likes These Concert Girls or Aka's Picks. The pictures were sewn together using Corel Draw 11. The DVD was called a concert film, but since there is no film in a DVD I prefer to call it a docu-concert. The DVD was put together by the A&E/History Channel people so that should give you an indication what the DVD is like. Amazing; that's my opinion.

half -a-brain

Almost three years ago a small but rebellious bunch of brain cells, nestled somewhere in my head, formed themselves into a pressure-group. This seditious group immediately jumped into action and complained that I was unbelievably boring and I didn't seem to support neuron growth. With my ego shattered, feelings hurt and sedation wearing off, I listened to their grievance. "What do you do in you spare time?" the loony pack of neurons asked in a most neurotic tone. "You sit around waiting for the sun to rise with a Canon strapped to your eye. What is that about, its boooring, that's what?" "Don't you get it? It's the same sun everyday. You point and click, point and click. True you play around with a few settings, a few angles but so what. Move on, do something different, get a life." The truth hurts but not as much as the headache these poor excuses for a thought process were giving me. This headache forced me to take up an interest in peace and neuron growth. This also led me to take up drawing, not because it would be a challenge but because it was something I was sure to fail at. I would show these neurons who was the real brains!

What this fore-paragraph is leading to is the book "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Dr. Betty Edwards. I bought this book because it was designed to make non-sketchers into sketchers by using a revolutionary method of right-brain activation. Apparently learning to draw is learning to see and seeing is not as easy as I thought, especially if you have only half a brain.

The sketch above was one of my early and few efforts. It represents me trying to reproduce a sketch I saw in a book called "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark." (This book is a challenge because reading in the dark is not easy).

The yearning to restart this journey into the right side of my brain, after a three year absence, was inspired by Words Unspoken, and also my insatiable quest to cause public outcry. The reason for bloging about it is to put myself up for further public ridicule if I slack off, or not.

A Simple Sample and All That Jazz

A picture is worth a thousand words, but a picture of a desktop is worth considerably more, especially if it was painted by Picasso.

I have a feeling that the lost art of desktop-reading will soon replace toothbrush-bristle-reading as the number form of fortune telling and psycho analysis. "Show me your desktop and I will tell you who you are. Give me a hundred dollars and I will tell you what you want."

What can you tell about this bloger by a simple sample of his desktop? Simple Sample is the latest method used in the psycho analysis of the distorted mind of some Blogers. It is based on the theory that things are arranged on the desktop as it is arranged in the mind. You allow things to happen in the physical world as you do in the mental world. This has to be true since there is mounting evidence which suggest that I do have a set of headphones and a pen precociously lodged among my neurons. You see, I have been hearing things that nobody hears and writing things which nobody reads. These writings have turned up mainly on my blogs and lately as graffiti in washrooms of certain alien spaceships. These sounds have not turned up at all. What else does Simple Sample reveal about the Bloger in question? Wonder no more - – it says the bloger has the writing ambitions of a master storyteller, the smile of a 21st century female jazz singer and either looks like a Russian or a used Post-it. It also says the Bloger quite likely has the IQ of a used ticket stub. But all of this is only on the surface, and what lies beneath is even more disturbing, and yellow.

Batman: Before The Beginning and Whatever

Before The Beginning:

Batman Begins (aka Batman Begi, aka Bruce and Alfred, The Early Years, aka Why the Well Should Be Covered Well) was fraught with fear and uncertainty as parking spots were much more than scarce. It was a night of warlike tension when what seemed like hundreds of incensed potential moviegoers converged on what looked like nowhere in particular. It was a night of high parking lot drama as the once peaceful drivers from all walks of life, of all ages, of all levels of stupidity and varying degrees of sexual activity and inactivity, resorted to primordial instincts in their quest for nonexistent parking spots. It was the ideal night for the parking lot Batman to intervene, but he never showed. The bastard!

Almost At the Beginning:

An Audi A6 reversed and gave me my first real hope of seeing Batman Begins that night. My Honda flashed its headlights in gratitude and the Audi A6 honked her horn in acknowledgement of our show of appreciation by way of our flashing headlights. I smiled and blushed as the pretty female A6 driver and I made, not only retina contact, but also made my retinas glad to be male retinas. It’s strange how the simple things in life can make a fool happy. That’s why I stayed a fool for so long, it’s cheaper and happier.

Closer than Almost:

The line to see this movie looked like a National Geographic aerial snapshot of a desert snake in motion. The paid up moviegoers were only pseudo-aggrieved since the time spent in the line gave people the opportunity to mako each other. That was 60% of the reason for going to see the movie in the first place. The other 30% was for the popcorn and the remaining percentage was attributed to boasting to the unsuspecting that you actually got a parking spot and saw the movie.

The Movie:

It was a good movie which I, like Thomas Cruise Mapother IV, will eventually get on DVD. I give it a 3.5/5, aka 7/10 for those fearful of the decimal point.

Could it be?

"Could it be that a contributor to "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" is on this planet? Is it possible? Could it be?"

These words were echoed not too long ago and not too far from here and not too loud so as to disturb the neighbors. The answer to this three-pronged question was only known by the few select Muddleruts who were involved in the initial towel-finding exercise. Legend, and fortune-seeking Muddleruts looking for a book deal, claim THHGTTG, 1st swamp edition, not only answered these questions but also revealed The Secret of Life. This Secret would have remained intact but, by their default nature, Muddleruts and Earthling Women are famous for their leaky disposition to secrets. Six weeks ago a profusely leaking Muddlerut wanting to impress a female Muddlerut suffering from too much curvature, with a triple chin and nicely corrugated forehead, revealed to a crowded pub on the Redder Side of The Planet, The Secret of Life and also of lint-free towels. According to the grapevine, The Secret of Life was so desperately elusive since life began only because it was cleverly hidden in the labels of towels disguised as washing instructions. Who would have thought? Washing instructions are short, confusing and of the finest print, much like life. We should have known.

The Secret revealed:

"Use the recommended washing programme. DO NOT DRY CLEAN/GENTLE WASH ONLY. Limit the use of fabric conditioner on your towels. Whilst they give your towels a soft feel, overuse of conditioner leaves a coating on the towels and reduces the absorbency. Made in China."

These profound words confirmed what philosophers had suspected for hundreds of years, but no one knew what that was.

If you were so moved by the Words of The Towel Label then I say, Dry your tears on the towel of life but watch for lint.

umbrullat!

Ants, Umbrellas and Prehistoric Martian History

My recent blog and forum readings have left me fearful of ants and umbrellas and also deeply suspicious of oxygen enriched Martians. Before I go any further I want to make something quite clear; I am not a Martian and I have never knowingly seen one, at least in the last month within fifty meters from where I live and on Sundays before 11 p.m. According to scientist studying the mating habits of unspecified fruits the Zabalian, pictured in a previous blog, is not an alien, but a cross between a Zabacado and an undetermined mammalian. A paternity test is to be done on the usual suspect.

Back to the topic at hand, but since there is none that should be easy.

Since reading a particular blog about umbrellas, I seem to have developed an eye for these notorious devices. It’s strange how just a few lines on a simple blog can be a real eye-opener. Incidentally, the word umbrella has its root in the in the early Martian word umbrellat, meaning ouch. And, by a very strange coincidence, the Government of Mars is also known as umbrullat. I have also become painfully aware that these devices have many uses and that no one can remember what original necessity sparked their invention. What I do know is that many a good street-fight was triggered by these gadgets and they are now in a close second to women as the root cause of all misery on our walkways.

It is written in prehistoric Martian history that ants were on our planet before life started. Prehistoric Martian History, published by Aliens Anonymous, is the only source of Prehistoric Martian History ever published on a Wednesday. In this book, chronicling the woefully unsavory history of Martian lust and sensuality, ants are portrayed as being shameless creatures of the night, invading kitchen counters, foods and certain novels, long before they were invented, cooked, or written. Earthly scientists have only recently done studies to determine if ants can make sounds. Early findings suggest that these pesky creatures do in fact make sounds but their only decipherable words so far were "get back in line you idiot!"

Since I don’t want to take pointlessness to new heights I will say what my chemistry teacher said at the end of class, "Argon."

A Riddle :-)

This is a sad story, and a true one.

How could something so right go so wrong? Because life sucks, that’s why! I remembered a line from the movie Big Fish, which goes something like this "They say, when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true." This is what happened to me on that day in June nearly two years ago. That was the day I found the love of my life. She was a beauty like no other. How do you put the love of your life into words? You can’t... All I could imagine was holding her and whispering to her. How would she sound? How would she feel if I held her? She filled a void in my life I never knew existed. I could never imagine ever being without her. I didn’t believe in love at first sight until that day, and I doubt I would be able to believe in it again. I must not continue; it is too painful. She is gone now. I had to get rid of her. I had no choice.

“Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it” that was the line which sums up this heartbreaking chapter in my life. How could something so right go so wrong? I don’t know. I didn’t see the warning signs, and I didn’t want to. The relationship became intolerable and the even the sight of her terrified me. When she called I would panic. When I didn’t answer she would appear to be screaming for attention, my attention. She demanded my attention in public and in private, in the day and at ungodly hours at night, and that was all she cared about, that was the reason for her existence. My life was not my life anymore, it belonged to her and I resented that. I took her everywhere and it was only out of guilt and habit, and yes, mostly the fear. But she was addictive, a very bad addiction. She is gone now. I had to get rid of her. I had no choice. I am happy now. I wanted my life back. I feel no guilt. My life belongs to me.

Who is "she"? Can you guess?

Alien Creature Spotted

An unidentified alien creature, from an unidentified far off planet was reportedly sighted in the back yards of unidentified homes on the foothills of St. Augustine. Amateur photographer and part-time alien aka_lol sent in this ridiculously fuzzy picture of the mysterious extraterrestrial. Scientist were unable to make either heads or tails of the creature or even of aka_lol, but inside sources claim further investigations may prove fruitful.

Interview With A Bloger - Part II

The fearless and fictitious bombshell reporter Mini Skirt returns to probe deeper into the ineptly twisted mind of the fearful bloger aka_lol. She seeks a deeper understanding of life and once again has fallen victim of her masochistic needs. The interview starts off with a bang but not the bang aka_lol was hoping for. Aka_lol was exhausted from too much activity on a certain forum earlier that day, but gave a very credible performance, as usual.

THE INTERVIEW

What is the purpose of life?

I think it is to be happy.

That’s it? “I think it is to be happy?”

If you are confused by the answer then you are either happy or have never tried being happy, or desperately seeking complexity where there is none.

Here we go again! What does it take to be happy, Mr. Happy-Man.

Many things and for starters we must get rid of stuff.

That’s it? Getting rid of stuff? That’s why you drag my lazy butt all the way up this stupid hill to hear? To be happy you must get rid of stuff? Like what, books, old shoes, used car batteries? What exactly should I get rid off, Oh Self-Righteous-Sage-of-Sages!

You can start with your excessive layers of makeup.

That was very rude of you!

And so is your makeup.

Explain what you mean by getting rid of stuff Mr. Smiley-Face-With-a-Goatee.

I am not saying that getting rid of stuff is all it takes to make us happy but it is what we can control and therefore we must control these things. It is not that we should get rid of all stuff, just the useless and dangerous things like, hate, anger, resentment, jealousy, pride, which are all the same things.

Ah! I am beginning to see the light.

It’s a wonder you can see anything through those eyelashes.

So how do we get rid of those things which prevent us from being happy?

I have absolutely no idea! Seriously though, I think the longer we keep these emotions with us the more addictive they become. We need dump these feelings as soon as they come on the scene. The longer we keep them the more they become our security blankets, and we are then very reluctant to let go. Change is difficult, and especially from some stores early in the morning.

So you are saying that we need to become aware of our negativity and destroy it before it has time to fester our souls.

I see you have been taking the adult literacy classes.

Yes, Tuesdays and Thursdays form five to seven.

Very good, and I couldn’t have put it any better.

So, Mr. Happy-Like-Pappy, are you happy?

Yes and no.

Is the answer a multiple choice? Why is it that I come here for advice and you not only confuse me but you also appear confused?

I seem to be getting that a lot lately, maybe it was in an email, I can’t be sure but being confused only means you are thinking.

If you know so much about happiness then why are you not ecstatic with joy?

Being ecstatic with joy is not the same as happiness. Being ecstatic is a short-lived spasm of joy. Being happy is more constant and it means your mind is not easily troubled and you are less affected by outside influences. And knowing what to do doesn’t mean it’s easy to do. Another thing, contrary to what motivational speakers say, we are not in full control of our destiny but what we must do is take control of what we can and whenever we can.

Is it working for you?

Yes, I am almost happy to say.

Thank you Mr. Lol and we will meet again and under happier circumstances I hope.

No Mini, it is not the circumstances which must be happy but we.

I see, goodbye Mr. Lol.

Goodbye Mini.

Having A Word

In a recent word association game held at one of the most popular online forums in the world, where people of all ages, all walks of life and all levels of insanity took part, the word cell was associated with the word phone by a regular but quirky forumite. His fellow forumites glared at their screens with great venom and posted many offensive comments about his name, his avatar and even his blogs, after this quick-brained, DSL connected forumite had posted the much sort-after associated word. Apparently, everyone else claimed they were going to say that when they got off their cells.

My, my, look how things have changed and so fast. Only about five years ago the word cell would have been quickly associated with body, blood, biology or tissue. During a recent lab demonstration by a lecturer at a famous local medical school a student looked through a microscope and exclaimed she could see a cell. Immediately, the once scholarly lecturer frisked his own pockets and frantically pulled out his “cell” and shouted "it not mines, anybody lose a cell?" To which one student replied “is ah green Nokia?”

What is not surprising is that when the very game was played in parliament (many games are played in parliament and it is now the number one sporting complex in the country) and that very word came up, all the members ran out screaming “it not me! It not me!”

Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - the Movie, the cult, 42, and possibly everything

As with all great inspirations, Douglas Adams came up with the idea for HHG when he was 19 and lying senselessly drunk in a field in Austria. Unfortunately the makers of the latest version of the HHG movie weren’t similarly inspired. Their intentions were honorable but their intoxication was lacking, as was their ability to lie senseless in a field in Austria. Didn’t they know that the Law of the Universe takes a very dim view of tampering with perfection? Didn’t they also know that perfection can only be made more prefect by the addition of one towel? Didn’t they know that 42 may have been wrong since 19 seems to have more HHG significance? Didn’t they know that Trillian was much more attractive on old sheets of materials made from cellulose pulp than she was on new, shiny silver screens? Apparently they didn’t know many things.

The atmosphere created in the movie Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy was somewhat alien to the book - no pun intended but a nice try if it was. Douglas Adams was a talented writer and his claim to fame was that he was able to take the most serious things in the Universe and give them all the significance they deserve; none. I suspect the hysterical bouts of laughter from the audience at the movie theatre were from either my fellow HHG cult followers or teenagers talking to their parents on their cell phones. In my opinion, this movie was not meant to be an introduction to the HHG, but it was meant as a tool for briefly galvanizing fanatics, if only for one hour and fifty minutes in half empty theaters while munching popcorn and sipping caffeine infested super-sized colas, which is guaranteed keep them up all night wondering why Hollywood had failed again.

What Really Happened

What actually took place on that dreadful Wednesday morning at the bookstore was the stuff legends are not made of, and what follows is all I can remember.

In the humblest of tones I asked the sales girl for Dean Koontz. She looked surprised and told me the Dean was in fact Stephen. The marginally cheerful girl proceeded to tell me that Dean was my mistake, and all they ever had was Stephen Coonts. Being ignorant of Coonts I doubted such a thing existed. Triumphantly, she took the Coonts and placed it in my hands. I guess there isn’t even a subtle difference in the pronunciation between Coonts and Koontz. This tragic state of affairs might have occured because I was mispronouncing the name for months, much to the delight of some, and to the outrage of others. At any rate, I couldn’t help feel that I was holding an imitation Koontz in my hand but she assured me that it was the real thing. I flicked through the Coonts and it felt and looked real enough, but having been encouraged to go on this quest by a diabolical but quite attractive reader, I persisted. Surely, I asked, in a tone reserved for dealing with sales people in bookstores just north of the Caroni River, Koontz was even more popular than Coonts and she must have heard of Koontz. She shook her head in a way sales people like to shake their heads. That is the one-thing customers and sales people have in common, we all like to shake sales people’s heads.

I like making long stories short because the attention span of the average bloger is three lines and only when double-spaced and typed in very large fonts. To the sale girl’s credit she asked her boss who is much like Charlie in Charlie’s Angels, heard but never seen and for purely esthetic reasons. Charlie said that Coonts was all they ever had and even though several hundred customers were asking for Koontz they saw no reason to bring those in. A Koontz is a Coonts he said with all the charm a used toothpick can muster. I thanked Charlie for his lack of wisdom and for staying behind the door. I thanked the sales girl for offering the Coonts but I politely said I was in no mood for substitutes.

This part of the saga doesn’t have a happy ending since I am still without Koontz and now I must go deep in the Amazon and see if I find a Koontz or two. The quest continues and hope is all I have.

To be continued......