The sheer nothingness of a winter Sunday afternoon is a blessing with a note of mindless appreciation. Now this moment too is escaping, the clock ticks carefully. I've been caught in and between the dullest pages of Samuel Johnson and Thomas Gray's poetry. I've also been reading Bill Bryson's writing on his travels in Europe; his humour is almost thoroughly entertaining, and before that, it was the graphic novel V for Vendetta. I also finally got my hands on Thank You for Smoking -- the movie I thought was extremely well made. Almost everyone told me that it preaches an anti-smoking surreptitious campaign -- my cousin even scorned me for smoking while I watched it -- but I thought it didn't achieve anything like that. What it perhaps brings to light is the mere hypocrisy that goes behind the corporate culture, journalism, relationships, politics and human nature. Laced with wonderful wit and great cinematography.
Last week, if I look at it from a rooftop view, was quite terrible. Work heaped like turds in hell, and due to issues I couldn't make it in for Herbie Hancock's show. The lady managing the entrance seemed as though she hated me, and the entire human race behind me. Despite my soft persuasive voice convincing her that I was meant to write a review on the concert she snarled and made me feel like an idiot. She was ugly too, and for the very first time I felt the urge of actually hitting a woman. Besides I think I can justify here: she seemed like an ugly man. And for a show that had only 1,800 seats inside, the Americans spared some 5,000 effing free passes for Delhi to decide how to spend their evening midst chaos. On the gate stupid people like her were acting bloody pricey expecting people to humble down with their illogical pathetic faces. One advice: try selling the tickets lady (even if its for 50 bucks).
I couldn't make it for the Jaipur literary festival where Rushdie, (he's the only contemporary Indian -- mind blowingingly effing genius -- author I haven't met) and the others were meant to be hanging around. Technical reasons for that. But it sure was a pity though. And Trip was there too and so was the Ed. Plus had a class on Saturday so wouldn't have been able to make it anyway, even if I barged in the next day. The class also got cancelled at the last minute, damn, damn!
You know what's pissing about life sweetheart? Its sometimes behaves like a pimple swelling red of monotony, smack on your nose. Now the weekend has ended and we've revolved to the same bloody starting place. And you thought Waiting for Godot was obscure? Check out the track of irony here. We're circling in the same bloody orbit with different mood swinging shades everyday wasting time that has to be anyway wasted.
I'm not too sad you know. Life's pretty decent otherwise. You bet I'll be making it for the Buddy Guy show on the 1st of February. Damn, can give up jazz for the blues.