"Except for perhaps a few dozen people on earth each person reads the same words differently. And the joke get bigger because each day the same person reads the same words differently.
And the joke gets even bigger as the mind’s needs and hormones changes the meanings of these same words in the same person from minute to minute and second to second.

And the Supreme Comedy can only rocket to another level when you ask me what these words mean when I have nothing to do with the way the meanings of words change from person to person let alone minute to minute.

And the Supreme Comedy rockets yet to another hilarious level when dictionaries then go on to tell us, with the utmost authority, that the same words can have different meanings, in different ways but not on different days."
-Source Unknown

Reader's block...

I'm sure anyone who's tried to write regularly has stumbled upon the painful and mysterious phenomenon of the writer's block. The thoughts would probably fill the mind to the bursting but the minute the pen touches the paper/the fingers touch the keys, the mind goes blank. The words just won't flow.

Well, I'm not gonna talk about that. I mean, who cares. As long as I'm not afflicted with it, who gives a flying damn? Self-centered, you say? True... too true...

But what I do suffer from is a rare affliction. In fact, I think I might have invented it. Many years from now, it shall become a famous incurable even somewhat fatal disease named after me... Jan Sydrome. Wow! The thought fills me with an odd kinda elation. Immortalised through a disease. How many people can claim that in this day and age?

Anyway, back to the actual details of this mysterious affliction. I'm, anyone who knows me will tell you, a serious bookworm. A maniacal bookworm too. While I'm sure that there are people who read much more than I did, do or ever will, I nevertheless read a lot. Lately, however, my reading has come to a complete halt. I pick up a book, read a few lines and wham! I cant concentrate. At first I thought it was just the books I was choosing.

But to my horror, I discovered that nothing - I repeat nothing - could snap me out of that rut. I tried everything--all my favourite authors. Douglas Adams, Jordan, Gabaldon, Rowling, Nora Roberts. I tried some obscure vampire book I had lying around. I tried a much unread copy of Great Expectations, but nope. No deal.

But there is hope for me. By the mercy of the all that is good, I happened to be gifted a copy of Wodehouse's Full Moon -- A Blandings Story for new year. And yes! This seems to be the right cure for J.S. (Jan Syndrome :D) I'm now into the whole crack-pot life of Blandins Castle with the usual bunch of youngsters in love running around, plotting parents, not to mention miscellaneous crackpot noblemen and their maniacal pigs. Ah! I was in heaven!

Hats off, Pelham!

Ah, the pain...

I have discoverd a great, yawning hole in my life. A hole that cannot be filled with anything. Except perhaps with pain. In fact, it is filled with pain. So maybe it's not such a yawning hole after all. Strike that first sentence. Which would mean, strike out the whole thing.

I have discovered a great pain in my heart. In my soul. It is created, I believe, by the discovery of my inability for greatness. Ah, yes. I can see the reader sigh in sympathy (perhaps I should refer to myself as "this writer" or "this blogger" [nah, always thought that sounded too pompus {though I wouldnt mind a little pompousness (but then only great people deserve pomposness... and I'm not. [Enough with the brackets!])}]) Phew.... where was I? Oh, right. The pain. I have discovered that I can never and will never achieve greatness in my life, cos let's face it, my life doesn't suck.

I mean, all the famous people have had some great tragedy in their life or the other. The great poets... Keats, Shelley, Shakespeare. I'm sure everyone who's ever made it to greatness had some sorrow in life or the other that inspired their greatness. And me, I'm usually a disgustingly cheerful person. I'm happy with life in general. Sure, I have a hot temper. Sure, I like to bitch about people as much as the next person. But please. I'm not languishing over some unrequited love. I'm not mourning my poverty. I'm not concerned about the loss of innocence in the world. I'm not even fricking angry with the Government. At least, not enough. Where do I draw inspiration from? From whence will those noble or elevated thoughts flow? What is to become of me? Of my family and the future generations who will lack an illustrious ancestor.

'Tis a sad, sad situation. I'm never gonna make it big. Fame is not for me. Booooo hooooo! I'm going to live out my whole life in ignominy and annonymity.

Ah, who cares?

Life's good.

So, ha! Take your fame world, and stuff it! I have enough pain about the absense of pain in my life to fill in a blog entry and enough people who don't know me to read it. So, there. After all, fame is but a fickle mistress.... fleeting and temporary. Ignominy would be a much more loyal servant, I'm sure!

My Crazy-Weird Shakespeare name is: Jaquenetta the Banana Lover.
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Of Men and Knives

I was sitting at a restaurant the other day and looking around, I spotted this white couple sitting at the next table eating a donut. Now, you might think there’s nothing remarkable or weird about that, but it was seriously weird cos of the way they were eating. I mean, it was a perfectly nice, round, chocolate-covered donut. Rather yummy-looking, actually. And here were these people murdering the poor thing, using a fork and a knife to mangle it. Stabbing with their steely knives as the guy sang, but then they could kill the beast this time. Or rather, the poor harmless beast was already dead.

This led me to ponder on the weird customs that some cultures have… the whole fork-and-knife thing baffles me. I mean, god (if you believe that rumour) has given most people two hands and at least ten fingers. Why not use them for one of the most important (not to mention interesting) functions of life… eating! I mean, it’s a free world, you can wash your hands before eating, if you hold with that strange concept of cleanliness, but holding weirdly shaped sticks to poke and prod at your food—stuff you’re gonna put in your mouth, for pete’s sake!—is a concept that’s beyond me! Oh, and chopsticks are also included in the list.

Ok, maybe I’m being unfair. Not that I care about being fair and all that crap, but maybe you need knives and other such aids to help you eat some things that are awkward to bite into directly. Even I use spoons for ice creams and such. But some people go to the extent of eating stuff like pizza, the abovementioned donuts and even fries with a fork and knife. I mean, come on! These are supposed to be finger food. Look into the not-so-mysterious etymology of the frickin’ phrase… you’re supposed to eat them with your fingers! To use knives and forks for them is the height of fussiness, if you ask me! Even if you don’t ask me, for that matter.

Most times, I’m puzzled by these customs. At other times, I’m just amazed. I mean, watching people eat rice with chopsticks is like a world wonder. I imagine that it must be quite frustrating, though… not being able to shove a mouthful of food into your mouth at one go.

Which reminds me of this terrible, terrible incident that happened to me some years ago. I, the foolish one, once ordered a plate of spaghetti. Being the first time I was having it spaghetti, I was really looking forward to it. I mean, it sounded foreign and delicious enough to whet both my appetite and my curiosity. So, the plate arrives. I’d seen spaghetti before, of course, but… uh! It was dripping with tomato sauce and totally slippery. And the restaurant sent me into battle armed with nothing but a fork! I battled for close to an hour before finishing the darned dish. By the time I was done, the battlefield was a mess, let me tell you. Let’s just say it was not a pretty sight. I still bear the scars of that experience, though the spaghetti and I have come to terms with each other… I promised that I would try other types of pasta thereafter and it agreed to steer clear of me.

Anyway, that’s about it on my latest rant. Meanwhile, I’m getting hungry with all this food talk. I think I’ll go eat some safe finger food.

Oh, I almost forgot my disclaimer… though I don’t know why I need one. I mean, this is my blog! Everyone who knows me knows I’m abrasive and opinionated (I expect to see several comments fervently disagreeing with me on that point) so whoever wants to object can go take a long walk off a steep cliff. So there! No disclaimer for you today, doggie.