Contemplating is painful. Action, excruciating. Simply because, one can always pretend the contemplation was otherwise. Consequences, or the lack of it, make the angst of contemplation pale in comparison. In other words, that there is never a reason insults. In the warped way of recursion that futility reserves for the truly futile. And one realizes, deleting one's blog because one thought one had nothing to say was worse. Only to be traumatized by the use of the comparative and wonder why.

So, after the why and the why not, here is what I intend to do. Build a history of Western of Philosophy from the ground up, sticking with chronology to the extent possible. Anyone interested in contributing will be invited as an author. Or, write an email.

If you want to point to already built structures, I'd like to ask you read this post again.

When one writes, one should either make sense or be funny. Else, one ends up like this.

Yes, we all want to shag you too

Patrix wants you to take a poll on the most pressing issue facing the planet: can we ever have world peace?

Or maybe I didn't read that right the first time. Let's look again.

Goddamit, this is what it actually says:

That brings up an important question that I wanted to ask y’all - do you ever click on my deli.icio.us bookmarks that sit right at the top of my homepage? Please vote in the attached poll so that I can decide if it is even worth consuming prime real estate.

Hey, where's the poll asking people to decide if Patrix is worth him consuming resources on this planet? There ought to be one.

Dude, contrary to what some doctors say, this much masturbation isn't healthy. It will start to chafe after a while. And asking your readers to stroke your schlong as well? That's just wrong!

Krish, the only Truth

Amit Varma has finally accepted Krish into his heart. And head.

Two interesting trends began in the 1990s, when we began to globalize and satellite TV spread across the country. One, fewer people in the big cities played cricket seriously. Kids in Mumbai and Delhi had many more options for their time, and a young man in Thane now had better things to do than rush off to Shivaji Park at 6 am for nets. The decline of cricket in Mumbai was a natural consequence.

Two, kids in the small towns, who didn’t have so many ways of entertaining themselves, were exposed to the nuances of the game via satellite television, where the best commentators shared their gyan on matches across the world. Their opportunities expanded as these towns became more prosperous. The result of this is the deluge of talented players from the smaller towns over the last few years.

My guess is that viewership for cricket follows the same patterns. People in bigger cities have less free time and more to do in it, a phenomenon that is bound to spread to smaller centres. Eventually, as cricket has declined in Mumbai, it might decline in India as well.

Only He can equal Himself.

Dear Feminist,

I know I can't afford to piss you off. More often than not, I will want to get into your pants and therefore, your good books. However, I have a question. It has been bothering me for a while. If a woman is dressed like a tramp and I call her a tramp, am I going against your philosophy?

I am sure you'd say I should not judge people by their clothes. I don't.

Thanks,
Nilu

Compulsive Confessional Puke of the day

I'm told there are actually people who read this crazy woman's blog. If you're one of those people, consider yourself already puked on. Just from reading some of her blog comments, her two main reader types are a) horny virginal nerdy boys who unfortunately will remain that way till their arranged marriage and b) deranged ultra-feminists who think that writing bold but crappy posts about sex is a decent substitute for actually using one's cerebrum.

Seriously honey, what you're looking for is not a boyfriend. What you're looking for is another thing... what is it... oh yeah - a miracle!

She has such gems as:

Must think I am a Literary Genius

OK, I need not write anything here. Please read her blog and have yourself a good laugh.


Should be open to smoking in bed.

'Cause everyone just lurvvves kissing an ashtray.


Must find habits that even my best friends roll their eyes at "endearing".

Ah, an insane man to support your delusions. (Men, please don't forget to lie when asked, "do I look pretty"?)


But on the other hand, must not be too fashion savvy either, because that's just gay.

Because everyone knows that if you're fashion savvy, you MUST be gay.


Must be creative enough to fabricate a lovely and romantic present out of dried macaroni, sparkles and glue.

Would it be acceptable if we used the glue to seal your mouth shut, the sparkles to make you look prettier than the fugly woman you are (people who have seen her in the real world, you know what I'm talkin' about!), and just used the macaroni for dinner?

and lastly...

Must be passionate about something--like, I don't know, painting, or writing or xboxes.

Xboxes! Xboxes! Horny virginal nerdy boy readers of the site, rejoice! There is a ray of hope for you yet!


Maybe one day, we will see the technology where you will will be able to enter these requirements into a computer and have it automatically create this Italian well-dressed hunk who will love you like a Mills & Boon novel story while being a lunatic, all at the same time. I wouldn't keep my fingers crossed though.

But hey, I hear that the blogger Amit Varma is fantasizing about cows wearing lingerie. Perhaps you could show him some of yours?


Before you people ask who I am, the name is Golu. Mail can be sent to golumail@gmail.com

American blowjob

Having decided to blow America, I wonder what this boy will do if America were female[1].



[1] -- It's a pity some people use the same term analogously for both genders.

Puke of the Day

This woman has decided that she is the voice of all women because jobless folks click on her blog

What kept me going was the tremendous support I got from my husband, our families, friends, even virtual well-wishers who were following my personal blog; and the realization that my personal fight had come to mean something more. There were women friends rooting for me. They were logging in to check for blog updates from Chennai, Delhi, Malaysia, Maryland, New York and Perth. I had become a symbol of sorts. If I stopped fighting, sold out or gave in, it would shatter a little bit of hope. In the ocean of women fighting so battles—big and small—I had become a drop.

And can someone please explain what 'support from family' means? Family enna bra va?

Theology and social order

The dietary laws of kashrut are designed to differentiate and distance the observant person from the rest of the world. When followed precisely, as I learned growing up, they accomplish exactly that. Every bite requires categorization into permitted and prohibited, milk or meat. To follow these laws, to analyze each ingredient in each food that comes into your purview, is to construct the world in terms of the rules borne by those who keep kosher. The category of the unkosher comes unconsciously to apply not only to foods that fall outside the rules but also to the people who eat that food — which is to say, almost everyone in the world, whether Jewish or not. You cannot easily break bread with them, but that is not all. You cannot, in a deeper sense, participate with them in the common human activity of restoring the body through food.

Noah Feldman, in this sometimes AYM GRAMD sometimes beautiful essay reminds me of an easier option. Just call the others non-brahmins.

Notes on a Sunday

Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The intense joy often gives rise to a panic attack and unbearable anxiety from the sixth minute. There is a fear. That this beautiful blinding orgasm is about to get over shortly. An emptiness engulfs, waking one up to existential questions that result in road rage. The Ninth is most dangerous when driving. And, most potent too. One often promises distances to oneself. Motivation to drive in Madras isn't easy to find -- unless, that is the only time you listen to the Ninth and is therefore the best part of your day.

When the woman one is interested in tells him about something, one is driven to it. Regardless of the said thing being an ordinary play about ordinary people in a North Indian college. Worse, being staged at Music Academy without the usual parking arrangement in the nearby school. A friend who lives close is a good option. The bad play though, has its effect. Equal to the friend's compound wall on metal.

Being driven to absolute rage is obviously the moment when the Ninth sounds its glorious best. One thanks the woman for having provided the greatest orgasm without even meeting.

Why I don't have anything to say

She tells me I should write. I ask her why. She tells me this Varma Sharma boy needs a fucking mirror. I ask her why. She tells me I should write.

Women

Type 1: Smart, spread legs, break one's heart
Type 2: Spread legs

One often wonders why mankind never learns; then one realizes, learning makes the futility unbearable.

I haven't been this sad in long.

That reminds me, why the world is what it is. Or why this blog was what it was.

Hawkeye can't decide line calls

I cannot believe I am actually doing this.

In the fourth set of the final, a Nadal 'winner' was decided to be that. Because, Rafa challenged the call otherwise. A review by the Hawkeye System predictably left Federer agitated. So was I. For twin reasons. As a Fed fan first and secondly, as someone who worked for Hawkeye a while, I cannot believe it is being used to judge such line calls.

Two things,

1. The spatial analysis does not result in an absolutely error free result for the x1, y1 of the ball at time time t1. This is just for camera 1. There are at least 6 cameras and the error simply gets added with each camera.

2. Secondly, the system's output gives a graphic. This simulates the ball at a pre-determined size. Which, at the time I was working, looked to be the most logical thing to do. Especially since I was working on the cricket software and the game was played with a hard ball. Now, when one determines the size of the ball and uses it to determine line calls in a Tennis match, it's plain ridiculous. Well, I did not realize it was when I was at it -- since the approximation appeared natural. But watching the game reminds you -- the tennis ball does not keep its full size on impact. It is a soft ball. To extrapolate it to its full size, on top of error 1 and then decide line calls, in Wimbledon finals, is stupid. I have no other word for it.

3. All this would have still worked fine had the laws of the game not been so idiotic to say -- even a nanometer of the line being caught by ball is good enough. That's a margin the system can't handle. In my experience, 15% of the ball size would be possible. But that is for a hard ball. For a soft ball, leave it to the line umpire.

4. Sorry Paul.