Monday, February 26, 2007

From Six Months Ago....

In an attempt to be more frequent on kottu, I have decided to post all my old posts which I never got down to posting. So here's one more.

No cable still and I’m watching a Tamil film advert on TV. Hostage situation. The hero comes in a Mahindra jeep. I wait to for an ugly looking fuck with a musto to get out and start shooting. The ugly fuck does turn up; he actually rolls from under the vehicle. In my sorta sedated state I’m mildly surprised. I go get myself some chocolate biscuits, iced milk and a banana. That’s a meal fit for a king if you ask me. The state of sedation has lasted for almost three weeks now and doesn’t seem to be caving in any time soon.

Guess life on a life support system would feel this way. Two blimps on the radar would have to be the NTB quiz and Anils concert. Come to think of it felt sedated after one fateful night at Clancys. Got dragged in there would be more appropriate for the record. It’s a Wildfire night. I’m like, oh hell, might as well enjoy the ride since I’m on the trip already. Wildfire at Clancys’ still brings a bit of nostalgia and I haven’t heard WF in awhile. I survive through Shakira singing “pelvic bones don’t break” (or some shit like that) yet again. After a couple of rounds of Chivas mixed in with the occasional shooter, my ears are toned for Wildfire. The guys walk up on stage and I notice a couple of new faces. I’m like no big shit. They might sound better. It actually took till the chorus of “Hotel California” to find out that I’m not drunk enough. Urgh!!!! WTF????? If ever a boy band got drunk and tried to butt fuck each other and in the process sang “Hotel California”, I would assume they would sound something like this. This shit was not even worth getting yourself hammered so you’re put out of your misery. Seeing that the majority on the almost empty dance floor was from the Indian contingent seated next to our table made me feel a little better. They screaming their lungs off to “Summer of 69” made me feel even better. I still don’t know the words. I shit you not. We got up to go when the band started to play “one for the ladies”. Six years ago if you told me you heard WF play “Beautiful” I would have told you to go boil your head. Alas the day came WF played “Beautiful”. James Blunt style. Listening to WF now is like having a kink for getting pissed on. Nuff said.

NTB quiz was a blast. Thumbs up for an excellent event organized. Good questions, better ushers, free booze and walk next door to Onyx for Anils’ concert. Only in Sri Lanka.

Oh yeah, meet Mendez. Our business development help form El Salvador. Till now all I knew about El Salvador was that it meant “The Savior” and some of the greatest chicks in Central and South America came from there. I mean these are “magnificento” chicks! The promotional dames defy God. The distance between belly button and crotch makes me feel the belly button is somewhere around the rib cage. How low can a hipster get? God works in mysterious ways. I like.

Monday, February 19, 2007


I know this is a little late but who cares.

Independence Day don’t mean jack to me. I see the same circus every year. Only the clown changes once in a while. The worst part is I don’t even know how or what to feel. Were we really oppressed by the British? If so, what have to show after independence? And how does public masturbation of political egos, in front of Galle Face fit in to all this? On the other hand I had a colleague tell me how impressive the tanks were. Maybe Independence Day is for the likes of them. But then, wouldn’t a peep show have been cheaper?

My Independence Day started off with being asked to fuck off by two members of two political convoys who cut into the path of my humble three-wheeler guy. If entire roads’ being blocked is not bad enough, you have political man-whores asking you to bugger off. Guess it’s better than getting shot by them I suppose. I just don’t get it.

I come home to see the president bellowing his guts out on TV. If one didn’t understand the language, one would honestly think that he was mighty annoyed with the audience. After that the so-called Army band took over. I don’t get the patriotism signified by some really bad songs sung by wanna-be commercial band rejects. Even the uniforms were (I think) worn wrong. I’m quite there is no black t-shirt underneath the green jacket! If this was a PR stunt, somebody should loose his job.

Last Friday was the OBA AGM. Like many times before, I ended up at the OTSC (Old Thomians Swimming Club). Just that this time was a little different. I met a friend of mine I haven’t met since leaving college. He was two years my senior and we played football together. He played left wing for Boarding House and I played full-back for Stone House. I had no chance in hell against his speed and ability. He had joined the STF after college. Last month he had lost his left leg in a search operation in the east. I didn’t know what to say or do. My father was in the Navy for thirty odd years and the war finally hit home last Friday. What the fuck do you say to a guy whom you knew as an excellent footballer who had his leg amputated from shin down? It actually took a while for me to let it sink in and go up to him and talk. I dragged a chair next to him and started talking. We talked about the good old days, the matches we played, the chicks we stalked, and he told me about his one-year-old kid for almost one hour. I never asked him about his leg. I still want him to play football on the Mt. Lavinia beach on an early Saturday morning before running off hearing the breakfast bell. Fuck this war. Just fuck it.