Chillies 2008

I know it’s a little too late to write about Chilies 2008 but if I don’t put it down I never will. So here is my take on the event.

It amazed me how people think they get the license to act like fking retards when they think themselves creative. Many people do not understand the meaning of the event. In one context, it’s an event where creativity and creative people in Sri Lanka are appreciated. It is NOT a big match to shout slogans. It is not a rock concert to get on top of table and chairs and act drunk. It is an evening of appreciation. Coming from the ad industry does not make the crowd different. It doesn’t make the event any different either. If one wants a big match, one should have gone to a school that has a big match or go support a rugby club if you want to get pissed drunk and pass out.

I’m sure like in any industry, everyone puts in a lot of effort to get there but do you see attendees acting like a bunch of immature wannabes at other appreciation events? No. Local film industry is a lot more creatively talented but do you see them acting in this manner? Anyway that’s it on that context.

Chilies on the other context, is an appreciation of creative talents in a corporate environment. All end objectives being to satisfy corporate business continuity. In this light SPAM is very simple. Any creative idea which does not satisfy corporate objectives, is in its perfect sense SPAM. Anybody who does not lay it down as simply as that is just Fking around. If you want be judged for being creative without corporate boundaries direct independent films. If you want to win at Chilies simple do a corporate campaign for a legitimate client.

Sri Lankan advertising CORPORATES have become something like a ruthless mob of late. With whatever faults a committee brings, there is a steering committee. They have been entrusted the responsibility of what they do. Ad corporates and corporate heads should not get involved or be invited to partake in any activity of the Steering committee. The Steering Committee comprises of professional individuals who should if at all be answerable to only the judges. Definitely they are not and should not be answerable to any ad corporate head.

However I do agree on one thing. The ad industry has the sexist women in Sri Lanka!!!

Over.

Another trip. Over. Sad.

Sivaji – The Prince

To be very honest this was the only Tamil movie I actually wanted to watch. Come to think of it, keeping aside some Bengali films, this was the first Indian movie I looked forward to watching. I was told so many things about this movie, that at one point I felt like it was my right to stand up and defend my precious Hollywood. This had been the most expensive Indian film ever produced. Coming form the biggest film industry in the world, that’s saying a lot I guess. In a country where films actors command demi-god status, it doesn’t get any more demi-godish than Rajnikanth, apparently. So, me being me, naturally wanted know what fuck was all about. I’m sure that there was some divine intervention in letting me go for the movie as I was told that I would not be taken for it due to my comment “Rajnikanth is an ugly old fart”.

Anyway, I end up in front of Cine City, Maradana for the 10 o’clock show. I need to mention something about this theater too. This is no ordinary theater. It looks like a fucking fortress. I couldn’t see the entrance as it was covered with iron fence. It was like a barricade. Though I had been thinking about it ever since, I’m still not quite sure the purpose it serves. I was dreading standing in line inside an iron fence. I would have died of claustrophobia. Fortunately W charmed her way in to getting me inside through the main entrance.

The commercials that run before the movie are as unique as the theater. I have never seen three-wheeler spare parts commercial. Not even on tv. This place had that. Then came Ranjan Ramanayake and his biceps in the trailer of Leader. The sneak peek shows Ranjan dishing out round house kicks, lot of explosions and a chick who seems to enjoy flashing her panty. This is where the first crowd reaction comes. The audience is as unique as the theater and the commercials. Very, very vocal and made me feel like in school, watching a movie without a teacher. There were boos, loud comments and whistles. Too bad I didn’t understand the comments.

So the movie begins. The only name I can recall now, being mentioned in the opening credits is Rajnikanths. And he is introduced as SUPER STAR Rajnikanth. This provokes another outburst of claps and whistles and the movie goes on for a good three hours. The movie as all elements for success, covered. It has a superstar, elaborate sets, five more songs than absolutely necessary and a nationalistic story line. To top it all, it has slap-stick comedy, an over flow of, what apparently are, Rajnikanths trademark moves and outrageous costumes. Rajni (as he is fondly referred to as) portrays a chappy that has made his millions after going to the U.S and is now (surprise, surprise) a software engineer. Comes back to India with a god like attitude and wants make it a better place. What better way than to establish a free medical training college. To make it very short, our chappy Rajni, over comes bureaucracy, beats the crap out of (what seems like) quarter of the Indian population, signs documents with both hands to quicken things up and basically makes India the most sort after real estate in the world by 2020. Single handedly. Now that is fucking amazing, don’t chu think?

W tells me that you will not see anybody other than Rajnikanth in the movie. In the sense, that his presences is so overwhelming. And I agree with her. The director has made sure of this to the extent that you will see seven to eight Rajnikanths at the same time on the screen.

But I would be a hypocrite not to say that I was fascinated by the whole experience. I am fascinated how this less than average looking guy who can’t act for peanuts commands such hysterical mass mania. What is also fascinating is how a sixty-year-old man acts like a thirty year old. At sixty years, I would probably be farting while putting my granddaughter to sleep, while this man is out there kissing the hips of a gorgeous woman. Not even the most versatile of Hollywood actors can pull of what this guys pulls off. I am sure that either he has a lot of ass kissers around him who convinces him that he still can carry this kind of role off or his fans just don’t want him to grow old, at least on screen. And from last nights’ experience, I feel it’s the latter. I have been told by my uncle that in the days when Gamini Fonseka reigned the local cinema screen, they as young boys would come out if the cinema repeating the cool dialogs and would use them anywhere they could. This was what I saw yesterday. Guys came out repeating the ultra cool one-liners and doing the finger snaps. In third world countries, that gets bitch slapped around by the west, because of the socially deprived lives they lead, people seek emotional asylum in movies. In that context, a good movie and a movie star should bring this kind of emotion out in moviegoers. Rajnikanth the man, is more like a cut-out of himself you would have seen in Chennai for one of his movies, thirty years ago. His fans don’t see his wrinkles, his bad acting, his receding hairline, his potbelly. They see a prince who makes love to them, by winking and snapping is fingers, every time they go to the movies. Koool!

Another One Of Those Situations

I hate having conversations with three wheeler drivers. Usually it’s about either the government, cost of living or cricket. After the first four conversations, you realize that you end up having the same conversation over and over again. Fucking dejavu. I’ve had my four conversations and don’t have anything more to contribute (and the ipod was invented in the mean time too).

That was until yesterday. I was on my way from office yesterday. I hailed down a three wheeler which was speeding towards Grandpass. Inside is a human hulk. I’m not quite sure whether to get in or not. I’m ordered to get in or loose my life. Courteousness was never a virtue of local drivers. So anyway, I get in. Partly due to the fear of the next guy who stopped (he looked like he kidnaps people), party coz I had the first season of “Lost” waiting for me at home (Yes, first season. After year of denial I finally gave in).

Now I’m on a bumpy and zippy ride from Grandpass to Wallawatte. A bus rams into a car in front of Colombo Uni. One thing that I have noticed about local drivers is the fact how they are ignorant about the traffic rules they break. You talk to a local driver and you will realize how many traffic rules he abides by yet have no idea how many he’s breaking. I see this as being optimistic. Anyway, now the conversation starts. I’m not quite sure how it exactly started coz I had my pod plugged in but I’m sure it has something to do with the accident. I get spoken to in English. And extremely good English at that. I get asked all sorts of questions that make me feel like I’m at a job interview.

“Sir, where do you work?”

I tell him.

“Sir, what do you do there?”

The only thing I seem not to do there is what I’m asked to do.

“Sir, do they give you a car?”

I give him a synopsis of my last year.

Then the conversation takes a dramatic twist.

“Sir, do you have a girl?”

WTF??!!! I’m not quite sure how to and why I should answer that. There should be a law against asking questions like that. Me being the sod I am, have this retarded habit of justifying everything I say. So I’m like “No….I mean I had.”

“These girls come and go sir; it’s very hard to find a good girl”

I’m like “ok”.

“Don’t worry sir, you look innocent. You will find a good girl”

Shut the fuck up dude. I will smack you on the head if you promise not to punch seven shades of shit out of me.

“eeerr….thank you”

“I have had enough girls sir. Enough”

Now what are you trying do? Make me feel bad just because I haven’t had my fill?!!!

“I’ve had girls up to here (making a level sign in front of his nose)!! All are bitches who are after your money!!”

They would be, if you told them that you would pay them for their services. Idiot.

“eer…really?”

“I will just fuck them like this (holding his nose), like this sir; and throw them away!!”

At this point I gave up trying to understand him. I assume he has had some bad experience with body odor. I dig you dude, I so dig you.

Somehow, later it dawned on me that it has nothing to do with odor. This guy has some serious issues!! This guy needs some serious closure on a bad relationship. I was told about what a disgrace, women are to human kind. That they evaluate men on what kind of car they drive and what kind of house you own.

Shit!! I’m going to die alone at a bus stand.

After seeing my dads’ name on the gate he asks me hundred questions about the man. I get off but not fast enough. He asks me for my number. I get off the ride giving my old number and run to the safety of the house.

Some people are just under utilized.

D'S

I’m not quite sure whether they got the spelling right but a stunning place nevertheless.

Surgery

The best thing that happened since my last post was Mark Cross leaving the morning show on Yes FM. Thank fucking god!! Somewhere between wise cracks and fake accents those two jokers lost the concept of radio. Which was primarily to PLAY MUSIC. Shack is as funny as drinking your own vomit and Mark just don’t know when to shut up. Tracy on TNL did the best moring show I’ve listened to. Now that’s one funny radio jock. I still remember the day she played “lankawe ape lankawe” by the Gypsies on the show. That’s kick ass DJing. Shack, dude I’m sorry to say that the only people who listened to you guys were recent middle management retards who still head bang listening to Summer of 69. So please do us all a favor and get another job.

I did come across a few interesting social situations that made me think however. If this post feels like surgery, please stop reading now. The worst curse you can carry in life would be not to fall in love. Imagine going through your entire lifetime but not falling in love. The social circumstances around you prevent you from feeling the essence of life itself. It’s quite amazing the number of people you would find in this social paradigm if you listen hard enough. Getting stuck in a marriage when you are barley out of your teens and before you know it fifteen years go by and three kids come along. All this and you’ve not even reached you 35^th birthday. Suffocating isn’t it? I want to do so much in life. I want to meet so many people. Visit so many places. It’s obvious we all not wired the same way but you speak to these people and realize that when they started out they had a lot of potential and hope by somehow it never really panned out quite like how they expected. Guess if its anything, life is full of surprises. The good, the bad and the ugly.

This post is, sort of, all over the fking place as I have been over the past few months. April and May was like going through surgery. People came and went. Functions were attended. Plans were made. Deadlines were missed. I lost myself in the whole eruption of materialistic orgasms. Not being able text “my favorite mistake” didn’t help either. So here’s hoping that the next few months will be something to celebrate about.

Places To Watch The Annihilation Of Cricket Australia On Saturady.

CH is nice. Proper Sri Lankan cricket match atmosphere. Cheap but due to the crowd, service is poor. You have to buy grub and booze for the entire night in one go coz you won’t get another chance. Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs. 1500.

Cheers is more wanna-be. Tries very hard to serve the local cricket flavor and succeeds to a certain extent. Excellent service. Not the place you can reel off four letter words about Ricky Pointings mother though. That sota takes away half the fun doesn’t it? Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs. 3000-4000.

Bayleaf has simply lost it. Bayleaf is great as Bayleaf and not as a CH wanna be again. Fails miserably as a recommended place to watch the match. Place was great during the football world cup last year. The white plastic tables take the entire beauty of the lawn away. Sad case of affairs Harpo. Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs. 4000-5000.

Sugar is recommended for a more sedated match. Ideal for England vs. West Indies on a Sunday. Nice music. Excellent service. Though you would miss the match if a tall goon is seated at the bar as that would cover your view of the screen. Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs. 3000-4500.

Tramps was like Bon Jovi. A metrosextual rock musician. The novelty of having a Papare band in side a club made me go check it out. Band was excellent. In Sri Lanka no matter where you watch the match from a good papare band gets you in to the mood. The sad part was that on the day I went there the bar closed at 12mn. However it’s a great place to party, not exactly a great place to watch a match. Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs. 5000-6000.

I’m too fucking spoilt to go Parliament grounds but assume that would be one of the best places to watch if you don’t have your own giant screen. Crazy fans, you can talk about not only Ricky Pointings mother but his grandmother too, cheap food, you take your own booze. Nice don’t you think? Eat or drink to kabba limit would cost you approx. Rs.1000.

Don’t even sight Inn on the Green. Too expensive. No giant screen. Too many expats. Not enough swearing.

Please feel free to add other places of your choice.

Another Old Incomplete Post.

It’s not even mid December yet and I’m already getting in to the Roy-Tho mood!! With the Roy-Tho looking for sponsors, guess I got involved sooner I suppose. For some reason or the other you just can’t beat this feeling. I guess, like most that attended either school, I too lead a sorry life and gets excited over a “bloody cricket match” played between two schools!!! Fools watching fools in flannels. Those of you, who don’t understand, don’t even try. We are just retarded. It’s as simple as that.

I’m not going to write about some big match that happened long time ago or about a scintillating inning played by some fool. The year was 1996. My last year in college. Initial pledge was to start studing for A’ Levels from the first of Jan and then take a break during March and start again after the Mustangs Trophy. My plan went as far as my plan. Cricket World Cup happened, Roy-Tho was played, rugby season came a long. You wouldn’t believe the events you have to attend in you final year at college!!! Thank god some smart blighter decided to sabotage the Electricity Board and the exam was postponed by a month. First instance I started believing in God.

Anyway as I started, the year was 1996. At Tuesdays special assembly, Warden W.M.N De Alwis appointed the cricket captain as a college prefect and issued a death warrant against all who would be breaking the law in the next couple of days. The threat was remembered till around 10.00am. Approximately till 5 minutes after assembly was over. Come Wednesday morning a small crowd of around 120 creatures clad in different shades of blue and black meet on top of Orbanside Street Dehiwala. Trying hard to look as inconspicuous as possible. However war paint made us stand out like…….

We wait a good 45 minutes for our ride. A C.T.B half bus!!! Don’t even ask how we got a C.T.B bus to go trucking. Somebody can still go to jail for that!! How 50 teenage boys, 6 members of a papare band, a driver and a conductor fitted in to a 45 seat mini bus still don’t fail to amaze me!!

So we make our way in to Colombo and girls schools. First stop, Bishops College. Of course. This school always made me feel privileged. The only girls’ school in Colombo a boy was allowed to just walk in to, as long as he had either blue, gold or black war paint on him. Structured classrooms, obliging teachers and generous students. That’s like, a hat collecting Thomians wet dream!! Except for one social studies master who didn’t know the secan but was soon taught, everything was a rewarding experience. Your truily and Amila, the opening fast bowler the next day, takes up the challenge of conducting the year 11 history lesion as the teacher was not available. History always fascinated me!!

We exit as peacefully was we entered, passing the Double-Decker bus. Ah, that bus. I am yet to come across a Thomian who has not given thanks and prays to that bus. I love that bus. Next stop St. Bridgets Convent. I remember SBC now with more affection than then. High gates, higher walls (with spikes, what purpose they serve at such an altitude one fails to comprehend) and young security guards. One girls school which didn’t believe in hiring sweet retired old men. All of us generally charge the gate when we sense hostility. In the cheos that follows, a handful will penetrate the forward defense lines of any security measurement. Somehow the gates withstood the force of the blue army. Yours truly and the now infamous Malaka Silva climb the penitentiary like wall. Hurray! Penetration successful. Now we will attack from both sides. Unfortunately the wiseasses on the other side decide the effort was not worthwhile. Now we were prisoners of war. Shit. I fail to remember how but we somehow get on top of the 12 feet high wall. Jumping off it to the tar pavement is another story all together. To add to the agony Malakas’ t-shirt gets caught on one of the spikes. He yells at me to let go. I tell him that I’m not holding on. He threatens to jump. I ask him to fuck off. The next sight haunts me to this day. Malaka bare bodied running to the mercy of the bus while his t-shirt hangs on one of the wall spikes at SBC!!!

We go all the way down to the beach just to get in to Methodist College. Here I end up taking an English class but gets shooed away by the teacher who arrives late. I exit the class by writing down Umeshs’ home number for those who want private tuition. Sadly that never got us anywhere. The most chaotic was HFC Bambalapitiya. It was the mid day break. And when a horde of boys invade a girls school at a time like that, you wouldn’t believe the amount of Chinese rolls one gets to eat!! The most outrageous moment was when Sister Maxine (who’s name we got to know later) pointing to the gate and asking us to “Get out” and Nishantha “Willa” Wickramasinghe taking her hand and kissing it!!! I could have died laughing. Good thing we turned heel and ran or else I would be still at HFC laughing.

Come 1.30pm we end up at Ladies College. Another girl’s school I love in Colombo. Whoever who said that walls were built to be jumped over, built that wall. A Nissan Hilux with the most infamous of the Chikera boys in it enter the school. If he knew the ordeal he had to face, he wouldn’t have mooned Ladies College with his rugby jersey on!!..............................

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.

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.

Independence.

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.

Dhoom Machale

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2006 Ipod Style

2006 was an emotional and a physical rollercoaster. The worst and most played on my Ipod sums up the year in a way I guess. It’s got the good, the bad and the mombo ridiculouso. Any way this might be my last post for this year, so here’s wishing all you guys a great 2007.

“Jesus Christ! How did that get in there?!!” List

1. I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing – Aerosmith (Somehow minus Liv Tylor this song just doesn’t sound the same)
2. Colour Blind – Darius (Let alone not knowing how it got there, I don’t even know how to pronounce the guys name)
3. Two Steps Behind – Def Leppard (Met an ex. Nuff said)
4. Landslide – Dixie Chicks (Never lend your pod to anyone. Especially a chick)
5. Superman – Five for fighting (I didn’t mind this until I saw a guy in a tight t-shirt sing this at Sopranos)
6. Beautiful – Christiana Aguilera (I find Aguilera kinky in the video)
7. My Sacrifice – Creed (Guilty as charged)
8. Moonlightening – Leo Sayer (Download favor for a friend)
9. It’s My Life – Bon Jovi (Disgraceful. I liked a chick who liked this song. Utterly disgraceful)
10. Unwritten – Natasha Bedingfield ( I won’t even try explaining)

“Most Played in 2006” List

10. Where Have All The Good People Gone – Sam Roberts
9. All For You – Blues Traveler feat. Sister Hazel
8. Give Me Novocain – Greenday
7. Rape Me – Nirvana
6. At My Most Beautiful – REM
5. Learning to Fly – Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
4. I Hate Everything About You – Ugly Kid Joe
3. Can’t Let It Go – Goo Goo Dolls
2. Hang on Sloopy – Yardbirds
1. I’m Shipping up to Boston – Dropkick Murphys

An Incomplete Post…..

This is something I wrote sometime ago but failed to complete. Now I just can’t be bothered.

Ok, that’s it. I attended my eighth marriage function within the last two months and I’m burping in my sleep. The cost of the shirts I had to buy would amount to the GDP of a small country.

Engagements are charming affairs, I must say. Especially when the to-be groom goes down on one knee and proposes to his dearly beloved after the wedding halls have been booked and the gust lists finalized. Fascinating.

I like weddings because you can drink like Nicolas Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas” and not get noticed. That is until the bridesmaid whom you have been eyeing since the engagement comes and tells you at the home-coming that she saw you drinking like Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas”.

Anyway, with great difficulty I have compiled a list of ten thing I love and hate about marriage functions during office time.

10 Things I love.

1. Make up – Starting from the 25 year old bride to her 80 year old grand ma thank the Egyptians everyday for inventing make up. Make up do really work. Take my word for it. Make up do get ugly people laid. Take my word for it.
2. Billa music – After O/L and A/L batch parties’ finish you get only weddings where you can get hammered and dance like a retard to Billa. A good billa session really puts me in a good mood.
3. Alcohol – In the old days finding out the bride was not a virgin would disgrace the family. Now running out of booze during the wedding is a disgrace on the family.
4. Brides’ maids – The only chicks who consciously makes an effort to look second best. Friendly as long as the best man is ugly as fuck or you don’t get noticed drinking like Nicolas Cage.
5. The Parents – Sweetest out of the lot. They inquire about my leg. I tell them the story. They ask me who’s looking after me. They tell me about the trouble they went to bring up their daughter. Her driving. Her social life. About the groom. And many more. This is also the first time I met them. Sweet.
6. Brightly light ballrooms – I love a grand ballroom and I hate candle lit weddings. Reminds me of the house of horrors we use to do for the college fair, only difference being I’m too old to pinch butt.
7. Meeting weird people – Part of a conversation is as follows.

Weird chappy : Hi machaan.

Me : Hey much.

Akward silence.

Me : So much, where do you work?

Weird chappy : I work for “Soththiys” (or some weird ass name like that).

Me : So what does he do?

Weird chappy : Soththiys is an advertising company.

Me : Right. So who are your clients.

Weird chappy : I did the Siddalepa campaign in Mogadishu (or some weird ass campaign that sounded similar).

Me : Interesting.

Weird chappy : So machaan, did your check the chicks out?

Me : eeerr….ummm….yeah.

Weird chappy : Think we could get laid tonight?

Me : Think – Not when you smell like an asshole with dentures. Say – Of course dude.

Weird chappy : So take your pick.

Me : Huh?

Weird chappy : Go on pick your girl.

Me : You go first.

Weird chappy : That one in the sky blue saree.

Me : Think – Hey that’s my cousin. Think again – I love these social situations. Say – Hey that’s a hot chick. Wanna bet your car on who she’ll leave with?

(I don’t even own a unicycle)

Weird chappy : See that you’re a betting man. Your on.

We have very different approaches. He starts chatting up a chick. I text my cousin saying I’m tired and ask her for a lift home. God just doesn’t like some people.

8.

10 Things I hate

1. Wedding bands – I hate wedding bands. Most of them sound like Paul Simon stuck inside a vending machine. Trying to get out of course. Baring a few who can actually carry off a good billa session.

2. Toasts – More often than not toasts make me cringe. Last toast I heard gave me the life story of both bride and groom. How the bride attended Ladies college and was the captain of the skipping team. I think. She had obtained her bachelors from either Kings, Queens or Jacks college in UK. How she had made friends with Jacky from USA, Jonny from Scotland and Chappy from Soththiys….….aaaaaahg!!!!

3. Galadhari Hotel – The chandeliers gives me a headache.

4. Aunties who come and sit next to you when uncle is dancing with a bridesmaid – I don’t have anything else other than work, marital status (invariably comes up) and leg to make conversation with them. Nine times out of ten I change seats when they go looking for their divorcée daughter/neice/friend (yuck!) to make introductions.

One Gigantic Birthday Party

10 Things I had this birthday.

1. An awesome birthday cake.
2. Home made birthday party masks.
3. A band playing happy birthday at TNL On-Stage and making me wish I were part of the furniture.
4. Three B52s’
5. Four tequilas
6. Three Barcardi-Cokes
7. Two joints
8. A beer.
9. Four weird-ass friends plus two goofballs whom I adore beyond simple human comprehension.
10. A birthday wish asking for the same thing all over again next year.

Me & My Green Underpants.

Past few months were a fucking killer. And the next few months don’t look too good either. Work, eat, and sleep. Work, eat, sleep and nothing beyond that. Ok, maybe a bit of gamming here and there. Went out for a welcome drink yesterday. Oh man, didn’t that whiskey taste good! Almost as good as sucking on a new tit. Fuck, it’s been so long that I can hardly remember what that feels like. Anyway moving away from my sex life or rather the lack of it, I saw a hen party unfold yesterday. The guys I met up with were colleagues of the chick who was getting married and was planning a male strip show where one was going in as a stripper. This reminded me of a certain hen party I was involved in, in a different lifetime.

To begin with, it was the same scean; a female colleague was getting married. This was not your average female colleague. She was maybe as tall as me and well built. Had the physique of a swimmer from OZ. Ok, maybe not but close. Her alcohol capacity impressed me too. I mean nothing that went down ever came up and she use to beat some male colleagues at Tequila rounds. The worst thing that could happen to you is to challenge V for a Tequila binge and loose. Whole of next week you will be bombarded with insults that you just cannot find your official mail in you inbox. But after two had been made to eat dirt by V, the guys wised up. Those were days where every Thursday was CH & Clancy’s. We all simply loved her.

So anyway, V was getting married and was having her hen party at Lalos’, her cousin, place, whom we also knew. I still can recall how it all started. Lalo gives me a call a week before the wedding.

“Hey H, how’s it hanging?”

“More on to the left these days.” That’s me the cocky one.

I get a ‘fuck off men’.

“Do you know any male strippers?”

I’m like “Which part of me looks like a pimp to you?”

No, no men and she reels off on this hen party thing. Now where would a god-fearing man like me, get male strippers from? And I don’t give it a second thought.

Later the same afternoon, I’m having a smoke behind our office with Buds. I remember the call and I relate the conversation to him. I see Buds latching on to every word of mine. At the end of the story Buds asks me,

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes but I’m not quite sure whether I have the balls to do it.”

Buds is fucking crazy, on the other hand I didn’t have any plans that Saturday night. So I convince myself to do it for kicks and experience. I was sure that I was going tell it to the world on an anonymous blog 6 years later. I was going to be a male stripper.

Next week my confidence levels reach great heights. Five of us, including Lalo, plan the whole thing. We agreed to stop at underwear level. I was quite firm in not showing my crown jewels off. Not to V anyway. Buds was willing to go a notch below and moon the crowd. I can remember Lalo making him stand up and check his shaker out. Can’t remember whether he passed or not. Getting costumes ready was a bitch. Everybody was to bring whatever he or she could find and meet up at Lalos’ place. When we met up surprisingly there was quite a collection of stuff. Ranging from silky bathrobes to a black leather cap. Buds and I were going to be in masks. The absolute last thing I wanted to show in there was my face. We had a choice between a green Frankenstein, an Ewoke, and if I can remember correctly, Count Dracula. We immediately went for the Frankenstein and the Ewoke coz we were sure that you could recognize the wearer of the Count as there was quite a big opening for the mouth. After an hour or two we finally decided on what we were going wear. I now can’t remember what Buds wore. I was donned in (I warn you against imagining this) an Ewok mask, a blue Hawaiian shirt on top of a shiny blue waistcoat, blue track bottoms, black Addidas sneakers and green underpants. The underpants were mine, just for the record.

Then came the moves. This was fun. Every thing from Village People to Bonny M to Hindi films was reviewed. I think I added in a few moves myself. We practiced our number for around one hour and we were ready for war.

The following Saturday came by too quickly. Around seven my confidence was at an all time low. And I knew that chicks smell the lack of confidence like Great Whites smell blood. So I had to either get in swing or get ready for a Tiger Woods swing. We meet up at Buds place and have few neat shots of Vodka from his dads booze collection. I felt my blood start running again. We got donned up. Two guys helping two guys dress up would have felt very different under different circumstances. In around forty-five minutes we are all dolled up except for the masks. It was very hot under mask. We have a few more shots while waiting for Lalos call. We get the ring-cut at 10.30 and we start heading down to Gregory’s road. Buds give Lalo another ring-cut. That was her que to come meet us at the gate. We meet her at the front gate and head straight to the back door. I can here the music blasting away. My high was coming down and so was my confidence. I was numb. I was still comfortable but not as confident as I was. If I don’t get this over and done with soon, I’m going to chicken out. We were given our instructions in the servants’ quarters. The DJ will start playing La Bamba by Los Lobos and suddenly there will be a power failure. During which time Lalo will escort us to a coffee table on which we will have to start our number. We creep in to the house. Buds hits his shin on the coffee table and cringe in pain. I’m like; great this is all going according to plan. We get on top and are ready. I’m pissing in my pants and the worst part it is that, it will be seen in a few minutes.

Suddenly the lights come back on again. We stood there motionless for what seemed like eternity. Come on DJ, play that god damn funky fucking music for crying out loud!!!!! Finally Eddie Rabbit starts signing, “I love a rainy night”. There were shrieks, whistles, boos, oh my gods, woo-hoos. There would have been a lot more noises but I fail to remember now. I remember confifi being thrown at us and champagne being sprayed. We had to get all clothing items off (except for the underwear) within that song and dance our way to the bride-to-be to the tune of “I wanna sex you up” and dance with her body to body. Not exactly body-to-body but more like in front and behind her. I’m thinking that the next minute V is going to realize who I am and hold me so tight from my jewels till I take off the mask. She’s was quite capable of that.

I’m doing my job when suddenly my arse gets pinched. I was so not expecting that it made me jump and turn around. Everybody’s on an excellent high. After turning back I felt somebody tugging at my mask. Instinctively I held on to it for dear life. Then it suddenly occurred to me that pulling the mask was maybe just a distraction. The real motive might be to pull my underwear down while I was concentrating on the mask. FUCK!!!! How do I get myself in to these things???? Lalo comes to my rescue and gets whomever off my mask. We dance our way back to the coffee table to the tune of “wake me up before you go” by Wham! Somebody gets the bright idea of shoving money notes down our underwear!!!! Now, I’m like Jesus fucking Christ. Second tipper pulls back Buds underwear and suddenly lets go. Wathak!!!! The elastic slaps Buds on the crotch area. That would hurt!!! Will somebody please get that drunken cow away from the strippers!!!! Don’t come anywhere near me you psychotic freak coz I’m going kick you in the fucking kisser.

We finish our session. Lights go off and we leave the same way we came. Our stuff is in the car by the time we get to it. Everything had gone according to plan. Brilliant. Went back to Buds place and got so hammered that I slept till 12.00nn the following day. Next time I met Lalo she planted this huge kisser on my cheek and start telling me how well the whole thing had gone off. She laughs her head off when I tell her about my mask story and Buds underwear story. A week from that day we started going out and it lasted for around six months until she went and joined V in Scotland. This one’s for you Lalo, one of the best trips of my life.

Conquer Me by Blues Traveler

Hail to you my mountain climber busy at your task
I know you're in a hurry but there's something I must ask
Do you ever get lonely climbing up so high
If you don't want to answer me I can understand why
If I told you a secret, would you want to know more
I've got a challenge I hope you won't ignore

Conquer me figure me out and set me free
I've got a hundred million things to show you as many more to see
But only if you conquer me

Sometimes I get this precious view and the grand scheme shows its face
When all is in harmony it can be such a lonely place
The melody is sad and sweet, and the dance I do is fun
Yes I love this precious view but I'm staring at the sun
For as pretty the picture, I share this view alone
Will anyone stoop to grasp this gauntlet I have thrown

Conquer me figure me out and set me free
I've got a hundred million things to show you as many more to see
But only if you conquer me

Hail to all you mountain climbers all you dreamers on the run
I'm your self appointed solicitor but now I speak to only one
Whoever she is now, and whoever she'll become
I'd like to ask her to hurry please and if she's walking could she run
It's not my impatience though perhaps just there I lied
It's just I'm feeling invincible and it has me terrified

Conquer me figure me out and set me free
Conquer me figure me out and set me free

Introducing Fully Loaded.

It all started on a gloomy Thursday evening. The rain had been coming down hard since morning……….felt like droplets of Nitrogen. I couldn’t feel my left tit………..blasted air conditioning. It was day I just wanted to go home. I had a funny feeling in my knees……….it’s called arthritis………I’m just kidding…….ha…ha….laugh it up, asshole. But something told me that today was not going to go according to plan…………at least not according to my plan.

I rubbed my cold palms together trying to get some life in to them. I could almost see my steamy exhale. It’s only a matter of time I told myself. Ring. Ring. The phone made me jump out of my skin like an electrocuted testicle.

“Err..hello?”

It’s Shorts.

“The Boss wants you in his room in ten.”

Fuck.

“Now what does he want?”

“Come find out for yourself.” Click.

Bitch.

My mind starts running at the pace of a pirated DVD on my LG player.

Smooth….Stuck…..Smooth……Smooth……Stuck…….Stuck…….Stuck

Now what does the moron want? Then my rotted brain horns in on something. Something big. Shit. Must be the segmentation model. Has he found out that there are no Arabs in Colombo? Fuck. Kotler, that son of a bitch.

The walk to The Chamber was not pleasant, it never was. Feels like the green mile. I need a drink. Suddenly I could hear ice against glass. Cling, Cling. I could feel the mildly sweet aftertaste of a sip of Chivas. Shit. Office was not meant to be pleasant anyway, I tell myself.

I see Shorts typing something. I like this dame. She smells nice. I imagine fucking her brains out.

“Hey Shorts, wassup?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol” comes the reply.

Nobody is feeling like small talk today. Blasted weather.

The Boss keeps me waiting. I like the local gun law. Silencers are banned.

I hear the telephone conversation in the room ending. “Fuck off”. Thadang!! I am sure the receiver chipped. That’s my que to enter. I hate days like this. Curse………

………Half an hour later I’m at my station. What happened? How did I get here? I feel run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Last I remember was walking in to The Bosses room. Shit. Now I remember. I didn’t even see the bastard coming. He must have hit me with a butt of an AK 47. Fuck. Now I have to carry this headache home. I hate days like this. Blasted weather!!

Ironically, “Time of your life” by Green Day keeps running in my head. Armstrong, that pimp.

I came close to asking God for a break. Shit. I gave up on that freak a long time ago. Bastard father of a bastard son. Smirk!!!

I got that funny feeling again. Danger was lurking close. I could almost smell it. I was half expecting it jump at me and tear my throat out. Like a salivating Rothweiler. I was holding my breath. Suddenly it did. Michael Stripe of REM started singing Orange Crush on my N70. I pick up.

“Hello?”

I regret that “hello” faster than I could find a tit in a strip club. It’s a dame and her name is Dangerously Attractive. I hate chicks that call me on rainy days. Dames who call me on rainy days land me in trouble…….or bed. Pretty ones want to tell me about the asshole they are fucking right now. The ugly ones want to fuck me. Either way I’m fucked. I need to start that directory on my phone. My memory is not as good as it use to be.

“Hi”

Shit.

“Hey”

“Wachay doing tonite?”

From the looks of it, regretting answering this call.

“Um…..nothing much”

I’m old. I hate that. Fuck. My brain and tongue don’t seem to work together anymore. Shit.

“Want to go for a drink? Nice weather for one.”

Here it comes.

“Yeah, sure”

I could use the exercise.

I get picked up at seven. I’ve got use to that now and it’s not funny anymore. I get down from a 2004 Toyota Corolla. I smell the cool Colombo air. Smluck! I step on mud. I see mud all over my boot. Like I held it under an asshole. Fuck. I hate this weather.

I meet the same cunts all over again. I have the same drunken conversations all over again. I just enjoy the alcohol, helps me loosen up. I knock up a quick couple. Fuck! That felt good.

I wind up in a sleazy tavern with Dangerously. A sorry excuse for an Irish Pub it claims to be. If there’s anything worse than the air conditioning it’s the lightening. Fuck! The band’s blasting the cover off a CCR cover. To think I use to like this place!!

I have a pet name for Dangerously. It’s call “very”. I could see her buttocks tighten under her skirt as she balanced on those high heels. Fuck. I think I’ve drunk enough. We sit as further from the band as we can. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. I look for a political hoodlum spraying everybody from the bar. Shit. My mistake. DJ is playing a Shakira track. The dames think themselves Shakira. The punks think themselves Wyclef Jean. Cheapest masquerade one can organize. It pays off to have a broken leg sometimes. You don’t get drag on to the floor.

I light up. Suddenly Dangerously squeezes my hand under the table. I hate that……..well actually I don’t mind. This is where I think my film-noir style of narration wares off. Ever notice the difference between when your hand is held under the table and over? Anyway, I explore her hand with mine. I could feel the lines on her palm. Slender fingers. Nice change. Feels nice.

“I’ve missed you”

Fuck. She’s hunting. Alcohol and hunting is a dangerous mix. Somebody can get hurt. Seriously.

“Since when?”

I try to joke my way out of it. But she’s got all the guns. I just have the clutches.

“For the past few years. Technically.”

Jesus fucking Christ!!! Good answer. When a dame says “technically”, she means business. Fuck. How the fuck do I get myself in to these things? Fuck.

“It was nice while it lasted and we moved on.”

Safest possible answer I could think of.

“Do you know the cutest thing about you, Mr. Horus?”

My face? My butt? Please tell me it’s my face.

“The way you sleep in your socks”

Shit. Hey, my feet get cold. Okay?

“I don’t any more. I broke that habit a long time ago.”

I lie. Fuck.

“Things change, ha?

“Big time.”

I stop her from taking her hand away. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Red Hot Chilly Peppers. “Take it away, take I away, take it away now!”

The gang’s back at the table. One asshole asks me for a light. Thankfully I use both hands. No hand when I come back. Fuck. If I didn’t want it, why the fuck do I miss it?

Parting time. Thank god. Only a little while longer. I get in to her car. Shit. Another green mile. Maitland crescent is good. Not a word is spoken. I try to ease the ice.

“Can I put some music on?”

I get a nod. Good enough. Put the bastard on and I’ll be at home in no time.

WHAT THE FUCK????

REO SPEEDWAGON.

FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! Holy mother of Peter!!!!!

I assume she still likes REO Speed. Fuck.

Why can’t they have one common button for all stereos to change from CD mode to Radio mode? Fuck.

“Hey, you still listen to REO.”

“Yup, some things never change.”

CLICK. CLICK. BOOM!!!!!!!!!

My brain matter is all over the fucking dashboard. Oh look, the hypothalamus is on the carpet.

Lordus Cuntus in his delusional state tries to make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For acting like I just discovered my first pubic hair.”

I get a laugh. Thank you god!!

“It’s just that I’ve got a lot of shit going on in my life right now.”

“You’re not the only one whose life is not going according to plan.”

I told you the pretty ones want to tell me whom they are fucking right now. Here it comes.

We exchange shit over coffee. It was nice. Like old times.

Last bit of the conversation is just fucked up. Went something like this.

“You know horus, you are one guy tuff guy to get over. I still measure other guys with you, even if I don’t fucking want to. But a girl once in a way wants her guy to make a stand. Tell her what to do when she can’t make up her own mind. You don’t have to always ask. For fucks sake it would be nice to be told once in a way.”

I get dropped off. It’s raining again. I’m drenched by the time I get to the porch. Learnings for the day, number one, chicks that call on rainy days are bad news. Always. Number two, must have updated phone contact list. Smirk!

Mind Over Matter.

Like in the words of somebody I can’t remember, it’s been a while. For the last couple weeks I was caught up in the race of means where individual ends are met. Seems like such a fucking waste now. Like I’ve said before, shit happens.

It’s almost 1.30am on a Sunday morning. Here I am on a beach in Induruwa, stoned out of my mind with Shams next to me. She always looked the prettiest when she’s asleep. Nice to know that I wasn’t bull shitting when I told her that. Nice trip this is turning out to be.

Anyway, Kottu has been on fire over the past few weeks over doing things, knowledge gaps, revolutions and….errr….V for Vendetta. All good stuff but I’m too stoned now to look at the big picture. I am not a revolutionary. I lack sacrifice to be a revolutionary. I am too middle class to be a revolutionary. I do not have the recourses or the faith of the masses to be any part of any revolution, which I think are prerequisites for a revolution.

I have a very false sense of patriotism too. I hate everything about Sri Lanka. Hate the roads, hate the drivers, hate the system, hate the war, hate the rulers and the list goes on. But ask me whether I hate Sri Lanka, nooooo you mad! I think the only reason why I like Sri Lanka is because I’m not one of the masses. I get to do things that fascinate others and talk about it, which gives me a false sense of superiority. Given the choice I think most Sri Lankans would prefer to be of some other European, North American or even South American origin than from a third world South Asian. But then, I might be wrong.

As for saying that I should be give back all I’ve received from the country, there would be a whole heap of people who be there before me, who if they started ever repaying by the time it come to me my name the list would be so faded that it can hardly be read. How far down would you think a guy who never went to a public education institution and worked all his life in the private sector lie in that list?

This is me in my own way trying make sense of it all without making it sound like, with all due respect, a cheap Hollywood take of an excellent comic book hero. So where do I stand? In this frame of mind why am I writing a post on a borrowed PDA instead of listening to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and snuggle up next to Shams? (Fuck! That’s so tempting now that I’ve mentioned it. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.) That means unfortunately I honestly do give a fuck about this country. Unfortunately because I have not idea what to do about it. At least to start with, I don’t think it has anything to do with political affiliations and revolutions. Again I might be wrong but I’m too smoked up to give a fuck.

People are leaving the country. Mind you these are people who think that the present system is good for the country. When people who think the system work, leave, there is some thing radically fucking wrong there, don chu think?

Last week this dickwart was telling me that though the government is loosing money by curbing (at least trying to) the consumption of cigarettes and alcohol, since the people consumer less it cuts down on what the government spends on health care. I tossed him a rupee and asked him to go get an education! When the likes of Al Capones run the illegal alcohol business and the likes of Valentines day massacres take place here, we will be wondering, HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN in our sacred country?

Sorry, that’s me going on a trip. Political decisions have been criticized enough I think in the blogspear. What I think we lack is “somebody” who has the balls to teach economics to the masses. Commend the decisions that make sense and ask “what the fuck were YOU thinking?” when it comes to the baloney. Right now there is no one body which does both according to my limited intelligence. If there is, then it has a serious fucking marketing issue. Everybody who commends is bias and everybody who criticizes is bias too. People have lost faith because nobody gives them logic anymore. All they hear are political agendas that are cheaper than a whore who will blow a dog for fifty bucks!

Ouch!! That’s a head rush. Time for a smoke, if I can find the pack without waking Shams. Anyway, that’s that. Nice sky. If stars, when they burn out make black holes, wonder what happens to a black hole when it come to the end of its’ life span? Shit! Sure could do with Entire Island being wi-fi now. Are they even thinking of that?