Where I cater to the common denominator... meaning YOU.

Hurricane Sandy has taken Gizmodo and most of the Gawker network down. Bereft of my daily post lunch ritual of scrolling through Lifehacker (if ever there was a life that needed hacking it is mine) and Giz, I decided to pay a little attention to my own small neglected corner of the web.

I often imagine what would happen if prospective employers read my blog before the interview. Would it garner a favorable response (you’re on your way to the top of this insane asylum, my son), or would my racism and perversion turn them off? ‘Let’s just try it once and see how you like it’, I’ll plead. 'I’ve got a lot of love to give this organization; I've done it before and people have enjoyed it. let me just squeeze the tip in…'

What were we talking about?

Well, it’s not really a problem, as no one reads my blog anyway. I've therefore decided to make this blog a lot more adult oriented, and eliminate that veneer of social acceptability that I've hitherto tried to incorporate in my posts to cater to a discerning audience. The lack of an audience, discerning or otherwise has made this now redundant. Family, friends and other prudes, please avert your eyes; I shall now sell my soul for the seamy popularity that sex brings to any publication and cater to the prurient interests of the base masses.

…lonely crickets chirp…

Hm, the problem with above bravado is that the intent is clear, but the method is lacking. How DOES one emulate the sexy formula that sells copies of Playboy, X Men comics or every single popular British daily newspaper?  ‘It’s Obvious’, you might yell, dear reader. ‘Just increase the boobage ratio of your blog and people will come flocking, just like they do to that guy who built a better mouse trap. Pocket mice or real mice, the principle is the same; the cheese is the boob.’

Well, dear reader, we all know about cheeseboob, but how do I smear it on my blog? I keep trying to cull pictures from the interwebs, but get… distracted… every time.  I was then inspired by the Kate Middleton photographs, and slotted in my telephoto lens, attached my tripod, and started peering into the neighbouring apartments from behind my curtains. The problem is, the quality of the average Ghaziabad high rise dwelling lady falls more into the ‘BURN IT WITH FIRE’ rather than the ‘So hot I assploded all over my tripod’ category.

Assploding is going to be a regular theme in this blog now.

So you see, it’s not that easy catering to the common denominator. Just like in real life, where rather than causing girls to fall over in a frenzy and start spontaneously humping the sidewalk, wearing skinny jeans just forces me to walk with my leas at 60 degree angles to each other and end the day in hospital, trying to get sexy up in this blog may just have a counter-intuitive effect.

And also forces me to write long convoluted sentences.

So, I’m just gonna throw my door open to suggestions and volunteers. Especially volunteers. If you’re a girl and want to support this blog, just email me those tittay pics. Or ass. Armpit? Chin? Whatever; just send them to mdtl@outlook.com. Once I’m done with them (and it may take a while so be patient), you’ll get prime position on my sidebar. And the satisfaction of having done a good deed. And the knowledge that I’m gonna have to drink a LOT of Gatorade to replenish my fluids. 

Remember, the more pictures you send, the more likely I’ll perish of dehydration. It’ll be a win-win, for at least I’ll die happy.

Rage against the Page

So, they've finally decided facebook users are narcissistic and attention hos (link). Big surprise. Lately facebook seems like it's like one of those reality shows that is so horrid and rage inducing that it's actually addictive. So nowadays I scroll through my feed cringing a bit waiting for the next rage inducing post.

I now know how I'm gonna go - face down in front of the laptop with a massive brain haemorrhage; a facebook feed exploring the hitherto unplumbed depths of human idiocy opened up.

Let us explore this theme. One genius says "lts g n c hw muc ppl luaaaaaaaved her.... ws at th 2320 sho..... she s sooooo fukkhhin ht...she lft t the car l8er". It's as though, via some weird alchemy, vowels have been transplanted by a Dr. Frankenstein with some sort of motor neuron disease. How busy can you be to type ’t’ instead of 'to', dude?

And then of course we have the mandatory farmville updates - Thorne has planted a ear of corn; Karthik has lent a ladder out; Julia has screwed the neighbour's pig...

And lady, it's nice to see a few pictures of your kid, but I don't need to see every stage of their development. I don't care if they're cute, all babies look like Walter Matthau anyway. Besides, do you think you may be invading their privacy a little bit? The net, and especially Facebook ain't exactly safe, y'know. There ARE sites like flickr or picasa where you can direct those pictures to relevant people.

And then of course there are the lurkers. People who stalk their old friends to they can compare lives - 'Oh his job probably sucks', 'She’s looking good but she's probably just a slut. Look at how short that skirt is.'.  Do you have to judge the standards of your life in comparision with others?

And of course, there are the bitter old men who spew anger, about facebook, but still check it every day. What? No! I don't mean ME!

Of course, these are just the bumblers and Clouseau's of the online world. There are more insidious fiends - the attention hos who update their status every few hours, copied from somewhere likely as not. They are usually followed by a gaggle of acolytes with such pithy and deep affirmations - OMG tht's sooo trueee. . . you rock babe. . . I agree with everything you write, on the off chance you'll let me in your pants. (Okay, so the last person does have a genuine reason. . . I mean getting into someone's pants is definitely worth acting the retard).

And you, my long lost classmate from school who's just gushing about how nice it is to catch up; Newsflash! You weren't my friend in school; you were a wanker then and, in all probablity, are a prime wanker now. Let’s just agree to not know each other... ever.

But this is just the beginning. The truly apocalyptic thing about Facebook is that it has provided a convenient place for all these retards to communicate. What will happen when they actually meet and, god forbid, mate? What then, Mr. Zuckerberg? Answer me that.

We'll have a generation of kids going 'Lol, jstin Beeberz is so freeking the coolrz. omg w b2hatt'. And that’s when a vengeful god will finally lose it and sweep us off the face of the planet.

But hey, at least I'll get to say I told you so.

So people, let take the time to fill in those vowels; no matter how much the temptation, let us resist the urge to type 'z' in place of 's'. No, it's not 'zexy'. And finally all you cotton-brained freaks out there, let’s not seek affirmation by your vacuous updates every few hours. No, you will NOT feel better even if a bunch of your bubble head friends think that your status is the height of wit. If you really want to feel good about yourself I'd strongly advise you to have a romp in the hay with some, or even all of them.

And now my vitriolic diatribe is done, if you'll excuse me I'll pop off and try to get into someone's pants - this should work ' OMG, your post is the funnest EVAR'.

 Disclaimer: Okay, the intent of this post is humor rather than vitriol. No one really conforms to these stereotypes (I hope).

Supersize me (or) I wrote this whole post just to work in the last sentence

I'm deathly afraid of travelling on planes. Crashing and going to hell in a fireball of molten metal is the least of my worries, however. No, what really scares me is the torture my knees will go through for the next eight hours. Because once I wedge myself into my seat and my knees are jammed into the back of the seat in-front of me, I'm sure not going anywhere till they pry me out with a crowbar. No wonder I've developed good bladder control.

And of course the diminutive girl next to me has enough space to stretch her legs out, do a few lunges and open her food tray and rest her feet on top of it. At which point I finally loose my patience and smack her upside the head. To which she responds by biting me.... In the knee.

People always envy tall people. But believe me, the world does it's best to compensate for what few advantages we have by trying to compress us into the tiniest spaces meant for normal mortals. When you can't hear the radio while driving, because your knees are blocking your ears, it's time to pull over and set fire to the car.

And dont get me started on the whole opposite sex thing. How can you make out how a girl looks when all you can see is the top of her head. I once dated this girl for two months, she had a haircut, and I couldn't recognise her any more. We broke up shortly after. Nowdays, I duck and weave like a boxer when meeting women, trying to get a glimpse of their face.

All in all, it's quite tough. I have repeated concussion from having knocked my head off various doorframes, ledges and overhangs. And that's why I have this lazy eye. Now, I just keep my huge fat head tucked into my shoulders. and envy all the small people around me.

Because sometimes, there's nothing better than a little head.

Yule Blues

Apparently 'tis the season to be crappy. When night falls at 3 pm, and that's the only time it stops raining, you can bet your ass the suicide rate is going up like anything. SAD they call it. I call it WTF is wrong with this weather. At least if it snowed or something, that would make up for the cold. But no, a fine drizzle persists throughout the day till one feels like all wrinkled up like a prune.

It's only going to get better, as we're going to Scotland over Christmas. And what's more, the Isle of Skye is on the itenary, so when I return, impotent, having frozen off various parts of my anatomy, I can reflect on whether this was a good idea or not.

But this break is going to be a lifesaver. Not that work sucks or anything.... no, wait. It does. It sucks worse than Cathy down the road, who tries her best to impress a gent.

The only thing, with this trip and all the work pressure I've been under lately, I'm not going to have time to make my annual flash greeting card. Which is sad, because I've been doing it three years running now.

And so, if your life wa in as much a mess as mine, why.. Yule be Blue too...

WTF

Some times you just gotta go, 'WTF!'. I mean, if you're in a disc, dancing with a girl, and this guy come up and licks your ear, the only phrase which sums things up to a t is wtf (pronounced WHAATHUFF). No, no, that didn't happen to me, that was just a hypothetical illustration.


Wtf covers so many emotions, from anger (WTF dude) to that feeling... I SAID it was a HYPOTHETICAL situation!... that feeling of incredulous bemusement like whenever David Hasselhoff makes a cameo in a movie .. or even fear (OMG WTF! What has Rosie O'donell done to her faaace) or when you watch the trailer for Teeth.


In fact the only emotion that wtf does not sum up is that of loving condescension. Go on, try it.

Well I was gonna post some WTF links, but I'm posting this from office... on sunday.. after 12 hours of work, and I just can't be bothered.

And I know what you are gonna say...

WTF

Gunpowder Treason

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parliament.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

It's that time of year again where the night sky is lit up with sudden brilliant displays of pyrotechnics. Starting with Bonfire Night and ending up with Diwali, it is almost suspicious how two firework related festivals occur almost in the same week in two countries at opposite ends of the world. Conspiracies by Hallmark?

Of course, Guy Fawkes in the UK is a much more low-key affair than Diwali in India, where the sounds of crackers exploding in the city forms a continuous background rumble, almost like thunder, punctuated by the louder blasts nearby. Th night sky in Delhi is ablaze with reds and greens and blues, as rockets explode all around (the occasional one misdirected into someone's window), and the air is thick with smoke.

Take a look at a few pictures from my bedroom window.

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Gods Palette

We're well into autumn, and it's the perfect time to go for a walk in the countryside. Trees explode in riotous colour, and fluffy clouds dot a brilliant blue sky. I'm just back from Heathrow after a super long drive. It was a long drive, as what should've taken two and a half hours took nearly four due to some inspired navigating (why do girls mean left, point left, WHILE SAYING RIGHT ?!).

I didn't really mind as the view was amazing; shades of gold framed by a brilliant blue sky and the greenest grass. Unfortunately, I didn't have time enough to take pictures, but you can take a look at others I took in the park.

Update : Well, we were driving down to Cromer, and I made the dreaded right/left mistake too, so I take everything back; apologies and all that rot. Now.. GET OFF MY BACK!

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A Viren by any other name...

Do you remember one of my first posts - about my name meaning 'Viruses' in German? (Mine Darke and Twisted Life: Virus Stalkers )

Well, it turns out my name have very close connections with royalty in Sweden. And I found this out, all thanks to my dear Italian friend Rosario.

Have a look at his mail below.

Hello my friend, how's life?

I was in IKEA on Saturday and realised how your worldwide travels and your well-known blog have made you an important person, now even in Sweden everyone knows you and you've become an important part of everyday life for all the IKEA customers.

I hope they're paying you royalties for the use of your name!
Ciao !

I'll give you a minute to wipe the tears out of your eyes, shall I ? How does that make my name regal, you ask? Well, what else is is more royal in a house than the 'throne' ?

Okayy.. so apparently Ikea has a whole line of products (http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/series/12286/) under its 'Viren' theme, and they are all bathroom related, which rather knocks my regal theory out of the window.

Anyways, remember me the next time you're in the loo. 'Cause I'll be thinking of you....
And Rosario, I hope to run into you real soon.

I brought sexy back!

Yes I’m back. Do control your screams of adulation and joy and terror. Since I last blogged, I’ve changed countries and continents (not to mention houses), and of course, most importantly, internet service providers.

Spending two months without internet at home has been a traumatic experience, which has almost reduced me to a mindless, drooling zombie. Of course my friends will say that the change is an improvement, but they soon stop their mocking, once I run at them a few time screaming and swinging my gore splattered axe. (No officer, I have no idea how those heads got in my freezer)

Moving on, Greenpeace has launched a petition to Ban the Bulb in India. Bulbs are, as you know, pretty inefficient converting 90% of their energy into heat rather than light. Do sign this petition.

I’ve decided to refurbish the blog. Friends tell me it’s too dark and dismal, so I’ve decided to throw in some blood reds and puke yellows. As to when this will be achieved, I make no comments.

Since I’ve moved, I now share my house with shoe crazy people. There are four of us in the house, and if you place all the shoes in a line end to end, it will circumnavigate the globe two times, and have enough leather left to make crotch guards for the Arsenal football team. The other night I found the ghost of a cow in the foyer looking at me accusingly. I knocked it over the head with my axe and made ghost burgers for breakfast.

What’s the deal with girls and shoes anyway? I’ve never met a girl who doesn’t slaver and foam at the mouth while passing the window displays at shoe shops. And don’t get me started on the subject of heels. Pencil heels, platforms, block… all designed to twist the foot into ways it was never meant to be. Girls should really pay more tax than guys, as I’m sure their heels must wear out the pavement about five times faster than ours. And what’s with the sound those heels make; I was walking behind two stilettoed girls the other day, and it sounded like I was back in Victorian England with horse drawn buggies clattering up and down.

That’s my monthly rant out of the way then. For all you cubicle dwellers looking for ways to keep from going insane from boredom, I bring you my link of the week (month.. year?). http://www.basicinstructions.net/ is a webcomic drawn by Scott Meyer, and frankly, it’s hilarious. I got it off Scott Adams blog.

I caught the Simpsons Movie the other night, and it is as promised – a movie which keeps you mildly entertained. The most side-splitting part is the rendition of Spider-Pig in typical Homeresque style-

Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig,
Does whatever a Spider-Pig does,
Can he swing from a web?
No he can't, he's a pig.
Lookoouut! He is a Spider-Pig!

I managed to catch another animation recently; and this was much more magical and satisfying; Miyazaki's Spirited Away. This is a beautiful and extremely surreal picture, and is definitely a must see. I did want to catch Ratouille, but it hasn't released in the UK as yet. What's up with that? My friends in India saw it last week!

Update - Apparently I was motivated enough to update the blog's design before posting this. Am still working on the design, but do comment and let me know what you think.

Weddings and Wildlife p3 - Bathroom singers

Then it was a long beautiful drive back to Coimbatore through mist and rain. The next day we were in Bangalore, mall-hopping and shopping. We had lunch at this restaurant called Mainland China, where I had this surreal bathroom experience. As I stepped into the loo, we were confronted with just one urinal, which seemed to be full of ice cubes. Unsure of whether it was a actual urinal or a display piece, we hesitated, till the pressure in my bladder forced me to step up. I’m not talking about a couple of ice cubes here; it was full to the brim, and when used created a very nice golden waterfall effect. Even more surreal, just as soon as I started using it, oriental music started playing through hidden speakers, leading me to conclude that it was some sort of Chinese congratulation theme.

I'm never really comfortable in public toilets anyway. I mean, what the deal with those teeny 2 foot partitions they put up between the urinals anyway? It would only prevent a midget from looking over, and if I were a midget, you know I'd be bringing my footstool to get to the right height. Thats why, guys invariably choose the urinal at the extreme end; at least that way they'd only have to worry about the guy on one side peering. Thats another thing, if there are several urinals free, and a guy chooses the one right next to yours, you're in trouble. Thats basic toilet training. Needless to say, if I see the only urinal which is free is between two occupied ones, I divert my direction to the stalls.

We caught our flight back to Delhi that evening, but the story doesn’t end there. As we were standing around waiting for our luggage, we spotted Lucky Ali(an Indian pop star). We were not sure at first, as he was alone, and no one seemed to recognise him, but then he got his guitar off the belt, and turned and it was him! We were like staring at him, and he noticed us, and walked to us and said ‘Whats up guys?’ We were too starstruck for comprehensible conversation, so the best we managed was something like ‘Bla blu bla’, and then he was gone.

Here are a few more pics of our trip

Welcome to ‘07… looks just like ‘06

My first blog of the New Year. Everything looks all fresh and dewy, and the horizon teems with endless possibilities. No no.. wait a minute. Everything is just the same. The same tired ol’ work, the same boring ol’ friends (um except YOU, of course), and even the same tired shows on TV.

Where are the Jetson style air cars, the refrigerators which were supposed to stock up automatically, and the (ahem) pleasure bots? No, our cars still need wheels, and the other day I told my fridge to make me a grilled cheese sandwich, but it just sat there and hummed at me. And don’t even get me started on the pleasure bots.

No, the only thing different is that on New Year’s Eve, my jaw started to ache like anything. Turns out my wisdom tooth is coming out. I was all excited then, eager for my dormant ‘wisdom’ to kick in, much like the bulb which goes on above Sylvester’s head when a new idea to grab Tweety strikes him. I’m still waiting for that wisdom; I hear its a really useful thing to have…

The readership of this blog is growing, so I must be careful about what I write. So I never write about work, or relations, or my sex life (though to be fair, that would be a very boring blog). So I just ramble on.

I have readers who rarely comment on the blog itself, though I do get mail. However, when I do get a comment it’s usually a doozy. Take for instance the comment on my post dated 23rd Nov where I had gone on about jewellery and the colour pink and the strange unholy hold it has on people with the XX chromosome.

Anonymous said

" Thats all u ...And U have not changed at all..."

The comment is obscure, and I may be way off here, but it seems to convey general disapproval and I get the impression that this is a girl we're talking about. I do apologise for bruised egos and sentiment, but my posts are all a farce. My blog is exactly about what it says in the title – MY distorted view of reality. Even though I do try not to spin stories out of thin air, I exaggerate a lot in order to squeeze out the maximum amount of humor from what would be an otherwise humdrum sequence of events. Nothing I say should ever be taken seriously . I blather and spew, and if I can, at most, provoke a chuckle, then I have achieved exactly what I was trying to accomplish.

But I do admit, I really have not changed at all. In the rare occasions I have had to change, I try to first build up a carefully crafted rut and then settle in it. Unlike the meeces in ‘Who moved my cheese’ I resist change with all the resources available to me, and I will only leave my rut if I am dragged, kicking and screaming, from it. BTW, have any of you read ‘Who moved my cheese?’. I found it to be the most absurd collection of psychobabble ever. If ever a three year old was having trouble adapting to change, I might recommend this book to him.

Getting back on track; even better was this comment I received a few days back.

Anonymous says

"Hey I think your blog is Cool , I am single and waiting for a guy like you, Wanna exchange the numbers? Scrap ur number as a reply to this .... I will give u a call Hotty..."

See, I knew having this blog would pay off big time one day. My strategy of never posting my picture has finally paid off. Not that I’m ugly or anything. Its just that ever since I had to do the Heimlich on a girl who was choking on her food coz she was laughing so hard when I asked her out, I’ve been a teeny weeny bit self conscious. Well, I’m vindicated now; apparently I’m haawwt. I only hope that the person who posted this is a girl.

Heh, okay so I'll bite. Who are you Miss (oh pls pls pls be a Miss) Anonymous? Am I really supposed to believe you're not one of my juvenile friends, trying to play this prehistorically old trick on me (heh, remind me to tell you guys about the stuff I've pulled on my friends later.. those poor saps). OMG and if this is not a prank... I'm so so so sorry.

So whats up with new year resolutions, huh? Does anyone actually expect anyone to improve themselves just because the old calendar doesn't work any more? Of course, in my case obviously there is no room for improvement, I am already at the pinnacle of perfection. I have resolved, however, to get acquainted with this animal they call work. After my wisdom tooth comes out, of course. Let me know your new year resolutions, so I can laugh at you.

Well, I'm off on a three day trip to a hill station/wildlife preserve called Munnar, and apparently they don't have a very good internet connectivity. It'll be cool just like the days when triceratops roamed the earth. So if I don't post regularly for some time, you know the reason why. Yes, I know I don't post regularity anyways, but now I have an excuse.

Well, hang loose kids, and enjoy your new year while you can (before I take over the world, and make you all my slaves, that is). Buh bye my babies.

500 Twisted hits

Sometime today morning Mine Darke and Twisted Life clocked up 500 hits. Understandably, I’m pretty pleased with that, and my metrics are showing that I’ve managed to get some readers at least. But, I’ve not yet found my niche, and till that happens I won’t get any regular revisits.

I’m happy I’ve managed to be half regular at posting, at least. Usually, I take up things just to leave them half way down the path… like mildly rotting roadkill. Don’t get me wrong; many people have remarked about my determination and stick-to-itiveness… how little of each I have, that is.

So what’s with people and cars? Every person I meet nowadays seems to advice me to buy a car. Now, even though I can afford it, I prefer driving ‘round on my motorbike. Why would I buy a car? When I tell them this, they point out that with the amount of cash I spent on ‘useless’ gadgets in the last year, I could’ve bought myself a half decent car. At this point, I usually fly into a rage, and after the red mists clear from in front of my eyes, he/she is no where to be seen. Useless gadgets indeed! Hmm.. I wonder why the land behind my apartment seems freshly dug….

It’s getting a bit nippy here in Noida. Winter is on its way. I know it never gets really cold, much better than the winters I spent in the UK, but the difference is that houses in most places in India are designed to keep you cool rather than warm. High ceilings, marble floors and no central heating. Brrr.

This reminds me of the second winter I spent at Nainital. I had my pre-boards, and studying kept me up late. One night was exceptionally cold, and as I looked out of the window, I saw flakes floating down in the moonlight. It was magical. Next morning, there was a frosting of white everywhere. My dogs were quite perplexed, and left dark tracks in the snow as they gingerly walked about. It was the heaviest snowfall in a few years that winter, and when it snows in Nainital, everything comes to a standstill. Traffic stops, most shops close, and worst of all, the power lines went down and it was three days before electricity was restored.

My dad decided that the massive fireplace in the bedroom should be put to use, and he bought a load of firewood. As he confidently stepped up to the fireplace my mom and I diplomatically retired to the next room. Half and hour later, he came out; looking rather frazzled, and picked up the bundle of newspapers we had been saving up for recycling. Another half and hour, and most everything flammable in the house, from the newspaper snatched from my mom’s hands to a box of toothpicks, was in cinders while the firewood stubbornly refused to light up.

As my dad emptied his last bottle of Chivas into the fireplace, the wood grudgingly lit up, at which point we realized that the chimney was blocked solid with varied junk. As we emerged coughing, our neighbours must have thought they had new African neighbours, as we all were covered with a fine patina of soot.

We had a good time that winter though, especially since my exams were postponed. Nainital is beautiful, especially if you live there. Go visit.

Virus Stalkers

I just googled my name, and apparently Viren means 'Viruses' in German. I guess I ought to apologise to all those kids I beat up in school for calling me that. Ok, so I did'nt actually beat them up; more like muttered insults behind their back, but you get the idea.

Interestingly enough, I came across one of my aborted Blog attempts - http://enirvana.rediffblogs.com/. Its is now consigned to oblivion (just like this blog will soon be, haha).

Another link turned up in the search... a list of my undergratuate classmates from GRD, most of whom my memory has deleted to save valuable space. (Memory space is at a premium for me; I suffer from the symptoms of Alzheimer's, if not the actual disease). Here is the link, if you're interested, and not a stalker - http://personal.vsnl.com/jkrcbe/ADDFR.htm. If you are a stalker, please mail me. I always wanted a stalker of my own.