Going to see a percussion group called STOMP! at the Lowry Theatre. They are rumoured to be really something else. This is a follow on from the great Kodo Drummers I saw at Bridgewater Hall in 2006 and my first introduction to stage percussion, a really energetic German group whose name I forget in Weimar’s Kunst Nacht a couple of years earlier.

Once again the structural ambiguity inherent in the English language rears its confusing head in this BBC News 24 headline.

What kind of pervert rapes the Lotto, and why is he ruling?

Full story on the BBC site.

A very cynical passage from my all-time fav by Shakespeare- ‘Julius Caesar’.

Background:- Anthony has given his speech rousing the Romans against Caesar’s assassins. He now sits with Octavius Caesar and Marcus Lepidus (forming The Second Triumvirate) deciding who might oppose them and thus needs to be eliminated. When Lepidus is sent on an errand, Anthony makes clear what he thinks of Lepidus.

Exit Lepidus.

ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable man,
Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,
The three-fold world divided, he should stand
One of the three to share it?

OCTAVIUS. So you thought him,
And took his voice who should be prick’d to die
In our black sentence and proscription.

ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you,
And though we lay these honors on this man
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
To groan and sweat under the business,
Either led or driven, as we point the way;
And having brought our treasure where we will,
Then take we down his load and turn him off,
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears
And graze in commons.

OCTAVIUS. You may do your will,
But he’s a tried and valiant soldier.

ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius, and for that
I do appoint him store of provender.
It is a creature that I teach to fight,
To wind, to stop, to run directly on,
His corporal motion govern’d by my spirit.
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:
He must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth;
A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds
On objects, arts, and imitations,
Which, out of use and staled by other men,
Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him
But as a property.

I’m talking about the book by Jonathan Safran Foer that I’m currently reading. It was gifted to me by a dear friend in Bangalore, and I only started reading it a couple of days ago.

What can I say about it?

The closest I can come to it is that is is as wacko as Joseph Heller’s Catch 22, as bittersweet as Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being (or Immortality) and as funny as a centipede crawling across the bare soles of your feet (I obviously couldn’t remember a funny novel in time).

There’s narration, flashbacks, and also the author and his Ukranian translator conduct dialogues between each other, face-to-face and through letters. The translator has been gifted a Thesaurus; unfortunately noone instructed him in its use. Hilarious results ensue.

And as if that weren’t enough, as a special treat to me it is chock-full of Ukranian word puns that I’m not sure many readers are getting.

Read it.

Sorry, couldn’t upload any photos, been so busy and all that.

Actually, I tried with Flickr and they said I had reached my maximum free amount (a measly 200 pics) and tried to sign me up for a $30 account. Me being a long time customer of Flickr with a highly developed sense of loyalty, I promptly jumped to Picasa but found out I couldn’t download their software to the work computer. Apparently our tech admin doesn’t trust us with such priveleges because we’re some moronic breed of imbeciles, or worse, timewasters who will download stuff from the internet.

Apart from important stuff of course.

I have received pics of my little motorway jaunt in India, I’ll be posting the pics on Flickr and Facebook soon as I can so all of you can vicariously share in the enjoyment.

Next trip seems to be emerging as Vietnam in September, initial thoughts with Rayk are Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh over three weeks. Let’s see about rallying more of our troops so we can invade that country. This will not be a typical jaunt for all us ISOMers, I should imagine, and though we’ve sallied forth in the past a trip to Vietnam will herald a new era of maturity, forward planning and sensible travelling.

Or we might just go get high in Amsterdam 😛

Apart from two work-related trips, one to Dubai and one skiing somewhere in Les Chalet on Les Mountains in Les France, there’s nothing else for this year. The Vietnam trip obviously means that the trip to Beijing for the Olympics 2008 will be cancelled, but it seems it will work out to be too expensive and difficult, with billions of people descending upon the city for the event. Plus all the tourists!! 🙂

I see a sign on a shop in Piccadilly Station every morning that says

“Please use other doors”

I am perplexed.

A number of quotes/phrases come to mind when I cast my mind back to my sojourn in India.

“Bartaare” (coming) = Used by the waiters of Airlines Hotel, Bangalore where we convened daily for coffee. You will note the deliberate omission of any indication when the waiter will be coming.

“Aiyyooo” = Cry of desperation. Used in many situations but mostly in response to poor attempts at humour. By KP.

“Naz, your skin..” = Used by MJ. As an excuse to stroke me.

“Spiderpig, Spiderpig” = Unofficial soundtrack in my head.

“You want Slayer?” = Used by KP at Yamaha Rock.

“You have 3 minutes left” = Used by the MC at Yamaha Rock. Repeatedly. Annoyingly.

“Your gang of Jamaican Al Pacinos… drinking Blue Mountain cappuccinos” = Sung by some seriously crap Reggae MoFo at Namaste on Om Beach.

“Let’s build a fire” = Uttered by Abhi when we were stranded on the mountain top, because it was getting dark.

“That auto’s never heard about emission control” = Uttered by Abhi as a smoke machine/bug fumigator disguised as an autorickshaw passed us on the road to Gokharna.

“Adjust madkoli” (make an adjustment/an exception/space) = Used by everyone in Bangalore.

I played a brilliant game, don’t know if you can get it on X Box or PS, but it was called ‘Indian Roulette’. The objective is to choose a destination and then reach there alive and in one piece using the Indian National and State Highways. A great first-person game made interesting by the addition of charming obstacles such as “Asteroid Crater”, “Me Dog, Me Will Cross”, “Look Mum, I Can Drive The Wrong Way” and “Crazy Member Of Public Counting Pocket Change In The Middle Of The Road” (rare, but extremely exciting).

I selected a motorcycle for a Bangalore-Gokarna-Bangalore jaunt and played it in both day and nighttime settings. Nighttime is when it gets really scary with extra-special appearances (quite literally) of “Bunny Jaywalkers” hopping across out from the median divide, “Laser Optical Surgery” trucks with high-beam lights and “See Me If You Can” tractors pulling bales of hay.

Scientific Note:- The Indian Roadcrosser (homo suicidalis indianus) has a special adaptation, an admirable appendage which it uses to do what it does best, i.e. cross roads. This appendage is called the Magic Hand (manus waveare) which it waves at any highway traffic hurtling towards it from both sides and such is the belief in the power of the magic hand that often the Roadcrosser escapes unhurt. Of course, it must be noted that the magic is temperamental and only seems to work when said oncoming highway traffic can actually see the Roadcrosser…

Dear folk, the star attractions of a zoo in Guwahati, Assam are Bengal tigers that killed a zoo visitor who was trying to get close to them for a photo shoot. The story is shocking, and the photos in the Deccan Herald newspaper suitably gruesome. But as usual I’ve a different take on the story. I must say most of all I enjoyed the journalistic style and commitment to factual reporting displayed in this article.

The opening lines are killers (pun not intended); whatever could be the reason for adopting this approach:-

Mesmerised by the wild and glamorous Divya, Jaiprakash Bezbaruah desperately wanted to capture a closer snap of her on his camera. But neither Divya nor her beau, Govardhana, were in a mood to take kindly to this intrusion of their privacy and Bezbaruah had to pay the price with his life.

It reads like something from Barbara Cartland, not that I’ve ever read that trash. And there’s more:-

His left hand was still with the big cats, which were later seen playing with it.

And the article ends on an (intentionally?) ironic note:-

Both Divya and Govardhana are one of the star attractions of the zoo.

p.s. All quotes from this morning’s Deccan Herald newspaper.