My air is a peppered pineapple

I was zapping through all the million t.v channels and safety mails telling us what to do and what not during Swine flu attacks. Some place had termed H1N1 as the micro terrorist. This is not a new thought, mind you. It keeps recurring every time when something is transmitted through air, be it through satellite signal viruses or anthrax germs or influenza. I feel it is not our water or land but our air that is the most exploited. It is actually like that pineapple, cut and wedged by multiple radio waves being transmitted, all the wireless networks, the television signals, the different infrared and bluetooth devices, all the light that travels in the medium of air, all the sound, the cigarette smoke, the bacteria etc. So much of activity inhabits the invisible air that is scary to gulp and swallow one breath full of echoes and smells, shooting waves and germs. A huge pineapple container stuffed with mostly not seen to the naked eye matter. I feel sad. Like SpongeBob sitting on a bus stop waiting for the water around injected in blue, waiting for it to naturally flow like blue flamed slow sickness. My air is a peppered pineapple. Heigh-ho!

You start playing. Birds fly

How I stopped head banging to Vengaboyz

We were sitting in the state of the art auditorium and 'western electric' was about to begin. I had absolutely no clue what they were going to play on the stage, I hated being there because anyways I wouldn't know what they were singing. Some of them are usually so nasal that its a pain listening to them live. You can't even zap. No control. But the only two people I knew in Bangalore were here and they were interested in this. Not only them, there was a booming crowd of some thousands who were all anticipating something exquisite. I had no clue again, I felt bitter and ignorant. But I have never failed! I just couldn't give up on this like that. Not to mention at least three more years of dreadful conversations and guitar holding men and women around me singing something that my ears refused to call music. It was one of the most belittling days of my life. I was something despicable I couldn't seem to reconcile with. Back then, I had more urgent solid tasks. One of them, I whispered to my own ears, was to listen to English music.
Yeah, it may sound so exaggerated but all I had heard before that was Vengaboys, Britney Spears and Jenifer Lopez. They were all banging heads like maniacs and all I could enjoy was colored light. Then started rigorous torturous ear lending to Yahoo free radio and somebody's ugly I-pod or mp3 player lists. Trust me, I couldn't tell Coldplay from Metallica and honestly, I didn't care. I would actually note down famous names and try and recall the songs when I heard them. Till date I haven't figured how many people actually could recognize some obscure(!) Pearl Jam number but would still go, 'Dude! the bassist was so kickass!"
Never mind, today I listen to 65% English and the rest is mixed. Today is not forced and I am not cornered by "Shit! you haven't heard The Massive attack?" What I learned is that its just a matter of knowing primarily. Then, liking or not. It doesn't matter if someone thinks Pink Floyd is god, there is absolutely no survival need to discriminate based on such exposure/information/aesthetic endeavor especially when today music can be reduced to a set of algorithms.
Don't even get me started on classical music. That's partly why I empathize and identify with pop lovers in India (no pop in India is not Sheryl Crowe). Balls to all those puritan 'rock', 'metal' lovers and their inherited guitars.. I will still listen to Shakira if I want to

My wired ribs

This comes after a long time, especially after watching four trashy movies in a row. I watched Terminator, Kambakht Ishq, Harry Potter and The Hangover. All four were supposed to be really entertaining for quite a few people. It was so depressing to pay for each of them and exclaim in disgust like a little child, to look at people around and protest with the "what's so funny" chant. This made me wonder if I am wired to be tickled in a different way or just not wired enough to be tickled. Loads of my friends keep saying that I don't laugh at their jokes or funny things in general because I have an impoverished sense of humor. There are things that really make me laugh, but they appear sadistic or 'beyond the ridiculous' funny to others. Things like the repetitive 'Bruce lee' jokes (if you don't know them, bruce lee's favorite breakfast= id lee)and other geek jokes or sexual puns and innuendos are funny. But something put out there obviously is not. I cannot tolerate American sense of humor, too demonstrative, too chomped on my face. I like Chris Crocker better :P
Its not like there aren't others with such deadpan wired ribs, its that there are just few of them and I like it that way!

Have you ever thought of it?

Have you ever thought of why some people make the lamest of jokes and get away with it? Have you ever wondered why some people just absolutely need to surround themselves with others? Why some people just end up getting all they want and it adds to their personal growth while others just endlessly crib like hopeless romantics? why some can sing so well and others are not so popular 'cos they can't? How is it that some are just content with relatively insignificant life and still manage to make friends, have lovers and live some semi-charmed life while some just get tangled in a metaphysical battle with their daily lives where they ought to fill in all 24 hours of the slot with their own consciousness? Have you ever wondered why some walk incredibly slowly and seem to have no qualms about the seconds and minutes wasted in transition itself that probably a quarter of their lives is spent in an inefficient method of working? Have you ever thought of running for the president, becoming a porn star with magical fingers, the world's smartest gamer and then, just yawned in the mirror looking at your miserable self because it is not good enough? Have you been to numerous counselors who keep pink and yellow labels with different disorder names and waited for hours for them to tell you why nobody wants to emotionally invest in you? Have you thought that after reading it, if you ever do, you may end up saying no to all of this and conclude that this is a zonked chick with a screwed life and free cyberspace who is boring me to death?
Do you ever think each exhalation out?
It is fatiguing.