or just drop the K and make it UWAIT as someone wisecracked. Either way... Not that it was entirely their fault. I can understand bad weather delays in winter. But I have to say this trip made a turn for the worse and then flew unwaveringly in that direction. Funny that the post on the return flight after my Eurotrip should come before my adventures there but guess I was having too much fun to blog while in Europe.
On arriving at the airport we were greeted with the fact that my 11.30 flight was already 3 hours behind schedule. I somehow found an isolated corner to nod off in the labyrinthine maze called Fraport (which sounds like a warm coffee trading cove in Jamaica and which it most decidedly was not) but the noble Denial spirit can take adversity with the best of them so I gallantly maintained a brave face even while snoozing.
The security check was a breeze. A very chilly one that makes you shiver once you've stripped off all but the last layer of clothing. Somehow the guy with the metal detector took a fancy to my shoes and decided that something smelt fishy about them. I was inclined to agree with him and didn't offer any resistance even when he made off with them. I believe he was searching for the perfect pair for himself and wanted to try mine on for size. The fact that I had to go through the whole process twice endeared these efficient individuals to me all the more. I promised to praise them in public whenever I could.
Misery loves company and I was glad to have two guys I knew along with me for the flight....sorry, the wait. One of them, the owner of the joke mentioned above had decided to lug along some beverages of the non non alcoholic variety which turned out to be a pain in the as(s) we shall later see.
I ascertained from sources that the incoming flight from Geneva had only started at 2pm and so I had a reasonable estimate of a 4pm takeoff time from Frankfurt. Since I didn't share this knowledge with the general public it was funny to see them jump at every announcement with hope and fall back with despair. But conservative estimates are made to be broken. After having waited 4 hours at the airport we then waited half an hour in the bus staring at our plane for god knows what.
Repeated announcements thanking us for our patience only served to test it further. The icing on the cake was of course the hour long delay after getting on the plane. The pilot thanked us for choosing Kuwait Airlines, a ghastly ironic joke at which I would have laughed had I not been drained of energy and emotion already.When the plane finally started moving the passengers actually applauded, no doubt thinking that positive affirmation was the way to improve the situation.
But alas, my nightmares were only beginning. To my left a largish individual had comfortably engulfed the window seat and the fight for the armrest was over before it started. I gave up hope of pushing the Golem aside after two tries that left me panting. I decided that if the mountain won't move away from Mohammad then Mohammad must go away from the mountain. To top it all off he was already sawing wood. He looked like he did it for a living. Why did he have to do it in his sleep too?!
To my horror the family to my right seemed to have not one, not two but five babies! Now don't get me wrong I love babies just as much as the other guy does...if the other guy was Jonathan Swift. And yeah I am kidding. But I prefer to enjoy other people's babies, just like other people's dogs. That way you can admire the little cutie pies without having to go through all the messy parts of their upbringing. IMO parents who successfully bring up their children to be a useful part of society deserve a medal.
But nothing could have prepared me for the unholy racket made by these little buggers. I couldn't decide whether to curse or to find some choice biblical passage for exorcising the banshees that appeared to have possessed this lot. To say that they were screaming would be like saying that Saddam Hussein was a naughty boy. Together with the deep basso lumberjack on my left they pretty much covered both extremes of the the audible spectrum. Perfect quadrophonic sound with distortion levels so low as to make a brave man weep and believe me,I did. I just had to play rhythm and we could start a death metal band. We could call it Insomaniacs.
If the dad had started a conversation with me at that point somehow I am sure it would have turned towards eugenics and birth control. He and I were having a cold war. It started with him glaring at me, when I was on the phone while the plane was still on the ground waiting, as if to say "How dare you use your phone in the plane? What a jerk! Don't you know it interferes with the communication blah blah blah". To which I gave him a look that said " Man, We're still on the ground and we're not even moving! Besides right now, my phone just uses one band. Your daughter there is broadcasting an infinite bandwidth white noise signal.". I don't think he got it :(
Here is where I noticed a distinct advantage of having a blog. Usually I'd be so mad by now that I'd be steaming at my ears. Now I was thinking "This is so bad I can actually rant about it! Just wait, you losers. I will have my revenge mwahahahahah!". So I did something absolutely positively evil. I woke up the man mountain next to me and asked HIM for a pen so I could write down all that I hated about this trip. Mwahahahahaah. I'd recommend a blog as an effective anger management solution any day.
Finally we landed at our stopover in Kuwait. We were only 7.5 hours delayed. With the connecting flight long gone we waited to see what would happen. More of this sad tale in part II.
Trying to make a Mac user stop gushing about his damn product is like trying to flush a clogged toilet. The more you try the more the shit spews out. Apparently Steve Jobs didn't highlight this feature when the Air came out. But this is what happens when you have crazed cult worshipers who can't go two minutes without praising Apple's almighty goodness. It's just ONE more thing irritating Mac fanboys will whine about I guess. In case you haven't yet encountered one of these faux artistic losers, head over to the best page in the universe.
Last week in Frankfurt means walking around random malls looking for shit to buy. Sad, I know. Anyway at this weird looking mall called My Zeil(apparently the architects were looking to recreate a wormhole. Looking at the prices inside I got the hidden symbolism...it was a wormhole in your wallet) there was a huge rush at this strange looking store with people waiting in line to enter. Yes, it would not be weird in India but here its a wtf.
We couldn't make out what all the fuss was about anyway. Suspiciously the store architecture looked like a typical traditional Kerala house resplendent with the coconut trees and tiled roof. Actually reminded me of mine too. Discreet enquiries with a person standing in line revealed that 'a new US store was in town called something like Holler...Holster'. Hah..Even he didn't know.
Wasn't funny till I read Maddox's fashion tips on Hollister. Suckers
I am most comfortable speaking and typing (we hardly write anymore, I think it’s time the verb fell out of use) using the Queen’s tongue. Not literally of course, that would be gross. My lack of mastery over the language of my forefathers is a result of both not having the opportunity to learn/use it at school and having parents who were perfectly comfortable with a conversation where speakers carried on in different languages (Mallu by the parents and English by my brother and me) which made for very interesting phrasing amidst arguments but more of that some other time.
So English is my only effective literary weapon seeing as my Hindi is rusty, my French is blunt and my Malayalam is double edged (i.e. it would hurt me more than the other guy if I used it). Also for me to write a blog is to put my above mentioned wickd lit skyllz to the test. Any way the long and the short of it is I’ve often opinionated lazily, mostly to inanimate objects, that there’s really not that much to write about and who would read all these blogs anyway.
But given my appreciation for good humor which is evident from my super intelligent comments ranging from the simple LOL to the gut busting ROFLMAO when I started reading blogs like krishashok, indiauncut and others, I was of course inspired to start my own version of blather. At which point I encountered the challenge that makes most aspiring bloggers give up like the Indian team, despite the best efforts of Sachin. Namely, what do I write about? Still working on it.
However what I wanted to know after reading those blogs was how post after post these guys could carry on the banter. In short, not being content with getting my funny bone tickled, I wanted to learn how I could tickle other people’s ribs without becoming an orthopaedist or getting a restraining order.
Which led me, the thoroughly unfunny person that I am, to a whole host of wiki articles on humor that were more of the mind numbing variety than the type mentioned previously. Nevertheless I learnt completely useless things like how sarcasm was only one version of irony and that ‘polysemy’ was not a euphemism for a trailer park.
And with it the realization of what E.B White ( the author of Charlotte’s Web) said of efforts like mine. "Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it."
The best show ever! I will not stoop to argue with you on this one, whatever pathetic little show you bring up as a counter. Curious to find who was behind all the acerbic wit that House spews forth show after show I stumbled upon this article.
However I was amused to read the part on page 3 where they talk about the 'consternation of die hard Wilson fans!' lmao. Wilson is portrayed as about the most pathetically nice and servile buddies you could have. I certainly wouldn't want to be such a doormat, as House calls him in the latest episode. And is it me or did you find Wilson's acting a little funny in that one, the whole of which was focused on him. That's not why I watch House, Writers, so definitely not the way to go.
Living with Denial is a pleasure that to date has not been inflicted upon any sentient being, voluntarily or otherwise.
While most ramblings found here appear to defy classification as to exact genre or topic, rest assured that for the brief period of time that it took him to write each post, the matter was closest to his heart. If however you find any or every post to be generally insipid, lukewarm or in any other way like a cheap latte, it is only because of the author's lack of inspiration and indigestion caused by the many cheap lattes consumed in the process