My computer is in my room most of the time. It is connected to the internet of tubes via a magical wireless connection. This wireless connection is with a router on the floor below, maybe a dozen feet or so away, separated only by a layer of concrete and sometimes my legs.
The seemingly gargantuan task of pushing radio waves through this apparently vast expanse that, according to my router, is filled with lead is sometimes too much for my standard “SoHo” router. I’ve come to despise and hate it. Among the giants of the wireless networking world, the D-Link 2640U is but a retarded child forever trying to lick his elbow.
All of that is besides the point. It’s Vesak season here in sunny infernal Sri Lanka. I fell sick on the first day and could not leave the house. On the second day(yesterday) I was still sick but also bored half to death of staying at home when the entire country had turned essentially into what I imagine the insides of a carebear look like.
So off I went, replete with camera and fever, to walk about and take in the sights of what I best understand as some kind of pagan christmas, except without the gifts. Or the trees.
I’m not sure if it was the dizziness from walking around too much or actual atmosphere but it felt so… rushed. There were crowds of people everywhere, standing around, strolling from thorana to thorana, standing in line at the dansalas or just running amok on the streets.
There were lights.
Whoever made it all happen could throw a wicked disco. Not that I would attend it. My dancing skill is the polar opposite of my being awesome skill. So many lights. It looked like my current wallpaper, which I am quite attached to.
I noticed that most of the pictures could be made to look better simply by making them look very out of focus. Bokeh’d.
Neither is a particularly great picture, but the blurry one simply looks better. It turned out to be the case on a lot of images. Not a good reflection on my skills on taking pictures, I’m afraid. Those should be up on flickr in a few days. The regular ones.
On the way back home I was a wheezing wreck, thanks to some overenthusiastic bounding over the barriers around the Beira lake and a sprint to catch a bus. My body was too busy killing virii and generally being a jerk by increasing my body temperature so that it looked like I’d just stepped out of a shower with most of my clothes on. I kept steadfastly staring out the window and was treated to a kaleidoscope of light, colour and well, people. Sri Lanka is an awesome place to be in sometimes, even if the people on the bus crinkle their nose when looking at you and you nearly black out on your seat.
When reading something, I sometimes have a tendency to guess whether the author was male or female. I don’t know if this is some kind of inherent sexual stereotyping or if it’s something far less useful.
It just feels odd when I’m reading something, and suddenly I get this feeling that this is a man’s writing. And then I read a sentence that sounds like something a woman would write. I know this sounds terribly like I’m some kind of stereotyping sexist but I can’t help it! My brain just keeps switching that mental image of the author between the two genders. After a few of these creepy transitions, I just look it up.
Then again, I’ve been completely wrong about many pieces of writing. Most notably, the William series. Richmal Crompton(Bless her soul) doesn’t even sound like a male name!* Then there were the myriad blog posts and newspaper articles. If anything, you’d think I’d have assumed by now that I can’t predict male or woman-ness in writing.
In other news, I am now acutely aware of the need to step into more responsible shoes. Mostly because my parents are making me spend all my money on useless things like home improvement and education. I only have a few more years of wantonly spending on whatever I want, and I hope to make full use of it to further my hedonistic interests.
Work, too, is getting exciting as I might move on to someplace else soon. As it is, I bear the roles of about four different people, as a consequence of which I have shown up at the same client’s granite doorstep in multiple capacities.
“Hi, [company]? We need to record a voice-over.”
“Coming right up sir!”
“Hello, nice to meet you. Read this script”
“Hi, [company]? We need a new profile done.”
“We’ll send someone over to discuss things!”
“Oh, it’s you again? [Bad joke involving local habits that I have to laugh at anyway] Well let’s get started then.”
“Hi, [company]? We need some new websites.”
“Someone will be there shortly”
“You’ve got to be kidding me -_-“
Understandably, I’m not looking forward to much more of this.
Have you noticed in buses, when a pregnant lady gets up and makes her way towards the door, people follow her out with the zest of motorcyclists following an ambulance through traffic? It’s bizarre.
*On a cursory google search, I just discovered she wrote dozens of books, most of which I haven’t read. Anyone have them?