Archive for the 'filler' Category


Polar Bears Are Cool

My Rexona V8 roll-on deo is empty. Just like my soul. But hey, the axe spray is still half full. It’s even supposed to turn the wearer into a veritable pheromone factory. Or something.

The last few days have been a rollercoaster of epic proportions for my immune system. It all started a week ago when I turned up at a friends’ place to work on a freelance project we were doing together. Once I got there, I was thanked for showing up. Profusely. I was a little confused but I didn’t really take much notice. People like having me around. I have that effect on people. Part of it must be the deo.

A few hours into the weekend and having accomplished no work, I questioned the friend about it. He replied that “we’ll get to that after the work for the dhane is done”.

Right. The dhane.

Wait, what?

Slowly, it dawned on me that he had mentioned something about a dhane being held at his place around this date, about a week ago. A dhane is some kind of local ceremony where you basically throw a big party and invite a boatload of people over for free food. It’s also called an alms-giving. The act of feeding people will get you ping. I’m not sure how to explain what ping is. Suffice to say it has nothing to do with computer networks.

So I ended up hauling furniture, scrubbing walls and cleaning light fixtures. My mom would be the last to believe I was even capable of such domestic functions, thanks to me avoiding them like the plague while at home. The next Monday, I go home feeling like my stomach was the Madison Square Garden to a fight between a polar bear and a grizzly. The day after that I was feeling like said bears had punched each other out and were just lying around in my abdomen talking about the days when they used to be prize fighters and not just two lumps of bear sitting around in someones abdomen weighing him down all day so he couldn’t even go watch X-Men First Class with his friends. As if said someone ever did anything to them. Just look at em, sitting there swigging beers and taunting me with their ability to eat and drink whatever they please. Next thing you know they’ll be dragging a baby seal in there.

Stupid bears.


As of now I’m just about recovering from all this feverishness. Went to the doctor the other day and he gave me a fistful of pills that make me feel drunk. Should be alright by Monday.

Happy weekend, all.



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.

Now to hit publish before I fall asleep.

I have to get to work in about four hours. Aiyo.



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.

Day 1
“Hi, [company]? We need to record a voice-over.”

“Coming right up  sir!”

“Hello, nice to meet you. Read this script”


Day 2
“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.”

Day 3
“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?


About Me

I started writing A Sort of Beautiful, Not Quite Insane Mind back in June 2007. Back then I posted about everything from school to 3D renders to yala. I miss Mr. Nandasena the math teacher.

Anyway, I recently spoke to a reporter about an article on blogging. It ran on Wednesday and was quite depressing. The article felt late. It felt like writing about a horse race after the horses had grown old and fat and were about to be sent to the glue factory. Not that I expect any of us to be much use as an adhesive, but take a look at this post by Halik to get a feel of what I mean.

It just doesn’t feel like kottu any more. I visit kottu maybe once a month nowadays, and it feels like I went down to the local haunt and the dude serves me three day old samosas seasoned with Meerkat de Roadkill instead of yummy delicious chopped up goodness.

But I digress. What I noticed first about the article was a line about me being “silent” on the phone. This felt like a solid steel girder going through the heart of the dude next to me. I was devastated. Here I am priding myself for being as loud as a cat being dipped in fine lacquer and rubbed on the walls to paint a house, and I see that. I’m usually more coherent than a cat even.

Oh well, enough of this “reminiscing” stuff I guess. This blog shall continue to see new posts spewed in whenever I feel like writing. Which will hopefully be at least once a month. In other news, I am making a site for myself.

Till next time, stay classy, world.


A “Feeling-ey” Post

You know what I miss? The “good old days” of a few months ago. When I didn’t know who half most people posting on kottu were, and trolls were funny. I yearn for the days of laughing at the Whackster’s emo outbursts and Saint Fallen’s Miley Cyrus posts. Then there were the occasional weirdos that showed up and disappeared in a few weeks. Sometimes I thought that if sexual frustration could be harnessed, some of the blogs that showed up could power the country for a good six months. And then there was Papareboy.

Nowadays I don’t even get to read most blogs. I just never get around to it. Instead I spend my time on the internet doing things like downloading Katy Perry albums. I freely admit this because my manliness is as boundless as Chavie’s enthusiasm to post positive comments everywhere. I trust it further than I can kick a cat, which is quite far. Last time I tried I got an email from Gliese 581 cursing me to hell for introducing parasites to their pristine planet.

In other news, I am going to install a Linux distro on my laptop and see if I can use it as my main OS. I’ll have windows on for games of course, but that’s quite rare on the laptop so I don’t think I’ll need it much.



You lot must have been wondering where I’ve been all these weeks. Do I hear a no? A yes? A “who is that dashing gent? He must be interesting”?

Well I was here. I hadn’t gone anywhere and I wasn’t much busier than I usually am. I just never got round to posting anything because nothing particularly interesting happened to me. For example the most interesting thing that happened to me in the last few weeks was me going shopping for a keyboard. A computer keyboard. I would have had better luck finding excitement if I went home and stared creepily at kids walking by in the street.

Anyway, while on the hunt for the perfect set of keys to type this post on, I went through an adventure of epic proportions. The kind that historians a few centuries in the future will pun-fully refer to as “One that went all the way from A to Z”. The keyboards of the future will have those two letters very far apart. At first I kept running into the Justin Beibers of the keyboard world. Extremely popular but not very good at what they do, these keyboards were dirt cheap, in price as well as construction. Though that metaphor kind of falls apart if you consider that dirt, or earth, is actually quite solid. But then again that’s only when it’s been compacted. I didn’t get to try that with the keyboards.

Alas, the price of keyboards varies wildly like a woman in the throes of an intense mood-swing. Much like a woman, most were wireless. And very expensive. The worst part was going into a shop and having the salesperson pull out every single keyboard on offer, and then not buying anything. If I were asked that terrible job-interview question of “what is your greatest weakness” it would be feeling extremely guilty when someone puts so much effort into trying to sell me some tiny computer accessory. And then looks at me pleadingly while I mull over the options.

But I digress. But then again I always digress. I am a perpetual digresser. I have known I am unique ever since the fingerprint machine at work refused to accept any of my ten fingers as valid prints. I am the kind to take a cat to a gunfight.

See what I mean about digressing?

In other news, a new semester has begun at class and work goes on at a steady buzzing pace.



I assume you have been wondering where I was all these weeks. No?

Fine. Be that way. See if I care you emotionless fiend! I have bee devastated by the crippling reality that I live in the worst parts of the sticks. Why, you ask? Because a few weeks ago, when my parents were away, someone snuck into the back yard and stole a- …wait, you pick. Below is a list of stuff in the back yard. What would you pick?

  1. Two old washing machines.
  2. Tons of computer display equipment.
  3. Various tools.
  4. Bananas.

So, any sane person who is not, or ever has been, a horde of barbarians, or say, a monkey, would pick something like the computer equipment right? Or at a stretch, the old washing machines. Apparently, around here the people still barter using elongated fruit, and steal bushels of it from people’s yards. Woe is me.

So anyway, all drama aside, I have been downloading Kung Fu movies. I think there are about five or six now, from Bruce Lee through Jet Li. My mind has been taken over by little chinese men fighting with chopsticks.

Movies with characters doing that are bound to be fascinating.

In other news, I started and abruptly stopped taking part in #project365, a nice little personal project where you post one picture a day for, get this, 365 days. Pseudorandom has been studiously updating her feed over at her flickr set. My participation in this lasted all of 8 hours or so, with me posting a picture one day, then not having anything to show for the next two, now three days. I guess you need a camera to take pictures after all.

Actually, my phone would have done fine for this if I had been taking pictures in the daytime. Since in Sri Lanka, you can’t take pictures with your phone in public without being given creepy looks and possibly being shot at, my only options at the moment are images at night, at home. That means some nice low-light shots and macros. Since my phone handles these as well as a leper handling perfect skin, I shall leave this project for another day, when I actually get myself a proper camera.

But on the bright side, I have gotten into uploading straight to picasa. Till I do find myself holding at least a compact, all that shall adorn these albums is the odd weekend out or rare day when I actually take a picture in the daytime. With my phone. Without being stoned.