When I Die

Oscars. Goodfellas. Why Most People Suck.

Mark Knopfler's Coming To Town

And I'm gonna miss him just like I missed Roger Waters.

That is a bummer.

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See You Soon

Ronnie left. I didn't see her off. Had a stupid motherfucking fucked up bastard exam that Prof said I couldn't take later even though I asked the bugger as politely and as many times as I could.

Bet the fucker never had friends.

Ronnie called up on Rishi's cell from the airport and Rishi handed me the cell in the exam cell and I gave the Professor a big grin, took the phone, walked out of the hall, and spoke to Ronnie.

There was nothing about that conversation I can honestly convey here. Sometimes words mean more than words. And they don't mean anything to those who don't understand why they mean more than they do to the ones they do.

She said she'll be back soon ("This place is infectious, all right," she said).

Other than that, not much else I want you to know about it.

Suffice to say that if I didn't love her already, I love her now.

God bless, Ronnie. 99, ma'am.

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What I Don't Like In Most People

Why the fuck are people afraid to look you in the eye? Each time you're looking at someone, they'll look away. Not all of them do this, but most do. What, you're gonna hypnotize them, or something?

Okay, I've got a decidedly weird stare; but Jesus, people seem to actually forget what they wanted to say when they chance upon your eyes.

They'll look elsewhere, look at your chest, your fingers, and some of the geeks look at your lips.

And this phenomenon happens way more often in guys than girls.

And don't even get me started on when one of these guys is talking to a girl. Frisky, shaky, sweaty, itchy, you name it, they are it. I don't get it, what the fuck is so intimidating about a woman, man! Jesus, she's half the world's population! Oh, you're afraid you'll look somewhere "private" and she'll think you're staring, do you? Well, jack shit. She don't care! She's used to being stared! And for fuck's sake, the only reason you think she'll think you're staring (ogling) is because you probably are! Chin up, wiseguy, get a fucking grip. Stop looking at her body and look at her! Stop using conversation as an excuse and make it the fucking reason!

If the only reason you converse with a woman is to... wait, let me restate that in typical lingo: if every woman you talk to is a potentional "encounter", I'm sorry for you, you sack of shit!

There are guys I know who actually think a girl walking past them is an event. Fuck that, just getting a glimpse of a girl is worth noting. Dementia, folks. Grade-A dementia. That sex-monkey must've mutated in all these folks. "She talked to me, you know." "We were in the queue for the exam form." In the words of the late Joe Beaver Clarendon, Jesus-Christ-bananas!

Another trait: people interrupting you when you're speaking. That doesn't happen to me a lot, because I rarely speak and when I do most of them listen--God knows why, but they do. (Note that not speaking doesn't mean listening; although with me, in most cases it does.)

But if I'm observing two people talking, It's either a) all one-way traffic, b) one guy starting something and the other cutting him off and then the first guy cutting the second one off repeat infinity.

Am I being too pig-headed? I don't think so. You know exactly the kind of people I'm talking about.

These are the people who, in the end, don't really have anything of real worth to say. These are the people who think the focus is on them, baby. This is the kind of man I'm profoundly glad I am not. (Oh, sure, I think the focus is on me all the time, but I also kindly shut up most of the time because I don't have a fuck of a lot to say.)

With some people, though (a definite minority), talk imitates the best book/movie dialog.

They usually say things you want to hear, and you usually say things they want to hear. Oh sure, there are things you don't want to hear, but those things are few and far in between.

These people will listen to your story because they know you will listen to theirs.

Talking with these people is a real joy.

If you tell a bad joke, they'll let you know it's a gas bomb. If they tell a bad joke (which mostly won't happen), they'll accept your comments about that gas bomb without obsessing over it for the rest of the week.

I will not talk about my brotherhood here, because in my hearts of hearts I believe that they are a rarity that only the most fortunate get. Everything I like about me is because of them. In the 'hood, silence is just as good a conversation.

I just noticed this whole thing today morning (although perhaps it's been waiting for a while now). Sitting in group of assholes, watching their conversation go from nowhere to nowhere.

And after that sitting with Ash and Priya and Sid and Mike and not knowing where half an hour went but knowing it was time well spent.

Ash is fast becoming one of my favorite people. And that hasn't happened since Mike three years back. She looks like Amy, but that's where the similarities end (or I would've been all over in love again, wouldn't I, nasty little cupid sidekick that I am).

She's sweet without being sickeningly so, and I believe she can kick serious ass when the need arises.

There are a few others like her, thank God, or I'd feel like the main bloke from Resident Evil (the game, not the stupid movie) feels.

Another trait: people telling huge amounts of fake bullshit about them. You know, buying new shit, having new girlfriends, having fun, etc. All bullshit.

And either they don't know I know they're lying, or they believe their lie and thus cannot fathom anyone else disbelieving it.

This one time, one guy starts talking on the cellphone. It's a girl, supposedly, and he's talking all kinds of cliches. And then right in the middle of his conversation the phone rings. Tada!

Afterwards he tells us his phone has call-waiting. Yeah, right. Fucking bullshit. The mobile service he's using, Trump, doesn't have it. I checked.

The phone rings again, and when he answers it, it's his Mom asking where the fuck's the rest of the money he took from her to pay for that First Class Train Pass, cause she's just found out the Pass Reciept in his pants pocket at home, and that reciept is for a Second Class Pass.

Call-waiting, yeah, right.

Why do people want to be more than they are? No, wait, if that's what it was, I'd be happy. Why do people want to look like they are more than they are?

Why pretend?

What's the fucking point?

Why do you need an extraordinary life? Jesus Christ, I've had an ordinary life and look how amazing it is! I will not--repeat, will not--trade it for anyone else's. No sir.

And please let's not talk about money, because that is a universal weakness.

I mean, if you offer me a million dollars, I will not refuse it, but if you ask me to let go of my tastes for that money, fuck off. I'm not going to give away the things that have been my life. Are my life.

Look at me: I listen to music that trips me out, sucks me in, loves me the way I love it. I have friends I want to be friends with. I watch movies that intrigue and entertain me the way they can never entertain anyone else. I'm not afraid of the things other people are: failure, rejection. Failure does not make me any lesser than you. I will not think twice about doing something if I want to. I will not give a fuck about consequences.

I'm not saying I'm perfect. I don't want to be.

And if I may blow my own trumpet, even without putting up a show (like the fakers), I do enjoy a relaxed popularity everywhere. I do not crave it, either. I only crave good conversation most of the time.

I don't know if it's right to be me, or if this is how we should live, but I sure as fuck am happy I'm not some twenty-five year old asshole with pimples still making up half his face sweating over a computer screen watching Titia LoveSaddle fuck Giant StayPower in a perfectly prearranged script. This guy who makes mental snapshots each time he sees anyone who does not have a dick (and I might be wrong about this too) and replays it in the dead of the night and sprays his load all over the bedsheet and the next day tells his Mom it's probably milk the same way he's told her it's probably milk for the past ten years.

All in all, in all my shortcomings, in all the things that I suck, there is a man who the Chimp (remember Chimp? The primate who shares my brain?) would wholly approve of.

And there's one person who showed me this. E.

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-1-
I just had four hours of the most stimulating conversation with someone I don't know. He calls himself Jami.

We talked, discussed, debated, argued, agreed, digressed, proposed, rejected, consented, and ultimately decided to meet again three days from now.

Only once did our conversation feature profanity and it wasn't directed at any one of us. I asked Albert Einstein's ghost to fuck a goalpost. Jami said, "If wishes were horses..."

Our topic? Advanced Light-Sound behavior patterns and anomalies.

Do you know how profoundly amazing it is to talk about something both of you know well?

Imagine meeting a really knowledgeable person on the net, just like that.

He's 53, and he's a professor at a Masachussetts technical college.

Me, I'm 21, a student at an okey-dokey Engineering degree college.

Did it matter? Nope.

We talked about Hawking's thesis, about unified theories and why they would continue to elude us for some more time, about a heck of a lot of other things. All this in simple English, like we were both seven year olds.

This is the real power of the internet: common interest zones. It's such a fucking shame most people only abuse it for porn.

He did not ask me my future plans. He did not ask me what bands I listen to. We discussed one scientific topic and though we literally turned it upside down, we were focused. Perhaps it's because he's a professor.

He taught me a few things, made me change my opinion twice (which normally happens about as often as donkeys use condoms) with ample logic and patient explanation, and swiftly accepted he didn't know something when he didn't (Ramanujam's anomaly).

Look, there are people like this in the world. Why can't all of them be honest like this? What's the fucking harm in sharing information when you know it, and accepting new points of view?

The next time we're both gonna sit with two big textbooks, and with three websites open. We're gonna do us some research. This is the first time my cranium has started buzzing like a well-tuned generator this year.

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-2-
Quick hit: Irrational Games, the developer who made the greatest game I've played (System Shock 2, for those who came in late) is making a spiritual cousin to it: Bioshock. I'm gonna keep screening the net for info. I have an idea this game will do what System Shock 2 did.

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-3-
Man, now every item in my port has an awardicon. So now when I have to delete 'em, it's gonna suck a retarded silkworm's ass. What a pisser.

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Mommy, I Loves Oscarses!

Look, I know the Oscars are all BS. But still, I just can't understand why can't they just see what's so fucking obviously in front of their goddamn eyes!

So yay, the Oscars screwed it up again!

Million Dollar Baby best picture (instead of Sideways), ha-ha.

Best animated picture The Incredibles (instead of the unheard of Ghost In The Shell sequel), ha-ha!

Best actor in a leading role Jamie Foxx (in a perfectly Oscar synchronized role), ha-ha! Instead of Don Cheadle!

Best actress Hilary Swank (who is a good actress but is nothing compared to the other nominees), ha-ha! Boys Don't Cry was good, but man, it was the role, not the fucking acting (unlike Charlize Theron's amazing portrayal in Monster). Not even fucking close. Ha-ha! Kate Winslet should've won.

The first non-fuckup: Morgan Freeman! Thank God they finally gave him one. But for such a stupid role, man! Biggest blooper since Al Pacino's award for Sea Of Love. So ha-ha.

The second non-fuckup: Cate Blanchett! She deserves it, but not for the fucking role! The Gift is the movie she deserves an Oscar for. So ha-ha!

The third non-fuckup: Charlie Kaufman for best original screenplay for Eternal Sunshine. But what about Being John Malkovich? Confessions? So ha-ha!

And the biggest fucker of all: Best Director Clint Eastwood instead of Martin Scorsese? What the fuck, man! You can't even talk about them in the same fucking sentence! Clint ain't bad, but compared to Scorsese, he's a plain burger! In the same vein as Shakespeare In Love winning Best Movie instead of Life Is Beautiful!

Fuck the Oscars, fuck the Oscars, fuck the Oscars.

Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em.

Ha-ha!

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And Starring Pancho Villa By Himself

And Antonio Banderas fucking rocks! I don't care how accurate that movie is, if it's real or not; don't give two cahoots about anything else (the soppy background music, for example), but Jesus Christ, Banderas blows everyone away, man! Superb fucking acting!

When the movie guy tells him he's made a lot of enemies in high places, Banderas says: "That's where they should be; high up."

The scene where he plays the older Pancho in the movie (within the movie), goddamn slick acting.

It's an HBO original movie, by the way; perhaps made for TV.

There's a scene in the film where Pancho bombards the opponent's stronghold. He does it at night; which is a sure sign that the movie is not made for popcorn munching audiences (who, believe it or not, still think that nobody fights in the night at wartime; that the soldiers just say, "Hey, man, eight o' clock, man, gotta hang up the shit and see ya fuckin tomorrow!" and then shake the enemy's hand and then go to the base and jerk off and sleep).

Look, it's almost impossible to drag me away from a Ridley Scott's Gladiator rerun, but Pancho did exactly that. That's all the praise I need to give it.

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

First thing: the music playing at Clementine's house before the starting credits is Hindi film music. I don't know why Charlie chose to put it in there, but there has to be a connection.

Next thing: Charlie Kaufman. He is, I'm sure now, without a doubt the best thing to happen to cinema since Hitchcock. I've read his scripts for Adaptation, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, have seen Confessions, am waiting to see Adaptation, and after seeing Eternal Sunshine, am gonna read its screenplay. I'm goddamn glad Charlie got accepted in the industry. I'm glad someone had the balls to make his films. And mostly I'm glad we can expect more films from him.

Next thing: Kate Winslet. Yeah. Man, I don't know if you know this, but this is not the woman you saw in Titanic. Not her. No way. I haven't seen Quills, and everyone tells me it's one of her best; I will as and when I can. But still, here's she's smooth, playing her part of an impulsive, happy-go-lucky glider to a hilt.

Next thing: Jim Carrey. Thank you, Charlie, for giving Jim this role. Yup, I've been expecting something like this since The Truman Show, and I say thankya. I just hope he doesn't go back to those stupid movies again. He doesn't need to.

Next thing: thank you, jay.

Next thing: I briefly pondered upon a detailed review, but I think it's better if you see the film and get your own opinion about it instead. Me? I loved it. It doesn't replace Forrest Gump or Dr. Strangelove, but it goes into my 100 best films easily.

Next thing: Why the fuck didn't Martie get an Oscar! Man, Martin Scorcese (who has nothing to do with this film, but still) is the man! Fuck Oscars, fuck Oscars, fuck Oscars.

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-1-
Why did Brian DePalma attempt a David Lynch with Femme Fatale? Anyway, it doesn't really work. DePalma isn't jack shit, but he is not David Lynch either. Perhaps he doesn't know that.

Antonio Banderas makes the film watchable. Rebecca Romijn-Stamos does not. She may be a superhot model and all, but she cannot act. And if you want my opinion she is only semi-hot. I don't get what the big deal is with her. You want hot? See Salma Hayek (Desperado, man, Desperado). Or Nastajasa Kinski (remember Polanski's Bitter Moon?).

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Fuck?

Seems that everyone's doing it, so here goes: I've said before and I'll say this now: I'm a vulgar fucker. You got a problem with that? Look away. I did not drag you in here, and if you want to stay you're welcome, but this is my fucking journal. I fucking can fucking say fuck any fucking time and every fucking time and as fucking many fucking times as fucking I fucking want to. That's a fucking lot of fucked up fucking fucks.

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Goodfellas

My fucking God! I cannot for a moment believe this film was denied an Oscar. I just rewatched it on HBO and the very fact that I still enjoyed every single scene tells me this is a classic.

This is Martie (fuck Oscars, fuck Oscars, fuck Oscars) at his best. Ray Liotta in the only worthwhile role he had (and fucking good acting too, Ray). It's not easy to make your presence felt in a film also starring DeNiro, but Ray does it with ample sturdiness. Part of it's just Ray, man. You look at him smiling that crazy smile and you know he'll fuck you up.

Jesus, every scene, every single bit of dialog is pure genius.

I don't know about you, but most movie dialog sounds like bullshit to me. We do not talk like that in real life.

We do talk like Goodfellas in real life. We search for words, we stutter them, we get confused, we do...

Oh shit, I can't even talk about this film.

Martie, man, Martie. I don't know about you guys, but I think Martie kicks the shit out of almost every other asshole director out there. Old Spielberg, fuck off. Old Bruckheimer/Bay? Suck a lamppost and die.

Martie, man. Martie.

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See? Everyone forgot the tsunami. What'd I tell ya?

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Adios.

PS: If you're wondering why this journal is suddenly categorized in Mythology, you would do well to understand how life is (however inconsequential) a myth. A whim. Fiction. Everything you ever wrote, it's all a story. Fiction doesn't always mean a lie. And repeat: there are no lies here you get three guesses.