Therapy

I need therapy.

I have established that I am qualified to treat myself.

(Ask me how and I'll tell you to "Go jump in a ditch". Go on, ask me how, and see how I'll copy paste that. Obviously, you can't behold the flair with which my big, fat fingers execute the well practiced Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V gesture. Your loss. Boo hoo. Whine like a bitch now.)

Given the dearth of something (forget the qualifiers "good" or even "decent") to write, I have decided that I will document this on this blog. Mainly because I have decided to use "writing" as a therapeutic tool. Now, don't argue with me about how this won't work - what do you know about "therapy" anyway?

So, here's a warning...if you are a wimp, keep away from this blog. Not that anyone reads it anyway. Also, I'm not entirely sure how it might harm you if you were a wimp. I mean, I'm the most average-esque guy one could encounter. I personally personify the bulge of the Gaussian distribution. I know that you didn't ask how that could be the case...but I will punish you just for existing by giving you the reason why I said so...

I'm an Indian guy, who has completed engineering from one of the "good" colleges, after which, has been recruited by one of the biggest recruiter of all time, and has taken the most used exit option to do an MBA, and is presently cribbing about how life has not turned out according to plan, while unabashedly forgetting that there was never a plan. Also, given that I'm a part of the "1/3rds Group" (Apparently, chicks dig Tall, Dark, Handsome men. I'm Dark (ONLY, I haste to add) - so, statistically, I've a chance with every third chick I meet, no? Or maybe, I just didn't understand the theory of Conditional Probability), and the fact that I don't look like anyone who would appear in any of the advertisements (barring this brilliant Bingo ad), and have been in approximately 1.5 relationships, and know 4 different languages, I believe makes me the statistical mean of the Indian men. Go on and refute me on this, and see how I ignore you. Go on, try it.

So, basically, keep away if you don't want to be bored to death.

Regards,

The Mean Guy.

Jawani Diwani

Possibly, my most favourite album of all time. Every song is just so bleddy melodious that it tempts one to fall in love with another human being, however distasteful and harmful that sounds.

The Spectator

My life is not my fault. I'm a mere spectator.

Bad ASO!

Sheet! It's happening again. I've re-started liking things like this.

Bad ASO...Bad!

Quick! Bring the medicine! Ah! Peace....

PS: If you have read this (by mistake, as is usually the case), and are wondering why I wrote it, it was because I felt a need to get it out of the system. Nothing to worry - I am back to being the normal misanthropic ASO after taking Dr Morrison's prescription. Now get lost.

Update: I just realized it was Brooker who led me into that mode. It was because I saw "Meet the Natives", after he recommended it. Drat! But it is good - everyone (especially misanthropes) should watch it. It almost re-kindles your faith in humanity, and makes you smile. And then, you realize that it is nothing more than an infotainment feature. Normality returns.