Thursday, December 27, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Abhijeet Sawant's Junoon. Not too phenomenal or pathbreaking in terms of singing/lyrics - but a real nice loungey feel, with a Tanha Dil-esque video shot in Ladakh. Love the beats, the guitar solo and the stop/start interludes (especially the one at around 3:40).
The "Junoon"-repeat chorus line sounds mysteriously like "hello hello, how low" from Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
"So far from reality", "I mean this kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life". "Yeah right, like that's going to ever happen".
That's precisely why we go to watch a motion picture in the first place, doofus. These kind of comments get to me, because I think that people watch movies as an escape from reality. Good movies actually achieve suspension of disbelief. But there are some of those nay-sayers who sit through the entire movie going "Tch, that's not realistic, uff".
Furthermore, don't ever come to watch an Anees Bazmee or David Dhawan flick and expect freaking reality. You want reality, go watch a Shyam Benegal movie.
Friday, December 21, 2007
You've got yours, and I've got mine.
Friend of mine pointed out this song to me. You all may know it as the theme track to the new "Old Navy" commercials.
Its Stars by The Weepies, a Cali pop-acoustic group. Very cozy sound, takes a little bit to grow on you. Reminds me of that London group, 'White Town', that came out with Your Woman back in the '90s, and then disappeared. Listen to "Gotta Have You" as while. Tight!
And for those who haven't caught it, the Blue House is Chagall. Heavenly.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Despite the PT-style choreography and Sunil Shetty, this song is nothing less than badass, even after all these years.
As the guy who posted the video said it best, "the exact moment" in time when Karisma Kapoor got pretty all of a sudden. Especially in the yellow dress, the chick got a makeover and a half in this movie. Certainly came a long way from her purple dress/red lipsmudge days in Prem Qaidi.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Gonna change my last name to Khan or Kapoor
My signing price will start at a few crores
100% advance, half cash, half check, you see
Gonna wear magenta over my white jeans
Surrounded by a posse of Bollywood has-beens
Black tinted windows on my new Class E
18 bedroom bungalow up on Pali Hill
Every morning, I'll wave from my windowsill
Whose the king of Bollywood? Me! That's right.
Be it cops or censors, I will have no fear,
whether I'm shooting movies, or shootin' deer.
Trashy magazines will talk about who and what I did last night.
Will need a big apartment just for my fanmail
Hush-hush encounters at a farmhouse in Panvel
Hoping that paparazzi didn't see the item girl come in
Six Pack Abs that could make Rambo weep
Steroids and Botox don't come cheap
Will start a designer label called "Its Rockin'"
For college girls needing a break, i will vouch
As soon as they get comfy on my casting couch
Hey, hey I wanna be a film ishtar
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Monday, December 03, 2007
Testing, testing. Mini-rant is being conducted in this blogspace.
I've finally found something that 'grinds my gears' more than Sarah Jessica Parker's pretentious pout (Oh God, how I wish I could legally eliminate that woman from ever existing. Why men would actually want that twisted waif traipsing around Manhattan as their arm candy is beyond me).
And that is .... standardized test questions set by menopausal spinster nuns. Especially those "none of the above", "all of the above", and my arch nemesis - (a) I only (b) I and II (c) I, II and III, but not IV (c) None of the above. Jesus! Can't we just tell you what we know and get on with life? Does there have to be this hare-brained pretzel-knotted way of assessing our thinkability?
Sorry, a little too furious for a snowy Sunday afternoon.
In other news, highly recommended Indie flick of the week - "Sex and Lucia". Playing at a few decrepit screens in Chelsea, but available over Netflix. To contrast the adorableness of Paz Vega (who is a far, far better actress than her many-considered doppelganger Penelope Cruz, as this film clearly justifies) , SNL falls between the domains of explicit and obscure, rather comfortably. A visual artistic delight as Julio Medem captures starry nights in dark cities and bright days on the island. A startling follow-up to his earlier "Lovers of the Arctic Circle", which was AWESOME. In conclusion, SNL is engaging yet shocking. Its "Y Tu Mama Tambien" meets "Motorcycle Diaries", with Gael Garcia Bernal replaced by Vega, peppered with a smidgen of David Lynch influence (you'll see touches of Mulholland Drive, especially in the silent beach walks with the sounds of surf).
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Snippets from many Love Letters to a Deceitful Blackberry
How I love thee? How I am consumed by thy greatness? Let me count the ways.
The minute I held you in my palm, and set my location and local time, I knew that our relationship would be a different one. I knew that I would hold you, grinding your trackwheel with reckless abandon, as you rambled on about all that work-related b.s. that I still don’t get. Regardless, I’m a good listener, ‘berry, and I’m just so thankful to have you, that I don’t care what information you bring to me. From that day, I knew that I would be compelled to pull you out of the recesses of my pockets, at random times of day. While eating, while driving, while peeing. At bars, parties, lunches, dinners. Even when you may not have chimed or vibrated, to indicate that ‘I’ve got mail’, I still can’t help but check. Maybe you missed something out. Nobody's perfect. Can I help that I just want to look at you? Can I help it that I’m concerned that your miniscule battery life may have gone out again? Can I help that I just want to show the world that I’m a busy, busy tycoon who is ... connected? That people in various timezones require my electronic opinion on some ridiculously crucial issue at this instant point in time, and if I don’t respond, there will be much famine, drought and needless homicide? Even the people that I email will raise their eyebrows with appreciation because of my autosignature that tells them that you are my device of choice (Although, I’m sorry that I get rid of that very signature when I CC e-mails to my boss during the day, so that he thinks that I’m at work). Its not because I’m ashamed of you, dearest. I’m a proud man, because I have you, O fair, fair Blackberry. The ultimate status symbol of importance in today’s world. The beacon of success. The icon of a man’s true arrival into the world of corporate crappitude.
You’re my ‘wingman’, Blackberry. When I’m at a bar, and that hot chick totally blows me off in front of everybody, who do I turn to? I turn to you, with deep attention. You, in turn, engage your backlight and shine on me. I have resurrected my manhood. You have restored my integrity. Each noisy grind of your trackwheel fuels my pride. And I’m ready to be rejected again. As long as I have you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re not my backup. You’re my best friend. So what if your mailbox limit gets reached every hour, I still love you.
Did you know that you were a negotiating point for me, when I took this job? I was ok with no stock options, medical insurance or retirement plan. I was ok with the deep, incisive pay cut and lowly designation. I was perfectly ok with the dusty cubicle in between the restrooms and the janitor’s closet, that nobody wanted. As long as they gave me you, in my hand (Although that medical plan would've helped out with my Carpal Tunnel).
I will always believe that there are two kinds of people in this world. People with Blackberries. And people without Blackberries. When I got you, babe, I graduated to the former. I was honored. I felt powerful. I felt superior to the Neanderthals who weren’t able to play Brickbreaker at their cousin’s third wedding, with knotted eyebrows, pretending to type mails with ground-shattering consequences to their CFO’s team in
I accept you as you are. The day I got you, I proceeded to load high bandwidth sites on your browser, because I was thrilled that I could browse the internet from the palm of my hand. The information superhighway was at my fingertips. Then, you crashed. I have since learnt to stick to lo-fi Google Maps, when it comes to you. I usually use it to find an internet café where I can browse high bandwidth sites. Ayo technology!
Its 3 AM. And I hear your gentle vibrations. Brrrrrrrr. . Brrrrrrr. I love the way you pause between them. You’re such a tease. Its probably SPAM, but who cares. Its 3 AM and I’m being communicated with. Do you know what that feels like? My landline hasn’t rung in 6 years. Your vibrations make me feel like a social magnet! You keep me going,
I have to tell you this much, honey. The day I leave work, or am made to do so, I will sneak you out with me.
Don’t blink that red light at me, sweetie - I know, I know, I know what you’re thinking. Its against the policy, I’m supposed to return you to Technology Services, I’m aware of that. But no policy in this world can draw us apart. I will sneak you out those steel doors, past the security guards, and then run! Run like a free man! Just you and me. To a world where you will always hit the tallest bar. To a world where you will never switch away from GPRS mode. Back to that outdated GSM realm, or worse! No Network! Argh, ghastly! Never! Don’t keep me from being plugged in to the rest of the world, which I incidentally have no time for, because of you, but I digress! Ahem, to a world where your backlight will never timeout, and you will never cease to shine on me. Shine on me.
Fine. Be that way! I’ll just have you know this much, you ungrateful fiend! Qs, Treos and even, Iphones came about. They were sleeker, they were younger. Oh, they were so much sexier (you’ve gotta admit, you’ve put on a few grams). Fine, they were high maintenance, but I could’ve been tempted. I could’ve swayed the wrong way. But I didn’t. I was loyal. And this is what I get? I got you all the accessories that you could imagine, or that RIM could conceive! Even that ridiculous Bluetooth earpiece that made me look like a flickering blue pansy!
After all I did for you, today you lie in silence, warranty-less with zero resale value. And my world comes crashing down. Every once in a while, I still turn you on. Hoping beyond hope that that a little orange envelope will show up with a number next to it, in your top left corner. But alas, it isn’t so.
But I thank the Gods for our time together. Oh How I thank the team at Research in Motion that created a digital diva like you.
And how I thank my stars that I don’t own RIMM stock.
Miss you, baby.
PS: I will always be loyal.
Sent from my Iphone
Foreign tourists to many of India’s most famous landmarks will no longer be able to pay the entrance fee in dollars, the government says. The ruling is aimed at safeguarding tourism revenues following the recent falls in the dollar. Until now, foreign tourists to sites such at the Taj Mahal have had the option of paying in dollars or rupees. The ruling will affect nearly 120 sites of interest run by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI).
Just in case any of you others have been daunted by this one. Its a Farsi line that found its way into the song, "Deewangi" from OSO. And it means, "No one has any wits left".
And before you ask, the next-to-next line is "Na koi rehsang, naa rehbar" (There's no guide or leader)
Why? Why would a lyricist incorporate random Farsi words in the midst of a Hindi song picturized on one of the largest Bollywood party sequences in history, with very little to do with Ahmedinejad's world?
I guess Monsieur J. Akhtar was pulling a Gulzar on us.