Poison Pen

don't worry, she doesn't bite anymore.

Friday, July 29, 2005

for the last time

the picture on my profile page was NOT mine. i do NOT have abs as amazing as the woman there, nor am i an expert bellydancer. in fact i have no idea who she was, its just some pic i found while surfing.

just to make it absolutely clear, i have changed my profile pic. hope the message gets across.

and i WILL post. maybe over the weekend. TOO MUCH WORK AND TOO MANY SPAMMERS!

Monday, July 18, 2005

please forgive the drawing

i promised i'd put up my mental image of various bloggers. so this is eM, the way i picture her.

okay, i know its terrible and smudgy, but thats the best i could do. thats my impression of a fringe cut, and theres supposed to be piercings on the nose and belly button. also, thats not a black eye. i tried to make them smoky and screwed up. sorry :(

Sunday, July 17, 2005

and now for something completely different

been posting too much serious stuff lately, so here's something humorous for a change. this is something i got as a forward from baba, so some of you must have seen it before, but i thought it was too funny to not post.


The Jean-Paul Sartre Cookbook

by Marty Smith, Portland OR

(from Free Agent March 1987 (a Portland Oregon alternative newspaper), Republished in the Utne Reader Nov./Dec. 1993)

We have been lucky to discover several previously lost diaries of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stuck in between the cushions of our office sofa. These diaries reveal a young Sartre obsessed not with the void, but with food. Apparently Sartre, before discovering philosophy, had hoped to write "a cookbook that will put to rest all notions of flavor forever." The diaries are excerpted here for your perusal.

October 3

Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver omelet.

October 4
Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.

October 6
I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of a cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is still long.

October 7
Today I agian modified my omelet recipe. While my previous attempts had expressed my own bitterness, they communicated only illness to the eater. In an attempt to reach the bourgeoisie, I taped two fried eggs over my eyes and walked the streets of Paris for an hour. I ran into Camus at the Select. He called me a "pathetic dork" and told me to "go home and wash my face." Angered, I poured a bowl of bouillabaisse into his lap. He became enraged, and, seizing a straw wrapped in paper, tore off one end of the wrapper and blew through the straw. propelleing the wrapper into my eye. "Ow! You dick!" I cried. I leaped up, cursing and holding my eye, and fled.

October 10
I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I tried this recipe:

Tuna Casserole
Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish
Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.
While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am becoming more and more frustated.

October 12
My eye has become inflamed. I hate Camus.

October 25
I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid I still have much work ahead.

November 15
I feel that I may be very close to a great breakthrough. I had been creating meal after meal, but none seemed to express the futility of existence any better than would ordering a pizza. I left the house this morning in a most depressed state, and wandered aimlessly through the streets. Suddenly, it was aif the heavens had opened. My brain was electrified with an influx of new ideas. "Juice, toast, milk.." I muttered aloud. I realized with a start that I was one ingredient away from creating the nutritious breakfast. Loathsome, true, but filled with existential authenticity. I rushed home to begin work anew.

November 18
Today I tried yet another variation: Juice, toast, milk and Chee-tos. Again, a dismal failure. I have tried everything. Juice, toast, milk and whiskey, juice, toast, milk and chicken fat, juice, toast, milk and someone else's spit. Nothing helps. I am in agony. Juice, toast, milk, they race about my fevered brain like fire, like an unholy trinity of cruel denial. And the fourth ingredient! What could it be? It eludes me like the lost chord, the Holy Grail. I must see the completion of my task, but I have no more money to spend on food. Perhaps man is not meant to know.

November 21
Camus came into the restaurant today. He did not know I was in the kitchen, and before I sent out his meal I loogied in his soup. Sic semper tyrannis.

November 23
Ran into some opposition at the restaurant. Some of the patrons complained that my breakfast special (a page out of Remembrance of Things Past and a blowtorch with which to set it on fire) did not satisfy their hunger. As if their hunger was of any consequence! "But we're starving," they say. So what? They're going to die eventually anyway. They make me want to puke. I have quit the job. It is stupid for Jean- Paul Sartre to sling hash. I have enough money to continue my work for a little while.

November 24
Last night I had a dream. In it, I am standing, alone, on a beach. A great storm is raging all about me. It begins to rain. Night falls. I am struck by how small and insignificant I am, how the entire race of Man is but a speck in the eye of God, and I am but a speck of humanity. Suddenly, a red Cadillac convertible pulls up beside me, In it are these two beautiful girls named Jojo and Wendy. I get in and the take me to their mansion in Hollywood and give me a pound of cocaine and make mad, passionate love to me for the rest of my life.

November 26
Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the word "cake." I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.

November 30
Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver's powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America's favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit.

December 1
I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee.


what real;ly embarassed me was that i had no idea what a denver omelet was (looked it up on google, and apparently its an omelet with bell sauteed bell peppers, ham and cheese. i will make one tonight itself). however, i actually got the Sartre jokes. i have clearly been spending too much time with english grad students (you know who you are).

ps: the argument with apoplexy is far from over. please see his blog for the next installment.

UPDATE: its over! apoplexy has had the last word, and it is this.
"Since you dont get some quite crucial points of the debate as you yourself clearly state,I dont see the point in going on.May be as all westernized women "win", you win.Kudos.I am taking off my post. "

normally i would have said something about winning and losing, but somehow i just dont feel like it.

Friday, July 08, 2005

now there's an idea

i found this very interesting post from a new blogger. she thinks that women write more interesting blogs than men. i agree, just look at my sidebar :)

actually what was more interesting was how she psychoanalyzed three bloggers after reading what they wrote. i found this quite fascinating. theres something ive thought about very often and thats how the internet allows you to communicate with people anonymously. we already have email, im, chat where you are nameless, faceless and personalityless. you can be anyone you want to be. then there are things like orkut and where you give more information about yourself, but you choose exactly how much to give. if you want, you can post photos and fill in details about your background. or you can just have a name and thats it. finally there are blogs. you are still faceless, but now people actually get a look into your personality. what you write about, what you say and how you say it lets people imagine the kind of person you are. sure, you can make up things about yourself, but its impossible to change your basic underlying nature. so i think a blog is the best window into a persons soul that the internet has been able to provide.

and personally, i have formed mental pictures of all the people whose blogs i read. i have an idea about how they look, what they behave liek and even what they sound like. maybe i am missing the mark completely. i remember when i was in school i thought that jimmy on calcutta fm was this really smokingly hot guy, but then i saw him and i was shattered. people in calcutta should understand what i mean, everyone else i think gets the picture. anyways, i think ill spend a couple of posts on what my mental picture is of the various people whose blogs i visit. hopefully, theyll drop by to tell me if im right or wrong. of course im leaving out people like samit basu, who is a celebrity so everyone knows everything about him, and all the peopl who i know personally. but this should be fun. hey, maybe ill start something.

so next post ill try and describe eM who everyone knows but no one has seen. oh, and please see her post on chatting which is related to what i said, but only sorta. but its all good :)

oh, and after that i must put up my rant against orkut which has been building inside me for a while. on of the many things i must do, must do.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

not just another number

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Saturday, July 02, 2005


if i am going to be in this country for a long time, does it mean i need to start accepting everything about it. i dont think so....

of course, one part of america i need to start accepting soon is american men. as long as i have this unreasonable mindblock against dating non-indians, i can see hundreds of friday nights spent with my friend, the vcr (thank you , blockbuster).

must get over this quickly. repeat to myself "you will die a virgin, you will die a virgin". if that doesn't scare the pesky mindblock away, nothing will.

on the other hand, that information hasn't helped in the past. maybe i dont scare easily.