“We leave, immediately!”
“But what about dinner?”
“We leave.. in five hours!”
Dinner, it is very important, you see. And a well done dinner takes time.
If a green French frog needs to have dinner, it has to be done right. Otherwise, things can get hairy.
.. as the burglar said to the old lady as he placed her on the fire. But it’s a new month, and time for a new look to the site, don’t you think? You don’t? Well, that’s sad, but only expected, since you never did agree with anyone, did you now? I, however, am more easily persuaded, and have decided to change it.
So change it is. The site is new, and while the chirping birds over your head may be newer, at least it’s not likely to leave a token of gratitude upon your head, eh?
If you are wondering what has gotten into me, worry not, all will be explained in due course of time. Of course, due course of time is a vague allusion to the fullness of time, and since we are talking of time, let’s not forget the vagaries of time, or even the ravages. Tides and time and no man and what not, hmm?
I will write about multiple commas, and pet food and cats. Why pet food and cats? Well, there are two little puppies that are living on my doorstep. And I do mean my doorstep. When I open the door in the morning, they are there, fatly (and flatly) refusing to move. I step carefully over them, and go perform a hard day’s labor ( which mostly involves playing games ), and when I return, they are still there. The only difference, to the naked eye at least, is that they seem to be fatter! Since they don’t seem to move, one can only assume that they are somehow drawing sustenance out of the granite doorstep. Nay, not sustenance. They’re getting fatter, so they must be gobbling it down.. Perhaps soon I shall step out and see nothing but a big hole where that faithful stone used to be. Alas, poor stone, I knew it well. Why cats? Well, why NOT cats, I ask you!
It’s also funny how there are so many Hot Chips stores here. I’m not kidding, that’s what they are called. They seem to breed in narrow lanes, somewhat like dysentery. Hmm, I wonder what the causal relationship is here. These shops sell, appropriately, hot chips. Of various sorts. Nothing wrong with that, right? Sure, but when you have three of them within a lame dog’s walk to pee, and all on the same side of the road, like empty cabs when you stand on the other side, something is not right. Perhaps these shops are merely fronts for more sinister and nefarious activities. They might be Bangalore’s hangout for the local version of the Yakuza, or the Mafia, or the KKK, or even the Lion’s Club. Perhaps, if you ask for just the right combination of hot chips, the portly man behind the griddle (who looks quite like the vegetable the chips are derived from, if a trifle darker) will drop one eyelid in a salacious (well, maybe not salacious, maybe just a knowing) wink, and motion you inside with the long spoon.
You’d hop inside, not so much as to meet the mob, but more to escape the hot drops of oil dripping from the spoon that hissingy announce their imminent intention to leave a more permanent reminder of your Bangalore visit than mere dysentery. Inside, past what seems to be a bead curtain, till you look closely and realize that these are withered old potatoes (or at least, you hope that’s what they are), lies a mysterious room.
In many respects a perfectly ordinary room, what makes it mysterious is the air of mystery that permeates it. Coupled as it is with more noisome airs, you choke and quickly cover your nose to keep the mystery out. This seems to be a tested and approved method of standing, since no one there threatens to disembowel you. Of course, this might be aided by the rivers of tears streaming down everyones faces, since the more prosaic use of the room is as a storeroom for chilli powder.
The leader clears his throat, sounding more like a sputtering diesel engine running on cheap kerosene fuel, spits out copious quantities of last night’s tipple into the corner, and commences thusly :
“Fellow Chippians. We are gathered here today, not to bury chips, but to praise them. United in our breasts by the common cause of chippery, and shocked by the rapidly increasing menace of Coffee Day Outlets, we have vowed to fight the scourge tooth and nail, to the last drop of boiling oil..”, here, he breaks off for an almighty sneeze, which has the unfortunate effect of sending his dentures flying across the room and hitting a torpid chippian in the head. This worthy fellow wakes up with a start, and feeling that something is expected of him, jumps up and lets loose with a loud cry of “Hear! Hear”. As he notices everyone glaring at him, he sheepishly sits down again and quietly hands the false choppers back.
“AHEM”.
It’s that time of year again.. the time to upgrade to the next version of Ubuntu. I’ve been running Ubuntu on my laptop for well over a year now, going from Edgy to Feisty. Now I intend to do a clean install of the beta of Gutsy, and redo all my customizations..
It’s a little scary, since I have a lot of little tweaks on this machine. But hey, I’m bored. Time to ring out the old, and ring in the new.
Will update this as time passes.