Over Indulged.

Growing up, Thathi very rarely ever said no to me. If I wanted something I would get it under the pretext of it being an "early birthday present" or one of those "you can pay me back later" type of deals. This would irritate Ammi to no end and Aiya was never afforded such preferential treatment. I like to think that I'm none the worse, my sense of entitlement only extends so far and in general most would agree that I am a grateful person? Who knows really.

Oliver totally benefits from Thathi's generosity and I think he is way more spoiled than I am because both Ammi and Thathi indulge the crap out of him. Below is a photograph I took earlier on this evening of him lounging in the midst of 7 of his 8 beds. And yes, you read that correctly. EIGHT BEDS.



Here is a clockwise break down starting from 7 o'clock.

The plaid one with the monkey in it sits in the living room in front of the window. He sleeps there in the afternoon sun.

Navajo print? Hideous I know, but it's the latest acquisition and has usurped the original favourite bed in my parents room for the night sleep.

That little sofa! It is the one that makes me go squee. That was his first Christmas present and it's a bit worse for wear these days, there's barely any padding in it so it's got another bed in it to soften things up a bit. This used to be his go to bed, it recently got booted from my parents' room into mine.

The barefoot pillowcase is covering the kitchen floor cushion. He perches on there while we're eating.

Winnie the Pooh's chillaxing on the bed that is permanently fixed in the study.

And finally, the derelict plaid cushion. His very first bed which gets afforded no respect these days. Anyone who's been over will verify this for you, but he literally just carries that around in his mouth from room to room.

Not pictured: the other barefoot floor cushion, it's his "outdoor" pillow and has been put away in storage until the warmer weather is back.

So in light of all these indulgences and what's been going on with the Toronto Humane Society we went by the Vet's office today to drop off some dog cookies for the animal shelter food drive that they're doing for Christmas. The deal was, bring in some dog food and have your pet's picture taken with Santa. Of course this would not do for us because our lovely pet would most likely shit on Santa out of excitement, urinate with no abandon or headbutt him. Oh, and natch, those poor needy shelter animals didn't get gourmet carob, yogurt, carrot and peanut cookies. Those plebes got Milk Bones.


If you only knew how many people have seen these in the cookie jar, stuck their hands in and tried to eat them thinking they were of the human variety. Aren't they cute though?

Every day in the morning I tell myself that I'm not going to read the latest on what's going on with the whole Humane Society debacle, but I do and my stomach churns. Oliver has been getting a lot of extra love these days as a result which I suppose isn't necessarily a bad thing? Anyways, if you get the chance I would recommend taking a stroll through here: http://www.thestar.com/topic/TorontoHumaneSociety


I daily resist the urge to take a bite out of this little face. Daily.

Let's go home!

I haven't written a "real" blog post in awhile. Just don't seem to have the time these days between summer school, work and all the seasonal social obligations. The only time I can actually punch something out is when I'm on the subway. I've been pecking away at this for the last little while and I have no idea if I'll ever get around to finishing it, but it's a partially written post that was thoughtlessly written with my two thumbs on the iphone. I haven't read it over so you're warned...

More often than not these days our conversations around the dinner table always lead to the same thing: Ammi and Thathi retiring to Sri Lanka. I can't say that I'm completely opposed to the idea. The properties that they've been looking at are infinitely more conveniently located than where my grandmother lives. Plus centralised a/c is always ftw in gawdawful Colombo. Generally speaking though when the old couple appeal to me on important issues like proximity to other family members, 'hot spots' and wtf to do with the dog, my wont is to stare back blankly and blink a few times. This has rankled the old man into fits and caused Ammi her fair share of consternation as well. In their minds it would seem that Aiya and I don't give a shit what happens to them so long as they don't move in with either of us during their Golden Years. If I have the good fortune to have Aiya around (which these days is not the case due to the acquisition of a new femme) we will roll our eyes, hold our tongues and display a level of restraint hitherto unknown.

That all changed recently though. I was catching up on my feeds in the kitchen. I happened to start reading a blogpost that someone had written about the scattered Sri Lankan diaspora returning home. It was so asinine, ill conceived and ludicrous I couldn't help but read out a few of the more 'passionate bits' out loud for public ridicule. Ammi and Thathi responded in typical fashion. Mostly because they are generally aware of the writer's status as being an unbearable tosser and also because they don't really view themselves as being your run of the mill conflict-fleeing-Sri Lankans.

I suppose this is something I've meant to write about for some time and nevar could really be arsed to do. Most of you know in bits and pieces what I think and how I feel about the circumstances surrounding our migration as a family. I've never really sat down and gone through the whole thing in any cohesive manner so I guess this is as much for me as it is for you? In light of all the political events that have been unfolding it's unsurprising that I my thoughts on the subject are courted more frequently than in the past.

So here goes?

I'll start from the point that most people find relevant and I feel the need to add the disclaimer that not only do I personally feel it is irrelevant I also don't give a shit. In short, Thathi is Sinhalese and Ammi is Tamil. I know right? It's horrifying.

We lost our home in '83 due to this disgusting twist of fate. They found out that Ammi was Tamil through the voters list and our neighbours torched the house. We knew it was coming and our immediate family left to Thathi's parents place in Ratmalana. Amamma and Ammi's younger siblings weren't so fortunate. Amamma was a well known doctor in the area, her house was razed. She and Punchi mammah ended up in a refugee camp. My aunt saw the worst of it. She was on her way in from the city, saw people being burned alive. I know she used to sometimes wake up screaming from nightmares well into the 1990s. Obviously this is what happened to countless other Tamils in Colombo in 83 so it's really not that special. Needless to say that was the last year any of my Tamil family members ever voted.

Ammi says that one of her earliest memories as a child were houses burning and being hidden in a cupboard. She was very young when the first race riots broke out in the 50s. This whole being Tamil/Sinhalese thing was never an issue within our family, even at the point when Sri Lanka gained independence. My maternal grandfather wouldn't let his children speak Tamil at home and neither would my paternal grandfather. Actually scratch that, speaking the vernacular in either home was forbidden by both families by my great grandparents. I come from a long line of brown sahibs. Don't get me wrong though, I think both the Tamil and sinhalese sides would die if they were termed imperialists. My family were long time LSSP supporters and believed in a free independent Sri Lanka for all Sri Lankans.

I suppose it sounds so cheesey to say this now, but the older generation believed this with great vehemence. The next generation didn't quite get it right. At least not the Sinhalese generation. I learned what marginalization was from them when I made my first visit to Sri Lanka as a teenager.

Ammi's entire family eventually migrated either to Canada, Australia or the UK. I have no male Tamil family left except for 2 who married well established sinhalese women. We were originally slated to go to Australia. Ammi was petrified that we'd get killed for being half Tamil, it didn't make much sense for us to go but they put in their paperwork and Canada was the first to get back to us. In the 1950s my paternal grandfather nearly came to Canada with his young family. I think this was always meant to be our home.

The immigration officer who interviewed us tried to dissuade them from leaving. He didn't think they'd last more than six months in Toronto. Granted looking back my parents haven't got the foggiest clue as to how we made it. He was so intrigued by our family that he actually made a concentrated effort to keep tabs on our progress for close to 15 years. I think that he eventually made it to Cyprus and found himself a wife. That's when we lost touch with him. He's now actually a director in in the refugee and immigration department in Ottawa. It's a shame that Ammi's not as much of a pack rat as Thathi & I because she actually tossed out his letters.

The face of a winner

Oliver rocking his Steelers gear (i've got no idea what blogger decided to eff up the image even though I categorically asked for it to be "medium" so that it'd fit the goddamn page. Click it to see the lovely mutt's entire face.)

Another Superbowl done and finished with. This one was meh at best. Highlight of the evening was probably the tandoori chicken wing ranch dip combo.

Sadly no witty quips on the part of aiya this year. We were in mixed company so he behaved. Although my uncle did have a few unprintable yet hilarious things to say about various ethnic groups and women. Bless 'em bigots.

Although Thathi did remark on sighting the Boss on stage for the halftime show "Shit. He looks a lot like Hugo Chavez"

Single parent family

Thathi's half a world away and he still manages to wreak unspeakable havoc on my life even from such vast distances. I got a 6:30 AM wakeup call from him yesterday. Ugh. I know he hates going on vacation alone but honestly in this instance I suppose he really didn't have much of a choice. This is the first Christmas that my grandmother's having in over 60 years that doesn't involve my grandfather. I can't even begin to fathom it actually. Like I've mentioned before, old people come better in pairs like socks and twix. Fortunately for me Ammi has not yet entered into the annoying stage of things just yet but I'm sure our time will come soon enough. We definitely don't have an overly traditional family setup going on for us at the homestead and one thing has become more evident. Ammi would've really sucked as a single parent.

In other news Oliver is entering day #5 of deperession. Yesterday he was leaning against the bathtub in the lightless bathroom for close to 30 minutes. No amount of coaxing could get him out. Labro came by last night to play some pool and this is the furthest he got down the stairs. The blighter is so dramatic. He just sat on the landing in this forlorn manner. Hopefully his spirits will be lifted this afternoon when we got out to shovel snow. Ugh. I can't believe that they're expecting two more snowstorms by Friday. TinyLF is going to get his plump self stuck in the snow on the way to Toronto this Friday. The goose.

Off we go

I may have figured out how to attach pictures to blogspot posts via my iPhone but who really knows? We'll have to wait and see after this post is done.

So the old man is off to Sri Lanka today and I should totally be on the flight with him at 6. Sadly that is not to be because of the new job. Most of the packing is done now and it's just the last minute freak outs. Ugh. I wish he'd just leave already. Old ppl are so ftl.

Poor Oliver has already spiralled into depression.

I wish it would stop raining.

A few odds and ends my lovelies. I got a new toy for my camera and have been snapping shit up.


My rain drenched driveway

I was observing a focus group on Thursday and inbetween the bajillion sessions my white middle aged client turns to the "hip young" account exec from the "hip young" ad agency and starts complaining about the weather. Apparently the client has been unable to use the pool the whole summer despite it being heated. As I inwardly rolled my eyes to the back of my skull the account exec's witty riposte went something along the lines of "Yeah I haven't been able to hit Muskoka and engage in some shit faced boating." (Drunk boating is BAD kids!) While I was trying to keep the chicken salad I was eating from climbing up my throat and spewing across my laptop at this blatant exhibit of elite WASP-ism, I caught myself.

Last week I was cursing Zeus for making it impossible for me to waste the early part of my week in an inner tube with my sunglasses and a drink. Then on Wednesday I got news that our planned cottage escape for the end of August? Canceled because the mate's parent's cottage has been heavily damaged by the torrential rains.

A quick perusal of the list at Stuff White People Like proved to be rather uncomfortable to a lass like me. Although the official title of "whitest brown person ever" belongs to my stateside doppelgänger I think that I may be swiftly moving in on that.

Disgusting? Absolutely.

Three cheers to upwards mobility though.

Moving along.


Oliver trying to escape from inside my grocery bag

One of the great things about being a consultant is the ability to do bugger all during the day and set your own hours. I was on an excursion last week at the famous grocery store and while bagging my groceries it occurred to me that I had totally become the caricature that I've been trying to vainly avoid for most of my adult existence. Someone recently, much to my chagrin, informed me that I have no reason to complain because I perpetuate it. As I looked down in my hand was a box of organic strawberries and rolling down my direction along the conveyor belt were some omega 3 fortified eggs, flax seed granola and low fat cream cheese amongst a host of other things.

In high school I was the spunky ethnic sidekick. I suppose now it's only fitting that I stop resisting and morph into the spunky-ethnic-suburban yuppie with a twist? (See below)


I've been in the market for a new watch for awhile. When I turned 15 Aiya got me a gorgeous vintage watch that I love dearly and am now petrified to wear. It's got a classic face and strap, it's totally timeless and classic. Having no money and a need for a timepiece I, like thorn, opted to hit up the local fleamarket to get the above gem for a steal of a deal. The place smelled like Majestic City on an average day and since I was feeling rather nostalgic, there was nary a tweet of complaint. It's a damn shame that I don't have $400 just casually lying around because I SO want one of these. Hopefully after a bit more corporate whoring I'll be able to justify that purchase by the end of next month.


Gaudy costume jewelery

Speaking of Majestic City, Thathi's office was one of the main sponsors of Masala!Mehndi!Masti! as a result our unwilling asses were dragged down thataways. Aiya and I both felt like we were back in Colombo. Poor sanitation, questionable food handling, lecherous men all present in spades and minus the 22 hour plane ride! The only plus side? I've discovered a few fantastic local South Asian artists who I'll definitely be calling in the near future to procure some original work.


A surprisingly dry day at the park
My dog is getting old people. This pose? It's becoming the norm when we go out for our walks these days. He does this and refuses to get up off the ground until he's caught his breath. I think it's time to start looking around for his replacement.


Cedric repping on top of a phone booth


And for all those who asked? Yes. The trip really sucked. But it's Virginia. What do you expect?

One last thing.

The Olympics?

TOTALLY ADDICTED.

My apologies in advance to everyone for falling off of the grid until August 24th. Seriously nothing makes me feel more patriotic than watching Canadian athletes engaging in physical activity. Especially when we have such a good looking contingent this year. Mmm.


Brent Hayden, one of our medal hopefuls


Our flagbearer Adam van Koeverden

Go team Canada.

Tid bits.

Of course originally found on I Can Has Cheezburger?
What a gorgeous day. Looks like winter has finally decided to shove off. I was making my way to Sid Smith for a Lit lecture in the afternoon and the ice cream truck was out! Pretty soon the dicky-dee guy will be tooling 'round 'bout the neighbourhood. (I think dicky-dee is just a Toronto thing innit?)

It's been warm enough that I've pulled my bike out of the garage and ridden it to school. And by "school" I mean the place I teach French. Before the snow came down and ruined my traction I used to wear a pair of pants under my skirt. Couldn't be arsed to pack more shit into my backpack than I needed to and because of the strict dresscode at the school, going in pants was out of the question. Fortunately it was so cold out that I avoided coming in looking like my boyfriend Jim that time he decided to take his bike into the office, ie sweating like a pig. The thing is last Friday was another great mild day albeit a bit muddy, so I thought I'd ditch the pants under the skirt because I didn't need the extra insulation.

I also forgot that Friday was garbage day. Fat girl in skirt + backpack + bike + garbagemen = more honking than I really deserved.

As of today I have exactly four more weeks to go until I head off to the motherland. There's a lot of hype surrounding this trip. Not only will this be the longest stretch of time I've ever spent in Sri Lanka but I've also got Dash coming with me for the four months! I'm beyond stoked about that. Also, there have been a lot of promises made and frankly, I don't know what to believe anymore.

Will I be getting packets of murukku? Or even peanuts for that matter?

Is it possible that Christo, Umi and the Auditor pull through for fantabulous weekend getaways?

Or will Dash and I be holed up at my grandparents' place watching Hindi DVDs on our laptops?

So many questions and clearly not enough answers.

Also, if you have noticed the influx of random photos on flickr, I make no apologies, the acquisition of a pro flickr account means that old skool pictures will be posted. And don't worry ladies, that elderly internet perv is a relatively harmless fellow.

And some quips. Because it's been awhile.

Aiya and I while watching the funeral scene in "The Departed" on dvd last night.

Me: Is that supposed to be a gun salute?
Aiya: Yeah, it's a 21 gun salute, because they fire 21 shots.
Me: No way Ms.Marple, you could've fooled me. Anywho, aren't there 21 guys standing there?
Aiya: Yeah that looks right.
Me: So are the 21 men going to shoot 21 times?
Aiya: No, I think it's just 21 bullets need to be wasted. You know, I don't think there's 21 guys there, it looks more like 10.
Me: Well, how is this going to work then?
Aiya: It's easy, maybe it's not 10, there's probably like 6 guys, so they'll shoot thrice.
Me: But that only equals like what? 18? It's not an 18 gun salute.
Aiya: Okay, then afterwards one guy fires off another 3 times.
Thathi: Or, 7 guys just fire thrice.
Aiya and Me: Ohh.
Aiya: Yeah, that could happen too.

Further proof that a calculator isn't a luxury item in our house.

Esto Perpetua.

I'm pretty sure none of us were actually there in '88

"Blue, black and blue, dirty kangaroo..."

Aiya was never given to actually playing cricket, he was more prone to be seated under a shady tree eating a chinese roll from the school tuck shop. Regardless of his actual skill on the pitch the Roy-Tho was always a big deal for him. Thathi used to skip out of work to take him and his ankle biting friends. The festivities were sure to end with him having his flag stolen, cap flicked or other sundry article of school pride knicked.

I've never been to one of these "big matches," sadly the closest has probably been the annual Royal-Thomian that Thathi used to help organise back in the day, and the Metros, when the boys used to play basketball. When we all went to Sri Lanka for Punchy Mammah's wedding in 2000 I begged Rajiv to take me with him, but I was deemed too much of a "liability." I think his friends are clearly just pervy.

Usually large Sri Lankan gatherings make me suspicious, and other than the amusement to be had making fun of people, and watching them get sloshed I'm guessing that the novelty of the whole big match thing would wear off pretty quick.

In any case if I ever do find myself in the motherland during the fever you better believe that I will be begging forcing the auditor to take me.

Evolution by numbers.

Exhibit A

When we migrated to Canada Loku Mammah gave Thathi a pair of flannel pyjamas (which of course he refuses to get rid of and have now become a sort of family heirloom. Don't ask. Apparently this is how we honour the the memory of our loved ones, with flannel intimates). I've only ever seen him wear them once, and that was after major dental surgery. Not overly sure what dental surgery and pj's have in common, but whatevs. It was weird. Like bizzaro weird. Thathi quite simply should not wear pyjamas. Ever. It's wrong.

For as long as I could fit, I used to sit in the folds of his sarong like it was a swing, this was made easier due to the copious amount of time Thathi sat in front of the TV watching sports. I was like Roo and would quite happily while away my time pretending to understand what was going on on the TV or reading a Bernstein Bears book. Thathi's sarong and my childhood go hand in hand together.

Aiya never started wearing a sarong until he went back to Sri Lanka for the first time at 19, the heat was too much for him to handle. Now, like Thathi, in the dead of winter he still prefers a stripped cotton sarong to a pair of flannel pyjamas.

Of course the Sri Lankan sarong wearing male has had to undergo an evolution of sorts in order to survive Canada's harsh winters. They have learned to adapt.

1. The double chin
This extra layer of flub is important to maintain warmth, a type of insulation if you will. Thathi has had this along with the beard for as long as I've known him.

Aiya fortunately has always been a fat ass.

2. The '80s sweater
It is absolutely necessary that a sweater or sweatshirt from an incorrect era is worn in conjunction with the sarong. The more it clashes the better. Thathi gravitates towards off the rack Sears sweaters, but that's just a personal preference of his.

3. The remote control
When watching any type of sporting event at home, it is an abomination to do so in anything other than a sarong. Okay, maybe just at our house. But still.

4. The annoying family member
Nowadays Oliver is the only family member that can actually safely sit in the folds of Thathi's or Aiya's sarong. When Ollie was a puppy he used to flip over on his back and play with toys. Now he's an old lazy ass who just curls up and goes to sleeps in there.

5. The threadbare sarong
By all accounts a worn sarong is better than a new one. The crispness of the cotton makes it uncomfortable to sit in, and from what I've gathered it's no fun to wear either. However to achieve that worn feeling quickly, tossing said sarong into the dryer a few bajillion times would not hurt.

6. The white socks
The feet need to be insulated. 'Nuff said.

7. Gap of hilarity
This just may well be grasping, because I mean, this entire get-up is pretty absurd on its own. I feel like the sock gap between the bottom of the sarong and the top of the tube sock just pushes it over the edge though.

Working for the man

It has been brought to my attention that I apparently post too many pictures of Oliver up here. To all the haters, you can suck it. This is him in one of Thathi's shirts, which happened to be in a pile of stuff headed to the dry cleaners

It's the New Year, blah, blah, fishcakes. I'm a student, and have been since I was four, talk to me in September, because that's really when the new year starts for me. What with the advent of a new academic year, and more importanty the new fall tv lineups, that's when I get all introspective and shiz.

Tuesday was my first day of teaching French to young impressionable Canadian minds. Wasn't too bad, although a child did vomit all over himself within the first fifteen minutes of my arrival. Perhaps he was just so overwhelmed at the prospect of learning French?

I feel like Michael Scott more often than not though, my stint as a teacher will end up making his attempts to be friends with everyone in the Office pale in comparison. Is it wrong that I want them to think that I'm the cool one? Probably haha. Thathi advised me to be strict with them, this coming from the man who used to get public beatings at school because he'd piss on other students' head a la that scene in The Power of One.

Since this is the first post of 2007, perhaps a few (none academic) things to look forward to?

1. Going to the motherland for four months. If I make it through all four months, it would have been the longest that I've ever spent there (since we migrated to Canada, when I was 4).

2. Getting my fat ass on a treadmill

3. Going to more live shows

4. Getting engaged. To George Clooney. (Or Colin Firth, I'm not too picky)

5. Finishing off this bloody graduated licensing bullshit and finally getting my good and proper piece of paper and plastic rectangle with requisite bad picture.

6. Working up the nerve to drop everything like it's hot, run away and never be seen in these parts again.

7. Hearing more schizophrenic things like the below on a crowded subway in the middle of morning rush hour, when I have a dull pounding headache. Having this original piece of music repeated for 40 minutes straight has given me a bitter hatred towards rye and coffee in general. Why you may ask? Because it was stuck in my head the entire day.

Some folks like their coffee black
Some folks like it white
I'll have mine with a shot of rye, if you're with me tonight

I probably should've been more annoyed, but the best part was when the singer congratulated himself and said the compostion definitely rivaled anything written by John Lennon

8. Going to the cottage with the ladies again. Three days was not enough!

And that's all I can think of for now.

For a good time call...

"Sup my bitchz?"
Ollie in his brand spanking new American Apparel wife beater. What's that? Yes. He is so scene.

Anyone but me. Seriously. I won't be able to give anyone a good time (get your mind out of the gutter) until Thursday (the earliest). You're better off trying to get together with Oliver. Although, he has become a rather arrogant SOB as of late due to the acquisition of new clothing (early Christmas present from Aiya.)

He's been creating waves over at the park. His homosexual lover, Meko (an obese, short legged Jack Russell who lives a few streets over from us) did not waste any time trying to score some action. Went straight for the goods, didn't even partake of the usual nether sniffing ritual.

Chikungunya strikes back
In other news, my grandmother has been stricken with that weirdly named Chikungunya thing that's been rearing its mosquito borne head in various parts of South Asia. I thought it was some made up thing until I wikied its ass. Turns out it's legit.

My grandfather is a stubborn mule. It's easy enough to gather within the first five minutes of being acquainted with him. I'm stubborn, we know that. But his stubborn? It's a firm and fruity sort of stubborn, a vintage stubborn if you will, cultivated lovingly through a combination of age, experience and hailing from a long line of stubborn jackasses. So when my grandmother blacked out (due to the Chikungunya), hitting the ground forehead first, bleeding all over the place, it's only natural that my grandfather switches into mule mode.

Ammi and Thathi hooked my grandparents up with MediCalls for situations such as the above. (MediCalls is like a "I've fallen and I can't get up" thing with a Sri Lankan twist.) They live by themselves in a Colombo suburb pretty far away from the rest of the family. As it happened that day neither of my uncles could rush off immediately to their place. Ravi Bappa was out of Colombo on business, Johnny Bappa was dealing with striking workers, and Lucky Bappa's in Hatton. You guys have seen pictures of my 84 year old grandfather, he's become this cute little frail thing with a wisp of silver hair (seriously though, don't let the cuteness throw you off), there's no way in hell would he have been able to pick up my blacked out and bloodied 84 year old grandmother off the floor.

Therefore instead of calling MediCalls he hollers for the neighbours (who he's been feuding with in one way or another for the last 25+) they rush over, clean up my grandmother and subsequently make the grave mistake of suggesting that they should call MediCalls to get her to the hospital for stitching up.

My severely diabetic, heart patient grandfather sees fit to call up the infamous Susantha (natch) and bundles my grandmother up in a freaking trishaw and takes her to some random clinic around the corner to get things looked after.

That's right. Instead of MediCalls, which would've sent an ambulance and a doctor straight to their doorstep.

Fortunately she's fine now, and had her five stitches removed on Friday. (All the excitement took place sometime last week, I don't know exactly when though.)

I pray to God I will not end up like my grandfather when I'm 84.

Also? I'm now beginning to think it just may be a wise thing to perhaps look around for a place to rent from May to August instead of shacking up with the patriarch of the family.

What? Me? Pretentious? stfu.

Princess Di just called, and she wants her look back.

I know good pretension when I see it, it's a gift really. Okay, maybe it's not a gift, it's probably more like how a natural liar can spot another liar. (NB: I am an excellent liar-spotter.) Truth be told I am a pretentious bastard, and I come from a long line of them, (not bastards, but we do have a good amount of those in the family tree. And that's another post). Although this is old news, I recently found out that my stodgy old academic institution is #18 on the list of most pretentious universities in the world. Take my word for it, north of the 49th you'd be hard pressed to find a larger bunch of self-absorded, arrogant, asses bandied together in the name of academia.

Now that you know my credentials (and I'm in a giving mood now, sparing you tales from the private school I attended) it is undeniable that I.know.pretension.

Couple this with the other obvious cause for "otherness" (being the browness) and you have a recipe for the most stuck up minority that Toronto has to offer. I was reading this morning's paper when I -- with great glee -- found this article. Not only does it mention an up and coming indie group that features a Sri Lankan, but it addresses the issue of Toronto's white, and very often pretentious, music scene. I would seriously love to see it diversify, I am a music snob, but what is good music if it's not available to the masses? Accessibility is the key, if that means selling your single and having it appear in a car commercial, then so be it.

I like to play a little game called "spot the brown" when I go to concerts, (and other large public spaces). It's always interesting to take a look around and realise that you're the only ethnic minority in a room full of white faces and a smattering of black ones. This doesn't bother me, neither does it bother me that I'm practically the only brown person in the majority of my classes, or that I was the only Sri Lankan in high school (which is crazy when you think of how multicultural our fair city is.)

What does bother me is when people can't see past the otherness. Yes. I'm brown. I listen to indie music. Get over it. If anything, I find myself having to justify my musical tastes not to those who share it (aka white people) but with my other minority friends, brown or otherwise.

I have never felt like this, wanting to be white I mean. (Ya I know, that girl's Indian, and I hate the Indian comparison too, but wth, it serves its purpose for the moment.) One drawback of often being the only brown one in the room, is the awkwardness that it leads to later. For example, people are more likely to remember the "exotic" one with the "beautiful" sanskrit name more than the aforementioned exotic-sanskrit-name-bearer would ever remember the blonde in the corner.

Being an other makes people remember you. This isn't a phenomenon that's limited to me. Thathi works for a fairly large bank, most of his colleagues are white, he's got the same problem. Aiya's a chef, and not a dishwasher, there are no classically trained French chefs in this city who are Sri Lankan. Ammi? She's probably got it worse than any of us, she's in advertising, everyone is old, white and male.

There have been many an occassion when one or another of us has been out in the general public and some random person pops out of nowhere and asks us if we remember them from such and such a place. Fortunately we're all really good liars, we all fake it as if we remember. But really? We so don't.

And that?

That's the closest I've ever become to wishing I was white, so there would be an equal social playing field. Those white folks just always seem to have the upper hand.

*ouch*

I'm starting my Oscar Party a bit early this year.

*groan* I got my wisdom teeth taken out yesterday. It wasn't as nightmarish as I thought it would be. Since I had already braced myself for the worst before getting to the dentist's office I was in a significant state of neurosis by the time they were prepping me for surgery. The most paramount fear that was dancing through my head was the thought of loosing my sense of taste. For. Ever. You don't joke around about that stuff with a glut. It's just not cool.

It's a shame that I don't drink. My super cool oral surgeon (hi Dr. Baron!) told me that for a person of my size I'd have a really high tolerance level. They were unable to sedate me! The laughing gas didn't work so I got IV-ed instead. It wore off before the surgery was over, I remember waking up and demanding for a blanket because I was cold. I'm always cold.

A few other random things. The heart monitor freaked me out, and the blood pressure machine squeezed the shit out of my arm. Who knew that my veins were so small AND traveled? Apparently they too have no sense of direction, it took so long to get the needle in my arm. Ranjan Bappa's leaving to Sri Lanka this afternoon, so we went over to punchy's place last night, I was still all frozen so I was okay to go. What I was not okay to do was sit there and watch while everyone was eating punchy's cooking. I was stuck drinking some bland ass Campbell's Gardenay.

So. What are in the cards for me today? Other than stuffing my face with Jello cherry cheesecake (thathi picked some up for me, they're awesome) and letting out the odd groan, I'm going have an Oscar party for two and try to watch as many Oscar nominated movies as I can. Ollie gets the George Clooney mask, and I'm going to wear the Keira Knightley one, my jaw is so swollen and mannish that I can totally play the part.

On the list for today, Capote, Tsotsi, and Walk the Line. Throw in a few episodes of My Name is Earl, The Office and of course Project Runway and you've got yourself a really happy, sedated and swollen camper.

Hmm, now the only thing I need to do is find some J-list Hollywood star to sell my oxycoden to so that I can call it a day well spent.

*Eep*

First real un-half assed post of the new year. All it took was 13 days and a head cold. Oh yeah, and also reverting back to the pre-Christmas lifestyle, aka having no social life. Alas it's true, with the festivities over, you have all left for colder more inhospitable regions to continue on with your educations.

So. Here are a few random things that I'm stoked about for 2006 in no particular order:

Watching Santino subsequently getting his ass handed back to him on a platter.

The quadruple whammy birthday bash in February for me, tool, Alby and Rachem.

Going to the Coldplay concert in March with Alby. And watching her faint as soon as she sees Chris Martin's foot hit the stage. On the Jumbotron of course, because we have really shitty tickets. Then watching as the EMT whisks her away. The sweetest part will be when 15 years from now I'll be able to explain to her kids why Mommy has a giant scar on her forehead. "Yeah kids, she hit that guardrail like a vegan who had finally come to their senses and had a rib dangling in front of their face."

Visiting the grandparents in the motherland this summer, hopefully shedding some of this awful winter weight in the heat. Of course making time to buy an entire new wardrobe, while getting lastnode to teach me a few inappropriate phrases in Sinhala which I can use to horrify the above mentioned patrician grandparents.

Finally getting insurance and being able to drive. Not that Ammi will ever let me drive her car. And let's not start with Thathi. But it's best to be optimistic in these situations

Getting Oliver unspoiled enough so that he doesn't act as if he's bipolar, manic depressive or otherwise chemically imbalanced when taken out in public.

Stop missing my subway stop because I've gotten so engrossed watching something stupid (i.e. Coupling, Extras, and of course lamenting the demise of Arrested Development) on my ipod. Not overly optimistic that this will happen though.

Actually getting to see Thorn. Because really there's no way that we're both too busy to go on a wild shopping spree with money that neither of us has.

Taking advantage of my new lighter schedule and start reading for pleasure more. Not just the dull political science tomes which I fake enjoying.

Actually finish sewing tool's Christmas present.

Taking advantage of Aiya's job's close proximity to the Drake and (ab)using him for concert tickets. (Wow, that sentence probably had some of you grammarians gagging in a corner. I apologise.)

Um. This is getting long. I'm going to stop now.

Dear (4) loyal readers, if you're not related by blood...you might want to skip.

Thathi, Aiya and Loku Mammah

Good friends we have
Oh good friends we've lost
Along the way.
In this great future you can'’t forget your past
So dry your tears, I say
- Bob Marley, No Woman, No Cry

I can't hear any song by Bob Marley without thinking about Loku Mammah. Aiya and I burst into an impromptuou rendition of "I Shot the Sheriff" in the kitchen a few weeks back. This usually pushes Ammi into a homicidal rage. We sang with our usual amount of gusto and after inhumanely butchering a few stanzas we stopped. Slightly out of breath (because we are both slightly out of shape) we fell silent. Initially I thought it was due to the Sunday afternoon 'itis which can stealthily incapacitate those who are much stronger than us. But Aiya quietly confessed that he is unable to hear Bob Marley without thinking about Loku Mammah. What ensued was a brief conversation between the three of us (Ammi having put down the meat cleaver) about what a generally hip guy he was.

The truth is I don't remember a whole lot about Loku Mammah, just a few personal memories of him interspersed with everyone else's. When I think of him I'm whisked back to being 4, that's the last time I saw him.

I remember a lap as big as Thathi's to sit in, it could accommodatete Aiya, myself and Rajiv in it all at once. I don't ever remember it being too crowded. Although I'm told that the three of us weren't averse to reverting to fisticuffs if someone was hogging. We were a violent bunch even then.

We had cricket and rugby players coming in and out of our little home, Thathi had some really big friends. But Loku Mammah filled the entire place up, not just because to a 4 year old he was a giant of a man. He was over 6 feet and commanded a lot of respect and had a no nonsense air of authority about him. However there was still something that made people want to be around him. He was incredibly approachable, I tasted this first hand. Being a non-stop talker even then he'd always humour me even though I spoke a parcel of utter rubbish, a mile-a-minute to boot. (Granted in retrospect, I think I made much more sense back in those days.)

He sent me a Barbara Sansoni doll. I don't remember exactly when I got it or who he sent it through. But it made me happy to know that he still remembered me, even though we were in Toronto and our family was so far away. I never played with it. True. I was not much into dolls. But in my defence I never tried to decapitate it or cut its hair off. Through the years most of my stuffed toys found their way into storage. I just never had the heart to put that unplayed doll in with the rest (she's still in my room). Not because I particularly liked her, but because Loku Mammah gave her to me. So Raggedy Anne and Andy, Charlie, and a slew of other much loved toys were put away, never to see the light of day again. A racoon made a nest in my box of toys. I'm glad I wasn't there when Thathi and Punchy cleared out the storage last May when we moved.

31 October 1991.
I was supposed to go out as a bumble bee that year for Halloween. We always had an in class Halloween party where everyone would dress up in their costumes and contribute some cavity giving item to the festivities. It was one of the highlights of the year. We had gone to the pumpkin patch the week before to pick out the perfect gourd to carve into a Jack O'Lantern. The build up was ridiculous, especially to a bunch of kids in grade 2.

My memories of that morning are a bit hazy. Someone had woken Ammi and Thathi up with a phone call and the house was in a state of surreal chaos. But there was a bone chilling hush in the air. No one wanted to tell Amammah. Thathi couldn't, Ammi couldn't, Punchy couldn't, Punchy mammah couldn't.

Loku Mammah had died of a heart attack while swimming with Rajiv.

Piyo (my nanny) is the one who had to do it. I don't remember Amammah's initial reaction. My first encounter with death left me angry in my childish stupidness. I knew how I was supposed to act, but I was really pissed off that I couldn't wear my bumble bee costume to school. No one had the heart to dress me. Ammi tried to placate me by reminding me that I already had a chance to wear my costume to my Girl Guide troop's Halloween party a few days before. This type of reasoning did not work. I huffed of to school with my trademarked sour face of anger, tears burning my eyes not for my dead uncle but for my ruined Halloween.

Mr. Christie was right out of teacher's college, we were his first class. A grade 1-2 split. I was his pet. He famously told my parents during a parent teacher interview that they should give me everything I asked for. (Which thus far has been a rousing success.) He noticed that I was upset, and wasn't dressed up. Stupidly asking, in the way only a caring teacher can, if everything was all right. I told him that my mother's eldest brother had died. I channeled the anger of the lost bumble bee costume and forced a few tears out. Mr. Christie was a sucker, and I had secured a morning free of reading comprehension, cursive writing and decimal places.

I was allowed to choose one friend to make a Halloween poster with me. Brandon was my partner for folk dancing, my gay best friend in elementary school. He was good at art so I picked him. Neither one of us knew much about death, and although we were having a lot of fun making the poster we pretended we didn't. Because when someone dies you're not supposed to be happy. Mr. Christie heaped praise on our hideous poster and hung it up in a place of prominence, right on the door into our classroom. It almost made my lack of a costume worth it.

I begged Aiya to take me out trick or treating that evening. Ammi announced that we would never celebrate Halloween ever again, no more costumes or candy. I thought she was heartless. It was surprisingly easy to get Aiya to agree, I don't really remember how he handled his grief, but he had a sweet tooth, so off we went, Vindhiya, myself and Paul. We didn't make it that far down the street, Paul wet his pants and we had to come home. (This is just one of the reasons why I hated my cousins when I was a kid)

I wasn't forced to brush my teeth before bed that evening; the adults had their mind on other things than my dental hygiene. So with traces of chocolate in my mouth I said my prayers like the pious little Anglican I was.

"Lord, be with me as I go to sleep. Don't let me die. Make sure the house doesn't burn down with all of us in it. Please don't let robbers come in and murder us and then take all of our things..." The general theme of these night time prayers was me appealing to God not to smite me down in some horrible and unusual way. What? I was an Anglican. That's what Anglican's do. (Have you not seen Monty Python's The Meaning of Life?)

After I amened I went over everything that happened that day. I mentally tried to process and analyse the important bits. (It's something I still do today, and is probably the #1 contributor to my insomnia and the root of my narcolepsy.) That's when I thought about Rajiv. Rajiv who was just 9 months older than me. Rajiv who didn't have Thathi anymore. I became very sad for him, I couldn't fathom his loss then, and can't fathom it now either.

Trick or treat.

"Come on Trinitians, be sporty!"*

*translation: Come on you guys who went to Trinity College, have some sportsmanship!

Well kiddos, as soon as I get the beloved Mac checked out and serviced I'll post pictures of what I've been up to. Trying to explain would be too painful for both you and I.

I went to the rugby sevens tournament this weekend with thathi. What a washout, we drove all the way to Brampton to stand in the rain and get wet socks. It was good times. In the past I've attempted to explain the nature of the 'Old Boys Association' which is just the Sri Lankan way of saying 'alumni association.' Thathi is an 'old boy' of St. Thomas' College (STC) and in the interest of hooking up with some old classmates off we went.

It's always fun watching the uncles get hammered on smuggled beer and start yelling indecipherable things at rivals. This year they had the most teams represented so there was plenty of trash talking. The above quote was a result of the perfect mix of booze and unbridled STC pride after a drunk Trinitian hurled insults at our coach. Fortunately a big burly Peterite (St.Peter's) was there to stop the sloshed uncle from rushing the field.

Incidentally this was the first exclusively Sri Lankan gathering that I've been to since coming home. (And no. Church doesn't count!) It was nice to hear people chatting away in Sinhala and it reminded me how the gap between my dual identities are beginning to fill in, the distance to bridge is getting smaller. While this process of reconciliation between the Sri Lankan and Canadian is great, in some ways it blows as much as being confused did.

Something that struck me while in Colombo was the general narrowmindedness of some folks back in Sri Lanka. Especially in relation to how 'Sri Lankan' I actually am, or more appropriately, not. I don't think that it's an issue that can be quantified but it's interesting to see how people attempt to do so.

My Canadian accent was accused of being fake by more than one person. Apparently it's unusual for someone who has lived in Toronto for 18 years to speak like me. Although my Sinhala was good enough to get by it's far from perfect but never once was I laughed at when I tried to speak with someone who had no knowledge of English. You can just imagine the reactions I got from the English speaking populace. Something along the lines of when Copto busts out his French immersion skills to me. What really gets my quince however is the constant need I felt in having to assert my 'Sri Lankaness.' At first I didn't mind, but then it became downright irritating.

Things aren't like that here for us. Come on, think about it. If you happen to be reading this then chances are I know you. If I know you then chances are you're either an immigrant like me or a second generation Canadian. And due to the wickedly mutlicultural nature of the society we've grown up in, for someone to be Indo-Canadian, Irish-Canadian or any other hyphenated variation thereof, it's not crazy for us to not only view them as true Canadians but also accept them as that. No questions asked. No skill testing question. No language based examination.

Wish I could say the same for the motherland.

Oh yeah. Trinity got their ass kicked in by St. Thomas' 29-0. And Thathi was thinking 'blue, black and blue forever.'

Claustrophobia strikes once again.

Last week I had the strangest dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed*

Hmm. Four weeks of classes left, the less thought about that the better methinks. So how do I cope during a period which should be highly stressful? I hallucinate of course! Let's see, for the past I don't know, 2-3 weeks I've been having recurring nightmares where I get stuck in an elevator either by myself, or horror of all horrors with a crowd. Most of you enjoy exploiting my severe claustrophobia by squishing me into small spaces, purposely keeping elevator doors closed, swarming me etc and all you sadists get some sort of thrill in eliciting a panicked reaction from me. You'll all be happy to know, these stupid elevator dreams are incredibly realistic and just thinking about them is freaking me out.

Last week I saw Labro at the library, so I decided I'd go and scare her, because after Copto, she's the best to get reactions out of. She was sitting at a computer engrossed in what she was doing, so I went and shook her swivel chair really violently. When she turned around and looked at me horrified I realized it wasn't Labro. These cases of mistaken identity are occuring too rapidly for my liking! I swear I see someone I 'know' at least once a day. But after last week's episode, I restrain myself. Nevertheless they still leave me confused and disoriented. Oh wait. I'm always like that.

Naturally essay procrastination leads to watching crappy movies
Thathi has a thing for poorly made action movies. I have a thing for Hugh Laurie (and really it's only because of Blackadder) so when Thathi brought home Flight of the Pheonix I should have trusted my better judgement and not watched it. But it was Hugh Laurie (and I didn't want to study)! 113 minutes (plus previews) of my life which I will never recover. When in doubt, NEVER watch a remake, words cannot even begin to describe how terrible that flick was. Speaking of remakes though, I watched the original Ocean's 11, flipping amazing. A young Frank Sinatra, *swoon*

To make amends for my terrible lapse of judgement also known as the Flight of the Pheonix, I had to revisit some old friends. Meet some incredibly made Evian commercials. European of course. 'Evian Voices' is great, it's a montage of people lip synching to school kids singing Queen's We Will Rock You. My favorite, is the suit that's (*gasp*) singing in the elevator. 'Evian Water Boy' is soooooo cute. Of course it won a bunch of awards including a Clio. I'm sure you'll enjoy them more than the Flight of the Pheonix, or the Notebook. And no Alby, the final scene in that movie? It's not touching. It's cheesey.

*Sleeping In - The Postal Service

Evidently we're Irish pirates who can't do math.

Indeed it is good to be back home. Although I had a kick arse time in Montreal and Debs was an incredible hostess I missed my bed and the random dog hair which normally covers all my clothing. Naturally after any sort of short holiday/trip Aiya and I have a debriefing session. You know, just to catch up on what heinous things Ammi and Thathi have been up to. Naturally one thing leads to another and we either end up watching a stupid WIll Ferrell/Ben Stiller vehicle, or revert to our castle in the sky. Last night we decided on the latter. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with our castle in the sky. For shame! It's not as if either of us doesn't talk about it incessantly!)

Scene: Checking out the Sri Lankan restaurant talent, to see what kind of pathetic competition Aiya would have
Me: OO look there's a place called Clancy's Pub in Sri Lanka and it's Irish!
Aiya: Looks like we'll have to buy some pints of Guiness and scope the place out when we go there.
Me: Yeah and we can pretend to be Irish right?
Aiya: *attempting Irish accent* Arghh!
Me: Um, okay so instead of just being plain Irish, we can be Irish Pirates?

Scene: Looking over the menu from Athula Caterers and attempting to calculate the price for a 100 person function
Aiya: Okay, convert that now, so per head it's 500 RS, so how much would that be for a 100 people?
Me: Uh, 500x100?
Aiya: Yeah what is that?
Me: I think it's 5000 right? No wait, there's 4 zeros so it'd be 50,000?
Aiya: Just get the calculator and double check.
Me: When'd you become so smart?!

You might want to skip this
So on Sunday we were having lunch at a restaurant called the Three Amigos and conveniently enough they had paper placemats. Given my inability to see a piece of paper, or napkin without writing on it, we naturally had an impromptu handwriting analysis session. Which really blew because I couldn't remember how to analyse jack ;) But I hunted up the original analysis test and re-did it (today). Is it still disgustingly accurate? You bet! Joycie and Abs were wondering about the scientific accuracy of these things, and there doesn't seem to be a whole lot, but here's some useful sites. Wikipedia's take on things and the FAQ from the place I did the analysis from. And of course, for those of you who might be interested, here's the test itself.

Here are a few of my results, and for those in the know, none of them will be very surprising!

Margins: Far left margins indicate fear of the future and apprehension of moving forward.

My 'Y's: Selective in choosing friends, does not truly trust everyone, has a select group of people who are truly close and is careful in choosing inner circle of friends

My 'T's: Extremely ambitious, very sarcastic with comments that are funny but at times are harsh, bitter and caustic (so creepily true!!!)

My 'M's: Has a very investigative and creative mind. Investigates things rapidly b/c of intense curiosity. Extremely logical and ordered way of thinking. Takes on way too many projects at a time. Diplomacy is a strong suit; has the ability to say what others want to hear, tells things straight without offending and can disagree without being disagreeable.

My 'O's: Is highly opinionated and will be candid and direct when exrpressing opinions. Will give straight opinion when asked for it.

The stems on my 'D's and 'T's: Demands respect and will expect others to treat her with honor and dignity. Believes in her ideas and will expect other people to also respect them. Has a lot of pride (<-- WORD!)

The Left slant of my writing and pressure: Is withdrawn into herself, reserved and shows her feelings only at times of great anger, extreme passion, or tremendous stress. Is an introvert who makes decisions based on logic, therefore is rarely impulsive. Doesn't find any need for expressing emotions and sees this as an unnecessary waste of time. Many people do not understand and it is difficult for them to really know how she feels. Enjoys being alone, and prefers working alone. Working with her hands is a pleasure. Does feel emotions, as deeply as anyone else, but they're harboured inside. The first time someone angers her, she probably will not say anything to that person. However, she will mentally keep track of everything this person does wrong to her until she cannot hold her emotions inside any longer. Then, Boom! Will never regret telling someone off, because she knew what she was saying the entire time. She won't impulsively tell someone off. Emotional stories will not sway her. Thinks totally with judgment, first considering every situation by the effect it will have on her. Needs space and time alone.

My 'K's: Can be defiant. Sometimes has the attitude that if someone doesn't like it the way she is doing it, then they can just "go to hell!" This trait may reveal itself in a rebellious nature that is always ready to resist forces which she thinks are infringing upon her freedom of action.

Are you all believers now?! *shudder* That whole thing was disturbingly accurate. Other than the diplomacy thing of course ;) Go do the test and tell me what your results are!

Well, if you're still here after all of the above lol, check back in a little bit, maybe towards the middle of next week for pictures and other scintillating things from my trip to Montreal!

Resort fun circa 1986

l-r Aiya, me and Gunther

I was digitizing a whole bunch of pictures last weekend. They were all really old school, from 1988 and earlier. Our entire life before we came to Canada pretty much. Most of the photographs are getting fuzzy and faded especially the colour ones from the 70s, but you know the old cliche "a picture is worth a thousand words." Most of them are really goofy, you know the usual collection of family photographs, nothing really profound exactly like our lives. As I was going through them though, I was struck by the above photo. Ammi had just gone to L.A. or to London (i don't remember which) and she was gone for about a month, so she and Thathi decided that we would go down south to a resort for a couple of days to spend some time together as a family. Aiya of course made fast friends with another little boy whom he spent most of our vacation with. His name was Gunther and he was visiting from Germany, he didn't speak any English and aiya didn't speak any German. They were pretty much insperable. Whenever Gunther's mom wanted to find him, she'd come to ammi and ask in broken English where he was, and Ammi did the same thing when she was looking for aiya. (Except not in broken English. I hope so at least.)

Even though this picture was taken almost 20 years ago, I couldn't but help thinking about the tsunami. It didn't take pictures of orphans in the newspapers, or black and bloated dead bodies on the internet for the gravity of the situation to hit me at a personal level. It was the picture of the three of us innocently smiling that did it for me. I wonder how many other little Gunthers and Erajs had become fast friends during an idyllic trip to the beaches of the south. It makes me go cold thinking about it. Not to be dramatic or anything, but that's what sealed the deal for me.

Speaking of tsunamis though, I think the current death toll is at 220,000. It's mind boggling to know that a lot of those deaths could have been prevented if there was a proper tsunami warning system in place. The amount of money that ordinary people are pouring out for relief is incredible too. I witnessed it first hand myself when i was taking phone pledges at the Canada for Asia benefit concert. There are some incredibly generous individuals out there. I was watching a documentary on the genocide in Sudan last nigt on the CBC called Living with Refugees. It was incredibly thought provoking. 300,000 people have died so far in the genocide there, and there are a further 2 million refugees. (That count doesn't include the amount of internally displaced people.) Here is another 'disaster' that could be averted. It's not as if people don't care, they do care, but it's difficult to get the attention of the neccessary people in government. Because really who are we kidding? Why should any of the Western nations help those in the Darfur region? There's absolutely no political gain to be had. Canada is more than willing to help with the tsunami relief efforts though. But only in Sri Lanka, even though Indonesia was the hardest hit area. Gee. I wonder why that would be. It probably has nothing to do with the huge Sri Lankan immigrant population in some of the key cities across Canada. I wonder how many votes the Liberals would be able to extract out of the Sudanese-Canadians?

*climbing off soapbox*

Double entendre this!

What's up with the "ironic" trend and when will it go away?! It was kitschy five years ago when UO started putting sexually charged slogans on seemingly innocent looking t-shirts, but now it's just getting plain tasteless. Sure FCUK is actually a nifty little acronym for French Connection: UK, and G-Sus isn't supposed to be another way of saying Jesus, it's supposed to mean G suspended as in the guitar chord. But does anyone know what TNA's excuse is? Because i have no idea. At the risk of sounding like a prude i find all of the above and then some really tasteless. Honestly what's the point of walking around with clothes that have the above brandings on them? (I don't even think FCUK clothes are even nice to begin with, but the G-Sus stuff, i'll admit, it's tempting ;) But not tempting enough!) It's not ironic! If anything it's borderline offensive, just like the Parasuco lesbian tag-team billboards. Just recently there was a bit of a brouhaha over someone wanting to use the acronym "WTF?" as a stand in for "Where's The Faith?" In my opinion that completely dilutes the point of the message. It's just as offensive as the underwear and bikini bottoms that Harrods was selling this summer. The ones with the hindu goddesses on them. Another example of pure tastelessness and lack of decorum. Yeah i'll shut up and have my high tea now. Everyone's entitled to be a bit prudish sometimes!

On a lighter note. Or perhaps a heavier one?
After coming back from the motherland Ammi has re-acquainted herself with some old friends and there has been a flurry of e-mails going back and forth between them. They're all hardcore artsies with a propensity for drama. Most of them (when we were still in Sri Lanka) were really fond of Aiya due to his rampant ADD and bouts of dyslexia; they haven't seen him in many years, so Ammi decided to send them some pictures! Of course she picked the MOST unflattering picture of the two us from my 20th birthday soiree and promptly proceeded to e-mail them half way across the world. Everyone responded in the same manner, "Oh Eraj (Aiya) looks just like Eksath (Thathi)!" and everyone ignored the other half of the picture. Me. Then along came Richard Simon who said "Eraj still looks just like Eksath and D still looks just like you (only a little bit plumper.)" Only a little bit PLUMPER? What the heck is that?! Come on Richard, if you're going to say someone's fat, then be a little bit more eloquent! You are a professional writer after all. Here is a sample of Richard's greatness.

Speaking of people being fat, has anyone caught the new George Stroumboulopoulos show on CBC Newsworld? The Hour? Anyone else noticed how much weight he's lost?! And a little tip to his make-up artist, go easy on the blush, the rosy cheeked thing doesn't really fly well on him. I'm a little bit disappointed about the show i must say, and i consider myself a fan! He was really the only redeeming thing about MuchMusic but the CBC's trying too hard to market his show as "edgey" and in your face, but poor Georgie's left looking like a try hard. He is edgey, and in your face; now he just comes across as unnatural. Sadly that's what happens on the CBC don't you think? They try sooo hard to market a person as being a certain way that they end up making caricatures of them. For example This Hour Has 22 Minutes and The Royal Canadian Airfarce, they'd have you believe that these shows are side splittingly funny. They have their moments, but by and large it's cheese. I guess that's marketing for you, but if that's the case then the CBC should get a new marketing company, our move out of doing it in-house!