CHRONICLES OF THE FRACTURED FOOT

A guide of possibly useless tips and questionable insights of navigating through a life experience

Fibula Oblongata –

‘TIS WISE to note that a broken leg has a mind of its own. So whatever designs your overzealous sense of will may have, your leg most probably has other plans.  Eg.

• Beating your sister to the remote
• Answering the land line in time
• Walking your beloved dog etc.

Dialogues of Disaster –

Should you happen to be the victim of said unfortunate scenario, ‘tis wise not only to exercise caution over the movement of your leg, but over that of your tongue as well. A carelessly dropped phrase could result in you being the subject of many a curse, the butt of many a joke and the target of the occasional flying shoe. This in turn remarkably affects recovery time, state of mental well being etc.

For your ref.- Some tried and tested dialogues to be avoided:

• “I’ll be down in a minute…”
• “No problem, I’ll take care of it...”
• “Sure! What do you want to draw on my cast…?”
•  “Oooh…what does this button do…?”

Conversation Jumpstarts-

The sight of a known face hobbling around pitifully in a crutch and cast usually inspires a torrent of curiosity to bubble forth from the onlooker. But every now and then you come across the odd concerned bloke whose creative interrogation refuses to go beyond “So how are you feeling now…?” The vast awkward silence that follows the cursory “Much better now, thanks.” is rather uncomfortable. Fear not. If hair can have extensions, so can this conversation-

1. 1.      Since the poor chap has run out of questions from his not-so-abundant repertoire, drive the conversation by conducting an inquisition of your own: “So have you ever broken your leg?” If he has, you’re in luck. The conversation continues for another 5 mins. If not… 

1. 2.      Puns. A conversation about the subject of a busted leg gives birth to many a pregnant pause. Mostly because you are wincing and cringing at the multitude of bad puns the situation breeds.  

“…can put your best foot forward (followed by smug guffaw)”

“…when I said break a leg, I didn’t mean literally go and…(followed by smug guffaw)”

“…costed you an arm AND A LEG…!!(followed by smug guffaw)” 

Horrible as these may be, it’s not as bad as the ocean of awkward silence. Indulge in the pun theory and you will survive the ordeal with merely a slightly swollen forehead (from facepalming).

To be continued…

Coming up next:

The Sympathy Milkshake – How to milk the situation, and have your boss get YOU copies and coffee.

Gulp

The night was clear and unbearably still.

And dark. So very dark.

Almost fitting given the nature of the deed to be done.

My companion led the way with purposeful strides, his manner a 

display of deadly grace.

And malevolence.

He gestured for me to follow silently.

Under the cover of the night we entered the village, unseen.

The huts were built haphazardly, and all over the place.

His lips curled in distaste.

The arid ground cracked under our feet sending up tiny clouds of dust.

A dog let out a pitiful howl in the distance.

A sudden shuffling in the shack nearby got my attention.

I grasped the weapon at my side and stood coiled, ready to strike.

A false alarm.

My companion seemed unfazed. Almost bored at the interruption.

It was evident that he’d done this many times before.

With a boost, we launched ourselves on to the rooftops.

Silent as shadows, we made our way into the periphery of the village.

Minutes later, I noticed he had stopped, his silhouette as still as a statue.

He was staring down intently at a ramshackle hut.

A faded, green door caked with dust, hung loosely off its hinges.

Our eyes met, and the nod that followed told me we had reached.

The clouds moved. We entered.

A sliver of moonlight shone through a window, illuminating what

we were looking for. Behind a wispy curtain, she lay on the

ground, shaking slightly. With a single fluid movement he reached her side,

making no more noise than a spirit. Wordlessly, he held out his hand in askance,

and I handed him his weapon. He stared at her for a long moment,

almost as if drinking in the hopelessness of her situation. His sudden fevered

breaths were in stark contrast to her ragged, shallow ones. Her eyes fluttered open.

A second later it widened in terror. His own flashed a remorseless crimson.

And with a savage smile, he moved in for the kill.

We watched with grim fascination as she clawed at her throat.

After what seemed like hours she emanated a horrible, guttural sound,

and her tiny feet twitched for the last time.

He surveyed his work with satisfaction. And handed me
back the weapon with a grateful nod. I dutifully kept at my side.
We had many more huts to visit that night.

Thirst is a killer. Wasting water makes you the accomplice.

Moi

In a life spanning 23 years, 8 months & some days, experience has been a good teacher. Wisdom ensued. The order of their appearance denotes their significance to me:

Bill Watterson IS God. The Veyron is nothing, nothing compared to the Batmobile. My Yezdi is the finest machine made by man. A beer with the boys makes for the best Sundays. Girls enjoy 3^rd base just as much. My world tour is a little farther off than I first imagined. Colour does to art directors what shine does to goldfish. The surf in Bali is not nearly as good as the babes. The girlfriend was a slut and the butler did indeed, do it.

Creatives, unite!

Probably the most important oath in your life.

Of brands, labels and the universe in between

A LABEL IS TO A BRAND
WHAT A BIRD IS TO A PHOENIX


"Those" things that occupy "that" corner of a store,

which tell you things that you have no interest in learning,

which slip by unnoticed even when in plain sight,

have all the traits a label.

But a voice that disrupts, incites, excites or inspires;

which innovates,

and which tips the status quo;

These are the qualities of a brand.

Labels are just inventory.

The other seeks immortality.

I'll see you at the Gin Joint

*Intertwines all fingers, stretches hands outward, cracks knuckles in preparation*

I'm back. Granted, after a hiatus that extended over a year. So sue me!

Ok please don't. Moving on. What's caught my fancy lately? What issues have put a bee in my bonnet? What's got my ears perked up and what's got my eye balls in a twitch(in a good way)? Well ironically it's another blog. Actually I don't know why that's ironic.

http://filmsforfood.blogspot.com/

If you have chanced on it before, (or if you're the type to jump the gun and click on a link as soon as you see one) you'll gather, without the aid of any great deductive prowess,that I'm personally acquainted with the writer. So, is this a trick to get him more more views and increase his blog traffic? A hand in glove operation? A run-of-the-mill advertising con job? Hardly. The blog is a films review blog. Like the millions that already plague the internet. Things you should probably know about me at this point: I'm not generous with compliments. The writer has given me every reason to call him a loser. I'm not generous with compliments.

This being said, the said blog is awesome. He knows what he's talking about and is well aware of the distinction between movies and films. The films he critiques are the kind people really want to know about. It's systematic and organised, complete with a rating system that'll put a smile on the lips of every alcohol drinker in Bangalore. It's creative, and the cherry on top is the writing. In my opinion, it's some bloody good writing. It's sarcastic, emotional, blunt, humourous and then some. To anybody with a eye for craft of the written word, you're in for a treat. Film buffs, funnily enough there might be something in here for you too. So there you have it. It is my unprofessional opinion that this bugger ain't half bad at this review thing. Chances are it might come across as something completely ordinary for you'll out there. I guess it appeals to me because, like i said before, I know the guy. With that authority i'll tell you that it's easy to underestimate him. And i'm quite proud of myself for not doing so. So give it a read folks, and you be the critic.

A unique similarity

How different do we have to be, to be different? Is it just a matter of turning left when everybody is turning right? Or do we have to take that left wearing a bright yellow chicken suit, waving a dead fox and singing the national anthem?
When your bang in the middle of a world that revolves around the idea of being creatively unique, one begins to ponder these things. It takes only a modicum of experience to know that there are people who are unique by nature and there are people whose repeated attempts at uniqueness are at times, rewarded. Which of those categories do you fall under? I already know which type I belong to. When all the cubicles on either side of your own have folks all vying for the 'most unique' tag, it gets a little unnerving. You know what they say when everybody is different- Nobody is different.