The grape was squeezed hard, alright... Squeezed until it popped and squirted its purple juices everywhere. Note: I'm talking about the purple grapes here and not the light green variety, referred to in some parts of the world as "White Grapes".
All along, as the grape was being squeezed, the elastic band was being stretched and relaxed, stretched some more and then relaxed and even twanged from time-to-time. It got to the point where the incessant twanging and stretching got way too much and finally caused it to snap. The circular loop of the elastic band was reduced to a strand of elastic material.
It wasn't so much that the grape suffered its fate as a result of the actions on the hand on it. Other conditions — climactic, social and otherwise — conspired to push the hand around, bump it into walls, step on it, kick it and cause other harm to it (3 occurrences of "other" in this sentence. Woo Hoo!!). Through thick and thin, the little grape survived until finally, its resistance broke under the vice-like grip of the hand.
Meanwhile, the elastic band was being pulled in all directions by all sorts of people — big, small, young and old — to a point where it began thinking to itself, "Well hold on a second, this isn't what I bargained for." Did it snap under its own desire to end its existence as a loop or was it external circumstances that caused it? Who knows?
More importantly, who cares? Grapes are fragile and it goes without saying that sooner or later, they will be crushed. As for elastic bands, well they're not exactly the most resilient of objects known to man and are bound to snap at some point. Bloody good thing too, considering the impact they can cause when they are propelled carelessly at somebody's eye. At the end of it all, is it really worth an entire post at View from Beneath — normally known for its... less meandering and pointless, shall we say, content — to discuss the fate of two inanimate objects? Course not, I hear you say.
Try telling that to the grape and the elastic band...
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
A Question of Sport?
Andrew Symonds is an Australian cricketer with 923 Test match runs and 4671 One Day International runs (at the time of going to press). He is an incredibly proficient fielder and a useful bowler at the best of times. He is most definitely not a monkey! That is a fact and one that needs to be made known once and for all.
Wikipedia, everyone's favourite resource for random gubbins, defines a monkey as a member of
the grouping known as simian primates yada yada yada... We know monkeys as those cute little furry animals we see in zoos, in films and if you're not of the evolutionist school of thought, then please forgive me, but as our distant ancestors. The point is that they are these ultra cute little critters who do their own thing and amuse us in the process. They are known to mimic the behaviour of other animals, including humans and that is where the idea of "being a monkey" comes from. From mimicking others. Monkeys are also known to be fairly silly (albeit cute and cuddly) creatures and so, calling one another a monkey implies that one feels the other is being silly.
This specimen (Oh I'm so sorry. Is "specimen" a racist term too, now?) on the left — you can't miss it... you REALLY can't — on the other hand, is anything but cute and furry. Furthermore, anyone who chooses to cuddle this vile creation probably deserves a yeast infection. A bit harsh, perhaps. But unjustified, certainly not!! After all, how else is one to address a manipulative person who enjoys projecting oneself as a victim for nothing more than sports-related advantage. (Editor's Note: Roy, Symmo or whatever it is you are called these days, you sicken me! Have some shame!)
The second cricket Test match between India and Australia was a hard fought match, the way Tests are supposed to be played. There were to's and fro's of fortune until a five ball burst at the absolute fag-end of the match that took the last three Indian wickets (including that of Ishant Sharma, a 19 year old from Delhi who has shown nothing but heart since being thrust into the hotseat as India's second opening bowler). As a viewer whose emotions are no longer determined by the result of a cricket match involving India, it appeared to be a fine demonstration of sport at its finest, or so it seemed.
Blatant umpiring biases (Bucknor, it's time to retire and spend your remaining days sipping rum on the island and convincing yourself that you were a good umpire) and unsporting captains driving decisions their way (Ponting, you are a disgrace) aside, the match was brilliant. Two evenly matched sides locking horns in a legendary game of tug-of-war, each attempting to wrest the advantage from each other in gladiatorial fashion. As a sports fan, you really cannot ask for more.
But then, our man with the extended tongue in the picture above decides to grab some more advantage for his team by levelling charges of racism against the opposition. This, from the same team who are known for their abrasive and at times, downright childish ways on the field? 'Fraid so. The latest in that saga is that Harbhajan Singh has been banned for three test matches for his
racist ways. Shock! Horror! Is that really such a surprise? With Ponting, Hayden, Symonds (If only that beamer hurled at you by Waqar Younis at Jo'Burg in the 2003 Cricket World Cup in South Africa had cracked you between the eyes and forced some sense and decency into that vacuous head of yours. Is that racist too now?) and only the Lord knows how many other witnesses in tow testifying that "Harbhajan was racist to me ol' macka Symmo. Haydos, Punter and Pup 'eard 'im like a barbie in the middle of summer, mate". Sidestepping the fact that my impressions of Australian bumpkins are very very crap, was anyone really that surprised that this jackass on the right (popularly known as Mike Procter) would rule against Bhajji? I wasn't. Now, it turns out that the BCCI are appealing against the sentence.
Regardless, the important thing is that Kumble and the boys stick around and fight it out with or without Harbhajan in the team and attempt to salvage some lost pride. If for nothing else, then do it for the scorned Turbanator. It's time to step out of the mouldy old "Indian stereotype" and begin to whomp some ass! Go Team India!!!
Wikipedia, everyone's favourite resource for random gubbins, defines a monkey as a member of
the grouping known as simian primates yada yada yada... We know monkeys as those cute little furry animals we see in zoos, in films and if you're not of the evolutionist school of thought, then please forgive me, but as our distant ancestors. The point is that they are these ultra cute little critters who do their own thing and amuse us in the process. They are known to mimic the behaviour of other animals, including humans and that is where the idea of "being a monkey" comes from. From mimicking others. Monkeys are also known to be fairly silly (albeit cute and cuddly) creatures and so, calling one another a monkey implies that one feels the other is being silly.This specimen (Oh I'm so sorry. Is "specimen" a racist term too, now?) on the left — you can't miss it... you REALLY can't — on the other hand, is anything but cute and furry. Furthermore, anyone who chooses to cuddle this vile creation probably deserves a yeast infection. A bit harsh, perhaps. But unjustified, certainly not!! After all, how else is one to address a manipulative person who enjoys projecting oneself as a victim for nothing more than sports-related advantage. (Editor's Note: Roy, Symmo or whatever it is you are called these days, you sicken me! Have some shame!)The second cricket Test match between India and Australia was a hard fought match, the way Tests are supposed to be played. There were to's and fro's of fortune until a five ball burst at the absolute fag-end of the match that took the last three Indian wickets (including that of Ishant Sharma, a 19 year old from Delhi who has shown nothing but heart since being thrust into the hotseat as India's second opening bowler). As a viewer whose emotions are no longer determined by the result of a cricket match involving India, it appeared to be a fine demonstration of sport at its finest, or so it seemed.
Blatant umpiring biases (Bucknor, it's time to retire and spend your remaining days sipping rum on the island and convincing yourself that you were a good umpire) and unsporting captains driving decisions their way (Ponting, you are a disgrace) aside, the match was brilliant. Two evenly matched sides locking horns in a legendary game of tug-of-war, each attempting to wrest the advantage from each other in gladiatorial fashion. As a sports fan, you really cannot ask for more.
But then, our man with the extended tongue in the picture above decides to grab some more advantage for his team by levelling charges of racism against the opposition. This, from the same team who are known for their abrasive and at times, downright childish ways on the field? 'Fraid so. The latest in that saga is that Harbhajan Singh has been banned for three test matches for his
racist ways. Shock! Horror! Is that really such a surprise? With Ponting, Hayden, Symonds (If only that beamer hurled at you by Waqar Younis at Jo'Burg in the 2003 Cricket World Cup in South Africa had cracked you between the eyes and forced some sense and decency into that vacuous head of yours. Is that racist too now?) and only the Lord knows how many other witnesses in tow testifying that "Harbhajan was racist to me ol' macka Symmo. Haydos, Punter and Pup 'eard 'im like a barbie in the middle of summer, mate". Sidestepping the fact that my impressions of Australian bumpkins are very very crap, was anyone really that surprised that this jackass on the right (popularly known as Mike Procter) would rule against Bhajji? I wasn't. Now, it turns out that the BCCI are appealing against the sentence.Regardless, the important thing is that Kumble and the boys stick around and fight it out with or without Harbhajan in the team and attempt to salvage some lost pride. If for nothing else, then do it for the scorned Turbanator. It's time to step out of the mouldy old "Indian stereotype" and begin to whomp some ass! Go Team India!!!
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
What holiday season?
Whoo hoo!!! 2007 is over!!! Hello 2008!!! Everything's going to be so different now. People will love me, I'll make a heap of friends, women will throw themselves at me, the world will realise my genius and just how much better I am than everyone and John Shaft, Spiderman and Dr Watson will join me for a cup of coffee (!) Happy freakin' new year...
'Tis allegedly the season to be jolly they tell you.
Actually, nix that. 'Tell' is far too gentle. They scream this message of theirs at you from television sets, newspapers, advertising, shopping complexes etc. etc. Don't for a second be fooled into believing that the "they" I mention above refers to Christians, in any way, shape or form or the concept of Christmas.
I refer to those marketing tools that set about trying to turn the end of the year into some sort of commercialisation bonanza, where "Spend spend spend!" is the unequivocal order of the day. This red-suited OAP to the right has been reduced to no more than a symbol of the mass hysteria that grips the masses at the year's end. What was supposed to be a 4th Century saint who gave out gifts to the underprivileged (including, interestingly enough, the dowries for three sisters so they could get married and not turn to prostitution), is now someone who actually decides to be petty enough and decide who deserves a present and who doesn't.
And my ire isn't aimed only at them. Although this next phenomenon is seen all year round, it tends to rear its ugly head in the largest and ugliest possible way around this time of year. I am of course, describing the way the union between a man and a woman is executed. A wedding should essentially be about two people deciding to spend their lives together. What then, is the purpose of lavish and pointless sets (as in films, considering most wedding venues look like they've been ripped out of a film's set), stages and elaborate costumes? What is the purpose of spending four hours dressing up, only to sit and bitch about how someone else must have spent hours dressing up and still couldn't pull off the look? What is the purpose of bearing a plastic smile for hours on end as you meet people you've never met before and will never meet again (in all likelihood) as they queue up to congratulate you? Worse yet, on a day that's supposed to be the greatest day of your life, people and their families are stressed out beyond belief to make sure that everything is just right. There will be those who will undoubtedly believe in the grandeur and scale of it all, stating that a special occasion merits a special function and would even believe that all the heartburn is worth it in the end.
Why though? Why should a special occasion mean so much demonstration and posturing? Why can't it just be about spending that special day with those who are truly special to you and none else? Doing what is special to you and not what looks special from the outsider's point of view?
I hate to be a festo-phobe (another creation) or someone who hates all festivities, but in addition to lavish weddings, birthday celebrations, new year's celebrations and other times of the year that have been ruined by commercialisation really tick me off.
What was your achievement in terms of celebrating a birthday? Staying alive?
Do you celebrate and plan parties when April ends and May starts? Exactly. So why get so worked up about the end of December? And to those who claim that it's better because it's the end of the year, I say this: Doesn't January always follow December? Right. Similarly, to me, April is the last month of the year, because that's when colleges and schools end and stuff... Pardon the digression.
Like so many of my other posts, I've lost the point of what I was going to say and so I'll bring this to a close pretty sharpish. Before I do that, rather than use this time of year as an excuse for escapism and living in the false hope that everything will change, how about trying to see where you can make a difference to yourself and those around you in the next year WITHOUT it coming off like a half-baked new year's resolution. And this need not be only at the end of the year; How about at the end of every month? The end of every week? Or when you get home every night?
Note: Comments are as always, most welcome. But pointless remarks that have nothing to do with anything and come across as a mere exercise in self-promotion will be deleted or worse, will result in their writer being suffocated under layers of scorn. Yeah, not suffering fools is one of those ways in which I'm making a difference this year.
'Tis allegedly the season to be jolly they tell you.
Actually, nix that. 'Tell' is far too gentle. They scream this message of theirs at you from television sets, newspapers, advertising, shopping complexes etc. etc. Don't for a second be fooled into believing that the "they" I mention above refers to Christians, in any way, shape or form or the concept of Christmas.
I refer to those marketing tools that set about trying to turn the end of the year into some sort of commercialisation bonanza, where "Spend spend spend!" is the unequivocal order of the day. This red-suited OAP to the right has been reduced to no more than a symbol of the mass hysteria that grips the masses at the year's end. What was supposed to be a 4th Century saint who gave out gifts to the underprivileged (including, interestingly enough, the dowries for three sisters so they could get married and not turn to prostitution), is now someone who actually decides to be petty enough and decide who deserves a present and who doesn't.
And my ire isn't aimed only at them. Although this next phenomenon is seen all year round, it tends to rear its ugly head in the largest and ugliest possible way around this time of year. I am of course, describing the way the union between a man and a woman is executed. A wedding should essentially be about two people deciding to spend their lives together. What then, is the purpose of lavish and pointless sets (as in films, considering most wedding venues look like they've been ripped out of a film's set), stages and elaborate costumes? What is the purpose of spending four hours dressing up, only to sit and bitch about how someone else must have spent hours dressing up and still couldn't pull off the look? What is the purpose of bearing a plastic smile for hours on end as you meet people you've never met before and will never meet again (in all likelihood) as they queue up to congratulate you? Worse yet, on a day that's supposed to be the greatest day of your life, people and their families are stressed out beyond belief to make sure that everything is just right. There will be those who will undoubtedly believe in the grandeur and scale of it all, stating that a special occasion merits a special function and would even believe that all the heartburn is worth it in the end.
Why though? Why should a special occasion mean so much demonstration and posturing? Why can't it just be about spending that special day with those who are truly special to you and none else? Doing what is special to you and not what looks special from the outsider's point of view?
I hate to be a festo-phobe (another creation) or someone who hates all festivities, but in addition to lavish weddings, birthday celebrations, new year's celebrations and other times of the year that have been ruined by commercialisation really tick me off.
What was your achievement in terms of celebrating a birthday? Staying alive?
Do you celebrate and plan parties when April ends and May starts? Exactly. So why get so worked up about the end of December? And to those who claim that it's better because it's the end of the year, I say this: Doesn't January always follow December? Right. Similarly, to me, April is the last month of the year, because that's when colleges and schools end and stuff... Pardon the digression.
Like so many of my other posts, I've lost the point of what I was going to say and so I'll bring this to a close pretty sharpish. Before I do that, rather than use this time of year as an excuse for escapism and living in the false hope that everything will change, how about trying to see where you can make a difference to yourself and those around you in the next year WITHOUT it coming off like a half-baked new year's resolution. And this need not be only at the end of the year; How about at the end of every month? The end of every week? Or when you get home every night?
Note: Comments are as always, most welcome. But pointless remarks that have nothing to do with anything and come across as a mere exercise in self-promotion will be deleted or worse, will result in their writer being suffocated under layers of scorn. Yeah, not suffering fools is one of those ways in which I'm making a difference this year.
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