Books

Don't Drink and Dance

Questions

...and then there are the ones that you just know you shouldn't answer but do anyway.

Things I Don't Like

Wishing you a Merry Whatever.

You Would Think They Would Stop

This Blog Is Still Alive

Like any other self-respecting, jaded artist, this blogger is now faced with a decision about the future – what should he do! There’s the easy option of just letting this blog die but I can’t let that happen. There’s the frightening option of releasing a compilation album type “Best Of…” series of posts for your re-perusal, but that’s even worse a notion than the first. And then, finally, there’s the thought of just dragging myself to somehow squeeze out a few paragraphs that seem post-worthy – which, if you’re sharp enough, you might notice is what I’m trying to do now.

I have, however, decided to go with Secret Option no. 4 – cheap-ass, low-budget, easy-to-draw comics which will be based on styles and themes that already exist around the internet. To begin with, I shall attempt some graph comics – influenced by Indexed. (FYI – xkcd is still slightly beyond my graphical abilities – who would have thought stick figures would be so hard to draw)

Here’s today’s. More in the days coming up. The plan is to keep the comics going until I summon up the inclination to start writing again. Thanks for the patience.

Wanted: Sperm Donors

This is one such story that makes me sit back and thoughtfully scratch the stubble on my chin. Apparently there are far too few sperm donors in Britain. What is going wrong here? I really cannot believe that this is possible. I base my conclusion on a sophisticated and water-tight argument that goes as follows:

1 There are men in England.
2. Men are always willing to jerk off.
3. Jerking off produces sperm.

Are they trying to suggest that it’s almost impossible to find an English bloke who’s willing to lubricate the old axle for free? How about this? Rent a room and put up a sign that says “Free Porn”. I’m sure that will be enough!

I think one of the problems might be the way the whole donation process is currently being carried out. I’m sure they’d be a lot more willing donors if the sperm was to be deposited directly into the, ummm, vaginal orifice of the intended beneficiary. I know I’d sign up for sure! If the woman is clever enough, perhaps she could even get the guy to pay her at the end of the session!

For the record though, I hereby officially proclaim that I am willing to donate sperm if need be, preferably without the quite unnecessary intermediate inconvenience of the cup. If there are any ladies out there desperately seeking sperm—and you know you’re going to be getting the best genes with me—please feel free to get in touch. If you wish, you may also give me a hand with the job (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun)!

I’m not sick—I’m just doing my bit to help improve the world!

Economic Terms Put Simply

The best line I’ve heard this week:

A recession is when you have to tighten your belt; a depression is when you have no belt to tighten; but if you have no pants to hold up in the first place, then it’s all out panic!

There you go – you need no longer be confused.

Overpopulation: Boon or Bane?

This article that I stumbled upon some weeks ago is now over 10 years old. It doesn't contain any brand new information, but it is pretty insightful and informative in it's own way.

Those who fear overpopulation share a simple insight: People use resources. They eat food, drive cars, and take up space. Because resources are scarce, the only way to improve living standards, Malthusians argue, is to limit the number of people with whom we have to share these resources.

The rebuttal to this argument is equally simple: People create resources. They bring into the world their time, effort, and ingenuity. Before deciding whether world population growth is a curse or a blessing, we have to ask ourselves whether an extra person added to the planet uses more or less resources than he or she creates.

Do read the entire thing. It's rather pertinent to us living in India, at least, with all the "let's blame all our country's woes on the population".

Drinking Problems

I think the biggest problem I have with people getting drunk is their infernal need to announce it to everyone around! It seems like whenever someone has had a little bit too much to drink, their most important priority in life is suddenly to grab someone by the ass and go, “Look at me. I’m drunk!” But they won’t stop there. Nah huh. They need to spread that information on to everyone in the world who is within communicable range.

Now, some years ago, “communicable range” used to be confined to people within hollering distance of the subject. That was good. Today, thanks to cell phones and the internet, this has now been broadened to include just about everyone on the planet. I have actually received text messages on my phone (or messages via Instant Messaging), from people I haven’t spoken to in months, telling me that they’re plastered. Really, it’s happened.

I think that is one reason we have so many words for it to begin with – drunk, intoxicated, inebriated, hammered, wasted, smashed, sozzled, tipsy, buzzed, plastered, tanked, loaded, blitzed, trashed, wrecked, bombed or even, if you wish, shit-faced. The list could go on and on. The only reason people keep inventing new words for this is so that they can tell someone they’re drunk. In about three hundred different ways.

Drunk dialing, though, does have its plus points. I can’t count the number of relationships that have been born out of one of the people getting drunk, calling up the other and saying, “You know what? I lurrrve you.” I like it for that.

Stuff like that was so much harder in the old days. If you’ve ever tried calling the love-of-your-life’s house at one in the morning after having gotten smashed only to have her Mom answer the phone, you’d know what I mean. (On the other hand, all these cell phones have completely wiped out the entire “Blank Calling” industry. That used to be big when I was a kid, I remember. Fun times.)

The irony of the whole situation, though, is this – they keep yelling out that they’re drunk, but if you actually ask them, they’ll deny it.

Girl (on two sniffs of Vodka): Oh boy, I’m so drunk. You have no idea how drunk I am. Drunk. Drunk. Drunk!
Me (two minutes hence): Are you drunk?
Girl: Of course not! Don’t be stupid!

True conversation.

And forgive the ramblingness of this post. Apologies to all.