"It's not the not getting into a tricky-spot; everyone happens on a tricky-spot some-when or the other. It's how you get yourself out of one..." - shades
Sucky-spots (spots that suck you in and twirl you around thereby inducing suction resulting in your extended stay in the said sucky-spot) are just extrapolations of tricky-spots, i guess.
<aside> It occurs to me that an unhealthy percentage of my posts are on sucky-spot woes. And an equally unhealthy percentage border on the downright vulgar. This might be a bad thing. Or not. Do I care? Does anyone care, anyway? </aside>
It's not about the means. The end matters. Some of us can enjoy what they're doing without being too concerned about the ends. Some people can just do things... I can't. The end is everything. And meaningfulness...
<aside>I wonder whether this is an indicator of ass-fixation.</aside>
What I really want is to spend a productive day, figuring out some funky-stuff, and coffee at the end of it where I can blab-away about said funky-stuff(preferably with someone blabbing back)... Oh yeah, and a bit of Hot Spot activity.
Is that a lot to ask for?
Well, at least I get to have coffee... With a bit of blab thrown in... oh yeah, and the Hot Spot stuff... Guess, one cannot complain....
I had just the one goal in going for the book orgy. I needed to acquire Volume 1 of The Art of Computer Programming, Knuth, to complete my collection. I was looking for the 2003 pearson print of the 3rd edition. It was very unlikely that I would find it. I enter the Hall to the screech of "Ooooooh! a cat! let's chase the bugger and strangle it!". Not the most auspicious way to start a book hunt. I ask you, what's the probability of one hearing something like that, at a book fair.
After seeing companions buy Dracula, Prince by Nicholai Machiavelli & Narnia, it's a depressed soldier walking out. Just enough time to check one more book stall - the Colombo University book shop. I find Volume 2 of the print that i want; no volume 1. The lights flicker. I'm urged to move along. We're moving out of the main door, the point of no return, when i spy Volume 1, 2003, pearson, stuck in the last row of the last shelf of CG associates! I rush to the counter! They refuse to take credit cards! I have next to no cash! I send sagey scooting off to find cash. I ask the stall-dude, if he can reserve it if i don't find cash. He mumbles something, which i take to be a yes. I ask the price. Rs. 770.00. I look in my wallet out of desperation more than anything else; 500...200...20.20.20......10!!!! I have exactly 770! Oh, happy day!, night! Whatever! Volume 1 is mine!!!! mauhahhahahahahhaha!!! <sob>
Later on, when i narrate this amazing tale of chance to Bunyan, he says rather lazily "So you were meant to get the book, eh? What a fuss for just a simple book." That statement is all i will remember of the Volume-1-affair. It's what i do with that there book that matters, ofcourse. And until i do take it apart, it'll always be a reminder of what a text should be; a model text.
.....
I like to think that i live by simple rules. And one of those simple rules is that I don't lie to the significant other. Yeah, I speak untruths like a mad thing to anyone else. So it's quite a shocker when someone casually points out that you've broken this rule. On the one hand you have axiom A - no lies. And then, on the other, individuals who have absolutely no interest in lying insist that you broke axiom A. It's like trying to change the value of a final variable. And in the end the paradox, like all paradoxes, can be put down to missing information.
the scene:book fair small hall me:(on the phone with sig-ot who is at home) I'm setting off soon me:yeah, already in the car
s&n:(chuckling wildly) hmpphhh! Men! Blatant liars! Demon spawn! (and that kind of thing...)
now filling in what s&n didn't know! me:(on the phone with sig-ot who is at home) I'm setting off soon sig-ot: Did you remember to get a C book for me? me:yeah, already in the car
I should ask for damages! Mental anguish, defamation, loss of reputation... There's no justice, I tell ya.
The two narratives are not one-hundred-percent accurate. Corners have been cut so that readers will not hoit themselves.
P.S: The point of that there last event was not anything do do with moral uprightness and wot not, but rather some obscure thing about paradoxes that I just can't seem to remember.... Or was it the other way around?
Yesterday night i ate barbie. Well, during the course of the evening we all had a piece of her. She was sweet, a bit too sweet for her own good. I had her thrice. She was a sorry sight in the end; the ill use showed quite starkly; barbie was dead. Nevertheless, I felt a pang of hunger as her remains were stashed away in the freezer.
The loss of barbie, makes one reflect on questions that should have been answered long ago, and a few that were of a more immediate nature. Where for, instance was Ken? And what was his problem anyway? Was he a guy or was he queer in a weird way? Why would he want to take barbie shopping? Did he, Pete-forbid, have ulterior motives?
What kind of parents allowed barbie to do these things anyway? And who were they? Why have we never seen them? Are they, as I type out these words, still waiting for her to return?
I question the sanity of involving barbie in kiddy-parties. Introduce em to gals of ill repute, and then mourn over the declining morality of the younger generations.
There are vague memories of yearning to write things substantial, consequential; sooner or later one does get tired of ones own excreta. So you make a pledge to write something of worth or not write at all. Then ofcourse you realize that it's just too much hard work. Such is the manner in which laziness triumphs over lofty thoughts. So here i am, consuming a couple of hundred ergs and a couple of Ks of storage, waiting for substance to come along. It's very unlikely that substance would just stroll by, i suspect. But walking purposefully towards it seems very tiring and a just a little bit rude; substance might not particularly want a meeting after all. So I'll settle for an amble in the general direction of the last known location of substance. That will have to do for now.
And while we amble along, lets do a little review on the last 4.25 years. Let's see what do i have to show for it? zip. Any achievemnts of note? zilch. FYM? nada. Anyhing?... Fine, so this was a bad idea. Be it known that, letting 4.25 years slip past without anything to show for it is not a state any person would want to find themselves in. Ambling along might not cut it. I think I'll drive on it.
