I am a man. No, no. I don't need to constantly restate that to reaffirm my 'man'liness. I simply like emphasising the obvious. The same way I like looking down upon people. Oh well. Most people deserve being looked down upon. With the Intelligence Quotient (yes, my lowly nincompoops, that is what IQ stands for - jeez, if I had a dollar for everyone I knew who had no clue what IQ was an abbreviation for I could wipe off the fiscal deficit of India) of a doormat, there is only so much that you can do with them. They, for their part, should be thankful that I don't use them as toilet paper.

I am not cynical. Only one man has ever been able to do justice to the tag - George Bernard Shaw. I am blunt. No, not that Grammy nominated singer. And to think Grammies were once considered to be the Oscars of music! Not like the Oscars have much substance left in them, especially after the Karan-Joharesque Titanic walked away with eight of those naked statuettes. But there is hope. May be they will start dressing the figurines up now.

Anyway. I do anything for a woman when she so much as smiles at me. That no woman has ever smiled at me notwithstanding. But ladies if you are listening, you know what to do if you want me. Grrr! Twigrl did so much more. She left a comment on my post, and on a post that had been abandoned even by my dear Aran who I thought would stick with me through thick and thin. Only goes to show that you really don't know someone till you know someone. Okay, I have no idea what that means. It is a yank phrase. It is not supposed to mean anything.

Of late, I have been having performance anxiety. There is too much pressure to perform. As if the constant nudge from Aran on Travailogue was not enough there is Twigrl on this space who has instructed (read 'commanded') me to write something interesting. I can't remember ever being in a place where I was deemed boring. Well... There was this one time when this 'straight as a mild steel rod' woman walked out of the bar with a lesbian after I had spent all of four minutes talking to her. But at least that has a good image to it. Besides, to change someone's sexual preferences is the stuff that legends are made of. How many men can claim to have turned a straight woman gay? Yeah, right. Ross Gellar. And look what happenned to him. He got Rachel Green. Yippee!

I often think. Not exactly. But whenever I put some serious stress on that muscle between my ears I come to realise, as Morpheus said in The Matrix, the obviousness of the truth. I don't quite remember what it is but I am damn near certain that I conclude the same thing each time. I don't have it in me to be creative. This blog is testimony to that. I write the same thing over and over again. That I still have readers looking forward to new posts is surely an outcome of people having short memories.

That said, it felt good to have someone yearn for a post. It was a huge fillip to the vain me. How redundant! It was a huge fillip to me. Period. Whether I will continue making posts on this blog I cannot say. However, I do hope to be consistent with making posts on Travailogue. Thank you, and goodnight.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The banging in my head