Another postcard..

this one from the Netherlands,
and actually a place that does nt show up on the Lonely Planet!!

A postcard from Switzerland

Because every hero, cannot become a Vero. Ole' jungle saying.
(Somewhere near Les Charbonnières)

And now I have to wait for my mom to tell me..

.. that this released!!

Shame on you, Vigbert!! Shame, shame!!

Coz its our second favorite day of the week..

Which Monty Python's Flying Circus Sketch are You?

You are the Dead Parrot Sketch. Very funny, a bit dark and definitely a classic.
Take this quiz!

(More meaningless posts coming up)

I thought you people should read what a swell lil OS I have. Mwahaha!!

In midst of everything me, and everything mine, lies a certain scent of anonymity. Little known, never seen, nameless and unexplained it stands. Like a wall, a piece of stone, unresolved, unknown. No shadow, no sympathy. No feet, no voice. In silentium it stands.

Midst everything me and everything mine.

Coz its been 7 months since I put a pretty girl's picture on this blog..

As a result of Partha's insistence on mocking me with questions about my appropriation of time, I decided to take a moment, or two.. and reflect. Hence, this post.

And also, coz I am eating from a tin.

It was once read to me that popular culture has no memory or sense of chronology. But an appetite for diacritic creations and a great sense for mythopoeic brands. It was also the same time, when I realized that "mythopoeic" was a word that swam in the vocabulary of the beau monde of the post adolescent world. Ironically.

Ironical, why? Coz pop culture has driven the turnpikes of time from a misconstruction of the bad haired adolescence fueled MTV era, to the coffee cup wielding Carrie Bradshaw days, to a time when environmentalists with Apple lappies and smart powerpoint presentations are given Nobel prizes. One could almost be tempted to call pop culture American, if not mercantile. But one should argue (for the sake of it) that there's Europe.. there is La Dolce Vita, there is Vettriano, and there is Davies. There were novelists who wrote with populist inks that the St.Petersberg winters refused to leave wet. There was Dostoevski. There is Dostoevski. On our bookshelves, in our blogs, he sits in his tweed coat.. his fingers tidying the insubordinate beard.

I donno where culture stops and pop culture starts. I donno who participates in pop culture. I donno who is not in pop culture. Words like neo populism are getting invented by politicians, Paris is the cheapest ticket out of Stuttgart, the radio plays nothing but Plain White T's (what's with that Delilah chick anyway?) and every one is a Satan's child on the bus.

Every word written, said and heard today is so-called pop. Mainstream. Communal. Heck, even alternative is populist. We put style in banality and innovation alike now. It is an art. We 've blurred the boundaries between subcultures and plebian. Everything said and done against a subversive society has been heard and absolved.

Uh.

Wait a minute, hold them horses please!! When I started with "As a result of Partha's.." in line 1 of this post, I meant to write about a wonderful lil American series called West Wing, my absolute fondness for Aaron Sorkin writings and American television in pop culture. And now look where we are!!

The problem with rambling is that you more often than not, do not realize what you were talking about. This, for your information.

Anyway, so yes.. I love West Wing. That is what I set out to say. Kindly excuse the rest.

P.S. For people who are still wondering who the girl is, das ist Cobie Smulders.