Sanj is the New Bronz

The Triumph of the Sun - Wilbur Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 00:55:00 +0000

A formulaic novel, even for for Wilbur Smith. Elements seem to be taken from his earlier books Monsoon, A Time to Die and assorted other works to combine a quasi-new piece that aims to incorporate the best of the old with a twist of the new - sadly though, the twist is lacking while the older novels stand alone and unsurpassed. The Triumph of the Sun begins extremely slowly, with the alleged new characters nonethless very familiar to a Smith reader. The female leads borrow their qualities from the women in Monsoon - one women headstrong and desirable to two men, the other younger twins indolent and fawning who eventually grow to be the true love interests and the more fascinating characters.

The male Courtney character is exacting, precise and dull. Every Courtney novel has this man - compassionate, rugged, resourceful and ruthless. The new reader will be impressed, the casual reader nostalgic and the habitual reader will undoubtedly be rolling his eyes. Inject some flavour! Some depth! A character can be intriguing to a reader without the author deigning to pepper him with cliched contrasts and hollow subtlities. Simply writing a character as dashing and domestic does not a hero make.

While this was my first time encountering a Ballyntyne, I see elements of Hornblower and Sharpe here as to make this novel nothing more than a composite of other, better works before it. Sigh.

The novel builds inexorably to the battle of Khartoum, an actual historic event that took place in the late 1800s. Being somewhat familiar with English war history, I noticed several glaring errors in the author's account which I attributed less to Smith's lack of research (which is always full and extensive) and rather to his artistic liberty. Found in this novel are the very real General "China" Gordon, the self-proclaimed Dervish Maudi and his entourage, and a young Kitchnener who, sadly, doesn't make an entrance until late into the novel and even then, a brief one. The battle descriptions and historical flirtations are what saved this novel from being tossed in the bin.

However, the real gem of the book are Smith's evocotive descriptions of Arabic life (again, shadows of Monsoon) and the Arabic culture, mirroring on a much smaller scale of both qualitiy and depth T.E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom.

The novel finally dies near the end where a confluence of events seem rushed, as if the author was hurried by his published to complete an ending. All in all, a solid peace of work that falls short of the author's earlier prose and one that I trust will be soon be forgotten in favour of the better writing before it.

It’s no wonder Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse have drug problems. They’re so bloody addictive.

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 22 Sep 2007 17:19:00 +0000

(From top - Amy Winehouse; Feist; Lily Allen)

Ok, sidebar note here. I don’t do musician reviews. I can’t. I barely enjoy writing music reviews. They don’t make any sense to me. When I read drivel like “the lyrics seem inspired by the artist’s own past strife, a cathartic journey measured in equal parts of angst and copulation” I get dizzy. Either you enjoy the music or you don’t. I don’t care about the musician’s journey. I’ll save the introspective analysis for myself and evaluate the work on broader terms, using criteria like…hmm, oh, I don’t know, whether I liked it or not.

It may be a little late to jump on this particular pop culture bandwagon, but being such a patsy of record-label commercialization, I’m sure someone has saved me a seat. I just wonder who I’ll find first; Richard Branson waiting to shake my hand or Noam Chomsky itching to spit on me.

About 6 months ago, this girl I sort of fancied sent me an mp3 of someone called Lily Allen. She said it was English-folksy-jazz-nova with a slight dance beat and that I’d love it. Not being one who regularly embraces female artists (unless their boyfriend isn’t around) I didn’t think much of it. Well, let me qualify that. I make a distinct distinction between the ~~titles~~ labels “artist”, “musician” and “singer”. Yoko Ono? Artist. Norah Jones? Musician. Victoria Beckham? Singer.

Smile - Lily Allen

I love female musicians but I have trouble even tolerating female artists and singers. They’re either trading off their sexuality or their lack of it. Every single is accompanied by a dance number seemingly choreographed by the understudy crew of Grease or a pretentious unplugged guitar solo that is only striking for its incredibly short shelf-life in my mind.

Long story less long – I loved it. Fast-forward to me today – I’ve just downloaded Lily Allen’s album “Alright Still”, Feist’s album “The Reminder” and Amy Winehouse’s album “Back to Black”. Three entire albums by three female musicans, and I’m loving them all. I got ballads. I got jazz. I got beats. I got smoking lyrics. I’m thrilled to my core and, again, bless the iGods for their bounty.

1234 - Feist

You know what’s scary? It almost didn’t happen. By the slight misdirection of a single fluke, I might’ve never even heard of these musicians. Why? Well, I’m terribly, terribly lazy. I mean, sure, one Lily Allen song was great. But am I supposed to download her entire album, listen to 11 potentially nauseating tracks just to discover they’re not iPod-worthy? Of course not.

This is why I term myself a patsy of record-label commercialization. Before, when an musician needed exposure and public recognition, her managers would book concert tours in malls and other similar-sized venues, film music videos for heavy rotation on MTV and MuchMusic, and of course push radio stations to play their singles over, and over, and over…

I don’t go to malls anymore. I hate music videos. Radio? Ha! And I’m not alone. My generation has mostly given up those iconic 90s traditions in favour of the Internet and…ok, just the Internet. So what does an exec do if he wants to reach me and my peers? He puts the music on TV. Smallville, Entourage, even House – I’ve downloaded great music because I’ve heard it first on those shows. I think it’s a terrific medium. I’m not distracted from my enjoyment of the show – in fact, the music often adds rather than detracts from the plot – and I don’t have to change any of my entrenched behaviour to be exposed the new music.

In fact, I got turned onto Amy Winehouse and Feist from advertisements. I saw this killer song on the new iPod video Nano commericial, did a little research and voila, I got Feist’s “1234” plus the other album tracks on my iPod (sidebar note: most of the other tracks suck). Then I was watching an Internet ad for the new season of House and heard Amy Winehouse’s song “Rehab”. Love it! Commercials for things I actually will ~~buy~~ download.

Rehab – Amy Winehouse

Obviously my system is not perfect and I probably do miss out on a few musicians who I might dig, but frankly, if the alternative is to sift through tons and tons of noise baggage before I can find the few good pieces, the choice is simple. I’d rather be ignorant than bored.

Joke # 4

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 12:44:00 +0000

A hippie gets on a bus and proceeds to sit across from a Nun in the front seat. Through her heavy headpiece he just spots a glimmer of her face. She's gorgeous! She moves, and her vestments cannot hide the fact she also has a truly phenomenal body. The hippie gets more and more excited until he finally approaches the nun and says, "Sister, I don't normally do this sort of thing, but I'm very attracted to you. Can we get together some time?" The Nun, surprised by the question, politely declines and gets off at the next stop.

When the bus starts on its way the bus driver says to the hippie, "If you want, I can tell you how you can get that nun to have sex with you." The hippie of course says that he'd love to know, so the bus driver tells him that every Tuesday evening at midnight the nun goes to the cemetery to pray to the lord. "With your long hair and beard," said the bus driver "you could dress in white robes, tell her you're Jesus and command her to have sex with you."

Well the Hippie decides to try this out, so that Tuesday he goes to the cemetery and waits for the nun. Right on schedule the nun shows up. When she's in the middle of praying the hippie walks out from hiding, wearing a hooded white robe. "I am the Son of God, I have heard your prayers and I will answer them but you must have sex with me first." The nun is flabbergasted but says she will concede to his wishes with one condition - she asks for anal sex so she might keep her virginity.

The hippie agrees to this and quickly sets about going to work on the nun. After the Hippie finishes, he rips off his hood and shouts out, "Ha-ha, I'm the hippie!!" The nun replies by whipping off her hood and shouting, "Ha-ha, I'm the bus driver!!"

Freddy & Fredericka – Mark Helprin

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 20:44:00 +0000

Undoubtedly one of the best novels I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and it almost never happened. I was first turned onto Mark Helprin after picking up “Memoirs from An Antproof Case” in the discount bin, a move measured in equal parts of risk and chance. I had reservations about both the author and the book, the synopsis yielding little in the way of description and the author’s own obscurity not helping my evaluation of his work. It turned out to be one of the best literary decisions I’ve ever made and I became an instant fan of his writing. His novels have had me incapacitated with laughter more than any other media before them or since. Whereas one might laugh aloud once or twice whilst reading a novel or viewing a film, I can’t think of any other writer (or filmmaker or actor) who can elicit a laugh from me 50 times, and still have me pause throughout their work in contemplative reflection. What more could anyone ask for from fiction?

“Freddy and Fredericka” is a novel that borders on the fanciful satirical, if not for its devastating and lasting significance. The titular characters are the Prince and Princess of Wales destined to be ruling monarchy of England. Freddy is a highly (not “over” as stated in the jacket cover, if such a thing even exists) educated eccentric whose ill-perceived exploits covered gleefully by the press give way to a public questioning of both the legitimacy of his right to rule and the legitimacy of his sanity. To himself, and the sympathetic reader, Freddy seems anything but insane – rather, one begins to question one’s own sanity and that of the population when confronted with Freddy’s take on the world and his reactions to its actions. He is a man who deeply feels the burden of royal inheritance and attempts to battle his own feelings of inadequacy with his sense of responsibility and duty. He has little patience for society’s behavioural doctrine, and though he pays it lip service in his efforts of adherence, his unique intellectual flamboyance will inexorably exert itself in outlandish fashion. Having read Helprin previously, I recognized common character traits immediately, though by making Freddy British Royalty, Helprin has opened the doors to an entirely new plateau of farce and philosophy.

Fredericka is a seemingly scatter-brained, dim-witted aristocrat whose sole redeeming qualities appear to be her remarkable beauty and comedic counter-point to Freddy’s stuffy intellectualism. In actuality, the reader discovers that her apparent lack of cognizant sophistication is a product of environment rather than nature for she reveals snippets of intellectual capacity far greater than Freddy’s. Together, they make a couple that is equally endearing, entertaining, and eccentric as any other I’ve encountered in fiction. I challenge anyone not to laugh as Fredericka, when asked about Cervantes, believes it to be a dip for shrimp.

The story itself is a classic “fish-out-of-water” tale, where Freddy and Fredericka are required by Royal mandate to conquer a barbarous, wild land – America. How they adapt themselves and interact with the natives is the type of plot setting that should make readers water in the mouth. There is ample room here to exploit Helprin’s preferred literary device, chaos from assumption and bedlam from presumption.

His prose varies from the poetic to the irreverent but is always filled with his singular philosophy. Superficially, one can readily identify the connections he makes between healthy mind and healthy body – Helprin values physical strength so highly as to make it akin to an intellectual approbation. However, a deeper analysis of Helprin’s protagonists will yield more satisfying insights. His heroes can benignly be called irregular or on the societal fringe, their behaviour marking them as both thought-evoking and delightfully farcical. Yet Helprin imbues them wholly with strong moral values, deep sensitivity to their own mechanisms and motivations, and a naïve imperative that breeds a wisdom seldom seen in mainstream novel characters. They are at once children and philosopher kings.

And, if this weren’t enough, the novel is wickedly, wickedly funny.

Tracebook: Search Engines and Social Networks Make Strange Bedfellows

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 16:31:00 +0000

Mum warned me there’d be Social Networks like this.

Facebook, one of the major loves of my life, has finally got me worried. I’ve long been told I lack a healthy fear of The Man and whilst I do take a measure of pride in that, yesterday’s hot news item has got me feeling more nervy than a white pig in a Spike Lee version of Animal Farm.

In case you haven’t heard, Facebook is opening its profile listings to the public. Presently, non-registered Internet users can browse member listings at Facebook.com, albeit seeing only their names and other limited information. That’s not a big deal. All someone has to do is register with Facebook and they can see my profile in its entirety. I’m fine with that.

What I’m not fine with is that Facebook, in about a month’s time, will post profile listings on search engine results. My profile listing included. Insert alarmed emoticon here.

Full details have yet to be disclosed – in fact, I first read of this new “feature” on my Facebook homepage. Some dude at Gigaom skimmed the surface as well but overall, not too much press. There’s a mention of it on the Facebook blog, though you’d think the Facebook geeks were practically ashamed of it they way they’ve uncharacteristically provided limited information about this new development’s scope and consequences…oops, I mean benefits.

Ahem. So? Any Internet user can now find my profile on Facebook, easily as accessible as any search engine. So what if some schmuck finds me on Google?

Well my complacent friend, the difference is huge. You just gotta use long-term thinking. Personally, I see an incredible potential for:

Selling Out & Online Oligarchies
Marketing Intelligence-Gathering & Developer Abuse
Corruption of Web 2.0 (aka Work 2.0) & The Degredation of Facebook’s Soul

Selling Out & Online Oligarchies

Fact: Critics have maintained that Facebook advertisers earn extremely low conversions . While their advertisers do benefit in ways other than those gauged by classic PPC or CPM metrics, the poor conversion rate cannot be dismissed.

Search engines and social networks are inherently different creatures whose variability is slowly but surely starting to diminish,. Social networks allow users to share and distribute select information to whomever they choose and to restrict to whomever they don’t. Search engines share and distribute all information they can with whomever they’re able to. Is it just me, or do you smell conflict here?

Search engines would love to display information from social networks. Yahoo and Flickr? Google and YouTube? Billions have been spent on acquiring these companies, and for what? Just for show? Actually, just to show.

Advertisers love this. Examining a user’s nuanced behaviour on a social network reveals tons of marketable information on them. Forget basic search habits based on query inputs. They’ll be able to tell what colours capture your interest, or the average length of videos you watch, or what time of day you prefer seeing pictures of blondes rather than brunettes. And with this information, ads will be specifically tailored to suit your unique consumer type.

We’re going from demographic markets to large niche markets to segmented niche markets to markets of one. You. Think that’ll help Facebook’s conversion rates?

If traffic is traction, then social media is a V-10 engine. Search engines use social networks to beef up their results and impress the users whilst collecting fat advertising paychecks. Facebook is the Ferrari of social networks. Having refused to sell out to a single search engine, Facebook is now deciding to sell out to all of them.

Marketing Intelligence-Gathering & Developer Abuse

Fact: Facebook has spread open its API to developers everywhere, allowing anyone with a degree of technical skill to create a Facebook widget. These widget-makers have full access to a user’s information and are not encumbered by any of the liability or privacy headaches Facebook itself must endure.

So now these widget-makers can do anything. By providing users with a bevy of fancy and not-so-fancy applications, they have earned the right to poke and prod profiles profusely. And trust me, this information is incredibly valuable (read: profitable). Widget-makers include entertainment vendors (books, DVDs, electronics, etc.), online marketing companies, advertising servers, even other social networks and search engines! Anybody who is interested in traffic and branding. And who isn’t interested in traffic and branding?

Facebook can claim user-controlled privacy levels all it wants. It doesn’t matter anymore. The widget-makers have no such limitations. Combine complete profile information with searchable profile listings, and what do we have? It’s like Facebook Gone Wild on Spring Break – anything goes, and everyone can see it.

Imagine having ads targeted to you based on your Facebook information. Imagine your inbox being spammed to a spammer’s black heart’s content. Imagine the slippery slope that begins with a drop of leaked user info, trickling into a flood of developer abuse.

Why, even one’s birthday coupled with one’s name can lead to bank fraud. Financial institutions often identify customers with these two simple fields, readily available on anyone’s Facebook profile.

Now, I’ve already examined why search engines and social networks make dangerous lovers. I’ve shown you how widget-makers can violate your information like an older brother reading your diary. What would happen if a search engine created a Facebook widget?

Oops. Too late. Google’s on it. Now they have direct access to FULL profile listings and FULL user information. With 39 million registered Facebook users, it sounds like a people search engine isn’t too far off. And not just a yellow-page knock-off, but a listing that provides as much information as possible. Remember, Google caters to its advertisers, and the more information displayed to the widest audience, the more revenue earned.

Corruption of Web 2.0 (aka Work 2.0) & The Degradation of Facebook’s Soul

Fact: Facebook is becoming an online marketer’s playground. Businesses are fully exploring and exploiting its potential – even we at SearchAnyway have created a Facebook group (by the way, you should definitely check it out. Search for “SearchAnyway – PPC Search Engine”).

So what does any company with a website want? Traffic. How do they get traffic? With our two old friends, SEO and SEM, and now with the new kid SMO (social media optimization), who is schooling them all. There are social networks out there purposefully geared towards businesses and professionals, but come on. Forget the debate between Facebook’s merits versus LinkedIn’s. Any idiot can see that Facebook completely trumps LinkedIn. This is like comparing the Space Shuttle to Sputnik.

Companies could easily help their SERP by taking advantage of Facebook applications and the myriad of widgets offered. They’re not concerned with silly things such as privacy; in fact, the less private the social media components are, the better. Do we see another conflict of interest here?

The core Facebook applications such as Groups and Events and their respective features aren’t bad for companies, but aren’t great either. Facebook’s search function is fairly limited (ranking results based on the network you belong to, giving precedence to user profiles, etc.) and more often than not, Groups and Events amass users by either invitation or viral marketing.

So what’s stopping Facebook from making these applications available to search engines as well? It’s a lot less intrusive than distributing profile listings, and since a lot of these Groups and Events would love to have a wider audience, showing up on Google would seem to make sense.

In fact, the widget applications should be available via online search. Photos, videos, blog postings – “distribute and earn” is probably the motto they chant during the secret society meetings.

However, they’re all forgetting one thing – the bread and butter user.

Originally, Facebook was designed as a social network for college students. It exploded in popularity when it lifted its restriction on requiring an academic email address, and millions (39 million and counting) of users now enjoy Facebook’s services.

It’s hard to say exactly why.

I’d say 95% of the people on my Friends list are people I know in real life, and maybe 35-50% of those are actual friends. Not a huge number, but arguably much more than YouTube or Flickr or even MySpace.

I like this. I’ve recently started adding business acquaintances to my list, and I think I might soon stop. I can see the marketing potential in Facebook and it’s astounding. But that’s not what I want to use Facebook for. I get excited when a real friend of mine tags me in a photo, or writes on my wall, or sends me a PM. I don’t know why. They can easily do this in real life and if not, I’m only a text message or an email or an IM away. Why then is Facebook so alluring?

It might be because it’s a social network of people you actually like. The average Facebook users spends approximately 30 minutes a day on the site. They’re accessing the site 5 times a week. And 39 million people aren’t doing this because of the infinite marketing potential or the mind-numbing array of widgets. Logging onto Facebook is like going to a house party where you control the guest list but someone else is the host. All your friends are there, but you needn’t worry about cleaning up.

And there, of course, is the last stop on the slippery slope. Companies and organizations creating profiles for marketing purposes can only give way to users doing the same. Bloggers create whole personas and networks to write under, completely fictitious but carefully crafted to appear as real as you or I. What’s to stop Facebook users from capitalizing on this trend? Create a profile, cram it full of applications including an Affiliate Marketing widget that allows you to earn PPC commissions off ads you host (AdSense for Facebook cannot be that far off), disable any possible privacy settings, SEO your profile and bam, start earning revenue.

When those users start feeling that their privacy is being infringed upon, that the widget-makers collect too much information without check, that companies will begin utilizing Facebook applications for their own agenda, that the amount of people they actually know and like on their Friends list has been surpassed by opportunistic entrepreneurs, that “Network” has changed from a regional or organizational community to a buzz word for striking business deals and marketing oneself, Facebook will fall.

New Voice at SearchAnyway

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Fri, 17 Nov 2006 16:52:00 +0000

Ok kids I hope you have a good pair of shoes because what I'm about to tell you will blow your socks off. SearchAnyway, the Internet's premium PPC search engine has just launched their brand-new blog, soon to be the best resource online for industry news, strategies to improve affiliate marketing and, what I'm partculiarly proud of, our own series of Podcasts. I urge you all to check this out and be part of the hottest new wave to hit Internet search since Google became a verb.

Yes I know this is shameless self-promotion. So what? If you got beef, start your own blog.

Mckibbins West Island Halloween Party - Pimp my costume

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 04 Nov 2006 20:01:00 +0000

This year's Halloween party was a complete success and featured everything one could want; from foreign dead people, to hot Bavarian waitresses, to a guy wearing a garbage can with a beer holder, our macabre celebration at McKibbins was great fun. It started off with Jess, her mother and myself forcibly attending someone's house Halloween party, with Pam clearly the winner of best costume sporting her freaky hybrid Frankenstein / Einstein ensemble, becoming in essence Frank Einstein. The emerald green makeup covering her face and hands gave her definite Frankenstein credentials, while the struck-by-lighting hair, lab coat, glasses and clipboard made every inch the German scientist. And if that wasn’t enough, Pam had fashioned herself a friendly “Frank Einstein” nametag to remove all confusion and induce pearls of laughter.

Jess and I got to McKibbins and were soon joined by all types of freaks, monsters and Hollywood royalty. For some reason Blogger won’t let me upload all the pics on one post, so I’ll be splitting this in two.

Igal and his wife, Olga, as the perfect couple. The husband is dead so he doesn’t ever have to lift a finger around the house while the wife is sexy witch who turns men into drooling, hapless idiots without ever needing to resort to a spells.

And the drinking commences. It was $50 open bar – I think Halloween might seriously replace Christmas as the most wonderful time of the year.

A touch of class amongst pimps and slutty cops, Tania aka Audrey Hepburn finally got to use that cigarette holder she’s been saving.

Natalie as the devil – who’d of thought it? I still don’t know who’s pimping who in this picture.

Jess was such a perfect slutty cop that I had to truly fight an almost overpowering urge to commit crime. I was ready to tell her that I was smuggling in drugs from Columbia in hopes of a full-body search.

This will be fun to explain at our wedding. “Well you see, it’s a funny story. I was running hoes and Jess was patrolling the streets. One thing led to another…now she’s employee of the month.”

Joke #3

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 07 Oct 2006 16:55:00 +0000

The Pope had become very ill and was taken to many doctors, none of who could figure out how to cure him. Finally he was brought to an old physician. After about an hour's examination the physician came out and told the cardinals that he had some good news and some bad news.

The bad news was that the pope had a rare disorder of the testicles, which if left untreated, would be fatal. The good news was that all the Pope had to do to be cured, was to have sex.

Well, this was not good news to the cardinals, who argued about it at length. Finally they went to the Pope with the doctor and explained the situation.

After some thought, the Pope stated, "I agree, but under four conditions."

The cardinals were amazed and there arose quite an uproar. Over the noise a single voice asked, "And what are the fourconditions?"

The room stilled. There was a long pause....

The Pope replied, "First the girl must be blind, so that she cannot see with whom she is having sex."

"Second, she must be deaf, so that she cannot hear with whom she is having sex."

"And third, she must be mute so that if somehow she figures out with whom she is having sex, she can tell no one."

After another long pause a voice arose and asked,"

And the fourth condition?"

The Pope replied, "Big tits."

You Can’t Spell Russian without “Us”

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 07 Oct 2006 16:52:00 +0000

If there’s anything better than getting pissed with good friends and having nothing to do the next day, I don’t want to know about it. The Russians invaded the West Island with a fury and brought a little Eastern Euro flair into the mix. We had an accent competition with one guy boasting of his talent to mimic diverse dialects and inflections – they all sounded the same to me, dude. I’m itchin’ to try out my new Russian stock phrases at these Russian club parties I’ve heard of, which sound incredibly exciting. I figure I’ll either get beaten up or go home with a mail-order bride someone left at the post office.

Andre, showcasing his trademark generosity, flashed us a provocative one-tenth of his ball (I call it a testy tithe). If you think that was bad, he then wanted to charge us for that freak show. All I have to say is that there was a little too much Cheese and not enough Pork for me to fork over some cash.

The rest of the night gets a bit hazy. I remember singing, and someone breaking my necklace, and doing vodka shots, and then seeing myself on TV. Maybe Andre and I could start our own show, “Peep my Balls”.

Nah. We’d probably only get viewers Back in the USSR.

Dawson Shooting - Take Your World Back

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 16 Sep 2006 14:48:00 +0000

On Wednesday, September 13, one man decided to give us all another reason to fear this world.

He entered Dawson Cegep brandishing a machine gun, shooting some 20 people and killing Anastasia DeSousa. Police came and wounded him in the arm. He then shot himself in the head.

She was 18.

Just think back to when you were 18. Try and remember what you were like. What you were worried about. How you looked at the world. Think about how you dressed, what movies you liked, what jokes made you laugh.

Now, look at yourself today. Big change, non?

Anastasia was 18. She’ll never change again.

I can't help but think about all the things she'll never get to do. Books she'll never read. Places she'll never visit. She might not yet have fallen in love.

A lot of people are focusing on the shooter. There is much examination and conjecture as to his motives, his goals, his childhood, even his drinking habits, and I understand why. If a tragedy can be rationalized, then it’s no longer a tragedy; it’s an anomaly. If extreme violence can be explained, then it can be controlled.

I don’t want to spend too much time discussing the shooter. Frankly, I don’t even want to provide him an acknowledgement by typing his name. To me, he is not a real person.

Every person has the potential to do violence. It’s a biologically, evolutionary and psychologically valid response to appropriate stimuli (fear, survival, etc.). But a civilized person can temper these urges. Through social doctrine or innate morality or sensitized intelligence or religion or whatever you want to call it, there’s a mechanism in each of us that says, “No. That’s too far.” We all make a conscious, deliberate choice to adhere to this, to control ourselves and process the world without succumbing to a base, primordial compulsion.

The shooter did not. Oh, he may have had a rough childhood. He may have had no friends. Girls could’ve rejected him, his football team might have lost and maybe somebody made fun of him because he spoke with a lisp. I don’t care. He has forfeited his claim to humanity. He gave up. He made a choice. He said, “No. That’s not far enough.”

To give up on this world, to consider yourself an outsider or a rebel is both extremely arrogant and extremely cowardly. This world is a good place. There are good people and good things in this world, and the civilized amongst us make every effort to better it by bettering ourselves. Every community, every city, every country is simply a reflection of the people living in it.

And now our community is suffering because of one man.

We are all victims. Our sanctity, our peace has been violated in the most disgusting way. Our world has been taken from us, and in it’s place we have fear and grief. But only if we let him.

Just as every civilized person makes a conscious choice to do evil, every victim can eventually make a choice whether or not to continue to be victimized.

It’s too soon now. There is still much hurt and anger in us and we must properly grieve before we can move on. But we will move on. We will take our sanctity back, we will reclaim our peace and we will never let anyone violate us again. We suffer, but can be comforted. We grieve, but we can take strength.

Anastasia was 18, and she’ll never change again. But this world is a good place, and that will never change either.

A New Laptop is Better Than Sex

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 16:12:00 +0000

Well obviously not, but it's a catchy title. Anyway, the rumours are true boys and girls; Sanjay has bought himself a brand new Toshiba 410 Notebook. It's perfect for staying mobile, updating blogs and making sure the porn industry maintains its high standards online. Actually, I like to think of it as the most expensive pen and paper I'll ever use. I never thought I'd be all into this technology stuff -- cell phones, iPods and now a latop. Next I'll get a flying car and a hot robot maid.

Russell Peters – Brown Clown

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 16:05:00 +0000

This Tuesday I was fortunate enough to catch Russell Peters at Place des Arts, the Indian-Canadian comedian whom I discovered some 5 years ago (though no one believes me). For you losers who don’t know, Russell Peters does a lot of racial-humour that is both insightful and delightful. His famous bits involves catchphrases and situations done in various accents, especially Indian and Chinese. The Asian culture is incredibly pervasive in Canada, though until recently we have lacked any real advocates or social figures to popularize it. Russell Peters’ anecdotal comedy is immediately relatable and familiar to his audience and his popularity stems from his ability to communicate specific cultural stereotypes universally, and, of course,
hilariously.

Some of his best standup material includes:
“Somebody gonna get a hurt real bad!”
“Thirty-four-fifty”
“Be a man”
“!Xobile”
“Paaaint”

Russell Peters’ self-deprecating humour is akin to an Italian comic making fun of the Mafia, or a Black comic ridiculing Gangstas. He is unique, however, in that as an Indian he is politically if not socially allowed to explore all other cultural stereotypes. Whereas most people couldn’t imagine Chris Rock making fun of Jews, Russell Peters’ comedy can be much more fluid. From the Chinese to Africans, from the Greeks to Latinos, Russell Peters uses his ethnicity as a passport to make comedic visits on any other nationality. And not only can he get away with it, he’s funny.

Unfortunately, Tuesday’s show wasn’t a sample of his best material. He did a lot of improv by asking audience members where they were from and developing bits from that, but there were precious few personal stories and anecdotes involving himself. No talking about his trips to South Africa or discipline from his father or negotiating the price of a purse with a Chinese guy. Just some general ethnically-centered comments, a few comments on how Indians are cheap, and some edgy Arab wisecracks. Don’t get me wrong; he’s still the best comic around. But I believe that all Indian parents will agree with me when I say Russell should stick to his roots.

Joke #2

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 13:45:00 +0000

A Swiss guy, looking for directions, pulls up at a bus stop where two Englishmen are waiting.

"Entschuldigung, koennen Sie Deutsch sprechen?" he says.

The two Englishmen just stare at him.

"Excusez-moi, parlez vous Francais?"

The two continue to stare.

"Parlare Italiano?" No response.

"Hablan ustedes Espanol?" Still nothing.

The Swiss guy drives off, extremely disgusted. The first Englishman turns to the second and says, "Y'know, maybe we should learn a foreign language...."

"Why?" says the other, "That bloke knew four languages, and it didn't do him any good."

The Source - James Michener

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Wed, 19 Jul 2006 21:43:00 +0000

One of the most ambitious and epic novels I’ve had the pleasure of reading (three times). Just imagine the scope – the entire history of Judaism as experienced through various generations of a family. Irrespective of the usual concerns a novelist faces, Michener had to conduct an immense amount of research, sifting through thousands of years of conflict, mythology, hearsay and speculation to finally distill his novel into a readable format that is both instructive and artistic. From a writer’s point of view, it’s breathtaking.

The major events of Judaism are explored by using a fictitious city as a microcosm. It is a city that is both the victim and instigator of history, a city that suffers the consequences of and initiates changes in Judaism. King David, the Babylonian exile, the Hellenistic influence, Roman rule, the Diaspora, Christian encroachment and eventual domination, Islamic development, the Crusaders, and finally the founding of Israel as a sovereign state are all lived and experienced through the characters. As a guide to Judaism it is almost encyclopedic – as a survey of history, it is heroic.

There are several original devices that Michener employs in this novel. Some undoubtedly were used to further the plot and sustain the reader’s interest while I suspect others are a means to blend fact and fiction together for Michener’s own purpose. The short-story format, the fictitious city, the vagaries in narration and tone, the switch between modern times and the various eras, the genealogical tree that extends throughout the novel – all are tools contrived by the author to condense Judaism as a religion and expound it as a philosophy.

Michener begins the novel with an archaeological dig in 1964 Israel. For anyone familiar with their history, this is significant. It’s a few years (can’t remember exactly) before the 6-day war, a conflict where Israel pre-emptively attacks Egypt and defeats them, along with Syria and Jordan. The 6-day war dramatically changes Israel’s global profile from a bumbling, religious state to a powerful international player. In 1964 the Jews were a downtrodden, sympathetic, beleaguered people at the mercy of larger political actors. After 1967, they were warriors.

So, it’s 1964 and there’s an archaeological dig at a fictitious site thought to be the biblical city of Makor. The archeologists consist of an American, two Israelis and an Arab (the symbolism of using these types is so obvious as to be congenial). They begin to unearth artifacts from various eras, finding agricultural tools, Judeo-Christian and pagan holy relics, coins, weapons and oh, a Crusader castle. During these finds, the divergent and often introspective attitudes of the characters are revealed through dialogue and self-revelation. Topics ranging from philosophy to women’s rights are explored, both within the modern context and stemming from the roots of Judaism.

After 75 pages or so the novel switches to a short-story format. Each chapter opens with a description of a particular artifact discovered at Tel Makor, with the subsequent story centered around this artifact. The first story, for example, begins with an archaeological account of a farming tool first used in 9800 BC – the story then follows the advent of agriculture in and around Makor, leading to the construction of the first human dwellings in the Galilee and the founding of a civilized society.

In this fashion, Michener explores the evolution of Judaism from a primitive farmer’s desire to understand the mind of his God to a final set of principled laws and collected wisdom. Michener’s themes are ever-present in each episode; as he dramatically and painstakingly guides us through the evolution of monotheism, we see parallel development in the principles of community, the individual, law and authority. The Jews have been portrayed in modern times as an eternally struggling people who have finally won their own nation after unparraleled strife. Michener’s protagonists explore the roots of this perception, being first the creators of the establishment and later to be persecuted by it.

As grand as The Source is, it is not without faults. One of the concepts Jews have used to explain their persecution by the Egyptians, Babylonians, Romans, and even the Holocaust is a “punishment” for breaking their covenant with God. Michener touches upon this lightly, but curiously without any depth. Similarly, there is mention of but no examination of Moses and the exodus, the Bible progressing from a collection of wisdom and history to a codified text, the Maccabean revolt, or the evolution of various rituals and traditions. These are all central to the Jewish spirit and to not have them appear in the novel is a loss.

Regardless of this lack, The Source stands as an amazing body of work. The relationship between religion and society and its larger influence on morality and law is examined thoroughly, without restraint or prejudice. This is not an account of men and women caught in experiences larger than themselves – history is revealed as the confluence of events that are both controlled and are being controlled by people.

In this chronicle of the divine, nothing is so sacred as man.

M.B.A. All-Star

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Mon, 17 Jul 2006 15:23:00 +0000

Yes kids, the rumours are true. After years of brutal work, unforgiving sacrifice, and sleeping my way to the top, my three-month dream has finally been realized. Concordia’s John Molson School of Business has accepted my application and have offered me a place in their Master’s of Business Management program. Next stop: years of study culminating in a coveted degree, industry-wide recognition, maybe a tattoo or even a timeshare. The horizon is bright and the future is endless (or vice versa) and I am confident of my success.

But, as a very wise Vampire Slayer once pondered:

“Where do we go from here?”

Should I study part-time or full-time? Should I specialize in something, and if yes, then what? Should I remain at the JMSB or perhaps apply to Queen’s, York or McGill university? Perhaps even overseas? What type of grants, fellowships, bursaries and scholarships am I entitled to? Should I move out? How would I pay for it? Am I capable of sustained study of such a heavy curriculum? Am I too inexperienced for this program? Is this really what I want to do with my life?

The last question is my greatest cause for concern. I am pursuing an M.B.A. not as a determining step in a carefully constructed and well-conceived life-plan, nor because of my lust for learning about foreign fiscal policies or corporate governance, and certainly not from a desire to be part of the next generation spearheading marketing initiatives and innovations to dazzle the world while we pick their pockets. Quite simply, I view this education and eventual degree as a means to an end. It will be earned to provide me with that most elusive and sought-after right: choice.

Some time ago, I was speaking to a friend of mine who had just that day quit his cushy job (coincidentally also in Marketing). He had been working there for four years and been complaining for three and a quarter about his boss, his start time, the dress code, the salary, his colleagues, the location ad nauseam. So he saved up, made arrangements to stay with a friend of his in Vancouver, and gave his two-week notice. The day he walked out of the building for the last time, however, he lamented. “I’m an idiot!” he said. “I can’t believe I left that place! I mean, I would spend half the day reading online magazines and the rest of the time flirt with the girls from H.R. Have I made a huge mistake?” Suddenly, the albatross of salary concerns, starting time etc. had flown away, leaving nothing but a simmering regret. He was missing his friends, the no-pressure environment, the free (stolen) office supplies. There is no course as straight and smooth as the one pursued in mediocrity

“Listen,” I said. “You were miserable at that place. You saw the years ahead of you and they all looked the same. This was never a career place for you and the only reason it’s become enticing is because they demanded so little of you.” I paused, and then offered some Sanjay-worldly-wisdom, the type that upon later reflection, I always wonder where the hell it came from.

“It’s not that you weren’t happy. Nobody’s happy with their job. The trouble with this job is that it’s robbed you of choice. Every man has the right to choose where they would like to be miserable.”

And this is what an M.B.A. affords me – choice. I have my mind set on building a career around my writing. In what manner, I don’t know. Journalism was an obvious option, as is Marketing. Magazine writing, copywriting, communications – I may settle for one of these or I may have an opportunity to pursue something completely unanticipated. The point is, I want to have an
array of alternatives, a plethora of possibilities, a bevy of budding breaks. This degree may not guarantee me a loft in the sky (or with a skylight), but it won’t be a hinderance either.

Of course, the ultimate dream is to be a published author. Let it be known that nothing shall ever take precedence over this, nor shall any other goal usurp the promience of authorship. I’m just hedging my bets.

And maybe one day I’ll have an answer to Buffy’s question.

Joke #1

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sun, 16 Jul 2006 17:33:00 +0000

There's this young single guy on a cruise ship, having the time of his life. On the second day of the cruise, the ship slams into an iceberg and begins to sink.

Passengers around him are screaming, flailing, and drowning but our guy manages to grab on to a piece of driftwood and, using every last ounce of strength, swims a few miles through the shark-infested sea to a remote, deserted island.

Sprawled on the shore nearly passed out from exhaustion, he turns his head and sees a woman lying near him, unconscious, barely breathing. She's also managed to wash up on shore from the sinking ship. He makes his way to her, and with some mouth-to-mouth assistance he manages to get her breathing again. She looks up at him, wide-eyed and grateful, "My God, you saved my life!"

He suddenly realizes the woman is Angelina Jolie!

Days and weeks go by. Angelina and our guy are living on the island together. They've set up a hut, there's fruit on the trees, and they're in heaven. Angelina has fallen madly in love with our man, and they're making passionate love morning, noon and night. Alas, one day she notices he's looking kind of glum. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" she asks, "We have a wonderful life
together, I'm in love with you. Is there something wrong? Is there anything I can do?"

He says, "Actually, Angie, there is. Would you mind, um, putting on my shirt?"

"Uh, sure," she says, "if this will help." He takes off his shirt and she puts it on.

"Now would you put on my pants?" he asks.

"Sure, honey, if it's really going to make you feel better," she says.

"Um, OK, would you put on my hat now, and draw a little mustache on your face?" he asks.

"Whatever you want, honey," she says, and does.

Then he says, "Now, would you start walking around the edge of the island?"

She starts walking around the perimeter of the island. He sets off in the other direction. They meet up halfway around the island a few minutes later. He rushes up to her, grabs her by the
shoulders, and says,

"Dude! You'll never believe who I'm banging!"

If I Sweated Ice Cream, Would You Lick My Face?

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sun, 16 Jul 2006 06:35:00 +0000

My blogger in crime Tina and I hit the town tonight, with her sister Linda and her friend Vanessa in tow. The plan was for Foxy to come to my place, eat, watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S, (of course), laugh ourselves silly and then head off with our groupies (Linda and Vanessa) to watch some fireworks at the Old Port. Now, I can only imagine that the fireworks were in honour of Bastille Day, celebrated here with some antiquated notion of a French Connection. Works for me - no better way to pay hommage to the mother country than with pretty lights and loud noises. Anyway, Tina got here late (of course) with barely enough time for me to force feed her pickles and crackers. She was wearing this gorgeous green dress that suited her perfectly, showing off her tan and svelte physique wonderfully. Satiated in both appetities, we picked up Vanessa and Linda and went off to see these fireworks.

Foxy is a born performer (of course) and took very easily to a car game of mine. You listen to a song very loudly, something you know the words and melody to. You sing along, in time with the song, and someone then turns off the volume. You continue singing for 30 seconds or so and when the volume comes back on, we see if you're still in time. Sounds riveting here, I know, but it's much more fun live.

Anyway, we got to the Old Port and saw the fireworks had already started. Oohs and Aaahs permeated the crowd for about five minutes, which is Sanjay's maximum firework tolerance before ennui sets in. After that, we got some ice cream (of course), saw various performers and the girls got some free hugs by a very enterprising (and not at all creepy) man. The Chinese acrobats did a two-man dragon (wonder what's Chinese for "rim job"?) and there were fire dancers, 2 men and a woman with a pretty mouth.

The highlight of the evening was Foxy and Linda getting their henna tattoos. Linda got a star on her wrist, which though she is dissatisfied, I find it very cute. Ok fine, it's slightly crooked. So what?? It's a bloody henna tattoo!! It's not like she's bought a lame puppy or a condo with a brick wall view or X-ray specs that only work at night - it's a star that'll wash off in a week. Be happy with it, revel in it, enjoy the moment, offer it to the real stars as proof of your bond with the heavens. Why worry about something you can't avoid or change?

Foxy got a Superman tattoo (guess who puts the "S" in Tina?) on her back, the beauty of which I cannot praise enough. The lines are the paragon of elegance, the design the essence of sophistication, the emblem the epitome of grace.

Oh, and the tattoo is pretty good too (of course).

England: A World Cup Retrospective

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 20:37:00 +0000

"If it wasn't for the English, we'd be Krauts"

Well, if it wasn't for certain ill-performing Englishmen and one mad Swede, we'd have made it at least to the semi-finals. What's that line in that poem? The world shall end not in a bang, but in a whimper? Sounds like a candidate to replace "Rule Britania". Here's my list of the key players in the spectacle that was England.

Wayne Rooney: Good man, a bit hot-tempered, but it's that passion and ferocity that make him such a great player. He's quick when necessary, skillful with his feet, and he intimidates the hell out of opposing players thanks to the wonderful English PR machine. Also, he's a huge boost to the England squad, and players perform noticeably better when Rooney's on the pitch. Yes, I saw him step on that Portuguese guy's balls too. It was an accident people!! How many of you can deliberately step on something as small as human testicles by taking 3 steps backwards? He got the Red Card for pushing Ronaldo, but let's take a few things into consideration.

1 - Ronaldo and Rooney are teammates, and have gotten along fairly well previously
2 - Ronaldo is a known diver, faker, cry-baby and male-diva
3 - Ronaldo got involved between Rooney and the official, having no right or business to do so
4 - No English Footballer would ever take a dive. Ever.

Not only do their coaches abhor it, the fans would never allow them to. Decide for yourself - watch a replay of the incident here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ylMqeyMgsxs&search=roo%20vs%20ron

Clearly, clearly, Ronaldo is just being an asshole. Ok, yes, Rooney shouldn't have pushed him but anyone who claims Rooney is the bigger agressor is as blind as an Argentian ref.

To prove it's not just us England fans who hate Ronaldo, visit this site devoted exclusively to telling the world of Ronaldo's iniquities
http://www.ihateronaldo.com/

Frank Lampard: 31 goal attempts. 0 goals. Frankie, you can make all the grimaces you like. You can wring your hair, stomp the ground, blame the field and the German lawn-mowers. You can even say it's the fault of Posh and the other WAGs (wives and girlfriends) but at one point, your fans aren't just going to buy it anymore. Be a man, stand up and say, "Mea Culpa". You're an Englishman, take your lumps.

Steven Gerrard: My personal favourite player for many years now, best player on the squad and certain to be the next Captain of England. Great player, great motivator, great attitude, great talent. Probably the best mid-fielder in the world (now that Zidane has retired and if we don't count Ronaldinho), this man can do anything. Doesn't seek the limelight, doesn't go pissing money away and sleeping with the soccer hoes -- he just plays like he's a 10 yr old kid on the street. Has been playing with Liverpool (my team) for years and is their star player, even when Michael Owen was there. Watch him and enjoy.

David Beckham: I really don't know what it's like to be a superstar whom a an entire country depends, focuses and demands so much from. The pressure must be phemenmenal, and Beckham himself must have felt very lonely and isolated as the figurative representative of a Footballing nation's dream. That being said, I don't know what it's like to make almost €100 million a year either, and then sleep with Posh Spice. One tends to lose much of one's sympathy when considering that fact.

The thing is, Becks didn't do too poorly. He was directly involved completely integral in 3 or 4 of England's goals. Ok, so he got tired. Ok, so he gave the media some shit excuses. Ok, he practically vomited on the field. He's David Beckham, not God. If you want the divine, forget sports and watch the rap stars thank Jesus at the Grammys. The reason why Becks is under so much heat (besides Posh), is that he really blew it in previous World and Euro cups. He missed two penalties in Portugal. He didn't inspire in South Korea. He got sent off in France. Plus, a lot of people are upset because he's set sail from Manchester and hangs his boots in Madrid these days. He's got a lot to prove and more to overcome. He's supposed to be a leader, a talisman, a superstar. In reality, he's just a guy. He's got cool hair and a wicked bend, but superstar? Remember, "lookin' pretty good, feelin' pretty good...but what's that weird smell?".

Peter Crouch: A lanky bean pole that, if born in any other country, would be either playing basketball, doing fetish porn, or working in construction. I've been laughing at Crouch for a full year now, as he plays for my league team (Liverpool) and he is simply too embarrassingly bad to take seriously. He can't hold the ball for more than 5 seconds, he doesn't get open, he doesn't create chances, and for someone who can smell the stratosphere, he's terrible in the air. Sometimes, I wonder if the Argentines or the French didn't bribe Erikson to include him on the squad...

Overall, England wasn't so much dispointing as boring. Their defense was either phenomenal or panicky. Their midfield was either fluid or disorganized. And their forwards might as well have been non-existant. Of all the England goals, only one was scored by a forward. And it was the Beckham cross that made it happen. England needs to tighten their defense, show their midfield how to play as a cohesive unit, and scout some new forwards ASAP. Someone who can play off Rooney's speed and strength. A cockney Thierry Henry would do quite nicely. But things are looking well. England's new manager will probably stick to the tried and tested 4-4-2 formation. We got a new captain. And Rooney's foot should be hopping mad to get into play.

In fact, the only downside is that the WAGs have to stay home...

Virgin Post

noreply@blogger.com (Sanjay) — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 18:38:00 +0000

I met a traveller from an antique land who said:

"whenever a person creates a blog, somewhere in the world an Editor cries."

Since I haven't much love for editors anyway, I call this blog my public service to all writers.

Aside from that small act of altruism however, this will be a purely selfish and self-serving site devoted to things that interest me interlaced with my own particular commentary. The Internet is the great equalizer which tends to translate anybody's opinions into publishable material, potentially available for the world to read. It's a crime against prose to allow this trend to go unchecked, so I've decided to either enter the ranks of the inspired poseurs or as a standard-bearer of the the written world here in cyberland . Whichever title I wear depends the outcome of my endemic fight against apathy and inertia.

I have big ideas - periodic quotes and jokes I come across will be posted here. Photos and pictures, important news, cool websites, ideas (or schemes, if you will) and your basic trash-talk will all be here. Expect some messy layouts at first, gently and subtly evolving into rough features and finally into a sporadic genius.

Oh, the joy of publishing editorials without the untalented hand of an Editor!