55Friday: The “‘I’m Screwed’/Haiku” Edition

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When we 55 each week, it’s usually because I have looked to my iPod for inspiration; I try and choose a meaningful song with which to name our Flash Fiction orgies and yes, it’s almost guaranteed that whatever I select once aired on 120 Minutes.

However, on this freaky Friday, like most of you, I’ve got a screaming/crying blonde on the brain. It seems apposite to use one of her shitty songs, in honor of all this justice she got served. Welcome to “Screwed”, from her eponymously named album which is chock full o’ Scott Storch-tainted crap. Perhaps they should make Miss Hilton listen to it in prison, 24/7, as part of her rehabilitation…I know after 30 seconds of each song, I was clawing off my headphones while vowing to never misbehave again. It’s THAT painful.

The lyrics to “Screwed” (heh) are below the jump. Don’t expect much from them. Wait, what am I saying, you are all too bright for that…though if you’re anything like me, you’ll giggle at the thought that the words “I’m screwed” are repeated eight times (ah, there’s the reason for our title). Perhaps she was humming them to herself in the police car?

No matter, on this Fast Fiction Friday, write 55 words about heiresses, anything Paris’s or what’s fairest. Ignore our topic and write about other stuff, too, as long as you do so with exactly 55 words, since that’s what nanofiction is all about. Not sure how to play? Lookie here:

A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has:
1. Fifty-five words exactly(A non-negotiable rule)
2. A setting,
3. One or more characters,
4. Some conflict, and
5. A resolution. (Not limited to moral of the story)
Many new versions of the 55 Fiction have started to modify on the rules by either ignoring to include conflict, or basing it on a true incident and dramatising it. [wiki]

Having copied and pasted all that, in celebration of today’s delicious victory for right over pink-clad evil, you haiku-freaks can get down, too. Same rules for you, just fit your genius in three lines of carefully-counted syllables.

Finally, if you’re wondering what’s up with our visual aid– it’s from an episode of South Park which aired in December of 2004. “Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset” was hilarious (and it really was the name of the show, so you can’t yell at me for the caption…that’s what I meant by the asterisk, not that you had any way of guessing that):

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Fisk This Frisking!

shame shame sanjay.jpg Tada! It’s a bloated Bollywood star! And he looks thrilled. What’s up, Sanjay Dutt?

A policeman carries out a security check on actor Sanjay Dutt as he arrives at the Terrorist And Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act court in Mumbai on Thursday.
Dutt has been convicted by the TADA court for illegal possession of weapons under the Arms Act, but has been cleared of the more serious charge of being involved in a terrorist consipracy in the over-decade long trial of the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts.
…Dutt is facing a prison term after being convicted by the TADA court under the Arms Act for illegal possession of an AK-56 rifle and a 9mm pistol. He has sought exemption from a prison term under the POA (Probation of Offenders Act). [Rediff]

A well-connected, wealthy, famous person looking for special treatment? SHOCKING. While I’m sure you found the content blockquoted above fascinating, the real reason I posted this picture is because I thought you might want to play “Caption that photo!” with it, since that’s what I did.

You know how it’s done, if not, see previous posts with caption games here (the Abhishwarya edition!), here (the Tribe Called Quest edition!) and here (the Sikh and destroy edition!). Continue reading

An Anxiolytic Post: Bigger Ain’t Better

Several months ago, we received the same tip so many times, I started deleting my emails, because I knew exactly what they contained. Read or unread, every one of them was an exclamation-point-enhanced reference to a certain BBC South Asia article which heralded: Condoms ‘too big’ for Indian men

Finally, Siddhartha took one for the team and posted the mildly infamous, Oh, All Right. But You Asked For It, which immediately exploded in to a 400+ comment orgy about the injustice of it all.

this is how it feels to be small.jpg

Fast forward to last night, when Conan mentioned a related bit of news in his monologue, which, after some googling, I found here. My brown brothers, take heart.

From News-Medical.Net:

Women are much more interested in a man’s personality and looks than the size of his penis, but men can experience real anxiety even if they are average sized, according to a research review published in the June issue of the urology journal BJU International.

And this is all based on

the findings of more than 50 international research projects into penile size and small penis syndrome carried out since 1942

Men, it’s all in your head:

A survey of over 50,000 heterosexual men and women found that 66 per cent of men said their penis was average sized, 22 per cent said large and 12 per cent said small. 85 per cent of women were satisfied with their partner’s penile size, but only 55 per cent of men were satisfied.

The commenter formerly known as Prince Al Mujahid for Debauchery quite rightly asked:

What about the girth????????

Your eight question marks now have an answer:

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How Dare You Insult My Papaya!

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I’m getting really sick of the unnecessary hate.

Rocker Ozzy Osbourne pulled out of an appearance on “American Idol” because of a former contestant’s hairstyle, according to reports.

As IF. Since when is Ozzy Osbourne fit to judge good hair?

The Black Sabbath star was slated to duet with Sanjaya Malakar on last week’s season finale, but cancelled at the last minute.
A source tells the New York Post’s Page Six column, “When he learned he would have to do a duet with Sanjaya, Ozzie said he didn’t want to be onstage with that idiot.”

Yeah. Insulting Sanjaya Malakar makes you very, very cool. Very edgy.

Aerosmith star Joe Perry was called up as Osbourne’s replacement on the talent-search TV show. [SFGate.com]

Perry, by the way, thought our Papaya was really nice. The video of their performance is here. Unlike some drug-addled has-beens who have the temerity to look down on such fruity goodness, Perry was a gentleman.

I’m not saying Sanjaya is perfect, but the level of criticism he receives is ridiculous and usually racist (though I’m not insinuating that race is at the root of this story). For bat’s sake, Ozzie– you could have said that you didn’t want to do the duet because young Malakar’s voice is awful, in your opinion, but there was no need to call him an idiot. Not when you yourself are guilty of THIS:

Osbourne admitted that, at the height of his drug addiction, he shot 17 cats:
“I was taking drugs so much I was a fucker, The final straw came when I shot all our cats. We had about 17, and I went crazy and shot them all. My wife found me under the piano in a white suit, a shotgun in one hand and a knife in the other”. [wiki]

Sanjaya should have said he didn’t care to be on stage with a cat-killer– oh, wait…he’s too nice and humble to do that. Continue reading

55Friday: The “Hallelujah” Edition

What was I supposed to say at that sorrow-saturated moment, when you stood behind security’s velvet rope, reaching out for me one last time? I couldn’t follow you to your gate, I can’t follow you in to hell, I must follow this war even more closely, because you have been deployed, though you weren’t supposed to be. fleeting sweetness.jpg

If we could all go back in time, would some of us have voted the way we did, if we knew this is where we would be in May of 2007? I didn’t vote for him and I certainly didn’t vote for this nightmarish occupation which causes nothing but anguish, for innocents cowering in their own homes, for the young, so very young men and women in uniform who witness that and for the relatives of those witnesses, who walk about in a depressed haze, worrying if the last time…was that the last good-bye?

Dazed, I now sleepwalk similarly through my days, wondering where you are, if you’ve had proper food (vegan? In the military??) and if you are okay. I can’t focus, I can’t sleep and I’m grateful to be an allergy sufferer, because it gives my tears and the perma-red eyes they descend from acceptable reasons to exist.

I miss you already, little sister and only sibling of mine. You will always be three to me, knobby knees and ankle socks, super-short hair and moody sweetness. I miss everything about you and I wish you could come home.

What kind of a war are we waging if we send people who just survived cancer scares over, I asked a mutineer. “We’re sending people with spinal cord injuries, what do you think?” was their reply. I think we should support our troops, by bringing them home NOW. And I felt that way before I knew they would take you, too.

That soul-crushing moment when I had to let you go, when I couldn’t stop hearing Jeff Buckley’s voice in my head crooning “Last Goodbye”, I lost every word in my expanded-thanks-to-Scripps-Howard vocabulary. I stumbled with my leaden tongue instead of my wobbly feet, awkwardly letting “bye”, “be well” and “take care of yourself” get muddled in to some nasty cliché cocktail. What I really wanted to tell you, was “I love you, so very much. You are precious to me and I will count the hours until you return.” But that truth never came out of my lips. At least I didn’t cry, not while you were looking. Only when the tram took you away from me did my tear ducts release pain and fear. And Buckley was there again:

There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah [Cohen]

I did my best, Kalyani. It wasn’t much. Continue reading

The Devil Bangs a Gavel

Erstwhile Sepia blogger and fanatical culture vulture Manish would be so proud! A book by a desi author with a desi protagonist without saris, bindis, mehndi, mangoes, spices, or faux indic fonts on the cover!

chambermaidsmall.jpg

Cast your eyes to the right, my friends. Behold the cover for Chambermaid, by Saira Rao. Kinda boring, no? Eh…we’re a fickle bunch.

So what’s this assimilation sensation about, you ask? Well, I have no idea. The book hits shelves in July and the publicists didn’t send a review copy to the bunker (ahem) but given the pre-launch reviews I’ve spotted, this should be decent beach reading. Especially for all you desi lawyer types reading this site. Especially since Ms. Rao clerked for a Federal Appeals Court Judge in real life.

Quick summary:

Sheila Raj is a recent graduate of a top-ten law school with dreams of working for the ACLU, but law school did not prepare her for the power-hungry sociopath, Judge Helga Friedman, who greets her on her first day. While her beleaguered colleagues begin quitting their jobs, Sheila is assigned to a high-profile death penalty case and suddenly realizes that she has to survive the year as Friedman’s chambermaid — not just her sanity, but actual lives hang in the balance.link

Ooh la la! Le Scandale!!

Will this become the next Prada? Who could this eeevil Judge Friedman possibly be? Where have you heard of Saira Rao before? These, and many more of life’s mysteries, will be answered after the jump. Continue reading

Winners or a Disgrace? Prime-time shall reveal (live-blogging)

You didn’t think I’d just sit on the sidelines while the Greatest Show on Earth was unfolding did you? The Annual Scripps National Spelling bee wraps up in prime-time tonight! Meet the last of the brown hopefuls (who we must all now pray for as they represent the best of desi-dom):

Name: Kavya Shivashankar

Favorite movie: Spellbound

Favorite TV show: The View (she reportedly got into it with Rosie when she went on)

Abhi’s Scouting Report: She has experience under her belt and stormed into the final rounds last year. Not to mention she plays the violin. A victory by her would also resurrect the name “Kavya” from its current place in infamy.

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Stop Your Hooking

Because Akka loves you, she feels like nagging your misbehaving kundis about something you should not do (via the AP and one anonymous tipster on the news tab):

Smoking a hookah may be as dangerous as cigarettes, the World Health Organisation said, adding that more research was needed into the link between the use of the water pipe and several fatal illnesses. It said that a person can inhale a hundred times more smoke – a mixture of tobacco, molasses and fruit flavours – in a hookah session than in one cigarette. Hookah, or shisha, smoking is a tradition in North Africa and the Middle East. [Linkaya]

I’ve heard so many people declare that smoking a hookah is “nowhere near as dangerous” as “regular” smoking, I had to post this. I hope those delusional darlings are reading this and realigning their thoughts accordingly.

Also, while the blurb states that Shisha is popular in North Africa and the Middle East, it is also popular with brown people, especially the annoying ones who won’t quit staring at Prince Cafe in Georgetown, at 3am when all a girl is trying to do is innocently get her mirchi Aloo Chole on. What is it with our people and the shameless gawking?

It would be one thing if this were Iowa circa 1968 and two lonely Namesake-era desis were curiously gazing at each other in a room full of Amreekans, the desire for recognition, i.e. that knowing “gang recognize gang”-moment apparent on their homesick visages, but this is D.C. and out of the sixty people at Prince, the only white guy is the Romanian Orthodox dude behind the counter. We have taken over. The “Arrrre you Yindian??”-bit is thus uncalled for in this uberdesi day and age.

Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah. QUIT EFFING SMOKING. That hacking cough ain’t attractive, y’all. Back to your regularly scheduled troll-baiting, spelling bee-dissing and witty comment-making then. Continue reading

Ask a Desi

Gustavo Arellano runs a nationally syndicated column titled “Ask a Mexican” which began three years ago (first as a joke) in the OC Weekly. A while back, over the tip-line, someone suggested we run a similar column. I think it’s a good idea. I think I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna be the “Desi” with the answers. So…if you have any questions for a Desi (or Indian, South Asian, whatever you prefer) I am now your man. Send them my way at abhi [at] sepiamutiny dot com. I will try to answer at least one question a week and I will only tackle questions sent via email and not via the comments. I will more than likely ask my bunker mates to opine on certain inquiries, especially if they are more qualified desis for a particular question. To get you in the mood, here is the latest “Ask a Mexican” column:

Q: Is it true that there are a lot more Mexicans hooking up with East Indians now? I know a few mixed Mexican-Indian couples, and I’ve heard that in some parts of the country, there are communities full of Mexican Hindus (products of Mexican-East Indian intermarriage). Is it true that this is a rising trend? If so, do you have any advice for young Indian-Americans interested in attracting Mexican girls or guys?

–El Otro Tipo de Indio

A: Dear Other Type of Indian: I try not to answer questions about interethnic amor (that’s more of a Dan Savage thing), but I’ll run yours because it allows me to plug Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans. This fascinating 1994 ethnography by University of California Irvine anthropology professor Karen Leonard studies Mexican women in the United States who married men from the Punjab region of what’s now India and Pakistan during the first half of the 20th century. There are muchos similarities between Mexican and Punjabi cultures — a love of flatbreads (tortillas and rotis), spicy cuisine and loud, drum-based music (banda and bhangra, respectively) — but Leonard concludes that American immigration policies barring most Asian women from entering this country inspired many of the unions, and that both Mexican and Indian-American communities (never mind the gabachos) discriminated against these families… [Link]

Please, ask this macaca all kinds of questions and not just cheesy relationship questions. I just want to heal. Like Dr. Phil. Or Frasier Crane.

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Sleeping with the Secretary

“Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” — Henry Kissinger

Despite their staunch alliance, relations between Pakistan and the USA are … tense. If you were a Pakistani Prime Minister, what could be more natural than … a more personal approach to break the ice, to fill the yawning gap, to closely bring together two former intimates, these two strange bedfellows?

“Shortcut” Aziz gets shot down

According to the new biography of Condoleezza Rice, Shaukat Aziz tried to (ahem) charm Dr. Rice when she visited Islamabad in 2005:

Aziz “tried this Savile Row-suited gigolo kind of charm: ‘Pakistan is a country of rich traditions,’ staring in (Rice’s) eyes …When Rice sat down with Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz, who fancied himself as a ladies’ man, Aziz puffed himself up and held forth in what he obviously thought was his seductive baritone,” the book says. [Link]

Aziz was not some wide eyed naïf when it came to the ways of the West. He was a former ibanker, a VP at Citibank who had worked in London, Athens and New York. He may have had good reason to consider himself an experienced ladies man, a master of international affairs as it were, but he clearly met his match:

He bragged — to Western diplomats, no less — that he could conquer any woman in two minutes… There was this test of wills where he was trying to use all his charms on her as a woman, and she just basically stared him down … By the end of the meeting, he was babbling. The Pakistanis were shifting uncomfortably. And his voice visibly changed…” [Link]

He could conquer any woman in two minutes Pakistan’s response to these reports is that it’s all a cross-cultural misunderstanding:

Pakistan’s deputy information minister Tariq Azeem said that Aziz was only being polite. “The prime minister wanted to be nice with Dr. Rice,” Azeem told AFP. “Our tradition is that we should talk to women gently and decently and this was what the prime minister did…” [Link]

Poor Aziz. He completely miscalculated in his approach :

Rice, according to friends and family, had a thing for bad boys… [Link]

Although her name means “with sweetness”, nice guys finish last with Dr. Rice. Manmohan Singh would never have made that kind of rookie mistake, he would have shown Condi why you can’t spell aphrodisiac without desi. This is one part of Nehru’s legacy that we can all embrace.

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