Is sex dirty? Only if it's done right.

Damn Woody Allen for coming up with that line first. It's a recurring struggle for me who is always thinking of something insanely clever only to find that someone else has thought it, said it or worse, patented it before I have had the chance to get there.

If you were to think of the best inventions in the last 50 years what would they be? My list would include online porn and ... oh yes digital cameras. The downside of my second choice is that I am now constantly bombarded with heavily 'photoshopped' photographs from rank amateurs (and the odd professional). When did photography become about the after-party for fuck's sake? Of course there's always been a certain amount of post production which was acceptable and still relatively artistic (specially if you were sweating in a tiny dark room as you did your work) but now all you need is a Mac or a PC and CS3/4 to pretend your camera takes photographs where colours are so well, colourful. Worse still when the background is a little blurry and a little streaky as if it took itself for a walk mid-click.

Photographers might think we're stoooopid but I would like to assure them we're not. We know those pictures have been doctored more than most political messages and I for one would like them to stop. I'm all for the mood, the moment and I can't feel any of that when I look at an image that's had all the beauty photo-chopped out of it.

I like that Avatar was so universally loved by the masses and then treated as it was by the Academy. Hurrah to that I say and about bloody time.

I don't why this is related but an article I read this week claims that Michael Ondaatje a. travelled in the boot of the car the writer was travelling in and b. says his comes from the generic name for the people who fashion metal objects for temples. That's not right - or is it?

Maamaa

I cannot imagine the world you live in.
Filled as it is with Defender jeeps, Gucci shades, Limited Edition Repsol Replica Blade and the best Grey Goose laundered money can buy.

Money can’t buy love said Lennon, or was it McCartney?
Nevermind... it buys everything else.

You lie back on the plush chesterfield
paid for with someone else’s money
and contemplate the world on a Thursday afternoon.
Blissfully unaware that Richard’s laughing at you.

Laughing at you, as you sit there,
overlooking the lake in your fake-bake.
You swear you’ve had enough
of the Plebs with their gal, their Arrack.
They’re way off-tack.
They should go to hell. It’s been an unbearable dry-spell.
There’s no chutzpah in being a rebel.
No anarchic swell for the dissident in jail.

The dissident in jail
There’s a man in a cell
For twenty years you can sell
the story
In the Daily Noisery
Of his corruption and 'collusion'
with the Masters.

The sort you’re hiding now on Army territory.

Territory – ha ha yes. It’s all yours.
Liberated from the axis of evil.
And thrown to the fire. For good measure.

You think, “I’ll tell them to go to hell...
there’s enough thel”
Yes and more than enough bread.
That construct’s in your head.
You utter fuckwit.
Turn on your Blackberry Bold and download an app
that directs you to my head.

And let me show you to your bed.

Today

There’s a civily-un. There’s a war. Here’s a General. And a sore. Here’s a joke. A toke. I’ll kill you if you smoke.

It’s a protest. A farce. A king and no monarch. Here’s a fish. There’s a meal. I don’t care what you steal. Here’s a thief. There’s a blade. Fuck off. Stop raining on my parade.

Take a knife. To my heart. In writing there’s no art. Go to hell. Take this spell. Bowl an over, do it well. In this glass is the worst - a Johnny Walker and a curse. A kingdom and a spur. A level field and a cur. A landmine and it’s over.

Copyright owned by Azrael.Words

Losing sympathy

The Animals (the the tune of the Noah's ark song)


I'm sorry for the people who have no guns. Hurrah. Hurrah.
I think they're called civily - uns. Hurrah. Hurrah.
They're all stuck in no man's land.
They're not worth enough to give a damn.
And we all keep partying on - hurrah. hurrah.

So maybe they'll be dead by ten. Hurrah. Hurrah.
Maybe they'll all be dead by then. Hurrah. Hurrah.
Spares us from having to bomb-them-dead.
Spares them from having to fast-to-death.
And we'll all keep living on. Hurrah. Hurrah.

I'm hoping that God has no eyes. hurrah. hurrah.
I'm hoping he can't sympathise. Hurrah. Hurrah.
Cos we know that he'd soon be dead.
If he said the government was even slightly bent.
And we'd have no heaven. Gwah. Gwah.

And as for the people who walk the streets. hurrah. hurrah.
I see that they don't miss a beat. hurrah. hurrah.
They're happy to call it 'genocide' though-they-all-have-vials-of cyanide
and blow up women and-machete-to-death-the-rest.

Porn for Kottu?

So I was reading through today’s stories when ...... (wait for it) http://kinkypinkysrilanka.wordpress.com/2008/09/23/school/ pops up. I really don’t mind when people rant and rave and tell Kottu’s readers what gastronomic marvels they whipped up for dinner last night but this seems slightly off-colour. It isn’t even good porn.

On the up-side, it's my first post in weeks.

Four Horrid Brothers

The story of the four horrid brothers has been passed down for generations. While the details are sketchy at best, it is almost certain the events described actually did occur – somewhere in a God-forsaken country in the Middle of Nowhere...

The four brothers lived in a monastery . There names were, Percy (the parish priest) Joachimaya (the chief cashier and consultant on the best method of quelling the Buddhist, Muslim and Hindu uprisings), Arnold and Carlos (the latter two are so insignificant that no one remembers their roles but only how they used their..... never mind). All four brothers had developed a proclivity to having sex with anything that could move....and lots of things that couldn’t. The list included the usual categories i.e. women, little boys and other peoples’ pigs but had been fine tuned to cover a range of things that really should never be discussed in public.

After Brother Percy took over the Parish, its financial situation went from bad to worse. This did not take the Parish much by surprise for Brother Percy was known to be adept at lining his own pockets. This was done by converting Parish gold into pigskin – in what Br. Percy wrongly assumed to be a clever master plan. To carry out this silly scheme, he enlisted the help of Silvos, a dirty, sullen thug who was employed as the Parish gardener.

Silvos (who deserves his own paragraph) was responsible for carrying out all the unpleasant tasks in the Parish. He willing killed and maimed people the brothers didn’t like. He then dumped their bodies somewhere no one would ever find them and for this, the brothers were thoroughly beholden to him. Silvos would sometimes get drunk in the town’s little taverns and had a terrible reputation among the more decent townfolk who complained regularly to Br. Percy. They insisted the Parish should 'let go' of Silvos. But Silvos was no ordinary gardener / slash thug. He was also a behemoth with almost supernatural tendencies towards kaos creation. When he was focused on a project - as he was for the brothers - his powers were concentrated and the sheer force of his capabilities propelled him to create marvellous mysteries for the Piglets working in the town’s law enforcement agency.

A Pome

‘Subversive’ is what they called him.
But Richard was what he called himself.
He was a faymouse –a nameless gaymouse.

My ruler has a belly
My eraser; a walrus moustache
He is a goremouse with gormlice

You dance around in Koala stripes
They dance around in their undies
They are faymice-gaymice

He wore his goatee like a badge
And was golfed-off at the 13th hole
He was a reel mouse. A Che-mouse

It’s havoc in my warren
An avatar’s been eating apples
Its kids are vilemice-slime... Christ.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph....!!! (The Christmas Inc. review)

I’ve complained before about having to pay full price tickets to watch second rate primary school dress rehearsals. I was, in that post, making a most diplomatic reference to Feroze Kamaradeen’s monstrous productions but would now like to include, Surein de S. Wijeratne’s near-catastrophic direction of Christmas Inc., in the same category.

The show was about.....actually I have no idea. They waxed eloquent about it being a smart, original play that would expose the commercialism of Christmas. It didn’t do that. Or anything else for that matter.

Unsurprisingly, the programme offered no direction and was as vague as the show itself,

“So what is the play about? (AW’s note: who knows? Obviously the writer herself doesn’t) Perhaps it’s about the commercialism of Christmas. Perhaps it’s about the stress we put ourselves and our relationships under in times of celebration, and “for what?” Perhaps it’s just that nothing really makes sense in this life, and the only truly sane thing to do is find ways to laugh (AW’s note: in that hysterical sort of way you do when you’re being bombarded with an endless stream of stupidity). Perhaps it’s about getting some strength from the story of the birth of Jesus, from the peaceful moment when briefly value systems were challenged and rich men bowed down to a poor baby child.” (AW's note: as opposed to a poor baby adult, I suppose)

(AW’s note: “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps....”)


On the up-side, the maddening script and ridiculous blocking gave the friend who came with me time to clear a text message inbox and delete other unwanted trash on the phone. It however kept me in awe for quite a while. To watch acTORS walk on-stage and deliver mundane Iines while singing long-winded songs was irritating. To watch them walk off-stage soon after, without giving the show any continuity while evoking ripples of laughter from the audience – was nothing if not strange. Is Colombo that easy to please? Did they not see the huge gaps in the script? Or hear the majority of actors deliver lines to the apron stage and no further? Or realise that scenes merged in this maddening way without the proper demarcation of timelines? Notice the without-purpose gestures that the acTORS made on stage? And worst of all, that the wretched acTORS had no mike training and repeatedly (and by that I really do mean over-and-over-and-over-and-over-again) thumped their chests and rustled their clothes so that what you heard most over the microphones was static and a muffled voice. Are these acTORS not trained before being unleashed on an unsuspecting public?

Christmas Inc. ran from 14-16 December and was a Kindergarten play that I should really have left after I had sat through the first four minutes of a ghastly overture which played (not the tunes of the songs to follow but awful, hackneyed Christmas songs and possibly some carols). Worse, the “overture” was played against the backdrop of an empty stage after it had been completely lit.

On the other hand, to have left then would mean that I would most certainly have missed a the real fun: watching the ensemble sing something along the lines of ‘I’ve never seen snow in Sri Lanka’ while they did these insane head-tilts. Head-tilts...... Head-tilts...... The kind you would see if you were in a nursery watching the children run around playing ‘aeroplanes’. Head-tilts. I say it repeatedly because thinking of it even now makes me laff and laff and this... makes my head tilt.

The lyrics of the songs were decent and the score was probably the best thing about the show but wasn’t there some stealing of the basic tune from one of King Herod’s songs from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar? And why were we made to watch that puppet show? It was particularly infantile and came at a time when I was getting increasingly irritated at the wiseman’s (Gehan Cooray’s character) silly tantrums. The costumes were nothing to write home about either – whose idea were those ridiculous trousers for the harem dance? Bleuch.

The choice of cast was poor at best and of the singers there were at least two sopranos who couldn’t hit the higher notes. By the way, who directed the singing in this show because there’s no mention in the programme. There was also no mention of the songs and the order of events. Which was particularly irritating because we weren't able to plan our escape effectively.

By all reports Surein de S. Wijeratne should have access to some of the most talented actors and actresses in the country but instead he chose to work with a group of 9 – 21 year olds and a sprinkling of 25-27 year olds thrown in for good measure. That the majority of actors didn’t stand out in this cast is, I think, an issue with the production or lack of it and less to do with an individual cast member’s skill. That said, Gehan Cooray did an excellent job of what was a poorly designed role: really is the only humorous aspect of people nowadays – their sexuality? Then of course, Ruveen Dias who faffed about the stage during Bengal Bungalow, really showed that he could act in Blood Brothers and came through again for Christmas Inc. Ashan Dias who promises to be a very good actor one day is always hiding behind the facade of a bumbling fool – why doesn’t someone trust him enough to give him a clever role? And Anupama Madhubashinie who overplayed the role a bit but seemed to be doing whatever she was asked to – well. Actors who weren’t necessary and made no impact whatsoever on the show: Mahesh Senaratne (the chief culprit of unclear words and mike-thumps), also Dominic Johnpillai, Lihini Wijeyratne and Anushka Senanayake. Damith Fernando and Irushi Tennekoon were posturing idiots, who played posturing idiots. It’s likely they might have done better under different direction, provided that Mr. Fernando loses his swagger and his uber-cool persona and that they both start acting. For a change.

All things considered it would be very kind of me to describe the show we sawas a second-rate dress rehearsal. Of course I support people for writing shows and arranging music themselves but there must be some standards imposed on the performance of that work. What would be best is if we could all rely on opinions of a group of reviewers who watch the show two to four weeks in advance and comment on its standard. As an example, a Kamardeen musical or comedy gets a rating of -5 while his unfunny plays get a rating of 1. Christmas Inc. however would have been rated -4.5 i.e. watch it only if you have to and your friends and lovers insist. Otherwise give it a skip and go to the office party/ family dinner/ put clothes in the washing machine - basically, the further you are from the venue the show’s at, the more likely it is that your brain won’t shrivel up and hide in your nostrils for the rest of the week.

How does one work so closely with Jerome de Silva for a decade or so and still suck at the basics of stagecraft?


(Image from Shehal's Flickr site: http://www.flickr.com/photos/shehal/2082312899/in/set-72157603358576428/

Customer who?

Along with banning movies, freedom of expression and intent, I say we also do away with this silly notion of customer service. It should absolutely be the norm that customer service people get to walk all over consumers and complaining, now that should be a thing of the past.



Complain? About being treated badly when you want to exchange your money, in return for their goods? Complain? What utter nonsense. You only have money. They on the other hand have all sorts of means by which they might make you miserable. Complain away.

So, it’s ok when my Ceylinco on-the-spot takes over five hours to come through and I get directed from pillar to post.


It’s ok when Sri Lankan airlines stewardesses treat me with disdain because I’m travelling in Economy, or when they talk-down to domestics returning from the Middle East.


It’s ok when HELLTEL does completely and utterly the opposite of what I’ve asked them to.

It’s ok when (in spite of years of complaining) they serve me coffee at Barista’s in those takeaway cups that cheerfully spill my coffee for me before I get a chance to.

It’s ok when the Gallery Café maitre d’ snarls at me.

It’s ok when the Gallery Café owner snarls at the customers he doesn’t want.

It’s ok when I see rats in the rafters at Wadiya.

It’s ok when ODEL shop assistants breathe down my neck and fold clothes before I’ve looked at them properly.

It’s ok when the guy at Dasa’s is unhelpful because I’m only buying one DVD.

It’s ok when you pay full price ticket for an evening at the theatre for the privilege of watching what is, at best, a second rate primary school dress rehearsal.

And it’s ok when I pay this government over one third of my salary and get sweet b____-all for it.


It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok. What else can it be?

My best customer experiences have been at:

1. Everyone, bar none, at the Cinnamon Grand
2. The Abans cleaning staff, all over – bless their cotton socks
3. Brite Video and Precious (when they were alive)
4. My SLT teleshop. Super super efficient
5. The people at my Kodak shop
6. Number 18 – it’s the only restaurant I’ve been to in a while where I have my glass of water
or wine refilled before I’ve even realised that’s what I need.
7. The kade round the corner. Ahhhh.

That’s it. You expected more? In this city?

Compare that list terrible customer experiences which have been at:

1. Suntel
2. Suntel
3. Suntel – they’re just the biggest bunch of dumb-clucks I have had the misfortune of
dealing with
4. Stage Light & Magic and Stage Fright and Panic – they should be renamed - Groan, Gripe
and Exit
5. My company’s HR function – I hope Satan has a special hell for these people. And I hope
they burn there for the rest of time.
6. My ad agency – arrogant and careless. I’d move if there was anyone else to move to
7. My car dealer – Y R Piyadasa near Kirulapone – may he get exactly what he deserves
8. The Police at checkpoints – they make thick planks look intelligent. The Johnnies who come
round the houses are no better.
9. Traffic police – self-serving, corrupt – they’d be a hard act to beat
10. CID – actually these people would give the traffic police a run for their money. I don’t deny
that I’ve met a few smart people at the CID but they’re clearly dancing to a tune that’s not
played on a frequency I can hear.
11. The chaps at the Indian embassy
12. The security guards at the VFS office in Colombo that process UK, French and some other
country’s visas
13. Last but not least my friendly friends at The Gallery Cafe and at Paradise Road.

So customer service in Sri Lanka sucks. Big time. But what do you do about it? Well, what can you do about it? Complain?

All kindsa love

If I had been told all those years ago that ‘Fried Green Tomatoes’ wasn’t just Hollywood over-hyping a movie, I would have watched it in a heartbeat. I only found out for myself last night when I finally sat down to watch the movie and what a pleasant surprise I was in for!

Not having read the book I didn’t know that the main story was about Ruth Jamison (Mary Louise Parker) and Idgie threadgoode (Mary Louse Masterson). It is told by Ninny Threadgoode, an old lady in a nursing home (Jessica Tandy) to one of her visitors, Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates). It unfolds slowly and somewhat frustratingly but what’s really beautiful is the energy with which Mary Stuart Masterson attacks her role. And I mean, ATTACKS. She is brave and kind and vengeful and caring – really just the most perfect friend to her dead brother’s ex girlfriend, only not quite... Every so often you realise you’re watching a carefully underplayed lesbian relationship unfold on screen. Underplayed but not denied. It is one of the most beautiful on screen relationships I have seen between two women.

At the end I think the movie tells you to just get on with it. To give your friends and family the best of yourself and hold nothing back, to have no fear and that eventually things take care of themselves. Whatever that means.

Typical Hollywood though – they messed up the ending and Sinhala teledrama-ed the Kathy Bates – Jessica Tandy relationship but other than for that – I would think it one of the nicest feel good movies I’ve watched in a while.

There’s all sorts of love in this world and you’re lucky if you get any of it.

REUTEURS UPDATE on this morning's blast

11:22 01Dec2006 RTRS-UPDATE 1-Sri Lanka President's brother hurt in blast-witness
(Updates with fresh quotes, details throughout)

COLOMBO, Dec 1 (Reuters) - A bomb blast in the Sri Lankan capital on Friday slightly injured President Mahinda Rajapakse's brother, who is also the country's defence secretary, in what witnesses said appeared to be a rebel suicide bombing.

Gothabaya Rajapakse, who was admitted to hospital, has taken a hard line against Tamil Tiger rebels since he was appointed a year ago. His driver said he was only slightly injured.
"This is the Secretary of Defence's vehicle. He was taken away with slight injuries," the driver said, standing next to the ash-coloured BMW with shattered windows. He refused to give his name.

The attack comes just days after the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) said they were resuming their independence struggle in what analysts said opened a new chapter in the island's two-decade civil war.

A Reuters witness saw a severed head in the back of a pickup truck at the scene of the blast and the wreckage of a three wheeler taxi -- vehicles which have been used in previous bomb attacks blamed on the rebels.

A severed head found at the roadside after blasts is also often the sign of a suicide bombing.
Neither the police nor the military had any immediate comment on the attack, which took place outside an upscale Indian restaurant in downtown Colombo, a few hundred metres from the Prime Minister's offices.

Sri Lanka's two-decade civil has killed more than 67,000 civilians, troops and rebel fighters since 1983, around 3,000 of those this year alone.

((Reporting by Ranga Sirilal, writing by Simon Gardner, editing by David; Colombo newsroom))

Suicide Bombing in Colombo 3

This morning's bomb down Dharmapala Mw (at about 10:35am) was somewhere near the MTV hoarding at the Junction of Flower road and Dharmapala Mw. Initial reports claim the target was warmonger, Gotabaya Rajapakse.

A suicide bomber seems to have been involved and people in the area claim to have heard what sounded like indiscriminate shooting. If you have more details update them here please.

Sitting on my brains - Ma Hinder's Song

(to the tune of living on the edge - with slight variations)

Something's up at home today
Can't see what it is
The smoke's still in my eyes....
The country's going crazy
but it doesn't impact me
I couldn't care less even if I tried

I'm trying short term solutions
I'm hoping that they'll work
I want to leave a legacy unparalelled

But the people don't seem to happy
They want me to think out my approach
Believe you me, I'd do that if I could...

I'm sitting on my brains (you can see them if I turn around)
I'm sitting on my brains (you can see them but they're smaaall)
I'm sitting on brains (this is why everything's blowing up)
I'm sitting on my brains

I've tried to be real clever
But that plan's backfired real bad
I've tried to throw smokescreens and I've failed

The job's not that easy
I didn't know what it took
I wouldn't have pushed so hard then if I had...

It's not about the money
It's about the fame and love
but the money - gosh the money!!!!!
How much there is has left me utterly gob-smacked

I'm sitting on my brains (you can see them if I turn around)
I'm sitting on my brains (you can see them but they're smaaall)
I'm sitting on brains (this is why everything's blowing up)
I'm sitting on my brains

(repeat chorus ad nauseum)

Is there confusion in the little isle?

If I get on to the streets, I will do so because I don’t like the culture of hate that we’re being trained into. We assume every Christian is out to convert the downtrodden Buddhist. We assume every Muslim smells funny and is an extremist. We assume every gay person MUST want to get into our pants because they’re randy bastards. And we assume every Tamil is a Tiger. These must be the most stupid generalisations on earth. I’m Christian and my ID card has Tamil writing on the back to tell the people at the check points that they can’t trust me. And they obligingly don’t. Never mind that I’m allergic to zealous Christians and that I categorically do not support the LTTE... but you try explaining that to a Thickface at a checkpoint.

I think we should protest the trend of intolerance. And what is intolerance, except people embracing their fears and insecurities and making monsters of both? One step forward. Three steps back. Quite apart from spiralling crime rates and economic mismanagement - We’re allowing intolerance of other cultures, other religions – anything that’s different. And because of this - we’re allowing Hate. But ‘Hate’ isn’t a Sri Lankan value? It’s not. It’s not. It’s NOT.

Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
- Tennyson, Lotos Eaters

If you ask me why I think we should stand up and make our voice heard now and why it wasn’t done over twenty years ago – the answer is that twenty years ago, the problem crept upon us. Surely no one thought then, that it would become the animal it has? And when we were living through the worst of it; during Pooneryn, Elephant Pass, and the bombings in Pettah and the Central Bank – some of us didn’t know better. We didn’t know anything different. We do now though... and we’re not Apathy junkies anymore.

We need to protest on different levels – and we need to move fast. If we start only once civilian targets in Colombo are hit. It will be too late. And we will look too selfish. Too weak. And not just in the eyes of the rest of the country but to the international community too.

Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile;
’Tis hard to settle order once again.
- Tennyson, Lotos Eaters

But we lack faith. We lack the faith that we can really change things and this…. in spite of there being incredible power (latent though it may be) within the general population. In spite of the fact that successive governments were elected in by people like us… and have been allowed to maintain control by people like us. Worse, those governments fund themselves and their extravagant tastes at our expense. If they’re doing something wrong then it is we who should demand things are done differently. We must!

In true Sri Lankan style though - someone says stand up - and other people rip them to shreds without thinking twice. Mala voiced her idea – as we all have before. and aren’t ideas what blogs are supposed to be about? Not for finding out who slept with whom and how many times someone else threw up on a Saturday night… stupidly entertaining as that information may be.

If we let this ‘stand up’ hype slide and don’t make the most of it, it may well be years before we come this way again. And we cannot afford that time. I believe the impact of protests by unaffected, unbiased individuals in incalculable. Think of the impact Whites marching with Blacks to protest segregation must have had on US legislators. Think of the impact worldwide mass demonstrations might have had before this most recent war in Iraq. And think of what might have happened if the German majority i.e. non Jew/ non Homosexual... had taken to the streets in the early 1930s, refusing to accept policies that curtailed the rights of the minority groups. Might things have been any different? We’ll never know.

"to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all"- Elie Wiesel

The responsibility on the civilian Sinhalese to look after the minority groups has never been so great. Specially at a time when we're being pulled apart by political parties on every side of the divide - divisions that are created for no rhyme or reason other than to gain power or stay in control . At the end of the day - it's us civilians who are the pawns in this sick game of chess and it's time we told the politicians, the terrorists and the arms dealers to bugger off and leave us alone.

We have the power dammit – we’re just not doing anything with it.

thuGland

As I see it, the primary role of government is to maintain law and order. If a government is incapable of doing that, then it’s worthless already.

The situation in Sri Lanka makes it obvious that the situation in terms of law and order in Sri Lanka leaves a lot to be desired but that’s not the government’s fault. It’s ours and ours alone. If we don’t petition the government through all the usual channels when we want change and then stand on the street if that doesn’t work… the fault for the rickety system of justice practised in this country should lie squarely on our shoulders. We vote them in and then we sit by indefinitely while they waste our money and bungle their jobs. I bet no one would tolerate this sort of ineptitude in their businesses – so why is it ok in government?

Is it because government is so remote for the average citizen? The link between the taxes you pay on a monthly basis and the awful system of governance you get in return is somehow accepted as the norm. The fact that we can actually petition people to do basic stuff, like sort out our garbage, turn on our street lights, hire more courteous policemen and generally just get a bloody move on with governing this country, doesn’t quite seemed to have seeped in. Ditto the press, our constitutional watchdogs… who do nothing but laze in the sun and write articles of no consequence (ref: full page article in the Sunday Observer, page 33 on ‘A life in the day of a pregnant lady’)

It’s a sad, sad state of affairs when you hear of politicians involved in club and bar brawls – even worse if you see them leading the charge. The recent incident where one of our better-known and less-respected Western Provincial Councillors started a horrible fight at Clancy’s, came as no surprise.

So the thing is this. If you’ve already got rape charges against you and you cause a fight pretty much wherever you go – why does society still tolerate you? The only up side is that this time he picked a fight with people of absolutely the wrong nationality. You can’t randomly pick fights with law abiding Americans because they have a superpower on their side. And you certainly can’t beat up their embassy staff without feeling some developed nation wrath bearing upon you.

AND what happened to the Ratwatte trial? How long were they in prison for? What happened to SB? How was he released so soon? What about the Ranatunga’s who were alleged to have beaten up schoolboys from the neighbouring school. Or my friend scummy-scummerson Mervin Silva. What about the car theft-related killings, the rise in the rate of petty theft and the increase in the murder rate? Are we really ok about it. This is a very different city to the one I grew up in. And it will be utterly unrecognisable when the next generation is our age.

Oh and what happened to the drugged out junkie who killed the foreign kid at Royal Park. How come we haven’t heard a peep from those quarters. And why is it that the girl’s family who have done nothing wrong have packed their bags and left Sri Lanka? Death threats? Seriously death threats? They say, justice delayed is justice denied. And justice denied is…. Is what?

DO something.

Meet. Protest. Get off your hands.

I know. I know.

The one thing that makes systems work (apart from bribery) is networks. And no one knows this better than Sri Lankans. Everyone here is someone’s-someone’s-someone. And this is why the ‘Hi!’ magazine is such a hit. It caters all too well, to our need to know and be known.

The same sort of principle applies to weddings and funerals – and while for the main part, weddings are riotously fun and mad, funerals are and will always be horrible horrible events. And still… people in Colombo need to know - this Nihal de Silva funeral is a perfect example of that. They need to know exactly what happened and when. And they need others to know that they know the real facts… so to speak.

It’s this that makes Colombo one of the most charming and irritating places to live. Whenever someone in Colombo dies, gets married or has a party – insane details are passed around – what was served, who was crying, who was there, what were they wearing…. a lot of information that I think is completely unimportant. But people need to know. And as anyone who’s ever tried to keep a secret in this town will tell you - they don’t stop until they do.

I’m sure everyone in every small town is exactly the same… I think ‘involved’ would be a nice way to put it. Which made me realise years ago, that if I wanted to stay on here and stay sane I’d have to accept that a) Colombo was small and b) people would know every insanely boring detail about my life and have their own take on it. If they didn’t, only then was I to be surprised. And to the person who taught me that – thank you.

Basically people can talk behind your back all they want... It hurts when people gossip but if they do, then it doesn’t really matter because gossip isn’t about you anyway. It’s more about them. And for this reason, it becomes unimportant and irrelevant to how you lead your life. You only need to sit up and take notice when they have the guts to say (whatever they have to say) to your face. Otherwise it doesn’t really matter at all.

And to the people who need to know. And need others to know they do – you’re cool. You’re dead cool, man. Keep on keeping on.

The Da Vinci Slog

I see there are howls of protest at Il Presidente’s decision to ban screenings of ‘The DaVinci Code’ in Sri Lanka. I have only this to say to him: thank you.

Yes of course, it is a terrible thing when a Government tries to control what and how it’s people think and it’s funny to see a Buddhist Lawyer play the fundamental fanatic but the movie is slow, preposterously pontificating and the acting is gut-wrenchingly bad. He is really doing us a favour.

Those who weren’t impressed by the book will find the movie exposes all the faults of the plot and the theory magnificently. Which is a shame. I wasn’t really a fan of the book but it was very readable, though the writing was somewhat basic. What was really irritating was that the wretched thing had been written for the movies… so while it could be described as a ‘page-turner’, that effect is kind of inevitable when chapters are all of a page long… n'est-ce pas?

As for the movie.... I was surprised to find myself bored. Really, bored. The acting was stiff and the entire movie over-dramatised so that it was almost laughable. I swear there were sections where Tautou sounded like the Lady from the Resistance in ‘Allo, Allo’ – “Leesten very carefully… I shall say zees only wunce”.

There was also little schwang between Hanks’ character Langdon and Tautou’s Neveau. Little explanation of why they’re both stumbling headlong into this dangerous adventure without second thought. Their lack of options, that was apparent in the book, doesn’t translate very well on screen.

What was upsetting was that the characters seemed to be driven, not by their personal motivation but this desperate need to piece the puzzle together. And so cracking the code and escaping from deranged killers takes pride of place…. but you’re never really sure why they’re doing it.

Then there are lots of Waste of Time scenes (WOT) : where the movie started to explore issues, like why Tautou’s character fell out with her grandfather or Hanks’ issue with confined space but didn’t tie any of this in with the overall plot. Pointless. Pointless.

Then there were more WOT scenes like the re-enactments of the history being discussed: the Council of Niceae, Emperor Constantine’s death, Mary Magdalene’s escape and killings of the Knights of the Templar. All very gimmick-y.

Did I like anything about the movie? Yes – Jean Reno as Bezu Fache and Ian McKellan as Sir Leigh Teabing were a treat to watch. Paul Bettany also did a good job with his role of Silas, the killer-monk from the Opus Dei.

It’s a 3/ 10. If you have to – read the book and leave it at that.

What to do?

The first bomb in a long time explodes in Colombo, confirming my worst fears. I don’t know if this is the start of Eelam IV or the end of that super-shaky peace that we had. I only know I’m feeling very uneasy now.

I wish I knew how this will turn out. Will the Army go on a government sanctioned anti-Tamil rampage as they did in Trinco earlier this month. Will the Sinhalese be incited by government led forces to target Tamil civilians, as they did in ‘83? Does anyone who’s not Tamil really care? I mean, really.

It doesn’t matter to most people who just continue their lives and that's the main issue here – Apathy. That is what ails this country most. Not racism, not monumental proportions of political ineptitude and certainly not the fact that we’re so close to the equator. Just Apathy.

My Oxford English dictionary defines Apathy as a “lack of interest or enthusiasm” and that’s Sri Lankans all over. We only ever get excited about politics and cricket and even then, we’re never actually shaken up enough to get out on the streets and demand a turnaround in policy or practice.

We’re so chilled out, we’re virtually horizontal.

I’m not saying we should take to the streets for yesterday’s bombing , I just want to see more active political participation, right across the board.

I don’t know about anyone else but I’m tired of hearing about people dying randomly, sick to death of soldiers being killed and maimed by claymore mines, fed up with children being conscripted into armies and more than anything else – I am nervous about the impact what this current state of ‘wedont’tknowwhattodo’ will have on the general population, on the business environment, on life as I know it. On life as I like it.

I have had absolutely enough of this bloody war and I wish it would end. Whatever that takes.

Don't get me wrong, I’m all for negotiated peace, even if the Tigers keep their guns for a part of that process. And I’m all for negotiating because I just want to live my life. I was born into this war. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t subscribe to the ideologies of either side. I don’t care. Apathy.

But this Apathy also means I still haven’t done anything to make a change happen. I’m happy to stand on my little soap box and rant to friends and family but I haven’t actually done anything about any of the issues I think need to be addressed. And I’m guessing I’m not the only one.

SO – my thing is this. Why don’t more young people get out there and protest….When some seemingly nice kid is killed by a coked-up creep. When some boy who’s Dad’s actually from the Boonies but is now a parliamentarian, decides to shoot up a club or start a bar brawl. When children are forced to fight a war they don’t initially care for. When people are killed randomly and girls are abducted in the nights, or raped – whether by civilians or the Army. We should be out there saying “no”. Demanding that the wrong doers be tried and that when they’re convicted, they’re not shunted off into a comfy little cell with a DVD player and a Nakamichi sound system.

Just do something… Imagine if you had hundreds of thousands of people, including the well-dressed urban cool, protesting outside the Araliya Mandhiraya. If all those people used their contacts and a) brought in others b) got something done – effected some changes. There is so much possibility.

When we'd vote – we’d vote for people who put in pace systems that worked and had no compunction about chucking out the stuff that didn’t. We’d vote for a far less corrupt civil and administrational society. How amazing would that be - it would force politicians and the international press to stand up and take notice. I’m sure it would.

We have the power dammit – we’re just not doing anything with it.


"to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all"
- Elie Wiesel

never ever

In your shoulder. Your waist. Your shriek of excitement and bear hug.
In my silence. And space. My retreat, from your noise.

In your smile. Your vacant stare. Those tirades-for-attention.
And in my warmth. Knowingness. Sanctuary for your insanity.

I’m there as you break into that amazing smile.
There when you show me the child.
And right there when you’re around, making everything else unimportant. Standing, holding you. Feeling your warmth.

It might have been romantic at any other time but this.

The water’s rising.
I show you the ring around the moon but you only half-glance at it
using it instead as an excuse to lean in and bite me.

It's so compelling. You're so compelling. Insanity.

Ramblings for a rabbit

I don’t know what it is about you – but I’m in your zone.

I’m late and have been running around but know it’s you – we’re not expecting any Suddhas. Gawky serious – no smiles at all. There’s still something about you and I don’t really know what it was but I wanted to chat with you.

Those eyes. There’s something there. Isn’t there? They’re just… something pretty. I looked straight and felt a little thrown. Sexy, knowing – damn they’re beautiful.

I try with you and feel like a fool.

‘Can I help’
‘No not really I need to know where everything goes’
Grumpy freak. I leave her to her packing.

On the way home, I think of the most complicated route to get time to chat to you. About the work you’re doing here. How you’re sometimes in the mood for other people and sometimes not. So not an always-nice then. Interesting. I get no vibes but you’re interesting. Very interesting.

The next day - It was so busy – there were other people I was into and they were into me. You watched a kiss. A can’t go further. And took part in a weird three-way paper based conversation on scribble paper with us.

Chain-yanking. The other woman’s into chain-yanking. I’m upset. Really really upset on the way out. And to top it all, we’re listening to my thoroughly depressing CD.

‘What’s this?’
‘Crowded House – they’re a New Zealand band’
‘Never heard of them’
Small drunk voice in the corner – ‘No you’re American, we wouldn’t expect you to know these things’

Damn... Drunk fool.

I liked chatting with you. I sing along tunelessly to the music and try to ignore this other woman whose hands are roaming all over my body. We talk about this shared passion of ours.

We talk about how important it is to do stuff that makes people think – even if there’s only a hundred people who get the message. Who cares? A hundred people who are forced to think. Just think. You then say something to insult me quite terribly but I let it go. I have been behaving exceedingly badly. Not a bad memory for a drunk.

Why is the project so important to me…? I tell you – pretty much everything. Carefully worded but now you know officially. Horses’s mouth and all that. I turn to you – it’s your turn now…

(…something something…)
“You’re straight right?”
Two really big brown eyes look straight back “bisexual”. Almost like a windpipe punch. I didn’t expect that at all. I am looking as couldn’t–care-less, as none-of-my-business as possible. My mind is spinning.

We go dancing and I know someone else is trying to dance with me but you – you’ve got amazing rhythm for a white girl. I don’t mean to be dismissive or rude but really – you dance so well. I only want to be closer. I think I take too many liberties with you and still you don’t push me off. Are you interested? Polite? Amused at how stupid I am? I feel so attracted to you I’m actually embarrassed. I’m a little ashamed of my behaviour also. You probably ditched that kind of dancing ages ago. I hate lovedrunks – the kind that want to want to sleep with you so badly in the night and then don’t want to so much as touch you the next day. I don’t do stupid hook-ups. Whether drunk or sober.

Oh god those eyes. And that mouth. It’s insane that you hide so much. Almost as if you’re ashamed of it but you’re just so beautiful. Fuck.

We’re dropping you home – I can feel her really tense. I know she wishes she could hand you over to the police or the prison so you would just stay away but I like you – you’re chilled out and not pushy and not nice. That’s a compliment from me to you.

This intense, pretty pretty girl is around and she’s cute but acting way too cool. Which means I’ll have to prostrate myself. But I won’t – I’m sorry this is serious no-go zone. I like you loads. If you want come and get. Come please.

===================================

This is from a while ago. A time before.