Things that tick me off

This is going to be a childish post, but I find that those are the best ones really. There's just some stuff thats starting to build up that if I don't get off my chest now, I'll probably just go beserk on someone sooner or later. And I hate going beserk (sp?).

So.. you know how much I like making lists..here goes nothing.

1. When people touch my shit. I'm a nice guy, I love to share. I share everything and even try to instill that behaviour in my brothers. But, sometimes people touch my stuff without my permission and it really really ticks me off. There's something you have to understand about me, I like planning things, I'm pretty cool with changing my plans every minute if I have to.. but only when I have to. I hate other people forcing me, in some or another, to change my plans or putting a wrench in how I imagined a certain moment to be. I know, its childish. I have improved in my behaviour in this regard especially when it comes to planning something with other people like a dinner or a night out; but I remain childish and actually refuse to change my behaviour when it comes to me and my shit.

So when a family member goes and opens up a new pristine white shirt that I was saving for some muslim friend's wedding on a November afternoon when no sweat, wine or chicken grease would get on it, it really ticks me off. Especially when that person should have known it was my shirt. Then when they did open it, and realised that it was my shirt, they dodn't repack it... oh no.. they put it on a hangar in their closet, threw out the wrapper and two days later started to iron it before they went to work. I woke up early today though, possibly cuz my "your shit's being touched" radar was picking up strong signals.. and needless to say, I corrected the problem in the most nice ticked-off manner I could manage before my morning tea. Shit. Now the shirt I toiled for in Karachi for days- looking for the perfect self print white shirt cloth piece to get tailored to my size is open and out of its package.. someone even ironed it. That's just great isn't it? The worst thing is that I don't even have a friend getting married this November, which means that this shirt is just gonna hang there (till some poor fool decides to tie the knot)
tempting me every morning to put it on. Regrettable.

2. Fake chocolate. Specifically, Cadbury's Ripple (made in Egypt). That stuff gives you a scratch in the throat. Sure, it looks inviting in its blue wrapper and flaky texture but it gives you a cough. No chocolate should ever give you a scratch. It should make you happy. It should give you calories and satisfaction. Not a cough. The only time I will accept chocolate with a cough is sans calories. And somehow, I don't think the Egyptians have managed to removie calories from the chocolate's sideffects. Damn Egyptians. Oh, how I yearn for a Godiva seashell.

3. Indian Idol. Its like American Idol, only much worse. First, the contestants all suck. They really do, there is no doubt about it. One guy is talented but the whole show is about copying someone else's voice and singing it on stage which even the most rudimentary music fan should be able to do with practice time on their hands an dthe prospect of women afterwards pushing them on. Needless to say, these people managed to screw up the task even then. secondly, the judges all suck.

The audience structure sucks too. First, India (like Iraq- politically spekaing in the case of Iraq) is still a very tribal country. We in the east don't get your idea of free voting, ok? Its not for us. If I see a talented guy up there who deserves my vote and I see a guy who is from my town and deserves to lose, I'll be voting for the guy from my town. Why? because we are still tribal people, divided they left us, divided we live. Screw fairness, I could have the chance to tell some chicky someday that yes, I did know the Indian Idol from the year 2006, he lived two streets down from me. This structure within the audience (ie. the audience SMSing or calling to pick favourite stars) does not work in India. Hence, of the three people left in the competition, only one deserves to be there. The other two just come from really populated provinces in India.

The judges suck too. One is a choreographer- not only is she annoying, she has nothing good to say. Every performance is the "best performance upto this point" to her. Her criticism is weak at best. You can't be lenient at the last stages of a competition girl!! If he sang badly, tell him. He's in the top three, if you're nice now the wrong guy might win or worse yet, some fool will start telling me tomorrow that he really did sing well. Tear them all apart, out of almost 1 billion people, these are the three top singers you have brought on stage.. the time is right to be critical for the love of God (sorry, forget that I mentioned God, he has more important things to do). And thats just one of the three judges, the other two are slightly better but they do have their bad moments.

Lastly, women over 38 should not be seen on stage dancing to the singing of pre-twenty five year old boys. I understand if that guy is an original singer but in this case, he is not. He is infact, a copycat singer who has to have his acne covered up by gobs of foundation. Its not becoming of you dear madam, to come on stage with your sixteen year old daughter and shake your groove thing while the slimy bastard serenades your daughter in his oily voice trying to knock off a Kishore Kumar track (who is, by all accounts writhing in his grave as we speak. Oh wait, Kishore was probably cremated.) That is the kind of stuff that ruins marriages.

Now, having read that rant you might believe that I have seen this hsow many a times out of my own volition. You would be wrong if you had thought that, and before any rumours of such sordid tales take flight, let me tell you that my Sunday and Monday night dinners have been ruined for the past two montsh because of this dastardly show. My mother and sister seem intent on lowering themselves to this level and we, the men of the house, sit around the dining table slowly shaking our heads and moaning the loss of our brain cells. as of nest week (after I get paid this Wednesday that is), I have promised to take my brothers to a falfel place every time Indian Idol is on to save ourselves the embarassment of being within a hundred metres of anywhere broadcasting this sad excuse for entertainment.

You can probably see now why I needed to type out this post. Thanks for listening.