tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20609729640701988832024-03-19T05:25:30.567-07:00Shut Me UpLittle Darling, Welcome To The Show // You're A Failure Played In Stereo.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-53131885264499129162013-02-03T21:26:00.002-08:002013-02-03T21:26:57.338-08:00some honesty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
It's back, and I don't know whether to be relieved or upset.<br />
<br />
For days and days I have been checking: putting my ear to the ground, looking at my mental furniture to see that it is not shaking in tell-tale sounds of an earthquake, glancing at the volcano on the horizon as I travel from one state to another, in a very habitual way, like one looks at a clock (but doesn't really read the time), to see if it looks any different. It is here now. I've come back home to see a stranger with his bags in my rooms, a familiar stranger, a familiar demon, and I don't know how I feel enveloped by this old, but new, fog.<br />
<br />
One thing I look for, desperately, is a sense of certainty. A way to predict.<br />
<br />
<br />
Years and years, you'll have seen me talk about them here or somewhere else, when I do talk about it, when I do try to put it into words, when I do try to make sense of it. It's a chemical imbalance. It can't be a chemical imbalance unless a doctor says for sure. I don't trust psychiatry or psychology. Everyone feels depressed. This is not normal. Maybe if I take some medicine I will be able to tell what happy is like. Maybe it is because I am dissatisfied. The hypotheses pile up, and I am experiment and participant observation, subject and researcher, policy-maker and population, all rolled into one, all standing in the same space, like <a href="http://www.ruanyifeng.com/calvino/2007/07/ch_4_all_at_one_point.html">that</a> Italo Calvino story.<br />
<br />
<br />
It feels like there is no point. It is the stalker in all your photographs, always in the background. It is like death, but not in the most important way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Meditations on death</i><br />
There are two ways you mean "I want to die." I say you although I mean me and most of the time I can handle wanting to die, but sometimes it freaks me out. It freaks other people out too so let's just say you.<br />
<br />
The first way you mean is, I want an end to life. You're tired. You've suffered. You want an end, a full stop.<br />
<br />
The second way you mean is, I want death. To die, to sleep. You crave nothingness.<br />
<br />
The two may seem to be the same, and in a way, they are. For the former there is a cure. You move. You change friends. You run away. You pick up a new book or go for a boat ride. For the latter, you could be in the most beautiful place in the world with people you love and it will make no difference.<br />
<br />
In depression the optimism for me is that what I have is the former. That is why I need to get out of here. It is my only hope. It is my way of saying, I want to live. It is possible for me to live. The detractors, of course, say, But what if you're as unhappy there [there being not-here]? Then what? Then, it is the second kind and all of them, in their wise-ass way, in their wiser-than-thou way, in their stubborn way of validating their own awful choices, are wishing it upon me. Naturally that makes me resentful.<br />
<br />
<br />
But why can't I live here? Because it would be death: it already has been.<br />
<br />
Most of the people who 'want to see me happy' actually want me to not be depressed anymore. There is a difference there, too: the depression gets them down. They're not actually concerned about me. The ones who want me to settle, they too want a sick kind of validation. That is culture, that is socialization: a perpetuation of the election of the same choices. That is why people take offence when you tell them you hate the institutions they love, or this piece of land they've slapped an ironic, grandiose, impossible name on, or their shackles of ideals.<br />
<br />
<i>Other feelings</i><br />
Underneath, there is anger. When I do feel something strongly, other than worthlessness, other than existential misery, it is rage.<br />
<br />
I will not talk about love, though I suspect that it is a way of binding me here. Could be a survival mechanism. Over the years, it's turning into less of a challenge for the waves eroding it.<br />
<br />
Happiness feels like the moment in the horror movie when everything seems to be okay, except you know that the killer is right behind the protagonist. The relief is surely short-lived. Meaningless, even.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've had a long period of relative okay-ness. I have been able to feel happy, in a way. Each piece of me that dies leaves possibilities of happiness. At the end, there is the mirror image: death in life equals happiness, death in death equals happiness. It's funny. What is the point a life like that? Maybe it is that friends and family will finally shut the fuck up. Their superficial cares will disappear. Eventually it will be possible to forget the person who died, eventually the mourning will have turned into a mourning period, a phase.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am two people. There is the person saying these things. Then there is the person who will deny them all later.<br />
<br />
Sometimes one wins.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the other does.<br />
<br />
When they work together it is dangerous.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-8139499043393634002013-02-01T01:43:00.000-08:002013-02-01T01:43:21.623-08:00applications, papers, deadlines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
everything feels like a test<br />
and i, like i'm never good enough.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-28767137805151342962013-01-18T04:02:00.000-08:002013-01-18T04:02:21.007-08:00adventures of boy/girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
while cycling, a lot fewer people stare at me.<br />
<br />
at the canteen, the guy called me sir and then hastily corrected himself.<br />
<br />
a boy in my class thinks i want to be a boy, and it irritates me to no end. it's not funny, and no, i don't want to be a boy.<br />
<br />
just because i cut my hair.<br />
<br />
the women in the salon, more often than not, see the hairdresser cutting off my hair, and say that they wish they were getting theirs cut as short too. they never do.<br />
<br />
when i see women with short hair i feel a camaraderie with them. evidently something as small as this also takes guts.<br />
<br />
of course, i'll cut it again when it grows out and again after that.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-49683498717225259412013-01-03T06:48:00.001-08:002013-01-03T06:49:33.121-08:00"For each man kills the thing he loves/Yet each man does not die."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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</div>
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For each man kills the thing he loves, </div>
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Yet each man does not die.</div>
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He does not die a death of shame </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker9"></a><br />
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On a day of dark disgrace, </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker9">
</a><br />
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Nor have a noose about his neck, </div>
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Nor a cloth upon his face, </div>
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Nor drop feet foremost through the floor </div>
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Into an empty space.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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- from The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde</div>
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<br /></div>
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I don't know if I kill the thing I love, but sometimes I'm just unable to deliver...I get scared.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You really have to think about these things.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe I'm doing it, but don't know?</div>
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<br /></div>
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And what does one do if one <i>is</i> killing the thing one loves?</div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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Yet each man kills the thing he loves, </div>
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By each let this be heard, </div>
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Some do it with a bitter look, </div>
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Some with a flattering word, </div>
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The coward does it with a kiss, </div>
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The brave man with a sword!</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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</div>
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Some kill their love when they are young, </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker7"></a><br />
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And some when they are old; </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker7">
</a><br />
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Some strangle with the hands of Lust, </div>
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Some with the hands of Gold: </div>
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The kindest use a knife, because </div>
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The dead so soon grow cold.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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</div>
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Some love too little, some too long, </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker8"></a><br />
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Some sell, and others buy; </div>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2060972964070198883" name="Marker8">
</a><br />
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Some do the deed with many tears, </div>
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And some without a sigh: </div>
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For each man kills the thing he loves, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yet each man does not die.</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-8861594692584109582013-01-02T07:26:00.003-08:002013-01-02T07:26:57.885-08:00Project Idea #1: Wiki<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, I just got a really cool project idea.<br />
<br />
I downloaded something called a TiddlyWiki, for I don't even remember what reason. It's basically a user-friendly thing that lets you build a wiki on your computer.<br />
<br />
It's been waiting since 28th November 2012 apparently and I've been thinking about how to fill it up.<br />
<br />
Now, I think, I'm going to write a page every day. Just about the stuff in my life. Of course, it can't be like a real wiki, with empirical references. It's basically a next-level notebook/journal.<br />
<br />
Writing a page daily means I'll put in really mundane stuff too, like a page on calculators talking about all the calculators I've had. Seriously.<br />
<br />It sounds kind of nuts, but I really want to do it. It's like digitizing my brain.<br />
<br />
I'm writing my first page, on Virginia Woolf, right now.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-15589176241054303612013-01-01T07:30:00.001-08:002013-01-01T07:30:34.013-08:002013<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Hey guys.<br />
<br />
I'm writing here again because I miss this blog. This is what I do. Start, ditch, return. Life works in cycles.<br />
<br />
So it's 2013 now and it's funny that it began the way 2012 began, with me working on apps on the 31st. When I think of it that way I feel like I've wasted a year, which I have, in a way, and which I haven't, in another. Only time can tell, but it's a question of Moving On With Life or Gaining Wisdom/Insight.<br />
<br />
After this year-long limbo and the wisdom it has bequeathed me, I now want to Move On.<br />
<br />
Which is kinda what I expected from 2012. I expected to be flying high, celebrating 21 December 2012 in, well, you know. I won't say the name.<br />
<br />
Let's get one thing straight right away. A lot of my friends, bless their hearts, try to make me see the other side of things. The happy side. I <i>get</i> it. Fine. In a way, my life isn't a total complete utter mess.<br />
<br />
But it is. I mean, other than the things that I've learnt this year -- I really shudder to think that I have wasted <i>a full year of my life</i>. I didn't get into college and I don't want to not go into academia. I've seen what I can do outside of it -- work in development, maybe, or get a marketing job and make tonnes of money and live comfortably. I DON'T WANT TO. All this time outside of it, I know for sure, on the double, what I don't want.<br />
<br />
It's like losing somebody you love, minus the sentimentality. Am I making sense? My resolution for this blog is to not give a fuck about sounding 14. I am done seeking profundity and am willing to settle for profanity.<br />
<br />
I don't know why whenever I start talking I inevitably circle back to College or The-College-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ok, I know why. I have to stop doing it because it is putting people off. No, actually, I have to stop doing it because it's putting <i>me</i> off.<br />
<br />
Well, I've decided that I'm going to work on projects every month in order to stay sane. I don't know what I am going to do when I get rejected again in March/April. I think I'll get into the Lahori *cough* university, and I guess I'll go there. Not thinking about that.<br />
<br />
I'm really not thinking about the future much these days. I've mostly even stopped daydreaming about College. I just...listen to stories, most of the time. A lot of <i><a href="http://thisamericanlife.org/">This American Life</a></i>. And, of course, I read articles and essays and such.<br />
<br />
I'm letting my hair grow long. Maybe till the sides get to my shoulders.<br />
<br />
I'm still deciding on resolutions other than reading and writing. Thinking about trying <a href="http://zenhabits.net/52/">these</a>.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-22742144831621802292012-04-01T02:27:00.000-07:002012-04-01T02:28:12.586-07:00lightness/weight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Let us sum up. These four forms of attachment are the only problem that Buddhists or people who wish to know about Buddhism have to understand. The objective of living a holy life (Brahmacariya) in Buddhism is to enable the mind to give up unskillful grasping. You can find this teaching in every discourse in the texts which treats of the attainment of arahantship. The expression used is "the mind freed from attachment." That is the ultimate. When the mind is free from attachment, there is nothing to bind it and make it a slave of the world. There is nothing to keep it spinning on in the cycle of birth and death, so the whole process comes to a stop, or rather, becomes world transcending, free from the world. The giving up of unskillful clinging is, then, the key to Buddhist practice."</span><br />
<a href="http://www.buddhanet.net/budasa7.htm"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">source</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Milan Kundera (The Unbearable Lightness of Being)</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-77654753161135548722012-03-27T09:00:00.000-07:002012-03-27T09:00:26.183-07:00past selves/advice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I thought of writing a letter to my past self about some of the things I know now. Life has changed.<br />
<br />
As I thought of writing it I really got into the feel of it; it wasn't just a letter of advice; I couldn't just say 'don't do this', because that wouldn't make sense. Here's an excerpt:<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>To myself, <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><a href="http://improbableletters.blogspot.com/2011/01/anotherloveletter.html">1 year, 2 months, and 7 days ago</a>:</span>
</i><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Kid, you'll live. You'll lose everything and you'll live. I know, it doesn't make sense. I'm sorry about that.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Forget Mt Holyoke. Go out and play football. Screw being careful, have some fun. And for god's sake go out more often. Should I repeat the first part again? Choro yaar, dafa karo. You've been kicked around before, you'll be kicked around again. Collegeadmissions and school can destroy everything that is good about you if you let them. Don't let them, and keep going even if you feel like you want to die, rest, have some peace. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Be nicer to your parents. I can't stress this enough. You have no idea what they're willing to do for you.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>+</i></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>You'll still want the same things -- you'll just get perspective. You'll learn the hardest lessons for a person like you and you will say What the fuck, what kind of a life is this? well, so it is, so it is. You just keep going. Don't kill yourself.</i></span></span><br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><br />
...and that's when it got really messy. I was giving <i>myself</i> advice and yet it was useless...<br />
<br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I'm sorry if I sound condescending in this letter, I know you don't like that. It's just...you've gotta take it from me, and you know I'm not going to give you any shit (btw, ignore everyone's advice, it's useless), life doesn't necessarily get any better, it just opens up. You know the things you wilfully ignored just so you could singlemindedly work to get into college? Yes, those things. They're important. What you want can wait.</span>
</i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">would I take this advice? No, I would not. This would probably have made me want to do something unpleasant. Thinking about it is mildly freaking me out.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">And so I'm thinking: past selves. Again. I think about past selves a lot. But honestly, if you could go back in time and give yourself advice, would it be of any use? Would you want to give advice to a past self? And if the past self acted on the advice, would you be you now? Nerd questions for perspective.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span><br />
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+ </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Recently, I've been thinking of <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem-alone/176442?iframe=true">a poem</a> that's <span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-auto;">recited in one of my favourite movies, Into the Wild.</span></div>
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<i>Stop,<br />don't do it--she's the wrong woman,<br />he's the wrong man, you are going to do things<br />you cannot imagine you would ever do,<br />you are going to do bad things to children,<br />you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,<br />you are going to want to die.</i>
</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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If you could tell yourself (or others) these things, would you? Could you?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
I heard this poem before - just didn't think it applied to me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<i>I say<br />Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.</i></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-72312399156508398732012-03-23T17:12:00.000-07:002012-03-23T17:12:17.463-07:00life lesson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Small man the mombatti, big man the laltain. WISDOM.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-31696519858742060222012-03-16T08:36:00.002-07:002012-03-16T08:37:04.570-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You can't miss what you don't have, and never have had (they say)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-73155534466505796542012-03-14T06:39:00.001-07:002012-03-14T06:39:19.255-07:00dr manhattan on life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 23px;">Laurie: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 23px;">"Humanity is about to be become extinct. Doesn't it bother you"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">Dr. Manhattan: "</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">All that pain and conflict done with? All that needless suffering over at last? No, that doesn't bother me."</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">+</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;"><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span></span></div>
Laurie: </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">"Jon, what about the war? You've got to prevent it! Everyone will die."</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;" /><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">Dr. Manhattan: </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">"...And the universe will not even notice."</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">+</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;"><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span></span></div>
"In my opinion, [life's] a highly overrated phenomenon. Mars gets along perfectly without so much as a micro-organism."</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;" /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">+</span></div>
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(Talking about Mars) "</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 23px;">...Giant steps, ninety feet high...A constantly changing topographical map, flowing and shifting...Tell me...would it be greatly improved by an oil pipeline?"</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px;" /><br />
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<span style="line-height: 23px;">I agree with what he says. But then I read the second portion of To the Lighthouse and it depressed the fuck out of me. The empty house made me want to cry. I am so confused. I thought, well, maybe life is something after all.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 23px;">But then I remembered Virginia Woolf killed herself. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 23px;">There is chaos in my head right now. Every time I try to think about this I have to distract myself because I feel that there is no answer, that any estimation of the worth of life is rooted somehow in sentimentality or instinct and that the opposite is perhaps hence rooted in cold rationalism and fatalism. I don't know. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 23px;">Dr Manhattan later remarks that perhaps life is awesome because it's "rarer than a quark", but I don't buy that. </span></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-41713716759088560652012-03-08T20:06:00.001-08:002012-03-08T20:06:04.096-08:00Sharing: Toba Tek Singh by Manto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="color: orange;">Toba Tek Singh</span></b><br />by Sadat Hasan Manto</div>
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Two or three years after the 1947 Partition, it occurred to the governments of India and Pakistan to exchange their lunatics in the same manner as they had exchanged their criminals. The Muslim lunatics in India were to be sent over to Pakistan and the Hindu and Sikh lunatics in Pakistani asylums were to be handed over to India.<br /><br />It was difficult to say whether the proposal made any sense or not. However, the decision had been taken at the topmost level on both sides. After high-level conferences were held a day was fixed for exchange of the lunatics. It was agreed that those Muslims who had families in India would be permitted to stay back while the rest would be escorted to the border. Since almost all the Hindus and Sikhs had migrated from Pakistan, the question of retaining non-Muslim lunatics in Pakistan did not arise. All of them were to be taken to India.<br /><br />Nobody knew what transpired in India, but so far as Pakistan was concerned this news created quite a stir in the lunatic asylum at Lahore, leading to all sorts of funny developments. A Muslim lunatic, a regular reader of the fiery Urdu daily <i>Zamindar</i>, when asked what Pakistan was, reflected for a while and then replied, "Don't you know? A place in India known for manufacturing cut-throat razors." Apparently satisfied, the friend asked no more questions.<br /><br />Likewise, a Sikh lunatic asked another Sikh, "Sardarji, why are we being deported to India? We don't even know their language." The Sikh gave a knowing smile. "But I know the language of <i>Hindostoras</i>" he replied. "These bloody Indians, the way they strut about!"<br /><br />One day while taking his bath, a Muslim lunatic yelled, "<i>Pakistan Zindabad!</i>" with such force that he slipped, fell down on the floor and was knocked unconscious.<br /><br />Not all the inmates were insane. Quite a few were murderers. To escape the gallows, their relatives had gotten them in by bribing the officials. They had only a vague idea about the division of India or what Pakistan was. They were utterly ignorant of the present situation. Newspapers hardly ever gave the true picture and the asylum warders were illiterates from whose conversation they could not glean anything. All that these inmates knew was that there was a man by the name of Quaid-e-Azam who had set up a separate state for Muslims, called Pakistan. But they had no idea where Pakistan was. That was why they were all at a loss whether they were now in India or in Pakistan. If they were in India, then where was Pakistan? If they were in Pakistan, how come that only a short while ago they were in India? How could they be in India a short while ago and now suddenly in Pakistan?<br /><br />One of the lunatics got so bewildered with this India-Pakistan-Pakistan-India rigmarole that one day while sweeping the floor he climbed up a tree, and sitting on a branch, harangued the people below for two hours on end about the delicate problems of India and Pakistan. When the guards asked him to come down he climbed up still higher and said, "I don't want to live in India and Pakistan. I'm going to make my home right here on this tree."<br /><br />All this hubbub affected a radio engineer with an MSc degree, a Muslim, a quiet man who took long walks by himself. One day he stripped off all his clothes, gave them to a guard and ran in the garden stark naked.<br /><br />Another Muslim inmate from Chiniot, an erstwhile adherent of the Muslim League who bathed fifteen or sixteen times a day, suddenly gave up bathing. As his name was Mohammed Ali, he one day proclaimed that he was none other than Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah. Taking a cue from him a Sikh announced that he was Master Tara Singh, the leader of the Sikhs. This could have led to open violence. But before any harm could be done the two lunatics were declared dangerous and locked up in separate cells.<br /><br />Among the inmates of the asylum was a Hindu lawyer from Lahore who had gone mad because of unrequited love. He was deeply pained when he learnt that Amritsar, where the girl lived, would form part of India. He roundly abused all the Hindu and Muslim leaders who had conspired to divide India into two, thus making his beloved an Indian and him a Pakistani. When the talks on the exchange were finalized his mad friends asked him to take heart since now he could go to India. But the young lawyer did not want to leave Lahore, for he feared for his legal practice in Amritsar.<br /><br />There were two Anglo-Indians in the European ward. When informed the British were leaving, they spent hours together discussing the problems they would be faced with: Would the European ward be abolished? Would they get breakfast? Instead of bread, would they have to make do with measly Indian chapattis?<br /><br />There was a Sikh who had been admitted into the asylum fifteen years ago. Whenever he spoke it was the same mysterious gibberish: "Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the laltain." The guards said that he had not slept a wink in all this time. He would not even lie down to rest. His feet were swollen with constant standing and his calves had puffed out in the middle, but in spite of this agony he never cared to lie down. He listened with rapt attention to all discussions about the exchange of lunatics between India and Pakistan. If someone asked his views on the subject he would reply in a grave tone: "Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the Government of Pakistan." But later on he started substituting "the Government of Pakistan" with "Tobak Tek Singh," which was his home town. Now he begun asking where Toba Tek Singh was to go. But nobody seemed to know where it was. Those who tried to explain themselves got bogged down in another enigma: Sialkot, which used to be in India, now was in Pakistan. At this rate, it seemed as if Lahore, which was now in Pakistan, would slide over to India. Perhaps the whole of India might become Pakistan. It was all so confusing! And who could say if both India and Pakistan might not entirely disappear from the face of the earth one day?<br /><br />The hair on the Sikh lunatic's head had thinned and his beard had matted, making him look wild and ferocious. But he was a harmless creature. In fifteen years he had not even once had a row with anyone. The older employees of the asylum knew that he had been a well-to-do fellow who had owned considerable land in Toba Tek Singh. Then he had suddenly gone mad. His family had brought him to the asylum in chains and left him there. They came to meet him once a month but ever since the communal riots had begun, his relatives had stopped visiting him.<br /><br />His name was Bishan Singh but everybody called him Toba Tek Singh. He did not know what day it was, what month it was and how many years he had spent in the asylum. Yet as if by instinct he knew when his relatives were going to visit, and on that day he would take a long bath, scrub his body with soap, put oil in his hair, comb it and put on clean clothes. If his relatives asked him anything he would keep silent or burst out with ì<i>Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the laltain.</i>"<br /><br />When he had been brought to the asylum, he had left behind an infant daughter. She was now a comely and striking young girl of fifteen, who Bishan Singh failed to recognize. She would come to visit him, and not be able to hold back her tears.<br /><br />When the India-Pakistan caboodle started Bishan Singh often asked the other inmates where Toba Tek Singh was. Nobody could tell him. Now even the visitors had stopped coming. Previously his sixth sense would tell him when the visitors were due to come. But not anymore. His inner voice seemed to have stilled. He missed his family, the gifts they used to bring and the concern with which they used to speak to him. He was sure they would have told him whether Toba Tek Singh was in India or Pakistan. He also had the feeling that they came from Toba Tek Singh, his old home.<br /><br />One of the lunatics had declared himself God. One day Bishan Singh asked him where Toba Tek Singh was. As was his habit the man greeted Bishan Singh's question with a loud laugh and then said, "It's neither in India nor in Pakistan. In fact, it is nowhere because till now I have not taken any decision about its location."<br /><br />Bishan begged the man who called himself God to pass the necessary orders and solve the problem. But 'God' seemed to be very busy other matters. At last Bishan Singh's patience ran out and he cried out: "<i>Uper the gur gur the annexe the mung the dal of Guruji da Khalsa and Guruji ki fatehÖjo boley so nihal sat sri akal.</i>"<br /><br />What he wanted to say was: "You don't answer my prayers because you a Muslim God. Had you been a Sikh God, you would have surely helped me out."<br /><br />A few days before the exchange was due to take place, a Muslim from Toba Tek Singh who happened to be a friend of Bishan Singh came to meet him. He had never visited him before. On seeing him, Bishan Singh tried to slink away, but the warder barred his way. "Don't you recognize your friend Fazal Din?" he said. "He has come to meet you." Bishan Singh looked furtively at Fazal Din, then started to mumble something. Fazal Din placed his hand on Bishan Singh's shoulder. "I have been thinking of visiting you for a long time," he said. "But I couldn't get the time. Your family is well and has gone to India safely. I did what I could to help. As for your daughter, Roop KaurÖ" --he hesitated--'She is safe tooÖin India."<br /><br />Bishan Singh kept quiet. Fazal Din continued: "Your family wanted me to make sure you were well. Soon you'll be moving to India. Please give my salaam to bhai Balbir Singh and bhai Raghbir Singh and bahain Amrit Kaur. Tell Balbir that Fazal Din is well. The two brown buffaloes he left behind are well too. Both of them gave birth to calves, but, unfortunately, one of them died. Say I think of them often and to write to me if there is anything I can do."<br /><br />Then he added "Here, I've brought some plums for you."<br /><br />Bishan Singh took the gift from Fazal Din and handed it to the guard. "Where is Toba Tek Singh?" he asked.<br /><br />"Where? Why, it is where it has always been."<br /><br />"In India or Pakistan?î<br /><br />"In IndiaÖno, in Pakistan."<br /><br />Without saying another word, Bishan Singh walked away, muttering "<i>Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhyana the mung the dal of the Pakistan and India dur fittey moun.</i>"<br /><br />At long last the arrangements for the exchange were complete. The lists of lunatics who were to be sent over from either side were exchanged and the date fixed.<br /><br />On a cold winter evening truckloads of Hindu and Sikh lunatics from the Lahore asylum were moved out to the Indian border under police escort. Senior officials went with them to ensure a smooth exchange. The two sides met at the Wagah border check-post, signed documents and the transfer got underway.<br /><br />Getting the lunatics out of the trucks and handing them over to the opposite side proved to be a tough job. Some refused to get down from the trucks. Those who could be persuaded to do so began to run in all directions. Some were stark naked. As soon as they were dressed they tore off their clothes again. They swore, they sang, they fought with each other. Others wept. Female lunatics, who were also being exchanged, were even noisier. It was pure bedlam. Their teeth chattered in the bitter cold.<br /><br />Most of the inmates appeared to be dead set against the entire operation. They simply could not understand why they were being forcibly removed to a strange place. Slogans of '<i>Pakistan Zindabad</i>' and '<i>Pakistan Murdabad</i>' were raised, and only timely intervention prevented serious clashes.<br /><br />When Bishan Singh's turn came to give his personal details to be recorded in the register, he asked the official "Where's Toba Tek Singh? In India or Pakistan?"<br /><br />The officer laughed loudly, "In Pakistan, of course."<br /><br />Hearing that Bishan Singh turned and ran back to join his companions. The Pakistani guards caught hold of him and tried to push him across the line to India. Bishan Singh wouldn't move. "This is Toba Tek Singh," he announced. "<i>Uper the gur gur the annexe the be dyhana mung the dal of Toba Tek Singh and Pakistan.</i>"<br /><br />It was explained to him over and over again that Toba Tek Singh was in India, or very soon would be, but all this persuasion had no effect.<br /><br />They even tried to drag him to the other side, but it was no use. There he stood on his swollen legs as if no power on earth could dislodge him. Soon, since he was a harmless old man, the officials left him alone for the time being and proceeded with the rest of the exchange.<br /><br />Just before sunrise, Bishan Singh let out a horrible scream. As everybody rushed towards him, the man who had stood erect on his legs for fifteen years, now pitched face-forward on to the ground. On one side, behind barbed wire, stood together the lunatics of India and on the other side, behind more barbed wire, stood the lunatics of Pakistan. In between, on a bit of earth which had no name, lay Toba Tek Singh.</div>
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<a href="http://www.sacw.net/partition/tobateksingh.html">source</a></div>
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one of my favourite stories.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-19874241902838459202012-03-03T17:10:00.000-08:002012-03-03T17:10:47.130-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
That morning I thought: if you're patient, and if you listen, some of the answers just come to you.<br />
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That afternoon (as I listened) I was confused again. Things I thought were settled were scattered about like sand is when the waves roll back to the sea. Have you ever felt the pull of the sea? It takes time getting to get used to and even then...even then there's something devious about it.<br />
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So I dug in my heels and waited for the sand to settle again.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-32543594405743985202012-02-27T03:11:00.002-08:002012-02-27T03:11:39.414-08:00SHE'S DONE IT!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkl99_H3Hprw36idm8zxWd7MW0y3GnPvNMJitu4cEjiy7_PKCmKtECL74YNxByepDXXoYQptiE9iQwAmdeKO2OqJ0ZNgoE9R76Gz1-kDzmiaHVWFeIy7xMQ82CSRu52UUtTnGqAYjuJI/s1600/ithappened.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkl99_H3Hprw36idm8zxWd7MW0y3GnPvNMJitu4cEjiy7_PKCmKtECL74YNxByepDXXoYQptiE9iQwAmdeKO2OqJ0ZNgoE9R76Gz1-kDzmiaHVWFeIy7xMQ82CSRu52UUtTnGqAYjuJI/s1600/ithappened.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SO MANY FEELINGS!!!!!!!!! </span><br />
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I AM SO SO SO SO RIDICULOUSLY PROUD OF SHARMEEN. SHE HAS BEEN A PERSONAL HERO FOR A WHILE NOW AND I WAS ALL LIKE OMGGGGGGG WHEN SHE GOT NOMINATED AND NOW SHE'S WON IT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. SHE IS SO AWESOME. ALSO, I SAW HER AT KLF.<br />
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SHE'S WON IT SHE'S WON IT SHE'S WON IT<br />
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IT HAPPENED AND NOBODY CAN TAKE IT AWAY FROM HER OR FROM US<br />
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HER SPEECH, YOU GUYS<br />
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HER SPEECH<br />
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...<br />
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and can I just say that you can find all the cool pakistanis on tumblr by searching for "saving face" :D</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-55443892279596022922012-02-23T06:34:00.000-08:002012-02-23T06:34:10.755-08:00relapse/recovery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last month I was 'feeling blue' and went on tumblr. Um...as some of you would know I've been depressed for large and significant chunks of my life. I have been feeling better lately (since about the start of this year), and have somehow managed to keep it up. I didn't talk about it in detail here or to anyone because I can't explain it and for all I know it's the product of magic. I've been feeling not-bad for about two solid months. I have not been depressed. I get the feeling that this isn't going to last, and it probably isn't, but it's nice to have calm periods. It literally feels good.<br />
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So anyhow one day in January I was feeling a bit down so I freaked out and went to tumblr. This was not only because tumblr makes me happy, but this was also because after the good streak I'd been having I did not WANT to be depressed again -- and this was remarkable in itself too. I'd worked my way out of a mindset, a framework, and as I felt myself getting gloomy I thought, <i>Oh god, I must stop this. I can't be depressed again.</i> And just then (the birds of fortuity came and settled), I saw a post that said 'Relapse is part of recovery.' Today I tried to find it again and saw the title of a site that says <i>Relapse is not part of recovery </i>(I did not click on the link), so yeah. What I'm saying here is probably not science. It is probably not based on a study with findings that apply to everybody. So do not try this 'how the fuck do I get myself out of a hole?' at home. But anyway, when I saw that post I felt better. I believed it. And I still do. Because then I kind of realized that <i>obviously, I can't be happy all the time</i>. That's not possible and might actually be creepy/weird, even for me. And so, yes, <i>it's okay for me to be upset sometimes</i>. I know this sounds like no-shit-sherlock, but...I'm still figuring this out.<br />
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So, I relapsed. But I recognized it was a moment of weakness. Maybe relapse is not part of your recovery if you're an alcoholic or something. But what if you're depressed or emotionally unbalanced or whatever the fuck is/was wrong with me? I suppose relapse is inevitable at some point and you've just got to come to terms with it, recognize it, and move on. So far (this year) I've only been sad sad like three times and I've freaked out each time about the possibility of being depressed again. But I'm okay so far. Just lonely at times, because I have nobody to talk to talk to at school. Whenever I get upset I don't know how to explain it because the things I get upset about, <i>nobody gets upset about</i>. And when you have to explain it it means that there is a gap already between yourself and the other person. Explaining usually doesn't help. It just makes the other person go all "Ok" rather than "Oh, this makes me upset too, then." I've tried.<br />
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Like today, we were studying rape in socio and this one boy just sat there smiling. The teacher noticed it. Pretty much everyone noticed it. But it upset nobody. Nobody said, 'What is <i>wrong</i> with you?' and nobody told him to not laugh when he was laughing at the explanations. I don't know, maybe I'm nuts, but this whole thing (among other things that happened in the class) upset me and all I could think of was how I wanted to get away from everybody in that class. Like I can't even...<br />
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At first I was angry, then I felt like crying. I felt violent at some point too, genuinely violent, though I don't believe in violence. But towards a man, a privileged one, sitting there <i>smiling during a class about rape</i>? Why don't you make an educated guess. Though, perhaps, I use the word educated ironically.<br />
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Being sick, being unhappy, for me has had a lot (if not everything) to do with where I am. That's why I think this recovery is short-lived. Nevertheless, I am happy that I am happy. I am happy that I have, seemingly, sorted some of my issues out. For a couple of years some things that have been on my mind <i>all the time</i> are not on my mind all the time now. I am beginning to get better. I am able to look back at them instead of carrying them all the time. Do you know how that feels? It feels like you've climbed a friggin mountain. As you stand on top of it you can look down (finally) and see how far you've come. Then you can sit down on the top of the mountain and chill (ah! couldn't resist) and...enjoy the view, really. Eventually you'll have to come down, but...for now, you enjoy the view, and savour your success.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-10630728546691165312012-02-23T05:43:00.000-08:002012-02-23T05:45:36.520-08:00change of URL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you're here, congratulations, you've found me!<br />
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I've changed the URL and hopefully this way I'll be able to keep the blog open.<br />
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The posts on why I shut down/wanted to shut down the blog still stand.<br />
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I'm going to go through all of my posts and will probably cut out my name or pictures or whatever. Usually I am pretty careful, but...who knows.<br />
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Um, yup.<br />
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Also going to be hiding from search engines for a bit. So goodbye to googling Kamila Shamsie and finding me.<br />
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I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I'm still trying to figure things out.<br />
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N</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-12011550218474356672012-02-21T01:59:00.000-08:002012-02-21T01:59:13.127-08:00a morning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today (I wrote this yesterday, btw) I got to school early. For the past couple of years I've been coming to school by a van service which I've just quit. Now I'll be coming to school with my mother, who wasn't dropping me to begin with because she has to get to school too and it's on the other side of Defence and as a result we'll both have to leave early and get home late. But that's not the point.<br />
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The point is that I got in early today. It's still wintery in Karachi, and the sun takes its sweet time rising; and today as I walked up to the building (we have a nice long walk from the gate to the main building), I thought: <i>I love this place</i>. That didn't seem quite right, but with the brownish silhouette against the ambiguously blue sky, it wasn't a complete falsehood. It was empty, save for the domestic staff; I was free to walk as slowly as I pleased, free to savour my walk, free to think, free to get lost in the sight. I looked over to the ugly matti waala ground where there were still a couple of barricades and a few odd bottles and some trash from sports day <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">— </span><i>why don't they put grass on it?</i> I thought. The image of the Saddar school came to mind, with its amazing green ground. When I was a kid one of my mamoo-families lived in the building right next to the Saddar school. I would often look down at (hah! Imagine that) the school and wonder about the lives of the kids playing baseball on it. Now, I guess I know, and am no better for it. But that, of course, takes nothing away from the ground or the building itself. The building! It is beautiful. If I could exchange knowledge of these lives for a single walk about that building, I would do it, no regrets. The building is too beautiful.<br />
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And that's what I was thinking of: beautiful buildings; architecture; I thought, <i>I love nice buildings. Maybe I should do that for a living.</i> But then I remembered it takes math and physics more than an understanding of beauty, perhaps. The thought unsettled me, <i>But you can't always just decide to jump into making anything you like</i>, I thought, and it made sense.<br />
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As I entered the building, <i>I don't really love this place</i>, I thought as I looked at the tiles. The tiles put me off. I corrected: <i>I only like the outside. I only love the façade! How's that for metaphor?</i> The metaphor delighted me, and I turned it over in my head, checked it for cracks, brooded over it. Let's talk about the façade for a bit. The old Saddar building is actually, well, <i>old</i>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">—</span> the school's founding date is 1847 (<a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3328/3191447054_274d95ee88.jpg">picture</a>).<br />
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But the one I go to is in Clifton and less than twenty years old. They've actually made the façade to look like the one of the original; so on the outside it's all artificially aged or whatever and on the inside it's all modern and purpose-built and shit with the stupid tiles. At one point, as I thought of the building, I wondered: <i>is it possible to love a building? </i>I even noted this thought down. <i>Well, it is possible. I love the Mama Parsi building don't I? And I fucking hate Mama Parsi. </i>(I went to Mama Parsi for eleven years).<i> </i>And then I thought of Karachi, all cleared out: would I still love it? Is the city its buildings?<br />
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I went to class, put my bag down, and then wondered about what I was going to do. Initially I'd thought I'd go into the courtyard, but there was nobody there (except for the odd person coming in) and I thought I might as well stay in class. I walked to the back, where it was dark; in the morning they leave the back lights off (to save energy, I suppose). It was empty <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">—</span> it was all empty! It felt really great. <i>Yes</i>, I decided, <i>at the very least I like this place a whole lot better when there's nobody in it. Even with the stupid, ugly, green desks</i>. I walked about for a bit, then whipped out To the Lighthouse and read a couple of paragraphs. It was very nice to be reading, pacing, with no distractions (at least for a bit). I walked easily in the lines of space that were there simply because the chairs had not yet been pulled back from the desks; I walked under the light, reading, joining the Ramsays at their dinner party. It was peace. And even as students began to trickle in I read leisurely, enjoying the words as you would enjoy dessert: bit by bit, taking my time to taste and to savour. I knew I had the whole day ahead of me, but the thought did not frustrate me. I found I was actually less agitated than I usually am, more willing to take on the day ahead than if I rush in ten minutes before the bell.<br />
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An acquaintance came into the class. I said hi and then decided it was time to go to the courtyard. There I stood near a coniferous tree (fir? spruce? deodar? I didn't know which) and watched the school come to life (for lack of a better phrase). I studied the flowers and I studied some of the people. I noticed that one girl has a very distinctive, swaggerish walk. I then tried to see if any of the boys walk like that but didn't see any who do. I noticed that the peons use a scissor that resembles pliers to prune the plants. I think some people smiled at me but I didn't smile back at them because I don't smile at First Years, I don't know them and I don't smile at people to begin with, unless they fucking light my world up or something.<br />
<br />
Then a friend of mine came in with an envelope (I freaked out when I saw it, but then she told me it's for UBC and I was like ok), I made my No, <i>U</i> BC joke, and quiet time went up in a laugh.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-44246665570134817662012-02-20T06:40:00.000-08:002012-02-20T06:44:16.794-08:00why this blog is on invite-only<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have put the blog on invite-only because I have stalkers! Some of these stalkers are actually "friends."<br />
<br />
I haven't put my full name on my blog, though I do use my initials. Most of the time I just use my first initial, especially when I'm commenting. This is because I don't want people to google me and find this blog.<br />
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This paranoia is not without justification. I have at least one acquaintance reading this blog. I am really not comfortable with that.<br />
<br />
Of course, this brings up the question of "if you don't want your blog to be read, why did you put it up on the internet?" Well, I put it up on the internet for strangers to read. This blog at least the way it is, with the honesty that I have put into it, cannot be continued if people I know are reading it. I would either have to be dishonest or stop writing. This is because in many places I allude to people, places, ideas and life experiences that somebody I know will be able to decipher. Again, I am not comfortable with that. Yes, I did put this blog on the internet so that people would read it. I still want that, and I don't want to lose potential readers. I did not want to put it on invite-only but I have to. "Have to" seems kind of strong <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">— </span>couldn't I just be open with the people in my life? With the stalkers? No. They don't deserve it, plain and simple.<br />
<br />
Why do I write on this blog? It used to be exercise, a way to talk about my opinions. But then it also became a log and a place where I could write about my life experiences (snapshots, really), feelings and thoughts. It became less of a novelty type thing and more of an expression thing. I still write really random posts, like that 90210 one, but ultimately I am aiming for honesty. And, really, while we're on the subject, on a scale of one (barely scratching the surface) to ten (full disclosure), I am at a five or six on this blog. A seven or eight is the maximum I would want to go to anyway. I can't do that if this is being read by people I know, because then I'll have to come down to a one, which is the level I'm at with most of the people I know.<br />
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What is the big deal with people I know reading this? Imagine sitting in a classroom knowing (or not knowing!) that one of the random people in the corner knows all about your issues, your depression, your <i>life</i>, things you feel towards people. You don't know if they've given you a fair shot, if they've just skimmed over the boring parts and read more of the juicy parts, if they are going to talk to other people about it. And with the gossip culture in my school, I really don't want to have a whole blog on offer (keeping it open for me is like making my facebook profile public). And so I'm sure you understand why I only have the choices of putting the blog on 'invite only' or shutting it down completely. I don't want to shut it down completely. Writing here has, at times, really been therapeutic for me. Like that time I went mental when MoHo deferred me <span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">—</span> I'm sure if I would have just been writing all of these things down on a piece of paper it wouldn't have been the same.<br />
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And so, finally, you guys. The ones who still want to read this crap. The ones who have been inexplicably nice to me, the ones who have linked to me, the ones I am kinda-sorta friends with, the ones who stalk me from a distance (it's cool), the ones I respect, the ones I trust. Thank you for being here for me and thank you for wanting to read this blog. I wish I had all of you as classmates instead, because then my life would be 110% awesome and I wouldn't have to hide my blog from assholes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">IS this blog ever going to be open to the awaam again? Yes, probably. I'm estimating a loss of stalker interest in three months? Anyway in three months I not only will I be out of school, I will also know if I got into college and hence will have Plans for the Future and all of this shit will not be able to get to me or harm me.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-78624022680647046972012-02-17T22:46:00.000-08:002012-02-17T22:48:54.255-08:00i'm putting the blog on invite-only<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi, I'm putting this blog on invite-only. Please send me your email addresses on cecily_fromthecountry@hotmail.com* along with your name or blog link or something so I know who you are.<br />
<br />
I'm also considering putting my other blog on invite-only, so let me know if you want an invite for it too.<br />
<br />
*For real. The email address is a reference to The Importance of Being Earnest and I made it when I <a href="http://najiasky.blogspot.com/2011/03/ernestly-speaking-i-get-kicks-out-of.html">put a fake ad in Yello</a>.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-75557347050456883052012-02-14T03:34:00.000-08:002012-02-14T03:34:59.023-08:00i'm famous (kind of)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
SO THE AWESOMEST/FUNNIEST THING HAS HAPPENED. Are you ready? This:<br />
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YA RLY. Can you believe it? KLF IS PROMOTING <a href="http://najiasky.blogspot.com/2012/02/how-to-prepare-for-karachi-literature.html">ME</a>. I freaked out and am still freaking out. It's like KS telling you she likes your sentences.<br />
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Speaking of whom, the game is up, because now the whole world will know what a KS stalker I am. Whatever. Writers need stalkers, right? (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">That's what I keep telling myself)</span><br />
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So, thank you, KLF. I will use my newfound fame and glory for good: that is, to promote you. Wait, that's right, I already do, because I love you so much and because you're so awesome.<br />
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And, really, I will write my Day Two review real soon.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-25679004564416881312012-02-13T02:24:00.000-08:002012-02-13T20:23:07.919-08:00today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
'Don't lookat me like that,' she said, 'It's creeping me out.'<br />
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Some people began to giggle and soon the whole class joined in. And I had had a thou<span style="font-family: inherit;">ght <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">— it was lodged in my head somewhere, and I was trying to get it out. No, it wasn't a thought, it was a feeling. It was a feeling waiting to be translated (edit: this is how I make sense of literature). And so I stared some more, defiantly, embarrassed. As the laugher rose, I knew why they were laughing and it made me sad.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I was talking about gay families in another class. Some of them were smiling. Some of them were having entire conversations on the benches.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I think, I'm so glad I'm done with these people. Whether that has any validity remains to be seen. But for the sake of my sanity...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">'Why are you so angry? I didn't know you were actually angry. Chill out. Relax.'</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">He talked of both how temporary the world is and how you have to be kind. He said, I know you have these parties. He said, the world is a place of temptation. A lot of people were impressed. I couldn't understand why he said, Be 'god-fearing.' I wanted to get up and ask him about the crimes religious people do. Most people in prisons, <a href="http://freethoughtpedia.com/wiki/Percentage_of_atheists">well over 95% of them</a>, believe in some kind of god. </span></span><span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I wanted to get up and ask him why he thinks hijab is a good idea. But, but, but. Sometimes I feel like I am suffocating. I want to know how this was separate from other world religions. Why talk of islam as if it is the only religion that talks of the poor, for example?</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I was angry but I didn't say anything. I have seen what happens to people who do say things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">And, what the what, I'm getting out of here aren't I? I am a one-woman minority perhaps. My anger is perhaps only for myself, an act of self-preservation.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I looked at my hands throughout and thought about yesterday instead. Who are your role models? he asked, You look for glamour. I thought, You know nothing about me. You claim to know what will save me. But you don't know the first thing about me. How much do you really know of people?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">All that saved me was a memory of a smile. It buoyed me till I got to <i>my</i> next laugh, a few minutes later, in response to a report of a girl who had behaved somewhat out of character. Perhaps somebody else would laugh at her, but all I could laugh at was how fabulous she is. It was a laugh not of degradation, of sarcasm. It was a laugh of appreciation and it was a laugh at how ridiculous the world is, and it felt good.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-455834160649688762012-02-12T08:43:00.000-08:002012-02-16T05:15:12.746-08:00the giant and overly ambitious KLF 2012 post PART ONE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">hello hello! I WILL WRITE THIS ENTIRE POST TODAY. I WILL DO IT. I CAN DO IT.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What you see above is the program. The events with red lines are the ones I attended. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I will label them all, and then I will move on to writing a bit about each.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Firstly, this year's KLF was not as good as last year's KLF for example, or the one before that. I think this is probably because this year we didn't have Hamid or Hanif or Shamsie (KS!) talk about their new/upcoming books waghaira (though yes, Hanif did talk about Alice Bhatti but it's already been released) so I guess that reduced for me the hype/excitement factor. Other than that, some of this year's moderators were downright TERRIBLE. More on that later, but I will testify to this: <i>IT IS POSSIBLE TO RUIN AN EVENT EVEN WITH THE MOST AMAZING OF PANELS/AUTHOR(S) WITH A BAD MODERATOR.</i> NOW I KNOW AND NOW I HOPE AMEENA KNOWS TOO. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ameena, though. I love Ameena. She's awesome. KLF is awesome. I'm just sad that the moderators had to ruin entire sessions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, KLF this year did have its highlights. I think the best session was the last one I went to! Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy yaar...just...what can I say? She's as awesome and cool as I thought she'd be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A close second would be the second-last session i.e. <span id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Mediaspeak: How the Media Talks to Us </b>with<b> </b></span></span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mujahid Barelvi</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shaheen Salahuddin</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jasmeen Manzoor</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kamran Shahid</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; white-space: pre-wrap;">and with Ayesha Siddiqa as Moderator. Can I just say that Ayesha Siddiqa kicks ass? Because she totally does.</span></span><br />
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The worst session was undoubtedly the Vikram Seth session which was moderated by possibly the worst moderator I have ever seen (and hopefully the worst I will <i>ever</i> see), Shaista Sirajuddin. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"></b></span><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second worst session was <span id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Women Writing Women.</b></span></span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was bad because...it lacked direction, really. I guess it's bad moderating again. I came to this session because I wanted something interesting and all I got were really dumb questions. It was just unappetizing and rather basic.</span></span><br />
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, onto the breakdown!</span></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="background-color: white; color: orange; font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 1: Manto and Partition Stories</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ayesha Jalal </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderator: </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">M R Kazimi</span></span></b>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ah! Orange is a nice change, no? Anyway, Manto! Well, I don't know much about Manto which is why I went to this session. Ayesha Jalal I believe read from her book and showed us some pictures of Manto and of Bombay and of people he knew. I didn't know that he knew a lot of people from Bollywood e.g. Ashok Kumar, or that he worked with All India Radio or that he reluctantly accepted Pakistan. I didn't know about his love for Bombay. I think that the session from the point of view of someone who has only read probably two (translated) works of Manto it was a pretty good session.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish I had more of Manto's translated work. It's really quite interesting and I like his choice of subject matter and his style and everything, really.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There's this voice in my head (probably my mother's) saying <i>Read Manto in Urdu!</i> but I can't. Urdu is...and I'm not just being burger here, but just another language for me. I do speak it, but I don't speak good urdu. I don't particularly like urdu because all I've ever got from teachers is moralizing b.s. and so from day one I've essentially felt urdu to be a language in which I can't be open or free. I guess Manto broke that mould. But to see how he broke it, and to see it in urdu, is hard for me. I will constantly be translating it anyway.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ANYHOW digression aside, interesting session. Made me want to buy the book.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange;"><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 2: Women Writing Women: A Conversation with</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maniza Naqvi,</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bina Shah</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Nafisa Haji. Moderator: </span></b><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marilyn Wyatt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Question! Who made Marilyn the moderator? Is it because she has a degree in comparative literature? Is it to appease the US consulate which co-sponsored the event? Whatever the reason, it was just a bad moderation. I wish she'd have opened it up wider than just the Oh you're a woman and you write and Oh you're a Pakistani Woman and you write (seriously?) to I don't know, a slightly more sophisticated dialogue? A discourse? Why wasn't Muneeza Shamsie moderating this? Muneeza Shamsie is awesome and she knows more than just to ask gora people type questions. The panel didn't gel very well and it was just kinda awkward. A saving grace was perhaps Marilyn's haircut which is quite cool. And so is her degree. But please yaar. Don't moderate unless you can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="color: orange;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 3: </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A Conversation with</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Anatol Lieven </span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderators: Ayesha Siddiqa, Ghazi Salahuddin, Mohsin Hamid </span></span></b>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You guys, I've decided that after Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy and of course and forever, KS, I want to bestfriendship with Ayesha Siddiqa.</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You see, I went in not really knowing who Anatol Lieven is. Anyhow, in a few minutes I found out that he's written a book called Pakistan: A Hard Country most recently in which he says Pakistan is not a failed state. Anyhow, so he talked about his book for a bit and about how The West (I capitalize ironically) sees/perceives Pakistan and about how it really is, blah blah blah. I thought this was cute. Of course I also didn't really care about his book because honestly mere kya matlab ki kitab hai? It doesn't matter to me if Pakistan is hard or soft in the context what some random journalist thinks. Anyway, so then when he's done Ayesha Siddiqa asks him three questions. And with these three questions she basically (and there is no other way to say this) tears him a new one. I don't remember the exact questions she asked him. When the video is up, go see it. She made him trip on his own words and get on the defensive. It was just...wow. I liked that she didn't take b.s. and that she actually asked him why he was for example pro-military sounding and why he used the word 'liberal' in a derogatory manner. And his answers, to say the least, were unsatisfactory.</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhow, after Ayesha the other two moderators put questions to him and I suppose Hamid was amused and trying to be nice after the debacle.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="color: orange; font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 4: Indus Journeys: A Conversation with</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">William Dalrymple </span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderator: Kamila Shamsie</span></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kamila Shamsie is a good moderator because </span></b><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">she is awesome and knows what to touch on. Also, she is charming and funny! She knows that the audience prefers entertainment to dull academic talk*. This was lost on some moderators (cough Shaista cough).</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Again, I don't know William Darlymple's work. But he's cute, a good reader, and a good writer (though not necessarily in that order if you're ranking merit!). A lot of people were like OMGOMOMG about him and now I get it because, well, he read out from some of his work and he talked about his work and I really liked the way he's so very focused in the way he writes.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 5: </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Miracle Man </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Book Launch and Conversation with </span><span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mohammed Hanif</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Author of </span></b><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Our Lady of Alice Bhatti </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderator: </span><span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bina Shah</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before ending up at Miracle Man which I'm not sure about with regard to whether it's been released or not, I attended about five minutes of </span></b></span><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="color: orange;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today’s Pakistan: An Economic and Political Perspective </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252" style="color: orange;"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Asad Sayeed, </span><span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ishrat Husain</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> , </span><span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anatol Lieven</span><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maleeha Lodhi </span></b><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: orange;">Moderator: Ghazi Salahuddin </span>I left because it sounded just like every single talk on Pakistani economics ever! Anyway, I ended up getting to the Hanif event late and I missed the reading from Miracle Man. The rest of the event was pretty much like his event at T2F last year when Alice Bhatti was launched. Sad because Hanif can be so, so entertaining.</span></div>
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<span style="color: orange;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Session 5: </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Afghanistan and Pakistan: Conflict, Extremism & the Taliban </span></b><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6444912406150252"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ahmed Rashid, </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">William Dalrymple</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span></b><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Navid Kermani, Maleeha Lodhi </span><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderator: Rasul Bakhsh Rais</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't remember much of this, to be honest.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">It just occured to me that perhaps another reason KLF wasn't as great this year was because I had such few WOW I'VE NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT! moments this time around. The talks weren't as interesting as last time.</span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hm. So yes, yesterday was not the best of KLF days. But today was much better! I will write about today tomorrow because honestly I AM ABOUT TO WIPE OUT and I have, funnily enough, general homework. Seriously. My sir clearly does not know anything about priorities because he should give anyone who bothers to go to KLF full marks. Did you know I saw a grand total of three people from my school at KLF? True story. I did see many lyceumites though. Maybe one of these days I'll be at lyceum going all </span></span><span style="text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy... except they'll be all like She doesn't even go here! You know? Does anyone know how I feel? I think I'm going into today's Vikram Seth zone again which I'd rather never go into again. Yaar yaar. </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">* And honestly, I speak this as a literature lover+student. Why would you want to turn a conversation into an academic paper? If you want to do it, do it in private and write a paper. Don't do it in front of a few hundred people who are there to enjoy. </span></span></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-41880450300066076052012-02-10T17:33:00.000-08:002012-02-10T17:33:24.702-08:00how to prepare for Karachi Literature Festival: ten steps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.karachiliteraturefestival.org/programme">Karachi Literature Festival</a> is happening. Yes, it is. You really should go.<br />
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10. Get mentally and physically ready to keep tabs on Kamila Shamsie. Bonus points for tracking her when she's not in the same hall as yourself. If you're a boss she will not know you're stalking her. If confronted, explain that if she were in Karachi more often there wouldn't be a need to check where she is because there would be no novelty in doing so. Also cite her accent as a reason.<br />
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9. Practice nonchalance. "Ohhhhh, you're Vikram Seth? I might've heard of you. Here, want a Cadbury?"<br />
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8. Get your best friggin running shoes out. I am not kidding. Heels or uncomfortable shoes are no good. You think you're at a lawn exhibition? THERE IS NO MERCY. PEOPLE MOB THE HELL OUT OF AUTHORS AND YOU BETTER BE PREPARED TO MOB OR PREPARED TO DIE.<br />
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7. Change your stance on young, excited girls (I don't want to target girls specifically, but do boys read? I don't see many of them) from 'they're irritating' to 'oh how cute, they're mobbing Mohsin Hamid, that means they read his book!'<br />
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6. Forget kittens. The number of uncles and aunties at the event will give you a cuteness overload.<br />
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5. Which reminds me: cute uncles and aunties are either your best friends or your worst enemies. If I ever write a book I think I should write it for them because if they're happy, everyone's happy.<br />
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4. Get food. Carlton food sucks. Get food from somewhere or you will die. Well, maybe not, but still. You'll run low on MobEnergy and then who will get your autographs for you? Who?? Not even your best friend.<br />
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3. Expect nobody you know to come, because less than 1% of the people you know will. But also be ready to reconsider your opinions of the ones who do show up. These are the awesomest people in your life.<br />
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2. Swear to god, do NOT give anybody your books, ever. I do not know where my A Suitable Boy is because I gave it to somebody. Which reminds me, I asked my mother "Have you seen <i>A Suitable Boy</i>?" then I heard myself and laughed.<br />
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1. Have fun. This only happens once a year, unfortunately. But also be prepared to attend at least one session that you aren't very interested in. It might turn out really well.<br />
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0. If you're an idiot and don't know this, stay there the whole day. There are no halfsies or fractionsies. You either stay the whole day or you don't. Apnay saath mazak na karo aik session attend kar ke. Yes, technically you <i>can</i>, but it's like going to your favourite country and only going to a small part of one city. It's just not ok.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-58380068846152562182012-01-29T08:03:00.000-08:002012-01-29T08:03:23.691-08:00blocked<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have not written here for the past eleven days and that's really bugging me. I've thought of a few things I'd like to say but I've thrown them into the drafts folder because...I wrote them and they didn't sound good. Some of it was stuff about depression/recovery and some of it was about Arundhati Roy an activism and such...I guess I'm just not ready to talk about things yet.<br />
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So, baby steps. I gotta talk about <i>something</i>.<br />
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I can't wait for this month to end. I can't wait for school to end. I can't wait for April, and by extension September...the closer I get the further it seems.<br />
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I thought of giving myself a present this year. Nothing elaborate, just something simple. I wasn't able to get it. I tried, but I couldn't. Now I just feel like...I don't know how I <i>should</i> feel like. On one hand I'm just a kid, really, what can I do? Small observer of large world as Auden put it. On the other, I feel like ... you know, I'm turning <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYjwS2EoLYs">nineteeeeeen</a> and ... by now I should be able to do things. It shouldn't be so hard. I shouldn't have to depend on anybody anymore, and the frustrating thing is that I still have to.<br />
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So I guess no present for me then until maybe April, and maybe not even then. I don't have a choice or a say anymore.<br />
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+</div>
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I went to the bookstore and bought a Arundhati Roy book called An Ordinary Person's Guide to Empire...and let me tell you, it's mindblowing. This is because:<br />
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Bitch please
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(If you'll excuse the expression.) </span>. It's Arundhati Roy.</li>
<li>It's essays...but not written academically. Like with hyper-qualifications and ifs and buts and you know all the elaborate buildups and shit? I mean, yes, I love academic essays. But sometimes you're like shut the fuck up, mute the jargon, and shorter paragraphs please and moreclaritylessqualificationthx</li>
<li>BTW, it's written really well.</li>
<li>Yaar, you know, when you read AR you get a view of India that you don't get anywhere else. I mean screw the paranoid parrots on the pakistani media parade because the India they give to you is a fictional one. Half their criticisms are about things that you can't even be sure exist or if their premise is correct in the first place. But Arundhati yaar. Did I mention I want to be bestfriends with her? I do. But anyway, <span style="font-family: inherit;">she writes with honesty and she actually knows her shit. But at the same time she isn't doing it to make money or to sound cool
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">— and this is the best part </span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">— she is doing it because she wants to reveal to the reader something that has been obscure or hidden or covered up. And she does it with precision, she does it with honesty, and all the while she's got her eyes on the importance of human life right there in front of you. It's incredible. You'll only understand what I'm saying if you read one of her pieces.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I watched half of <a href="http://weroy.org/">we</a> (I'm rationing it so it lasts longer), which is a reading of one of the essays that the anonymous filmmaker set to AV. And have you heard her? Listen to her, her voice is musical and full of a power I can't really explain. She's an incredible person.</span></span></li>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I am also reading The Night of the Iguana and Other Stories by Tennessee Williams who is my homeboy. So reading-wise I'm having a pretty awesome time. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">oh, and this happened:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl-5qyc0DUHqndNv8Fi5iZo-NyW6-3W9UogKhuV-uPsnPWGUTfntwxNIFLpoI4TfmGgIPmJ9Ubb_18FPk6NHovNlKhem9wwTStjmD8lqepid30h_Nm-WnJJeQ3ytC5bmhBntRxgnl7uY/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-28-08h35m13s227.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl-5qyc0DUHqndNv8Fi5iZo-NyW6-3W9UogKhuV-uPsnPWGUTfntwxNIFLpoI4TfmGgIPmJ9Ubb_18FPk6NHovNlKhem9wwTStjmD8lqepid30h_Nm-WnJJeQ3ytC5bmhBntRxgnl7uY/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-28-08h35m13s227.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">god, I love Rachel Maddow.</span></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2060972964070198883.post-2283327040828343862012-01-18T03:39:00.000-08:002012-01-18T04:17:21.647-08:0090210 Season 3, episode 4 recap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hi! Are you wondering why I'm doing recaps now? I'm thinking of doing recaps for 90210 because I might as well get <i>something</i> out of watching it, right? Right?<br />
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I am watching 90210 because it is literally the stupidest show I can watch without barfing or otherwise being utterly disgusted. This is because:<br />
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a) it is not as anti-feminist in places as other shows, for example <i>2 Broke Girls</i> which I tried watching and then quit because they make 'jokes' about rape and that is just sick.<br />
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b) Erin Silver.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.screened.com/uploads/0/3197/422431-erin_silver_profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://media.screened.com/uploads/0/3197/422431-erin_silver_profile.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erin Silver: In yo heart, making you ignore the terrible, trite<br />
'plot' and complete lack of character development</td></tr>
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c) I don't expect anything from this show. Seriously. I expect awesomeness from 30 Rock for example, and from Parks & Rec, and Community. I expect to be Bored But Slightly Amused by House. I watched Veronica Mars because it was friggin BADASS. Awesomness again for Seinfeld. How I Met Your Mother was ok/sort of funny but I am utterly annoyed by the fandom which worships Barney and takes everything he says seriously. See (or actually, don't) brotips for this kind of idiocy.<br />
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ANYWAY! Show digressions aside, I don't expect anything from 90210 except for maybe a semi-decent, semi-believable storyline for Silver so I can watch it without my brain making so much of a fuss that I go do something more productive. This is actually pretty awesome because in S03E3, Teddy alluded to John Donne's <a href="http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/mourning.php">Valediction</a>. He even said to Silver, "You are my compass foot" and thought it was romantic and I was like OMG!!!<br />
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d) Even though I don't expect anything from this show, and probably nobody does, it still manages to somehow, in its own 90210 way, get some semblance of social messages across. This may just be a ploy to get plots, but I don't care as long as they are putting out a message that could help people in trouble. Examples: Adrianna's drug use and Dixon's gambling problem. In season three it even handles the complicated issue of reporting a rape for Naomi, who has a "reputation", has had several sexual partners and has previously made up a sexual harassment case.<br />
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So, without further ado, I shall begin my episode 4 recap.<br />
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But first, to refresh your memory, this is what has happened so far:<br />
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<li>Annie's been asked by The Auntie Who Looks Like Julianne Moore But Isn't if she can have her eggs.</li>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Dixon's ended things with some lady who I do not remember. I think it is pertinent to now mention that I don't remember season one or season two and I am watching season three because season four is currently on break and I don't think I can live without 90210. However I believe this lady is pregnant with Dixon's baby. That sounds strange. Anyhow what's with all this reproductive stuff?</li>
<li>Annie's/Dixon's mom has told his lady that 'You're not pregnant. Stay away from my son.' I don't care who's pregnant.</li>
<li>So on the Adrianna front, Javier has died in a car crash (conveniently) and she stole ten songs from him because he was a jerk to her and because she wanted to be a big star or whatever. However, some guy he knew knows and it's all mysterydramasuspense about what's going to happen next.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPSU8wtCsJiXtZfrbahGkOBzUoPXIb_7TQLmKuvaB_o5WHaVCe1wC-dEZzJwFafOz7vSfNe0UMExMx1Tq38UKJuTErCglUWYAgVkuESS0ze6vX4HUJWXL1rJENyzYUSbDNtuYfH1W9b8/s1600/ARIANNA%2527S+%2527OH+SHIT+I+STOLE+SONGS+FROM+A+DEAD+GUY+AND+THEN+GOT+FOUND+OUT%2527+FACE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPSU8wtCsJiXtZfrbahGkOBzUoPXIb_7TQLmKuvaB_o5WHaVCe1wC-dEZzJwFafOz7vSfNe0UMExMx1Tq38UKJuTErCglUWYAgVkuESS0ze6vX4HUJWXL1rJENyzYUSbDNtuYfH1W9b8/s1600/ARIANNA%2527S+%2527OH+SHIT+I+STOLE+SONGS+FROM+A+DEAD+GUY+AND+THEN+GOT+FOUND+OUT%2527+FACE.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somebody give this girl an emmy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
</div>
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</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Teddy was drunk and hooked up with a boy.</li>
<li>Naomi told Silver that Mr Cannon raped her but Silver didn't believe Naomi because Naomi hit on Teddy and lied about it and Silver doesn't like being lied to and so believed Mr Cannon who said that Naomi's a liar who's been obsessed with him.</li>
<li>Naomi's been having trouble sleeping and took a bunch of pills. Silver realized that Mr Cannon is at the very least a creep, came around to Naomi's to talk and found Naomi's body.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Ok. Naomi wakes up and of course Silver's right there by her bedside. They Talk and then Silver's like I'm sorry I didn't believe you and then she says, You have to come forward. Naomi says no because she's really not comfortable telling anybody and because she feels that now she has Silver to talk to it's going to be ok. Silver says ok.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then we're at High School! It's West Bev, right? How do I remember this? Anyway.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYKqnCWV8BZz63PDv9CbOiS3-DryfJvSj2y-v_X7oOqeX15eq5dOHyI_cTNKCfOUCSrygQCGCS52FI48Cr52bGSuzfZYDSnTuG3Go_WNckahAILUNNyS3ghfOAPgWZNU6KahsDZ7EfTw/s1600/EXTRA+EXTRAS+ARE+EXTRA.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYKqnCWV8BZz63PDv9CbOiS3-DryfJvSj2y-v_X7oOqeX15eq5dOHyI_cTNKCfOUCSrygQCGCS52FI48Cr52bGSuzfZYDSnTuG3Go_WNckahAILUNNyS3ghfOAPgWZNU6KahsDZ7EfTw/s1600/EXTRA+EXTRAS+ARE+EXTRA.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extra extras are extra</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
So, ok. There's this chick called Ivy in the show. I don't like her. I don't like her face. I don't like her attitude. I don't like her hair. I don't like her character. She irritates me. When her scenes come up I just open up Spider Solitaire and play until her parts are over.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
WAIT, WHAT? So Dixon's talking about how he looks like a turtle (yes, I was like...wtf) and Ivy's all like I'm ready! There's something going on about how Ivy has not Done It yet and frankly I don't care.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then Mystery Lady (for me) AKA Dixon's Pregnant Ex (for everyone else) shows up.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eZq-LgMuHmTgs78k8helS3PZWG5rxlBm2SzkChzNLC3vThUWm6GidCU9JR-mvtNx5jn2lNWSybph2ea8jkotE0VD8G7OsScdDlpeXR3vzBtmLqIj-_HirHPs-mT4TnX0EYvmlKR4Xm8/s1600/IVY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eZq-LgMuHmTgs78k8helS3PZWG5rxlBm2SzkChzNLC3vThUWm6GidCU9JR-mvtNx5jn2lNWSybph2ea8jkotE0VD8G7OsScdDlpeXR3vzBtmLqIj-_HirHPs-mT4TnX0EYvmlKR4Xm8/s1600/IVY.png" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
Dixon goes up to her and he's all like What? You're pregnant again? and calls her a liar and stuff. I do not know what this is about. I am mildly curious but not enough to google it. Let's just see how this plays out.<br />
<br />
Anyway then Dixon comes back and starts walking with She Who Must Not Be Named and tells her that Mystery Lady is an ex-girlfriend. Now let's see the possible reactions:<br />
a) She Who Must Not Be Named (SWMNBN...hey that sounds like Swimmin' Bun...ok I'll call her that now) will be all like oh it's cool.<br />
b) Swimmin' Bun be JALES. Which, even Karachi bus walas know, you shouldn't be.<br />
<br />
I think it's going to be B because Dixon really needs some drama. Anyhow I predict that Bun here is going to poke around a bit.<br />
<br />
OK yes! Bun's turned around to look at Mystery Lady. You know, that 'I wonder...' wala look over the shoulder? There is going to be trouble.<br />
<br />
Now it's Teddytime. Teddy sees the boy he hooked up with and Silver talking:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2eI3H426U4-1VoXZkFzLMM2PlGBFAS-VdQnPHzKe_SZk_s-QQSD_1xGuGwMf54Zn_PzHFROBK-_8Ox2O8idbG8t0B83JeR9l8-JCSky_tiJPvQKKYKWIYZFX5FQ86_2Ne2BY_LMhmtE/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-17h13m11s245.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2eI3H426U4-1VoXZkFzLMM2PlGBFAS-VdQnPHzKe_SZk_s-QQSD_1xGuGwMf54Zn_PzHFROBK-_8Ox2O8idbG8t0B83JeR9l8-JCSky_tiJPvQKKYKWIYZFX5FQ86_2Ne2BY_LMhmtE/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-17h13m11s245.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What Teddy thinks is going on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So Teddy asks Silver what they were talking about and Silver's like it's about the benefit this weekend and she gets all excited<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4Iq22LarUsC0BF5EXp_80r_PPMrY8qQAWBSLM8TIHgiPTCyGZYsS8bnD5gse40jqaPY-i353xDmIh7gXdfued4SY170BZ75KyMx9gsXBfiftUSejoHj5IyqJzORHWJVuvddYz2c4X0c/s1600/27b5355197c7d3ddcee0011bfe6199cf.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4Iq22LarUsC0BF5EXp_80r_PPMrY8qQAWBSLM8TIHgiPTCyGZYsS8bnD5gse40jqaPY-i353xDmIh7gXdfued4SY170BZ75KyMx9gsXBfiftUSejoHj5IyqJzORHWJVuvddYz2c4X0c/s1600/27b5355197c7d3ddcee0011bfe6199cf.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Eeee"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
and then she has to go. Teddy is relieved.</div>
<br />
Then we cut to Adrianna who's <i>mysteriously back in school</i> (she dropped out last season. I know this because it was mentioned like two episodes ago). Silver comes up behind her. I think Silver's not going to have a story in this episode because she seems to be dealing With Other People's Shit. What.<br />
<br />
Anyway NO! She has to talk to Adrianna about the breast cancer benefit that's coming up and I got really distracted because of her nails.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4nS6d6MTpLwoVHLw_rAbNq5Mt0PvFKVEfl5a96x9ZqFGPIS3yaHu422dYtK2ofSedpSZqPTlRbS4te1mjnj5EmtUUHKTh0YElL-zoFoW-6s1d3KHpjz48yfAx48Z6j4RSmwJrJYktkQ/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-17h34m48s217.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4nS6d6MTpLwoVHLw_rAbNq5Mt0PvFKVEfl5a96x9ZqFGPIS3yaHu422dYtK2ofSedpSZqPTlRbS4te1mjnj5EmtUUHKTh0YElL-zoFoW-6s1d3KHpjz48yfAx48Z6j4RSmwJrJYktkQ/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-17h34m48s217.png" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anyway so they're going to have a bachelor auction and Navid's been giving Adrianna 'Zoolander' which is funny but predictable because Navid's the idiot of the show. Which he is. I don't know why SPOILERS! Silver gets together with him in Season 4 or late Season 3, I don't care. So anyway Silver's like, Will you sing at the auction? And that results in Adrianna Drama. Ugh, so this really wasn't about Silver.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So Adrianna's like yeah sure whatevs but I can't sing that song I wanna sing another because that one "brings up some really bad memories" (ooo) and Silver's like ok.</div>
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Then we cut to the new guy that Annie's dating. He's reading Twelfth Night. Is it just me or do this show's producers LOVE TN? I saw a poster in Not Julianne Moore's office. This reminded me of my awesome literature teacher, who loves TN and also has a poster in <i>her</i> office. What. Anyway.</div>
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New guy has a really nice voice btw. I don't understand the TN motif.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PVxdTigg5Ihlqg9CNJ3V7e4mjMp6bHXkoqJxIkcx-ANi_q9OtyS5yjK4c8s1TuClV3YBwPfDyK9BkMfqTlcranygoRrwYjtRIT8rFYiN60TFOpfwavR4_yHGoo-VJ9vXkO1gCWIV944/s1600/TN.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PVxdTigg5Ihlqg9CNJ3V7e4mjMp6bHXkoqJxIkcx-ANi_q9OtyS5yjK4c8s1TuClV3YBwPfDyK9BkMfqTlcranygoRrwYjtRIT8rFYiN60TFOpfwavR4_yHGoo-VJ9vXkO1gCWIV944/s1600/TN.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">would be the logical result of the TN motif...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So it turns out they're on a date and he's reading Shakespeare to Annie on the date which she says has never happened to her before. Ok. Did I mention that I hate Annie? Not so much in this season, maybe, she's kinda laying low. She's not Annieing up everything. But let's see.</div>
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So they make out and stuff and btw this guy is supposed to be Well Read so that's basically all he talks about (yeah, LOL, it's 90210). </div>
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Anda Lady/Not Julianne Moore calls. Annie's missed a couple of days of work and she's (Anda Lady) concerned and wants to make sure Annie's ok and stuff and Annie's like yeah I'm ok and they talk and it's ok. Then new guy has to go and Annie says "Alas, alack" which also made me LOL. Ah well.</div>
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He does however leave behind his TN! Ooooo.</div>
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Then Liam shows up and he's all like 'crashing with Dixon' or something. Whatever. Annie-drama.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then we cut to Adrianna and the guy who knows she stole Javier's song is all like bas you're my toy now and you'll have to do whatever I tell you to. Blackmail waghaira. Adrianna gets all cry and stuff but she can't do anything. So now she has to go tell Silver ke unless you pay me I'm not going to be able to perform and Silver's like ...* and Adrianna's like ... and Silver's like ... and Adrianna's like ... and Silver gets upset, obvs.</div>
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GUYS!!! New guy's name is Charlie. So Liam's jealous and stuff. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCMqMT3EX5Dl2ROxeDSKCnUq6ME5Z7mkLXYOQzUI5rIxRF-NJ_oDddY8gDlW_nmyPCDhq7claCtMgK5WY2aZXhqxorAeW2J96yVGDTHvSlK3Vt1YROQ83k3Acify8-cL_MJ5qi-cIkq8/s1600/SAD+LIAM+IS+SAD.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCMqMT3EX5Dl2ROxeDSKCnUq6ME5Z7mkLXYOQzUI5rIxRF-NJ_oDddY8gDlW_nmyPCDhq7claCtMgK5WY2aZXhqxorAeW2J96yVGDTHvSlK3Vt1YROQ83k3Acify8-cL_MJ5qi-cIkq8/s1600/SAD+LIAM+IS+SAD.png" /></a></div>
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Ok! We're back to Bun. Btw, Kelly Lynch is in this show.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFmK6NbtUVtxTxaZeDJ2788syxMKKUtqXxRTgMRhC_5HmfIoeTgwGQ8sDFLaL7TLjtS301ABBPPIsIv1e88kC2SdqP98_EvDywttHH47L5Lqai0fYSPhF1PGOatgCUokehf0GjdTBoDc/s1600/k+lynch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFmK6NbtUVtxTxaZeDJ2788syxMKKUtqXxRTgMRhC_5HmfIoeTgwGQ8sDFLaL7TLjtS301ABBPPIsIv1e88kC2SdqP98_EvDywttHH47L5Lqai0fYSPhF1PGOatgCUokehf0GjdTBoDc/s1600/k+lynch.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Bun has The Talk.<br />
<br />
Silver's all like heyyyyyyy why don't we do a dance number for the Bachelor Auction? And everyone's like nooooo except for Teddy. And then Silver brings out Hookup Boy as a choreographer. Surprise!<br />
<br />
Annie comes home at night and then Liam's all like, hey, let's do this:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UnmEKsXAVO2A1tzFD_e-tWWmi-YG91oSiTnIi966sW4F1ZqYglcQEl9iEH690DaAv4IwlJ65OzhJEmQXMmpyozotyR_wkBPf8Rnhbp0LwsY0GrEpqimCkmz2VLjlZa11dLW3MlyDBDk/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-18h10m49s84.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UnmEKsXAVO2A1tzFD_e-tWWmi-YG91oSiTnIi966sW4F1ZqYglcQEl9iEH690DaAv4IwlJ65OzhJEmQXMmpyozotyR_wkBPf8Rnhbp0LwsY0GrEpqimCkmz2VLjlZa11dLW3MlyDBDk/s1600/vlcsnap-2012-01-17-18h10m49s84.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is not a SINGLE obese person in the entire zip code.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And Annie's all like checking him out and he goes back and he's like Oooh, she's totally in to me. I should show her my soft side! Okay. Okay. Hold up. So if you check somebody out you're into them? Moral: if somebody you may have dated shows up in your bathroom shirtless, do not even <i>look</i> at them because they may think you're into them, even if you're looking at them because you're all <i>WTF DID YOU JUST SHOW UP IN MY BATHROOM WITHOUT A SHIRT? ARE YOU WEARING...ANYTHING???</i><br />
<br />
Navid shows up at Adrianna's and he's all like, You want to get paid?? Adrianna's like stop judging me.<br />
<br />
At the benefit, Annie's not talking to Naomi because Naomi called her a murderer (earlier episode: Naomi was upset). Annie's all like I can't believe you've forgiven her to Silver and Silver's like ...<br />
<br />
Now we're back to choreography! I bet Hookup Boy is going to touch Teddy. I bet it. I dare you to not do it 90210.<br />
<br />
Wow! It didn't happen. However, Teddy called Hookup Boy a faggot and everyone was like :O<br />
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Hookup Boy then walks out and Silver (who is still in shock) is like ok let's take a break. Teddy realizes he's done something terrible and follows.<br />
<br />
Silver: What the hell was that?<br />
Teddy: He was provoking me!<br />
Silver: *I'm not even going to put up with this shit face*<br />
Teddy: Silver, wait ... I just got frustrated.<br />
Me: LOLWHUT?<br />
Silver: Well, I get frustrated too sometimes, but I don't turn into a homophobic jerk. (walks away)<br />
Me: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH<br />
<br />
<br />
Bun: I can't believe Teddy went all Mel Gibson.<br />
Then she's all like Let's Do It to Dixon.<br />
<br />
Adrianna! So Navid's here (yes, they still haven't kicked him out of the show...wtf) and he gives Adrianna flowers to support her. Then Asshole Manager (because he has so many dimensions) comes in and is all like Get Your Sleaze on and Navid's like wtf.<br />
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Then we go to Liam who is cooking for Annie because of the whole soft side thing. He is failing miserably at cooking because this show is all about defying gender stereotyping and then he accidentally sets something on fire and they <strike>make out</strike> talk and almost make out but then the doorbell rings. This never happens to me. The doorbell ringing randomly, I mean.<br />
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Who's at the door? Well, it could be anybody, right? But it's Charlie (New Guy). He comes in and he sees Liam and Liam sees him and Liam's like what're you doing here? To cut the shit, Charlie and Liam are brothers. I know, right? Anyway Annie's like :O<br />
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SILVER!! We're back to Silver, and she's at the benefit and making announcements and then Navid shows up in a fireman's uniform. I wish somebody would hose him for it.<br />
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He's says he's here because according to the Beverly Hills Fire Code, "This party is too damn hot." Then Silver's all like *fake surprise*. Then everyone comes out dressed as firemen and they dance and strip. The dance is as funny as it is sleazy.<br />
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Meanwhile at Annie's, she's talking to Charlie about Liam etc. boring. So Charlie stole credit cards once and blamed it on Liam. Awww, Liam's a softie. Charlie's really going out of the show in like two episodes isn't he? Bechara. The next time you feel used, remember that at the very least you've never been used for "plot". Then be grateful.<br />
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Asshole Manager decides that he's going to go 80-20 on Adrianna now rather than 50-50 and she's all like but that's not fair and he's like BLACKMAILLLLL.<br />
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Back at the auction, Oscar The British Guy (we'll talk about him some other time) and Liam are sold without a hitch; however, when Dixon comes up Mysterious Pregnant Lady tries to buy him and Silver quickly sells him to Ivy. Then Navid comes up and nobody wants to buy him (duh) and then Adrianna comes in and buys him with her 20G's and this fixes things with Silver. Later Annie shows up and is all like I'm sorry Liam but Liam has to make things Complicated because he has Issues and yeah, he leaves with the girl who bought him.<br />
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After the auction is over, Annie, Adrianna and Silver hug and then they see Naomi and Silver's like dosti kar lo na? And Annie and Adrianna, in some of the greatest dialogues of all time, repeat that "She's been awful." and Silver tries to be all like mysterious and She's going through a lot but they don't Get It. Honestly? Can't these two just take a hint and be nice to Naomi?<br />
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Then they all come out after Naomi and they're like omg we can't believe it and GUESS WHAT, SILVER TOLD THEM. WTF, RIGHT? Naomi thinks so too. She's like You promised! And Silver's like, They're your friends. What. What. What. But anyway they're all like really nice to her and she reluctantly accepts their sympathy/anger.<br />
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HAE KHUDAYA IVY AGAIN??? WHY DOES SHE KEEP COMING UP? I refuse to recap Ivy anymore. Fuck this shit.<br />
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OH HEY! Mystery Pregnant Lady is back. Her name is Sasha. President Obama's daughter's name is Sasha! Here's a picture of her:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/strollerderby/2009/03/sasha_obama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.babble.com/CS/blogs/strollerderby/2009/03/sasha_obama.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">omggggg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So Dixon leaves with MPL and Oscar sees them in an extraordinarily creepy manner.<br />
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At Annie's house, Annie's mom is, by the looks of it, doing her finances because she's making the face I make when I look at the CSS Profile.<br />
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Annie comes up and she's all like Mom, your cheque for the charity bounced. And Mom's all like, I'll give you some cash! But then she looks and she doesn't have any. This made me think of The Gift of the Magi for some reason. Anyhow the bottom line is that Annie's family is heading towards Brokesville. So, of course, Annie decides to sell her eggs. Kabhee meray paas koi aisi offer naheen aee, waaah.<br />
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Lastly, Mystery Pregnant Lady (who I now realize was NOT pregnant..I think) tells Dixon that she's HIV-positive.<br />
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ALSO! I'm sorry I forgot to mention this but Teddy beat up/wrestled with Hookup Boy and now they both have detention. Will they Get To Know Each Other Better? Duh. Silver broke up with Teddy over his homophobia too, and I think this may be the first breakup on tv due to homophobia? Correct me if I'm wrong.<br />
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SO THAT'S IT FOR THIS EPISODE! Did you like this recap? I did a lot of mehnat writing this and it is WAY longer than I expected it to be and now I am slightly freaked out. I will do more recaps if that is What the Public Wants (comments), otherwise I'll just stick to doing whatever it is that I do on this blog.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Btw, I ran out of transitive verbs somewhere in the middle which accounts for the disjointedness, sorry.</span><br />
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FINALLY, if anyone (other than <a href="http://itsoundsbetterwithabritishaccent.blogspot.com/">Rahima</a>, <3) wants to be 90210 buddies with me, do let me know.<br />
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*Things are being said here. They are obvious. Insert creative dialogues instead.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2