I don't get to see much of Southpark - but oh my effing lawwwd - this is some funny shit.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Peanuts
They're cute right? So this is for the trivia whores like me.
Peanuts is the brainchild of Charles M. Schulz (the M's for Monroe, since this is trivia), first published in October 2, 1950 and it ran upto February 13, 2000 - the day after Schulz's death.
This is the first ever Peanuts strip -
click to enlarge
And this is the last one -
click to enlarge
The main characters are -
Woodstock - Woodstock is the smallest of the Peanuts characters but has a big presence for a little bird. He's a little inept, his flying and logic are erratic, but he can type and take shorthand and usually is game for anything Snoopy wants to do. Although he's the butt of many of Snoopy's practical jokes, he's the beagle's closest friend and confidant- and has made attempts at retaliation. Because of his size and the company he keeps, Woodstock is an accident waiting to happen. Being a bird and tiny, he gets a little insecure around Thanksgiving and big moving objects. He's the only baseball player who gets an automatic walk if the ball rolls over him. Woodstock talks birdspeak only, and finds an alphabet made up entirely of exclamation points quite adequate to express such emotions as distress, frustration and a real temper. His flocking friends are Bill, Harriet, Olivier and Conrad.
Franklin - Franklin met Charlie Brown at the beach in 1968. They'd never met before because they went to different schools, but they had fun playing ball so Charlie Brown invited Franklin to visit him at this house across town for another play session. Later, Franklin turned up as center-fielder on Peppermint Patty's baseball team and sits in front of her at school. Franklin is thoughtful and can quote the Old Testament as effectively as Linus. In contrast with the other characters, Franklin has the fewest anxieties and obsessions. He and Charlie Brown spend quite a bit of time talking about their respective grandfathers. When Franklin first appeared in the late 60s, his noticeably darker skin set some readers in search of a political meaning. However, the remarkable becomes unremarkable when readers learn that Schulz simply introduced Franklin as another character, not a political statement.
For more stuff - click here and here.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
City

I love my city - with its unassuming, languid, dust-layered beauty, smiling at you in gentle sunlight during winter mornings and evenings. Freeskool Street, decked up for Christmas – jazz and carols blasting through the gramophones, the jingle of the tana rickshaws mingling with the smell of telebhajas, kati rolls and old second-hand books from every nook and cranny – tantalizing, mouth watering. Dhormotolaye dhormoshonkot. Shirt kholo. Oborodh koro - half naked bodies fluttering flags against the half-restored LIC building. Ahh, ki dramabaji! Ki entertainment! My pretty, crazy city. New Market jomjomat, with fake Christmas trees and scary Santa Clauses on the sidewalks and bright paper stars and tinsel adorning the skies. Lazy tram ride – maidan’s green beauty, juxtaposed against a smog-lined winter sky, officers on their horses, Shahid Minar, tall, ponderous, poetic, against the evening sun. The crows fly home. The sun sets. The evening chill draws out the mufflers and monkey-tupis, the smell of naphthalene stubbornly hanging on to its wooly fabric. Steaming cha, muri-makha and querulous adda.

For better or for worse, I love this city.




See also : Nearsight's city lights post taken with the Fujifilm Finepix S9500. Heck, see his entire blog.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Henri de Toulouse Lautrec
Henri de Toulouse Lautrec (Novermber 24, 1864 - September 9, 1901) was a French painter, printmaker, draftsman, and illustrator, whose immersion in the decadent and theatrical life of fin de siecle yielded an oeuvre of provocative images of modern life. (see wiki)
At the Moulin Rouge
The Moulin Rouge series - et autres
Best known for his paintings of the Moulin Rouge and the hedonistic Parisian city life, Lautrec was one of the most exciting painters of his era. His contemporaries were Degas, Van Gogh, Renoir, Cezanne, Gaugin and Seurat. I've selected a motley set of his paintings, not in any order of their creation or phase or anything like that. Just stuff I like. To see more of his paintings and posters, click here and here.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Street Art
Los Angeles, originally uploaded by it is what it is....
For more, check Wooster. The coolest blog I've ever come across.
Friday, December 1, 2006
Wind
This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet
Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,
The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house
Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,
Or each other.We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.
Ted Hughes
This poem was meant to decribe the storminess of Hughes' and Plath's relationship and the growing distance in it. Being a sucker for romance and unrequitted love and what-not - the Hughes-Plath relationship has always fascinated me. And I recently discovered this poem - it's so graphic, so blunt and sad - I love it.
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet
Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,
The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house
Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,
Or each other.We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.
Ted Hughes
This poem was meant to decribe the storminess of Hughes' and Plath's relationship and the growing distance in it. Being a sucker for romance and unrequitted love and what-not - the Hughes-Plath relationship has always fascinated me. And I recently discovered this poem - it's so graphic, so blunt and sad - I love it.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
paranoid android
One of my favourite Radiohead tracks - weirdass video. You'll need a good connection though, to view it properly. Happy viewing!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Jazz
"I'm crazy about this City.Daylight slants like a razor cutting the buildings in half. In the top half I see looking faces and it's not easy to tell which are people, which the work of stonemasons. Below is shadow where any blasé thing takes place: clarinets and lovemaking, fists and the voices of sorrowful women. A city like this one makes me dream tall and feel in on things. Hep. It's the bright steel rocking above the shade below that does it. When I look over strips of green grass lining the river, at church steeples and into the cream-and-copper halls of apartment buildings, I'm strong. Alone, yes, but top-notch and indestructible--like the City in 1926 when all the wars are over and there will never be another one. The people down there in the shadow are happy about that. At last, at last, everything's ahead. The smart ones say so and people listening to them and reading what they write down agree: Here comes the new. Look out. There goes the sad stuff. The bad stuff. The things-nobody-could-help stuff. The way everybody was then and there. Forget that. History is over, you all, and everything's ahead at last..."
From Toni Morrison's Jazz
Welcome
Say hello to Carnival, my new blog. I'll be putting up pictures, poems, stories, songs, videos, art work - whatever I like and hopefully you'll like it too.
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