So the nose is saved for another week... and damn, I'm flabbergasted how many questions people had.
You are all a bunch of absolutely sweet people. There. That's enough saccharine to last you for the remaining lifetime of this blog, isn't it?
In any case, since you were all nice enough to let me have my say, I'm going to give you the chance to have yours. Here's how it'll work. Whoever asked me a question this week will get a question from me. Because, you see, Wendelin wonders what goes on in your heads, in your lives.
You have until Tuesday night to answer. If you have a blog, answer in your blog - or else you can leave a comment. On Wednesday, I'll post my questions along with snippets of, and links to, your response.
Today, though, I'll need a bit of time to post your questions. Taxes await. (Federal is done, mercifully, and state is hobbling along...)
See you on the other side of all this damned paperwork.
PS: Mockingbird, your witty, hilarious anecdote is coming. Patience. :)
Friday, March 31, 2006
It's Ask Me Anything Day!
Singapore vs. USA, DEATHMATCH!
Alien Spawn!
Exclusive! Photograph of Wendelin eating fondue!
Intimate Confessions: How I Caught My Husband! and...
SPECIAL: WHY I WAS MEAN TO 4WD!
PETA | J. K. Rowling | Writing Advice | And much, much more!
J. K. Rowling
Why do you worship JK Rowling so much? The answer needn't be long and you can give instances of her cool one-liners. If it makes me read her books, you win. (Kr!sh)
*gasp* *choke* You haven't read any of her books yet?!? Sacrilege!
Must... calm... down...
All right. Your question. First, JKR is not Dave Barry, so your request for one-liners is summarily denied. Though, of course, you will find plenty of examples of her pervasive humour if you read some of the stuff on her website (or her books, goddamn heathen ;P ).
I worship her because she is a writer - a really, really good one (read HP books 1-5). A successful one. Who has made a billion dollars by writing. If I was into tech-geekitude, I'd worship Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. If I was into making movies, I'd worship Peter Jackson (what a work ethic!). Part of succeeding in one's chosen profession is to look at the successes in the field and model the hell out of them. Therefore I, my dear Krplingsh, am gonna.
How I Caught My Husband
How did you catch your husband? (Nidhi)
My own, original seven secret sure-fire no-fail strategies guaranteed to work for everyone. You can learn them TODAY for the low, low price of only $29.95.
Fine Print: The particular husband you manage to catch may or may not be IIT graduate/multimillionaire/Bard Pitt.
The Mystery of Life
Is there life on other planets? (Anonymous)
But of course. They have visited Earth, too, and left their alien spawn behind. How else can you explain Govinda?
I am in favor of Evolution and all that. But I am confused about what gave the first spark for Life in this planet. Is it simply a chemical reaction? If it is, why can't we duplicate that in labs. ( Or can we?). Convince me. (Kr!sh)
The whole God thing is so ridiculous. So apparently God touched the finger of Adam, was it?, and imbued him with the spark of life, and that's how there came to be life on earth. Of course, since we know that's not literally true, we're supposed to interpret the scriptures "correctly", and say God actually sparked life into some protozoa, not Adam. Adam was just a symbolic name for the little iggly wiggly protozoa, don't you see?
Substitute lotus flowers coming out of Brahma's navel, and you have the Hindu creation myth, which is just as bullshit - probably more.
So why exactly did God create life?
And how exactly did you find out that it was Him?
If we're the point of the whole exercise, why muck around with millions of years of evolution instead of just - bam - there's homo sapiens?
OK, He created life. So what? How do you get from there to morals and commandments and worship?
So let's just say there're way too many gaps in that story. I prefer theories that are arrived at through some verifiable process of actual knowledge, theories that can be tested and potentially falsified, theories that are useful and offer predictions, theories that don't contradict vast bodies of knowledge already gathered. For now, that theory is the one with the primodial soup. We might be able to duplicate it in labs, or we may not. Who knows? But just because we don't know, we can't assume one random explanation to be true.
And for everybody who thinks it was God, allow me to ask you: how is the God theory more probable than -
a. Aliens implanting life on earth, just for fun
b. Satan creating life in defiance of God
c. Supermonkeys from another universe barfing on earth after a big party and accidentally contaminating us with life
There's just as much evidence for this as there is for God, isn't there? These are just as un-disproveable as God, aren't they?
How are you expected to know about how life started? Why would anyone ask you that, rather than just be happy with not knowing or meditate, attain enlightenment and then know.(4WD)
Dude, it's Ask Me Anything Day. You could ask me how a nuclear reactor works and I'd have to answer you. (Disclaimer: Accuracy of answers may vary.)
The PETA Question
Why do you hate peta more than anyone else? (Nidhi)
I don't. Look carefully. The deeper you go in hell, the worse off you are.
I am a PETA member, why do you hate PETA so much? It's not so bad, really. I know that a lot of the members of PETA make members like me lose credibility, but whatever, right. Just trying to help. :) Not selling PETA here, but curious to know your reasons. (Mockingbird)
Look, if I had a club, I'd make damn sure I have a follow-this-or-die rulebook which made it clear it was NOT OK to break into / burn down research centers. PETA doesn't seem to have a concept of how not to trample on people's rights. How different are they, even OFFICIALLY, from Catholics who form human barricades around abortion clinics? As soon as their policies change, I'm going to be first in line to start respecting them.
On Writing
How does it feel to have a whole strech of time to write? I have been thinking about quitting and going full-time, but I am not brave enough. (Mockingbird)
When I was in school (and working sorta illegally on the side), I got about 70% as much writing done in a week as I do now. Takes a lot of discipline (which I don't have) to not consider my time as free time. Oh well. I'll get there.
:) The decision to write full-time was based less on courage than on visa situation. I read somewhere that a writer shouldn't quit her day job until she -
a. Is making the same amount of money from writing as from the day job
b. Has been doing (a) for at least two years
c. Has enough money saved (not in advances) to live on for one year and
d. Has enough contracts to keep her busy for one year.
I consider that very sound advice. Now all I have to do is get a day job.
Sometimes I get really cool idea, and I can talk for hours about them with people in person, but the moment I sit down on the computer, I become completely blank, will hardly write one or two sentence and realize this is all I had to say. What do I do, how do I begin. Have written 30 page letters full lenght page love letters to girlfriends before, tho. Any suggestions? (Amit)
30 page letters....! Shit, give some pointers to Saurabh, will you?
Here's my theory: all cool ideas can be expressed in one sentence. Explanations are only necessary if there is a disagreement or a failure to understand it - i.e. a failure to see how the idea is applicable in life.
Example: the God question, above. The idea that I have is simple - God doesn't exist. What else is there to say about it? Nothing, unless somebody says, "no, dude, God exists, look, He created the universe, isn't that proof?" Then you explain why that can't be. Or somebody'll say, "So what if God doesn't exist?", to which you can launch into a rant about how it's important for people to stop believing in God, because trusting in fiction does a lot of harm.
All the movies you've seen, the books you've read, have a one-sentence idea behind them. The movie or the book is an attempt to get the audience to understand the idea by showing how it's applicable to real people. The understanding only happens when the idea is repeatedly tested by antagonistic people and situations, and is shown to be true. (Think of it this way: a movie without any conflict would suck.)
So the next time you want to write, play Devil's Advocate to your idea. Think what the nay-sayers would say. Then blast them to smithereens. It's crazy fun.
DEATHMATCH: Singapore vs. USA, with a bit of India thrown in
- Which one do you like better - Singapore or US? (Kr!sh)
- Living in the US and Living in India. What do you gain and what do you lose? (Null Bit)
- Which one do you like better, a little island that you can drive across in 30 mins, with no real forest except one that comes with the night safari, little political freedom, where all vehicles have speed limiters on them, or a large country with a million different things to do, people that can openly criticise their president, and where you can actually buy a fast car that's fast. (4WD)
Here's what I want my life to be like, everyday-wise. I want to step outside my house and see some sign of human life around. I want to be able to walk to a grocery store from home, because there are times I don't feel like driving 30 minutes every time I forget to put something on my shopping list. I want to be able to take walks or go jogging outdoors on something other than bloody roads with no sidewalks. I want cafes on the sidewalk, hustle and bustle on the streets, public trasport at least for distances greater than 500m and less than 3000m. I want to live in a place where there is stuff within a distance of 3000m from home.
And here's what I'd like life to be at the macro level: freedom of speech, a free market, separation of the church and the state, other personal freedoms. The US wins out here (even if only on paper).
I could have both if I was rich enough to live in midtown Manhattan or downtown Boston. But I'm not. So I have to look at what I value more. It turns out I'm willing to trade on political freedoms for a bit of fun. Imagine that.
(India? If my books sell and I become a millionaire, then I'm packing off to live in Bangalore that very day. Until then, Singapore is an excellent compromise.)
Random Questions
Why were you mean to me? (4WD)
Aww you poor widdle baby. Did bad Wendy hurt your feelings?
Dude, I explained. I just picked on you coz I felt like it. You know, like, for laughs. Chin up. :)
What's with stupid questions like `why do you like JK Rowling?' (read the damn books, instead of reading log tables, i'd say) (4WD)
Log tables, eh? I didn't know Kr(gasp)sh was into them. I wonder what the charm is. Perhaps Krplingsh would care to explain?
Very cool template, where did you get it?(Amit)
Made it meself. Images are from sxc.hu, for whom I put a banner in the 'Credits' section like a good girl. If you want the template, just say the word.
What do you look like? (Nidhi)
Who is your favourite LOTR character and why? (Anonymous)
Gollum. Jesus. What a charcater. (Also, I may be willing to commit a double-murder to leave the way clear for Faramir and myself.)
I just realised this may give you the impression that I like LotR. I don't. It's the most overrated piece of written work next to the Bible.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
The Nose Is Gonna GO!
People.
Come on.
Tomorrow's Ask Me Anything Day again. And there are no questions for Wendelin to answer.
*Hangs head in shame*
All right. You got two choices. You can either ask me something (anything) - or tomorrow, I can pretend I never said anything about AMADay and do something else instead. AMADay Vol I will be quietly laid to rest. (Now don't you think that's a damn shame, you heartless creatures?)
Meanwhile, you never read this post either.
Come on.
Tomorrow's Ask Me Anything Day again. And there are no questions for Wendelin to answer.
*Hangs head in shame*
All right. You got two choices. You can either ask me something (anything) - or tomorrow, I can pretend I never said anything about AMADay and do something else instead. AMADay Vol I will be quietly laid to rest. (Now don't you think that's a damn shame, you heartless creatures?)
Meanwhile, you never read this post either.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Design!
Goddamnit, there's this little > thingy on the top left of the sidebar that refuses to be found and removed. Anybody who can tell me where it's coming from will receive eternal gratitude. I myself cannot be bothered at this point.
And yes, the banner is temporary. I guess I'll redo that tomorrow. I like the pink flowers, though. :)
And yes, the banner is temporary. I guess I'll redo that tomorrow. I like the pink flowers, though. :)
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Hell Once More
PETA Members
Circle I Limbo
Creationists
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind
Whoopi Goldberg
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow
Scientologists
Circle IV Rolling Weights
George Bush
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled
River Styx
General asshats
Circle VI Buried for Eternity
River Phlegyas
The Pope
Circle VII Burning Sands
The People Who Cancelled "Medium" (and kept "Law & Order" in all its incarnations)
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement
NAMBLA Members
Circle IX Frozen in Ice
Donald Trump Has No Taste In Bathrooms
So Saurabh goes on a trip for a couple of weeks and comes back, and then I go to the same place he'd been, sort of like we're taking turns to take vacations. I'm not really sure where we were vacationing, though, because though the currency there was Yen, the people were definitiely not Japanese. Anyway, I call Saurabh to tell him I'd got there, and he tells me that the first thing I should do is go to the airport and climb into a plane. So I do that.
It's a normal plane, I have a seat somewhere in the back, and the stewardesses are telling me to fasten my seat belt, but I'm fumbling. The plane takes off. We hit turbulence. My seat belt is still unfastened. Then the captain announces that we're going to crash, and for a second, I'm sure I'm going to die because damn it, I still can't get my seat belt on... we're going into free fall... and then it turns out this whole plane is a theme park ride.
We free-fall into a water-ride type thing. It's amazing fun. After the ride I call Saurabh and gush about how fantastic it was, and thanks for giving me such a cool surprise.
I wander around in the theme park for a while, and then decide to find a hotel to stay in. I stop by a huge mall-type place that has many hotels in it, among other things: restaurants, casinos, shops, bowling alleys, movie theatres. Actually, it suddenly turns into a cruise ship.
So I'm off looking for accommodation for the night, and I come by this very VERY reasonably priced place (50 Yen per night), and it's owned and operated by Donald Trump. My parents and sister show up, and suddenly I'm a kid again and my parents are in charge of the whole trip, and they're not making up their minds about whether we should stay in Donald Trump's hotel or not. Trump keeps asking, "So do you want to stay here or not?" It's terribly embarrassing.
Trump tries to sell us on the idea a little, so he takes us to the best suite he's got. It's huge and roomy and all, but it's not that great. Trump is saying, "Take a look at the bathroom, it's phenomenal!" But it's just a large bathroom with nothing much in it. Not even a bath tub. Plus it's quite dark and dingy. I just make polite noises and we go back to trying to decide whether or not we want to stay in his hotel.
In the end, my parents give up, and go swimming instead, but they're soon evicted from the pool because they're not patrons of any of the hotels on board the cruise ship. I'm stuck with Donald Trump who keeps asking me to bloody decide if I want to stay in his hotel or not. My sister goes off to the deck, and gets to see the whole coastline of Florida. She's the only one who has a nice time on the cruise.
It's a normal plane, I have a seat somewhere in the back, and the stewardesses are telling me to fasten my seat belt, but I'm fumbling. The plane takes off. We hit turbulence. My seat belt is still unfastened. Then the captain announces that we're going to crash, and for a second, I'm sure I'm going to die because damn it, I still can't get my seat belt on... we're going into free fall... and then it turns out this whole plane is a theme park ride.
We free-fall into a water-ride type thing. It's amazing fun. After the ride I call Saurabh and gush about how fantastic it was, and thanks for giving me such a cool surprise.
I wander around in the theme park for a while, and then decide to find a hotel to stay in. I stop by a huge mall-type place that has many hotels in it, among other things: restaurants, casinos, shops, bowling alleys, movie theatres. Actually, it suddenly turns into a cruise ship.
So I'm off looking for accommodation for the night, and I come by this very VERY reasonably priced place (50 Yen per night), and it's owned and operated by Donald Trump. My parents and sister show up, and suddenly I'm a kid again and my parents are in charge of the whole trip, and they're not making up their minds about whether we should stay in Donald Trump's hotel or not. Trump keeps asking, "So do you want to stay here or not?" It's terribly embarrassing.
Trump tries to sell us on the idea a little, so he takes us to the best suite he's got. It's huge and roomy and all, but it's not that great. Trump is saying, "Take a look at the bathroom, it's phenomenal!" But it's just a large bathroom with nothing much in it. Not even a bath tub. Plus it's quite dark and dingy. I just make polite noises and we go back to trying to decide whether or not we want to stay in his hotel.
In the end, my parents give up, and go swimming instead, but they're soon evicted from the pool because they're not patrons of any of the hotels on board the cruise ship. I'm stuck with Donald Trump who keeps asking me to bloody decide if I want to stay in his hotel or not. My sister goes off to the deck, and gets to see the whole coastline of Florida. She's the only one who has a nice time on the cruise.
Friday, March 24, 2006
It's Ask Me Anything Day!
As I type up last Friday's blog inviting questions for the weekly "Ask Me Anything Day", Saurabh looks over my shoulder. Clickety clackety clack goes the keyboard. Finally, I hit 'Publish', and check the blog to see if the post has been rendered in an attractive fashion.
Saurabh lets out the snigger he has been holding in. "What if no one asks you anything? Ha ha ha... naak-kaatofication!"
That hadn't occurred to me.
Uh oh.
Most humans find me obnoxiously argumentative - and that includes people in NTU's debating squad. That's saying something. It tends to lower one's popularity index. Certainly, nobody asks me questions if they can help it. It seems like AMADay is an idea doomed to fail from the start.
But I have principles. Once I write something I'm not going to take it down and pretend it never existed. Whatever my faults, running this blog like Big Brother isn't one of them.
The story has a happy ending. People (note plural!) did ask me questions (note plural!). It seems my nose was destined to live another week.
(At this point it occurs to me that perhaps I should call this "Save Wendelin's Nose Day". But that would be a little despo.)
So without further ado, I present....
AMADay Vol. I
Why do you want to be a "wannabe"? As in Wendelin? Why not "Nandini" and create a niche for yourself?
-Kr!sh
My dear Kr!sh, you should know that Saurabh calls you "Krexclamationsh", which I must say has a better ring to it than "Kr (gasp) sh", which is what I call you, or "Krplingsh", which is an equally acceptable way of looking at it. But I digress.
The reason for "Wendelin", Kr!sh, is that I need a cool-sounding pseudonym for when I publish the romance novel that I have written (not so) secretly. I'm also fiddling with appropriate last names. "Winters", "DeWinter" and "DaWeird" are all under consideration. What do you think?
I am curious as to why you are an atheist. There are possibly 2 possibilities(!?) I can think of
- your parents are atheists and you were brought up that way
- something spurred you? Or you thunk a lot and stuff and concluded that there is no god.
Because generic Indian is a god-fearing theist!
-Kr!sh
do {
switch (case) {
case "God comes to Earth": acknowledge His existence;
break;
case "God takes charge of legal system": follow commandments / Divine rules;
break;
case "God sets up Consulate of Heaven": pray devoutly for Heavenly Visa;
break;
case "Guy says he's God's messenger": tell him to f* off;
break;
case "Parents say must pray": ask why until satisfactory explanation given;
break;
default: don't believe extraordinary - or any - claims without proof;
break;
} } while (no particular religion proven (true && the right one));
I wish the world worked like a program, bound by logic. I wish I worked that way in other aspects of my life. Wouldn't that be something!
My parents are quite religious, but I've never thought God was realistic. I remember once when I was in 6th Std (6th grade, whatever), and my class teacher asked, "Who doesn't believe in God?" I was the only person who raised a hand. I think that was the first time I thought consciously about God's existence.
There've been a handful of times since when I've thought I believed, though - most commonly before exams and such. :D So I understand how faith can be comforting even when you know it's bull. My standard prayer is "oh, shit, God, get me through this, and I'll start believing in you". But these days I guilt myself into letting go of the crutch, because my faith is basically dishonest.
What do you do for a living? Are you a full-time writer or do you write part-time while working?
-Anonymous
I'm actually still on a student visa. (I took an inordinately long time getting through school... for various reasons not pertinent to this discussion :D) The work experience section of my resume reads sort of like that Harvard entrance essay some wiseguy once wrote: I've been an e-card maker, an op-ed writer, a telemarketer, a private tuition teacher in two countries, a door-to-door salesgirl, a debating coach, a waitress, a commercial blogger, an intern at a major US bank, a web designer, a donut-and-coffee server, a short-story writer, a cashier-and-bagger at two grocery stores, a bagel-shop girl, a substitute teacher in a secondary school and a primary school, a pizza place employee, a personal secretary, an editor and graphics-creator for my college's accreditation report, a computer lab assistant and an anti-smoking campaign gofer.
For the past couple of months I've been writing full-time, but unlike the above list, I'm not getting paid (yet) to write novels.
4WD said...
I have questions.
1) Why do parachutes have just one back up rip cord? What if that fails too?
The probability of failure of any given rip cord is independent of the probability of failure of any other rip cord. This means that if you have two rip cords, the backup-backup cord has just as much chance of failing as the backup one. Which means you might as well have an infinite number of rip cords, and even then you wouldn't really be safe. Or else (and I suggest this strongly) never put yourself in a situation where you might need a parachute. People like you are at risk of getting culled as Mother Nature goes about doing her "survival of the fittest" thing.
2) Am I ever going to be famous, or will I just have to settle medium-rich but quite cute?
My analysis of your set of questions tells me you will be famous in a Johnny Lever or Whoopi Goldberg type of way, i.e. an extraordinary number of people will name you as the most irritating person they know. Good news, eh? You don't have to "settle".
3) Why is love life explosivley (sic) juicy? Have you ever kissed a girl or been in a threesome?
Shall I mention the night of the break-night party of the Asians in May 2004, in the Twin Towers Hotel, Bangkok in room 1024, was it? Hmm. Somebody has an incriminating digital photograph of a certain NUS gal and a certain SMU gal, both of whom shall remain unnamed. I shall always regret the absence of video footage showing how Some People were egging (begging?) yours truly to be a participant in said photograph...
4)Is `thiest' a real word?
The·ist
n.[Cf. F. théiste. See Theism.]
One who believes in the existence of a God; especially, one who believes in a personal God.
5) Doesn't singapore look [like] a big hospital? Completely sanitised with no smoking no peeing no peeking signs everywhere?
Damn, dude, don't insult Singapore now! You're 1.5 years too late! I'd have agreed with you when I was living there, but man, the place now seems vibrant and happening and utterly awesome to me. Anything would be awesome compared to the village I live in now.
And pssst... here's a secret.
a. Nobody really catches you if you smoke in, say, MRT startions
b. There are any number of public toilets where peeing is allowed
c. AFAIK, you're allowed to peek anywhere you please as long as it does not entail special peeking equipment. Even then, glasses and contact lenses are allowed.
Scientologists are really creepy!
-Kr!sh
Amen.
You're a writer? :oWhoa!
Awesome, you write a column ?
- Drops Of Jupiter
You made my day. *blush*
And column? What column? *whistles innocently*
--------------------------------------------------
And so we come to the end of the first edition of Ask Me Anything Day. Thank you for your questions. 4WD, dude, you just happened to be the guy I picked to make fun of this time. Tough luck. Chances that it will happen once again next time are low, unless you persist in asking questions about parachutes.
Meanwhile, the floor is open for questions once more, to be answered next AMADay!
--------------------------------------------------
PS: Happy birthday, Ma!
Saurabh lets out the snigger he has been holding in. "What if no one asks you anything? Ha ha ha... naak-kaatofication!"
That hadn't occurred to me.
Uh oh.
Most humans find me obnoxiously argumentative - and that includes people in NTU's debating squad. That's saying something. It tends to lower one's popularity index. Certainly, nobody asks me questions if they can help it. It seems like AMADay is an idea doomed to fail from the start.
But I have principles. Once I write something I'm not going to take it down and pretend it never existed. Whatever my faults, running this blog like Big Brother isn't one of them.
The story has a happy ending. People (note plural!) did ask me questions (note plural!). It seems my nose was destined to live another week.
(At this point it occurs to me that perhaps I should call this "Save Wendelin's Nose Day". But that would be a little despo.)
So without further ado, I present....
Why do you want to be a "wannabe"? As in Wendelin? Why not "Nandini" and create a niche for yourself?
-Kr!sh
My dear Kr!sh, you should know that Saurabh calls you "Krexclamationsh", which I must say has a better ring to it than "Kr (gasp) sh", which is what I call you, or "Krplingsh", which is an equally acceptable way of looking at it. But I digress.
The reason for "Wendelin", Kr!sh, is that I need a cool-sounding pseudonym for when I publish the romance novel that I have written (not so) secretly. I'm also fiddling with appropriate last names. "Winters", "DeWinter" and "DaWeird" are all under consideration. What do you think?
I am curious as to why you are an atheist. There are possibly 2 possibilities(!?) I can think of
- your parents are atheists and you were brought up that way
- something spurred you? Or you thunk a lot and stuff and concluded that there is no god.
Because generic Indian is a god-fearing theist!
-Kr!sh
do {
switch (case) {
case "God comes to Earth": acknowledge His existence;
break;
case "God takes charge of legal system": follow commandments / Divine rules;
break;
case "God sets up Consulate of Heaven": pray devoutly for Heavenly Visa;
break;
case "Guy says he's God's messenger": tell him to f* off;
break;
case "Parents say must pray": ask why until satisfactory explanation given;
break;
default: don't believe extraordinary - or any - claims without proof;
break;
} } while (no particular religion proven (true && the right one));
I wish the world worked like a program, bound by logic. I wish I worked that way in other aspects of my life. Wouldn't that be something!
My parents are quite religious, but I've never thought God was realistic. I remember once when I was in 6th Std (6th grade, whatever), and my class teacher asked, "Who doesn't believe in God?" I was the only person who raised a hand. I think that was the first time I thought consciously about God's existence.
There've been a handful of times since when I've thought I believed, though - most commonly before exams and such. :D So I understand how faith can be comforting even when you know it's bull. My standard prayer is "oh, shit, God, get me through this, and I'll start believing in you". But these days I guilt myself into letting go of the crutch, because my faith is basically dishonest.
What do you do for a living? Are you a full-time writer or do you write part-time while working?
-Anonymous
I'm actually still on a student visa. (I took an inordinately long time getting through school... for various reasons not pertinent to this discussion :D) The work experience section of my resume reads sort of like that Harvard entrance essay some wiseguy once wrote: I've been an e-card maker, an op-ed writer, a telemarketer, a private tuition teacher in two countries, a door-to-door salesgirl, a debating coach, a waitress, a commercial blogger, an intern at a major US bank, a web designer, a donut-and-coffee server, a short-story writer, a cashier-and-bagger at two grocery stores, a bagel-shop girl, a substitute teacher in a secondary school and a primary school, a pizza place employee, a personal secretary, an editor and graphics-creator for my college's accreditation report, a computer lab assistant and an anti-smoking campaign gofer.
For the past couple of months I've been writing full-time, but unlike the above list, I'm not getting paid (yet) to write novels.
4WD said...
I have questions.
1) Why do parachutes have just one back up rip cord? What if that fails too?
The probability of failure of any given rip cord is independent of the probability of failure of any other rip cord. This means that if you have two rip cords, the backup-backup cord has just as much chance of failing as the backup one. Which means you might as well have an infinite number of rip cords, and even then you wouldn't really be safe. Or else (and I suggest this strongly) never put yourself in a situation where you might need a parachute. People like you are at risk of getting culled as Mother Nature goes about doing her "survival of the fittest" thing.
2) Am I ever going to be famous, or will I just have to settle medium-rich but quite cute?
My analysis of your set of questions tells me you will be famous in a Johnny Lever or Whoopi Goldberg type of way, i.e. an extraordinary number of people will name you as the most irritating person they know. Good news, eh? You don't have to "settle".
3) Why is love life explosivley (sic) juicy? Have you ever kissed a girl or been in a threesome?
Shall I mention the night of the break-night party of the Asians in May 2004, in the Twin Towers Hotel, Bangkok in room 1024, was it? Hmm. Somebody has an incriminating digital photograph of a certain NUS gal and a certain SMU gal, both of whom shall remain unnamed. I shall always regret the absence of video footage showing how Some People were egging (begging?) yours truly to be a participant in said photograph...
4)Is `thiest' a real word?
The·ist
n.[Cf. F. théiste. See Theism.]
One who believes in the existence of a God; especially, one who believes in a personal God.
5) Doesn't singapore look [like] a big hospital? Completely sanitised with no smoking no peeing no peeking signs everywhere?
Damn, dude, don't insult Singapore now! You're 1.5 years too late! I'd have agreed with you when I was living there, but man, the place now seems vibrant and happening and utterly awesome to me. Anything would be awesome compared to the village I live in now.
And pssst... here's a secret.
a. Nobody really catches you if you smoke in, say, MRT startions
b. There are any number of public toilets where peeing is allowed
c. AFAIK, you're allowed to peek anywhere you please as long as it does not entail special peeking equipment. Even then, glasses and contact lenses are allowed.
Scientologists are really creepy!
-Kr!sh
Amen.
You're a writer? :oWhoa!
Awesome, you write a column ?
- Drops Of Jupiter
You made my day. *blush*
And column? What column? *whistles innocently*
--------------------------------------------------
And so we come to the end of the first edition of Ask Me Anything Day. Thank you for your questions. 4WD, dude, you just happened to be the guy I picked to make fun of this time. Tough luck. Chances that it will happen once again next time are low, unless you persist in asking questions about parachutes.
Meanwhile, the floor is open for questions once more, to be answered next AMADay!
--------------------------------------------------
PS: Happy birthday, Ma!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The Cursed Sequel
Reminder: The first Ask Me Anything Day is tomorrow! You have 24 hours to get your questions in. :)
--
I've been writing about Singapore today, and for some reason, it brought to mind a book one of my secondary school friends once gave me to read: Scarlett, by Alexandra Ripley, which is the sequel to Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind. Now. Gone With The Wind is not the first book on the list of "needs a sequel". In fact, I will daringly suggest it won't make the list at all. (Gasp!) There are just so many worthier candidates: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, to name one. The Empire Strikes Back, aka SW Episode V, is another. Notice the similarities between the examples I have mentioned. Uh huh... think about it... yeah - you got it right: they were created with sequels in mind.
Doh.
Now you can give me any amount of cribbage, but man, the story is told. The interesting part is finished, or else the book wouldn't have ended. The characters have changed as much as they realistically can, and now they're done. "I wanna know what happens neeeeext.." you wail through your OCD-afflicted pot-haze. Quit being such a baby. (And next time, read Tolkein.) "But... but... it's so open-ended" - yes, it was open-ended. Open-ENDED. Finito. You understando?
There's just no way you can tack on an ending to a well-told story, which is what GWTW is (and how!). Writing a sequel means you tack on a new beginning, and then a new middle and a new end. How presumtuous can you get?
OK. So this project was doomed from the start. But apparently, that ain't enough for these guys, so they go and hand the sequel contract over to someone other than the author of the original. The project now goes into self-destruct.
No, really. Try it. Get a contract to write the official seventh HP book and if you are not JK Rowling, you will find that finished pages begin to shrivel up and smoke, and your computer eats the last sentence even as you type this one. And people, when your writing begins to speak to you in such unmistakable tones, you could try listening.
Alexandra Ripley did not listen. Oh no. Dauntless as any heroine in her own bodice-rippers, she persevered, deaf to the anguished cries of the ink that dripped from her nib, and finished the sequel to Gone With The Wind.
Is it any surprise at all that it turned out the way it did?
To her credit, Ripley was smart enough to know she couldn't possibly live up to the original characters or the locale, so she starts off by ditching everyone and everything she can. Mammy's dead when Scarlett gets to Tara. Ashley stays behind in Atlanta, never to be seen again in the book after a brief suicide attempt. Scarlett sells Tara (!!!!!) to Suellen, and quite unforgivably throws in Wade and Ella as freebies never to be seen again, and rushes off to Charleston. Whole new place, whole new set of characters - except for Rhett Butler of course. And then Ripley finds a way to make him disappear, too - Scarlett ships off to Ireland to meet her family on the O'Hara side. Nice tactic. We end up spending the whole damn book with people and places never mentioned in GWTW.
Even that might have been forgivable, if Ripley didn't fail spectacularly in capturing even the one character she keeps - Scarlett. This new person we see is like a bad caricature of the movie Scarlett: she says "fiddle-dee-dee" and "God's nightgown" twice every page. She morphs not just herself, but all the people around her so that she has men falling over themselves to vie for her attentions - even though now she's a thrice-married old woman by their standards. In the original, nobody but Rhett (and maybe Ashley) even looked twice at Scarlett after her first husband died.
So Scarlett goes to Ireland, impresses the pants off everyone, has Rhett's baby, collects men's hearts, blah blah blah. It's just another of Ripley's usual romance novels - nothing wrong with it, except that it's so forgettable. The travesty is that Ripley was allowed to use Scarlett and Rhett's names for her fake, cookie-cutter characters.
And you know what happens in the end? The whole village where Scarlett lives is burning down or something, and Rhett comes to save her and her daughter, who's actually his kid but he doesn't know it yet. That's right. He saves Scarlett O'Hara, who is at that moment a damsel in distress.
And then he hands her the line, "You belong with me, darlin'." Scarlett demurely surrenders to his embrace. They decide to take their daughter and roam the world, living happily ever after.
Tara is forgotten. As are Scarlett's two other children.
Ah, God, poke my eyes out, please.
--
I've been writing about Singapore today, and for some reason, it brought to mind a book one of my secondary school friends once gave me to read: Scarlett, by Alexandra Ripley, which is the sequel to Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind. Now. Gone With The Wind is not the first book on the list of "needs a sequel". In fact, I will daringly suggest it won't make the list at all. (Gasp!) There are just so many worthier candidates: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, to name one. The Empire Strikes Back, aka SW Episode V, is another. Notice the similarities between the examples I have mentioned. Uh huh... think about it... yeah - you got it right: they were created with sequels in mind.
Doh.
Now you can give me any amount of cribbage, but man, the story is told. The interesting part is finished, or else the book wouldn't have ended. The characters have changed as much as they realistically can, and now they're done. "I wanna know what happens neeeeext.." you wail through your OCD-afflicted pot-haze. Quit being such a baby. (And next time, read Tolkein.) "But... but... it's so open-ended" - yes, it was open-ended. Open-ENDED. Finito. You understando?
There's just no way you can tack on an ending to a well-told story, which is what GWTW is (and how!). Writing a sequel means you tack on a new beginning, and then a new middle and a new end. How presumtuous can you get?
OK. So this project was doomed from the start. But apparently, that ain't enough for these guys, so they go and hand the sequel contract over to someone other than the author of the original. The project now goes into self-destruct.
No, really. Try it. Get a contract to write the official seventh HP book and if you are not JK Rowling, you will find that finished pages begin to shrivel up and smoke, and your computer eats the last sentence even as you type this one. And people, when your writing begins to speak to you in such unmistakable tones, you could try listening.
Alexandra Ripley did not listen. Oh no. Dauntless as any heroine in her own bodice-rippers, she persevered, deaf to the anguished cries of the ink that dripped from her nib, and finished the sequel to Gone With The Wind.
Is it any surprise at all that it turned out the way it did?
To her credit, Ripley was smart enough to know she couldn't possibly live up to the original characters or the locale, so she starts off by ditching everyone and everything she can. Mammy's dead when Scarlett gets to Tara. Ashley stays behind in Atlanta, never to be seen again in the book after a brief suicide attempt. Scarlett sells Tara (!!!!!) to Suellen, and quite unforgivably throws in Wade and Ella as freebies never to be seen again, and rushes off to Charleston. Whole new place, whole new set of characters - except for Rhett Butler of course. And then Ripley finds a way to make him disappear, too - Scarlett ships off to Ireland to meet her family on the O'Hara side. Nice tactic. We end up spending the whole damn book with people and places never mentioned in GWTW.
Even that might have been forgivable, if Ripley didn't fail spectacularly in capturing even the one character she keeps - Scarlett. This new person we see is like a bad caricature of the movie Scarlett: she says "fiddle-dee-dee" and "God's nightgown" twice every page. She morphs not just herself, but all the people around her so that she has men falling over themselves to vie for her attentions - even though now she's a thrice-married old woman by their standards. In the original, nobody but Rhett (and maybe Ashley) even looked twice at Scarlett after her first husband died.
So Scarlett goes to Ireland, impresses the pants off everyone, has Rhett's baby, collects men's hearts, blah blah blah. It's just another of Ripley's usual romance novels - nothing wrong with it, except that it's so forgettable. The travesty is that Ripley was allowed to use Scarlett and Rhett's names for her fake, cookie-cutter characters.
And you know what happens in the end? The whole village where Scarlett lives is burning down or something, and Rhett comes to save her and her daughter, who's actually his kid but he doesn't know it yet. That's right. He saves Scarlett O'Hara, who is at that moment a damsel in distress.
And then he hands her the line, "You belong with me, darlin'." Scarlett demurely surrenders to his embrace. They decide to take their daughter and roam the world, living happily ever after.
Tara is forgotten. As are Scarlett's two other children.
Ah, God, poke my eyes out, please.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Life Update
No column today coz I already wrote TWO for money. Brain is screaming for a break from writing. But no can do. Gotta write something more in my novel.
I joined a writer's group, see. The first meeting was last Tuesday. It's amazing to see actual, REAL WRITERS, man. There's even a guy there who's published two novels. His name is Zack. I didn't ask his last name, though, or the name he writes under because that would just be offensive (there are like 6 other people in the group). Writes fast-paced cops-and-robbers chase stories. Looks the type, too.
Anyway, the point is I need ten pages to show for tomorrow's meeting. And now that I've heard everyone else's I refuse to go there with my crappy first-draft, thanks very much. Being in a writing group is paying off already. The pressure is incredible.
AND, I gotta do taxes today. At least, I was supposed to. I am just staring at these sheets so that the tiny letters are running together forming interesting shapes. (Psst, don't tell my husband.) There's just so much stuff to find out. I realised on Saturday that I might be able to deduct student loan interest from Singapore. I can't verify it though. Nothing here suggests I can't consider overseas loans deductable... but is that the sort of thing where you can take silence to mean assent?
Bloody laundry is going on.
Dinner does not stand a good chance of being started.
I think I'm going to push dinner over to Saurabh. He has fish sitting in the freezer. I'm not hungry anyway.
There's something in my list of chores I'm forgetting. I just know there is.
I'm not writing a column today, okay?
I joined a writer's group, see. The first meeting was last Tuesday. It's amazing to see actual, REAL WRITERS, man. There's even a guy there who's published two novels. His name is Zack. I didn't ask his last name, though, or the name he writes under because that would just be offensive (there are like 6 other people in the group). Writes fast-paced cops-and-robbers chase stories. Looks the type, too.
Anyway, the point is I need ten pages to show for tomorrow's meeting. And now that I've heard everyone else's I refuse to go there with my crappy first-draft, thanks very much. Being in a writing group is paying off already. The pressure is incredible.
AND, I gotta do taxes today. At least, I was supposed to. I am just staring at these sheets so that the tiny letters are running together forming interesting shapes. (Psst, don't tell my husband.) There's just so much stuff to find out. I realised on Saturday that I might be able to deduct student loan interest from Singapore. I can't verify it though. Nothing here suggests I can't consider overseas loans deductable... but is that the sort of thing where you can take silence to mean assent?
Bloody laundry is going on.
Dinner does not stand a good chance of being started.
I think I'm going to push dinner over to Saurabh. He has fish sitting in the freezer. I'm not hungry anyway.
There's something in my list of chores I'm forgetting. I just know there is.
I'm not writing a column today, okay?
Your Daily Dose of Surrealism
One day there was a frothing spindle. The frothing spindle was quite content to live in a Potassium and eat pentagons.
Suddenly, there was a silken knocking sound coming from the parade. The spindle jumped in fright. It decided to hum to the curtain, and got there just in time to see a simple dragon standing there! The dragon waved a coiled ion and the spindle turned into a maroon breath. One quite unable to rinse!
The dragon shimmered and disappeared, leaving a few fires in its place. The breath picked up the fires and popped one into her ear. The gift of speech befell the breath, who exclaimed,
"What a vapid day! I think I shall pick non-metals!"
Off went the maroon breath, shrewdly running and skipping, finally tripping on a fattening peanut and toppling headlong into a frothing needle. Needless to say, it succumbed to a juicy death.
The moral of this story?
If you are thinking of becoming a spindle, never open a curtain until you are sure there is no simple dragon lying in wait.
Above all, live flatly. The non-metals you eat may be your last!
Write your own surreal story at Geoffrey Multimedia's Random Story Generator.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Quote of the Day
On Comedy Central's axing of a South Park episode which made fun of scientology, the creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone had this to say:
They also responded to Isaac Hayes' quitting of the show, accompanied by the following release:
with their own:
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Scientology, you may have won THIS battle, but the million-year war for Earth has just begun! Temporarily anozinizing our episode will NOT stop us from keeping Thetans forever trapped in your pitiful man-bodies. Curses and drat! You have obstructed us for now, but your feeble bid to save humanity will fail! Hail Xenu!!!
-- Trey Parker and Matt Stone, servants of the dark lord Xenu
They also responded to Isaac Hayes' quitting of the show, accompanied by the following release:
There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry toward religious beliefs of others begins... As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices.
with their own:
This has nothing to do with intolerance and bigotry and everything to do with the fact that Isaac Hayes is a Scientologist... In 10 years and over 150 episodes of 'South Park,' Isaac never had a problem with the show making fun of Christians, Muslims, Mormons and Jews. He got a sudden case of religious sensitivity when it was his religion featured on the show. To bring the civil-rights struggle into this is just a non sequitur.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Blog Happenings
More stuff is coming to Nandini's Niche!
(It turns out that blogging gets my creative writing juices flowing. Days on which I blog turn out to be very productive word-count-wise, too. So.)
In addition to, or perhaps as part of, my daily columns, I want to do some more stuff here - some interactive stuff. So from now on, Fridays are "Ask Me Anything" days.
Leave a comment, anonymously or otherwise, asking me for facts or opinions about anything - writing, publishing, Harry Potter, Singapore, marriage, atheism, randomitude, politics, USA, my explosively juicy personal life (hah) - and I'll answer your questions every Friday.
Let's try this for a couple of weeks and see how it works. After that, I have more ideas, but for now, precious, they're my secret.
*rubs hands in glee*
Ask away!
(It turns out that blogging gets my creative writing juices flowing. Days on which I blog turn out to be very productive word-count-wise, too. So.)
In addition to, or perhaps as part of, my daily columns, I want to do some more stuff here - some interactive stuff. So from now on, Fridays are "Ask Me Anything" days.
Leave a comment, anonymously or otherwise, asking me for facts or opinions about anything - writing, publishing, Harry Potter, Singapore, marriage, atheism, randomitude, politics, USA, my explosively juicy personal life (hah) - and I'll answer your questions every Friday.
Let's try this for a couple of weeks and see how it works. After that, I have more ideas, but for now, precious, they're my secret.
*rubs hands in glee*
Ask away!
Da Motha's Bank
First: Got a couple of seconds to spare? You might like this.
Second: Aye Kay reported this interesting little ditty about a month ago on this blog: guess who some guy is thinking of casting to play Mother Theresa in his movie?
Paris Hilton.
I think it's because of the uncanny resemblance.
Anyway, lots of people blogged outragedly, and we shall be expecting outraged Muslims to storm and burn the Hilton Castle 90210 any moment now.
(What, they said they were against all types of insults...)
Actually Mother Theresa (henceforth Motha T) was quite the little scammer, schemer and possibly, skimmer (off the top), which may be what's causing the Muslims to hesitate. Until recently, my only criticism of da Motha would have been her forcible baptisms of the dying - which I thought was a minor matter considering her good works. But ah! my poor heart... its naive delusions were shattered mercilessly yesterday, as I read of Motha T's vile misdeeds.
Here's a sampling:
Second: Aye Kay reported this interesting little ditty about a month ago on this blog: guess who some guy is thinking of casting to play Mother Theresa in his movie?
Paris Hilton.
I think it's because of the uncanny resemblance.
Anyway, lots of people blogged outragedly, and we shall be expecting outraged Muslims to storm and burn the Hilton Castle 90210 any moment now.
(What, they said they were against all types of insults...)
Actually Mother Theresa (henceforth Motha T) was quite the little scammer, schemer and possibly, skimmer (off the top), which may be what's causing the Muslims to hesitate. Until recently, my only criticism of da Motha would have been her forcible baptisms of the dying - which I thought was a minor matter considering her good works. But ah! my poor heart... its naive delusions were shattered mercilessly yesterday, as I read of Motha T's vile misdeeds.
Here's a sampling:
- "Friend of the poor?" Not in the way you think: "I think it is very beautiful for the poor to accept their lot... I think the world is being much helped by the suffering of the poor people." [Ref]
- Motha T built no hospitals and provided no medicines other than pain-killers (even to the curably sick) in her few hospices. Hypodermic needles and syringes were (and still are) washed in cold water before being reused on other patients.
- Nobody knows what happens to the money da Motha's charity recieves. Evidence strongly suggests it's used for missionary work all over the world (e.g. eight missionary convents in Papua New Guinea, missions to Africa). She contributed to only one medical research project, ever: a pseudoscientific study that concluded that "natural contraceptive methods" were as effective as chemical and barrier contraceptives.
- Da Motha directly endorsed Indira Ganghi's Emergency declaration in 1975, during which rampant abuses of basic human rights occurred. When the Emergency ended and the atrocities were outed, Motha T neither retracted her statements nor condemned the atrocities. Rather, her relationship with the Gandhi family continued to flourish. To this day, pictures of Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi hang in her hospices.
- "I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion" - priorities, woman!
- Motha T endorsed, protected and praised criminals and evil regimes in return for money. Examples:
- Charles Keating, Jr. of the Savings & Loan scandal. Read here the letter da Motha wrote to Judge Lance Ito, and the DDA's brilliant reply.
- The Duvalier family of Haiti, whose rule she praised upon getting an award (and money, no doubt) from them. Note that this family was later ousted and forced to flee Haiti to avoid criminal charges.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Harry Potter and the Quest for the Horcruxes
I don't care if it's too early to be making predictions for book 7. I just know that there seems to be a whole lot of whack out there, as far as theories go, and I just want to make my position very, very clear.
1. Harry is not a Horcrux, and neither is his scar.
People. Voldemort finds it impossible to possess Harry. How on earth would he manage to establish a permanent residence in him?
2. Ginny is not a Horcrux.
Making a Horcrux is an incredibly difficult piece of magic. Evidence: nobody seems to know how. The subject is banned at Hogwarts, and most people have not even heard of such a thing. This, in Rowling's universe at least, translates to difficult magic. So Ginny becoming an inadvertent Horcrux is just impossible, OK? (The same argument applies to Harry and his scar, come to think of it.) It's like somebody inadvertently writing a novel. You just can't do that.
And if you think Ginny is a deliberate Horcrux: how did that happen? The almost-Riddle thing was finished off with a basilisk fang, remember? There was nobody left after that to perform the complex magic that would make Ginny a Horcrux.
3. Snape is good.
Structural reasons, literary reasons, plain good-writing reasons. It would make no structural sense for Rowling to spend so much time setting up the ambiguity of Snape's character, and then have the characters so vehemently convinced that Snape is bad, if Snape wasn't good.
Note that I don't claim he's all-good, or that he was always good, or even that he's never had a relapse to the dark side since joining Dumbledore. What I am suggesting is that Snape was acting from sincere intentions favourable to the Order of the Phoenix (if not Harry personally) at at least two specific points in time: when he first came to Dumbledore "fresh from his Death Eater days", and now when he murdered Dumbledore on that Astronomy Tower.
See, we've known Snape to do too many 'good' things for him to end up a baddie, e.g. he informs the Order of Harry's intentions to go to the Department of Mysteries, he protects Neville Longbottom from Goyle's strangling grip in Umbridge's office, he gives Umbridge fake Veritaserum, he saves Harry's life more times than you can count... etc etc. This is a very good attempt to pull wool over my eyes, but Jo, my dear, we have been reading the books pretty darn closely.
4. Dumbledore is dead.
Repeat after me: "I have learned my lesson when Sirius failed to miraculously return to life. I will not be a complete moron again."
5. Harry et al will return to Hogwarts.
I'm going to take this one step further and say that he will return to Hogwarts to study. That he will have lessons. He may or may not have them regularly, he may or may not receive these lessons in a traditional fashion (maybe Hermione'll guide them all through a self-study course based - where else? - in the library), he may or may not sit for tests and exams, and he may be in and out of Hogwarts often, but the lessons will be there, and Harry will be right where he belongs, learning them.
Why do I think this? Well, for one, Rowling made us an implicit promise when she wrote the first six books the way she did that the seventh was not going to break the pattern she has so scrupulously followed. This is a school story. That is what it will remain till the last book.
Need another reason? Hogwarts is a living, breathing character in the books, just as big as Lupin or Molly Weasley, bigger than all the characters of the DA (the trio excluded) combined. It's way too important to be forgotten until, say, the final battle (TM).
Still not satisfied? How about this: Rowling took great pains to tie Voldemort to Hogwarts in the 6th book. Voldemort wants to teach (teach - teach lessons... to syudents...) there, for mysterious reasons. He considers it home. He is quite obsessed with entwining his own life with historical objects left behind by the four Founders.
There. I think you skeptics ought to be nodding a little by now.
1. Harry is not a Horcrux, and neither is his scar.
People. Voldemort finds it impossible to possess Harry. How on earth would he manage to establish a permanent residence in him?
2. Ginny is not a Horcrux.
Making a Horcrux is an incredibly difficult piece of magic. Evidence: nobody seems to know how. The subject is banned at Hogwarts, and most people have not even heard of such a thing. This, in Rowling's universe at least, translates to difficult magic. So Ginny becoming an inadvertent Horcrux is just impossible, OK? (The same argument applies to Harry and his scar, come to think of it.) It's like somebody inadvertently writing a novel. You just can't do that.
And if you think Ginny is a deliberate Horcrux: how did that happen? The almost-Riddle thing was finished off with a basilisk fang, remember? There was nobody left after that to perform the complex magic that would make Ginny a Horcrux.
3. Snape is good.
Structural reasons, literary reasons, plain good-writing reasons. It would make no structural sense for Rowling to spend so much time setting up the ambiguity of Snape's character, and then have the characters so vehemently convinced that Snape is bad, if Snape wasn't good.
Note that I don't claim he's all-good, or that he was always good, or even that he's never had a relapse to the dark side since joining Dumbledore. What I am suggesting is that Snape was acting from sincere intentions favourable to the Order of the Phoenix (if not Harry personally) at at least two specific points in time: when he first came to Dumbledore "fresh from his Death Eater days", and now when he murdered Dumbledore on that Astronomy Tower.
See, we've known Snape to do too many 'good' things for him to end up a baddie, e.g. he informs the Order of Harry's intentions to go to the Department of Mysteries, he protects Neville Longbottom from Goyle's strangling grip in Umbridge's office, he gives Umbridge fake Veritaserum, he saves Harry's life more times than you can count... etc etc. This is a very good attempt to pull wool over my eyes, but Jo, my dear, we have been reading the books pretty darn closely.
4. Dumbledore is dead.
Repeat after me: "I have learned my lesson when Sirius failed to miraculously return to life. I will not be a complete moron again."
5. Harry et al will return to Hogwarts.
I'm going to take this one step further and say that he will return to Hogwarts to study. That he will have lessons. He may or may not have them regularly, he may or may not receive these lessons in a traditional fashion (maybe Hermione'll guide them all through a self-study course based - where else? - in the library), he may or may not sit for tests and exams, and he may be in and out of Hogwarts often, but the lessons will be there, and Harry will be right where he belongs, learning them.
Why do I think this? Well, for one, Rowling made us an implicit promise when she wrote the first six books the way she did that the seventh was not going to break the pattern she has so scrupulously followed. This is a school story. That is what it will remain till the last book.
Need another reason? Hogwarts is a living, breathing character in the books, just as big as Lupin or Molly Weasley, bigger than all the characters of the DA (the trio excluded) combined. It's way too important to be forgotten until, say, the final battle (TM).
Still not satisfied? How about this: Rowling took great pains to tie Voldemort to Hogwarts in the 6th book. Voldemort wants to teach (teach - teach lessons... to syudents...) there, for mysterious reasons. He considers it home. He is quite obsessed with entwining his own life with historical objects left behind by the four Founders.
There. I think you skeptics ought to be nodding a little by now.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Constant Vigilance!
Just when you thought it was safe to let your browser remember your passwords... along comes Firefox.
Friday Night with the Penguins
Friday evening in the Wendelin-Chengiz home, and we're having a little party with just ourselves: yummy mushroom fritters, a light dinner that we hardly even get to, drinks all around. The show tonight is March of the Penguins.
"This is totally fake," my ever-skeptical husband comments over the opening shots of the endless blues and whites of Antarctica. "Probably all CG."
"You are all CG," is my smart retort.
"What, look at it. This would be so easy to make."
I shake my head. "What's in it for them? Why would they go through all the trouble to CG it if they were actually in Antarctica?"
The movie vindicates me almost as I speak the words: Morgan Freeman is now talking about how for the next year, a bunch of crazy movie-makers will stay holed up in a research base with thirty scientists, filming the mating cycle of the Penguins.
"Morgan Freeman sucks," Saurabh says. "He's so full of himself."
I agree. His narration has this self-conscious quality to it - and by "self-conscious", I don't mean shy and embarrassed.
But the penguins are fascinating. On the face of it, the lives of penguins look utterly pointless to me: once they reach physical maturity, those cute little birds' lives are done. Finito. They get about three months of summer off in a year to fish and swim around and eat - and then they start walking. They need to find firm ice to nest, ice that won't melt when summer comes and ice that's relatively sheltered from the harsh gales of the windiest continent on earth. The average temperature in Antarctica is 70 degrees F below zero. They walk more than 70 miles in that weaving gait of theirs, mostly on little flipper-y feet but sometimes sliding on their bellies on slippery ice.
Saurabh is loving this. "Shit, they're having fun."
"What fun, it'll be so frickin' cold."
"But look at them, sliding around. They're loving it."
"Yeah, at 70 degrees (F) below zero," I scoff.
"Nah, it's summer. It won't be that cold."
We check it up later on the internet. He's right, it's only just freezing at this spot in Antarctica in February. We find out that Morgan Freeman exaggerated with distances as well- the Penguins don't trek 70 miles, they trek 60. Still. Pretty frickin' cold, damn long walk. I maintain they're not really having fun. But I have to admit they sure make it look like they are, gambolling about like that.
Now they find their "save haven" in that icy hell, and begin to court one another in a ridiculously leisurely fashion - two whole weeks. They mate. The movie doesn't really show the mating - just some kissy-kissy poses (which are actually quite endearing and picturesque).
"Bloody G-rated movie," Saurabh grumbles.
I totally understand. "It's just animals mating. Why can't they leave that in?"
"Yeah, what do you expect... it's Hollywood. Some head honcho decided they should market this movie mainly to kids, so of course they couldn't risk not getting a G rating."
I'm almost as irritated as Saurabh. This is a documentary: it's not supposed to clothe penguins in human modesty. But what can you do? "They'll probably show the mating footage in the special features," I tell him, by way of consolation. Still, it's a 'meh' moment in an otherwise mesmerising movie.
The female lays a precious egg, and sits on it for a couple of weeks. Note that by this time, nobody's had anything to eat for about two months. The new mothers, especially, are starving. It's time for somebody to go fetch some food.
So the females transfer the eggs from their little furry pouch to their mates' little furry pouch. It's a trickier operation than you think, since they don't have hands. Many eggs freeze to death during the transfer.
And then the mothers start walking back to the place they came from - the nearest place where there's water, and therefore, food. 60+ miles again. They take their time, eating their fill and storing up food for their chicks, which will have hatched by the time they get back to their mates. They gorge themselves for six weeks, and start waddling back, their bellies weighing them down considerably.
By this time, the males are starving, and pretty much freezing to death, because it's mid-winter. The sun is hiding away somewhere, the winds are really beginning to huff and blow gallons of snow onto the huddled mass of males. It's been four months since they got any chow, and they await the females' return anxiously. Then - the reunion. The mothers are introduced to their newly hatched chicks, who are transferred to the female's furry pouch for safekeeping poste haste. As the hungry chicks feed on the fish regurgitated by their mommies, the males start on their 60 mile trek back to food.
Saurabh and I are enthralled, and we're making assorted noises of awe. Morgan Freeman's pompous narration has ceased to irritate.
"Shit, that's incredible," I say. It seems that the hungry males, even though they've been starving for four months, save a little food in their stomachs for the chicks to keep them fed till their mothers come back. "Imagine the self-control it must take."
"Yeah, you'd never be able to do it."
"You would never be able to do it."
We look at each other for a second, and snort. My witty repartee is a running joke, as are my uncontrollable snacking urges.
As we settle back in to watch the movie, Saurabh seems thoughtful. "This is God, babe," he tells me. "You atheists don't know anything. Look at this."
Uh oh.
My oh-so-very skeptical husband often suspends his disbelief when it comes to the question of God. To him, God is an axiom, the fundamental law governing the universe, the initial Cause of all things. That which is wonderful and incredible in nature is God. Almost a reversion to the pagan idea of God, when you think about it... but I am always appreciative that his position is at least rational. He doesn't think God has much to do with benevolence and answering prayers and such.
"That nurturing instinct these penguins have," he continues, "that is God. Look at it."
I'm always ready for this debate. "That doesn't mean a thing," I tell him. "The 'instinct' is 'God'? What does that even mean?"
"Just that. Where does it come from? What gives them the instinct? The law that allows them to have it - that's God."
"Oh, come on. An instinct is a product of evolution. If they didn't have this instinct, they'd have died out."
"But they didn't. How come they suddenly got this instinct that allowed them to survive?"
"They didn't suddenly get it. Hundreds of species that didn't have the instict did die out. What you're seeing is the one that survived because it had the instinct."
"And what is this instinct anyway? In physical terms? It's just a feeling. Evolution can make changes in your chemistry, but how can it give you a feeling?"
"You read that brain book!" I remind him. We both recently read this excellent book about the workings of the human brain. "There's physical chemistry behind every feeling."
"Tchah!" he says, shaking his head. "There is true, unexplainable beauty here. You're just refusing to see it."
That does it. I launch into a passionate tirade about beauty and mystery and wonder.
I think saying that something is scientific does nothing to reduce the wonder of it. Quite the contrary, in fact. Take the moon, I tell Saurabh. On days when there's a cresent moon, if you look closely, you'll be able to see the faint outline of the whole moon. The reason you can see it is because light from stars billions of miles away illuminates it - starlight, and light reflected from the earth itself. Think of the journey those particles of light have taken, their amazing paths, from millions of light-years away, and all the way from the sun to the earth and then reflected from the earth's atmosphere onto the moon. The wonder I feel on contemplating that beats the fake-wonder of the "God did it" explanation, hands down and bottoms up. There's just no comparison.
It's a terribly moving speech. Saurabh, bless him, is tipsy enough to regard me very fondly as I am making it. I've won this argument, for now. Tipsy opponent or not, I am feeling very smug.
I bring in more mushroom fritters, settle into the crook of his arm, and we turn the movie back on. As the chicks grow, they're transferred from mom's furry pouch to daddy's, and then back again as the parents take turns to trek, feed and bring back food for the chicks. By the beginning of summer, the chicks are old enough to begin their own march back to the fishing grounds. Under the wing of the parent of the moment, the learn to walk and gambol around and slowly move towards their destination. Meanwhile, the parents are still taking turns to bring back food for the chicks, all the way from the water.
Soon, the penguins reach the water. It's the moment of parting: the chicks will now take off on their own, swimming and fishing and living out their carefree childhoods for five years. Then they will reach physical maturity, and they will return to their parents as adults. They are ready to begin on their first annual march to produce their own offspring.
It was a good movie. They even showed the actual mating in the special features, so Saurabh and I were mollified - though the making-of documentary was below par (they just repeated what we'd been told in the movie already, whereas I was interested to know how they shot it, and what the humans went through during the filming).
All in all, March of the Penguins is not a bad way to spend a cold Friday night, especially when accompanied by mushroom fritters and a tipsy husband willing to concede arguments to one's charm.
"This is totally fake," my ever-skeptical husband comments over the opening shots of the endless blues and whites of Antarctica. "Probably all CG."
"You are all CG," is my smart retort.
"What, look at it. This would be so easy to make."
I shake my head. "What's in it for them? Why would they go through all the trouble to CG it if they were actually in Antarctica?"
The movie vindicates me almost as I speak the words: Morgan Freeman is now talking about how for the next year, a bunch of crazy movie-makers will stay holed up in a research base with thirty scientists, filming the mating cycle of the Penguins.
"Morgan Freeman sucks," Saurabh says. "He's so full of himself."
I agree. His narration has this self-conscious quality to it - and by "self-conscious", I don't mean shy and embarrassed.
But the penguins are fascinating. On the face of it, the lives of penguins look utterly pointless to me: once they reach physical maturity, those cute little birds' lives are done. Finito. They get about three months of summer off in a year to fish and swim around and eat - and then they start walking. They need to find firm ice to nest, ice that won't melt when summer comes and ice that's relatively sheltered from the harsh gales of the windiest continent on earth. The average temperature in Antarctica is 70 degrees F below zero. They walk more than 70 miles in that weaving gait of theirs, mostly on little flipper-y feet but sometimes sliding on their bellies on slippery ice.
Saurabh is loving this. "Shit, they're having fun."
"What fun, it'll be so frickin' cold."
"But look at them, sliding around. They're loving it."
"Yeah, at 70 degrees (F) below zero," I scoff.
"Nah, it's summer. It won't be that cold."
We check it up later on the internet. He's right, it's only just freezing at this spot in Antarctica in February. We find out that Morgan Freeman exaggerated with distances as well- the Penguins don't trek 70 miles, they trek 60. Still. Pretty frickin' cold, damn long walk. I maintain they're not really having fun. But I have to admit they sure make it look like they are, gambolling about like that.
Now they find their "save haven" in that icy hell, and begin to court one another in a ridiculously leisurely fashion - two whole weeks. They mate. The movie doesn't really show the mating - just some kissy-kissy poses (which are actually quite endearing and picturesque).
"Bloody G-rated movie," Saurabh grumbles.
I totally understand. "It's just animals mating. Why can't they leave that in?"
"Yeah, what do you expect... it's Hollywood. Some head honcho decided they should market this movie mainly to kids, so of course they couldn't risk not getting a G rating."
I'm almost as irritated as Saurabh. This is a documentary: it's not supposed to clothe penguins in human modesty. But what can you do? "They'll probably show the mating footage in the special features," I tell him, by way of consolation. Still, it's a 'meh' moment in an otherwise mesmerising movie.
The female lays a precious egg, and sits on it for a couple of weeks. Note that by this time, nobody's had anything to eat for about two months. The new mothers, especially, are starving. It's time for somebody to go fetch some food.
So the females transfer the eggs from their little furry pouch to their mates' little furry pouch. It's a trickier operation than you think, since they don't have hands. Many eggs freeze to death during the transfer.
And then the mothers start walking back to the place they came from - the nearest place where there's water, and therefore, food. 60+ miles again. They take their time, eating their fill and storing up food for their chicks, which will have hatched by the time they get back to their mates. They gorge themselves for six weeks, and start waddling back, their bellies weighing them down considerably.
By this time, the males are starving, and pretty much freezing to death, because it's mid-winter. The sun is hiding away somewhere, the winds are really beginning to huff and blow gallons of snow onto the huddled mass of males. It's been four months since they got any chow, and they await the females' return anxiously. Then - the reunion. The mothers are introduced to their newly hatched chicks, who are transferred to the female's furry pouch for safekeeping poste haste. As the hungry chicks feed on the fish regurgitated by their mommies, the males start on their 60 mile trek back to food.
Saurabh and I are enthralled, and we're making assorted noises of awe. Morgan Freeman's pompous narration has ceased to irritate.
"Shit, that's incredible," I say. It seems that the hungry males, even though they've been starving for four months, save a little food in their stomachs for the chicks to keep them fed till their mothers come back. "Imagine the self-control it must take."
"Yeah, you'd never be able to do it."
"You would never be able to do it."
We look at each other for a second, and snort. My witty repartee is a running joke, as are my uncontrollable snacking urges.
As we settle back in to watch the movie, Saurabh seems thoughtful. "This is God, babe," he tells me. "You atheists don't know anything. Look at this."
Uh oh.
My oh-so-very skeptical husband often suspends his disbelief when it comes to the question of God. To him, God is an axiom, the fundamental law governing the universe, the initial Cause of all things. That which is wonderful and incredible in nature is God. Almost a reversion to the pagan idea of God, when you think about it... but I am always appreciative that his position is at least rational. He doesn't think God has much to do with benevolence and answering prayers and such.
"That nurturing instinct these penguins have," he continues, "that is God. Look at it."
I'm always ready for this debate. "That doesn't mean a thing," I tell him. "The 'instinct' is 'God'? What does that even mean?"
"Just that. Where does it come from? What gives them the instinct? The law that allows them to have it - that's God."
"Oh, come on. An instinct is a product of evolution. If they didn't have this instinct, they'd have died out."
"But they didn't. How come they suddenly got this instinct that allowed them to survive?"
"They didn't suddenly get it. Hundreds of species that didn't have the instict did die out. What you're seeing is the one that survived because it had the instinct."
"And what is this instinct anyway? In physical terms? It's just a feeling. Evolution can make changes in your chemistry, but how can it give you a feeling?"
"You read that brain book!" I remind him. We both recently read this excellent book about the workings of the human brain. "There's physical chemistry behind every feeling."
"Tchah!" he says, shaking his head. "There is true, unexplainable beauty here. You're just refusing to see it."
That does it. I launch into a passionate tirade about beauty and mystery and wonder.
I think saying that something is scientific does nothing to reduce the wonder of it. Quite the contrary, in fact. Take the moon, I tell Saurabh. On days when there's a cresent moon, if you look closely, you'll be able to see the faint outline of the whole moon. The reason you can see it is because light from stars billions of miles away illuminates it - starlight, and light reflected from the earth itself. Think of the journey those particles of light have taken, their amazing paths, from millions of light-years away, and all the way from the sun to the earth and then reflected from the earth's atmosphere onto the moon. The wonder I feel on contemplating that beats the fake-wonder of the "God did it" explanation, hands down and bottoms up. There's just no comparison.
It's a terribly moving speech. Saurabh, bless him, is tipsy enough to regard me very fondly as I am making it. I've won this argument, for now. Tipsy opponent or not, I am feeling very smug.
I bring in more mushroom fritters, settle into the crook of his arm, and we turn the movie back on. As the chicks grow, they're transferred from mom's furry pouch to daddy's, and then back again as the parents take turns to trek, feed and bring back food for the chicks. By the beginning of summer, the chicks are old enough to begin their own march back to the fishing grounds. Under the wing of the parent of the moment, the learn to walk and gambol around and slowly move towards their destination. Meanwhile, the parents are still taking turns to bring back food for the chicks, all the way from the water.
Soon, the penguins reach the water. It's the moment of parting: the chicks will now take off on their own, swimming and fishing and living out their carefree childhoods for five years. Then they will reach physical maturity, and they will return to their parents as adults. They are ready to begin on their first annual march to produce their own offspring.
It was a good movie. They even showed the actual mating in the special features, so Saurabh and I were mollified - though the making-of documentary was below par (they just repeated what we'd been told in the movie already, whereas I was interested to know how they shot it, and what the humans went through during the filming).
All in all, March of the Penguins is not a bad way to spend a cold Friday night, especially when accompanied by mushroom fritters and a tipsy husband willing to concede arguments to one's charm.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Quote of the Day
From Wayne Bessen -
In Annapolis, Maryland, at a hearing on the proposed Constitutional Amendment to prohibit gay marriage, Jamie Raskin, professor of law at AU, was requested to testify and he did so.
At the conclusion of his testimony, a right-wing senator rose to say, "Mr. Raskin, my Bible says that marriage shall occur only between a man and a woman. What do you have to say about that?"
Raskin: "Senator, when you took your oath of office, you placed your hand on the Bible and swore to uphold the Constitution. You did not place your hand on the Constitution and swear to uphold the Bible."
Promises, promises
Cold feet.
That's my excuse. Take it or leave it.
Of all the creatures on this good earth, the cowardliest has to be WtW. I can only ever do something if I have first convinced myself that it's not a big deal.
Take getting married. The first I heard of that, I went a little bonkers. Then I said, hey, no biggie, it's not that much different from not being married except for the living together part, and that's going to be fun anyhow - and lo! I was bonkers no more.
And take writing. I've written a novel and a half now, and you'd think writing would have stopped scaring me. Truth is, I only did manage to write that first novel because it was a romance novel, and everybody knows it's bullshit writing. It's not important. I don't have to write about real stuff - just rosy worlds and romance-novel-people™. And this second novel? If you only had a clue how I have been avoiding it...
Three weeks ago on this blog, I promised to write a column every weekday. I thought the threat of a public humiliation upon a failure to produce actual writing would be enough to spur me to great feats... but it appears that I have defeated my own thesis. If Richard Roeper can confront the blank screen every day and win - clearly he is the better man in this contest.
And I, I return to my sadistic self, choosing to face my greatest fear and failing to conquer it, over and over and over again.
*A single tear runs dramatically down an ample cheek as WtW gazes into the distant sunset.*
That's my excuse. Take it or leave it.
Of all the creatures on this good earth, the cowardliest has to be WtW. I can only ever do something if I have first convinced myself that it's not a big deal.
Take getting married. The first I heard of that, I went a little bonkers. Then I said, hey, no biggie, it's not that much different from not being married except for the living together part, and that's going to be fun anyhow - and lo! I was bonkers no more.
And take writing. I've written a novel and a half now, and you'd think writing would have stopped scaring me. Truth is, I only did manage to write that first novel because it was a romance novel, and everybody knows it's bullshit writing. It's not important. I don't have to write about real stuff - just rosy worlds and romance-novel-people™. And this second novel? If you only had a clue how I have been avoiding it...
Three weeks ago on this blog, I promised to write a column every weekday. I thought the threat of a public humiliation upon a failure to produce actual writing would be enough to spur me to great feats... but it appears that I have defeated my own thesis. If Richard Roeper can confront the blank screen every day and win - clearly he is the better man in this contest.
And I, I return to my sadistic self, choosing to face my greatest fear and failing to conquer it, over and over and over again.
*A single tear runs dramatically down an ample cheek as WtW gazes into the distant sunset.*
Goddamn Dogmas
While I was busy avoiding my blog, a debate of moderate heat seems to be occurring over on an old post quoting from the Bible and the Koran. Interesting.
Once in a while, my atheism takes on a rather militant hue. The trigger could be anything - a news item, an argument with my dear husband, the colour of the sky on a particular day. The trigger that week was that excrescence of a movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Ugh. I wish I could smack the scum who made it.
But that is neither here nor there. Upon watching TEoER I was afire with a militant energy. I wanted to kill, tear, destroy, blow up... So I decided to read some religious books.
It just fed my fire and gave me ammunition.
Now, Naveen tells me that what I've done is 'obvious', that all religions give you mixed messages anyway, and the real issue is how to balance religion with the rest of our lives. An excellent perspective. Yet I wonder if he's thought about what he's saying.
Most of the mixed messages that religions give are factual in nature - one book of the Bible says that David was directed by God to go do some slaughtering and another book says it was actually Satan who directed him (and God punished David for listening to Satan by... slaughtering more people). Every time someone asks Jesus how we can be saved, the answer is different: it varies from "Just have faith that I am your Saviour" (I don't care if you kill people) to "Follow the 4th, 6th and 10th commandments" (I just threw in the others for fun) to "You gotta be poor, no rich people ever get into heaven" (I don't care if you're a lazy fart... who kills people). And so on. Contradictory facts are everywhere, contradictory principles are very rare.
When it comes to unbelievers, though, there are no mixed messages, and that's my point: the "Jealous God" religions - Islam, Christianity and Judaism - are inherently intolerant of infidels. The extent to which people of these religions tolerate people of other religions, therefore, is the extent to which they choose to ignore their religion.
What does a person mean when he says, "balancing religion with real life"? It means, "check religious principles against your own common sense, use those that work and discard the others" - doesn't it? Sounds to me as if religion is obsolete.
Speech Is Golden points me to the similarities between religions:
Actually, in this particular case, the two religions aren't saying the same thing: Allah commands Muslims to kill all the infidels (for no other reason than not believing in Allah), and absolves them of the responsibility for the killing by saying "it is my hand that slew the infidel; you get 72 virgins as a reward". Krishna's message to Arjuna is, "you were born a Kshatriya, it's your duty to fight against injustice. If you kill your idiotic cousins, you're going to have to pay the price for it, sure; but if you don't kill them, you're going to have to pay the price for not doing your duty. So you might as well do your damn job, because it serves the greater good (the greater good being God)." Both messages are flawed, but to different degrees; and the two messages are very different.
However, the point that there are similarities between religions is a good one. But, see, all that tells me is that there is such a thing as a universal moral code - and once again, that makes religion absolutely irrelevant. We're smart enough to recognise universal moral principles. Why do we need to invent religious dogma and fictitious supercreatures to enforce them?
Naveen, Vikram and Speech is Golden are right: a long time ago, these religions had evolutionary (social) value. They served a purpose; they are still useful as the history of philosophy. Moral codes are essential to our society, but not religion. Moving on from our archaic religions is of evolutionary value today.
It's high time we killed God off.
Once in a while, my atheism takes on a rather militant hue. The trigger could be anything - a news item, an argument with my dear husband, the colour of the sky on a particular day. The trigger that week was that excrescence of a movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Ugh. I wish I could smack the scum who made it.
But that is neither here nor there. Upon watching TEoER I was afire with a militant energy. I wanted to kill, tear, destroy, blow up... So I decided to read some religious books.
It just fed my fire and gave me ammunition.
Now, Naveen tells me that what I've done is 'obvious', that all religions give you mixed messages anyway, and the real issue is how to balance religion with the rest of our lives. An excellent perspective. Yet I wonder if he's thought about what he's saying.
Most of the mixed messages that religions give are factual in nature - one book of the Bible says that David was directed by God to go do some slaughtering and another book says it was actually Satan who directed him (and God punished David for listening to Satan by... slaughtering more people). Every time someone asks Jesus how we can be saved, the answer is different: it varies from "Just have faith that I am your Saviour" (I don't care if you kill people) to "Follow the 4th, 6th and 10th commandments" (I just threw in the others for fun) to "You gotta be poor, no rich people ever get into heaven" (I don't care if you're a lazy fart... who kills people). And so on. Contradictory facts are everywhere, contradictory principles are very rare.
When it comes to unbelievers, though, there are no mixed messages, and that's my point: the "Jealous God" religions - Islam, Christianity and Judaism - are inherently intolerant of infidels. The extent to which people of these religions tolerate people of other religions, therefore, is the extent to which they choose to ignore their religion.
What does a person mean when he says, "balancing religion with real life"? It means, "check religious principles against your own common sense, use those that work and discard the others" - doesn't it? Sounds to me as if religion is obsolete.
Speech Is Golden points me to the similarities between religions:
[D]oes it not sound very familiar when Allah says it is my hand that slews (Doesn't Krishna say something very very similar to Arjuna)
Actually, in this particular case, the two religions aren't saying the same thing: Allah commands Muslims to kill all the infidels (for no other reason than not believing in Allah), and absolves them of the responsibility for the killing by saying "it is my hand that slew the infidel; you get 72 virgins as a reward". Krishna's message to Arjuna is, "you were born a Kshatriya, it's your duty to fight against injustice. If you kill your idiotic cousins, you're going to have to pay the price for it, sure; but if you don't kill them, you're going to have to pay the price for not doing your duty. So you might as well do your damn job, because it serves the greater good (the greater good being God)." Both messages are flawed, but to different degrees; and the two messages are very different.
However, the point that there are similarities between religions is a good one. But, see, all that tells me is that there is such a thing as a universal moral code - and once again, that makes religion absolutely irrelevant. We're smart enough to recognise universal moral principles. Why do we need to invent religious dogma and fictitious supercreatures to enforce them?
Naveen, Vikram and Speech is Golden are right: a long time ago, these religions had evolutionary (social) value. They served a purpose; they are still useful as the history of philosophy. Moral codes are essential to our society, but not religion. Moving on from our archaic religions is of evolutionary value today.
It's high time we killed God off.
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As I type up last Friday's blog inviting questions for the weekly "Ask Me Anything Day", Saurabh looks over my shoulder. Click...
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Yes, there have been no updates lately, but that is because - well - With a view towards relaxation and general surfing, I trolled LJ for fu...
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. I have yet again managed to rip my schedule to shreds and shamelessly shy away from work. I need to do something about it... and what bet...
