I fantasize about a massive, pristine convenience. Brilliant gold taps, virginal white marble, a seat carved from ebony, a cistern full of Chanel Number 5, and a flunky handing me pieces of raw silk toilet roll. But under the circumstances I’ll settle for anywhere.

Renton, Trainspotting

Luca once called something chic, and I asked him why, or rather what “chic” was exactly. He sighed and said despairingly, “Chic is the most impossible thing to define.” He thought about it. “Luxury is a humorless thing, largely. Chic is all about humor. Which means chic is about intelligence. And there has to be oddness — most luxury is conformist, and chic cannot be. Chic must be polite, but within that it can be as weird as it wants.”

[Via]

What does it take, I wonder?

Disturbing. Very disturbing. Not the visuals, but the eccentricity of the idea behind them. It’s fantastic, really. Even as I consciously ingested the macabre nature of the narrative, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from it. It’s not quite rational. And you know why? Because, however alarming, you WANT to watch what happens next.

I didn’t get to watch the ceremony this morning, cos I had to go to college. [I AM watching the repeat telecast now!] But when Appa text-ed me saying ARR won both oscars he was nominated for and Resul Pookutty too, I squealed in sheer release! Ellam pugazhum Iraivanukke, he says. [All praise to the Lord.] It’s just so Rahman to say that.

This is big. This is absolutely momentous. This is the day I count myself lucky for having lived in the Rahmanian era. This is the day I’m thankful for everything – the instrumental interludes of Kadhal Rojave, Bombay, the sheer magic of his voice in Dil Se and Rehna Tu. All that and all that’s in between! This, gentle reader, is a journey that spans a lifetime and more. 

To the man, whose music defined every milestone in my life. To the man, without whose music, no ecstasy and no grief would have felt the same. To the man, whose music sparkled in wonderful times of solitude. To the Mozart of Madras, A.R.Rahman.

Not to forget, of course, another man who made the biggest night of Hollywood even better – Hugh Jackman! He’s sexy (and how!), he’s a charmer and he just made this year’s event that much more amazing! Go, Jackman! Woohoo!

Anyhoo. The new things being – a page of all previous headers [woohoo!], updates on the Video! page and this spanking new, absolutely darling template!

That’s all I wanted to say, yeah.

Alexander Andrews: Oh, er, do you mind if I ask you a question, frankly? Do you love my daughter?
Peter Warne: Any guy that’d fall in love with your daughter ought to have his head examined.
Alexander Andrews: Now that’s an evasion!
Peter Warne: She picked herself a perfect running mate – King Westley – the pill of the century! What she needs is a guy that’d take a sock at her once a day, whether it’s coming to her or not. If you had half the brains you’re supposed to have, you’d done it yourself, long ago.
Alexander Andrews: Do you love her?
Peter Warne: A normal human being couldn’t live under the same roof with her without going nutty! She’s my idea of nothing!
Alexander Andrews: I asked you a simple question! Do you love her?
Peter Warne: YES! But don’t hold that against me, I’m a little screwy myself!  

I watched It Happened One Night [1939] for the n-th time last night. And, like every single time before, I laughed till I cried. I can’t believe I’ve never written about this before. The screenplay & dialogue kill me – the sarcasm is funny and cheeky and it ab-so-lute-ly kills me! =) Drives me to insanely high spirits! Peter Warne. Rhett Butler. Clark Gable. Ownage.

Sigh. I’m on a yesteryear-movie rampage now – watched this, Gone With the Wind, A Streetcar Named Desire and Le Notti Di Cabiria between Sunday and now! Hee!

Me: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii bum! *indescribably huge grin*
Her [peeking out of the sheets]: Hi. I’ll be excited to see you when I wake up properly, okay? 
Me: :-/ -> Rofl-blog!

PS – The trip was A-MAZING. The most fun I’ve had in a while! The girls rock!

PPS – It dawned on me, for the millionth time, that Chennai Central, however ill-kept and dirty, has to be one of my most favourite places in Madras!

• Adit, Rad, the mindless hilarious dumbc-ing and arbit photo-ops. How we eventually didn’t care if we placed the PP finals or not, but we did anyway. We’ve grown up, sniff. Okay, just a little bit.
• Vicks Wild Cherry Cough drops.
• Meeting arbit people I’ve known from different times and whom I hadn’t seen in years! It was mildly satisfying that they all remembered me, even when I didn’t. It’s goot to know that people have fond memories of being w/ you.
• Going w/o sleep for little over 50 hours straight. I did so many things and met so many people in that period, it’s surprising I didn’t get whiplash! It’s all a rather hazy, sepia-tinted memory but with OMG-AWESOME written all over it!
• The awesome chaat-wala who always gave me free paapdi every time I was around his stall.
• The endless, endless cups of cappucino and glasses of ginger-lime fizz. Generous friends. Generous strangers.
• Finally getting to meet Nith, Sharan,  Shrey & Vini! Pechu varthai. Much hyperness! 
• Blowing bubbles in arbit places w/ the bubble-liquid Nith gave me. Thanks, girl! Public that was much amused. That girl who squealed as a bubble bounced off her nose. That boy who winked when I grinned at a double bubble.
• Scrabbling through the night w/ Sharan, at the OAT. Getting soaked in dew and an incredible chill. Realizing what studness Scrabble is. Watching the indigo of the night sky percolate into the pinkish-gray of daybreak. Josh, Patent & Symmetry. An overdose of insti IITM lingo.
• V and her two cousins. Sassy smartmouths who make you laugh. A LOT. Terribly graphic conversations under the glow of street-lamps.
• Walking the empty roads of IITM in solitude. Daydreaming and swaying, music in my ears. 
• Opeth. \m/. Feeling the music reverberate in your chest and then roaring your lungs out in a sheer rush of adrenaline. Smoky lights.  Zoning out for a whole ten minutes. Crash. Shrey. Headbanging frenzy.
• An incredibly trippy walk at dawn in the less-frequented parts of the campus, w/ someone equally compelling. Warm fingers. Pictures. Nietzsche. Surrealism.
• Suspended reality. Temporary immortality.

Oh, and I have pictures! From January, from Saarang, from the Project 365 – of which I’ve just finished a month w/o succumbing to my instant-boredom reflex, yay! In one big collage, though – click to view larger. If you want to see any individual images, go here or here!

Title – Elevation by U2