Sly Cows, Cannibal Turtles And Finding Religion In My Breakfast.

I wonder if anyone else watched this advert for Kellogg’s Mini Wheats. It has this Mini Wheat listening to his dad while there is a [human] kid in the background getting ready for breakfast. The dad tells his Mini Wheat child about how he is special and healthy, high in fibre and how he is perfect for kids because he is smaller. All this time the Mini Wheat is getting excited and pumped at how awesome he is if eaten. The Ad ends with the [human] mom smiling and picking up the box while the Mini Wheat and his dad cheer.

I honestly didn’t even try to over analyse that. I literally LOL’d at how subliminally grim that was. Looking past the colors and tunes it’s a dad getting his kid pumped up about being consumed. There is this other advertisement about this turtle shaped chocolate and the catchphrase is delivered by a fancy turtle going “Mmmm, I love turtles.” Really? How does that not whisper cannibalism to some degree. I think ‘Chick-Fil-A’ has nailed the logical aspect to their marketing. They deal solely in chicken products, most popularly burgers, so who do they have as a mascot? Not a chicken, but cows. It’s a variety of billboards featuring cows telling people not to eat their own kind [beef] and have chicken instead. Brilliant.

Then again I guess everybody’s gotta do what they gotta do, and that applies to breakfast cereal and chocolate turtles alike. But for a moment there I thought I saw an Abraham’s Sacrifice analogy in that Mini Wheats commercial.

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Dreams Of Suicide And Installing A New Soul.

I was watching this film called Battle Royale. It’s about a cruel regime in Japan that places a class of school kids in an island who have to kill each other. Winner is the last one standing. Amidst the scenes of kids killing their friends I was drawn to contemplating about death.

I dream every night. I love it. It’s like watching a movie while sleeping. [Fun Fact: A dream lasts about an average of 15-20 minutes but one can have multiple dreams during the entire duration of the night] However on very, very rare instances I end up with dreamless sleep and that is annoying as hell. It feels like time skipped between when I fell asleep and when I woke up. So for me it’s like I didn’t spend any time asleep, like it’s a scene in a film that just cut to the morning shot. Coming back to death. I obviously put myself in the situation the kids were put in the film, specifically one kid who finds a gun. I immediately decided I would commit suicide, not because I’m lame that way but (1) otherwise I would be placed in a situation where I would have to kill a buddy or he/she would have to kill me, I don’t want to put anyone in that awkward situation and (2) I’m forever plagued with the need to know about the afterlife. And then I thought what if when I actually kill myself, lets say gun to the mouth, (it helps my point) that moment of life ending is like the moment I fall asleep, and then the next instance I’m born somewhere else, (waking up) in some other time, place or dimension. What if afterlife is like a dreamless sleep.

I’m not saying that I do or do not subscribe to the idea of reincarnation. I’m just wondering where I came from. Not physically, that’s pretty much taught in school, I was a sperm, and I won the race, (only race I ever won) but me as in, for the lack of a better term, a soul. Who installed that into this head of mine, the thing that has thoughts, decisions and ideas (much like the current one) and where was it kept before the installation? I guess I can appreciate why people believe in a religion, it’s probably comforting to have answers to things, and as long as one has faith in them, it’s no one else’s business. But I’m not religious in the least and these things bug me sometimes.

Also what is amazing is how fast thoughts work, cause all of the above probably happened in a couple of seconds while that kid was still wondering what to do with the gun.

Identical Jeans, Comfortable Lies And Nine Years Of Bad Luck.

Going through my fourth or fifth cycle of watching all seasons of Community I returned to the first episode where Britta tells Jeff that the only thing she can’t accept is a person lying to her. Thinking back, this is pretty much a staple as a deal breaker among people in television. It’s pretty common for people to be tolerant towards pretty much everything except being lied to. I get that, I mean on paper it seems legit to not be lied to by a loved one, but i don’t think it really applies as a universal principle.

Humans a fragile fucking people. We are constantly lied to, and we want to be lied to. Advertisements lie to us constantly. People want to believe that that cream will make your girlfriends envy you, or that deodorant will have women diving into your pants. Buts that’s materialistic. Our friends lie to us, and we know it. When my best friend broke up with his girl, she was immediately downgraded to ‘bitch’. I didn’t care what happened but she was wrong and that was that. When they got back together *eye-roll* we were all good with it. We said they just had a bad patch and “shit happens”. Both of us were in on the fact that I was lying to my friend. What about when you tell your girlfriend that that dress looks awesome when you have no idea how it’s different from the one she just changed out of. Or worse, Jeans! All jeans are identical to me except for the color. We lie about enjoying someone’s company, or about appreciating someone’s achievement to mask our jealousy. We lie about enjoying the same things as our crush, or blame our absence/ incomplete work at an imaginary reason.

I think if we weren’t lied to, then the world would be a miserable place. Sometimes I wonder if technology achieved the ability to read minds then there would probably be widespread chaos. Your boss would know it wasn’t your grandma’s funeral, your teacher would know that you don’t even have a dog, and neither does your neighbor. Your wife would know that she does look fat in those jeans, government diplomats would see right through their international counterparts and restaurant servers would never get tips. I know that TV characters mean a much more severe kind of lie but I think it eventually gets generalized.

I, for one, am glad that we’re lied to because I’m pretty sure for the last 9 years my best friend’s parents feel I’ve been a terrible influence. I’m glad for their sake too because the quiet, polite boy they see at the dinner table is not the same person I meet outside.

Political Ghosts And Roman Dogs.

I came across an article earlier that said that while Somalia has a government, it’s the closest a country comes to being an Anarchist state. Being lucky enough that every country I was brought up in maintained political balance I find it hard to imagine a country overrun by chaos. One of my favorite documentaries, Ghosts of Cité Soleil, depicts a sector of Haiti that is ruled by gangs, no police, no security, just gang members. That’s pretty intense.

I guess what my observation/question with relation to disorder bred by poverty is, when poverty kicks in and people have to depend on their survival instincts, why is the result always violent? Does this mean that (a) when left with nothing, man’s tendency is to become violent, after all even a dog left to starve will eventually attack its master, or (b) modern society over the years has become so polished (sensitive) that what should be normal behavior in nature is unacceptable by the standards of modern civilisation?

Is that then evidence of man being inherently “evil”, where without management he will eventually turn to violence? Or rather a reflection on the evolution of human society, where the majority has decided what is right and wrong? Civilisation keeps changing the meaning of civil because we know that there was a time when for sport even the greatest empire in the world watched people get butchered in a Colosseum.

Perfume Formulas, Momentary Dyslexia And Grammar Is Cheap.

Dwelling on some Television stuff, what’s the deal with Perfume advertisements anyway? Cinematography-wise speaking they’re usually the best looking adverts with their sepia hues and their bokeh filters, but I doubt they’re going for a solid message in them. My take on the formula of a fragrance ad:

A heavy film score that produces ambiance. Item 1 – a usually attractive model/celebrity + Item 2 – (one or more) expensive article(s) – a vintage sports car, a mansion, a horse or a boat.

Item 1 hovers around item 2 and then realizes they are being pursued (?) This portion of the film involves physical activity. Running in narrow corridors, sticking to the wall, or appearing to be underwater while on dry land (à la the Oracle from 300). At this point Item 1 probably meets up with their pursuer who turns out to be what they was running towards, and not away from, all along.

Then an extreme close-up of item 1’s face while they fail to keep their awesome hair under control. There is a portion of their partner’s face that it slightly visible. They then pronounce the name of the fragrance in a favorable accent.

Finally the screen blacks out and the name of the brand is spelled, which the consumer is probably glad for because the spelling and the pronunciation do Not complement each other. On the lines of (insert sensual voice) “Passion by Idknorkwt” or “Fear by Bxdevvupl” 

I was in a mall in Dubai one day and saw a store called BCBGMAXAZRIA. When I saw that, I was pretty sure I was having a stroke. Now I’m sure many of you know that brand and my cousin eventually told me it’s pronounced BCBG Max Azria. I think the more unpronounceable the name, the more expensive it gets. Figures, after all I never had any trouble pronouncing Wal-Mart.

Bipolar Bus Drivers, The Meaning Of Life And How To Stare At Old People.

Have you ever noticed how happy bus drivers get when they drive past each other? It’s quite endearing to watch them wave. At least that’s the case in my city.

I got onto the bus today and the driver seemed pretty cheerful. Said “Hi!” and “Thanks” when I showed him my University Bus-Pass. As I went and settled all the way at the back I realized what an amazing amount of influence that man had over hundreds of people everyday. Two syllables per person and he could set the ball rolling for the quality of day his passengers had. That’s pretty awesome. I had to take multiple busses to work every night for four months and one of the drivers didn’t even look at you when you showed the pass. He just looked straight ahead. How can something you’re doing make it so awkward for me? At least have the decency to ignore me by pretending to text or something.

I bet happy bus-drivers are crazy happy in regular life. I mean driving a bus has got to drain you emotionally, especially on these fixed routes. So if you manage to be genuinely pleased with the events of life while driving a bus, its probably what’s left from being way way happier before setting off to work. Every bus has it’s share of interesting passengers. Most noticeably the ‘Yellers’.

There are an array of yellers to experience, ‘The Pissed-Off Bros’, ‘The Valley Girls’, ‘The I-CAN’T-HEAR-YOU-WHAAT?? Phone Call’ and the rare solo performance by the ‘Cat Lady’. I do what everyone else does and stay between my headphones but the worst bit is when people yell to each other in your native language. I never realized how hard it was to not eavesdrop until that happened. They might not think so but I believe their conversation is none of my business. But those voices, all native and recognizable, they might as well take a pop quiz at the end and evaluate the fruits of my remarkable attendance to their lectures.

Towards the end of my ride a young dad got in with his baby. A very elderly lady who had sat beside them since the last stop got up slowly and began her trip to the exit door. As the baby stared at her I couldn’t believe what I was watching. (You see where this is going) The Baby that had just come in, the Old Lady making her way out, while I made my journey sitting with strangers? Birth, Death and Journey? Pardon my sappiness but I think that’s a damn good metaphor for life.

SO MUCH WIN!!

Pockets, Friendly Enemies And Not Being Poor Enough.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I am, unfortunately, not poor.

Don’t get me wrong, my family is NOT rich, not even close. Seriously, I cannot emphasize how ‘not close’ to rich we are. We fall into that class people like my parents call “Lower Middle-Class” except we are in the bottom half of that sub-division as well.

I went to a residential school when I was a kid and I had a friend there, well not friend, more like enemy. However he was poor. His parents slaved to get him to a good school. His spectacles and his replacement spectacles were the same thing. When he got new shoes, they stayed locked in his trunk and he slept with the keys. But he embraced the fact that he was poor, and that made him fucking cool-ish. He could be arrogant and judgmental. I could afford to break my glasses, even if it was just once, but he had to have cello-tape handy. When he bought a comic book (yes ‘a’ comic book) and someone mishandled it, his lecture about his parents government job was tolerated. Once we had a fight and I ended up ripping out his shirt’s breast pocket. He Wore That Shirt To School The Next Day!!! Do you know what that feels like? To do that to a fellow classmate?

Anyway the point is my parents are just a hair above the poverty line. They worked to send me to a good school and they’ve worked all their life. But I was robbed of an opportunity to be a “people’s people” because my parents could just afford to get me another pair of glasses, pair(S) of shoes, a replacement to my tie. We’re Almost just as bad, but not bad enough where all that hard work can be ‘notarized’. I mean each and every one of my friends is way way way richer than me but I don’t get to stick out like the guy who deserves more. Damn it’s hard to be slightly more well-off and have a comfortable lifestyle.

But then again I guess my parents just worked harder.

Minimum Wage, Satanism and other blessings.

I was at work one night and a colleague and I stopped to chat for a while. Our talk ended when he asked me what my religion was. I casually said that I didn’t believe in religion. This floored my co-worker, so he asked me what my parents were, which would determine what I ‘was’. I said I didn’t know (I don’t want to be associated to a religion just because of my parents subscribe to one) and the beautiful awkwardness physically pushed us away. The next day another co-worker came and asked me what my religion was even before prior conversation had been established. I knew where this was coming from, someone was extremely curios. I wanted to say Satanist just to annoy, maybe intimidate them – if only I’d thought of it then

I don’t believe in religion,  in fact it actually annoys me a lot. I feel that every religion has an amazing message to deliver but through the centuries it’s just been raped by people for their own benefit. But that’s me, and I support the idea that everyone has a right to a view just like I do. But it bothers me that to some people, it matters so much what other’s believe. I remember watching the Louis Theroux documentary on the Westboro Baptist Church (The Most Hated Family In America) and that sort of dedication towards hate and fear-mongering is insane.

Also I read the Satanic Bible and the first half was actually awesome. It has nothing to do with the devil. In fact it rejects the idea of the devil, just like it rejects god. It’s like an Atheist’s Handbook. It tells you to (and I’m not kidding) ‘enjoy life as long as it’s not at someone else’s expense’ – That’s basically the derived tagline to the book if you read the first half. The second half unfortunately went into curses which was a bummer, but then I’m an intelligent, logical individual and made the decision to choose what I agree with (that’s in the Satanic Bible too)