Science fiction and Fantasy novels stopped being original after perhaps LOTR and Dune. Nowadays they try to be funny (like Terry Prachett) or extensive (like Robert Jordan). Robert Jordan. What can we say? Twelve books the size of the original facsimile edition of Grey’s Anatomy, another 3 planned, more characters and complexity than Ektaaaaa could ever conceive. But having read books one to nine, forgotten the story, reread 6,7,8,9 and read ten and found myself in more or less square one. I realize that I’m just another victim of some cruel publicity. And Robert Jordan has enough money to get his amyloidosis treated at the Mayo Clinic.
That apart he does say more often than not that the wheel of time spins the fabric of reality with men and women woven in to this continuum yada yada, now the only unfortunate offshoot of this is that a wheel does the spinning and so history can repeat itself. And so it does, every once in a while.
Like now I find myself in Delhi to write an entrance all over again. For Neurosurgery. Which should be interesting if and when I get through but ever so often I want to scream, “when will this all end.” And then I just go back to sipping my beer.
So here is the latest bunch of useless thoughts. Planes are cool. And old as I am I still want a window seat even though I ask for an aisle. And like to look at the flaps and slats and imagine falling out of the sky if the wings break off. And marvel and how humanity has progressed from watching birds, eating them mostly out of jealousy and then taming the skies and still eating birds. And one will never get a cute woman in the next seat. I even got an empty seat but no woman.
And need to get me a laptop.
The next thought I having to deal with the NCR for a couple of weeks. Not just the temperature, which for someone like from closer to the equator is pretty cold. Even though the locals are going, “Lovely warm winter - 12 degrees today.” I’m thinking, “@!%$!@#$ You’re kidding me…” But one can always find sheepskin or wolfskin jackets, baby seal gloves, mink lined shoes to keep one warm, it’s the natives I have an issue dealing with. Discovered a way to get that out of the picture too. Use Sony’s in-ear jams with the iPod. They’re those cylindrical, sit-in-your-external auditory meatus, deafen you, but cancel ambient noise and one-tenth the price of the Bose. So you can’t hear them and thus live in the denial that they don’t exist.
Went for a nice 40 minute walk in the cold this morning, listening to Jamiroquai on the aforementioned iPod-Sony combination. The one thought I had was to kill the guy who when Godzilla came out and I mentioned that Jamiroquai was interesting launched into some passionate Cesaresque speech on how the weird hat wasn’t quite where things were at that point of time. So I didn’t listen to more of that band till recently. And how I’m tripping on that stuff. Brilliant. As Mohayana would have said, “Full groovy da! Trippy only it is.” I agree. Despite reservations against the word ‘trippy’, Jamiroquai is a “Somewhere it is” band. And the natives of the NCR were treated to splendid display of me grooving to Dynamite. Whatever shocks them.
