Virus

I hate iTunes. Before I start with this post, I got to tell you good folks reading my blog; I hate iTunes more than I hate anything. Probably I hate working on weekends more than iTunes, but you get the point.

Apple designs the sexiest gadgets. Yes, I like Apple. iPhone. I get a hard on whenever I get a chance to lay my hands upon this fine piece of morethantelephone (I haven't been able to afford one with my pay package and the current market condition that behaves more unpredictably than a-- yes I shall make a clichéd sexist joke-- woman on her periods).

I also hate waking up on a cold morning to turn on the water heater especially when the switch is all the way across the room, close to the window which is letting in that god-awful early morning, anti-sleep chilly wind. 

I also hate it when some son of a bitch/bitch talks over a phone while I'm sleeping. Especially in the morning. Before I've to wake up to turn that goddamn heater on.

You always have to get up to turn that goddamn heater on, don't you?

Fuck you water heater.

I digress, pardon me. Also, I curse, pardon me.

iTunes. Why do you have to be so inflexible? What's it with you, huh? You don't let me do things I'd like to do with a piece of software. You tell me what I should do. You don't do things I want you to do. You are the beginning of AI vs. Man. Not that I love human beings, but you are a pain. You are a goddamn mosquito on a goddamn warm night, on a night without power supply. You are a bad doggy that pees on the sofa. You are a bad bad doggy that eats poop. Bad.

Imagine getting up in the morning to turn on the water heater after such a night.

Now that I've got that out of my system, let's talk. What's it with India and corruption these days? Why can't I  see shemales looking for bridegrooms on prime time TV? Where are all the good television shows, huh? Indian T20 cricket, an attempt to rip off English football, where's that? Dance shows. I need more dance shows. And India's Got Talent. Yessir I want to see talented Indian singers, dancers and musicians. Because that’s what talent means in my country. Corruption? A stubborn old man and his struggle to fight the world's oldest profession, older than prostitution itself. Thank you. I'll pass. And someone stuff a boiled sweet potato in Ramdev’s mouth after you finish watching one of those dance shows, please. It’ll offend my dad and a thousand others but he deserves it.

I'd love to hate fewer people. I want to hate fewer people. I love Buddha, I love peace, I love that Beatles dude and I love The Dude. But damn you television. Up yours. Fuck your mom, that fat ugly black and white wooden box. You bring out the monster in me. You and iTunes.

Sigur Ros is a great band. They are from Iceland and play ambient post-rock. I've been listening to their last album the name of which I can neither pronounce nor type. It's melodious and ambient and all that you want to listen to when you've had had enough of your boss in the office. It's also a great listen when you wake early on a cold morning to turn on that goddamn water heater and can't go back to sleep.

I listen to 40s and 50s blues at work. I listen to old school heavy metal while driving to and from work. I listen to ambient and progressive music at home. I listen to rock 'n' roll while shitting and taking a shower. And I do not change this schedule. It has to be the way I've set it. I cannot work if I'm listening to Eddie Cochran. I'll run to take a nasty dump if I switch from Robert Johnson to Little Richard. And if John Lee Hooker starts singing the blues while I'm taking a dump then I'll fix my ass on the shitpot, grab a magazine and continue reading it until my playlist switches to The Beatles. I need the good old rock 'n' roll if I have to wipe my ass. I shit you not. I'm very particular (read an asshole) about it.

If you have read my previous posts, you know I don't 'like' this city much. I don't like so many things about it. Save for the beer joints and the weekend gigs there's nothing that helps me say, 'alright I can live here.' I cannot live in this godforsaken city. I know you love this city and you were born here and raised here and met your best friend and studied here, but for me, an outsider, a simple guy from a small town, this city is uninhabitable. They shut down at 11 for fuck's sake, the house rent is insane for houses the size of a matchbox, rude folks, the auto guys think they have afro dicks and people don't mind their own business.

Alright. You may say, 'then get the hell out of here, outsider.' That's not easy you see. Complaining is. Working on complains is not. So that won't be happening anytime soon.

I've changed my handle on twitter. I tweet with the moniker @bluesmaug. Come say hi if you ever get bored of imbeciles updating their status messages on facebook. I am not funny, nor am I philosophical. I tweet about blues, films (please note the comma), comics, beer and sex. What more would a man in his mid 20s want, eh?

Oh, I got my ass inked. I have four tattoos, two on the back on my arms and two on my back below my shoulder. These tattoos belong to Led Zeppelin IV; the four symbols, each representing each of the band member. This album and their music in particular have had a profound impact on my life, and I'm sure will continue to have in the days to come. Blues. My life wouldn't have been as tolerable without blues and complains.

I live alone these days. I moved out of a nice 3 bedroom house and into a nice little single room. Life's treating me okay. I have good enough things to complain about which help me go through an otherwise boring day. And there's beer and rum. Blues and loneliness.

But life would be perfect without that goddamn heater to turn on every morning.

Here's Seasick Steve. He's amazing.