The person you have called could not be reached...

Those who know me also know my love for plotting dramatic gettaways. I've got a really good one this time, and it doesn't involve the help of leprechauns, nor does it require divine intervention. It does not entail the prerequisite of a winning lottery ticket or the unconditionnal love of certain Harry Potter actors... Are you intrigued? Good...
I am going to India for a month. I'll be flying to Bombay, then visiting Delhi, Varanasi, Orcha and finishing in Goa, having cocktails with my feet in the ocean, my ass in the sand and my head in the clouds (as always). Since I am convinced that most of you would die not hearing from me, I will be blogging on this adress from time to time. I've had my anti-india shots, I went to the Indian embassy in Brussels to apply for my visa, I am entangled in Indian hostel and university-emails... I'm gonna take over the subcontinent!
While you guys can read about my adventures here, I'll be all alone (apart from that billion of indians), and probably very scared and wondering what everyone else is up to... You can use the comment-function of this blog to keep me posted on what's going on with you, or just e-mail me.
The clip is meant to get everyone into the India-vibe. It's a part of an alternative Ramayana-cartoon, called 'Sita sings the blues' by Nina Paley...

Intermezzo from the news

"Nicolas Sarkozy has said that Arab countries should have the right to develop nuclear energy.
However, the French president said that right should not be extended to Iran until the government in Tehran has proved definitively that it does not intend to acquire nuclear weapons."

Historical discrimination against persians? The inherent goodness of the arab royal families? Or why one shouldn't drink when adressing the media? Who writes this guys' speeches anyway? And why did we ever bother making international agreements about this...
About time I ruled the world...

2008

I wish you all you want. The right background music to everything you do. Strength to stand, and arms to fall into. A little magic ('cause no one can live without). Good food. Lots of drinks. Less hangovers. Enough money to do what you want, but not a penny more, lest it become a burden. Friends that will die for you, but don't have to... Enough clean underwear to see you through...

Wink,
Empress

Correction

It is a strength, not a weakness to admit you were wrong about something. With that in mind, I want to show my strength and say: the coca cola man is all-right.
On october 1st I wrote:

"The Coke Light man (see picture) doesn't come at 11:30 here either. He just rushed in ten minutes ago. It was a mousy skinny type of cokelightman, with a tattoo (possible redeeming feature, but not in this case). This specimen did not cause me to giggle in elevators or whatever happens in the commercial. I strongly suspected him to be on speed. So there you have it: I start working in the dead of night, and my cokelightman is actually an unattractive drug addict (here he comes again now, btw) who comes prematurely. I shall mail the Coca Cola Company about this later today."

I still suspect him of being on speed, and he hasn't mystically turned into Alan Rickman either (just my luck, btw), but he just brought me coffee. Glorious coffee. Sugar, no milk, no charge. So he has now been upgraded to a plain-but-nice-anyway drug addict who comes right on time. Perhaps I shall go giggle in an elevator just a little bit. After all, tomorrow is my last day on this job, so I might as well start (yes, start) behaving strangely...

P.S.: It has come to my attention that none of you have posted any comments since november the 26th, when I posted the Haveyoureadmyblogyet-whyIdon'tevenfindyouinterestinginperson cartoon. Very funny. But you can stop it now. :-) (I even voted on the last poll trice, 'cause it would look damn pathetic if I didn't... sad, isn't it?)

Pluizig en blauw (Dutch Sesame Street)

Update # 4568412.256

The days are too short, the nights are too long. I've got too much to do, and too little incentive to do it. This light is too bright, the darkness makes it hard to read. I nag too much. I am bored. I have to work. I wish something would happen.

Sooo. How are you guys? Long time no blog. You must have been so worried, not hearing from me for this long. I'm sorry for all the nights I left you crying alone before your screens, but your psychologist said he was confident he'd be able to fix you up for the holidays. What have I been up to?

• I've been to the UK, had fun, games and lots of cider, and came back.
  
• I went to see Apocalyptica in Brussels, the trains were on strike, I left anyway, I saw Lacrimas Profundere (with a very redeeming guitarist) and Apocalyptica (mad as ever), and by a stroke of pure luck, got back home on the same evening.
  
• I decided against doing my Arabic exam in January. I don't like to admit something can't be done. But this just can't be done.
  
• I am trying to get my inert ass to India in february (which is a lot more complicated than it sounds)
• I am (still) trying to make other people believe I am a devcon-India-Arabic-language-specialist, and that they should value my opinion above their own.

So, that's an update for you. I know (and agree) it isn't half as interesting as it should be, but hey, that's as much your fault as it is mine, is it not? I greet you all affectionately and hope your tree shelters everything you've always wanted. And socks.

Run like hell

I might as well admit: I'm getting tired. I dragged myself to work this morning, afterwhich I dragged my self to the library, afterwhich I let public transportation drag me to my lunchdate. After that I dragged myself home, collapsed on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. I really must have my blood checked one of these days, I feel Black Death or what not coming on. Ignoring the stabbing pain in various parts of my body, I read something about ancient Rome, and I had some interesting messenger-conversations. Stretching my willpower to the limit, I got up again and dragged myself to the station to procure some traintickets. As I was dying on my way back home, it started to rain.

Most of you think I'm strange anyway, so I might as well confess: I am starch raving mad. I am, as they say, a looney. I put on my oldest sweater-and-pants and I went jogging. Jogging in the rain is an experience that can be situated somewhere in between spiritual and sexual, but most of all, it's just good. So good. What does one run from? From Want. From what everyone else wants from me, from what I want from everybody else, from what I want from me. From every thought that isn't strictly necessary for basic functioning. From the pain in my kidneys and arms, from the painfully swollen glands that have been bothering me the last few days. From Musharafs Emergency, and from neoliberal globalization. So the trick is: when my mind goes blank (after about 17 minutes of moderate jogging), I take off my sweater (it's 5 degrees celsius, as it should be) and in my tank top, I run like hell. How does hell run? Hell runs fast, without looking back or forward, with every muscle tense, while rain pours down on bare skin (arms, shoulders, face, chest), on fallen autumn leaves, and in the river Styx (it's called Coupure, in Ghent, they tell me). After about five minutes of that, I find a front door again, soaked, breathing heavily, trembling but cured. I start making dinner, posting rubbish on blogs, and planning my UK-weekend. (And yes, I am listening to Avril Lavigne, but don't tell anyone. In my defense: it's not my CD.) Sometimes (i.e. a few times a week), You've got to run away, to really come back home.

So, to compensate you guys for this rather long and existential blogpost: I give you: more chickens:

Self-relativation is the shit...