I know a lot of people that live outside of Dubai think that life here is absolutely hunky-dory. Well, I’ll tell you what – it’s not! Us Dubai-ans are plagued by our own set of problems, stuff that people from the outside couldn’t even fathom.
Inspired by the First World Problems series, may I present my own take on these issues that hound us – Dubai Tragedies: Based on real life accounts. Continue reading
I’ve done this before here but this one focuses on Bollywood because, why not?
Look, I know we’re all amazed at Iron Man 3, but really, it just followed the same pattern, didn’t it? Add to that, the post-credits secret ending didn’t * really* lead up to the next Avengers movie. So here’s a take on how Iron man movies are made, ie, the formula. Click on the image below to read on. Make sure you zoom in to read it.
Let me just start by saying that I don’t actually have a problem with gays. They’re fine by me, and I respect them. I’m not homophobic and I don’t say “stay away from me” if you admit you’re gay, ‘cos I understand you’re gay and not an anal rapist. Which reminds me… why do guys do that? What if girls started saying that to heterosexual guys? Wouldn’t that be offensive?
Anyways, so, as things go nowadays, I do have a few gay friends and they’re cool, and my behavior with them is totally normal. But, there is this one friend who I know is gay, and everyone knows is gay, but since he hasn’t mustered up the courage to step out of the closet yet (he’s 32, it’s about time!), it puts the rest of us in a really awkward situation – pretending that we think he’s straight.
Harder (excuse the deliberate innuendo) than you might think. Continue reading
There’s breakfast; I like breakfast. I have it a little bit towards late morning, but that’s the way I am. Eggs, bread, maybe bacon, juice or coffee – I wouldn’t call it “the works” but good enough. Sometimes cereal. I’m working, eating my eggs, sipping my coffee, I take a cigarette break and BAM! It’s fucking lunchtime. For everyone else, that is. Not me. I wait it out another hour, why not, I had a heavy breakfast. I’m finally into my pasta (exclusively with Alfredo sauce) – and I don’t mind a bit of bacon thrown in there either. Or, if I’m feeling all desi, I’ll go for a Roghanjosh, maybe lamb chops. I don’t know, I let the mood decide those. Then there’s are two cigarette breaks, time to leave work and BAM! I’m starving again – dinnertime. Same requirements as lunch, except this one is home-cooked and hopefully with the wife and kid. Accompanied by some Cerveza (or two or three) – why not? It’s 10pm, wife and kid asleep, time to watch that movie on TV for 30 minutes, realize it’s too mainstream, pop in one of the Star Wars Special Edition DVDs, just to be ironic (mainstream, did I say?)…. and wait. It first hits me at midnight. Light, nothing serious. I know it can be suppressed for a bit, so I let it pass. I’ll have another cigarette. Plus, I’ll regret the third chilled one. <Beer Burp>. By half past one (we’re talking antemeridian) I’m scurrying around the fridge – rice is over, pasta’s done with, some curry is left. Hmm, should I call BK and order one of them Superstar combos? Should I drive down to the gas station mini-mart and grab me some chow. And then, it hits me. This. Is. Not. Fair. Continue reading
In a surge of ultimate socio-patheticness (sic), I decided that I would let go of all my friends in exchange for new friends. Bros, chums, pals, distant buddies, acquaintances, et al. Now, there’s nothing wrong with my current set of friends, but to paraphrase a classic break-up line, “it’s not them, it’s me”. Yes, I have outgrown them with my unique blend of awesomeness and intellect. Actually, to be completely honest, I decided to hold on to the acquaintances for a bit longer, in case any of them could be a channel to some new friends. But, as I realized very soon, I need bros. Every guy does. Just one or two will do, but I need them. And now that I’ve shed off my ex-bros, I am on the look out for new ones. It’s not anywhere near as easy as it sounds when you’re past thirty. Continue reading
