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2/20/07

9:17 AM It’s fun posting random useless information in the spirit of full disclosure, so I’ll start off today by saying that my car ran out of gas this morning, which consumed a half hour of my time. Thankfully I don’t have a hard and fast time I need to be at work by, so I wasn’t too concerned.

10:07 AM it peeves me greatly when people don’t use proper grammar. is it really that much more effort to capitalize words use commas and apostrophes and question marks

if you saw some of the emails people at work write, you’d wonder if they really went to college. i know it doesn’t mean a thing, really, that they don’t use proper grammar, and i know they’re smart people, but it doesn’t reflect well

but then who am i to talk? someone who sees my car driving down the road would probably think less of me because its not washed and aesthetically beautiful.

7:56 PM On the drive home, while listening to Sigur Ros, I realized a raging disparity in my musical tastes between the two languages I know and speak. (The fact that I was listening to Sigur Ros has nothing to do with the realization. I thought I’d add it in there just for detail.)

In English, I don’t listen to country music or oldies or anything long before my time, with some exceptions. In Hindi, however, I particularly enjoy the music made before I was born (plus everything from between then and tomorrow). The taste developed solely from growing up around my father. It occurred to me though that to the youth in India (my contemporaries), that music which I enjoy is country music, and oldies, and the other stuff I don’t listen to. So while I hardly agree with my American friends’ parents’ musical taste, I fit right in with the last generation of Indian parents.

8:28 PM Out of nowhere, I got the impulse to return phone calls and respond to e-mails. That’s how I work I guess, on impulse – at least when I can afford to.

11:35 PM [Inspired from Stranger than Fiction]:

A writer is a god. A writer kills, he breeds, he fucks, he brings together, he separates, he tortures, he rapes, he saves, rescues, salvages, burns, destroys. A writer creates destinies much like the one God. A writer is the ultimate egomaniac, taking the fate of as many as he dares and has the talent for into his hands that he trusts and adores so much. He plays with them, human beings, animals, children, leaves and flowers.

A writer is his own god.

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