Chapter 24

December 8, 2008 at 8:31 pm | Posted in Musing + Mulling, Uncategorized, World + People + Events | 6 Comments
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I am not much of a philosopher. The only philosophical question that has occurred to me is:

‘What is the point?’

No doubt, you will gasp at the profundity and utter sagacity of this insight. I understand. As deep and thoughtful as this question is (Socrates and Plato would agree), I feel rather concerned that humans do not ask it often enough. Especially the folks at the Parliament, the judiciary, and every law-making body of the world. Those grimy, balding. terribly self-important people with a preference for stale banana milkshakes and an ability to think some of the most pointless rules in existence. Lawmakers, some would call them. A bunch of doddery old fools, is the term I prefer.

Of the many strange and mysterious things and unexplained phenomena that abound in our world, including the  possession of so-called writing skills by Pete Wentz and the re-election of George W Bush in ’04, perhaps no other phenomenon is as mysterious or unexplained as the Law. Indeed, such is the complexity and inscrutability of this dreaded school of thought, that concepts such as the quantum theory pale in comparison.

Now, I’m one of those people who love complexity as such, but love simplicity more. But one thing that irritates me more than anything else is the ridiculous precision, the exaggerated, long winding descriptions, perfectly normal terms hacked to tiniest details, and the tendency to define every term that contains more than one syllable.

I mean, consider this:

The Income Tax Act, 2007

993
An individual ( “A”) is connected with another individual ( “B”) if-
(a) A is B’s spouse or civil partner,
(b) A is a relative of B,
(c) A is the spouse or civil partner of a relative of B,
(d) A is a relative of B’s spouse or civil partner, or
(e) A is the spouse or civil partner of a relative of B’s spouse or civil partner.

Or this gem:

(1) For the purposes of this section a company is a petroleum company if-
(a) its activities include any relevant activities; or
(b) it is associated with a company whose activities include any relevant activities and its own activities include the ownership, operation or management of ships or pipelines (as defined in section 65 of the [1962 c. 58.] Pipelines Act 1962) used for transporting or conveying petroleum or petroleum products.

Like, HELLO! A petroleum company is considered a friggin’ petroleum company when it deals in the damned petrol!

I would give more such examples. but I do not want you, my dear reader, to go into a deep coma.

The basic purpose of law is to safeguard our rights as an individual and make life safer and easier. But modern law does precisely the opposite. Statements and declarations abound on paper. Action is mistaken for  the passing of bills. I wonder if they would come up with an official declaration on that too.

(We’re the folks who pass rules/Never mind that we are a bunch of fools/If you should be stabbed or get your jaw broken/There’s nothing more we can do than pass a token/We’re afraid, that’s the law/We won’t do anything about a broken jaw/’Practical’ is a term for us that isn’t supposed to be/It’s not in the book, you see/Yeah yeah yeah)

Alas, I know I am pursuing a lost cause. I may be the only person on the planet to criticise the Law (the Law is the law, after all) but I do this purely out of concern for my poor little brain, which hurts every time I come across  legal mumble-jumble. It’s been like this for centuries, of course, and no one’s complaining but me. Well, next time I’ll make sure I stay well out of a hundred mile radius of a legal document.

Blah Doesn’t Even Begin to Cover It

November 7, 2008 at 8:06 pm | Posted in Me + Myself + I, Randomosities + Rubbish | 11 Comments
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I swear, if I had a quid every time I’ve cursed my own stupidity, I would rival Bill Gates’ record as the richest person on earth. Hell, I could make his fortune seem like a joke in comparison.

Those impulsive, hastened, rushed, I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking moments. Oh, how I loathe them. Whether it is shooting my hand into the air in class as soon as a what, why, how, which is uttered by a teacher, or jumping down an innocent bystander’s throat when I catch them playing a song I dislike in public out loud, or deleting my previous posts by mistake – I don’t know how I manage to rise to extraordinary heights of stupidity.

Impatience, impulsiveness, irritability, I’m all rolled into one. I need patience more desperately than Wall Street needs credit, than George Bush needs grammar lessons, and Pete Wentz a decent haircut.

The other day, for instance, I had just finished explaining my case of why I thought non-rhyming poetry superior to the rhyming sort, to a classmate who stood there looking at me with a fazed expression on his face.

Me: …Rhyming poetry has an element of structural arrangement to it. Non-rhyming poetry is more open and free-flowing, you see. It’s unconventional, it doesn’t follow standard patterns. Therefore it seems somehow more natural, like sort of resembling a jigsaw falling into place…
Him:
(interrupting) I’m sorry, what? I didn’t catch half of what you said. You talk too fast.
Me: (promptly shuts up)

Honestly, I have no idea why it has to be like this every time. Anyway, the moral of the story is:

1) When people say you talk too fast, it’s their fault for lacking in listening skills.
2) ALWAYS BACK UP YOUR STUFF. Unless you happen to have an awesome photographic memory like me, in which case you can type out yours posts word for word, like I did.

Heart Beat, Pig Meat

November 4, 2008 at 8:02 pm | Posted in Randomosities + Rubbish | Leave a comment
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While I was staring out the window today, eating chips and singing the solo to Highway Star (yes, I sing guitar solos) it suddenly came back to me. My rose tinted glasses. Where had they been all these days?

I hate my brain. You’re an idiot, I tell it. Why do you always have to imagine the worst? Why do you have to practical at all the wrong times, and most impractical when I need you the most? Why do you have to zoom off into crazy mode when I enter a bookshop? And why, why, do you always have to be on fire with imagination and fancy?

Hmph. I am not going to listen to you anymore.

Ahem, anyway, now that I’ve found my precious glasses – two of them, actually, the rose tinted ones, and my actual ones, which I’d lost for the millionth time and couldn’t find for weeks afterwards – as I say, I find everything easier. Lolcats seems much more funnier. Chips more tastier. Even the sound of ‘Hey, hey, you, you, I don’t like your girlfriend’ blaring through an idiotic classmate’s audio player less irritating. Okay, I take thatr back.

Now, this is going to sound stupid, but I want to say:

I love thinking.

(Don’t blame me, I gave the Stupidity Alert already.) As in conscious thinking…deliberate, contemplative. Thinking is my favourite pastime. You know what, I don’t think it really sounds that stupid – not when you realise the fact that very few people actually think these days. No, I am not getting started on that again. I’ve already written a critical essay on the mediocrity of society, haven’t I?

Am I really the biggest egomaniac that ever existed or what? Who am I to judge the mediocroty of the society? Pah, I hate it when I people assume to egoitical. I am anything, a hundred adjectives before egoistical. I mean, do I talk myself for hours on end? Of course I don’t. Do I refuse to share my candy? Of course I don’t. Do I think I’m always right? Of course not…er…okay, only 99 per cent of time.

Which is why it puzzles me when a certain lass in my class should go about telling folks that I have an ‘attitude’ problem. I expect Sonia imagines it will earn her a name in The Dumbest Gossipers That Ever Lived (who knows, I may pen this sometime in the future). But alas, the competition is too strong. All of them talk about me behind my back, something which I find highly amsuing. All of them, of course, are har-brained, cakefaced, superficial specimens, who could do with some brains and a life.

It’s been like this since primary school days, so I don’t really mind it. I hate gossip, I can’t imagine how anyone can find it entertaining in the least. It makes me sick to my stomach. But it follows me everywhere. Sigh. Well, perhaps that is what you get for sticking out from the crowd. That’s why  trust guys more than girls. I don’t feel the need to measure up to them, or judged by them.

On a positive note, Ritchie Blackmore is pure genius.

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