Mapping The RD Life

Allow me to set my stall out. I'm a great fan of mindmaps. It's not that I've got all their albums, have seen them live a million times and fantasise about them doing things to me in the night. No, that's Thin Lizzy, Thin Lizzy and Jennifer Aniston and Britney (from her great Slave 4u days of course) respectively.

Though, truth be told, I'm getting increasingly worried about our Jen's looks as she moves into her forties. Some people are like wine and leather and age well, with the advancing years giving them a worn in and glamorous rugged look. I like to think of myself like that, it's such a shame other people don't.

Other people get older and we find their features that used to be cute and sexy becoming ugly and prominent. I worry about MR's moustache in this context and I fear for Jen, whose chin is taking on the proportions of a small continent, perhaps a large country. She's still one of the few women to hold a position high enough in the RD ranking to still have her own tag in my sexy moving tag cloud, so all is not lost.

In fact, having looked at the details, I can tell you that the only other women to currently have their own tag are T, (though it's called Dance in a Triangle), Darwin, G12, Lady Divine, The Missing Sandwich and the much missed Soixante neuf. Oh and of course Dinidu de Alwis has her own one too! There's a tag called "girls", not for random girls but specifically for A and K.

I reckon that I should probably create one for C, certainly after writing this I should. And Naz Sansoni deserves one for sheer number of mentions.

So I was telling you earlier about my love of mindmaps, which probably deserve a tag as well. I'm never going to be a world champion mindmapper, for I don't follow the strict rules as outlined by the esteemed Mr Buzan. I don't use colours, I don't use symbols, though being a drummer I do use cymbals (badoomtish!) and I put circles around each thing I write.

But then again the rules for mindmapping also tell us to develop our own style, so perhaps I'm following the rules to the letter.

I've used them for a few years now and in the past it was mostly as an approach to a project or a way of trying to squeeze a drop of creativity out of me. They're a brilliant way in which to kick something off when I have a load of facts swimming around in my head and don't know where to start or which thing to look at first, as they eliminate the need to think logically and progressively. You can chuck stuff out in whatever order it comes to mind, then order it later.

In parallel to that I've written journals of sorts for the also five or six years. At times they've been proper diaries, when I've spent big chunky KFC large Buiriyani size portions of time writing down my innermost thoughts and emotions, analysing everything to the, sometimes second degree, pretty deep for a man I think you'll agree.

At other times I've not written anything for weeks or months, breaking the diary silence with a quick entry then leaving it for another long spell. There's a certain cruel irony in the whole diary writing scenario that no one talks about; the fact that the more that goes on in your life the more there is to write about. But also, the more that goes on in your life the less time you have to write about it. Alanis could have used lines like that, instead of that shit about being late for your wedding.

Then, when things are quiet, we have loads of time to record our innermost thoughts and actions, we just don't have many.

This lack of time issue prompted me to begin drawing up quick little informative diary type mindmaps each time I visited the motherland. I'd take five or ten minutes to make a quick record of the things I'd done each day. Sometimes, when I was feeling rebellious, I'd leave it for a few days and do a mindmap to cover those few days. Easy peasy.

That new Arcade Fire song is on the radio, I think I'm going to buy the album, just thought I'd share that with you.

Now my latest idea is to do a quick mindmap of every day of my life. What I've been doing is taking a few minutes each morning to record the events of the previous day. The format of a mindmap allows me to go into as much or as little detail about each specific thing as I want to.

C, she who has not got her own tag, says that maybe this will split things down into too much details for me. She might be right. But, a couple of weeks into the venture, it seems to be giving me a slightly positively different view on life, undoubtedly a good thing.

Sometimes it empties my head. Yes, yes, I know there's not a lot to be emptied. But sometimes it's a way of getting negative things out of my head and onto paper, something that I also found happened with a longhand diary. It's also seems to be making me appreciate things more, I guess the act of writing something down makes this happen.

Also it's a nifty way in which I can look back and recall things that otherwise would have been forgotten. Like all bloggers I go through life thinking, often saying to fellows that I "must write a blog post about that", then promptly forgetting about it until the next time the situation crops up. Now I can look back on things and memories are triggered much more easily.

It's an experiment. I'll let you know how things progress and who knows, one day when I'm highly famous and dead, someone might find volumes of spidery RD mindmaps and make sense of the absolute piffle and tosh that goes on in my head. I'm serious there, I was glancing at from a few days ago and I'd written on it that I might be getting tired of Superdry stuff and moving over to Paul Smith. I'd be worried about me if I was a friend of mine.

Enjoy the GLF if you're there.

I'm not jealous, not one bit.

RD Is A Poof

After that last but one post I thought I'd have a look at this Twitter thing.

Well, you know how it is, how these things happen, don't you?

I only intended to look around and see what all the fuss is about but sometimes a chap can't help it. There I was, reading about Dinidu's Aunt or someone and, before I could say Britney I'd chosen a user name and created myself an account.

It's brought me closer to Stephen Fry, which is a good thing. In only a day I've become a Twitter convert, hopefully not in a manner that will stop me writing blog posts. I mean hopefully from my point of view, not necessarily your one.

I'm thinking about who I should follow apart from friends and family now.

A, the daughter, has reacted predictably pissedoffishly to me following her. It seems that it's fine for her to be followed by Yoko Ono but not so fine for her Dad to do the same.

A, C, K and me were talking about it last night and I was amazed, as I often am, by something said by K. She casually told us that she's set up a Twitter account but doesn't use it yet. She did it "just in case" Twitter got really popular, so that she'd be ready for the revolution, so to speak.

It's under my real name too. No biggie but it's a possible closing of circle thing. You more than likely know the name, feel free to follow if you desire. I can't promise anything spectacular, no onslaught of witty little snippets of messages or anything, but it's there if you want.

The weather's nice, the day is beginning and things look sunny all around.

Ooops, sorry, wrong medium.

So I'm a poof, according to DB.

Ha.

Camp Aniston Or Jolie?

There are many "the world is divided into two types of people" statements. One of my favourites tells us that the two types are whose who divide the world up into two types of people and those who don't. I think, through my intensive research, that I've stumbled upon the definitive one.

Me, Ozcuz and my Dad were watching a film the other night, "Wanted" was its name and it starred Angelina Jolie, Morgan Freeman and some others. It was ostensibly about assasins and a secret closed group of people with special skills called The Fraternity, a bit like Freemasons only with the power to make bullets go round corners.

The plot was irrelevant, it really was an excuse to chuck every special effect at the viewer and a car chase that had the three of us perched on the edge of our seat. At one point my Dad almost woke, it was that exciting. There were twists, turns and suprises in both the plot and the car chase.

I kept up with those in the car chase but got quite lost with the plot, particularly when it came to some sort of thing about rats wearing digital watches. Ozcuz kept up with it all quite happily. In the couple of days I've got to know him a bit I've realised that he's an intelligent fellow, I assume he gets this from the other side of his family.

He clearly understood everything that went on, probably with brainpower left over. I pretended to understand, not wanting him to realise what a dunce I am. We ate dinner during the film and he wolfed his way through chicken kievs and rice while keeping up with everything that was going on, that's how bright the bloke is. I had garlic butter dribbling down my chin and got stuck with the exploding rats and digital watch business.

Ms Jolie paraded around in her usual role; half action woman, half all over body tattoo and half plastic. I assume she must be a huge Rolling Stones fan with those Mick Jagger lips she's now got. I'm no fan but she certainly plays the one part pretty well.

She's like a snake to me. I'll explain that for you; I hate snakes, they give me the creeps. The thought of one of the slithery fellows makes my face screw up in a look of "chee" and a sharp intake of breath. But, I'm fascinated by them. If I see one I have to watch it, it's probably called snako masochism. And that's what Mrs Pitt does for me, she kind of captivates me.

While we were watching I casually remarked to Ozcuz that I cannot, for the life of me, see why someone would swap Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie. Our Jen is close to perfection in a multi millionaire film star whose Godfather used to be Kojak sort of way. Angelina is scary, bad and mad, though that's just my opinion.

Ozcuz agreed with me and retorted with a memorable line

"Yes, I'm firmly in Camp Aniston myself."

My further investigations indicate that men are divided. I quizzed the chaps at band practice the next night.

C, the keyboardist, is one of us.

C, the singer mind, is one of them, loving the Jolie.

A, the bassist appears over on our side.

B, the guitarist is in the Jolie camp.

There are no grey areas to this. It's a fact, maybe even a law of nature.

All men are firmly in either Camp Aniston or Camp Jolie.

Where are you?


PS - If your name is Brad Pitt you can bugger off, we're not interested.

The One About Joey, Chandler, Ross, Phoebe, Rachel, Monica and Lakbima

I like Lakbima News. It's taken me some months to accept this but I feel it's for my own good. Accept it, embrace it and move on.

Despite the past, despite the spurious and well documented practices of publishing many of us Sri Lankan bloggers' scribblings without seeking permission nor giving credit, I actually do like a glance through Lakbima News, at least the online edition, most weeks. It's a nice light read and gives a cross section of bits and pieces to peruse. I must add that I in no way condone what did happen in the past, of which I was a "victim" too.

It certainly would appear that all is under control now. Tempting fate? Time will tell.

But, I read this article the other week and it sat in my mind and stewed for some days. Why? I don't know, but it has. Now I don't know the technical qualifications that are needed to make a good writer, in the same way that I don't know if a painter is technically good but I know if I like their work, particularly if they can do walls and ceilings without dripping emulsion everywhere.

I do know that I quite like Ms Algama's writing, wherever I've come across it. I think she writes with a certain feeling of freshness and a spring to her words. I also know that her and a certain Missingsandwich are hardly bosom buddies and that she has rubbed a few people up the wrong way.

The thing is, it may well be the case that her content is questionable at times but I do like her style of writing. It's clear that in Ms Algama is a person who loves to write and that she does it very well. It's also clear, in certain videos, that at certain times in Pamela Anderson there's a drummer. That's another matter though.

When I read this piece about everyone's favourite New Yorkers I thought that she's lost the plot. Let me start, or middle, by saying that I love Friends. I know I'm a man but I still feel something for the six of them. Here in England we can turn on a TV, about the only thing I can turn on these days, and pretty much guarantee to find an episode of Friends somewhere. There was one series that I didn't like as much as the others, I can't recall which, but I still laugh at every episode regardless of the fact that I usually know what's coming.

Friends is / was brilliant. From the way we got to know the characters and really felt as if they were our best buddies to the way that we sang along to Smelly Cat and so understood Ross's position about being "on a break", unless you're a girl of course.

But let's face it, Friends was the most unrealistic thing to have ever hit the small screen, even if you include Tom and Jerry and the Sri Lankan News in the equation.

To start with six people that good looking and trendy just wouldn't exist as a group in real life, unless they were a bunch of sitcom actors on a shoot or something. Then, a masseuse, an out of work actor, a chef, a paleontologist (which just got through my spellcheck at the first attempt!), a Chandler and a Rachel would never be able to afford the lifestyles depicted in the programme.

One of the things that captures us in Friends is that we all think we're a bit of each character don't we? In my head I'm a man with the looks and sex appeal of Joey, the wit of Chandler and the brains of Ross. Reality is very different. I'm aware that I tend to have the Tribbiani brains, the Bing way with women and the sex appeal of the Dr. On reflection I don't even think I do have Ross's sex appeal.

Women probably go through life thinking that they have Rachel's looks, Phoebe's eccentricity and Monica's organisational skills. Girls take it from me, you don't. Unless you surname is Aniston and your first name rhymes with Zennifer. I think I might have a cousin with that first name actually.

Central Perk is surely a masterpiece of scriptwriting too. What a superb way of creating a regular place for all the characters to get together without making them live in the same place. Can you imagine how the characters' breath must stink from all that coffee. Chee, is all I can say.

And they always get that settee, except for the episode in which Ross and Chandler got "bullied". If I go into a coffee shop I usually struggle to get a seat, then end up sharing with people I don't know. Then if I even think about putting my feet up on the settee I get stared at and made to feel bad.

Whenever we see Ross lecturing to undergraduates he's talking about things in such simplistic terms that even I can understand it. It's dinosaur knowledge for twelve year olds, which is nice but wholly unrealistic. Whenever I've spent time with academics they talk in words and phrases that make my head hurt and I have to narrow my eyes to concentrate. I don't know why I do the eye squint thing but it does work.

I could go on, I could make this a slightly bitchy post about why Friends is crap, because it's so unrealistic. But it's not.

It's brilliant, it's funny and I think it will be watched by students of the Arts, not Paleontology, in years to come as an example of great TV humour.

Which is why, when I read Ms Algama's article, in which she says that the programme is "White supremacist", I laughed and shook my head. And I meant it to hurt and to patronise.

It may well be my favourite comedy of all time, it may be yours, but it's hardly going to win awards for its accurate portrayal of real life is it?

Totally unrealistic, each episode crammed full of more good looking people than most of us see in a lifetime? Yes.

Wholly unbelievable with situations and characters that just wouldn't happen in real life? Yes.

White supremacist? No.

Rather excellent?

Too bloody right.