The fecund mind

Sometimes I feel the need to pen it all down. In fact, I feel the need to pen it down every day, hoping that the raging storm of thoughts inside my head would finally relent. Then I think of all those things on my to-do list for the day or week - for work, for home, for myself, for other people.

Life gets in the way, and my storm of completely futile and intense thoughts rages on. And I, once again, make fake peace with the fact that most of my time, the time I use to see, feel, touch and taste this world, the hours I am allotted in this world - my time, actually isn't mine at all.  What would I do with my time if it was truly mine ? I would write, write for hours on end, and read. I would ride my bicycle, read, write, play a guitar,travel, sing, spend time with people I love, laugh and smile -  and do it all over again. That is of course, if this whole world wasn't organized around buying and selling each other's time.

In some alternate universe, I want to believe doing what feels true to my skin won't require as much validation. The world would just let me be, and won't need me to be entitled or rich to buy my own time from it.

Said George Saunders “I saw the peculiar way America creeps up on you if you don’t have anything.It’s never rude. It’s just, Yes, you do have to work 14 hours. And yes, you do have to ride the bus home. You’re now the father of two and you will work in that cubicle or you will be dishonored. Suddenly the universe was laden with moral import, and I could intensely feel the limits of my own power. We didn’t have the money, and I could see that in order for me to get this much money, I would have to work for this many more years. It was all laid out in front of me, and suddenly absurdism wasn’t an intellectual abstraction, it was actually realism. You could see the way that wealth was begetting wealth, wealth was begetting comfort — and that the cumulative effect of an absence of wealth was the erosion of grace.”

I never thought of it quite like this, but may be this contraption has been created by this country, the land of plenty - where not achieving the American Dream, for lack of intent or ability, is a calamitous fall from social grace. More so, if you went to college, and worse if you went to grad school, and you can sign away your life if you went to two graduate schools.  And why not? After all, this country created a legal and physical infrastructure for all of us live in, that many other countries only partially could, if at all.  The gaping maw of capitalism therefore, asks us for its pound of flesh in return.  I suppose its fair. Go ahead, chase the dream that I want you to chase, because then all of us can live within this framework that I created - that others can only dream of.

Then there are nuances to it all, of course. "Does this country extract more pounds of flesh from immigrants than its own?" "Do the laws favor the white more than the black-brown-blue etc., the heterosexual more than others, etc. etc." I am not getting into any of that. 

Especially since, I have been, like you I suppose, scared, delighted, humbled, and brainwashed into submission. I have told myself that I cannot complain, because I come from a land where old ladies scoured pantries of the rich for stale food to give their children, where grown children of middle-class families live in a perpetual humdrum with just enough from one week to the next, one year to the next, if they don't get caught in some honor murder/rape situation that is.  

What about though, the narrow sliver of possibility, that may be, just maybe, a chance to breathe out of "its" grasp may actually be a good thing, for everyone. 

A Chase to follow..

Sweet blonde walks up to a boy with chestnut hair and soft features. She asks him if he writes adult comic books. He smiles. That look comes over his eyes - that look you get when you've just seen someone endearing, some one who makes you smile, even laugh, some one whose drivel you could listen to without hearing a word of what they're saying.

Boy and girl get to know each other. Boy falls for girl. Girl also inadvertently falls for boy. Makings of a silly rom-com.  One problem though - she is gay.

 In 'Chasing Amy', a young Ben Affleck plays Holden McNeil, a smitten comic book writer who is compelled to let his gay female friend (which, in her head, is all she is to him) know of his feelings on a dark, rainy night, in a car, while on their way back from dinner. Because he "just can't take it any more".

I will be honest. Besides an off-beat premise, and decidedly adorable portrayals both by Ben Affleck, Joey Lauren Adams and Jason Lee, what I really love is the the monologue that Holden launches into when he admits his feelings for Alyssa to her. Seriously, the simplicity and mature sincerity with which Holden professes his love for Alyssa is like soft porn to me. I can watch it over and over. Its not trite, its honest, brave, grown-up, and very convincing in its hopeful lack of expectation of any reciprocation from Alyssa; its at once complete, touching, and crisp in its acknowledgement of the price of his admission - the possible loss of a good friendship.  Most importantly, to me its special because that is exactly what I would have done. I would have confessed, too, letting my hopes overshadow my expectations.

I watch my occasional rom-com,occasional because most are shitty.  Despite the obvious complication of Alyssa's sexuality, I love the movie for its simplicity.  None of the new fangled rom-coms these days have this old-fashioned, honest-cry sincerity about them.

Ben Affleck, being the extraordinary actor that he is, plays the role with innocence (and jealous zeal) of a high school lover boy. And yet, quite satisfyingly, his portrayal is not over-done, juvenile or misplaced. His is the love we all want, but dread to have to offer.

In case I ever need to refer to it, here is my favorite excerpt from the movie :

 I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the-the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is-is-is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't-I can't look into your eyes without feeling that-that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship - no pun intended - but I had to say it, 'cause I've never felt this way before, and I-I don't care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn't allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And, you know, I'll accept that. But I know, I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there's a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. And all I ask, please, is that you just - you just not dismiss that, and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can't deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I am forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me.

Graduation, End of an era? Beginning of another? Random introspection

So far my walk through my career/school should be called peripatetic. I studied engineering, worked crunching numbers at a bank, then went to business school, realized I am not the business owner type, and now, have joined a firm that calculates damages for their clients facing law suits. Usually big name, blue chip companies facing law suits.

So, so far I have clearly moved around a fair bit. When I first started as some one who crunched numbers for a living, I was terrified of the prospect of being restricted to just doing that and feared being viewed as some one whose skill set was restricted to excel spreadsheets and lines of code. So I moved around, trying to accumulate work experience that was broader beyond analytics. I realized after several average-to-terrible experiences and an economic crises that the closer one is to acquring a solid skill set of any kind, the higher their prospects of surviving in this strictly corporate environment where one isn't paid for enterprise of the world-changing kind - the kind that improves lives or extends the boundaries of knowledge. To me a solid skill set includes things like wood work, carpentry, culinary skills, medicene, engineering, nursing, writing or closer to home, statistical analysis.

I wonder though if I have been going through this peripatetic route for a completely different reason. Maybe I just haven't found what I have been looking for as a satisfying career. And I haven't had the courage (money to be precise) to pursue one that I think (even now) I might have a natural inclination for- like writing, or acting. Speaking of which, not that I have any reason to believe in astrology, a google search through history of people who were born on the same day as me revealed that at least 65% of them were actors. Acting isn't a hard skill.

Anyway, so speaking of hard skills, after seven years of what felt like lumbering through an odd maze of careers, at 32, I find myself in one that utilizes a lot of the analytical/programming skills which I was loathe to build upon many years ago. And here's hoping that I will be happier for making this decision. Yet, there is, and always has been a part of me that aches for the 'other', a part of me that remains curious to know what it would have been like if I indeed had become a journalist, or an actress.

Maybe I am among those who want to feel different aspects of the world, and don't want to miss out on one or the other. Much is said about the tedium, mundanity and lack of creativity of stiff corporate life. And I largely agree. Yet over the last so many years people have created a lot of well being for themselves and for the world around them by navigating the much maligned 'corporate life'. Maybe apart from those of us who have an over-arching passion that consumes their existence (saving whales, making robots, making cars, doing woodwork, writing, music, astronomy,culinary arts), there is another kind- the kind that likes more than one aspect of this world. After all, a look through history would tell you that several accomplished people were multi-faceted rather than mono-focal. Omar Khayyam (Poet and mathematician), Albert Einstein (Physiscist and musician) and more recently China Mieville (award-winning fiction, weird steam-punk writer but also a Phd in International affairs from Oxford). Thus goes my feeble spiel to convince myself that all is well.

The good thing about having a life long passion though is that it helps to whittle this enormous maze of phantasmagoria that we live in, to something more manageable. I ache to have and serve a passion, but I also wonder if those with a passion are ever curious to view the world beyond the monochrome that they have painted their life in.

It is what it is.

A Rose, with my morning coffee...

I am always a bit reluctant to talk to strangers, especially those that look scruffy, and seem overtly friendly. Forgive me for typecasting some of them into having a certain 'look' -On the other side of 50, a dirty sleeveless t-shirt, bandana, dark sunglasses, and hulk hogan style beard. Even though I am reluctant to talk to them, I do want to have a conversation with them. I want to ask them about their lives, and what got them into being, you know, the biker type and into wearing this 'look'. They ride on these big,bulky super cool bikes - ones I'd love to get on and ride. The husband and I are on vacation for a few days in the Keys, in Florida - where over 50 or 60 is the age profile. We are not on bikes though, just a Dodge.
We stopped over at one of the "On the Run" gas stations for some coffee before we got on our way to Key West. My husband likes iced coffee. One of these cool over 50 people who had that 'look' was getting his coffee. He explained to my husband why he always got hot coffee in the mornings and iced coffee in the evenings. And that he made hats for a living. I got my coffee and made my way out of the store; I found him walking across with his cup. He said "So did you get your coffee iced too?"
"No, I like mine hot in the morning, just like you". Somehow I guess I didnt mind talking to this friendly older stranger in broad daylight. I saw him going towards a bicycle, not a bike. And I saw palm leaves fastened to the back of his bike. I wondered if he made his hats from these leaves..
We were about to ride away, I waved good bye to him. He seemed like he was saying something, he was asking us to stop.
"What does he want, what is he doing?", I looked sideways at my husband.
My husband however, rolled down the windows of our car to see what the smiling stranger had to tell us.. The engine kept running though.
He seemed to be busily wrapping a twig around what seemed like a banana leaf. He said he needed the twig to wrap around to hold it in place. He was in a hurry, and was a little frustrated. It seemed as if making it stay in place is something he did all the time and it seemed to work out perfectly well at all other times, except today.
He managed though. And looked a lot calmer after he finished winding the twig around. His smile was back.
"Here, this is for you", he said as he handed a bare, thin twig to my husband.
"And this, my dear, is for you", he handed me a rose, made of coconut palm leaf. It was a perfect rose. With a long slender stem, and all the petals wound around one another.
"Thank you, thank you so much". I was amazed at its perfection, and was thinking too many things at the same time, like how much practice does one need to wind up a flower from palm leaves in a few minutes like that, at what point after he met us did he start making the flower, why does he feel like giving to us..I must have looked so confused.I didn't say much more.
"You have a lovely day", waving his hand at us.
We rode away, and I couldnt take my eyes of that rose.
"Thats so lovely, we should have asked him for a picture with you. Right?",my husband looked at the road ahead of him.

The Reader's Writer..

This post is for my friend and popular blogger GreatBong (GB), whose book "May I hebb your attention Pliss" has been on the stands since the beginning of the year. Not that he is a stranger at all to anyone in the Indie Blogging community (and now in the publishing world), but a post to celebrate GB's success and to uncover the dirty secrets underlying it, is long overdue.

I have known Arnab since my days in Grad School. I always wondered how he saw humor in all the everyday things that would pass the rest of us by like just another day. His sparkling, self-deprecating wit, warped and twisted sense of humor and his relentlessly funny, incessant chatter was enough to turn our little college town on its head.. (or at the very least our Graduate School Dorms - they were pretty miserable save for entertainers like him who cohabited for some reason. And did unspeakable things). I cannot think of anyone who is so equally inspired by good English Literature AND by B-Grade Bollywood movies, Indian pop culture trivia and Bollywood dirt. People very often revel in either, not both.

But Arnab is and always has been well, a bit weird, just like the rest of us. Except he says so and is very articulate about it when he lays it out in a memoir or in a piece of fiction and makes us all chuckle/laugh/roll on the floor at the startling honesty of it all. It feels fantastic to know we are not the only ones who thought/felt/reacted a certain way and that it is ok to laugh about it.

Writers write to connect. I think what people like about Arnab's blog and his book, apart from the trademark Greatbong style and content, is that he has never written anything from this lofty pedestal of an aspiring literary honcho who is too well-read for us, too erudite for us or too far-in-with-cool-journalist-crowd for us. He is, and when he started his blog was, one of us - A regular guy with a job, opinions and a 90's middle class upbringing, who just loves to write, and is so good at it that we think he speaks for us when we agree with him. If we disagree with him, we feel compelled to let him know. He, unlike some other authors, doesn't wear his prose like its piece of jewelery (although him wearing jewelery of any kind is a very disturbing thought in itself). In short, at some point, if you read his posts once you can't ignore him; In any case, with the deliberately and overtly bawdy assemblage of politicians, Mithun movie characters, sadhus, and got knows what else on his blog, how the hell can you ?

Unfortunately though, from what I know of the youngest generation in the publishing industry, pretenses are as important if not more important than true talent. The pretense of heady idealism, the pretense of being passionate and brave to choose journalism as a career "off-the-beaten-track", the pretense of being refined and well read, the pretense of being on a literary pedestal, is all grotesque and obscene and reminds me of a room full of too much nasty smelling perfume that I cannot escape. Hopefully though, the days of the shock embracing second rate talent that results from pretending all the time will be short lived.

Someone from this fine-smelling melee happened to mention that GB's new book is an extension of his blog. Her import I think was that he might as well have blogged the whole book. I think this is a generational bias -I, and the reviewer, still belong to the generation of readers who love their NY times on real paper.It would, still, break my heart if I have to get all my favorite columns online, and have them be only online. We like our book to smell like one. We like to turn its yellowing pages and keep a physical bookmark to pick up where we left off next time. That is just how we all grew up. GB and other writers like him are a part of a paradigm shift in the medium of popular media. His "connection" with his readers started online - they scrolled through to get to different sections of his prose instead of turning pages forward and backward, tabbed through his previous posts to find their favorite post instead of looking up a previous book of his, and left him comments about his post instead of mailing him their letters. I am not suggesting that GB's writing isn't book material, I am merely saying that the existence of prose in a book as we know it today might be short lived. The fact that this might effect writing styles altogether is a worthwhile thought process to engage in, methinks.

I met him recently when he was in New York. I smiled to myself when I noticed he hadn't changed one bit since I knew him in Grad School. He is overwhelmed by the reception from his readers, is thankful for it to have panned out the way it did, is unsure how he as an outsider would fit into the changing landscape of publishing without being different from who is and most importantly, still says as he always has, that he writes because he loves to.

GB, is here to stay. Because he is one of us and he wants things to stay that way. Because what living and breathing all that he writes about will do for GB, tons of deliberate snootiness might not for a whole generation of aspiring wide-eyed authors.

The other side of the Wall Street melt down

One of the things the Wall Street super nova explosion resulted in apart from lost fortunes (or stories of past fortunes), prison sentences and forced sales of homes and private castles, is introspection on the part of some of the bankers (junior and senior) who rode the wave either thinking :

(1) they would get out of this dirty business when they have made their $X Million (X increases exponentially with time and success) or
(2) being a banker was a cool thing to do, and a cooler thing to say - to the skimpily clad girl/guy at the new club in the meatpacking district of New York city - on the one weekend that you had off from making excel models or pitch books (marketing material for deals). If you were lucky not to pass out by the first two drinks and take the girl/guy at the bar home, it would only be to have yourself dumped soon after for answering your Type A boss's frazzled questions on your blackberry while making out. Yep, that's your average entry level banking analyst.
or
(3) Everyone after business school is becoming an investment banker. Sounds good, especially since it will help me pay off my gigantic B-school debt.


Then there were those who really enjoyed doing deals, and loved the thrill of making the fees. And were good at it. Many of those have survived.

Regardless, in my eternal quest for my calling in this world I asked many - and sounded foolish - "do you like what you do " or "is this your calling" or " why do you do what you do" ?

Check out the range of responses :

"I wanted to have enough in common with my husband, so I would be able to relate to him in the future as well" - there it is ladies!! The secret to a happy marriage - its not all those things self help columns tell you it is, its not the sex or holding hands or having vacations together without the kids, and you can now stop worrying about getting home in time to put food on the table before the husband gets home, or going to the gym to be in shape. All you need is the ability to talk shop with your husband! Jeez- who knew?

" I don't despise it, and am fairly good at it. And I don't have to fight with my husband for my annual Chanel/Louis Vuitton fix" - Ah the life-style argument by the LV -Chanel/Lamborghini -Maserati loving people. Sadly, not one that I can support- because I don't have much of a fixation for luxury goods - and don't want to go to LA and Miami to flaunt my latest LV bag. And what do these folks do, when their luxury goods motivated careers plateau because of a lack for a real passion for business - they become chefs, nutritionists, wives of senators or remain middling cogs in the Giant American Corporate Wheel.

I have somehow concluded that frequently people are capable/interested in pursuing a career different from the one they find themselves in. Their worst fears come true when they find themselves in a career at 40 that they don't love very much and are not the best at - a realization I have known several senior bankers to have, especially in bad times when only the really good ones survive because they have a passion for what they do.

Prior to my current job I worked on the trading floor for a giant bank, and sat next to this senior banker who had been in banking for 20 years, was always in the office, but did not seem to get a single transaction underway. From what I could tell he had been fired from two previous jobs, knew only a handful of people in the industry (it is serious career suicide if you don't know enough people on the "street") and for the most part did not have support of the powers that be in the bank to push any of his deals to fruition. In rare quiet moments, over a Seamless web dinner (Seamless Web is a web site listing nearby restaurants for dinner that lowly folks are entitled to as a reward for staying late) he would admit to making a wrong career choice, and his love for gadgets and software and that his best years were those spent getting a degree in Mechanical Engineering at IIT Delhi. He was about 46, had three children and a mortgage. He was fired, again, in the wake of the crisis.

I remain unconvinced after talking to several people on Wall Street that this is indeed they were meant to do. And even as failed bankers yanked out of Wall Street maze either re-invent themselves to prepare for a different career or decide to keep chipping away, maybe there is no black or white answer to my question, maybe many of them don't bother answering it at all. When they realize its too late to have the career of the historian, the Egyptologist, the oceanographer or the astronaut that fascinated them when they were 12, I think the balance people settle on is something they are not bad at, that pays the mortgage and contributes to the college fund for their children and then they hope that all of those factors collectively gets them out of bed every morning. And soon they find themselves in this morass, this endless cycle validated for its purposefulness from time to time by an occasional deal, dinner at a fancy New York restaurant or a few fleeting moments of joy on a vacation at Turks and Caicos- replete with celebrity sightings no less.

For many others though, it continues to be a long quest.

Dump,Eat,Pray,Love, Marry (Repeat)

Liz Gilbert's frivolous and funny rant has made it to Hollywood -I should have seen that coming. The movie stars Julia Roberts and Javier Bardem.
I read Eat, Pray, Love while on a plane to Maui. A scholarly work of literary significance this was not. Self help book maybe. Some version of a travelogue, perhaps. In short, a fun, silly, non serious, Carrie-Bradshaw-goes-globetrotting account by the former GQ journalist (columnist?).

I merely have a problem when women take this woman's frivolity for life's lessons and head to Bali to find their "true selves" (Yes, apparently there are accounts of divorced women vacationing in Bali/Ubud because it is the new search-for-your-soul-and-find-your-soulmate destination of the world.). I really hope this movie spawns a generation of 40 something women divorcing their perfect lives. I am evil like that.

The gist of her story (don't worry about this being a spoiler) is this - she is 30, married, with a seemingly perfect life which she and/or her husband must have worked hard at some point to build (upper east side apartment, vacation home somewhere else) and a husband who wants to have a family. But she is hopelessly unhappy. From what I remember, her problem with her marriage is that she does not want to have children because she fears she will end up like her mother in a sub-urban home stirring a large pot of stew with children squealing in the background. She goes into entertaining, curious details about her rationalization of her fears - in fact I consider it quite commendable that she successfully engages the reader despite presenting such details of her mental process as contents of her prose.

She hates her life in New York for all its trite, boring perfection and misconstrues her fascination for escapist, free spirited souls for her own ability and desire to be this free,aimless wanderer who believes self discovery lies in traveling, at your publisher's expense (come to think of it, I do too).
She decides to leave her life and her husband (who one cannot help feeling sorry for despite her best efforts, but I don't think that is the point of her story) behind for going around the world (Italy to eat, India to pray and Indonesia to hang out, I guess).

At this point the book is about her travel and culinary experiences which lacked the Paul-Theroux-Jack-Kerouac'ish dreamy romanticism of travel, but were full of delightful details about food,men and the culture of Italy which she contrasted with the drab, puritanical hum drum of New York. After several such interesting travel and culture related trivia that she notes about India (where she learns to meditate) and Indonesia, there are some small, inconsistent spurts of self-actualization and introspection. Here is the best part - She falls for some one while in Indonesia.

I wondered what was different about the situation with her new love interest (especially since in the book her new love interest is NOT called Javier Bardem!). Why does she suddenly want a binding relationship when that is what she ran away from? Is it possible she just needed a break from her marriage? Is it because the new guy brought novelty to her life being of Brazilian descent and maybe she couldn't take up the "study-abroad" program in college to have had enough interesting experiences? The sympathetic NY Times critic A.O.Scott notes "the essential tension between Liz’s longing for independence and her desire to be loved".

Eat, Pray, Love is an engaging read as the story of a puerile, weak-willed, neurotic Ms. Gilbert who does not have the gall to be the free spirited soul that she so loves to write about. Her previous books include a biography of Eustace Conway in The Last American Man, where according to one of the reviewers, what Ms. Gilbert is most enamored by is "the lifestyle ideal Conway seeks to propagate". It seems Conway abandoned his sub-urban life and family to live in the Appalachian Mountains.
I take the liberty to call her puerile because she jumps from one lifestyle to another somehow believing that there is a Utopian life style decision you can make ( of being single or married i.e.) that has no cons. Predictably, she demonstrates beyond doubt that she does not have the faith to see through her own life decisions, of being single or married, through its expected ups and downs.

I care to voice my dislike because I feel that attempts such as these (and as watchable as it is, Sex and the City too) become pop-culture unfortunately, and promote a brand of fake feminism which is not based on knowing and believing in yourself and being responsible for your actions but on your ability to spurn what society has deemed to be the perfect life - a husband, two kids and a suburban home. As if spurning such a life is somehow brave and assertive. It is hard to blame some one who is compelled to leave a life they once wanted because suddenly they believe that is the way they can truly be happy, but lets at least admit that is not brave to abandon a life you chose for yourself, it is neurotic, and possibly irresponsible.

My cousin in India is a very career focused woman who, after seeing the marriages of her three sisters, consciously decided it wasn't for her. She was in her 20's when she made that decision, she is 55 now. Not only has she been an extremely successful businesswoman, she was the only one who had the resources and the time to take care of my ailing aunt while despite their best intentions, her married sisters were unable to assist in any way because of their numerous other justifiable obligations. At a recent *wedding* celebration for one of her nephews she sighed " You know I look at people who marry, and admire them. I have no faith in the institution of marriage. I don't how people do it. Good for them, as long as they are happy". She knew what she wanted when she was a 20 something and was tough enough to stand her ground in the face of all the social norms, and perhaps even her own weak moments. She still believes that the thrill and peace of being independent far outweigh the benefits of a marriage.

Whether you believe in the institution of marriage or not, society has evolved enough to allow you live your life the way you please. Marriage does not have to mean a sub-urban home and kids; A committed relationship does not have to mean a piece of paper two people sign in court which legally binds them forever, neither does it mean some fairy tale wedding with gifts, flowers and the perfect wedding dress. It is your relationship with yourself, to begin with - Make what you want of it. This is where Ms. Gilbert's in depth, and curious analysis of the history of the institution of marriage to rationalize her decisions seems unnecessary, and exposes her own inability to grasp what she wants from life.

Liz Gilbert has written a new book called Committed where she marries once again (this time her hand is forced by the US authorities) but apparently spends all her prose explaining her research on this all-enduring institution called marriage, and how she has finally made peace with it.

As for the movie, I said I should have seen it coming(I said so when I started writing what has become a very long post in the middle of a work day), because the book with its touristy description of all the lovely locales, the various cultures coupled with this sex-and-the-city brand of neurosis that I clearly love so much seemed all set to be a watchable HBO movie with shallow ideals and hopefully some silly entertainment value for that cold night when you decide to stay in with a bottle of red, pizza and some Javier Bardem..*gasps*