the face of evil, now with hoop earrings

This air-headed waste of space thinks killing cats is a laugh. A fellow called into her radio show in response to a 'Dashboard Disasters' contest. He spoke about the time he locked his sister's pet cat in a car dashboard, and how the cat died of suffocation. They laughed about it and this trollop of the airwaves awarded him a prize.

That's the spirit of radio, folks.

When I called up the channel in question, Radio Indigo, they did not deny any of this. They are willing to apologise, but that isn't enough. Meghana Dawan needs to be drummed out of her job and the fellow who won the prize has to be identified and prosecuted.

Here are some numbers at Radio Indigo you can call to help turn on the heat:

Santosh Gnanakan: Program director: 9900172919
Radio Indigo: 080 -25501126

Maybe one of the reasons why Heaven & Hell's 'The Devil You Know' is such a killer album is because the band didn't have the luxury of operating under the Black Sabbath name? Anyway, despite a certain lull in the second half, it's a great comeback for the best metal band ever.

Sheridan Le Fanu's 'In A Glass Darkly' is a bit of a mixed bag. I think it suffers a bit from starting with two very similar stories and bunging in one altogether non-supernatural story, especially one with such a predictable plot. 'Green Tea' is especially ridiculous. Great build-up, but then - pfui! - he went mad and died of his own neurotic fears because of drinking too much green tea? Really? Green tea? He actually thought he would go with a harmless anti-oxidant beverage as his Elixir Of Dread Doom? Coupled with the airy Swedenborgiana, it makes for an unintendely farcical effect. I'd still rate the stories collected in 'Madam Crowl's Ghost' above this. 'Carmilla' alone is worth the price of entry, though.

in which i begin to reveal my deep-seated neuroses

I think I used to work for this guy. (Picture stolen from here)

Actually, I think almost everyone works for, or has worked for someone like him. The corporate world is just set up like that. Exude the right mix of sycophancy, bravado, rapaciousness and turpitude and you're a shoe-in for a managerial post. People joke about how, the higher up the chain you go, the less actual capacity people exhibit, but after seeing it for myself, it isn't a joke anymore but a terrifying reality. Because those crazed morons aren't just pointy-haired punchline delivery objects in your corporate humour strip du jour, but actual people (or clever simulacra thereof) who are going to eat your babies if allowed to continue unchecked.

J.M.G. Le Clézio: Terra Amata
This was completely different from Onitsha, the first Le Clezio novel I read.

I think Le Clezio became less experimental and more of a storyteller as the years went by.

I couldn't read every word, or even every page of this incredibly dense little novel. It has all of life in it, as does the protagonist, Chancelade and, Le Clezio would have us realise, all of us. There is an immense sense of the beauty of the living universe and the worth of every individual life that is certainly mirrored in the more conventionally narrated and overtly socially and politically engaged Onitsha.

It's interesting to compare how Le Clezio's very considerable lyrical skills are used all over the place, are the mode of expression here, and are interespersed more subtly in the latter novel. There is a similar episode with a boy and insects in both books, it would be worth comparing the two to see how he has grown as a writer.

I've always believed that experimental writing is alright for testing the waters and diving in to bring back unique experiences and techniques, but a good novelist will eventually find a way to incorporate well-rounded accesible narratives with his stylistic and philosophical bent; Le Clezio seems to have done over time. (I still sometimes resent Burroughs, the most self-critical and mature, arguably the most talented and humane of the beats, for never returning to a more straightforward narrative after Junky and Queer - I am convinced that, informed by all his stylistic explorations, it would have really been something).

I did like this book, although I may have devoured it more thoroughly had I read it in my early 20s. I'd just like to add that the chapter devoted to Chancelade's dreams is pure gold throughout. Try reading it aloud, with drums in the background if you can, or just the sound of your own heartbeat ringing in your ears.

[I have to say I really dislike the Penguin Modern Classics covers for Le Clezio's novels. The whole new Penguin Modern Classics look is the very epitome of blandly contemporary cover design that will look dated as fuck in 10 years' time. ]

I received my prize from the Deccan Herald yesterday, which was an interesting experience. The cheque will help, even after the tax deductions, but some sort of certificate for memory's sake would have been nice. Er, or did they give us one and I forgot it?

It was a little strange to be talking to strangers about something that used to exist only inside my head. But also a bit pleasing, like finally getting a chance to natter on and on about your dreams to other people, which is quite fitting because this story began as a dream.

I met the man who illustrated the story,Yatish, who works for the DH, and told him how much I liked what he'd done. He said the illustration was hand-drawn, then coloured in photoshop, and he'd send me the soft copy.

The Memoirs Of A Geisha: Picked up on epic spending binge at my local piratical depot, back when I was of the salaried class and flush with funds. It was okay; very visually lush in a manner that I felt rather insulated and softened its sordid subject matter I(a child is sold into what is essentially a high-class brother; several years later a group of men twice her age bid for the chance to, um, let their eeel be the first to visit her cave, and so on). It's odd the lengths to which Hollywood will go to romanticize prostitution and rape and borderline pedophilia. A rather standard melodrama all in all.

The Fox And The Child: I expected either a saccharine kidflick or something that would manipulatively tug at my heartstrings. Instead, what we have here is a beautifully made and remarkably realistic look at a friendship between a human and an animal and its larger context, but yes, a good movie for the kiddies too.

Monsters, Inc.: A bit late to the game in this case, but I mostly liked it even if they had to shoot for the obvious heart warming twist and sweet ending. I was very impressed with the initial premise of monsters having to scare kids because monster town's power supplies are derived from the energy released by screaming children. Someone else could have made a much more creepy story based on that concept; in the meantime here's another animated films that I'm able to enjoy without too much stomach churning, which is cool because I like animated films but had really started hating them for a while in the 90s.

The Strange Case Of Benjamin Button: Well, once again Hollywood's taken the name and basic premise of a story - a rather nicely tragicomic and farcical short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, btw, and stripped away everything else, to replace it with a love story. A love story with an annoying framing narrative with completely pointless topical references and high-handed symbolic touches. Still, the idea is a compelling one, and even Hollywood's patented 'profound tale of love against all odds' techniques (think Titanic) cannot take away all its power. Also Brad Pitt can almost act when given what almost amounts to an actual role.

Aranya's Last Voyage.