Optimism will be my death one day. For about 10 seconds, I actually hoodwinked myself into believing that someone might just comment on this blog, and remind me about that 'non-interactive school project research process' that I'd promised to write on. But, then reality struck me like Sunny Deol ke dhai kilo ka haath, leaving indelible bruises on my do kodi ka self-confidence, which had taken enough beating already due to the absolute inability of my limited intellectual prowess to transcend the literary barriers posed by a prolonged bout of Writer's bloc (Erm...Writer's bloc...really now, I must realize that pretence is as potent a killer as the optimism I was talking about) I've been thinking that it's about time I write something of substance, probably a thesis on the evolution of Marxist thought in post-colonial South Asia (No, no, you judgmental people. I'm not a Communist. You see, I pander to my collective readership of 2, and they're both Communists. Oh, the things you have to do to keep a blog running....*shakes head in disgust*) But, as you might have already figured, I've dropped the idea and I'm back to churning out the non-consequential rubbish I usually churn out. You see, a rather severe bout of chicken pox has compelled the scholastic elements of my rubbish-generating brain to go take a hike (again!), which makes me wonder whether I’m going to ever write anything of consequence.
Let me admit it, then. I had a dream…A dream of getting 100 comments a day for my scathing critiques on the way The Left are trying to screw up the N-deal (There goes my readership. These Communist types are not open to constructive criticism, yaar), of having Dell and Levi’s beg at my feet for ad-space on my blog, because it gets 10, 00, 000 hits a day or something, of being quoted in the NYT editorials for my path-breaking piece on the sub-prime mortgage crisis and Sovereign Wealth Funds (Something along the lines of, ‘Moares, financial expert, who has attained cult status in the blogging world, says on his blog A Gallon Of Butterbeer,…. )
But Fate had other things in store for me. Other things being an abysmal page load count of about 5 per day (including my own page loads….so now you know how bad the situation is) and an uncanny knack of getting a paralytic attack, mental and physical, every time I decided to post something that makes sense. In other words, the moment I think of writing something intellectually challenging, I become intellectually challenged, which is very frustrating, especially when it happens all the time. So, the next time you see me with a bizarre, fixed expression, staring blankly at my computer screen and my rigid fingers lying immovable on the keyboard or you spot me in an overall I-just-paused-myself-like-a-video-game-and-this-is-how-I-look position, you’ll know what’s wrong. It’s the Intellectual Paralysis Syndrome. You might think this is some kind of cheap reality-show stunt to win your sympathy and increase my readership. Er…actually, it is. The smart ones would have got the hint
Watch this space for the next piece of faff.
P.S: I’m thinking of changing the name of this blog to A Gallon of Beer. An extensive survey of the human population has shown that 41.7% of the world loves only beer, a mere 17.4% loves only Harry Potter and the remaining 40.9% of the world loves both Harry Potter and beer. Out of this 40.9% of people, more than 75% of people prefer their beer to Harry Potter. Do the math, and you’ll know why this could probably be the best business decision I’ll ever make.
P.P.S: I have stated this earlier and I will clarify again. This blog is not an outpost of some Marxist-Lefty-Communist-Socialist clique that panders only to other Marxist-Lefty-Communist-Socialist cliques. This blog is open to all, irrespective of political affiliation, and religious disposition.