[This archive page filters out all my non-full-blog-post type writing. This includes links, housekeeping posts, announcements, links to my articles and columns and other such blog remnants. For the time being it will probably be a dump of things. Perhaps in the future things will be different.]
Pranab Mukherjee has said something about Maoists winning elections in Nepal being awesome and spectacular and something to that effect. Which I really don’t have an opinion on. Best of luck to the Nepalis and hope there are not too many of them around the Chinese border the night the Red army invades.
Or so the many erudite commenters at Rediff think. Be that as it may I was quite enamoured by a gentleman who not only left a profound comment but also came back later to painstakingly point four spelling mistakes he had made in his brief but impactful statement. Haiku-like if you will.
At first I read “Who welcomes intervention occupation” and figured out it must be one of those profound Pink Floyd lyric type thing. And then I figured it out. Image for your enjoyment…
Someone give this guy a copy edit job somewhere. (Even though he did miss that H in Afghanistan.)
Busy week with many thousands of things to do. But what to do… the need to keep reader amused overwhelms the self…
So let me share the fascinating works of Vilayanur S Ramachandran. (Yes Pastrami, the brain guy. From Chennai. Correct. The very same.)
I am halfway through his first book, the tremendous Phantoms In The Brain, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. But to save you some of the 540 bucks it costs at the Imax Crossword here is, ah my love for you all, VSR’s talk at TED in March 2007. The intro from the TED site:
In a wide-ranging talk, Vilayanur Ramachandran explores how brain damage can reveal the connection between the internal structures of the brain and the corresponding functions of the mind. He talks about phantom limb pain, synesthesia (when people hear color or smell sounds), and the Capgras delusion, when brain-damaged people believe their closest friends and family have been replaced with imposters.
Wait wait. Don’t run away. Listen to the man. Listen and drool.
And thus, I was sent forth into the perilous world of luxury suits. A world where prices are an inconvenient element of the conversation and pocket squares lead to debates not unlike those about the West Asian peace process. In this merciless world, all that stands between high fashion and eternal sartorial damnation is one, solitary pleat.
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