\`_´/

The stealth bomber lounges,
refreshingly constant,
with flanks of sleek metal
and eyes leonine.
"Await this December,"
said she to the Manza
with frankness and longing; 
"you will then be mine."

This is my life right now: impromptu love McWhirtles to my car. (Mine.) It isn't even a sonnet. Sonnets in my turn of phrase can be excused.

(The maniacal screencapping of two Star Trek: TOS videogames is also in progress before I have to buckle down and begin studying in earnest, but yeah.)

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This Is Not My Cup Of Lassi.

Bol Bacchan was ridiculously fantastic (see also: fantastically ridiculous). If half the thought that went into this film were put into relatively serious movies...we'd have better serious movies (in other words, not utter bilge like Teri Meri Kahaani.) Not only was the movie hilarious (though it had its crass moments - got to please the galleries, I guess, but they can be survived by pretending they don't exist), it also had a clear message about religious tolerance, and even a sneaky little one about gender equality.

Also it displayed a delightfully surprising awareness of how the inherent anthropomorphism of vehicles can be used to further a visual goal. It's like the rule of three: you can use cars to enhance the comedy of a comedic situation or the drama of a dramatic one, or anything in between. This used the former: Ajay Devgn's cars (Scorpio?, Elantra, some kind of Toyota SUV which wasn't an Innova or Fortuner) all had exactly the same expression he did. And the backup Scorpios all looked exactly like stoic all-brawn-and-no-brain flunkeys should. It was hilarious. I get the impression it's Mr Devgn himself who gets the car thing (Lambo racing at Buddh International what?), but I've never seen such frankly brilliant understanding of their body language onscreen before. Respect, good sir.

Incidentally, discussion of Indian comedy films in general is the only context in which it's possible to say 'Well, I prefer grammar to sex.'

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