The local rickshawallahs are dragging out their Bishhokorma Pujo celebrations. Which include playing music really loudly. It's always Rabindrasangeet and classic Bangla film songs in the morning, and Hindi filmi hits in the afternoon. Really, it's like an unwritten rule. You know how specific ragas are associated with specific hours/periods of the day? Reminds me of that.
Last night after a weekend's worth of gnashed teeth and high blood pressure I ended up watching both English Premier League matches on tv - Chelsea-Liverpool and Arsenal-Man.Utd, each ending 1-0. I'll spare this little blog my match babble, except I am a goalie fan and I cannot lie even by omission. Petr Cech was wonderful, which made me root for Celsea even though I don't exactly support either team. See how complicated football fandom is? And in the other one, green (erm, literally, too) boy Tomasz Kuszczak did his 'mates proud. Of course Arsenal were once again criticised by the commentators for being slow starters, for not capitalising on all their chances, for their lack of Thierry Henry. I mean, I agree with the second one, but English footy seems to have this unhealthy obsession with madscramblethud!action. It makes for excellent dorkiness, of course, but I suppose I'm used to a slower, more Machiavellian oh did I just type that? scratch it more calculated style of play.
Oops, babbling despite myself. Jens Lehmann almost got his darling face broken while blocking from - was it Cristiano or Wayne Rooney? One of the brats, anyway. That was close. Over during Milan-Parma, though, poor ickle Gilardino's match ended in blood and stitches. It's not serious, but again. Close.
This morning, among the many appalling news stories I woke up to, this one gave me a bit of hope. Not the bit about the actual fact of the commercial, but the fact that Vasselli isn't taking this shit as the 'harmless joke' the men responsible for it so conveniently thought it was. You know how feminists are, always getting their knickers in a twist over yet another harmlessly jokey jab at their historical and innate incompetency at, well, everything including recognising 'irony'.
Two steps forward, three steps back: or, internalised misogyny is such a bitch (ooh, I was being ironic, don't you know). If that's depressing, have a non-sexist giggle over this!
1 comment:
Chelsea's sub is the also-excellent Cudicini, isn't he? Life is so tough for keepers of the first water, including Mad Jens. And others who have stuck by their side in second-division crapola matches.
I saw a bit of Parma-Milan, which was disgraceful because, you know, Milan is horrid to opposing teams. Just watching Parma fumble and scrabble and kick Gattuso in the ankles every three minutes or so - and fail to curb his horridness! - made me feel sad for them. Such pretty boys, too.
I missed both goals, though, but I did see enough to learn that the commentators have a mini-orgasm every time Kaka gains possession.
I wish I was in Kolkata eating chaat listening to pujo celebrations and watching midnight footer with you!
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