Thursday, December 31, 2009

The Earmuff Effect

A new phenomenon has swept my hometown of Chennai. A strange phenomenon whose origins are unknown and illogical. A phenomenon nobody has managed to explain to me. Curious yet?

Let me break the suspense. What's with all the guys wearing camouflage earmuffs?

I see these all over the street nowadays. They are in the shape of neck-phones [those earphones you wear around your neck] and they are coloured just like army camouflage. Nobody knows why they are worn or why these people think it's 'cool'.

For those who are not very sure about the city, Chennai is hot and humid. We have four seasons which can aptly be named Almost Summer, Summer, ZOMG I'M BURNING AND DYING and Monsoon. The coldest it can ever get is 20 degrees celcius, and that's so rare that people living outside Chennai will hear about it from all their Chennai-resident friends. Now where is the room for these earmuffs? Why would one require them?

A guy wearing the aforementioned earmuffs is easily identifiable. Even if you can't clearly see his uber-cool accessory, he can be recognised by his mean swagger, a glint in his eye, overconfidence and also thinks that he has the one secret weapon which will make girls flock to him and beg him to take their numbers.

Maybe I'm missing something here. Maybe I'm somehow immune to its attraction powers due to a childhood accident which messed with my brain. The same accident which makes me think that Shah Rukh Khan and Tom Cruise aren't really attractive. The very same one that makes me believe that Keanu Reeves is an alien. The exact same one that makes me a non-believer of the 'Axe Effect'. But I still don't get it. Hence, I want people to stop wearing it. Because really, it's as lame as this blog post.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Might I Suggest 'Adam Teasing'?

Can somebody please explain to me why some men enjoy passing strange comments and whistling at any female that passes by? Honestly, I don't think it serves any purpose other than repulsion. Also, if the cat-calling, wolf-whistling, comment-passing stranger is in fact a dangerous rapist-murderer-type person, he's literally waving a KEEP AWAY banner by doing those things. Therefore he will never succeed in raping/molesting/murdering the person he's 'eve-teasing'

Even though I have once been mistaken as a boy and left alone, I get random comments thrown my way all the time. Just because I'm a girl. There's no other criterion. Pretty, slim, tall, fat, revealingly clothed; none of this matters. An eve-teaser's motto: See Female, Will Make Obscene Noises! So when such things happen to me, I am usually at a loss for words. Simply because I don't know whether to laugh, cry, run, yell or call the cops. Let me give you a few examples of the things that have been said to me. Honestly, I think 40% of the effect is lost when I translate it to English, and another 30% when it's written down and not immitated by me. But here are the 30% effective comments I've recieved:
  • "Dude, chech her out! She's a masala item!"
  • "Heyyy... Chocolate, Chocolate" [Pronounced Saak-lait]
  • "Smile for me, babies"
  • "Where are you going, darling?" [Pronounced dor-ling]
  • "Hi Baby! I lou you!"

There are several others, but I still can't help but to wonder why these comments are passed. What do they expect to achieve? I hate it when men stand and stare at us women while we're walking around on the street shamelessly. But in a way, the unapologetic gaping is more understandable than these comments. They are not flattering, alluring or anything positive. It won't make me walk up to them, thank them and give them my number. It won't make me want to dress better next time and give them my most dazzling smile for a better 'compliment'. It just makes me want to throw up, and then walk around wearing an invisibility cloak; or better yet, walk around wrapped in a blanket.

Since every Tom, Dick and Harry has a mobile phone these days, a new wave of 'eve-teasing' has begun. It started with one desperate guy thinking "Let me call up every random number I can think of until a female picks up the phone!" Brilliant! Once they find a female voice, they sometimes pass the number on to their friends, etc. This further reduces the criteria, you're judging by just a voice. I once got a call, I answered the phone and asked who it was. The guy introduced himself and asked for my name. I told him he'd gotten the wrong number and I didn't know him. This was his response: "No madam! Correct number only! Who are you? What are you do? You ate dinner?"

Wait... WHAT?!

So I told him that I hadn't eaten dinner yet and we both met up that very night. We had a lovely dinner at a nearby restaurant and now we're married. NO! I hung up, and saved his number as 'Do Not Answer' so I never answer his calls.

I'm so fed up of going through all of this. I suggest that we turn the tables a little bit. I propose [drum roll] 'Adam Teasing'!! Adam Teasers will be a group of girls who sit on ledges or bikes, stand on the street or outside little stores and wolf-whistle, cat-call, wink and pass derogatory comments at every male that passes by. These comments can be regarding their clothes, physique, appearance, or how you want to rape them. I think this is the only thing that can get me even a little bit close to understanding the cheap adrenaline rush derived by men while doing the same to girls. Anyone interested, please leave a note. I promise to give it a try and photo-document my efforts. I'll post a picture up, even! Give me a week.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

A Mercedes? Poor You!

I have described Bangalore traffic before, haven't I? Sometimes, when I sit in vehicles with slightly more adventurous drivers, I close my eyes to avoid freaking out over how close other vehicles get. I'd like to say that they've all perfected the art of bobbing and weaving through traffic gracefully, but they haven't. There are several accidents. Every car has some chip in it, a dent maybe, a missing rear-view mirror, a broken tail-light or perhaps a glorious scratch running along its side. It's characteristic.

Now, this situation being a fact; why, pray tell, do people own cars like Mercedes, Audis, Hummers etc., in Bangalore? I can imagine wanting to take your smooth, swank new car out on a drive on a glistening highway somewhere, with the windows down and the music up. But c'mon, how fun can it be to drive a bloody expensive, large car through arrogant traffic, trying to keep a look out constantly for things that are trying to damage it. Also, why do you want a rape a perfectly good car by driving over all those potholes.

Alright, car experts, bring it on! Tell me that I'm wrong and that these good cars can withstand anything. Tell me that they are works of art and need no context. You'll all still be wrong! You know why? It's because people still worry about their cars. And if nobody chips your spanking new Audi, I will, just to prove a point. Spending a lot of money on a car is understandable. Don't get me wrong. I'm a strong believer of the "To each their own" principle. Spending a lot of money on a car, and then driving it around Bangalore simultaneously biting your nails and dripping beads of sweat due to the anguish and worry that comes along with protecting your darling car, is that really worth it?

Here comes my other big issue. Alright, you've bought an expensive car to drive around Bangalore. You love it, your friends love it, you friends even tell their friends about it. Awesome! Please, drive it yourself! Don't give it to your chauffer/driver to drive around. He probably has more fun with it than you do. Who did you buy the car for?

If any of you own a car of this sort, don't hate me. I might have an opinion, but I also need a ride now and then. I'm too scared to drive.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Please Don't Be One Of These

The Bangalore club scene is pretty good. Even thought there's a 11:30 curfew, if you know where to be, you're probably having a good time. Yes, I do hate Muthalik and the Ram Sena and I do hate the government telling me that I've been out late enough and now it's time to retire home to bed. But honestly, you get used to it after several months of complaining and whining. But that won't stop us from making a big "AAAAAAAAAAWHHH!"sound everytime the music stops. It also won't stop the people from Delhi or Bombay teling us that the clubs in their cities stay open till 4 or 5 in the morning and that they leave their house to party only at about 11 p.m.

Never mind the clubs themselves, what about the people in them? Sure there are several normal people who just come in, dance with their friends, have a good time and leave. But those people are boringto write about, though they are preferable at the actual venue. Let me classify the particularly annoying ones for you:

These men or women usually hang out alone or occasionally with one or [rarely] more of their kind. They stand along the walls of the room, drinking something and nodding their heads to the music. They occasionally scowl at those who are dancing but usually mind their own business, which is checking their phones, looking around, and concentrating very hard on their drink like it's very important. Why are they in a dance club? Beats me! Where are their friends? The D.J. ate them, probably. Hence, the scowl.

You've got to hate this breed of generally intoxicated, highly uncoordinated and totally unapologetic people. The stompers can be male or female. The male stompers are never the ones who wear nice soft sneakers, they wear those leather shoes with hard soles which hurt when they step on your foot. The female stompers are inevitably in 6 inch stillettos. Therefore, the pain you experience when it forcefully decends upon your foot is barely short of the pain you'd feel when your foot is being stabbed.
Stompers dance around without a care in the world. They step on several people's feet and the people who are around them are constantly concocting plots to get rid of them. You see, they're either too blissfully oblivious or too snooty to even apologise for the damage they're causing.

D.J. lovers are the ones that yell and hoot all the time, pointing at the D.J. at his console and giving him a thumbs up or such like. They're loving everything being played, even if it's a cheap old bollywood hit from the 90s which most people have desperately erased from their memories.

Wall dancers on the other hand usually dance against the console. They put one hand on the wall and squirm around. Either they really like the D.J. or assume that this act makes them look very appealing. The D.J. doesn't usually care and I don't think they are appealing to too many people either.

Some people need to be told to get a room! Especially the P.D.A. brigade. Okay it's sweet that people are comfortable being affectionate with their loved ones wherever they are but please, draw a line at how affectionate you want to be. We don't enjoy watching undescribable 'chee-chee' things when we're out supposedly having fun. Please do not scandalise us so, find a more private outlet for all those feelings. We would appreciate that.

Every place has at least one of these. They walk in like they own the place, wink at the bouncers, pat the bartender on the shoulder and call him by name. Most of the time, the bouncers and other employees barely know the guy and look rather confused, but the "regular" is in the zone. He/she self assured, or at least that's what the swagger is supposed to indicate. It doesn't get cooler than that.

So please don't be one of the above and subject us to your hideous clubbing personalities. Show compassion for humanity and do not seek to invoke a look of disgust upon out faces. We would appreciate it very much if you do. Also, if you spill your drink on me, I will hunt you down, and kill you!

Saturday, December 19, 2009


I was under the impression that I could get spam only via email. Thankfully there has been a notable reduction in the number of mails that say "Send this to 7 people within the next 12 minutes and a your Fairy Godmother will appear and drop you straight into Richie Rich's mansion where you will find all the money in the world, your true love, and a diamond as big as your arse!". I don't deny that they still exist and no, I don't believe that if I read a "horror" email and don't pass it on, a rabid goat will appear and eat my brains at midnight. Also, I don't really need anything offered to me over the internet which will make me money in Indonesia or increase my sex appeal.

But forget about email spam, that's old news. Facebook spam is all the rage right now. Well maybe I don't get several mails in my facebook inbox with random information, but here are a few things I consider to be facebook spam on my homepage [to name a few]:
  • FarmVille
  • YoVille
  • Mafia Wars
  • Crazy Taxi
  • Quizzes about the type of alcohol/flower/animal/furniture you are
  • Quizzes about which movie/twilight/comic book/cartoon character you are
  • Random communities you have joined

The list goes on but I will stop here. There is an option not to publish all the random things you do on facebook. I suggest generous use of the 'skip' button when facebook asks you whether you want to publish things or not. There are also several people who take the quizzes seriously. I have come across a person who told me that she was good at math cause a facebook quiz told her so. If I had functioned according to facebook, I would've been following the profession of my destiny according to one of the quiz-makers which is to be a nanny. [Nannies are awesome, and I respect what they do, simply because I cannot do the same.]

The communities are even more confusing. I joined one of them just to see what it's about and it's called "I Chase And Roar At Squirrels And Sometimes Get Caught And It's Awkward". It currently has 2,279 members, I promise. And in that community, people either just talk about arbit and unconnected things, or actually describe their Squirrel chasing encounters. At least it's remotely entertaining. Don't judge me for joining.

What's even worse is the "If 94859345 People Join, My Girlfriend Will Marry Me And We Will Make Babies" communities. Firstly, what kind of whack-job is that girlfriend? Secondly, what would you DO in such a community? Alright it's sweet. Awwwww! Mr Stranger McQuackGirlfriend gets babies. But I don't care. You know why? It's because I don't care, really.

Fortunately though, facebook has been kind enough to offer me the option to block posts from certain applications and people if you choose to. For this, I thank facebook. And those of you who spam us, Shame On You!

Friday, December 18, 2009

Why So Snotty, Shorty?

:::Cliche Statement Alert:::
Why is it that after all this advancement in medical science, a common cold still plagues us so?

My nose is leaky, my head hurts, my eyes are burning and my throat is scratchy. I woke up in a sweat; my fever broke. I don't know what I'm typing cause my screen is slightly blurry. But I feel like if I don't document this feeling, it will pass me by and I would never want to think about it again. If any of you want to remind me why that's a bad thing, please do.

I was wondering what exactly causes such a thing. It is a virus,yes. But how does it look? I don't want to see what it looks like under a microscope. I want to know what it wants to look like. Fangs? Red eyes? Pout? Orange in colour? And most of all, I want to know what it's thinking when it and its friends decide to sweep the area and cause a phenomenon of red runny noses and throbbing heads. Is it malicious? Or is it just being darwinian and surviving? Honestly though, I think that it doesn't need to worry about survival since the most destructive race on planet Earth hasn't found a way to kill it... yet.

They say that your heart stops for a fraction of a second when you sneeze. For me, I think it's not just my heart, it's my brain, my ears [I seriously can't hear], and my diaphragm does this weird thing. Also, with a stoppage of my brain, there's a stoppage of my sense of direction, my sense of sense, etc. To illustrate, I have, on three seperate occasions, slammed my head with full momentum on to the bathroom sink while attempting to sneeze into it. Thankfully, my skull is intact [I hope], and my brain is still functional in all its pink, fleshy glory.

The only thing worse than a sneeze is an almost sneeze. A 'Ha' without a 'Choo'. It's tragic and depriving. A sneeze, though annoying, is satisfying. Much like a yawn, a stretch or a mexican wave at a cricket stadium. When any of these are left incomplete, it gnaws at you till you find a way to complete it. Even worse than a sneeze that didn't complete itself, is a sneeze that didn't complete itself because of an external force like the loud honking of a bus, or an annoying friend [who you might like otherwise but since they stopped your sneeze, they classify as positively annoying].

So while I nurse my pitiable condition, I have come to the conclusion that the cold virus wants to be purple. This is because it would be red if it was bad and blue if it was just normal and darwinian [if it was good it would be green but I don't believe that it can be good]; and since I can't decide, it is now, officially, a combination of the two. Hence it is purple.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Of Mama's Boys and Silly Brains

We all get an education. We have to get an education. I mean, where would we be without an education? Unthinkable! Now, what comes along with that education? They come in many shapes, sizes and colours, they are a breed of their own with strange patterns of socialisation, and nobody knows what they eat. That's right, teachers!

Everyone has quirky teachers who do all kinds of strange thing. It's like back in highschool when every single kid I met claimed that their teacher [usually the one in charge of Physical Training], and nobody else's said one of the following things:
  • Stand in a straight circle
  • Open the window and let the atmosphere come in
  • Boys to the left, girls to the right, rest in the middle
  • The school's principal just passed away [instead of passed by]

And such like. These are completely unoriginal and in all probability, one professor said something along those lines about two decades ago and updated versions of the same [trust me, I've heard them in different permutations and combinations], constantly crop up to my utter displeasure.

Fortunately, university life brings with it a putting to rest of those jokes. But unfortunately for me, it also brought with it an extremely awkward, incorrect and misinformed professor. I fear that I might imbibe some of his so called values. He believes that we must get a well rounded education due to which he must give us life lessons rather than teach us the law. "Forget about the law!", is his trademark line. Sounded to me like he'd forgotten it a long time ago and couldn't bother reminding himself in order to teach a class. Here are some of his invaluable teachings.


Our first class with this man began with him telling us that handsome boys were always "mamas boys" and they had only one thing on their minds. Once they marry you, they'd do te deed and never take any more responsibility ever! Pretty girls, on the other hand, had "silly brains". If boys marry them, they'll mother them and make them wish they were never born. Therefore, we should never get married.

One day, I loudly and vehemently agreed with him when he said the following thing: "You know, students; All the ideas I get for your class, I get when I'm in the toilet. Can you believe that thing?". I mean, what did you expect me to do? Obviously, this ended up in a retaliation with him telling me that I would not get married and that was a hypocrit because at 19, I couldn't come up with a reason for getting married. Don't ask! I'm still trying to make the connection.


Our resident love pundit professor told us that we could never be in love. This is because 20 and 21 year olds are only capable of "puppy love" and not commitment. Also, he told us to steer clear of actors and actresses like Salman Khan and Priyanka Chopra because they'd always think they can do better than us and then leave us high and dry. Listen to the man. Don't date famous people.


So we're in a law school. Mr. Studly McProfessor here is supposed to teach us law. A student proposed a hypothetical case and asked him about the point of law which could be used. Here was the prompt reply "You see, in the coutroom, it's about the emotion. We have to bring in the emotions to convince the people. The law, you can even forget!"

I mean, are you serious man?

So as you might have all assessed by now, I don't know how I'd be getting on in the world without this professor. He has taught me all the important things in life, which are outside the law, yet extremely vital. If not for him, I would be dating Salman Khan and not thinking of marriage. But thanks to him, I am now married and have made my husband sign a piece of paper certifyng that our love isn't just "puppy love"

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

10 Rupees Extra, Madam

Everyone hates Bengaluru traffic. To be fair, it is wall to wall, apalling, loud, cranky, disorganised, stuffy, dangerous, time consuming, heart rate increasing, traffic policeman hating and dangerous fume releasing; all at the same time. Especially for a person like me who travels mostly in autos, my mind can't stop reverting back to those pictures of charred lungs that one finds behind the box of a 'Gold Flake' cigarette pack.

But you know what we've always liked about Bangalore, especially compared to Madras; the auto rikshaw drivers run according to their meter. Rs. 14 for the first 2 kilometers and an added Rs. 7 for every extra one there onwards. That's fair. Sure, you've got to pay extra when it's really late at night or really early in the morning, but we can deal with that.

Somewhere down the line, a Madras auto driver came to Bangalore, found a Bangalorean auto driver and said "Dai! Meter aa? THOO!". And then it dawned upon the Bangalore auto drivers that they could fleece us blind when the time is right.

The aforementioned fleecing started with a request of "10 rupees extra, madam" when it came to long distances. This, we didn't mind so much as it was better than the "Hrmph!", followed by the quick driving off. You see, Bangalore auto drivers are very picky about where they want to go. They look at prospective customers and evaluate their area-request depending on their agenda. If it's somewhere in the vicinity but not close enough, they pause for 4 and a half seconds, shake their heads, and drive off. If it is completely out of the way, they look at you like you've just asked them to bring you a piece of moon rock, scowl, grunt and drive away very fast. I used to feel bad the first few times for offending them so. But afterwards I decided that I was the offendee and not the offender.

Tying in to the topic of raised fares, the auto drivers, after their Madras influence, have decided that it isn't enough just to make offensive gestures at those who don't want to go where you want to take them. Their new tactic is to ask for an astounding amount of money. For example, I wanted to return home from a mall close by. The distance is exactly 1.3 KM, give or take a few meters. The driver who didn't really want to take me there asked me for Rs. 80. I thought that Rs. 18 was a strange but reasonable request, until he said "eiiiiiiiiight... jirooooooo, eightyyyyyyy". That's when I decided to walk.

So while there is still a lot of fluctuation between the extremes i.e. honest guys running on the meter and crazy guys charging you outlandish rates; I think I'll settle for the moderate guys. A compromise of sorts, for "10 Rupees extra, madam!"

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The Roommate

As far as roommates go, I haven't been very lucky. People who know me have probably put up with endless complaints from me about the exploits of my various strange and abnormal roommates who manage to creep out even me. That's a hard thing to do.

My second roommate gave me her pearls of wisdom about marriage and how I wasn't a good bridal candidate cause I'm not fair [PALE] enough. But in terms of being just. plain. creepy. my current roommate takes the cake. To address her obscurities, I'm going to systematically put down her traits.


There is a lot to be said about one who is unhealthily addicted to a disney character. I would be rather comfortable with her privately enjoying Minnie Mouse, but when a person posesses the following, it gets disturbing:

  • A 3 feet tall stuffed Minnie Mouse staring at me, constantly.
  • A Minnie Mouse picture stuck above her bed
  • Minnie Mouse wallpaper on her computer
  • Minnie mouse screen saver as well
  • Minnie Mouse theme on her phone
Okay so it's not unbelievably hard to deal with the last 3, as such, but it adds to the magnitude of creepdom in general. Here's the incident that made me believe that I was in trouble.

I walked into my room one day to find my roomie standing and staring at her giant stuffed Minnie Mouse laying on her bed. I said "Hi", in response to which she said "I love my Minnie!". "Good for you!" I said, trying not to worry. "I really love her in this position; when she's upside down, I like looking at her panties!" was her response, followed by a giggle.

I covered my head and went to sleep, fearing for my safety as I was rooming with a disney molesting stranger.


Do you stick posters on your walls? On your wardrobes too, maybe? Cause I do! I have a large poster of Rorschach of the Watchmen on my wall. I also have one of Andy Warhol. On my wardrobe, there's one of Arctic Monkeys, Velvet Revolver, Goldspot, etc.

My roomie is too cool for posters. Her wardrobe has garbage stuck on it. Mostly candy wrappers, discounting the empty packet of chips. She sticks the wrappers of everything she eats, and persumably enjoys eating, on her wardrobe. This incudes the followng wrappers:

  • Cadbury's Dairy Milk
  • Bar One
  • Orbit Chewing Gum
  • Wrigley's Double Mint Chewing gum.

And I'm sure there were a few others. What am I to make of this? I know not.


So most people love the phone and a lot of people compromise their sleep to have endless conversations. I, for one, put my phone on silent mode and sleep through the entire night. My roommate, on the other hand, talks on the phone till 3 am and sleeps whenever she gets time during the day.

Well, I'm sure a lot of you will say "What's your problem? That's how we nocturnal people function! Do you have an issue? Stop discriminating against us late sleepers!" I have nothing against nocturnal people. I think they should be embraced, in fact. But I DO have a problem with nocturnal people who interfere with my sleep, but think they don't.

My roomie, for example, is on the phone all night. But she refuses to step out of the room to take her call. She needs to talk all night, while I'm in here, trying to sleep. And what if I fuss and tell her I can't sleep? She starts whispering into the phone. And not just any whisper; the loudest whisper you'll ever hear. It can be more aptly defined as raspy yelling into the phone.

Can't a poor girl get some sleep around here?


I noticed that there are a breed of people who believe that the bathroom floor should be completely wet. I understand that this comes from an old school Indian view that water means clean and if the floors wet, then it must've been cleaned recently. WRONG!

A wet bathroom floor, my friends causes the following problems:

  • The tiniest bit of dirt on your footwear/foot leaves tracks on the floor
  • When you pull down your pants to pee, the bottom of them get wet
  • It's uncomfortable

Therefore, if any of you would be so kind as to contact my roommate and tell her that she needn't spray the whole bathroom everyday, I will be very grateful. I don't understand what happiness she derives from wetting the entire bathroom [including the mirror, walls, etc.] and stomping around in it.

Any ideas as to why such a thing could be enjoyable? Please leave them in the comments.

Of Vlogs

After weeks of debating with myself about whether I wanted to be a blogger or a vlogger, I decided to try blogging due to the following reasons:
  • The chances of me embarassing myself are less; not non-existent, but less
  • I don't feel as awkward typing as I feel trying to talk to a camera
  • If it doesn't work out, I can just pretend that my blog never existed
  • I don't need to deal with youtube comments from bored brazilians telling me that I look like a boy and I should get a life.

I should also take the time to mention that the biggest con for me when it comes to blogging is that I typo a lot. The most common of my typos being "borthday". But the pros of blogging enlisted above closed the deal for me and I am now, officially, a blogger.

Alright so right now, since my mind is drawing an epic blogging blank [FAIL], I am going to talk about youtube. I mean, what's better than blogging about vlogs, right? IN YOUR FACE!

I won't lie, I'd like to say that I'm busy all the time doing important things like saving the world, but I spend a lot of time on YouTube. I love vlogs. I am absolutely baffled though, that people can be so spontaneous, witty and interesting when they're alone with nothing but a camera [most of the time]. But then is strikes me that they're probably all those things BECAUSE they're alone with just their blinking camera. I really enjoy the vlogs of AmazingPhil and MattG124 to name a few.

My life is too boring for me to vlog. Especially after the decision to get into law school, especially MY law school, which I now fear was driven purely by a sense of self loathing. Vloggers have such interesting lives. Especially when they're successful vloggers, cause then they make their lives more interesting for their vlogs to be more interesting. The more obscure, strange and funny they are, the more famous they are. I'm sure if I actually saw a vlogger I liked on the street I'd yell, run at them and ask for an autograph before I remind myself that I'm acting like a 10 year old who just saw Joe Jonas. The point being, vloggers actually turn into celebrities. I bet they even have stalkers. And twitter and facebook make stalking oh so simple. But we don't like stalkers, do we?

And since stalkers are such an unpleasant subject, I'm going to leave you now with a public message very close to my heart. DON'T STALK PEOPLE. Think of all the people you will be traumatising and ask yourself "What would Oprah do?"