Livinghigh: Calorific Value of a Sunday

Living HIGH

It doesn't take hydrogen gas. Or riding a shuttle.
Or snorting on the whitest, finest powder this side of La-la-land.
(It might take an extra spoonful of sugar, but maybe that's just me.)

PHOTOblog

Say hello, shutterbug
Pixelated livingHIGH

Storyteller

Fiction, I write
The Gabbles

Creative Commons License

Daily Toon Click to enlarge

Cartoons by Andertoons

The Chain

Broadcast Bitches
Post a Secret Picture
Gee, baby!
Akshay
August, English August
Neha New
Truman Times
Stop the Presses!
Viewing 360 Degress
Coffee on the House
Casablanca
Jups Juice
Cow lickin' Stuff
Que Sarah Sarah
New Age Sarah
Anti-Darth Vadar
The Traveler
Progga and the Mambo

Scrapbook

January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
January 2008
February 2008

Once Upon A Time

Some more funky stuff from mua
Some of the more sensible stuff - same guy

Get Informed

Bombay Blast!
Identity Theory
The Guardian
Classical Mythology
The Onion - seriously fun
The Hoot

Signatures

...Who're you?

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Calorific Value of a Sunday

Lazy Sunday morning and I've got a terrible headache (engendered by a terrible cold) and a terrible hangover (engendered by a terribly great party last night). Potent combination. But I grinned through tandoori chicken and mutton khichda this morning because food, after all, is what we live for, and I hogged through the kulfi-falooda and the gelato that came after that as well. O, well, gelato at least is supposed to be 94% fat-free.

Note to self: must stop counting calories.

Larger note to self: Are ya kiddin' yerself, moron?! Have ya looked at the mirror lately?!

Schizophrenic brain battles between the bulge and the beautiful, even as the papers go haywire on the topic of Spanish models not allowed to be stick-thin anymore. They say, it's all about propagating the right values. So, you wouldn't want your daughter/ son to look like a dead tree, about ready to collapse from its own (negligible) weight. But then, you also wouldn't like him/ her to look like the typical obese American. Move over McDonalds and KFC, Hello 94% fat-free gelato. At least, that's what Mumbai seems to say.

... cuz the truth is: there's no such thing as low-fat Indian food. Was at the Hilton recently on an event and, as usual, I hogged on the potatoes and the paneer and the kaali dal and the chicken and the mutton and the chocolate mousse and the rabdi, and during the pigfest, I turned towards a colleague and wondered aloud, how much weight I'd gained after getting this job.

That's when the imbecile puts on a worried face and says, "Actually, I've lost weight after getting this job." Aaaa well, what does he know ? - silly flunky who jumps around when orders are barked at him - he's supposed to get stressed out and lose weight.

I just realised, I sound like a horrible human being in the last para. Looks like I'm not losing my touch after all! ;-)

1 Comments:

I have no idea how people like sweets and ice creams and the like. Beats me.

By Casablanca, at 12:40 PM