An Open Letter to DM Theatrics Regarding Two Gentlemen of Lebowski: Please Youtube This!

This is a letter to DM Theatrics, who are planning to put up a production of 2 Gentlemen of Lebowski sometime soon.

from: ViralFish
to: press@dm-theatrics.com
subject: An Open Letter to DM Theatrics Regarding Two Gentlemen of Lebowski: Please Youtube This!



Ok, this is clearly not a press request. However, its the only contact email I had for the fine gentlepeople who were magnanimous enough to stage a production of Two Gentlemen of Lebowski. Therefore, if you are one of these gentlepeople who are capable of making decisions about this, please consider my proposal. If you are not, and know one of these gentlepeople (whew, political correctness takes more effort to type), please forward this to them. Thank you.


Guys,

As a follower of the Dude and as an unabashed supporter of the Bard and all Bardly performances, I would so have loved to attend this event. My chagrin at being unable to attend is aggravated by the fact that I was in New York until a few months ago, and have returned recently to my native India. It is in this spirit that I present to you a modest proposal:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE YOUTUBE THIS!!!

You may think there are a thousand reasons why you shouldn't do this but I have presented a brief analysis of those that I can fathom:

1. It will kill demand for seats in the actual theatre

No it wont. Under no circumstances will it do so. Nuh uh. Not a chance.

The Big Lebowski is a movie that has attained cult status (No, I'm not kidding at all, look it up on wikipedia). This means that its fanbase may not encompass the bloated ranks of your average 'Twilight' movie. In fact, to all appearances, its fans may not appear even half as fanatical as your average neo-vampire pseudogoth who applies fake blood on her wrists 'for Edward' every day. However, that is because the followers of the Dude are not fans. They are disciples. They have internalised the Dude in body and spirit.

For every moron who looks at a q-tip and says 'What is this?' there is a Dude waiting to say 'obviously you are not a golfer'.
For every tool who screams out at us: 'The bums lost! The bums will always lose!", there is a Dude who is willing to put his hands up, say 'fuck it' and saunter out with his pick of any rug in the house.
For every bigot, chauvinist, fanatic and fundamentalist, there is a Dude who will stand up to them and say 'That's just, like, your opinion man.'

These people will come. They will prefer to come because, for a follower of the Dude, watching an enactment of Two Gentlemen of Lebowski is the same experience as Christmas mass is to a practicing Catholic: You can try to watch it on tv, but thats just not the same as mouthing the lines together, enjoying a feeling of communal brotherhood with your fellow follower or enjoying tasty snacks mid-performance (ok that last one was in bad taste).

They may not try to pay, because, come on man, the Dude didn't teach us to pay (except in the form of dubious checks for sixty nine cents). You may find a few more followers trying to sneak in through backstage than through the front of the theater. You may even find a few people disguised as security men who suddenly attempt to sidle into an extra seat. However, you will fill your seats. And with a few intelligent ushers, I'm sure almost all of them will be paid for. So thats not something you have to worry about.


3. It will be a pain in the ass to do.

Oh come on man, it will not. Now you're just being plain lazy. Which is cool, and very understandable. But if you guys dont have the time and energy to do it, just ask around man. I will bet you that someone will do it, probably for a pretty nominal fee, possibly for free. And it will be worth it, for reasons that I am outlining below.

3. It will kill demand for a video
You may already have plans to record this show and sell it. If you do, I'm sure you'll make some cash. But lets look at this realistically. There's 2 reasons why you may not get to make much cash out of this if youre only going to put out a paid performance.

a. Your audience comprises followers of the Dude. Their preferred means of access to anything is 'free', after which comes 'cheap'. And if there's one other thing a follower of the Dude likes, its sticking it to the man, low risk style. Put these two factors together and for every 1 dvd you sell, there will be 10 Dudes watching a pixellated low-res bootleg video of your show. As a guy who is interested in intellectual property, I can tell you that that's actually not such a bad thing. In this day and age, for every 1 copy of a blockbusterr dvd sold, there's 1 copy being pirated. But pirated copies tend to build demand for the original, and in the long run, can actually feed sales for the original work. (I should probably link to something here but I'm on a roll. Just take my word for it.)

b. However, this model applies well to blockbusters and big-studio productions because they have the cash to publicise this stuff endlessly, so even if 1 million guys pirate their movies, another 1 million have heard enough about them to go buy the original on dvd. However, you guys do not have that luxury. You do not have big budgets and you do not have enough clout to publicise something like this by conventional means.
What you do have is the power of the followers.
The Dude is very much an internet icon, being the sort of person who appeals to people who spend a lot of time giggling-high on something in front of a computer. Put out a youtube clip of 2 Gentlemen, and these people will transmit that information online faster than 2 girls and 1 keyboard cat. After that, you've got eyeballs, which is the biggest currency in the world today, more so, I imagine, for a group of people whose revenues are dependent on people seeing and hearing them perform. Let your imagination run wild.

c. And you can be sure some of these guys will be youtubing this stuff anyway. Sure, you can try as hard as you can to make sure no one takes grainy, horrible, low-res cellphone videos of the show, but in the end, someones going to put that shit on youtube. And I am going to watch it. And feel terrible about the fact that I missed this wonderful performance and all I get is a minute and a half of some nutjob who decided to record the show in the middle of an epileptic fit.

On the other hand, if you put that stuff on youtube yourself, you will have instantaneous coverage. The Dude is beloved all over the world, and if you combine the love of the Dude with the love of the Bard, you have a recipe for viral success! People will watch, and while watching, they may actually love it enough to want to get a DVD of your performance.

Also, a theatrical performance is, by its nature, ephemeral. A moment of beauty, then gone forever, save in the minds of those fortunate enough to witness it. A youtube video is not usually considered beautiful. But it is a record, one that hopefully may be perused by generations after ours, in an effort to understand the creature that was early 21st century man. Please man, leave them with something better to see than '2 Girls 1 Cup'.

You may have reasons other than this, but I just ran out of energy. Let me just end this appeal to your higher (and lower) conscience by imploring you,

in the name of the Dude and the Bard,

to consider and act upon the reasons I have offered.

ViralFish

P.S. I call this an open request because I may post in on my blog, ViralFish. If you are concerned about this, worry not, as the 6 people who follow my blog will agree with me wholeheartedly, while at the same time supporting your noble endeavour 100%.

The Jelly Mould and Suicide Advice

Over the past few days I've been living inside a jelly mould. Moving involves an effort that I can't usually be bothered to take. Getting up off a bed is like fighting more than just gravity. Everything tastes the same uniform taste inside the jelly mould. Jelly. Conversations and personal interaction make it through some sort of viscous, colourless filter that strips everything down into a monotonous droning hum, sort of like carrying on a conversation after going 24 hours without sleep, but without the feverbright buzzing at the back of your head.


No I am not living inside a jelly mould called Daniel.


The tragic part is, this hellhole of a City has actually been beautiful over the past few days. Steady unseasonal rains for the past three days. Beautiful green streets and lovely weather.

It is sometimes possible for me to be unnaturally influenced by a recent piece of literature. Considering I've just finished reading The Bell Jar, I shouldn't be too surprised.



Not a jelly mould (but close).


Today I mildly pondered the possibility that I'm depressed. I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that one of the symptoms of depression was ennui. I also remembered that another important symptom was contemplating methods of killing oneself. Not merely exploring the possibility, but analysing the options, based on predetermined criteria. I then realised that I had never really given serious thought to the methods by which I may choose to kill myself. I have considered earlier the manner in which I would like to die (in my sleep, peaceful-like), but I realised that reflecting on how one would like to die bears little or no connection to how one would like to kill oneself. For one thing, the motivations for killing oneself may vary greatly from the motivations for dying (it could be argued that there is no real motive for just dying, but I don't really agree). You could kill yourself

a) out of sheer boredom,
b) out of sheer despair,
c) out of self-hatred,
d) as a simple 'fuck you' to the world or someone in particular, or
e) in rare circumstances, out of consideration for other people.
f) Any permutation or combination of any or all of the above factors



A reasonable illustration of motives a) and c)


A reasonable illustration of motive e)

While there may be other motivations, these are the ones I could come up with. Having selected a suitable motive or a bouquet of motives, it is then important to choose the general tone with which you could choose to end it all. Of course, according to your motives and your general levels of squeamishness, there are a variety of methods you could choose. In fact, the list of ways you could think of to kill yourself is almost limitless. However, for the sake of brevity, we could limit ourselves to a few important highlights. You could decide to:

a) Have a big, messy ending (e.g. jumping off a building)
b) Have a quiet, non-messy ending (e.g. take sleeping pills and drift away or the Sylvia Plath special)
c) Have a macho sort of ending (e.g. commit seppuku or shooting yourself)
d) Have an absurd, ridiculous sort of ending (take sleeping pills while standing on the edge of a tall building with a samurai sword strategically placed on the ground below. And a chicken.)
e) Have a long, painful ending (you could drink yourself to death like that guy in Leaving Las Vegas)
f) Have a long, (relatively) painless ending (slit your wrists and blow bubbles in your bath tub till you die. Or you could read a book, if you don't own a bathtub)
g) Have a stupid, desperate, suffering, extremely messy ending (hang yourself and void your bowels)
h) Have a long, drawn out, dramatic ending (drown yourself.)
g) Have an extremely psychedelic ending (overdose on something lethal and interesting)




Seppuku: A cool way to die



Chicken = What were you thinking?


may= +
Note: Studies have shown that an attempt at suicide by psychedelic drugs may result in seppuku with a chicken.


The presence or absence of witnesses at any of these will depend upon a number of factors, including whether you want the world (or that special person) to whom you want to deliver that final 'fuck you' to notice. Of course, in these wonderfully networked times, it is quite possible for you to deliver your message to the entire world with little more than a webcam, a laptop and a decent internet connection. Just make sure the angles are right because you know there won't be any second attempts for this little stunt :-) .

If youre really serious about this whole thing and not some sort of emofreak who's just craving attention, it is suggested that you please stop bellyaching about it to all and sundry before youre going to do it.

Also, it is inconsiderate and sloppy to get someone to help you out, so try not to. Unless of course, you're too chicken to do it yourself and you're paying someone good money to do it or you, in which case, it is advised that you hire a professional with good references.


A professional with good references.

Now that I have effectively contemplated suicide in as many of its motivations and forms as have occurred to me, I can officially classify myself as depressed. Hooray.

The moral of the story, children, is Look both ways before crossing the Street. Or don't. It's up to you after all.

Ultimate addict

I have discovered that I have a problem. Even better than my problem,
however, is how I discovered that I have a problem. The irony of my
situation descended upon me when I googled the phrase "internet
addiction".

Cartoon Crickets.

Chirp chirp.

Staring at this expansive white space, I can almost hear the cartoon crickets in my cobwebby brain, reminding me that I seem to have nothing to say. I saw a movie yesterday where a man stared at his face in the mirror and said "while there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory... I simply am not there." Staring at this screen, I feel somehow similar, as if, confronted by the infinite blank voidness of this screen, all the pictures and smells and violent impulses that constitute me have fled, and there is nothing in there except cartoon crickets. I think I suffer from screen fright. Every night I open a new document, to pour my life out into. Once I'm seated in front of this beautiful, slightly dust marred expanse of potential verbal wizardry, everything disappears. I stare at the screen, stonefaced, waiting for something important to happen, or some sound other than cartoon crickets. Then I close the window and play Half Life 2.

Wait a second, those are real crickets.

Chaos

Reigns supreme.

Oh what a world it seems we live in

Ok, major update due...

First off, winter is here. Winter is back in Delhi. How do I know. Firstly, we've actually had great weather for the past three days. Secondly, and more importantly, an old, familiar smell has come back to me.The smell of the flowers that smell like cardamom.

The flowers that smell like cardamom have been with me for about three years now. When I had my first job, I used to drive back, or be driven back at 2 in the morining about once every alternate day. The flowers that smelt like cardamom were there. Of course, at the time, I used to think that the smell came from all the elaichi tea that all the night watchmen all over Delhi made in order to keep them warm in the freezing winter nights. Now I'm told the smell comes from a flower. It doesn't matter to me. It smells like winter. Like Rufus Wainwright and Neil Gaiman. Inextricably tied with winter.

Secondly, don't ever live on bread, jam and butter for a week. It weakens your bowels and kills your will to live. I've been writing lies about myself all week and subsisting on breadbutterjam to help me through the ordeal. Breadbutterjam for breakfast may be a good idea. After a week you begin to lose your humanity.

Thirdly, this must be my second month living in limbo. Living in limbo sucks. You don't know if you're going to hell or heaven. You just hang there, suspended in space, watching the stars above and the fires below, and wondering if you will fall or rise. The funny thing is, I think most people, whether they deserve to or not, believe in the fall. Somehow, I think limbo is worse than heaven or hell. Certainty flies out the window as you stare at the void around you. In hell, you know what awaits you, and if youre strong enough, you accept it and bare your chest to the flames. In heaven, you rest, peaceful and relieved. In limbo, you stare afraid, forever wondering whether you will fall or rise.

Fourthly, I've missed a bus. Or a train, or a plane. I've sat around at the stop, watching my carefully laid plans drive past, staring after the number plate and the passengers in the back window, friends all, crowding the back window, wondering if there's any way it will stop and let me get back on, hoping I'll catch the next. Plans and plans and plans... We always make the best plans in our heads. Real life fucks them up in unimaginable ways. Like my brother said, I should have had a backup.

Fifthly, I've begun obsessing about Rufus Wainwright. I've even begun imagining the conversations we would have if we ever met.

Me: Rufus Wainwright?
Rufus: Hey, yeah that's me, what can I do for you?
Me: Rufus
R: (a little worried) Yes?
Me: Can I ask you a question?
R: Sure man, as long as you're not asking the obvious ones.
Me: Do you really think that men reading fashion magazines is such a strange thing?
R: Oh what a world we live in.
Me: Blank eyed admiration.
R: Whatever happens, never forget Bolero.

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Wha?

Bloing. Post Friday night special. That contented, filled, semisozzled, pacified feeling. Then, of course, you spend half the day in office. Aaaah, the joy of life. I'm going back to Maddu ras soon. Maddu ras, here I come. In the meantime, the Antitrust-IP Guidelines await, with sharpened teeth and black slimy tongues.

Mood meter: Wha?

Reset.

Normality seems restored today. In fact, I seem to have come out the other side.

 

The temperature in Delhi today was 4 degrees celsius minimum. I'm not sure what it was at 8:00 in the morning today. I decided to have a cold water bath. Was re-educated on the principles of heat transfer when steam started coming off me. Realised that abovesaid steam was actually vital internal body heat disappearing into the air. Continued anyway.

 

Now, a few hours later, I feel as if I've been reset. Most educational.

 

Worth trying once, but not more than.

Bzzzzzzzzz

That strange feeling that starts in your eyes and moves through your head when you haven't slept in 24 hours. I assume a caffeine high feels like this. I've never had one, though I drink lots of coffee. Symptoms:

1. bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

2. everything is surreal and unconnected to reality, like images viewed through a thick glass pane.

3. people are talking to you, and you can hear what they saying, but relating to them is like pushing through gelatine. Your reactions are on instinct, from a subconscious rulebook you've picked up over years of human survival and etiquette. Nothing really matters.

4. And finally, an underlying layer of bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

 

And then, somewhere in the middle of the day, you crash. Total systems shutdown.

 

The only thing I can compare it to is Fever Bright.

All filing clerks, watch out

Sometimes you need support in that slow and painful march against common sense. Firm, dedicated fighters who know their way around a potato. Featured on your right, from now on, will be the print version personas of all the people who've dedicated some part of their lives to fighting sense and sensibility, and bloody burning all the rest of those Goddamn Jane Austen books as well, god i cant stand them.

Ze Photoblog!

Hello peepulz! I am now having phenomenon called the photoblog! the next step in virus infected marine evolution is here! for all you not-so-informed bloggers out there, it's pretty simple. there's this cool software out there called Hello! which is a picture IM software. I've just downloaded it five minutes ago so I'm not quite sure how it goes ( but its short and its sweet and I knew it complete when i wore a younger man's clothes).... um, ah, anyway, It lets you post pitures straight to your blog! which means all my grainy cellphone snap pics can finally be shown to a worldwide audience and I can be shown for the genius I am ! Hah!! Please appreciating my first pic from my phonecam... Khan Market, Delhi... the ultimate Delhi snobspot... But still one of the more fun snobspots i've seen. Bookshops to wander, expensive lasagna's that would cover a meal for 3 at any Chinese vandi, cool shops selling exotic phoren foods like blackberry jam and cheese stuffed olives in brine... this rather nice cafe called cafe turtle where I happened to have some amazing chocolate cake for free because it had a bit of glass in it... long story, some other time maybe... Perhaps in this manner I can satisfy my insanely craving public.

My kingdom for bengali rock

When people speak of the ghost of things past, you can never figure them out until they haunt you.

My ghosts are mostly aural in nature. The sound of mock screams mixed with mirthful laughter, the sweet cacophony of eminem, lynyrd skynyrd, bhangra and led zeppelin all playing from four different corners at max volume. The random screaming of totally unrelated words for the pure shock value. Hour long discussions about whether if you swallow half a kilo of spinach, your crap'll be green the next day.

I miss my hostel. I miss all the chaos, all the pointles ennui, all the cameraderie born out of pure mutual joblessness.

The place was an experience.Curse and scream all you want those who are in there, and heave huge sighs of relief if youre out. But you cant deny it. We had a blast.

To NALSAR. And all the good times. Vive la Bengali Rock

Welcome my son... Welcome. To the Machine

Money. Its a gas. Have a cigar, boy, you're gonna go far. If any of you floydians out there think this article is about an over publicised band whi cant even stick to what they write by, then you can all go to hell. I'm merely using some rather appropriate lines to methaphorise my life. Yes indeedy,ladies, gentlemen and sundry eunuchs, I have sold out, so to speak. I have sacrified my values, my beliefs and most of my free time to the altar of Mammon. I have got what is referred to in the trade parlance as A JOB.
To tell you the truth, its not so bad. It's actually pretty fun, life is pretty enjoyable, alcohol flows rather freely and, well, generally, things are ok. Except for the fact that i have had anda real freetime to spend on this here blog. Thats ok. I've used most of it to finish STAR WARS: KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC. AAaah... escapism. You gotta love it. A dream is a wish your heart makes... when youre fast asleep... In a dream you can leave your heartaches... Whatever you wish for you keep.
Sorry, a little stream of consciousness writing over there. Hey, James Joyce gets away with it. Why not me?
I saw some really interesting stuff on another guys blog called found poetry. Never heard of it until now. It involves poetry composed of words you see around you. Only. I am now prepared to torture you with some.

Aim Aim.
Do not.
Ctrl.Alt.Del
Philips do not.
Finished when off.
Pump. Choice of new generation.
Fridge the internet baby.
Aim.
That sucked.

That last line wasnt part of the poetry by the way.

Whe I was very young, I used to have these strange fantasies.

I used to wish that one day, all the dirt, the grime, the sludge, all the muck in the world would suddenly levitate, fly up into the air, hover over the atmosphere and then disappear, and everything would be spotless, clean and... nice.

When I grew older I saw this article in the paper. It was an interview with this Serbian (or was it Bosnian?, or Slovak? I dont remember). He was talking about how he used to kill mothers and children in a small mountain town thereabouts. At long range.
First, he would get them in their sights.
The mother would probably be running, with her child held protectively in front of her.
Then, he would take careful aim.
Shoot
And get the child in the stomach. So he wouldnt die instantly.
Then, he would watch the mother in agony while she screamed and her child's lifeblood drained away in jerks and shivers.
Then he would shoot her in the head.

I think it was that night when I went to bed and dreamed that somehow, all the bad men, the evil men, they were suddenly levitated, lifted high into the sky, and then, somehow, in the midst of all the screaming and the moaning and the wailing, they were ripped, spliced, shredded into particulate matter, and a fine rain of blood, and a fine snow of bones would fall over the earth.

And everything would be perfect. No bad men left in the world. No more evil. Nice.

Why did I share this with you? I dont know. I just had that same dream again recently, and all the "bad people" had faces I could recognise. They weren't necessarily people I knew, but I knew their faces. They were faceless when I was younger. Why can I recognise them now?

I lost my ring today.

Hey! I bought a ring today! The first piece of ornamentation i have ever bought for myself in my entire life! Decided to go wild, bunked work and went to Dilli Haat to buy gifts for people, with a friend. She showed me hers, which looked really nice. Then she suggested i try one. She took me to this stall there, and i found this interesting metal ring, not very fine or anything, but with some rather interesting looking characters in a strange language. I must get that translated, by the way, cause for all i know, it might just say "go stick your head up a pig (Douglas Adams, a toast).
Also, I saw what has to be one of the most beautiful (NOTE: not sexy) girls in my life today. She was seated at a stall selling some paintings, and her face was turned away as i was approaching the stall. She was wearing a blue sweater. Then she turned and I stopped in my tracks. She had the most innocent features i've ever seen. Her skin was radiant, like nothing i've ever seen before. She had on no makeup or anything, it was just like that.
And the eyes.
My God.
They were the most beautiful eyes i've ever seen in the world. I mean, they were grey... grey like brushed silver. With shine in them so beautiful i didnt know it was possible without an experienced fashion photographer. I wanted to take her photograph, and i would have, i was that determined to remember those eyes. My friend had a camera she was willing to lend me if i didnt involve her in the whole thing and get us both chappaled out off dilli haat. But i gave up the idea. I know that beauty like that is not going to show on a piece of chemically treated paper. The only place i can really keep it fresh is in my head. I'll never get those eyes out of my mind.
Besides, we also discovered that my friend had been walking around for two days with a camera without any film in it.
God. Those eyes.

Origin of Name ViralFish

Ok, there's this absolute moron of a buddy of mine who says i'm a ripoff artist over the name of this blog. Ok, for anyone who's interested, this is how i got the name:

I found it on a matchbox.

There, now that I've got that off my chest, here's the sad truth about my efforts at getting this blog listed on Google:

Viralfish's Lodi

Hurriedly Written Post

Greetings from delhi people. Busy as a bee on double expresso. Why life not vat zee frenz? Sorry, tribute to one of NALSAR's finest, there. Would'nt make much sense to outsiders. No time must run. Oh VAt a Fun.
I warned you there'd be writing like this on some days.

Post Fever Delirium

Two Words.

Fever Bright.

Dilli Chalo, Beer... um. Drinko

The brilliant thing about being slioghtly tipsy...
you dont careweq if you misspell all the damn words.
Yiou dont care if the woerld sucks
Yoiu dont care if you cant finfish stupid lists like this...

Now, moving on. I'm off to Dilli todaqy. Dilli chalo!!!!

Darya Ganj, here I come. 15 buck vodka shots, here I come. 15 hour workdays, here I come. AAARGH.

While we're on this little trip, I hope your life is pleasant. I hope you're really happy doing what you're doing right now. If not, if its just for the money, or the prestige, or the long term benefits, or whatever, chuck it. Its just not worth it if you are not truly happy.

I hope I can follow this advice. I really do.

In the meantime, there's beer.

VIVA LA BEER!!!

Hope to watch 2 brilliant movies today, Requiem for a dream and Dead Man. Dead Man, with johnny depp in it. MY GOD, what an actor!!! Ok, i exaggerate, but still one of the best ibve seen in ages. From edward scissorhands to don juan to nick of time to Pirates of the Caribbean.

Ok, ok, I'M not the one obsessed with the Depp guy. I've got a friend whose dialoogues are 3/4ths johnny depp in POTC. God, he's stranglerable when he goes "Welcome to the Caribbean" for the 113th time.

At any rate, he's a brilliant actor. Majorly

To prove i can still go off on a mindless tangent, here's a link to The Onion, one of the funniest sites on the web that I know of. If you know any funnier or cfooler ones, mail me at george_rohan@rediffmail.com