Guilty Pleasures

Somethings i love to do. And i can't really talk about them with any kind of pride or rebellion because they're not really all that great or all that.. rebellious. They're just stuff i like to do and probably wouldn't admit to - like drinking juice straight from the carton without the intermediate step of pouring it into a glass. So here's a list.

- Watching Dance Movies. And i don't mean just the cult films like Dirty Dancing and The Company. I mean just any stupid, cliched badly-directed/acted/written film revolving around the main genre of dance. I can't help myself. I walk into the video store, look at all the really good films out there, but somedays when comfort is all you need, i find myself unerringly picking out a dance flick. I have watched them all i think - i know the stories almost backward - there's always the great but straight-laced dancer who gets influenced by the rogue street-dancing, whatever that may be, the little kid who dies and brings the rogue dancer to his senses and want to do something good with his talent, the inner conflict of the great dancer who just can't reach that final potential but who finds a way to get over it. And there's the dancing - from Dirty Dancing to Save the Last Dance to Step up, dance has always been a place where cultures have collided and passion has ruled. I think its my own sense of rebellion and cheering-on of change. Or not.

- Staying in Bed. I know, that sounds like the usual stuff, but i really stay in bed. I don't answer the door, no matter what. Various people ring the doorbell at different times of the day, and i can't be bothered to get up at all, knowing that they will go away. I stay curled up on my bed, with a book to read, my phone on silent mode (so that when i return calls the next day, i can claim that my phone was on silent mode and hence i can't really be held responsible for not answering). Yes, those days i find myself not eating much either cuz that would imply getting out of bed and rummaging in a fridge that most certainly would not have anything edible, or ordering in (which is pointless considering the previous 'not opening door' clause). At best, i get a bottle of water and keep it next to me. Hey, in some regions, it's even considered healthy. And Holy.

- Junk Food. This is a big one. Not just the comfort food kind of big. This stuff i can gorge on unendingly. Specifically those god-awful McDonald burgers. I know they're the stuff heart-attacks are made of, i know that each molecule of saturated fat will go straight to my thighs and add another dimple in them, i know it all... but oh! The joy of unwrapping that ridiculously small tasteless burger, and taking that first bite of cheese and mayo heaven... Don't get me wrong, i DON'T eat this everyday. There was a time when i did... but since then, better sense and my 30s caught up. Plus, i've discovered the joys of healthy sandwiches - whole wheat bread, slices of lean meat, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers and a splash of mustard and marmite... I make them, i love them and i mostly eat only them. But every now and then, at just that time when you become conscious of your hunger and feel just that little bit lazy about getting off your not-so-toned ass... And the worst of it is - they home deliver!

- Talking to Myself. OK, this isn't the "senile grandmother talking to voices" kind of thing. Actually, on second thought, it might well be. But it basically revolves around me having completely rational conversations with "myself" (or whoever i happen to be imagining at that point) about anything and everything under the sun. There is a start, a middle and an end. Usually, neither of us gets convinced with the arguments presented. But "I" usually make more sense. "I" am smarter, more articulate, have greater ability of coming up with cutting and sarcastic remarks, and have a great grasp on logic. "Myself" on the other hand is mostly a listener, who tells me to take my prissy personality for a walk and not come back until i make sense. And then i go out for a walk with myself, batting the breeze like two crochety old ladies. Or five. Sometimes, its hilarious and I laugh out loud. Which is usually a little odd in the middle of a board meeting.

- Freecell. Yes, its that strange computer game that has four packs of cards all laid out in 8 columns and... well, I'm not here to provide a tutorial, you figure it out. The thing is, it's my calm down-unwind-rejuvenate-think laterally kind of game. I don't pretend to be infatuated by computer games. World of Warcraft and Tetris are really two games among a world of many that require concentration, an certain amount of guessing, and time. Freecell, on the other hand, requires no guessing, as all the cards are placed right in front of you. There is no clock against which you're playing. There is no numerical score that you have to beat. There are no thousand keys to hit to get different kinds of guns or kicks or what-have-you. It's not life-or-death (virtual or otherwise). You just have to get the packs in their slots using simple rules of available space. It's simple. It's logical. All the elements are in your control and every game theoretically can be won. I like that possibility. Atleast it exists in a game, if not in life.

Searcher's Anatomy.

What is it with love stories? Either the boy doesn't get the girl and that can be for any number of reasons - death, marriage, duty, obligation, etc etc. Or the boy gets the girl and then it falls apart over some ridiculous reason and we call it existential love stories where it's left ambiguous or the boy and the girl walk away from each other inexplicably and the audience is supposed to sigh and say "oh, that's so sad.. but there really was no other way. That's real life." Or boy dumps girl, thinking he's moving on to greener pastures only to find that he isn't, and in fact the girl has moved on to nicer, sweeter, not as hot but definitely better people who just swept them off their feet. Boy gets what he deserved. My kind of happy ending.

And then there's me. Boy meets girl. Boy gets girl. Boy proposes. Boy freaks out. Boy dumps girl. Boy gets married. And the girl? She meets other men, who're not nicer or sweeter, just another kind of strange. So strange, that she learns to prefer her own company, telling people that she's with other people when in fact she is home. Reading a book. Or watching season episodes of Grey's Anatomy.

All the time wondering when McDreamy is gonna waltz into her life. Which, going by the way she's going, would only be if he breaks down her door.

Pathetic.