There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle

So... the only man that I've really thought of marrying in the last seven years -- the only one that it seemed feasible, somehow, to marry -- is moving three thousand miles away.

I guess I need to get over it. He's not coming to rescue me, and I should maybe take to heart that bit of advice for young girls who might be inclined to believe in Prince Charming.

Maybe I'll write about it sometime, but for right now, something feels dead inside. Even more than usual.

Todo te lo tragaste, como la lejanía.
Como el mar, como el tiempo. Todo en ti fue naufragio!

Love keeps no record of wrongs

Happy nuptial wishes and long-lasting bliss to marrying Californians of every stripe today. Congratulations.

At least for today, love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Violet Newstead, please hold...

This here Not-a-Bollywood-Beefcake Blog is going to have to get pushed even further onto a back burner (and hopefully won't fall behind the stove) while work craziness and the kickoff of busy season reign supreme.

An Angry Young Aesthetically-Challenged Curmudgeon indicated that he wanted something new to look at here. Hence, this post.

Delivery of a budget-stretching Dell laptop sometime around late July should help rectify this intolerable work-blog ratio. I guess I'll just run the risk of alienating my three faithful readers by not updating my content very often during the next few weeks.

If you're ever wondering if I'm still alive and kicking, have no fear: you can always check the comment boards at everyone's favorite gay blogdaddy.

Rahul Bose Tuesday

I'm blatantly ripping off a regular feature of TigerYogiji, but I don't care.

After seeing the mediocre, melodramatic, but visually "nice" film Before the Rains on Sunday, I remembered how much I want to marry Rahul Bose (as a certain Sheepy would say: "my age"!). Of course, I probably wouldn't balk at accepting a proposal from his costar, Linus Roache, either. What I really wanted to see was a different sort of story: a village scandal set in the shadow of a tea plantation in late-Raj Kerala in which Linus & Rahul were embroiled in a steamy, forbidden love affair of their own. Sort of a Malankara version of Priest. I also have a few "wet sari" (more like wet dhoti?) fantasies of my own for Rahul to act in.

I see in the press notes for the film that my sweet-looking, petit ("my height"!) Rahul divides his time between Los Angeles, London, and India.

So next time you're in L.A., Rahul, call me, baby.