You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from. And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi. Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics... Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Copy-paste from Dreamcatcher's blog.


If I were a beginning, I would be: The dawn
If I were a month, I would be: December
If I were a day of the week, I would be:Saturday
If I were a time of day, I would be:Three am
If I were a planet, I would be: Uranus(A planet which rotates with its axis on the side-Punster's keep away)
If I were a season, I would be:summer
If I were a sea animal, I would be: a Great White Shark
If I were a direction, I would be: East
If I were a piece of furniture, I would be: a couch
If I were a sin, I would be: lust
If I were a liquid, I would be: Petrol
If I were a fraud/scare, I would be: making headlines by now
If I were a gem, I would be: a Lapis-Lazuli
If I were a tree, I would be: a Banyan
If I were a tool, I would be: a Swiss Knife.
If I were a flower/plant, I would be: an Aloe Vera
If I were a kind of weather, I would be: a bright blue sky on a winter morning.
If I were a musical instrument, I would be: a tabla
If I were an animal, I would be: a tiger
If I were an emotion, I would be: joy
If I were a vegetable, I would be: spinach
If I were a sound, I would be: the sound of a didgeridoo
If I were an element, I would be: Calcium
If I were a car, I would be: a Ferarri
If I were a song, I would be: The end by The Doors
If I were a food, I would be: apple pie
If I were a place, I would be: Goa
If I were a material, I would be: Velcro
If I were a taste, I would be: sweet-sour
If I were a scent, I would be: scent of Pulao
If I were a religion, I would be: Hinduism
If I were a sentence, I would be: All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players
If I were a body part, I would be: the shoulders
If I were a facial expression, I would be: a grin
If I were a subject in college, I would be: Algorithm design and analysis
If I were a shape, I would be: a spiral
If I were a quantity, I would be: a carat
If I were a colour, I would be: black
If I were a thing, I would be: a garden
If I were a landmass, I would be: a mountain
If I were a book, I would be: Ulysses
If I were a monument, I would be: The Colosseum
If I were an artist, I would be: Dali
If I were a landscape, I would be: a valley
If I were a watch, I would be: showing EST
If I were God, I would be: laughing
If I were a vowel, I would be: u
If I were a consonant, I would be: r
If I were a formula, I would be: The Fourier-series expansion formula
If I were a Science, I would be: Organic Chemistry
If I were a theory, I would be: Post-modernism
If I were a famous person, I would be: Salman Rushdie
If I were an electronic equipment, I would be: a super-computer
If I were sport, I would be: tennis
If I were a movie, I would be:the Casino
If I were a cartoon, I would be: The Simpsons
If I were an explorer, I would be: Magellan
If I were a scientist, I would be: Alan Turing
If I were a relation, I would be: elder brother
If I were a river, I would be: The Amazon
If I were intoxication, I would be: marijuana
If I were alone, I would be: content
If I were a question, then I would be: why don't I have enough time?
If I were a hobby, I would be: reading
If I were a habit, I would be: being generous
If I were in an atom, I would be: U-235
If I were an end, I would be: the end of the solar system.
If I were you, I would be: laughing by now.

The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing" or "Why we don't get any..."

I have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most disheartening. Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant, well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kandus were once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)




Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks otherwise. Name him "Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy" and his inherent capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart, seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His investment banking job doesn't help either. His employer loves him though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40% is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he cant use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with all the girls.



Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just name the poor Southern male child and throw him off the balcony. "Yes appa we have named him Goundamani..." THUD. Life would have been less kinder to him anyway. If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry casanovas with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks. Picture this: "Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponnalagusamy (er.. hello..).." Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan Seminary. '




Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence. Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there. However the northy just has to scream "Wakaw!!!" and you have to peel the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin Thapar in the low cut jeans with chhaddi strap showing and see through shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gall to talk of foreign origin). How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts?




Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three grandparents, three sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children. Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated "WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!" at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks. Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We are just not built to be "The Ladies Man". The black man has hip hop, the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and whispers back "But amma has said only on second saturdays..."



-------sourced from Siddin Vadukut