Re: childhood memories

One of the most remarkable memories of my childhood is the death of my grandfather (paternal). I remember it to the day - it was on the 19th of November, 1989. I was 7+ years old, a kid in a Russian elementary school who spoke very little Russian.

That day my mother told me we would be going to the grandfather's (we lived in the town and all my extended family lived in the village) - a trip I always took with a lot of excitement and joy. As a town boy with not many friends, I loved going to the countryside where, basking in the attention and affection shown by my relatives, I spent whole days playing with my childhood friends. Most of the days I stayed at my maternal grandparents' house, but my father grew up 10 minutes' walk away from there, so sometimes we would there with my father to eat grandfather's apples and almonds.

I don't have too many memories of my paternal grandfather - I know he was a grim man who did not mince his words, who swore a lot, even when he wasn't angry, for which he had earned a reputation among the countryfolk. He had a deep and somewhat hoarse voice, with which he would greet me every time I visited him. He was a WWII veteran and I liked to study his war medals, which my grandmother kept wrapped in several layers of cloth in one of the chests she kept in her bedroom.

That day I walked with my mother to my father's childhood home and found a crowd of mourning people. The scene that I remember most vividly is my father and my several uncles lined up to the wall and crying in mockingly high voices, letting out in between sobs words of mourning, something like "Oh my father, why did you leave us?" This looked eerie and frightening even for a 7-year-old kid, but I calmed down when my mother explained that that was the custom and that the children of the deceased have to honour their memory by crying loudly in public. A theatre of a kind.

Re: the modern brain

The modern man has to feed his brain more than his ancestors used to. Our brains have evolved into information- and energy-devouring machines that we have to tire until they want to sleep, just like little babies are. The modern man feeds his brain with bit after bit of information from morning till night (and from night till morning, in some cases). While some brains are easily satisfied with the day's lot of work and enjoyment (8 hours of brain-feeding in the office and a couple more on the sofa watching TV or leafing through a magazine), others are insatiable beasts who keep asking for more. The Internet is one reason for this addiction - there's so much fun on the internet (in near-infinite quantities, with googles and facebooks to help us make our way through all this abundance) that this type of brain relishes. And for those wanting for more there are all kinds of games and other brain stimuli that help quell even the most restive minds of all. All this Content is fed into the brain so that it doesn't have to stop to think about itself and the sheer absurdity of its existence - so that the man is not left alone with his being, to borrow Sartre's phrase. The ones who produce and control the Content - control is the more important of the two words as, in our days, production is outsourced to users themselves - are thus the future rulers of the world. Think about it for a second - millions (if not billions) of hungry brains attached to their computers (and through them, to the System, or the Network, however you like to call it) from morning till night (and some even at night, when they come back from the Office), googling and facebooking and tweeting, reading articles, watching porn, chatting with other hungry brains, writing their own Content in tiny corners of the Internet Universe (just like this blog) - feeding their brains that nonetheless keep asking for more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more more....

Re: On breaking points and early MLC

A thought occurred to me while I was crossing the street a couple of hours ago: most men (I don't know how women perceive the world and their place in it, but most of this must be true for them too) experience a breaking point in life when they realises that life didn't turn out the way they had hoped (and maybe were confident) it would. The thought visited me when I started to inadvertently count the bypassing Chevrolet Lacettis and Epicas. How many, I thought, they are - tens of these cars passing me by in a single minute - tens of people who can afford such a car, who earn far more than I do. Whereas to earn such a car I would have to toil and save (with my current salary) for at least 7 to 10 years, cutting on other liberties and little treats, such as buying good clothes and fancy gadgets (like Amazon Kindle), or bowling (which is quite expensive here in Tashkent), or taking my wife to a restaurant.

Such thoughts might raise questions inside, like "Is what I have been doing (the path I have chosen) right?" And when someone asks this question to himself, this means they have reached the first milestone in their life. What they do from then on (stick to their old lives or try and change) will define how they live the rest of their lives.

Re: Comedy and comedians

I have always said that I don't like comedy as a genre of cinematography. I don't find Adam Sandler and Chris Tucker funny. I'd rather watch some melancholic and thoughtful stuff by a little-known Asian cinematographer than chuckle at the funy lines by Woody Allen characters. I don't understand the secret behind the success of Eddie Murphy films. I simply can't enjoy comedy.

That said, my favourite writers and speakers are all comedians. I deeply enjoy every word uttered (and written) by George Carlin. My favourite columnist is Charlie Brooker and I like reading Rod Liddle's pieces full of profane humour (although I don't always subscribe to Rod's ideas in general). Stephen Fry is among my all time favourites, not only in TV, but also in books and other stuff. And there are many others who I cannot remember right now, but who are there.

Is it me, or is there something wrong with comedy films?

Watching my baby sleep

There is no joy in the world greater than waking up next to your baby son, watching him sleep, turn in his sleep, rub his nose with a little fist of his plumpy hand. If somebody asked me "what is happiness?", I would describe this particular experience among the happiest moments in my life.