Obnoxious Writing

Arthur Kade - the most obnoxious man in the world!

twitter.com/arthurkadeinc

Doodle!

My iPhone doodles! Application is called DoodleBuddy! Happy Doodling, fellow doodlers!

This is currently my wallpaper.

This personifies me. xx the flower!

This is my Picasso piece!

Poetry and Fashion

I always thought poetry was a little bit like fashion. Both need inspiration, creativity, a keen sense of observation, and an appreciation for beauty.
Enjoy.


Alexander McQueen

Vionnet

Group Writing

I did not go to the previous writers meeting, but we do have a really interesting group writing assignment due this Saturday, which I am super excited about. If you belong to a group of writers (5-7 people), you can try this.

Assign each person another persona. So if you are Jack in reality, you have to be another member of your group - female preferably. This doubles the level of difficulty.

Create a basic scenario during which something monumental happens. For example, everyone is in a yoga class and on that particular day, there is a substitute teacher. Nobody really likes the substitute and everyone is bickering about her and in general. Suddenly the power goes off for an hour, and conversations continue in the dark.

When the lights come back on, there is a dead body on the floor. (One person has to agree to be the dead guy).

Each person has to write their own version of the story start to finish with relation to the alleged murder.

This is a fun assignment and the potential results can be hilarious!

Good luck if you try it!

How to Write a Letter of Recommendation

How to write a letter of recommendation! Courtesy of the people at Emails from Crazy People

To whomever it may concern (since I have no idea),

I would like to personally recommend Virginia A. for what ever it is that she requires a recommendation for. I have known VA professionally for a long time, almost 10 months. In that time her ability to almost do her job correctly has never ceased to amaze me. It takes quite a special person to answer phones and correctly forward callers to the correct employee. Some might say “That’s easy, anyone could do that.” But as her 15 year old replacement has proven, only someone with VA’s special set of skills could make it look difficult.

During her employment VA continually pushed the envelope of what it was possible to wear to work and not get fired. Often showing enough cleavage to make even the most satisfied infant salivate, VA and the girls showed what it truly means to give it all you’ve got, or show it at least. You might be fooled into thinking that this was grossly inappropriate and not even “What Not to Wear” could save her, but let me be the first to say that her personal contribution to morale and lack of concentration to the office was unsurpassable.

VA’s commitment to the job meant that she couldn’t just leave it at 8 hours and call it a day (unless she found someone else to give her a ride home to her apartment less than half a mile away. Walking is such hard work.) No sir, when there was a happy hour at another office, VA was the first to ask you to come (and for a ride.) When there was no drama in the office, VA would take it upon herself to sleep with one of your coworkers and tell you all about his ED just in case you thought maybe you didn’t know him well enough after all.

And so it is without hesitation that I recommend VA for whatever it is that she is applying for because that might mean I’ll have to hear form her less. Please accept/hire her.

Yours truly

XXXXX

F*** My Life

The following confessions are from a website called F*** My Life. It is a hilarious website full of writers who know how to appreciate irony. Some winners are:


Today, I got my first kiss. I'm 56. FML

Today I was at the lake watching a romantic sunset with my boyfriend. He tenderly started touching my thigh, then shaking my leg to the rhythm, while shaking my leg to the J-E-L-L-O theme song. FML

Today I snuck into my boyfriend's house because I have an extra key. I snuck into his bed to sleep with him and noticed how soft his skin was. Turns out, I had been feeling up the girl he had been sleeping with and he was in the bathroom. FML

Today, I received my passport in the mail. They got my birthdate wrong. Then I picked up my birth certificate that I had sent in with the application. Turns out my parents have been celebrating my birthday on the wrong day for 16 years. FML

Today, I had drunk sex with a girl that I barely know. I didn't have a condom and was nervous about getting her pregnant, but she assured me that I could pull out. Right when I was about to pull out, she wrapped her legs around me and yelled : "BE MY BABY'S DADDY!" I couldn't get out in time. FML

Today, my teenage stepdaughters, as a punishment for refusing to buy them iphones, told my wife they saw me in town kissing an attractive blonde and grabbing her ass (all invented). She believed it and i'm single. I've been faithful and feeding the whole family for 10 years. FML

Capitalism - A Love Story

Psyched for this new Michael Moore movie.

Arranged!

This is a bit of creative nonfiction I just finished. It needs a GOOD sense of humor to be read! The piece is considerably exaggerated and cannot be taken too seriously. =)

Relationships never came easily to me. For most of my teenage and adult life, I have been plagued with the unenviable gift of picking out the worst possible men to ever walk the earth. If Carrie had her share of Mr. Big, then multiply her grief by at least a hundred. That would be my story on NBC. My grand dreams of a great love, followed by a wedding on the beach with seven hundred guests and complete with a tacky ice sculpture, and an even grander honeymoon in Monaco. But this stuff is meant for television princesses clad in Chanel and Blahnik, not charity queens.

My parents, unable to tolerate the drama that kept unfolding in front of their eyes, decided that it was time for some old fashioned intervention. Now their idea of “intervention” translates into “arranged marriage”. When I discovered that my initial tight-lipped approach failed to work, I took to ignoring them. When they persisted despite the cold shoulder, I shed crocodile tears consciously dabbing the corners of my eyes. My play of emotions failed to soften their hearts, and I finally took to my bed weeping and wailing. A towel was unceremoniously tossed in my direction and I was told that it was unladylike behavior for a young woman who was about to get married. The choice was ultimately mine – get hitched or stay single forever.

So as I began my search for graduate school courses in international law, my mother scouted matchmaking agencies for suitable boys. Within a week, the matchmaking bureau in proof of their efficiency and high success rate, faxed over a list of potential husbands for my mother's perusal. Mind you, I was not at all involved in this process, and my required input was minimal. Furthermore, the agency recommended that my parents initiate any contact, which meant that they would screen the candidate by speaking to his parents. I scoffed inwardly. That would not guarantee my future security. For all I knew, parents covered for their children all the time, the guy could turn out to be a total psycho and I would only find out after the wedding.

Round One:
The candidate looked good on paper. With a stable job in one of the top investment banks around the world, a senior level posting in Bombay, and "money in the bank for the two of us", he was a dream candidate. Although his photographs seemed to bring up the four cheese pasta I had earlier in the day, I agreed to begin preliminary discussions. He wrote polite and practical emails to me, with no pretentious undertones. One Saturday night, no plans in hand, I found my instant messenger blinking with a message from him. It was Mr. Moneybags. He seemed just like his emails, socially awkward, straightforward, and unemotional. He monopolized the conversation, by asking pointed questions.

"Will you consider moving back to India?" he asked.

"No." I replied. Career and further education were my priorities.

"How important is marriage to you?" he continued.

I gaped. "Is that a trick question?" A question with a question.

"No." He was not amused. Needless to say, neither one of us were keen to continue the correspondence. I felt strange, it was as though I just had had a cyberchat one night stand without even meeting my partner.

Round Two:
One day the telephone rang, while I sat chewing on my hair absent-mindedly at the breakfast table. After a night of hard partying with my girlfriends, picking up the long distance call was probably one of the lesser sensible decisions I have made.

"HALLO!" boomed a man's voice at the other end." I jumped two feet in the air.

"HALL-LO?" I sputtered, albeit equally loudly. The average Indian is affected with the long-distance loud-voice syndrome. Most common symptom is the loss of decible control.

"I am Mr. J calling from India. I saw your daughter's profile in the magazine and I like it very much. I would like for our children to meet. Are you willing?" Still loudly.

"You are speaking to the daughter," wryly. My voice had resumed normalcy.

"Oh. Oh." He was not expecting me to pick up the phone.

"Okay, let me tell you about my son. He has a bachelor degree in engineering from XXX university, and he has done his MTech from YYY university. He is now working as the Assistant Vice President at ZZZ Bank, which is one of the top banks in the world..." his voice trailed off.

Both of us were equally stunned. I finally broke the awkward silence. "Why don't I get my mother to call you?"

"Okay."

"Bye."

Needless to say, Mr. AVP at Bank ZZZ did not make the shortlist. Despite being blessed with allegedly decent brains, he seemed to exhibit typical stereotypes associated with the average male Indian export - inability to hold a conversation, pencil-thin moustache, a paunch from drinking too much, and stalker potential from the number of calls he made to us after 10pm.

Round 3:
The third one left a confirmation that all the good ones were taken and the leftovers were either completely gay or borderline cases. I was forced to meet with a potential's nucleus family at an uncomfortable dinner during my visit to India. I faced the party with an air of resentment, naturally, as the playing field was unfair. They had the pleasure of scrutinizing my every move, while I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. I was attacked with ferocity and jest. "Do you talk a lot? X likes girls who talk. What do you do? How much money do you make? Do you enjoy cooking?" It was horrific.

On a slightly eerie note, the family seemed to exhibit seemingly bizarre characteristics. They had cutesy pet names for everyone, praised one other to the skies, and stories of the potential's mischief, which everyone seemed to find adorable yet only I seemed to find childish and irritating, were narrated to me with dramatic purpose. How X teased his mother by cooking meat in the house when she observed religious fast, or how he tortured his poor grandmother by pulling apart her up-do, or how he constantly contradicted his brother's statements - made him sound more as an abusive psychotic and less as an endearing tease. I held myself tightly and submitted to the torture until the end of the evening.

Much eye-rolling and back talk followed after every meeting. My parents, upset that I had curled up like an earthworm, were convinced that nobody would ever want to marry their daughter. My mother was devastated at my string of rejected suitors and wrung her hands at the ceiling (at some spiritual entity I assume), and prayed that word of my fuss should not get out, or the line of men waiting for my hand in marriage would disappear.

I did a quick overhaul of the situation. The whole experience feels as if I am starring on a Mad TV spoof of The Bachelorette. As my hopes head toward a steady decline, it would not hurt to have a few non-moron options. My parents have set out to integrate me respectably into Indian society - by singling out single boys to relieve me of my singleness. In the past, being single had its disadvantages, but the raw clarity of the circumstance cuts through me like poison racing through my bloodstream. I want to be anywhere but here.

Arranged Marriage

So I've been doing some writing recently because I have been...emotionally charged! Yes yes yes! You read right!

I am working on an untitled piece about arranged marriages, which is an ordeal I am going through right now. I'm not quite finished with it, and this is the introduction to the first draft. I have changed and exaggerated certain incidents to inject humor.

Hope you like it.

DRAFT ONE

Relationships never came easily to me. For most of my teenage and adult life, I have been plagued with the unenviable gift of picking out the worst possible men to ever walk the earth. If Carrie had her share of Mr. Big, then multiply her grief by at least a hundred. That would be how much I have gone through in all my relationships.

My parents, unable to tolerate the drama that kept unfolding in front of their eyes, decided that it was time for some old fashioned intervention. Now their idea of “intervention” translates into “arranged marriage”. When I discovered that my initial tight-lipped approach failed to work, I took to ignoring them. When they persisted despite the cold shoulder, I shed crocodile tears consciously dabbing the corners of my eyes. My play of emotions failed to soften their hearts, and I finally took to my bed weeping and wailing. A towel was unceremoniously tossed in my direction and I was told that it was unladylike behavior for a young woman who was about to get married. The choice was ultimately mine – get hitched or stay single forever.

So while at the age of twenty and four, I was running my own department and fiercely focused on career, my mother scouted matchmaking agencies for suitable boys. Within a week, the matchmaking bureau in proof of their efficiency and high success rate, faxed over a list of potential husbands for my mother's perusal. Mind you, I was not at all involved in this process, and my required input was minimal. Furthermore, the agency recommended that my parents initiate any contact, which meant that they would screen the candidate by speaking to his parents. I scoffed inwardly. That would not guarantee my future security. For all I knew, parents covered for their children all the time, the guy could turn out to be a total psycho and I would only find out after the wedding.

My parents set out to integrate me respectably into Indian society - by singling out single boys to relieve me of my singleness. In the past, being single had its disadvantages, but the raw clarity of the circumstance cut through me like poison racing through my bloodstream. Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I am looking for...

This is undoubtedly the best writing the writers on Sex and the City have come up with.