Nothing much has caught my attention in recent times that is post worthy. The few lines below will hopefully keep this blog in refresh mode.
While surfing channels on a leisurely evening in the living room, I came across that groovy song which I enjoy every time it plays on my iPod.
Let me quickly take a moment to help you visualize the setting. There were four souls in the vicinity of the idiot box. Wifey was on her laptop (WFH), the little one was undecided if her drawing interested her more than watching TV as she lay stretched across the carpet, mom was on phone right in front of the TV and then there was me with the remote control.
Shakira proclaimed her innocence by passionately appealing that her “Hips don’t lie” and to lend credence to her claim, started moving her posterior sideways. To build pressure, she would gyrate along the stage with shimmery stars on her bare back and further persuade the jury. With that naughty voice, hip Latino music, and the erogenous video, the audience would be more than willing to buy into her claim. “Oh we believe whatever you say lady.”
Except that when you have your mother watching it alongside, you are battling a colossal dilemma. The familiar background music creates an immediate sense of excitement. You cry out loud “Hey it is Hips Don’t Lie”. You are drawn towards the seductive music like a kid towards ice cream. It is therapeutic. You want it to continue.
But at the other end, Shakira’s movements have started influencing the room temperature. The phone call has ended and mom is visibly aghast at what is playing on TV. The visuals are infinite times the boldness of ‘Roop Tera Mastana’. I sense the discomfiture. “Inappropriate for family viewing.”
Wifey comes up with a winner. She gestures if we can just ‘hear’ the song and not ‘watch’ it? I frantically look for the Radio mode. There isn’t one in the new TV.
We move on to watching Discovery.
While surfing channels on a leisurely evening in the living room, I came across that groovy song which I enjoy every time it plays on my iPod.
Let me quickly take a moment to help you visualize the setting. There were four souls in the vicinity of the idiot box. Wifey was on her laptop (WFH), the little one was undecided if her drawing interested her more than watching TV as she lay stretched across the carpet, mom was on phone right in front of the TV and then there was me with the remote control.
Shakira proclaimed her innocence by passionately appealing that her “Hips don’t lie” and to lend credence to her claim, started moving her posterior sideways. To build pressure, she would gyrate along the stage with shimmery stars on her bare back and further persuade the jury. With that naughty voice, hip Latino music, and the erogenous video, the audience would be more than willing to buy into her claim. “Oh we believe whatever you say lady.”
Except that when you have your mother watching it alongside, you are battling a colossal dilemma. The familiar background music creates an immediate sense of excitement. You cry out loud “Hey it is Hips Don’t Lie”. You are drawn towards the seductive music like a kid towards ice cream. It is therapeutic. You want it to continue.
But at the other end, Shakira’s movements have started influencing the room temperature. The phone call has ended and mom is visibly aghast at what is playing on TV. The visuals are infinite times the boldness of ‘Roop Tera Mastana’. I sense the discomfiture. “Inappropriate for family viewing.”
Wifey comes up with a winner. She gestures if we can just ‘hear’ the song and not ‘watch’ it? I frantically look for the Radio mode. There isn’t one in the new TV.
We move on to watching Discovery.
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