The intent is neither rest nor recreation, but making time for tackling numerous bureaucratic and organizational tasks (no, my taxes are finished, thank you very much) by putting one 800-lb stress gorilla (work) on hold while vanquishing another, which might loosely be characterized as home and family projects. At least, this is the fond hope. Two good weeks, and maybe I can whip it.
Whip it good, in fact.
Readers, wish me luck. Organizational skills are not a personal strong suit, so it will require sheer force of repetition (as usual) to get ducks in a row, cats herded, and whatever other anthropomorphic references I'm forgetting.
I'm not sure how much time there'll be during the next two weeks for blogging and my customary poison pen rabblerousing. Dire warnings of content reduction have been issued previously, to no effect. I'll probably make time, anyway. Finding the chance to write is perhaps the one bit of time management I do quite well, to the annoyance of many.
For your edification this Monday morning, consider this obituary in The Economist. Before reading it in the print edition, I'd never heard of Khushwant Singh. Now I wish I'd have met him.
Khushwant Singh: India’s gadfly
Khushwant Singh, India’s pre-eminent gadfly, died on March 20th, aged 99
... His Hindustan Times column, widely syndicated, was eventually called “With Malice Towards One and All”. Singly and collectively he shot them down: the power-crazed politicians, the Hindutva fanatics, the “barbaric” mullahs of Pakistan, empty-headed Bollywood stars, commercialised cricket, modern cricket fans with their bugles and firecrackers, and the bare-bottomed defecators who lined city avenues in the mornings. Poetry and jokes leavened the invective. If he ran out of “loud-mouthed, sweaty, smelly” Indians to pillory there was the country itself, impossible India, like an overcrowded room or a swarming dung-heap—though, affectionately, “my dung-heap”.
No comments:
Post a Comment