Yeh dil maange more!

So like, Pops wants to make a Hindi movie sequel to Titanic.

And in this sequel, Jack doesn't die. Because, you know, it's a Hindi movie. The hero can't die. Well, not unless the heroine does too. In which case, it's an art film and therefore won't make any money at the box-office. Art aside, let's not forget the main objective here which is to be nauseatingly rich.

So, Jack doesn't die and they get separated, him and Rose and land on these tapus. But these aren't ordinary tapus. Nosiree, these are tapus with Punjabi dhabas and dakoos. Wot are dakoos doing on deserted islands you ask. Well it's our bloody movie and if we want dakoos, well then dakoos is wot we'll have.

So anyway, fast forward 20 years (which is the correct amount of time as per a Hindi movie that loved ones ought to be separated - see Bees Saal Baad) and Rose, one night, is disturbed and cannot sleep. So she's up bright and early at 4 am (everything in this house happens at 4 am - this includes making fish curry) and Jack is out with his fishing boat (because only such heathens (and my Dad) are up at that ungodly hour) and as his boat passes her island, she sees him, standing on the deck. And their eyes meet (yes, I know the boat is prolly a few hundred feet out into the ocean and she's on the beach, but this is a Hindi movie, 'nuff said). And then he leaps into the sea and she wades out to him and cue an Anu Malik song and bang slap bob's yer uncle there's your Hindi movie.

Don't forget the dakoos try to be ungentlemanly with Rose and she sings a song, and Jack joins a labor union and sings a song, and the Punjabi dhabewala meets a hot chick and falls in love with her while she's singing a song in the rain wearing a tissue paper sari with no blouse.

I think we've got a hit!

On another note, I went to the Dubai International Art Center's 50th members exhibition at Wafi Mall in Wafi City yesterday and I was sorely disappointed. I expected more. That is not to say that the pieces I saw there weren't good. Some were bloody brilliant and of course I've left my notes in the cab so I can't tell you who did wot and naturally they don't have the list posted on the web because, you know, that would make sense and may possibly even drive sales, but hey wot do I know, I'm just Daddy's little girl and it's not like I actually have to work because you know, I'll be married soon and then my life's mission will be complete and heaven forbid that I have an opinion about art or anything else.

No, nothing on my mind. Really.

So anyway, some good artists, some mediocre ones, some very confused and some very unoriginal. But it did make me want to turn interior decorator for the rich and famous because between you and me, they have some appaling shite on their walls and everytime I go visit these people I want to shake them by the shoulders and scream in their faces, "wot were you thinking, foo?!"

There was this 11-yr old boy who made a sketch titled Ridicule. And it was a crudely drawn human figure with pairs of eyes looking at him. I thot that was bloody brilliant for an 11-yr old.

And there's this woman who did a few pieces titled 'The name of God' with suras written in lovely penmanship and the name of God superimposed on the sheet with wot seemed to be sand mixed with resin and then painted over.

There's this other woman who was very feministic, albeit subtly, and I wanted to buy all 3 of hers - Woman playing piano in blue, woman playing violin in green and flower in bloom (which looked so much like youknowot I'm surprised the Ministry dinna black marker all over it). But lovely work. Absolutely lovely. And if each wasn't AED 3000, I'd have spent my pocket money on them, nevermind I don't have a room to hang them in.

Right. Going to go watch Chicken Run with the Mater.