Chuck Lorre Productions, #212

I believe that the voices of fear, both from without and within, can only be dispelled by trusting the voice that comes from the heart. Be still and listen to it. If it speaks of love and compassion for others, for the world itself, it just might be the voice of God -- or a reasonable facsimile. If, however, it snarls with fear of the unknown, fear of losing what you have or of not getting what you want, then it just might be the voice of Rupert Murdoch -- or a reasonable facsimile.

The last fortnight, although unusual and mildly interesting, hasn't exactly been what most would describe as scintillating, primarily because of the prodigious amounts of surplus time I suddenly seem to have on my hands. Having much time and very little to do with it, I have, as I always do in times of intense ennui, turned to sitcoms to fill the hours that otherwise hang heavy.
Consequently, all of you who are in the rather unfortunate position of still being in Delhi, and hence being riddled frequently with my otherwise delightful company, should know that the wise-cracking, TV show-quoting Manu Saxena that you witness these days is not really all that me. The next time I compare you to a Sheldon Cooper or a Steven Hyde, or crack an obscure joke and break into raucous peals of hysterical laughter, kindly forgive me, for it is merely a passing phase.

On a slightly related note, I have a small confession to make. Of late, I've been watching Chuck Lorre sitcoms almost as much for the vanity cards that appear at the fag end of each of his shows, as for the actual humorous content in them (the shows, not the vanity cards).
You can read through all of Mr. Lorre's Vanity Cards at his Official Vanity Card Archives. They make for interesting reading, especially if you're in what can aptly be described as the dazed, disordered and tumultuous state that borders the absolute emotional pits.
That, or if you have absolutely nothing better to do.