And now, a poem

English words interspersed with Tamil, overheard in an increasingly alarming telephone conversation between my mother and her best friend (who lives in India)

vit-amins. calcium, because of the menopause.

gene. gene. genetics.

not a love-match sort of thing. arranged.

five-fifty. three thousand.

hello? hello?

private college. doctor. engineering.

dowry. donation.

three thousand.

ooh, four hundred. hmmm.

hello? hello? hello? hello? hello?

*click*

Wild Weekends, Part I

9/15: Renaissance Fair or, "Excuse for Plump Girls to Show Off their Bosoms."

And I can say that, because I'm ... of a certain size, and I was seriously considering attending the Maryland Renaissance Festival in a Lusty Wench costume.


How did she convince herself that this was acceptable? How???

Sadly for my fans (Kristin, Doug) and blackmailers (Maggie) alike, reason won out and I stuck to street clothes. I did buy a crown of flowers and it is my dearest wish to be able to wear it again to go Christmas caroling. Yes, I love Christmas carols. Yes, I realize I am Hindu. No, I do not care if people point and laugh at me.

The best part of the festival was a juggling team called London Broil. If you like throwing things, humor, or men in tight pants (check, check, double check!) this show is for you. And they definitely appreciated our unique form of audience participation.

Me (after the show): That was great!
Louie: Thanks for coming! And thanks for ... giggling so much.
Me: By 'giggling' do you mean 'cackling?'
Louie: ... maybe.
Me: You're welcome.


The London Broil boys ... clearly, juggling is Serious Business.

In faith, we didst carouse most merrily at yon fairgrounds. Mayhap I will attend again next year!

Coming soon: Davina's Birthday Celebration ("The Lonely Little Desi: Why Indian People Don't Like Me") and Johanna's Wedding ("Dancing The Night Away: Why White People Don't Like Me, Either").

Interesting smells

Over the Labor Day weekend, I went home and colored my hair with henna. I don't know what possessed me. While my hair aspires to be a dark brown, it is actually black and therefore immutable. But on the other hand, what did I have to lose?

I had forgotten (somehow) that henna smells ... less than pleasant. Kind of like grass or hay, but also kind of like dirt. Really fresh dirt from some verdant, misty Himalayan hillside - but dirt nonetheless. That's OK, I thought to myself. It'll go away once I wash my hair again.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Instead, I find myself with still-black hair and the persistent smell of henna, which refreshes itself every time I shower. This is what comes of trying to be more Indian.

In other odoriferous news, Wistar went on a trip north and came back with her own horror stories.

Wistar: *pointing to the drain in the stairwell of a parking garage* This is what all of New York smells like. Urine.
Me: Thank you, that was ... vivid.

And just because I can't leave a list at just two, I'll throw in the kitchen sink.

Mike: *sniff, sniff* When be the last times you did your dishes, mofo?
Me: *in a chilly tone* That's ... really none of your business, Michael.
Mike: Nast!

WTF?

How is it that the internet, information superhighway and answer to all of life's problems, is actually lowering the level of discourse? Search engines have cataloged the entirety of human existence. There is no need to memorize information, to "know" anything.

Person A: What's the state capital?
Person B: Don't ask me - just f*cking Google it!

Beyond that, the internet has developed a language all its own, completely incomprehensible to the uninitiated and the initiated alike. The anonymity of chat rooms allow us to relax our standards of grammar, punctuation, and spelling to that of particularly dense five year-olds. Capable and intelligent human beings end up sounding like this ...

Computer A: OMG i wuz liek STFU!!
Computer B: o rly???
Computer C: ROTFLMAO!!!11!!1!*

The fact is that having all the world's information at our disposal has made it eminently disposable - no one goes to the library anymore. The same goes for communication. Personal letters are laughably old-fashioned. Why bother spell-checking your email, when the recipient it just going to delete it anyway?

And I'll be the first to admit, I am the worst transgressor against Mother Knowledge. I write a blog with absolutely no real content. If I spoke out on political issues or shared recipes or reviewed books I'd at least be contributing to the the vast body of misinformation that makes up the World Wide Web. Instead, all I can offer is psuedo-intellectual whining about something that is inevitable and irreversible.

To be plain: we're getting stupider, people, and there's nothing we can do about it.


*Who am I kidding? I love internet slang. I'm one of those annoying people who will say "OMFG" aloud during normal conversation ("Your dog got run over by a car? OMFG, that is teh suxors!").