Pursuit of Blood Diamonds

Pursuit of Happyness was campy as expected. Mom loved it, of course. I thought Will Smith's son was a cutie pie but other than that aigh. Though I did cry at the very end when Will Smith's character gets the job of his dreams and runs to his son's daycare to hug him. It reminded me of all the times growing up my mom raced to my side and held me so tight because something had gone her way and I was the only person she felt mattered enough to tell--though I was too young to grasp the depth of the accomplishment. Thandie Newton's character though unlikable was well acted in all her bony, made under splendor.

The Diamond Dealer took me to see Blood Diamonds at the Loewes by Lincoln Center. He held his tongue except for a spontaneous, "That's the first myth!" uttered during the first few moments of the film while the credits rolled and "stats" were displayed on the screen. It was interesting to hear his take on the film as we walked from the theater to my subway ride and his glorious penthouse; alongside the park, past the AOL Time Warner Center...so New York sitcom momen.

Till I told the original older man in my life about the new, special older man. He took it well for the most part but I could tell he was miffed because he always believed I thought he was too old for me, though I'd never given him any such indication. He was also aghast that Irish was Irish. He'd made the mistake of assuming I only dated my own--a mistake others have made before him only to be alarmed to see me walk arm-in-arm with one of theirs. Sigh. When you assume...

Eastern European Expedition

Tom likes this photo a whole lot more than I do, but I thought the cool circular pattern of this gate was worth capturing at the time. Why I stuck my head in it remains a mystery at this time, but I promise it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time it was taken. I may very well not have been that sober given the 25cent 1/2 liter beer we'd imbibed at our favorite underground bar around the corner from St. Nicholas Cathedral in Prague.





Don't I look like I'm plotting to take over the world in this photo? I'm no Brain, but what little likelihood of my world domination is encapsulated in this photo. My photogenicity is at an all time high--making me like this picture even more. This series of sculptures is a stone's throw from the church that houses the Infant Jesus of Prague.





I don't think is a particularly flattering photo, but I do think it represents a certain classic black and white photo element that captures youth and happiness. I think this is a photo I will look back on in a few decades and wonder why I didn't like it more at the time--but at this time, I just don't like it much.





I decided it would be best to dangle fearlessly from a pole that stuck out behind this particular segment of what's left of the Berlin Wall. Tom and I rode the S-Bahn a long way to the East Side Gallery so he could search for the spot his cousin signed the wall. We didn't find his graffiti nor did we add our own, but this photo is a pleasant by product of the journey.





I loved the Reichstaag! That's the background although you can't see any of its magnificient glory in this pic, but I sure look happy to be there.

Tommy's Photo Series of Me in Eastern Europe

This was the shot that got Tommy on the tangent of taking photos of me as I photographed things that caught my interest. He was blown away by my utter disregard for ridiculous positions taken in the effort to capture "the shot". Little does he realize that my antics look like stand and shoot compared to the craziness that ensues everytime Tracey has a camera in her tiny fist.




This is the look I kept giving Tom when he tried to photograph me candidly. I like to pose for photos, what is so wrong with that?








Tommy insists it looks like I'm giving this creepy statue a rim job the way I'm angling myself to get just the right photograph through a crevice in his build. I resent that!

HotDog

Best Message Ever

"You're in church right now and I'm having some really really nasty thoughts about what I want to do to you."

Click.

Repeat.

Save.

Loot 2006

Going to present my loot in list form below.

Family Loot
Glorious floor length red coat with gold buttons--British looking
Beige Charter Club sweater with gold threading
Enormous round-faced Traveler's watch with four mini watches within all reporting different times (you pick what those times are!)--one will always be set to Bombay and and another to New York...the other two I'm working on!
$$$ (but not enough to pay all the late bills, but covers rent)
Wooden jewelry box with multiple compartments with lattice work
Black Scarf and matching i-pod sequin holder from Ann Taylor


Tracey Loot--she has a tradition of inundating me with the most fantastic bounty on every gift giving and non-gift giving occassion...she's is ridiculous!
Three pairs of shoes: pointy, red Moschino pump with a kitty heel and bow with white-cross stitching; taupe Lacoste tennis shoes with alligator stitching on the side which won't be out till the Spring, and oval, peep/open-toe flats a la CV.
Margarita scented face scrub
Two, warm, fuzzy grey socks
Two pairs of black, non-slutty fishnet stockings
Black, elbow-length, leather dominatrix gloves with bows
Two earrings: black hoops and clear chandeliers
Three black rings: plastic rose, sparkly chunky, and wedding cut with sparkles set
Black aviator glasses
Lucky Jeans
Virgin mother Tee with Red Roses in the background
Black, Nicole Miller shrug with woven sparkles
Style Handbook
Three books of NYC postcards because I love to send snail mail


Luckey's gifts:
Taupe plush bed
Battery-operated brush
Adorable knit multi-colored sweater with hood

Merry Christmas~

The family went to midnight mass today. It was a service that reminded me how much I love Catholic service and awakened my latent desire to go more frequently. I know better than to make this a New Year's resolution, but I do miss church.

I grew up in the Syrian Orthodox tradition as I mentioned months ago, but my upbringing was laced in Catholicism (having attended a Convent primary school in India run by strict but fair nuns). There is a peace that comes over me after I go through the ritual that is mass. Knowing the hymns, responses, and times to kneel fulfills within my cultural framework the need for collective belonging. I also love the smell of incense and the whine of an organ as a novice choir tries to sing over it. I revel in being in a cathedral--the meditative value of those high cielings is even higher in a privacy-lacking nation like India. I feel a sense of absolution, no matter how misplaced, after I leave a novena. The chanting quality of sing-song delivery by priests whose completely grey hair reminds me of my grandfather seals the deal.

It's not church I miss. It's the innocence of my youth. It's India. It's my grandfather. It's nostalgia.

Couples' Guilt

Maybe it's naivete, maybe it's narcicissm or maybe I do love drama and this is my way of ensuring it for life--but I just can't cut someone who likes me out of my life. This is a problem I've recently resolved on the ex-boyfriend scene but one I'm struggling to smooth over in my recently coupled state on the former suitor front.

Now, I'm not conceited. Really, I'm not. A healthy self-confidence aside, I really don't think I warrant a ton of attention from the darker sex. That disclaimer notwithstanding, I have yet to cut ties with Indian Christian, the Dog Watcher, or even LawyerMan.

The Dog Watcher is aware that I have a boyfriend and proclaims complete comfort with a platonic friendship which I hasten to take at face value but my gut tells me he's merely biding his time.

Indian Christian has never professed his true intentions toward me or made a move since our "courtship" which began shortly after Thanksgiving. He did give me very thoughtful Christmas presents this evening: three Razr phone skins and a fresh motorola battery since my cell phone is my life. However, the fact that he pays for drinks despite my protests and always offers me his arm as I jaunt down the street may signal an old-fashioned notion of "dating". How do I tell him I'm with Irish without it getting back to mom? His family and mine have taken to spending the holidays together--while those are now behind us--clearly they are the ties that bind...and this case, chafe.

Lawyerman is a different matter altogether. He serves no real function other than to inflate my ego plus he has a girlfriend/ex with whom he is "sorting things out"--so while I maintain complete transparency on that frontier--I'm not convinced our conversations have boundaries appropriate for live communication. So far we've managed a strictly cyber relationship, ex post facto...but recent talk has turned to face-to-face interaction and I'm torn between proving to myself that there is nothing there and risking a nascent but beautiful thing I have with Irish. EEK.

Yes, clearly--as Tracey puts it and she does put it often--"JUST STOP IT!"

TimeLine

Isn't it remarkable how quickly someone goes from being a stranger to your daily phone call? I thought this with Zayan and I'm falling into the same pattern with Irish--yeah, he's an I-person--it's truly amazing how quickly and naturally you transition from not having that special person in your life to awaiting a call from them in their prolonged absence.

Irish and I have been going together now for 3 weeks, the last of which he has been in the Sunshine State and I'm currently in the Garden State--sniff! Over this short span, we've developed a comfortable dynamic that encompasses playful, sarcastic, polite, sexy, and on occassion serious. Now I don't mean SERIOUS--but we've conquered that pivotal point where we can have a conversation about feelings, specifically mine, and he won't freak out. He'll tell me he doesn't get it or that "those are (my) issues" but I don't worry that he's going to run for the hills and never call me again. Then again, maybe that's a wholly premature statement but I've made it and now I'm going to stand by it.

EEK. I'm in a couple again. ME...not single! Me...half of a couple.

Two Boys...One Venue

In an effort to maximize my time, I had pre-show drinks with Indian Christian. I had invited the Dog Watcher to Escape M60's performance (Taurean's band featuring one crazed drummer and a pair of long-haired '80s heavy metal emulating guitarist twins). To my unplanned horror, IC quickly accepted my spur-of-the-moment polite invitation to attend the show--despite his long commute to the family stead in NJ. I was forced to introduce my former suitors to one another, much to my chagrin. Despite their similar characteristics, namely an affinity for the Giants and extreme friendliness toward the average stranger, they did not take to one another one bit.

I think Taurean summed it up best when he said, "When I looked off stage and there were TWO of the same Indian dude--one on each side of you--I thought my vision was shot or the lights were too bright. With the twins on stage and your doppleganger boys off-stage I thought I was in a doublemint commercial and not at my first gig in the city."

Escape M60 was amazing! Considering it was their FIRST performance in front of a live audience. GOOOOO TAUREAN! Rock on, son.

Sweet Sighting Tonight

I'm going to be at Otto's Shrunken Head on the border of the East Village and Alphabet City tonight to see my home boy Taurean Spoons make his NYC singing debut at this kitschy Tiki Bar.

Their set starts at 11:30pm--late for a Monday--but I'll be wearing a sweatshirt that reads Baby Girl and cheering wildly. Norman and Tommy will be joining me despite their day jobs.

If you're in the neighborhood, please stop in...listen to a few beats and say "Hey!"

the AIM Block

So, my boyfriend who is currently far far away...in distant Florida claims not to have any idea how to block someone on AIM--yet mysteriously he's managed to block me on AIM. Unless the AIM gods are scorning me for some unknown crime against AOL the whole thing seems highly suspect to me.

So, in an effort to be the technologically advanced woman in his life, I go ahead and create a new screen name. Of course within the first fifteen minutes of combative banter the man makes the mistake of typing, "So, how do I block you?"

Why? Why oh why are men at every age entirely clueless about what NOT to say to a woman? Double sigh.

Human Interactions

Sometimes, I fear my relationships are founded on lies and etched in deceit--self-deceit.

How can you believe they mean the things they say when we are unsure they say the things they mean? How do you discern when reading between the invisible lines when the infrared coating is entrenched in your desire to take at face value what your gut has severe reservations against?

Being an adult means trusting your instincts.
Being an adult you know when to let your mind lead where your heart can't follow.
Being an adult with an established network of trusted cohorts, you still have to defer to your own sense of right no matter how wrong they think you are.
Being an adult involves making difficult decisions you are willing, yet seemingly unable, to live with at the time.
Being an adult transcends instant gratification for delayed results which inevitably enrich your later (prolonged) quality of life.

Being an adult can suck when you feel like a child.

5-year College Reunion

I'm so sick of getting reunion materials in the mail...they started sending me information in June for the April '07 reunion event and the more I receive from Hopkins the less I want to go back.

It was a great college experience, mine was. I'm just not far enough removed from it to appreciate that it's over. Sometimes, I wish I could go back for a day or a week or a month but I know in reality that would just irk me to no end and I'd just wish to return to my life in the city. My life void of work, meaning, and achievement. At least in college I was a pillar of the community--by choice and luck--but in the past six months I've managed to extricate myself from most facets of being an adult citizen who functions independently and manages a cosmopolitan lifestyle.

I'm living the dream but quickly losing sight of what that dream really is.

"You're my GF!"

I'm going to come clean with all of you...I've been a bad blogger lately and a lot of that is due to the fact that I've been censoring a portion of my personal life for a plethora of reasons, but mainly because I've been afraid to put it out there only to have it taken away--yes, I am paranoid.

About two weeks ago, I met a gorgeous man at the Dream Hotel from where we went for drinks at the Hudson Hotel. He loves champagne so he got a bottle. I love French Martinis so I had a few of those. And that's how our story began...

He only drinks Crown and Coke--no garnish. He's a picky eater--the bowl has to be chilled BEFORE they put the salad in it. He travels for work; by this I mean that he lives in a hotel in Times Square where the bar is his living room and his room is always in a corner on a high floor facing East. He has a Southern accent and his hair is more salt than pepper. He has big blue eyes and more often than not wears a sheepish grin.

His life is about the finer things but he's curious about the less than fine; he'll try something new but he's afraid of not liking it. He's the most vanilla individual I've ever met in real life, but his credo is one of tolerance--though if you're on his property unnannounced late at night he's a firm believer in having the right to shoot you with his licensced weapon. He's tall and thin and uses an electric razor. His clown costume--as he calls his perfectly pressed pants, Polo shirt, and grown-up jacket--gets shed the minute work lets out for a pair of acid washed jeans with a button missing and his leather jacket. He drives a Corvette but dreams of a beat-up pick-up to haul hay for his non-existent horse. He grew up with cats and thought he won't admit it, I'm not convinced he liked dogs.

He snores when he sleeps and he's an extremely selfish cuddler. He's in the office at 8am even though he doesn't have to be. His co-workers drive him crazy but he will only describe them as "the nicest people in the world." He will talk to me in his Appu voice but the minute I say something the slightest bit un-PC he'll give me a serious speech about people having the right to live the way they want to live as long as it doesn't impose on other people--specifically him. He was an altar boy and a water moccassin assassin. He's simultaneously a hero in a Western and James Bond--his cosmopolitan sensibilities belie his rural roots--he's proud of both and comfortable with the fact that those are the exact dualities that make him, uniquely HIM.

Like me he remains a contradiction through and through and like I am his, he is mine--as of 9pm yesterday evening.

Quarterly Report

Last night, I had four dates with three similarly different boys and one perfectly imperfect man.

I will not speak of the first because I really like him and it seems every time I blog about someone I actually like things go tragically wrong. He's the man for whom every rule I ever had has seemingly flung itself out of the hotel room window.

The second was with a boy who contacted me off MySpace. He's a real Indian with down home Indian values and a not-so-faint Indian accent. He was dressed in a cord jacket with a v-neck tennis sweater over a thermal undershirt--can we say FOB? But he was very kind and fairly simple in both his outlook on life and his judgment of others. A quality I'm coming to loathe and respect as I progress in years. We had a drink at Broadway Lounge in the Times Square Marriott Marquis. He was generic in his Indian-ness...a perfect arranged marriage candidate for a girl from The Hind.

My third date was an impromptu phone call that turned into a quick meet up with the dog watcher. He's become a very good friend of mine over the past few months. We have amazing platonic chemistry...but it seems he wants more. He is sweet, patient, compassionate, and the paragon of understanding. We split a quick stromboli at a pizzeria in No Man's Land--the 30s on 7th Avenue--before I hopped the 1-train to my last date of the evening. Here's a guy who shares a brownstone with his parents, drinks like a fish, and works two different entreprenuerial ventures with the possibility of a third in '07. If I was all attracted to him, he'd be the catch of the decade.

My fourth and final date was with the Indian Christian I met at Thanksgiving. He's not my type for a variety of reasons, but I can't resist how smart he thinks I am. It affirms for me that men can be drawn to a woman almost exclusively for her mind. We had a few drinks at Dos Caminos in Soho and made our way to The Dove--which I was appalled to hear him term a dive. Similar to date two, IC despite being born and bred in this country has a narrow vision of what is and isn't acceptable behavior in himself and others. Going to Bible College could not have helped matters, no matter how much of a badass he was on campus! His insistence on walking me home was heart-warming given he had to backtrack to the Path having missed the last bus and train to NJ--where he lives at home to help his parents with the bills and his undying moral support. Another guy who would be ideal for a very different girl than me.

Dates 2-4 were really an effort to diminish the growing craziness that has resulted from my extreme like of Date 1...Date 1 who is possibly the most baggage laden individual I have ever met, who in reality may have absolutely no interest in pursuing a real relationship with me...who is the most attractive man I have ever been with--in my highly subjective opinion--who makes me feel like I'm starring in a sitcom the likes of Mary Tyler Moore meets Sex and the City.

Rosa Mexicano

I just had a delicious brunch with Shiv at Rosa Mexicano in Union Square where he questioned me on my life and informed me not at all on his.

I can't believe he's serious about leaving the States and returning to S'pore. I knew he was never here for good, but it seems too short a time to be good enough. We live close enough by in terms of mileage to never see one another--but we do talk frequently. Credit to him, it's where it's due on that one. It occurred to me that I would really miss his voice on the end of the line, "Thompson and Canal!" or his signature, "What up, Duude?" I guess being abroad doesn't preclude a call but there is a comfort in knowing he's just two miles up even if I never traverse those miles.

500th Post

Let me take a moment to reflect on the last 499 posts--because I don't reflect enough--yeah!

I started this off unemployed and I'm unemployed again.
I was in school--half-assed--but finally quit.
I'm taking the GMAT next week. B-school here I apply.

I was single when I started and I've had a good many starts and stops but may just have found someone who has me pausing when I state my "single" status. But no jinxing that just yet.
I've learned that blogging about boys WILL always get me in trouble no matter how much I change their names.

I've traveled a bit and seen parts of the world I never dreamt I would get to see.
I backpacked--slept in hostels--and used every variety of public bathroom available.
I took subways, trains, trams, and buses from dilapidated to luxurious.

I had friends move away, lose touch, and others get in touch.
I moved from life with Ditha on the UES to calling my home an abode with two boys and a dog in the financial district.
I broke down and joined MySpace--where strangers reach out and friends shy away.

I went from surviving to thriving--living it up to living the dream--hopeless to hopeful and lonesome to loving life.

In the words of Norman--my roomie and long time friend--Life is Grand!

The Boy Who Cried Ex

LawyerMan: i just wanted to say hello and thank you for the postcards...i am sorry i end up looking like an a-hole...
SweetlyVicious: Mr. Southie?
LawyerMan: yes
SweetlyVicious: you don't end up looking like a jerk...exes happen
SweetlyVicious: you weren't over her...right? so what can you do about it....
LawyerMan: well, i thought about just wanting to see you on a very fun dating thing, but i didn't want to insult you by suggesting that. i just wanted to be upfront and honest
SweetlyVicious: I'm not sure what you're asking/telling me
SweetlyVicious: you wanted to keep hooking up but keep clear that you're still hooking up with your ex....wouldn't she take issue with that?
LawyerMan: i'm sure she would. and no - that was a thought, but i didn't think that fair to anyone.
LawyerMan: and it wasn't ultimately who i wanted to be with you, who i def dig and very much enjoyed being around...
SweetlyVicious: aw, see they do teach you a little smooth in law school...I like that
SweetlyVicious: well, I very much appreciate that….and the feeling of like was very much mutual ;-)
LawyerMan: i don't think they teach smooth, but maybe that was a first year class i cannot recall.
LawyerMan: i do appreciate your cards though and hope you really dug the trek. as i am sure you did.
SweetlyVicious: I did...it was a blast
SweetlyVicious: the weather wasn't too shabby given it was fall and such...really glad I got to do it
LawyerMan: and i do (and did) have a big crush and attraction to you. but right now, i feel i need to see how things evolve with the ex, which i hope you can understand...
LawyerMan: i am def envious of your trek.
SweetlyVicious: of course...I get it...really, I'm young ...I'm not naive
SweetlyVicious: listen...if things don't work out with her for whatever reason...you hold onto my number...how about that?
LawyerMan: i know you are not naive. But after a few days of thinking, i couldn't let things just lie. Not that it matters at all, but i was very much attracted to you, and am, which makes all this so odd, because typically i am one to just be somewhat naughty...but i like you and her too much to be all sneaky with you both
SweetlyVicious: and for what it's worth I'm rooting for you...I know how things go with exes
LawyerMan: totally perfect on my end. And if you want to say hello AIM wise randomly, please do? we can friendly chat, right?
LawyerMan: thank you..
SweetlyVicious: just because you're attracted to me doesn't preclude a friendship right
LawyerMan: according to when harry met sally yes, but i say billy crystal be damned.
SweetlyVicious: I'm not suggesting we meet up for drinks late night...but we can be pals
SweetlyVicious: so since we're friends...why did you two break up in the first place?
LawyerMan: i think i can control little big man enough , and def enjoy your company enough, to be friends, including drinks late night to whatever...although i push things occassionally i guess...
SweetlyVicious: ps: I'm really flattered btw...that you're "attracted" to me and such
LawyerMan: well, it was basically a hella quick move in that precipitated into a blow up that caused me to have to move out. so once moved out, it was basically both of us needing time (and still needing time) to figure out what we want...
LawyerMan: but both of us wanting to explore that...
SweetlyVicious: of course, you know I think you're as cute as can be....
LawyerMan: well, you are a very sexy gal. and you know i am extremely attracted to you...
LawyerMan: and thank you. i am very flattered hearing that from you
SweetlyVicious: but above and beyond even the physical, I think you're so smart and I do like just talking to you
LawyerMan: yeah...i just didn’t want to cut things dry and run...well, i wanted a whole host of things, but i have to be true to you and myself...so if things were to work between us, they’d be real.
SweetlyVicious: I know that's a bit under-rated these days...but I really can't stress enough how much that banter means to me
LawyerMan: yeah..i mean, even if you didn’t want to touch me ever, i would’ve so enjoyed hanging together....i loved talking to you and your wit and charm
SweetlyVicious: I respect your honesty and the situation
LawyerMan: it was just wanting to jump you at the same time. hee hee
SweetlyVicious:
SweetlyVicious: well I can be VERY well behaved...so I promise I'll wear a turtle neck and we can sit 3 feet apart
LawyerMan: and i apprecite your understanding - more than you can ever imagine

Promised Pics

So, I'm taking the wussy way out...Here's a link to Eastern Europe photos which Li uploaded. I did take some of them and have promised to caption a wide array of them--haven't gotten around to it just yet.

As for stories, other than kissing a Czech shopkeeper for some postcards nothing too eventful transpired. Oh, there was also an under-age Canadian girl who took some flash photographs in our hostel room in Krakow as she hooked up with one of the Aussie boys. And also a crazy Canadian in our four-person alcove in Budapest who kept yelling at her father in her sleep--it was unnerving and vaguely reminiscent of a Lifetime movie about a sexually abused teen. Incidentally at my hostel in Vienna (Li and I couldn't get beds in the same room, so I was relegated to an all girls dorm) a French girl informed me that I would never be hired for a bank job in France given my "color and face"--I'm still a bit unclear as to what my face has to do with it.

It's not the Size, it's what you do with it

The BBC has a lot to say about Indian Dick. Helen sent me this article this morning and I am compelled to share it with all of you.

In my experience, Indian men haven't fallen short in anyway, but by no means is my sampling large or representative. I'm just speaking up for my peeps.

Isn't Y a vowel?

Tracey and I are arguing the merits of whether or not Y is a vowel...
sigh
For all my homonym errors at least I know what the vowels in the English language are--Y not being one of them.

My Surreal Life

Last night, I found myself in this exact car (Lamborghini convertible with the top up) traversing the distance from a Clubhouse near Teterboro Airport, NJ to The Saks Fifth Avenue in Greenwich, CT for a Kids in Crisis fundraiser with Jaylin.

I took photos on my Razr and pix messaged them over to Tracey and my mom, both of who called me in surprise. Tracey's message was priceless: "What a coincidence--right now, I'm in a 1988 Chrysler Sundance, going to the Salvation Army. It must be Stark Polar Opposites Day!" Yes, she even put all that punctuation into her text: a welcome change from her text messages that come in all CAPS--I can't help but feel she's yelling the information at me, although I know she can't muster the strength.

As I sipped champagne and picked passing canapes, my eyes marveled at bejeweled Jimmy Choos and middle-aged men and women donating to charity. I couldn't determine if this was a preview into my future or a frightening glimpse into the Tuesday night life of hedge-funders with wives who on Wednesdays would be trolling the real Fifth Avenue with their mistresses.

Jaylin works at a high-end sports car rental company as the Director of Sales and Marketing. They had generously--wisely--donated one free day in the car we drove up to the store in. A sticker price of $1950/day is the going price, but in the name of tax write-offs and attracting a customer base who won't flinch at the price we found ourselves in Greenwich.

I've been the only colored person in a room before, but I've never been the only colored person who was also 20 years younger than the demographic at hand. It was a polite experience but a jarring one nonetheless. The other people of color I saw were working at the event--theoretically, even Jaylin was there on business.

I took a seat and dialed Jo to tell her what was before me--she was just leaving Emit after another long day in the magazine world--how our lives were already drawing us apart. But it's in our differences that we take comfort, learn, and grow: so no tears or fears, onward march.

Art Photographer -- Tommy!

Check out Tom's amazing photos from this Fall in New York and our European Expedition-- Jon's Gallery!

You will notice that none of these photos look like generic cityscapes your average tourist would capture. Each photo is composed of light and dark which caught his untrained but highly skilled eye as we ambled from place to place or he commuted home from his office job.

Inbound Airport Encounter

I noticed him right away. As soon as I found my seat on the 9-hour nonstop flight from Munich to JFK, I looked around to see if anyone around me was cute, young, and male. To my surprise, he was all three. Tall and slim, his dirty blone hair kept falling onto his pale blue eyes and he effortlessly brushed it away with the carelessness of someone who performs the gesture 1000 times a day.

He was in a window seat and I was in an aisle seat in the middle row. A crazy cursing Italian woman sat between us drinking copious amoutns of red wine and talking loudly. He kept looking over at me helplessly but other than a half-smile I couldn't muster much else. At first I thought he was German crossing the Atlantic for the very first time, but when the loco lady engaged him in conversation I overheard a soft-spoken American accent and some mention of being a chef. My heart skipped a beat and I listened harder focusing my anxious energy into fumbling with my journal.

I saw him tear up the barf bag into little note-size pieces but no notes came my way. Finally, the woman sitting in the row in front of the drunk, foul-mouthed Italian switched seats and the slutty foreign girl that replaced her began passing MY PLANE GUY notes. I was outraged, but what could I do. My window had closed or so I told myself, noticing I had 4 hours and 16 minutes left to witness their courtship--up close and personal. However, when I noticed that they were ripping up Airline magazines to furnish the paper to pass notes with I was inspired. I quickly tore a blank page out of my journal and handed it to the cute boy with a coy smile.

He returned a huge grin which quickly turned to bewilderment when he noticed the paper was blank. He quickly scribbled me a note--requesting that I write him a note. I obliged by sending him the one-page character sketch I had written up of him earlier in the journey while I patiently awaited him initiating contact. He was flattered and flattered me with that phrase, "you have a beautiful aura". We wrote and passed notes across the sleeping crazy woman for hours till neither of us could write anymore.

The foreign girl was a tease--apparently she had a boyfriend--yet she was insulted that he had begun communicating with me. She promptly avoided him for the rest of the journey and we flirted via scratches on paper patches. He's a traveling chef on a yacht who was in port till March--sadly in Chicago. He gave me his e-mail and begged me to keep in touch. I smiled and nodded--knowing I wouldn't.

It was a movie perfect plane ride. Of course, in the movies they would have lived happily ever after...but hey, it's real life and my real life to boot--so no such luck. But his name is Keith and I'm rather fond of his face.

Airport Encounter Outbound

When I arrived at JFK with Reba's black pack strapped to me over a large hooded black coat and maroon fleece--burning up from the unseasonally warm Fall weather--covered in a fine mist of rain on November 3, 2006 at 7:02pm for my 8:36pm flight to Munich I was alarmed to be notified that they had overbooked my flight.

This dread quickly transtioned to glee when Lufthansa rebooked me on a Singapore Airlines flight to Frankfurt where I could surprise Li Chen with my sweet, plane tired self and ride with him to Berlin where we would be meeting a solo travel weary Tommy to begin our Eurotrip. Oh, they also gave me 300 Euro for the "inconvenience".

Whilst I stood in the obscene line to check-in at the Singapore Air terminal, I began chirping into this tall, African man's ear my irritation surrounding the long wait. He had the most ezquisite cheekbones and a backpack that rivaled mine in widst with a significant win on length. His name is Hashim Mills-formerly of Rise and Shine--and he was launching his solo career with a gig in Frankfurt. He laughed at all my jokes and overall found me to be a delight. I had the good sense to get his autograph, just in case, he explodes I can sell that shit on e-bay and make a KILLING. Alright, I wouldn't do that...but it was very cool nonetheless. He input my e-mail into his trio and I'm hoping that means I'll be on the mailing list to future events with a free backstage pass to boot.

Will Explore Europe Later....

I'm back, babies.

I know I was terribly missed in my absence--not!--but rest assured I plan to make up for lost time by blogging overtime till I fill the void that was left behind.

I will exempt you all from the fate that is listening to me rail on tirelessly about my European expedition. Well, exempt is the wrong word--postpone the inevitable is more the truth--I'm awaiting a cord to be sent to me via priority mail so I can upload the pictures whence I will expound on them in blog format. You're not truly safe from my Euro Rant.

Hiatus

Gentle Reader(s),

I will be embarking on my Eastern European expedition in a few short hours--whilst I hope to check e-mail--I will not be updating this blog for the duration of my journey.

Please enjoy three weeks free of sweetness and viciousness as I journey to far lands in search of perspective and direction. Don't miss me too much or forget about me altogether as when I return there will be updates galore with photos to boot.

In other--unrelated--news, I met someone very special this week and assuming he doesn't fall in love with someone else (it is NYC) while I'm away there might be less single in my horizon than has been for the last two years. A little something to leave you with....

Be well!
Sweetly Vicious

Fire Chief...Baseball

Halloween Happiness

K and I dressed up as a baseball player (an adorable, short dress with red and white stripe and a pleated bottom with requisite red hat and inflatable bat!) and a fire chief (tight red dress so short I had to don tights to be civilized and a red plastic helmet that explained "Fire Chief!") to check out the Halloween Parade on 6th Ave. near Spring Street. Neither of us had been before and I sure was glad I packed a flask for the event. The weather was glorious, though the costumes weren't laboriously crafted.

I was bored after the first half hour so we headed over to Slate Plus for some drinking and dancing and general costumed merry making. Along the way people stopped us to take our picture--while I think that's highly flattering, there is something to be said for those photo collectors who know not their subjects.

Typical Poses

These pictures were taken of me at Karma by K at my 26th b'day party a few weeks ago. BAH! Why do I assume such trite positions when photographed? The signature head tilt is conspicuously absent.

The Frick Collection

Cimabue's late 12th century devotional paintings are on display at The Frick presently. It's a glorious space with indoor and outdoor water fountains and flora.

My first visit to the mansion on 70th Street just east of 5th Avenue was marked by my first time carrying and using an audio guide. The information imparted was a bit too detailed and sophisticated for my palette, but the basic take-away was enhaced by the context. Talk about getting a free Art History lesson~

I'm never museum-ing without the audio guide. I'm also leaning away from going with others. NO reason to slow or speed up to suit the pace of another when you have a array of experts to walk you through at a pace you choose.

The Bodies

The eight elements that affected me most at The Bodies exhibit, located three short blocks from my apartment building, were as follows:
1. Teratoma: a visual of teeth and nails growing in an ovary! This is a kind of germ cell cancer prevalent in children.
2. A room filled with fetuses floating in glass jars. I felt like I was in an episode of The X-Files--David Duchovny, why won't you love me?--except the plot was more in line with Unsolved Mysteries.
3. The absence of malodor. Considering that the bodies had been preserved with a specificty to muscle, nerve, and blood (via polymerization) channels; I couldn't help marvel at the lack of nose scrunching I did as I ambled from room to room.
4. The room dedicated to the brain with particular emphasis on the thin segmental slices carefully displayed on slides highlighting the true INSIDES of our heads.
5. The fact that every single body, predominantly male bodies, were of Chinese descent. Gives real credence to the Falun Gong ads and protestors all over Manhattan--silently sitting in cages.
6. The pristine preservation of the bodies and organs both still and in motion.
7. Kicking myself for not availing myself of the audio guide--lesson from the Frick learned but not practiced--Regret!
8. A liver with cirrhosis...enough said! Vowing to drink less.

Death of a Dream

As I sat at the Angelika, my elbow touching his I realized that wish I did for there to be some iota of lust left between us--it was only in my head--there truly wasn't. How can chemistry disappear? I'll tell you how: isomers! The shifting of some isomer had caused our stereochemistry to mysteriously vanish. Like Keyser Soze it was "Poof!" gone.

The movie--Death of a President--was blah. That's my best attempt at a review. I couldn't feel for any of the characters, unlike his perception, mine had nothing to do with the events being fictional and everything to do with the dramatization lacking drama. Also trite to call out the Muslim with a plot twist indicating that the black man was the real killer. Pick on a white woman, already! Bah.

But as I ate his popcorn and he accommodated my disdain of Coke with a Hawaiin Punch purchase, I found myself asking the same question in my head a hundred times over--WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?

If there's not chemistry and we don't have the closeness friendship breeds given the awkwardness of having seen each other naked more than a handful of times--what in the good Lord's name were we doing watching movies together on a bi-monthly basis. You don't talk during a movie. You don't catch up. You sit and stare at moving pictures in a dark room. How does that bring two strangers any closer to one another? Why do we do it--over and over again?

UGH

Yesterday afternoon I awoke from what began as a serene dream--full of wish fulfillment and erotic satisfaction--with an ache in my heart muscle. With the exception of waking up crying from dreams a few years ago, I don't recall a dream evoking emotions powerful enough in the unconscious to bring me to consciousness.
The memory was vivid on awakening but as the mist of sleep lifted I felt its potency evaporating; ignoring the strength of will I employed to hold onto the finer details and emotion jarring perceived truths.

This is how the dream unfolded--as best I can recount, accuracy may be compromised--

It was an airy spring day (light jacket weather), I was perched in a basket chair in what appeared to be Zayan's new apartment and he was leaning back on his expansive bed. For some reason there was a parade of people moving in and out of his common space--to my best estimation it had an open house vibe. We were enjoying our typical caliber of banter--chuckles abounding--when conversation turned to his "present" chica.
The actual subject of conversation is hazy--I'm pretty sure I brought her up--but as we talked the room seemed to shrink or maybe we just moved closer to one another. We sat facing each other cross-legged on the floor, knees touching, breath in each others' faces. You can imagine the tension at that proximity--the sexual tension. We were each hesitant to close that final gap: couldn't have been more than a few inches, half a foot at best. The anticipation was palpable, the energy astronomical.

My mind was blank, my heart was racing and my patience was waning. For once, I chose to let nature take her course. I sat as still as I could and kept reminding myself to breathe. We sat like that for a while; it felt like an eternity. Finally, we were kissing...I have no idea how it happened or who initiated it, but there we were kissing. It was just like that Chris Rock sketch--my entire being was singing because we were kissing. I felt 14!

But unlike when I was 14, I wanted more and more was on its way to being had. Hands were everywhere, clothes were falling to the floor...the floor was no longer under us, there was plush bedding and Bounty-Fresh linens. But before matters could truly escalate to a level that precludes all others--Zayan pulled back.

He reverted into himself and I felt it happen before it did. The few seconds I had to prepare for his withdrawal were devastating in and of themselves, but more so I was devastated by the stopping. After all this time waiting for it to start up again, to be so close and stop was heart-breaking. Not nearly as gut-wrenching as the original heart-break, but the heartache was back. It's the dull pain in your chest cavity with no medical cure.

There we lay in a familiar position as complete strangers. I wanted to cry but no tears were forthcoming. He wanted to speak but no words were accommodating him. We just lay there. A few moments later, the figure that represented his "person" entered the room searching for her panties. That was the last straw. I climbed out of bed and in lieu of getting dressed and walking out sat back down on the basket chair. Zayan was in an awkward predicament, but I didn't care. She didn't notice me consumed as she was in her hunt for red panties. His deer caught in headlights look didn't pass till she gave up her search, kissed him lightly on the lips, and departed. Then it ws back to just us...sitting, staring, and being uneasy.

We had nothing to say that had not been rehashed a thousand times before and neither of us is much for repetition. Finally, he looked at me--directly at me--and said, "I cant' do it. I'm sorry I can't do it." I nodded mutely--hearing the tear in my heart--feeling it widen and spill emotions I'd locked up a long time ago. He didn't approach me--I knew he wouldn't, but I had still hoped--he just looked at me with trepidation, unsure what I would do next. I sighed, hugging myself tighter in the basket chair, trying to take up as little space as my body would contort to let me inhabit. Finally, I asked him, "What do you want from me? Why am I even here?"

And as the question haunts my days, haunted me two nights ago...I awakened with that question in the forefront of my mind, consuming my being and reverberating through my brain. He didn't want drama and I didn't want to give it to him--but there we were like we've always been--dramatically drawn and withdrawn.

Sleep Debt

Norman and I are discussing the notion of sleep debt. The idea that once you skimp on sleep for X number of years you no longer have the ability to keep that up. I'm no sure it works that way, but he's using all his lawyering know-how to convince me or at least disagree with me vehemently enough that I feel slightly silly about my stance. I'm sure it's not his intention--to make me feel silly--but that is the net result.

All this talk of reaching your sleep credit limit is making me cringe at my actual credit limit which is fast approaching....eek, would suck to run out of money in Berlin.

On an unrelated note, Li has convinced Tom and I that we NEED to see The Killers in Berlin and 50-cent on his German tour. HA! Holding up an American flag may just get us on stage--that's Li's thought.

Crack Music

I spent a significant percentage of my waking hours today downloading music illegally off Limewire. Gotta love that Limewire.

The majority of the tunes I selected were in Hindi...just when I think I'm all-American a wake-up call like my taste in music raises it's FOBBY (Fresh Off the Boat) head; after all, I grew up in Bombay till I was about 12. I've rid myself of the accent, but many of my values, beliefs, and general worldview are still rooted in the subcontinent. This is not to say I'm not westernized to the point of ostracization from my home--because I am--but I'm neither of this world nor that.

The plight of us 1.5 generation kids...no one writes about us, except in passing, sandwiched between our parents and the 2nd generation immigrant kids.

Death of a President

I'm itching to see Death of a President directed by Gabriel Range--released in Canada and extremely controversial in these here United States--this fake documentary hypothesizes the global ramifications of George W. Bush's assasination.

Morbid, perhaps, but interesting in the zeitgeist of films like the Dixie Chicks movie--Shut Up & Sing--and The US v. John Lennon. Government conspiracy and black listing has never been far from what the marginalized minority--particularly the indie film circuit and the media junkies therein--is keen to expose the public to.

Borat

I will not write a long review for fear of misleading my readers into believing that
a> I am a film critic...I know relatively little about film.
b> I watch a lot of movies...off late, I have but by no means am I a film buff.
c> This blog is quickly turning into a rant and rave section about movies.

I laughed harder than I thought I would, this is not to affirm that it matched my, admittedly, specific and bizarre sense of humor.
There was gratuitous fat, male nudity--testes should never be shot from any angle.
Poor, sweet Pamela Anderson.
I've never seen the Ali G show, I think that was a good thing going in but not a great thing coming out.
I will never tire of watching movies in New York that were shot in New York--Times Square just doesn't get old on film.
Roadtrips rule!
Texas will forever be the butt of every joke.
Enough with the Jew jokes.
I liked the ending.
WWJD (what would Jesus do?)
Speaking in tongues is always cool and very weird.

The Regal Cinema in Brooklyn is definitely not swank--far less crowded for a free screening than any Manhattan theater--this loses a bit of the edge that watching these advanced screenings lend themselves to.

"No LAGS"

I was just IMing Li Chen since it's only 11pm where he is--whilst I battle another night of reversed circadian rhythms--and he said the funniest thing:

Li:not lags (lame asian girls) tho
Mi: That is so funny...did you make that up?
Li: Yea...like two years ago, I only use it with Tommy though

How awesome is that? I love it...LAGS!

We were discussing my move to San Francisco. OH yeah, I've decided that if LBS fails me and b-school is no longer in the cards, I'm moving to the Bay Area. Well, to San Francisco proper, preferrably between the Castro and Lower Haight in Duboce Triangle. Special K has already agreed to be my faithful companion in this transamerican journey.

Li sends me links to potential houses we can rent since there will be three of us and two pets between us. Mr. Bojangles, K's feminine feline, and my Luckey Duckey Love Bug.

Netflix cures homesickness

Standing in line at Blockbuster to purchase a gift card for Jo's b'day--I overheard two NYU students discussing potential story pitches for what I can only assume was their college paper--

White Girl: You should pitch a story about Netflix?
Asian Girl: What kind of story?
White Girl: Talk about how getting netflix makes you feel less homesick..like you're getting mail that aren't flyers or bills.
Asian Girl: That's a good idea...but that's not a full story.
White Girl: Well, you can add a bit about how it's like a present in your mailbox. Everyone loves snail mail. Yea, talk about subscriptions too.

Me: Wow--that's clever...I should put that on my blog.

The Prestige

Advanced screeings are delightful, not just because they are free, but because they are marketed to a cross-section of the movie-going population in an effort to create an adequate sample size. A packed theater is not fun in any other context than an eager group of advanced screeners.

Last week, I took Jaylin to see The Prestige thanks to a pass mailed to me by Let's Meet Out. On the outset, he was enthused to spend time with me more so than to witness the cinematic thrill of a screening; however as the plot twisted and turned unfolding in a manner I can best liken to the confusion and suspense The Usual Suspects instilled in me, he got really into the film. The truth was that we got there in the nick of time to secure two seats together, unfortunately they were in the VERY first row. I'm very much a middle of the middle kinda theater seater.

I withhold commentary on the caliber of the acting itself for fear of wrongly assigning credit due a magnificient plot to actors of great acclaim. Michael Caine, Hugh Jackman, and Christian Bale came together to create an aura of masculine competition tempered by vengence bred by shared mentorship and mishaps. The infusion of science at the tail end of the film elevated the stakes but diminished the overall flavor of the film. However the moral dilemmas that sprung up from the revelation within the final,supernatural plot twist were worth the somewhat hokey nature of what was introduced.

While the movie did not disregard the importance of a love story to reach the mainstream, it focused its cinematic energy on mostly non-violent representations of testosterone-charged aggression. The primary emotion in the film was unbridled, obsessive one-upmanship. The desire these men felt to outdo one another and learn the other's secrets just to best him at his own trick was palpable--kudos to Hugh and Christian.

It's been a long time since I wanted to re-watch a film in the theaters, The Prestige definitely made its way onto that list.

The Flowers the Boy Sent for my Birthday

He sent me two dozen red roses and then came over to take their picture...just a ploy to get through my front door?

MY BEAST

When It Rains...

It Pours~

Or rather I pour myself a tall one and sit back to write--stewing in my self-indulgence to a degree which makes eating chocolate bon-bons in front of the TV seem like healthy living.

I'm no Shirley Manson, but sometimes I'm happy when it rains. Happy that I have a roof over my head, happier still for all the sunny days I've lived...happy that there is love in this world and warm soup for the weary.

Sleep Deprived

There is a high you get from sleep deprivation that borders on the lull of a night spent sipping wine or a novice's marijuana high...it's disarming. There is nothing particularly potent about the effect but it eclipses every thought; ridding you of coherence and drawing you into a wakeful dreamscape.

It's surreal. Every moment stretches endlessly into the next as drowsiness creates unfurling curtains of your eyelids: fighting is futile, like quicksand it exacerbates the sensation of your control slipping away from you. A fight between your conscious will to stay awake and unconscious need to sleep.

Shortbus

Shortbus is a long ride on a sexual roller coaster. The movie focuses primarily on the sliding scale that has become sexual preference and orientation in our day and age. Specifically, the film walks us through one Canasian "couples' counselor's" (read: sex therapist) journey to finding her orgasm. She describes her life as "pre-orgasmic". Shortbus is rooted in varying degrees of sexual discovery and the exploration of the emotions that lie therein.

There are multiple plots that converge: think Love, Actually meets porn with a plot. A gay couple of Jamie and James battle James' depression and Jamie's need to explore outside their five years of monogamy. Throw into the mix a self-loathing dominatrix with serious intimacy, nay interaction issues and her trust-fund baby-hipster client; a drag queen who looks like David Bowie but acts like RuPaul with a healthy dose of Patrick Swayze's character from "To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar" and runs the eponymous den of sexual exploration. Ceth, a beautiful gay model who looks for love via an online service called Yenta650 only to find himself in a triangle amidst the Jamie's as James' gay next door neighbor and stalker watches wistfully via telescope, ear piece, and high-fi camera.

While the sex scenes are gratuitous for the most part some of them unearth a vulnerability that are pivotal to the initmacy component of the plot. For example, James' depression consumes him leading to attempted suicide but a rescue by his stalker leads to a sexual experience that opens him up for Jamie once and for all. Apparently, James has never been penetrated--the perennial pitcher, this act of catching saves him from himself and enables him to "feel" Jamie's love. I'm not sure how allowing a stranger, no matter how adoring, to explore a piece of you which was kept from your partner of five years can bring the original couple closer together but in Shortbus it does just that. Similarly, Sophia (the sex therapist cum couples' counselor) does not achieve orgasm with her sole sexual partner and husband, Rob--after much agonizing in a repressed model minority way--self-climaxes in a surreal scene of winding through central park only to find her way to an isolated lush beach circa southern California meets Cambodia. At least there I can glean a the following trite lesson: You can't open yourself up to love if you don't love yourself--to put it another way, if you don't learn what gets you off you can't train your partner to do it for you.

The opening, closing , and transitionary scenes of the movie are presented as a graphically designed illustration of the Manhattan and Brooklyn: Monet meets Manet? The masterful cityscapes are true to New York in scale and scope. I felt a thrill and a chill as I watched the camera pan over Central Park onto the Upper West Side to zoom into one window and the scenario within, then move down and across the Brooklyn Bridge to illustrate another copulating couple in a window in the next borough. A clever method of transitioning between seeming unrelated plot lines till they converged into a meaningful and coherent story of intertwining sexual discovery. The colors used to graphically capture the city are muted and sketchy at best blurring into one another, perhaps a metaphor for the bi-curious within each of us. The dominatrix, Severn whose real name is ironicaly Jennifer Aniston, presents domination as a hollow series of acts void of emotion. In fact, her ineptitude to relate to other human beings is debilitating until she befriends Sophia and communes with her weekly in a sensory deprivation tank.

The oh-so-New York aspects of the film are a bit force-fed. In a monologue the geriatric, former, gay Mayor of New York delivers to Ceth at Shortbus in the earlier part of the movie. It covers the bases of AIDS, gay sex, and politics in one fell swoop and moves on to conquer depression, repression, and regression. The issue of prolonged and glorified adolscene is often attributed to the residents of our fair but sinful city. While there is not talk of past lives, the characters of James and Severn spend 5 minutes in a closet as a result of a game of spin-the-bottle and discuss their experiences as sex workers fixating specifically of the choice or lack thereof in their chosen careers. This is also an emotionally ripe scene, showcasing that in the unlikeliest places humans can and will connect.

Overall, the movie had its moments of shock value but delivered a series of messages. The big ones: safe sex is best, intimacy is important, orgasms are a girl's best friend, and stalkers save lives. Gay sex is hot, gay threesomes are hotter. The small ones: a boy can blow himself without removing floating ribs and just because you sell something does not mean you are a customer/client.

Movie Grade: B-

On a side note:
Tracey trudged into the city to see me on my 26th birthday with a bevy of gifts in tow. Highlights include a full set of Italian vocabulary books, black Uggs, a golden jewel box filled with assorted earrings and a flapper-esque necklace, a calligraphy set, a multi-striped Coach iPod cover, and a the smallest wristlet ever.

What 26 looks like on Me

Happy Birthday To Me!

In typical fashion, a year in review will commence...NOW:
November--Meaningless sex got me over the X
December--First family Christmas with Marc
January--Got Luckey,the puppy! Girls trip to Praha!
February--Single on V-day (not a first but possibly the worst: Mom got engaged
March--Paid off credit card debt from last unemployment stint in 2003.
April--Decided on Hamptons share with Special K and Karen
May--Official parting of ways with Jaylin: off, finally! We're still friends.
June--Actually went to the Hamptons: Westhampton blows!
July--Mom got married and I quit the German Bank
August--Decided to go on Eastern European Excursion with Li Chen
September--Club Getaway: my life is a vacation, not sure what I got away from. Reconnected with the boy from a year ago
October--Took the GMAT...taking it again in December! Still not working!

Where I am today?
$6K in debt to Visa since I haven't held a job since 7/11.
Unemployed
Seeing someone who dotes on me...and someone very different who adores me.
Celebrating almost a year of celibacy--self-imposition or not is still unclear
Bent on b-school but waiting to retake the GMAT before I begin the gruelling process of applications.

DESI(RED)

The Red Campaign Bono from U2 helped launch for Gap via the Oprah Show is putting real dollars into the Global Fund to eliminate AIDS in Africa.

Incidentally, they didn't think to market DESI(RED) to Indians--it would be a big hit, given that red is an auspicious color in Desi Culture and well, Desi is after all the English spelling of the word for "native" or "resident of India" in Hindi--c'mon Oprah, get with it...target us!

Speaking of Target, wouldn't it have made more sense to do this campaign through Target--after all, Red is their signature color, especially in all things marketing--not to mention you wouldn't stop at T-shirts; you could have lampshades, pillows, coforters, PJs, and myriad of other RED items.

Why Spice is Right!

Spicy Gratification is a great article explaining the aphrodisiac qualities of chillies and spicy food. It it likened ot a runner's high--endorphin release--which makes the eater happy.

This finally explains how my hedonism is directly linked to the mass quantities of curry I consume. I just put a whole habanero in my guacamole and felt NOTHING--next time, two habaneros! The three habaneros in my Chili didn't suffice either--next time some cayenne pepper powder for extra effect.

Why I chose Psychology!

Minor Violation

At 1:30am, I hopped off the 6 train...cursing the 4/5 for continuing its haitus on service south of Brooklyn Bridge and flipped open my phone for the walk home.

It was a ghost town, per usual, as I ambled--without weaving--down Beekman under some scaffolding that seems to permanently live on that buildings, texting with a fury that only a strong buzz could bring on. A small, Mexican-looking man suddenly reached out and honked my boob. This complete stranger was not just touching me--he had grabbed an entire breast and squeezed it. My reaction rate may have been quicker if I'd been sober but I think the sheer shock of what was happening may have slowed me down anyway. I spat in his face and began hurling epithets which would have made a sailor blush.

I felt outrage wash over me, followed by humiliation--shortly after he walked away and I continued insulting him loudly (there was no one to hear!), I felt fear. Fear that if he had wanted to fight me, I would have lost. Fear that had he chosen to rape me, then and there, I'm not sure I would have been unscathed. Fear that walking home from the subway at night alone just wasn't safe--especially in my desolate neighborhood--that was the fear that stopped me in my tracks.

I think it needs to be noted that I was wearing a black tunic with long-sleeved thermal underwear under it--nothing even remotely revealing--and loosely-fitted jeans. In fact, it is one of the few going out clothes that I have that is modest and proper.

As I got further from the scene of the event, I came to terms with the reality that it was a minor violation at best--passing the cop car on Fulton Street, I imagined myself telling the police what had happened and whilst they might not have laughed at me, it's hardly an offense worth mentioning in the context of crime in New York City. To say it simpler, I got over it!

Friday, Oct. 13

I came home early today--midnight.

My day started (not just my night, I actually got out of bed for just this!) at Sugarcane at 5:30pm where I met the boy for drinks. Gary joined us in his lawyerly garb and ordered a bento box--delicious edamame. Rani was scheduled to meet us out, but her insistence on Haru's 1/2price special led me to meet her there at 7pm just in the nick of time to order some lychee martinis. There was no room for the boys, so Gary went to Muay Thai and the boy went ot meet his friends at Butai. I joined him and some of his friends there whilst they sipped Sapporos--the bartender made me a special martini, still no idea what it was!

Around, 10pm we all went back to his place to drink some wine and eat Indian in an effort to coat our stomachs for the night ahead. He had a friend in from MA and another one flying back from a week in Houston, TX. We rallied onwards to The Cutting Room--a la Sex and the City--where the show wasn't impressive but an in with the guest bartender made for free drinks...though I couldn't stomach the white wine given the 7 consecutive boozing hours that had harmed my liver.

I left them there to head home shortly before Tommy--I made some quesadillas and we opened up the leftover Coors Light from our housewarming and enjoyed a calm Friday at home with Luckey.

Where should I go?

It has long been the case that guy friends call me from a location in the city with these magical words, "I'm in ___ neighborhood (in Manhattan), looking for ___type of food under $___ on a _#_ date with ___ kinda of girl! Where should I go? What should I order?"

I was reminded of this today when Tommy asked me for a place south of 14th St. serving non-Chinese food which would be good for a second date with a girl whom he only sort of liked for dinner on Sunday evening--under $70.

Based on the following list of recommendations:
Pylos
Le Souk
Otto
Osso Bucco
La Caverna
'inoteca
Suba
In Vino
Rosa Mexicana and Pipa were north of 14th St.

I pushed In Vino and that's where he is going--yay!

Housewarming Pictures--Long Overdue

EBaux, Tommy's younger cousin--we've been known to bicker.

Jaylin's still around...
An unposed pic--for once.


Roomie Love! Tommy & Norman & Me.

A bunch of boys whose names I still don't know.

Celebrity Sighting #4

I saw Queen Latifah, the female rapper extraordinaire


at Slate Plus, great pool lounge in Flatiron, on Wednesday.

Luckey Met a Kitty

Thanks for capturing the moment, Tommy! I'm sorry I missed it...

Amazing Hotels

Check out these Unique Hotels on AOL thanks to Forbes.

The pictures give life to the amazing features.
It's a three-way tie between Quinta Real Zacateca in Mexico, Ariau Towers Hotel in Brazil, and the Beckham Creek Cave Haven in AK, USA of all places.

Which is Better?

Brooklyn Museum

This photo does not do justice to this regal structure as I first laid eyes on it as a dusky twilight cloaked Eastern Parkway and I raced up the stairs of the 2/3 stop, wrapping my black coat a little tighter around my short black dress as a crisp autum breeze whipped my hair back and gave tinkle to my oversized, Indian earrings.

I attended First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum this weekend for some live music, ZoZo AfroBeats--thanks to Target--for Stella's birthday party. I wholly missed her and the eclectic crew of women she had assembled from Quakers to AA attendees...and the sexy Andrew Jackson--the woman doesn't own a cell phone. Who, in this day and age, lives sans cell?

Whilst in Brooklyn, I realized I very much wanted to be wed within the walls of this glorious structure. I hope we can afford to buy a run-down brownstone in the vicinty and spend free weekends restoring it to its former grandeur. I'd also like us to own a red Mini Cooper with a white top and a black Vespa with a tan seat and matching helmets...hey, a girl can dream.

More than one tree grows in Brooklyn by the way.

Quarter Life Crisis

I attended a screening of Quarter Life Crisis as part of the South Asian International Film Festival (SAIFF)this week.

Here is the official SAIFF synopsis of the film:
Dumped on his 27th birthday by his college sweetheart Angel for being indecisive, Neil makes a silly bet that takes him on a wild ride through New York’s singles scene, accompanied by four testosterone-packed imbecile buddies and one crazy scheming New York taxi driver. On these madcap adventures Neil journeys from life choice paralysis to real life manhood.

The famous star in the film was Russell Peters, a Canadian comic of Canasian acclaim, whose role in the film consisted of driving a black car and providing a running commentary on the actions of the protagonist. Having never seen his stand-up I was not influenced by Peters' humor, and as many comics go I certainly wasn't impressed with his appearance.

The main character, Neil Desai, recently turned 27 struggles with the life decisions I'm all too well aware exist: taking that promotion at a job you never thought you'd accept in the first place, committing to that person you've been with since college--whom you can't imagine living without but still tremble at the notion of forever--and the age-old peer pressure of being the first in your in-group to make those choices. It didn't hurt that Neil's flashbacks with his sweetheart, Angel, took me down memory lane a la V--the fact that V used to call me Angel helped with the nostalgia. Incidentally, the actress who played Angel was GORGEOUS--hands down one of the prettiest women I have ever seen on screen. It didn't hurt matters that Neil's star sign was Libra--much like mine--and the premise of much of his decisions through his journey to maturity was guided by a book detailing women based on their signs.

While the supporting cast was believable and fresh, there were moments I thought Peters' injections of truth were trite and the actor who played Neil could have brought more to the table. Overall, I enjoyed the film for its ability to address the concerns of generation Y without melding the East with the West but focusing on a South-Asian hero very much of the West in the West.

As we exited the theater, a camera crew was taping audience reactions to the film. I was quick to accept the girl with the microphone's offer to present my view, much to the boy's chagrin. I never get how someone can be so social and talk to every stranger ambling down the street but frown at the opportunity to BE on camera! Anywho, he's DVR-ed it for me since I missed Asian Variety Show at 10am today.

Last Night

Just Me

Tea

from left to right: Suchi, Lauren, Stella, Kelli, Me, and Jo!

Suchi is the new girl Jo invited to tea. She's pretty accomplished with a two-book deal with Random House and eternal student status.
Lauren, lives with her bf, just quit a crap job for a sweet gig at Maxim.
Stella has a new job, a new apartment, and a sexy Andrew Jackson whose ass she can't stop grabbing.
Kelli of the live-in boyfriend sector works for the city, hates it but loves the comp time. She's studying for the GMAT.
Me--well you know all about me!
Jo writes for a high profile weekly magazine, lives with her gum-maker bf (who is incidentally older and Jewish), and generally has sayings that rival me in pithy.

Ripped off

I stole this image from NYWing

Home base

My homepage is CL.
My home is Manhattan, NY, USA.

My favorite color is red.
My favorite food is Indian--specifically, spicy vindaloo with basmati rice.
My favorite drink is the caipirinha.
My favorite shoes are flip flops with a kitty heel--I have simple green ones.
My favorite outfit is a long, flowing skirt with a fitted, cap-sleeved tee.

I don't re-read books, but some have affected me profoundly on the first go.
Books I've adored over the years include:
Little Women
The Great Gatsby
Catcher in the Rye
Memoirs of a Geisha
The Time Traveller's Wife
Tuesdays with Morrie
The Alchemist
The Namesake
Most things by Stephen King
Anything by Anais Nin

Movies I can watch over and over and over again:
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Eurotrip
Frequency
Shawshank Redemption
The Mummy & The Mummy Returns
It's a Wonderful Life
Any movie with an all-black cast--particularly, The Wood and For Love and Basketball
All the Indiana Jones movies
Bollywood: Anything with Shahrukh Khan in love

Shows I've seen the re-runs so many times, I know the words:
Charmed
Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
Sex and the City
Will & Grace
Six Feet Under
Friends
Fraser
Beverly Hills 90210
Currently into Grey's Anatomy

Songs I'll never get sick of singing along to on my iPod:
Nelly Ride with Me, Air Force Ones
50-cent Build You Up, Hate it or Love it, In Da Club
Kanye West Hey Mama
John Mayer Your Body is a Wonderland
Strokes Last Nite
Cat Stevens Wild World
Billy Joel Uptown Girl
Maximillion Sexual Healing
Don McLean American Pie
Vanessa Williams Save the Best for Last
Frank Sinatra Fly Me to the Moon

Songs that take me back to a place or a person:
Peter Gabriel SMS--Rec Dances
Peter Cetera The song from the Karate Kid--Middle School
Green Day Good Riddance--High School Graduation
Drifters Save the Last Dance for Me--I wonder how Jamie Sample is doing?
Goo Goo Dolls Iris--Norman still calls me everytime it comes on
Cypress Hill Insane in the Membrane--Driving in high school
Sarah McLachlan I Will Remember You--Tracey and Helen...tracks to campgrounds
Alanis Morrissette Head Over Feet--First chick song I was angry enough to like
Jewel Pieces of You--Summer of '96 at Cornell
Sublime Caress Me Down--Summer of '97 at Hopkins
Bon Jovi Livin' on a Prayer--College
Build Me Up Buttercup--Freshman Year
Kenny Rogers The Gambler--India, Summer 1999
Juvenile Back that Thang Up--Sophomore Year
Nelly Country Grammar--Junior Year
Fat Joe & Ashanti What's Luv?
Norah Jones Come Away with Me--I'm finally over you, Zayan!
Eagle Eye Cherry Save Tonight--Dorm Life
Shaggy Angel
Monica Angel of Mine--I miss you, V!
Third Eye Blind Semi Charmed Life--Zecki
DMB Say Goodbye--ugh...A I banker
Mario Just a Friend 2002--Moving to NYC
Rick Springfield Jessie's Girl--I miss you, Amy...how's SD?
Sean Paul Temperature--Summer 2006
Nelly Furtado Promiscuous Girl--My first ringtone ever!
Wyclef & Shakira Hips Don't Lie--Hamptons 2006

He remembered me!

I had dinner at Lawrie's with K and Jon (Lawrie's very cute British friend) on Saturday night. As I rushed into her building, late per usual, set of saucepans from KMart in tow--I asked if she needed anything and she asked for the pots she could create dinner in, strange, right?--her doorman ushered me with a friendly hello as he insisted on notifying her of my arrival, josh as I did with him on my imposing physique. She paid me back, but I was expecting for a wine bottle ask. This was unexpected and quirky.

Lawrie made a delicious spread--mini burgers, pork, sirloin and filet mignon, a veggie medley, and sole stuffed with crabmeat we were too stuffed to enjoy. She's my kind of hostess--insists on cleaning up after you and serving you! Over dinner we split three bottles of red, then two bottles of dessert wine over dessert. She is a Duckwalk Wines lover, as K and I have become from our summer at the Hamptons.

The point of this post isn't my delightful evening at Lawrie's dinner party: the point is the doorman reappeared at Bruno's Bakery. I took Jim, my very first gay boyfriend from high school, for coffee and treats after our air kisses off the 14th St. stop. I hadn't seen Jim since our 5-year high school reunion, save the time he called upon me to avail himself of my shower when he was auditioning for American Idol last Fall. I didn't recognize the doorman, but he remembered me. Jim marveled at my ability to leave an impression as the gentleman kept gawking at me and provided the most attentive service one could without blatantly eavesdropping.

I felt guilty for not recognizing him. I hate people who forget me, even if our meeting was once and brief, and I pride myself on remembering faces no matter how fleeting...but here was a guy I had completely overlooked, arguably given his station--at the door, then behind the counter--I was appalled. I hate being faced with my hypocrisy. Not that I wasn't touched by his recollection of me, but I want to write off forgetting him as result of being rushed (I was an hour late to Lawrie's dinner) and I know I will definitely recognize him the next time I see him...but I still don't know his name. It never occurred to me to ask him; I suppose he could have asked me, but I feel like I should have made the effort.

For a big city, New York has a way of feeling very small.

October

It is October. The seasons are a changing, again.

As I climbed out of the 6 stop at Brooklyn Bridge this evening, I felt that distinctive nip in the air and a singular leaf fell on the step before me. I paused to gaze at the lit bridge and inhale a lungful of crisp air as I jauntily put one foot before the other and emerged above ground. My iPod pumped my favorite song, "Ride Wit Me" by Nelly as I clutched my phone in one hand and adjusted the strap of my oversized tote with the other.

It is finally fall and I'm not in school but prepping for the GMAT. It has sure made me feel like a real student....in lieu of libraries I sit at the Starbucks' in Astor Place for hours at a time poring over practice tests; drinking melted, strong , iced coffee hoping against hope that apathy's last kiss is but a distant memory--yet I know it is not. Tomorrow is another day I'll lay in bed, watching TV, checking e-mails and surfing Craigslist; haunted by the reality that I wasn't born a woman of leisure. My craving for freedom, my lust for empty hours, is a reality in this era of credit--credit which turns curdles in the heat of my prolonged abuse.

The Empty Car

If a packed subway has an empty car there are only a few explanations:
1. For some ridiculous reason the doors to that car DO NOT open.
2. It is summer and there is NO AC in that car.
3. There is the most rank odor known to mankind emanating within that car.

She told me to tell him...

"If your answer is no, then I will just have to learn to survive -- like a
three-legged wolf in the wilderness -- still surviving -- but on much,
much less."

Is this your first time?

A few days go, we took Luckey to the dog run in Madison Square Park upon the boy's insistence. Apparently, Luckey needs puppy friends. It was fun in the simplest and most joyful sense of the word. I was--pardon the analogy--like a new mom taking her kid to his first day of kindergarten; hesitant at first to put Luckey down with the Dalmations and Great Danes loping around. He talked me into it gently; without pushing me, he encouraged me to just see what happened. Once I placed Luckey on the ground he ran to me and kept jumping to be picked up. I resisted the urge to do so. He cowered under the benches we sat on for a time. I ignored him.

Other dog owners looked at us dubiously. We were the newbies at the dog run. A few different female owners approached us to confirm that it was in fact our very first time. I can't say I enjoyed the attention, seeing as how it wasn't particularly positive, but we were definitely the new folks being welcomed into the community. It was surreal--my version of a surburban experience in the big city.

The boy kept trying to pry him out from under there and get him acquainted with the other dogs. He was the one to jump in and scoop Luckey off the ground when a few of the other pups ganged up on him, playfully. He was the one who held my hand and frowned with concern every time a larger dog raced by Luckey--scaring my diminutive dog with its sheer size and force of being. The experience made me realize that was as close to a family moment I ever wanted--had invisioned--for myself.

After this exercise in letting my puppy grow, we split a bottle of wine at Shake Shack and sat at a lone table in the middle of a dusty patch with the Empire State Building lit up in red and blue. Luckey sat at our feet, lapping up the Pooch-ini, the boy insisted on getting him for being a good boy at the dog run. It was a classic New York moment. Me in my flowing black skirt billowing around, Him in his fresh from work suit, Luckey luxuriating in the blissful moment of doggie dessert...it was very sitcom.

Punched in the Heart

I have a confession to make...

This is hard for me to reveal but the truth is that many of my cute saying and funny slang originated from or were wholly inspired by Tracey. She's really the kookie, zany one and in the years our friendship has been symbiotic: the thin membrane of plurality ever growing closer to the singular and permeating my brain with potential witticisms.

What I'm trying to say is that I steal her sayings. It is not wholly intentional but like a good movie or great book, you get to quoting and stop marking it with quotes or air quotes, as the case may be.

This post is dedicated to Tracey! I'm acknowledging the truth and giving you credit for coining, "punched in the heart"--an expression I see myself using moving forward.

Focus Groups

Living in New York you develop this ethnocentricity (specific to THE city itself), so I will resist the urge to start this post with "Only in New York City"--as I am wont to do--with no further ado...the post itself:

I've found that focus groups, for the unemployed, can be a source of income. In my early days in Manhattan, I used to supplement my then meager income with seasonal focus groups but off late I've managed to get invited to a few different ones with pay ranges from $100/hour to $225/day; clearly one pay scale is better than the other, but both are fairly lucrative modes of making money. While I'm still not sure I can susbsist on focus group wages alone, I am willing to believe New York Magainze that it is within the realm of possibility.

Still jobless and loving it.

JailBait....I wish!

Reba cuffs me in front of our Jailhouse theme display the day before our housewarming. Tommy--thanks for sending this camera phone moment along.

Luckey in My Bag

The boy's friend photographed Luckey with his new phone cum blackberry just north of Union Square at Dos Los Molinas...as soon as Such got it on his Blackberry he e-mailed this Luckey-in-Bag shot to me!

Dorm Party

Last night, I actually attended a boozefest at the New York Eye and Ear Infirmary! Yes folks, when the scalpels are out of their hands these residents really boogie down with beer pong, flip cup, and copious amounts of mixed drinks. Gray's Anatomy may have more truth to it than we would like to accept--medical references aside.

I stayed but a short while, I had a previous engagement I was missing to pop in for a quick hello to a flock of gay boys I'd always meant to meet yet never had. Not much of a Grace but always in search of her Will, I thought a successful doctor-type would be a good fit--but I'm not so sure anymore. I was too sober when I got there or they were too drunk, either way I got caught up in another Doctor girl's drama over her guy-of-the-moment and didn't have the mental capacity to experience vicariously 7th grade laced in alcohol with the potential of "hot" sex in lieu of a french kiss goodnight.

Taurean and Summer were my true impetus in attending with K in tow. My promise of cute doctors was met with a wry glare and a series of nods signaling that every piece of candy worth eye-ing was eye-ing man candy of his own. This is the New York we live in ladies.

Summer's inner domina peeked at us in her striking black ensemble--note to self--must find out where she bought that shirt. Tauren--always the picture of style was missing his Triple 5 Soul page boy hat--amazes me; he exudes both warmth and positivity with an ease and flow that are simultaneously comforting and daunting. He's the kind of friend you realize over time that was always rooting for you and if you become a better person over the course of your interactions you can be sure his heart was in it--where his heart is his hands follow. We all need people that push us to be better people; be they parents, older siblings, spouses, strangers, or a trusted friend...I've found mine in Taurean. I called him my guardian angel once--once when I was a mess over a boy who broke my heart--and it's true. He's my black Gabriel (hmm...Is that redundant? Was Gabriel black in the good book?)

Luckey's Mug Shot

Thanks to Tommy for taking these amazing photos of Luckey on his brand new Cannon camera of much money and high picture quality.

Owning a dog has been the highlight of this year...yes, I know the year is far from over, but the end is creeping up on us all.

Misbehavior

Who owns who?

Headshot

Photos from Camp

K and I met Lawrie on the bus itself. As we made our way to camp, she won us over with her friendliness and willingness to share travel tales. She's an accountant who travels extensively for work and the kind of girl you can imagine arguing with a busboy in Stockholm or trekking through the Black Forest in Germany. She was one of our 83 guests at our Housewarming party last Friday.
No camp is complete without a crush! Mine was on this hottie, Matt, who worked at camp--he had a hot British accent to match his sweet smile.
I figured I had to put up the picture of me riding the bull--this mechanical bull at camp was serious. My jeans have some torn up seams thanks to this bad boy.
Till you see me in a kayak you really shouldn't believe that I kayaked. So, here I am--in a kayak!

Forgiveness

Months ago, I wrote about a date whom I affectionately termed Indian Dracula--it was more vicious than sweet--well, he found my blog and was less than happy with my musings on our brief time together. However in light of my behavior he treated me with maturity and respect. He forgave me and conveyed hurt void of the kind of anger that induces reciprocation. I was appalled. I was confronted by my immaturity and I have never forgiven myself.

Today, he IMed out of the blue--just to say hi. I felt more small than good, but in light of his good example I took the opportunity to invite him to my housewarming party tomorrow. We'll see how that goes...if he comes.

Scary and Damaged

Grey's Anatomy is the best show EVER. Watching it is makes me feel like my life isn't so bad after all. It makes me realize that I'm not too old for angst because if surgical interns, responsible for the life and well-being of others, can have angst...so it's not so bad if I have angst from time to time!
Though it's been a long long time since I had angst...heck it's been a long time since I felt much of anything.

So, we're all a little scary and damaged.