Running away from myself

I think the hardest part of living by myself is that at every moment I only have myself for company. Most of the time I view myself harshly. My grand plans for being altruistic seem naive and I feel like a caricature of myself. I am confronted with my weaknesses, insecurities and laziness.
Amidst all this, I still feel unable to describe myself. There it is, right on my facebook page, a box saying, Write something about yourself. I can't think of a single sentence that describes who I am. I don't know who I am.

Me and My NYT

One of the most rewarding things I got out of temp-ing this summer at a concession stand at the Indianapolis Tennis Championships is a stress ball they were giving out at a promotional stand.

It is a yellow, tennis-ball-shaped ball with the New York Times (NYT) banner on it. It has a visible seam line going around it. The seam makes it look cheap which, it probably is. But it is one of my most prized possessions now.

My little NYT stress ball gave to me over the course of this summer what Tom Hanks got out of 'Wilson' in Cast Away. It was my companion when I had nothing to occupy my mind, and the silence was broken by its recurring twin thud off the wall and my palm. When my mind was too preoccupied, it gave me something mechanical to do to clear my head.

It got me off my chair every time it embarked on a crazy trajectory across my room- bouncing off bookshelves, getting diverted by the edges of walls, and landing with an anticlimactic, subservient silence on top of dirty laundry. Tired from a particularly fast-paced and hard-hitting volley, it slipped my grasp and punched me right in the eye.

I went through a transition this summer, something that will recur at later points in my life. I think I grew up a little more, dealt with a few more demons, and dared to confront adulthood ever so slowly. My focus shifted from ambitions to people, from being carefree to being responsible, and from the world to my self.

Finally, as a blow to my perception of Cool, I confirmed the cliche that, like my NYT, the best things in life are free.

The Day Michael Jackson Died

One of my biggest pet peeves with human nature is the apparent need to link every outsider's tragedy somehow to oneself. "Oh my god, I was putting out the milk bottle when the neighbor got beamed up to an alien spacecraft!" Its never, "Oh my god, the neighbor got beamed up...!"

So, when Michael Jackson died, I was only half-surprised to see the whole world "mourning" for a pop star whose whereabouts people didn't even care to know of for the better part of the last decade.

As with everybody else, I have interesting personal memories of Michael Jackson's music. My favorite is the Friday afternoons when my mum did the ironing, grooving to the Thriller album. Another memory is of when I watched in awe the way people's faces morphed into another person's in the Black or White music video. I pretty much blocked out the weird stuff that happened in his personal life, because, well, it was too scary.

Anyhow, I really couldn't believe that he died. I hope there is some sort of conspiracy theory or myth that comes out of this. That he just disappeared to escape from this crazy world, faking his own death. That would be a cool and happy ending.

How to score an iPod Touch

Graduating from college has its perks. I no longer fulfill the role of college student in society. Unfortunately, online scammers haven't got the memo yet.

As I wade through offers of $5000 checks from Google for essentially sitting at home and doing work that can be accomplished by a mentally challenged macaque, free iPods for being a mystery shopper, and testing products peddled by hardworking marketing executives, I can't help thinking- "Do these people really think I'm THAT stupid?"

Having it Backwards

I have a huge term paper to write and I have writer's block. So, I decided to start my doing something brainless- like the reference page.

Now, I have a perfectly formatted list of 23 references. Working backwards, I should do the conclusion, then expected results, method, design, hypotheses, and literature review.

C.R.A.P.- Cannot.Remember.Anything.Problem.

Focus, focus, focus. I have notes, annotations, abstracts.

Watched Bridget's Jones Diary for a full hour and a half. Very funny.

Took a break from taking a break and made coffee. Hmm, maybe some cereal too, and leftovers from lunch.

Oh my god, I am too full to think straight. My pants are uncomfortable tight. Disturbing.

Weight, 128 lbs. Alcohol units, 0. Caffeine units, 2. Dread level, 100%.

Getting it together. Getting it together. I am the intellectual equivalent of everyone else in this room. My poster of Jim Morrison is not reassuring.

Got into a much more comfortable position. Legs stretched, back straight, hands free to type. Excellent.

S.H.I.T.- Seriously.Hitting.Idiocy.Target

Why did I sign up for this? I could have taken a random 300 level undergraduate class and gotten away with 4 exams and 10 quizzes. Why did I sign up for a 500 level class filled with dedicated people who actually care about the subject?

I guess there is no point arguing with that now. My childhood has conditioned me to strive for a level of excellence I neither care for nor am willing to put in the effort toward. Whats worse is that everything I have done so far is not even noteworthy compared to other people I know, so I don't even feel a sense of achievement. I guess that is fair, no one should give you points just for getting it right. You have to do something extraordinary.

E.X.T.R.A.O.R.D.I.N.A.R.Y.- Escaping.Xeroxed.Typical.Route.Away to.Other.Roads.Demands.Intelligent.Navigation.Away from. Regular.Yearnings.

Right. Get it together, Jones.

Home Stretch

This is it- the final week of my final year. PHEW.

Last week of classes, anyway, and then a week of exams.

I am freaking out like a monkey in a market.

I have so much to do in so little time. The trouble is, I have no idea how to do it. I keep trying to roadmap it in my head- but I keep faltering.

Break it down, prioritize, execute. Simple.

I am off to do that now.

Its Official

I'm going to start the econ MA program at my current university in the Fall. I am moving out of my undergrad lair of three years into a tiny, but cute little studio downtown. :) Hurray for my first place on my own!!!

My boyfriend just told me, "Aww... my little girl is growing up." Very funny. He is lucky that didn't lead to a fight.

Biafra

Looks like the process of weeding sad readings from my life is impossible until I finish this project at work about West Africa. I am now reading a man's personal memoirs of Biafra. He was in the peace corp/red cross relief effort during the war. There are no limits to the amount of suffering humans can inflict on each other. And there is no limit to how small and trivial decisions collectively lead to big disasters. Isn't any sort of pogrom a result, not of a single order, but of a brew of years of little prejudices and disappointments welling up into a boiling fit of rage and madness?

Walkin' on the Sun

Today I rediscovered this kickass song from the 90s- "Walkin' on the Sun" by Smashmouth. It is just, so, totally... bad ass! Listening to it makes me feel like I can knock anything out of my way.

Soooo... what's new with me this weekend? I feel more confident about the future, now that I know what I am going to do. Its the uncertainty in this world that makes you scared, not things by themselves. I am afraid of the dark, not because of what is hidden, but the fact that I can not see it.

Keeping the philosophizing to a minimum, I am pretty glad of the way things have turned out. =)

I am turning 21 on Tuesday. Yay, I can officially be served alcohol in this country. Big whoop. I think that alcohol law is the only reason I don't feel like an adult yet. If I had lived in India, I would have begun the process of mentally feeling like an adult when I turned 18. I have no excuses anymore =)

Alright, I am off to go knock out some stuff from my agenda, Smashmouth-style.

The Hedonist Diaries Pt.1

Considering that the first word I used to describe myself in this blog is food-lover, I thought I might jot down my adventures with learning how to feed myself.

My adventures began more out of necessity to feed myself on the cheap, and grew to accomodate my irrational desire to host dinner parties, once every new moon, for those of my friends unfortunate enough to place their faith in my culinary skills.

Let me start with the first ever meal I discovered by accident.

Stir-fried Veggies in Italian Pasta- Cooking time: 20 mins

Ingredients

1 cup of elbow pasta
Frozen green peas
Any sort of lettuce
1 carrot
Vietnamese chili sauce
Soy sauce
1/2 an onion
1 egg

This is my own take on chinese food, I don't think I follow any of the rules to call it a fried rice or stir-fried noodle recipe. I use the most budget veggies- large uncut carrots, frozen peas and uncut romaine lettuce. Ramen noodles are quite close-knit and dont mix very well with others, so I prefer friendly elbow pasta.

What I lack in propriety and finesse, I make up for in time. I can have this meal done in under 20 mins.

1. Fill up a pan with hot water from the tap, set it on high to bring the water to boil.
2. In the mean time, put a saucepan on medium heat, add a bit of olive oil (I'm very stingy with this, maybe 1 tbsp).
3. Chop up the onion, pop it in the saucepan.
4. Peel carrot, chop.
5. Water must be bubbling up, add the pasta. Scatter some salt in the water.
6. Add carrots and peas to onions.
7. Drizzle in some soy sauce.
8. Wash lettuce, tear it up in handfuls and add to the saucepan.
9. Stir, stir, stir till pasta is done in the other pan (I use the universal method of pinching it to see if there is any white inside).
10. Drain pasta, add to the pan. Add desired amount of chili sauce. Stir, stir, stir. Pasta should look a bit darker from getting coated with the sauces.
11. (If you eat eggs) Make some room in center of the pan, crack open an egg in this space. Add some black pepper, and scramble it. Its okay if a couple of peas wander in and get trapped in the egg.
12. When egg is half-done, mix in with the rest of the pasta and veggies in the pan.
13. Turn off the pan, and give your spatula a break- its nice to let the meal crunch up a bit in the residual heat at the bottom of the pan. As your food cools, this is also the perfect time for fixing a nice cup of tea to go with your meal.

It may not look or sound very appetizing, but trust me, if you are anything like me, you will love it. Especially after a day of sustaining on granola bars.

Nightmare on Blake Street

Nightmares have got to be the world's lamest way for a subconscious to manifest itself.

I have heard somewhere that disturbing, bloody dreams happen when a person is stressed. Early this morning, I had a double whammy- horrible things happening to two different people in my life, at the same time, in the same place.

Bruuugh. Waking up with a scream is not very nice. Especially to the person sleeping next to you.

Thankfully, instead of being greeted with alarmed concern (which would have made me dwell on the dream) I heard a sleepy voice say, "Its okay, its just a dream." When my blurry eyes adjusted, the owner of the voice was peacefully asleep again. Hmm... was he even awake when he said it?

Later on I jokingly told the contents of my dream to him. He said I needed to chill, have fun, go crazy, and stop worrying about random shit happening to random people. Its true. I was researching the Nigerian civil war at work this entire week, empathizing and tearing up in response to horrible stories and images in archived newspapers. I read a memoir by Ishmael Beah, called A Long Way Gone, in which he talks about losing his family and becoming a child soldier in Sierra Leone. He was so LUCKY to get out of that. I wonder if he still has nightmares.

So, my project for the next couple of weeks is to sweep away negative events and readings from my psyche. No more fuming about Sri Lanka or feeling sad about Partition. Hopefully, that translates to sweet dreams.

On a lighter note, something that HAS been cracking me up lately is this quip by Steven Colbert, which, in true Colbert fashion, is incredibly offensive and not at all true.

"...rainbows are God's way of frowning at gay people."

A Totally Green Day

St. Patrick's Day - an annual feast that celebrates St. Patrick, one of the patron saints of Ireland.

Americans use it as an excuse to (1) dye their local water body with green food coloring (2) wear green t-shirts that say something corny like "Kiss me, I'm Irish!" and (3) give roaring business to pubs, Irish or otherwise, that serve Coors Light dyed with... green food coloring. Yep, green beer.

Where I live, the Downtown canal was a respectable shade of parrot green, a street performer played Irish music on his violin, people wore all sorts of ridiculous green accessories like leprechaun hats and tights, and of course, pitchers of green beer flowed like water and tasted like piss.

I went to a bar with my friends close to my university. There was a rock band playing covers of popular rock songs. I got sufficiently pickled to bob my head to the tunes without much difficulty.

A good initiation to the American St. Patty's Day tradition.

The Other Side of the Bathroom Sink

There is nothing you can do to sufficiently prepare yourself for sharing a bathroom with a guy.

I recently had a friend move in temporarily to my apt, and we both have to share a bathroom. Let me describe the first morning after he moved in.

As I opened my bedroom door I was greeted by a furry ball of energy. No, I didn't get sucked into an alternate universe where energy takes the shape of balls covered with white and grey fur. It was Minnie, my friend's Shi-Tzu. She is so tiny and excitable she may as well be just pure energy that emits a whiff of doggie powder as it zooms by.

In a circus feat that would make Britney Spears proud, I navigated the short distance from my bedroom to the bathroom with Minnie weaving in and out of my way. I spent a few minutes trying to cajole her to get out of the bathroom. In the end, I managed to shut the door behind her as she whizzed past it with blind fervor.

Alright, surveying the bathroom. As expected, I found a stack of, ahem, magazines stacked near the closet. It was right next to my reading of choice in the can- a novel by Amy Tan. Difference number 1, noted.

Next, he had stacked all my bottles and brushes neatly off to one side of the sink. He had a pink hair dryer plugged into the socket and resting comfortably among his bottles and brushes. Huh? Even I don't have a hair dryer- not one that works anyway. He also owns a whole range of products to take care of his skin, and I have my one bottle of Olay to solve everything. Difference number 2, cute and unexpected.

Difference number 3. This is the one that made me laugh at myself, because it so symbolizes the difference between him and me as people. Not gender differences, just as people. We have a little cabinet suspended to the base of our bathroom mirror. On his side, the stack of bottles ran as follows- Davidoff Blue, Armani Code, Guess, Ferrari Black (I have no idea about men's fashion, so you know I'm not making this up). On my side, a half-burnt candle that doesn't smell of anything, a full candle that my other roommate donated to me as she didn't like the smell of pine and I just thought smelled better than what my bathroom normally did, and a yellow rubber ducky that my roommates got me as a joke once to cheer me up about something. Yep, thats the difference between him and me.

Conakry

My new favorite word is Conakry. It just rolls off the tongue so nicely. Its exotic. Its mysterious. Its the capital of Guinea.

My previous favorite word was chicanery. I came across it while cramming vocabulary words for the GRE, which, by the way, is anything but an aptitude test. Chicanery is an action done to trick, deceive or evade. I also visualize "chicanes" on formula one tracks. I think its a very cool word.

I have also recently fallen in love with this picture of a Malian fusion music duo called Amadou et Mariam.

I will leave it to you to figure out why, if you are interested in knowing why I love this picture.

One final thing that always manages to put a smile on my face these days - Important things with Demetri Martin.

Check it out. Its pretty important.