What is it with this bloody season?
If one more person says to me "be nice its Christmas..." - i'm going to head-butt them. And I don't mean like Zidane - into the chest. My forehead will crash into their nose. I live by the code that while a person... can be smart - people are dumb. This is just a fact of life. Riled up a crowed will do anything while a single person may have moral objections or otherwise. That doesn't speak very well of our species' average.
Now I don't profess to be an aberration, or an exception to the norm - but when is it going to strike everyone that a retail holiday is exactly that. "Here, take the day off to go buy some presents for everyone else (using the money that you slave for us for). Feel good about yourself and treat others with respect in this joyous time of Christmas."
Some blonde-haired, blue-eyed 12 yr. old sighs complacently as the first snowfall of December makes her think of Christmas-y goodness. 'Tis the season to be jolly. The rest of the year though - yeah - you can be a dick. As long as that "Season's Greetings and Best Wishes!!" card goes out every december, you've absolved yourself of the 11 months of bitchin' you did behind their back. Everyone bitches - so don't act like you don't. But MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Lets look at another. Valentine's day. (sigh) A day to fully express your love for the one you.. errr ... love. So buy some flowers, cards and candy and get laid. Buy your way into people's hearts - and its masterful in its construction isn't it? It starts with the primary intention of getting laid. If you're 25 or younger - don't even f-in lie to me - you know what you do and why you do it. There are 365 bloody days in the year to "love your lover", yet this is the ONE day that you must pay your dues??? This is the day you must find something romantic to do. Why?
Mother's day, father's day... it goes on and on. Since I can't change it, I'm going to join it. My 5 contributions/suggestions are below:
1. Hash Bash (April 20th) - Street food vendors roll up onto a particular street (its your neighbor hood - pick one!) mid-day. Meanwhile, everyone has spent the day hooking up all sorts of bammy in J's, bowls, bongs, blunts, spliffs, chilliums. 4:20 pm, the bell rings and food is served! Roll onto that street and comfort your munchies with some great food.
2. Choot Day (June 5th) - Multiple interpretations depending on where you live. For some, a joyous occassion to beat the shit out of those that you consider choots. In other parts of the world, a day to frolick and mate with whomever you choose. 'Consent' becomes a perspective on this day.
3. Maha-Choot Day (August 1st) - AK 47's with scopes issued for one day only. Sign up today!
4. Wet Day (October 1st) - Stock up on liqour at ridiculously discounted and tax free prices - and get wasted off your ass. You can't get served alcohol the next day - so you might as well be too fuggin' hungover to remember it!
5. Asshole Day (December 15th): Feel free to walk around 10 days before Christmas and tell people what you really think.
For instance - "Hey man, can I talk to you for a second?. Look... I know you've got a gimpy face. I know you 'twitch' every time you smile, and yes... I know its an involuntary physical disorder that you were born with... i DO understand that...
but seriously... if you smile one more time while talking to me... I'm going to kick your balls so hard, they're going to pop out your mouth."
Doesn't really matter cuz in 10 days, he'll be on an operating table with forceps in his mouth, reading a greeting card from you - "Best Wishes for the coming year... - lots of love, hugs, kisses and ice - Aye Dav."
December 12, 2006
December 06, 2006
December 2006
December is here. New Years' Eve is approaching swiftly and in its haste has blown Winter's icy winds across the narrows of New York. It is a festive time of the year, when dawn comes late and dusk sets early - a seasonal trait, I am particularly fond of. But my nocturnal nature is not the topic today.
On a recent weekend, Pattu visited from Cornell and we went for 'Il Barbiere Di Siviglia' (The Barber of Seville) - a most fantastic and highly recommended rendition featuring everyone's favorite Opera character - Figaro. Directed by Bartlett Sher, this performance featured the delightful and sultry voice of Diana Damrau (playing Rosina). Now, generally, I am rarely impressed with female leads -but she was magnificent. Her presence and antics on-stage uplifted the performance in a very natural and noteworthy fashion. Though I didn't care much for the set, the actors and orchestra functioning in total congruence was truly remarkable. Peter Mattei plays the lovable Figaro, and immediately involved the audience with his famous entrance on his mobile barbershop, led in by a donkey. I want to take a moment to harp on the appreciation I had for this cast to execute each dialogue, verse and action in perfect harmony with the Orchestra, all the while making it seem effortless and obvious. There is natural talent and overall brilliance at work here that one can't even fathom.
The only point in this performance which I had major issues with - came at the conclusion. Now, I happen to be a fan of 'Romantic Comedy', especially from the late 18th/early 19th century, but I find the concept of "profession of love", as I call it, absolutely unbearable. Close to his exit, Almaviva professes his undying love for the beautiful Rosina. Almaviva, then, professes his love for Rosina... again. Almaviva, then walks across the stage and professes his love AGAIN! Juan Diego Flórez must have lost his mind playing Almaviva's most annoying conclusion solo, especially after 3 hours! DUDE! You love her - I got it the first time! SHUT UP! This profession wasn't even a poetic ensemble of metaphors - that might have been bearable -this was the same thing over and over again! 30 minutes of it and I had my playbill rolled up into a tight, solid structure as I mapped a trajectory to deliver a deafening blow to Almaviva's skull. I had already considered that before his unconscious body would hit the wooden floor, I would have dived across the audience with remarkable strength and veracity to reach him and ensure that his head fell on a pencil. And I would bask in my glory, bathing in his blood, spouting from his impaled, lifeless body. Then Pattu came up with a better option - "FUCK! - lets leave before I kill myself). That was Friday.
(I have issues - believe it or not - so do you... so F off!)
Saturday presented itself in a predictable manner - as we drenched ourselves in alcohol and engaged in lies, deceit and superficial conversations. Amidst all this, the "bumping into" never ceases as I found myself in unforseeable situations with avoidable individuals. Hearts a-poundin'... I've found my existence to be marred by the habitual occurrence of 'The Weekend'. Its incessant need to throw me into a degenerate new stance, while I defile my being and celebrate new levels of decadence. And on Sunday mornings, I find myself cross-eyed, covered in gloss and confetti - as the celebrations have passed. I hide myself from the sunlight.
Monday rolls around, coffee and cigarettes to make this pass - and I can't wait for the weekend again.
On a recent weekend, Pattu visited from Cornell and we went for 'Il Barbiere Di Siviglia' (The Barber of Seville) - a most fantastic and highly recommended rendition featuring everyone's favorite Opera character - Figaro. Directed by Bartlett Sher, this performance featured the delightful and sultry voice of Diana Damrau (playing Rosina). Now, generally, I am rarely impressed with female leads -but she was magnificent. Her presence and antics on-stage uplifted the performance in a very natural and noteworthy fashion. Though I didn't care much for the set, the actors and orchestra functioning in total congruence was truly remarkable. Peter Mattei plays the lovable Figaro, and immediately involved the audience with his famous entrance on his mobile barbershop, led in by a donkey. I want to take a moment to harp on the appreciation I had for this cast to execute each dialogue, verse and action in perfect harmony with the Orchestra, all the while making it seem effortless and obvious. There is natural talent and overall brilliance at work here that one can't even fathom.
The only point in this performance which I had major issues with - came at the conclusion. Now, I happen to be a fan of 'Romantic Comedy', especially from the late 18th/early 19th century, but I find the concept of "profession of love", as I call it, absolutely unbearable. Close to his exit, Almaviva professes his undying love for the beautiful Rosina. Almaviva, then, professes his love for Rosina... again. Almaviva, then walks across the stage and professes his love AGAIN! Juan Diego Flórez must have lost his mind playing Almaviva's most annoying conclusion solo, especially after 3 hours! DUDE! You love her - I got it the first time! SHUT UP! This profession wasn't even a poetic ensemble of metaphors - that might have been bearable -this was the same thing over and over again! 30 minutes of it and I had my playbill rolled up into a tight, solid structure as I mapped a trajectory to deliver a deafening blow to Almaviva's skull. I had already considered that before his unconscious body would hit the wooden floor, I would have dived across the audience with remarkable strength and veracity to reach him and ensure that his head fell on a pencil. And I would bask in my glory, bathing in his blood, spouting from his impaled, lifeless body. Then Pattu came up with a better option - "FUCK! - lets leave before I kill myself). That was Friday.
(I have issues - believe it or not - so do you... so F off!)
Saturday presented itself in a predictable manner - as we drenched ourselves in alcohol and engaged in lies, deceit and superficial conversations. Amidst all this, the "bumping into" never ceases as I found myself in unforseeable situations with avoidable individuals. Hearts a-poundin'... I've found my existence to be marred by the habitual occurrence of 'The Weekend'. Its incessant need to throw me into a degenerate new stance, while I defile my being and celebrate new levels of decadence. And on Sunday mornings, I find myself cross-eyed, covered in gloss and confetti - as the celebrations have passed. I hide myself from the sunlight.
Monday rolls around, coffee and cigarettes to make this pass - and I can't wait for the weekend again.
November 01, 2006
I'd like to live...
"I'd like to live the love I sing about, in my song"
Sex has been a fad for the longest time and like any fashionable item - its acceptance comes and goes in its general cyclical nature. I've seen two posts about Sex so am forced to have one as well. Its the new fad!
Puma... yes, everyone wore Puma through the 80's. Then the 90's came. No more Puma. 2000 hits and it was Puma fever again. I'm not suggesting that Puma is like sex, or pumas are sexy creatures.... or... ok ok.
continue...
I don't need to highlight the "fashion of sex" in the 60's & 70's. Nor do I need to talk about the cylcical nature of conservatism. And its funny how "sex" is tied to conservatism isn't it?
Because (and as Dr. Kinsey would argue) - it has nothing to do with morality, ethics etc. It is purely biological. The only reason it becomes emotional is because biologically our senses are heightened at the time. Well, some senses are heightened... common "sense" sometimes deserts us - but thats a different story. Women suddeny have a higher threshold for pain while in congress. Men, have a brain and a penis but only enough blood to run one at a time. Its a frightening combination of a dozen such factors that cause complications.
But who put sex on a pedestal?.. and why? I promise you that it wasn't my contribution to the suggestion box. But its there. High on top of the totem pole - right above "thou shalt not kill".
As a brown blooded, Indian... (pause)
Shout out: East-side Desi niggaz in da house wha wha!?
Yes. I am... in fact... down like that.
- I always get the feeling that we are far more conservative about sex than the rest of the progressive world. Why? Clearly there's a LOT of f-in goin' on back home... its a bloody miracle that there isn't daylight bangin' on the streets at the rate we're multiplying.
...but.. but (giggle) i'm so shy about it... you dirty... dirty... mmmm.... boy... yeah...
Tubby CHUP!
My advice to the savers. And we all know the savers - "i'm saving myself for that special moment and that special time". Life's too f'in short to be "saving" yourself. To begin with why is it called "saving yourself"? Ever thought of that? And what are you saving yourself for? Marriage? - jesus. Even while my boy J.C. went around the world (presumably for the years 12-33 - unaccounted for in the Bible) - what the hell do you think he was doing? I'd like to conjecture but... perhaps another time.
Break out - live free - do what you want. "Savers" - yes you think you are doing what you want (as I recommend) - but really you're not. A self-imposed restriction automatically negates living freely. Choosing to limit your choices, while a choice itself, holistically kills your freedom. You can face that fact or lie to yourself.
(Note: ugly chicks please continue to lie to yourself and remain conservative. Thanks.)
cf* - 'I'd like to live the love I sing about - in my song' - B.B. King
Sex has been a fad for the longest time and like any fashionable item - its acceptance comes and goes in its general cyclical nature. I've seen two posts about Sex so am forced to have one as well. Its the new fad!
Puma... yes, everyone wore Puma through the 80's. Then the 90's came. No more Puma. 2000 hits and it was Puma fever again. I'm not suggesting that Puma is like sex, or pumas are sexy creatures.... or... ok ok.
continue...
I don't need to highlight the "fashion of sex" in the 60's & 70's. Nor do I need to talk about the cylcical nature of conservatism. And its funny how "sex" is tied to conservatism isn't it?
Because (and as Dr. Kinsey would argue) - it has nothing to do with morality, ethics etc. It is purely biological. The only reason it becomes emotional is because biologically our senses are heightened at the time. Well, some senses are heightened... common "sense" sometimes deserts us - but thats a different story. Women suddeny have a higher threshold for pain while in congress. Men, have a brain and a penis but only enough blood to run one at a time. Its a frightening combination of a dozen such factors that cause complications.
But who put sex on a pedestal?.. and why? I promise you that it wasn't my contribution to the suggestion box. But its there. High on top of the totem pole - right above "thou shalt not kill".
As a brown blooded, Indian...
Shout out: East-side Desi niggaz in da house wha wha!?
Yes. I am... in fact... down like that.
- I always get the feeling that we are far more conservative about sex than the rest of the progressive world. Why? Clearly there's a LOT of f-in goin' on back home... its a bloody miracle that there isn't daylight bangin' on the streets at the rate we're multiplying.
...but.. but (giggle) i'm so shy about it... you dirty... dirty... mmmm.... boy... yeah...
Tubby CHUP!
My advice to the savers. And we all know the savers - "i'm saving myself for that special moment and that special time". Life's too f'in short to be "saving" yourself. To begin with why is it called "saving yourself"? Ever thought of that? And what are you saving yourself for? Marriage? - jesus. Even while my boy J.C. went around the world (presumably for the years 12-33 - unaccounted for in the Bible) - what the hell do you think he was doing? I'd like to conjecture but... perhaps another time.
Break out - live free - do what you want. "Savers" - yes you think you are doing what you want (as I recommend) - but really you're not. A self-imposed restriction automatically negates living freely. Choosing to limit your choices, while a choice itself, holistically kills your freedom. You can face that fact or lie to yourself.
(Note: ugly chicks please continue to lie to yourself and remain conservative. Thanks.)
cf* - 'I'd like to live the love I sing about - in my song' - B.B. King
October 27, 2006
25
"I've used hammers made out of wood. I have played games with pieces and rules. I've undeciphered tricks at the bar, but now you're gone."
Halloween weekend has fallen upon New York with less fervor than I remember. A friend turned 25 today and I realized I wasn't far away. Scary thought to be honest. In a month and a half, I would've lived a quarter of a century.
Get serious. Pay attention. "Scary thought" is right. It is FUCKIN' frightening. Not that I'm growing older and its a small step toward the end... or "one day i'll die" - no. I'm not afraid of any of that bullshit. I'm talking about whats already past. Its done. Finished. You can't change that. I'll never be 11 again. I'll never be 21 again. EVER. (Religious zealots fuck off right now).
I will never do SO many things "for the first time" ever again. Don't tell me the obvious bullshit - "oh! but Morrie - there's so much to look forward to" - yea yea... I know. I'm not talking about the future. Its becoming clearer very quickly how important it is to justify having lived the way you lived. Not because its saddening, or depressing but because its fucking scary!
My checklist for 25:
1. Did I have an emotive and memory intensive childhood? Check.
2. Make terrific friends along the way? Check.
3. Drink and smoke at a reasonable age? Check.
4. Lost virginity at a reasonable age? Check. (though I think its growing back)
5. Have a job I'm happy with and proud of? Check.
Ok. Good... (sigh).
Back to work.
Halloween weekend has fallen upon New York with less fervor than I remember. A friend turned 25 today and I realized I wasn't far away. Scary thought to be honest. In a month and a half, I would've lived a quarter of a century.
Get serious. Pay attention. "Scary thought" is right. It is FUCKIN' frightening. Not that I'm growing older and its a small step toward the end... or "one day i'll die" - no. I'm not afraid of any of that bullshit. I'm talking about whats already past. Its done. Finished. You can't change that. I'll never be 11 again. I'll never be 21 again. EVER. (Religious zealots fuck off right now).
I will never do SO many things "for the first time" ever again. Don't tell me the obvious bullshit - "oh! but Morrie - there's so much to look forward to" - yea yea... I know. I'm not talking about the future. Its becoming clearer very quickly how important it is to justify having lived the way you lived. Not because its saddening, or depressing but because its fucking scary!
My checklist for 25:
1. Did I have an emotive and memory intensive childhood? Check.
2. Make terrific friends along the way? Check.
3. Drink and smoke at a reasonable age? Check.
4. Lost virginity at a reasonable age? Check. (though I think its growing back)
5. Have a job I'm happy with and proud of? Check.
Ok. Good... (sigh).
Back to work.
October 23, 2006
Ashes...
Memories are titled but disorganized.
In desperation I have tried to glide -
but my wings have withered and died
like those green leaves which have dried
from winter winds into pale brittle paper
I have indulged myself in much degeneration -
and decadence.
No more than a simple drop of blood as ink
can be used to write my tales of bliss.
And like a wretched mongrel -
scabbed, wounded and dirty
under today's black print
grounded, I await tomorrow's sorrowful morn
as distinct apparitions pass by
and puffs of stale tobacco smoke -
breach my nostrils and smother my existence.
Even dreams have become weary
and I've walked the path of ruin and stand
At the very hem of re-birth.
But only for a few fleeting moments . . .
*Come to send
Not condescend
Transcendental consequence
Is to transcend, where we are
Who are we?
Who we are
Trampled moss on your souls
Changes all, you're a part
Seen it all, not at all
Can't defend, fuck the man
Take me for a ride, before we leave
Circumstance
Clappin' hands
Guidin' winds
Happenstance
Off the track, in the mud
That's the moss in the aforementioned verse
Just a little time, before we leave
Stop light plays its part
So I would say you've got a heart
What's your part?
Who you are
You are who, who you are*
*cf: Pearl Jam - Who You Are
Interested to see if anyone follows the poem and the referenced song below it - thoughts?
In desperation I have tried to glide -
but my wings have withered and died
like those green leaves which have dried
from winter winds into pale brittle paper
I have indulged myself in much degeneration -
and decadence.
No more than a simple drop of blood as ink
can be used to write my tales of bliss.
And like a wretched mongrel -
scabbed, wounded and dirty
under today's black print
grounded, I await tomorrow's sorrowful morn
as distinct apparitions pass by
and puffs of stale tobacco smoke -
breach my nostrils and smother my existence.
Even dreams have become weary
and I've walked the path of ruin and stand
At the very hem of re-birth.
But only for a few fleeting moments . . .
- Aman
______________*Come to send
Not condescend
Transcendental consequence
Is to transcend, where we are
Who are we?
Who we are
Trampled moss on your souls
Changes all, you're a part
Seen it all, not at all
Can't defend, fuck the man
Take me for a ride, before we leave
Circumstance
Clappin' hands
Guidin' winds
Happenstance
Off the track, in the mud
That's the moss in the aforementioned verse
Just a little time, before we leave
Stop light plays its part
So I would say you've got a heart
What's your part?
Who you are
You are who, who you are*
*cf: Pearl Jam - Who You Are
Interested to see if anyone follows the poem and the referenced song below it - thoughts?
October 12, 2006
The New Me...
PIC: The New Me
Almost two weeks into my new job and sparkling new title, its finally set in. Fear that is. Having realized that upto the moment of action, all the pre-cum glory and praise is worthless if I'm unable to perform. I'm the young blood in the team, I'm supposed to become the "go-to" guy. Yes - sounded amazing till I am in it... now. Expectations are high, learning curve is steep and I've just accomplished defining a challenge. Isn't that what it is in the end? - a challenge?
The work is interesting, I'm getting to do things I'd never imagined I'd be granted an opportunity to do - and its interesting (thank god!). But I can also already see that its temporary. I know that the end is the last thing I should look to when starting something new but darn it - it can't be good if I can already envision this being a 2-3 (maybe 4) year stint. But enough about the job.
I'm back in New York - and how phenomenally grand it is to be here again. As the winter is setting in and I'm having to pause constantly while typing to wipe my streaming nose, I can't help but think of this city and how it never ceases to amaze me. I'm back into things I hadn't been in for a while.
The Subway
I ride the train to work every morning and how I've missed it! There's the young Burberry woman riding from Lex to 5th on the E train. She never fails to catch herself in the windows when the train is not parked at a station off-loading and boarding. There's the young kid who will never learn to hold the bloody bar and is always jolted back 4 feet, stumbling into his angry mother's arms. The crackling P.A. system - who knows what the driver just said- he could've said Timbuktu for all we know. I'm on a train destined for... Queens? what the hell!? shit.. i got on the wrong train... and now the 30 minute exercise to get out of Queens (sigh).
(don't act like its never happened to you).
Walking
Thats right! I'm walking again, well - from home to the train station and then to work. It's best described as painful. Here's why: You walk briskly in New York, through the cold and descend finally into the subway station. New York subways are notorious for their hell-like sweltering warmth, deep beneath the surface. So when you're in your suit and your shirt inside is drenched with every last drop of water that was once in you, here comes your train - Air Conditioning! Yes! You're on the train and its cooler - slightly. It takes time for the relief to hit and then it comes again - your stop. You exit into another oven, curse upwards and walk on, up the stairs and back out into... you guessed it... the cold again. Your body just went round-trip from Antartica to the Equator and back again and all you ended up with is sweat patches and a cold the next morning. *sniffle*
Life
Its been a while since I blogged, mostly because of the several projects I've taken up. The new job of course, is numero uno, but there's also my recent visit to Strands where I purchased (for $32.00) a hardbound old edition of Les Miserables. And it sits now, accompanie d with a Dictionary waiting for my return every evening. Painful bloody project. Then there's the shopping I've had to do for the new work environment - which by the way is NOTHING like my past experience. Its not that I didn't expect it, I just noticed it... err... severely. I've never seen my boss get yelled at till my first week in this new job - nobody cares - wipe your tears you fucking pussy and put your head to the grind stone. Awh... you got married? Thats nice.. get to work! Awh... you got shot in the arm? Fuck you - type with the other one!
And amidst all this there is the need to build a new social circle. With Tiru moving to Rhode Island, and Sukhi being the only one left, I have to build something again. Its not easy when you're not a Freshman in college where everybody is out looking for a bud. Thats a funny statement because I spent a considerable amount of my freshman year "looking" for bud and a considerable amount of my senior year "selling" it... hahaha... ok ok - i digress.
There is also the unfortunate realizeation that this new job will keep me in New York longer than I wanted... but deep down I knew this was going to happen. I will be here for at least another 2 years. As my folks are seriously considering moving back to India next year - this means I might have to dilute my investment in the apartment and look for a place for myself...
I'm here in New York, moving up the monetary ladder getting the first few glimpses of the catch phrase "...in new york, there's always someone who makes more, fucks more and will live longer than you".
I just bought a Hugo Boss suit. I'm not trying to brag but I have to tell you, to be able to walk into the store... look around, try a Boss suit, like it and buy it without thinking three times was a great feeling. Its mine - I did that. I paid for it with my first check. I don't give a shit about "Boss" ...mostly because it doesn't give a shit about me - but I feel like I have accomplished something. (Ready? - here it comes).
Screw the suits, the watches, the money, the apartments... those aren't accomplishments. But I've accomplished something... (?)
And that inspires me. Look beyond the superficial statement above. It inspires me that I can feel like I have already accomplished something... because god! there is so much more to do and so much more to fucking life... and with the highest level of sincerety, I look forward to blissfully exploring what that "more" is... and its inspiring and its something to look forward to...
- cuz in the end I'm just a fuckin' kid who doesn't know shit.
(I can see my Father nodding in agreement from miles away).
PIC: The REAL Me...
Almost two weeks into my new job and sparkling new title, its finally set in. Fear that is. Having realized that upto the moment of action, all the pre-cum glory and praise is worthless if I'm unable to perform. I'm the young blood in the team, I'm supposed to become the "go-to" guy. Yes - sounded amazing till I am in it... now. Expectations are high, learning curve is steep and I've just accomplished defining a challenge. Isn't that what it is in the end? - a challenge?
The work is interesting, I'm getting to do things I'd never imagined I'd be granted an opportunity to do - and its interesting (thank god!). But I can also already see that its temporary. I know that the end is the last thing I should look to when starting something new but darn it - it can't be good if I can already envision this being a 2-3 (maybe 4) year stint. But enough about the job.
I'm back in New York - and how phenomenally grand it is to be here again. As the winter is setting in and I'm having to pause constantly while typing to wipe my streaming nose, I can't help but think of this city and how it never ceases to amaze me. I'm back into things I hadn't been in for a while.
The Subway
I ride the train to work every morning and how I've missed it! There's the young Burberry woman riding from Lex to 5th on the E train. She never fails to catch herself in the windows when the train is not parked at a station off-loading and boarding. There's the young kid who will never learn to hold the bloody bar and is always jolted back 4 feet, stumbling into his angry mother's arms. The crackling P.A. system - who knows what the driver just said- he could've said Timbuktu for all we know. I'm on a train destined for... Queens? what the hell!? shit.. i got on the wrong train... and now the 30 minute exercise to get out of Queens (sigh).
(don't act like its never happened to you).
Walking
Thats right! I'm walking again, well - from home to the train station and then to work. It's best described as painful. Here's why: You walk briskly in New York, through the cold and descend finally into the subway station. New York subways are notorious for their hell-like sweltering warmth, deep beneath the surface. So when you're in your suit and your shirt inside is drenched with every last drop of water that was once in you, here comes your train - Air Conditioning! Yes! You're on the train and its cooler - slightly. It takes time for the relief to hit and then it comes again - your stop. You exit into another oven, curse upwards and walk on, up the stairs and back out into... you guessed it... the cold again. Your body just went round-trip from Antartica to the Equator and back again and all you ended up with is sweat patches and a cold the next morning. *sniffle*
Life
Its been a while since I blogged, mostly because of the several projects I've taken up. The new job of course, is numero uno, but there's also my recent visit to Strands where I purchased (for $32.00) a hardbound old edition of Les Miserables. And it sits now, accompanie d with a Dictionary waiting for my return every evening. Painful bloody project. Then there's the shopping I've had to do for the new work environment - which by the way is NOTHING like my past experience. Its not that I didn't expect it, I just noticed it... err... severely. I've never seen my boss get yelled at till my first week in this new job - nobody cares - wipe your tears you fucking pussy and put your head to the grind stone. Awh... you got married? Thats nice.. get to work! Awh... you got shot in the arm? Fuck you - type with the other one!
And amidst all this there is the need to build a new social circle. With Tiru moving to Rhode Island, and Sukhi being the only one left, I have to build something again. Its not easy when you're not a Freshman in college where everybody is out looking for a bud. Thats a funny statement because I spent a considerable amount of my freshman year "looking" for bud and a considerable amount of my senior year "selling" it... hahaha... ok ok - i digress.
There is also the unfortunate realizeation that this new job will keep me in New York longer than I wanted... but deep down I knew this was going to happen. I will be here for at least another 2 years. As my folks are seriously considering moving back to India next year - this means I might have to dilute my investment in the apartment and look for a place for myself...
I'm here in New York, moving up the monetary ladder getting the first few glimpses of the catch phrase "...in new york, there's always someone who makes more, fucks more and will live longer than you".
I just bought a Hugo Boss suit. I'm not trying to brag but I have to tell you, to be able to walk into the store... look around, try a Boss suit, like it and buy it without thinking three times was a great feeling. Its mine - I did that. I paid for it with my first check. I don't give a shit about "Boss" ...mostly because it doesn't give a shit about me - but I feel like I have accomplished something. (Ready? - here it comes).
Screw the suits, the watches, the money, the apartments... those aren't accomplishments. But I've accomplished something... (?)
And that inspires me. Look beyond the superficial statement above. It inspires me that I can feel like I have already accomplished something... because god! there is so much more to do and so much more to fucking life... and with the highest level of sincerety, I look forward to blissfully exploring what that "more" is... and its inspiring and its something to look forward to...
- cuz in the end I'm just a fuckin' kid who doesn't know shit.
(I can see my Father nodding in agreement from miles away).
PIC: The REAL Me...
September 12, 2006
New York, New York...
It was chilly last night and my face lit up like a little white boy descending the stairs on a white Christmas morning. For thats what it was, Christmas season approaches. I can't even believe that we're in the middle of September already.
The "Back to School" sales papers toward the end of August and Labor Day weekend - marked the end to a fairly decent summer. I like Autumn and yes, I prefer to call it 'Autumn' than 'Fall'. I like Spring too, but not as much as Autumn. Spring hints at Summer's sweltering approach. Give me cold. Give me goose-down comforters and the joy of Starbucks and a ciggarette. Give me a ski trip and the bruises to go with it.
And this is one of my primal joys of living in New York. I always have something to look forward to -seasons and all they have to offer. I love winter in the city. It makes me think of jazz. JC in particular. No no... not Jesus. John Coltrane (who is a god in his own right).
And I love walking down 5th Ave. - after its been dressed in its best winter sets. And my eyes tear a little with the cold, which only makes the city's glimmer more noticeable. I love the scarves I wear, and the long coats with leather gloves. Collars turned up, steam rising from my mouth and walking briskly trying not to burn myself with my cigarrette, while balancing a cup of coffee in the other hand. I love wearing my suit covered in an overcoat and descending the steps of Lincoln Center after watching... perhaps... Itzak Perlman wheel onto stage and move me. And I love going out at night, and watching the silly girls in short skirts- as the forst on their knees makes them turn a distinct Telly-Tubby blue.
And I love looking forward to Delhi, as my visits are generally in Winter. Last year, New Year's was in Goa, this year it shall be in New York, with a taste of Delhi hopefully visiting me. I imagine another phenomenal couple of days. Everything else in the middle just seems to fade away.. I'm not sure if its a fortunate or unfortunate occurrence that I look from New Year to New Year and everything in the middle seems to become irrelevant. What is so bloody important about that day? The 1st of January.
What am I ... what is everyone so happy about? Is suddenly everything going to be different? Its become a ficticious cleansing period - when the slate is wiped clean. Perhaps thats why the concept of 'New Year's Resolutions' exists. I'm not going to lie - I like it. I look forward to the drinking. The celebrations. Meeting friends of old and making new ones.
I look forward to it all.
And as this post practically is in its entirety -I don't mind being corny this once. Not at all.
The "Back to School" sales papers toward the end of August and Labor Day weekend - marked the end to a fairly decent summer. I like Autumn and yes, I prefer to call it 'Autumn' than 'Fall'. I like Spring too, but not as much as Autumn. Spring hints at Summer's sweltering approach. Give me cold. Give me goose-down comforters and the joy of Starbucks and a ciggarette. Give me a ski trip and the bruises to go with it.
And this is one of my primal joys of living in New York. I always have something to look forward to -seasons and all they have to offer. I love winter in the city. It makes me think of jazz. JC in particular. No no... not Jesus. John Coltrane (who is a god in his own right).
And I love walking down 5th Ave. - after its been dressed in its best winter sets. And my eyes tear a little with the cold, which only makes the city's glimmer more noticeable. I love the scarves I wear, and the long coats with leather gloves. Collars turned up, steam rising from my mouth and walking briskly trying not to burn myself with my cigarrette, while balancing a cup of coffee in the other hand. I love wearing my suit covered in an overcoat and descending the steps of Lincoln Center after watching... perhaps... Itzak Perlman wheel onto stage and move me. And I love going out at night, and watching the silly girls in short skirts- as the forst on their knees makes them turn a distinct Telly-Tubby blue.
And I love looking forward to Delhi, as my visits are generally in Winter. Last year, New Year's was in Goa, this year it shall be in New York, with a taste of Delhi hopefully visiting me. I imagine another phenomenal couple of days. Everything else in the middle just seems to fade away.. I'm not sure if its a fortunate or unfortunate occurrence that I look from New Year to New Year and everything in the middle seems to become irrelevant. What is so bloody important about that day? The 1st of January.
What am I ... what is everyone so happy about? Is suddenly everything going to be different? Its become a ficticious cleansing period - when the slate is wiped clean. Perhaps thats why the concept of 'New Year's Resolutions' exists. I'm not going to lie - I like it. I look forward to the drinking. The celebrations. Meeting friends of old and making new ones.
I look forward to it all.
And as this post practically is in its entirety -I don't mind being corny this once. Not at all.
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