Smog

I have never been much of an environmentalist. It's not because I don't care. I just see pollution as the natural evolution of things. Global warming and cooling are natural phenomenons; humans just sped up the process. Extinction is natural. Life begins and ends with a big bang; this is our big bang.

Besides have you ever really looked at a city nestled in a bit of smog? On an exceptionally clear day, you have a pale blue sky bordering the brown haze settled over the city, and it's actually beautiful. It's like an aged photograph or a typical polaroid.

As you zoom in, kids are playing in the city streets and they're breathing all that brown in and they're growing up and surviving and having children who breathe more brown in. And THAT is amazing, that is beautiful, that we can survive breathing all this dirty brown air.

My point is, I guess... humans can't always play God. This is what caused the problem in the first place. We have to accept ourselves as the viruses that we are and move on; let Nature take its course. You can't reverse what is happening. We were doomed ever since we started walking upright.

Whooped Cream

My 9-year old cousin says some amazing things. We all realized this almost two years ago, when the whole clan went to Bangladesh for our oldest cousin's wedding. All of the sudden, he knows how to play checkers and can outwit a person thrice his age. Plus, he's funny. Here are a couple of gems from that Bangladesh trip and one from today.

Scene: Second or third day in Bangladesh, and Kuntal (cousin in question) and my brother, Rahul, are commiserating because none of the parents want us to eat chicken due to the reports of bird flu.

Kuntal: I wish I could marry a chicken, so I could eat it.
Rahul, laughing: What? You want to eat your wife?
Kuntal: Yea... no wait! I want to marry the chicken first, wait for it to have a lot of babies, THEN eat it.

Scene: Gas station, en route from village to Dhaka. Rani, Rahul, Aureen, and Kuntal all have to go to the bathroom. Rani, being a girl, has to find a proper enclosed area to do her business, but is having difficulty. Finally she finds the little outhouse, and the boys find some bushes.

Rahul (or Aureen, I don't know): Man, we are so lucky we're guys. Guys can pee on anything.
Aureen (or Rahul): Yea, we can pee on the street, in a bush, on a building...
Kuntal: On a dog...

Scene: Today, as Kuntal's brother heads out to Starbucks.

Kuntal: Mmm, I love their whooped cream.
Me: It's WHIPPED cream.
Kuntal: It doesn't matter, does it? You have to whoop the cow to get it.

The older I get, the more I see kids develop, the more it amazes me, and the sadder I get. Kuntal and his family lived with my family for a good part of his early childhood. For at least the first three years of his life, he was with me all the time. I would come home, and he would run to the door and give me a hug. Granted, he's still a loving kid, but he doesn't remember all the time he spent with me when he was a baby. And I get sad because this must be how parents feel, only they're feeling it with way more intensity.

The more I think about it, the more I never want to be a parent, but maybe that sadness is worth it.

Archival 1

This is more for me to remember than to share with everyone, but I love this PostSecretCard. Not to sound like a perv, but I can completely picture this scene. It's almost cinematic. Actually... it IS cinematic. When I actually get down to writing out all these frames and scenes in my head, I'll have to include this.

Washing dishes, scrubbing down the stove, listening to my music library on shuffle as loud as it'll go. I harmonize with Jim Adkins and belt it out with that little Paramore girl. The pots start clamoring in anticipation as Jeremy Enigk and mewithoutYou build it up (In darkness, a light shines on you), and then the dishes go wild as it breaks. And everything calms back down as The Books kick in. We're on every Friday night, and it's always packed.

I never listened to Hey Mercedes growing up, but I wish I had. I don't know why or how, but I feel like I'm 16 again when I listen to their stuff. I don't long for my adolescence; high school was horrible, but I do miss feeling fired up all the time. Now I'm all burned out. Butcher that metaphor.

Eleven To Your Seven - Hey Mercedes

Practice

Marhaba! Ana ismi Soma. Ana min Florida. Shu ismuck? Oh. Inta min wen? Keefuck aleyom? Mishmneh?

I started learning "Arabic" today. I add the quotations because we're not learning how to read or write the language, so I have no idea how grammatically (in)correct I am. But hell, it's free (thanks NYU), and I just need to be able to at least try communicating.

Nothing interesting happened today. There was a palpable buzz in the air, though, what I imagine to be the build up to Valentine's Day. I usually forget about VD until someone reminds me, which is normally the day of. But New York is a dramatic bitch and makes a big deal about everything. Every store-front, restaurant window, etc, has some sort of VD related promotion going on or red decorations. Couples are already starting to partake in excessive PDA and saccharine mushiness.

Isn't it weird, though, that red is supposed to be the color of anger and love...and BLOOD? I guess it's more the color of overall passion, but yo, that's kind of fucked up. Whatever, it's justification for why I plan on watching My Bloody Valentine 3D!!!!! this weekend.

What I Do for TP and DC

Also, yesterday, I was merrily embarking on a trip to CVS, coming down the stairs with a bounce in my step regardless of the mild depression HJNTIY left me in. I had a nostalgic playlist going and was listening to Never Meant by American Football. With a few steps to go, I felt my feet slip out from under me and thought "Oh, this will end badly." I fell flat on my left ass cheek. I can't say I fell flat on my ass because, guys, that didn't happen. My attempt to save myself resulted in this far more painful experience of falling on my left ass cheek. It's worse than falling flat on your whole ass because the pain is localized. It hurt so much I almost hurled/fainted. Also, this is the same side that experienced sciatica back in 2005. Also, I was wearing Asics. What? How is it that a fashion sneaker has less traction than those slouchy hipster boots?

I kept wishing that someone was there with me, but why? To commiserate? I don't know. I sat down on the steps, trying to let my brain settle, but I heard people coming and I was in the way. I sucked it up like the man I probably should have been and continued my excursion because I kind of can't stand life without toilet paper or Diet Coke.

Never Meant - American Football

He's Just Not That Into Me

I saw He's Just Not That Into You today. This whole week, I've been reading comments like "Do women, like, really need a movie/book to figure out whether or not a guy likes her, haha, I am so damn clever!" You always know they think they're clever because they're the ones who post comments on snarky celebrity gossip blogs (see: Gawker, Best Week Ever (ok so that's less snarky and just plain comedic gold)) without checking the other comments first to see if they would be repeating what someone else said practically word for word. These people think they are the wittiest of the witty; they should be doing stand-up or at least VH1 could hire them to be a panelist on I Love the Future.

Really, though, it was not an affirmation of men and their ways, and it certainly wasn't meant to purely ridicule women. At least the movie wasn't. In typical chick-flick fashion, the couples you're rooting for end up together, and the ones you aren't rooting for don't. Oops. SPOILER ALERT? Whatever, it's a book. There's no such thing as a spoiler when it comes to film adaptations. The institution of marriage wins, the player settles down, and the adulterer gets thrown out. So, the ladies can quit their quips about how derogatory it all is even though they fully well planned on attending an opening day showing.

Anyway, whatever, it was good, perfect for a girl on her period. Wilson Cruz, aka Rickie Vasquez from My So-Called Life, has a small role in it and that should be reason enough. It does, however, remind me that I will be that girl staying home on a Saturday night, watching some quintessential movie from her adolesence, reciting the dialogue word for word. That is my life. I am in NEW YORK CITY and I am sitting at home catching up on Psych. I should be out, doing something you're supposed to do when you're 23. I should be... I don't know, getting drunk and stumbling down St. Mark's Place and making fun of the "punk" rock kids begging for beer. You can't do that shit alone, though. So, how to make friends in a city like this?

What I am doing, I guess, is throwing myself into the public health field. This has been one of the most active weeks since I was 18. I was accepted as an intern at Mount Sinai (WHAT) Adolescent Health Center. I was also accepted as a summer intern for UNAIDS (WHAT) in Cairo. Starting next week, I will be a member of the New York City Dept. of Health's "Team Epi", a group of like-minded volunteers the DOH calls on for assistance during outbreak investigations. Seriously? Damn. Also by next week, I will start tutoring kids of low SES backgrounds, which also means I will truly and officially be gainfully employed. AND THEN, I am so going to be the cool substitute teacher. AND THEN I will write a screenplay; think Half Nelson without the crack or Broken Social Scene, but perhaps plus M83 and some other conflict? On the topic of screenplays, I've had a truly amazing idea for one of those campy horror flicks everyone shells out $12 to see on opening night. It probably won't be like Bloody Valentine 3D; I imagine more of a cult following, but it's going to be grand. And I guess all of THAT will be enough to take my mind off of more trivial, hormone-driven things.