Saturday, March 31
All morning, I was on the verge of tears. I can’t believe that this trip that I had been anticipating for months was already over. It was hard for me to think about not seeing some of the fabulous people I met on the trip for a long time. Almost everyone on the trip lives in Chicago. Plus, although I really don’t know Malikit (Bus Driver's Helper) and Mohinish (Bus Driver) from beans, it upsets me that I will never see either of them again. I don't know what is wrong with me.
We left Jaipur around 9 am for a six hour bus ride back to Delhi. Everyone except for me is leaving Delhi tonight. I have an overnight stay in New Delhi and time to shop for a day before I go back tomorrow night.
Of course, what day would be complete without a stop for shopping at one of Fearless Leader's favorite kick-back shops? We were supposed to stay for 30 minutes, and yet an hour later, we were still there. I hung out with Malikit for a few minutes. I showed him a picture of Husband and of Tycho the Giant Rabbit. He showed me a picture of his wife. Sundar! (That means beautiful.) Mostly, I was relieved that they seemed to live in a very comfortable and decent looking house. I also posed for some pictures with two women and the bus, and now I am super mad at myself for not asking them to take a picture of me with Malikit and Mohindish. I didn't know if it would make them feel uncomfortable, though. Fearless Leader shocked me by buying little gifts – painted pictures of elephants – for all of us.
More driving ensued. We finally stopped for food around 3:15. I am sure that Fearless Leader wanted to go to a place that would give him a commission, but one of the trip organizers insisted that we try this wacky fast food vegetarian Indian place. I am glad that we went, but once again Fearless Leader gave us no instructions, so when we got inside, we were utterly overwhelmed by the masses of people and various food counters. Eventually, we figured out that you order and pay at a central register, they gave you tickets, then you exchange the ticket for food at the proper counter.
I was getting nervous as hell because they day had gone by so fast and I had yet to find an opportunity to slip Malikit and Mohindish extra tip money. We were told that the tour guide had to make at least double what the bus driver made, who in turn had to make double what the helper made. You know how I felt about that. So in addition to my official tip, I had conspired with Ray and Brian to secretly give the guys more money. I am not good at doing anything in an inconspicuous manner. Plus, I didn't know how the guys would react.
Anyway, after shoveling down my food, Brian and I slipped out of the restaurant tot the bus. We sat down and asked Malikit if we could buy some water from him. (That's one of his jobs.) When he brought the bottles back to us, we gave him lots of money.
"Shadi ka enam," ("A wedding present") I said. I didn't think he would refuse it if I said it was a gift. He thanked us. When we saw that they were glad to have secret tips and not fearful of losing their jobs over it, we gave Mohindish money without any elaborate ruses. Then over the next few hours, Ray spread the word, and suddenly, a lot of people were ordering water. I was really pleased.
As we approached Delhi, we made a completely and utterly random stop without any warning at a modern shopping mall. Brian, Ray, John and I wandered around and made fun of things. It was so westernized that it had a plus size store in it. The power went out twice, the second time while we were waiting for the elevator. Suddenly, Brian did not object to using the escalator, even though it was laid out to ensure that you passed more stores on the way down. Ironically, a security guard refused to let us use it until the power went on again.
Eventually, we wound up at a fancy hotel near the airport where we hung out at the bar until it was time for everyone to go to the airport. As they unpacked my suitcase, Malikit and Mohindish said good-bye and shook my hand. Mohinidish said he would see me next time I am in India. As usual, they had to wait outside while we went in and sat down. When it was time, I called for a cab back to the center of Delhi and said my good-byes. Malikit came by and said good-bye again.
Since I can't really leave my fancy hotel for logistical reasons tonight, I had dinner in an Indian restaurant in the hotel alone. Although it was probably the best meal out of many excellent meals that I ate this week, I miss the scintillating dinner conversation with Ray, John, Brian, Liz, and Margie that I have feasted upon all week. Their flight is due to take off in 15 minutes. I wish them a safe flight, and I hope to see everyone soon.
Probably this will be my last post until I get to my parents' house on Monday. Have a great weekend!
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Elephants on Parade
Friday, March 30
Fearless Leader, our obnoxious tour guide, in a departure from his usual incompetent behavior, actually gave us crucial information about our day's activities.
"We are taking elephants up to Amber Fort this morning," he announced on the bus. "There will be two people per elephant. You should tip the driver no more than 100 rupees. That's 50 rupees per person."
After repeating this 45 times, we understood and debarked. While waiting in line for the elephant, Ray and I bought awesome folk dolls for 150 rupees (about $4 US) per set. Then it was our turn to get on our beast of burden. We stood on a platform and clambered onto a giant seat strapped onto the elephant.
And we were off. Our elephant driver must have been a cab driver at some point. He urged our elephant to pass the other elephants in a race to the top. I believe the idea was to get there fast, collect our tip, drop us off, and race down the hill to get the next group. The faster he went, the more tips he could collect. He did slow down a bit to offer to take out pictures and tried chatting us up. Unfortunately, he also put his sweaty turban on my head before I could stop him. I am not a big fan of sharing head gear with people, even ones I know.
We got to the top so fast there was no one else from my group in sight. The elephant driver then tried to shake us down.
"More tip! More tip!" he screamed in my face after I gave him 100 rupees, as Fearless Leader instructed.
"No," Ray and I said.
"Yes! You give me more tip!" He was livid as we climbed off the elephant onto the platform, where another guy began shaking up down for a picture he took of us while we were on the elephant. That's when we were surrounded by other people trying to sell shit to us. We fled and hung around by another group until the harassment died down and more people arrived.
The group fought off the hawkers until we actually were inside the fort. Then I had to follow Fearless Leader because it is easy to get lost in the labyrinthine passages. We spent maybe 90 minutes in the fort. It was swelteringly hot. On the way out, the hawkers were the most persistent we had ever encountered. It was most disconcerting having things shoved in your face constantly. We took Jeeps back down the hill and to the bus. As always, I was happy to see Malikit and Mohindish.
Although this was yesterday, I cannot remember what we did in the afternoon. Actually, now that I think about it, I think what I reported as happening on Thursday with the "shopping" actually took place on Friday. Since our itinerary is not accurate and I clearly am fried, I have no idea. I do think I was confused, though. Well, the story still stands.
Eventually, we wound up at Jantar Mantar, which is an utterly amazing set of sundials built hundreds of years ago. One is accurate to 20 seconds. That one also happens to be the World's Largest Sundial. Fearless Leader arranged for someone who actually knew what he was talking about to show us the sundials and explain the importance of astrology to Hindus. Some of the sundials showed calendars and sun positions so that people would know what signs they were born under and when to get married. Awesome Guide also asked us our birthdays, location of birth, and time of day and then gave us our signs. I think I was born at 8:30 am or so, and according to Awesome Guide, my sign is Capricorn with Mercury rising. This means that I am bossy and good at supervision and management. I may be bossy, but I am not that great at supervising people. Oh well.
On a side note, one of the things that this trip has made clear to me is that I need to stop whining about my career or lack thereof. I have been worrying about what I want to do with my life now that I am burned out of nonprofit management at the ripe old age of 31, and what the chances are of having a real writing career. Here, most people don't have options. They are born into them, like the guys who cut the marble inlay at the evil marble factory, which is supposedly a family craft. Or Malikit and Mohindish, who can either drive a bus or be homeless. There is not much freedom of choice at all. It is depressing as hell.
Anyway, after the sundials, Fearless Leader sat around dithering about what people wanted to do next. Eventually, he decided that Mohindish and Malikit could drive people back to the hotel if they did not want to visit the City Palace Museum, then come back and pick up the people who did go to the museum. While dithering, he left us surrounded by homeless children and women. We decided to move across the street, and then he was annoyed at us.
By the time we go to the museum, it was quite late in the day. He is awful at gauging group interest, and tried to force people to listen to his random speeches when it was obvious that people just wanted to wander around and read the little signs ourselves. Eventually, Ray and I lost our patience and started trying to sneak into the next exhibit, which freaked Fearless Leader out, and he rounded up the group and moved on.
I really wanted to see the collection of knives, swords, and unusual daggers, including a triple-bladed dagger! – and nearly went ballistic when Fearless Leader mentioned that the museum was closing in 15 minutes. After that, we rushed him through the textile exhibit, which was pretty awesome. (One maharina's outfit pre-dated Madonna by several hundred years with its come breasts). The daggers were bitchin'. I was pleased.
We were told that we were going back to the hotel to get ready for dinner, and after dinner, we would go to a market. I knew that this was not going to happen as we never leave for dinner on time nor do we finish before 10 pm. Then everyone is tired. Ray, John, and my new delightful friend Brian decided to venture into the 'hood right outside the hotel. After a minor misadventure that led us to a small tent city and John nearly falling into a badly designed sewer grate, we wound up at a shop just outside the hotel compound. Weirdly enough, the owner knew the family of one of Ray's students. It's a small world indeed.
As I predicted, dinner ran late and we were not brought to any markets. So it goes.
Fearless Leader, our obnoxious tour guide, in a departure from his usual incompetent behavior, actually gave us crucial information about our day's activities.
"We are taking elephants up to Amber Fort this morning," he announced on the bus. "There will be two people per elephant. You should tip the driver no more than 100 rupees. That's 50 rupees per person."
After repeating this 45 times, we understood and debarked. While waiting in line for the elephant, Ray and I bought awesome folk dolls for 150 rupees (about $4 US) per set. Then it was our turn to get on our beast of burden. We stood on a platform and clambered onto a giant seat strapped onto the elephant.
And we were off. Our elephant driver must have been a cab driver at some point. He urged our elephant to pass the other elephants in a race to the top. I believe the idea was to get there fast, collect our tip, drop us off, and race down the hill to get the next group. The faster he went, the more tips he could collect. He did slow down a bit to offer to take out pictures and tried chatting us up. Unfortunately, he also put his sweaty turban on my head before I could stop him. I am not a big fan of sharing head gear with people, even ones I know.
We got to the top so fast there was no one else from my group in sight. The elephant driver then tried to shake us down.
"More tip! More tip!" he screamed in my face after I gave him 100 rupees, as Fearless Leader instructed.
"No," Ray and I said.
"Yes! You give me more tip!" He was livid as we climbed off the elephant onto the platform, where another guy began shaking up down for a picture he took of us while we were on the elephant. That's when we were surrounded by other people trying to sell shit to us. We fled and hung around by another group until the harassment died down and more people arrived.
The group fought off the hawkers until we actually were inside the fort. Then I had to follow Fearless Leader because it is easy to get lost in the labyrinthine passages. We spent maybe 90 minutes in the fort. It was swelteringly hot. On the way out, the hawkers were the most persistent we had ever encountered. It was most disconcerting having things shoved in your face constantly. We took Jeeps back down the hill and to the bus. As always, I was happy to see Malikit and Mohindish.
Although this was yesterday, I cannot remember what we did in the afternoon. Actually, now that I think about it, I think what I reported as happening on Thursday with the "shopping" actually took place on Friday. Since our itinerary is not accurate and I clearly am fried, I have no idea. I do think I was confused, though. Well, the story still stands.
Eventually, we wound up at Jantar Mantar, which is an utterly amazing set of sundials built hundreds of years ago. One is accurate to 20 seconds. That one also happens to be the World's Largest Sundial. Fearless Leader arranged for someone who actually knew what he was talking about to show us the sundials and explain the importance of astrology to Hindus. Some of the sundials showed calendars and sun positions so that people would know what signs they were born under and when to get married. Awesome Guide also asked us our birthdays, location of birth, and time of day and then gave us our signs. I think I was born at 8:30 am or so, and according to Awesome Guide, my sign is Capricorn with Mercury rising. This means that I am bossy and good at supervision and management. I may be bossy, but I am not that great at supervising people. Oh well.
On a side note, one of the things that this trip has made clear to me is that I need to stop whining about my career or lack thereof. I have been worrying about what I want to do with my life now that I am burned out of nonprofit management at the ripe old age of 31, and what the chances are of having a real writing career. Here, most people don't have options. They are born into them, like the guys who cut the marble inlay at the evil marble factory, which is supposedly a family craft. Or Malikit and Mohindish, who can either drive a bus or be homeless. There is not much freedom of choice at all. It is depressing as hell.
Anyway, after the sundials, Fearless Leader sat around dithering about what people wanted to do next. Eventually, he decided that Mohindish and Malikit could drive people back to the hotel if they did not want to visit the City Palace Museum, then come back and pick up the people who did go to the museum. While dithering, he left us surrounded by homeless children and women. We decided to move across the street, and then he was annoyed at us.
By the time we go to the museum, it was quite late in the day. He is awful at gauging group interest, and tried to force people to listen to his random speeches when it was obvious that people just wanted to wander around and read the little signs ourselves. Eventually, Ray and I lost our patience and started trying to sneak into the next exhibit, which freaked Fearless Leader out, and he rounded up the group and moved on.
I really wanted to see the collection of knives, swords, and unusual daggers, including a triple-bladed dagger! – and nearly went ballistic when Fearless Leader mentioned that the museum was closing in 15 minutes. After that, we rushed him through the textile exhibit, which was pretty awesome. (One maharina's outfit pre-dated Madonna by several hundred years with its come breasts). The daggers were bitchin'. I was pleased.
We were told that we were going back to the hotel to get ready for dinner, and after dinner, we would go to a market. I knew that this was not going to happen as we never leave for dinner on time nor do we finish before 10 pm. Then everyone is tired. Ray, John, and my new delightful friend Brian decided to venture into the 'hood right outside the hotel. After a minor misadventure that led us to a small tent city and John nearly falling into a badly designed sewer grate, we wound up at a shop just outside the hotel compound. Weirdly enough, the owner knew the family of one of Ray's students. It's a small world indeed.
As I predicted, dinner ran late and we were not brought to any markets. So it goes.
Mera Dost (My Friend)
It's my last night in India. I wanted to get out and look around New Delhi a bit, but three things are preventing me from doing so. First, my hotel is located on a traffic circle. Second, there are no sidewalks that I can see. Finally, I can't see if there are any sidewalks because there are almost no streetlights. Any of these circumstances would be surmountable alone, but they are quite the potent combination. I'd be run over in about 2 seconds if I even thought about trying to cross a street.
However, this is fine because it gives me much time for reflection and I realize that I am three days behind in my travel blogging, so sitting in my cushy hotel room with a view of India Gate, which is actually lit up at night unlike the Taj Mahal, is perfect. I'll break this up into 3 posts so it is not so deadly long.
Thursday, March 29
The road from Agra to Jaipur was literally the most insanely awful path I have ever traveled. The entire damn road is under construction, so it is not paved in most places and every few miles or so, the two lanes in each direction become one lane in each direction. While I was looking out the front window, I held my breath multiple times as we appeared to be driving straight on into oncoming traffic. There was more close calls than you can shake a stick at.
After Fatehpur Sikri, we went "shopping." "Shopping" in this case means that Fearless Leader, our evil and incompetent tour guide, refuses to take us to market places where we can buy things that we want because he will get no commission. Instead, he brings us to vile tourist traps where we are first forced to watch some "educational" demonstration of how the trap's artisanal products are produced. Yesterday we began with carpets.
Since I have no intention of buying a carpet (prices start at $425), I was bitter from the get go. I drank our "hosts" stupid free Pepsi and felt smugly satisfied. After the informercial, I wandered around the emporium for a few minutes. They also sold cloth items (wall hangings, table clothes, pillow covers, clothes) and other random odds and ends. I didn't want to buy anything, so I went outside and sat down on a shady step near the entrance to the tourist trap compound.
After I consumed a melted granola bar, Bus Driver's Apprentice, Mr. Singh, materialized from wherever he is forced to hide himself when we make a stop. I was delighted.
"Do you speak any English?" I asked.
"A little," he replied. "Why are you not shopping?"
I laughed hysterically. "I don't need to buy rugs," I said and smiled.
He smiled, sat down next to me, and we chatted for a while. His name is Malikit (no doubt I am spelling it wrong), he is 29, and he did indeed get married only nine months ago. His wife is 26. He is only able to go home to his village rarely. He has been working as a bus driver's assistant for 9 years. He asked me if I was married and for how long.
"Do you drink wine?" he asked me out of nowhere.
I thought it was an odd question, but he may have thought I was wasted the prior night when Ray and I were laughing like hyenas. "No," I said truthfully.
"Germans really like to drink wine," he confided.
As we were talking, Bus Driver approached us, and I found out his name, but of course, I can't remember it now. (I think it is Mohindish or something like that.) He's been driving tour buses for 22 years. Both of them often work the Delhi-Agra-Jaipur route, but sometimes they drive up to Nepal, too. These guys work absurdly long hours and are so nice. I really, really enjoyed my time with them. It made the two or so hours at the tourist trap quite pleasant for me.
Finally, we went jewelry "shopping." This involved a lecture on uncut gemstones and then we were supposed to buy expensive jewelry. I sat around sulking. After an hour, I noticed that the cart of beverages for us was left completely unattended. I swiped two unopened Pepsis for Malikit and Mohindish, and went outside. They were hanging out and I foolishly offered each one a bottle, not noticing that a guy from the jewelry shop was watching them like hawks. They declined, so I stuck the bottles back in my bag and figured I would try again later. I hoped that they would not get in trouble.
That is the thing about this complicated, archaic country: being nice to people can get them in trouble. I thought about the times that I have gone on bus trips at home. The bus driver always joins the group inside the restaurant for meals on long hauls. Here, it would never happen. I wanted to invite Malikit and Mohindish, especially last night, to eat with us, but it occurred to me that even if they were allowed to do so by Fearless Leader, I was not sure that they would be comfortable in that situation. It is made clear by the other employees that this is not their place. (To his credit, Piggy actually asked Fearless Leader if the guys could join us, and he was completely taken aback by the idea. He assured us that the guys were fed by the restaurant in another room, but I think that is a lie because I found them on the bus today eating granola bars while we had a late lunch, but that is another story.)
We checked into the hotel and then rushed off to see a prayer ceremony at a fancy Hindu temple. It was very interesting. The Lech helped himself to some of the sweet sacrament or whatever it is, and then walked around offering it to various women in our group as if it were candy. Fearless Leader blathered on and on. Eventually, we left for dinner and then went to sleep.
I am still glowing from my chat with Malikit and Mohindish.
However, this is fine because it gives me much time for reflection and I realize that I am three days behind in my travel blogging, so sitting in my cushy hotel room with a view of India Gate, which is actually lit up at night unlike the Taj Mahal, is perfect. I'll break this up into 3 posts so it is not so deadly long.
Thursday, March 29
The road from Agra to Jaipur was literally the most insanely awful path I have ever traveled. The entire damn road is under construction, so it is not paved in most places and every few miles or so, the two lanes in each direction become one lane in each direction. While I was looking out the front window, I held my breath multiple times as we appeared to be driving straight on into oncoming traffic. There was more close calls than you can shake a stick at.
After Fatehpur Sikri, we went "shopping." "Shopping" in this case means that Fearless Leader, our evil and incompetent tour guide, refuses to take us to market places where we can buy things that we want because he will get no commission. Instead, he brings us to vile tourist traps where we are first forced to watch some "educational" demonstration of how the trap's artisanal products are produced. Yesterday we began with carpets.
Since I have no intention of buying a carpet (prices start at $425), I was bitter from the get go. I drank our "hosts" stupid free Pepsi and felt smugly satisfied. After the informercial, I wandered around the emporium for a few minutes. They also sold cloth items (wall hangings, table clothes, pillow covers, clothes) and other random odds and ends. I didn't want to buy anything, so I went outside and sat down on a shady step near the entrance to the tourist trap compound.
After I consumed a melted granola bar, Bus Driver's Apprentice, Mr. Singh, materialized from wherever he is forced to hide himself when we make a stop. I was delighted.
"Do you speak any English?" I asked.
"A little," he replied. "Why are you not shopping?"
I laughed hysterically. "I don't need to buy rugs," I said and smiled.
He smiled, sat down next to me, and we chatted for a while. His name is Malikit (no doubt I am spelling it wrong), he is 29, and he did indeed get married only nine months ago. His wife is 26. He is only able to go home to his village rarely. He has been working as a bus driver's assistant for 9 years. He asked me if I was married and for how long.
"Do you drink wine?" he asked me out of nowhere.
I thought it was an odd question, but he may have thought I was wasted the prior night when Ray and I were laughing like hyenas. "No," I said truthfully.
"Germans really like to drink wine," he confided.
As we were talking, Bus Driver approached us, and I found out his name, but of course, I can't remember it now. (I think it is Mohindish or something like that.) He's been driving tour buses for 22 years. Both of them often work the Delhi-Agra-Jaipur route, but sometimes they drive up to Nepal, too. These guys work absurdly long hours and are so nice. I really, really enjoyed my time with them. It made the two or so hours at the tourist trap quite pleasant for me.
Finally, we went jewelry "shopping." This involved a lecture on uncut gemstones and then we were supposed to buy expensive jewelry. I sat around sulking. After an hour, I noticed that the cart of beverages for us was left completely unattended. I swiped two unopened Pepsis for Malikit and Mohindish, and went outside. They were hanging out and I foolishly offered each one a bottle, not noticing that a guy from the jewelry shop was watching them like hawks. They declined, so I stuck the bottles back in my bag and figured I would try again later. I hoped that they would not get in trouble.
That is the thing about this complicated, archaic country: being nice to people can get them in trouble. I thought about the times that I have gone on bus trips at home. The bus driver always joins the group inside the restaurant for meals on long hauls. Here, it would never happen. I wanted to invite Malikit and Mohindish, especially last night, to eat with us, but it occurred to me that even if they were allowed to do so by Fearless Leader, I was not sure that they would be comfortable in that situation. It is made clear by the other employees that this is not their place. (To his credit, Piggy actually asked Fearless Leader if the guys could join us, and he was completely taken aback by the idea. He assured us that the guys were fed by the restaurant in another room, but I think that is a lie because I found them on the bus today eating granola bars while we had a late lunch, but that is another story.)
We checked into the hotel and then rushed off to see a prayer ceremony at a fancy Hindu temple. It was very interesting. The Lech helped himself to some of the sweet sacrament or whatever it is, and then walked around offering it to various women in our group as if it were candy. Fearless Leader blathered on and on. Eventually, we left for dinner and then went to sleep.
I am still glowing from my chat with Malikit and Mohindish.
Friday, March 30, 2007
A Glimpse of India
My group trip to India is ending this evening. I'll still be here for another day in New Dehli, but the rest of the tour group is heading back to Chicago. I am going to miss so many people terribly. It's hard to spend almost every minute of the day with people whose company you really enjoy and then not see most of them ever again. I'm going to really struggle with not seeing Ray for a long time.
Anyway, we have a six hour bus ride back to Dehli, so I plan to write up a huge story about our elephant ride, Fearless Leader's latest antics (he took us "shopping" for an entire afternoon at two more evil tourist traps), and my wonderful chat with Mr. Singh and Bus Driver. In the meantime, he's a glimpse of Dehli.
This is from the rickshaw ride through the markets of Old Dehli. Every street was this crowded or sometimes somehoe worse. (This is also one of the pictures that I accidentally deleted and my hero John recovered for me.) I have particular affection for the rickshaw ride because I shared my rickshaw with someone I didn't know on our trip and discovered what a delightful, fun, and irreverant person he is. Ray and I have sought his company constantly ever since.
Today I need to learn how to say "I'll miss you" in Hindi.
Phir milege, mera dost! (See ya, my friend!)
Anyway, we have a six hour bus ride back to Dehli, so I plan to write up a huge story about our elephant ride, Fearless Leader's latest antics (he took us "shopping" for an entire afternoon at two more evil tourist traps), and my wonderful chat with Mr. Singh and Bus Driver. In the meantime, he's a glimpse of Dehli.
This is from the rickshaw ride through the markets of Old Dehli. Every street was this crowded or sometimes somehoe worse. (This is also one of the pictures that I accidentally deleted and my hero John recovered for me.) I have particular affection for the rickshaw ride because I shared my rickshaw with someone I didn't know on our trip and discovered what a delightful, fun, and irreverant person he is. Ray and I have sought his company constantly ever since. Today I need to learn how to say "I'll miss you" in Hindi.
Phir milege, mera dost! (See ya, my friend!)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
My Junior High Trip to India
A few days ago, Ray began remarking how much this trip was like regressing back to junior high. We have dissolved on multiple occasions into fits of hysterical giggling, just like we did when we became friends almost 20 years ago. (My parents used to hate when Ray would sleep over because we'd up all night giggling, waking them up repeatedly.) People are acting immature in other ways, too. Some members of the group make little comments about the food, like "No wonder why people have such bad teeth here. I thought it was due to lack of dentistry, but it's really because of how sweet this food is. Who can eat that?' (Yes, that one is courtesy of Piggy.) Little crushes on one another seem to be developing. There's some minor drama.
I'm sleeping with John. Not really, of course, but our single beds are pushed so close together in our hotel room that I practically am sleeping in the same bed as him. I like saying that we are sleeping together, as it amuses me. On the other hand, I'm not really sleeping at all because he has some sort of sinus problem and snores loudly. It's woken me up numerous nights throughout the trip. I forgive him, though, because he recovered all the pictures I accidentally deleted yesterday. He's my hero. Plus, it turns out that tonight when I work up at 5:45 AM and could not fall back asleep, I actually needed to have another digestive incident, so I would have been up anyway. (It's green, FYI.)
Thinking about shitting brings the word shithead to the forefront of my mind, which reminds me of Fearless Leader, our despised tour guide. Yesterday we were on the bus for about 7 hours, and he barely bothered to point out any sites of interest or explain what we were seeing as we whizzed through the desert countryside, avoiding oncoming traffic. At one point, we passed a ginormous monkey-headed god statue. Not one word of explanation from Fearless Leader, so Ray approached him.
"What was that giant monkey-headed god statue we just passed?" she asked him.
"Oh, that statue is of a monkey-headed god," he answered wisely.
No shit, Sherlock. How about a few more details, like perhaps the name of the god, what his role is, and/or who worships him? Ray tried to probe a bit more, but after continuing to reply with insultingly obvious answers, she gave up and we consulted the "dead guide." (This is the book about India that Mother-in-Law gave me to bring. It is also the only way that I knew that the treasury building at Fatehpur Sikri had sea monsters carved into the ceiling struts to protect the wealth inside. Fatehpur Sikri was eventually abandoned because of the scarcity of water, so I am not sure how effective the fierce sea monsters were in protecting the treasure.)
Fearless Leader also encourages the worst of my junior high behavior. His smug attitude causes me to sass him whenever I must deal with him. My surly bitchiness is nothing, though. Fearless Leader also encourages Piggy to continue his racist rants and joins The Lecher in ogling some of the women on the trip.
"No wonder why people in India are so smart," he said early on. "It's because the stupid ones touch the wires and die."
"Ehhhhhehhheheheheh," Fearless Leader laughed. "Piggy is so smart. That's exactly right!"
As for the ogling, the Lecher is in his 60s, recently married to a woman he's dated and swung with for over 30 years, and making several women in our group immensely uncomfortable by hitting on them nonstop. He even sat by the pool when they went swimming, staring with saucer-sized eyes at their lithe bodies in bikinis and drooling. Later, Fearless Leader sat in the lobby with the Lech, staring at the women's asses and tits. (The Lech, by the way, almost completely ignores Ray and I.) He also likes to address the group on the bus PA system by shouting, "Listen up, you knuckleheads," as if that is the funniest way to address a group of peoplee in the world. The way he counts us like junior high kids when we get on the bus drives my other friend nuts.
Anyway, time to get ready for our by elephant ride with my junior high class.
I'm sleeping with John. Not really, of course, but our single beds are pushed so close together in our hotel room that I practically am sleeping in the same bed as him. I like saying that we are sleeping together, as it amuses me. On the other hand, I'm not really sleeping at all because he has some sort of sinus problem and snores loudly. It's woken me up numerous nights throughout the trip. I forgive him, though, because he recovered all the pictures I accidentally deleted yesterday. He's my hero. Plus, it turns out that tonight when I work up at 5:45 AM and could not fall back asleep, I actually needed to have another digestive incident, so I would have been up anyway. (It's green, FYI.)
Thinking about shitting brings the word shithead to the forefront of my mind, which reminds me of Fearless Leader, our despised tour guide. Yesterday we were on the bus for about 7 hours, and he barely bothered to point out any sites of interest or explain what we were seeing as we whizzed through the desert countryside, avoiding oncoming traffic. At one point, we passed a ginormous monkey-headed god statue. Not one word of explanation from Fearless Leader, so Ray approached him.
"What was that giant monkey-headed god statue we just passed?" she asked him.
"Oh, that statue is of a monkey-headed god," he answered wisely.
No shit, Sherlock. How about a few more details, like perhaps the name of the god, what his role is, and/or who worships him? Ray tried to probe a bit more, but after continuing to reply with insultingly obvious answers, she gave up and we consulted the "dead guide." (This is the book about India that Mother-in-Law gave me to bring. It is also the only way that I knew that the treasury building at Fatehpur Sikri had sea monsters carved into the ceiling struts to protect the wealth inside. Fatehpur Sikri was eventually abandoned because of the scarcity of water, so I am not sure how effective the fierce sea monsters were in protecting the treasure.)
Fearless Leader also encourages the worst of my junior high behavior. His smug attitude causes me to sass him whenever I must deal with him. My surly bitchiness is nothing, though. Fearless Leader also encourages Piggy to continue his racist rants and joins The Lecher in ogling some of the women on the trip.
"No wonder why people in India are so smart," he said early on. "It's because the stupid ones touch the wires and die."
"Ehhhhhehhheheheheh," Fearless Leader laughed. "Piggy is so smart. That's exactly right!"
As for the ogling, the Lecher is in his 60s, recently married to a woman he's dated and swung with for over 30 years, and making several women in our group immensely uncomfortable by hitting on them nonstop. He even sat by the pool when they went swimming, staring with saucer-sized eyes at their lithe bodies in bikinis and drooling. Later, Fearless Leader sat in the lobby with the Lech, staring at the women's asses and tits. (The Lech, by the way, almost completely ignores Ray and I.) He also likes to address the group on the bus PA system by shouting, "Listen up, you knuckleheads," as if that is the funniest way to address a group of peoplee in the world. The way he counts us like junior high kids when we get on the bus drives my other friend nuts.
Anyway, time to get ready for our by elephant ride with my junior high class.
Here Today, Gone Today, and Back Again Today
Nothing too exciting happened this afternoon, unless you count multiple brushes with death to be of interest. The one road that leads from Agra to Jaipur is currently under construction. There are sharp turns and one lane going each way at multiple points. Pavement is too generous a term for large stretches of road. We saw the remains of a nasty bus crash. This did not stop Bus Driver from creating a middle lane. The number of times I thought that we'd have a head on collision with another bus or truck was exceptional.
In the midst of all this, I decided that it would be a very efficient use of my time if I put the memory card into my computer and downloaded my pictures for safekeeping and labeled them. Unfortunately, while I was highlighting the pictures I wanted to copy, the bus hit a bump and the sensitive mouse pad selected "delete" and that was the end of three days worth of pictures.
Normally, I'd freak out, but there is nothing normal about this trip. I calmly asked Ray's friend John, who is an IT expert, if anything can be done. At first, he thought not, so I just accepted it for what it was and figured I could get pictures from Ray and the other fantastic people who are on this trip. (See? I don't hate everyone! In fact, there are many people that I have come to utterly adore and I am getting very upset that the trip is almost over and I will not get to continue spending my days with them.) Then he thought that he could download some software and revive them. Whew.
We finally pulled into Jaipur around 5:00 pm. The initial entry into the city is much like everything else we have seen in India thus far. Lots of interesting historic buildings, housing that looks like it should be condemned, and homeless people everywhere. Traffic of all sorts is over the top. However, as we drove through Jaipur more, it seemed more and more like European cities. It is a place that I can understand a lot better than the other places we have been thus far. In fact, I have seen many more women in public and they often are dressed in western clothes. There was even a billboard advertising scooters that blared that everyone who bought one would be entered into a contest to win a date with some Bollywood hunk.
Fearless Leader, our tour guide, will not leave me the fuck alone now. First, he tried to catch me not listening to him by asking me what our plans were after he announced them. I recited them all back, and he was obviously disappointed.
"You need only say something once for us to understand what is going on," I said cheerfully. "Eight times is excessive and people lose focus."
"Ehhhhhehheeh," he laughed. Of course, I wasn't joking. I truly hate him.
After dinner, I tried out my new phrase on Bus Driver (whose name I would like to learn) and Mr. Singh, bus driver's apprentice. (He always looks so sad, it breaks my heart. Someone said he just got married 9 months ago and his wife lives far away and he only gets to see her once a month. It kills me.) I said my usual, "Phir melege" (see ya!), but added "mira doost" (my friend) to the end. They seemed especially delighted. Tomorrow morning, I hope to try out a phrase that I think means, "It's good to see you," although I fear it may actually mean "It's nice to meet you." I also learned how to introduce myself, so maybe I will start that way and then say my new phrase and it won't sound entirely stupid if I did get it wrong.
Tomorrow is what may be the pinnacle of the trip – an elephant ride to the Amber Fort! (Maybe my elephant will crush Fearless Leader. Or at least fart on him. Dr. P and Dr. H once witnessed an elephant fart at the San Diego Zoo and it was a deadly, albeit hilarious, experience.) Hurray!
In the midst of all this, I decided that it would be a very efficient use of my time if I put the memory card into my computer and downloaded my pictures for safekeeping and labeled them. Unfortunately, while I was highlighting the pictures I wanted to copy, the bus hit a bump and the sensitive mouse pad selected "delete" and that was the end of three days worth of pictures.
Normally, I'd freak out, but there is nothing normal about this trip. I calmly asked Ray's friend John, who is an IT expert, if anything can be done. At first, he thought not, so I just accepted it for what it was and figured I could get pictures from Ray and the other fantastic people who are on this trip. (See? I don't hate everyone! In fact, there are many people that I have come to utterly adore and I am getting very upset that the trip is almost over and I will not get to continue spending my days with them.) Then he thought that he could download some software and revive them. Whew.
We finally pulled into Jaipur around 5:00 pm. The initial entry into the city is much like everything else we have seen in India thus far. Lots of interesting historic buildings, housing that looks like it should be condemned, and homeless people everywhere. Traffic of all sorts is over the top. However, as we drove through Jaipur more, it seemed more and more like European cities. It is a place that I can understand a lot better than the other places we have been thus far. In fact, I have seen many more women in public and they often are dressed in western clothes. There was even a billboard advertising scooters that blared that everyone who bought one would be entered into a contest to win a date with some Bollywood hunk.
Fearless Leader, our tour guide, will not leave me the fuck alone now. First, he tried to catch me not listening to him by asking me what our plans were after he announced them. I recited them all back, and he was obviously disappointed.
"You need only say something once for us to understand what is going on," I said cheerfully. "Eight times is excessive and people lose focus."
"Ehhhhhehheeh," he laughed. Of course, I wasn't joking. I truly hate him.
After dinner, I tried out my new phrase on Bus Driver (whose name I would like to learn) and Mr. Singh, bus driver's apprentice. (He always looks so sad, it breaks my heart. Someone said he just got married 9 months ago and his wife lives far away and he only gets to see her once a month. It kills me.) I said my usual, "Phir melege" (see ya!), but added "mira doost" (my friend) to the end. They seemed especially delighted. Tomorrow morning, I hope to try out a phrase that I think means, "It's good to see you," although I fear it may actually mean "It's nice to meet you." I also learned how to introduce myself, so maybe I will start that way and then say my new phrase and it won't sound entirely stupid if I did get it wrong.
Tomorrow is what may be the pinnacle of the trip – an elephant ride to the Amber Fort! (Maybe my elephant will crush Fearless Leader. Or at least fart on him. Dr. P and Dr. H once witnessed an elephant fart at the San Diego Zoo and it was a deadly, albeit hilarious, experience.) Hurray!
Exploitation Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Thursday, March 29
Remember how yesterday I wrote that I was excited for several upcoming activities (henna, watching sunset over the Taj Mahal,)? The beauty of cynicism and low expectations it that you are rarely disappointed when things don't turn out as planned. I should not stray from my modus operandi.
While we did set out for a henna application, it happened at a marble inlay "factory." First, we watched a demo on a little stage of how marble inlay is made. The factory is supposedly the same one that did the marble inlay work at the Taj Mahal. Normally I like that kind of stuff, but it was a lot like watching beaten down indentured servants perform on command at a circus sideshow. After the "show," we went inside and served as the audience for an infomercial on marble quality and the factory. Then we were left to shop - for about two hours.
Let me put this in perspective. We spent:
20-30 minutes at the Birla Temple, a Hindu temple in New Delhi
60 minutes at the Qutb Minar World Heritage Site in Dehli
45 minutes at Itmad-us-daula, also known as the Baby Taj since it was built first
10 minutes at Akbar's mausoleum
90 minutes at the Agra Fort
180 minutes at the Taj Mahal itself
At the tourist death trap, we spent a total of 180 minutes. Yes, we spent the same amount of time at a marble store as we did at the Taj Mahal. Granted, it had not one scale model of the Taj, but three, each one bigger than the other, plus a video on how they made the largest of the scale models.
At some point during our entrapment, Ray discovered that the men used for the demonstration of how the inlay is made were selling small pendants on the side. They beckoned her over, then surreptitiously showed her what they had, and then in a terrified manner with wild eyes, carried out the transaction, whispering urgently to shove the pendants in her pocket and then shooing her away in fear. I bought two pendants also. It was depressing as hell, but I was glad to slip some extra cash to the workers. One guy told a woman in our group that he makes about $3 a month. That might be an exaggeration, but it is probably not far from the truth. The fat cat owners of the shop seem to treat them like shit.
After that, the henna artists set up shop. I go both my hands done, and it was a good experience. Most of the women did their hands and/or their ankles. As I was inspecting my design, I realized that if I were essentially an indentured servant forced to do henna demonstrations for idiot western and Asian tourists, I would probably paint evil messages into their tattoos to amuse myself. Things like, "I am a fucking moron" or whatever. Then I'd chuckle maniacally in my head as the ladies wander around the marble factory showing their pretty tattoo designs off to their friends.
By the time we left three hours after we arrived, my hatred of Fearless Leader had spread like wildfire across the group of normally mild mannered teachers. The sun had long ago sunk behind the horizon, so there was no chance to see the Taj Mahal bathed in the colors of the sunset. We still went to the fancy bar with the view of the Taj, but there was no view at all by the time we arrived because the structure is not lit at night. At dinner at the fancy hotel, I decided that I wanted to bring Mr. Singh, the nice man who assists the bus driver, home with me. I worry about him. He seems so solemn and sad. Of course, with Fearless Leader was bossing me around all the time, I can't blame him.
This morning, we set out to Jaipur. On the way, we stopped at the abandoned city of Fatehpur Sikri. It was built by the Mughal Emperor Akbar in 1659, but deserted 15 years later after Akbar died. Since Fearless Leader is the worst guide I ever had to endure (and this is saying a lot since I had a violent dislike of a tour guide I had for a day in Israel), I decided to bring my guide book into the site so that I would actually have a clue as tto what I was seeing. Fearless Leader has an hideous tendency to ruminate on one fact for 10 minutes, repeating the same exact thing over and over again, and not answering questions that we ask. It's not that he doesn't answer at all, it's just that his answers have nothing to do with the questions.
When Fearless Leader noticed that I was carrying the book with me, he became severely agitated.
"What are you doing?" he shrieked. "Why are you bringing a dead guide with you when you have a live one?"
"Um, I just like reading," I answered lamely, although I muttered as he walked away, "and this dead guide is far more informative than you are."
For almost the entire time in Fatehpur Sikri, he watched me like a hawk. This meant that I could not wander off as he repeated, "This carving is done like a blooming lotus blossom," ten times. I noticed many people staring off into space.
Eventually, I decided to apologize for my "rudeness" so that he would get the fuck off my back.
"I want to apologize to you," I told him when he finally shut the fuck up about the importance of astrology (which would have been interesting if he said more than one thing in the 10 minutes be blathered on) and let people wander around to take pictures. "I should have explained better. I like bringing the book with me because for more background into. I just want to make sure that I can ask informed questions."
"Oh, it is alright," he said and then draped his arm over my shoulders and semi pulled me in. I grit my teeth. "I understand."
"Right, you know, there is so much to say and no one can cover it all in the time we have, so this was I can be sure I see everything I am interested in," I went on.
He squeezed my shoulder. I tried not to gag. "Ehhhhheheheh," he laughed in his obnoxious way. (I wish I could record it and podcast it.) "It is good."
Eventually I wrenched myself free of his clutches. He didn't watch me so closely for the rest of the tour, so that was good. Incidentally, we spent a total of 90 minutes there. Craziness.
As for random observations, I realized that outside of Delhi, I was seen very few women. Sure, a few are walking down the street and we've driven by some women working in fields, but not tone shop in Agra had a female employee. (There were some female reception staff at the hotel, though.) It is very surreal. Also, I learned that poor people use cow manure for fuel. The children follow the cow around and collect the shit, and the women then knead it and form patties out of it. Men do not do such work.
My little language lessons are going well. In addition to knowing how to say thank you, hello and good-bye (same word), how to ask how one is, how to ask for a Diet Coke to drink, tell the bus driver that he is brave (the traffic here is terrifying, and I have much admiration for him) and saying "see ya!," I added the phrase "my friend" and "nice to see you again." I am looking forward to trying them out. Hopefully, whatever words eventually come out will not be anything along the lines of "meet me at my room tonight, big boy."
After Fatehpur Sikri, we began our long bus ride to Jaipur. (I'm writing on the bus now.) We are supposedly going to another mandir (hindu temple) to watch an aarti, which is a prayer ceremony according to the itinerary that we semi-follow. Tonight we are scheduled to eat at a restaurant with live folk music, so assuming that actually happens, I'll be very happy. Tomorrow we are set to go tot the Amber Fort, which includes an elephant ride. Just like Indy, Willie, and Short Round took to get to Pangkot Palace! As Fearless Leader would say, "Ehhhhheheheheh."
Remember how yesterday I wrote that I was excited for several upcoming activities (henna, watching sunset over the Taj Mahal,)? The beauty of cynicism and low expectations it that you are rarely disappointed when things don't turn out as planned. I should not stray from my modus operandi.
While we did set out for a henna application, it happened at a marble inlay "factory." First, we watched a demo on a little stage of how marble inlay is made. The factory is supposedly the same one that did the marble inlay work at the Taj Mahal. Normally I like that kind of stuff, but it was a lot like watching beaten down indentured servants perform on command at a circus sideshow. After the "show," we went inside and served as the audience for an infomercial on marble quality and the factory. Then we were left to shop - for about two hours.
Let me put this in perspective. We spent:
20-30 minutes at the Birla Temple, a Hindu temple in New Delhi
60 minutes at the Qutb Minar World Heritage Site in Dehli
45 minutes at Itmad-us-daula, also known as the Baby Taj since it was built first
10 minutes at Akbar's mausoleum
90 minutes at the Agra Fort
180 minutes at the Taj Mahal itself
At the tourist death trap, we spent a total of 180 minutes. Yes, we spent the same amount of time at a marble store as we did at the Taj Mahal. Granted, it had not one scale model of the Taj, but three, each one bigger than the other, plus a video on how they made the largest of the scale models.
At some point during our entrapment, Ray discovered that the men used for the demonstration of how the inlay is made were selling small pendants on the side. They beckoned her over, then surreptitiously showed her what they had, and then in a terrified manner with wild eyes, carried out the transaction, whispering urgently to shove the pendants in her pocket and then shooing her away in fear. I bought two pendants also. It was depressing as hell, but I was glad to slip some extra cash to the workers. One guy told a woman in our group that he makes about $3 a month. That might be an exaggeration, but it is probably not far from the truth. The fat cat owners of the shop seem to treat them like shit.
After that, the henna artists set up shop. I go both my hands done, and it was a good experience. Most of the women did their hands and/or their ankles. As I was inspecting my design, I realized that if I were essentially an indentured servant forced to do henna demonstrations for idiot western and Asian tourists, I would probably paint evil messages into their tattoos to amuse myself. Things like, "I am a fucking moron" or whatever. Then I'd chuckle maniacally in my head as the ladies wander around the marble factory showing their pretty tattoo designs off to their friends.
By the time we left three hours after we arrived, my hatred of Fearless Leader had spread like wildfire across the group of normally mild mannered teachers. The sun had long ago sunk behind the horizon, so there was no chance to see the Taj Mahal bathed in the colors of the sunset. We still went to the fancy bar with the view of the Taj, but there was no view at all by the time we arrived because the structure is not lit at night. At dinner at the fancy hotel, I decided that I wanted to bring Mr. Singh, the nice man who assists the bus driver, home with me. I worry about him. He seems so solemn and sad. Of course, with Fearless Leader was bossing me around all the time, I can't blame him.
This morning, we set out to Jaipur. On the way, we stopped at the abandoned city of Fatehpur Sikri. It was built by the Mughal Emperor Akbar in 1659, but deserted 15 years later after Akbar died. Since Fearless Leader is the worst guide I ever had to endure (and this is saying a lot since I had a violent dislike of a tour guide I had for a day in Israel), I decided to bring my guide book into the site so that I would actually have a clue as tto what I was seeing. Fearless Leader has an hideous tendency to ruminate on one fact for 10 minutes, repeating the same exact thing over and over again, and not answering questions that we ask. It's not that he doesn't answer at all, it's just that his answers have nothing to do with the questions.
When Fearless Leader noticed that I was carrying the book with me, he became severely agitated.
"What are you doing?" he shrieked. "Why are you bringing a dead guide with you when you have a live one?"
"Um, I just like reading," I answered lamely, although I muttered as he walked away, "and this dead guide is far more informative than you are."
For almost the entire time in Fatehpur Sikri, he watched me like a hawk. This meant that I could not wander off as he repeated, "This carving is done like a blooming lotus blossom," ten times. I noticed many people staring off into space.
Eventually, I decided to apologize for my "rudeness" so that he would get the fuck off my back.
"I want to apologize to you," I told him when he finally shut the fuck up about the importance of astrology (which would have been interesting if he said more than one thing in the 10 minutes be blathered on) and let people wander around to take pictures. "I should have explained better. I like bringing the book with me because for more background into. I just want to make sure that I can ask informed questions."
"Oh, it is alright," he said and then draped his arm over my shoulders and semi pulled me in. I grit my teeth. "I understand."
"Right, you know, there is so much to say and no one can cover it all in the time we have, so this was I can be sure I see everything I am interested in," I went on.
He squeezed my shoulder. I tried not to gag. "Ehhhhheheheh," he laughed in his obnoxious way. (I wish I could record it and podcast it.) "It is good."
Eventually I wrenched myself free of his clutches. He didn't watch me so closely for the rest of the tour, so that was good. Incidentally, we spent a total of 90 minutes there. Craziness.
As for random observations, I realized that outside of Delhi, I was seen very few women. Sure, a few are walking down the street and we've driven by some women working in fields, but not tone shop in Agra had a female employee. (There were some female reception staff at the hotel, though.) It is very surreal. Also, I learned that poor people use cow manure for fuel. The children follow the cow around and collect the shit, and the women then knead it and form patties out of it. Men do not do such work.
My little language lessons are going well. In addition to knowing how to say thank you, hello and good-bye (same word), how to ask how one is, how to ask for a Diet Coke to drink, tell the bus driver that he is brave (the traffic here is terrifying, and I have much admiration for him) and saying "see ya!," I added the phrase "my friend" and "nice to see you again." I am looking forward to trying them out. Hopefully, whatever words eventually come out will not be anything along the lines of "meet me at my room tonight, big boy."
After Fatehpur Sikri, we began our long bus ride to Jaipur. (I'm writing on the bus now.) We are supposedly going to another mandir (hindu temple) to watch an aarti, which is a prayer ceremony according to the itinerary that we semi-follow. Tonight we are scheduled to eat at a restaurant with live folk music, so assuming that actually happens, I'll be very happy. Tomorrow we are set to go tot the Amber Fort, which includes an elephant ride. Just like Indy, Willie, and Short Round took to get to Pangkot Palace! As Fearless Leader would say, "Ehhhhheheheheh."
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Namaste (Slurp, Slurp)
The Taj Mahal is so stunning that even a person who is preoccupied over a potential digestive system explosion must stop and gape. I know this because – surprise, surprise – I was that person standing around and staring and hoping that I would not shit my pants. It was nothing out of the ordinary for me, though. Just my regular crazy mysterious ailment. Over the course of the 3 hours I was there, the Immodium AD I took before we left kicked in and I could fully appreciate its splendor.
Before all of that occurred, however, I had to wait in a long line to get into the Taj Mahal complex. There is a separate line for women and men, as the entry way includes security staff that pat you down. Of course, the men's line moved three times faster than the women's line. Partly this is because women insist on bringing everything they own in their handbags, so it takes the poor female security staff much more time to clear someone. In my mind that means there should be more female staff, but the people running the Taj Mahal clearly think differently.
Fearless Leader, our horrendous guide, told everyone that the Taj Mahal construction began on the complex in 1631, and by the time it was done some two decades later, it cost $40 million rupees. He then informed the group that that was the equivalent of $1 million US dollars at the time. This is another reason why I loathe Fearless Leader. It is clear that he just made that number up by thinking about the current conversion rate of rupees to dollars. This does not really work for 1631, as there were no dollars to convert to at the time, among other issues with inflation. The guide book that I brought on the trip said it would be about $70 million USD in today's terms.
At any rate, it was completely wonderful despite Fearless Leader's bloviating, and I am very glad that I both got to see it with my own two very nearsighted eyes and also that I did not shit my pants, which really would have put a damper on the whole experience.
In the afternoon, we left 30 minutes late for the Agra Fort because Fearless Leader decided that he should wait until after our free time to think about what to do about a woman who lost her passport two days ago. Instead of letting the group know that our departure was delayed so people could nap a little longer or blog or whatever, he left us all sitting in the lobby.
Usually, I love going on tours. I am always rushing to stand close to the tour guide so that I can cling to every word of wisdom that passes his or her lips. Usually the guides know what they are talking about. Fearless Leader is not only a liar, but contradicts himself often. He'll state what might be a fact, and then someone will ask a question, and he'll say the exact opposite of what he just stated, further confusing the question asker. Thus I decided that I should just wander randomly around the fort and read more about it in my book later. I found that my experience in the fort was much more pleasant that way, despite the baking heat.
Also, while I have been here, I have been trying to use some basic Hindi phrases that I gleaned from the little language book that Dr. P gave me for my birthday. Mostly I use them with the bus staff (the driver and his helper, who I think is adorable) and it amuses them greatly. This morning I discovered from one of the co-organizers, who is Indian, that I have been pronouncing a phrase wrong for the past two days. Ray said that perhaps the reason that the staff smiles so much when I try and speak with them is that I might have unintentionally been offering to suck their cocks. It's more likely that I was just speaking nonsense, but we had quite a laugh over that. Of course, it may not be as funny at the end of the trip when the guys approach me with their dicks hanging out of their trousers. (My book says that only 6% of women approve of pre-marital sex, so definitely I could be an interesting prospect.)
Speaking of Indian women, my book also says that while immense strides have been made in the middle and upper classes regarding women's rights, I am not sure to make of what I have observed. Women never drive alone. They are always sitting behind a man on the scooters. The men wear helmets, but not the women. (Some of the male scooter passengers don't wear helmets either, but the women never do.) I have seen many men carrying their kids, so women seem to not be solely involved in caring for the younguns in family outings. Also, many of the girls seem to be as well-cared for as they boys and even are allowed to run around a bit. Like many cultures, though, women and girls are the ones primarily wearing traditional clothes while nearly all the men I see are in western-style clothing. Men pee in the street constantly.
Anyway, tonight we are headed to a henna demonstration, so I am excited to have that done. After that, we are possibly getting drinks at a fancy bar that overlooks the Taj Mahal so we can observe the sunset. Tomorrow, we are off to Jaipur, which is 6-8 hours away depending on traffic. In Jaipur, we are scheduled to take an elephant ride. I am beside myself with glee.
Namaste! (This is the one word I have been pronouncing correctly the entire time, and it is a lot like shalom in that it is the standard hello/good-bye greeting.)
Before all of that occurred, however, I had to wait in a long line to get into the Taj Mahal complex. There is a separate line for women and men, as the entry way includes security staff that pat you down. Of course, the men's line moved three times faster than the women's line. Partly this is because women insist on bringing everything they own in their handbags, so it takes the poor female security staff much more time to clear someone. In my mind that means there should be more female staff, but the people running the Taj Mahal clearly think differently.
Fearless Leader, our horrendous guide, told everyone that the Taj Mahal construction began on the complex in 1631, and by the time it was done some two decades later, it cost $40 million rupees. He then informed the group that that was the equivalent of $1 million US dollars at the time. This is another reason why I loathe Fearless Leader. It is clear that he just made that number up by thinking about the current conversion rate of rupees to dollars. This does not really work for 1631, as there were no dollars to convert to at the time, among other issues with inflation. The guide book that I brought on the trip said it would be about $70 million USD in today's terms.
At any rate, it was completely wonderful despite Fearless Leader's bloviating, and I am very glad that I both got to see it with my own two very nearsighted eyes and also that I did not shit my pants, which really would have put a damper on the whole experience.
In the afternoon, we left 30 minutes late for the Agra Fort because Fearless Leader decided that he should wait until after our free time to think about what to do about a woman who lost her passport two days ago. Instead of letting the group know that our departure was delayed so people could nap a little longer or blog or whatever, he left us all sitting in the lobby.
Usually, I love going on tours. I am always rushing to stand close to the tour guide so that I can cling to every word of wisdom that passes his or her lips. Usually the guides know what they are talking about. Fearless Leader is not only a liar, but contradicts himself often. He'll state what might be a fact, and then someone will ask a question, and he'll say the exact opposite of what he just stated, further confusing the question asker. Thus I decided that I should just wander randomly around the fort and read more about it in my book later. I found that my experience in the fort was much more pleasant that way, despite the baking heat.
Also, while I have been here, I have been trying to use some basic Hindi phrases that I gleaned from the little language book that Dr. P gave me for my birthday. Mostly I use them with the bus staff (the driver and his helper, who I think is adorable) and it amuses them greatly. This morning I discovered from one of the co-organizers, who is Indian, that I have been pronouncing a phrase wrong for the past two days. Ray said that perhaps the reason that the staff smiles so much when I try and speak with them is that I might have unintentionally been offering to suck their cocks. It's more likely that I was just speaking nonsense, but we had quite a laugh over that. Of course, it may not be as funny at the end of the trip when the guys approach me with their dicks hanging out of their trousers. (My book says that only 6% of women approve of pre-marital sex, so definitely I could be an interesting prospect.)
Speaking of Indian women, my book also says that while immense strides have been made in the middle and upper classes regarding women's rights, I am not sure to make of what I have observed. Women never drive alone. They are always sitting behind a man on the scooters. The men wear helmets, but not the women. (Some of the male scooter passengers don't wear helmets either, but the women never do.) I have seen many men carrying their kids, so women seem to not be solely involved in caring for the younguns in family outings. Also, many of the girls seem to be as well-cared for as they boys and even are allowed to run around a bit. Like many cultures, though, women and girls are the ones primarily wearing traditional clothes while nearly all the men I see are in western-style clothing. Men pee in the street constantly.
Anyway, tonight we are headed to a henna demonstration, so I am excited to have that done. After that, we are possibly getting drinks at a fancy bar that overlooks the Taj Mahal so we can observe the sunset. Tomorrow, we are off to Jaipur, which is 6-8 hours away depending on traffic. In Jaipur, we are scheduled to take an elephant ride. I am beside myself with glee.
Namaste! (This is the one word I have been pronouncing correctly the entire time, and it is a lot like shalom in that it is the standard hello/good-bye greeting.)
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Quick Aside
A few weeks ago, I submitted 3000 or so words of a memoir that I'd like to write about growing up, getting a new and not entirely welcome body in the tween and teen years, and then not long after that, watching it crumble and slightly fall apart in little ways to The Memoirists Collective on MySpace. Nothing too dramatic, but a funny coming of age saga that lots o' people can relate to.
Of course now that I am in India, they selected my story to be workshopped and commented on! You can find it at MySpace Memoirists Collective Blog
If you are a MySpace member, please leave some feedback for me! If you aren't a lemming like me (and thus don't have a MySpace account - good for you!), if you can let me know what you think by leaving your thoughts here at CUSS, that would be awesome. I've posted a version of this story here eons ago, but I really flushed it out with the magic of dialogue.
Thanks!!!
Of course now that I am in India, they selected my story to be workshopped and commented on! You can find it at MySpace Memoirists Collective Blog
If you are a MySpace member, please leave some feedback for me! If you aren't a lemming like me (and thus don't have a MySpace account - good for you!), if you can let me know what you think by leaving your thoughts here at CUSS, that would be awesome. I've posted a version of this story here eons ago, but I really flushed it out with the magic of dialogue.
Thanks!!!
Knuckleheads Indeed
My main problem with our tour guide, aka Fearless Leader, is that he believes that we do not need to know anything about a day's agenda until the very last minute. He hoards information about what we will be doing and when like he's some Congressional aide working on the Gonzales Justice Department scandal. This is a problem because we got itineraries before our trip, and thus I plan what I will be wearing based on the activities listed. If Fearless Leader changes them, it is no problem as long as I know in advance.
For example, today's pre-sent itinerary says
Here is what we actually did:
The tonga left from our hotel and took a leisurely route down an extremely busy street. Many cars, trucks, scooters, and bicycles honked at us with displeasure. We eventually turned off the main road and went through some back streets of the old part of Agra. This was heinously depressing, as we saw huge families smooshed together in subpar housing, getting water from pumps in the street. I suppose that they are better off than the people living in the filthy tent and shanty towns, but everyone in my tonga felt awkward about invading their space, as well as extremely lucky for what we take for granted.
Our horse, on the other hand, responded by getting extremely testy whenever one of the vehicles pulled to close when they tried to pass. (I can't say I blame her.) It was not until nearly the end of the ride that she finally blew up. A motorcyclist got a bit too far into her personal space, so she decided to run him off the road. When she cornered him against a wall, she attempted to bite him. This was rather scary for us as passengers, although I can totally relate to her feelings. The driver regained some measure of control within a few minutes, and no one was hurt.
At the end of the ride, some of the people in our group showed how utterly unaffected by what we saw.
"Hey guys," he said to the other three people in his tonga as they clambered out, "who wants to take a picture with Paco here?" Paco was his obnoxious term for the driver. Then again, this is the guy who addresses the group over the bus PA system by yelling, "Hey all you knuckleheads!" and then laughing hysterically. He is obviously a moron.
My pal Piggy suggested that the first thing that should be done to address India's poverty problem was to make sure that all dogs had their shots. He also wondered if the Humane Society knew about the tongas.
Fearless Leader then took us to a candy shop to buy a special pumpkin candy (whose name I am forgetting, and I am too tired to look for it – sorry). Since he was obviously getting a huge commission, I decided to eat one of the offered samples and then purchase my candy from the vendor next door. I'll be damned if that arrogant, smug prick is going to continue to make money off of me.
We had an amazing dinner at a local restaurant that was listed in the guidebook I brought with me. It cost me 300 rupees (including tip, which is about $6.50) for egg & veggie biryani, nan, a sweet lassi, and mango ice cream.
Backing up a step, the drive over to Agra from Delhi was fascinating. We stopped part way there at a hotel (although not a convenient stop, clearly Fearless Leader selected it for his commission, as he urged us to shop as much as we wanted in the gift shop) for the bathroom. I bought Rebecca the lovely handmade journal I promised.
Overall, it was another excellent day of new and interesting things. The baby Taj has me very much looking forward to the real thing. We are leaving the hotel early tomorrow morning (5:45 am!) so that we can get there for sunrise. I am very excited. Then after breakfast, we really are going to the fort. In the evening, a local artist has been invited to meet with the ladies on the trip to do henna designs. It should be another fun, chockfull of activity day.
For example, today's pre-sent itinerary says
:0800 hours: Depart for AgraThus I wore a nice white linen skirt since I was told to dress a bit up for the Taj Mahal visit and I didn't want to wear jeans on the bus and then change in a few hours. I got some little Toblerone smudges on my skirt while I was snacking, which was annoying. It might not had been so annoying had Fearless Leader told us there had been a change in plans and I would have worn jeans.
1300 hours: Arrive Agra and check into hotel. Lunch on your own.
1430 hours: Visit the Taj Mahal
Also visit Agra Fort.
Evening at leisure.
Here is what we actually did:
0800 hours: Depart for AgraFortunately, when we arrived at the hotel I had time to change into jeans because let me assure you that the tonga ride was the wrong activity for a white linen skirt.
1400 hours: Arrive Agra and check into hotel. Lunch on your own.
1530 hours: Visit Itmad-us-daula, aka the Baby Taj, which was sort of a precursor to the Taj.
Evening enjoy a tonga (a traditional horse-pulled carriage) ride. Pandemonium will ensue. (OK, I added this part myself.)
The tonga left from our hotel and took a leisurely route down an extremely busy street. Many cars, trucks, scooters, and bicycles honked at us with displeasure. We eventually turned off the main road and went through some back streets of the old part of Agra. This was heinously depressing, as we saw huge families smooshed together in subpar housing, getting water from pumps in the street. I suppose that they are better off than the people living in the filthy tent and shanty towns, but everyone in my tonga felt awkward about invading their space, as well as extremely lucky for what we take for granted.
Our horse, on the other hand, responded by getting extremely testy whenever one of the vehicles pulled to close when they tried to pass. (I can't say I blame her.) It was not until nearly the end of the ride that she finally blew up. A motorcyclist got a bit too far into her personal space, so she decided to run him off the road. When she cornered him against a wall, she attempted to bite him. This was rather scary for us as passengers, although I can totally relate to her feelings. The driver regained some measure of control within a few minutes, and no one was hurt.
At the end of the ride, some of the people in our group showed how utterly unaffected by what we saw.
"Hey guys," he said to the other three people in his tonga as they clambered out, "who wants to take a picture with Paco here?" Paco was his obnoxious term for the driver. Then again, this is the guy who addresses the group over the bus PA system by yelling, "Hey all you knuckleheads!" and then laughing hysterically. He is obviously a moron.
My pal Piggy suggested that the first thing that should be done to address India's poverty problem was to make sure that all dogs had their shots. He also wondered if the Humane Society knew about the tongas.
Fearless Leader then took us to a candy shop to buy a special pumpkin candy (whose name I am forgetting, and I am too tired to look for it – sorry). Since he was obviously getting a huge commission, I decided to eat one of the offered samples and then purchase my candy from the vendor next door. I'll be damned if that arrogant, smug prick is going to continue to make money off of me.
We had an amazing dinner at a local restaurant that was listed in the guidebook I brought with me. It cost me 300 rupees (including tip, which is about $6.50) for egg & veggie biryani, nan, a sweet lassi, and mango ice cream.
Backing up a step, the drive over to Agra from Delhi was fascinating. We stopped part way there at a hotel (although not a convenient stop, clearly Fearless Leader selected it for his commission, as he urged us to shop as much as we wanted in the gift shop) for the bathroom. I bought Rebecca the lovely handmade journal I promised.
Overall, it was another excellent day of new and interesting things. The baby Taj has me very much looking forward to the real thing. We are leaving the hotel early tomorrow morning (5:45 am!) so that we can get there for sunrise. I am very excited. Then after breakfast, we really are going to the fort. In the evening, a local artist has been invited to meet with the ladies on the trip to do henna designs. It should be another fun, chockfull of activity day.
Vishnu, Lakshmi, and Common Sluts
Tuesday, March 27
If there is one word to sum up my trip to India thus far, it is busy! We have crammed an immense amount of sightseeing and shopping into two full days. As I write this, I am on the bus going to Agra. Other than nighttime when I need to sleep, it's the first occasion I have had to really sit down and write. (Next I'll need to find some wi-fi to be able to post this…)
On Sunday, I mentioned that Ray, John, and I had some misadventures walking around. Since then, we discovered this was partly because it was too early to go out, and thus most normal pedestrians were not out. From there, the tour group left and we saw many historic sights (Qutb Mintar, Haymun's tomb where I peed in a bathroom that required squatting over a drain with little urinal mints on it), and two temples (a lotus-shaped Bhai temple with stunning gardens and a Hindu temple). I think the temple was dedicated to Vishnu or Shiva, but Kumar/Apurva, who I now refer to as Fearless Leader because he is the most incompetent guide ever, was impossible to follow. I know there was a statue of Shiva and Lakshmi in the temple, though. The courtyard had a Ganesh shrine, too.
After dinner at the hotel, we went to the worst show I ever sat through. It was at the Red Fort, which was built by Shah Jahan in the 1600s. We were told the show re-creates the history of Delhi through lights and sound. Cool. Except that what it really entailed was an audio track of random bits of information and "historic conversation" that played on surround sound while colored lights illuminating a few buildings. I've been more elucidated watching paint dry. Its one redeeming feature was an utterly insane comment from the narrator about how one Mughal emperor loved "a common slut." Yes, that is a direct quote. Then a "historic conversation" between said emperor and slut took place.
"You will come to live in the place with me," Emperor said.
"But what about so-and-so?" Common Slut, retorted slyly.
"Who is so-and-so?" Emperor asked, puzzled.
"She is my best friend who sells the most luscious watermelons in the whole market. You will never taste such watermelons as she has," Common Slut purred.
"Oh ho ho," horny Emperor chuckle. "Then she will need to move into the palace, too. I can never get enough watermelons."
I am not making this up. I pictured him rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation as a red light shined on a building.
Yesterday (Monday) morning, Ray and I went back to the area and there were many more varieties of people out, plus the shops were open. I bought a peacock blue Punjabi dress, which is what most women seem to wear here. I also got some little toys for my godsons, and as per her request, a "sexy belt" for the Sauce.
After our morning shopping session, the group headed out for more sightseeing. First they decided that unlike Sunday, people might actually want to eat lunch. Unfortunately, no one told us of this plan so we ate a super huge late breakfast and were not hungry. Worse, they took us to a Chinese restaurant. Sigh. Someone lost her passport at the restaurant, and then didn't say anything about it for a few hours. People are weird.
My favorite part of the trip so far came next. We took the extremely efficient, beautiful, and cheap subway a few stops to Old Dehli. Then Fearless Leader nearly lost half the group because he does not bother to try and keep track of people as we attempt to follow him down narrow jammed streets and across 6 lanes of traffic that never stop. (You have to find an opportunity to run across whenever you can.) Amazingly, we all made it, and he organized rickshaws to take us on a ride through the streets and markets of Old Delhi Think Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, but with people and motor scooters and other rickshaws and carts drawn by men loaded with all sorts of goods coming at you nonstop. Some of the people in my group were beset by beggars, many of whom were children, but I was not bothered. I was, however, clocked in the shoulder when the rickshaw driver did not swerve to avoid a man carrying a number of pallets on his head. It was both terrifying and utterly exhilarating. I loved it.
Really, anything after the rickshaws was bound to be a letdown, and the Jama Masjid, the last grand architectural project by Shah Jahan was rather boring. A bird shit on me while we were there. The good news is that I have a ridiculously large straw hat, and the brim prevented crap from getting on me. It was easier to wipe off my hat than it would have been my shoulder or hair.
The final tour stop was at the place that Gandhi was cremated. The pyre spot is in a stunning and quiet park. Then the bus headed back towards our hotel, although half of us got off early and went shopping. I got a beautiful sleeveless shirt for myself, a birthday present for Sara (happy belated b-day, by the way!), a ridiculous hat for Husband that makes me giddy with anticipation, and a religious statue for Sister and Sister's Husband that ties a little into Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, our favorite movie to quote.
Speaking of Indy, the movie was all about renegade worship of the goddess Kali. As a result of the movie, I am slightly obsessed with Kali. I once asked Dr. H, who is Hindu, to explain more to me about Kali and she noted that Kali is not all evil as shown in the movie. Currently, devotees to Kali are celebrating a festival, which I am rather excited about. There was a huge Kali temple near the B'hai Temple and the roads were lined with booths selling items to offer Kali. Most common was a coconut wrapped in a red cloth. Then I noticed that the scary ramshackle temple (called mandir in Hindi, FYI) was a Kali Mandir, so that was quite thrilling. I wanted to offer a coconut, but the temple was actually surrounded by homeless people and beggars, so I stayed away.
That's the story thus far. Other than wanting to kill a member of the group I refer to as Piggy (after the character in Lord of the Flies, who continually makes inane, and worse, racist comments – I am Jack sharpening my spear) and Fearless Leader, I am enjoying everything immensely. More to come. (Sorry this is so long, but I was storing up a lot of reports.)
If there is one word to sum up my trip to India thus far, it is busy! We have crammed an immense amount of sightseeing and shopping into two full days. As I write this, I am on the bus going to Agra. Other than nighttime when I need to sleep, it's the first occasion I have had to really sit down and write. (Next I'll need to find some wi-fi to be able to post this…)
On Sunday, I mentioned that Ray, John, and I had some misadventures walking around. Since then, we discovered this was partly because it was too early to go out, and thus most normal pedestrians were not out. From there, the tour group left and we saw many historic sights (Qutb Mintar, Haymun's tomb where I peed in a bathroom that required squatting over a drain with little urinal mints on it), and two temples (a lotus-shaped Bhai temple with stunning gardens and a Hindu temple). I think the temple was dedicated to Vishnu or Shiva, but Kumar/Apurva, who I now refer to as Fearless Leader because he is the most incompetent guide ever, was impossible to follow. I know there was a statue of Shiva and Lakshmi in the temple, though. The courtyard had a Ganesh shrine, too.
After dinner at the hotel, we went to the worst show I ever sat through. It was at the Red Fort, which was built by Shah Jahan in the 1600s. We were told the show re-creates the history of Delhi through lights and sound. Cool. Except that what it really entailed was an audio track of random bits of information and "historic conversation" that played on surround sound while colored lights illuminating a few buildings. I've been more elucidated watching paint dry. Its one redeeming feature was an utterly insane comment from the narrator about how one Mughal emperor loved "a common slut." Yes, that is a direct quote. Then a "historic conversation" between said emperor and slut took place.
"You will come to live in the place with me," Emperor said.
"But what about so-and-so?" Common Slut, retorted slyly.
"Who is so-and-so?" Emperor asked, puzzled.
"She is my best friend who sells the most luscious watermelons in the whole market. You will never taste such watermelons as she has," Common Slut purred.
"Oh ho ho," horny Emperor chuckle. "Then she will need to move into the palace, too. I can never get enough watermelons."
I am not making this up. I pictured him rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation as a red light shined on a building.
Yesterday (Monday) morning, Ray and I went back to the area and there were many more varieties of people out, plus the shops were open. I bought a peacock blue Punjabi dress, which is what most women seem to wear here. I also got some little toys for my godsons, and as per her request, a "sexy belt" for the Sauce.
After our morning shopping session, the group headed out for more sightseeing. First they decided that unlike Sunday, people might actually want to eat lunch. Unfortunately, no one told us of this plan so we ate a super huge late breakfast and were not hungry. Worse, they took us to a Chinese restaurant. Sigh. Someone lost her passport at the restaurant, and then didn't say anything about it for a few hours. People are weird.
My favorite part of the trip so far came next. We took the extremely efficient, beautiful, and cheap subway a few stops to Old Dehli. Then Fearless Leader nearly lost half the group because he does not bother to try and keep track of people as we attempt to follow him down narrow jammed streets and across 6 lanes of traffic that never stop. (You have to find an opportunity to run across whenever you can.) Amazingly, we all made it, and he organized rickshaws to take us on a ride through the streets and markets of Old Delhi Think Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, but with people and motor scooters and other rickshaws and carts drawn by men loaded with all sorts of goods coming at you nonstop. Some of the people in my group were beset by beggars, many of whom were children, but I was not bothered. I was, however, clocked in the shoulder when the rickshaw driver did not swerve to avoid a man carrying a number of pallets on his head. It was both terrifying and utterly exhilarating. I loved it.
Really, anything after the rickshaws was bound to be a letdown, and the Jama Masjid, the last grand architectural project by Shah Jahan was rather boring. A bird shit on me while we were there. The good news is that I have a ridiculously large straw hat, and the brim prevented crap from getting on me. It was easier to wipe off my hat than it would have been my shoulder or hair.
The final tour stop was at the place that Gandhi was cremated. The pyre spot is in a stunning and quiet park. Then the bus headed back towards our hotel, although half of us got off early and went shopping. I got a beautiful sleeveless shirt for myself, a birthday present for Sara (happy belated b-day, by the way!), a ridiculous hat for Husband that makes me giddy with anticipation, and a religious statue for Sister and Sister's Husband that ties a little into Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, our favorite movie to quote.
Speaking of Indy, the movie was all about renegade worship of the goddess Kali. As a result of the movie, I am slightly obsessed with Kali. I once asked Dr. H, who is Hindu, to explain more to me about Kali and she noted that Kali is not all evil as shown in the movie. Currently, devotees to Kali are celebrating a festival, which I am rather excited about. There was a huge Kali temple near the B'hai Temple and the roads were lined with booths selling items to offer Kali. Most common was a coconut wrapped in a red cloth. Then I noticed that the scary ramshackle temple (called mandir in Hindi, FYI) was a Kali Mandir, so that was quite thrilling. I wanted to offer a coconut, but the temple was actually surrounded by homeless people and beggars, so I stayed away.
That's the story thus far. Other than wanting to kill a member of the group I refer to as Piggy (after the character in Lord of the Flies, who continually makes inane, and worse, racist comments – I am Jack sharpening my spear) and Fearless Leader, I am enjoying everything immensely. More to come. (Sorry this is so long, but I was storing up a lot of reports.)
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Holy Krishna!
I have a few hours before my first official tour of Delhi begins. Today we will be visiting the Qutub Minar, a victory tower begun in 1199 and finished in 1368, the mausoleum of Humayun, the second Mughal Emperor, and the B'hai Temple (which will mean I have been to 3 out of 7 worldwide; I was at the one in Haifa, Israel and the other one is right in the backyard of my childhood home in Wilmette, IL). Then the group is on to the Rashtrapti Bhawan, the official resident of the Indian president, then Parliament House. At night we are seeing a laser light show at the Red Fort. Quite the action packed day.
My unofficial introduction to India has been full of mishegoss, or craziness as they say in Yiddish. At the airport, our group was besieged by people who attempted to load people's luggage onto various buses that had nothing to do with us. Our guide yelled at the swarms repeatedly, but this did not dissuade them. Fortunately, no one touched my little bags. Maybe I looked too hostile. Our guide insists that we call him Kumar although that is not his name. He thinks it is easier than this real name, which is Apurva. This cracks me up.
One guy (my friend Ray says he reminds her of Piggy in Lord of the Flies, and that is the perfect description, although he is middle-aged rather than a teen, but just as fucking irritating) in our group is already practically begging me to stab him in the face. Apurva/Kumar was telling us not to drink the water, blah blah blah, when he began shouting from the back of the bus.
"Excuse me! Excuse me! I called the Coca-Cola company back home and asked them if it is safe to drink Coke here, and they said yes," he wheezed. "Is that true?"
Apurva/Kumar then launched into an annoyingly long and unnecessary explanation of the high standards maintained by Coke and Pepsi bottling plants in India. I would much rather have heard more information about the customs of the country. Piggy also yelled this morning at the currency exchange guy at the reception desk for giving him 500 rupee bills, which is about $12 US. This is not excessively large if one plans to shop at a store.
Anyway, Ray and her friend John and I are sharing a room, and the hotel insisted that they gave us a triple. Upon entering the room, we found two twin beds. We returned downstairs and said it was not a triple, which then led to a little argument, and the manager going upstairs to verify that we know what beds look like and that there were three of them. Much to his surprise, we are not total morons. Finally, a mattress was carted in, and by 1:30 am, we went to bed.
We got up a little before 7:00 and set out for the big breakfast that is included with our trip. Then we headed out to look around a little bit for ourselves. Let me say for the record that if I had taken a trip like this even five years earlier, I would have been crying within 10 minutes.
The hotel directed us to a bank a little ways down the road so that we could use the ATM. This was all fine, except that we decided that instead of doubling back to use the route the hotel recommended to us to get to Connaught Place, a shopping area that is mostly closed on Sunday but nearby, I looked at a map and decided we could go another way. Of course, we got a little lost. Under normal circumstances, I would just stand on a corner and stare at things until I could figure out where I was. This is not possible here, as men are constantly running up to you as you (white person) walk down the street.
"Hello! Can I help you? Where are you going? Want a ride?" and on and on even when you politely decline help. We were followed by a variety of people at different points on our walk. Stopping for even a second could have meant we were surrounded, so we sort of pushed on. The worst was a man with an infant who followed us forever and jabbered in Hindi (or Urdu) the entire time. I would have given him some rupees, but the bank only gave 500 rupee bills. Plus, I was not inclined to handle my wallet on the street. After a bit, we found three young women and asked them where we were, and although they actually were no more clear than we were, they had a general idea and we followed them until we saw a sign for our hotel and got back.
Personally, I found it overwhelming, but once I had a sense of where I was, I would have not minded trying to set out again. I didn't generally feel unsafe, although I kept an eye on my bag more than usual. Ray was definitely done for the morning, though. So now we are back at the hotel waiting for the group. I decided to take a few minutes to blog my experience thus far. The hotel is basically anally raping people for internet access ($8 for 30 minutes!!!!!), but I didn't see any internet cafes on our aborted exploration anyway. So it goes. Hopefully, our group experience will be a bit less intense this afternoon, although I am not holding my breath.
More adventures to come.
My unofficial introduction to India has been full of mishegoss, or craziness as they say in Yiddish. At the airport, our group was besieged by people who attempted to load people's luggage onto various buses that had nothing to do with us. Our guide yelled at the swarms repeatedly, but this did not dissuade them. Fortunately, no one touched my little bags. Maybe I looked too hostile. Our guide insists that we call him Kumar although that is not his name. He thinks it is easier than this real name, which is Apurva. This cracks me up.
One guy (my friend Ray says he reminds her of Piggy in Lord of the Flies, and that is the perfect description, although he is middle-aged rather than a teen, but just as fucking irritating) in our group is already practically begging me to stab him in the face. Apurva/Kumar was telling us not to drink the water, blah blah blah, when he began shouting from the back of the bus.
"Excuse me! Excuse me! I called the Coca-Cola company back home and asked them if it is safe to drink Coke here, and they said yes," he wheezed. "Is that true?"
Apurva/Kumar then launched into an annoyingly long and unnecessary explanation of the high standards maintained by Coke and Pepsi bottling plants in India. I would much rather have heard more information about the customs of the country. Piggy also yelled this morning at the currency exchange guy at the reception desk for giving him 500 rupee bills, which is about $12 US. This is not excessively large if one plans to shop at a store.
Anyway, Ray and her friend John and I are sharing a room, and the hotel insisted that they gave us a triple. Upon entering the room, we found two twin beds. We returned downstairs and said it was not a triple, which then led to a little argument, and the manager going upstairs to verify that we know what beds look like and that there were three of them. Much to his surprise, we are not total morons. Finally, a mattress was carted in, and by 1:30 am, we went to bed.
We got up a little before 7:00 and set out for the big breakfast that is included with our trip. Then we headed out to look around a little bit for ourselves. Let me say for the record that if I had taken a trip like this even five years earlier, I would have been crying within 10 minutes.
The hotel directed us to a bank a little ways down the road so that we could use the ATM. This was all fine, except that we decided that instead of doubling back to use the route the hotel recommended to us to get to Connaught Place, a shopping area that is mostly closed on Sunday but nearby, I looked at a map and decided we could go another way. Of course, we got a little lost. Under normal circumstances, I would just stand on a corner and stare at things until I could figure out where I was. This is not possible here, as men are constantly running up to you as you (white person) walk down the street.
"Hello! Can I help you? Where are you going? Want a ride?" and on and on even when you politely decline help. We were followed by a variety of people at different points on our walk. Stopping for even a second could have meant we were surrounded, so we sort of pushed on. The worst was a man with an infant who followed us forever and jabbered in Hindi (or Urdu) the entire time. I would have given him some rupees, but the bank only gave 500 rupee bills. Plus, I was not inclined to handle my wallet on the street. After a bit, we found three young women and asked them where we were, and although they actually were no more clear than we were, they had a general idea and we followed them until we saw a sign for our hotel and got back.
Personally, I found it overwhelming, but once I had a sense of where I was, I would have not minded trying to set out again. I didn't generally feel unsafe, although I kept an eye on my bag more than usual. Ray was definitely done for the morning, though. So now we are back at the hotel waiting for the group. I decided to take a few minutes to blog my experience thus far. The hotel is basically anally raping people for internet access ($8 for 30 minutes!!!!!), but I didn't see any internet cafes on our aborted exploration anyway. So it goes. Hopefully, our group experience will be a bit less intense this afternoon, although I am not holding my breath.
More adventures to come.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
I Get Ice Cream!
OK, so I lied when I said that my next post would be from India. My flight was sorted out, so I am really excited. The benefits of being married to Husband are immense. Next, he's working on getting an upgrade for my friend, too.
All this made me think about the insane lunch I had this afternoon. I went with on of the Bugaboo editors to an Israeli place. There was a long line, but when it was my turn to order, I opened my mouth to say what I wanted and the guy standing behind me shouted his order over my head. Fortunately, the counter guy ignored him and started making my shawaful sandwich, which is a combo of chicken shwarma and I think falaful, but I wasn't sure because I couldn't hear what the counter guy said over the bloviating of the asshole behind me.
The line moved towards the register, and people paid for their food in order, regardless of whether their lunch was ready or not. When it was my turn, the register guy asked me what I had. I opened my mouth to say shawaful, and - you guessed it - the guy behind me yelled that he had falaful. The two sandwiches arrived at the counter within seconds of each other. The dickhead kept insisting on what he had was to go, confusion took over. A sandwich was put in a bag, taken out, then re-bagged. I paid and took what I was handed.
As I chatted with the editor, I was not paying very much attention to my sandwich. After I ate about half of it, I exclaimed upon how good the salad in my sandwich was. Then I remembered that I didn't put a salad in my sandwich. Nor was there any chicken shwarma in it. I returned to the counter, explained what happened, and they gave me a little side dish of shwarma. It wound up working out very nicely for me.
I hope that the guy who took my sandwich is a vegetarian.
All this made me think about the insane lunch I had this afternoon. I went with on of the Bugaboo editors to an Israeli place. There was a long line, but when it was my turn to order, I opened my mouth to say what I wanted and the guy standing behind me shouted his order over my head. Fortunately, the counter guy ignored him and started making my shawaful sandwich, which is a combo of chicken shwarma and I think falaful, but I wasn't sure because I couldn't hear what the counter guy said over the bloviating of the asshole behind me.
The line moved towards the register, and people paid for their food in order, regardless of whether their lunch was ready or not. When it was my turn, the register guy asked me what I had. I opened my mouth to say shawaful, and - you guessed it - the guy behind me yelled that he had falaful. The two sandwiches arrived at the counter within seconds of each other. The dickhead kept insisting on what he had was to go, confusion took over. A sandwich was put in a bag, taken out, then re-bagged. I paid and took what I was handed.
As I chatted with the editor, I was not paying very much attention to my sandwich. After I ate about half of it, I exclaimed upon how good the salad in my sandwich was. Then I remembered that I didn't put a salad in my sandwich. Nor was there any chicken shwarma in it. I returned to the counter, explained what happened, and they gave me a little side dish of shwarma. It wound up working out very nicely for me.
I hope that the guy who took my sandwich is a vegetarian.
Last Minute Props
Before I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow for my journey to India, I want to thank everyone who wished me a good trip. Special thanks go to:
Karrie at One Weird Mother for her awesome tip about Eddie Bauer Outlet, which I did not know existed. Not only did I get the almost-perfect skirt (it would be perfect except that they only had white left) for only $14.99, but I also got a nice sweater for $15.99, and a cotton dress for $13.99. It is a great find!
Suebob at Red Stapler for her Pepto-every-time-you-eat-to-avoid-evil-shits tip. I was able to stop by the pharmacy this morning and pick some up.
Mara for her email to me advising me not to eat meat. (Her husband has been to India before and suggested it.) I don't know if I can follow that advice (oh, lamb korma and chicken tikka masala, you tempt me so already!), but I definitely will try my best.
Tomorrow morning I head to Chicago, where I will spend the day with my dad, meet my mom for lunch at her work, and otherwise hang out until my evening flight to New Delhi. I booked the ticket with Husband's frequent flier miles. They charged me for business class (135,000 miles plus $18.70 for taxes and fees), but I'm still in coach right now on the way there. I'm hoping they will give me the stupid seat I paid for so that I can spend 15 hours and change in relative comfort (really, I just want the ice cream sundae they serve to the important people), and am keeping my fingers crossed. If it doesn't work out, oh well. I can't complain about a round trip ticket to India that cost less than $19.
The schedule in India is Delhi on Sunday and Monday, Agra on Tuesday and Wednesday, Jaipur on Thursday and Friday, returning to Delhi on Sat. The rest of the group is then departing India, but I am staying on for another day by myself. I arrive back in Chicago on April 2 just in time for the first night of Passover. I have not had Passover with my family since I went to NYC for school in 1994, so I am pretty excited. Tuesday, April 3 I come back to NYC just in time for the second night of Passover in Long Island with my in-laws. I'm sure I'll be a barrel of fun that night. Ha! At least I'll have gifts.
Anyway, next time I blog will be from India!
Karrie at One Weird Mother for her awesome tip about Eddie Bauer Outlet, which I did not know existed. Not only did I get the almost-perfect skirt (it would be perfect except that they only had white left) for only $14.99, but I also got a nice sweater for $15.99, and a cotton dress for $13.99. It is a great find!
Suebob at Red Stapler for her Pepto-every-time-you-eat-to-avoid-evil-shits tip. I was able to stop by the pharmacy this morning and pick some up.
Mara for her email to me advising me not to eat meat. (Her husband has been to India before and suggested it.) I don't know if I can follow that advice (oh, lamb korma and chicken tikka masala, you tempt me so already!), but I definitely will try my best.
Tomorrow morning I head to Chicago, where I will spend the day with my dad, meet my mom for lunch at her work, and otherwise hang out until my evening flight to New Delhi. I booked the ticket with Husband's frequent flier miles. They charged me for business class (135,000 miles plus $18.70 for taxes and fees), but I'm still in coach right now on the way there. I'm hoping they will give me the stupid seat I paid for so that I can spend 15 hours and change in relative comfort (really, I just want the ice cream sundae they serve to the important people), and am keeping my fingers crossed. If it doesn't work out, oh well. I can't complain about a round trip ticket to India that cost less than $19.
The schedule in India is Delhi on Sunday and Monday, Agra on Tuesday and Wednesday, Jaipur on Thursday and Friday, returning to Delhi on Sat. The rest of the group is then departing India, but I am staying on for another day by myself. I arrive back in Chicago on April 2 just in time for the first night of Passover. I have not had Passover with my family since I went to NYC for school in 1994, so I am pretty excited. Tuesday, April 3 I come back to NYC just in time for the second night of Passover in Long Island with my in-laws. I'm sure I'll be a barrel of fun that night. Ha! At least I'll have gifts.
Anyway, next time I blog will be from India!
Careers that Were Not Meant to Be
Without a doubt, the weirdest place I ever worked was also the first place. As a high school sophomore, I began processing orders at a tiny Jungian psychology publishing company called Chiron Publications. It was located in an office building above a pharmacy and across the street from the el, and was owned by a Jungian analyst who practiced down the hall. I am sad to see that they now are run through a distributor in New York, although not surprised given how unorganized it was. High school is almost like a Jungian night journey, and I had my trials and tribulations during my tenure there, but overall it was a good place. They treated me well and I worked there for two years.
The weirdest job I ever applied for was a Fruit and Vegetable Market Reporter with the USDA. The job entailed getting to the Hunt's Point Market in the Bronx at 5:30 am and checking out the produce and cut flowers, then writing a little report on where the market stands. I think I applied for this job about two years ago. I was at a low point in my child care advocacy career and wanted to do something different, but still helpful to the public. Sadly, I never even was offered an interview.
Realistically, there was no fucking way I was going to get up every day at 4:00 am so that I could get on the subway at 4:45 to get to this ridiculous job on time, but damn, I was so into the idea of being a Fruit and Vegetable Market Reporter. It just seems like it would be fun to wander around the market and talk to people about the price of batatas, cherimoyas, and/or limequats.
The weirdest job I ever applied for was a Fruit and Vegetable Market Reporter with the USDA. The job entailed getting to the Hunt's Point Market in the Bronx at 5:30 am and checking out the produce and cut flowers, then writing a little report on where the market stands. I think I applied for this job about two years ago. I was at a low point in my child care advocacy career and wanted to do something different, but still helpful to the public. Sadly, I never even was offered an interview.
Realistically, there was no fucking way I was going to get up every day at 4:00 am so that I could get on the subway at 4:45 to get to this ridiculous job on time, but damn, I was so into the idea of being a Fruit and Vegetable Market Reporter. It just seems like it would be fun to wander around the market and talk to people about the price of batatas, cherimoyas, and/or limequats.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Incredible India
After months of planning and eager anticipation, my departure for India is a mere 48 hours or so away. I hoped to be leaving on doody firma, but my digestive tract is in open revolt and not negotiating. Yesterday I showed my friend all the prescriptions I had to fill before I left, including a special one that the travel medicine clinic prescribed just in case of extreme diarrhea.
"How will you be able to tell if your case is the usual or extreme?" my friend asked.
"Oh, the doctor said specifically to use it in the event of bloody diarrhea," I cheerfully replied.
"Why are you going on this trip?" my friend asked.
I did ask myself that at one point while I was listening to all the vaccines and precautions I needed to take for the trip. In the injection department, I had two Hep B shots, a tetanus booster, and a polio booster. On the oral vaccine side, I took a typhoid vaccine and will start malaria pills on Friday. I was told to buy special insect repellent with a higher concentration of DEET and to spray my clothes with a special DEET spray that would last up to 6 weeks. In no uncertain terms am I supposed to ingest any unpurified water; Frommer's India even advises travelers "…do not open your mouth in the shower." I could get bloody diarrhea. It is a bit scary.
Still, the opportunity to see and experience India is so going to be worth it. I can't wait. I plan to travel blog while I am away, so my adventures, observations, and complaints will be posted daily. Hopefully, they will not include descriptions of bloody diarrhea.
"How will you be able to tell if your case is the usual or extreme?" my friend asked.
"Oh, the doctor said specifically to use it in the event of bloody diarrhea," I cheerfully replied.
"Why are you going on this trip?" my friend asked.
I did ask myself that at one point while I was listening to all the vaccines and precautions I needed to take for the trip. In the injection department, I had two Hep B shots, a tetanus booster, and a polio booster. On the oral vaccine side, I took a typhoid vaccine and will start malaria pills on Friday. I was told to buy special insect repellent with a higher concentration of DEET and to spray my clothes with a special DEET spray that would last up to 6 weeks. In no uncertain terms am I supposed to ingest any unpurified water; Frommer's India even advises travelers "…do not open your mouth in the shower." I could get bloody diarrhea. It is a bit scary.
Still, the opportunity to see and experience India is so going to be worth it. I can't wait. I plan to travel blog while I am away, so my adventures, observations, and complaints will be posted daily. Hopefully, they will not include descriptions of bloody diarrhea.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Find Out What It Means to Me
One of my favorite expressions is, "With all due respect…" Usually the user of this phrase feels that the person she is addressing is owed no respect, and proceeds to speak accordingly. Yet it is not considered rude because the speaker prefaced her comments/insult/opinion with a polite-sounding phrase. It is so damn clever.
I was thinking about respect this afternoon for a variety of reasons. One, I am always annoyed when people demand that I respect their religious beliefs but it is clear that those beliefs include zero respect for me. So you have a religion. Big whoop. Lots of people have religions. Respect is a two way road. Just because you subscribe to a religion does not mean I am obligated to respect it unless you can show some respect for me, too. I treat others the way they treat me. You want to be treated with respect? Fine. Treat me the same way. (The situation with pharmacists refusing to dispense birth control made me ponder this.)
The other thing that stuck Aretha Franklin in my skull today was a semi-anonymous comment I received on my post about not having kids. "Friend in Deed" said, in part:
What the fuck is that all about? At least I gave myself a hearty chuckle in composing my response. Sock it me.
I was thinking about respect this afternoon for a variety of reasons. One, I am always annoyed when people demand that I respect their religious beliefs but it is clear that those beliefs include zero respect for me. So you have a religion. Big whoop. Lots of people have religions. Respect is a two way road. Just because you subscribe to a religion does not mean I am obligated to respect it unless you can show some respect for me, too. I treat others the way they treat me. You want to be treated with respect? Fine. Treat me the same way. (The situation with pharmacists refusing to dispense birth control made me ponder this.)
The other thing that stuck Aretha Franklin in my skull today was a semi-anonymous comment I received on my post about not having kids. "Friend in Deed" said, in part:
I find it interesting that women who think they are so "liberated" and desire to be considered equal to male counterparts take on not the best characterics [sic] of the opposite sex, but in fact the worst characteristics of the male species, in this case rotten mouths and showing their lack of words to describe their angst or frustration. I am sure you are all intelligent and articulate. Think on it awhile. The most incredible men I know don't find the need to swear to express themselves, neither do the great women. Elevate yourselves and you will elevate those around you through your example.I thought about it for a while, as you requested. With all due respect, I suggest to "Friend in Deed" (and what does that mean? As far as I know, you are not my friend in illustrious action nor are we part of any sort of instrument containing some legal transfer, bargain, or contract that I am aware of) that you step off that holier-than-thou perch you are standing on and shove it up your ass. That should elevate you by example.
What the fuck is that all about? At least I gave myself a hearty chuckle in composing my response. Sock it me.
Emergency Contraceptives and Plymouth Rock
Today is emergency contraceptive (EC) awareness day. Some quick facts about EC:
- Most teenagers in the U.S. don’t have access to EC over-the-counter (but they do in areas of Alaska, California, Vermont, Hawaii, Washington, Maine, New Hampshire and New Mexico)
- Despite the over-the-counter status, low-income and immigrant women still have issues of access to emergency contraception
- More than 60% of voters say they do not know about EC or any product that has been proven effective in preventing pregnancy when used within days after unprotected sex
Actually, forget emergency contraceptives not being available to low-income and immigrant women – often it’s nearly damn impossible for them to get contraceptives in the first place. Last summer, the Big O told me that The Washington Post did a study on DC-metro area pharmacies and found that nearly all of the ones in low-income communities kept condoms locked behind the pharmacy counter. So even if you were not embarrassed to ask for it in the first place (which people shouldn’t be, but generally are) but went to a CVS or other store after pharmacy hours, you were shit out of luck. The pharmacies defended the practice by noting that condoms were the most frequently shoplifted items. Yes, there is a policy statement to be made about the government distributing condoms if it really wants to prevent unplanned pregnancies, but so it goes.
We also have the little problem of pharmacists who refuse to dispense birth control pills because it is against the pharmacist’s religion. Huh. Well, it is against my religion to not smack judgmental assholes who insist on imposing their religious views upon me, but I seem to be able to restrain myself pretty well. Those people clearly cannot do their jobs and should be fired immediately. Instead, pharmacies in chains like Target are protecting them. Thanks for your concern about your patrons’ freedom of religion. I will take my business elsewhere. (Damn you, Target!)
Anyway, we all know that this country is fucked up when it comes to fucking. When I was a senior in high school, I took the AP exam for American History. One of the essay questions was to describe the lasting impact of the Puritans on American culture. Of course, I wrote all about the work ethic and all that shit, but I also decided to take a risk and blame today’s sad state of affairs when it comes to teen pregnancy and STD transmission on their views about sex. Fortunately, I had an exam reviewer who agreed that it is puritanical attitudes about sex that keep people in this country from safely enjoying sexual freedom, and I got a top score. If only law makers and voters would have the same understanding.
- Most teenagers in the U.S. don’t have access to EC over-the-counter (but they do in areas of Alaska, California, Vermont, Hawaii, Washington, Maine, New Hampshire and New Mexico)
- Despite the over-the-counter status, low-income and immigrant women still have issues of access to emergency contraception
- More than 60% of voters say they do not know about EC or any product that has been proven effective in preventing pregnancy when used within days after unprotected sex
Actually, forget emergency contraceptives not being available to low-income and immigrant women – often it’s nearly damn impossible for them to get contraceptives in the first place. Last summer, the Big O told me that The Washington Post did a study on DC-metro area pharmacies and found that nearly all of the ones in low-income communities kept condoms locked behind the pharmacy counter. So even if you were not embarrassed to ask for it in the first place (which people shouldn’t be, but generally are) but went to a CVS or other store after pharmacy hours, you were shit out of luck. The pharmacies defended the practice by noting that condoms were the most frequently shoplifted items. Yes, there is a policy statement to be made about the government distributing condoms if it really wants to prevent unplanned pregnancies, but so it goes.
We also have the little problem of pharmacists who refuse to dispense birth control pills because it is against the pharmacist’s religion. Huh. Well, it is against my religion to not smack judgmental assholes who insist on imposing their religious views upon me, but I seem to be able to restrain myself pretty well. Those people clearly cannot do their jobs and should be fired immediately. Instead, pharmacies in chains like Target are protecting them. Thanks for your concern about your patrons’ freedom of religion. I will take my business elsewhere. (Damn you, Target!)
Anyway, we all know that this country is fucked up when it comes to fucking. When I was a senior in high school, I took the AP exam for American History. One of the essay questions was to describe the lasting impact of the Puritans on American culture. Of course, I wrote all about the work ethic and all that shit, but I also decided to take a risk and blame today’s sad state of affairs when it comes to teen pregnancy and STD transmission on their views about sex. Fortunately, I had an exam reviewer who agreed that it is puritanical attitudes about sex that keep people in this country from safely enjoying sexual freedom, and I got a top score. If only law makers and voters would have the same understanding.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Membership Has Its Privileges
About 4 years ago, Husband and I joined an expensive and fancy gym chain with a location across the street from our apartment. We were only able to do so because Husband's company owns a part of the venture capital fund that owns the gym, so we were given the discount rate offered to models and other famous people.
At first, I grumbled over our new membership because I was pretty much the fattest woman in the entire gym, and certainly the hairiest. Then over the years, the membership diversified a bit, so I just got used to it. A few months ago, the branch by our apartment closed "temporarily" (it is being torn down to make way for a luxury condo, which will include a "new and improved" branch when it is done), and a small temporary location opened a few blocks away for some of the members. It is a freaking hole in the wall, and yet we are still paying premium prices, which I bitch about nonstop.
The benefit, however, is that we can go to any branch of the gym across the nation. I have taken advantage of this many times, especially in the City, when I go to a gym sometimes to check my email or use the bathroom facilities. Earlier this evening, while I was trying to have dinner with Des, I really put my membership privileges to good use. I say "trying" to have dinner because I had a ferocious migraine that made me nauseous, and the stupid little restaurant did not have a public bathroom. I went across the street to the gym twice, ending the evening by puking up some fruit snacks that I ate on my way to dinner.
The nicest part of vomiting at a branch of my fancy gym is that they offer mouthwash by the sinks. I'd never had occasion to use it before, but much to my delight, I found that it was the most pleasant mouthwash I ever used. Now only was it tasty as hell, but it very effectively washed that barf aftertaste right out of my mouth. I must find out what it is.
At first, I grumbled over our new membership because I was pretty much the fattest woman in the entire gym, and certainly the hairiest. Then over the years, the membership diversified a bit, so I just got used to it. A few months ago, the branch by our apartment closed "temporarily" (it is being torn down to make way for a luxury condo, which will include a "new and improved" branch when it is done), and a small temporary location opened a few blocks away for some of the members. It is a freaking hole in the wall, and yet we are still paying premium prices, which I bitch about nonstop.
The benefit, however, is that we can go to any branch of the gym across the nation. I have taken advantage of this many times, especially in the City, when I go to a gym sometimes to check my email or use the bathroom facilities. Earlier this evening, while I was trying to have dinner with Des, I really put my membership privileges to good use. I say "trying" to have dinner because I had a ferocious migraine that made me nauseous, and the stupid little restaurant did not have a public bathroom. I went across the street to the gym twice, ending the evening by puking up some fruit snacks that I ate on my way to dinner.
The nicest part of vomiting at a branch of my fancy gym is that they offer mouthwash by the sinks. I'd never had occasion to use it before, but much to my delight, I found that it was the most pleasant mouthwash I ever used. Now only was it tasty as hell, but it very effectively washed that barf aftertaste right out of my mouth. I must find out what it is.
An Open Letter to My Nightly Tormentor
Dear Subconscious,
I worry a lot during the day on an impressive range of topics. When I go to sleep at night, I'd like to have a break from my incessant concerns and hand-wringing; a rest, if you will. Generally, that is the point of sleeping.
I am sure that you are only trying to help me resolve lingering issues by plaguing me with distressing dreams, but please stop. I am not particularly interested in rehashing former unpleasant job situations. I quit 6 months ago so that I would not have dreams like this any longer. It is really not cool waking up in the morning, exhausted from work, only to realize that I have yet to begin my day. Yet this has been going on for over a week now.
I trust that this open letter will shame you into doing the right thing and that you will back off a bit tonight. If not, I will have to speak to your boss about your cruel behavior.
Thanks from your tired friend,
Suzanne
I worry a lot during the day on an impressive range of topics. When I go to sleep at night, I'd like to have a break from my incessant concerns and hand-wringing; a rest, if you will. Generally, that is the point of sleeping.
I am sure that you are only trying to help me resolve lingering issues by plaguing me with distressing dreams, but please stop. I am not particularly interested in rehashing former unpleasant job situations. I quit 6 months ago so that I would not have dreams like this any longer. It is really not cool waking up in the morning, exhausted from work, only to realize that I have yet to begin my day. Yet this has been going on for over a week now.
I trust that this open letter will shame you into doing the right thing and that you will back off a bit tonight. If not, I will have to speak to your boss about your cruel behavior.
Thanks from your tired friend,
Suzanne
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Oh No She Di'n't!
Husband overheard the following conversation between a blond woman in her 30s and her gay friend as she worked out on an elliptical machine and he sweated it out on the treadmill next to her:
Bitch 1: So I think my maid is stealing from us.
Bitch 2: No way, honey! What are you going to do?
Bitch 1: I called my mom, and she said, "What did you think was going to happen? The help stole from us all the time."
Bitch 2: Tsk, tsk.
Bitch 1: Plus, I don't think the nanny does enough. When I'm playing with my children, the nanny should be cleaning.
Bitch 2: (Sighing heavily.) Good help is so hard to find. I am so sorry you have to deal with this.
Yes, folks, it is a damn good thing that I was not there to witness this. I am not sure that I would not have "accidentally" dropped a weight on her as I passed by.
Cross posted at the always highly entertaining People Under the Stairmasters, with other recent stories from most excellent contributors about diarrhea in the locker room, fake thongs on leotards, and a rockin' playlist, as well as horror stories from the Y.
Bitch 1: So I think my maid is stealing from us.
Bitch 2: No way, honey! What are you going to do?
Bitch 1: I called my mom, and she said, "What did you think was going to happen? The help stole from us all the time."
Bitch 2: Tsk, tsk.
Bitch 1: Plus, I don't think the nanny does enough. When I'm playing with my children, the nanny should be cleaning.
Bitch 2: (Sighing heavily.) Good help is so hard to find. I am so sorry you have to deal with this.
Yes, folks, it is a damn good thing that I was not there to witness this. I am not sure that I would not have "accidentally" dropped a weight on her as I passed by.
Cross posted at the always highly entertaining People Under the Stairmasters, with other recent stories from most excellent contributors about diarrhea in the locker room, fake thongs on leotards, and a rockin' playlist, as well as horror stories from the Y.
Damn Savage
Last time I checked, bars in New York City have restrooms. Thus, there is no excuse for a preppy white kid who clearly is on his Happy St. Patrick's Day bender to be peeing on the service door of a building while his yuppie scum friend chats him up at 10 pm.
"Nice whizzer, fuckface," I sneered at the dickhead as I walked by with my grocery bag.
I didn't stop to see their reaction. Two seconds later, I wished that instead of issuing a walk-by insult, I had actually walked next to him, gazed upon his public display of penis, and suggested that he not take it out of his pants in freezing weather, as he clearly had not much there to lose to shrinkage.
"Nice whizzer, fuckface," I sneered at the dickhead as I walked by with my grocery bag.
I didn't stop to see their reaction. Two seconds later, I wished that instead of issuing a walk-by insult, I had actually walked next to him, gazed upon his public display of penis, and suggested that he not take it out of his pants in freezing weather, as he clearly had not much there to lose to shrinkage.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Don't Ask, Don't Tell
People are rude asshole idiots in general, so it should not surprise me that one of the most personal questions possible is also one of the ones I am most commonly asked: when are you going to have children? It's a dangerous question. What if I had been trying hard for years to have a kid and nothing worked, including adoption? Do you want me to go into my whole spiel about my dried up prune of a uterus or how I keep losing babies I arrange to adopt? No one likes hearing about diseased uteruses. Nope, people don't want to hear depressing answers. Those are deemed "socially awkward" and I'd be frowned upon for telling the truth and making someone uncomfortable, when really the fuckface who asks should be slapped around for being inconsiderate in asking something so personal.
Of course, while my uterus is a dried up prune, nothing else in the above paragraph happens to be true for me. My answer to this vile question isn't socially awkward (how unusual for me!), but instead upsetting in a way that provokes further inappropriate questions. I tell people that I am not planning on having children.
"What?!?!" is the typical shocked response.
"I just don't want them," I say.
"Why?" the persistent shit insists.
"Because I understand how much time and energy kids require, and I am not willing to sacrifice everything that parents do to meet those needs," I explain, patiently, thinking that this is a very good response and they querier will shut up now. I am often wrong.
"But why not? You'd be such a great mom!" my Inquisitor says with a perplexed smile.
Wow, did this person not just listen to a fucking thing that I said? "Because I am not particularly interested in raising my own child. I do like kids, and I love spending time with my friends' kids, and I can't wait until my sister or brother-in-law has kids, because I know it is going to be great. I also love spending time with kids, then going home, and doing whatever I want. Freedom!"
"Oh," the person's pea brain still cannot fathom that I don't have a biological clock or some innate maternal instinct that makes me want to give up a part of myself (and I am not criticized moms at all – I'm saying that I am far more selfish in a way and I embrace that) to invest in my kiddies.
Every time I am asked when I am going to have kids, I contemplate giving telling them the sob story so that they will feel bad about asking, but I never have. Sometimes I incorporate some of the sob story so that the person will feel embarrassed and stop asking me things. Other times I blather on about how it makes me an especially effective child advocate since I can spend all my time worrying about other people's children instead of my own. (Not that people with kids can't be great advocates because most of the best advocates out there do have kids, but it's not a bad theory.)
"Don't ask, don't tell" may not be a good policy for gays in the military, but it should be adopted as a rule for general conversation.
Of course, while my uterus is a dried up prune, nothing else in the above paragraph happens to be true for me. My answer to this vile question isn't socially awkward (how unusual for me!), but instead upsetting in a way that provokes further inappropriate questions. I tell people that I am not planning on having children.
"What?!?!" is the typical shocked response.
"I just don't want them," I say.
"Why?" the persistent shit insists.
"Because I understand how much time and energy kids require, and I am not willing to sacrifice everything that parents do to meet those needs," I explain, patiently, thinking that this is a very good response and they querier will shut up now. I am often wrong.
"But why not? You'd be such a great mom!" my Inquisitor says with a perplexed smile.
Wow, did this person not just listen to a fucking thing that I said? "Because I am not particularly interested in raising my own child. I do like kids, and I love spending time with my friends' kids, and I can't wait until my sister or brother-in-law has kids, because I know it is going to be great. I also love spending time with kids, then going home, and doing whatever I want. Freedom!"
"Oh," the person's pea brain still cannot fathom that I don't have a biological clock or some innate maternal instinct that makes me want to give up a part of myself (and I am not criticized moms at all – I'm saying that I am far more selfish in a way and I embrace that) to invest in my kiddies.
Every time I am asked when I am going to have kids, I contemplate giving telling them the sob story so that they will feel bad about asking, but I never have. Sometimes I incorporate some of the sob story so that the person will feel embarrassed and stop asking me things. Other times I blather on about how it makes me an especially effective child advocate since I can spend all my time worrying about other people's children instead of my own. (Not that people with kids can't be great advocates because most of the best advocates out there do have kids, but it's not a bad theory.)
"Don't ask, don't tell" may not be a good policy for gays in the military, but it should be adopted as a rule for general conversation.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Melancholia
Although I had a normal amount of sleep on Wednesday night, I was still exhausted from my awesome overnight road trip on Steph on Tuesday, which resulted in less than three hours of slumber that night. When I am in desperate need of my beauty rest, I am a bit more sensitive to things than usual. After I read an email that reminded me that I was only included in something out of obligation (something that has never been said outright, but I sensed all along), I felt really shitty. Quite frankly, if you don't want me to participate in something, just don't ask me. It's a no-win situation, and I'll resent you and feel like crap either way, so just spare me the time and expense. Husband made the situation far worse by yelling at me about it, because even though he is generally awesome and does things that make me laugh and laugh like taping googlie eyes on a giant dildo, sometimes he is an incredibly emotionally stupid fucking asshole. Of course, he then had to suffer through my tears instead of getting laid, so he certainly regretted his idiocy.
Mostly I feel better today, but I'm still sad. Spending all that quality time with Steph just reminded me of the good old days and how much I miss her. And Dr. P is moving away now, too. It's really the end of an era. Not that I don't have other wonderful friends in my life, and I am very happy about that and love spending time with them, but it only takes one little reminder that you are insignificant to another person to remember what it feels like to have super deep connections to others. When you can just be you and they get it without any explanation because you've known them so long. And when they leave, it sucks.
Mostly I feel better today, but I'm still sad. Spending all that quality time with Steph just reminded me of the good old days and how much I miss her. And Dr. P is moving away now, too. It's really the end of an era. Not that I don't have other wonderful friends in my life, and I am very happy about that and love spending time with them, but it only takes one little reminder that you are insignificant to another person to remember what it feels like to have super deep connections to others. When you can just be you and they get it without any explanation because you've known them so long. And when they leave, it sucks.
Busy Bee (Buzz Buzz)
While I wish that I can report that I've been so busy later because I am always taking overnight road trips with friends or getting a book published or something exciting, it is really because I am writing articles in a magazine for rich families. That said, some of the stories are definitely more interesting than others. I had four pieces in the March issue, ranging from two 100 word write ups on family-friendly resorts to a few hundred words on a new exhibit on evolution at the American Museum of Natural History to a four page piece on neighborhoods that are good for (wealthy) families. (If you are my parents or in-laws, I have hard copies for you, so you need not print these.)
The last article, and money shot so to speak, was a seven page fluff article on new luxury condos that families should consider moving to. Even the magazine staff refer to these types of articles as "real estate porn," which is a perfect description of it. Seriously, I felt dirty when I was working on it and every time I look at the damn thing, my soul dies a little bit. I don't have it scanned in yet; I can't bring myself to do it.
The last article, and money shot so to speak, was a seven page fluff article on new luxury condos that families should consider moving to. Even the magazine staff refer to these types of articles as "real estate porn," which is a perfect description of it. Seriously, I felt dirty when I was working on it and every time I look at the damn thing, my soul dies a little bit. I don't have it scanned in yet; I can't bring myself to do it.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Great
Yesterday I read in The New York Times that while Bush was in Latin America on Tuesday, he promised to bring "social justice" to the region if the people would stop supporting leaders like Venezuela's Hugo Chavez. I couldn't decide whether I should laugh or cry. 'Cause, you know, Latin America needs increasing disparity between the rich and the poor, more religion, and more corrupt government. Bush does like having his tentacles everywhere, though.
Beware the Ides of March
Whatever. Unless excessive boredom or tiredness is dangerous (and I realize that both very much can be in the wrong circumstances), I am not feeling particularly threatened today.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
No One Was Shot, Robbed, or Otherwise Involved with Cops
Good times were had on my overnight road trip with Steph. We left her parents’ house in PA around 10:30 PM, and arrived at her apartment at 6:00. In the ensuing 7.5 hours, much cackling was done, crude comments and jokes made, darkness observed outside, tractor trailers passed, one pit stop (both for gas for her dad’s car and emptying my bladder) occurred, and an inane interaction at a McDonald’s drive through window took place.
“We’ll take the #4 breakfast, coffee, a Coke, and a vanilla milk shake,” Steph yelled into the machine.
“We don’t have milk shakes at this time,” a voice crackled back. “That’ll be $4.11.”
“I’ll have a parfait yogurt then,” I told Steph.
She tried to order it, but the machine made noises at us, which we thought might have told us to pull around to the window. At the window, it seemed like the person on the other end of the machine might have heard the parfait request. Steph reminded her we wanted one.
“That’ll be $5.11 then,” she replied. Pause. “Oh wait. We don’t have any parfaits now. That’ll be $4.11.”
“What the fuck do you have?” I muttered. I leaned over Steph. “Do you have any apple dippers?” I asked the woman.
“Yes, we do. That’ll be $5.11,” she sneered at us. Then we neglected to receive cream, sugar, and a stirring device for Steph’s coffee.
Despite the Mickey D’s incident (which really was not that bad), there is nothing like a road trip with a close friend. We slept at her place for an hour or so, then got up to meet our other friend Hanah. It was great seeing her and capping off the trip with unhealthy eats at Bob Evans.
I knew I was overtired when I was waiting for my flight at the airport because I read a teeny blurb about a new special edition DVD of Ghost and I was practically sobbing in the little waiting area as I thought about that scene where Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze have their last good-byes. I’m getting teary eyed again writing about it. Yeesh.
“We’ll take the #4 breakfast, coffee, a Coke, and a vanilla milk shake,” Steph yelled into the machine.
“We don’t have milk shakes at this time,” a voice crackled back. “That’ll be $4.11.”
“I’ll have a parfait yogurt then,” I told Steph.
She tried to order it, but the machine made noises at us, which we thought might have told us to pull around to the window. At the window, it seemed like the person on the other end of the machine might have heard the parfait request. Steph reminded her we wanted one.
“That’ll be $5.11 then,” she replied. Pause. “Oh wait. We don’t have any parfaits now. That’ll be $4.11.”
“What the fuck do you have?” I muttered. I leaned over Steph. “Do you have any apple dippers?” I asked the woman.
“Yes, we do. That’ll be $5.11,” she sneered at us. Then we neglected to receive cream, sugar, and a stirring device for Steph’s coffee.
Despite the Mickey D’s incident (which really was not that bad), there is nothing like a road trip with a close friend. We slept at her place for an hour or so, then got up to meet our other friend Hanah. It was great seeing her and capping off the trip with unhealthy eats at Bob Evans.
I knew I was overtired when I was waiting for my flight at the airport because I read a teeny blurb about a new special edition DVD of Ghost and I was practically sobbing in the little waiting area as I thought about that scene where Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze have their last good-byes. I’m getting teary eyed again writing about it. Yeesh.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Two for the Road
Two back-to-back (or is that front-to-front?) encounters with Brazilians of the waxed kind:
Sunday while I was at my regular hole-in-the-wall gym, I was watching Australia's Next Top Model. Many of the lasses were mortified when the Australian version of Tyra Banks announced that it was time for their Brazilian waxes. One experienced waxee tried to downplay the pain factor, but no one seemed particularly thrilled about the prospect of having their crotch hairs yanked out of their tender vulvas and asses, particularly my favorite contestant, who confessed to going au naturale. When waxing time arrived, much screaming and crying ensued. And I am not just talking about me.
Yesterday, on the other hand, I went to a super fancy branch of my gym chain in SoHo. It was a good thing that I shaved my legs and pits on Sunday afternoon as Step 1 in my two step hair removal process for my upcoming trip to India. (Step 2 will be to use the electric razor that yanks hairs out by the roots – which has a name that I can't recall this second – so that I don't have to worry while I am in India.) I think they might not have let me into the gym with my fur matting.
Anyway, as I wrote on The People Under the Stairmasters, an awesome group blog on gym culture, I was assaulted by all the shiny, waxed snatch parading around the locker room. The lighting seriously reflected off the poon in blinding ways. I am not making this up. A bald man would possibly kill everyone in sight range with the power rays that would emanate from his skull. He probably should not be in the women's locker room, though, so I think I am safe, but still.
Off to my wacky internship and then my even wackier road trip.
Sunday while I was at my regular hole-in-the-wall gym, I was watching Australia's Next Top Model. Many of the lasses were mortified when the Australian version of Tyra Banks announced that it was time for their Brazilian waxes. One experienced waxee tried to downplay the pain factor, but no one seemed particularly thrilled about the prospect of having their crotch hairs yanked out of their tender vulvas and asses, particularly my favorite contestant, who confessed to going au naturale. When waxing time arrived, much screaming and crying ensued. And I am not just talking about me.
Yesterday, on the other hand, I went to a super fancy branch of my gym chain in SoHo. It was a good thing that I shaved my legs and pits on Sunday afternoon as Step 1 in my two step hair removal process for my upcoming trip to India. (Step 2 will be to use the electric razor that yanks hairs out by the roots – which has a name that I can't recall this second – so that I don't have to worry while I am in India.) I think they might not have let me into the gym with my fur matting.
Anyway, as I wrote on The People Under the Stairmasters, an awesome group blog on gym culture, I was assaulted by all the shiny, waxed snatch parading around the locker room. The lighting seriously reflected off the poon in blinding ways. I am not making this up. A bald man would possibly kill everyone in sight range with the power rays that would emanate from his skull. He probably should not be in the women's locker room, though, so I think I am safe, but still.
Off to my wacky internship and then my even wackier road trip.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Head out on the Highway
In addition to having an awesome husband who tapes googlie eyes onto dildos and a loving but kooky family (the best kind because they are there for you and provide great fodder for stories), I am lucky to have several very close friends. Although she abandoned me 2.5 years ago to go to grad school in North Carolina, Steph is one of them. (VR – she's the one who gave me those fab pajamas that I'm wearing in the dildo picture.)
After we graduated from college, Steph and I spent an obscene amount of time together. She used to come over nearly every night, we'd have dinner, then we'd watch TV in bed (there was no other place to watch it because I lived in a 200 square foot apartment and we could either own a bed or couch). Husband worked in investment banking and usually arrived home around 11:00, at which point she'd usually take off, although sometimes the three of us would watch TV in bed together, with me snuggled between the two of them. Ah, those were the days.
Anyway, back to the present time, Steph is done with grad school and interviewing for jobs in Pennsylvania. I am very excited, as this means I will definitely be able to see her more often. She's flying up to Philly tonight, then tomorrow has two interviews in the area, then is going to drive back to NC with her parents' car because her Mustang convertible, a sleek road machine when she was 16, is now a jalopy death trap that needs to be replaced. And since Steph operates best at night, she'll embark upon her road trip around midnight. Although she told me that she only stops once on the 6-7 hour drive, and that is the only time I would be allowed to use the bathroom, I am giddy with anticipation at accompanying her.
I'll meet her tomorrow night in Pennsylvania by her folks' house. We'll rest for a few hours, then set out on the open road, looking for adventure or whatever comes our way. When we get to North Carolina in the morning, we will meet Hanah for breakfast at Bob Evans. Then one of them will drive me to the airport, and I shall fly home. I am psyched.
After we graduated from college, Steph and I spent an obscene amount of time together. She used to come over nearly every night, we'd have dinner, then we'd watch TV in bed (there was no other place to watch it because I lived in a 200 square foot apartment and we could either own a bed or couch). Husband worked in investment banking and usually arrived home around 11:00, at which point she'd usually take off, although sometimes the three of us would watch TV in bed together, with me snuggled between the two of them. Ah, those were the days.
Anyway, back to the present time, Steph is done with grad school and interviewing for jobs in Pennsylvania. I am very excited, as this means I will definitely be able to see her more often. She's flying up to Philly tonight, then tomorrow has two interviews in the area, then is going to drive back to NC with her parents' car because her Mustang convertible, a sleek road machine when she was 16, is now a jalopy death trap that needs to be replaced. And since Steph operates best at night, she'll embark upon her road trip around midnight. Although she told me that she only stops once on the 6-7 hour drive, and that is the only time I would be allowed to use the bathroom, I am giddy with anticipation at accompanying her.
I'll meet her tomorrow night in Pennsylvania by her folks' house. We'll rest for a few hours, then set out on the open road, looking for adventure or whatever comes our way. When we get to North Carolina in the morning, we will meet Hanah for breakfast at Bob Evans. Then one of them will drive me to the airport, and I shall fly home. I am psyched.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Getting Lucky
Friday night was packed with excitement. I went to a burlesque show/fundraiser for Planned Parenthood New York and Haven Coalition. I am an increasingly shitty leader of Haven these days, both literally and figuratively, as my digestive tract is continuing its revolt against me and I keep forgetting to do important things for Haven, such as bring printed information about our work to fundraising events. That's another story, though.
Anyway, at the event, which was oodles of fun, I bought four tickets to the raffle. I am very pleased to say that Lady Luck gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss, and I won a ginormous squishy dildo! How cool is that?
Although given its girth, does it not kinda of scare you? I admit that it intimidates me. I'm wussy that way, though.
Husband was unable to attend the event because he went to a casino with a few co-workers. I eagerly awaited his return home so I could show him my loot.
"Hi!" I said as he walked in the door. "How was the casino? Did you win anything?"
He looked sad. "No."
"Oh well," I pretended to sympathize for a second, then shifted gears. "Look what I won in a raffle!" I blurted out as I shoved the dildo in his face.
"Great," he replied without much enthusiasm.
"I'm going to show it to your parents when they come over for dinner tomorrow," I teased.
"Yeah, can you please not do that?" he said, blushing. (As a redhead, he is a great blusher.)
"I'll think about it." I put it down on the bookcase next to the computer.
On Saturday, I helped Dr. H pick up a desk and dresser that she had in storage in Long Island. Dr. P also came along, and we had a lovely day together. When I returned to my apartment, I nearly collapsed with laughter.
"I felt like it was staring at me while I did our taxes," Husband explained. "Then I realized that it couldn't stare at me because it had no eyes, so I rectified the situation."
"Where'd you get the googlie eyes?" I asked, wiping the tears of mirth from my eyes.
"From your box marked 'googlie eyes,'" he said, as if everyone has a box of googlie eyes just lying around. (I love googlie eyes, and you never know when they will come in handy, as Husband proved.) "Now it's really a trouser snake!"
See how lucky I am? Not only does Husband take me on exciting trips around the globe, but he also tapes googlie eyes onto dildos and makes funny jokes. I am the luckiest girl ever.
Anyway, at the event, which was oodles of fun, I bought four tickets to the raffle. I am very pleased to say that Lady Luck gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss, and I won a ginormous squishy dildo! How cool is that?
Although given its girth, does it not kinda of scare you? I admit that it intimidates me. I'm wussy that way, though.Husband was unable to attend the event because he went to a casino with a few co-workers. I eagerly awaited his return home so I could show him my loot.
"Hi!" I said as he walked in the door. "How was the casino? Did you win anything?"
He looked sad. "No."
"Oh well," I pretended to sympathize for a second, then shifted gears. "Look what I won in a raffle!" I blurted out as I shoved the dildo in his face.
"Great," he replied without much enthusiasm.
"I'm going to show it to your parents when they come over for dinner tomorrow," I teased.
"Yeah, can you please not do that?" he said, blushing. (As a redhead, he is a great blusher.)
"I'll think about it." I put it down on the bookcase next to the computer.
On Saturday, I helped Dr. H pick up a desk and dresser that she had in storage in Long Island. Dr. P also came along, and we had a lovely day together. When I returned to my apartment, I nearly collapsed with laughter.
"I felt like it was staring at me while I did our taxes," Husband explained. "Then I realized that it couldn't stare at me because it had no eyes, so I rectified the situation.""Where'd you get the googlie eyes?" I asked, wiping the tears of mirth from my eyes.
"From your box marked 'googlie eyes,'" he said, as if everyone has a box of googlie eyes just lying around. (I love googlie eyes, and you never know when they will come in handy, as Husband proved.) "Now it's really a trouser snake!"
See how lucky I am? Not only does Husband take me on exciting trips around the globe, but he also tapes googlie eyes onto dildos and makes funny jokes. I am the luckiest girl ever.
Friday, March 9, 2007
All Hail!
I'm tired, but I did stop emitting toxic fumes from my ass. This is good because I went to a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood New York and the Haven Coalition, in which I had to get on stage in the middle of an excellent variety show featuring comedians and burlesque performers and depress everyone with the sad facts about women who were forced to travel to New York for abortions and had nowhere to stay. (With the help of Haven volunteers, they sleep in a safe home as opposed to on the street or in the bus station.) It would have not been cool to fart while I was holding a mic and trying to pull heartstrings.
Despite my depressing info session (which I did manage to leaven with a joke about hanging out in the back alley), the show was awesome. I am particularly smitten Desiree Burch, a comedian who launched into a 10 minute hilarious rant about why women should leave their snatch unshaven and proud. Oh, this woman is brilliant. Des and I nearly bust our guts laughing.
Also, I won a very exciting and sort of scary prize in the raffle. I shall take a picture of it and post it later/tomorrow.
Despite my depressing info session (which I did manage to leaven with a joke about hanging out in the back alley), the show was awesome. I am particularly smitten Desiree Burch, a comedian who launched into a 10 minute hilarious rant about why women should leave their snatch unshaven and proud. Oh, this woman is brilliant. Des and I nearly bust our guts laughing.
Also, I won a very exciting and sort of scary prize in the raffle. I shall take a picture of it and post it later/tomorrow.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
A Smelly Fart Saga (Now with Dialogue!)
Q: What's more socially awkward than me at a big launch party for The Panelist where I don't know many people?
A: Me at a big launch party for The Panelist where I don't many people and I have the most toxic gas known to man.
I spent the day mostly holding my gas in because I don't want to get fired from my internship because I killed the associate editor after she asphyxiated because she could not breathe in the foul air I created. When I arrived home in the evening, I hoped that non-stop farting would empty the gas pocket before I left for the party. Husband came home 45 minutes later.
"What smells so awful?" he asked as he walked into the apartment.
"Sorry, I was farting in the kitchen," I replied meekly.
"Damn, woman!" he exclaimed. I think he was partly impressed.
Unfortunately, the gas I released merely stank up my domicile. It did not go away by the time we left for the event. You know things are bad when you fart outside in a strong wind and you can still smell it. In the wind competition, I beat Mother Nature.
I did a nice job holding back for 90 minutes while on the subway and at the party, but I thought I should leave before I poisoned my friend's apartment. I was horribly uncomfortable. Plus, I couldn't risk losing my other writing gig by gassing the publisher, editor, and all of their friends and supporters.
I hope I'll be better in the morning, but if you are supposed to have plans with me later today, bring a gas mask. Don't say I didn't warn you.
A: Me at a big launch party for The Panelist where I don't many people and I have the most toxic gas known to man.
I spent the day mostly holding my gas in because I don't want to get fired from my internship because I killed the associate editor after she asphyxiated because she could not breathe in the foul air I created. When I arrived home in the evening, I hoped that non-stop farting would empty the gas pocket before I left for the party. Husband came home 45 minutes later.
"What smells so awful?" he asked as he walked into the apartment.
"Sorry, I was farting in the kitchen," I replied meekly.
"Damn, woman!" he exclaimed. I think he was partly impressed.
Unfortunately, the gas I released merely stank up my domicile. It did not go away by the time we left for the event. You know things are bad when you fart outside in a strong wind and you can still smell it. In the wind competition, I beat Mother Nature.
I did a nice job holding back for 90 minutes while on the subway and at the party, but I thought I should leave before I poisoned my friend's apartment. I was horribly uncomfortable. Plus, I couldn't risk losing my other writing gig by gassing the publisher, editor, and all of their friends and supporters.
I hope I'll be better in the morning, but if you are supposed to have plans with me later today, bring a gas mask. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Damn, People! - or - Damn People!
The folks in charge of my internship asked me if I would be interested in doing some editing. I said that would be OK. The editor said I'd get paid for it. I replied that I would, in fact, love to do as much editing as they need.
Here is what I learned so far: people do not understand how to use commas. This is not a new lesson; I've noticed in other things that I read that my generation, myself included, has an uneasy relationship with this particular piece of punctuation. Possibly the only punctual tool more misused is the semi-colon, which is something that I really don't understand, either.
Just an observation that amuses me that I thought I'd share.
Here is what I learned so far: people do not understand how to use commas. This is not a new lesson; I've noticed in other things that I read that my generation, myself included, has an uneasy relationship with this particular piece of punctuation. Possibly the only punctual tool more misused is the semi-colon, which is something that I really don't understand, either.
Just an observation that amuses me that I thought I'd share.
Deja Vu All Over Again
I used this for the blog exchange last week. I thought it was excellent, but it was not nominated for a best of Blog Exchange Award. C'est la vie. I'm re-posting it here because I think it has some great lines in it.
I love tunes from the '50s and '60. When I was in junior high school, my aunt acknowledged my enthusiasm for the music she enjoyed at my age, and she entrusted me with her collection of 45s. It was chock full of amazing Elvis and Beatles tunes, as well as great one hit wonders like Leader of the Pack by the Shangri-Las and My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels, which I particularly loved. My adoration of my records did not mean that I cared for them responsibly, however.
Instead of keeping them safe in the awesome early ‘60s carrying case that my aunt gave the records to me in, I left them scattered about my room. One evening, I was playing with my pet chameleon (Sir Green Bean), and he ran under my metal bookcase. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I thought, panicking. Instead of taking any books off the unit before I tried to lift it, I just grabbed it. In slo mo, I watched in horror as several Encyclopedia Brittanicas soared through the air, headed directly for a fragile record I carelessly left on the floor. “Nooooooo!” I screamed as My Boyfriend’s Back cracked under the weight of knowledge.
Several years later when I was in high school, I recounted the sad tale to a friend during a break in our biology class. “Yeah, it was so sad,” I said. “I broke My Boyfriend’s Back with some encyclopedias.”
The cute guy sitting in front of us (who I had a raging crush on) turned around. “What!?!? You broke your boyfriend’s back?” he asked, his eyes wide with horror.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. The edges of the crack line up, so it still works,” I responded calmly, mistaking his concern for a nonexistent person with anxiety about a crappy record.
Eventually, we cleared up the misunderstanding, and realizing that I was not a threat to anyone’s well-being, we started dating. A few months later, he lost interest and dumped me. I may have broken My Boyfriend’s Back, but my first boyfriend broke my heart.
I love tunes from the '50s and '60. When I was in junior high school, my aunt acknowledged my enthusiasm for the music she enjoyed at my age, and she entrusted me with her collection of 45s. It was chock full of amazing Elvis and Beatles tunes, as well as great one hit wonders like Leader of the Pack by the Shangri-Las and My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels, which I particularly loved. My adoration of my records did not mean that I cared for them responsibly, however.
Instead of keeping them safe in the awesome early ‘60s carrying case that my aunt gave the records to me in, I left them scattered about my room. One evening, I was playing with my pet chameleon (Sir Green Bean), and he ran under my metal bookcase. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I thought, panicking. Instead of taking any books off the unit before I tried to lift it, I just grabbed it. In slo mo, I watched in horror as several Encyclopedia Brittanicas soared through the air, headed directly for a fragile record I carelessly left on the floor. “Nooooooo!” I screamed as My Boyfriend’s Back cracked under the weight of knowledge.
Several years later when I was in high school, I recounted the sad tale to a friend during a break in our biology class. “Yeah, it was so sad,” I said. “I broke My Boyfriend’s Back with some encyclopedias.”
The cute guy sitting in front of us (who I had a raging crush on) turned around. “What!?!? You broke your boyfriend’s back?” he asked, his eyes wide with horror.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. The edges of the crack line up, so it still works,” I responded calmly, mistaking his concern for a nonexistent person with anxiety about a crappy record.
Eventually, we cleared up the misunderstanding, and realizing that I was not a threat to anyone’s well-being, we started dating. A few months later, he lost interest and dumped me. I may have broken My Boyfriend’s Back, but my first boyfriend broke my heart.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
March Madness
Fuck college basketball. I don't follow that shit. No, I'm talking about the March madness that is the weather. In NYC this past Saturday it was 56. Today it is below 20 degrees, not counting the wind chill. As it was yesterday. This is 20 degrees below normal temperatures for this time of year. I am freezing my ass off.
Lamb, lion. I want more lamb.
Lamb, lion. I want more lamb.
Click.
A little light recently went on in the dim recess at the back of my mind. I was reading a personal essay from someone in my wonderful, talented, most awesome writing group. "This is good," I keep thinking, jealous that I did not write it myself.
That's when the little hamster that runs on the wheel that powers my brain threw the switch. Dialogue! My friend's story rocked the house because it was not just a straight little narrative, but peppered with interaction between the characters. Interesting.
The hamster ran on its wheel harder than usual, and on Sunday while I was in the shower thinking about doctors' appointments, a dialogue happened. I was barely toweled off when I ran out of the bathroom to write it down in my notebook.
"What are you doing?" Husband asked, amused that I was sitting mostly naked on our bed scribbling furiously with red pen.
"Dialogue!" I replied and nodded.
"Indeed," Husband said. I agreed. It's all about dialogue!
That's when the little hamster that runs on the wheel that powers my brain threw the switch. Dialogue! My friend's story rocked the house because it was not just a straight little narrative, but peppered with interaction between the characters. Interesting.
The hamster ran on its wheel harder than usual, and on Sunday while I was in the shower thinking about doctors' appointments, a dialogue happened. I was barely toweled off when I ran out of the bathroom to write it down in my notebook.
"What are you doing?" Husband asked, amused that I was sitting mostly naked on our bed scribbling furiously with red pen.
"Dialogue!" I replied and nodded.
"Indeed," Husband said. I agreed. It's all about dialogue!
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