After moving into Manhattan a few weeks ago, I actually have time to catch the Today show bright and early. This morning, one particular segment featured Dr. Roshini Raj (apparently a frequest guest) of the NYU Medical Center speaking on using the internet to research health issues. The next Dr. Sanjay Gupta, perhaps?
I nearly cringed. Lately, I feel as if South Asians have become the new "it" minority. I know this explosion of accomplished individuals (particularly in media) speaks to broader changes in mainstream culture, but oh, how it irritates me when a new example of how fantastic we all are strides onto the scene. This is what I thought when I saw Dr. Raj - here we go. Another cool, young, South Asian on television with many insightful things to say and contributions to make. Applause, applause. Blah, blah.
Is Sanjay Gupta married? Maybe the two can have their own television show. Gupta 'n' Raj. Like Regis and Kathy Lee. If Atul Gawande joined, it would really kick things up a notch. We've come a long way from the Indian doctor on Seinfeld. His character was so problematic, but come on - you had to love him.
For a while, I worked at a community-based health initiative at NYU which addressed the issues faced by South Asian immigrants in NYC. How I wish that more professional members of the community with the influence of Gupta, Raj, and the like could make some sort of contribution to such initiatives.
Not that they are obligated to simply because they are South Asian. But it could do wonders if they were a little bit more engaged and if someone tapped their potential.
This, of course, is a much more nuanced dicussion which I can't do justice to here. It's possible I'm just bitter because I flunked Organic Chemistry and love the camera. Tomorrow morning, maybe I'll skip the Today show and watch a Charmed rerun on TNT instead.
It would help if I had a driver's license and drove.
Of course, I didn't to admit this to Customer Service Manager from KMART. I would have sounded even more like the disgruntled New Yorker. But I had plenty to be disgruntled about, and this phone conversation ate up 2.5 hours of my Friday evening as well as 1/3 of my anytime minutes from Sprint (whose Customer Service is in a whole other league).
So, I'm ordering furniture and KMART screws up my order. I place another order, as suggested, and try to return screwed-up order. Then, it turns out first order wasn't actually screwed up and arrived as it should. So now, 2nd order needs to be canceled. I spent a week trying to stop this order from being processed so that two 6-ft tall boxes didn't show up at my door.
Of course, these incompetent fools couldn't prevent that disaster from happening – they could only prevent half of it. So 1 box of 2 in this order gets intercepted, but not the other – that one makes my doorman lug it to my door one fine evening and causes several accidents as I prance around my apartment. I'm on the phone with UPS and KMART trying to explain to them why I cannot wait for a pick-up to have the package returned between the hours of 8 am and 7 pm. They are not understanding why. Um, because I'm not home, and no one else is, and I can't stay home to take care of this stupid debacle they created in the first place?
Ms. Customer Service Manager's remedy was giving me a discount on the previous order and sending me a KMART gift certificate. I asked her AGAIN what to do about this stupid box that I apparently can't get rid of no matter how hard I try.
Her response?
Her actual response?
"I don't know, take it back to KMART in a truck or something."
Words cannot express the quiet rage simmering inside me at that moment, so I won't even bother getting into my reaction.
When I EXPLAINED to that her I'm 5' 1", live by myself in Manhattan, and that no one here owns a FRIGGIN' TRUCK, she says, "I don't know ma'am, I'm from the Midwest, everyone has a truck here!"
The nerve. The balls. The audacity of incompetence.
People in the Midwest have trucks and I'm obligated to experience horrible customer service all the way here in NYC. Apparently, people in the Midwest are also unaware of global urbanization and what living in a city means. They think no matter where you live, you should have a truck. A truck. Of course. We all need at truck. You know, for hauling back items we weren't supposed to order in the first place and that UPS and KMART can't coordinate canceling because their systems are so slow and backwards. Like some parts of the country. Oops.
I apologize (sort of ) for ripping on Midwesterners and anyone who has a truck, but this has thrown me into an outright RAGE accompanied by utter contempt for customer service professionals from the Midwest who have trucks – and the like. Those who need trucks to haul dead moose count.
Who are these Evil Customer "Serivce" people? Who trains them? What kinds of truck-driving lives do they lead? Can someone teach them how to talk to customers and refrain from provoking regionalism and intense hatred of the retail industry?
KMART is not alone. UPS called me at the ungodly hour of 7 am this morning to tell me they can't give me a timeframe for my pickup (apparently, 8 am – 9 pm is considered a reasonable timeframe), and can I leave it by the door, lobby, anywhere for them to fetch?
Door? What door? The building door that faces Central Park West and by which more than few loony bins pass everyday? The apartment door facing the narrow hallway, by which placing a 6 ft. tall box would block anyone from coming and going? The empty lobby to which the delivery guy won't have a key to enter? All at the risk of losing the box and never getting my money returned? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how unwise that would be.
But it nearly took brain surgery to make UPS understand that I "only" have a part-time doorman and that the package could be picked up after 2 pm. Mind you, I've made this small request to anyone who would listen since last Monday.
This explains a lot about my dad. There is a direct, positive relationship between how much time he spends arguing on the phone and the number of fights he picks with the family. With time to spare due to his professor lifestyle, he has spent countless hours dialing 1-800 numbers and also hurling himself into inexplicable rages. I know, because after fighting with Sprint about our high phone bills, he would then fight with us about it.
Completely justified. One needs the patience of a saint (and sympathy for people who think everyone has a truck) in order to deal.
From now on, if I ever have to encounter this evil, I'm requesting backup in the form of a friend or family so I don't completely lose it. Of course, then I might unleash it on loved ones, but they are obligated to deal.
And anyway – I don't have any loved ones who drive a truck. They would understand.
The South Asian in me can't help but read news feeds and blogs ranging from the South Asian Journalists Association (SAJA) to DJ Rekha. I thought I would share with you a cool online panel discussion that SAJA organized earlier today. While the time has already past, it would still be worthwhile to find out how it went and further explore this exploding entity known as the South Asian Blogsphere:
As part of the second-anniversary celebrations of SAJAforum.org, SAJA's newsy blog, we are hosting an online panel discussion among some of the best-known names in the South Asian blogosphere. They will discuss the state of the blogosphere (South Asian and otherwise) and how it is affecting how news and information about South Asia and the diaspora is gathered and shared.
Anil Dash, VP and chief evangelist for SixApart (makers of TypePad and Moveable Type) and one of the earliest (1999!) and most influential bloggers in the world http://www.anildash.com/anil/
I'm very sad that last Thursday evening, Warrick Brown (played by the beautiful Gary Dourdan) was shot to death by a dirty cop on CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. I'm so sad. I had just started to fall for him. He's my own personal McDreamy. I will only watch reruns now because I don't think the newer episodes will be the same without him. RIP, Warrick.
Mindy Kaling of "The Office" is perhaps one of my new favorite people, next to Gary Dourdan of CSI (even though he has been experiencing drug-related problems and was recently killed off the show - how could they kill a hot person?). In fact, this blog and the many conversations that inspired it were actually rooted in Mindy's awesome blog (http://thingsiboughtthatilove.com/). Here's a NYT article about her from the Times:
Somewhere during the course of the last few years, I have become somewhat of a coffee/tea person.It was purely an accident. With the arrival of one of the first Starbucks in the country in my town, it had become quite fashionable by late high school and then college to be constantly sipping on something completely unnecessary.I drank tea here and there at home with my grandma, who dips Ritz Crackers into her tea bag tea with milk and sugar.In college, it felt cool to drink several calorie-laden specialty drinks a few times a day, especially when determining who was the most wired/stressed/depressed/hopeless/screwed/exhausted.
After several vacations in India during those four years, I started to prefer hot, sweet, milky chai over everything else and needed to sip something hot at least once a day.Since then, and after returning from another year in India where chai was my sustenance, I have been semi "brewing" my own milky concoctions at home.Most teabags such, however, and I have little patience for fresh leaves.Then this past winter, I discovered Tetley's flavored chai teabags at a local Indian grocery store.It comes in 3 flavors - Masala, Ginger, and Elaichi (cardamom).I am nearly obsessed with the elaichi one.My family is now sold on it too.The tea itself is genuinely good and strong, and the elaichi flavor is just perfect.I throw in a teabag every morning with 3/4 water, 1/4 milk.Elaichi chai begs for some sugar, so don't skip or use a substitute - a little will go a long way in enhancing the elaichi flavor.It's also a great tea to entertain with because it always tastes more like freshly brewed leaves.
My mom loves how I found this thing, and it has further convinced everyone that I should get married in oh, about 2.5 hours.Silly.Trix are for kids, and this tea is for cool quarterlifers like me.$9.00 for 72 teabags @ select Indian grocers (or online).
Next to product (and oh yeah, subcontinental things, and books), another obsession is food. It's one of the few things in this world that is neither lovely nor awkward. Of course, of late it is highly contentious and political topic (I'm reading Pollan's work) as well, and now the premise for yet more reality shows. While I'm trying to be more informed about food and nutrition (really - another part of the many evolutions taking place on this site), the last thing I really care to do is critique it - if it looks good (although not necessary), smells good, has been prepared as hygienically as possible or as much as I allow myself to care, I'll pretty much eat just about anything. Hunger is usually not a precondition.
Since I have yet to explore NYC's many culinary delights, I'm of late trying to keep track of reviews and such so I can eventually visit them all - muhahahaha. Here's the latest from the NYT Restaurant Review - not the best review, but man, ribs coated in garam masala and crab meat resala sure sound good enough to me. Funny that this restaurant's name means cardamom in Latin - I sure have a things for all things elachi.
I really do. Whoever created the myth of the angry/rude New Yorker was smokin' some shrooms while they were here.
One of my life rules is to always say 'thank you' to the bus driver. This morning I discovered why. Minutes into my bus ride to work, our driver turned on the speaker and in a booming, warm voice, said something to the effect of:
"Ladies and gentlemen - put a smile back on your faces. Things really aren't that bad now, are they? Just smile. All those sad, tired faces - come on. I know going to that job is tiring but think about this - your bills are getting paid and you have a job. Smile, everyone.
Ladies, especially you - come on, gimme a smile. There we go. Just smile - be glad you're not married to me.
You know, some people think the glass is half-full, some half-empty - me, I'm just glad I've got some water."
I was grinning ear to ear by this point and the entire bus was chuckling. When I got off, I smiled and said my usual 'thank you' - and the driver starts booming again:
"Now there we go - that's what I call a smile! Look at that ladies and gentlemen - there's some smile this early in the morning. Now that's what I'm talking about...SMIIIILE........"
I heard him repeating this all the way down the block. I wish I had gotten his name so I could've written to the MTA about him. He wasn't the crazy annoying type - just a genuine spoonful of sugar on this gloomy day in NYC.
I have a running list of characters in my head and need to flesh them out here so I don't forget and of course, so you are somewhat amused (I hope).Maybe they will inspire some of you to write your own stories, or at the very least, ponder what exactly it is that Shrooms does with her days.
1) Sanjay the Security Guard - Watch this guy turn out to be a doctor.I've named him Sanjay here because he reminds me of the Indian actor Sanjay Dutt.No joke.There is something about his big, sad, droopy eyes that screams Sanjay Dutt.He also has this stocky - dare I say Punjabi? - build which makes me think he works in security at the hospital/medical school I work at.I see him on the subway and train every morning and something about him intrigues me.He is almost always wearing a suit, the slightly floppy kind that makes you think it's not really an expensive one, but can't say because hey, it's hard to tell and I don't know that much about men's suits anyway.Also always a tie and sunglasses.He's got this close-cropped, rather spikey, gelled hair which doesn't quite scream "uncle" either.Then again, he could be Modern Uncle.Young Modern Uncle.You know the type.In his 40s, so too young to be much like our own parents, and yet you can't help but give them Aunty/Uncle status.He looks like he enjoys edgy, Bollywood music and doesn't want to age himself by referring to the 70s' and 80s' classics, although that's probably more his thing.Oh, and he wears dark olive suits.Very Indian.I haven't seen him in a light gray one yet though.If I do, I might have to go up to him, kindly tap his shoulder and say "Sir, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you remind me of Sanjay Dutt."Given his sense of coolness, he might actually be flattered.He always gives me a Look.It's not sleazy or skeevy or even inquisitive actually.It's just kind of an acknowledgment.Like, oh hello short little Indian girl - aren't you too young to be working here?Go home.He might do something kinda funky but odd on the side, like have an entertainment company or make pirated Bollywood DVDs.Who knows.I can't imagine what he does here though.I know its awful to assume he's in Security when he could be doing any number of things.I just can't shake the feeling that he could've been one of those hi-fi security top dogs like Samuel L. Jackson in "21."Kinda scary, kinda cool.He rarely has a bag with him and sometimes I spot a beeper.Maybe IT? Who knows.He continues to capture my imagination and I want him to be at the center of some Shantaram/Maximum City-like plot.
2)Zohan the Israeli Real Estate Agent - Zohan clearly isn't his real name - I just did that because it makes me giggle.I won't use his real name because that would be too much identifying information and I kinda like the guy.What is with me and slightly awkward, stocky buffoons?This guy is definitely a bit of one,at least looks wise.Maybe I'm wrong.He also has some sharp business sense and street smarts.He could alternately be that annoying stocky man at a bar or the head honcho of the entourage of some top official or superstar.I could totally see him in a movie.He's pretty tall and built and fashionable in a way Sanjay is not.Dark-haired and fair with this awesome Israeli accent that goes unmatched (and I've heard a lot of them).He always looks kinda bored out of his mind, and you just want to offer him a drink or an ice-cream or something.Yesterday, I finally put my finger on it - he's like John Travolta's character in "Pulp Fiction."Almost exactly.Minus the long hair.And smarter (at least in certain ways).And not nearly so rough around the edges.Also some elements of Gaston from "Beauty and the Beast" here - with the build, longish face, big eyes, and I-can-take-on-the-world attitude.Rather flippant and light-hearted too - it's always kind of surprising when he genuinely laughs because half the time you feel like he's indulging you by smiling.When him and the Moroccan broker are walking together ahead of me, I feel like I'm in character fantasy-land.
3) Little Boy on the Train - I can't get this kid out of my head.He could not have been more than 4 or 5 years old and was surrounded by like 5 other sisters/cousins.His mother, in full burkha, looked East African, so I'm just going to assume that's what they are.Well this mother was completely silent the entire ride and barely had to say a word to her children, who were the most well-behaved I've ever seen on the subway.And this little boy, well, he kind of took my breath away.He had the finest little features ever, caramel-colored skin, and about the most upset, angry face I've ever seen on someone so young.But it wasn't a bratty-can't-help-myself-because-I'm-just-a-Toys-r-us-kid-afterall anger - it was the discontent of someone much older, much more wise and experienced.He was just taking in everything around him and looked so utterly and completely - burdened.His arms were crossed tight against his chest and every 45 seconds he would glance up and stare at the man standing next to him.Specifically his fanny-pack and phone.He was just fascinated, it seemed, but he also kept scowling at it.I just didn't understand.You'd think he was in awe and wanted to reach out to take a look at it, all wide-eyed and desperate to tinker with something new.But no.He was scowling, kind of suspicious and worrisome.Poor kid.I wanted to take him for a walk in the park, buy him an ice-cream and soda, and tell him to take it easy, the world isn't so bad.
If you followed my other blog a few months ago, you may have read a series of posts on a character in my life who I have named Johar Jr. after Bollywood film director/producer Karan Johar (pictured on the right - my guy is superior).
I'm obsessed with this person for reasons you will read below - I've moved my previous posts on him to this blog for your reading pleasure.
This is mostly because I've been DYING to write about my latest "encounter" with Johar Jr. But I realized that newcomers, or those who strictly visited my other blog as a beauty read, may not have bothered to keep up with this obsession.
Well, I'm standing in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art the other night waiting for my sis to arrive before attending a concert there. It was like a Woody Allen movie.
A yellow cab pulls up to the entrance. One well-suited black leg steps out. Then another. Then the tall, lanky, amazingly put-together, likely-to-be-gay love of my life showed his face and I nearly died.
You don't understand. I used to observe this guy on the train platform back on Long Island all summer. How he found his way to the same random event I was attending is beyond me. It was fate, and I should have introduced myself, but I did not know what to say. Instead, I would try to locate him in the crowd to take a picture with my camera phone, only to draw nearer and wimp out at the very site of him. I'm still in awe.
Read below and you may begin to understand why:
Characters II I can't believe I forgot to wrote about my current favorite character. He is fabulous. I wish I could take a picture of him and post it here, but that would be unethical (I think). You just have to see him to get it, but I will try to do my best:
4) Karan Johar, Jr. - I'm not joking. Again, one of those things where you just have to see it to believe it. This tall, semi-lanky South Asian must secretly be related to the famous Indian director, producer, and celebrity Karan Johar. Mr. Johar has this slightly pretty-boy thing going on, but not exactly because most people probably wouldn't say he's particularly good-looking or anything. He's also slightly effeminate and metro, and there have been rumors swirling about his sexuality for years. I could say all of this about Johar Jr., too. The weird thing is, he actually LOOKS like his fantasy father - his features, hair, everything! Johar Jr. is always standing in the most stately but slightly boyish manner on my station platform in the mornings. His jeans are Perfection - not baggy in the least, fitted through the hip and legs, back pockets that actually sit on his you know what, always a matching belt (I have even seen him wear white), and a length that sits on his shoes in exactly the right spot - all this, and he never manages to look euro or like it's 1989. And his sunglasses - my. They are Gucci or something because they have these brown shades and white arms with an embossed silver design. White sunglasses and an embossed silver design? Boy does he scream Bollywood-gone-wrong - and yet, the whole look is so extremely pulled together and less flashy than you think it would be. I always check him out in the mornings. I can' t help it - he's so intriguing! Trust me, you would too if you saw his Gucci sunglasses and white belt. On occasion I've seen him wear a long, black trench coat which suits his tall frame, even though it has the potential to look somewhat goth - but on him, its kind of fashionably dark and commanding. I swear he looks like he's an intern in the fashion industry. He never has a backpack or a functional black messenger bag that men take to work - it's always some funky one, and I think once or twice I've even seen him carrying a handbag. I am not exaggerating. He also definitely has one of those body types where he's in perfect shape and totally fit and yet somehow, you know he's not going to the gym. How does he do it?! He is such an anomaly that I don't know exactly what kind of story suits him best. Perhaps he should be in his own "The Devil Wears Aki Narula" or something. But he seems far too sophisticated for that. I should add that I'm not quite sure he's South Asian - he could be Persian or Latino or something, but because he looks like a Johar Jr., I'm personally placing him in India. With his white belt. And handbag.
Johar, Jr. Escapes! You won't believe it, but this morning, Johar Jr. was waiting at the same spot as me on the train platform, and got into the same car! THEN, he sat on the opposite side of the aisle! I nearly died. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to simultaneously blog, call San, take a picture, talk to him, and giggle.
The only thing I had a shot at doing was taking his picture with my camera phone. Completely unethical. I assure you I never do such things but my excitement got the best of me. My two attempts failed, first because the memory was full, and then because he moved and I couldn't reposition my camera phone before he got up (the train had just pulled in).
Outfit today: same Godly jeans, white loafers, the white sunglasses!, an olive green/pink Lacoste polo, and that interesting handbag-ish messenger bag. Pure awesomeness.
I'm hoping he sits in the same car on Monday. I kept throwing him sideway glances but he was entranced by some magazine (fashion, perhaps? Bollywood?). I tried to pull out my ipod and blare some Hindi music (although he clearly wouldn't have heard it) but I was afraid of coming off as disheveled (had a lot going on in my purse today), so I didn't. Next time...!
In case you haven't been following my Johar sightings, he is this fantastically put-together boy I see on the train eveyday who looks like he could be Karan Johar's son.
Johar Jr. Strikes Again I forgot to mention yesterday that Johar Jr. looked me straight in the eye the other day. Even though it was through his bronze-pink shades, I nearly swooned.
Today he was wearing a dark blue polo, those perfectly-fitted jeans, and a Louis Vuitton belt. I need to walk by him one day blaring Indian music on my i-pod to see if he at least turns his head in my direction again. Maybe I will smile. Or ask him where he shops. Or ask him to please dress me because he looks way more pulled-together every morning than I do. Or ask if my friends can have coffee with his father (who has a talk show called "Koffee with Karan;" I can give up such a prize but Trish would kill for it).
Damn, I forgot to see if he was carrying a handbag! Next time...
As my friends and family know all too well, I'm obsessed with all entertainment that is dark, mysterious, tragic, and often gory. On any given night, I prefer these to comedy and regular dramas. For this reason, I'm more caught up on Law & Order, CSI (NY, LV, and Miami), Cold Case, Without a Trace, and NBC's Medium than say, The Office or Grey's Anatomy (Trish, you can shoot me now). In particular, I love Medium, the NBC hit starring Patricia Arquette, an actress who I never quite though much of until this show - she is absolutely brilliant as the psychic Allison Dubois.
This extremely classy and clever series grabbed my attention a few months ago, and not just for the interesting plots. The familiar-but-unique characters are played by an equally brilliant cast that includes my absolute favorite, little Maria Lark. This adorable child actress plays Bridgette Dubois, middle daughter of 3 (heh, let's not crack any jokes here since I'm one, too - this has nothing to do with relating to birth order syndromes) in the Dubois clan.
Bridgette's character has got to be one of the smartest on television, and they could not have found a better actress than Maria Lark. Just look at her face! She's able to blend the innocence of a child with the keen sense of a maturing adolescent who knows and sees things other "normal" children probably don't, but she's no wallflower and does not walk around saying cryptic things in a 19th century frock. She gets angry, asks interesting questions, and spills cereal all over herself. Her expressions and mannerisms are beyond hilarious and remind me of my younger sister when she was a kid, all chubby and angry, shaking her fists at the ridiculousness that is the world and yet constantly challenging it - I literally have to laugh out loud watching her, but also admire her spunk.
What I like best about this character is how real she is - no silly extremes here that child characters usually have to portray. As in, she is neither an ignorant, innocent little princess in that 19th century frock or an overly-perceptive, depressed child who sees ghosts and just wishes everyone were happy. Ok, well, she is sort of starting to have interesting "dreams," but instead of being freaked out by them, she grabs the bull by the horns and makes the most of what they have to offer. What a kid.
I imagine her to be the coolest kid in Hollywood. How could she not be - she is the youngest person ever to co-host ABC's The View, has appeared on "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno" four times, and has a blog devoted to her. While she's not the show's lead, she is definitely its shining star. Give this show a try just for her brilliant portrayal. Notice how many times I've used the word "brilliant" - there's a reason for it!
This is so disturbing to me that I actually have no comment of real substance. I feel like I'm 5 and my younger sister has na-nanny poo-poo'ed me and I want to claw her eyes out on the spot but also silently plot sweet revenge. All while letting some profound rage simmer and struggle to express itself.
Except this is no childish matter. I nearly cried after reading about another She-Who-Shall-Not-Named disaster up in Wasilla. I know the economy just died and no one knows what is going to happen, and I'm very sorry about that. But personally, my body, what happens to it, and how others choose to control/disrespect it are far more important to me. For once I am utterly speechless out of sadness and anger. All I will say is that if McCain-Palin win this thing, I'm *seriously* moving to Canada. Or India. Anywhere but Palinasilla.
They told us how to share, count, and read/write (hopefully). They didn't tell us that everyone also needs (eventually):
A credit card A good lip balm A tool kit (with the works - wrench, hammer, screwdriver, etc) Cooking skills Tolerance for incompetent customer service reps An Indian broom Internet connectivity
I'm still setting up my new apartment and have found these things indispensable. Customer service generally sucks and the rep will ignite in you unprecedented rage, free-of-charge. Is a good lip balm really necessary? you ask. Um, yes. The indoor environment is as dry as a desert and you will not survive without some.
Also, know your tools. Furniture that requires assembly doesn't come with tools, so know 'em. The doorman won't know the difference between a wrench and a plier. Mine didn't. But he was 6'2" and I just didn't have the heart to tell him so.
Swiffer is overrated (although still loveable) - get an Indian broom to sweep well. It's practically a workout, too.
I'll forgive the last one since it didn't quite exist yet when I was in kindergarten.
Wouldn't you know - I ended up back near Tom's yesterday. After a beautiful evening of sitar and tabla music at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (oh yeah, and wine and chicken and yummy risotto), my sister and I found our way to another Columbia favorite - Pertutti's. Only Pertutti's no longer exists. In its place is Campo. And it doesn't even have eggplant or chicken parm on the menu. What a disgrace.
Another disgrace? The lack of dessert options. During my time there, Pertutti's wasn't all that popular for its Italian food. The dessert, however, was truly divine. Especially the Mt. Vesuvius - cake? pie? mouse? mountain of goodness? Vesuvius was this amazing structure of chocolate upon chocolate, cake upon the chocolate, cheesecake upon the cake upon the chocolate, and even more chocolate to top everything off. It has erupted and is gone.
Let's hope this doesn't happen to Tom's, V&T's, or any other Columbia institution. The Hungarian Pastry shop is still also still there. In addition to Tom's, I may have to start frequenting the Hungarian as well.
I forget how students can afford pastries and coffee everyday while they study. Somebody remind me...
Finally confronted with a space in which to roam freely between thoughts (and maybe some ideas) unrelated to product, I hit a wall. All of a sudden, I had no clue what was really going in my head and what I was willing to share. There was the usual angst about the usual things, but I know they will find their way into many an unrelated post anyway.
The thing is, you have to be in a certain mood to write about yourself. One would think that writer's block doesn't necessarily apply to blogging, but in some ways, it does. You have to be connected to your self in a certain way before throwing yourself out there. For a couple of days, all I could really think about was how many more hours were left in the day and whether or not my laptop had enough battery life to last me through class. Oh, and whether or not the cockroach controls I had set up in my apartment were really going to work. Not exactly blog-worthy.It was after a majorly relaxing (and productive) study session that I had the urge to get cozy in Tom's Diner. In case you don't know, Tom's Diner is located on the Upper West Side, blocks from Columbia University. Its claim to fame is an old-school neon sign that found its way into "Seinfeld," and whose name is also the title of a certain Suzanne Vega song.
Tom's is a university haunt in which I don't believe I have ever stepped foot alone. Ok. Maybe once after an interview I went there for a quick Broadway shake, but I may have just conjured up that memory - I very well could have been waiting for someone. In any case, it would have held much significance for me to end up back in a place I frequented for 4 meaningful years as an undergrad. As a graduate student now, I thought it would be cool and dorky to go back there (alone) to ponder my singledom and the other pursuits I now find myself engaged in (eh, career? higher education? eh...), as well as marvel at having become the coolly composed graduate student we once regarded as a different species.
Imagine my surprise when I saw this blog post "Measure for Measure" by Suzanne Vega herself in The New York Times. I have a certain fascination with Suzanne Vega and the song "Tom's Diner." For one, the first time I heard it, I was a youngun in a car with my older cousin behind the wheel - cool. Then I learned that Suzanne Vega went to the same college as my older sis. Even cooler. Then I attended the same college. Practically oozing coolness. When the frequenting of Tom's and people watching through its windows had become routine - coolness outdid itself and I was sold on my own naive little life. I was like Suzanne Vega in my head, absorbing everything around me and taking note. Never mind that I was usually buzzed and hungry while I was there. I was a self-aware undergrad, reveling in her confusion and abandon, one hand in her pocket and a tune in her head.
So when I saw Suzanne Vega's blog, I was a little inspired, and dare I say it - touched. Now I'm compelled to return to Tom's, listen to "Tom's Diner," and write both to myself and others while diner grease diffuses into my skin. I may soon begin to wax poetic about pistachio Broadway shakes and gravy fries, and all that comes with those prizes - horrible service, scary old waitresses, and cash only.
I will definitely miss being there with my near and dear (very few of whom are left in NYC) - more than I can imagine probably. But whether I write the next Suzanne Vega song or not though, I believe I've rediscovered an old spot in which to relax, reconnect, and be myself. It's been a while.
A few months ago, after a few unnecessarily long email chains about our latest beauty/fashion/self-discoveries, a bud and I created the mother blog to Sumania, My Life's At A Standstill So I'm Evolving for Sport (points if you get the SATC reference). After a few months of reviewing beauty products and expressing my makeup woes, I caught onto what was really going on - life is truly at a standstill, I have much evolution to undergo beyond hair and makeup and...I love to write about myself.
My reviews were less about product and more about my de/il-lusions about myself and my world, "sumania," titled so after a few pet names and the mania that is la vie en suman - a life in suman (more points if you get the Edith Piaf reference).
This doesn't have to make sense to you. Two days from now, it will barely make sense to me. If you get bored at work or during class or don't have anything to do on the weekends, reading this without understanding the above will suffice.
Looking forward to sharing everything and anything.
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