Update!

Whoa.

It's been a super-long time since I posted here. Part of this is a function of having a life (I no longer come home and blog; instead, I take walks, or call friends/fam, or go slumming at Goodwill), and part of this is related to some nasty comments left here and elsewhere that weren't great for my frame of mind; I was also trying to keep the India theme alive, which is difficult when the news source closest at hand is so abysmally poor at covering the subconty. (Really, a critique of the "Kerala model" of development on your front page, NYT? That's sooooooo 2002.)

Then I went through a phase of trying to create a new blog, rebrand myself, etc., but all the good names were taken (leaving me with, oh, I don't know, SexSluuuut825642.blogspot.com). Then I got preoccupied with hummus and mozzarella, then I forgot about everything, and then I realized a month had gone by and I should get off my ass.

So here we go again. Last weekend, we went to Coney Island, so you get a picture of that. I don't know whether this is going to be a personal journal sorta thing, or a roundup of interesting news stories about topics I'm interested in, or some agglomeration of both, but I suppose we'll see. As time goes by.

(Also, an anecdote from Overheard in New York that well illustrates why I love Queens:
Female barista, scrubbing floor boards: I hate doing clean sweep 'cause I get all sweaty... Especially in my butt crack.
Male barista: You should employ the butt tissue. Just slip a paper towel in there at the start of the shift, and then just toss it at the end.
Female barista: I already do that.
Customer: Now that's legendary service.

--Starbucks, 67th & Queens Blvd)

I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore

Umm, in case you haven't heard, a tornado hit New York. What the bloody Jesus?

It took me three hours to get from the hovel to the office -- and then when I got there, I was one of only five or so people in my department resourceful enough to navigate the wild, wild world of thousands of stranded subway users, fighting for a bus heading for the Midtown Tunnel.

I did walk about two miles, snicker at a woman trying to vanquish a foot of standing water with a small mop, invite myself to share a taxi with three people who had only limited English skills, and lost my leg to the jaws of the 7 train at the Jackson Heights station, but so be it. Delhi crowds prepared me well; whereas claustrophobic Americans were hysterically imploring fellow riders to "Act like human being, not animals!", I was smugly listening to Golmaal Golmaal ... Everything's Gonna Be Golmaal and wiggling around frenetically, my eyes glazed in bliss.

That said, I thought I would stop dealing with woefully inadequate infrastructure when I left the "third world." So much for conventional notions of modernity and backwardness ...

The absurdity relativity theorem

I used to roundly mock the government-run ads in India's print media -- the bad Photoshopping, the hilarious art, the poorly written copy, the absolutely nonsensical causes being championed/events being celebrated ...

And then I opened The Village Voice and noticed a lovely pink display telling me I could feel confident again. Hm, I thought, I am rather lachrymose right now ... what could be the cure?

Apparently, female genital surgery, including labia reduction and beautification, so I can "wear tight clothes comfortably." (Obligatory link to the NYUI Female Genital Surgery Center, so you can explore should you be genuinely interested.)

Yes, the laws of absurdity are the same in one system as in another system in uniform motion relative to it.

Little India in NYC

At the behest of, well, just about everyone, S and I finally made a trip to Jackson Heights to see what all the fuss was about. Verdict? Not much.

Sure, Patel Brothers is great. We got lots of spices and made aloo mattar last night, which we mopped up with some precooked aloo parathas, since I am categorically unable to get the hang of traditional breads. And there are lots of stores glistening with ostentatious jewels of all kinds, and there are curry-a-minute shacks a grotty as those found in the back lanes of Old Delhi, but for some reason, some how, it just doesn't ring true.

In Chicago, when I went to Devon, it felt like I was stepping back into the insane traffic of the subconty; it felt like an outpost of civilization in a otherwise upturned world. In New York? I spent hours gazing at the RED palak paneer (red? since when is spinach RED?!) waiting for the buffet-hungry consumer in its ubiquitous chafing plate, feeling outside, outside, always outside. I know that yes, I'm technically not Indian, and yes, maybe I should feel like an outsider, but ... I can't put my finger on it; something just felt wrong to me there.

Any suggestions? Places to go for a delicious, authentic slice of South Asia? Or am I just being fussy, projecting my suspicions that Little Italy is really a tourist's playground, onto other supposedly "ethnic" (a term I don't particularly want to employ here, but so be it) neighborhoods?