Mets Lose. Jesus Weeps.

As a lifelong Mets' fan, I understand that bad things happen to good people and, even worse, good things happen to bad people (I'm looking at you, Yankees' fans) but, I'm kind of in denial about the Mets' season being over. It's not that I don't believe it. It's just that . . I don't believe it. I mean, WTF??! It's over? Really? I thought the days of fielding teams stocked with self-annihilating head cases were in the past (I'm looking at you, Bobby Bonilla). This just seems so horribly, horribly wrong. Not just wrong, as in "unfortunate," but actually, like, a mistake of some kind. Are we sure that this is right? I mean, I'm not great with numbers, so could someone look into this? And, yeah, I'll admit that I cried a little last night before I went to bed, because . . . are you serious?! That's it?! In the immortal words of Florida Evans, Damn! DAMN! DAMN!!.

I'm This Sucker

Although, it's clear that Bruni isn't referring to the loverly sidewalk cafes that dot Brooklyn. I still happily identify with 90% of the ridiculous behavior he describes in this article.

Monkeyshines

I find it comforting to realize that we aren't the only nation in the world with batshit crazy religious fundamentalists running things. Well, maybe "comforting" isn't exactly the right word, but it does help to ameliorate the burning shame. So, according to Hindu religious lore, Lord Ram's wife was captured by some evil god Lanka, who kidnapped her and absconded to . . . Sri Lanka. Go figure. I guess he thought he was safe, Sri Lanka being an island, and all. But, Lord Ram was having none of it. He had his army of monkeys build a bridge from Tamil Nadu, in southern India, to Sri Lanka, where he promptly opened up an industrial size can of whoop ass. That's right. Monkeys. "Oh, what did you say, Lanka? 'Me and what army?' Me and my army of Monkeys! Me and my army of accomplished, structural engineering Monkeys. That's what army, bitch!" Anyway, that's how I imagine it went down in the way, way back. But, I digress. The current problem is that some economically minded folks would like to destroy this land bridge to improve shipping routes, but other people insist on the literal accuracy of Lord Ram and his monkey's. According to the stellar Herald Tribune article on this subject, [w]hether this account [from the Ramayana] is factually accurate might have remained a matter of debate among academics . . . Really? Academics from where? The Clown College? Also, some politician threatened to pay his weight in gold to anyone who went out and beheaded some opposing politician, but then he realized, "Shit, that's a lotta gold," and took it back. Good times.

If loving cupcakes is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I might not be motivated to go out and rally with the Develop Don't Destroy Brooklyn folks. On almost any given day, I will prioritize having a tasty meal out over donating to a inarguably worthy cause. I would never bother to attend the public hearings that proceed the latest MTA fare hike. Basically, I'm your typical, spoiled and apathetic member of the citizenry. But, by God, mess with my right to eat a cupcake, and there will be hell to pay! And, according to the NYT, we cupcake warriors are legion. The Texas Legislature, world-renowned for their commitment to fighting the good fight, passed a "Safe Cupcake Amendment." Who would want to imperil the nation's cupcakes, you ask? Communists. Communists and, apparently, the godless nutritionists.

Cupcakes: something else I'll eat when I get back to BK.

Psychotic Break

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and here it is, at long last. It looks like there will be another project, starting in about three weeks, that I’ll be expected to be in Hyderabad to manage. This means that if I want to spend any time stateside before Thanksgiving, I would need to leave early next week (it's a two day trip each way). I just want to spend a week at home. That’s all. I would consider this to be a modest expectation. I have a project manager on this current matter that could handle things for a week. All of our systems are in place. I don’t want to go to the moon; I want to go to New York. Specifically, Brooklyn, where we have email, telephones, you know, modern communication technology. When I expressed this desire to our COO, she said, “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.” Meaning, we don’t know for certain that this new project will start on October 15th, so let’s wait and see . . . uhhhh . . . Let’s not. Because, if I wait for those little chicks to hatch, IT WILL BE TOO LATE FOR ME TO GO HOME. Did I mention that I only want to go for, like, a week. That’s seven days. I’ve been wearing the same three pairs of pants for eight weeks and their starting to wear a little thin (in every sense).

A few of the things I would like to do in New York include: sleep in my own bed; talk to people on the phone; get from point A to point B out of doors . . . and on foot; watch NY1; watch Pardon the Interruption; go to a Mets game if, Pedro’s toe willing, they make the playoffs; drink water from the tap; have sushi; have pizza; have Korean; go to Saul, Henry’s End or Devin Tavern; not be besieged by the saccharine incompetence of Novotel’s staff; prepare a meal in my kitchen; buy skin care products that do not tout their “bleaching” effects; switch from oil to gas; buy tampons; buy dental floss; get my hair done; relish, like a pig in mud, the fact that along with the many unsavory habits New Yorkers have, they also, as a matter of course, tend to wear deodorant; shop at Whole Foods; read my mail; breath early fall air; get a pedicure; maybe make mulled wine . . .

Okay, I feel a little better. But not much.

Balm for the Seven Year Itch?

Germany's the new France! It looks like at least some of them hate marriage more than their cheese eating, surrender monkey neighbors to the West. Gabriele Pauli, who is running to be head of the Christian Social Union party in Bavaria, has proposed that civil marriages should be renewable seven year contracts. As a single lady, I can't really say if this is a good idea or not--on the face of it, it seems pretty reasonable. But, I wonder about the details. Would you have to wait seven years to renew? What if the contract expires during a week when you really can't stand the sight of each other? Of course, people could always enter into a new contract (it worked for Liz Taylor and Richard Burton). All so confusing. Of course, one of Pauli's opponents is under fire after getting busted for having a love child (never meant to be . . . Love Child! Societ-eee!) during his present marriage. This all makes me feel a little better about the current state of U.S. politics. Hypocritical sexual politics loves company.

Reason I'm Getting Fired, Number Three Hundred and Twelve

In keeping with my tradition of totally inappropriate and doomed crushes, I'm currently fixated on a ridiculous cutie in the office. Imagine a Wallace and Gromit character . . . but, really cute. Don't judge! I'm this guy's boss, and I am not at all interested in doing the Bollywood remake of "Disclosure." But, today he came to work wearing the most obscenely provocative garment possible, as far as I'm concerned. A sweater vest!! An adorable, apparently soft and cuddly pull-over sweater vest. Why am I being tested? First winelessness, now this. I'm only flesh and blood, people. Just. Flesh. And. Blood.

Avast ye Scurvy Land Lubbers . . . Aarrgh

There's a conjunctivitis epidemic sweeping through Hyderabad. As many as 30% of the population is expected to be hit. I guess a lot of people missed that day in 7th grade when the middle school assembly was devoted to the evils of sharing mascara. Of course, now all I want to do is obsessively rub my eyes. Apparently, Monsoon is, historically, pink-eye season here in the big H. It's harder to maintain proper hygiene, or something like that. Frankly, I'm not sure I get the correlation--I only play a doctor on the teevee. Actually, it's not "pink-eye," it's "Madras eye." This kind of seems like a gratuitous slur against a region that's given J.Crew a raison d'etre lo these many summers, and whose namesake drink has brought so much stealth drunkeness to the under-25 set, but what do I know. Maybe they had it coming. Damn you, Madras!

The Crimson Goes Green

Duckacide!

I know this is kind of old. It happened during my recent blog blackout. Still, it's worth sharing, because there are few things funnier in life than mascot-related shenanigans. Watch once to let the full absurdity of the smackdown wash over you (OMG, maybe stuffed ducks should wear pants!!) Watch again to enjoy the distress of the Houston cheerleaders, as they hesitate in their decision to come to the "cougar's" defense. Oh, and listen to the audio, if you can. It elevates the mood. Happy Tuesday!

It's The Little Things

It's strange the things that are making me feel homesick right now, are really not the things I would expect. I honestly think I would weep salty tears if I could get my hands on some dental floss (an affordable/palatable glass of pinot noir would probably induce a stroke). This weekend I went to the Q-Mart, a local supermarket-type place that caters to "expats." But, clearly, not U.S. expats. They did carry peanut butter, but that was my only good score (creamy Skippy). Not, only did they not have floss. They had non-alcoholic wine. Some crap called Billabong from Australia. Who would buy that?! And tampons . . . Good luck. I'm still trying to figure out the South Asian code of female modesty. The morning after pill is advertised on teevee here all day, every day. But, no tampons anywhere. I've resigned myself to feeling like a big diapered baby . . . a la David Vitter.

Holy Crap!

Amy, honey, they wanted you to go to rehab for a reason. Okay, she looks the teensiest bit like a trannie in 2004, but now she looks like the illegitimate, dope fiend love child of Jughead Jones and

Who You Callin' a Ho?!

I'd been feeling pretty good about myself the past few days. Currying some appreciative glances from the less fair sex. Scoring some flirtatious smiles. Clearly, I thought, the Indian subcontinent is the corner of the globe I've been looking for! Silly rabbit, it turns out tricks are for . . . well . . . tricks. My boss' wife, who is Indian and from Andhara Pradesh, generously explained to me last night that Indian men think all Western women are big scankalicious ho-bags. This is what happens when Paris Hilton and Britney Spears represent the women of America . . . During my last trip, we were playing charades in a "team building" exercise (dumb charades if you're Hyderabadi) folks here lurve that stuff. Anyway, someone acted out the following clues: white, house, woman. Eleanor Roosevelt? Nope. Hilary Clinton? Please. Jackie O? Who?! Monica Lewinsky? DING!! DING!! DING!! I mean . . . wow. Just. Wow.

Sadly, I now recognize those lingering looks as being, basically, leers. For this, I could have stayed in New York

It's Time to Party Like It's Lord Krishna's Birthday!

India Fashion II

The women I work with I repeatedly told me that the garment I need to rush out and buy, right now the Salwar Kameez, but I have to admit that I don't think this is a look that I just wouldn't really rock this look back home. This is what most people in my office wear to work everyday--with some wide variation. The set is always paired with a precisely matching dupatta (a long cotton or silk scarf). To my taste, I think it would translate as simultaneously frumpy and flashy. Which isn't to say I haven't seen some that are truly spectacular, and beautiful to behold. Possibly, I'm not as style-adventurous as I'd like to think, but the mental image of my non-South Asian self wearing one in NYC does not seem to jell.

Hyderbad Helter Skelter

Apparently, there was a bomb threat at my office building today. Not really much more to report than that. There were only about 12 of our employees there, since it's a Saturday. The building's been evacuated, and we may have to work from a different site on Monday. We shall see. That said, absolutely all is well.

Given recent events in the city, I feel a little reckless for going to the City Centre today (a mall . . . in the city's center) to look for a work friends housewarming gift. I'll post the pictures from that a bit later . . .