A Lesson About Pea-ple

Continuing with my newfound domesticity, I just finished shelling a bagful of peas that my mom was extremely excited about finding at our local grocery store. (Usually we only come across the frozen variety.) While enjoying the rare moment of solitude the peapods brought, I realized that the old adage about not judging a book by its cover applied to peas as well. While most of the long, thick pods I opened contained healthy, robust peas, there was the occasional giant pod that surprised me with the smallest and dantiest of peas. Conversely, some of the smaller pods, from which I wasn't really expecting much, yielded firm, fat peas. I guess even vegetables can be full of surprises.

A Day in the Life of Mom

Going to India seems to have unintentionally knocked some responsibility into my head. I don't know if it was seeing my two younger cousins dutifully helping out at the drop of a hat or what, but I know my Mom's happy about it. She's been after me for a while now to learn how to cook properly, and I've finally become genuinely receptive to doing so. I tried my hand at making some gobi pakoras (fried cauliflower appetizers) to take to Sumegha's house for dinner last night, and judging by the empty container I brought home, my first attempt seems to have turned out quite well.

But it's not just the cooking bug that's bitten me. Those who know me know I'm not the neatest, most organized person in the world. Going to college has only made me worse in terms of organization. Ever since I moved back in May my bedroom floor has resembled a minefield of paper piles. Every morning I wake up, take a look at the piles and say to myself, today's the day I'm going to clean all this up. But alas, there are just so many books to be read and so manyTV shows to be watched that cleaning just seems to slip off the list. Last night it finally got to me though, and after trying unsuccessfully for an hour to fall asleep, I got up and resolutely tackled the disaster. The more I cleaned the more I realized that I simply have way too much stuff. Old textbooks, folders full of notes, random fliers, half-filled notebooks; it was a never-ending flow of paper. After assembling quite a formidable pile of paper to be recycled, I tried going back to bed, but I was too wound up worrying about my intense case of pack-rat syndrome and what I could possibly do to get rid of all the unnecessary stuff I have, to fall asleep. So I got back up and resumed my cleaning. Sometime around 6ish, when it really started getting light outside, I realized I probably wouldn't be going to sleep.

Around 7 I had morning chai with my parents, read the paper and went on a walk with my mom. After the morning news update, I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to clean my bathroom. Now I know, doing chores like these, for most people my age, isn't a big deal, but I'll admit, I haven't been the most helpful of children. I do the work, but only after being reminded multiple times. That's why this time, even though Mom didn't say anything, I'm sure she's glad that I seem to have finally grasped the notion of helping out around the house. Although she may attribute my actions more to the fact that Sareena is coming over to watch a movie. Which I admit, it a big reason why I've gone on this cleaning spree, but hey, at least I'm doing the work, right?

Anyways, I had lunch around noon and then settled in for what I thought was going to be an hour long nap. Yeah, that definitely turned into a three hour nap, but hey, that's what summer's all about. But shortly it'll be time to relax and chill with an old friend, so the day isn't all work and no play.

Morning News Update

Ever since I was a young child, I've always marveled at man's ability to build. Boats, planes, bridges and dams, how such massive devices and structures are created and how they function has always been a mystery to me. Driving across a large, water-spanning bridge, be it the Golden Gate or the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, leaves me gazing in amazement. Just how those massive concrete pylons below and the web of steel girders above manage to hold up the weight of all those cars is beyond my comprehension. But in the back of my head, that wonderment has always led to the morbid question, what if the bridge isn't actually able to hold up all that weight? It's just a quick thought, a flit of fear running unconsciously through my head, quite similar to that split-second fear people have when boarding an airplane as to whether they'll be landing safely at their destination. We've learned to dismiss these fears, much like those childhood ones about the bogeyman and the dark, as irrational and most unlikely, and move on with our lives.

Of course, this logic was turned on its head when I saw images of the collapsed Interstate 35W bridge on CNN shortly before dinner last night. It was like something you would see in an action flick, not in real life. Can you even imagine, one minute you're driving down the road, the next minute the road is creaking beneath you and suddenly just drops out into the murky Mississippi River below. It really makes you wonder what's going on when the state department of transportation issues a report stating that a bridge "should not have any problems with fatigue cracking in the forseeable future" and six years later what once was a bridge now resembles a gigantic concrete accordion. But I guess it's best to avoid passing judgement until officials can determine what exactly caused the collapse.

In other news, this time turning to the election trail, last night I found and read, out of pure curiosity, that Vanity Fair piece on Judith Nathan, aka the new Mrs. Giuliani. Now, believe what you want about the woman, I'm here to comment on the writing. As a journalism student, I'm really wondering how you can get away with such snarky writing in a publication not titled The National Enquirer. I mean, the piece was downright Rita Skeeter-esque, and that woman isn't even real. Don't tell me you didn't picture Judy Bachrach sucking on a Quick Quotes Quill when you read the line: "An interesting question. Who does Judith Stish Ross Nathan Giuliani think she is?" I know that public officials are held to a much higher standard when it comes to proving libel, but this almost seems to be toeing the line to me.

But this isn't to say I'm defending Nathan in any way. Trust me, when looking at public officials, marital habits are at the top of my list, and I don't approve of anyone who can't keep them in check, no matter what party you are. (That goes for you too Bill.)

And of course, what would the morning news update be without some juicy celeb gossip. Apparently, Nicole Richie is preggers; 4 months, to be exact. Hmm...now remind me again, how long ago was that DUI incident? Why is it that the relationship between parental capabilities and fertility seems to be an inverse one?

But anyways, that's all the news on my mind this morning. Let's hope that despite the rush hour traffic on that bridge, the body count doesn't increase too much.

(Oh, a quick side note: You'll be happy to hear my tummy finally grumbled with hunger this morning - I'm all back to normal now :)

No More Eating for Me

I seem to have become incapable of eating. Well not exactly incapable, but I haven’t felt a rumble of hunger in over three weeks, at least. It all started in India, the land where food dictates life and the fairer sex spends at least 10 hours a day holed up in the kitchen. India has neither an overabundance of food nor incredibly cheap dollar menus, but Indian society has to be the most gastronomically-oriented of any culture in the world. One needs only to look at the daily meal schedule to understand. While staying with my aunt and uncle in Delhi, here’s what two weeks of my life this past July looked like:

9 am: chai and namkeen (snacks)
11 am: nashta (breakfast) usually parathas (flatbread stuffed with vegetables)
3 pm: lunch (rice, dal (lentils), roti (flat, unleavened bread), subzi (vegetables), paneer (Indian cheese), and raita (yogurt))
5 pm: chai and namkeen
9 pm: dinner (same enormous spread as lunch, with maybe the addition of another subzi)
10 pm: dessert

As if this wasn’t enough on my plate (literally) my family and I also took a week-long vacation to the south where our hotels included an all-inclusive buffet (I’ll tell you, that’s a dangerous thing) and inexpensive room service.

But by no means am I complaining. Despite the fact that I spent the past month stuffing my face, it was only the best tasting, freshest food going into my mouth, the likes of which I won’t be tasting at home anytime soon. (And that’s no jab at my mom’s cooking, which is excellent, but you just don’t get the same kind of fresh raw ingredients here in the States.) And, as if you aren’t jealous enough at my three weeks of culinary heaven, my visit to the bathroom scale upon arriving home, made with great trepidation, was met with great surprise when I learned I’d actually lost three pounds in the midst of all that gorging. (I know, I know, you all hate me with all the fibers of your being, but hey, I’m young and apparently still have that kick-ass metabolism.)

But anyways, back to my point. Not only do Indians present you with this much food, but they very adamantly want you to eat it all, multiple times. If you don’t go back for seconds or thirds, they believe that to mean the food wasn’t good, and take it as a personal offense. We had to explain my aunt and uncle that at home, we don’t eat this much food in a week, let alone in one day. I definitely perfected my skill of veiled rejection, or “Oh no, I can’t possibly eat any more food, my stomach is just so full, but really, it really was such good food.” Or, as my dad told me, take as little as possible, eat it slowly, and even if you want seconds, wait for someone to tell you to take them. Because, just as the husband doesn’t really do the dishes unless his wife sees him do them, in India, you didn’t really take a second helping unless your hosts saw you take it.

At the beginning of the trip I felt a bit guilty eating so much, wondering just how many pounds were sneaking on, how much desi ghee was beginning to clog my arteries. But by the end, I figured, hell with it, I’m not getting this at home so I might as well enjoy it while I can and resolve to exercise harder once I get home. After the first week in India, I honestly do not remember hearing my tummy growl once. I figured everything would get back to normal once I got home.

But I’ve been home for a week now and my stomach still feels perpetually full. I have been eating, but only about one meal a day, and even that only because I know I have to, not because I actually want to eat. This weekend I did fill up on ice cream and greasy pizza, but my excuse was that I was at the beach. Besides, don’t I deserve to savor all that uber-fatty American food I missed while abroad? But now, I’ve resolved not to eat until my stomach growls, although there’s no telling how strictly I’m going to adhere to that guideline, seeing as Mom has just gone grocery shopping and I’ve got absolutely nothing to do while sitting at home.

The Joy of Reading...On Steroids

Books are meant to be savored, enjoyed like an expensive glass of wine. After a long day, nothing beats sinking into bed with a thick novel to carry you across the world or through time itself. It’s a comforting ritual, sipping a chapter or two before slipping off into slumber. I, on the other hand, am incapable of doing anything but gulp down book after book not unlike a famished runner downing gallons of water after a marathon.

In the past 72 hours, I have read 1,747 pages worth of literature: John Grisham’s “The Broker,” J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” and Dan Brown’s “Angels and Demons.” I don’t know why I do it, why I can’t just put the book down after a couple of chapters and stretch the enjoyment of reading beyond more than just a paltry six hours. In obvious cases, like Harry Potter, the book is just too good to put down. But the Grisham book wasn’t anything special, yet I still found myself plowing through, page after page, until there was nowhere left to turn. My brother sometimes accuses me of simply skimming the book, racing through it just to say that I finished in x number of hours. But that's just not true. I read each and every word on the page and I follow the story properly, just a bit more quickly than most.

It's like my curiosity is on overdrive. Usually, you read a couple chapters, rest the book on the nightstand and drift off to sleep, dreaming about what the characters will do next, what twist and turn of the plot will they end up in tomorrow? But for me, the suspense is just too much, even if the book sucks. I've tried many times to put the book down and just go to bed, but unless I'm utterly bone-dead tired, 15 minutes later I'll turn the light back on, reluctantly return to my page and reenter the story.

I remember when I was reading "Pride and Prejudice" (which by the way is my all time favorite book (I know, what a cliche, but hey it's every girl's dream)) in high school, how agonizing it was to have to stop reading each day after the assigned chapter or two was completed. I wanted so badly just to continue on, but I was worried that, since we had questions to answer for each chunk of chapters, finishing the book would mess up my ability to complete them. However, since none of the question asked us to predict what was going to happen later in the book, this rationale really made no sense whatsoever. I still remember the sense of elation I felt when I casually mentioned this to Ms. MacNemar and she told me it was okay to finish the book. That afternoon, I sat in a beanbag chair in the middle of my room and didn't budge until Elizabeth Bennet had once and for all ironed out her tribulations with Mr. Darcy. (I still don't understand, to this day, why I thought I needed a teacher's approval to finish reading the book and I know this story marks me as pretty much the dorkiest person ever, but hey, this is the internet. You don't know who I really am, right.)

Yankees Still In the Game

And this, my friends, is why I'm a Yanks fan. No matter what the season looks like now, come October, anything can happen.

Life after ipod

Of course, right in step with the laws of the universe, my ipod died yesterday, only days before I leave for vacation. It wasn't unexpected, the thing has hardly been able to hold any battery charge these past few months. I plugged it into the computer to update it and...nothing. The computer didn't recognize the device and the device didn't responding to my incessant button-pushing. I tried plugging it into the power adapter charger thing, still nothing. In forecasting this event, I planned on just sending it in to get the battery replaced, since I'd rather just spend $65 and keep this ipod instead of spending $250 to get a new ipod. But I learned yesterday that the Apple folks don't actually replace your battery, they just send you a used or refurbished ipod. But my little guy and I have been through so much together. I mean, who was it that kept me company on those long boring metro rides or quick walks to class? I can't just turn my back on it only to let someone else's rejected ipod take its place.

In all seriousness, some people are so attached to their ipods that they are literally lost without the minuscule jukeboxes. They forget that other modes of entertainment actually exist. I mean, whatever happened to reading a book, having a conversation with someone, or God forbid, actually just spending some time alone with your own thoughts. Don't get me wrong,the ipod has been a nice thing to have, you know, to keep your mind somewhat occupied at the gym and whatnot. But in general, I don't spend enough time latched onto those earbuds to warrant buying another one.

Oh well, I'll give it one last revival attempt before I bury it away with all the old cellphones and digital cameras in the gadget graveyard.