Globalization: Pre 9/11

Last week, I finally finished reading The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Tom Friedman's globalization manual that preceded The World Is Flat. I initially started reading it during freshman year, but, having no tolerance for economics, the introduction's lengthy explanation of the 1997 Asian financial crisis turned me off the book very quickly. I rediscovered it while perusing my bookshelf at the start of winter break and decided to give Friedman another try. After begrudgingly accepting that economics is a significantly important part of international relations, and I should probably stop ignoring it and instead try to understand it, I was determined to decode the eco-speak. After a two-hour conversation with Papa about how exactly the global financial system worked, I was ready to read the book.

After reading The World is Flat and thoroughly enjoying it, certain parts of this book seemed repetitive. Friedman's corny habit of naming every concept he explains, calling people left in the technological dust "turtles," instructing states to put on the "Golden Straitjacket" of capitalism, and watch out for the "Electronic Herd' of global investors, which comprises "short-horn and long- horn cattle," elicited more than one eye-roll from me, but it was entertaining and hey, it kept me reading. At times, Friedman's conversational tone and use of exclamation points irked me and I got the impression that some things were oversimplified, but for its purpose as an introductory crash course in globalization, the book worked.

The thing that struck me most while reading, though, was what a difference seven years makes. Although 2000 doesn't seem that long ago, reading the book made it obvious that a lot can change in that span of time. Friedman often quoted Larry Summers, who I only knew as the guy who made the sexist comments at Harvard, and mentioned Enron and Kenneth Lay multiple times. In the wake of the scandals that embroiled these two, I wonder if, as he looks back at this book, Friedman regrets referencing them so much.

But most of all, reading this book made it very clear how much of an impact Sept. 11 really had on the state of the world. While before everything revolved around technological advancement and economic development, now, virtually no decision is made without the lens of terrorism in front of it. It was weird, but reading the chapters on globalization's impact on other parts of the world, and the resulting backlash, made it easier to see how much 9/11 changed the way we view the world. He warns us about Super-Empowered Angry Men who could potentially use globalization to their advantage and lash out like never before. The passage on the 1993 World Trade Center bombing was just downright eerie to read:

"Ramzi Yousef is really the quintessential Super-Empowered Angry Man. Think about him for a minute. What was his program? What was his ideology? After all, he tried to blow up two of the tallest buildings in America. Did he want a Palestinian state in Brooklyn? Did he want an Islamic Republic in New Jersey? No. He just wanted to blow up two of the tallest buildings in America. He told the Federal District Court in Manhattan that his goal was to set off an explosion that would cause one World Trade Center tower to fall on the other and kill 250,000 civilians. (402)."

And sentences like, "America's Golden Straitjacket is producing enough gold - with a substantial budget surplus projected into the new millennium - to afford both social safety nets and trampolines [benefits to those burned by the globalization's search for the bottom line.] (450)" and just made me shake my head and think, "Not anymore Mr. Friedman, not anymore." And while it may be true that our military superiority means we can "project more power farther than any country in the world. And deeper too," that really hasn't done us much good since 2003, now has it.

I'm not saying Friedman shouldn't have written things like this; after all, hindsight is 20/20. It's just interesting to see how something that seems to be relevant and applicable just isn't sometimes. By the end of the book though, I still felt like I'd gleaned some valuable insight into the new world structure and power order, and even an understanding into what drove the world to the way it is now, post-9/11 and all.

Food in NYC Part 2

For lunch on our last day, Neeraj really wanted to go to Lombardi's - the country's first pizzeria. So, after walking several blocks to find a taxi (come on New York - what's up with that?) to Little Italy we headed. Though we'd been warned that long lines weren't uncommon at the city's famous eats, Lombardi's was the first place where we encountered a wait. And boy was it a wait - we literally spent about an hour just standing on the corner of Spring and Mott. After last night's Carnegie Deli experience, we were all saying this pizza better be pretty damn good. When we were in Chicago last summer, we waited about 45 minutes at this famous restaurant whose name fails me at the moment to get real deep dish Chicago pizza, and what we got left us underwhelmed.

But, I'm happy to say that this time, the food lived up to its reputation. We shared a house salad (Boy did it feel good to be eating real vegetables after yesterday's fat-fest) and a large original pizza topped with sweet Italian sausage and sauteed garlic spinach. Unlike the sausage crumbles that come on fast-food pizzas, this pizza had actual slices of sweet meaty goodness. The pizza was hot, the outer crust was salty and crispy and the inner crust melted with the cheese and sauce in my mouth. I quickly devoured my two slices too quickly, only to find myself saddened that the pizza pan on our table was already gleaming silver, empty of its famous pie. There's an hour wait (in 45 degree weather mind you) that was worth every minute.

For dessert we headed across the street to Rice to Riches. Normally, rice pudding isn't the first thing that comes to mind when craving dessert, but these guys have found a way to make it work, and work well. This isn't your mom's rice pudding, that's for sure. With flavors like Forbidden Apple, Hazelnut Chocolate Bear Hug and Sex Drugs and Rocky Road, it's got a signature New York edge. Unfortunately, their Spring Street location is the only one so far, though for 55 bucks, they'll ship you a 40 oz. tub (Imagine receiving a tub each of the latter two flavors - I think it'd be better than going to heaven itself).

Since we'd just gorged on pizza, Papa and I took the tiny 4 oz. to-go pack which only came in four flavors. We had chocolate chip flirt while Mom and Neeraj shared a bowl of eggnog rice pudding. In a city full of sights, it's nice to discover one on your own. Too bad the company isn't franchising yet. I'd highly recommend anyone traveling to the city to stop by both Lombardi's and Rice to Riches, and though they're across from the street from each other, both should be experienced on an empty stomach.

Our to-do list also included Serendipity 3 and the Magnolia Bakery (I promise Nancy, one day I will try their red velvet cupcake!), but you've got to leave something for next time, right? Plus, I think we already grossly overstepped our caloric boundaries for this visit.

Sneaking back home?

Papa just called me to ask if I was on my way home yet from a movie with friends.

Nothing weird about that right?

As I was talking to him, I walked out of my room, poked my head down the hall where he was sitting at the old computer and let him know I'd been home for the past hour, and had, in fact, walked past him on my way up to my room after returning.

Oh, dear.

Food in NYC

I now understand how people can go on vacation just for food. Besides seeing the Rockettes show, eating was basically the central focus of our trip to New York City. But after three straight days of eating out, I think I'm done with restaurants for a while.

Our first night we went to Tamarind, an Indian restaurant featured on an episode of the Food Network's $40 a Day with Rachael Ray. We weren't starving when we got there, since we'd eaten a very late lunch, but that didn't stop me from indulging as much as my stomach could handle, and then some. Seriously, over the past few weeks, I think my stomach capacity has doubled or something. I'm able to eat a lot more food at one sitting than I used to, but the scale doesn't register any changes (at least not yet). Very weird. But back to Tamarind.

I particularly enjoyed the Tamarind shiitake with its bitingly sour but tangy and aromatic sauce. The tandoori salmon was good and you can't ever go wrong with dal makhani, or lentils in a creamy tomato-based sauce, but the real show-stopper were the breads. The rosemary naan took an already fluffy piece of bread and injected it with flavor and olive oil. And since when has a dose of olive oil ever made anything worse? The pudina paratha, a layered bread with mint, was soft, buttery and delicious. Overall, a place I'd definitely recommend.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for next evening's restaurant: none other than the famed Carnegie Deli. As we were making our way through dinner, we realized a very important lesson. It seems that after a certain level of fame, some places seem to ride more on their reputation and less on the actual product or service. They know customers will come, so why bother, it seems.

The deli wasn't too far from the hotel, so we decided to walk, hoping that the calories we burned would soften the blow of the many we were about to consume. In multiple guide books I'd read that there's hardly any elbow room between tables, sandwiches are impossible to polish off unless they're shared, and the wait staff likes to take pangas (Hindi for make mischief) with new customers, so I prepared myself. What the guide books don't tell you is that the restaurant does not accept credit cards, so you'd better have some cash on hand, and that there's a $3.00 charge for sharing a sandwich (which is totally lame. Just increase to price of the already $25 sandwich why don't you). And no guide book in the world will take away your shock at the absolute excess of food that shows up on the table. (Though you can't complain they don't give you your money's worth).

Mom and Papa shared an open-faced pastrami reuben (which was basically a pound of meat slathered with melted cheese and slapped onto a plate). "Where's the bread?" Mom inquired after it landed in front of us. After poking around with her fork for a couple moments, she finally unveiled the poor sliver of processed flour that had the unfortunate destiny of holding up the meat mountain.

Neeraj and I shared the Club Dear, a triple-decker bacon monster. My strategy involved splitting half of the sandwich into two mini ones and double fisting them, alternating between bites of turkey and what essentially became a BLT. Neeraj took a different approach, removing some of the bacon and trying to shove some of the turkey in its place. Needless to say, I somehow managed to polish off my entire half while Neeraj ended up doggy-bagging the remainder of his. I didn't even realize how much I'd eaten until Neeraj made a comment about how he couldn't possibly eat all that bacon, and when I looked down at my plate, everything was gone. The guy sitting at our neighboring table looked at me in amazement. "I really don't know how I did that," I remarked somewhat sheepishly (I wasn't even stuffed yet. See I told you - more stomach capacity). "Oh I know how - I watched you do it," he replied. He and his wife were sharing the reuben too and we all joked about the ridiculousness of this food.

In all seriousness though, I don't know how I haven't yet died of heart failure after eating all that bacon. And though it seems I've fulfilled my life's quota of bacon, according to Karen, all Spaniards eat is pork and ham, so it looks like I won't be able to avoid it for long.

Despite all this, we still managed to make room for dessert, and I have to say, the deli's truffle torte cheesecake is quite the satisfying combination of cheesecake, chocolate mousse and chocolate sprinkles.

The whole deli experience reminded us of the time we ate at Boston's Cheers restaurant, the one of sitcom fame. That time too, we were swept up in its pop culture significance and ended up with food that was less than spectacular. So, some lessons: Just because a ton of famous people say something is good, it does not, I repeat, does not, mean it really is. Oh, and according to Papa, the Woodside Deli's reuben still reigns supreme.

Tomorrow: The NYC culinary experience continues - Famed pizzeria Lombardi's and the dessert gem that sits across from it.

A new view of NYC

I don't know what it is about city life that appeals to so many people, myself included. I'm a complete product of my suburban upbringing, but for as long as I can remember, I've wanted to live in the city, specifically New York City. On my previous three trips to the Big Apple, I was enthralled with the glitz and glamor of it all. The neon billboards, the honking cabs, the bustling people; it was the only place I could see myself living.

But this time, things were different. I still enjoyed being in the city, but I wasn't jealous of everyone already living there as I had been before. What struck me most this time were the crowds. People are everywhere! I tried to tell myself it was just holiday tourists, but I remember there were just as many people when I went up for the Yankees game this summer. And it wasn't just in the streets. We wandered inside St. Patrick's Cathedral and Saks Fifth Avenue and both were teeming with crowds. (Though traveling has taught me that crowds are an inescapable part of seeing anything notable, from the beaches of Waikiki to the palace of Versailles. You'll never be alone). I felt like I couldn't even look at anything because I spent all my time dodging people in front of me and trying to stay out of the way of those behind me. We tried to see the lavish window displays up close but contented ourselves with glancing from further back on the sidewalk after noticing the lines that wrapped around the storefronts.

Now I understand why New Yorkers have an attitude all their own; they've got to spend half their time battling the tourist hordes lining every major street. That no-nonsense sarcasm was the other thing that I observed more this time. Like the crowds, I've always known it was there, but this was the first time it actually sort of bothered me. I get that you crossing guards are fed up with directing us stupid tourists, but you don't have to be so rude about it. In fact, you don't even need to open your mouth at all. Just blow your whistle, wave your hand and be done with it.

Finally, three other observations. The streets of New York all seem to have this unidentifiable smell, a mix of smoke from the food stalls, and I'm guessing the exhaust fumes from all the vehicles whizzing by. Whatever it is, it isn't really terrible (though I think Neeraj would probably disagree), so much as it is noticeable. The second: It seems a lot more people in New York smoke. Every other block I walked past, there was a person or two standing outside the building smoking. Then again, it may just have been all the European tourists outside the hotels that I was noticing. The third: I don't remember ever hearing so many foreign languages on the streets of New York. Once again, I know that the city is an extraordinarily diverse place that attracts tourists from around the world, and I found it refreshing that so many different people were here (not to mention the fact that they're injecting some money into our economy). A significant portion of those tourists spoke Spanish, which I only point out because it was quite the confidence booster being able to understand what they were saying (not to mention good mental preparation for what I'm about to do in less than a week).

Despite these observations, the whole reason why we went up in the first place, to see the Rockettes in their Christmas Spectacular, did not disappoint. The Rockettes did numbers as reindeer and clowns, but my favorite was their toy soldier act, which they ended with their famous falling down like dominoes line. This being the show's 75th anniversary, it ended with the Rockettes performing their kick line in sparkling crystal-covered costumes celebrating the diamond anniversary. Quite a nice way to round out the holiday season, if you ask me.

Coming up tomorrow: NYC - The culinary experience.

Merry Christmas 2007

You know you've outgrown Christmas when "Santa" has to drag you out of bed to open presents.

Every year my brother and I get our sleeping bags and camp out in our parents room for the night. This year Neeraj wanted to watch a movie, so we camped out downstairs instead. Early this morning I hear some rustling and then there's Mom telling us to get up. Both Neeraj and I turn around and say we'll get up later.

"But Santa spent so much time at the mall and wrapping all the gifts," said Mom. Guilt-inducing as her voice was, Mom's tone brought to mind the image of an innocent child, head cocked sideways and eyes full of Christmas cheer. Oh how manipulative you mothers are. So droopy-eyed and drowsy (it was, after all, only 8:30 in the morning), Neeraj and I stumbled out of bed. By 9 a.m. (After I'd finally coaxed Neeraj out of my bed, which he dove into after heading upstairs to brush his teeth) we gathered around the tree and proceeded with the festivities.

It was a pretty good year, gift-wise. Three sweaters, a shirt, two pairs of earrings and a much-needed traveling cosmetic kit. And the best part - the day itself has gone well. Everyone has gotten along and we chatted with Nani Ma in India and Mamu's family in Luxembourg. Overall, it's been a good day and hopefully this good cheer will continue on into our New York trip. Speaking of which, Papa announced we're not taking a computer (!!) with us, so Overachiever will probably be silent for the next few days.

On that note, I bid you Merry Christmas and leave you with this letter to the editor appearing in today's Post:

I've had it with the fuss over whether to say "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas." For 30 years, my mother phoned me every Dec. 25 at 7 a.m. to say "Merry Christmas!" I'd reply, "Mom, we're Jewish," to which she would say, "I know, but I love the holidays. And what's wrong with peace on Earth and goodwill toward men?" Mom is gone, but her words seem more meaningful than ever.

TRACY LEVERTON

Vienna

HTML > Me

ARGH. Why does html coding have to be so frustrating!?!?

I've just spent almost two hours trying to revamp the layout of this blog, and have accomplished nothing besides developing a strong urge to defenestrate this computer (hey, that's the first time I've managed to use that word in a real sentence). I really want to do something like this blog, with the light colored table layered on the dark background, but the blogger coding has all the metatags and whatnot built in and I can't figure out how to do it. Every time I try to insert a table or play around with the coding, Blogger's red warning text rejects my work. All I've managed to do is create the header I have right now, which is some basic thing I made in Paint since I'm just about the only soul in the world who doesn't have Photoshop.

Ironically, I found out earlier today that I pulled off an A in online journalism, despite my disastrous midterm where I forgot half the coding. Once again, I'm great at concepts, not so much at execution.

*sigh* Time for bed.

The worst part is, I know I'm not going to be able to let this go. As frustrating as it is, in a day or two I'll be back at the coding again, trapped in this vicious cycle of trial-and-error.

Okay seriously. Bed. Now.

Good night.

Christmas Cheer: Better late than never

Earlier this week Mom and I were talking about how it doesn't feel like Christmas is right around the corner. Ever since I started college, it seems like the holidays just zoom right by. Before, I'd constantly drive by the decorated houses, walk by the Christmas displays at the grocery store and pass the frantic holiday shoppers at the mall. And since the television is always on at home and the radio in the car, the holiday specials, music and commercials were impossible to miss.

But in college, many a-day can go by without me ever setting foot off campus, meaning I miss all the signs that say it's Christmastime. True, some apartments put lights in the windows, but for the most part, everything looks the same. There's no time to go shopping or even venture beyond the campus bubble, since come December everyone has final projects, papers and exams to prepare for.

Also, it's just not that cold outside. It's hard to get into the holiday spirit without first wrapping myself in a scarf and gloves and clutching a hot cocoa in one hand and a shopping bag in the other :)

But yesterday, I think the Christmas bug finally bit me. I stopped by my old internship office to drop off my Christmas card and say bye to everyone before I head to Spain. I didn't realize that yesterday was the last work day before Christmas, hence only two of the five people were there when I showed up. Despite that, I still spent a nice hour or so chatting with them about school and next year. Their office was so festive, with Christmas cards taped to all the doors and mini Christmas trees adorning the desks.

Then I went out to lunch with some of the guys from school. There wasn't necessarily anything Christmas-y about it, but it was nice to see them one last time before I leave. After lunch I headed to the mall to start my Christmas shopping (Hey, I'm a college student; procrastination is in my blood). Despite the longish lines and the fact that every store I went to ran out of gift boxes, I still found myself humming happily along to the Christmas music playing on their stereos. (Though that was also probably because I actually found what I was looking for relatively quickly).

Later that evening, I was flipping channels only to find my favorite of all the Christmas specials, "A Year Without A Santa Claus" was on. You know, the one with the heat miser and the snow miser - oh how I love those rascals. It was great; I even got to sing along to all the songs since no one was home.

And I have a feeling the Christmas cheer isn't going to stop there. For years now, Mom and I have wanted to see New York City during the holidays, and this year it's actually happening. Right after Christmas we're heading up to see the Rockettes in their Christmas Spectacular, admire the gigantic tree and ice rink in Rockefeller Center and stroll past the elaborate window displays. And for me, it doesn't even end there, because I'll be in Spain for the Epiphany, which I learned yesterday is an even bigger deal than Christmas. So even if it got a little lost along the way, looks like the spirit of the season has finally made it to my doorstep.

Happy Holidays everyone!

More WaPo Love

Continuing from yesterday; all the stuff I wanted to share before going off on the Front Runners tangent:

Post retail reporter Ylan Q. Mui became a holiday temp at Sam's Club for a day, and here's her evaluation (it ran yesterday). I can't explain why, but I really liked this piece. I've read a lot of her articles, and it's nice getting a glimpse at the person behind the byline.

Today's Business front has some tips (seven to be exact) to get your new computer running right, and then five things that should be on everyone's computer. All this computer talk, coupled with the fact that my mom found a trojan on my dad's computer, made me rush to mine and back everything up. As quickly as I can, I'll explain my beef with computers: You see, I'm a pack rat in real life, meaning I throw absolutely nothing away (though I've gotten a lot better over the past few years. This summer I actually brought myself to recycle all my old algebra II notes and chemistry lab write-ups, though it was quite the tearful good bye). So, when it comes to saving things on the computer, I feel the need to back up and save every single thing I type, even though we all know I'm never going to look at it again. The other thing that drives me crazy is that even though I'm not a terribly organized person in real life, on the computer, I want everything to be hyper-categorized in folders arranged by date and everything. You don't know how many hours I've wasted organizing it all, only to find out I messed it up somehow, and have to do it over again. (Man my eyes are going to haaate me for making them stare at this screen for so long). Okay, phew, enough with the rant; now back to interesting articles.

Quarter collectors rejoice! DC will be getting its very own quarter (as will Puerto Rico, Guam, the U.S. Virgin Islands, American Samoa and the Northern Mariana Islands.)

And on a side note - the English dork in me had to point out the beauty of this sentence:

"We get snubbed, disrespected, belittled, forgotten, overshadowed and minimized in every way," said WTOP radio political commentator Mark Plotkin, a virtual thesaurus of how the city is disparaged, denigrated, underrated and calumniated.

I love it, just love it.

Complaining about the commercialization of Christmas? Then you may not like this Post piece on the cost of Twelve Days of Christmas. That's right, they found out how much each of the items from the famous carol cost, and it looks like the traditional turtledoves and leaping lords will set you back a little more than $36,000 (Though you may have to bend the rules a bit when it comes to the French hens and the maids-a-milking. Just read the article, you'll see.)

In other, more serious news, Fareed Zakaria's column, The Power of Personality, in this week's Newsweek, which I read at the dentist's office, made an interesting point that I wish other people would understand. America may be the dominant power in today's world, but it certainly isn't the center of the universe. Not everyone thinks like we do, and that is so important for us to understand.

And, on that slightly philosophical note, I'm off. Happy reading!

The Washington Post's "Front Runners"

I love the Washington Post. Granted, it's the paper I've grown up reading it, but I love it nonetheless.

Since the media frenzy over the presidential election began what seems like eons ago, I told myself I wouldn't get caught up in it until 2008 (you know, the actual year in which the election will be taking place). And since the new year is now barreling down on us, I guess it's time for me to strap on my political thinking cap and dive into this mess. Enough with all the speculation, bring on the caucus results and lets get some answers.

But what does that have to do with my love for the Post, you ask? Well, luckily for me, just when I decide to start paying attention, guess what appears in the paper. Last week the Post ran a series called "The Front Runners," profiling the eight leading presidential candidates - three Democrats and five Republicans. Each day for a week, the paper ran a double truck biographical piece ("How (S)He Got Here") and three shorter pieces: "How (S)He Runs," "How (S)He Talks" and "How (S)He Looks" on the candidate of the day. On the last day, the paper also ran shorter pieces on Biden, Dodd, Richardson, Kucinich, Paul and Tancredo. Though I still can't tell you what each individual's plans are for immigration, social security or the war (though there is this extensive quiz on the Post's site that will tell you just that), I enjoyed reading about the people, not the candidates, who want to run my country.

The series wasn't a recap of each campaign's progress, it was a look at the individuals at the center of the campaign. I can look anywhere to find out where Clinton, Obama or Huckabee stand on a specific issue, but this series told me about Hillary and Barack and Mike, where they've come from and how they've gotten here. Sometimes we get so caught up in the debates, the stump speeches, the photo ops that we forget that at one point, these candidates were regular people. They were kids who goofed off in class, they were teenagers who argued with their parents and as much as all this media coverage bothers us regular people, the whole campaign process takes quite a toll on them.

But back to the series. I especially loved the tag clouds. (Here's Romney's, which I found interesting because "woman" wasn't the largest word for Clinton and "black" wasn't the largest word for Obama, but people still seem to characterize Romney by his religion). The Post created these graphics based on survey results where people defined the candidate in a word. This seems like just the type of thing our journalism professors keep telling us we need think about if we want to be successful in this field.

This whole series embodies what how we should be thinking. Yes, there was a paper component, but online, the series used flash graphics, videos, audio and regular slide shows, discussions, and comment boards - all the weapons in the online journalism arsenal. And while I haven't really looked at many of these online-only components, they are at least making use of the medium. So, from a student whose professors keep telling her the internet is the way to go, thanks WaPo for providing me with such a good example.

And on a completely unrelated note - I think I finally understand the meaning of that phrase, oh how does it go, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? After learning some basic coding in my online class, I keep wanting to overhaul the layout of this blog, but every time I play around with the coding, Blogger's mean red text pops up and I'm left with the regular old layout I started with. *sigh*

Message from the diversity office...

Starting my sophomore year of high school, I got letter after letter from x college and y university each telling me that they had the prettiest campus or the smallest class sizes. I never paid them any mind since they all embodied exactly what I didn't want in a university.

But now the selfless marketing has begun again, only this time it's from schools I've actually heard of pushing their "world class" graduate programs on me via e-mail. And while the messages are irritating, there's one thing about them that has really struck a nerve. Now I'm not one to delude myself into thinking they're sending me messages because they actually think I would be a good student at their school. No, my address was just one of the couple thousand that was randomly selected from their list, right?

Well, not exactly. Apparently, the only reason these schools are showing any interest in me whatsoever is because of something I can't even control. Most of these e-mails, they've been coming from the "Office of Minority Programs," or some other diversity initiative. Say what you want about affirmative action and diversity and whatever, but not only do I find this irritating, it's patronizing.

Why is it that we still need to be doing things like this? Why do universities have to set up special visitation events and campus tours and information sessions for minority students or "students of color," a description I personally detest. What, is white not a color too? Don't tell me you're willing to give me special attention just because my skin is a little darker than yours. You might think you're giving me an "opportunity," but all it tells me is that you think my intelligence and my accomplishments aren't enough. Thanks, but I'd much rather be thrown into the pool with everyone else and be judged solely on my merits. Don't give me something unless I've completely and truly earned it. And being born an Indian doesn't count as earning anything.

I know I may be overreacting slightly, but it bothers me how we sometimes focus so much on things we can't even control. If we have to focus on something, it should be the socioeconomic gap. If you want to give someone a free trip to visit your school, give it to the person who may not otherwise be able to afford it. If you want to talk to someone about grad school, talk to the person who had to work their way through undergrad. Then again, who knows, maybe someone in that situation would find even that patronizing, just as I find this.

As much as I hate to admit it, I know it's there. It almost seems like it sucks to be a white male nowadays because everyone is so hell-bent on being diverse. I know, people say that white males have had their fair share of the spotlight and now its everyone else's turn. But now that we've established that everyone deserves an equal and fair chance, shouldn't we focus on hiring the best person for the job, or admitting the best students to the university, regardless of demographics?

It's a dental conspiracy

Since when has "selling things" been in the job definition of a dentist?

Last Thursday I had my regular cleaning and check-up, and everything was going along just fine until the actual dentist came to do his two second evaluation of my oral status. I've only been going to this particular office for about two or three years now, and of the three dentists at this practice, this guy had never seen me before.

After going through each and every tooth and pointing out to the hygienist, in incomprehensible dental speak, what was wrong with it (way to make my oral self-esteem tank there doc), he asked if I'd ever had braces, which I haven't. He asked if I'd be interested in them, since my front teeth are slightly out of alignment. I gave him my best look of incredulity, as if to say, I'm not an awkward middle schooler; why the heck would I voluntarily become a metal mouth? He went on to explain how nowadays they have invialign, and I could have the braces and nobody would know. Well, doc, that certainly changes my perspective.

Thanks, but no dentist raised this back when I actually was in that formative teeth period, and I'm actually quite pleased with my mouth right now, no matter how out of alignment you say it is.

But that wasn't all. He then said something about seeing an ENT because some canal pops when I open and close my mouth. Well doc, I said with a slight smirk on my face, I actually did see and ENT several months ago because of an ear issue, and he didn't find anything. Dentist responded by saying he could have them do some complicated sounding procedureish test thing, and I just didn't reply. He also talked at some length about teeth grinding, which I know I don't do. By this point I was just thinking, unless there's something of actual dental peril going on in my mouth, please stop asking me questions.

And then he told me some useful, albeit crappy news. I have two tiny cavities that need to be filled. Boo. I don't get it. I didn't get my first cavity until I was about 13, but now it seems like every time I go to the dentist, I have to get something filled. I brush, I even floss every night - how does that stupid sugar still remain? Maybe it's a conspiracy at the office and if you reject their braces ploy, they threaten you with a drill and some sealent. Well, buddy, it won't work on me. I may not enjoy being drilled into, but I'm not one of those who cowers in fear at the mention of a dentist. So there, drill all you want doc, but you can't convince me to get unnecessary things done in my mouth.

Why can't all doctor's visits go as smoothly as the one with my eye doctor last Friday, where I went in, read some letters, got my eyes dilated, read some more letters, and then Doc was like, hey everything looks great, see you next year. Quite uneventful and it makes for a very boring story, yes, but it was straightforward and simple, which, when it comes to doctors, is what you always hope for, right?

Journalism Success

This post-graduate dilemma now has an added twist. A twist that kind of has to do with the VERY BIG NEWS I'm about to reveal. Okay-are you sitting down? Here it (drumroll please) is:

I GOT AN A IN JOURNALISM CLASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not an A minus, mind you, but a solid, I actually-earned-this A.

Okay fine, so Prof may have been right when he told me last Monday after class that I'm really good at this whole reporting thing. And yes, I may now be able to pick up the phone and call complete strangers and ask them a bunch of annoying questions without panicking. But this totally does not help me figure out what the heck to do with myself after graduation. I told prof that, despite my journalistic success, I was thinking about going to grad/law school after graduation. Prof, who got a master's in history just so he could have it, said he could see me doing the law school thing, and suggested I try the whole jour thing for a year, and if I like it, go ahead and get the master's to have it, and if not, then go to law school.

Great - so the option of going straight to work is back on the table again. Even though I still don't think that journalism is necessarily my life's calling (at this point I have absolutely no idea what is). Then again, I shouldn't totally write off journalism until after I've truly worked in it (i.e. until after I've done my journalism internship). Who knows; I might actually enjoy it (and boy would my mind's life planning mechanism be overjoyed to hear that?)

3 papers in 4 days

That, my friends, is why I have been relatively silent for the past few weeks. The semester has ended and while the rest of this university prepares to start exams in about, oh seven hours, I am done. And by done I mean every assignment turned in, stuff moved out of the apartment, me sitting at my real home in my real bed done.

Yes, I've been writing papers since Saturday. And yes, there is so much stuff I meant to blog about but found myself too caught up in the end of the semester crunch to do so. And yes, I will write about all that stuff shortly.

But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to sleep so that I can wake up one more early morning and go pick up my visa. Only then, then can I finally let out that sigh of relief and try to enjoy the next three weeks as much as humanly possible before I board a plane to a foreign country an ocean away and get set for the craziest eight months of my life.

Silence

Silence has a way of sneaking up on you, and when you finally realize it's there, it stops you cold.

Ever since I woke up about 45 minutes ago (I don't have class on Tuesdays), I've been researching the history of the online magazine Salon for a paper I have to write. About a minute ago, I looked up from the computer screen and realized there was absolutely nothing going on around me.

No one is here in the apartment, the fan is off, there's no construction outside, no chatter of students milling about campus. The old light fixtures in the hallway are off, so they aren't buzzing annoyingly. For a second the wind picked up and was making noise outside, but it's gone now.

It's nice to have this brief break, nice to be reminded that no matter how crazy the world gets, it can all actually stop for a few glorious minutes.

Change of post-graduation plans

I read about this Web site, http://www.freerice.com/ in the Washington Post recently but I never really paid it any attention until Vicki said she was using it to build vocab for the GRE. Well, I thought, as of six hours ago, I'm taking the GRE next year, so I might as well check it out (More on the latest life plan alteration in a minute).

The concept is simple. You've got a word with four choices and you pick which one best defines that word. If you get the answer right, you "donate" 20 grains of rice to the UN's World Food Program. The money for the rice comes from the banner ads that run at the bottom of the screen. There's no limit to how much you can play or donate, so I played until I donated 1000 grains of rice, then stopped.

I was pleasantly surprised by all the words I knew or could strategically figure out (It seems I got something out of that expensive SAT class after all). Given my government professor's heavily skeptical attitude toward the UN, I'm not sure if the rice is actually getting to those who need it most, but I'd like to think it is, and if nothing else, it's free practice for me.

So now, more on the life plan alteration: In place of class today, this professor held student conferences. Since I'm not having any grade issues, I figured he could give me some career advice, seeing as I've already established that I'm putting off grad school (hah, you'll see how well that holds up). Needless to say, after our conversation I walked out of his office debating whether I should apply to grad school (two more years of school), law school (three more years), or both (a whopping four more years of school). So much for standing by my decision.

I recounted the conversation to my roommates and told them how thoroughly confused I was. Everyone keeps telling me how great law school is and how it opens all sorts of doors. But I don't, nor have I ever really want to be a lawyer. Granted, and I know this sounds stupid, I don't really know what a lawyer actually does. I know I don't want to be a hard-core-always-in-the-courtroom-lawyer like the ones on T.V., but I also know that what's shown on T.V. is like 0.056 percent of what real lawyers do. But if everyone says I'd be good at law, well then shouldn't I just go for it? Who cares whether I actually want to do it. Thinking for yourself is so overrated anyways.

After expressing this frustration to the roomies, Vicki said from the way I was talking, it seems like I'd be happier pursuing the master's instead of the law degree, and that I shouldn't let what other people tell me get in the way of or completely change my decision.

Later on the phone with my parents, I told them I'd decided on grad school over law school. The reason? Because Vicki said that's what would make me happiest.

Oh dear - when am I going to make my own decisions?

Please, no Paris Jr.

I originally meant to post about today's field trip to USAToday (If my future place of employment is in a building that nice, I think my life would be utterly complete). But then I saw this, and I had to post it.

On our way back Sarabeth said she’s heard rumors that Britney is pregnant….again. And everyone in the car was like omg wtf why? So in an effort to procrastinate just a minute longer, I went on People’s web site to see if they had anything on it. Instead, I find this quote from Paris Hilton: “I was just telling her [Nicole Richie], ‘I want a baby so that our babies can play together.”

Yes Paris. That, that right there, is why we have offspring.

Further down, this: “I don’t have a boyfriend right now…but I would love to start a family," sometime within the next two years, she mentioned in the video.

Frankly, the only thing Paris Hilton should be starting right now is a space-walking program that would take her off this planet and out of our minds forever.

It's quite sad when Hollywood's latest accessory isn't a couture bag or even a ridiculously small pet, but a living breathing child.

Two reporting realizations

I don't think I've worked as hard on any other story for this journalism class as much as I am on this, my final story. Which makes sense, seeing as this story is 10 percent of my grade. The story is our last hurrah, a 20-paragraph, in-depth look at an issue on our beat. I'm back to the taxes again, and as much as I hate to admit it, it is kind of rewarding when I look at the other articles I've done on this issue how much I really have learned. The sad thing is that while understanding this issue makes me so proud, in real life, most people who see articles like these skip right over them, unless they're the ones directly affected, in which case more than half of what I include in the story they already know. But there are two other specific realizations I had while working on this story today that I'd like to share:

1) This whole semester, I've been approaching the whole calling sources thing with the "I need good quotes from you" mindset, when in actuality, I should not be so focused on transcribing the conversation, but rather, "you have valuable information to teach me." Maybe that's why I started out as a broadcast major - it seems that all I'm after is a sound bite. This realization follows with the whole, I need to ask better, more focused questions, rather than the softball "So what's your reaction to the council's resolution?"

2) It's very difficult, especially with an issue as controversial and convoluted as this tax issue, to separate fact from interpretation. This whole day, I've been researching what the lawyers told me yesterday about what's right and wrong, and when I called the councilmember's office to check something, his chief of staff told me, "Well, that is that attorney's assertion of the Master Plan. Another attorney will have a different opinion." And since no court has ruled on which interpretation is the "correct" on in terms of the law, I'll just have to settle with dealing with an issue to which there is "no absolute truth" as she put it.

*deep breath* Alright, time to dive back in so I can have a somewhat decent product to show Professor tomorrow and ask him whether I've gotten lost in the bureaucratic muck yet again.

La confianza

Cuando visitó, mi tío me dio un CD que se llama “Bella España,” y estoy escuchando a la música. Hay partes del Suite de Carmen de Bizet, que son algunos de las melodías más famosas de la música clásica, y otro obras músicas que no todavía escucho. He oído parte del “Carmen” tocando por violín, pero en este CD, es grabado con guitarra y los sonidos son tan magníficos con este instrumento. Como cada día pasa, el viaje a España viene más y mas cerca. Cuando escucho este música, puedo imaginar que estoy en un teatro en Madrid, mirar a un orquesta tocando o un baile flamenco.

Estaba pensando sobre el aprendizaje, y que tipos que tópicos escribiré sobre. Si es verdad, este tipo de escribir, sobre arte y entrenamiento me intimida un poco, y el concepto de entrevistar la gente en español me causa espanta. Ahora mismo aprendo como entrevistar bien en ingles, entonces, ¿como va a hacer esto en un idioma completamente extranjero? Si, la revista es en ingles, pero estaré en España, pues necesitaré usar el idioma.

Yo siempre reacciono como esto – hay mucho en el mundo que me intimida. No es que soy una persona tímida, completamente no. Es raro, es como mi mente no sabe como voy a hacer algo, pero mi cuerpo lo hace. Mis piernas camina a cualquier lugar, mis dedos marcan los números en el teléfono, y mi boca habla las preguntas que necesito preguntar. Y en fin, yo hizo todo casi perfectamente. Pienso que la gente, como mis profesores, no puede creer si digo a ellos que tengo miedo. Todos tienen confianza en mi, pero muchas veces, no me da cuenta que yo tengo habilidades superbuenos ¿Los editores me ofrecen este aprendizaje, no? Ellos miraron a mis artículos y tienen confianza que puedo sobrevivir hablar español y escribir sobre estos temas. Yo solamente necesito darme cuenta que he estudiado este idioma por ocho años, he sobrevivo la clase superdifícil del periodismo. Puedo hablar español y puedo escribir cualquier artículo si necesito y si quiero.

¿Porque no puedo apagar mi mente y simplemente hacer?

Crunch time?

Thanksgiving break has come and gone, and now it's crunch time at school. Luckily, I've only got 14 days - a full week less than everyone else on account of my no final exams status. Actually, that itself is kind of misleading; due to my wacked-out schedule, it's really only seven days of classes. And out of those seven days, only 18 hours and 45 minutes is actually class. And of that 19 or so hours, 3 hours are taken up by a field trip.

And yes, while it's true that I've got four final papers/articles due in these next two weeks, it's really not that bad. I'm working on my very last journalism article this week (!!), and so far so good. I spent this afternoon talking to people and I've gotten some good information. I'm meeting with my government professor on Thursday, so at least some of that paper will be done by then. A large part of the English paper is material from the first three group papers, and that leaves just the online journalism paper, my final Spanish interview, and one more round of production for the newspaper, and then I'm done for the semester. Three weeks later I roll out of the U.S. and embark on my Spanish adventure.

Damn, the life of this college student is pretty good right about now. Feel free to hate me...

(Hey I've been on the phone all day with lawyers and politicians - I'm allowed a minute or two to rest on my laurels).

Thanks Google Calendar, but no thanks

It's so frustrating wanting to do something but not knowing how. I really want to change this blog's layout and add more visual interest, like a photo graphic thingy. But, I have no idea how. My aunt has a blog on typepad, and she's got this really cool photo montage banner at the top. The Caffeinated Librarian has a graphic banner on her blog. And then there's mine, dark and dull and about as text-heavy as you can get.

The blogger layouts are all kind of boring - Karen used to make new layouts for her xanga every few weeks or so; when she gets back, I'd like to ask her how she does it, though I think it involves photoshop, which I don't have on my computer. I thought that after taking this online journalism course at school, I'd be able to play around with the coding and create something new, but alas, looking at the coding for these blogger layouts immediately makes me want to pop two aspirin and lie down.

It's funny, everyone thinks that being under the age of 25 means you automatically know everything about computers and online technology. But, like all stereotypes, this just isn't true (recall my utter fascination with Google's satellite map, which has been around forever, and my lack of photoshop usage). Only two months ago did I learn what an RSS feed is, and the only mainstream blog I regularly check is Salon's Broadsheet. I've heard of all those others, Wonkette, the Drudge Report, the Huffington Post, but have never checked them out. I still don't know exactly what Digg, Reddit, Del.icio.us and Twitter are, and despite the fact that all our journalism professors keep saying that the only way we'll get a job is if we keep up with all these internet advancements, I've got no real desire to do so. I figure, I already spend enough time staring at the computer screen that my eyesight will probably be all but gone by the age of 50, so I'd rather not spend any more time than I already do perusing this vortex we call the internet.

And even though Google is taking over the world, I'm still wary of jumping in wholeheartedly. While almost everyone I know lauds the benefits of Google Calendar, I must be the only one who finds it slightly disconcerting that every date I enter will probably be stored somewhere out there in the nebulous realm we call cyberspace. In this day and age where a paper trail can be the kiss of death for anyone climbing the career ladder, I'm not eager to volunteer any more information than I have to, even if it's as mundane as the due date for my paper on the role of NGOs (and yes, I realize that by keeping a blog, I'm doing just that, but I made it clear from the very beginning I find this whole blogging this suspicious in its own right). Call me old-fashioned (or paranoid after reading that previous sentence), but I still enjoy keeping a little day planner and hand-writing all my dates in. Think of it this way - if someone finds that planner 150 years from now, (assuming they still know what paper at that point), that sloppy color coded script will remind them that behind all these documents are real people with real personalities and emotions and desires, not drones who lived a life scripted in the same sterile size 12 Arial font.

Black Friday PSA

As Black Friday dawns, I want to remind all the frantic shoppers out there of one important thing. As you scour the stores for the best deal of the season and fight it out with the woman next to you for the last lead-free toy left on shelves, don't forget to keep a watch on your belongings.

On Tuesday I was shoe shopping, and as I tried on a pair of shoes, I naturally rested my purse on the floor for a moment. I turned around to retrieve it and it wasn't there. The store wasn't even that crowded, yet someone had still made off with it. We searched the store for about an hour, aisle after aisle, until I realized there was really nothing more I could do than just leave my phone number with the manager and hope for the best.

As I walked around peering under racks, I was proud of myself for not panicking. I've gotten a lot better at that whole not panicking thing over the past few months, finally internalizing the fact that freaking out does absolutely nothing to change the situation. (The closest I've come to that heart-pounding panic lately is the one time I called the guy I like, but that's panic of a slightly different sort). I remembered that sometime last summer I spent about two painstaking hours copying all the numbers from my cell phone, by hand, into a notebook. Plus, there wasn't more than $30 in the wallet and the credit card could be canceled. The things I actually missed most was actually the business card from the Indian restaurant Supraja and I ate dinner at in Paris and this list I made in 8th or 9th grade of the 100 things I wanted to do before I die (which I later realized wasn't even in the wallet). And there could be a bright side to this - after all, hadn't I been saying I needed to get a new purse.

Luckily, perhaps very luckily, I got a phone call from Papa early Wednesday morning saying that the store called and that they'd found the purse wedged under the clearance rack. Everything but the cash was still there, including the red wallet that I lamented losing (I think I may have been more sad at losing the wallet itself than the actual purse).

So, moral of this story is, no matter how unlikely you think it is, please please keep vigilant watch over your purse, shopping bags, and most importantly young kids, because as cliche as it is, it really only takes an instant for them to disappear, and no matter how much you think otherwise, yes, it can happen to you. So take inventory of everything in your wallet, write all your cell phone numbers somewhere, and while we're at it, don't forget to back up your computers' hard drives, save all your digital photographs to CDs and change your smoke detector batteries, because we all know that the last thing anyone needs during this time of year is more stress.

Real Thanksgiving (well, sort of)

While many of you are probably settling in around the dinner table, about to dig into that freshly roasted turkey, my table is clear and the leftovers are already packed and sitting in the fridge.

My uncle from Luxembourg was in the U.S. for a week on business and he swung by and spent yesterday here. Since his flight home is today, we had our Thanksgiving dinner last night. It's kind of nice actually, having the feast early, because it gives the illusion of having more time off. Instead of this whole day being eaten up with Thanksgiving prep, I've got the four full days to chill out.

It's always nice seeing Mamu - this time we talked about my upcoming semester abroad and traveling around Europe. He, Susan Auntie and Sara visited Madrid last month, and while he couldn't say much about the food (he's not the first) he said the city is great and that I'm going to enjoy it a lot. Yesterday evening we took a walk around the neighborhood and as we marveled at all the fall leaves, we talked about vacations and traveling. Since he's already seen so much of Europe, a lot of what he sees now just looks the same, he said. The best thing to do, he said, is to not over-plan and sometimes the best thing to do is just sit at a cafe, sipping your beer and taking in the city. Often times, it's those little experiences that you remember most about a trip, he said. And I totally believe that; after all, the first thing that comes to mind from my trip to Paris last spring was when Supraja and I wandered through the Jewish quarter eating delicious falafel.

It's sometimes funny to think that Mamu and Mom are siblings; he's so laid-back and carefree and Mom is such a worrier. Then again I'm a heck of a lot crazier than Neeraj. Oh well, there's family for you.

Anyways, after we got back from our walk, Mamu and I scoured the website of Europe's discount airline Ryan Air and found where all I could go from Madrid. The more and more I talk about next semester, the more exciting it gets. As we headed to the airport to drop Mamu off, Mom was talking about how January has got to be the most depressing month, since all the fun of the holidays is gone. I realized that my January will be a bit more exciting than most. It's kind of intimidating but still oh-so-exciting, especially because I know that if anything happens, well, Luxembourg is only a four hour flight away.

But I must not get ahead of myself. While Thanksgiving may be over, there's still the holiday season to enjoy (not to mention all those leftovers :) So even though the only chicken (turkeys are too big to cook), cranberry sauce and stuffing I'm getting tonight is the reheated version, I hope you all are enjoying yours! Happy Thanksgiving!

Fake Thanksgiving

How many strikes does a person get before he's out? Well, in baseball, the answer is a simple three. But in real life, it's not so cut and dry.

You may have noticed that it's been a while since I mentioned the Yankees. Yes October maybe over with, but my silence here doesn't mean I haven't been following what's going on. The manager deal, the trade talks, A-Rod; I know it's all happening, but it's the news of Jeter's "tarnished image" that is compelling me to write today. After I read the I read Friday's New York Times story on how Jeter may have lied about his residency status to avoid paying city and states taxes, the cynic in me immediately came out. Ah ha, it cried, I told you, nobody is perfect.

I thought back to this book I read when I was younger, Sean Covey's "7 Rules of Highly Effective Teens." One of the early chapters explained how you should base your life around principles instead of things like material possessions or famous people. What happens when the famous people screw up, Covey asked? Where does that leave you? Even a seemingly flawless star is bound to have some skeletons that emerge from their closet. And while I've never thought of myself as wrapped up with the star shortstop, it did strike me a little odd that I didn't feel anything really, when I read the article. I didn't feel sad or angry or betrayed, and we're talking about the guy who got me into college here, remember.

I don't feel bad for him, that's for sure. I mean, the guy makes $14 million a year; he isn't exactly struggling to pay the rent. And the impression that I got was that he is a pretty frugal guy, not too much of a big spender. Then why in the world would he fudge around with taxes. I guess more than anything, the news left me curious. Mom said that at least it wasn't like he'd done anything bad on the field. But to me, cheating is cheating, and while I'll be looking out for more information on all this, I'm not exactly shedding any tears. That said, is he still my favorite player? Well yes, though I may not admire him as much as I used to if the allegations are true. But once again, none of us is perfect, and while I blame him for getting into the whole situation, I do give him (and most other famous people) credit for having to deal with every bad thing that happens to them in a very public way (though you'd think the millions of dollars they make is at least somewhat of a consolation to life in the public eye).

We had a similar discussion in journalism class today. Recently, the Post's classical music critic Tim Page sent a vicious e-mail to Marion Barry's office that was meant to request that Page's e-mail address be removed from a listserv, but ended up calling the councilman a "useless...crack-addict," We discussed to what level should journalists restrict themselves and debated what action should be taken against Page. All of us agreed that it was a stupid move on Page's part to send such a message over the internet and through his Post account, but almost all of us also agreed that Pulitzer Prize-winning Page doesn't deserve to be fired over such a thing. Obviously, some action should be taken, but seeing as the guy writes about classical music and not D.C. politics, perhaps firing him would be taking it too far. Prof said that increasingly nowadays, people's mistakes create a storm of controversy and you get hell for it for about a week, and then the brouhaha disappears and things go back to normal.

I don't think that's necessarily reserved for nowadays. Hasn't it always been like that, at least in terms of personal relationships. Sure, the technology makes it worse to make a mistake nowadays because the whole world can hear about it before you have a chance to wipe your hands off, but we've always had to deal with the shortcomings of friends and family and accept them for the flawed people they are.

This Saturday my friends planned a "Fake Thanksgiving" potluck, and I had intended on partaking in the festivities. But as the day went on, my mood soured until I got to the point where I had no desire to leave my room or speak to anyone for fear that I'd snap back. I couldn't even tell where the anger and frustration were coming from; true, earlier my roommates had tried to force me to see a movie I didn't want to, but I knew that wasn't the only thing that was bothering me. Needless to say I spend the evening in my room drifting in and out of sleep while they enjoyed the feast outside.

By Sunday I'd recovered and was back to my regular self. Around dinner time I opened the fridge, where, to my surprise, I found an aluminum-foil covered plate of food with my name and last night's menu printed on it. I smiled and popped into the microwave. Three minutes later I enjoyed the absolutely delicious (and I genuinely mean that - one day these girls are going to make some husbands very happy at dinnertime) meal they'd kindly set aside for me. It wasn't until later, when I told Mom about it, and she pointed out that they'd done that for me despite the fact that I hadn't asked them to and even though I'd maintained quite the frosty attitude throughout the day.

And then I realized, no matter what stupid things you do, whether you cheat on taxes, blow a fuse at someone, or just plain ignore the people around you, most of the time, they aren't just going to write you off. Boy it's nice to know that people will stick around even when you're not at your best. So thanks girls for making my evening last night!

My new Spanish mother

I just called my host mother in Spain to figure out when I should arrive, and, well let's just say the next couple months are going to be interesting, to say the least. You see, in the midst of our nine-minute conversation, she mentioned to me that she doesn't speak any English.

This wasn't my first time speaking in Spanish on the phone; I did it when I called the university over the summer. That time I had spent all my effort memorizing my introduction that I forgot to prepare my questions in Spanish. I mean, I had a gist of what I wanted to ask, but when I was actually on the phone speaking to an actual Spanish speaker in Spain, I completely blanked and ended up stringing a bunch of random words together until she realized how much I was struggling and transferred me to someone who knew some English.

It's not that I don't know Spanish, I've emailed back and forth in Spanish and don't really find it difficult. But speaking is always the hardest part of learning a language, and while everyone says that people appreciate it when you attempt to talk in their native language, it really takes a lot of guts to suck it up and sputter out what you're trying to say to someone whose fluency level you will probably never reach.

Needless to say, I was pretty nervous about calling my host mother, since this is the person I will be living with for about five months, and unlike the people at the university's international programs department, I couldn't exactly assume she knew any English. At Sash's suggestion, I prepared a script of sorts and finally dialed the number. It was about 8:15 or so her time and no one answered, so I left a message with my e-mail address. I called again an hour later and this time she picked up.

Immediately it was difficult because there was an echo on the phone, so not only did I have to think of vocabulary and conjugate verbs, but I had to hear it all played back to me. I think it was only a problem on my end, because she didn't seem to be having any issues hearing me. The script was pretty handy until I actually started having a conversation with her, at which point I had to think of replies. I also, of course, had to try and understand what she was saying, though I'm pretty sure I got most of it. She did mention something about me being student number nine, and I have no clue what she meant. Maybe I'm the ninth student she's hosted (I really hope she didn't say that she is hosting nine of us at the same time, because that could get quite interesting). She asked where I was from and if I had any dietary restrictions, and I tried to ask her about the weather, but I'm pretty sure what came out was "Is it cold in the winter? "She seemed pretty flexible about the dates and I told her I'd give her another call once the flight is finalized, and that was pretty much that.

So there it is - I'm embarking on a real life adventure in about six weeks. I'm spending five, probably eight months, in a foreign country where they speak a language I've never truly been exposed to outside of nine years in a classroom. And best of all, my entire life has to be packed into two suitcases, and that's supposed to last me those eight months. Oh, 2008 is going to be one interesting year. Stay tuned!

Dead trees, fall leaves and one very cool map

Okay so I totally did not know about the satellite feature on Google maps and it is SO COOL!! (I haven't really stopped to think about how creepy it actually is, but hey, let me enjoy this). I just looked up my house (which by the way is wrong - Google maps labeled the house next to mine as mine) and my apartment and the place where I'm going to be living in Spain and my cousin's house in New Delhi and my other cousin in Luxembourg and ohmigod this thing is just about the coolest thing I've seen in a very long time!!

Alright - momentary lapse of sanity right there. Anyways, today I got the info for my host mother in Spain, and according to Google maps, she lives only 10 minutes away from the university. (I'm pretty sure it's 10 minutes by car though, so not sure how relevant that fact actually is). As I was looking around the map it really hit me that I'm going to be in Europe next semester, away from everyone and everything I know. And, not to knock everyone and everything here, but that prospect is refreshing and invigorating and oh so exciting. I'm almost done with this hellish semester (26 days!!!!), and while next semester is slightly daunting and intimidating, it will be like nothing I've ever done before.

Anyways, things have been slightly weird around here. Weird in the sense that I don't remember the last time I saw a blue sky - it's just been days and days of gray. One day it sort of rained, another it was kind of misty, and then another you could feel the rain lurking in the air around you, but it wasn't actually there. Last night I was walking around the mall on the center of campus and it was the eeriest thing I've ever seen - the entire expanse of grass was covered in this mist, just like the fake mist created by dry ice at low-budget magic shows. I thought to myself, if it was Halloween right now, I would kind of be scared out of my mind. It really looked like something out of a Hitchcock movie or something. But it wasn't cold and it was fairly early in the night (8 p.m.) so it wasn't totally sketchy. You would think that with a misty field would come the howling wind and people bundled up in coats and scarves, but it's been pretty warm for this time of year. Today it was supposed to touch 69 - walking around you saw people in shorts and people in coats.

And it's not just the weather that's strange. Yesterday I was walking to the journalism building to work on a project, and the moment I turned the corner, I knew something was missing. As I walked down the steps, I saw a gigantic tree stump and realized that just the day before, when I had gone to my journalism class, there used to be a big old friendly tree there. And now it was gone, just like that. It was so sad to think that something as large and and stable and seemingly immovable as a tree was subject to the same rude awakening as the leaves that fell off it. I guess it just reminded me that nothing is ever really safe. In just the past two days I've walked by the stump about six times and each time a tiny part of me dies along with it.

But while some trees are being cut down, others are just coming to life. Well, not really, but all the twiggy trees in the courtyard outside my apartment have suddenly decided to debut their fall colors. I thought that the autumn colors peaked weeks ago, but apparently I was wrong. One of them has leaves that are this intense orangey-red color that has to be one of the most beautiful colors I've ever seen. And another one is a paler yellow-orange that is also stunning. Further away from the building is another gigantic multi-tonal tree, and while its colors aren't as pretty, there's just something about it that is striking. Hopefully it's one of the big trees on campus that isn't on the chopping block.

The other weird thing that I've noticed is that my hair has been really curly lately and I realized today that it is probably because of the pseudo-humidity nestled into all this gray. My hair isn't the spiral, mop-top kind of curly, but rather looser ringlets. Usually it's wavy, but lately it's been making the move over to curly. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I think it looks great, but I look at myself in the mirror and I can see the difference. Ever since I got to college, I think my hair has just been making a gradual transition to curly-ness, since I don't remember it agreeing with me in high school. It wasn't ever straight or curly back then, just straight up frizzy and poofy and disagreeable. So I guess the current curls are drastic improvement, especially because it literally styles itself. I know, I know, every girl is going to hate me when I say this, but I actually don't have to style it at all for it to look this way. I just walk out of the shower, slap on some mousse and I'm ready to go.

Alright, well that's the random amalgamation of thoughts that have occupied my mind this week. Now I think it is advisable that I put my mind to more productive means, like writing my English paper or studying for my government test. Yeah, I should really get on that...

Accepting What I Don't Want

You know what's really frustrating? When people keep trying to push the benefits of something you aren't interested in. The university keeps sending me information on scholarships for graduate school and they won't stop. I know what you're thinking - what kind of problem is that? Let me explain:

First of all, I'm not going to graduate school immediately after undergraduate. Originally, my life plan had me going straight into grad school, just to get it over with. But then real life intervened and the plan kind of fell apart. So, I decided, for a couple of reasons, that I would go out and work for a year or two before going to grad school. Right now, I'm planning on getting my master's degree in international affairs, but I'm not sure what concentration I want to do. There's also still a tiny crevice in the back of my mind that is considering law school, but that's a whole other story. And practically speaking, I have no time during my undergraduate career to study for and take the GRE/LSAT. But I think the real reason I want to put off grad school is that I don't think I could handle another two to three years of school.

Upon graduation, I will have packed so much into these four years that I honestly do not think I could deal with two more years of exams and papers and grades. I know, everyone keeps telling me to appreciate college because life certainly doesn't get easier in the real world, but I think I just need some time out of academia to figure out what I really want to do with my life. You know, I really hate doing that, admitting that I don't know what I want to do. When I do, it makes me feel weak or unprepared. I really don't know why I only feel comfortable when I've got a plan. It's not that I'm against spontaneity, I'd just rather know what's going on/be in control of what's going on. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that it's okay to not know everything.

Anyways, back to the scholarship thing. I've been to a couple of grad school scholarship sessions, one before I finalized my grad school decision, and one after. However, the latter event appeared to be a leadership and scholarship event, though it basically gave me the same exact scholarship information as the first one. There were a bunch of scholarship reps there and every time they talked to me, I had to tell them I wasn't going straight to grad school, and as you saw above, that's not the easiest thing for me to say, especially when almost every one of my friends is going straight to grad school. I guess it almost makes me feel dumb, in a way, to say that I'm not going directly to grad school. I almost want to blurt out my GPA along with that statement, just to show people that I am actually smart. Call it insecurity or whatever, but I like I said earlier, admitting that I don't know what I want to do anymore makes me feel like I'm not as good as everyone around me.

But, back to the point of this post. I got the impression that the scholarships were for people going directly to grad school, so even if I were to get a scholarship, I wouldn't be able to use it. People kept telling me some scholarships can be deferred, but that still doesn't address the main concern I have with all this pesky scholarship business, which is the research aspect that comes along with many of them.

I've found that I don't really like doing research. I have a legitimate basis for that feeling, because one of the many things I'm doing as an undergraduate is research, albeit team research, but we're still investigating something and writing a 150 page thesis. The whole thing is just very frustrating for me. And seeing as doing research involves dealing with unexpected changes, which as we all know I don't handle quite well, I walk out of many of our team meetings frustrated on a good day and angry on a bad day.

It seems to me that you pour years of your time and effort into a research project, and for what? The thesis is shelved into the annals of the university library or a journal database, where some slacker college student researching a paper for a class he has no interest in stumbles upon your findings the night before the paper is due, turns to a random page, pulls the most intellectual sounding quote he finds, inserts into his paper (properly attributed of course) and moves on, not pausing for a minute to even learn the title of your research.

Call me cynical, but I just don't like to spend my time doing something unless I know what it's purpose is. I also know I'm grossly underestimating the value of academic research here, and that without academic research, there would be no progress or innovation, but it's just that I want to do something with my time and with my life that will make an immediate, observable difference.

This leads me to something else I've been dying to write about, which is how I seriously don't know what want to do anymore. But seeing as this post has already become waaaay to long and rambly, I'll save that for another post.

Just a Message, Short and Sweet

It's funny how the littlest things sometimes make the biggest difference in your day. It was just a quick message from a friend, but it had me walking to class with a smile. It's not that I was even having a bad day, (the day ended up getting worse later on,) but it was definitely a welcome surprise when opening my inbox.

On Sunday, I saw a car with South Carolina tags and I thought of a friend of mine who lives there. She went to my university freshman year, but this school wasn't really a good fit for her, so she transferred to a school closer to home. We became pretty close that year, and I hadn't talked to her in a while, so I left her a message asking how everything was going and to tell her I missed her.

Around noon today, I read her reply, in which she told me how well everything was going. She ended the message with, "I miss you and I love ya always. You were one of the only things that got me through freshman year - and I will always be grateful for you."

Now I know it's a tad sappy, but she's one of those people who you know genuinely cares about you and means things when she says them. Imagine what a better place the world would be if we spent more time telling people how much they mean to us instead of constantly criticizing and accusing them.

This girl is one of the sweetest girls I've ever met and I'm genuinely happy that things are going so well for her. She's found a major and a career path that she's really passionate about, she's planning on graduating early and things are going really well with her boyfriend. It's funny, while I'm always happy for friends when good things happen, I'm usually also a teeny bit jealous at their success. (Oh come on, you know you do it too). But with her, I'm just genuinely happy. It's not that she doesn't have things to be envious of - I'm not having the success she is in the boy department, that's for sure. But there's something about her that makes you think, gosh she just deserves it all.

It's really nice to know that even if you live far away or don't talk to each other too often, there's someone out there who cares for you, and they aren't afraid to show it. We need more people like that in the world.

Wrong Answers and Everlasting Newspapers

If you don't know the right answer, feeding someone wrong information is about the last thing you should do, right? Funny how so many people seemingly missed that lesson in Common Sense 101.

Yesterday I called the health center to see if I could come in for a flu shot.

"We're all out," was the reply I got.

"Well, are you ordering any more?" I asked.

"Nope,"

Already out of flu shots? On November 5? This week we're doing a health/science story for my journalism class, and Prof said we could move out of our beats on this one and just find something on campus to write about. Bingo, I thought, this apparent flu vaccine will be my story for the week.

So I called the nurse in charge of immunizations today, and when I asked her about the shortage:

"What shortage?" she replied. "We've still got vaccines. You just have to make an appointment for the shot."

Huh? Really? I don't know who I talked to yesterday or why she told me they were all out, but there has to be a chink in the bureaucratic chain if you get two polar opposite answers to the same exact questions.

And though this may be slightly unrelated, it's the same with all the advisors too.

"So, I've met with you and fulfilled my advising requirement, right?" I ask them every semester before registration.

"Of course you have, your registration block will be lifted," they say every time.

But, lo and behold, every day before I register for classes, the block is still there and it takes a slightly frustrated email to have them lift it. Every single time. Really - I've got enough on my plate without having to do someone else's job thank you very much.

Anyways, this post isn't all ranting, I promise. I was walking out of the journalism building today and found a couple copies of the Washington Post. I picked one up and remembered why newspapers could never die. Because, call me old-fashioned, but I just can't read a newspaper on the computer. I'm sorry, I grew up reading the words on a real piece of paper and I don't plan on changing that anytime soon. There's something about opening up the fold, pulling out the neatly tucked-in sections and scanning the page, seeing what piques your interest. It's not even necessarily what piques your interest - I check the Post's website fairly regularly, but hardly read the front page stories because either they don't really interest me or I know I won't be able to stand reading a 35-inch story on my computer screen. But then I pick up the actual paper and usually skim each story (unless the headline says something like "The Fed...interest rates...mortgages....economy," then the story's got no chance whatsoever in my book.

See - there's more to me than just one big complaint after another.

I am 'Scrubs'

This weekend I finally had some free time, so I decided to live up to the lazy college student stereotype watched about 25 episodes (not including the six I just watched this afternoon) of "Scrubs" aka the best television show since "Friends."

I saw a couple of episodes last year and liked what I saw, but since I really don't like watching TV shows unless I've seen them from the beginning, I didn't really get beyond those few. But, since I for once had some time on my hands, I decided, hey what the hell.

It was funny because I saw a some of the first season with Supraja a couple weeks ago and I made a comment about how I couldn't stand Elliot. She was the show-off who would never shut up and who you just want to grab by the shoulders and shake. But this weekend when I made it haflway into the first season, I realized why exactly Elliot stuck a nerve.

She's exactly like me.

No, seriously. Total goody two shoes whose biggest fear is having to make a decision in a situation where the right answer can't just be looked up in a book; overzealous, ambitious control freak who is desperately seeking the approval of her superiors and colleagues; young neurotic woman who is (sort of almost) about to jump into the real world without having any clue as to how it works since her parents have always provided for her every need; and finally, the over-analyzer who has to have and thought she had her entire life planned out, right down to her career and the age-window she has to get married in, but is now realizing that a little thing called life kind of gets in the way of all that planning.

Me, me, me, and oh God yes, me.

Seriously, this semester I've been convinced my English teacher doesn't like me, so I met with him to go over the guidelines for one of our papers so that he would realize how much getting an A in class means to me, just like how Elliot was willing to do everything for Dr. Cox in that one episode, including delivering every patient the bad news they had no desire to hear. She may get all the answers right, but she slaves away over those textbook so much that when people like JD are just good at everything, she can't handle it. She is unable to stand up to anyone, like those gyno gals from that one episode in Season 2. She's secretly happy when every doctor is finally paying some attention to her, even if the attention is due to her hookup with a doctor she rarely knew. (Okay, we may differ slightly there, but the whole needing to be the center of attention no matter what, that's shared). Throw in Turk's relentless ambition, subtract the blonde hair and desire to become a doctor and bam, you've got me in a nutshell. (Hell watching all this Scrubs such little time has made a teensy part of me actually want to become a doctor. Scary, I know).

So beyond my little personal revelation, this massive Scrubs marathon has wreaked havoc in one other way - I'm kind of unable to do anything else but watch it. Seriously, I don't know how I'm actually going to get any work done this week, or for the rest of the semester for that matter. I just don't seem to grasp the concept of moderation (remember the 4,000 pages of books I read in three days this summer?)

Oh dear :)

Bonding with the Bro

Yesterday Neeraj called and asked if I could edit his English narrative for him. I agreed and what was supposed to be me just going over his essay turned into a two-hour long bonding session. Well, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement, but it's the first time in a long time we've had a really nice conversation.

Neeraj is not as talkative as I am, and we don't really talk much over the phone, though I attribute that more to his just being a guy than being shy. I mean, Papa and I always have really great conversations in person, but it's just not the same over the phone. And lately Neeraj has been so swamped with work that we never really have time to chill because he's always got some kind of project or essay or test to prepare for.

So we were going over his narrative and he told me how bad it was because he'd written the rough draft late at night, but as I read it, I thought it was actually quite good. I remember when we were younger, I used to make up stories and type them up on the computer (The typing part was more exciting to me than the actual story creation). After seeing me do it, he used to do the same thing, and would come up with stories and poems and type them up in funky fonts. Ah the childhood memories. And even though he eventually lost interest in creative writing, I've read some of his essays for school and he still does have writing talent.

But anyways, as we were going over his draft, he was telling me about school and how crazy it all is, what with the 5 AP classes he's taking this year. It was nice because generally when I ask him about school he doesn't want to talk about it because he's like - that's all I do all week, I need a break from school.

I really don't know how he does it all. I told him that there's no way I could have handled all the work he has when I was his age. Hell, I can hardly handle all the work I have right now. I don't know if it's just me being old, but I really don't think I got as much work in high school as he's getting right now. I admire him for taking it all on though - 5 APs is something I never attempted in my four years. And while sometimes it bother me that he's that classic guy who keeps most of his emotions hidden, I guess that could come in handy sometimes, especially when dealing with this much work. I mean, yes he complains, but he complains in a different way than I do. His style is more quiet, more subdued. He'll complain about school, but it's more of a wistful, shrug of the shoulders complaining. Me, I'll get really heated and angry and frustrated and panicky about all the work I have to do. Sometimes my complaining will end up in a rant about how getting a B on a paper will somehow result in me being a complete and total failure at life. (I promise, it only gets that far some of the time). Neeraj, he doesn't get that worked up, not at all. We both get our work done, but it seems like he accepts it and does it, while there are times that I simply fume my way through it.

New Career for Me

I have found a new calling in life, and boy is this one a perfect blend of my skills. Ready....drum roll please...I've decided I'm going to be a telenovela writer. That's right, you know those enormously overdramatic soap operas full of jealousy, passion, and intrigue all in rapid-fire Spanish. Turns out I'm not half bad at writing them. I mean what other job lets you use call someone a love-thief and warn them of being pushed off a building by a deranged and supposed best friend.

In my Spanish class we have to work in groups to write and perform a mini telenovela. When we started working on this on Monday, my group and I just sat there blankly, unsure how to begin. Nickie suggested we have someone in a coma, and it just took off from there. It's ridiculous, we've now got a three women chasing after the same man, someone falling off a roof, an attempted poisoning and of course, the token revelation of pregnancy (which gets to be my little surprise).

As you can see, I'm having an enjoyable Saturday. Once I finish the script, I'll translate the whole story for you to read in all its glory.

Trans-Atlantic Talks

I had a couple of loose ends to tie up with my whole studying abroad thing, so I decided to call up Spain this morning. Easier said than done. First step: waking up at 5:15 a.m. a full hour and a half earlier than I have to on Wednesdays.

I'm trying to get a summer internship at an arts and entertainment magazine in Spain. I mailed my application package to their office last week, and I wanted to make sure it got there okay. I gave them a call and talked to one of the editors there. First, of all, he had a British accent, meaning I had to concentrate more to understand him, given that my brain felt about as dark as the sky outside. We were talking about the internship and he asked if I knew Spanish. I replied that I'd been studying it for eight years and would be spending the semester before the internship living in Spain, so yes, my skills are pretty decent. Then, out of nowhere, he rattles off a question in Spanish. My brain momentarily stopped functioning. First, the realization that hey, this man is now speaking in a foreign language, had to set in. By the time that clicked, I only heard the last two words of his sentence.

"Uhhh, I'm really sorry, but what?" was my reply.

"Oh, I was just testing you," he answered. I got the impression that he was smiling when he said that. Oh great - just what everyone wants at the crack of dawn - a language test to fail.

"I'm really sorry, but it's 5:30 in the morning here," I told him, hoping that my lame excuse would suffice.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was that early over there. You got up that early especially to call us?"

"Yup,"

"Well, that was very contentious of you."

Ha, I had redeemed myself. We went on to talk some more about the internship and he told me he'd get back to me soon.

Next step: Call the university. I had a couple of housing questions and was transferred to someone who sounded quite American. I told him where I was from and what university I attend, and he said he had recently been to my university. That in and of itself isn't necessarily surprising since my school is a large state school, but it's still nice to have a connection like that with a stranger. He didn't mention in what capacity he'd visited here, but we were talking about the Spanish department and then studying abroad, and he was telling me about how much my Spanish was going to improve.

"You'd have to be a total moron loser to not improve your speaking skills here," he said. No joke, that's what he said. It was great. He talked about how I'll meet so many students from all over the place, which is precisely the reason why I chose to direct enroll in the university rather than go through an American university or a program provider. I told him about how I really wanted to push myself to become a part of the culture and not just be like - hey you're American, let's be friends. We had a really nice conversation and he now I'm super excited to go. Since direct enrolling has left me pretty much responsible for everything, it's nice to know I've got a friendly face on the other side who I can ask questions.

Perfect Paneer

After being up since 5:20 this morning, an hour and a half earlier than usual, the only thing that was getting me through 11:00 Spanish was the prospect of digging into Mom's paneer.

I got back to the apartment, warmed everything up and dug into what was quite possibly the best meal I have ever had.

It was just shahi paneer that Mom literally whipped up in 10 minutes while I was eating breakfast yesterday, but that first bite was almost heavenly. The tangy tomato puree combined with the thick cream was almost more than I could handle. As I devoured the cushy pillows of paneer with the flaky roti, I thought to myself, screw all my lofty life goals. If I can make a dish that makes someone as happy as this paneer has made me, my life would be complete.

Especially after talking to Mom last night, the prospect of staying home isn't as inconceivable to me. I remember this one conversation I had with Mom freshman year where she told me how she was once offered this position at Marriott and that if she had taken it, today she would probably be something like executive V.P of housekeeping or something really high up and awesome. But, she turned down the position - and you know the reason why? Because I was born.

When she told me that I was like...what!!! You turned down this amazing job just because of me? Why the heck did you do that! I'm not worth that! And she just replied, when you have kids, everything changes. And of course I couldn't understand that then, but now I'm starting to get what she means. I've noticed that a lot of times, powerful and influential women (Condoleezza Rice and Oprah Winfrey come to mind) also aren't married and don't have kids. And that's one thing I know I can't give up. Yes, I'm about as driven and as competitive as it gets, but when it comes down to making that choice, I know I'm going with the family.

Then again, I'm also the one that when people tell me that eventually I'll actually have to make that choice, I pretend I can't hear what they're saying because I've already made everything else in life work, so why should this one be any different? The saying 'you can't have your cake and eat it too' means nothing to me because I've been eating the cake all my life, and don't plan on stopping any time soon.

Except now because I've got to go to class. Adios!

P.S. I'll have to tell you about this morning's conversation with Spain when I get back.

Taking My Own Advice

It's funny how yesterday I wrote that worrying is a waste of time because freaking out is all I've done today. And of course everything ended up working out perfectly fine and I was left wondering how much more I could accomplish if I put all my effort that goes into worrying into something productive.

Last night, while writing up my business story, I realized I left my passport at school, and would have to go back in the morning to get it before going to the embassy to get my visa. Of course, because I love to complicate my life, I had also been debating between getting the regular student visa or the extended one, since I might be staying abroad to intern, but I'm haven't heard from the place I applied, so I'm not really sure at all. So I proceeded to wake Papa up not once, but twice at about 1 a.m. kind of freaking out about whether I had all the correct documents or not. He told me to go to bed and that we would just go to the embassy and get the facts from them.

I went to bed feeling only a little better, but exhaustion eventually got the better of me and I fell asleep fairly quickly given how much was on my mind.

In the morning, Mom frantically cooked some more food for me to take back, since plans had changed and I wouldn't be stopping at home before heading back to school after the visa stuff. We went to school, I grabbed my passport and we headed into the city. Once there, we found the Spanish embassy, I took a deep breath, and we walked in. The friendly guard pointed me toward the visa desk, which was completely empty, and the woman asked what she could do. I told her I wanted a student visa, she took my papers, looked through them briefly and told me to come back in seven weeks.

I was a little confused. The last time I went to get a visa, which was this summer for our India trip, it was a day-long ordeal. After I got over my initial shock at this efficiency, I asked her about the extended visa. She said that would involve a letter from school saying I was taking classes. Well then, I thought, that settles it. I don't have a letter nor do I plan on taking more classes, so I'm just going to apply for the regular student visa and that's that.

Papa and I thanked her and headed out the embassy, thanking the guard on the way out. I looked at my watch. Three minutes. That's how long we spent inside the embassy. And that was counting the time it took for me to ask and her to answer my question. Really? I'd spent last night and this morning freaking out about everything and this was all it took? I mean, I'm definitely not complaining, but still. That was it?

Anyways, Papa and I had time to kill, so we wandered around the city, conversing amiably. The weather was perfect, a little cloudy so the sun wasn't in our eyes, and not-too-warm temperatures with the perfect slow cool breeze. It was too early for lunch, so we strolled for about an hour or so before heading to this Vietnamese cafe for lunch.

For lunch I had a shrimp and lemongrass soup and a little lunch box with rice, salad, a spring roll and grilled chicken with peanut sauce. The soup was so good, sweet and light with a tangy kick. The box was really cute and everything tasted amazing. Papa had shrimp in garlic sauce which was also really good.

After lunch we decided to head back, since I (unfortunately) had work waiting for me. We had a nice ride back, chatting about politics and careers and life in general. I really like when we have those conversations. Sometimes it's just so easy to talk to Papa about all that stuff, and every once in a while he says something that just completely makes sense. He'll bring up a point that I never thought about, and suddenly things just click.

Fast forward a couple of hours, when I was on the phone with Mom, who talked to Nani Ma recently. Mom started telling me how much she misses Nani Ma and how she feels so bad sometimes because Nani Ma is all the way in India and we're all the way over here. Nani Ma waits for years and years for us to come, and then when we finally do visit it's only for a couple of weeks and we never really get to spend quality time with her. Mom went on about how much she looks forward to me visiting from college, and then when I do come, the time passes by so quickly and it's time for me to go right back, and how I'm going to be abroad next semester and pretty soon Neeraj is going to be going to college and how it must be exponentially difficult for Nani Ma because the distance is so much greater. Needless to say, I think at that moment it hit Mom that her children are growing up, and let's just say the phone call ended with a lot of Kleenex.

Even though it's not like growing up is my fault, I still felt guilty. I felt the exact same way when I left for college and Neeraj was at home all alone. I mean, for a brother and sister I think we were pretty close, and for us suddenly not to be seeing each other 24/7 was kind of weird. But like Mom said, at least I'm just a 45 minute drive away. I honestly can't imagine what it would be like being 10,000 miles away from Mom and the rest of my family, not being able to call any time I wanted or just hop on the Metro and be home in an hour.

Anyways, I don't really know what point I was trying to get at, just that there's enough meaningful change to worry about in life that you'd better not sweat the small stuff too.