I'm watching the Winter Olympics.
Coverage is about to start at 7:30
Wow... an athlete died during luge practice.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Dhol Di Awaz--Afterparty
My friend and I went to the DDA afterparty last weekend. Aman Hayer headlined. We skipped the competition entirely, our only goal was to dance bhangra with one another. We're silly like that. And willing to pay $25 to do it.
I drove, I got lost on the way. There are two Mission Blvd exits that lead you to the Bay Area. TAKE THE SECOND ONE!
We reached Avalon at 11 something. Stood in line for a good 20 minutes, got frisked by security and manhandled at the bar. Apparently seeing a girl with a drink in her hand makes an Indian guy think she's hump-worthy. Oh how wrong they are. A heavy-handed 'back the fuck off,' kept them in check. I have zero tolerance for drunk people's BS when I'm sober. LOL.
Too self-conscious to bhangra with the rest of the party-goers, we sat in a booth to finish our first drinks. We were the only ones sitting down and were easily spotted by an intoxicated Desi. We found out that he, Sunny, had lost his group and let him tag along after he bought us drinks. ;)
We spent a good couple of hours on the dance floor. As I was trying to snap pics of Hayer a guy with a bow-tie popped into frame! He looked like such a character I had to take a picture. I found out he was from Turlock, it's such a small world.
After the party shut down, the Desi fobs got a little rowdy. One lifted up my friend's skirt and another actually opened the door to my car in front of the cops and slammed his fist against my trunk. I cussed him out in Punjabi. When I started translating into English the cops sped off after him. Mwahaha.
I drove around until we found an IHOP for food, which Sunny surprisingly covered. So we did him a favor and dropped Sunny off in Hayward. However, we did end up getting lost in Palo Alto (home to Stanford) for a bit. Made it home by 6 am.
Lessons Learned:
1) Turn off your parking brake when you're driving.
2) Wear shoes that you can slip off and abuse others with. Don't be afraid to use them!
3) Be nice to lonely guys. They come in handy.
4) Singing Kelis' Milkshake song will guarantee a milkshake craving.
I drove, I got lost on the way. There are two Mission Blvd exits that lead you to the Bay Area. TAKE THE SECOND ONE!
We reached Avalon at 11 something. Stood in line for a good 20 minutes, got frisked by security and manhandled at the bar. Apparently seeing a girl with a drink in her hand makes an Indian guy think she's hump-worthy. Oh how wrong they are. A heavy-handed 'back the fuck off,' kept them in check. I have zero tolerance for drunk people's BS when I'm sober. LOL.
Too self-conscious to bhangra with the rest of the party-goers, we sat in a booth to finish our first drinks. We were the only ones sitting down and were easily spotted by an intoxicated Desi. We found out that he, Sunny, had lost his group and let him tag along after he bought us drinks. ;)
We spent a good couple of hours on the dance floor. As I was trying to snap pics of Hayer a guy with a bow-tie popped into frame! He looked like such a character I had to take a picture. I found out he was from Turlock, it's such a small world.After the party shut down, the Desi fobs got a little rowdy. One lifted up my friend's skirt and another actually opened the door to my car in front of the cops and slammed his fist against my trunk. I cussed him out in Punjabi. When I started translating into English the cops sped off after him. Mwahaha.
I drove around until we found an IHOP for food, which Sunny surprisingly covered. So we did him a favor and dropped Sunny off in Hayward. However, we did end up getting lost in Palo Alto (home to Stanford) for a bit. Made it home by 6 am.
Lessons Learned:
1) Turn off your parking brake when you're driving.
2) Wear shoes that you can slip off and abuse others with. Don't be afraid to use them!
3) Be nice to lonely guys. They come in handy.
4) Singing Kelis' Milkshake song will guarantee a milkshake craving.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Misadventure: San Francisco
Earlier in January my best friend took me to San Francisco for a belated birthday trip. Consider it very belated, my birthday was in October (see: IST). :D
We planned to get dinner at a Middle Eastern/Mediterranean restaurant with belly dancers. But we were late (IST :D) and got there just in time for it to turn into a hookah bar. The inside was dark and smoky, and a DJ was playing Iranian music to the side. We were seated a table away from a girl and a few guys who invited us over before we got our hookah. One of the guys, a hulking Tunisian, ended up starting the hookah for our uninitiated selves. Apparently you have to suck on the mouth piece a while before you can get the flavored tobacco to smoke.
Anyways, we watched a bunch of Arabic girls belly dance before heading out with our new acquaintances. A hobo serenaded our walk over to the Ambassador. The line was long and we ended up leaving half the group and backtracking uphill to the Cellar. That's when the neighborhood got dark and creepy. We were glad that we had gotten some of the guys to accompany us. The Cellar (my Yelp review) was a good idea, dark, dingy and full of drunken young people dancing.
When we had said, 'We want to go dancing,' I imagine our escorts expected something entirely different from what typical Indian girls do: the Desi circle. There is no grinding on the back of a girl, and the only contact consists of eyes meeting while you wildly flail your arms and legs around. Most guys would be disappointed, and so our gentlemanly friends disappeared into the crowd after realizing they weren't going to get any action. Which was fine with us, we rocked out, complimented a Michael Jackson impersonator, were scandalized by the behavior of some party goers and of course, we gravitated towards the other Punjabis in the club. We introduced ourselves and spent the rest of the night with the fellows.
There were four guys that walked us back downhill and treated us at Naan & Curry. The food wasn't as good as expected from a SF Indian restaurant but considering it was open at 3 am, I'll let it pass. Instead of hitting the hay at the hotel across the street, one of the guys invited us back to their place to hang out (Retrospection: This is a stupid idea! NEVER go home with guys you don't know!). I'm sure they were expecting more drinking and scandalous fun, but that's not what they got or they didn't push for it. We ended up watching Paheli for a few hours and just chatting about life. It was around 6 am when we decided it was time to go home. The taxis weren't returning calls so they offered to walk us out and drive us back to our car. By then our feet were hurting so they actually let us wait while they brought their car around. It was freezing but we watched the sunrise in San Francisco and got a car tour of the city while it was still quiet on Sunday morning.
Lessons learned:
1) Don't wear close-toed heels if you plan on hiking for 8 hours around San Francisco (or any big city for that matter)
2) Charge your cell phone!
3) Store taxi numbers.
4) Don't be a skank, otherwise guys will treat you like one.
5) Be nice to hobos. They're cool, if they're not crazy.
6) Avoid the Tenderloin District
We planned to get dinner at a Middle Eastern/Mediterranean restaurant with belly dancers. But we were late (IST :D) and got there just in time for it to turn into a hookah bar. The inside was dark and smoky, and a DJ was playing Iranian music to the side. We were seated a table away from a girl and a few guys who invited us over before we got our hookah. One of the guys, a hulking Tunisian, ended up starting the hookah for our uninitiated selves. Apparently you have to suck on the mouth piece a while before you can get the flavored tobacco to smoke.
Anyways, we watched a bunch of Arabic girls belly dance before heading out with our new acquaintances. A hobo serenaded our walk over to the Ambassador. The line was long and we ended up leaving half the group and backtracking uphill to the Cellar. That's when the neighborhood got dark and creepy. We were glad that we had gotten some of the guys to accompany us. The Cellar (my Yelp review) was a good idea, dark, dingy and full of drunken young people dancing.
When we had said, 'We want to go dancing,' I imagine our escorts expected something entirely different from what typical Indian girls do: the Desi circle. There is no grinding on the back of a girl, and the only contact consists of eyes meeting while you wildly flail your arms and legs around. Most guys would be disappointed, and so our gentlemanly friends disappeared into the crowd after realizing they weren't going to get any action. Which was fine with us, we rocked out, complimented a Michael Jackson impersonator, were scandalized by the behavior of some party goers and of course, we gravitated towards the other Punjabis in the club. We introduced ourselves and spent the rest of the night with the fellows.
There were four guys that walked us back downhill and treated us at Naan & Curry. The food wasn't as good as expected from a SF Indian restaurant but considering it was open at 3 am, I'll let it pass. Instead of hitting the hay at the hotel across the street, one of the guys invited us back to their place to hang out (Retrospection: This is a stupid idea! NEVER go home with guys you don't know!). I'm sure they were expecting more drinking and scandalous fun, but that's not what they got or they didn't push for it. We ended up watching Paheli for a few hours and just chatting about life. It was around 6 am when we decided it was time to go home. The taxis weren't returning calls so they offered to walk us out and drive us back to our car. By then our feet were hurting so they actually let us wait while they brought their car around. It was freezing but we watched the sunrise in San Francisco and got a car tour of the city while it was still quiet on Sunday morning.
Lessons learned:
1) Don't wear close-toed heels if you plan on hiking for 8 hours around San Francisco (or any big city for that matter)
2) Charge your cell phone!
3) Store taxi numbers.
4) Don't be a skank, otherwise guys will treat you like one.
5) Be nice to hobos. They're cool, if they're not crazy.
6) Avoid the Tenderloin District
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Rishta
Wednesday my grandma congratulated me on my older cousin's 'Rishta.'
All I could think was 'Whaaaat?!?!'
I took a minute to think about it... does Rishta mean an offer or an actual engagement?
Rishta literally means 'relationship.' When it comes time to find a spouse, the other family is offering a ristha, a link into the family. The 'proper' way of getting engaged is letting everyone know that you're looking for eligible members in the community for your or someone else's son or daughter. Today's parents usually look toward India as a source of pure, traditional breeding stock. They pack their kids and head to the homeland in search of the 'right' one. This process utilizes the extensive Indian networking and interview system (post to come). All the juicy details about the possible match's socioeconomic status, family history, etc are laid out. They are quite often accompanied by pictures passing hands for judgment.
The old school way is to have the boy's family come over to the girl's house, no matter who approached whom first. The kids talk a bit in front of the parents over cha and decide if they want to meet a few more times or not.
If the couple agrees, the engagement and ring ceremony follow. Typically the ring ceremony preludes the wedding by six months to a year. The engagement cements the beginning of the rishta.
FB statuses and pictures confirmed the facts. My cousin was there a week before she was engaged. In retrospect the engagement was inevitable, an Indian girl hitting 25, single, not on a career path... of course there would be a wedding dhols on the horizon!
I'm excited for new Punjabi suits! And matching jewelery of course. :D
All I could think was 'Whaaaat?!?!'
I took a minute to think about it... does Rishta mean an offer or an actual engagement?
Rishta literally means 'relationship.' When it comes time to find a spouse, the other family is offering a ristha, a link into the family. The 'proper' way of getting engaged is letting everyone know that you're looking for eligible members in the community for your or someone else's son or daughter. Today's parents usually look toward India as a source of pure, traditional breeding stock. They pack their kids and head to the homeland in search of the 'right' one. This process utilizes the extensive Indian networking and interview system (post to come). All the juicy details about the possible match's socioeconomic status, family history, etc are laid out. They are quite often accompanied by pictures passing hands for judgment.
The old school way is to have the boy's family come over to the girl's house, no matter who approached whom first. The kids talk a bit in front of the parents over cha and decide if they want to meet a few more times or not.
If the couple agrees, the engagement and ring ceremony follow. Typically the ring ceremony preludes the wedding by six months to a year. The engagement cements the beginning of the rishta.
FB statuses and pictures confirmed the facts. My cousin was there a week before she was engaged. In retrospect the engagement was inevitable, an Indian girl hitting 25, single, not on a career path... of course there would be a wedding dhols on the horizon!
I'm excited for new Punjabi suits! And matching jewelery of course. :D
Monday, February 1, 2010
Misadventure: Sister's 21st in Santa Barbara
My younger sister turned 21 the other day.
I tried to initiate her the proper way, get her shit-faced wasted, but the Indian in her and the ones around her resisted.
She goes to school at my alma mater, so I took her downtown for free drinks.
I was glad that she dressed well, but everyone else followed in jeans and sweaters despite the relatively nice weather. The minors tried to attend with fake IDs, I let them know it was a bad idea and wouldn't work in Santa Barbara. They got through at a couple places, but we hit a snag and had to cut the night short. Sometimes there are things worth waiting for, like your twenty-first birthday, girls!
The clubbing scene was awkward to say the least. The girls came up shivering and quiet, standing to one side with hooded eyes and the clothes to match, no drinks no dancing. No big smiles.
The distance between the group could have been a chasm as wide as the club itself. I wish they had cut loose more and celebrated the moment like they were meant to. Boo. I suppose they didn't like the crowds, or didn't expect so many white people. I don't know.
In retrospect, I'd avoid partying with typical brown girls. There is a sourness in their air, an awkwardness in their hip, and a complete aversion to getting smashed. It makes them unapproachable. I'll stick with my white-washed bitches anytime, thank you.
Lessons Learned:
1) Dress sexy.
2) Dress sexy, because you didn't get it the first time.
3) Get drunk.
4) Have fun.
I tried to initiate her the proper way, get her shit-faced wasted, but the Indian in her and the ones around her resisted.
She goes to school at my alma mater, so I took her downtown for free drinks.
I was glad that she dressed well, but everyone else followed in jeans and sweaters despite the relatively nice weather. The minors tried to attend with fake IDs, I let them know it was a bad idea and wouldn't work in Santa Barbara. They got through at a couple places, but we hit a snag and had to cut the night short. Sometimes there are things worth waiting for, like your twenty-first birthday, girls!
The clubbing scene was awkward to say the least. The girls came up shivering and quiet, standing to one side with hooded eyes and the clothes to match, no drinks no dancing. No big smiles.
The distance between the group could have been a chasm as wide as the club itself. I wish they had cut loose more and celebrated the moment like they were meant to. Boo. I suppose they didn't like the crowds, or didn't expect so many white people. I don't know.
In retrospect, I'd avoid partying with typical brown girls. There is a sourness in their air, an awkwardness in their hip, and a complete aversion to getting smashed. It makes them unapproachable. I'll stick with my white-washed bitches anytime, thank you.
Lessons Learned:
1) Dress sexy.
2) Dress sexy, because you didn't get it the first time.
3) Get drunk.
4) Have fun.
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