How are you? Good, I'm glad to hear it.
First things first. Anybody want this?
'Cuz I don't.
I'm thinking of throwing it out. I don't need it anymore and it's metal, so I can't even burn it. I figured I'd offer it to you lovely people before going on craigslist and asking $50 for it.
Think that's unreasonable?
I wonder how much they're charging for the fourth leg...
The clothing rack has served me well over the past two years, keeping clothes off the ground and generally looking pretty terrible in my closetless room. I decided to upgrade some furniture recently, and now this guy is homeless. If you or anyone you know is interested, you can leave your email and we'll work out when you can come to pick it up.
What? I'm not shipping that. Tell you what... It's got casters that can be attached. You can give me your address, and I'll take it down to the street and give it a shove in your direction.
Hooray for compromise!
"I'm Henry Clay, and I approve of this shoving."
Ok, now that business is out of the way, I can get to pleasure. Two weekends ago, I did the unthinkable.
It's time for a search engine fight! What's the first result when you search for images of "unthinkable?"
Visually more appealing, certainly.
We have a winner!
And yes, it's because of the boobs. I'm actually quite disappointed in all 3.
The unthinkable thing I did was go deep into Enemy Territory, New Jersey.
Buy this t-shirt somewhere.
I actually went to Edison, NJ and made the near fatal error of driving myself. That place blows. It is a mess of freeways and malls and Hell. Mapquest is also not in my good books for giving me vague directions that got me lost. It's tough to tell if this is Mapquest's fault or if it can all be explained by Hell's limitless ever-shifting terrain, designed to prevent souls from escaping.
I knew I should have taken the demon rocket motorcycle.
Subastar and I braved the barbarous savagery of that state to go to the Garba! You may recall my post from last year's Garba, too.
It was held in the same venue with the same performers. I went with a different crowd of people, though. Here's the ladies:
A couple of the guys:
It was pretty bumpin, like last year:
I gotta tell you, not counting security and police, there were twice as many white guys as there were last year.
Of course, by that I mean I saw one who was not my reflection.
I had quickly won the Indians over to my side by awing them with my ability to eat green chili peppers at dinner before we got to the Garba. I further cemented my new rep with some mad dance skillz.
An unfortunate facial expression, surely. But I was groovin'.
I quickly followed that up with some moves that appear in every Bollywood movie ever made.
All of them.
By this time I was exhausted, and had to refresh myself with an ice cold Pepsi.
Pepsi: Refresh Everything.
I have not been paid by Pepsi to say these things. I would accept payment, however. In the form of cash, or simply in sweet, delicious Pepsi Cola.
Back to the dancing:
Subastar is an old pro, quite literally. Again, she grew up in Bombay with it's giant Garbas full of bright colors, twirling dancers, and horrible, horrible paan.
NEVER EAT THIS.
So she was in her element, getting dressed up with as many pins as possible (as is the fashion in Bombay) and twirling away at an alarming rate:
On the way in, I also saw a potential employment opportunity.
It says right on my resume that my range includes 'American girl of Pakistani/Persian origin.'
But seriously, if any Bollywood bigshots are reading this blog, I want to be a Bollywood villain. I'm perfect for the dickish American who is trying to buy the land, or foreclose the mortgage, or lure the protagonist away from his/her home with a lucrative job offer in America, or any of the other evil stuff we do in those films.
And hey, I got the dancing down:
Peace out, folks.
PS - Happy Diwali!