I have to say that being a desi in England is kind of ho hum. South Asians are everywhere so I don't feel special. In America at least they pay attention. "Holy Cow!" they say when I walk into a room. "Curry!" they whisper and wink, as I pass by.
"Your people wear such gaudy costumes!" they explain, concerned.
It's just not the same here in London.
Just kidding. I'm writing crap.
Seriously, London's a cool city, I dig. Lots to do and see, a ridonkulous mix of people that paint the picture of their it's-tuesday!-let's-dabble-with-this-country! history.
May I mention again that British men dress with the vigilance of aging socialites? They do great hair, gelled messily but perfectly messily, if you know what I mean. And they wear tighter pants than American men and are awfully pretty to look at while sitting on the Tube.
In the short time I've been here I've found myself adopting little British turns of phrase and not wanting to pronounce the "r" in words like "percent." Which makes me wonder about the implications of the brain's tendency to adopt -- so quickly -- what's around it, which also makes me wonder about the definitions of good and evil, what it really means to be Republican or Democrat or happy or sad or crazy or sane or to like one music over the other. It mostly makes me wonder whether Truth exists at all.
I've gotta get me back to family. I'm scared about my flight home, and we can all only hope that this phobia goes to hell because I'm sick of it.

So I am flying on an airplane tonight. I am scared because I have a phobia. But also: metal winged chariots of death hurtling through interminable space? Not totally irrational to be scared.

I am reading The Inheritance of Loss and Midnight's Children for the occasion. Both by desi writers. I also am reading "Walden" (still). Aren't I so cool, hip and above it all?
I'm going to London to visit an adored cousin. She's got the kind of personality I could only wish for: solicitous, warm, good-natured, patient.
In other news, I'm still as afraid as I was in Sentence No. 1.

Finally, tonight is the president's SOTU. Which scares me in a much more fundamental way.

So this knocked me out when I first read it in college. (hey. why didn't I read this until college?) And when it was presented to me recently, it knocked me the hell out again. I present it to you, my wacky agglomeration of readers, if you care. It's Martin Luther King, Jr's letter from a Birmingham jail.
Glib television mentions, and forced tributes aside, he was a phenom.

In other news, a sublime moment on the Golden Globes yesterday when Mexican filmmaker Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, who won for "Babel," took the time before accepting his award to turn and assure Calif. Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger that he was in the country legally.
"I swear I have my papers in order, governor, I swear," Gonzalez reportedly said, prior to his speech.
Arnold smiled, but I'd like to think it made his irresponsibly veiny neck tighten in discomfort. Dickhead. Anyways, when it makes it's way onto YouTube, it'll be worth the trouble of posting. These are somewhat meaningless moments, but joyful nonetheless.

In other news, I need a new transitional phrase. Help me out writers.

And a hearty welcome back to your new home for hi jinx, profanity and morbid life commentary! It's been a crazy ride and one I'll never share the details of. This is going to have to be a bit of a do-over until I transfer my old postings here, so bear with me.

And while I've got your attention let me point you to the header of a frightening press release I just received:

"Please find attached below a press release on a universal smart card that will be issued to 5,000 firefighters and police officers in Maryland with funds provided by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security."

I think it was Our Lord, wasn't it, who remarked, "And the ones with the universal smart cards shall inherit the earth..."?

So I'm guessing this might seem innocuous. But really, how can these not evolve into "Get Out of Jail Free In All 50 States After I Fuck You Up" cards? Carte blanches, as those wacky French say. These universal smart cards, aka, "Us Not Them" cards are gonna be valuable someday. So readers, particularly the ones who are in the "Them" rather than the "Us" category: I suggest you find your nearest firefighter or police officer and make nice forthwith, if you haven't already. That card is going to carry a lotta weight when we become -- officially, at least -- a police state. Hunker down and be on the right team.

David Foster Wallace

A continuation of my pet Best Commencements project. David Foster Wallace says it like no other. In all his psychological melee the only truth he was able to find--that anybody's been able to find as far as I know--was in a platitude.

The Birthday Issue

On this 33rd anniversary of my birth, that day in West Lafayette, IN, known cosmically as "Houston: We Have A Problem," or "Woops!" I find myself ascribing meaning to every little thing I see and hear, which many people do when it is New Years Eve or when they're about to die.
So, when I heard "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp on the classic rock station first thing this morning, and listened to that poor Springsteen-knockoff's bluesy refrain, "Life goes on/Long after the thrill of livin it is gone...," I paused. Sure, he was talking about a mediocre career, foretelling a rapid descent after he got rid of his middle name. But what about me? Was it true?
Was the thrill gone?
And then I proceeded to have a "duh" moment and reject his premise entirely. The thrill will never leave, because I carry thrill inside of me like a flower carries pollen, like computers carry software, like Ridonkucris carries vanilla candles. But also, the thrill will never leave in no small way because of you guys -- my friends, old and new, distant and familiar. So, I wanted to express my gratitude to you all for your friendships. I hope we can be, stay or become closer, and potentially all live near each other, near a beach somewhere, perhaps a Mediterranean coast -- some place involving date palm trees. That'd be good.
At one time or another, you all have either invited me to your house, fed me, counseled me, dissed me, made me laugh, sought to understand me, gotten a headache as a result, hugged me, given me gifts for no particular reason, or been supportive and wonderful and generally people I emulate, esteem and love. So thank you.
Love,
Porcupine

What Is The What

Sorry for the recent absence. It is part lack of inspiration, part lack of will. Mostly, I am jealous of Sean's web site and don't feel like investing in this mediocre operation when there is such HTML beauty to be had.
Here's what's going on:
--I can only talk about my recent life, which is a string of increasingly bewildering struggles against the forces of evil. I will define the evil in future posts. Suffice to say, they are an insidious bunch and I need to move to another country.
--Coincidentally, I am looking for a new job. In another country.
--I watch the following T.V. shows: Battlestar Galactica, Grey's Anatomy, Lost, Heroes, Veronica Mars. I do it with joy.
--I love people from Minnesota. A LOT.
--Hillary needs to not run. Giuliani and McCain are snakes in the grass. I like saying Vilsack. Sounds dirty.
--All good writers should write books like What Is The What.