I hate coming up with titles for stuff.
The NYTimes has an article from an Indian woman, Sarita something (Indian Catholic who grew up in Indiana so a rare occurence which is important when we south asians are becoming so common in the US media)...her article is about marriage and wanting to find her own husband. Aren't we as a community BEYOND writing about that? It's so fucking passe.
Google.cn. Do a search on the Falun Gong and you can learn about the evil cult. Baidu is the China based search engine that did overtake Google in China. Not sure where those statistics are now that Google has sold out and has a censored Google in China.
I went ot the Strand today, the best bookstore in NYC, that boasts 8 miles of books. It is packed with books from floor to ceiling over several stories. Whoever goes to Barnes and Nobel or Borders in NYC is a loser.
I bought a book on the history of Salt by Mark Kurlansky. The other books I bought were one called Violence and Identity by Amartya Sen, The Crazy Years: Paris in the twenties by William Wiser and Memories of My Meloncholy Whores by Garcia Marquez. I loved Of Love and Other Demons and this is the same size so I'm really excited to read it. I am excited to read all the books I bought.
A fight broke out on Canal Street today while I was trying to catch my subway and I thought, too bad I don't have my camera to take a photo for Bill. I migt have been punched if i did. I also didn't want to really hang out there since it is Sunday on a holiday long weekend and only tourists stop and gawk and real New Yorkers walk on. Or at least I thought so, faking insouciance as I walked away (the fight followed down the street by the way, with sunglasses ending up all over the street and cops getting involved when the black dude all of a sudden broke into a run with small chinese women and one china man running after him)...I came home and told my sister and Murtaza about it and told them that since I have a perpetual fear of not being tourist like, I walked away. Murtaza rained on my parade and said that New Yorkers would probably stop and look to see what is happening and the tourists with their shorts, cameras, sun glasses and kids would have walked away to not get involved.
My faked insouciance gets me authenticity points. I mock myself. One has to.
I saw a friend today and I don't know if he just told me he has skin cancer. How the fuck do you miss that in a conversation? I did. Dammit.
I want to go to Indonesia. I want to coordinate everyone. I don't have friends in high places but when it comes down to it, I don't care that I don't and I may just go there. (they had an earthquake...that info is for my friends who live under a rock). My sister and Murtaza think it's......I don't know what the word is, but they thought about how I make a living off other people's misery. I do. I am OK with that. I like it. I love it. Not that people are miserable of course, I do have a heart...just that I can be there and be a part of it. If I sit here and pontificate on what that means about me, how boring would that be?
I realized yesterday that the two funniest people in the world are my sisters and that to them, I am one of the funniest people in the world.
I have stopped writing in my journal and write on my blog instead. That is dangerous. And I am overreacting. I haven't written in my journal for two days. Get over it, Z. I am going to go write in my journal now. Too bad you all are not invited.