Another Weekend

The weekend came and went with surprising speed. The gig went off fantastically, but of course, that was expected. I’ve never seen the band play so well. S was fantastic on vocals, and the guitar solos by K and D were.. I have no words. Brilliant. Amazing. They opened with White Room, one of the first ever songs they covered. We have videos of them in high school playing that song! Then some of the crowd faves: Hootie, Oasis, wake up call by Maroon 5, some Dispatch, M’s song he wrote for the gf which is a staple at every gig. They added a little instrumental at the end of Black Magic Woman and it was some of the best work I’ve seen them do. Ended with Layla, their classic.

The audience (that’s us!) was crazy. The place was packed to the point of suffocation but cleared out towards the end so that by the second set we had the bar pretty much to our selves. Our selves though, was still a pretty big number, and the atmosphere was electric. The band always plays that much better for this particular crowd, or so they say. Maybe all you musiciany-types out there can confirm this, you play better for friends and family?

The whole shindig lasted 12 hours. Half a day?? you say. Well yes, from start to finish. With our shopping marathon out of the way, we had not a lot of time to get ready. Needless to say, we ended up missing the train, through no fault of mine, so we drove to Queens and took quite possibly the world’s longest subway ride into the city, but we love the subway so nobody really cared. Shobs and I then proceeded to do one of those brown things. You see, we were planning on going for dinner before the show, maybe the Sri Lankan restaurant again, but her mom had sent some rice with her sister and well, it was good rice. So we sat down in Penn station and ate the rice, right out of the plastic container. There’s really no excuse.

Anyway, the gig ended around 4.30, and we made our weary way back home. Not too weary though, since we were still on a high after the gig, and O and I could be seen skipping down Broadway, quoting Kathy Griffin to strangers “hey baby, how you doin, CALL me”. If you’ve watched her standup act, you’ll know.

On a side note, O is fast becoming one of my best friends. We connect in this really great way, where space is given when needed, the silences are comfortable, the humor is exactly alike. She can stand my sarcasm, I can stand her cleaning all the time. She pities my constant cynicism, I pity her naïve optimism. She buys me candles and flowers, I buy her Fabreeze and Lysol. It works. It was also the first time she met most of my family and she just fit right in. It can’t be easy, being white and being surrounded by a crowd of rambunctious brown people, but my family is pretty easy to get along with and she made quite the impression. I was proud!

Anyway, by the time we got home it was 7.00 am. A full 12 hours from the time we left. The drive back was beautiful; the sun was just coming up and the sky was all blues and yellows and there was that clean spring feeling. I was painting pictures in my head all the way back. Props to Sags for staying awake long enough to drive us back safely. But this time we were all awake to keep him company, excitedly reliving the night, going through the pictures on the Shobster’s camera, knowing fully well she’d have them up on FB within the hour, silly captions and all.

A great night in all, even though I did wake up Sunday afternoon and wasn’t able to move. I can’t wait till it comes out on youtube, I’ll probably be watching it for weeks!

A Funk

is what I’ve been in for the last 24 hours. It’s a strange place to be in, like nothing can make you smile. Not sad exactly, just bleh. Something like depression. There I said it. And even now, just looking at the word, it gives me the chills. Studying what I do, depression is one of the big ones we learn about. But somehow knowing what I know, the symptoms, the neurochemical basis, the treatments, I could never wrap my brain around what it would actually feel like. I know O used to suffer from clinical depression. She told me, during one of our late night chats, how she would not be able to leave the house, not even move because of it, and I could never grasp how that might feel. Now I might understand, I might have an inkling of what it might be like. And it’s a scary scary thing. It’s true what they say about walking in someone else’s shoes. And being as anti-illness as I am, just the stubbornly refuse to be sick kind of person that I am, it was a scary place to be in, because there’s nothing you can do and nothing you can say to get out of it. The Duckling says I’m going soft; I think it’s all the Mayer I’ve been listening to. So I did what any girl in a funk would do. I headed to the mall. And now, with a considerably lighter wallet, a pair of shoes, two shirts and some perfume, I think I’m all better. Just in case though, I headed to the gym with the Foos on a playlist and did a 30 minute intense cardio workout. And I think I’m ok now. I hope I am. But if all else fails, I plan on drinking myself silly tonight while watching LBW play. I know that’ll work!

I'm Excited About

Spring time. Its in the air fer shizzle. The temp is high 40’s, the grass is green and I saw a crocus today. Tis true. Now I’m just waiting for the daffodils.

The Kate Nash tickets I bought yesterday. I really enjoy her music. It’s quirky and different and upfront. She’s playing in the city in April and I convinced Shobs to come with. Can’t wait!

The John Mayer albums I ‘acquired’ over break. I can’t stop listening to ‘em. The man is god; his lyrics are genius and his talent is ridiculous.

LBW playing at Kenny’s on Saturday. If you’re in New York on the 29^th and in the mood for some good music and a bunch of drunk brown people, at the risk of my almost-but-not-quite anonymity, you should come join us. Say you’re with the band for free entrance and drinks and whatnot.

My watercolor class. Darwin’s post inspired me to try this medium which I’ve never been very good at. I’ve learned some interesting techniques thus far, but I’d still pick oils over it. There’s more room for mistakes.

My new plant. I’ve been wanting one for some time now and just didn’t have the time to go out and get it. The horticulture gods, however, have heard my prayers and sent me a pretty little purple hyacinth plant, via my boss. In all honesty, someone gave it to her and she didn’t have room in her garden, but a plant is a plant and I didn’t say no. It now sits in the living room, pretty as a picture and smelling fabulous. I named her Meelie after the Duckling.

Going home for the summer. Its 90% confirmed, and I’m looking forward to 3 months of Sri Lanka. All the girls will be down this time too, the first time we’ll be together since we left school I think. Sadly, I’ll just miss K, but what to do.

Basically all my current classes. I can’t remember the last time I was so excited about learning.

The hot twins. Such eye candy. And there are two. What are the chances?!

My gym-ing. Frankly, I don’t see a big difference but people have been saying good things, and that makes me happy. I’m switching it up some now, trying out this new-fangled SuperSet thing as instructed by A, and I did it on Monday and it still hurts today, so it must work.

Swimming again. Finally headed to the pool since the summer I believe, and I’d forgotten that completely exhilarating feeling of moving through the water. That’s of course just for the first couple of lengths. After that you realize exactly how unfit you are and how disastrous your stroke has become. Regardless, its good to be back.

My new green eye liner. How un-me, but it looks rather fab, if I do say so myself.

Life, in general.

That’s all, for now.

Sri Lankan in New York

Spring Break ends and I’m back in my room with an article to be read and a paper to be written. It’s due tomorrow, but of course I seem to not be aware of the urgency of the situation as I type this post and get ready to go to the gym, simultaneously. I really take procrastination to another level.

Who can blame me, however, when I just had the best lunch I’ve had in quite sometime. Sigiri is a Sri Lankan restaurant in NYC, and when my cousin came down all the way from Wisconsin and insisted on treating us, really, would we say no? So to the city we did go, and omg they turned out to be subway virgins! If you’ve been in the New York subway you know the place always smells of piss. Its true. They’re faces were priceless. So we finally turned up at this joint, and, I confess I was a bit surprised. It’s a teeny tiny place in the lower East side; it couldn’t have been bigger than my dorm room breadth-wise and not much better length-wise. It was pretty though, the walls were a warm orange, tastefully done up with pictures from SL and the odd traditional knick knack or two. The tables are crowded together, not much leg space, but you don’t really expect leg space in a place that size. A tip: if you’re going on a Sunday, make sure you go with a party of 4 or less or seating takes forever.

There were quite a few Sri Lankans, and here’s something I’ve noticed. Sri Lankans, myself included, are only friendly inside the country. If we see another brown person in the street we go to great lengths to avoid eye contact, fumbling with phones and Ipods and general non-necessities. I don’t really know why. Anyway, it was pleasant to hear the Sinhalese word or two, English spoken in our accent; an awkward smile or two were exchanged with people at other tables and then a quick shift of the eye. Honestly, I know you’re Sri Lankan, you know I am, why can’t we smile warmly and greet each other? Tis a mystery.

The service was a disaster, to be quite frank. There was one solitary guy scurrying around seating people, taking orders, serving and cashiering. Every time the door opened his face fell. There just really was no room to seat people, and they were coming for that buffet, let me tell you! The menu itself had all the local fare, lamprais, kottu, hoppers etc. I was very disappointed that they didn’t have Iced Coffee that day,, cause you know how much I like it. So I ordered a kottu and the sister got a lamprai and while we were waiting for it my father headed for the buffet, returning with wait for it.. Yellow rice, pork curry, dhal, devilled prawns(!), that brinjal sambol, you know the kind, and omg pol sambol! He then proceeded to sit in front of me and nangs and eat it. He looks up 10 seconds later and she and I are literally drooling watching him. So he rolls his eyes and gives us a bite each and omg it was delicious. We look at each other in distress, we’d already placed our orders you see. But I can’t take it, fuck that. So I tell the guy I want my kottu to take away and I made a beeline for that buffet.

A half hour later, all the sandwiches and starvation at school had been worth it. I was, in a word, stuffed. So the final verdict, in spite of the minuscule seating area, and the one man service, is, if you’re in New York and craving great local food, go! Definitely go.

And oh yes, I have my take away chicken kottu to ration out over the next two months. It’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.

Summer and Such

You know how they say growing up is a pain in the ass? Well, there’s an understatement if ever there was one. My wish for the day is please make people stop asking me what I’m gonna do when I graduate. If I knew, trust me, I’d have already told you. Summer vacation is coming up and the ever elusive internship is, well, being ever elusive. Personally, I just wanna go home and sit on the beach and read a book. Or hang out over here. But this growing up thing involves working and such, experience and careers and whatnot. Apparently, according to the mother, I need to be more responsible. I think I’m plenty responsible, thanks very much! I don’t drink and drive or sleep with shady boys, and the last time I bought a pair of shoes was in November. That’s damn responsible!

Anyway, with the mother breathing down my neck, and the father arriving today to breathe down my neck, I am uber reluctantly internship-surfing. The problem is though, that the fields I’ve chosen for myself don’t really have much in terms of internships unless I’m willing to work in investment firms, HR in banks, things along that line. And honestly, there’s nothing I detest more than working all day at something I don’t enjoy. Desk jobs? *shudder* Give me research and fieldwork any day. I wouldn’t mind working in NY for the summer; that actually has many benefits, including more money and maybe a trip to Guyana in August. BUT, when all is said and done, I want to go home for friends and family, food and sun, so a job at home would be ideal. Though I hear the airline ticket prices have gone through the roof. Sigh.

Savi pointed me in the direction of what seems to be something that’s right up my alley and I sent emails to everyone and their mother on that website, so hopefully I’ll hear back from them. Something like PP’s job seems amazing; travel and writing, sign me up please! If anyone knows of anything in the Psychology/ Anthropology fields, do let me know, I’d really appreciate it. Contrary to what it may seem like, I really am a very motivated and hardworking individual :)

On a side note, it’s March already! WTF! Seems just yesterday I was planning what to do last summer. The year has flown by like… something that flies really fast.

Religious Fun

Now that I’m on Spring Break, I have time to think about this stuff. The last few weeks were crazy, and even though I generally don’t stress out over exams, I’ll admit I was borderline hysterical, verging on manic. It’s those damn primates! However, I am home now for a week, sanity intact, and indulging in Lankan goodies. I’m telling ya, there’s nothing quite like coming home to a nice rice, parippu and chicken curry. And the father is heading over for a week, with more Lankan goodies. I sent him a list. All I want for Spring Break daddy dear, said I, is some Larich katta sambol and a pair of bata slippers, the kind with the bubbles. I was also at the St. Patrick’s Day parade in the city on Monday, but that’s another post entirely. All I’m saying is, these Irishmen are crazy!

Anyhoo, this post is actually not about any of the above, but about a little something I came across on the Dilbert Blog. It was this particular post by Scott Adams that got my attention. Now I’m not particularly religious, in fact I’m probably not at all, but I didn’t find this cartoon remotely funny. Actually I don’t find any of the Dilbert cartoons funny, even though I’m a big fan of his blog; those office jokes are just waay over my head. I didn’t find that cartoon about the Prophet all that funny either. That said, I do occasionally peruse the Jesus and Mo strip and have a chuckle; the ones about the death threats and the new additions to the Sin list are quite witty. Overall though, I’m just not comfortable with religious jokes.

Debate over religion is important, cartoon strips are unnecessary. Intolerance is something I can’t stand. It makes me awfully uncomfortable, nauseous, even. Of course then we have that political correctness issue. Too much of that is just annoying. Where do you draw the line then? What about gay jokes? Race jokes? Stereotypes? It’s not a can of worms I want to open, for obvious reasons. I can understand the issue over the religious cartoons though. From what I see, depictions of the Prophet are mostly disgustingly intolerant. That, along with the War on Islam Terrorism obviously creates tension. So what if you make a Jesus joke? It’s the religion of the Western world. There’s no question of acceptance; it already is. A Buddha joke? Sure, why not? He said it takes all kinds. Actually, I’ve never heard a Lord Buddha joke. Now there’s a point to ponder.

Religion is personal, not something to be made fun of. Discussion is important to me. I have questions, many of them. Why do you believe what you believe? I feel science trumps everything, but that’s my personal view. I have many friends who are deeply religious, and I do many an internal eye roll at some of the things they say. Honestly, it’s hard for me to listen to you when two minutes ago we were standing inside the natural history museum looking at dinosaur bones. With the years though, I’ve grown to understand that if I must roll my eyes, I should do it privately. Religion, and if nothing else belief, is important to a lot of people. It’s what keeps them going, the faith, the trust, knowing that someone is looking out for them. It’s not easy for us cynics to understand, but that, it seems, is how it is.

If I had to, I would classify myself as primarily atheist, occasional Buddhist. Why occasional? Because sometimes when I’m feeling particularly troubled, I say my prayers. It’s true, I did it twice last week. Yeah, it surprised me too. And it wasn’t anything like ‘please help me remember 27 subfamilies of monkeys, what they eat, how many teeth they have and what their skeletons look like’. It was more for the peace of mind the words bring, that automatic calming effect it somehow has for me. (I carefully omitted two of the pansil though. No use making promises I won’t keep. Ahem.)

So anyway, that’s my two cents on that. Just live and let live, for crying out loud!

Cultural Parallels

I’m currently in the process of reading 4 books. Why? Because I have commitment issues. White Oleander I started and got half-way through but haven’t been able to finish; same with The Five People You Meet in Heaven, all because I’m not in the right frame of mind. Temperamental much? However, the two books I’m currently reading with, for lack of better words, intrigue and enjoyment, are Salt and Saffron by Kamila Shamsie and Brick Lane by Monica Ali. The latter is usually read at night when I’m tired because it’s a relatively easy read and flows very nicely, while the former requires more attention, given that they introduce new relatives with alarming regularity and you have to be on the ball with that family tree. S&S is about a Pakistani-Indian family, and the other, Bangladeshi. And I’m Sri Lankan. I didn’t plan it that way, it just happened, but now I’m having an exciting time alternating between the two books and comparing what I know from my own culture.

Here’s an example (Eg. as they like to say, though personally I prefer ex. myself): the words for mother and father in Bangladesh are Ami and Aba, in Paki its Amma and Abba, and I say Ammi and Thaththi (well Thaths really, cause I’m cool like that). I love when words from different languages sound the same and have the same meaning. I even had an LOL moment when I learnt a new word for sun. (No, literally I was sitting in bed LOLing all over the place; I suspect it was caffeine-induced hysterics)

Then the whole ridiculously large family thing, and all the intricacies and scandals that come with it, is a common theme in both books, and something we can all identify with, no doubt. I see an alarming oppression of women in Brick Lane, while in S&S there is the relatively new, relatively modern, ‘higher education in the West’ approach. The importance of religion is a common theme, as is class boundaries. When Mariam eloped with the cook I was a tad scandalized, and even though we don’t have clear cut classes in Sri Lanka, I felt it was akin to me having an affair with say, the driver. And that would be scandalous, would it not? Though it shouldn’t be, really, but we all know it would. And when Aliya slapped her grandmother... jaw drop! Strange, how I read books by Western authors that have rape and abuse and whathaveyou with no particularly extraordinary reaction, but the girl slaps her grandmother and I think ‘oh no she didn’t!’

I’m only halfway through both books yet, and I’m looking forward to finishing them next week over Spring Break (woohoo!). It got me thinking though, about the responsibilities of these authors. Never having been a fan of Asian authors, I am only now beginning to acquire a taste for them, and, apparently, I’m ready to take their word on the hows and whats of their culture. Inadvertently, then, I have placed on their shoulders the responsibility of an accurate representation of their ways. A responsibility that, I would imagine, is far less for an author of an atypical Western society, which is already portrayed through an array of media. For an author of a lesser known society, one that is shrouded in mystery and stereotypes for the more modern, less traditional world, she is an ambassador, and her words are the eyes through which the rest of the world sees her world.

In the vastly hypothetical situation that I was to write a book, for instance, it wouldn’t be just me sitting under the mango tree in my Colombo suburbs home scribbling fancy ideas in a notebook (I jest. I meant laptop). Rather, it would be me venturing out of the security of what I know, to find out what it really means to be Sri Lankan, for unfortunately, Colombo-Sri Lankans and the Rest-of-Sri-Lanka-Sri Lankans seem to be different species. It would be me obligated to research, in painstaking detail, the cultural and social norms, the religious traditions, so as to accurately present Sri Lanka to the rest of the world. Details that would in some way portray our fascinating past, troubled present and hopeful future; our cultural heritage, our diversity, our beauty, and yes, our corruption and hypocrisy, our intolerance and misguided nationalism. That’s asking a lot, but could any less be asked of these authors? I think not

Julia Marie Band

I was handed a flier today while running across campus in between classes. One glance at it and the word band caught my eye. A second glance said acoustic and I was sold. So I dragged the Shobster along with me to listen to, to quote the flier “amazing acoustic sets with an inspiring message”. I wasn’t too keen on the 'inspiring message' bit but the 'refreshments to follow' bit under it convinced me. It was sponsored by BASIC, the flier said, and not knowing what the heck that was, I didn’t really know what kind of music to expect but acoustic music is always nice, right? On entering the room at 8, I nearly did a 180 when I saw that BASIC was none other than Brothers And Sisters In Christ. Religious music I am not a fan of; I don’t enjoy being preached to. But we decided to hang around for a sample and so warily took seats right at the back

I’m glad we stayed. The band was very very good. The lead singer, Julia Marie (Surprise!), was 17 years old, but she had the most amazing voice and was brilliant on guitar. A lot of the songs were originals and the lyrics were interesting and insightful, even the ones she had written 4-5 years ago. There were a few Jesus songs, but if you ignore the lyrics and listen to the music it’s all still pretty good. Some of the songs I especially liked aren’t on their MySpace, nor on youtube, but you should give them a listen, especially Lone Hour. The musical compositions I especially enjoyed. They had your basic drums, bass, acoustic and electric leads and an organ, but the music was refreshing, with blues, jazz and classical undertones. They brought in a wa wa pedal for one song, and she also did a bit on flute. A very talented girl, and band, in all.

The Next Best Thing

I often lament my lack of musical talent, my inability to carry a tune or play an instrument, the sheer absence of rhythm in me. And, in a cruel and constant reminder, I am surrounded by music. People who love it, people who play it, people who make it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Except in a way where I was one of them. But I’m not, so this, as my clever title proclaims, is the next best thing.

My cousins have a brilliant band, my co-worker is the lead singer in her band, I have friends who play a variety of instruments, and if I have no musical talent whatsoever, well the next best thing is to watch them and learn from them. I can spend hours discussing music; not because I have anything extraordinary to add to the conversation but because when you talk to musicians who are passionate about their art, passionate about what they play and what they listen to, they just light up. Nothing is more attractive to me than someone who makes music. And everyone knows this. To the extent that the selling point on any boy is ‘T, there’s this guy I think you’ll like. He has XYZ and… he plays guitar’. Too funny.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t play the drums because when I get into a discussion with A about how he drums it’s entirely different; better, even. Its one thing listening to a drummer who can play a great groove, but listening to a drummer talk about how he plays, who he likes, what he’s learning, what he wants to learn, watching drummerworld with him and having him point out the how and whats of the process is a great learning experience. The same with my cousin who not only plays a whole range of instruments but also writes his own songs. Where the inspiration comes from, what the recording experience is like, what the performing experience is like. I especially look forward to the drive back to school with him on weekends where we have a solid two hours to just discuss music, probably the only thing we have in common anyway. I can listen to a John Mayer song alone, or listen to it with him and have him give me side info on Mayer, on the song, on a performance. Fascinating.

Music has become a big part of my life in the recent years. A big step up from listening to mainstream pop, say maybe 6-7 years ago, I now have an eclectic and ever expanding collection of music, thanks greatly to many like-minded music lovers who constantly make suggestions and recommendations. I generally youtube a song or two from a recommended band to get a feel before I illegally download acquire the album, and I’ve come across some faves this way. Staying open minded, I think, is a key factor in discovering new music. I know some who, having picked a genre they like, refuse to listen to anything else. A mistake, I think, because there are many gems out there, many quirky combos that fuse all kinds of genres for fresh takes on old styles.

It’s interesting for me, the way in which my taste has evolved over the years. I confess I was a Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys type, then a Christina, N’Sync type (thankfully never a Britney type, though her song Boys does have a nice kick to it. Yes, I said it). And then Incubus came out with Morning View in 2002 and I was sold. With them I got into alternative rock and even slightly heavier stuff, though that was more due to the ex who was in one of those fancy Sri Lankan rock bands, mosh pits and all *shudder*.

America, and Florida in particular, had me turning to a lot of hiphop and RnB, mostly due to all the black friends I had. Let me tell you, those boys can move! Good times indeed! This summer I came across two new SL bands of whom I instantly became ardent fans: Thriloka and Powercut Circus. My interest in local bands has never been very high except for maybe some Paranoid Earthling and Brass Monkey Band, but these two immediately caught my attention, so different was the sound, and, in the case of PwC, the lyrics. Thriloka, especially, was a fantastic fusion of oriental and jazz, electric and classical. I’m yet to get a hold of their CD though.

Back in New York among a more varied group and my music taste has grown vastly. O has been a big influence, since she always has on some new band or the other; also A, who kindly allowed me to adopt a good portion of his musical hard drive over Christmas; my cousin, who’s really into the mellow stuff and gives lots of easy listening suggestions. All in all, a good supply.

And now, let me cut this short, cause I could probably go on forever. The band of horses is on my current playlist (thanks Darwin!), a lot of KT Tunstall, a lot of John Mayer, some Lily Allen and some Ingrid Michaelson, along with a select 20 or so off the Across the Universe soundtrack. Good times!

The Weekend II

Was a turnaround from the last one. Home alone in a long time and the silence was deafening. Missed O more than I thought I would, her jokes and her snoring. You know that discomforting feeling when you wake up in the middle of the night and things don’t feel right, yet you’re too scared to get out of bed to see what’s wrong, so you just lie there hoping there isn’t a homicidal maniac right outside the door? Something like that. Other than that spent most of my time watching movies; old soppy ones, with some bollywood drama thrown in for kicks. Spent the rest of my time sniffling under the covers with an extreme case of the blues. The soundtrack was Band of Horses' No One's Gonna Love You, KT Tunstall's Heal Over, and Lies from Once. What is going on?

At least I used the time wisely. I got some sorting and organizing done, mentally that is, some filing away, some getting rid of, some burying and whatnot. And once I was done I was left with this: if I set my standards too low, then I best not have high expectations. So I either up my standards or lower my expectations. I pick standards.

I think that warrants a post-it on my wall for good measure.