The Kids Are Not Alright

When I think back to maybe ten years ago, the highlights of my teen years were water polo, swimming practice, O/Ls, first boyfriend, awesome 90s pop and that process of finding myself. When I look at kids now, my 14 year old sister in particular, all I can see is facebook, cell phones and bad music.

They literally spend all day on the phone. That is, when they're not aimlessly browsing facebook, which also takes up a significant portion of time. And if you happen to overhear a conversation, it is full of such gems as 'So what are you doing?' 'Me too' 'Ok what are you doing now?' Holidays being in full swing now, it actually enrages me to see my sister walking around listlessly with her nose buried in her phone, either frantically texting or replying to some comment thread on fb, watching the clock til my father gets home so she can pounce on his laptop and continue browsing facebook. No amount of biting remarks will pry them away from the wonderful world of their friends, who they actually just got off the phone with. Then, horror upon horror, they invite said friends over and what do they do all day? First they spend a good few hours taking pictures of themselves in various outfits, with various expressions. Then they upload everything on facebook and spend a few more hours editing said pictures on some application. Then they publish this fabulous album and spend the rest of the day commenting on these pictures. It is mindblowing at how much time is wasted doing absolutely nothing productive.

I try to remember how I was at that age. I try to remember that I didn't really read the newspapers either. But oh wait, that's because I was exhausted from having to come home at 6pm after swim practice and then spend the rest of the night studying. I try to remember that I too giggled over boys and made prank phone calls and liked to hang out with my friends. But this, this madness is just beyond me. I don't know, maybe I'm being an old fogey, but kids these days, I'm inclined to think, are all mad.

Thanks a lot Mark Zuckerberg. I blame it all on you. 

I'm Dreaming...

Tis the season or what? Maybe it's because of the rain (which has thankfully stopped for a while) but I haven't seen Christmas decor anywhere that's worth mentioning. Therefore, to cheer me up, pictures courtesy my favorite blog:

Cock-tales

Going to cocktail parties severely under-dressed, I think, has become my thing. 

Last Friday night saw The Duckling and I rather tremulously entering yet another cocktail party. Oh it’s casual, just drop by, said my father, oh so falsely. So I convince, nay, coerce The Duckling to come with me, and we saunter in, in our work clothes, only to be accosted by Colombo’s high-society crowd, dressed to the nines in saris and suits. Oh. 

Now I’m not usually known for my style or fancy wardrobe, but as luck would have it, I was looking exceptionally shabby that day. The humidity was playing havoc with my hair and my pants were splattered with mud. Yes. On arrival who should we run into but an acquaintance of mine, looking divine in heels and sari. She hailed me with a “T!!” and then looked me up and down with a barely disguised sneer. “What are you doing here… in the country?” Lolz. Oh honey.. 

See the thing about me and The Duckling is, we are completely immune to what you think about us. We actually couldn’t care less. And with such a lavish spread and free alcohol offered to us literally on platters, you couldn’t have paid us to care. So we proceeded to wine and dine ourselves silly, while scoping out the crowd and trying to avoid The Duckling’s notorious relatives, Gossip Aunty and Bastard Uncle. (I swear, if I ever write a book, I will be using those characters). It was a mighty fine crowd too. Lots of topdogs with their entourages and plenty of eligible men and women air kissing and talking shop. And it must be said that these hotels sure know how to throw a party. (Of course, in hindsight, if I had known how fancy it was going to be, I would have at least changed my shirt. I’m not completely socially backward.)

About a week ago, I was faced with a similar situation, except this time I had to brave it alone, without my partner in crime. It was the opening of a new clothing boutique in Colombo which my father was invited to, and I was dragged along. Well that might be a little untrue. As an ardent student of Anthropology, I take great interest in observing microcosms of culture, and the doings of the Hi magazine crowd are as alien to me as the mating habits of a colony of Martians. So when my father asks if I want to come, I generally say sure, not being in any danger of being invited to these shindigs otherwise. 

My attire for this evening consisted of a moderately fancy top, my ‘good’ jeans, a blazer and sandals. My sandals deemed unworthy of the occasion, I was forced into The Duckling’s heels, which I was ok with, and instructed to leave the blazer behind. Foolish me, I roll up to the event and out the window I see ladies in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Bleh. I frantically throw on my blazer and try to look cool. I note, out of the corner of my eye, that no one else is in jeans. So I keep my head down, whip out my phone and proceed to text my displeasure to The Duckling, the boyfriend and the twitterverse in general. The night, or the 30 or so minutes I was there, was spent trying to dodge the photographers and checking out the clothes, which were very nice, and the shoes, which weren’t, and all above my price range,(meaning more than we spend for groceries in a week). After the initial ‘peruse the boutique and hobnob with CEOs of fancy companies’ round, we proceeded across the street to the CATWALK, which was set up fancily around a pool. I would have stayed ( I do enjoy a good fashion show) had the seats not been clustered claustrophobically to one side and the drinks that were being served not looked suspiciously like sunquick. And the hors d'oeuvres were egg thingys. Come on people, if I’m gonna put on heels, you gotta give me some meat. And some lady fell into the pool but let's not talk about that because instead of hilariously splashing around, she floated awkwardly like she was dead. Scared the crap out of me. And so ended my first time at the opening of a store I would never visit again. I walked away with a rose and a shoecut. The End.

Throughout the event I couldn’t help but keep wondering how people do this, the get dolled up and schmooze routine, night after night. It was a little like being a tourist in a fantastically exotic land, where you kinda understood the language but not the customs. For me it’s an occasion to gape but also a case of everything in moderation. I don’t mind going now and then, if someone can assure me beforehand that there will be free food and drinks, and that I can bring a friend. But if I did it every day, I’m pretty sure the glamour and fascination would fade.The point is though, that there are people who do this every day and probably love it, and though I may find them baffling and amusing, every society needs their high flyers! 

December Blues

This weather is really getting me down.

My major gripe? Well it's hard to choose from among the many candidates, but narrowly beating out traffic jams at all hours is cold cold showers. The problem with having an outdoor water tank is that the water temperature is controlled by the general temperature. So when you want cold water, you get hot water and when you ever so desperately want hot water, you get freezing, bone chilling water. That, Alanis, is what we call irony. My actual showers these days last about ten minutes, five of which are spent standing at the edge of the cascade of water, trying to convince myself to take that brave step forward. The decision to wash my hair is based heavily on what time of day is least likely to give me pneumonia. I'm running dangerously low on underwear because we haven't been able to wash clothes for 4 days due to there being no sunshine! Curse ye, weather gods, I say, as I shake my fist.

Adding to the blues is the fact that a plum job which I was perfect for, and which was perfect for me, slipped out of my hands. It was a long shot in any case but I am still totally bummed out. Even the awesome little side projects that I'm involved in can't cheer me up right now.

And try party planning in this weather! If I could just know at what times it would be raining next Saturday I could make arrangements. But of course, why would things be that simple? I'm gonna call a Met department fail on this one, because after having had access to weather.com which gives you an hourly breakdown of the weather, this is like feeling around in the dark. And all these people are coming down in December, and everyone's like hey T, organize a down south trip, organize an east coast trip, and I'm like there's no point!

The worst part though is there's just no Christmas cheer! Sure, the radio plays carols but where are all the decorations and the trees on the sidewalk and christmas goodies? Where are all the happy people? Everyone, myself included, just rushes home after work, and by the time you're done battling the godawful traffic for 45 minutes, you just want to collapse in bed. I don't even feel like reading my giant pile of books. Totally uninspiring. It gives me such a bad case of the blues.

The only good thing about being blue, though? The boyfriend calling at all hours to cheer me up by singing Christmas carols. Adorable, I know :D

Boardwalk Rooster

I cannot get over the sheer awesomeness of this picture. From here.