Here are twenty minutes to write, and twenty years worth of thoughts running through my brain at the moment. The last time I visited the east coast, it was a disaster of drama queen proportions. Last time, I made a complete blunder of things, and then had the nerve to whine about it. I can think of no such reasons to complain this time around, and it gives me comfort to believe that in some small way, I had anything to do with that outcome.
Sunday afternoon, it was raining in Newark. It should rain in Newark. Grey seems its natural state. I sat in the monorail alone, the Anheiser-Busch factory and Route 1 visible in the distance. But I don't find these views as hopeless as I once did. They are echoes now. Because nothing stays static. Because familiarity dulls over time.
Two hours later, the plane was careening towards Dulles. Apparently, Maverick and Goose were in the cockpit, because we totally did a fly-by without permission. Actually, there was a wind advisory of some sort, so the plane lowered, neared the runway, and then dramatically shot up in the air, leaving all the passengers exchanging anxious glances. Maverick got on the intercom a few moments later and talked us down.
The taxi ride from Dulles to my hotel started with the all-too-common question. "You Indian?" The cabbie was from Lahore. Within five minutes, he had boldly gone where no uncle had gone in at least three years- demanded my name, asked if I was single, inquired about my likelihood to be involved in an arranged marriage, asked me what I was waiting for, and then sighed "your parents must be so sad." I never have the right comebacks at such moments. I should have told them my parents disowned me after I had the first illegitimate child when I was hooked on crack, but such shock tactics are not in my blood. It's like, regardless of the actual relationship, I must always mind the uncles.
A half-hour later, I walked into Zaytinya, where A N N A yelped out "Brimful!" You see, for Anna, there really is no difference between the matrix and reality. From there, the night was a lovely, saffron-colored blur. Bloggers, and floggers, and commenters, oh my! There were toasts, tears, and laughter induced by hand-gestures. There were chemical engineers, and you all should know Anna has a thing for engineers. There were family members who couldn't exactly explain how they were related, and others that were soon-to-be-related. Let me just say that I would have been severely intimidated by the blinding beauty of these magnificent women, were it not for how beautiful they were on the inside. Oh yes, I did just write that. Send lactose intolerance pills now, b*tches!
Besides, how sweet is it to go to a birthday party where everyone walks out with presents? I walked out of the restaurant with glitter all over my sweater, and a reflecting glimmer in my eye.
And I haven't even written anything about Brooklyn yet. It makes today and the next two days of lousy work-related drudgery worth every moment of doledrum.