More lists

Time for another list. I've stopped carrying a notepad in my back pocket, so I'm assaulting you guys with lists. I apologize.

1. The estranged(only slightly) love of my life is coming to visit. For a whole week. Love bubbles and rainbows all around for me and her.
2. A visit to the highly esteemed Green Apple book store was made, and homage was paid to the second hand books.
3. Euro is almost over, with all the teams I backed losing, so I'm switching to la Italia with the famously bonkers Balotelli for the finals.
4. I am giving Harry Potter books 5,6,7 another chance.
5. Pizza Chicago for dinner tonight.(Be still, my beating heart)
6. A highly biased, thouroughly amatuer review of the American Idiot will be forthcoming from me next weekend.
7. Uzair Jaswal
And since we are on the topic of lists, check out the terms and conditions Einstein laid out for his wife and other such gems at this (sometimes hilarious) website.

Kitchen escapades

I spent the last week cooking something new everyday. Well, almost. Fruits of my labor were enjoyed mostly by me, partly by my i-have-a-golfball-for-a-stomach roommate. The black bean soup was a hit and the potato wedges came out better than expected, though I suspect that ketchup had a lot more to do with that than I care to admit. The oven is a finicky beast, burning my pita chips on one day, and making them crunchy perfect the other. I will conquer you one day, Oven, you just wait!

I made a lemon brioche french toast thingamajigy yesterday, full of summery lemony goodness. My quest for brioche/challah was thwarted, so I subbed it with French bread in the recipe. Take that, universe! Though once I zested and juiced my first lemon, I knew that I had become a kitchen slave.

More baking will surely come and so will more fat. As a preventive measure, I bought a pair of cute red 3 lb weights and a yoga mat. Further plans for this week involve fixing my car, being social and not giving up on Game-Of-Thrones.

EDIT: Just had to add this. Mystery solved.

                                                   

Hunger and other pangs

Most coffee smells better than it tastes. Expectations seem to ruin everything, from movies to people.

I am pleasantly surprised at my increased frequency of blogging. And of day dreaming, but that is a whole different can of worms. I sometimes think about whether I should start a new blog, one that will be more successful, because this one is too personal to become one. But the prospect is about as inviting as slowly peeling off my own skin.

Vigorous jazz handsssss are going to happen soon to me and my roommate, and I’m looking forward to it. Being more fit will also happen as a result, I dare to assume.

My parents are leaving Thursday. Their trip here resulted in an increase in my fridge magnet collection and my appetite. I stuffed all the places they could possibly see in 3 weeks into this vacation. Got to hear stories about my dad, like the fact that Shiv Sena guys once threatened to stick a knife in his back. Can’t make up my mind about whether this is cool or not. Judgement call, I suppose. Parents are a weird species.

They say that the way to a man’s heart is though food. Screw men, I’m perpetually hungry. Feed me (the person who this is directed at knows who they are). I want 408-CHICAGO now.

Sundry

I found a new blog buddy, someone who christens himself Fez and tries to hide his blog from the world.

The last few days have been one close shave after another. I stress out, almost break down. Rinse and repeat in an unforgiving loop. Credit for keeping me from going to a dark place goes to a fitness obsessed, eternally cheerful fellar I know. You, sir, are the absolute best. None of which happened or is happening is life alteringly or irreversibly disastrous. It took a white hair on my head to put the humor back in life, to lighten me up.

Pittsburgh is beautiful, even in the blazing heat. The rivers and the bridges and the old buildings will be sorely missed. The bay area seems crass and unrefined in comparison. I will eventually move to a proper city, not a place where downtown means a half block filled with restaurants and hair salons. Move somewhere where there is still some lingering romance in the buildings, somewhere where there exists layers of memories, so that I can add mine to them.

The one thing I regret is being so caught up by graduation, that I did not take many pictures of the ceremony or my friends. Carnegie Mellon was all that I hoped for and more. Some good, bad and truly ugly times happened in those 1.5 years. But I loved it to bits. I won’t harp on the endless nights spent on assignments. It was all worth the Dunkin donuts, the discovery of Kiva Han and the teensy French crepes place; worth the last minute trips to Washington and the other well-planned ones; the student lounges and the weird street art sculptures. It was worth Tom Mitchell and the other, equally brilliant profs. I am so glad I made it there.

Ambivalence

Moving is horrid, but planning out a new house is awesome.

A new car (new to me anyway) is shockingly brilliant, but my poor bicycle is humming 'Lemon Tree' in the office garage.

Sofas, tvs and assorted furniture. Burning a hole in my not so deep pocket never felt so good.

A fridge to fill up and walls to hang with ameatuerish paintings. Shelves to fill with books.

The battle of wills with the comcast guy, the endless line at DMV.

The seemingly infinite choices for insurance policies.

Concert and musical plans. The ordeal of shopping.

Life is confusing, but in the very nicest way.

As a rite of passage, I am going to submit my head to a pair of shears on the morrow. Wish me luck.

These are a few of my favorite things

Both puppies and smiles have an infinite capability to make my day.

Some people have a lop sided smile. Makes me want to be friends but I don’t know how. Everyone will want to pick you up and hug you. And buy you nice things. Just like a pug.

The tourist paradigm

A checklist. And then some more. Running to the nearest working printer to get two copies of the measly tickets. The inevitability of the last minute packing, be it a backpack or a suitcase.

The taking of public(or almost public) transport to the airport, bus or train station. The long hours where you are in between both destination and source. A kind of Limbo. That very limbo, that disconnection, that almost ephemeral feeling which is priceless. Just like the mastercard advert, with wrinkled old ladies riding elephants and watching the sunset with their equally hoary spouses.

It feels strangely like boredom, but not quite. There is something special about it, that doesn't push one over the edge and into a dull stupor. A strange elation. The unfulfilled anticipation of new encounters with fascinating people. Never fails. As reliable as the German trains. Just the journey validates the excursion.

But touristing is a whole other world altogether. What can only be described as lust. A happiness so complete when the map is deciphered, the tiny kitschy cafe is found, the cliched photos taken. Right from the constant checking to see if the camera was left behind, whether the wallet was safe, to the annoying of passers by to take pictures of me, you, us.

The cramming of a million activities in the almost niggardly number of vacation days. The debate of which places to skip in the itenrary that exists only in my head. The irritation when you get too tired from all the adventuring, the hunger and refusal to compromise on food. Crashing and burning on the hotel bed at the end of the day. The wanting to extend it all by just one more, just one more day.

And when it's all done, turning the key in the lock, and feeling, like a stranger in your own home.