Thanksgiving and Henry James

It's Thanksgiving Day today in the USA. This is the day people remember the things they are thanksful for. What are the things I am thankful for? Well, that will make a very long list, but let me stick to the past year or so.

1) A new career; rather the beginning of one. To say that I was bored and frustrated with my corporate job would be a gross understatement. Moving from the IT scene to research in biomedical engineering...bliss! The fact that I made this move right before the market crash everywhere didn't hurt either.

2) Friends, old and new, older and younger...all of them, some who I have not even met yet. My teachers, my lab partners, my neighbours, my roommates and my colleagues. And Frodo. They are my support system.

3) Books, books, and lots more of books. Library sales, thrift stores, abebooks.com and different other online book sellers. Henry James, Herodotus and Daphne du Maurrier. Saki. I don't know how I would live without them.

4) My sanity. And that of the people around me, and generally everywhere. I am thankful that we've not yet had a nuclear war, and that we are finally waking up to the global issues of discrimination, exploitation and negligence, however slowly the process may be. I am happy Sarah Palin is not in any powerful post currently. I am happy India and Pakistan have not started another war yet.

5) My family. My parents and my elder brother. I am thankful that I have these three wonderful people in my life. I am happy that they are people whom I would have respected and honoured even if they were not my family, and that they are.

Nilanjana...

I can't stop listening to this song for some reason. Mostly because it defines to me how bengali as a language has evolved from the ornate to the simple and still has maintained its imagery and its beautiful, oh so beautiful, poetry.

Also, this song sings about adolescent first love like no other song that I've heard, does.

Get this widget | Track details | eSnips Social DNA

Funny thing I saw today

This is an ad for Abercrombie & Fitch.

Yes, a prepped up plastic pretty boy with impeccable hair is indeed the epitome of 'fierce'. (I'd have used the noun form, but it's 'fierceness', and sounds rather lame. English does need to be revamped!)

Oh, and Arthur Conan Doyle, seriously? Somebody really got paid for this ad!

Even olde english can carry trash only so far!

Its been one of those days.

My mouse bone cells have been contaminated by fungi.

My fingernail partially split while i was lacing my boots.

I missed my statistics class so i could complete my homework.

My nanoparticles are micron size in diameter.

My mice refuse to have sex, well...at least they refuse to breed.

I had a hamburger for lunch. Yes, i know i should watch what i eat.

My labmate's newly wed wife is waging a facebook war on me.

A mouse we had anaesthetized woke up in the middle of a surgery.

I scored below the class average in the statistics midterm exam.

I got 5 different emails from naukri.com based on a 4 year old resume. (Do they never upgrade?)

Some kid in urging the PM in India to join all the major rivers so as to fight draught.

I am out of milk, eggs, oats, cereals, shrimp and honey.

I am so utterly jobless right now that i am whining on my blog.

Betty will be pissed :D

my mood is gradually improving at the thought of that; and at the thought of this song. There's a context here that i am not going to divulge...at least not yet.

(?)

“So, the way I figure it is so –”

“Isn’t that an extra ‘so’… grammar-wise?”

“Shut up and listen Cilly… I’m philosophizing.”

“At effing 2.47 in the morning? Of an effing working day?”

“Not for me… only the staff in McDonald’s works weekends. Not us suits.”

“Great… go ahead… be a selfish bitch… show no mercy for the under-working-class friend.”

“Alright then. In which case, like I was saying –”

“Ugh Dee… just ugh!”

“Shh… listen. Everyone loves themselves, right?”

“Not everyone. Some people pretty much hate their lives.”

“But that’s just it… they hate their lives because they are convinced that they deserve better… which is because they love themselves. Even people who keep drawing attention to their faults or illnesses or shit… they just want the rest of us to notice how interesting they are. See?”

“Hmm… maybe. So?”

“So if someone knows me the way I know me… he, or she, depending on gender… or orientation... or... so many things to factor in these days! Makes you miss the good old 'wham-bam' days!”

“Knows you the way you know you?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Knows me the way I know me. Then he has to fall in love with me. I mean logically… I know me. I love me. Ryan knows me. Ryan will love me. Right?”

“Who’s Ryan?”

“No one. It’s just a name. Don’t you just love names with a ‘y’ in them?”

“You’re so Russian sometimes Dee.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s Russian.”

“Like salad?”

“Yup… completely tossed.”

“I wish you were a guy Cilly… then I could have fallen for you… I think.”

“Okay… disturbing visual there. Maybe we should put the bottle away now.”

“What have we been having anyway? Doesn’t taste like any wine I’ve ever had.”

“Not wine… wine finished an hour back twit. This is scavenged white rum.”

“Scavenged?”

“Discovered under the sink while rooting around for kitchen towels.”

“Oh. Well. No harm done I suppose. After all, if they use alcohol to preserve stuff then alcohol itself can’t possibly go bad, can it?”

“I suppose not.”

“And it will definitely not rip your heart out, shred your self-esteem to bits, and tell you over an effing sandwich that you are not meant and that it met someone else.”

“Ah… we’re back to Neil now, are we?”

“What? Who’s Neil? Never heard of a Neil in my life. Except for that Armstrong fellow. That bastard! That assholish moronic scum-of-the-universe jelly-limbed stone-hearted bastard!”

“Armstrong?”

“No! My Neil!”

“You mean ex-My Neil. Or is it My ex-Neil? No that is definitely wrong… he is still Neil. Just not yours. Maybe ‘ex-My’, give a pause, and then Neil.”

“Just give me more wine Cill.”

“Rum. We’re having rum. At least we are for another shot each. Then we’re down to vodka.”

“Whatever. Just continue pickling my liver please.”

“C’mon Dee! I gotta go to work tomorrow!”

“Why? You hate it anyway. Quit.”

“You can’t be plastered enough to not be able to spell money dear heart. Plus it’s not like you like your job either. In fact, if memory guides me correctly, which to be fair, at this point in this evening’s entertainment is fairly doubtful, you way beyond hate it.”

“Oh gawd Cill! How did I end up this way? How? I was going to be so glam… I was going to have exotic adventures… I was going to have a high-flying job, a gorgeous absolutely-Rhett love-of-my-life, a black cat, and one of those nifty convertibles. I was going to be Sex-in-the-effing-City. And now look at me! I am… I am…”

“Teletubbies?”

“Worse. A Teletubby rerun. And not even in plural.”

“I know honey… I know.”

“No you don’t.”

“No. I don’t... More vodka?”

“Keep it coming sister… just keep it coming.”

***