Does it count as “ringing in” the new year if the only ringing was of my cell phone registering text messages as I tried to sleep? I’ve never been much of a “stay up till midnight” kinda gal. For the last several years, my idea of celebrating the changeover from one year to the next… Read More Ringing in the new year.
By Thursday, Manhattan was eerily empty, cleared of its constant noise and the hubbub of busy, busy people leading their busy, busy lives. Even the oddly comforting white noise that comes from traffic horns and exhaust pipes and the occasional popping of a tire were absent. I felt like I was starring in my own… Read More Theme from a winter place.
What’s the definition of a “good” desi? There is no denying my South Asian, Indian-American, whatever PC term you want to use, heritage. It’s who I am. You see it on my skin. But since moving to the city three years ago, my extent of “Being Desi” has been ordering Indian food once a week… Read More A, B, C, D… W, T, F: musings of a disconnected desi
Ah, Google. What would we do without Google? Something that didn’t even exist ten years ago is now a search engine that dominates the market. I use it for work, I use it to amuse myself, and at least three times a week, I Google myself. Is that too personal? Should I not be admitting… Read More I am the untamed soul of Africa…
I have a terrible, terrible addiction to YouTube and to Cute Overload. Both are things that brighten many, many dark days in the city, even when they aren’t as dreary and sleet-y as tonight. So, I bring you this hilarious (and perhaps even terrifying) video that cropped up courtesy of both of those sites today:… Read More Go pug yourself!
Has anyone caught the In Memoriam Charmin ad for Dick Wilson, a.k.a. “Mr. Whipple”? I saw it the other day and here’s a link for those who’ve missed it. Even though I grew up at the tail-end of the Mr. Whipple “era,” I’ve gotta say… I had no idea he was SO pervy. One should… Read More “Ladies, please!” or starting the day with commercialism.
I grew up in a college town, which meant that you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a wing joint. We didn’t get a Buffalo Wild Wings until the ’00s, so up until that point, it was all local places, with their “Nuclear” and “Chernobyl” wings. Mind you, since my stomach is not exactly cast… Read More The wind beneath my wings.
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