Tuesday, August 31, 2010

My Own Lady Gaga

So now I apparently only write birthday posts.

Anyhoo, all my life, I've always aspired to be noticeable. Not conspicuous, but noticeable. Someone who walks into a room knowing that she belongs at the centre, right under the crystal chandelier, not unobtrusively edging near the curtains in the corner. I think the word I'm looking for is flair. So at the end of my second year in college I became friends with a person who seemed to have been endowed with the elusive F-word.

Quirky, colourful, loud and sensitive. PS is usually all these things at once (her version of multitasking, I guess). She is also immensely helpful, gloriously uninhibited, and supremely talented at getting shy people to try on shocking lingerie at departmental stores. Going to shampoo workshops in Japan, getting a tattoo around another tattoo, shopping outrageously and jumping from heights in killer high heels are all in a day's work for her.

But somehow, through all these years, from the time we started talking while rehearsing a Chekov play to today, I've always felt that within PS's head, there are pockets where not many are allowed. The parts of her that few people see, getting lauki juice for a friend's sick mom or realizing that outrageous Bollywood gossip is sometimes the best way to cheer someone up without giving the appearance of trying too hard.She sort of combines the advantages of being a wallflower (escaping scrutiny) and the absolute heart stopping thrill of living your life as the belle of the ball. So PS, you lucky @#@#$#@, you've been blessed with moonshine. Not sunshine, unvaried and ordinary, but moonshine, bright and reserved, electric and subdued, all at once.

I'm glad for your generous heart that is as open as your laughter. I love the fact that you bring fashion and colour into our drab, drab lives. I'm sick of the fact that I cannot still think of you with short hair, so grow it back at once! I love going through your bag because it's like Toiletry Disneyland. And I'm very proud at how beautifully you embrace every part of yourself.

Happy twenty six, Ranevsky. Be fabulous.

Friday, August 27, 2010

All I Can Do

As it turns out, I can't stand unemployment for too long. It makes me feel dissipated, like I'm becoming invisible and conversely growing fatter at the same time. I know one's self esteem shouldn't be tied to a paycheque, but there are so many other things tied to it. Things to eat, things to buy, things to see. If I had a vegetable garden and I were any good at gardening, maybe I wouldn't be so bored. As it is, my only project is compiling family recipes and feeling sorry for myself and my poverty.

After getting half my soul sucked to hell in advertising, I figured that I'd give the publishing industry a try. God knows that I can't love grammar and punctuation enough. God, and the many people over the years whom I've offended by correcting them (and I'm not sorry, never will be). And I do love to write. Just as long as making it a profession doesn't turn it into drudgery as well. The publishing industry is unbelievably insular though. No ads, no links, nothing unless you're the editor's niece or secret college hook-up. But I will keep at it nonetheless.

After all, I haven't much else to do. Till I become a gardener.