Tonight my good friend John, who witnessed no less than three nervous breakdowns I had in the throes of Malaria during my African adventure, had his going away party. To me going away parties are sacred, I mean the person is leaving the vicinity for Pete's sake, do them the honor. However, I must really love this man because getting out to Crooklyn SUCKED.
First of all, I was exhausted because I had to show up at the UN this morning and wait in the freezing cold while the other film festival judges decided to mosey over for our security clearance. Then I was locked in a room for 8 hours while we watched countless documentaries. I get that it's an honor to be a judge but it felt like a chore. And even though we were asked to keep in mind limited budgets that may be reflected in the quality of the films, it was still aggravating to see 10 minutes of b-roll of NGO workers in a board meeting. You don't need a big budget to know that that shit is like watching paint dry.
I finally got home around 7 p.m. only to shower and change so I could meet my friend for sushi before he accompanied me on my trek to Ft. Greene in Brooklyn. It's a damn good thing I figured out that John lived in Ft. Greene and not Ft. Lee as I had originally advertised. No one bit and then when someone asked me why I kept promoting parties in New Jersey, it occurred to me that he lived in Brooklyn. Even with my new dark do, I'm still suffering from blond moments.
Construction and the bullshit weekend schedule made the already long ride from the Upper West Side even longer. I had relied on a website I recently discovered called hopstop.com for directions. It used to be my favorite because you type in your start and end locations and voila, it tells you what subway line is the most efficient. Note the past tense. Tonight hopstop was hopped up on dipshit directions. My friend appeared to be in good spirits about everything until I started bitching about how cold it was. "Let me tell you one thing only," he advised in his mock Indian accent. "This is your friend's party and you'll shut it up right now."
When we finally arrived at the party, alcohol was flowing freely and the drunks were in full bloom. I know he'll never see it but I want to send some good vibes in the direction of the white man on the dance floor. His moves straight from the Elaine Benes School of Choreography brought me unbridled joy and amusement. But when I've been drinking (in this case, I had sake at dinner and a ginger ale spiked with vodka at the party) I have a tendency to laugh freely as in, in people's faces. My friend figured this out the hard way.
A really cute girl introduced herself and began talking to us about our respective careers. I was full of questions for her as well as I thought I was being a good wing woman. Almost abruptly, the girl says, "I should introduce you to my boyfriend," and walks away. I looked at my friend who just shrugged, resigned to his fate of going home alone without any digits.
But what she returns with is perplexing to say the least. This Indian guy who looked like he was a once normal sized man who had inexplicably survived being flattened by a steamroller. His body frame was oddly angular with thin shoulders, a noticeable flat torso that looked to be only a few inches thick in width. He was wearing a black turtleneck with chinos that had defied their wrinkle-free characteristic. I know this is mean but I just started laughing and I couldn't stop. And she was all giddy because apparently this cartoonish man, who we later learned she met online, was someone she really liked. "This is Amrit..or," she looked at him and giggled,"Dr.Amrit?" He smiled, embarrassed that his girlfriend would emphasize his Ph.D. in economics. Meanwhile my friend is staring at me in disbelief because I can't keep my shit together. Fortunately, the man who deserves to be cast as the lead in "White Men Can't Dance" started to strut his stuff to Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" so I was able to blame my laughter on the other freakshow in the room. And speaking of Indian guys, may I take a moment to shamelessly plug the amazing blog of one of my favorite South Asian males? Yes? You're too kind. It's a fantastic website for any neophyte (myself included) who wishes to broaden their cultural horizons. I hate the name of the site but all the losers who can't write their way out of a wet paper bag had taken the better ones. Anyway, it's really well-written and you may like it even if you're an ethnocentric a-hole who doesn't care about enlightening yourself. http://www.desimusic4ever.blogspot.com/
