February 29th, 2008

boy with dog

Live Blogging

This is a new thing for me, to actually sit and live blog when at a place where I am supposed to do something else, but the scenario that is unfolding around me is so interesting and document-worthy that I figured I might as well do it now, rather than never do it.

I am in the basement lounge of the CHAC, aka the Capitol Hill Arts Center, a very avant-garde Bohemian level place that I stumbled upon, something I have mentioned on a previous occasion before. This place is always full of surprises, and I am usually sitting at the bar, talking to people I am friends with over there, but since the bartender here is not the usual friendly guy, I figured I would probably just sit back and relax, rather than sit by the bar and risk venting the guy's ire, considering he seems to be quite a snooty chap.

There is a couple sitting right across me at the table, and they seem to be madly in love with each other. If trying to see how far down each others' throats they can stick their tongues while running their hands all over each other, gasping for breath only to have a drink on occasion is your standard issue definition of "being madly in love". I can't be too sure because I am not gawking, but I think their periods of making out are occasionally being interrputed by bits of legitimate conversation.

The bits of legitimate conversation are masked out by loud 80's music that just got turned up a notch when I typed in music. I tried to see if it could be cut down when I erased music, but apparently the DJ is not part of some software and the 'undo' operation does not really work on him.

There is a perpetually occupied foozball table just a small distance away, and it seems like that 'sport' is a national American obsession, which means that I would suck at it. I tried my hand at Guitar Hero last night, but I guess I got miserably thumped. Guess why? It is yet another national obsession with the Americans.

The bar is getting more crowded by the minute, and as I sip through my vodka-tonic drink slowly, for that is all that I plan to have this evening, I think, I notice that the table I have occupied is good enough to seat six people comfortably but most of the junta here are not sure if they'd wanna go disturb the brown guy with glasses (the brown guy in the CHAC is how I am referred to as around here, btw, a slightly racial sobruqiet that I awarded myself with) and sit around him. So far they're not tipsy enough and they have left me to my own devices as I go about typing this nonsense away.

The blogging enthu has taken a downward spiral, as has the time I had factored in for my pending writing assignments. Maybe it is a combination of lots of work at the office, coupled with so many things to do that eventually result in me being so tired at the end of the evening, that have led to me not being able to factor in time for doing what I enjoy doing so much.

The other thing worth documenting for posterity, yet again for purely personal reference is as to how I seem to have taken to Mexican food like a fish to water. There are multiple things that are in favour of Mexican chow. The first one is that it is cheap, just like me. The second thing is that it comes close to taste so far as desi food is concerned, while retaining enough of its own exotic element to not taste like desi food. Plus its available in plenty all over the place, probably a west coast thing. So I am now an expert at Tacos, Burritos, Salsa sauces of different gradations of spice and other stuff, including 'The Whole Enchilada' (arbit dedic)!

I signed up for a science fiction literature convention named Potlatch, which promises to be interesting. I attended the first evening of Potlatch, and although there was nothing much that took place this evening, the real events and the actual festivities will commence tomorrow. The one thing I noticed about the event was the number of people that were on the wrong side of 25, the wrong side of 50 even that showed up for the event. The odds of being able to hang out with someone even remotely close to my age there seems to be quite remote, although I have had a super time hanging out with someone named Peter, who spent the first twenty years of his life in Oslo, and we had a lot of Scandinavian notes and other adventures that we managed to catch up on.

From what I learnt from Peter, there is a state run 'Ganja and Bhang' store in Pushkar, and along with other funny stories, our man managed to regale me with travel tales. Apparently he took four years off after college wanting to travel all around the world and so he did.

I just noticed that there is a mirror behind me, and junta can figure out that I am updating my LJ. It doesn't really matter what they think about what I am doing, I've just gotten hungry enough to want to stop going on with my verbal diarrhoea.