One Winged Duck

Sorry for the “me” intensive first blog, all… I just had to vent

So… taxi driver to Dublin airport was super friendly (they all seem to be), inviting himself to India to drink whiskey with my father, and giving me tips on what whiskey I should buy (and what to buy if it was Papa’s credit card that the “girlie” was using. Girlie?? 15% tip just for that ). Went on to tell me (at length!) that he didn’t understand people in the Indian call centers when he called in for Symantec’s customer support, but proceeded to assure me that he understood all I was saying, no problem. Comforting, given that I had only uttered quasi-grunting sounds as acknowledgment so far.

Flight was on time, and Dublin airport’s chaos reminded me of Delhi’s international airport, with 99% of the hassled looking people around being very white, instead of around 30% at Delhi airport. Nice looking fellow sat next to me on the plane from DUB to JFK; I passed out halfway through “good morning” (and very possibly went on to drool). Yep, not a dating champ, that’s for sure… perhaps destined to be single if picking this method of finding mate. There were SO many kids in the plane, and not all well behaved. Misery. This continued catholic propensity towards hordes of kids in this day and age is a completely different topic, of course. I wonder what the flight back from Italy is like…

At JFK, I made my obligatory visit to the American Airlines Admiral’s Club, to get through the 2 hour layover. Fran Drescher (of the incredibly annoying voice, from the American TV series “the nanny”) and Gary Sinise parked themselves on the couch next to me, along with a hovering valet whose jokes were so totally not funny that it should have been a crime to utter them. Of course I didn’t acknowledge that I recognized them… how unclassy would THAT have been? I mean, it’s not as if it was someone glamorous like Bill Gates.

For the AA flight from JFK to SFO, finally managed to shenangle an upgrade. I was seriously soused by the time the coup de grâce was delivered (see next paragraph), but it didn’t do much in the way of numbing the pain.

Ever wonder who picks the “feature presentation” movies for long haul flights? Is it a comedian with a macabre sense of humor, a thwarted script writer intent on indirectly torturing the potential audience s/he couldn’t have, a psychoanalyst trying to run a covert experiment to study the hand of media in complete mental breakdown, or just a true sadist (at par, perhaps, only with the inventor of control-top pantyhose)? Anyway… that day’s feature presentation in the AA flight to SF was “Take The Lead”, a movie starring Antonio Banderas (yes, after the generic soft porn, Pedro Almodovar’s “Tie me up! Tie me down!”, and the infamous “Desperado”, this is the comeback movie… one just HAS to wonder… were all the soft porn slots really already taken??). It’s about delinquent kids being asked, nay forced, to participate in, and thereby discovering their moral and philosophical way though, ballroom dancing lessons during detention hours. Of course, to someone who wasn’t often forced to do anything in their life that keenly emphasized their complete lack of physical coordination, the foxtrot does indeed seem a fate worse than hours of detention. Ok. Fine. I suppose I can dig this logic… bad bad BAD punishment for gang violence! In fact, I suspect the only copies of this movie purchased outside of AA have been by the investigation arm of the CIA, or perhaps even Al Qaeda… God knows I would talk if this movie were the torture instrument in question. It was in serious contention for first place for “worst English language movie ever” until I remembered traveling to India once, with “bring it on” on BOTH legs of the journey… now that was a ‘cheerspiracy’ if I ever saw it.

At last I made it back to SFO, stumbled to the cab, and made my way home to my Mom’s sinfully good food (I can already tell that my old habit of stuffing my face 8 times a day is on its way back). In the true American way, we went for some retail therapy the very next day… aaah… the mind-numbing comforts of advanced capitalism

It took him about 25 seconds to identify me as a potential customer !! A “very” well built black guy looks at me and fires a volley of “francaise”. I do my “no parlais francais, pardon” shit. He does not give up. It takes another similar (from my perspective) exchange for him to grok that i “espeaka differan’ languagee” . A assistant is called. He explains that the gorilla wants to know if i want to buy hash.
hmmmm.
I tell him , i dont smoke hash, does he have some pot ? SVP ?
He looks offended and walks away.

Let me start from the beginning. This is a formula i think will work everytime. Have a couple of beers BEFORE starting out to shoot some pics. Gives you an amazing perspective. Well .. thats what i think now. Let me see how the pics look when i see them tomorrow

I have a couple beers
I shoot some pics
I come back to the hotel to leave my camera
I walk back to the river (Pont Sully) – on the way i buy a beer. I ask the cashier if it is ok to drink in the street (hey ! i am new here). He looks at me as if i am crazy, and emphatically approves of the idea.
I buy a doner from the shop next door and walk to the river (again) !

I sit down by the riverside and start consuming. The beer and the “sanduich”. Realize that i am sitting in the middle of two groups of american girls. Help one of them learn how to whistle (yeah, thats my acheivment in life – i can whistle). Walk away to throw my trash. Hear some drumbeats. Walk over.
This is when i run into the salesman.
I would never have thought that pot/hash would be so open. Given the amount of police you see all over Paris. Everybody is smoking. Yes. Openly. There are a couple of drummers. There is a fire dancer. Unibikes. Jugglers. Dancing nubile women (yeah baby) ! Standard Burning Man stuff.

I sit down and finish my beer. A couple comes and sits down next to me. He asks me if i smoke (atleast that’s what i thought). I say the “oui”. he proceeds to create the joint out of a marlboro and stick of hash (This is really impressive. The speed and style in which these folks can create a hash joint from a cigarette is amazing). He lights up. It passes to me. I refuse. (yeah right !!!!). It is actually good stuff. Of course, the tobacco hits me first. But its all good.

The drums are now beginning to sound extremely good. We continue to pass the J around. One of the drummers is part of the circle. This is awesome. I am percussing (?) on my empty “1664″ ( yeah .. the beer from the good year) can.

I talk to the couple about burning man .. and how they would enjoy it. The girl understands english much more than the guy. They are also tripping, i can see. We promise to exchange email. Another hash J is made and smoked.

I guess they went home before me. I decide to walk to the Rue Muffatada after a while, instead of risking the same “Club Wax” in Bastille again. At this point, i really want to enjoy some good music.

I think the barteder at the bar is mallu. Call me biased .. but only a mallu can be enterprising enough to become a bartender in the latin quarter in Paris. And he is a dark tan color. No offense, Navin. But just look at Madhu.

The music is ok .. One of the bar chicks is pretty cute. And she is making eyes at me. (yeah baby !!!) ( i am blessed with a very active imagination) (specially when i imagine myself as the Studboy). But at some point of time, the music changes into Arabic. And I leave.

There is a DJ playing in the public square outside. I guess the people around here take their entertainment very seriously. But its now almost 4 AM and he is winding down as well. I decide to walk back to the hotel.

And here i am .. listening to GorrillaZ on my iPod and writing this. Hope this is more entertaining for you than it is for me right now ( though I am SURE that i enjoyed the night, or atleast large portions of it)

PS: Post is backdated, as i wrote it then, but am posting it today