Friday, June 17, 2005

the insecurity is the thing that won't get lost

Right this moment, I'm listening to a lovely Cake and Gorillaz mashup by PartyBen. This was requisite to cure my brain of the ill recommendation I received from a coworker (one Richie Rich). He suggested I acclimate to being back in Los Estados Unidos, as I've taken to calling it now, by watching Hit me baby one more time. Now, I know this trip to Peru has changed me in some ways. But I don't think I've changed so radically that I ever might have enjoyed this piece of television basura. The worst part of the show? Amongst the scary artists that were on display (Sophie B. Hawkins, I'm looking at you, chica loca), suddenly emerges Howard Jones. Dude, Howard Jones. Don't be dissing Howard Jones- I've always lurved him. The whole foolish premise of the show is that the artist sings their most popular hit, followed by a cover of a more recent pop song. Jones intelligently chose to cover Dido's White Flag, a perfect match for his musical style. His voice is still fantastic, melodic, emotional. So what happens? Irene Cara wins the competition. Bwah. So the mashup is my musical bleach to wash away last night's waste of an hour.

On the plane ride to Peru, I read The Namesake, and I'm officially finished with Lahiri. I can't explain what it is exactly I dislike about her work. She does a better job of depicting the South Asian immigrant experience in America than most. Her descriptions of parties and such were dead-on. I can't fault her writing style. And yet there's something so hollow about the book. Something about it left me with a so what?!? feeling. What are you trying to say?!? There is never an answer to that question in her work. It's like playing a classical piece of music with perfect precision, but no feeling. I probably should have read LS' review of the book and saved myself the time. Though I usually hold on to books, treat them well, store them on my shelves, The Namesake wound up donated to a hostal in Cusco, so disenchanted was I with it. At least now I don't have to stress out about Mira Nair adapting it badly.

I don't want to be back. I'm happy to be back in San Francisco, but I don't want to be back in this life, treading water. There are difficult decisions to be made, serious questions that do not have straightforward answers. I could not bear to ponder such things in Peru, but now it's all become so urgent that I have to work it all out in order to keep my head above the surface. And there are apparations and disturbing dreams that unexpectedly came to me at 3600 meters that cloud my head now and blur the edges even more so.

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