Bollywood

So my friend Sami loves Bollywood. Naturally because I love Jane Austen, she once felt I should watch Bride and Prejudice. Perhaps I’m a purist, but I don’t like my Austen contemporized, set in a different culture, to a trendy sound track, and for the love of god please leave the zombies out. Just give me Mr. Darcy and let me swoon. And not just any Mr. Darcy; it has to be Colin Firth.

Sami is a unique person.

She’s half British and has no accent. Seriously, I’ve heard her attempt at a British accent and I was offended on her mother’s behalf.

She also has a tendency to be pulled aside by airport security every time she flies across the pond.

I went to study Jane Austen literature in Scotland. My professor was British, we read a Jane Austen novel a week, and I was in heaven. Before my move to Scotland, Sami agreed to meet me in Wales and we would take a few days to travel up the United Kingdom by train.

Sami was doing a summer internship in the United States Embassy and I was so nervous about being questioned at customs for a visa that I blabbed all about Sami. Apparently, I crack under non-existent pressure.

So, Sami likes Bollywood. Bollywood and tea.

Perhaps if I enjoyed unapologetic escapism in the form of musical numbers I could appreciate it more. But there’s something about musicals that rub me the wrong way. They’re either too cheerful or too depressing. I’m looking at you, Rent.

I get that there is deep history in Bollywood that has to deal with British colonialism. But I refuse to believe this is Naveen Andrews singing.

My Sister

On Monday, March 10, 2014, my sister became the happiest I’ve ever known her to be. She married the love of her life and is enjoying the happiness and misery that only married people will have the privilege of knowing.

I, of course, was at SXSW toasting to their union and shouting, “My sister just got married!”

When people asked why I wasn’t at the wedding, I answered that having her family tag along would defeat the purpose of an elopement. The truth is I would have loved to be there to officially welcome Erin into our family, but I couldn’t afford to leave Texas. As it so happens, Texas wouldn’t allow them to get married because Alicia and Erin are a same-sex couple.

Some people don’t understand what happens when you tell a couple that their love cannot be taken seriously because of their sexuality. They think that it is a matter of respecting the sacred bond of matrimony and that marriage should be between a man and a woman. They think that their religious views should be venerated, while refusing to acknowledge that just because someone is gay it doesn’t mean they don’t believe in God.

It’s not saying, “Please respect my beliefs.”

It’s saying, “Please don’t argue when I don’t allow you the same rights as everybody else.”

I felt that Erin was my sister long before they said their vows. I felt it by seeing how hard they loved and the sincerity in their joy. I felt it every time she made my sister laugh, that loud, obnoxious bark that startles their cats, Bones and Mr. Sulu.

I am so proud to call them my sisters. I’m happy that they grabbed the world by the lapels, gave it a good shake, and said, “Dammit, we can love too.”

SXSW and the Rodeo

So the past few weeks have had me running ragged. The craziness of SXSW just ended a couple of weeks ago, and I’m still recovering. I’ve never actually done it before—gone downtown to enjoy all the free music and festivities. So to sum it up, I RSVP’d to a bunch of newsletters and events online. These venues would then email me the location to pick up a wristband that would get me into free parties downtown. Folks, I spent a week waiting in long lines for free, watered down drinks, listening to a bunch of bands I’ve never heard before. Some of the music was good, some of the food was decent, but the trick to having a good time is tipping the bartenders. I got some free stuff and had a good time with my friends, but doing it all week long was simply not possible. I was actually relieved to go into work on Tuesday and Thursday just so I could relax.

I saw Grumpy Cat and sat on the Iron Throne. I rode a mechanical bull and was proposed to by someone who was surprisingly sober—not that I was. I stood in long food lines, eating before getting more food and going back to the end of the line and doing it again. I was three sheets to the wind and silly enough to remember how fun playing with toys could be. (We will miss you Toy Joy.) I’m glad I did it and can honestly say I will never do it again.

Besides… I like ACL better.

So before SXSW really got going, Cynthia and I decided to go to the rodeo. We bought tickets and were planning on riding the rides at the carnival before watching cowboys getting bucked off of god knows what.

Things don’t always happen the way you envision them. It was raining and cold. I’ve lived in Scotland so I wasn’t too fazed by it, but Cynthia had left her jacket at the apartment so she wasn’t having as nearly a good time as I. Oh, we still rode some rides. Maybe I’m getting too old, but the rides actually hurt. The centrifugal force was putting too much pressure on my poor joints. My shoulders and hip felt the worst of it, and I was honestly happy to climb off of some of the rides.

Everything at the carnival was bought with tokens, including the carny food. I ate so much junk that I told Cynthia not to let me buy the funnel cake. (It’s okay; I got my fix later that week at SXSW).

We enjoyed the rodeo more, at least I did. See, this was Cynthia’s kind of thing—nothing new to her. But me? Oh, it was like Christmas morning. “What’s that?” “What’s happening?” “Oh, look at all the pretty lights!”

I had a great time even if I did get mud all over my Chucks and my clothes smelled like stock yard. It was a Texas adventure and I went for it.