Gud, it sounds so inadequate, but I'm sorry things are sucking.

Come on, people! Let's hear your daring college antics! I know I'm not the only one here willing to admit youthful indiscretions.

Broke into a house (off-campus student housing) and then drank some of their pineapple-orange juice. [What? We were drunk and thought breaking in was a good idea, but then decided that it was Crime and we shouldn't do anything destructive.]

Dated a prof. (Does that still count as an indiscretion?)

{{Gud}} I'm sorry.

Thanks, Kat, you're pretty snuggleable yourself.

woo HOO vw!

I just cleaned the living room, which consisted of vacuuming, throwing the toys at the toybox, picking up the clothes and moving the couch so the babies can't get to the plants anymore -- the ones I love are now up in my bedroom, though, just to be sure. It's amazing how long that takes. Now I have to figure out dinner.

Erika will be pleased to hear that findyourspot.com pegged my top spot as Baltimore. Next up are Little Rock, Portland, Sacramento, and New Haven. Huh.

All my top spots were in the southern states: Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, South Carolina

{{Gud}}

~ma for Ann'es ma.

There was the time my friend and I stayed up all night making Mellow Jello for a party and were still up when the newpaper was delivered. Her astrological forecast said "Try new things" so one of the guys in our dorm gave us each a lesson in riding motorcycles in the library parking lot as the sun came up. Silly, but I don't know if it counts as an indiscretion.

~ma & {{{}}} for everyone who needs it.

~ma for Anne's mom.

My youthful indiscretions were such that I don't think I want to share them. Though I will honestly say that I did inhale, and more than once.

Most of my top spots were in Arkansas. Never going to happen. t knock on wood

Hmm. I know I've had youthful indiscretions. Though most of them sound much worse than they were, at the moment I can't even think of what the good ones were...

Oh, dear, Gud, I'm so sorry about the sucking of life.

And Yay! to VW continuity of care in therapy.

~ma to all what needs it, and {{{{}}}} to all who aren't averse to 'em.

Strength for your mom, Anne.

pegged my top spot as Baltimore

Well, if you do move here I'll make you dinner and make sure you know what the cool things to do around town are. etc.

12/18/04

12/23/04

12/26/04

12/28/04

Transportation in India deserves its own entry because it's so bizarre.

The most popular way to get from Point A to Point B is a motorcycle (or its lamer, less maneuverable brother, a scooter). Everyone drives a motorcycle. There are people who can drive a motorcycle but not a car. In addition to the abundance of motorcycles is an abundance of bicycles. Almost no one wears a helmet.

The other major player is the rickshaw, the Indian taxi which is really nothing but a giant motorcycle. It has handlebars, and the engine's about as big as a lawnmower motor. The seat will fit about two people comfortably, but you can also pack as many as fifteen schoolchildren into one. It's about half the size of a VW Bug, with two wheels at the back and one at the front. Recognizable by its distinctive shape (an escape pod on a spaceship) and coloring (brown with a yellow stripe), it has no doors. Some commercial transport vehicles borrow this design, replacing the passenger area with a short flatbed.

Cars are the minority. They are usually compact, with pretty blocky designs. Minivans are even more mini. They don't really have, you know, seat belts. And the steering wheel's on the wrong side. Vehicles have names like Tata Sumo, Tempo Traveller, and Maruti Suzuki Omni. When they reverse, they play a musical tune, a melodic prayer or film song or nursery rhyme, to inform others that they are reversing and, in addition, are way cool.

Roads are paved, mostly. Lanes? Where we're going, we don't need...lanes. In fact, many roads aren't really wide enough to support two whole lanes, despite supporting two-way traffic. They cut through the wilderness between villages. Speed bumps are pretty common, even though there doesn't seem to be a speed limit, leaving people free to go hurtling around blind curves at forty-five km/h.

The one thing a foreigner immediately notices about Indian drivers is the amount of honking. In America, honking is an expression of impatience and anger or a safety maneuver; in India, it's a way of life. There are no turn signals or passing lanes here. A honk makes your presence known to the guy in front of you, whom you're about to pass, cause hell if you're going to wait for him. Honk as you go around a curve, because although that car's on the left side of the road from his perspective, this road ain't big enough for the both of you. Watching vehicles honk away as they slalom through traffic, it becomes apparent why the slim, maneuverable cycles predominate. The speed and aggressiveness of Indian drivers puts New York cabbies to shame. Really, there should be a Grand Theft Auto: Surat. It would rule. Next to no traffic lights, and if there's a stop sign, it's ignored. A traffic jam can involve five or six vehicles side-by-side in addition to the blockade proper. It cries out to be the most challenging driving game yet. It's a wonder there aren't more accidents.

On a typical drive in India, you are guaranteed to see at least one motorcycle/scooter, one bicycle, and one rickshaw. A car/van is likely. In addition, you will encounter at least three of the following animals: cow, ox, buffalo, goat, dog, chicken, donkey, and boar. A group of buffalo on the road is known as an R.T.O., or Road Traffic Operator. You might see an ox-pulled cart. A tractor. A group of women carrying things on their heads. On a highway, you'll encounter goods carriers, trucks full of sugarcane and other goods whose rear ends encourage you to "BLOW HORN" or "HORN PLEASE" or "TING TONG" as you pass their slow-moving ass. You'll also pass cloth tents, ramshackle wooden hovels, and other types of shelter we live in out of novelty but they live in out of necessity.

You might see all of these things, yes, if you're not covering your eyes in fear of hitting that fucking bus.