classified

Available immediately: shared bedroom for female roommate.

Rent: $270/month
Utilities: $40-$50/month
Location: Convenient
Carpets: Dirty
Hot water: Finally fixed
Dead mice in the hallway: None at present
Landlord: Apathetic
Parking tags available: One
Likelihood that you'll ever find a parking spot: Slim to none
Bollywood movies available for watching: >140
Cable TV, TiVo, Wireless internet, XBox, and DVD player: Yes
Landline telephone: No
Upstairs neighbors: Uncoordinated tap-dancing sumo wrestlers
Upstairs neighbors' pets: Kangaroos on pogo sticks
Roommates: (1) one quiet Mongolian -- unless you're collecting the money for the bills, you shouldn't have any problems with her, (2) one cranky American -- don't talk to her in the morning or while she's watching a movie, and you should get along fine, and (3) one slightly psycho Argentinian -- at least you'll always remember to have a nice day, since she writes that at the bottom of all her angry notes. (e.g., "ROOMMATES, WHO TOOK MY FOUR APPLES FROM THE FRIDGE?!?! THEY WERE MY APPLES AND I WANTED TO EAT THEM. DON'T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE'S FOOD!!!!!!! HAVE A NICE DAY! :)")
Roommates who knowingly take other people's food: Zero
Roommates who put angry letters to the mailman in the mailbox: One.
Roommates who will blog about your eccentricities: Unknown. What's Mongolian for "cranky American"?

the direct approach

I'm always looking for a chance to throw movie quotes into conversation. I'm not quite sure how I'll work this one in,


but I'll have to find a way. Such a good quote shouldn't go to waste.

Actually, my style of flirting is such that I probably would need to identify when I was attempting to flirt, if I ever did.

I think not

I usually think online quizzes are totally accurate and dependable, but every once in a while I have to wonder. Consider, for instance, the "What Spice Are You?" quiz. Here's what it says about me:

You Are Basil

You are quite popular and loved by post people. You have a mild temperament, but your style is definitely distinctive. You are sweet, attractive, and you often smell good.

What Spice Are You?

This is clearly untrue. If post people really loved me, they would actually deliver packages to me and not just leave attempted delivery notices every time. But such is not the case.

fyi

As previously mentioned, I watched my first Hindi film last December, and I was completely hooked. I started buying movies online in February, when I realized that the public library's selection of Hindi movies apparently consisted of all the rejects from someone's personal collection. To decide what movies were worth buying, I began looking at and then religiously following several great blogs on Bollywood films. I've found these blogs to be an invaluable resource for me, as well as a lot of fun to read. Now that I'm not such a complete newbie to Hindi films and have finally figured out how to take screencaps, I've decided to do a bit of film blogging myself. So as not to bore those of you who aren't interested, I've created a new blog specifically for this purpose. Join me there if you wish. It's http://cindysbollyblog.blogspot.com.

I'm starting with Mehndi Lagi Mere Haath, a 1962 film that's apparently too obscure to have a rating on IMDB, wherein we learn that the prejudice against girls who wear glasses reaches across cultures and decades.


So come take a look if you'd like.

And even the disguise kit.

You know you're immersed in 1970s masala films when:

• you can follow the plot of a masala film even if your DVD doesn't have subtitles. ("Okay, the girl is working for the criminals, but she's played by Hema Malini and looks to be the love interest, so she must not want to be a criminal. Oh, yep, she and her mom are both crying and explaining something. And they just said the word for "father." So the bad guys must have taken her dad captive and are forcing her to work for them to keep him safe. Oh yeah, that guy in the dungeon must be the dad, and here the bad guy is taunting him about the daughter and about how he's committing crimes in the dad's name. Here the two long-lost brothers are meeting for the first time for several years but don't recognize each other, so I bet the dialogue is full of infinite irony. And this is the part where the brother on the wrong side of the law changes his ways and starts working with the good guys to help free the girl's dad and set everything right. And it all ends happily. Fabulous.")
• people give you funny looks when you quote your favorite movies.
  
  
• you finish watching a movie and think, "I don't know, that might have been too realistic for me," and then you remember the part where the heroes ran through machine gun fire unscathed because they were carrying holy books, and all the parts where they dishoomed lots and lots of bad guys at once, and the unrealistic legal proceedings, and that really bizarre scene where the disabled soldiers started dancing with crutches to prove that they were capable of taking care of themselves, or something. But after further thought, you remain convinced that the movie was still too realistic.
  
  
• you think modern actresses look unhealthy and anorexic, and you realize that your body image has improved a great deal.
  
  
• someone walks into the room when you're watching a movie and says, "Wow, that's a crazy outfit," and you realize that 70s fashions look completely normal to you now.
  
  
• you try to decide how you'd design your villain's lair if you became a smuggler or black marketer (the careers of choice for bad guys in India in the 70s, apparently).
  
  
• you're surprised when a good guy on a TV show doubles over in pain after he's punched in the stomach, instead of doing a backflip in the air, landing on his feet, and dishooming the villain back.
  
• you wonder why you don't have a selection of handy disguises ready at hand like everyone else seems to.
  
• you expect every movie you watch to be made of awesome -- and as long as you stick with 70s masala, you're usually not disappointed.

a sad realization

According to the Disney princesses quiz, I'm Sleeping Beauty. Clearly though, this is incorrect. Think about it: I can't sleep if there's light in the room, or if the neighbors are jumping up and down upstairs, or if anyone in my apartment is awake, or if the light rail outside the hotel is clanging its bell and making lots of noise, or if I don't have a mattress to sleep on. If I do manage to sleep under these circumstances, I wake up with a splitting headache or back problems. Much less 100 hours, I can't even sleep a full eight hours unless the environment meets my exacting requirements. Clearly, I'm not Sleeping Beauty; I'm the princess from The Princess and the Pea. That's right, the lamest princess in fairy-tale history. I'm too lame to even get a movie made about me.

Well, we can't all be awesome like Chantal (or Rosie, who is definitely a Sleeping Beauty).

better than flowers

No offense to anyone who loves the holiday, but I've always thought Mother's Day was rather boring and pointless. But now, after reading about some promotional events conducted by an enterprising group of drug dealers, I realize that I just haven't been celebrating it right. Don't you think Mother's Day would be more fun with a "crack scramble," where your neighborhood crack dealer spreads crack throughout the hotel parking lot and then everyone rushes to gather up as much as they can? That would certainly make the holiday more interesting. Another holiday that can easily be spruced up is Easter, made much more exciting when you're hunting for crack instead of stupid plastic eggs, with free food for everyone who buys crack.

Now that's the entrepreneurial spirit that makes America great.

as my sister's roommate's mom would say

How awesome is the BYU football team?

So awesome.

yes, I am a prescriptivist

So, I was watching some TiVoed Olympic coverage just now, and I heard something truly terrifying. According to the commentator, one of the divers "literally fell apart in the semifinals."

Really? That's horrifying! Was it like spontaneous combustion or something? Were little pieces falling off as he walked until there was nothing left of him? Did he explode upon impact with the pool?

I can't believe these wasn't more news coverage about this.


In other news, I learned from watching the Olympics that I apparently live in abject poverty. According to one commentator, one of the athletes was so poor for a while that he didn't even own an ice machine, if you can imagine that. I guess that means I've been poor my entire life.

current gripes

Dear Roommates,

The AC is fine --
Opening the back door too.
Don't do both at once.

Love, Cindy


Dear Gateway,

Your computers stink.
Crashing hard drives, cracked hinges --
Why does nothing work?

Love, Cindy


Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

I want to sleep now,
So stop stomping and jumping.
Silence is golden.

Love, Cindy

lunch-break poetry

Haiku

Softer than the floor,
Less lumpy than couch cushions,
Mattresses are great.


In the Style of G. Gavin Gunhold

Pain strikes, like a knife in my back.
Lying on the couch cushions, waiting for sleep,
I longingly think of the mattress I once owned.
Soft as an angel's wings, supportive as a knee brace, beautiful.

On camping trips, a sleeping bag and foam pad sufficed.
Pine cones occasionally intruded, but I slept well.
These lumpy couch cushions might benefit from a pine cone.
They couldn't get much worse.

I used to sleep on the floor, and then on an air mattress.
I fear my years are catching up with me.
No longer can I sleep on the bare floor.
No longer can I make do without a real mattress.
I am too old.


Sonnet

O mattress, queen of household furniture,
'though I am cheap like Scrooge, I must admit
That thou art worth a great expenditure.
I will obtain thee soon, if fate permit.

I tried to sleep on floors; I tried the couch.
I pulled the cushions off and on them slept.
But rest was hard to find -- my back cried, "Yowtch!"
And thinking of past mattresses, I wept.

Without a mattress, life is not the best.
I wish to read but have nowhere to sit.
I wish to nap but can obtain no rest.
Without a mattress, I have lost my wit.

Tonight, I hope a mattress comes to me.
Tonight, if all goes well, I'll be pain-free.


Limerick

Some weeks now I've slept on the floor.
It's been longer than ever before.
With a mattress tonight
I'll be filled with delight.
My back couldn't take any more.

hidden talents

As my mom can attest, I tend to think that things I haven't done before are really hard and that I won't be able to do them. Sometimes I'm right, but sometimes I end up being surprised at how easy something is. Take, for instance, housebreaking. I always thought it took some skill to pick locks, but yesterday I was able to break into my house in about 15 seconds.

I think my roommate was right when she said that we should use the deadbolt more often.

trippy

Have you ever thought to yourself, "I wonder what it would be like if Spiderman were a woman and she flew around doing Bollywood dancing with Superman?" If so, you should probably get your medication checked out. But also, you should check out this clip. (My favorite part is around 2:30 to 3:00, but it's all pretty fabulous. Even better than the flying couch in Rangeela.)

I haven't seen this movie, so I have no idea what the context of the scene is. But I think the people who made Superman Returns should have borrowed from this scene.

recommendations

Occasionally, I read books that aren't trash. To mention a few recent reads:

In the category of books that make me laugh: Anything by P.G. Wodehouse. Fun, silly, improbable -- they're my cup of tea. As co-clerk Dave once astutely remarked, Wodehouse books manage to be light reading without being unintelligent, an all-too-rare trait.

In the category of books that make me think: The Great Partition, by Yasmin Khan. How do people go from being decently civil to killing one another by the millions? I still don't know, but this book about the partition of the Indian subcontinent gave me a lot to think about. Also, I'm now slightly less clueless about the history of India and Pakistan.

In the category of books that are just what they ought to be: The Fablehaven series by Brandon Mull. If you like children's fantasy literature, you should really check these books out. Imaginative and well-paced, they get the highly coveted Cindy Seal of Approval. I'm eagerly anticipating the release of the fourth book next April.

I could write a book

I have a confession to make. Sometimes I like reading really stupid and poorly written novels, especially sappy historical-fiction born-again-Christian romances. They're so dreadfully earnest in their horribleness. I think I'd like to write one myself. I've noticed that historical accuracy, theological soundness, attention to grammar and style, realistic relationships, and good plots are all completely optional, so I figure I ought to be able to handle it. You've just got to include lengthy descriptions of the characters' physical appearance, cutesy fighting/flirting scenes between the love interests, and a chapter in which either the hero or the heroine saves someone's soul. I think my novel will start like this . . .


"Mother, I haven't seen you since lunch. What are you doing out near the willow tree in this isolated part of our homestead plot of land here in the state of Kansas?

The older woman sighed wearily as she looked at her son, whose cleft chin and rugged good looks reminded her so much of her husband at the time she first met him. "Andrew, I am waiting for your brother to arrive. As you may recall, he left home five years ago, and we have not seen him since. I received a telegram from him one month ago saying that he would return on this date, and I am standing by this beautiful green willow tree awaiting his arrival. However, I feel a strange foreboding, almost as if this is the beginning of a story in which complications will arise. I only pray that I am wrong."

The young man looked admiringly at his mother, whose strength had helped the family survive during those bleak years after his father's death and whose looks still suggested the beauty she must have been in her youth. "Mother, at times like this, I can't help thinking of Father. It is a pity that he died 15 years ago, in the year 1832. I always remember the year because that was when Andrew Jackson became president. Do you remember those mysterious words Father uttered as he passed on to the next life? Sometimes I lay awake at night and wonder what they mean, when I'm not busy praying and thinking sanctimonious thoughts."

The older woman looked sadly at her son, noting the unshed tears in his beautiful hazel eyes, which were so like her dead husband's. "Yes, I do remember those mysterious words, which I need not repeat here because you no doubt remember them. If only we knew what they meant---"

She broke off speaking as her clear blue eyes detected a wispy trail of dust off in the distance. "Look, I think it your brother, Hayden, returning. But who is that with him? It looks like a girl. Why would your brother have a girl with him?"

Andrew's hazel eyes turned in the direction his mother had indicated. Looking closely, he could see the dusty wagon and its dustier occupants. "Mother, it is indeed my brother Hayden returning. But that girl does not look Christian. How could he have fallen in with an unbeliever, and how should we treat her?"

The mother sighed deeply once more. "I do not know, Andrew, nor do I know what his relationship is with her. But just remember my handy formula for dealing with unbelievers: 35% patronizing kindness, 43% concern for their immortal wellbeing, 15% sanctimonious self-righteousness, and 7% aloofness so as to avoid contamination from their sinful natures. You can't go wrong with that approach"

As Andrew looked at the approaching wagon and reflected deeply on his mother's wise counsel, he suddenly felt that his life was about to change. And how.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .



Well, I'm off to see my publisher. I think I've got a bestseller in the making.

probably true

Me: Maybe I've got plebeian tastes, but I find hip hop far more entertaining and interesting than contemporary dance.

Roommate: I think your use of the word "plebeian" automatically means that you're not.

a special message for Chantal

Don't stress out too much.

akele hmmm?

In the Hindi movie I watched last night -- Akele Hum Akele Tum, for those who care -- the hero, an aspiring music composer, is forced to sell all of his original compositions to some villainous but well-known guys who put their names on his work and receive an award for a song he composed. It's all very sad. Except, well, have a listen to his song that those dastardly composers are claiming as their own.

Doesn't something about it strike you as a wee bit familiar? (If not, click here. Also, listen to the radio this December.)

I'm not sure whether this was an intentional, subtle acknowledgment of the rampant plagiarism that sometimes occurs in the film industry or whether the composer and producer thought that no one in the audience would be familiar with the original song. I'm leaning toward the second option, partly because the pathos of the situation is greatly reduced if our hero is himself plagiarizing other people's work and partly because, according to my internet sleuthing, at least three other songs in this film, as well the plot itself, also "borrow" heavily from other sources. Either way, though, I find this scene delightfully ironic. Indian cinema, I love you.

Bollywood: a tale of adoration and addiction

Our story begins on December 24, 2007, when my parents basically forced us to go down into the basement at my uncle's house and watch a Bollywood movie they liked, called Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I was reluctant at first, but I was totally drawn in. The intense emotions, the songs, the dances, the seemingly intentional cheesiness -- it was strange and fascinating and surprisingly enjoyable. A few days later, we watched another movie, and I decided that my enjoyment of the first movie wasn't just a fluke. After several days of repeatedly watching the second movie over and over again, I decided that I loved Bollywood. The next two movies I watched weren't so fabulous, but not even the spandex horror of Dil To Pagal Hai or the boring melodrama of Yaadein could change my mind.

In February, I went online and, for the first time ever, bought DVDs for myself -- all Bollywood, of course. In the process of researching which Bollywood movies would be good, I started religiously reading the bollywhat.com forum, where I learned a lot about films, stars, and more. I've now watched 32 Bollywood films, plus one from Kollywood, and my roommates have gradually become accustomed to my new obsession. They even recognize several of the actors, although they just say something like, "Hey, it's that one guy who was in that one movie, with the bad clothes."



Recently, I discovered the joy of 70s masala films, so called because they include a little bit of everything. Consider, for instance, the fabulous Amar Akbar Anthony. Song, dance, religious imagery, miracles, tearful reunions of long-lost family members, romance, evil stepmothers, murders, kidnappings, reversals in fortune, bar fights, disguises, comedy, lots of dishoom dishoom action, fabulous 70s clothing, burning houses, damsels in distress, villainous musclemen wearing high heels and bedazzled tanktops, an unsubtle allegorical message about Indian unity and religious tolerance, and, of course, Amitabh Bachchan jumping out of a giant Easter egg.



Seriously, even my dreams don't reach this level of inspired craziness and fun.



I'm Cindy, and I'm a Bolly-holic.

my favorite new pick-up line

I'll let you know how well it works.