kali

I've been in something of a funk lately.
I don't know why. There's no very good reason for it. But I suppose that's the way of funks.

I'm sure you guys all heard about this. I kept imagining the resulting discussion in high levels of government.

Deputy Chief of Staff: "Okay...You're not going to believe this, but we...uh...mailed some missile parts to Taiwan. By mistake."
Chief of Staff: "What?!!"
DCS: "Uh. Yeah."
CS: "WHAT?! How could we do that? Where were they supposed to go?"
DCS: "Yeah, I don't know. This happened four months ago."
CS: "AND WE'RE JUST FINDING OUT ABOUT THIS NOW???"
DCS: "Uh, yeah."
Cute Perky Blonde Assistant to Chief of Staff: "You guys never heard of UPS? They have online tracking and everything!"
...
CPBACS: "What? I'm just saying. I know where my packages are at all times."

Yeah. I've been watching a lot of The West Wing lately.

I also note that ham prices have gone up. And milk. And bread. And Ikea bookshelves. And tomatoes. Probably other stuff too, but that's what springs to mind. I almost wish I had hung on to more of my rupees when I got back from India. They might have come in handy during The End Times.

I've been reading a lot of Georgette Heyer.

In India, this past winter, I embarked on the Great Heyer Hunt. Even though a few of the Regencies have been reprinted by Harlequin (and man, is it embarrassing to whip out those on the subway! I always want to interject and tell people about the elegant prose, and awe-inspiring world building - like the very best fantasy novel), it's not nearly enough. So I thought bookstores in India would be my saviors - that's where I got the first of my Heyers. I was inspired to do so after reading the dedication to Sorcery & Cecilia - with company like that (Jane Austen, Ellen Kushner, J.R.R. Tolkien) I figured I should at least check out what I was missing. It was pretty much love at first sight - with a ragged copy of Sylvester or The Wicked Uncle.

This time, however, the used markets in Saketh betrayed me. I tried the actual bookstores in Greater Kailash. There was only a copy of The Nonesuch to be found. Then I got serious, and headed to the used bookstalls in College Street, Calcutta, and also on Gariahat Road, right before Gol Park.
 
Calcutta (I really refuse to change the spelling; I think these new fangled un-anglicized spellings are pretty ridiculous on their best days, but when it comes to a city that didn't even exist till the British got there it's beyond asinine.) Anyway. As I was saying, Calcutta differs from Delhi in that the used book sellers have, you know, actually read at least the titles of the books they are selling, and are alarmingly familiar with the contents of their stalls. So you walk up and tell them what you require, and they smile at you politely, and find it for you in an instant amongst these prodigiously high, precariously piled stacks of books with the spines all facing inwards, and jammed in there all higgledy-piggledy. It's quite fascinating.

Before many seconds had passed, I was famous on that street. Word went out through the stalls, heralding my coming like cavalry and trumpets, if cavalry and trumpets could be said to waft before me in utter, super secret silence, carried on some encrypted, bookseller frequency that other, less privileged folk could neither see nor hear nor parse. The news was out: this utterly mad Bengali girl with the Amreekan accent was there to buy all the Heyers, whatever they had. I'd get to a stall - they'd smile, and inform me that I was there to find la belle Georgette, and that sadly, they didn't have any. "People hang on to these nowadays, madam - they don't come to us. Very hard to find." You don't have to tell me, I'd reply. Then I found one: Powder and Patch. I was spurred on by this faint success. Hope was not yet lost - though electricity had been. I did not quail, however, but carried on...by candlelight. No, I'm not joking. They'd hold the candles up so I could examine the titles just in case they had overlooked something - a mental index to this bibliographic bazaar couldn't possibly be 100% accurate...could it? The manic look in my eyes must have been truly...inspiring.

And then, finally, on Oxford Street, booksellers by appointment to the governor general of India - or was it the viceroy? Whichever it was, it seemed fitting and haute tonnish! SUCCESS. I* bought thirteen of them - nearly got into a brawl with two ladies over a copy of The Talisman Ring. Needless to say, I won.

Sadly of course, they were mostly all finished by the time our plane touched down at JFK.

I think I've come to the end of the internets too. (I should share the fruits of my labours, it occurs to me - since I think I've now read every piece of Heyer fanfic currently extant on the web. I'll maybe post a reclist sometime soon.)

I need new things to read. I'll be done with Cassie Clare's City of Ashes soon; it's pretty much as compulsively readable as the first, and now I need more. What's next??? Suggestions? Comedy of manners? Fantasy of manners? Something mind-eat-y and escapist. If you please?


*faris_nallaneen informs me that since she carried many of them (and paid for at least half, if not more) the proper pronoun here should be "we." The brawl, however, was all me.

i finished Perdido Street Station today. it ate my head.
(if you are a sci-fi/fantasy/cyberpunk fan, i highly recommend it.)

i was looking at the author's picture on the back cover which lead to the following exchange between the Dandelion-Head and myself.
(for reference, the guy, China Mieville, has in this picture: a shaved head, some piercings, and a cynical-bad ass-but-also-sort-of-cute-and-befuddled-"i-still-wear-geeky-tee-shirts" kind of look going on. typical 20-something. and i can say that because i am one.)

kali-chan: Doesn't this guy just look so cool?
dandelion: He's certainly trying.

now, i wonder. why is it that people who are making an effort aren't impressive? why is it that desire is the kiss of death as far as cool goes?

it's like that phenomenon that occurs as soon as you find yourself in a relationship. you know the one i'm talking about. where all of a sudden people come flying out of the woodwork, dying to date you, or sleep with you, or fall in love with you, and you sit there thinking, "well, shit, where were you a few weeks ago, dude?"