"If You're Offended, Can't Take it Back"

If you're offended…can't take it back"


So here it is. This is the completely unabridged and unedited version of the India blog. Removed from the distribution list, my boss's boss, my mother, and a few others that I used to actually care what they thought, but in light of the fact that none of them have even said "hi," since I've been here, they are clearly too serious (see boring, short sighted, and any other adjective for "not as smart as they appear to be…") for this blog, especially what I'm about to write.

Welcome to the weekend…let's start on a high note.

Scream – the night club.

Earlier in the week I didn't think I would be able to get into Scream, because it was for couples only and clearly I'm single…especially over here. Well, after talking to Chetan (my hierarchical equivalent at Syntel), it was explained to me that this rule was only for outsiders. So at 11:15 pm last night, I went clubbing. Originally I was wearing a "large logo" (from 2005 Wimbledon) Polo Rugby over another "large logo" Polo Polo shirt. (Those of you in the Quincy High English department, are familiar with such a shirt…Chris wore the one I bought him for Christmas (unfortunately I actually paid $98 for it…oops) in the "give the Math Department the finger" picture.) Needless to say the outfit was sick, and India wasn't really for it. I actually took off the Rugby before I went down. This was very wise because the club literally was at least 85 degrees plus.

What is an Indian club like you ask…? Well very similar to a European club…or something like Vertigo (I don't even know if it's still open) in Boston; very trendy, very "house," and very much like an American club. It happened in Italy too. The clubs there are so American it's somewhat laughable. For instance songs played last night: every Sean Kingston, Sean Paul, and (yes) Daddy Yankee song available. Also "house" versions of "Summer of '69," "Ice Ice Baby" (I couldn't make that up if I tried…), and even C + C Music Factory's "Sweat."

The DJ, (very much like the ultra cool Italian DJ who yelled at me in Florence) was completely full of himself; emulating every DJ you've ever heard of. I requested Jay-Z earlier in the night. All he had was Rhianna and Jay-Z…to which I smirked and said "OK." He played it cool and regained stride with such cool lines as … "I've got some bad news…The bar is closed!" Oh no…

All in all though, the club was awesome. It was filled with nothing but people (attempting to be) super awesome; all smoking, all hyper stylized, all looking to have a good time. It was a welcome (although ridiculous) break from the staunch atmosphere I have encountered thus far.

The major problem with the whole night was the complete lack of "wingman." How the hell was I supposed to accomplish anything there without a wingman? The crazy thing is that I almost did. Early on I was just scoping the scene, when two eastern European looking girls started "eye-fucking the shit out of me." So hard actually, that it caught me off guard. About ten minutes later, I thought about opening the set, when four guys came and swooped them away. This happened a few times. How the hell could I hold my own 10,000 miles away completely by myself?

About five minutes later I was in line at the bar when two girls approached me.

Would you like to dance with my friend?"

"Ummm Yeah, let me just grab a Kingfisher first" (Big mistake!)"


By the time I finally got my beer, four guys came over with drinks and stole them from me. This I could care less about. If you need to buy four drinks to get a girl to dance with you, then go right ahead.

There about four or five other scenarios like this. At one point I was about to leave, and a girl stuck here hand out to grab mine. I was already about five feet in front of her when I realized what she was asking. (What a moron.)

All in all, it was an awesome club and a good time. Those of us who have no clue how to interpret signals from other cultures are left alone, but I guess that's a good thing. What could really happen (and I could still respect myself) out here anyway?

After the club, I hit the 24 hour restaurant and grabbed a chicken burger. This was a major mistake. I woke up at 6:30 am to watch the Red Sox game, sick as a dog. I'm guessing it was the combination of curry lobster and a chicken burger that did me in. I haven't felt this bad in a long time, but in addition to my usual over tiredness and headache that I have had every day this trip, this Sunday morning I also had the Indian equivalent of the stomach flu…\

I slept it off. So much so, that when I woke at 6:00 pm tonight, I had slept 27 out of the last 32 hours of my life. Ridiculous I know, but this third shift thing was killing me. I have never been so exhausted and out of it.

I went down to the lobby and grabbed an espresso with a side of coffee to wake up. Then I spent the next two hours reading Esquire. A few thoughts…

Chuck Klosterman's America - Harry Potter (http://www.esquire.com/features/chuck-klostermans-america/klosterman1107)

I usually don't read Chuck K's America because it seems like the ranting of a complete asshole, who thinks he's more interesting and a better writer than he is. (Sound familiar?)

His whole premise was that he never got involved in the Harry Potter phenomenon and how his unfamiliarity would affect him in the long term when the children who are reading it currently, control mass media in the future.

Initially I was with him, but early on I broke from his logic, later to think he was a complete tool.
First of all, it is interesting to hypothesize how this generation of ADHD, text messaging, in car DVD watching, Harry Potter reading kids will affect us all when they grow up. My contention is that they will never grow up, always be boring, and will never actualize into anything worthwhile. I mean we all had Care-bears, gimp, slap bracelets, and Smurfs, growing up…but how many of us paint our faces blue and wear white pants? Today's kids, are exactly what their parents wanted them to be, medicated and out of their (the parents) way, and as a result I'm feeling confident that my 13 year old cousin (who I still believe doesn't know my name…) will remain a stuttering thoughtless imp the rest of her life.

Getting back to Chuck, who within his "piece" if you will, acknowledged/bragged that Esquire pays him a good deal to write about (useless) topics.

You know what?

Fuck you Chuck and Esquire for actually paying you.

Chuck continues the article theorizing that Harry is an orphan, goes to wizard school, battles good and evil, and eventually wins…or in other words exactly what happens. I too haven't read Harry Potter or have seen any movies, but the other day at the gym in the hotel one of the movies was on. Playing was one of the final scenes, and Harry and the good teacher were battling another pupil and the bad teacher (coincidentally Michael Caffee from "Brotherhood.") In this scene Harry eventually turns a Cobra shot at him through a wand, back at the other pupil (who shot it) and wins the "battle."

Who gives a shit? The point is, why the fuck Esquire is paying some fuck-stick goateed black-sweater-wearing prick to write about Harry Potter is beyond me.

You mean, a bunch of people are reading it, you're not, and you might be left out of the loop? "Oh my God!"

Or, you fucking tool, Harry Potter is not exactly the Magna Carta and I wouldn't really worry about it.

Some people in this world have to go to soup kitchens to eat, worry about leaks in their roofs, have kids with diseases, or family members that are terminally ill.

The last thing we need in this world is another detached overly intellectual dick writing about crap that anyone with a 9th grade reading level or above couldn't give shit about.

Just because when you were an alter boy, Fr. Shamrock wouldn't play sock puppet Chuck, don't take it out on me.

I guess the rest of Sunday can wait at this point…