I won!! I won.

Winning a game that basically combines the simplicity of Pong with the hypnotic beauty of the MSPaint color wheel should not make me feel quite this accomplished.

But you know what? IT DOES.

Naan and Chocolate

An epic tale of love and food set against the Swiss countryside and the sweet, sweet sounds of Bollywood's best musicians. Coming to a theater near you... SOON!*

*Please note: it is probably not coming to a theater near you any time soon. But wouldn't it be awesome if it were?

Paul Krugman wins today's prize for Most Disappointing Blog Post with his entry "Naan and Chocolate." It was about neither naan nor chocolate, but instead a discussion of Indian tourism in Switzerland. The blog post was accompanied by an article titled "A Beloved Bollywood Extra Draws Indians."(Hint: the extra here is the Swiss countryside.)

Basically, because so many of the most iconic Bollywood scenes (mostly awesome dream sequences) are shot in Switzerland, there has been an influx of Indian tourists. Thus naan and chocolate, being two iconic foodstuffs, are highlighted for no purpose. Krugman does get minor points for managing to include Bollywood in his discussion.

BUT, as my intrepid roommate Emily pointed out, doesn't the world desperately NEED a Bollywood film entitled Naan and Chocolate? Yes. The answer is yes.

PICTURE IT:

A young Swiss country boy, swarthy in his lederhosen, herds sheep and yodels for a living in the high valleys of the Alps. By day, he is lonely, with nobody but his sheep to keep him company. But by night, he carefully crafts the most delectable chocolates in all of Switzerland.

He also drinks beer with his friends, for this is Switzerland after all.

Even with the chocolate, however, the nights get long and lonely.

ENTER: a beautiful, doe-eyed baker woman from India whose incredible skill with bread products went under appreciated in her homeland. By day she bakes cream puffs, Linzer tortes, Liège style waffles, and Bündner Nusstorte. By night, she sometimes gets lonely and homesick, and craves nothing more than simple naan.

She's usually covered in flour.

They meet and fall in love. There is dancing, there is baking, there is chocolate, there is yodeling in the Bollywood style. It's a delicious fusion of cultures as East meets West, lederhosen meets sari, and sea level meets very much above sea level.

Concept art: dancing in a secluded meadow.

Eventually...

Catch phrase? "It's like a crepe, only it tastes like love."

Occasionally all I want to do with my life is listen to poetry over and over again until I can recite it by heart. For instance:

We, the youthful sinewy races; all the rest on us depend.


(I didn't buy any Levi's jeans but I did memorize the first five stanzas of this poem, ready to be busted out at a moment's notice.)

Or this celebration of sibilance: "...silkscreen the Sistine ceiling on my soft palate"



Or even this love story told in emoticons:

(The ambiguous ending is meant to be followed directly by this song.)

And sometimes I just want to listen to "Hay un amigo en mi" on endless repeat:

Heyo I'm an intern again.

No. No. I'm an agent. To a STAR.

Well, my sister-in-law. Who is sort of famous. In our family. For art.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/TaylorsArtCloset

Yep, there it is. Shameless self-promotion. Except that it's for my sister-in-law and I'm doing it for free, so... selfless shame-promotion? She's actually a phenomenal artist. These three listings don't even begin to scratch the surface of her talent. She promised to send me more photos tomorrow, so hopefully those will be listed tomorrow as well.

In the meantime, have some pop-art portraits!

 Rockabilly Ruby, based on this picture.

This is my brother!

Boy Blue, based on this photo.

And here she is, and she's so beautiful.

Also talented! Did I mention talented?

So yes, it's a return to the world of internships, because that's what the boss lady called me. And by "boss lady" I mean sister-in-law.

I prefer to think of myself as an art dealer. A high-powered one. Someday I'll even work out of my own awesome office. With a window and a couple of awesome vintage maps. And I'll make sales calls that use the words "Warhol-esque genius" unironically. Yes.

God bless America.

I just got back from spending several hours on the National Mall, watching the fireworks. It is an interesting tradition: blowing small bits of gunpowder and colorful chemicals into the sky to create incredible sparkly displays. Such beauty, for such a short time. Such fleetingly gorgeous waste.

I sometimes have a difficult time looking at the fireworks themselves and find myself staring at the smoke they leave behind. I always think it looks a little like fossilized coral, but that is because I am a weirdo who thinks fireworks smoke looks a little like dead starfish.

Last year, I was pretty sure that my neighborhood was the site of a gang war July 1-3. Now I understand: it's just exuberance, power, and a tiny bit of pyromania. Still, it's a little weird to celebrate the birth of this nation by blowing up a little bit of it. Also, it's 1:30am. I kind of thought they'd all be done by now.

Nope. Pop pop pop pop POP pop POP POP pop pop pop pop tseeeeeeerrr!

Happy independence, y'all. It's a funny old world, but I'm glad I'm in it.

I'm glad I'm here.