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Wednesday, November 28, 2007

On Vacation Freyne

An honor to be replaced in the print edition this vacation week by the one and only David Sirota. First met David when he was a [young] press secretary for a certain Vermont congressman with a Brooklyn accent. Thanks, David.

Mariedclairedad And here's something a little different. Marie Claire, pictured with her dad Tim Whiteford, a St. Mike's prof, manages Speeder & Earl's on Pine Street to pay her bills. But at the moment, she's on one of those month-long other-side-of-the-world vacation trips to visit a friend in India, not Indiana the state,  but India the country -  you know, where Gandhi preached a gospel of nonviolence.

We knew Marie Claire inherited some of her Scottish father's musical talent - Tim's the organizer of Richmond, Vermont's Celtic New Year - but the young lady picked up some writing talent somewhere as well, as evidenced by her entertaining online reports from India posted on her blog.

Here's a taste:

... you find your breaking point and pass it.

... when the taxi driver is trying to rip you off and tells you no he can't put the meter on because it's broken and you've heard that line a hundred times you look at him and yell "THAT'S A LIE!" and you can tell he knows it by the succeeding gleeful peals of laughter.

... your snot is black.  one day in Delhi and your snot - is - black.  we won't even discuss the q-tips in the garbage can.

... your rickshaw driver lets you off a block early because the street is heavily congested with traffic.  due to a wedding.  complete with groom-on-horse, marching band, hand-held lamps powered by a generator on a wagon, dancing indian men a la Elaine from Seinfeld.

... fifteen minutes after noting (out loud) the bad teeth and annoying indoor smoking habits of the large and curiously well-groomed party of Brits seated next to you at dinner, the restaurant manager stands up and announces to the dining room at large that it is their distinct pleasure this evening to welcome the mayor of London and his entourage.  whoops.

... oh well, as you sit and enjoy the evening's "entertainment" hired in his honor, you become certain that the belly dancer who is now gyrating around him while he tries to enjoy his meal is making him much more uncomfortable than your verbal faux-pas, which he probably didn't hear anyway.

... i hope.

... you really want to go to the beach.  good thing you're heading there tomorrow!


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