apropos of anything

… I am simultaneously terrified of the third thing and ready for it to arrive already because at least then I’d know.

In Mumbai there is a hotel that sits on the water, near the financial district and the higher-end shopping, and as the Mumbaikers drive by they say proudly to the out-of-towners, that’s the Taj Hotel, it’s one of the highest-rated hotels in the world!

Tonight the Taj looked like this:

And I thought, oh no. Not again. Not my other city. Not the Taj, not the Oberoi, not Colaba where I go to buy shoes. I thought, I would like this to stop, please.

We called Mumbai, and they said they were fine. Holed up at home and not really wanting or allowed to leave, all the schools canceled and the majority of the businesses closed, but fine. And while I am so incredibly grateful that they are not hurt, and even more grateful that Mumbai is learning to keep its temper and no longer explodes in riots whenever something gets blown up, I still wish things did not blow up quite so often.

And really, I wish I could smash whatever gigantic chip these so-called Muslims have on their shoulders that they would hold a grudge for something, that while horrendous, happened in 1992. I am tired of Islam being the scapegoat for the actions of a handful of lunatics, and I resent those same lunatics for their continued insistence on upending lives and families for absolutely no reason at all. I want to line them all up and tell them, you’ve forgotten that God is watching because otherwise you would never have done this in His name, and how dare you. How dare you forget Him. How dare you do this.

Instead, I’m going to brace myself for the next time. And the next time. And to wonder, when I visit Mumbai again, how deep the scars from this latest bloodbath will be.

1. “We WANT our point back.” (pause) “Well, I suppose when you’re winning by SO MUCH, one point doesn’t really matter, right? Let’s give it to them.”

2. “I can’t believe you let me talk about a freaking air mattress for 15 minutes before you told me that.”

3. “400 cookies are for weenies. Next time we do 800!”

I really really love my friends.

President Obama. I am so excited, and teary, and just plain HAPPY. If only my computer weren’t horking so I could post a screenshot of that awesome, awesome homepage where they finally called it.

Update 11/5: Looks like my vote wasn’t counted last night. Maybe Georgia will go blue after all, or at least maybe we can get Saxby Chambliss out of the Senate. Still quite annoyed by this development.

Thinking how funny I must have looked this morning making my multiple trips back and forth from the car carrying giant Target bags full of cookies and then later settling them around my desk so I could take them down to Farah when she swung by to pick them up.

Wondering what tomorrow will be like, and the next day, and the next day.

Wishing Madelyn Dunham could have seen her grandson elected 44th President of the United States, especially because every time I re-read Obama’s convention acceptance speech (“She’s the one who put off buying a new car or a new dress for herself so that I could have a better life. She poured everything she had into me. And although she can no longer travel, I know that she’s watching tonight, and that tonight is her night as well.“) I tear up, but I suppose that’s not so unusual because a lot of his speeches make me tear up. Joe Klein says it better than me, and some of the commenters on his post make me truly hate Republicans.

Being hopeful.