Dear Fever-Induced Roadhouse Facebook Status Live Blog,

Thanks for making me feel better.

On the mend,
jason

Dear Delhi Traffic,

I think you get a bad reputation.

Yesterday all of the eighth graders in our school went on  field trips to support the work they're doing on their integrated capstone project.  The group we took went to North Delhi to visit a rehabilitation center for bonded child laborers and a medical facility in a low-income area.

Beyond the obvious, interesting nature of the projects we were visiting, it meant that we had to face you, Delhi Traffic.  From school, the journey to North Delhi would last 90 minutes.

That would make most people cringe, but not me Delhi Traffic.  I think you're great.  Anywhere else in the world and that much time in a bus would be boring, but you have so much going on that it's like watching a movie.

The ninety minutes went by in a flash as we traveled and you kept me entertained.  Thanks!

But...your next segment really showcased your double-edged treachery, Delhi Traffic.  A 45 minute jaunt changed into a TWO HOUR delay.  Did you disappoint?  Of course not.  In that one hundred and twenty minutes (and 15? kilometers), you gave me centuries-old tombs and forts, three weddings, a flood, ox-carts, water buffalo, innumerable cows, the buzz of street life and one of my most favorite recent photos.

Like I said before Delhi Traffic, I think you get a bad rep.

Awestruck,
jason

ps.  Here are some pictures of your traffic-caused entertainment to send your family.

Dear Holy Cows,

I was just in the kitchen getting more coffee when I saw one of you pass by my window.  You know what Holy Cows, it never gets old.  I crack up every time I see you.   I know that I should be used to it, but every time I see you, I think to myself, "Wow! There's a cow!"  I'm smiling right now, just thinking about it.

In my backyard, in the streets, at the mall-you're everywhere.  Awesome.   Here's to you Holy Cows.

On the way to work

My first Holy Cows, 2006

Getting close and personal

Orchha

Bovine-ily yours,

jason

Dear Colorful Indian Lamps,

You know what, Colorful Indian Lamps? I think you're great.

When I first saw you in 2006 in Varanasi and took two of you back to Korea with me, I thought you were great. I mean, how cool?  Exotic Indian lamps in my apartment in the ROK.   I was so excited for you to be on the porch that I took the door off in order to allow you join us in the living room.

(Those doors were heavier than they looked.)

People always asked about you when they'd come to visit and I'd brag about finding you in India.  They loved you; I loved you.  But, I should have taken better care of you.  You would often fall to the floor and I would get lazy about putting you back up.  After one such fall, combined with a party mishap, you took a bad hit.

(Pictured: Colored Indian Lamp Staining Agent)

At that time, I figured that was it.  You'd be stained for life and I'd never have a chance to replace you.  Little did I know that I'd end up living in your homeland.

Since moving here, I've seen you hundreds of times Colorful Indian Lamps.  I've admired you, thought about that day in Varanasi when I bought you and all those times spent on the porch in Korea.  But, I haven't replaced you.  You're still sun-faded and wine-stained in a drawer.

Today, I went to the Surajkund Mela and you were in your full glory!  You were everywhere and I couldn't take enough photos of you.

But I still didn't replace you.  I'm not sure why I haven't taken you out of your drawer, or added any more Colorful Indian Lamps to my life.

Do you know what?  Maybe I should.

Vibrantly,
jason

Dear Indian Republic Day,

First of all, thank you soooo much for happening on a Wednesday this year. That was really cool. You changed Monday into Thursday, Tuesday into Friday, Thursday into Monday, but really the new Monday/Thursday was still Thursday so Friday was Friday. Which obviously made for two really short work weeks.

Even though I didn't get to go to your parade because there weren't any tickets left at the Ashok, I probably wouldn't have wanted to battle the masses for the seven a.m. arrival just to sit around and wait for the 9:30 start time. Also, since you wouldn't have let me bring my camera any way (security/schmcurity), I probably wouldn't have been that happy.

I did watch your parade on television though and as usual your pomp and circumstance was sensational. I loved the tanks, the fly-overs, the bands and the floats, but the stand-out this year was by far the float that showcased the Chemical Explosion Response Team. The giant papier-machee man with gas mask being escorted out of the chemical factory was cool. But because this was Indian Republic Day, you went over the top and had people on the float reenacting the whole scene live. Now, while some may say that showcasing an exploding chemical factory may be unsettling, I know that it's even more reassuring to know that if when it happens, the response team will be there.

Indian Republic Day, thanks for the day off. And thanks for the parade. But let's get to the main event. Thank you sooo much for barbecue in Malcha Marg.

Wowsers. A day off is great, but when the weather in India changes from the dismal winter cold to the beautiful (but short) spring, it's really great! To celebrate the weather (and Indian pride) we headed to the roof to cook some meat and enjoy the company of friends.

And just when it couldn't have gotten any better, it did. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the upswell in national pride or maybe it was the desire to eliminate carbs, but the conditions were perfect. We decided to go chemical explosion float and take it over the top.

I'm talking of course about the brotdog.





Indian Republic Day, without you, the brotdog wouldn't be blowing minds right now. I owe you one.

Deliciously over the top,
jason

Dear Strangest Hotel Experience Ever,

When we arrived at 8:30pm to your hotel, the Merisess, we thought we'd drop our bags and head out in search of some classic Bangkok street food. Then we'd settle in to your elegantly simple boutique hotel bed and drift off into sleep.

But, on that night, in that exotic city there was a mystery afoot.

We managed to slip right past you with our clever use of American Airlines frequent flier miles; your email receiving capabilities were tested to their limits. What to do? I maintained that we had a reservation and you maintained that you had a full hotel. The game was on! The way you made us wait for an hour while you picked up your magnifying glass, played your best Dr. Watson, scoured my voucher and your computer system for our reservation was truly captivating. And just when we started to question ourselves, you called in your Mr. Holmes, the Sherlock of the Sukhumvit. He encouraged you to check your "other email account" and sure enough, the mystery was solved. We had, in fact booked a room. But what to do? How to solve the mystery? The rooms were full!

Well luckily Mr. Holmes, the owner of the hotel, had another property across town. We were whisked into a taxi, the driver was told of the secret route and we were given the number of Mr. Mike.

Ah, Mr. Mike. The associate of our great problem solver. "Meet Mr. Mike in front of the Starbucks, which will be closed. He will take care of you from there." I have to admit, Strangest Hotel Experience Ever, at this point the scene from Pulp Fiction did creep into my mind. "Take care of us?" Were you planning on icing us? Or were you just going to put us into another hotel? When we pulled up in front of the 50+ story State Tower, I had the feeling that it would be the former, and not the latter. The State Tower IS NOT a hotel.

In his best Peter Lorre impression, Mr. Mike informed us that we would be staying in the boss's apartment that night. We were brought up to the 44th floor, given a key and entered a giant, furnished apartment. It was nice to look at, and had a great view, but it was very unsettling to see two bottles of water, hotel soap and cheap hotel towels on the counter. Our fears were not assuaged when you told us the the room was kept by the hotel for "emergencies" and that the "boss sometimes slept here." Your parting words of, "if you need anything, just go down to the front desk and ask them to call Mr. Mike" left us wondering just how exactly are you connected to our Sherlock Holmes? And also, how exactly does one become a Mr. First Namer? And what exactly was this place that you decided to send us to? The "emergency" apartment?

After checking every room, cabinet and closet to ensure that we weren't about to be killed, we wandered out to the balcony and looked down on the Shangri-La Hotel where we had first met. Fitting, just days after our one-year anniversary. And just then, fireworks shot up from a barge on the river. Huh. Strange.

After locking, dead-bolting and security bolting the door, we went to sleep. We woke up anxious to check in to the real hotel and called Mr. Mike. He asked us if we were comfortable during the night, we weren't sure how to answer the question and we headed back to the Merisess. Mystery solved, another success for the Great Holmes and Watson. We figured you'd be waiting with apologetic eyes, a fruit basket and a room ready. But that would have been too predictable, wouldn't it? That's not the way you do things. You slyly took the upper hand and had us wait for 30 minutes until the room was ready. Thanks for that.

Awkwardly uncomfortable still,
jason

Dear Dewey The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World,

As the Booklist (starred review) said, you are a "beguiling, poignant and tender tale." I'm so glad that you were left behind in a heap of what could have been cheesy or unreadable books in the closet at the apartment in the Jayakarta Resort in Bali. I mean, I could have chosen any of the books from that deep, dark closet shelf. But I chose you, Dewey. I chose you because the photo of you on the cover called to me. It said, read me and find out more about Dewey Readmore Books, the small-town library cat who touched the world.

Oh Dewey the small-town library cat who touched the world, you taught me not only about the peculiarities about a handsome, humble (for a cat) cat, but you also taught me about the resilience of a small town in northwestern Iowa.

Just like the book in the closet, you were left behind in a drop-box on that frigid January morning, and as you snuggled into Vicki Myron's chest, you made that rough and tumble farm girls heart melt. When Doris would give you catnip and you'd do figure eights, zigzags and pretzels you'd make everyone laugh. As you jumped into the laps of the genealogy club members at their weekly meetings, you made people feel special. But when you started getting into the local press, Cat Fancy, the documentary Puss in Books and even the Japanese documentary, you touched the world.

That's right Dewey, the small-town library cat who touched the world, you touched the entire world. But you also touched me. I feel recharged and revitalized after reading your tale. You reminded me to value the small things, to value quality over quantity, to find my place, to be happy with what I have and to love life. You were a special cat.

To close my letter to you, Dewey the small-town library cat who touched the world, I will leave with Vicki Myron's description of you in your official photograph, the one that won the contest at Shopko, accompanied countless articles in international press and the one that caught my eye. "He looks like he's trying to be strong and handsome but can't quite pull it off because he's so darn cute."

Thanks Dewey the small-town library cat who touched the world, thanks for being so darn cute.

Cat Fancied,
jason