pittsburgh hearts: an open letter to [you]

Dear [insert your name here],

This is the letter that I have meant to send to you for quite some time. Every night, I come home and think, 'I will write a real letter to [insert your name here]!' And then every night I discover that thirteen hours of work strips one's desire to pen a letter, even to one's [pick one: best friend/roommate/parent/sibling/niece/nephew/generic relative/favorite former resident/closest coworker]. But please believe me when I say that the lack of individual attention does not mean that I care about you any less.

India is very entertaining, and I am enjoying my stay here. Tonight, there is a film crew in the clubhouse area of the apartment complex, and they are recording what appears to be a movie or a fashion show. The juxtaposition between the movie set and the scrub-filled wilderness beyond the wall is quite jarring. The juxtapositions *everywhere* are quite jarring--women in beautiful saris carrying concrete in buckets on their heads; autorickshaws covered in Christmas lights sputtering past Hindu temples; tent cities set up against the walls of marble mansions; the miniature disco ball swinging from Gopal's rearview mirror above a small figurine of Ganesh. In a country where my pale skin and American clothes make me an object of fascination, nothing ever seems to make sense, and there's a crazy sense of vertigo beneath the typically-mundane schedule of work and sleep. It reminds me of the Rob Thomas video which I know that you [love/hate/aren't aware of], in which he keeps singing while the rooms, objects, and people flip and switch around him. I can be working at my desk, doing essentially the same job that I do in California, and I can forget where I am--until something jars me into awareness, like the flickering lights of the ubiquitous brownouts, or the dull thud and rumble of dynamite destroying rocks in the construction sites that ring our building. Then I'm brought back to reality, even though it seems that this can never be real, that it is just a dream that my overactive imagination has forced upon me.

But you don't want to hear about this; you just care about [silks/foods/prostitutes/whether I get along with my coworkers/when I get to come home]. I understand your curiosity. And the short answer is: they're [beautiful/sadness-inducing/cheap/entertaining/going to send me home in October]. The longer answer is probably not worth it in this letter, although I can't wait to talk to you when I get home and show you a five-hour slideshow of every single picture that I've taken here. I have about eighteen different shots of my bedspread which I think are quite interesting, and I'm sure that you would not begrudge me the six minutes of your life that it would take to show you those particular photos. That's why the bond between us is so strong--you're willing to put up with my [sense of humor/affinity for the bizarre/love of Zoolander/intense sarcasm/desire to live as far away as possible from Iowa], and I am willing to put up with your [silence/comic books/Round Barn/tendency to invite me to more gatherings when you know that I'm too far away to come/obsession with trucks/belief that I won't notice when you hook up in the same bed that I'm sleeping in]. And really, I feel that these differences have only brought us closer.

Now, my [love/friend], I think that it is time for me to sleep. Please know that I miss you tremendously; when I am not thinking about work, or about guacamole or chocolate chip chewies or steak or any other food, I sometimes think about you instead. It always brings a smile to my face and a skip to my heart when I remember [putting you in the fish cage/playing mafia/skanksgiving/partying in squaw valley/sonoma/milk rotting in my mouth/die another day/chronicles of riddick/shrimp or feet/the rivets burning us at area51/the great barrier reef/pingpong/pearl milk tea/miniature golf/that one perfect day with the rowing and the cemetary and eating at swanns at five a.m.]. Please know that despite the distance between us, I love and miss you. I hope to hear from you soon!

All my love,
Sara

P.S. 'pittsburgh hearts' refers to a great album by a band called Grand Buffet. Or rather, I'm assuming it's great based on the only album I own by them, which is called 'sparkle classic', and which I picked up at a Wesley Willis concert that they opened for a few years ago. 'pittsburgh hearts' does not have the song 'Let's Go Find the Cat', which you [may remember from the time I killed the iParty/have fortunately never heard]. Despite that, I suggest that you pick up something by them; they apparently released a new CD on June 7! They're also touring like crazy this summer, so you can check them out in [London/Boston/Pittsburgh/New York/Oklahoma City].

P.P.S. I have rediscovered the joy of Ricky Martin's 'The Cup of Life'. Thank you for [sharing my enthusiasm/loving me anyway].