Blogspot, purple potato.

Last night I went to a dinner party in Williamsburg that was different from most dinner parties I've experienced, as the emphasis was clearly on the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, not the wine or whiskey. For me, attending a dinner party where the accent actually fell on the food felt like seeing a film populated entirely with character actors (perhaps with Julia Roberts playing the supporting role of the kindly librarian) after a lifetime of watching Ocean's 11 on a loop.

But beyond foreshadowing the diminished post-college role that alcohol is fated to play out in my life, that party supported a vision of my future absurdly similar to my memories of childhood (or, more accurately, my parents' early adulthood). Fucking terrifying.

Let me explain: At one point during the night, all the males at the party were sitting in the living room talking about the logical incongruity of India's continued existence as a democracy despite the perverse gap between the country's rich and poor. Meanwhile, all the ladies were in the kitchen making us dinner (later, washing the dishes).

I'd like to think they were also talking about makeup, shopping and child-rearing. Say hello to separation of spheres! Say hello to every Chinese barbeque I've ever been to. Fucking terrifying.

I had lots of fun though. I am secretly fond of talking about things I don't understand (i.e. India). They also had a really cool coffee table book with an electron micrograph of pollen on the cover. That was pretty sweet.