People are all up in arms about school budget cuts and the cancellation of gym classes of all things. Seriously, cancel that shit. Almost every bad thing that's happened to me in life happened in a gym class. Also, almost every inane activity I've ever been forced into has been in a gym class. In the second grade, we were kept busy with the asinine exercise of building towers with foam blocks and jumping over them, repeatedly. Being the shortest child in the class and harboring the early stages of a Napoleonic complex, I built the tallest tower, attempted to jump over it and sprained my ankle. I swear, I still have ankle issues in damp weather. I have been attacked by swarms of bugs on ropes courses, attacked by boys who supposedly had crushes on me on jungle gyms, I have skinned and calloused my hands on those stupid ropes we had to climb up year after year, I have puked after being forced to run the mile, and for what? For nothing, I tell you.

And square dancing? Seriously. Indians shouldn't have to square dance for anyone. It's humiliating. Like watching innocent people break rocks at a forced labor camp for your own entertainment. It's like when Asian people have Southern accents. Like Bobby Jindal. I am mesmerized when I watch him speak. Everything that comes out of his mouth is positively boring, but it's like watching a dubbed movie, the voice doesn't correspond with the face. What offended me most about that 60 Minutes interview that was aired months ago (aside from his policies and obvious lack of charisma) was the way he and his wife behaved when they were asked about their ethnicity (on a side note, it was kind of amazing that Jindal has managed to procure himself a soulmate who is also, like him, Indian, but afflicted with a heavy Southern accent, and is also a Republican, also in denial of her Indian roots and also painfully boring. There can't be too many people out there with this particular set of characteristics, so you know Jindal's hit the jackpot with this woman). You could tell that the Jindals had painstakingly prepared for this moment, and they were armed and ready to deny their roots.

"No, no, we don't do Indian activities or cook Indian food in our house," said his wife, shaking her head and widening her eyes, as though being Indian was like the worst kind of rare and untreatable STD. The kind you get from really dirty hookers. The kind that nice middle-class people who live in gated communities shouldn't even know about.

"No, we consider ourselves American," he nodded in agreement, with a kind of don't-push-me-further-on-this-one-Steve-Kroft-sternness. Like the two were mutually exclusive entities. It was absurd. Like "You may see a brown person here, but it's just a costume. Underneath, I'm as white as Dick Cheney." Seriously, what the fuck is up with that?

Uck. He also talked about delivering his own child in a bathtub. Serious Uck.

I think my biggest fear is somehow raising a child who grows up to be like Bobby Jindal. Sometimes you really don't know what you're going to end up with. If I raised a Bobby Jindal, like by accident, or I should say, if Bobby Jindal were my child, I would give tons of funding to his opponent and publicly denounce his views. I might even run against him and apologize for my role in creating him during debates, just to throw him off, and I would do it in a heavy Indian accent. And wear a kurta and bring along big posters of Gandhi to place behind me everywhere I campaigned. I feel so bad for Bobby Jindal's parents. They must weep themselves to sleep every night.

So there it is. My opinion of gym class and Bobby Jindal. That's it.