I've never quite managed to get a grasp of the cheek-to-cheek kissing protocol in Europe.
"It's easy," Macklaine had told me when I was living in London (although after that he confessed to having been confused about it himself). "In England it's one kiss, in the rest of Europe it's two kisses, except in Switzerland, where it's three kisses."
Despite knowing this rule, I've made an inelegant bungle of things on several occasions, because in reality the kissing game is a tip-toeing ritual where each party is trying to tentatively intuit just how many cheek-pecks the other is expecting.
Today was the last day of my Spanish classes, and as we were leaving, one of my friends leaned in to do the conventional quick two-pecks-on-the-cheek goodbye. Except that he kind of caught me mid-sentence, and caught off-guard as I was, my instinctive response was to take a step back and keep talking. So he ended up kissing into the blank spot of air which used to be me.
Yikes, I thought.
Then I quickly calculated: He's French, that means two. And leaned forward for the second cheek-peck, except that by this time he had assumed I wasn't into this game, and had stepped back himself. So I ended up proferring my cheek to nothingness.
There was a brief awkward pause.
"Ermm," he said.
"Ermm," I concurred.
There really was nothing else to be said.
I'm off to Germany tomorrow. Where a whole new world of cheek-kissing adventure awaits me.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Little red dress
I found myself wandering around in Baby Gap yesterday. Not just because I'm getting broody and barky. I also had the legitimate reason of needing to find a present for a colleague's baby shower. So I spent an hour oohing and aahing at the miracle of tiny socks that I could fit on my thumbs. As I was heading out again, my eyes fell upon a little red dress hanging on a rack in the corner. It was strikingly similar to a dress I had owned as a kid, and it startled back into me a memory I didn't even know I still had.
*********
The whole family was headed for a day by the pool. I was still a wee infant (maybe four), and dressed in my little red dress I saved for fun occasions. We all spent the morning playing in the water, splashing around as we escaped the tropical heat. Dad was teaching me how to swim. Every once in a while, he would lift me horizontally into the air, with me balancing belly-down on his palm, pretending I was an aeroplane. Then he'd launch me headfirst into the water a few feet ahead, as I shrieked in a mixture of panic and delight. The game was called 'the Rocket'. I remember the momentary panic I'd feel on entering the water, thrashing wildly and fearing I'd drown, and then I'd suddenly remember I knew how to swim after all, and the relief would surge through me as I rose to the surface triumphantly. "Again!!" I'd plead to him.
Towards the end of the morning we all got out of the pool, exhausted and exhilarated, and trundled off towards our respective changing rooms: Mum and I into 'Women', and Dad and Rohinton into 'Men'. Mum showered me and towelled me dry and sprinkled me with powder so I smelled like fresh baby. Then she slipped my red dress on me, over my head, but the zipper wouldn't come up.
"Hmmm." She said, puzzled.
"Is it stuck?" I asked.
She wasn't sure. She slipped the dress off again, and tested the zipper. Nope, it worked smoothly. She put the dress back over my head, and tried to zip it up, but again it wouldn't get up past half way. "I can't figure it out!" She exclaimed. "It's not the zip. It's just that the dress doesn't seem to fit you anymore, it's too tight!!"
What.
"But it fit me on the way here," I pointed out.
"I know," she shrugged. "I don't understand it either." She gave it another try, but to no avail. The seams threatened to rip if we pulled it the zipper up any higher.
"We're going to have to ask Dad", she sighed. So I was dragged outside to an impatient father and brother.
"The zip doesn't go up anymore." Mum explained, handing me over to Dad. "It's as if the dress doesn't fit her anymore." Dad frowned.
Rohinton tittered. I glared at him.
"Let me see that," Dad said, examining the zip. He gave it a couple of gentle tugs. Then a forceful one. Nothing seemed to work. The dress simply wasn't fitting me anymore. My parents exchanged puzzled looks.
I glanced from one to the other. "Mum, I need to pee," I said.
"Okay hurry up, sweetie," she said in a bothered tone.
I was back in a couple of minutes, and Dad gestured for me to come over. "Now let's try that again," he said.
And the zip slipped up, easy as pie.
My parents glanced at each other in surprise.
"What the...."
"You think the peeing....?"
Rohinton's quiet tittering in the corner burst into full-blown giggles. Dad grinned down at me.
"I think you slimmed down quite a bit when you peed there, kid," he said.
I looked up at him in horror. Mum tried to smother a smile.
"I guess you just take in a lot of water when you swim," she said. I was mortified, and tears of embarrassment sprang to my eyes.
I can't really remember wearing that red dress again.
******
I snapped out of my reverie and looked at the little dress on the rack again. Now that I looked closely, it wasn't really like the dress I'd had. Not too much. Just enough to jog the memory.
*********
The whole family was headed for a day by the pool. I was still a wee infant (maybe four), and dressed in my little red dress I saved for fun occasions. We all spent the morning playing in the water, splashing around as we escaped the tropical heat. Dad was teaching me how to swim. Every once in a while, he would lift me horizontally into the air, with me balancing belly-down on his palm, pretending I was an aeroplane. Then he'd launch me headfirst into the water a few feet ahead, as I shrieked in a mixture of panic and delight. The game was called 'the Rocket'. I remember the momentary panic I'd feel on entering the water, thrashing wildly and fearing I'd drown, and then I'd suddenly remember I knew how to swim after all, and the relief would surge through me as I rose to the surface triumphantly. "Again!!" I'd plead to him.
Towards the end of the morning we all got out of the pool, exhausted and exhilarated, and trundled off towards our respective changing rooms: Mum and I into 'Women', and Dad and Rohinton into 'Men'. Mum showered me and towelled me dry and sprinkled me with powder so I smelled like fresh baby. Then she slipped my red dress on me, over my head, but the zipper wouldn't come up.
"Hmmm." She said, puzzled.
"Is it stuck?" I asked.
She wasn't sure. She slipped the dress off again, and tested the zipper. Nope, it worked smoothly. She put the dress back over my head, and tried to zip it up, but again it wouldn't get up past half way. "I can't figure it out!" She exclaimed. "It's not the zip. It's just that the dress doesn't seem to fit you anymore, it's too tight!!"
What.
"But it fit me on the way here," I pointed out.
"I know," she shrugged. "I don't understand it either." She gave it another try, but to no avail. The seams threatened to rip if we pulled it the zipper up any higher.
"We're going to have to ask Dad", she sighed. So I was dragged outside to an impatient father and brother.
"The zip doesn't go up anymore." Mum explained, handing me over to Dad. "It's as if the dress doesn't fit her anymore." Dad frowned.
Rohinton tittered. I glared at him.
"Let me see that," Dad said, examining the zip. He gave it a couple of gentle tugs. Then a forceful one. Nothing seemed to work. The dress simply wasn't fitting me anymore. My parents exchanged puzzled looks.
I glanced from one to the other. "Mum, I need to pee," I said.
"Okay hurry up, sweetie," she said in a bothered tone.
I was back in a couple of minutes, and Dad gestured for me to come over. "Now let's try that again," he said.
And the zip slipped up, easy as pie.
My parents glanced at each other in surprise.
"What the...."
"You think the peeing....?"
Rohinton's quiet tittering in the corner burst into full-blown giggles. Dad grinned down at me.
"I think you slimmed down quite a bit when you peed there, kid," he said.
I looked up at him in horror. Mum tried to smother a smile.
"I guess you just take in a lot of water when you swim," she said. I was mortified, and tears of embarrassment sprang to my eyes.
I can't really remember wearing that red dress again.
******
I snapped out of my reverie and looked at the little dress on the rack again. Now that I looked closely, it wasn't really like the dress I'd had. Not too much. Just enough to jog the memory.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Moving house
On Saturday I helped Ilajna move apartments. It should be noted that when she asked me to move, she neglected to mention that she lived on the fifth floor of a walk-up! Ha. This is just the kind of joke you can play on friends. :)
So Saturday morning found me bright and early in the lobby of her building, gazing up the never-ending spiral of stairs in disbelief. Paulus Maximus had come too, and with a cursory glance at the stairs, and Ilajna's countless boxes, suggested we start by going out for brunch. Wise man.
Then, stumblingly, staggeringly, quiveringly, crashingly, bangingly, laughingly, we somehow managed to transport all the boxes, crates, and bags down the 8 flights of stairs and into the U-haul parked outside. A short drive into Jersey, another bout of furious unloading at the other end, and we were ready to call it a day.
First thing the next morning Ilajna and I reached out to each other to make sure we were both okay.
How's your back feeling? Your arms? Any sore muscles?
I'm fine. You?
Fine too.
Good :)
Not a single sore muscle. I had pleasantly surprised myself. But that was Sunday morning. By evening it was a whole other story; and two days later, there still remains much to be wanted. My body has apparently decided it doesn't like carrying thirty heavy cardboard boxes down five floors. Isn't life full of surprises.
So Saturday morning found me bright and early in the lobby of her building, gazing up the never-ending spiral of stairs in disbelief. Paulus Maximus had come too, and with a cursory glance at the stairs, and Ilajna's countless boxes, suggested we start by going out for brunch. Wise man.
Then, stumblingly, staggeringly, quiveringly, crashingly, bangingly, laughingly, we somehow managed to transport all the boxes, crates, and bags down the 8 flights of stairs and into the U-haul parked outside. A short drive into Jersey, another bout of furious unloading at the other end, and we were ready to call it a day.
First thing the next morning Ilajna and I reached out to each other to make sure we were both okay.
How's your back feeling? Your arms? Any sore muscles?
I'm fine. You?
Fine too.
Good :)
Not a single sore muscle. I had pleasantly surprised myself. But that was Sunday morning. By evening it was a whole other story; and two days later, there still remains much to be wanted. My body has apparently decided it doesn't like carrying thirty heavy cardboard boxes down five floors. Isn't life full of surprises.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Little indulgences
Two things I'm really into at the moment:
- The dress I found for P&P's wedding. As often as I can, I put it on and stand in front of the mirror, twirling and pirouetting and tossing my head coquettishly. I know it's childish and silly and vain and ridiculously un-me. But I just can't stop myself.
- A new headset/mic that I bought so I can speak to JC on skype. Wearing it as I walk around the apartment makes me feel like Madonna. I'm so thrilled with it I didn't even feel stupid when the long wire trailing behind me got caught in the door jamb and jerked my head back just like in the cartoons ("I can't talk to you when you look like that," said Jeet, shaking her head).
Inihtar, maybe this will answer your question about why I don't have time to do laundry and cleaning at the same time... :)
- The dress I found for P&P's wedding. As often as I can, I put it on and stand in front of the mirror, twirling and pirouetting and tossing my head coquettishly. I know it's childish and silly and vain and ridiculously un-me. But I just can't stop myself.
- A new headset/mic that I bought so I can speak to JC on skype. Wearing it as I walk around the apartment makes me feel like Madonna. I'm so thrilled with it I didn't even feel stupid when the long wire trailing behind me got caught in the door jamb and jerked my head back just like in the cartoons ("I can't talk to you when you look like that," said Jeet, shaking her head).
Inihtar, maybe this will answer your question about why I don't have time to do laundry and cleaning at the same time... :)
Evening prayer
Friday
6-8 pm: Find a dress to wear to P&P's wedding
8-12am: Dinner and movie with Vash
12-1am: Class write-up for alumni magazine
Saturday
9am: Pick up drycleaning
9.20am: Go to post office to mail Mannipenny's things (waterbottle, diffuser, earring box)
All day: Help Ilajna move house
8-9pm: Jogging/walking
9-12am: Dinner with Jeet and Rohinton
Night: Pass out
Sunday
9-11am: Clean apartment
11-6pm: Work picnic
6-7pm: Rest
7-8pm: Weekly grocery shop (prepare for Mum & Dad's visit, must by tea and biscuits)
8-9pm: Spanish homework
9-11pm: Laundry
Dear Gawd,
Next time you create the World, please could you invent 36-hour days thank you.
Life is a beautiful thing but sometimes it can just be a bit overwhelming.
Sincerely,
Ficali McPipe
M&C, I was so touched by your kind offer of friendship. If writing poems is all it takes, keep your eyes peeled ;)
6-8 pm: Find a dress to wear to P&P's wedding
8-12am: Dinner and movie with Vash
12-1am: Class write-up for alumni magazine
Saturday
9am: Pick up drycleaning
9.20am: Go to post office to mail Mannipenny's things (waterbottle, diffuser, earring box)
All day: Help Ilajna move house
8-9pm: Jogging/walking
9-12am: Dinner with Jeet and Rohinton
Night: Pass out
Sunday
9-11am: Clean apartment
11-6pm: Work picnic
6-7pm: Rest
7-8pm: Weekly grocery shop (prepare for Mum & Dad's visit, must by tea and biscuits)
8-9pm: Spanish homework
9-11pm: Laundry
Dear Gawd,
Next time you create the World, please could you invent 36-hour days thank you.
Life is a beautiful thing but sometimes it can just be a bit overwhelming.
Sincerely,
Ficali McPipe
M&C, I was so touched by your kind offer of friendship. If writing poems is all it takes, keep your eyes peeled ;)
Mixed feelings
On the downside, speaking to Milo Minderbinder, Vash and Inihtar today made me realise again what I'd been trying to forget - how sometimes life has a way of firing the worst of mishaps at you. Just on those days when things are going all wrong anyway and you're feeling a bit vulnerable and can't really find a security blanket to reach out for. Just when you really, really need things to go right. The unfairness of it just gets to me.
On the upside, JC's finally back from his Gulliver travels, and we got a chance to speak for a long time. There was so much to catch up on, I wanted to know about everything he'd seen and done. And I wanted to talk about all the things that have happened in my life during the past two weeks, even the inconsequential things. Especially the inconsequential things.
Boy. Living apart can be hard work. Sometimes, it feels like facing each other from opposite sides of a ravine. And each story, each anecdote, each gesture, each moment of connection is a step towards each other. Inch by inch, bridging the gap. Which can be hard work, but is just so worth it. Speaking to him again filled me with hope and happiness and a brimming-bursting-heart sort of feeling. And made me realise why I've been looking forward to my trip down to Germany so much.
But as I was trying to examine how I felt this evening, I couldn't quite put my finger on the mixed feelings. Great as it was to speak to JC again, I realised that my happiness was somewhat shadowed and dappled by my friends being distressed. I couldn't find it in me to be guiltlessly happy, not when my friends were troubled or upset.
Kams had once said to me, a couple of months ago, "I feel guilty to be happy when my best friend is going through a hard time," and I'd psha'd her comment dismissively. But now, restless and troubled and worried as I am, I know just what she meant. It's not guilt exactly. It's just that happiness doesn't have the same sparkle when your friends can't share it with you.
On the upside, JC's finally back from his Gulliver travels, and we got a chance to speak for a long time. There was so much to catch up on, I wanted to know about everything he'd seen and done. And I wanted to talk about all the things that have happened in my life during the past two weeks, even the inconsequential things. Especially the inconsequential things.
Boy. Living apart can be hard work. Sometimes, it feels like facing each other from opposite sides of a ravine. And each story, each anecdote, each gesture, each moment of connection is a step towards each other. Inch by inch, bridging the gap. Which can be hard work, but is just so worth it. Speaking to him again filled me with hope and happiness and a brimming-bursting-heart sort of feeling. And made me realise why I've been looking forward to my trip down to Germany so much.
But as I was trying to examine how I felt this evening, I couldn't quite put my finger on the mixed feelings. Great as it was to speak to JC again, I realised that my happiness was somewhat shadowed and dappled by my friends being distressed. I couldn't find it in me to be guiltlessly happy, not when my friends were troubled or upset.
Kams had once said to me, a couple of months ago, "I feel guilty to be happy when my best friend is going through a hard time," and I'd psha'd her comment dismissively. But now, restless and troubled and worried as I am, I know just what she meant. It's not guilt exactly. It's just that happiness doesn't have the same sparkle when your friends can't share it with you.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Zimmerracer contd.
Following from my previous post, MacKlaine took pains to point out that my information is out of date, and that they have now invented 3-legged zimmerracers with brakes, so I don't need to worry about zimmerpeople anymore.
"Really?" I said.
So he drew me this picture to show what they look like. I guess I get the picture. But I'm not sure I've stopped worrying about zimmerpeople just yet, not based on this.
"Really?" I said.
So he drew me this picture to show what they look like. I guess I get the picture. But I'm not sure I've stopped worrying about zimmerpeople just yet, not based on this.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Zimmerracer
The other day I was wishing Bill for his birthday, and shortly the conversation drifted along its usual path with us commiserating with each other on how we were getting older.
"Oh no," he groaned, "I'm getting so old I'll soon need to use a zimmerframe."
I didn't quite know what a zimmerframe was, but far be it from me to admit that to him. The name conjured an image of a pair of little frameless glasses that perch on the tip of the nose. In fact it sounded so much like a pair of glasses that I lured myself into an easy sense of false confidence, a sure sign of an impending downfall.
"Well I think zimmerframes look really attractive! Soon you'll be picking up all the hotties in the bars," I teased.
He looked at me quizzically.
"You don't quite know what zimmerframes are, do you?"
Turns out a zimmerframe is this four-legged walking support:
So I've been thinking some about zimmerframes recently. Mostly, there's something about their structure that's been bothering me. You see, they have wheels only on the front, and little stoppers on the back legs. I understand the security reasoning behind this, but it also means that in order to move forward, the user has to lift up the back legs before being able to roll it. Which is a ridiculous thing to ask of someone who is actually leaning on the frame for support in the first place. I've noticed several fragile, elderly people in the street suffering at the mercy of this design flaw.
Half-shuffle. Clomp. Slide. Half-shuffle. Clomp. Slide. Pause. Shuffle. Clomp. Slide.
And then yesterday I came across an old woman and was struck by her simple ingenuity. She had stuck slit tennis balls at the bottom of the back two legs of her zimmerframe. The tennis balls were just smooth and soft enough to allow her to push the zimmerframe along without having to lift it, while still providing enough friction for safe braking. So there she was, zipping (relatively) along smoothly.
Step push slide, step push slide, step push slide...
She was the Michael Schumacher of zimmer-people, making a steady way down the crowded sidewalk. For a moment, I could visualise her complete with Formula One goggles and helmet and firmly set jaw, hair whipping through the wind behind her.
I slowed down next to her to let her pass me. I thought she might feel good to overtake someone. "Go, Granny!" I silently cheered from the sidelines as she passed.
"Oh no," he groaned, "I'm getting so old I'll soon need to use a zimmerframe."
I didn't quite know what a zimmerframe was, but far be it from me to admit that to him. The name conjured an image of a pair of little frameless glasses that perch on the tip of the nose. In fact it sounded so much like a pair of glasses that I lured myself into an easy sense of false confidence, a sure sign of an impending downfall.
"Well I think zimmerframes look really attractive! Soon you'll be picking up all the hotties in the bars," I teased.
He looked at me quizzically.
"You don't quite know what zimmerframes are, do you?"
Turns out a zimmerframe is this four-legged walking support:
So I've been thinking some about zimmerframes recently. Mostly, there's something about their structure that's been bothering me. You see, they have wheels only on the front, and little stoppers on the back legs. I understand the security reasoning behind this, but it also means that in order to move forward, the user has to lift up the back legs before being able to roll it. Which is a ridiculous thing to ask of someone who is actually leaning on the frame for support in the first place. I've noticed several fragile, elderly people in the street suffering at the mercy of this design flaw.
Half-shuffle. Clomp. Slide. Half-shuffle. Clomp. Slide. Pause. Shuffle. Clomp. Slide.
And then yesterday I came across an old woman and was struck by her simple ingenuity. She had stuck slit tennis balls at the bottom of the back two legs of her zimmerframe. The tennis balls were just smooth and soft enough to allow her to push the zimmerframe along without having to lift it, while still providing enough friction for safe braking. So there she was, zipping (relatively) along smoothly.
Step push slide, step push slide, step push slide...
She was the Michael Schumacher of zimmer-people, making a steady way down the crowded sidewalk. For a moment, I could visualise her complete with Formula One goggles and helmet and firmly set jaw, hair whipping through the wind behind her.
I slowed down next to her to let her pass me. I thought she might feel good to overtake someone. "Go, Granny!" I silently cheered from the sidelines as she passed.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Ode to Tofutti Cuties
As inspired by the great poets from Hither and Jon.
Oh dear,
I wish very dearly
You had not introduced me
On that very first day
To the Tofutti Cutie
I used to never eat ice cream
As made from milk it do be
In this world I was happy
No health worries for me
I always had an excuse
No struggle with temptation
But now I've tasted TCs
It's a battle with addiction
Now I must eat everyday
This 'ice cream' sandwich
I'm scared if I don't have one
I might develop a twitch
I will think of you sourly
If I put on weight
Before P&P's wedding
This Labour Day date
The next time you help me
Please recommend if you can
Something more wholesome
Like fruit, spinach or bran
Truly,
Ficali McPipe
p.s. - have you tried the vanilla ones??!
p.p.s - To the pedantic ones - please ignore meter, rhythm and rhyme (or the lack thereof), this is artistic license.
p.p.p.s - Thanks to Inihtar for her encouragement, without which this seminal piece of verse may have never seen the light of day.
Oh dear,
I wish very dearly
You had not introduced me
On that very first day
To the Tofutti Cutie
I used to never eat ice cream
As made from milk it do be
In this world I was happy
No health worries for me
I always had an excuse
No struggle with temptation
But now I've tasted TCs
It's a battle with addiction
Now I must eat everyday
This 'ice cream' sandwich
I'm scared if I don't have one
I might develop a twitch
I will think of you sourly
If I put on weight
Before P&P's wedding
This Labour Day date
The next time you help me
Please recommend if you can
Something more wholesome
Like fruit, spinach or bran
Truly,
Ficali McPipe
p.s. - have you tried the vanilla ones??!
p.p.s - To the pedantic ones - please ignore meter, rhythm and rhyme (or the lack thereof), this is artistic license.
p.p.p.s - Thanks to Inihtar for her encouragement, without which this seminal piece of verse may have never seen the light of day.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Making homes
It was a pleasant day today, and I decided to walk along my usual jogging route, so that I had time to absorb the atmosphere and my surroundings. It's normally difficult to come up with a defensible excuse for walking rather than jogging, but "absorbing the atmosphere" is high on my priority list. So I took off, wearing silly stripey shorts and mis-matched socks, and hoping desperately that I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew along the way.
Halfway through my walk, I happened to glance into a corner store, and noticed a large furry cat curled up by the window, inside the store. As I passed, the cat opened it's eyes sleepily, gave a wide yawn, and then curled its head again to resume its nap. Something about the gesture reminded me terribly of Booboo, my cat in London, and before I knew it I'd entered the store.
"Can I please pet your cat?" I asked the owner. She laughed.
"Sure, go ahead!" She said. "She's not even my cat. She's just taken to spending her days here in the store, for some reason she's made it her home."
"It must be because you feed her," I guessed, as I ran my fingers along her silky fur.
"Funny thing is, I really don't," she mused. "She just comes here to sleep all day, she's just comfortable being here.
"Doesn't surprise me though," she continued. "Sometimes, that's just the way it works. When I was young I used to spend all my time at a neighbour's house. I don't know why. It just felt more like home to me."
I smiled. "I have to find myself a new home," I said. "My friend and I are thinking of moving in together. But we have to still start looking for an apartment."
"Don't worry. Somehow we all find places we can make our homes," she said sagely.
Halfway through my walk, I happened to glance into a corner store, and noticed a large furry cat curled up by the window, inside the store. As I passed, the cat opened it's eyes sleepily, gave a wide yawn, and then curled its head again to resume its nap. Something about the gesture reminded me terribly of Booboo, my cat in London, and before I knew it I'd entered the store.
"Can I please pet your cat?" I asked the owner. She laughed.
"Sure, go ahead!" She said. "She's not even my cat. She's just taken to spending her days here in the store, for some reason she's made it her home."
"It must be because you feed her," I guessed, as I ran my fingers along her silky fur.
"Funny thing is, I really don't," she mused. "She just comes here to sleep all day, she's just comfortable being here.
"Doesn't surprise me though," she continued. "Sometimes, that's just the way it works. When I was young I used to spend all my time at a neighbour's house. I don't know why. It just felt more like home to me."
I smiled. "I have to find myself a new home," I said. "My friend and I are thinking of moving in together. But we have to still start looking for an apartment."
"Don't worry. Somehow we all find places we can make our homes," she said sagely.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Adventures in the London tube
After my post about adventures in the London tube, Macklaine said he had a story to make me feel better.
Apparently one of his colleagues stepped into a train, and was bent over searching for something in her bag as the doors closed behind her. When she found what she was looking for and tried to stand up again, she realised that she couldn't, because her skirt was caught between the closed doors in a position that didn't allow her to stand up.
Just then the train started to pull away from the platform, and so she had no choice but to remain squatted on the floor, attached to the door, for the entire two minutes till the next station!
"There," he said, "feel better now?"
"Yes, much. Thanks," I replied, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes.
Apparently one of his colleagues stepped into a train, and was bent over searching for something in her bag as the doors closed behind her. When she found what she was looking for and tried to stand up again, she realised that she couldn't, because her skirt was caught between the closed doors in a position that didn't allow her to stand up.
Just then the train started to pull away from the platform, and so she had no choice but to remain squatted on the floor, attached to the door, for the entire two minutes till the next station!
"There," he said, "feel better now?"
"Yes, much. Thanks," I replied, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes.
Dinner with Friends II
I met Ilajna and Nixon for a quick bite to eat yesterday. We introduced Nixon to the pleasures of Kati Roll and Macdougall Street.
Ilajna has recently started a new job, and it was lovely to see her so glowing and happy and excited about her role and company. "Guess what, guys!" She exclaimed, "the company had a sale for all its employees - a whole bag full of cosmetic products for $20!"
"Lucky you," I replied.
"Here," she said, "so I got you and Nixon some presents."
It was a touching and thoughtful gesture, an Ilajna-typical gesture.
Out she produced a Santa's stocking of cosmetic bottles - exactly the kind I love to have but never take the trouble to buy for myself. I couldn't think of what to say. "Thanks," I said. But it felt inadequate.
Nixon was fretting about starting her new blog. She couldn't think of the right name, or what to put in her first article, or what to say in the beginning, or whether she could keep going. It was exactly the kind of anxiety and pressure that I had felt when I first started writing here, not so long ago. So I knew she would be just fine.
Ilajna has recently started a new job, and it was lovely to see her so glowing and happy and excited about her role and company. "Guess what, guys!" She exclaimed, "the company had a sale for all its employees - a whole bag full of cosmetic products for $20!"
"Lucky you," I replied.
"Here," she said, "so I got you and Nixon some presents."
It was a touching and thoughtful gesture, an Ilajna-typical gesture.
Out she produced a Santa's stocking of cosmetic bottles - exactly the kind I love to have but never take the trouble to buy for myself. I couldn't think of what to say. "Thanks," I said. But it felt inadequate.
Nixon was fretting about starting her new blog. She couldn't think of the right name, or what to put in her first article, or what to say in the beginning, or whether she could keep going. It was exactly the kind of anxiety and pressure that I had felt when I first started writing here, not so long ago. So I knew she would be just fine.
Likes and Dislikes
Personal Vendettas:
* Against the woman at work who everyday drops a whole bunch of paper towels on the floor when drying her hands. Seriously. How much does it cost to just take that extra moment to carefully pick up one paper towel without upsetting the pile. The paper wastage is slowly driving me mad.
* Against myself when I hop into bed all snuggly and comfy and then realise I've forgotten to turn the lights out. Sigh.
* Against the man in the elevator who made me make a fool of myself
* Against the AC situated behind my chair which I can't reduce and is perpetually freezing my bottom
Personal Favourites:
* The woman at the bakery where I buy my chocolate croissant every morning. Not just because she gives me a chocolate croissant. Also because she says "hello, Dearie" and that makes me feel loved and happy.
* The Rue de Jardins cafe where I go every Saturday for my crepe and chai tea (I once didn't order the tea and the owner brought it anyway, saying, "I figured you just forgot").
* Against the woman at work who everyday drops a whole bunch of paper towels on the floor when drying her hands. Seriously. How much does it cost to just take that extra moment to carefully pick up one paper towel without upsetting the pile. The paper wastage is slowly driving me mad.
* Against myself when I hop into bed all snuggly and comfy and then realise I've forgotten to turn the lights out. Sigh.
* Against the man in the elevator who made me make a fool of myself
* Against the AC situated behind my chair which I can't reduce and is perpetually freezing my bottom
Personal Favourites:
* The woman at the bakery where I buy my chocolate croissant every morning. Not just because she gives me a chocolate croissant. Also because she says "hello, Dearie" and that makes me feel loved and happy.
* The Rue de Jardins cafe where I go every Saturday for my crepe and chai tea (I once didn't order the tea and the owner brought it anyway, saying, "I figured you just forgot").
Thursday, August 18, 2005
New start
I start my new job on Monday. If truth be told, I'm a bit nervous about it. But it's a generalist role which is what I want to do, and the people I've dealt with are friendly and nice, and it's a step into the consulting world, and ....
So it's definitely a positive thing.
Right?
So why do I feel so uncertain. It's a comfort and security thing, a friends and familiarity thing.
"When you first started working here, you didn't speak to any of us for the first two weeks," Milo Minderbinder pointed out to me the other day. I splutttered and stuttered and felt myself getting defensive.
"It's you guys who didn't talk to me," I responded. "I was the new kid on the block."
But I knew the real reason was me. That's just the way I am, when I find myself in new territory I get shy and crawl into my crab shell, and it's two weeks before I extend the metaphorical antenna tentatively out again.
So just when I've started feeling all comfortable and warm and wanted and happy, I have to move and start building from scratch all over again.
I hope the new place is fun. I hope the people are nice.
And I know it won't be the same as here, but I hope I'll still be okay.
So it's definitely a positive thing.
Right?
So why do I feel so uncertain. It's a comfort and security thing, a friends and familiarity thing.
"When you first started working here, you didn't speak to any of us for the first two weeks," Milo Minderbinder pointed out to me the other day. I splutttered and stuttered and felt myself getting defensive.
"It's you guys who didn't talk to me," I responded. "I was the new kid on the block."
But I knew the real reason was me. That's just the way I am, when I find myself in new territory I get shy and crawl into my crab shell, and it's two weeks before I extend the metaphorical antenna tentatively out again.
So just when I've started feeling all comfortable and warm and wanted and happy, I have to move and start building from scratch all over again.
I hope the new place is fun. I hope the people are nice.
And I know it won't be the same as here, but I hope I'll still be okay.
Elevator quirks
I hate getting into elevators with other people. I know, it's a funny sort of hate to have, but there you go. There's just something about the enforced social proximity that makes me uncomfortable.
Of course, if everyone just stayed silent and stared down at their feet (as I do and as I think is appropriate elevator conduct), it would be fine. But often people feel pressured to be friendly to their co-elevator-strangers during the 30 seconds for which they are together, and I'm not very good at coping with that.
It's usually fine when there's a whole group of people all smushed together: then everyone simply keeps their head down and
(in)conspicuously eavesdrops on the unfortunate couple in the back corner who do start up a whispered conversation. And I take comfort in this consensually accepted modus operandi. Not to mention the exciting snippets one can glean from those whispered conversations. I know for instance that there's a girl on the 6th floor at work who has been crying a lot in her cubicle lately but it's unsure whether this is love-related or work-related, but the Whisperer was going to try to find out, and I hope I ride in the elevator with her (Whisperer) again one day so I can hear that things turned out okay in the end.
But sometimes, I'm stuck in the elevator with just one other person, and that's when I start getting edgy. The person inevitably tries to be friendly, making furtive efforts at eye-contact, tentatively extending social feelers. There's only so long that you can pretend the carpet is rivetting - if they're going to the 9th floor rather than the 1st, you're a gonner. And I always smile back because its rude not to, and I hope that it will end there, but it inevitably doesn't, and they say 'hi'. And I think to myself, I'm just not ready for this before my morning coffee, kid.
So this morning I was in the elevator with a gentleman from another office. Here we go, I thought.
"Morning!" he nodded.
"Hi," I said. I forced a smile, because he seemed chirpy and I thought a lacklustre response might be interpreted as rude.
Pause.
I hate awkward silences. "Sweltering outside, isn't it?" I said, because that's my standard line for breaking silences. He cocked his head to the side and gave me a puzzled smile.
When I got to my office it struck me that today's actually a relatively chilly day. Oh dear. Oh well. Not very smooth, am I? I guess that's why I hate elevator friendliness.
Of course, if everyone just stayed silent and stared down at their feet (as I do and as I think is appropriate elevator conduct), it would be fine. But often people feel pressured to be friendly to their co-elevator-strangers during the 30 seconds for which they are together, and I'm not very good at coping with that.
It's usually fine when there's a whole group of people all smushed together: then everyone simply keeps their head down and
(in)conspicuously eavesdrops on the unfortunate couple in the back corner who do start up a whispered conversation. And I take comfort in this consensually accepted modus operandi. Not to mention the exciting snippets one can glean from those whispered conversations. I know for instance that there's a girl on the 6th floor at work who has been crying a lot in her cubicle lately but it's unsure whether this is love-related or work-related, but the Whisperer was going to try to find out, and I hope I ride in the elevator with her (Whisperer) again one day so I can hear that things turned out okay in the end.
But sometimes, I'm stuck in the elevator with just one other person, and that's when I start getting edgy. The person inevitably tries to be friendly, making furtive efforts at eye-contact, tentatively extending social feelers. There's only so long that you can pretend the carpet is rivetting - if they're going to the 9th floor rather than the 1st, you're a gonner. And I always smile back because its rude not to, and I hope that it will end there, but it inevitably doesn't, and they say 'hi'. And I think to myself, I'm just not ready for this before my morning coffee, kid.
So this morning I was in the elevator with a gentleman from another office. Here we go, I thought.
"Morning!" he nodded.
"Hi," I said. I forced a smile, because he seemed chirpy and I thought a lacklustre response might be interpreted as rude.
Pause.
I hate awkward silences. "Sweltering outside, isn't it?" I said, because that's my standard line for breaking silences. He cocked his head to the side and gave me a puzzled smile.
When I got to my office it struck me that today's actually a relatively chilly day. Oh dear. Oh well. Not very smooth, am I? I guess that's why I hate elevator friendliness.
Personal belongings
Mannipenny wrote me an email today."Please," she said, "I've forgotten a few important things in NY, could you mail them to me?" She then proceeded to list them:
- a silver jewellery box
- a water bottle
- a hairdryer diffuser
It's funny what different people consider their personal essentials.
I don't know what the last one is, yet. But she said it's small and black and probably in the bathroom cabinet. So I'm going to poke my nose around in the cabinet for small black things which might resemble an hairdryer appendage.
ps - I never know whether to say "an" or "a" if the following word starts with an 'h'. What say?
- a silver jewellery box
- a water bottle
- a hairdryer diffuser
It's funny what different people consider their personal essentials.
I don't know what the last one is, yet. But she said it's small and black and probably in the bathroom cabinet. So I'm going to poke my nose around in the cabinet for small black things which might resemble an hairdryer appendage.
ps - I never know whether to say "an" or "a" if the following word starts with an 'h'. What say?
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Writer's blog(ck)
I was just grumbling to Milo Minderbinder today that I'm feeling particularly uninspired to make a blog entry. "Me too," he nodded. We had a moment of silence commiserating with each other.
"Well, we could, of course, ...er ... choose NOT to make an entry," I ventured. But he argued he wanted to make sure to write in his blog every day, just to keep the momentum going. Fair point, I totally understand.
So we debated the vices and virtues of uninspired entries. Was it better to write a less-good entry, because each one doesn't have to be as good or better than its predecessors, or was it better to just stay silent until the next stroke of inspiration?
I don't know, each has its merits. We debated it for a while, and when he left (sigh, yes, we do have to fit in a bit of work too, sometimes), we were no closer to the conclusion.
But ironically, the discussion inspired me to make an entry, this one. So I guess I'm out of my quandary now. :)
Oh no - I just looked down from my typing and noticed I'd dropped a splotch of soya sauce on my white shirt. I'm not normally messy. I seem to save that for days when I'm wearing white.
"Well, we could, of course, ...er ... choose NOT to make an entry," I ventured. But he argued he wanted to make sure to write in his blog every day, just to keep the momentum going. Fair point, I totally understand.
So we debated the vices and virtues of uninspired entries. Was it better to write a less-good entry, because each one doesn't have to be as good or better than its predecessors, or was it better to just stay silent until the next stroke of inspiration?
I don't know, each has its merits. We debated it for a while, and when he left (sigh, yes, we do have to fit in a bit of work too, sometimes), we were no closer to the conclusion.
But ironically, the discussion inspired me to make an entry, this one. So I guess I'm out of my quandary now. :)
Oh no - I just looked down from my typing and noticed I'd dropped a splotch of soya sauce on my white shirt. I'm not normally messy. I seem to save that for days when I'm wearing white.
Adventures
Macklaine grumbled to me today that I seem to have all sorts of adventures and he never has any.
"Of course you do," I responded, "don't you have times when you've embarrassed yourself?!"
There was a pause. Surely he must have. Surely embarrassment isn't solely my prerogative.
And then he mentioned about a time he was reading a really funny book in the tube (London) and started laughing out loud. When you laugh out loud (or for that matter have any kind of expression other than 'grave') in the tube in London, it's considered a sure sign of insanity, and other passengers cast you nervous glances and start edging away uncomfortably. Trust me, I know.
So it got me thinking about my worst embarrassing moments in the London underground.
There was this one time, when I was fumbling through my purse for something, and mistakenly dropped a box of tampons on the floor. Not like a neat little plop that I could quickly pick up and put away and pretend like nothing happened. Oh no. Like a clunk and a fling-open and a scattering of tampons all over the carriage. 24 nicely wrapped tampons (yes, wouldn't you know it, it was a new box) rolling all over the floor in time to the rocking of the carriage.
Shite, I thought, it's time to commit suicide. And I might have done so, had I not been temporarily paralysed by panic. The other passengers studiously buried their noses deeper in their papers. Ignoring is the English strategy for potentially embarrassing situations.
So, I thought, as a tampon rolled and came to a rest by my foot, all I have to do is hang in there till the next station, and then I can jump out and never have to see these people again in my life. I figured the worst was over.
And then a young man came up to me. Dorky thick glasses, preppie tucked in shirt buttoned to the collar, the works. "Excuse me, Miss," he said, "I think this might be yours."
And there, unmistakably, was one of the tampons lying in his palm.
Was this for real? Was this some kind of joke? I gaped at him goggle-eyed. I blinked. Nope, not a dream. He was still there. His face was bright red, and I realised he was probably more mortified than me, but just felt like he was doing the Right Thing. From the corner of my eye, I noticed we were (finally!) pulling into the next stop.
"Thanks," I said, and put it in my purse. I walked out with my head held high (although my legs were trembling).
In these situations one must salvage dignity where one can.
"Of course you do," I responded, "don't you have times when you've embarrassed yourself?!"
There was a pause. Surely he must have. Surely embarrassment isn't solely my prerogative.
And then he mentioned about a time he was reading a really funny book in the tube (London) and started laughing out loud. When you laugh out loud (or for that matter have any kind of expression other than 'grave') in the tube in London, it's considered a sure sign of insanity, and other passengers cast you nervous glances and start edging away uncomfortably. Trust me, I know.
So it got me thinking about my worst embarrassing moments in the London underground.
There was this one time, when I was fumbling through my purse for something, and mistakenly dropped a box of tampons on the floor. Not like a neat little plop that I could quickly pick up and put away and pretend like nothing happened. Oh no. Like a clunk and a fling-open and a scattering of tampons all over the carriage. 24 nicely wrapped tampons (yes, wouldn't you know it, it was a new box) rolling all over the floor in time to the rocking of the carriage.
Shite, I thought, it's time to commit suicide. And I might have done so, had I not been temporarily paralysed by panic. The other passengers studiously buried their noses deeper in their papers. Ignoring is the English strategy for potentially embarrassing situations.
So, I thought, as a tampon rolled and came to a rest by my foot, all I have to do is hang in there till the next station, and then I can jump out and never have to see these people again in my life. I figured the worst was over.
And then a young man came up to me. Dorky thick glasses, preppie tucked in shirt buttoned to the collar, the works. "Excuse me, Miss," he said, "I think this might be yours."
And there, unmistakably, was one of the tampons lying in his palm.
Was this for real? Was this some kind of joke? I gaped at him goggle-eyed. I blinked. Nope, not a dream. He was still there. His face was bright red, and I realised he was probably more mortified than me, but just felt like he was doing the Right Thing. From the corner of my eye, I noticed we were (finally!) pulling into the next stop.
"Thanks," I said, and put it in my purse. I walked out with my head held high (although my legs were trembling).
In these situations one must salvage dignity where one can.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
OH GAWD
Just this morning I was talking to Milo Minderbinder about how I had nothing to blog about. And then I went and created adventure for myself.
I had to mail my cheque to The Economist, and oddly enough, I've never actually mailed anything in the US before. So I trundled off to the post office, and spent a long time choosing my stamps (I chose the 'Stop Family Violence' stamp, the other two were some Victorian wagon thing (??!) and the American flag).
And then, distracted as I was by the stamp selection process, I popped the cheque in the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox BUT FORGOT TO WRITE THE ADDRESS OR STICK A STAMP. Of course, just like in the movies, I realised what I'd done as I watched the envelope disappear in slow motion into the cavernous black hole called the USPS.
I glared at the box. I bit my lip and racked my brains. I banged the palm of my hand repeatedly against my forehead. But nothing made the envelope come back. Normally, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have just ignored it. But of course, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have got it right in the first place.
So it was a very mortified me that found herself in the main post office queue inside, waiting for the Superintendent.
"Excuse-me-I'm-terribly-sorry-but-I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp." I raced through it in my embarrassment.
"Sorry?"
"I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp."
Pause.
"Well I never heard that before!"
"Please. Can we get it out? I wouldn't normally ask, except - there's a cheque in there."
Sigh.
"This is going to take a few minutes, I'm afraid," the Super told the woman in the queue behind me. I turned around to apologise to her, but she was glaring so crossly that I quickly turned back round again.
"Okay," he turned to me. "What is the addressee name on the envelope?"
"I forgot to put that," I said softly. I put on my Sheepish Face.
He gaped at me. "Okay what's the 'return to sender' name?"
"I forgot to put that too," I admitted, so softly I was surprised he heard me. Or maybe by then he just guessed.
Pause.
"So there's a blank envelope in the post box with no address and no stamp."
I nodded miserably.
A series of expressions fought to take control of his face, I could see a visible battle between irritation and amusement. Finally, it settled for a disgruntled kind of amusement.
"Well, I suppose a man's gotta have his fun at work somehow," he grumbled. He nodded towards a sofa in the corner. "Wait there and I'll be back in ten minutes" (We both pretended we didn't hear the woman behind me cluck in irritation).
And ten minutes later my knight in shining armour was back, I stamped and addressed the envelope, and sent it skipping along on its way to the Economist offices in MA. The Super turned to the (ever-growing) queue of customers in the post-office. "Sorry about the delay," he announced, "This young lady dropped an envelope in the postbox without envelope or stamp, and I could still find it for her."
I think he was kind of proud.
But oh gawd, oh gawd, oh gawd, I wanted to disappear.
I had to mail my cheque to The Economist, and oddly enough, I've never actually mailed anything in the US before. So I trundled off to the post office, and spent a long time choosing my stamps (I chose the 'Stop Family Violence' stamp, the other two were some Victorian wagon thing (??!) and the American flag).
And then, distracted as I was by the stamp selection process, I popped the cheque in the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox BUT FORGOT TO WRITE THE ADDRESS OR STICK A STAMP. Of course, just like in the movies, I realised what I'd done as I watched the envelope disappear in slow motion into the cavernous black hole called the USPS.
I glared at the box. I bit my lip and racked my brains. I banged the palm of my hand repeatedly against my forehead. But nothing made the envelope come back. Normally, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have just ignored it. But of course, if it wasn't a cheque, I would have got it right in the first place.
So it was a very mortified me that found herself in the main post office queue inside, waiting for the Superintendent.
"Excuse-me-I'm-terribly-sorry-but-I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp." I raced through it in my embarrassment.
"Sorry?"
"I-dropped-an-envelope-in-the-post-box-but-forgot-to-put-the-stamp."
Pause.
"Well I never heard that before!"
"Please. Can we get it out? I wouldn't normally ask, except - there's a cheque in there."
Sigh.
"This is going to take a few minutes, I'm afraid," the Super told the woman in the queue behind me. I turned around to apologise to her, but she was glaring so crossly that I quickly turned back round again.
"Okay," he turned to me. "What is the addressee name on the envelope?"
"I forgot to put that," I said softly. I put on my Sheepish Face.
He gaped at me. "Okay what's the 'return to sender' name?"
"I forgot to put that too," I admitted, so softly I was surprised he heard me. Or maybe by then he just guessed.
Pause.
"So there's a blank envelope in the post box with no address and no stamp."
I nodded miserably.
A series of expressions fought to take control of his face, I could see a visible battle between irritation and amusement. Finally, it settled for a disgruntled kind of amusement.
"Well, I suppose a man's gotta have his fun at work somehow," he grumbled. He nodded towards a sofa in the corner. "Wait there and I'll be back in ten minutes" (We both pretended we didn't hear the woman behind me cluck in irritation).
And ten minutes later my knight in shining armour was back, I stamped and addressed the envelope, and sent it skipping along on its way to the Economist offices in MA. The Super turned to the (ever-growing) queue of customers in the post-office. "Sorry about the delay," he announced, "This young lady dropped an envelope in the postbox without envelope or stamp, and I could still find it for her."
I think he was kind of proud.
But oh gawd, oh gawd, oh gawd, I wanted to disappear.
Time alone
On Sunday, I spent the entire day by myself. Went for a jog, watched some telly, studied some Spanish, did the weekend shop, cleaned the apartment. I was wondering why I felt strangely unsettled all day, and then realised, much to my own surprise, that it was the first day I'd spent entirely by myself in ... well, as far back as I can remember. I've usually at least spoken on the phone to someone, just reached out and made a connection in some way. Or atleast I always had my cat in London, and that doesn't count as alone (even when she ignored me).
It definitely wasn't a bad day, but neither did I love it the way some people thrive on their time alone. I have to still sort out in my head whether the sensation was more on the positive (solitude) or negative (isolation) side of the scale, but I think I'm concluding I'm just a social sort of person.
So I was talking about this to Rohinton and Jeet yesterday, and Rohinton blurted out, "Oh, I love weekends like that! You know, if Jeet has to travel, I try not to meet anyone, so I have all this time to myself, and it's the best!".
Jeet looked non-plussed. I guess that's not what you want to hear from your husband.
"I mean.... errr.... of course I prefer it when you're here, Jeet..." Rohinton stuttered.
I know what Rohinton had meant, bless his heart, but somehow it came out all wrong. I love it how guys sometimes have a way of inadvertently putting their foot in it.
It definitely wasn't a bad day, but neither did I love it the way some people thrive on their time alone. I have to still sort out in my head whether the sensation was more on the positive (solitude) or negative (isolation) side of the scale, but I think I'm concluding I'm just a social sort of person.
So I was talking about this to Rohinton and Jeet yesterday, and Rohinton blurted out, "Oh, I love weekends like that! You know, if Jeet has to travel, I try not to meet anyone, so I have all this time to myself, and it's the best!".
Jeet looked non-plussed. I guess that's not what you want to hear from your husband.
"I mean.... errr.... of course I prefer it when you're here, Jeet..." Rohinton stuttered.
I know what Rohinton had meant, bless his heart, but somehow it came out all wrong. I love it how guys sometimes have a way of inadvertently putting their foot in it.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Speaking the native language
There is a world of difference between learning to speak a language, and learning to speak it like a native speaker. The nuances, the subtleties of expressions, the colloquialisms - they work together to conspire against the everyday learner. Which has set me thinking about the intuitiveness of languages. As more than just a mode of communication, but rather as an overall reflection of a culture and way of life.
One of my colleagues was kind enough to agree to help review my Spanish homework today.
"So this sentence here," he said. "Can you read it out to me?"
So I did. He grinned.
"What? What?! What's wrong with it???"
"Nothing.... well, it's just that... that's not the way I would say it."
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Is it grammatically incorrect? It's that word 'al' over there, isn't it? That's what's made it wrong, I knew I shouldn't have put it there."
"No, no, it's not the al, that's fine," he soothed. "It's just that, if you said it like that, people would understand you, but they'd also know you were learning Spanish as a second language."
He smiled an inside-joke kind of smile.
"Why, how would you say it?"
And he said something totally different, not even close to what I had said.
He must have seen my crestfallen expression, because he continued hurriedly, "Well, there's nothing wrong with the way you said it. It's just that locally people would say it differently."
"Why? How would I know how to say it the right way?"
Shrug. "It's just something you know."
"Dammit!" I exclaimed. "So how will I learn how to say it right?!"
Shrug.
"So at least the grammar was correct, right? I mean, it's just the colloquialism and I can't really help that..."
"Well," he responded, "that was for that sentence. But with this sentence here..."
One of my colleagues was kind enough to agree to help review my Spanish homework today.
"So this sentence here," he said. "Can you read it out to me?"
So I did. He grinned.
"What? What?! What's wrong with it???"
"Nothing.... well, it's just that... that's not the way I would say it."
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Is it grammatically incorrect? It's that word 'al' over there, isn't it? That's what's made it wrong, I knew I shouldn't have put it there."
"No, no, it's not the al, that's fine," he soothed. "It's just that, if you said it like that, people would understand you, but they'd also know you were learning Spanish as a second language."
He smiled an inside-joke kind of smile.
"Why, how would you say it?"
And he said something totally different, not even close to what I had said.
He must have seen my crestfallen expression, because he continued hurriedly, "Well, there's nothing wrong with the way you said it. It's just that locally people would say it differently."
"Why? How would I know how to say it the right way?"
Shrug. "It's just something you know."
"Dammit!" I exclaimed. "So how will I learn how to say it right?!"
Shrug.
"So at least the grammar was correct, right? I mean, it's just the colloquialism and I can't really help that..."
"Well," he responded, "that was for that sentence. But with this sentence here..."
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Road-crossing etiquette
Yesterday I was waiting to cross the road when an approaching driver pulled to a halt by the intersection to allow me to cross. I love it when drivers do that, it’s such a generous gesture, and particularly rare in New York. The polite thing to do, of course, would have been to smile a thank you and hurry across the road. I wanted to hurry across the road so he wouldn’t have to wait a long time for me, but I found that the sun had sapped all my energy away and the fastest I could muster was a rather languid crawl. On the other hand I didn't want to casually stroll across while he had to wait for me, that would appear just too arrogant. So I pretended I’d injured my foot and faux-limped across the road.
How ridic is that.
I hope he didn’t notice me continue jauntily along at the other end.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Summer evenings
I was happy to go for a jog this evening, as I hadn’t had a chance to do so in the last couple of days. It was a hot and sultry day per usual. The air was so heavy with humidity it felt like jogging through liquid. Towards the end of my jog, I picked up the sounds of singing and guitar in the distance, and headed in the direction of the music.
There was an acoustic band playing on the riverfront, and a small audience gathered around. I jogged towards it and sat down on the cool stone steps to listen. The band was playing slow Tracy Chapman songs, and the singer’s low voice was powerful, and yet soothing. Behind her, the river flowed languorously by, reflecting a myriad of sunset colours. And beyond it twinkled the impressive Manhattan skyline. A couple of ferries were gliding silently along. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair caressingly.
Strum, strum. “Talkin’ about a revolution….”
A little dog sidled up to me, laid its head tentatively on my lap, and looked up at me enquiringly. It wasn’t the drooling-shedding kind, so I gave it a welcoming scratch behind its ear. At once it made itself comfortable on my lap with the sense of immediate friendship that only dogs can possess.
“Forgive me. Forgive me. You can say baby…” strum, strum.
Nearby, two children had approached an ice cream truck and were trying to decide what flavours to have. One finally settled on a strawberry-chocolate combination, and the other chose vanilla. I was surprised to hear a child choose vanilla, it seems such an adult mature flavour somehow. I was impressed with her discerning sense for subtle tastes.
“She’s got a ticket, you know she’s gonna use it…”
After listening to the music for a while, I started off home. On the way I met a friend of mine who lives nearby.
“Hey,” he said. “What you up to this evening?”
“Nothing. You?”
“Nothing.”
So we headed off together to a nearby café (I had vetoed bars on account of my feeling healthy after my jog), and had some life-rejuvenating juices. I had orange-passionfruit, one of my favourites, and he had pineapple (I made a face as I always do when someone chooses pineapple).
There was an acoustic band playing on the riverfront, and a small audience gathered around. I jogged towards it and sat down on the cool stone steps to listen. The band was playing slow Tracy Chapman songs, and the singer’s low voice was powerful, and yet soothing. Behind her, the river flowed languorously by, reflecting a myriad of sunset colours. And beyond it twinkled the impressive Manhattan skyline. A couple of ferries were gliding silently along. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair caressingly.
Strum, strum. “Talkin’ about a revolution….”
A little dog sidled up to me, laid its head tentatively on my lap, and looked up at me enquiringly. It wasn’t the drooling-shedding kind, so I gave it a welcoming scratch behind its ear. At once it made itself comfortable on my lap with the sense of immediate friendship that only dogs can possess.
“Forgive me. Forgive me. You can say baby…” strum, strum.
Nearby, two children had approached an ice cream truck and were trying to decide what flavours to have. One finally settled on a strawberry-chocolate combination, and the other chose vanilla. I was surprised to hear a child choose vanilla, it seems such an adult mature flavour somehow. I was impressed with her discerning sense for subtle tastes.
“She’s got a ticket, you know she’s gonna use it…”
After listening to the music for a while, I started off home. On the way I met a friend of mine who lives nearby.
“Hey,” he said. “What you up to this evening?”
“Nothing. You?”
“Nothing.”
So we headed off together to a nearby café (I had vetoed bars on account of my feeling healthy after my jog), and had some life-rejuvenating juices. I had orange-passionfruit, one of my favourites, and he had pineapple (I made a face as I always do when someone chooses pineapple).
Friday, August 12, 2005
The visa process
I hate applying for visas. The bureaucracy, the administration, the organisation, the endless waiting, the sheer tedium. And I always feel a little bit nervous, I guess just at the thought that someone else has control over whether or not I'll be able to go on holiday. So it wasn't a good disposition that found me waiting in the queue outside the German embassy yesterday in the a.m.
There was a young couple standing in the queue in front of me. They were holding hands and gazing at each other in mutual adoration, and I thought 'Awww, how cute. How romantic'. And then they started kissing passionately right there in front of everyone and left me disgusted and emotionally traumatised for life. So I had to spend the rest of the wait staring alternately at my toes and the sky to avoid making eye contact with the spectacle six inches in front of my nose.
But then things took a turn for the better. The visa officer warmed to me instantly when I wished him "Guten Tag" (heh heh, yes I too have a few tricks up my sleeve).
"Why all the way to Mainz for just two days??" he asked. So I told him all about P&P's wedding, and he was duly impressed by how they'd organised it all the way from New York. Turns out the chap was from Mainz too, and was excited that I would see his hometown. So he told me about some restaurants that I simply HAD to go to while I was there, and I told him about the river cruise they had planned, and how excited I was to see JC again. I chatted away for a few minutes, as I am sometimes wont to do, and before I knew it I was heading off visa in hand.
Unrelatedly, on the way back to work I noticed a 'Yoga Centre for Under-5-yr-olds'.
WHAT?!!
Seriously.
And it was teeming with little kids. Tsk, tsk. That's New York for you.
There was a young couple standing in the queue in front of me. They were holding hands and gazing at each other in mutual adoration, and I thought 'Awww, how cute. How romantic'. And then they started kissing passionately right there in front of everyone and left me disgusted and emotionally traumatised for life. So I had to spend the rest of the wait staring alternately at my toes and the sky to avoid making eye contact with the spectacle six inches in front of my nose.
But then things took a turn for the better. The visa officer warmed to me instantly when I wished him "Guten Tag" (heh heh, yes I too have a few tricks up my sleeve).
"Why all the way to Mainz for just two days??" he asked. So I told him all about P&P's wedding, and he was duly impressed by how they'd organised it all the way from New York. Turns out the chap was from Mainz too, and was excited that I would see his hometown. So he told me about some restaurants that I simply HAD to go to while I was there, and I told him about the river cruise they had planned, and how excited I was to see JC again. I chatted away for a few minutes, as I am sometimes wont to do, and before I knew it I was heading off visa in hand.
Unrelatedly, on the way back to work I noticed a 'Yoga Centre for Under-5-yr-olds'.
WHAT?!!
Seriously.
And it was teeming with little kids. Tsk, tsk. That's New York for you.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Lunchtime tales
Almost every day, I get my lunch from a little salad-bar cafe close to the office. The kind man at the cashier packages my salad box for me, and helpfully adds a flourish of plastic cutlery. Every day, he throws in two forks (one large and one small), a spoon, a knife, and a sheaf of tissues for good measure.
The one thing I really detest is excess and wastage and the general disregard for the scarcity of resources. It's my favourite pet peeve, and rankles me no end.
So the first couple of times I requested the cashier, "excuse me, but I only actually need one fork and a couple of tissues with my salad, thanks." And he'd smile and nod and proceed to put the whole lot in anyway. I guess it was just less trouble for him to not deviate from his reflexive packaging routine.
Which left me with all this extra cutlery each day, that I've been squirreling away in one of my unused desk drawers because I'd feel too guilty to just throw it. Today I realised I couldn't close the drawer anymore, mostly because I've stuffed it to the high heavens with plastic forks, spoons and knives. I wondered for a moment what to do with them, and then placed all the collected cutlery neatly into a little shopping bag. There were 28 items in all. I took the bag back to the cafe this afternoon and handed it over at the cashier.
"Uhmm, here's all your extra cutlery I haven't used. I've been collecting it."
His eyes were little saucers of surprize.
Then, slowly, a wide smile spread across his face, and he burst into laughter. It was a round, full, contagious, pot-bellied laugh, and before I knew I had joined in as well, our laughters infecting each others'. It was a shared moment. He took the bag and waved me away, shaking his head, no doubt in wonderment about the wierdness of life.
Now that I'm back at my desk and thinking about it, I'm feeling a bit embarrassed. I guess it was a little wierd. I guess I'll go somewhere else for lunch tomorrow.
The one thing I really detest is excess and wastage and the general disregard for the scarcity of resources. It's my favourite pet peeve, and rankles me no end.
So the first couple of times I requested the cashier, "excuse me, but I only actually need one fork and a couple of tissues with my salad, thanks." And he'd smile and nod and proceed to put the whole lot in anyway. I guess it was just less trouble for him to not deviate from his reflexive packaging routine.
Which left me with all this extra cutlery each day, that I've been squirreling away in one of my unused desk drawers because I'd feel too guilty to just throw it. Today I realised I couldn't close the drawer anymore, mostly because I've stuffed it to the high heavens with plastic forks, spoons and knives. I wondered for a moment what to do with them, and then placed all the collected cutlery neatly into a little shopping bag. There were 28 items in all. I took the bag back to the cafe this afternoon and handed it over at the cashier.
"Uhmm, here's all your extra cutlery I haven't used. I've been collecting it."
His eyes were little saucers of surprize.
Then, slowly, a wide smile spread across his face, and he burst into laughter. It was a round, full, contagious, pot-bellied laugh, and before I knew I had joined in as well, our laughters infecting each others'. It was a shared moment. He took the bag and waved me away, shaking his head, no doubt in wonderment about the wierdness of life.
Now that I'm back at my desk and thinking about it, I'm feeling a bit embarrassed. I guess it was a little wierd. I guess I'll go somewhere else for lunch tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Little legs
Yesterday evening, Jeet and I went per usual for our evening speedwalk. We've taken to doing this regularly now, as our post-victual exercise. Well, if truth be told, she sets an unrelenting pace, and I have to jog-walk-scamper beside her as we chatter away about the day's events. When I picture myself on the walk, I visualise a little cartoon character with little legs which are moving so fast they disappear into a whizzy blur.
Jeet calls our evening speedwalk the post-dinner digestive. I call it the stitch. But whatever. Potato, pot-ah-to.
On an unrelated note, I have finally found a store which stocks the size O-Petite. Hello, shopping! This is a god-sent miracle because: (a) stores almost never stock this size; and (b) when they do they're almost always sold out. So I rushed into the store yesterday and bought myself a couple pairs of trousers. Over-indulgence is an under-rated quality.
Jeet calls our evening speedwalk the post-dinner digestive. I call it the stitch. But whatever. Potato, pot-ah-to.
On an unrelated note, I have finally found a store which stocks the size O-Petite. Hello, shopping! This is a god-sent miracle because: (a) stores almost never stock this size; and (b) when they do they're almost always sold out. So I rushed into the store yesterday and bought myself a couple pairs of trousers. Over-indulgence is an under-rated quality.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Estudiar Espagnol
Yesterday was my first Spanish lesson. It was like my first day at school again. I went at lunch time to buy a new notebook I could use, and labelled it with my name in the top right hand corner neatly just so. I was a bit nervous (What if I just don't get it? What if I don't make friends?! What if I'm the dumbest in the class?) as I made my way to the class that evening, and made sure to turn up bright and early like the enthusiastic young whippersnapper that I am.
But it turned out all my fears were unfounded - it was one of the best things I've done since I moved here! It is a small class, with only six other people, and I can tell straight away that we're going to have a great time together. All the othe students are enthusiastic and fun-loving and learning the language purely out of interest and passion - and by the end of the first hour we were all joking and laughing together like old bosom-buddies. Ahora ellos son mis amigos.
Yep. I thought you might be impressed with that dazzling display of linguistic aptitude.
They took a different tack in this class and started by teaching the past and future tenses right on the first day. I like that. I feel that I can communicate straight away, albeit in a broken, unintelligible manner that only I can understand.
Ricardo, one of the teachers, told me I was picking it up very quickly and that I apparently have a 'natural aptitude'. He is now obviously my favourite from the two teachers.
Just kidding. Would I be that shallow.
But it turned out all my fears were unfounded - it was one of the best things I've done since I moved here! It is a small class, with only six other people, and I can tell straight away that we're going to have a great time together. All the othe students are enthusiastic and fun-loving and learning the language purely out of interest and passion - and by the end of the first hour we were all joking and laughing together like old bosom-buddies. Ahora ellos son mis amigos.
Yep. I thought you might be impressed with that dazzling display of linguistic aptitude.
They took a different tack in this class and started by teaching the past and future tenses right on the first day. I like that. I feel that I can communicate straight away, albeit in a broken, unintelligible manner that only I can understand.
Ricardo, one of the teachers, told me I was picking it up very quickly and that I apparently have a 'natural aptitude'. He is now obviously my favourite from the two teachers.
Just kidding. Would I be that shallow.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Cake update
P.S. - Fie on all the people who suggested I should buy a cake - I thought my homemade cake was a great success. So what if half of it is still lying uneaten in the fridge now, three days after the party. Far be it from me to take offence (sniff). I enjoyed baking it, and it actually rose (phew!), and my brother had something to cut at his party. That's what counts, right?
Right?
Besides, the fact that only half is lying uneaten means that half of it was eaten, and I'm an obstinately glass-half-full sort of person.
Right?
Besides, the fact that only half is lying uneaten means that half of it was eaten, and I'm an obstinately glass-half-full sort of person.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Just like the old days
Back when we were roommates in boarding school, Burr, Nish and I sometimes indulged in a dressing-up frenzy for no reason at all other than the joy of dressing up. We'd throw all our formal clothes together in common pile, and then spend the entire evening taking turns dressing in various combinations of the tops, skirts and dresses. We'd fuss over what shoes went with each of our outfits, do each others' make-up, and style eachothers' hair. And then, narcissistic and smug as we were in those days, we'd pretend we were models and do little catwalk struts and pirouettes, and take pictures of eachother in simulated photo shoots. I have fond memories of those occasional evenings, of the girlie chats and constant banter, and most of all, the wild, hysterical laughter.
Yesterday, I had a chance to relive those girlie moments. Jeet, Mannipenny and I were getting ready to go out to meet friends in a bar in the city. "Guys!" I wailed, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, "My hair's looking awful, it's all frizzy!" Mannipenny rushed into the bathroom looking ready for emergency. For the last ten minutes, she had been switching back and forth between two tops that were now lying abandoned on the bed, and appraising herself critically in each outfit.
"Here, I'll fix it for you," she assured me, pulling out her hairdryer, a couple of hairsprays and a straightening iron. "All it takes is a bit of this and that, and we'll have it looking all glossy and sleek in five minutes.
"So," she said, as she gathered wisps of my hair and started straightening them with the iron, "What's the verdict? Orange top or the the brown one?"
Just then Jeet burst into the room. "Guys, I'm in panic! What do I do with my hair?! And what about this belt, does it go? I mean, it goes with my top, but with these shoes??!"
"Leave your hair curly," Mannipenny and I chimed in unison. "And the belt does go with the shoes," I added. "It looks good."
We were like a mutual reassurance committee, supporting eachother and buoying eachothers' spirits. A few minutes later we were all heading out the door, our makeup-hair-bags-shoes-clothes all having gone through multiple levels of scrutiny and amendment. It had been an evening of sororal bonding. The party was fun, but the getting ready was much better.
I'll miss Mannipenny when she leaves to go back to Indiana next week.
Yesterday, I had a chance to relive those girlie moments. Jeet, Mannipenny and I were getting ready to go out to meet friends in a bar in the city. "Guys!" I wailed, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, "My hair's looking awful, it's all frizzy!" Mannipenny rushed into the bathroom looking ready for emergency. For the last ten minutes, she had been switching back and forth between two tops that were now lying abandoned on the bed, and appraising herself critically in each outfit.
"Here, I'll fix it for you," she assured me, pulling out her hairdryer, a couple of hairsprays and a straightening iron. "All it takes is a bit of this and that, and we'll have it looking all glossy and sleek in five minutes.
"So," she said, as she gathered wisps of my hair and started straightening them with the iron, "What's the verdict? Orange top or the the brown one?"
Just then Jeet burst into the room. "Guys, I'm in panic! What do I do with my hair?! And what about this belt, does it go? I mean, it goes with my top, but with these shoes??!"
"Leave your hair curly," Mannipenny and I chimed in unison. "And the belt does go with the shoes," I added. "It looks good."
We were like a mutual reassurance committee, supporting eachother and buoying eachothers' spirits. A few minutes later we were all heading out the door, our makeup-hair-bags-shoes-clothes all having gone through multiple levels of scrutiny and amendment. It had been an evening of sororal bonding. The party was fun, but the getting ready was much better.
I'll miss Mannipenny when she leaves to go back to Indiana next week.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Miracle bar
On a totally different note, I've noticed that they've started to stock SlimFast Chocolate Peanut Butter Nougat Fat Free Health Bars in the work cafeteria.
How can a manufacturer actually call a bar that and still maintain credibility. I've also noticed lots of people eating them (inc. me) so apparently they can.
But now I've eaten one and my teeth hurt, so I'm not falling for that line again.
How can a manufacturer actually call a bar that and still maintain credibility. I've also noticed lots of people eating them (inc. me) so apparently they can.
But now I've eaten one and my teeth hurt, so I'm not falling for that line again.
Sharing
Yesterday Shanks and I went out to grab a quick bite to eat before watching the Wedding Crashers (which, by the way, is a riotous laugh, but that's another story).
At the end of the meal, the waitress gave us each two mints. In the process of greedily lunging over for mine, I dropped one of them on the floor. I must have looked crestfallen, because Shanks offered me one of his.
"Why?!" I asked, knowing I was the one to blame.
"Well," he responded, "it's nicer to be left with just one because you've given the other away, rather than because you dropped it on the floor."
Hmm. I like that. I'm going to park that thought in my mind and mull over it for the next few days, periodically opening the lid of its box to pick it up, gently turn it around, and examine it carefully from all sides.
At the end of the meal, the waitress gave us each two mints. In the process of greedily lunging over for mine, I dropped one of them on the floor. I must have looked crestfallen, because Shanks offered me one of his.
"Why?!" I asked, knowing I was the one to blame.
"Well," he responded, "it's nicer to be left with just one because you've given the other away, rather than because you dropped it on the floor."
Hmm. I like that. I'm going to park that thought in my mind and mull over it for the next few days, periodically opening the lid of its box to pick it up, gently turn it around, and examine it carefully from all sides.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Baking cakes
I'm baking a cake tomorrow for my brother's birthday. Its a delicious-sounding recipe that JC lent me - chocolate cake with rum coffee sauce. Yummm. I'm very excited about baking again. I used to bake a lot when I was in high school, but haven't really dappled in it much since.
Back in boarding school, my two roommates and I used to run a bakery together. We loved baking and used to spend a lot of time doing it, and eventually got pretty good. The other students used to place orders with us for birthdays, anniversaries (back in highschool couples even celebrated one-month anniversaries) and other special occasions - and we were happy to oblige. Brownies, German chocolate cake, lemon cake, Swedish sunshine cake (with nuts and stuff), apple pie, key lime pie, it was a whole world of wonder. I remember making the little network of twisted strips across the top of the apple pie. I remember being the one, on two occasions, to forget the cake in the oven until it was reduced to a cinder (thankfully, there were no fire alarms to bring attention to it).
When converted, we used to make an operating profit of approximately 20 cents per cake. And sometimes (like when I burned mine), we even made a loss. But it was our business, and we loved it.
And now it's been so long since I baked. I wonder if I still have the touch. I used to think then our cakes turned out well because we just had so much fun baking together, laughing and joking as we waited for them to bake, late into the evening. I'm a bit nervous this time. I guess, with all those memories, I have high expectations of myself, and don't want to fall short. So I'm squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists and holding my breath and crossing my fingers and hoping it won't fail. Especially not for a party. And especially not for my brother's birthday.
But at the end of the day, if the cake's a chocolate cake and it doesn't rise, it can always masquerade as brownies. So chin up, and on we march!
Back in boarding school, my two roommates and I used to run a bakery together. We loved baking and used to spend a lot of time doing it, and eventually got pretty good. The other students used to place orders with us for birthdays, anniversaries (back in highschool couples even celebrated one-month anniversaries) and other special occasions - and we were happy to oblige. Brownies, German chocolate cake, lemon cake, Swedish sunshine cake (with nuts and stuff), apple pie, key lime pie, it was a whole world of wonder. I remember making the little network of twisted strips across the top of the apple pie. I remember being the one, on two occasions, to forget the cake in the oven until it was reduced to a cinder (thankfully, there were no fire alarms to bring attention to it).
When converted, we used to make an operating profit of approximately 20 cents per cake. And sometimes (like when I burned mine), we even made a loss. But it was our business, and we loved it.
And now it's been so long since I baked. I wonder if I still have the touch. I used to think then our cakes turned out well because we just had so much fun baking together, laughing and joking as we waited for them to bake, late into the evening. I'm a bit nervous this time. I guess, with all those memories, I have high expectations of myself, and don't want to fall short. So I'm squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists and holding my breath and crossing my fingers and hoping it won't fail. Especially not for a party. And especially not for my brother's birthday.
But at the end of the day, if the cake's a chocolate cake and it doesn't rise, it can always masquerade as brownies. So chin up, and on we march!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Non-weddings
I've been thinking a lot about non-weddings (weddings without the legal, religious or traditional requirements) recently. Before this summer I didn't know what a non-wedding was, and now I know of three couples having them. From that, I'd infer they are apparently a growing trend. So what's the point? My brother, ever the rationalist, said "but if they don't get married they don't get the tax breaks!". Point.
But the flip side of that is exactly the reason behind a non-wedding in the first place. In America, couples are only eligible for tax breaks if they're legally married, and legal marriage only recognises male-female relationships. So how is that fair to the homosexual community?
So a non-wedding is about standing up and making the point: "If the law doesn't recognise all people equally, then I don't want a legal marriage." It's about saying, "marriage is a social construct and until society recognises equality and diversity, I want no part in it." It's a bold statement and a brave stance. And if it weren't for people willing to take the plunge and stand up for their beliefs, society would never change and progress. So I'm full of respect and awe for the non-weddingers.
And also a little bit embarrassed that despite my sideline pom-pom cheers, I haven't been able to stop myself from wanting a wedding for me.
But the flip side of that is exactly the reason behind a non-wedding in the first place. In America, couples are only eligible for tax breaks if they're legally married, and legal marriage only recognises male-female relationships. So how is that fair to the homosexual community?
So a non-wedding is about standing up and making the point: "If the law doesn't recognise all people equally, then I don't want a legal marriage." It's about saying, "marriage is a social construct and until society recognises equality and diversity, I want no part in it." It's a bold statement and a brave stance. And if it weren't for people willing to take the plunge and stand up for their beliefs, society would never change and progress. So I'm full of respect and awe for the non-weddingers.
And also a little bit embarrassed that despite my sideline pom-pom cheers, I haven't been able to stop myself from wanting a wedding for me.
Frozen Drinks on Summer Days
My friend Shanks is briefly visiting the city for a few days. He, Ilajna and I met in the evening at the Union Square park. It was a hot and sultry day, where even sitting still was too much of an activity. We headed to the bar in the middle of the park, bought ourselves some frozen margaritas, and sat sipping contently on the stone steps.
There was a man beside us sitting partly in shadow, partly in light, resulting in a strangely dappled appearance. Shanks and Ilajna engaged in a debate over whether one of his socks were pink and the other white (Shanks) or whether his socks just appeared different coloured because of the light illusion (Ilajna). There is much to be said for female practicality and logic.
There was a man beside us sitting partly in shadow, partly in light, resulting in a strangely dappled appearance. Shanks and Ilajna engaged in a debate over whether one of his socks were pink and the other white (Shanks) or whether his socks just appeared different coloured because of the light illusion (Ilajna). There is much to be said for female practicality and logic.
All too soon
All of a sudden, all too soon, the weekend is over, and JC has gone. And the world seems a slightly lesser place for it.
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