Monday, December 26, 2005

A New York Family Christmas

The only thing that bothers me about christmas each year is not being able to spend it with family. Not that we really celebrated christmas as a 'family' event while I was growing up. It's just that - well, watching everyone else go home to their families always makes me sad and nostalgic.

So at this time of the year, when everyone disperses homeward-bound to their respective families, friends still left behind become family.

This year, Ilajna, Azdadoobie and I threw ourselves into arranging Christmas festivities. What with Caveboy and Adle visiting at the moment, the apartment was already feeling full and festive. An impulsive last-minute invitation to Seagull, and our party was ready to rock and roll. The couple of days preceding Christmas were spent in a flurry of culinary panic, baking ginger cookies, christmas cake, rumballs and mulled wine, so by the time Christmas day finally rolled round, the scene was set for a veritable gustatory orgy.

Over an extended lunch at La Mangeoire, the six of us toasted to pretty much anything and everything possibly toast-worthy, even at a stretch. And Seagull's sage warning proved prophetic - the toasts really do degenerate into the ridiculous as the meal (and vino) progresses.

"To a five-floor walkup and a table that tells you whether you've put on weight over Christmas," Seagull toasted. "To Ilajna finally having curtains up," Caveboy toasted. Yep, that's pretty much a succinct description of our apartment in a nutshell.

On returning to the apartment, we proceeded to spend the rest of the evening playing charades, drinking games, imbibing shamelessly copious amount of alcohol and laughing so hysterically I do believe I've pulled a stomach muscle. I wouldn't venture a guess over the number of beers that somehow managed to find their way into my system (no fault of mine, mum & dad), but suffice to say the mere thought of beer causes involuntary shudders even as I write this entry today.

'Charades' put a new definition on how "The Eighth Wonder of the World" can be a two-word movie; 'Asshole' suddenly gave us an (alarming) glimpse of what kind of president Azdadoobie would make (boy, power is a scary thing!); 'Kings' taught me that if you're ever doing an alcohol waterfall, the only trick to survival is to position yourself after a weak drinker; and '21' made us realise that saying 'bizzy bizzy buzz bizz buzz buzz five bizzy bizzy buzz' can be remarkably intellectually challenging at 2 am. You know, even if we all have college degrees and all.

The next morning, as we sat around the breakfast table re-hashing the events of the night before, we were all looking a bit shaky and worse for the wear. But all of us agreed it had been a great Christmas.

"So... what about New Years? Are we all going to Keats together?!!" asked Ilajna, as we all looked at eachother with ill-concealed excited anticipation.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Lessons from a striking MTA

Have you ever watched the news with the kind of dispassionate curiosity where you logically understand the horrific events but your mind refuses to compute that they are actually real and happening and will impact your life?

That's how I was as I followed the news on the MTA strike unfolding in the city. Yes, I saw the bitter recriminations, stalled negotiations and threats to close the subway system. But somehow I saw it as a remote story unfolding in another land. Somehow, it still took me by surprise on Tuesday morning when I realised that my faithful 'E' train wouldn't take me to work anymore.

I expected the city to be crippled. But in fact, it conducted itself with remarkable orderliness. Everywhere, strangers were sharing cabs amicably, neighbours were carpooling willingly, people were walking miles across the city unfazedly - in fact, the manner in which the city took the entire event in its stride was humbling.

From my perspective, there was naught to be done really but to don hat-scarf-gloves-coat and trek through the polar weather for the three miles to work. And so, hardy trooper that I am, I did. Nearly lost a couple of appendages as victims of frostbite along the way, but all in all I reached work in generally functioning condition. When I finally made it in to work, Big Boss M took one look at me and packed me off immediately for a thawing coffee. "We can't lose our HR bod on her first day as a full-time employee!" he admonished. I would have smiled if my mouth wasn't frozen, but as such all I could muster was a botox-blank stare.

The second day I made the trek in to work, the whole ordeal somehow seemed much easier. It seemed warmer, it seemed shorter - although in reality it was neither. It's just that I was more prepared.

And the third day, the walk was even easier.

Now the strike is apparently over. Hurrah!!! The subway system will be working again. But you know what I learnt over the past three days? That now I'm used to walking in to work. More than that - I'm actually enjoying walking in to work. What a crisp and refreshing start to the day. And, as an added bonus, I'm actually awake when I reach the office. I think I'm going to keep at it even when the strike's off.

That way, when the next MTA strike comes around twenty years hence, I'm going to be the only one prepared.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Adrift and floundering

As we caught up for one of our regular tete-a-tetes yesterday, Milo mentioned to me, "Over the last three months, you've changed so much about yourself from the way you were when I first met you. The changes might all individually seem really small and superficial, but they're probably reflective of a more fundamental change in your personality."

His comment startled me, and has set me examining myself and the ways in which I've changed since moving to New York. Over the whirlwind of the past two months I have:

- Found a new job
- Made new friends (and earned a new nickname - and inexplicably, something as simple as a new name can sometimes make you a new person)
- Had a shot for the first time
- Had a pint of beer for the first time
- Started eating chicken wings (!!!!! At first it was 'just this once'. But after the third 'just this once' yesterday, I think I now have to call myself a vegetarian who eats seafood and chicken wings. So not quite a vegetarian then)
- Moved into a new apartment with new roommates

Milo was right - on the face of it, they're all superficial changes. But somehow, they've been working together, insidiously, subtlely, to gradually change the person I was. Not quite sure what the changes are, I can't quite put my finger on them. Something along the lines of more hardworking, more friendly, less shy, more adventurous, more carefree, more fun-loving, more light-hearted and less serious.

I'm not quite sure if those are accurate, but at the moment that's the best I can come up with. All I know is that on the whole, I'm a somewhat different person today than I was even a couple of months ago. Without the decency of a warning, something fundamental in me has changed. Or maybe its just the frame of reference within which I live that has altered transformed itself, and with it my bearings.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like I might be floundering.

Up for adoption

I'm acutely conscious of, and thankful for, for the life I have. Not because I particularly have a lot, but because, even with whatever little I have, I'm lucky enough to be genuinely content. Without doing anything particularly deserving on my part, I've somehow landed myself a job I enjoy immensely, friends I love to bits, and even the weekend chores don't get me down (knock on wood, knock on wood).

Yep, safe to say, occasional bouts of nostalgia notwithstanding, I love my life in New York. I revel in the independence and freedom and sheer joie de vivre.

But even then, there are inevitably some days, just some days, when I need a holiday from my own life. When I don't want independent free-spiritedness. When all I want is to be taken care of like a child. Some days, all I want is to crawl home to be mollycuddled and fed a hot meal and tucked into bed feeling warm and safe and secure.

Some days, I'm up for adoption.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Oh dear, we're not in highschool anymore

When we were in highschool, we had this concept of 'movie nights'. All of us would gather together with our sleeping bags for a slumber party, rent a bunch of movies, make numerous batches of brownies, popcorn and noodles, and watch movie-after-movie in succession all night. More than anything, it was a communal activity, and I have very fond memories of those evenings, even with some of the crappiest movies. The point was the togetherness and intimacy of it all.

So Ilajna and I were very excited as we suggested to Azdadoobie the other day that the three of us hold a movie night. "What's 'movie night'?" Azdadoobie ventured, and Ilajna and I, biased by our rose-tinted memories, gushed about how it was just SO much fun and how it was the best thing ever. So we all booked it in our diaries, emailed each other repeated reminders of our Friday night 'date', and generally hyped the event far beyond what it merited.

When Friday evening finally came about, I was the first one home and busied myself putting dinner on the stove per usual. I must confess, I broke the movie-night code of conduct by making stir-fried tofu for dinner. When Azdadoobie and Ilajna got home, they eyed the dish dubiously. "I don't think you're supposed to make wholesome food on 'movie night'," Ilajna commented, "I think its supposed to be chocolates and popcorn." Nonetheless, we cracked open a bottle of wine and sat down to a very civilised dinner.

Shortly after, we schlepped over to Blockbusters and engaged in an hour of suggesting-debating-arguing-vetoing until finally, at the end of our collective tether, we settled on Life Aquatic. Got home, made ourselves steaming mugs of coffee, loaded the DVD, clambered onto Azdadoobie's bed and snuggled into our blankets to watch the film.

And to its credit, the movie was pretty darned funny. At least the first half an hour, which is all I remember before I drifted off to sleep. "Wake up!" Azdadoobie nudged me, "movie night isn't fun if you go to sleep!!". I jolted awake with a disoriented 'huh?' and watched another ten minutes of the movie before drifting off again.

Periodically, I awoke to giggle to another five minutes of the film before falling asleep again. At one point, I was woken up by Azdadoobie's incredulous exclamation: "Man! You guys are such losers!!". I turned over to glance at Ilajna, only to find that in her corner of the bed, she too was fast asleep. Azdadoobie rolled her eyes, "so this is movie night huh".
"Sssh," I mumbled, "some of us are trying to sleep".

We used to make it through movie nights with four movies in a row! What happened to the Ficali of those days? I refuse to believe it's me getting older. I'm going to blame it on the stress of the week gone by.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Traumatised

This morning as I was walking through the 14th St subway stop during rush hour, there was a woman walking through the crowd in front of me, with a little boy in tow. The child was obviously on his way to school, and dragging his feet over it. He kept stopping and digging his heels into the ground and transforming his body into a limp deadweight in the way that only children can.

I was about to start feeling sympathetic for the mother when suddenly she stopped in the middle of the crowd and started screaming at the boy: "YOU BETTER GET YOUR F'ING ACT TOGETHER AND GET TO SCHOOL RIGHT NOW, OR I'LL SHOVE MY F'ING BOOT INTO YOUR MOUTH."

Passersby stopped in stunned silence. The child looked up in wide-eyed terror. But she just continued shouting, unfazed: "NOW START ACTING YOUR F'ING AGE AND GET TO SCHOOL."

Then she jerked the little boy by his arm so suddenly that he fell over, sprawled on his front. He scrambled up in haste and scampered after his mother who was already stalking away.

A station full of rush hour commuters, and nobody did anything. Subconsciously, the crowd had edged away to form a circle around them. I felt I should have intervened, but was paralyzed by alarm, and all too suddenly, the moment was over.

The scene has been pounding in my head all morning. I don't know what, but I should have done something, I should have done something.

Monday, December 12, 2005

What's the story with guys and presents?!

A couple of years ago, Macklaine gave me a gift, all wrapped up and looking pretty. I can't even remember now what the occasion was - perhaps christmas, perhaps my birthday, perhaps it was just spontaneous present. All I do remember was how excited I was as I tore open the wrapping with childish spontaneity.
Nestled inside the wrapping were two Playstation games - something about car racing and something about football.
"Thanks, Macklaine!!!!" I exclaimed excitedly (because getting a gift is always exciting, no matter what it is).
And then, "But, errr, you know I don't play computer games...?"
"Oh, that's right!!" He said, slapping his forehead and feigning innocence. "How could I have forgotten!"

Pause.

Then he suggested, "So I suppose, rather than wasting them you could just give them to someone else who could put them to good use. There's surely no point in them going to waste... do you know anyone who would enjoy those?"
I thought for a second, and then narrowed my eyes with suspicion. "The only person I know into Playstation is you," I pointed out.
"Oh, that's right!" He said, slapping his forehead again. "I better have them back then. Next time I get you a present, I'll put more thought into what you want."
And with that, he handily took back the present he had just bought, and headed off to put the games to test.

For a moment, I was stupefied. Then I just laughed and laughed, until tears streamed down my face.

I'd forgotten all about the incident until last week. As we got into the car to drive down to Flyback, Seagull handed me a CD he'd burnt the night before. "Here, I made this for you," he said casually. Seagull has a ton of music I've been openly coveting for a while now, so you can imagine my excitement to be given a CD with over a hundred of my favourite songs all in a row.

"OMG you won't believe how disproportionately happy you've made me!" I exclaimed as I pushed the CD into the player. And it really was one great song after the next. It was like the pot of gold under the rainbow.

Then, two days later as we were all heading home from Flyback, Seagull casually asked, "Can I have the CD back for this weekend?"
I instinctively tightened my grip on the CD possessively. I'd been looking forward to listening to it during the weekend, and started to protest.
"But - "
"Come on!" he urged. "I'm going travelling, I need it more than you do."
"FINE." I grumbled. "But only for the weekend, and I want it back right after, okay?" I handed it over to him reluctantly.
"Hmm," he said, glancing at the CD in his hand. "It really is a great CD, huh. I might just keep it and make you another one at some point."

!!!!!
What do you have to do in this world to get to keep your own presents.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Dub's birthday bash!

Thanks to Milo for distributing pictures from Dub's birthday bash two weeks ago!

As everyone there can vouch, it was a great evening - as GLG pahtays normally are. First an early dinner with just the four of us at Jacques-Imo's (a definite two thumbs up!!), where there was far too much discussion and sniggering on the rather dubious subject of oysters and their significance and purpose in the world.

And then stumbled a few blocks through the icy wind to nearby Prohibition, where the evening quickly blossomed into full regalia. Some general pics to share:

Indiana, Ilajna 'n' me Milo and Dub acting Cool (as usual)
The GLG team: Big D, Sizzle, Milo, Deb & Dub
Indiana and Milo being silly (as usual)
Me and Dub (with his special winter beard)

Sod's law

This is the first time I've taken such a long break from the blog, and it's felt like an appendage was cut off. So where have I been?

Flyback: Once a year, the company hosts what we call a 'flyback', where all 150 employees in the region travel down to stay in a hotel together for three days - this year, it was held at a casino resort in CT, which was absolute luxury. It involved a mix of educational conferences (feigning interest in the presentations while surreptitiously catching the proverbial forty winks) and social events (frequenting the casino and plethora of bars till the early hours of morning). So basically three days of decadence and debauchery. So basically three days of freaking shangri-la.

Except that:

I was to be meeting about a 100 out of the 150 employees for the first time. And, you know. When you're meeting people you work with for the first time, you kind of want to create a good impression. So what's the worst thing that can happen?

That you wake up the morning before Flyback to find that some frickin' capillary or something has burst in your eye so that it's all red and resembling something from a horror movie. WHAT. Seriously. Could only happen to Ficali. So there I was, about to meet the majority of my colleagues for the first time, and all I had to show for it was a quasimodo-eye. I thought about keeping it shut for the entire three days, in a sort of permanent state of nictitation, but I reckoned it would probably look a bit lascivious, like I was constantly winking at everyone the entire time. I thought about wearing an eye-piece, but as you know, my times of dressing up as a pirate are long past.

And now Flyback is over, and everyone has returned to their own offices all over the country, and what is the image they will have of their HR bod?
And wouldn't you know it. Today, the morning after, my eye's totally back to normal. Sod's bloody law I tell ya.

Btw - A special thanks to the Bart, for missing me while I was gone :)

Saturday, December 03, 2005

House rules

Rule number 1: I am not allowed in buffets

Just like that. No ambiguity, no get-out clause, no room for negotiation. The reason being that I have not as yet acquired the faculty of self-control, and have proven time and time again that I am fully capable of eating myself to the point of sickness. So about ten years ago I established this rule for myself as a means of self-protection, and have managed to adhere to it pretty successfully.

Until this afternoon that is.

I was speaking to Inihtar yesterday when she mentioned she would be going to Flushing this afternoon to engage in a spot of investigative reporting. "Wait a minute," I interrupted, stumbling upon an idea in a flash of synaptic brilliance. "Does that mean you'll be passing by the Jackson Diner?"
"Yes, sort of..." she admitted.
"Fancy going there for lunch??!" I asked. "I've heard so much about it from Caveboy and Ximmix, I've wanted to try it for ages."

And that is how we came to find ourselves, this afternoon, faced with an enormous lunchtime buffet. And I knew, even as my eyes grew saucer-shaped at the sight of all the food, that it was sinful. That I shouldn't be doing this. But how often do I get to dabble in authentic Indian fast-food? Almost never. So my traitorous resolve wavered momentarily and then fizzled out completely without delay.

Eating a buffet, for lack of a better metaphor, is like eating an elephant - you have to tackle it bit by bit. Problem is, by the time you're done, you really do feel like you've eaten an elephant. I can't see why the concept of a buffet would have been invented at all, other than to perpetuate human suffering.

The main thrust of our conversation:
"Do you think I should get another serving, or would that be just too greedy?"
"I'll get one if you get one."
"Oh okay then. You're on."

So now here I am, safely ensconced back at home, and feeling more than slightly uncomfortable and regretful. In such situ's, there's naught to be done but to snuggle into a nap and hope that you feel totally fine by the time you wake up again.

Rule number 2: Don't break Rule number 1

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Are white justified?

Are white justified?

That's what I texted Seagull yesterday towards the end of a long evening out - causing much puzzlement at his end, I'm afraid to say.
Is this a riddle question?, he responded.
But of course it wasn't - I'm hardly that clever. It was just a plain old typo.

What I'd been trying to ask was: Are white lies justified?

Milo and I had been discussing it earlier that evening. Is it justified to sometimes lie to someone if this is to protect them from harm? This wasn't about deciding what to do, because the act had already been performed. It was more about appeasing the conscience after the act.

I found myself defending the argument that white lies can be justified - and sometimes even merited. But later I started questionning and double-guessing myself - I wasn't sure if I'd taken the stance because I genuinely believed it, or just to take Milo's side in the event. And I started thinking of the various untruths I myself have told in time - about whether they were really worth it in the end, even though at the time I'd thought them so wise. Self doubt can eat away at you like a nagging itch.

Hence the text to Seagull for reassurance and clarification.
And his response when I finally clarified the question: "Yes. However, only if the recipient and all people impacted benefit from it. However, not if the teller is the only one who benefits. And if there's any manipulative intent, then its not justified. However, sometimes the situation demands it, and then it can be justified. As long as everyone benefits."

"That's a lot of clauses," I said doubtfully, not too much the wiser for his explanation.
But it made me feel better all the same, if for no other reason then because it mirrored the lack of clarity in my own mind.