Hitting a milestone

Last weekend, despite all my efforts to the contrary, I was dragged kicking and fighting into the decade of the thirties.

I have to say, given how frequently it's referred to as such a milestone event, I was rather expecting a bit more, well, oomff. But in the end the darned day snuck up on me in a somewhat anti-climactic manner, squeezing itself almost unnoticed between an afternoon of tennis and a day of telly-watching. The Vish made a comment about my multiplying grey hairs, and I retorted with a comment about his belly (because that is exactly how low I would stoop), but other than that, growing older turned out to be somewhat of a non-event.

We did make it down to our new favoured bar in the East Village, however, so I could prove to everyone that this ol' geriatric can still down a glass of wine or two.

Pork chops, please

Dear Spain,

This morning, as in every morning, they brought two boxes of food into my tank and asked me to choose one for lunch. One had the Netherlands flag on it, and the other had Spain.

All year, I've been listening to people talking about Spain and the PIGS, and instantly assumed the Spain box would hold some delicious roast pork. What else could they have been possibly talking about?! Or maybe there'd even be some pork chops or bratwurst. I smacked my lips greedily and rushed over and opened the box with the Spain flag. But it was just the normal food I get everyday! I felt so cheated. What a waste.

But apparently my choice helped you win the World Cup. So some good came of it somewhere. Congratulations, I'm glad to have been of help.

Best,
Paul the Octopus

p.s. - please don't let Germany make calamari out of me.

For those of you who need some context to understand what this is about.

Just like Tuscany

Last weekend, Delta and I headed to Rochester to spend time with the fam. It was a warm and sunny weekend, a pleasant change from our previous wintry trips up north. It was lovely as ever to see his mum, sis and her hubby again.

We headed over to the local Wegmans, where I got to wheel around a cart the size of truck through huge suburban food aisles with fifty types of toilet paper. We waded through unending aisles of food, with me randomly reaching out and pulling things into the cart in my excitement. And we headed home and built ourselves one of the largest lunches I've ever eaten. As Delta heated up the barbecue, the rest of us set up everything outside in the backyard.

As we poured ourselves glasses of wine and settled into our leisurely lunch, the sun dappled lazily through the trees, gently touching everything with a golden caress.

"It's just like Tuscany!" I exclaimed happily, taking a picture of everyone at the table.
And then I paused, and reached over to move the little bowl of mac 'n' cheese out of the view of the picture. "Now let's try that again. Yep. Just like Tuscany."

Just for jury duty

A week ago, the timing oddly appropriate just before US Independence Day, I went over to City Hall and finally got my US Citizenship.


After the year-long process of getting my background check, my eyeballs scanned and my fingers printed, I had approached the appointment like any administrative process, just like getting my drivers license from the DMV. But as it turns out, I had vastly underestimated the capacity for American sentimentalism. In fact, everyone involved in the 'swearing in ceremony', from the judge and clerks to the security personnel, took pains to make the event as meaningful as possible.


The morning I got my citizenship, some two hundred other aspirings were also in the hall with me, receiving theirs. I glanced around the room in awe. It represents people from countries and continents all over the world. Everyone had come with excited families and friends in support. Likewise for me, Delta had accompanied me cheerily, sitting in the back of the room, where I could turn around and give him a small excited wave from time to time.


The ceremony itself was brief, but meaningful. After a short talk about the values of citizenship, the judge handed us each our "naturalization certificates", and off we could go. As soon as I got mine, Delta and I hugged eachother in glee, and scuttled off to find an American flag to use as a backdrop for the stereotypical photo.


Finally! After all the waiting, and all the bureaucracy, the day had finally arrived. I applied for my passport straight away. After all, the flexibility to travel was a driving reason behind my application in the first place.

Well, travel and, erm, jury duty, of course.