Serendipity

It's a mighty lucky day when:
- you get into work, only to discover your laptop has kaputzed on you and refuses to start up
- AND the tech support person is on holiday for the week
- AND the only tech support backup is out in Chicago and can't resolve the problem remotely
- AND all your work is saved on your computer so there really isn't anything you can do without it
- so your General Manager suggests "why don't you just take the day off"
- AND you look out the window, and the sun is shining, air is warm, Washington Square is beckoning, and the day is just perfect

Now what are the chances that real life would turn out like that? Infinitesimal, I would say. And yet, that is exactly the card that life dealt me yesterday.

So much so that 2pm on Thursday afternoon found me out in the sunshine, shrugging my shoulders and gazing about me with gleeful free-spiritedness.

So what does one do with a gloriously free afternoon yawning before you?

Meet up with a dear friend. Amble togehter through the W. Village to Washington Square. Treat ourselves to delicious falafel sandwiches from Mamoun's, and find a sunkissed park bench on which to sit and and enjoy a leisurely meal and chat. Browse casually through the second-hand book stores near NYU, trying to find Ginsberg's Howl. End up with Joyce's Finnegan's Wake instead.

Stop for a pee-break in a little cafe on Bleecker, and end up staying for an hour, sipping chai in tiny chinese teacups as we peruse the first few pages of Finnegan's Wake. Quickly surmise that the book far surpasses our faculties, and laugh at our ambitious folly for having picked it up at all.

Slowly, leisurely, as the sun sets on a long and beautiful afternoon, amble home basking in a relaxed tireness.

Oh, that working life should always be like that.

I had almost forgotten

It's alarming how easy it can be to get entangled in your own life, and lose track of time, person and place as you are funnelled down the tunnel towards the future. And before you know it, its been over a month since you went to your favourite restaurant. Or made the time to listen to your favourite music. Or met one of your closest friends.

The realisation struck me like a bolt of lightning when I met Milo for lunch yesterday. Walked into Opal, saw his face light up as I approached, and it hit me - seemed like a lifetime had passed since we'd last seen each other. A whole world to catch up on. Stories, anecdotes and shared confidences battled each other stumblingly in their haste to be shared.

We shared a warm hug as we parted that afternoon. "Don't let's wait so long before we next meet, okay?"
"For sure."

As it turned out, it wasn't very long at all.

Later that evening, Dub and I were due to have a long and hearty post-work powwow at Keats. Indeed, it didn't take much persuasion to convince Doobie and Milo to turn up as well. And as we sat there together, the feeling of the good ol' times washed over me in warm waves. It had been months since the four of us spent a quiet evening together over shared laughter, and my heart brimmed with the affection and intimacy of the moment. Even Jackie seemed to sense the genuine happiness, and for the first time took substantial breaks from her hectic job to spend time talking to us.

All the way home, as Doobie and I picked up a Subway sandwich and ambled the few blocks down, I couldn't wipe the beam from my face. And frankly, neither did I want to.

Today

What is this city, in which we stay
Where relentless storm makes night from day
Sloshin', sploshin' an' galoshin'
Our lives in thunderous greyness awashin'

Walked to work with water-logged toes
Soaked shoes, soaked socks, rain dripping off my nose
Was about to whine and grumble for a bit
When unfortunately I realised - I don't really dislike it.

The downpour is relentless, there's a nip in the breeze
But once in a while the sun peeks through the trees;
Large drops spiderweb artfully across the pane
And I'm caught for a moment by the beauty of rain.

The office is cosy, work is relatively light
Breakfast at the diner makes even a Monday alright;
Spread the paper, read the news, hot coffee in hand
Now that I think of it, not a bad day to land.


** Special thanks to Doobie for her rhyming help

To all things cheesy

For the first time in months, I had a pretty light afternoon yesterday, so I invited Delta over to catch up over a glass of wine and a leisurely lunch. We ambled over to nearby Pastis and seated ourselves comfortably at one of outdoor tables, with the sunshine pleasantly warming our shoulders.

Delta and I had just concluded a long and passionate rant about our mutual distaste for cheese, cream and butter. "Infact all milk products!" I declared emphatically, giving an involuntary shudder. "Especially butter!" he added in agreement. "Ewwww," I wrinkled my nose.

Just then the waitress approached us with the dessert specials. "Well today we have a cheese platter, which includes brie, swiss, cammembert and...". Who woulda' thunk.
After she went through her entire list, Delta, with mock attentiveness, asked her, "I didn't quite catch that, could you please go through the list again?". She went through the list again, bless her heart.
"You were just saying how you love cheese," I grinned at Delta, purely for the waitress' benefit. "Why don't you get something...?"
"Why you must be getting confused," he smiled back sweetly. "It was you who said cammembert was your favourite..."

I wish I could say I was quickthinking enough to come back with a witty rejoinder. Instead, I'm afraid to admit, I just gawked. And then we burst out laughing, tickled pink at our own theatrics, while the waitress shook her head in mock despair and headed off.

And so, in honour of our mutual distaste for all things cheesy and creamy, a little poem:

Non-ode to cheese
Oh ye evil yellow (or blue or white) spawn of cow
People love you so (weirdos) - but how?
Perhaps I too would not be so picky
If you weren't so stringy, stretchy and sticky
Invading the world in which we wake
Ruining pizza, pasta and chocolate cheesecake
Oh ye evil yellow (or blue or white) spawn of cow
Please don't hate me if I shun you for now

Whatever. I don't do subtlety.

I got into the Grand Hyatt's ornate lift and pressed "5" for the Health Club. There was a man already in the lift, dressed in the ostentatiously pressed suit which seems to be the uniform for guests at the Hyatt. It made me feel particularly charming in my exercise grubware.

I stuck to the universally accepted lift code of conduct, the quick-glance-no-eye-contact-half-smile-and-stare-at-shoes. He did the dreaded deviation, and tried to communicate.

He smiled, cleared his throat, and raised his hand to indicate his shirt collar. Was he telling me something about my collar? And then I remembered I was wearing a t-shirt, with no collar to speak of. So I did the safe thing, assumed he was one of this world's many wierdos, and continued to stare assiduously at my shoes. He cleared his throat and pointed again at his collar. I wasnt quite sure of the expected response, but didn't want to seem rude. So I cleared my throat back and stifled the giggle rising inside at the comic awkwardness of the situation.

Finally, the lift pinged to a halt at the Health Club, and I jumped out in relief. Did my afternoon workout and had all but forgotten the incident as I headed back. Then, just as I left the gym, I did the typical not-so-subtle womanly thing of casting a quick sideways glance in a passing mirror. And what did I see? Other than my hot and sweaty disshevelledness I mean? That I'd worn my t-shirt inside out. There, exactly at the place where the man in the lift had been indicating, hung my t-shirt label and cleaning instructions. And across my front, where the man had thankfully NOT indicated, was a backwards Nike swoosh. And come to think of it, down the sides ran a view of the top's unsophisticated stitching.

I was mortified. I understand the man in the lift had been trying to be subtle about telling me, but seriously - why couldn't he have just SAID?!!

Capitalising

So, you're probably aware, the Delta pilots are on the verge of a strike on account of the company threatening to cut their pay.

"If we're on strike next week," Delta told me, "perhaps I can come over to yours and you can whip up a big dinner for all of us."
"And if you're not on strike?"
"Then I'll come over for dinner all the same."
"I figured as much."

"Pooh, I'm scared."
"There, hold my hand," said Pooh. "Feel better now?"
"Much. Thanks."

Admissions

"Erm, Seagull?"

Questionning glance.

"Remember when I sprained my knee when we were skiing? And was hobbling around for a few days?"

Nod.

"And you told me to take a couple of Alleve and it would sort out the problem? And I refused because I don't like taking painkillers? So you explained that it was an anti-inflammatory as well, and that most skiers take it to relieve their aches and pains, but I was being a stubborn idiot and insisted I knew better? And you argued with me for a bit but then realised how pointless it is to argue with me when I get something stuck in my head, so you left me be?"

Nod.

"Well, as much as it irks me to lose an argument, and disturbs all my sensibilities to think I might have been wrong, I have to admit that you were right. I finally gave in and had one the other day. And it sorted out my knee right away. So, erm, thanks."

Chuckle.

"Look here, mister, there's no need to laugh is there? Just because, as it turned out this time, you were right. You know how difficult it is for me to admit I'm wrong. Especially if it means conceding that you were right."

Grin.

"And I'm only confessing this on the condition that you don't dredge up this admission in future arguments with any bearing whatsoever."

Smirk.

"Gah. Is there even a point!"

An Air of Mystery

So we dropped our rent cheque in the mail last week, just like we do every month.

But - unlike what happens every month, it was bounced right back. USPS told us in no uncertain terms that we had put 2cents less in stamp value than needed to get our cheque to the agency's office, twenty blocks away. Can't get anything past the USPS these days. Bah.

So Ilajna, predictably the reliable one (and also the one who has overarching responsibility for our mail situation - ie checks our mailbox everyday), put a new stamp on the envelope. Of the correct value this time. And dropped it off in the mail again.

Only to have the darned thing returned again. Sometimes, with life, there's just no rhyme or reason.

So I decided to turn to the reliable old fashioned approach - and take it down to the office myself. Ambled over this morning, crumpled cheque in hand.
"Erm, I know we've missed the rent deadline for this month, but honestly the cheque got returned by the mail twice, it wasn't our fault."
The receptionist gave me a bored once-over. "Yeah that's happened to a couple of people already this month. Something's wrong with the system."
"Oh! It's not just us then! I assume that means we won't be charged the late penalty?"
She looked at me deadpan, and said, "Never assume anything in life."

Never assume anything in life.

Now - far be it from me to question such an axiom - but seriously.

Is it strictly necessary to have such an air of mystery around a rent cheque??!

Logorrhea*

There comes a point in all our lives when we must bare our souls to all and sundry and let the skeletons out the closet. This moment of epiphany for me is right now. Right here.

So I would like to make a confession about my two secret obsessions.

a) Starbucks tall skim soy chai teal latte.
Yes I know Starbucks is a corporate giant and we must abhor them at all costs and they have commercialised and bastardised the original coffee and they charge rip-off prices for the mutant coffees they've invented and they are taking of the world just like the martians in the '80s.

And I do believe in all that, honestly. And I do stand by it with all the fervour of the Seattle WTO protests of '99.

I just wish their damn chai didn't taste so damn good that's all. And that there wasn't a branch right next to my work building. And right next to my home. And right on the walk from home to work.

b) Words with more than three syllables.
Don't ask. Everyone has their own fetishes, and that's mine. Words are fun, and artistic, and express subtle nuances and are, in my opinion, just under-exploited. (Other than 'cool', which is the over-exploited ugly duckling of the English language.) Dorky, I know. That's why it was a closet obsession. Until now anyway.

Anyways, before I get side-tracked by my own passionate rant, those are my two closet obsessions: Starbucks chai, and long words.

So you can imagine my excitement (elation, even) when Starbucks started its 'Spelling Bee' campaign. Fancy vocab words plastered everywhere - the walls, the counters, the tables. Increase your vocabulary while you sip your chai. Yep - my two passions brought together in one little spot - on Greenwich Avenue in the W. Village. Might as well have died and gone to heaven.

Being acutely insightful such that I am, my prospicience* tells me that this will become an increasingly consuming passtime. Perhaps even the succedaneum* for what I currently do in the afternoons (pretend to work). My original intention was for this entry to be a pastiche* incorporating the new words I learnt. But everything I strung together, predictably, sounded contrived. So as it turned out, "logorrhea" is perhaps the more accurate euonym*.

* Words I learnt today:
~ Logorrhea: excessive, pointless talkativeness
~ Prospicience: foresight
~ Succedaneum: substitute
~ Pastiche: dramatic literary piece
~ Euonym: well-suited name

Okay so maybe I'm the only one having so much fun with this. While sipping my chai.

Just like Betty Crocker. Or Jamie Oliver. Or the Iron Chef. Or whoever.

Lately I've been indulging in culinary experimentation. Last week the urge to cook something totally new took over my mind with a restlessness such that there was really no choice but to succumb.

So much so that on Wednesday I almost had to leave work early to rush home and make some Soba noodles with pakchoi and sesame. And then Thursday I was taken over by the sudden and irresistible urge to make couscous with lemon and peppers. Today it's little salmon and spinach filo parcels.

Where am I thinking up these dishes from? I have no idea. Don't even have a clue about the recipes until I actually start throwing vegetables into the frying pan, trying to affect an air of deliberate randomness.

But I'm loving this new ability to manifest my creativity and expressiveness through my cooking! It's fun. It helps make the house a home. It helps put the bread on the table. And most importantly, I have, in my loyal roommates, two willing, encouraging (and frankly flattering) subjects on whom to bestow the results.