Saturday, July 29, 2006

Friday, July 28, 2006

Fractious fruit men

"Have you ever noticed," Delta mused the other day, "how the fruit sellers on street corners are always so unfriendly?"
"Huh?" I had to confess, observant though I may be of the nuances in life, the assessment of fruitseller dispositions had slipped by me.
"Seriously," he pressed on. "I go to the same fruit guy every morning, and I greet him every time, and he doesn't even acknowledge me!"
"Does he recognise you?" I snickered at Delta's personal affront.
"Obviously." We were passing the fruit cart by Delta's apartment right then, and he threw the fruit seller a dirty look for good measure. "It's just so frustrating!" he pressed on, "why can't they just be friendly!"
"What about your new apartment? You've got a new fruit man now."
Delta gave a dramatically tragic sigh. "He's just the same."

"Grumpy Grape guy," he said.
"Pugnacious pineapple guy," I rejoined.
"Ornery orange guy."
"Stroppy strawberry guy."
And so we continued until we had exhausted our fruit and adjectives. At least it made us feel better.

This morning, I stopped to pick up fruit at a corner fruit cart on my way to work. I decided to put the observation to test.
"Hello!" I wished the fruitseller brightly.
Grunt.
"Thanks," I added, as he handed me my fruit in sulky silence.
Grunt.
"Okay you have a good day then," I concluded our conversation mutually, in a reversal of customer service etiquette.

What is wrong with them?! This is even worse than the subway staff (and I have a personal bone to pick with the subway staff). Must be something they are taught in fruitschool.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

End of birthday celebrations

Delta called in a panic on Saturday.
"So you know those tickets to Wicked that I bought, that we're supposed to go to tomorrow?"
"Yeeeesss....?"
"Well I bought them online. You know. Like from a website."
"And?"
"And I haven't received them yet! What if the website was a dupe? I mean, I just paid so much money and now maybe we'll never receive those tickets. I should never have bought them online! And what if -"
"Hang on a sec. Was there a number? Did you call them?"
"Yes and the guy even sounded so nice on the phone!" he agonised.
"Don't worry, it'll work out in the end," I consoled, ever the sage counsel of a person advocating inaction.

And somehow, miraculously (ie due to Delta's persistence), it did.

So Sunday afternoon, Delta and I jumped excitedly into a cab inching painfully through the traffic towards theatre-land. And boy, was Wicked worth the cost and time and stress! Witty, sharp, engaging, ostentatious, all the things one would look for in a broadway performance. And, as Delta pointed out, it scared the kids in the theatre into silence.

We squinted happily into the sunlight as we exited the theatre after the show was over.
"Fancy walking over forty blocks to the Boat Basin?" I asked.
And so we ambled leisurely over to the riverside bar for a bit. And then to Calle Ocho for a lovely Spanish meal.

"Thanks a million for all that," I said, as when we were safely ensconsed in the taxi back home. "It was a lovely day."
"Anytime," he smiled down at me. "But for the record, your birthday is now officially over. No more celebrating."
"Oh." I was downcast for a moment. Then I cheered up: "But my half-birthday's only six months away!"

Suspiciously, I got no response.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Hop and step, across the pond

It seems like months ago now, when Doobie, Delta and I first had the idea of going down to Barcelona over the summer. Doobie had wanted to go travelling. She wasn't quite sure where, but just knew she wanted to travel.
"Where should I go?" she'd asked me.
"Spain," I'd responded without hesitation.

And as she busied herself thinking of tickets and transport and reservations, I felt myself growing envious. I couldn't bear the thought of her being down in Barcelona, the city which had so stolen my heart, while I was stuck at home.

"Err... maybe I'll come down to Barcelona with you," I'd ventured.
"Let's go for your birthday!" Doobie rejoined.

And then we'd turned to Delta.
"Say... you fly down to Barcelona pretty often, don't you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Fancy coming down while we're there?"
"I can certainly try."
"Fancy being the pilot on our flight if we fly Delta?"
"I can certainly try."
And we'd beamed at each other with childish excitement.

And so it came to be that Doobie, Delta and I, not too much later, found ourselves heading across the li'l pond to lovely Espagna.

There were moments of mortification, like when all the passengers had boarded the plane, and Delta announced over the PA system, "I'd like to extend a special welcome to one of our passengers, Ficali McPipe, who will be celebrating her birthday in Barcelona...". I would have heard the rest if I hadn't been busy praying the seat would swallow me up.

There were moments of terror, as we took a cablecar ride, dangling precariously hundreds of feet over a ravine, to the mountain top monastery of Montserrat. Delta and I, both terrified of heights, were needless to say little consolation to each other.

And there were moments of agony, like when Doobie and I tried to navigate the city on foot, sin mapa, and ended up walking hours in dismally wrong directions.

But I struggle to remember those moments. What sticks in my head was the continuous warmth, laughter and relaxation. The beachside strolls. The champagne picnic in Parc Guell. Sitting out in the placas till four in the morning, and then going home to fall asleep over an episode of House. The delicious birthday meal ("best restaurant in Barcelona," Noori promised, and asked the waiter in the same breath, "can we get some extra dessert for free please? It's Ficali's birthday." And we did.).

Just like a dream.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Home decor

What with Delta moving into his new apartment, I obviously offered to do my bit to help.
"Well it would be great if you could use your lady's touch and give me advice on decor," he said. Which at once put me in a state of panic. Suddenly I felt like my womanhood was being put to test.
"Jeet! Help!" I called her. "I don't have an artistic bone in my body."
"Why are you asking me for help of all people?!" she questionned.
"Because you've done such a great job with your apartment!"
"Oh dear. You really don't have a sense of taste do you."

That's how dire the situation was.

So this afternoon we schlepped over to the nearby Bed, Bath and Beyond. And seriously - is it strictly necessary to have 8000 different types of towels, sheets and curtains? In every shade of colour conceivable, in every thread count conceivable, with stripes, without stripes, in damask pattern, non-absorbent, slightly absorbent... it had our heads spinning. When we finally got to the towel section, we stood in silent awe, gazing at the walls lined with different types of towels. I picked one that I thought was a nice shade. "What about this?" I held it up to him.
"Nice colour, but its too cheap at $14, it won't be absorbent."
"But the only other towels cost $16," I pointed out.
"Let's get those then, hopefully they'll be better."

The only thing we were decisive about - a nice set of blinds, they did not have in stock. Go figure.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Choosing a new laptop

"Metrohom, can you help me choose a new laptop please?"
He looked at me. "Sure, tell me some of the specs you're looking for."
"Eh?"
Sigh. "You know, like size and weight and speed and memory and stuff like that."
"Oh that. Why didn't you just say so."
He rolled his eyes.

"Okay, size?"
"I definitely want a small one."
"Like super small? Like do you have a tiny desk you keep it on?"
"Well, actually I leave it on our dining room table."
"The dining room table! So space isn't really an issue? So you don't really need a very small one then...?"
"No, I guess not."

"Okay, weight?"
"Definitely a light one."
"Like super light? Are you going to travel a lot with it?"
"No not really. I mean, I'll move it from the dining room table to the bedroom sometimes, but that's about it..."
"Right. So I wouldn't really call weight a big issue then, would you?"
"No I guess not, not really."
Sigh.

"So is there anything about the specifications that you are particular about?!"
"Well, to be honest I just want something that's pretty fancy. And fast. And slick. You know. Hehe."
An exaggerated sigh. "You just have no clue what you want, do you?"

What's the point of having a tech guy help you out if you just can't speak the same language.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Old traditions















A quick glimpse into the weekend down in good ol' Londres.

When we made plans to meet on Saturday night for dinner, my first question was - "Can we do Pizza Express please?!". A deviation would have been unheard of. After all, for several years we had all religiously gone to the same restaurant each week. And ordered the same food. Routine and ritual are everything - ask any old and wise soul.

So last weekend found Stew, McSlurp, Macklaine and me in Pizza Express. "What's everyone going to have?" I glanced around questionningly.
"Same," said Stew
"Same," confirmed McSlurp.
"Same," nodded Macklaine.
I beamed at them. It was just as though I'd never even left.