Epiphany (well, at least a little one)

This morning, I was woken up at about 5am by a loud scraping noise on the street outside. Living in the city, one gets accustomed to street noises in the night. Sirens, beeping horns, garbage trucks, and the like. But those don't constitute as disturbing. Those, I've learned to sleep through.

This was different, an alien scraping that penetrated my dreams and drew me out of my slumber. I have to confess, I'm not at the best of my temperament at 5am. Infact, it's safe to say I'm downright grumpy.

I cursed, put the pillow over my head, and tossed around. I tried to burrow myself deep into the duvet. I sighed repeatedly with the cumulative frustration of all of life's weary woes. Finally, I could take it no longer.

I cracked open an eye. Sat up in bed and swung my legs over the side. In my groggy state, I felt around gingerly with my toe for my slippers. Finally, adequately mobilized, I headed to the window to poke my nose about.

It was a snow-shovelling vehicle, diligently paving a way down the avenue. Even as I watched, it disappeared around the block and faded into oblivion. Curses, I thought.

And then I took a moment to look around, absorbed the scene in front of me. And literally, my breath caught. Have you ever seen a snow-covered landscape in the night? Freshly fallen, and undisturbed. Glistening white in its purity. The pristine beauty of the moment just took my breath away. All of a sudden, my heart was brimming.

It is entirely beyond my comprehension, how even in the grumpiest of moments, the simple beauty of something like a snowfall at night can lift you up beyond yourself.

Lupine behaviour

This weekend, Delta, Davis and I went to one of the nicest little Cuban restaurants I've ever been to. Your typical family-run establishment, just barely six tables squeezed into a tiny room, grandmum cooking in the kitchen, daughter waiting on the customers up front. When the food came, it just smelled so darn good, I dove into my plate with gusto, and left the conversation to the boys.

I hadn't even noticed how assiduously I had been ploughing through my food, until suddenly I heard a clink, and realised that my fork had made contact with empty plate. I pushed the plate away from me, and glanced up at the boys. They were barely half way through their meals.


Delta raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Boy, that was a serious plateful of rice. You just wolfed it all down."

As usual, I missed the point and got entirely sidetracked by the wrong detail. "I wonder why they say 'wolfed' it down," I mused. "I mean, there must be animals that eat much more and much faster than wolves!"

"Hmm, not sure," Delta conceded, thrown off course by my sidebar.
"Wolf it down?!" Davis interjected, "isn't the correct phrase to woof it down, I mean like a dog barking?"
"Eh?" I grunted (Delta, ever the more polite one, said "oh, really?").


I was fairly sure I was right, but inasmuch as there'd been debate, I decided to come home and do some nifty googling. And confirmed my original belief: Incase you had any doubt, dear reader, (other than this designer dog boutique), the world still seems to have consensus around using the old lupine analogy for such displays of gustatory haste.

Going Huck

I was just thinking to myself this morning that I hadn't spoken to McKlaine in a long while, when all of a sudden an IM window popped up on my screen.

McKlaine: OMG OMG OMG
What in the world could have happened, I thought.
Ficali: Hi! What's up?
McKlaine: Guess what happened. Actually never mind. You'll never be able to guess.
Ficali: What what what

McKlaine: So we got this new neighbour a couple of months ago. And we never see him around - don't bump into him going in and out, getting the mail, nothing. Wouldn't even know he existed. No sign of him at all - except every night like at 4 a.m., he seems to drag furniture around.
Ficali: Are you serious? That's crap. You must be so irritated.
McKlaine: Like every night. Without fail. There's heavy things being dragged and pushed and pulled across the floor.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. That's just weird. So I said as much to McKlaine.

And then he told me something that made my heart skip a beat.

McKlaine: Then last night, I was alone at home, just pottering about. From my room window, I can see directly into his living room. And I just happened to glance up at that moment, and there he was, just sitting there. There was an enormous fire blazing.
Ficali: Like in a fireplace?
McKlaine: I suppose so, but it looked bigger than normal.
Ficali: And then?
McKlaine: And then he got up and slowly approached one of the walls, and that's when I saw it. In thick black paint, across his living room wall, in large letters: "666"

A chill shot through my spine, and I quickly shut down the conversation window. Taking a deep breath, I started a new IM conversation.

Ficali: What! That's freaky.
McKlaine: Yeah I know, rather. What should I do?
Ficali: Move out!
McKlaine: Yeah, that's what I was thinking too.
Ficali: I suppose you could try a friendly gesture first - like bake cookies and go over and introduce yourself or something.
McKlaine: I would if I didn't think there was a considerable chance he would eat me.
Ficali: Hmm, so there's no other option? You're just going to move out?
McKlaine: Yeah, well that, and probably have to vote Huckabee now.

We're being nickled and dimed

I heard on 60 Minutes the other day that, due to the growing cost of metals, it actually costs the US Mint two cents for each penny coin they manufacture, and ten cents for each nickel.

What, I thought to myself. Nothing costs a penny or a nickel anymore. They should just get rid of those coins.

They interviewed a senior official at the US Mint. "It is unsustainable for the US Mint to continue running at a loss like this," he confirmed.

Then they interviewed a random selection of pedestrians.
"What do you think that it costs the mint two cents for each penny they manufacture, and a dime for each nickel?"
"Get rid of 'em," the people responded.

Then they introduced a senior chap in the government.
"We can't make the penny obsolete!" he shouted. "It's an ingrained part of American culture. I mean, people have grown up storing their pennies in their piggy banks!"
If you weren't squirrelling away all your pennies, you silly man, maybe the US Mint wouldn't have to make quite as many each year, I thought.

And then the government official continued, "the penny is an essential part of American history. There are many adages built around this. Like - 'a penny for your thoughts'. "
At this, I balked. I wasn't having any of it. You've inherited that adage from the British, you muppet! The word 'penny' comes from the British currency not the American! My inner voice was screaming silently at the telly.

So I went home and told Doobs about this. "Did you know it costs the US Mint two cents to make each penny?" I asked.
"Forget the penny!" she retorted. "They should get rid of the nickel!" I hadn't even told her about the cost of manufacturing nickels yet, so I was curious.
"Why?"
"They just don't make sense. They're bigger than the dime and they take up all the space in my wallet and I confuse them with quarters and then after all that, they don't really have any value. Even the homeless glare when I give them nickels!!"
Doobs was so inflamed about the subject, that I almost fell bad to tell her about the cost of manufacturing them.

When even a single banana costs at least a quarter, we really are being nickeled and dimed on this one.

Wee!!

Yesterday, over at Gus and Kate's place, I got introduced to the world of Wii.

And, I am mortified to confess, I (predictably) got a bit over-excited with the concept of computer games which make you really move.

And (even more predictably), I got a bit over-competitive and in the bargain pulled a muscle in my shoulder.

So now I have to figure out an explanation for everyone at work why my right arm ain't typing so good no more.

A new look at quality time

Yesterday on my walk to work, I saw three people on one of the park benches in Madison Square Park.

A man (all business suit and bluetooth earpiece), a woman (presumably his wife, for all apearances unaware of anyone arond her, focused intently on filing her nails) and their baby (gurgling unattended to itself in its stroller).

They each sat wrapped up in their own worlds, none of them were interacting with each other. There hadn't been a fight - there was no tension in the air - this was just the normal dynamic of their relationship. I watched them for a long time (my own work temporarily forgotten), intrigued and saddened by their lack of interaction. Not once did they look at, speak to or reach out to touch one another. They appeared not as a cohesive family, but a group of cohabiting individuals.

There was a heart breaking singularity to the group.

Just then the man's phone rang. I deduced from his tone it must be a friend, who had asked him what he was doin.
"Yeah, I'm in the park," he responded. "We're just spending some quality time together."

It saddened me that this was their quality time. This was their special time together, as a family.

I might have been able to tell you what happened next, had I not suddenly remembered I was supposed to be at work myself. Sadly, I had to head on.

A super tuesday

I woke up with a start early this morning, before the alarm even went off. Note - NOT after pressing snooze three times, as would be the norm. In an earth-shattering surprise even to myself, I suddenly found myself springing upright in the wee hours of the morn.

I did a quick health check to make sure all was okay. Bad dream? no. Anything I'd forgotten to do at work yesterday? no. Any trouble I was in? no.

And then suddenly I remembered: It's Super Tuesday!!!

Considering I'm not even allowed to vote in this country, I spend an alarming amount of time absorbed in the melodramatic soap opera of national politics.

So I jumped out of bed with a skip in my step and a song in my head. Headed over to work with a spring in my demeanour, and a freebie smile for fellow passers-by. I asked everyone in my morning meeting whether they had voted yet, and bandied pointed looks at those who hadn't.

And now here I am waiting with bated breath, hounding the telly, alternatively shouting or rejoicing as the various candidates rotate through. Waiting for the evening's results to unfold.

A little taste of American life

Yesterday was my first superbowl. And I say that with an added level of sincerity, because we actually did also go to a superbowl party last year, at Mr. and Mrs. Pooks'. However, while last year was all about the munchies and the superbowl adds, this year I graduated to actually understanding the sport itself.

As the game kicked off, Delta explained the rules to us with painstaking patience ("My first Indian superbowl party," he said with glee, looking at Bobbis, Doobs, Ilajna and me draped over the sofa in various positions of TV slouch).

I didn't realise how involved I'd gotten in the game, until I suddenly caught myself shouting at the telly, despite myself, "CATCH THE BALL, BURRESS!!!!" Or maybe it was when the game got over, and we all jumped up, hugging each other with the kind of happiness that just makes you want to burst. Not easy to believe that a couple of hours before, we hadn't even known the rules to football.

Back when I'd just moved to New York, Milo had told me that I hadn't experienced American life until I'd watched Monday Night Football with a Coors Light and chicken wings (that's the night I gave up vegetarianism, if I remember correctly).

I wonder what he'd think now, of this Ficali, whooping and prancing at the superbowl.