Six of six -- tagged!

I was tagged by Mette of ungtblod for a six of six: "Open the 6th picture-folder on your computer, open the 6th photo and blog it. Write something about it." Wonderful invite. So here we go:


Many things about this picture. Every weekday at about 6.30 am I would walk from home to work. It was about a 35 minute brisk walk which I enjoyed. It was early and there was rarely anyone on the street for most of the way, even in Central London. After a while, I even began enjoying the moody sky that often greeted me in the morning. In an entire year of commuting to work on foot, I was turned back by rain only twice.

I also enjoyed the sight lines of London, particular these neighborhood with their late 19th Century/ early 20th Century homogenous blocks of buildings (with the occasional modern block punched in to remind us of the bombs of World War II if it was a 1950s building or of the modern boom if it was of 1990s vintage). Compared to New York the sky really opens up. Indeed, as I noticed and as you see above you get these great V-shaped slices of the sky. Early in my stay, I had a plan to take a picture of the sky everyday. It would be my diary of London. It didn't happen, but I still like the idea.

Finally this picture captures another feature of London, at least last year (don't know how it is now): constant construction. Everywhere you looked you could see these great cranes hovering over the city, like an alien invasion tearing away it.

BB

My computer is back!

And I transferred its brain back! And so far it is behaving exactly like its old self. Touch wood and all other talisman of luck that it stays this way. And good luck to the rest of you waiting for your computers.

xoxo

BB

The doctor dude will see you now

It seems to be my moment for these things, but I have been having some computer trouble. Why mince words? Right now I'm computerless. I do love my MacBookPro. It weighs a ton, but we know better than to judge someone by his or her weight, especially when he or she has style, lots of style.

But in any case, as I was waiting at the Apple Genius Bar, as I was overhearing other people describe their computer problems, I realized (the obvious) : it is identical to describing your symptoms to a doctor. You try (or at least you should) to be concise in describing the problem, but provide enough on the key moments when you think the problem developed and when the problem is experienced or not. And of course you edit out the embarrassing details. Exactly like being at the doctor:

Doc, I hear noises in my head. It started six months ago, maybe a year, but I've been ignoring it. I think it may be because I took too many flights in economy class . You should also know that I was smashed last night I don't drink enough water. I'm like a camel really. I wonder if that could be the cause instead?

Dude, my computer is acting up -- keeps on rebooting. It started two months ago, but I've been ignoring it. I think it may be because I took my computer on too many flights in economy, where there aren't any plugs. You should also know that I use my computer while in the bath except on planes, I always keep it plugged in. I'm like a leech really. I wonder if over-charging caused the problem instead?

Well, the dude in question was a very knowledge young man with interesting tattoos on his arms, and disgusting facial hair (disgusting because it was clearly deliberate, not just sloppy; let's leave it at that). He tested it for a few hours last night, while I was waiting. Let me tell you, malls are no better places to wait than hospitals, especially when your poor little computer has all kinds of pins and needles sticking into it. In any case, after the diagnostics, he said that my computer needs a new prefontal cortex hard drive.

The reason I am not (yet... fingers crossed) pulling my hair out, other than the fact that thin hair runs in the family and I really shouldn't encourage this situation, is that I have backed up my data by my count 6 times in different places. But what I also did before letting them operate was to mirror the computer. Now I don't want this to get too technical (since I don't understand the technicalities), but it copies everything from your computer onto an external hard drive and you can run your computer from there with everything on it (including software) and eventually copy it back on to the computer when the new hard drive is installed. In other words, in the best of all possible worlds, it will be like transplanting my computer's brain and then copying everything back as it was. That's the best case of course. The worst case is this...

(I was looking here for a link to the story about the man in Texas who had his pet bull cloned. The original bull was huge, but sweet as a puppy. The cloned bull looked identical but had the nasty habit of impaling his doting owner on his horns.)

In any case, I would like to conclude this rambling post with a word of advice to all you Mac users out there. You must not only back up your computer but mirror its contents to a firewire hard drive (note this is crucial -- must be firewire, cannot be usb). In principle time capsule can do this for you, but you need to set it up right...

Now I must get back to sleep work.

BB

Is there a baker on board?

Everyone's parents do something. Some people's parents are bakers. So growing up you take for granted that at dinner there will be good bread every night and on special occasions very nice pastries (I know that the boulanger is not the same as pâtissier but they are connected, if you know what I mean. If your dad is a boulanger then his golfing or tennis buddies must include some pâtissiers, no? Just as if your father is an allergist then knows more than a few surgeons.)

You grow up not giving it a second thought. And probably your childhood friends take it for granted too. And then one day, later in life, much later in life, it hits you -- everyone didn't grow up the way you did, with this special luxury.

* * *

Well my parents aren't bakers, though that would be nice. They are doctors, which is also nice. The last time I went to see a regular doctor before this week was in 2002, when I suddenly decided that I need a checkup, since my regular phone calls home did not qualify as such. So I went to see one of my father's medical school friends from his days here in New York. His friend, who I remember when we used to visit NYC as children, is very nicely set up in an East Side brownstone, with his office on the ground floor and living above. Anyway, I went to see him and we chatted for a bit. He used his stethoscope, took my blood pressure and sent me on my way, pronouncing me in excellent health and "say hi to your father..."

* * *

Once I was on a flight when the stewardess actually came on the announcement system and asked "Is there a doctor on board?" I was only 6, but I had seen this on television so I waited and watched my parents. They didn't reach for the call button. I nudged them a bit, and still nothing. It's not that they were going to let a patient die or even suffer. All of this infinite waiting really only lasted a second. They had already motioned to a stewardess and were in consultation. It turns out there several doctors on board and everything was under control.

Some time later, I had a dream (or was it a day dream?). I was on a plane and the stewardess came on the intercom and asked "Is there a baker on board? A gentleman in first class is having some trouble with a crusty bread roll."

* * *

Well this week I realized what it's like to grow up without fantastic dinner rolls every night. I need to see a doctor regarding a problem I've been having -- nothing terrible really, but very annoying. And when it's been going on for 3 months (or is it 6?) you think it might be time to see a doctor. By my parents are in India at the moment, and for immigration reasons I can't travel right now. So I finally (after 3 years) chose an official doctor from my health insurance and went in, in the need of seeing a specialist (or so my father told me I needed).

The doctor wasn't available for 3 weeks, but there was an assistant (resident?) who could see me within 10 days. So I went to see him this week. Initially I was suspicious. I don't want to see the assistant, I want to see the real doctor. Actually it turned out he was really, well there's no other word, cool. Looked a bit like the kid on Scrubs. He agreed that I need to see a specialist without much fuss.

* * *

Imagine if you grow up, begin to live on your own, and then finally realize that most people are in 4-10 week wait lists to have some really nice dinner rolls. Well, there it is, and there I am. I have never waited more than 1 week to see a specialist and now I am told that if I'm lucky they can get me in March. I'm not complaining (well, yes I am), but not in a presumptuous way that I somehow deserve better. But truly I had no idea that the whole world doesn't eat eclairs for breakfast if you see what I mean.

I've always intellectually understood that even for the fortunate health care is a struggle and a matter of anxiety here in the United States, and probably in much of the world, because after all can you really trust a doctor as much as your parents?

Today I resolve that I will never, ever take my dinner rolls for granted again.

BB

Is there a baker on board?

Everyone's parents do something. Some people's parents are bakers. So growing up you take for granted that at dinner there will be good bread every night and on special occasions very nice pastries (I know that the boulanger is not the same as pâtissier but they are connected, if you know what I mean. If your dad is a boulanger then his golfing or tennis buddies must include some pâtissiers, no? Just as if your father is a doctor then knows more than a few surgeons.)

You grow up not giving it a second thought. And probably your childhood friends take it for granted too. And then one day, later in life, much later in life, it hits you -- everyone didn't grow up the way you did, with this special luxury.

* * *

Well my parents aren't bakers, though that would be nice. They are doctors, which is also nice. The last time I went to see a regular doctor before this week was in 2002 (and before that 1980-something), when I suddenly decided that I need a checkup, since my regular phone calls home did not qualify as such. So I went to see one of my father's medical school friends from his days here in New York. His friend, who I remembered when we used to visit NYC as children, was very nicely set up in an East Side brownstone, with his office on the ground floor and living above. Anyway, I went to see him and we chatted for a bit. He used his stethoscope, took my blood pressure and sent me on my way, pronouncing me in excellent health and "say hi to your father..."

* * *

Once I was on a flight when the stewardess actually came on the announcement system and asked "Is there a doctor on board?" I was only 6, but I had seen this on television so I waited and watched my parents. They didn't reach for the call button. I nudged them a bit, and still nothing. The clock was ticking, at least in my mind. It's not that they were going to let a patient die or even suffer. All of this infinite waiting really only lasted a second. They had already motioned to a stewardess and were in consultation. It turns out there were several doctors on board and everything was under control.

Some time later, I had a dream (or was it a day dream?). I was on a plane and the stewardess came on the intercom and asked "Is there a baker on board? A gentleman in first class is having some trouble with a crusty bread roll."

* * *

Well this week I realized what it's like to grow up without fantastic dinner rolls every night. I need to see a doctor regarding a problem I've been having -- nothing terrible really, but very annoying. And when it's been going on for 3 months (or is it 6?) you think it might be time to see a doctor. By my parents are in India at the moment, and for immigration reasons I can't travel right now. So I finally (after 3 years) chose an official doctor from my health insurance and went in, in the need of seeing a specialist (or so my father told me I needed).

The doctor wasn't available for 3 weeks, but there was an assistant (resident?) who could see me within 10 days. So I went to see him this week. Initially I was suspicious. I don't want to see the assistant, I want to see the real doctor. Actually it turned out he was really, well there's no other word, cool. Looked a bit like the kid on Scrubs. He agreed that I need to see a specialist without much fuss.

* * *

Imagine if you grow up, begin to live on your own, and then finally realize that most people are in 4-10 week wait lists to have some really nice dinner rolls. Well, there it is, and there I am. I have never waited more than 1 week to see a specialist and now I am told that if I'm lucky they can get me in March. I'm not complaining (well, yes I am), but not in a presumptuous way that I somehow deserve better. But truly I had no idea that the whole world doesn't eat eclairs for breakfast if you see what I mean.

I've always intellectually understood that even for the fortunate health care is a struggle and a matter of anxiety here in the United States, and probably in much of the world, because after all can you really trust a doctor as much as your parents?

Today I resolve that I will never, ever take my dinner rolls for granted again.

BB