Brain teaser

Time flies (there's that theme again...) when you're working hard. In addition to keeping the flugelbindery running, I've been setting up my New York apartment. I'm not trying anything fancy, just looking for something to sit on, somewhere to sleep, something to make coffee with, and of course somewhere for my clothes. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

Every time I move I'm amazed by how you very quickly get yourself tied into some kind of catch-22, Gordian, Escheresque knot. So here's a brain teaser for your perfect Saturday morning.

I was working on the flugel frontier the whole week, but flew back Thursday evening because the cable company was going to come by to set up my internet and phone connection, which I need if I want to work remotely from New York. I took an appointment between 6 and 9 pm on Friday, certain that I could be there (and safe in the knowledge that you can still head out for dinner at 9.30 in New York). I was (and am) going to fly back to work on Saturday.

My friends Montse and Jerry came by. We opened a bottle of wine. Ate some wheat thins. The clock ticked, and tension mounted... Soon enough it was 9 pm and there was no cable man. No. cable man. No. Cable. Man. I called the company on my cell phone.

The automated system asked for my accout number. I entered my cell phone number, but the automated message said, "You have enterred a cellular number. Please enter a valid phone number." Now by way of background, for those of you who don't live in the US, the cable companies here have heavily pushed their telephone service, along with cable television and internet. In other words, many people, like me, are trying to set up a phone number but are being asked for a phone number to do so. Recalling this paradox, I realized that I had given my Boston land line. After getting through the menu, I reach an operator and was told...

"I do apologize for the inconvenience. Our technician came by at 7 but you didn't answer." And I: "BUT I WAS HERE!" "Our records show that he called you at 7 pm, but there is no reply. We've rescheduled you for Wednesday next week between 2 and 6 pm." So here it is.

The cable company wants to set up my phone service, indeed boasts this as a great service, but in order for me to do this, I need to have a phone they can call to confirm I'm at home. Does not compute.

* * *

But I've got a plan. My friend Vinny lives three doors down. I am going to run a long phone line along the street. Or perhaps she can just stick her head out the window and shout to me. Or perhaps I can give a home phone number in London, Venice, or Australia and one of you can e-mail me when the cable guy knocks at your door.

BB

Polaroid SX-70

My parents had one of these. I wish I still had it.

I remember exactly where it was kept. Middle drawer of the long desk... If I recall correctly it had its own carrying case -- I seem to remember red with a shoulder strap, though I'm not certain of the color. What beautiful camera and object.

If you can watch the entire thing, you'll get a fun little surprise in the closing credits.




Thanks to The Midcentury Modernist for this great link.

BB

lista de espera*

* Sometimes translations and the false friends of re-translation create something even better than the original. I know that espera and esperanza are not the same, but they sound similar to me, whose language is not Spanish. And so the wait list becomes a list of the hopeful or hopeless. (Though you can't tell it from this picture, there was actually someone hiding behind this counter.)

Where am I?

Recipe for happiness

Now follow this exactly, or it won't work:

(1) Wake up.
(2) Eat no solids -- liquids allowed -- coffee, tea, water, milk, whatever you need.
(3) Eat no lunch.
(4) Get in a taxi (water taxi for you Venetians) and direct it to the airport (with the words, "Driver, aiport please" if possible).
(5) When you're asked which airline you're flying, respond. "Oh, I don't know, xx sounds nice", where for "xx" you fill in some spot you really want to go to.
(6) Reach airport, get ticket, get through security.
(7) Shop -- I know the selection isn't great, but be more process oriented.
(8) Drink (note, it's pretty much on an empty stomach) -- two glasses of champagne or if good champagne isn't available (i.e., French) then go for a solid shot of your favourite spirit.
(9) Post blog entry about your feelings of elation while waiting for your flight.

BB

Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus

Even with the help of Wikipedia this all the cleverness I can manage for the morning...

So I'm back in New York and in Boston. How can one return to two places? Many people ask me this, and a few understand, but nonetheless it is difficult to explain. It's not like you mirror your life, with two of everything. Because each side of the mirror is different. For a long while the Boston side had a work life and spartan living, and New York had my apartment and life. I've recently moved the flat to Boston, so what's left here in New York? A camp-like sublet, while I'm waiting on a more stable place in New York. And of course life!

New York in summer is a bit like a hyperactive child on Ritalin -- it is quieter than usual, though only a loving parent would notice. But it's true. You can actually get into a restaurant of your choice on 5 minutes' notice, and at a decent time (8,9,10 are prime time depending on your age and nationality) rather than phoning 10 days ahead to be told gleefully that "we can offer you 5.30 or 11.30". It's true none of the usual celebrities are hanging out, and the famous chefs are probably away too. But that's fine with me -- I don't care for the former and I'm sure the latter are pretty handy with a whisk as well.

Of course, some things you do have two of -- toothbrush, for example. But for everything else you end up either wishing you had the things from one city in the other, or worse forgetting where everything is, or even worse losing things in the back and forth.

But what I feel most strongly is indeed that time flees. The promised summer came and went (note the past tense, sadly). And yes, work was done, meals cooked and enjoyed, friends well met, concerts attended, all washed down with whine.

Perhaps a little more grit, earth, sand, friction, texture would slow things down, and if they went slower then I could savor every moment a little more (extensively, if not intensively, because if nothing else, life is intense).

Perhaps a little more idling would allow dust to gather, seeds to sprout, and the joys of life to settle around me, like a flock of birds coming to rest, rather than me like a hound in pursuit.

Tempus fugit. (And indeed why not that other over-used but profound phrase?) Carpe diem.*

BB

P.S. I usually blog about my musical follies, but here's my soundtrack for the morning and a solid start if you're feeling autumnal in late summer.

** Horace, Odes, 1.11

Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi	Leuconoe, don't ask — it's a sin to know —
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios	what end the gods will give me or you. Don't play with Babylonian
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati.	fortune-telling either. It is better to endure whatever will be.
seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,	Whether Jupiter has allotted to you many more winters or this final one
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare	which even now wears out the Tyrrhenian sea on the rocks placed opposite
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi	— be smart, drink your wine. Scale back your long hopes
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida	to a short period. While we speak, envious time will have {already} fled
aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.	Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.

(Thank you Wikiedia for this bit of cleverness. Absurdly I "read" the Odes when I was 17. Sometimes it might be better to leave some pleasures to later in life when one can appreciate them.)

Fill 'er up (2)

I'm always a little surprised when the American media make such a fuss about General Motor's plans to build an all-electric car, the Chevrolet Volt, and amused when such a fuss is made about Tata Nano, an Indian designed micro-car that will sell for something like two thousand dollars.

I'm surprised because an Indian-made, electric, micro-car can be seen plying the streets of London daily, the Reva, which is called the GWiz in the UK. Sometimes living in the US I feel so far behind the times. In London you find free parking spots for electric cars. Anyway with these little beauties, parking space is not a problem.




Apparently the driving range is 40 km. But in London this isn't too much of a problem because you can always fill 'er up here:



BB

P.S. Not to say that I don't miss the Texaco Station altogether.