The problem with the view

This is one for the kvetch committee if ever there were one. Take a look at the views below, taken at breakfast on various days this week. You'll see the problem immediately.





You see my point? No one is willing to believe that I have been working hard this week. I tell them about my offsite, and they sound sympathetic for a moment until I tell them the location. And if I make the mistake of sharing the view, then sympathy seems to go out the window. Why?

Is there anything more maddening than to be locked into a darkened room and forced to talk about flugelbindery when you know such a view is hovering at the window? Is there anything more painful than breathing the stale air of a meeting room when you could be inhaling the fresh breezes rolling in from the sea? Is there anything more cruel than being forced to hear the cheers of the boys and girls watching the Italy versus Slovakia in the neighboring room, but not being able to watch?

When I'm finally done for the day, I'm supposed to catch up with a day's worth of office e-mail since apparently and in fact I am working. And of course then you're coping with a slow internet connection (imagine trying to suck a block of ice through a straw -- that's roughly how it feels).

And then you stumble from the building just as the sun is setting and some of the boys from accounting want to take you out for a drink. And then they won't stop talking about the latest office gossip. And then it's dark and late, and you've had too many drinks and too little food. You stumble off to sleep, wake up feeling groggy, and start the whole thing again...

All right, this is probably the moment to admit I've exaggerate a bit, a wee bit -- I did sneak off for a few hours yesterday and stroll down to the sea. But you get the idea: there's no sympathy for hard working folks...

bb

Will he, or won't he? Will he or won't he? Willheorwonthe?

I'm sure we've all spent some of our days repeating this question, over and over, over and over: sometimes a prayer (as between the pause your thoughts silently cry out "He will!"); sometimes a dirge ("He won't, he won't..."); sometimes a palliative ("I know he won't, so it's ok, so I won't feel too bad when he doesn't"); and sometimes a mantra, a sequence of words whose power derives not so much as from their meaning as their inherent power and repetition.

You know where I was last Friday. Now take a guess where I am today. Now take a guess what I'm doing. And repeat after me: he will, he will, he will; he had better, HE HAD BETTER, AHHHHHHHH!

BB

P.S. -- See comments.

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