Today I had occasion to reunite with a somewhat rag tag group of acquaintances and friends at a profoundly bitter sweet event and I was truly and surprisingly astounded by what a brilliant and crazy and haplessly beautiful group of people they were. Or perhaps, I think, I hope, we were. It reminded me how easy it is to get caught up in the petty squabbles or the not-even-squabbles, the awkwardness and the sense of not quite belonging and forget how strange and wonderful and remarkable these people can be and people in general are.

It feels a little odd to put words to such sentiment, but the sight of everyone, rain spritzed, frizzy haired and attired in theirl many interpretations of formalwear and funeral-chic, shirts coming untucked and ties askance, seemed to merit remark. And commendation. And remembering how lucky I have been.

It's weird to think of books as being "used" or "new." Pretty much any book you buy at a store has probably been flipped through at least once or twice, but I feel guilty describing a paperback about horses that I'm trying to sell as "new" because I remember that in this one, at the last second, the vet realizes the test was a false positive and they don't have to put the horse down after all (!), and I did not obtain this information by osmosis.

I should also add, for those familiar with my typical book-destroying reading habits, that I read these so quickly that I didn't hardly flag the pages or break the spines AND it was before I had a purse so they were most likely stored safely on my nightstand when I wasn't devouring them into the wee hours of the morning.

Walking home down fifth ave with Pappa John's dessert pizza in tow makes me feel like novelty delivery persons of fantasy/yore. Would have given an unhealthy cinnamony slice to a homeless person if they asked but none did.

-- Post From My iPhone

Today I wore a dress to work (which is maybe remarkable enough to merit a post if its own) with a slightly worn out elastic waistband, such that even after I hiked it up to a flattering shortness it would inevitably slide down to tea length within the hour. And though this phenomenon was annoying in its own right, it also made me acutely aware of how insanely short everyone wore their shorts and skirts in high school, where the rule was that you hemline had to be longer than your finger tips when you held your arms at your side. Not only is finger-length so short as to attract all kinds of unsavory attention, but at fourteen (when, in my own defense, I was probably significantly less likely to attract unsavory attention) I regularly broke said rule, as did everyone else I knew, and it was a rare and salacious minority who was ever scolded.

I guess my point is twofold:
1) if I dressed like I did in ninth grade I would probably be sent to the proverbial principal's office/HR
2) if we weren't all so gawky we would have all been hussies


-- Post From My iPhone

Last night I had a dream that I won $2000 in some very minor gambling affair -- like I played roulette by accident or picked up a scratch card or something. In retrospect, this seems like the perfect amount: I could buy cowboy boots and a really nice digital camera (something I didn't even think I wanted...) and an oven thermometer and then put the rest in my savings and forget about it. This is pretty consistent with the mundane sort of dreams I usually have -- others have included picking out t-shirts or discovering new clothes in my closet -- because it's not enough money to actually change my life, but it would make things just the tiniest bit better. But, and I think this is critical, it is enough money that I'd have a little bit leftover, so I wouldn't have to feel bad about spending it because I'd still have some for my savings.

Annoyingly, if I weren't so plagued by that sort of fiscal responsibility, I actually could just dip into my savings for those cowboy boots and that digital camera, and an oven thermometer is a pretty negligible expense, but if I did I'd have nightmares about losing my job or realizing I owed my old landlord $2000 and I'm not at all sure it would be worth the guilt.

How many nights will I spend stuck in a cab at the corner of Flatbush and Tillary? Answer: as many times as we have shows on work nights between now and the completion of the offending construction project. Might be less frustrating, though probably the same time to take the Brooklyn bridge...

It's unacceptable to sleep in a cab, right?


-- Post From My iPhone

Things JFK has that the Zurich flughafen should have:
1) Walk left, stand right.
2) Ruthless commitment to the individualism of self check-in. If you cant use the machine? Too bad. Wait in the mile long check-in line. If you're in the bag drop line and you haven't checked in yet? Too bad, you have to wait in line again--the back drop doesn't instantly become a check-in counter just because you need it to be one. You picked the wrong line, you suffer the consequences.


-- Post From My iPhone

Day 5 in Zurich -- well, 4.5 really, as we spent the afternoon in Berne, after a morning of window shipping and a quick, slightly awkward visit to Cabaret Voltaire (in defense of the bored clerk on the Macbook, I did show up the instant it opened, or maybe even before it was properly opened, and the first pseudo-customer of the day tends to be a rude awakening).

The proximity of European cities (Berne is 50 minutes by train, Geneva is less than three hours, and Paris -- where we considered a too-ambitious day trip before settling on Geneva -- is 5-ish) makes it easier to understand how you could... say... conquer Poland in a little over a month.

Zurich is lovely and safe -- though in the words of Le Corbusier "The Swiss are clean, and industrious and to hell with them" -- but I'm excited to venture out to the more French-leaning portions. Not that my French is any better than my German, or my Swiss-German. I'm still pretty much stuck at "weiss wine" and "rote wine" and since I'd gotten used to saying "schoen" for "thank you" in Berlin and they don't say it here, I basically find myself mumbling some nonsense combination of "greutzi" ("hello" in Swiss-German), "grazi" ("thank you" in Italian), "merci" ("thank you" in French and Swiss-German) and "danke" ("thank you" in German and Swiss-German) to anyone who gives me something or does something for me. And since I probably also look deranged when I mumble it, I can't really even hope that body language will get my point across.

Things that Zurich has that New York should have:

1) Countdown to the arrival next tram/bus/train in all stations. Also countdown to the next 5 stations inside nearly all the trams/buses/trains.

2) Combination tattoo parlor/bike shop. Hipster in a can.

3) Sports chocolate. Also known as, a regular chocolate bar with raisins and hazelnuts and almonds. For those extra long hikes.

Kathleen had lots of mice to scan (no Labor Day for the Swiss, at least not today) and all the museums are closed because it's Monday (which does seem to be an international phenomenon) so I spent the day wandering around Switzerland -- including, but not limited to, a visit to the zoo and a quasi-planned nap on a bench in Bellevue*. Mostly I feel accomplished that I was able to navigate public transit to Kathleen's office and the zoo without getting lost, although clearly the above mentioned signage was pretty crucial to that endeavor.

*A plaza area by the lake, not an insane asylum.

Also -- my block is famous! http://www.newyorker.com/talk/2009/09/07/090907ta_talk_widdicombe

Started my pre-trip preparations by leaving my Visa in the Wachovia ATM by work. Oops. Earned myself a trip back to the office (or rather, the bank branch immediately below my office) to retrieve it on my day off -- fortunately I'm developing a close relationship with Wachovia-employee John, who is responsible for handling such matters and who recognizes my card because it has a photo booth sticker on it.

Then the red eye to Zurich with excellent Swiss Air snacks (tortellini and croissants) and an early morning arrival in Switzerland. The fact of being in another country is maybe not quite setting in, besides that all the subway stops are more unpronouncably named than Hoyt-Schermerhorn or Kosciusko. Bratwurst is delicious though and the proximity of lakes and mountains to the city center is a bit shocking. Nature and metropolis aren't supposed to co-exist.