Apocalypse When?

so, i'm sitting here, pretty much watching hidef watching american football. he tells me it's a good game, so it's a good game. the fans tell me that it is a most interesting game and that, when i understand it, i shall understand all the starting and stopping and high impact crashes.

then a commercial comes on, and it comes on again and again, because it is sponsored by the football league. guess what the commercial is about... play. yes, play. it is a commercial encouraging children to play. wait. that's not it. it is a commercial stating that it is recommended that a child get at least 60 minutes of play every day in order to stay healthy. i know, i know, a little mind-boggling but there it is. apparently children no longer do what children have done since children were invented. i mean, what are children for if not to play? if not to run around in the dirt while eating a little dirt, then what do they do? why are parents being told that children need to play? what evil lies over the land that children have ceased to play? does someone need to pay the piper?

heck, forget the children; what about the grownups? how are they to remain sane if they are not locking their children out of the house so the kids can tire themselves out and minimise the trouble that they get up to while in the house. i mean, how can you have a child with cabin fever and not lose your mind? perchance this may be why we live in a very medicated and completely nutty world.

so open the doors, tempt the kids outside with, i don't know, candy, and, while they are blinking in the unaccustomed sunlight, jump indoors, lock the door and tell them they need to run around and PLAY until it starts to get dark. Then they better come back indoors, or else...

The Hills Are Alive

Four weeks ago... Wow! It's been four weeks? How time flies but let me not ponder upon the relativity of time. That is a conversation for another day.


Sooo.... four weeks ago on Friday I boarded a plane headed for San Francisco. I was relaxed and happy - I had given myself enough time to stop at the candy store in the airport that sells Cadbury's chocolate and picked up a couple of bags ot stock for my emergency stash. We sat in our seats and watched the safety video as the plane made its way out onto the runway. Then we sat, and sat, and sat. Then an announcement - apparently there was some technical issue that we had to go back to the terminal for. And then we sat a little more and were informed that the issue could not be solved and we were going to switch planes. I was fine with that - once they tell you your plane has technical issues, how comfortable can you really be with it?


We deplaned and sat in the terminal for a half hour. Then another announcement - apparently our problems had been solved and we were getting back onto the plane; the same plane that, just a few minutes earlier, had a problem the could not be solved. Back onto the plane we went and watched the safety video one more time, for luck, I suppose. Then, as we headed back out onto the runway, the pilot came onto the intercom system. I paraphrase - "ladies and gentlemen, let me explain what has been going on. we had a indication light that was on earlier. the engineers said that they fixed it earlier but, when we went out onto the runway and tested it, we received conflicting information that led to us going back to the terminal. the engineers now say they have fixed the situation so, we'll see what happens."
And with that, we set out on our trip. That was an adventure, but more about that later.


I was in San Francisco to run half of the Nike Women's Marathon. I figured that San Francisco's hills were so legendary that a half marathon would feel like a full. Not that I needed any excuses to run 13.1 miles, but I had them just in case. I was travelling solo - my friends had not signed up to run with me and hi def had to work so it was just me and my t-shirt that declared that I "flatten hills". I spent Saturday walking around the hilly city and taking in breathless views from atop some of these hills. It was a wonderfully warm day and there was barely a cloud in the sky. I prepared my gear on Saturday evening and turned in early.


I rose before the sun on Sunday and went downstairs to join the many other mostly women who were milling around the entrance hall of the hotel. I went over to an overpriced coffee shop, whose name rhymes with Barsucks and had to pay over a dollar for one banana! A DOLLAR!!! Nerves and outrage kept me warm as I stepped out into the cold per-dawn and made my way to the start line. The national anthem was sung, I tied my shoelaces again (after triple checking for a potentially hobbling rock in my sock) and then we were off. I had latched on to a pacing group, so I could keep a pace that would help me beat my previous race time without having to think to much about it. All I had to do was keep my eye on the pacing flag that declared that, if I could keep up, I would finish my race in two hours. Yes, yes, according to my "hard training" schedule, I was supposed to run in 2:09 hours but, isn't two such a great round number?

A couple of miles into the race, we hit a hill. I had perused the blogs and asked random strangers at the race's expo and they told me that there really was one hill in the race and it was a short one where I could see the end from the beginning. I looked up and it seemed there was an end in sight so I soldiered on and was relieved that the hills I had heard so much about before I got to San Francisco were far less intimidating in person. It was soon over and I was still running with my pacer. I refused to think about anything else - to do so would be to find pains in my knees and labour in my breath. I carried on.

We hit mile seven and the land began to slope upwards. Our pacer warned, "take it easy up this hill" and I thought, well, that's an odd warning - this hill seems flatter than the last one. We rounded a corner and I expected a downhill. So much for expectations; more uphill ahead. I gritted my teeth, determined to keep going and not let the thought of climbing up a hill kill my spirit. I should have started repeating the mantra I had practiced in previous training sessions - I love hills, I love hills - but the only two things going through my head were - I can't keep up with the pacing group - and - oh man, why am I moving my legs and arms and getting nowhere?

I rounded yet another corner and still, nothing but hill. Was this even possible? How long can a hill be and what human with a heart would have people try to run up it? Through the foam of my earphones, I could hear the heavy breathing of those around me, yet it didn't make me feel better that I was not alone in my suffering. My lesson of the hill - misery does not always love company. I could barely see the flag of my pacing group any more. I promised myself that I would try to catch up with them if the uphill ever ended but for now, I just had to will myself to keep running, even though the running motion didn't seem to help me cover any ground. I tried to take in the amazing views but my mind kept coming back to - it's so hard, when will it end?

Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I passed the man who shouted out - keep going, you are about to reach the crest!
And he was right. I rounded a corner and I got to run downhill. Hallelujah! I enjoyed the moment and my knees did a little dance and cheer.

But I had been traumatised. I knew now that the declarations I had been given that there was only "one little hill" were nothing but lies. So now I was left to wonder how many other slopes were in my future and how much spirit I had left to face them. By the time I got to slope number 3, I was asking myself who I was trying to impress. I had no idea where my pacing group was - I could not see the flag anywhere. I could just give up and walk the rest of the way. And still, there was a little voice - come on, Pandave. You have come all this way; you worked hard, waking up early and running long. You still have something to give - give it. I was past the 11 mile point and so I told myself - this is shorter than your usual short runs. You can do it.

I passed the mile 12 sign and smiled. Just a little further to go and then it would be all over. I ran on, not even feeling too badly about the slight upward slope I had just hit. I had, maybe, half a mile to go now, I estimated. A young cheering volunteered yelled out to me - looking good. just one mile to go!

What? Not one mile? Hadn't I passed the 12 mile mark a while back? Hadn't I covered more than just 0.1 miles since? My mind had to readjust to the new distance - it's crazy how a half mile can feel like ten when one is tired. As my mind was working on this, I came to a bend and then, in front of me, a huge sign that declared "FINISH". Was that my finish line? Or was this a mirage? No time to think, my knees took charge and picked up the pace.

As I channeled all my remaining energy into the final sprint, the master of ceremonies shouted into the PA system: Come on everyone, give the runners a big cheer! They have just run 13 miles. And look at Pandave! She Flattens Hills!!
That was me he was talking about - I had those words printed on my shirt. I started waving and grinning and running even faster. What a moment. I crossed the line, fists pumping the air, to be greeting by a smiling firefighter in a tuxedo. He gave me a lovely silver necklace - a finisher's medal that I can wear every day - and congratulated me.

What for? Not just for finishing but, for finishing in 2:00:36. And really, what's 36 seconds between friends?

Where's My Cape?

so i have been going at a manic pace the last few weeks. i have been taking on more than i can chew and swallowing without bothering to try to chew. i have been constantly exhausted, with a barely functioning brain, and marvelling at how well i am getting the impossible done.

then yesterday my superwoman cape was yanked off my shoulders without ceremony. around lunchtime i started to feel cold... really cold. like cold in my spine cold. i pulled on my sweater and wrapped a scarf around my shoulders. yet, i continued to shiver and shake at my desk (at work) and focused my energy on making it through to the end of the day. i tried tea, but my body still hurt and the cold would not go away.

by the time i got home, my body and face felt hot but my hands were frozen - doesn't it suck that apparently nothing can stop my cold hands from being cold? i crawled onto the couch, under two blankets with a hot mug of honey-water and some vitamin c. hi def came home and took my temperature - 101 F (which apparently confirmed that i had a fever). he forced me to drink even more water and take some ibuprofen for the aches. feeling very sorry for myself, and whining all the way, i dragged my creaking bones into bed and fell asleep. i woke up in the dead of night, soaked in sweat and feeling quite yuck.

this morning, the sun woke me and i stretched. no pain, no creaks! well no more than the usual. i felt human again and ready to face the world. now the challenge is to resist the temptation to reach for the cape.

My Chariot Of Fire

i have long dreamt of becoming a great athlete. apparently, so did my father. i don't know if it was my dream that became his, vice versa or a moment of zeitgeist (or if i just wanted to slip zeitgeist into my every day conversation). it doesn't matter now where it began; all that matters is where we are now and where we are is my deferred dream of athletic greatness. but, let me be clear here, it is not a dream that came from nothing. i am not that lead-footed youth who long dreamt of running with the wind. oh no sir. in my youth, i was the wind. i mean, i barely knew how to walk, i just wanted to get there and get there first. and it wasn't just running - i swam, i jumped, i wielded racquets. the one thing i did not do was climb - but that is a tale for another day.

but then i went to high school where the headmistress declared - ladies don't run. she didn't ask me if i considered myself a runner or a lady. instead she banned me from running. does this mean she believed that all who do not run are ladies? also, i embraced my short attention span, trying everything that appeared on the school calendar, from ballroom dancing to social badminton, from public speaking clubs to organising talent shows. in between trying to grow my nails while playing basketball and learning how to play the piano, how was i to be a great athlete?

also, my spirit had been broken by my body's refusal to grow taller. my two brothers are each 6 feet tall; my sister is 5'10". I am significantly shorter and very bitter about it. what happened? i longed to dunk and waited for a growth spurt that never came. i wanted to be a loping runner, covering distance with the grace and speed of a gazelle. what happened? i have so many reasons to curl up into a ball of defeat.

but not me! i have a dream! to be a great athlete and you know what? if it takes me until I turn 75, i shall persevere. because you know what? my knees may not be anything worth writing home about but, at some point, i shall be the fastest, even if it is only because i am the only one left.

i have long dreamt of being a great athlete and, last time i checked, dreams have no expiration date.

Have Mercy On My Nose!

i have read about it. the wrath of the gods. they send floods and plagues and locusts and, heck, every once in a while slay a first born child or two. but who am i in the greater scheme of things? what do my thoughts or words matter, really? apparently more than i imagined.

there i was, late last week, taking my run in the park while planning the night ahead. i would take a shower and then sit down with my laptop to try to catch up on life a little. the run was a good one. i hit a great pace and, at the end of it all, the voice of tiger woods came up on my ipod, congratulating me on my excellent run. i was stoked. i picked up a bottle of milk from the store, ignoring the stares of those who, apparently, have never seen a sweaty female before, and headed down the block towards my home. then... a sneeze. another. another. and more. what was going on? the sneezing would not stop and my eyes were streaming and my nose would not stop tickling. now people on the street were staring at me for different reasons.

i rushed home and grabbed a box of tissues and blew my nose. no use; the sneezes kept on coming. this was starting to hurt. i warmed up some water and used the neti pot to try to rinse out my sinuses. the sneezes did not cease. i took a shower, sneezing all the way and then dug up my nasal spray. that helped for maybe half an hour and then i started up again. it was horrid. i was now congested on one side of my head and the other side hurt to breathe. why had the gods seen fit to punish me in this way? right then, i might have preferred a couple hundred locusts. instead i felt as though i was breathing in pepper and unable to escape the cloud. several days and many doses of antihistamine later, i was able to clear my head and figure it out.

me? i am ms summer - as soon as the month of june comes around, i am all smiles and positivity. it could be 100 degrees and humid out but i will tell you it's a wonderful day. we get a good three months of summer and i am summer's biggest cheerleader because i remember the misery that is winter. but this year was different. this june was wet and cold and it was all downhill from there. any sunny day was greeted with a bah humbug from a me, bitter because the days were few and far between. any beach day was taken grudgingly by me, as i would complain that tomorrow would probably be cold and wet. i was looking the gift horse in the mouth and counting cavities. and now i want to make amends.

i entreat the gods take mercy upon me and my sinuses. i did try to offer the animal sacrifice but couldn't even find a fly - may the gods forgive me. but i still solemnly swear to change my attitude. i pledge to keep my spirits up, at least until November (after that, as the cold, dark days come upon us, nothing can be promised). i tell ye gods that every morning i shall tell at least one gloomy soul that it is a beautiful day. for each day that i can breathe without sneezing and the itching inside my skull is the best day of my life. i heed the gods.

It's Arriiiived! It's Arriiiived!!!

Many a morning, Oscar Grillo and El Editor have given me a reason to get up and go. So, imagine my excitement when I found out that Oscar had collaborated with William Shakespeare! Well, I could barely contain myself and still in all my imaginings I had no idea it would be as awesome as it ended up being. They said that it would be the end of September before I got anything in the mail and then it came and well, Oscar and William put it best:

Folk around me are confounded when I raise my book to read. It is all - hey that's Shakespeare, but no, is that a graphic novel? And if they ask, I shall glow and tell them - it is all you imagine and more. It will take you on a journey to places you never imagined. It will surprise and delight and expand you. Ah-oooohh!!!
Now, excuse me, I going to try to contain myself so I can actually get some reading done. I become "something rich and strange".

For Prettylyf

I know it's been forever since I was tagged but you know what they say - better late than never (though let it be known that I hate waiting).

1. What time did you get up this morning?
-06:30 But I don't think I was really awake until maybe 9:30/10

2. How do you like your steak?
-medium well

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
-Food Inc. Yes, I need to get out more and yes, I need more comedy in my life.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
- The Wire. Far and away the absolute best show ever. See above comment about need for comedy in my life.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
-You have the whole world and you want me to pick one place? Nah-uh. I'm working my way around the globe.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
-A bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, butter and milk. A cup of hot water with honey. A glass of cold water

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
-hmmm - I love Thai, Japanese, Indian, Peruvian and that's just off the top of my head. It really just depends on how I'm feeling. Oh oh oh... I LOVE calamari

8. What foods do you dislike?
-Don't eat mushrooms. I have realised though that sometimes you try something and it's not so bad.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?
-hanging with friends. Is that a place?

10. Favorite dressing?
-not really a dressing person. yep, I'm a nudist.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
-I have a bicycle. I love it.

12. What are your favorite clothes?
- pyjamas. I like it to be comfortable.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
-I try to be half full.

15. Where would you want to retire?
-To my world tour.

16. Favorite time of day?
-don't think I have a favourite. I do know that I am not a morning person.

17. Where were you born?
-Zambia

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
-Today it is tennis. But most of the time it is basketball, I'm thinking

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
-well I haven't really tagged anyone...

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
-see above regarding lack of tags.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
-it is always good to learn new things about folk.

22. Bird watcher?
-Birds? In New York City? Not really.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
-Oh, so NOT a morning person. I am legend when it comes to my lack of sunshine in the morning.

24. Do you have any pets?
-A Beta Fish named Gandanga. I also have my plants

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
-The weekend is nearly here! Did you know that?

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
-a singing and dancing gymnast!

27. What is your best childhood memory?
-Childhood is my best memory. Pretty much every time I think back, whatever I remember makes me smile.

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
-Not really an animal person. I think I am more of a people person. people may not agree.

29. Are you married?
-no

30. Always wear your seat belt?
-When I'm in the front seat I do. In the back seat, not always.

31. Been in a car accident?
-I believe so. Nothing serious, touch wood.

32. Any pet peeves?
-oh, where to begin. Spitting, loud gum chewing, people who don't curb their dogs...

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
-I really just like a very good base. Anything else is a bonus but if the base is no good then nothing else matters.

34. Favorite Flower?
- chrysanthemum - my birth flower.

35. Favorite ice cream?
-my favourite ice cream is ice cream. Like chocolate in it, i like caramel, i like fruit, and I love a creamy rich ice cream.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
-Don't really do fast food, but, if it counts - IHOP.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
-Twice, once in Zimbabwe and once in the US.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
-HiDef

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
-Either Amazon.com or a hardware store. Ooooh Strand Bookstore

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
-Went to an awesome beer hall with more beers than I even knew existed.

41. Like your job?
-As much as one can.

42. Broccoli?
- I really like broccoli

43. What was your favorite vacation?
-There are several - Puerto Rico was fantastic. Hawaii was awesome. Victoria Falls was amazing.

44. Last person(s) you went out to dinner with?
-HiDef

45. What are you listening to right now?
-US Open Tennis match between Federer and Soderling

46. What is your favorite color?
-Black. I just love it. I have also accepted burgundy as my colour. Red is good too.

47. How many tattoos do you have?
- Zero. I have decided to get one when I am 70.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
-I have not tagged.

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
-2034hrs

50. Coffee Drinker?

At most, a cup a day. Is that bad?

Wishing On A Star

Ah Serena, you have won my heart. When I see you I am lost for words. "Wow" and "Lovely" don't quite seem to capture quite what I want to say when I see you play, when I see you.. heck when I just see you. You are something else. I really like your big sister Venus; I always have liked her. When I watch her being your big sister, even when she is playing against you and winning, I imagine that I am as good a big sister as she is. I remember the one time my sister send my dad an email, telling him how I was her best friend and how much she loved me. I try to forget the times she declared, in the middle of an argument or a tantrum, how cruel I was and how she didn't want me to be her sister any more. I watch Venus comfort you when you lose to her and I think to myself - yeah, I would totally do that too.

I am distracted. Back to the heart of this matter. Serena, you rock. You and your incredibly muscled arms, legs and the rest of you rock. It is like you are carved out of rock and then you rock. Is that mind-blowing? It must be for my mind is blown and my heart is captured. You are made of steel and yet your insides are so endearingly human. We have seen you weep, we have watched you vent and we have seen you sulk. As with Achilles, you remind us, that as strong as you are, you have weakness and it is this weakness that makes it possible for us to adore your strength. But, just to make sure we don't get too comfortable, you do not hesitate to flex and leave us breathless.

Over the years, as you have matured and grown more graceful, my admiration of you has grown too. I am at the point where I cannot merely say that "I am a fan." No, I must declare, so there is no doubt, "I am a fanatic." Please, Ms Williams (the Younger) may I squeeze your muscles?

Not Chopped Liver, Chopped Liver WITH Onion

Yeah, I could see the Manhattan Bridge getting into a big sulk over being sidelined by just about everyone. "It's always Brooklyn Bridge this, Brooklyn Bridge that. What am I, chopped liver?"

Well, Manhattan bridge, take heart; I think you're awesome. You are my Cinderella - the beauty no one takes notice of until the fairy godmother brings along a pumpkin and next thing you know a prince is searching for you high and low, armed with a glass slipper. Does that make me a fairy godmother? Who would be the prince? Is this all a very bad analogy? Am I losing my train of thought?



Let me get back to it. There are three bridges that run between Manhattan and Brooklyn - Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg - but all you ever hear about or see in the movies is the Brooklyn Bridge. You would think that's all there is. Well, I'm here to tell you, there's another way, maybe even a better way (sorry Williamsburg, I can only godmother one at at time). How do I love thee, Manhattan Bridge? Let me count the ways.



Nine times out of ten, maybe even 9.9 times, I get lost trying to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge. One moment you are following signs and the next you are driving under the bridge, towards the East River, on a one-way street, with no clue how to get anywhere. And, once I get over it, I have no idea where I am. Cab drivers probably pay their rent with the extra money that they make through people lost around the Brooklyn Bridge. Manhattan Bridge? Well that is straight off Canal Street, in Manhattan, a hugely popular street and the soul of Chinatown. And it leaves you right on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, which is straight into downtown. I mean there is no getting lost there. No siree Bob!

Also, let's not forget, the Manhattan Bridge has it all - lanes for cars, subway tracks (for trains taking me straight to work for the last 6 years and counting), and a bikeway. Now that I have a bike and I actually had to ride it from Manhattan to Brooklyn, I have used all three services. The Brooklyn Bridge doesn't do subway, so there.

Still not good enough for ya? Well, just look at it. It's not a bad-looking bridge. And it has decent views. From the Manhattan Bridge, as you ride the subway, you look one way and see the Williamsburg Bridge, and then you look the other way and see the iconic Brooklyn Bridge AND the Statue of Liberty. Now, tell me how you are going to see the Brooklyn Bridge, while on the Brooklyn Bridge? Haha! Got you!

So there you go, Manhattan Bridge, Ugly Duckling no more. You may not be the oldest suspension bridge or the longest of the first steel wire suspension. But you keep me from wandering back streets for hours, unable to get home or to where I was going in the first place. You may not be in the photos on the walls of every place advertising Brooklyn, but you give me a view to enjoy on my way to work, while others have only the dark passages of the underground tunnels to see on their morning commute. You may not be getting respect, but I'm here with a horse-drawn carriage and stunning dress. Tonight, you are going to the ball!

Be home by midnight!

Self-Flagellation

Where have I been, you may wonder? I have been sitting around trying to figure out how to make things right. How could I have done such terrible wrong? I tried to tell myself that I had no idea but, apparently, ignorance is no defence. So I am having to face up to what I have done and try to fix things. Maybe you can help.

So about a week and a half ago, I was reading USAToday and the lead story had this headline "Older White Males Hurt More by this Recession". My first thought is - what a poor headline; that's almost an essay. My second thought was well, this is the top story, let me check it out. And thank goodness I did. I may have carried on in life, clueless about my evil deeds. You, on the other hand might be thinking, well Pandave, you are not an older white male so what is your deal. Well, you keep reading, because I am going to tell you how this all comes together and lands on my doorstep.

The story starts with heartbreaking mini-stories about three men from Columbus, Ohio, who, after working all their lives find themselves, in their 50s and looking for work. These are men who have worked hard, served the community and done nice things for strangers and now they are sitting around wondering what is wrong with them. Life just came up and punched them in the gut. Unemployment for this demographic is at a record high level of 6.5%

And me and my demographic? What do we have to say for ourselves? Well yeah, yeah older black men's jobless rate is 10.5% but it peaked in 1983 at over 11.5%. And black women? 12.2%, is what it is. The untrained eye may look and say, well that's almost twice the rate for older white men but that's because you don't realise that it once was 20%.

And to put it all in a nutshell, let me quote USAToday:
"In other words, this recession has shrunk the racial gap in unempolyment, largely because white men are doing so much worse than usual."
And I ask you, is that right? Is that fair? How can one group do better at the expense of another. Granted, the group doing better is still having a rather sucky time but, it should be accustomed to the bad times and not wish to take the good times away from others. We won't talk payrate discrepancies - those are distractions. What matters is that a bunch of folk are getting a little closer to the rest and that is just not right.

I for one feel just awful. I feel as though I should start calling people up, apologising and maybe offering them my job. You know, to get things back to normal again.

It Only Takes A Spark

So, this is what happened to me today. I got up and my body ached and so I thought - ten more minutes. It felt like all I did was blink but then it was helluva long blink because, the next time I opened my eyes, it was half an hour later. I dragged myself out into the unreal humidity that is a New York phenomenon. Damp and weighed down by the grey skies, I finally parked myself at my desk at work and decided to visit my blog friends to help lift my spirits. My fellow bloggers never cease to amaze, inspire, motivate and fascinate me. And, when the endless rain has soaked my spirit into submission, this is what I need in order to get me going.

I headed over to Oscar's site, where only yesterday he and El Editor had me smiling and bopping at my desk and saw that he had encouraged me to read the lyrics of the wonderful song Marcianita (My Little Martian Girl). I am being very generous when I say that my Spanish language skills are limited, and Oscar suggested I use a translator and so I did. I realised that, in my office, I have coworkers from Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Peru and that's just on my side of the room. So I asked the lady from Costa Rica if she had a little time for me and a little song. She took the song and enlisted the assistance of yet another coworker and, in no time presented me with translated lyrics. She took the time to type them up! I was touched and impressed.

Well, after all that, I felt I owed her an explanation and so I did, from the beginning, together with illustrations, provided by me clicking on Oscar's site. "Oh, that's really cool," she said and the proceeded to translate the comment "eso de una sola teta....pobre flaco!" that was also left on the site. Then she told me that, before she had kids, she used to love to draw a lot. Having grown up in Orlando, right near Disney, she loved to draw cartoon characters. Those who know me know I can barely draw a line and so I was excited - you draw? Then you must draw.

And draw she did - behold, people, and animaniac! And suddenly my sticky, grey day had meaning. For had I not sought inspiration, would I have ended up here, as happy as Dot, up there? Thanks Oscar!

Fait Accompli!

It has been a while since I embarked on my mission to become an eco-terrorist. A jigsaw puzzle with wildflower seeds embedded in the pieces? What a genius idea! Fuzzy pieces that are so difficult for my eyse to make out? Not so good. I stopped and started; I almost gave up. I rolled up the puzzle and put it away and focused on tryign to make the most of the rare sunny days we have had this summer. But the puzzle drew me, like a magnet. It taunted me - 500 pieces, Pandave. Are you going to be conquered by 500 pieces? There were days when the answer was a resounding - yeah, I just might be. Last week, this is where things stood:

Sunday was a rainy day and my brain was fried from three intense weeks of classes. The yellow puzzle pad sat on my table, taunting me. And I am a sucker for a taunt - challenge me? You want to challenge me? Well... You're on! I positioned the lamp to shine down on the pieces, I pulled the table close to me and got busy. You see the bags under my eyes? The tired and puffy face at work this morning? The less than four hours of sleep I got on Sunday night? Well, HELLO PANDA!!



I am sad about taking this apart but you know what would make it better? Finding people all over who will take in the pieces and spread the wildflowers around the world. Eco-terrorism... Who is with me?

AbraCa-Luv-Ya

This morning I stepped on the train, on my way to work. I noticed behind me, as I stood, some whimpering. I glanced backwards and there she was, a cute little girl, maybe three years old, sitting on her father's lap. I turned back and carried on with my half-asleep-on-my-way-to-work stance. But the volume increased, gradually. Then came the almighty holler and all bets were off. She was full out of control crying. I looked over again and now her face was red, her mouth a cavern, with what looked like a wad of gum, balanced on her tongue. She squirmed in her uncomfortable-looking father's lap, as he whispered to her ineffectually, trying to calm her down.

I looked away - I didn't want to make him feel any worse than he obviously did. He should be concerning himself with what was bothering her, not with the curious staring masses sharing the subway car with him. Then, suddenly, silence. What happened? I looked back and noticed that there was a sister, perhaps a year older, sitting in a stroller. She had reached over and grabbed her little sister's hand and was yanking on it, getting her sister's attention. The formerly crying girl was now sniffing as she stared at her older sister. The older sister, then started stroking the little girl's arm, wiped her tears away and spoke magic words that got the little girl smiling. I too smiled and wondered if I had done the same for my little sister.

I DOUBT IT!

I probably would have leaned over and threatened to pinch her. She would have screamed, "dad! pandave is trying to pinch me!"

my father would have said, "Pandave!" in a threatening tone. I would have protested, "but, but."

"No buts, you're the older sister. Come on."

I would have folded my arms in a big sulk. My sister would have smiled triumphantly.

So, mission accomplished, no more tears...

Right?

Weakend

So on Friday at about 5:30 pm, I decided to call it a week and start my weekend. I was ready for a break. The week had done me in, I felt as though I could sleep for a week. But first, an errand or two to run. So off I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond - I needed a few hangers for me and Hidef could do with some prettyfication of his space. Then it was off home to reorganise my closet a little and move some winter clothes under the bed - maybe if the clothes are hidden, winter will take its time about coming back.

But there was a box under the bed; what was in the box? Papers, tapes and goodness knows what else and, the next thing I knew, it was almost midnight and I was maybe halfway through. But I was tired so I hit the sack.

It felt as though I had barely I closed my eyes than someone rang my doorbell. It was Saturday. Who was uncivilised enough to come a-calling at 8 in the morning. The exterminator, that's who. But what could I do? I was awake now, right? So I pulled on my sneakers and headed out for a short run. I came back, I showered and I dressed comfortably and then I sat in front of my computer. I have signed up for a class, you see, that is supposed to help me get better at my job but has only, thus far, helped me get worse at having free time. It was almost seven, by the time I had made my way through the online turorials and half of my homework, but I couldn't make sense of the sentences floating in front of my eyes any more. So I headed out to a place around the corner for dinner. I took my time - I knew what was waiting for me back home.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer. I went home and faced the paper piles again. What needed to be shredded? What could just be trashed? What still had to be stored? Two trashbags were filled and yet there was still stuff under my head. How does that happen? It must be some law of exponential trash - the more you throw away, the more that is left behind.

Once again, it was late and I needed to get some sleep. I took a crossword puzzle into bed, filled in, maybe, two clues, and was dead to the world. It was eight when I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. My legs felt as though they weighed a tonne. each. I wasn't ready. I lay down again, telling myself that it would only be for ten minutes more. Next thing I knew it was half past nine. I got up and went out to Cafe Regular for a latte and amazing muffin, and a read of the Sunday paper. Slightly energised, I headed back home, turned on the computer and started working on the endless homework.

It was just about 1pm when I decided to take a break and head out to the farmer's market to pick up my vegetables for the week. All local and all delicious. I lugged it all back home, put it in the fridge, grabbed my bag and headed out to the subway station. I needed to pop into Manhattan - I needed frames and today was the last day of the 50% off sale. Darn! The train that runs 16th street, just two short blocks away from the store on 18th Street and Fifth Avenue, was not running! So I took the alternative, which left me on 16th and Broadway - two long blocks and two short blocks away from my destination. It was no sweat getting there but then I had to lug my huge frames and smaller bag of extras back to the station, navigate the turnstiles and stairs and lug everything all the way home and up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. I plopped everything down in the hallway, grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

I stopped at Hidef's to pick up my bicycle. I got a bicycle after he tired of my always borrowing his, but the wheel is squeaking and scraping against the frame. So the bike is then walked to the subway station, carried down the stairs, navigated through turnstiles and taken to the bicycle store, in Manhattan, via the train. I stand around as they adjust the bicycle and return it to me, good as new. I pull on my helmet, ask for directions back to Brooklyn and start to cycle.

It starts to rain. Lovely.

I almost get hit by a bus and realise that I am supposed to share my bicycle lane with buses. Great.

Did I mention that this is the first time I have ever ridden in Manhattan? And then I hit the Manhattan bridge and a dedicated cycle track so I can admire the view without worrying about traffic. Now I'm starting to have fun, even though I am huffing uphill. I keep hoping that I hit the halfway mark soon. If I have gone up, I must go down, right? Right. Except down only starts about three quarters of the way in. Oh well, I'm cruising now, so I can't complain. I hit the right speed, I barely have to consult my directions and I am on a roll. Wheee!

I get home, park the bicycle and realise that I'm out of milk. It's raining hard now, so I grab and umbrella, some shopping bags and pull on my wellingtons and head out to the grocery store for milk and, of course, pick up a few other things to add to the menu. I get home and it's after 8pm.

I still have homework and it's due before midnight. Did I mention that at a point I did a bunch of homework and my page crashed and I lost it all? Bygones. But I am at it until almost half past ten, pausing only to do a spot of quick cooking and drink some water.

And now? Now the day is almost over. I go back to work tomorrow. And you know how I feel right now? Exhausted. Like I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I'm weakened. I'm done.

Don't Let It Go To Your Head

So what's my beef with Physics? Even though I only have one side that I can technically get out of, maybe I broke the laws of Physics and was able to get up on the wrong side of the bed? No. Ooh ooh, maybe I really shattered those rules, defied gravity and floated around my apartment like a helium balloon! Nope. It was all about the financial crisis. Financial crisis? Yes, good people. Let's walk and chat a bit.

So, it is generally assumed that the financial bigwigs of this world are economists. Turns out those assumptions became more and more wrong as we entered the late nineties and early noughts. More and more physicists were leaving rocket science to become financial wizards (perhaps being a wizard is cooler than being a scientist, even if you are working with rockets). Turns out Physicists could harness the power of quarks and anti-matter to create mind-boggling formulae that made you money, no matter who you were. Formulae were created that made money even if a person didn't have a job or assets. Heck, things worked even for people who had a proven history of unpaid bills in their past. Backing these formulae were screeds of legalese, books bigger than the bible, taking all responsibility of any failure away from the financial institutions.

These physicists were locked away in rooms probably full of paper and super-computers, where they could work on their massively complicated work. Out in the world were the sales people, selling-selling-selling and answering any questions of those who were taking breaks between counting their mountains of money to actually ask how this could be. Maybe they would refer you to the bigger-than-the-bible volumes or they would mutter: " Not sure how it works. When I try to think about it, it makes so little sense that it makes my head hurts. But it's working, look at that mountain of money behind you. Why give yourself a headache when you can have a party?"

So, I was listening to this talk about these amazing formulae that very few could understand and I thought, what happened to logic? What happened to reason? What happened to proof? How could you run with Quarks and Antimatter when you had no idea what they were? You took beautiful math and pure physics and thought this could apply to people? There is a big rule in economics, the rule that means that you can have a theory for every economist on the planet, and that rule is that human behaviour can throw all logic asunder. For example, you can tell a dude that he can earn 10% interest on his money which will be safe in a high security lockbox that only he can access and he will go ahead and stuff his money in his mattress... in his straw hut... that he built next to a blazing furnace because he "don't trust those bastids with my money."

Oh, but wait. Hold it right there. See what happened? These formulae took mountains of money (matter) and got it together with these bigger-than-the-bible documents (antimatter) and we ended up with nothing. They proved what made me walk out of the Physics class when I was 16. The mind boggles; perhaps in this crisis I shall find the proof of quarks - up, down and sideways! Is it too late to start to believe? Can I sign up for the new religion? Or is it to late for me and physics. Has Physics abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit?

I Don't Even Like Kool Aid!

I was 16 when I took my last Physics class. It was the first time I had a choice about whether or not I wanted to take Physics and I had chosen to take Physics. A subject full of logic and reason and proof. Heard about gravity? See this ball? See this ball drop to the ground? Gravity. That was when I was 15.

Then at 16, in that first class of the year, my Physics teacher started on a spiel. How excited he was. Yes, yes, he had told us, for four years in a row, that protons and electrons were the smallest particles known to man. But wait... there was more! Quarks. Up quarks and down quarks. Wha? You mean like ducks, we wondered? No. QUARKS. Going up and down, apparently. They had never been seen but they were there. We just had to believe. Oh, but he didn't stop there.

Remember how, when you were 15, and you learnt that matter can neither be created nor destroyed? Yeah, well, let's rethink that. There is this thing called antimatter and when antimatter meets antimatter you end up with nothing. Nothing? Yup, he said, nothing. To drive the point home, he said that out there was an Anti-Pandave and if, by chance, we happened to cross paths and bump into each other, even if it is totally by mistake, there will be nothing. No Pandave; no Anti-Pan. Just nothing. Not even a puff of smoke! I mean, really, not even a puff of smoke. What kind of chicanery is that? We just had to believe he said. We would learn and our worlds would expand, and it would be incredible.

He was fired up, my Physics teacher was. He could barely keep his feet on the ground and his arms were flailing about. And I thought - I can't do this. He wants me to accept a new religion. A religion of unseen quarks that go in all directions; a religion of an anti-me I should pray I never meet. That is just unacceptable. To accept would mean to live in fear of becoming nothing while walking around just minding my own business. To accept would mean I could never hug a stranger again - who knows what would happen then?

So, at 16, I left my Physics class and walked into a Latin class. I walked in to speak of love and hate, of victory and defeat, of Catullus and Pliny. For how could I embrace a new religion when it didn't even come with chocolate, popcorn or ice cream?

Food? Ick!!

So, while I was working on developing my body scars, I did a spot of reading. One book I read is called "The Eater's Manifesto", where we are instructed to "eat food. not too much. mostly vegetables." Despite the simplicity of the statement, it was a dense read which was both informative and a little unsettling.

A few days later, I received an email inviting me to a jazz performance by a friend. The invitation included a rebuke to "Monsanto". Recognising the name from the Manifesto, I queried 'What do you have so strongly against Big Food?' In response, the friend sent me a link to a "The World According to Monsanto", a documentary about Monsanto's control over the world's agricultural industry. All I can say is that, it is never a good thing when a chemical company is in charge of your food. After watching the documentary, I was afraid to enter my kitchen. What evil lurked in there? What had allowed into my home - genetically modified, growth-hormoned, maybe even cloned (industry doesn't want to have to label it because they are afraid we might not want it if we knew)?

I needed a break!

I stepped over to the TV and slipped in a DVD of a televised version of my favourite radio show, "This American Life". The theme of the episode was "Pandora's Box" and the crew went to a pig factory (at this point, it can no longer be called a farm). At this factory, the start with a super-ultra-hyper bred pig, give it steroids, disguised as nutrition and, presto!, six months later they have a 300 lb, incredibly nervous hulk of meat. 300 pounds. It sounds like a big number, but let me put it in perspective. One of the many things that my sister does on the farm is raise pigs. So, I gave her a call and asked her all sorts of questions, including, 'how big your pigs get?'
She responds, rather pleased that I am finally really fascinated by her work, 'A good size is about 60 kg." Now, my conversion skills are not the best, but I believe that 60kg is about 140lbs. Let's put those numbers next to each other. 300 pounds. 140 pounds.
And remember - Nervous.
Nervous? Why so, you may wonder. Well, turns out that the massive pigs spend their lives in little pens, being stuffed full of some grower mix that makes them a bit nervouse. Then, one day, six months into their tiny world lives, they are ushered out of their pens to take the longest walk of their lives - to the truck that will take them to slaughter. Though the farmers try to keep them calm, these pigs get worked up pretty easily and, sometimes, this maybe 50 metre walk is too much for the pig. Its muscles seize up and it dies on route to the abattoir.

Yeah, so much for that break.

But, I was on a roll. So, why stop now? I'm no quitter! So, last weekend I watched "Food, Inc." another documentary about Big Food that brought together the flora and fauna of the business. I learnt several things, three of these things being:

• There is corn in everything, even diapers
• Chicken is grown in half the time and to twice the size
• They feed animals the darndest things

Since watching all of this I have flashbacks, like - what? why would anyone use ammonia in the processing of meat? or, How does cookie dough end up with E.coli?

At the end of the day I wonder - why does it take so much effort to make sure that what you eat is actually food?

On My Street Corner

He's been there as long as I have been there.  He was there before I was there.  I assumed.

Every day he works at the store at the end of my block.  Tirelessly, he opens the store, he is there all day and then he closes it.  Sometimes I see him cycling up the street, on his way to work.  For thirty years he has been doing that.  For nine years I have been a witness.

We chatted and one holiday he cried as he told me how he missed his wife, who was no longer alive.  He was not looking forward to going home to an empty house; so we talked a little.  And by we, I mean the neighbourhood.  In the morning as I walked by and wished him a good morning, he would hold my hands and kiss my cheek.  He didn't mind if I was super-sweaty from a run, I was never too gross for him.  Or maybe he was just too polite to say.  Or maybe he just knew how he lifted my spirits and how he made me smile.

Sadly, we lost him on Saturday.  He was in an accident as he cycled on Saturday.  He was a part of my neighbourhood.  He was there before I was there.  He would be there after I was there.  I assumed.

No Dessert for You!

There's been a coup!  In my state.  So why aren't there riots in the street?  Or curfews?  Why are we all calmly going about our lives as though nothing has happened?  There's been a coup!

And yet it all just feels like a bunch of petulant children squabbling at the expense of the state's residents - literally and metaphorically.  People are switching sides while others are claiming that they won't talk to one guy because he spends all his time on his Blackberry.  And then the main players leave us wondering what we were thinking when we voted them in; and by we I mean not me.  One has been accused of slashing his girlfriend's face and another may or may not have stolen campaign funds and may not even live where he says he lives.  My, oh my, it makes you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up.

But we can't give up because there are bills out there that are due to expire and who knows what happens in the world when bills expire.  The state senate is supposed to make some kind of decision about who controls the schools in the city of New York.  The state is supposed to make a ruling about what our sales tax is going to be.  The senators is supposed to determine how much our rents can go up by.  Everyday, the state is losing money due to some snafus that can only be resolved by the state's senators going back to work.  Instead each side is claiming victory, posturing in front of TV screens while doing absolutely none of the work they were elected to do.

There's been a coup?  Why doesn't it feel revolutionary?

A Dream Deferred?

Several months ago Hidef and I went over to the Whitney Museum to check out an Eggleston retrospetive - which was great, by the way.  On our way out, we stopped over at the Museum store where, among many other things, I spotted a jigsaw puzzle of one of Edward Hopper's pieces on sale and I thought, "Why not?"  I like puzzles, I liked the piece and I had never had to put together a 500 piece puzzle of any kind, so this should be fun and better for my brain the television.  

My friend, Boston, was absolutely correct, the puzzle took over my table.  She wasn't wrong at all when she said I would spend a lot of time away from  home thinking about how best to attack the challenge.  She was right when she said my puzzle was going to become the first thing I went to when I got home from work.  But it was a lot less physically painful than training for a marathon, though there were times when my brain hurt.  

I was so proud of the finished product - yes, finished - that I hunted down some glue and stuck it all together.  Ah the joy, the satisfaction... the empty hole in my life once the glue was dry and my table clear again.  What was I to do next?  Well, Hidef went out to another museum and spotted a Basquiat jigsaw puzzle, and I came across a 1,000 piece Obama one.  I started with the 1,000 pieces and boy did that take a while. The pieces were cut a little loose so if I bumped into my table while working, pieces would fall out of place. Also, there was a lot of blue in the puzzle.  A lot and really sometimes all blues look quite alike.  I plugged away and about two weeks before I went under the knife, I had a huge completed puzzle the declared - Yes We Can.  And I did.  I had been forced to go out and get a little side table because there was no space for anything but my puzzle on my big table.  For this masterpiece, I went all out and mounted the puzzle.  This much work must be remembered somehow.

Soon after Earth Day, I was strolling through a Barnes & Noble and came across something I couldn't leave behind.  It was an "Earth Friendly Jigsaw Puzzle".  A 500 piece picture of a Panda bear, each piece is actually a mini-picture of something else to do with being friendly to the earth.  But that wasn't want caught my interest.  Yes it was on sale but that wasn't quite it either.  What got me?  In this little box was an opportunity for me to indulge in some eco-terrorism.  How, you might wonder.  Well, people, the box declared that each piece of this puzzle is imbedded with wildflower seeds!  So, after I finish this puzzle, I can walk down the street, casually tossing jigsaw puzzle pieces into empty lots and, in a few months, I can walk down the same street and be greeted by beautiful, blooming wildflowers (so much more fun than being greeted as a liberator).  I can send little pieces out in every letter I write and spread the love by way of flowers.  

However, I have hit a minor roadblock.  I am struggling with the puzzle.  The little pictures in each puzzle piece serve to confound and confuse me.  The images are tiny, and in less than full-on bright sunlight, I can barely see them.   My will to terrorise the masses by way of beautiful flowers and nectar for the bees is begin slowly and steadily eroded by my ever-squinting eyes and failing sight.  

The only thing renewing my resolve is the occasional glimpse I have into the future.  As I disappear into the sunset on my bicycle (another project) people will wonder - "who was that masked flower bloomer?"

And others will respond, "I don't know but people around her call her the Masked Padaaave!"