Odd few days

Those of you on Facebook know I had a pizza incident but nothing more.


Brooklyn Pizza Pie - my undoing


Roomie and I ordered a veggie pizza on Friday night. I was expecting lots of melted cheese with a piece of broccoli on each and a sprinkling of spinach. But no, I opened the box and saw a jungle with undergrowth - every square millimeter was covered with green stuff an inch thick and the cheese was negligible. Shocking! The first few mouthfuls tasted fine, I felt righteous for eating broccoli (not usually my best green anyway because you never know what microbes are hiding between the florets), and there was fresh garlic on it, but I struggled to get halfway through the second slice. I may never eat broccoli again, and pizza will have to go a long way to win my affections back. Just the thought of that green stuff makes me queasy. So I had a rather unhappy tummy on Saturday and a little on Sunday too until I asked my roomie if she had any imodium - yes, ONE tablet left!

I thought the point of pizza was to eat melted cheese on a fairly thin crust, so next time that is what it will be. And if I have anything fancier it's going to be my old fave of Italian sausage and jalapeno pepper - the way I learned at CiCi's Pizza in Texas. Brooklynites are so fiercely proud of their "pizza pies" that you'd think it was invented here. Indeed, roomie had to give me a quick lesson in the local lingo before we ordered. The locals might call me a philistine if I order Papa John's in future (if there even is one in Bay Ridge) but I don't care.

I am fine now, but still haven't got my appetite back. Unfortunately today I felt precursor symptoms to - well, I hope I am not coming down with something. It is Arctic outside and when the air is cold and dry, viruses thrive. At first I thought I felt tired and buzzy because I was out in the cold this morning, or because I skipped breakfast, or because I carried heavy bags, but as the evening wears on I am growing suspicious...


********************

Meantime, Captain America is in town this week for work, so we had dinner and a movie last night. Obviously couldn't face the subway again this evening but even the offer of a taxi up there couldn't get me to budge out of the house.

I did a little bit of shopping this morning and had a rare New York Moment looking at people rushing around wrapped up, their breath like wreathes of smoke, commuters mixed with tourists, all the bright screens of Times Square battling valiantly against a sunny sky, frozen puddles at the curb, yellow taxicabs crawling everywhere and the street vents streaming steam into the frigid air.

********************

This weekend roomie and her friend put up the Christmas tree. I didn't join in because I was sleeping and feeling queasy, but also they're childhood friends and they know how to work this thing so I left them to it.

Nothing on the tree matches, but many ornaments are quirky, have a meaning, or are there for a reason. No doubt the Menorah under the coffee table will also go up for Chanukah :) She just likes Christmas trees too.






********************

When I was out today I found an ornament and it is now on the tree in honor of my return to the USA. The base is engraved UNITED WE STAND. It is silver plated and the flag is filled with champleve enamel.



I love it not only because it is patriotic but the eagle reminds me of my 7th grade entry in the North Texas French club competition (my first year here). I made a poster: in the background, all the notable flags of the world and in the center, a majestic Golden Eagle, shoulders draped in the Stars and Stripes under the title
SERVE YOUR COUNTRY: Learn a foreign language.

It won first place. You know it was the eagle draped in the flag that did it.

Michael Crichton

The ironic tale of how I unwittingly found Michael Crichton's successor on the same day he passed away.

At Toronto airport last month I decided to break my rule of "no more books" and buy something riveting to read on the plane back to NYC. I usually skim for any Michael Crichton book I haven't seen yet.  Not easy.  So I picked up a medical thriller called Cold Plague by Daniel Kalla, apparently a rising star in Canada. The moment one of the reviews on the back compared him  to Michael Crichton I was hooked.  I have been jealous of actually running out of Crichton's works so was hesitant to finish the ones I haven't read yet.  (Robin Cook is also good but hasn't captured me in the same way.)

I devoured the book in a day. Kalla's writing indeed rivals Crichton's in that as you turn the pages, you lose sight of the author, his words, his craft, and any trace of self consciousness on his part - you see only the characters and the story.  Look out for Daniel Kalla. He needs to break out of the Canadian market to keep us literary nerds enthralled for years.

The next morning, amid the post-election results, I was surprised and saddened to hear that Michael Crichton had lost his short battle with cancer. It's tragic when a doctor succumbs to disease, and the loss of a respected cultural talent is disappointing.  He was only in his 60s but has had a significant impact on popular culture over the past couple of decades, and in spite of Hollywood's depictions good or bad, his books are highly technical, educational, engrossing, and addictive.

I hope many other teenagers are introduced to his works as I was.  Too easy for them that most have been adapted into film (~21 so far).  In the spring of 1993, our 10th grade Biology teacher assigned us the book Jurassic Park a few months before the movie came out and it changed the literary landscape for me forever - yes, Crichton succeeded in becoming my first favorite contemporary author.   

Additionally, that was the summer we moved to The Woodlands, a master-planned community nestled in the great Jurassic forest north of Houston.  (The tail end of the Piney Woods region of the Southeastern US.)  Coming from the arid prairies of Dallas where we'd been living, the first time we visited I believe my jaw hit the ground.  For months after moving down, every time we crossed the bridge over Lake Woodlands, I held my breath half expecting a brontosaurus to raise its giant head over the misty tops of the towering pine trees along the shore.

Thank you, Dr Crichton...

Lake Woodlands sunset


George Mitchell Preserve, named in honor of the founder of The Woodlands

Texas Piney Woods

********************

If you follow this City Data link, you will see why my standards are still high, as proven in previous posts.  Even I can't believe this is where I lived for one-third of my life!  Is it possible to envy oneself?

Finally:

Happy Thanksgiving Y'all!

Friends are diamonds, and diamonds are...

Friday was my last day at the office, where I had pleasant farewells, a card and gift. I left half an hour after I meant to simply because you keep finding one more thing you were working on and didn't finish, to pass on. Plus people want to hear what you'll be up to, so they stop you for a chat or come by your desk. I got hardly anything done, but they said that was alright.

Finally tore myself away, forgot to hand in my access card, and asked the front desk to let me out not knowing it was in my bag.

Once out on the street, I felt dazed. I couldn't believe I wasn't going back. Now, if this is how I feel after working there for only a few months, imagine when I leave somewhere after a few years.

Then I went off to my oldest/bestest friend's house to see Lydia, her Mum, twin brother, and Dad. Their house, let me tell you, is a little gem. It's so pretty and so cute. Every room is spotless, tastefully decorated, and the walls emanate peace and love. I even went to the loo and didn't want to leave!

After a couple of hours of chatting and giggling, we went to meet our mutual friend Angela. It was a triple celebration - Lydia's new project at the BBC, Angela's completion of her child studies course, and my farewell. Despite being old friends, Lyds and I gradually lost touch with Angela after she married and had her two kids. Last year for my birthday, Angela and I met up for the first time in a decade. Yes, it took me an entire year to manage this meetup since in the last year Lyds has been touring all over, studying a short course, and sometimes working 7 days a week, and Angela has been studying full time and bringing up her boys, one of whom was diagnosed with epilepsy earlier this year (it is thankfully under control after a trying few months).

Both their lives have settled down now, and ironically just when I leave Lydia gets a job a couple of stops from where I was working, and on the same 10am - 6pm schedule as I was on! What can you do...???

Anyway, we three girls ate yummy Thai food, were the last out of the restaurant, and when we left they gave us each a carnation wrapped in cellophane and finished with a curly ribbon. At one point I tuned out of the conversation, watching Lyds and Ange chatting away, and I felt sad that we hadn't been able to do this more often. But once again, what can you do???

Tomorrow I am going to Lydia's house again for some of her Mum's gorgeous Greek food. I've known this lovely family for nearly as long as my own. I don't even remember meeting Lydia, but it was at nursery so we may have been 2 or 3. I'm just as close with her brother Anthony. They call me "the other sibling". And so I call their mum Aunty, or Thia in Greek. Whenever my Mum went to hospital (she nearly died in the mid-80s), Thia would come and pack a bag and take me away, and the twins, being artistic, would create lovely hand drawn get well cards. Lyds and I would be afraid of the dark together, and we both remember the one night we imagined we saw a pair of red eyes in the halway. (Brrrr, just thinking of it gives me goosebumps.) Then Dad would pick me up when Mum was discharged, but I never wanted to go back home. I would sulk for the rest of the day. I now realise this wasn't fair on my poor Mumsy.

After nursery, Angela joined our school. Lydia and Angela and I were close. Other girls came and went, but it was always us. But Lyds and I were the core, inseperable. The teachers usually muddled our names up in class, and we even started ballet together. Still, undergoing the usual social development, we three would "break up and make up" in various combinations. Then we would pass "love notes" in class: "Are you still my freind?" (Angela always switched the i and e.) Lydia swears I came up with the idea of Yes and No boxes. Of course they always ticked the Yes box.

Here are the twins at my birthday celebration last year:





Alors, je suis finis. Would you believe I started this post with nothing to say?

Back in Time Tag

Selba tagged me quite a while ago and I only found out this week! So, here goes.

In short, I wish to go back to my early 20s when life was good.

Longer Version:

I wish to go back to my early 20s. I was at university, enjoying my studies, living on campus with Vanessa, the best roomie ever and hanging out with Jason and Johnny, to whom I would entrust my life. They were part of my close, adventurous, fun, varied, cosmopolitan, caring group of friends (who are still there). We would go to the opera or the ballet downtown, or to the beach, or for pancakes at midnight. I was emotionally strong and intact, there for my friends, ready to listen to problems, a shoulder to cry on, a voice of comfort, the therapist-to-be. I was also funny and witty, and my father and I were like a stand-up routine.

Finally filling out after being underweight my whole life, I had my hair in its first short cut and was discovering fashion because clothes finally fit without alteration. I was stylish for the first time ever.

I wanted for nothing and had access to more funds than I could ever need. I had my own car and even spent 6 months driving my Dad's sporty car, which is when I properly learned to drive, to corner, to floor it, to feel the feedback of road under wheels, and the round sound it would make at optimum speed which felt like the sweet spot on a tennis racquet.

I was making great grades, a committee chair in Program Council - used to run a coffee cart every Wednesday for the night students. I was President and Treasurer of our uni's chapter of Psi Chi (psychology honor society). I even worked part time in the psychology department and at the student volunteer office.

My parents were still together - they laughed and teased, held hands, kissed in the kitchen; everyone who saw them wanted what they had. We lived in a big four bedroom house in the pine forest north of Houston, part of a close knit community, a beautiful hometown with its own ballets and symphonies, but also the summer home of the Houston Ballet, Grand Opera, and Symphony. Every summer we would go to concerts and festivals; every October to the Greek Festival or International Fest downtown - I had more culture there than I do here.

We had neighbours to share homebaked cookies with, or invite round to use the jacuzzi, floating a bowl of grapes back and forth, or I'd babysit their dogs; the type of neighbours you wave at as you pass, roll down your window or park and walk over for a chat while they wait for the school bus; BBQ on someone's driveway on National Neighbourhood Night Out. Go to the grocery store for 5 minutes and end up taking an hour because you chat with everyone - friends and strangers.

We had a big front yard with roses and flowers for the hummingbirds. A big backyard that produced all manner of flower, herb, tropical fruit and vegetable - and hosted all manner of wildlife, some things we only saw once (like a flying squirrel). Plus I was always rescuing animals like the wren, the baby red cardinal, the wood pigeon, the newly hatched finch. My snuggly bunnies Lulu (the smart dog-cat-rabbit), Dapple (the soft shy velvet one) and Muffet (the white tailed spunky one) were still alive. We had a canary called Romeo who sang to break your heart, and a Society Finch called Lena who loved to watch TV.

Dad and I used to stand on the driveway at 3am watching meteor showers, and the silhouettes of the pine trees against the full moon.

I had the security of a stable home life and love, and that abundant confidence of the undergrad who knows the world is her oyster. I want that oyster back...


I tag (can sisters count as one? Ha!):

1. Um Naief & Jahooni
2. Lotus
3. Beanzzz & Zee
4. Nikki
5. Guyana Gyal

********************Start copy********************
Instructions:

Title: The Age That I Wish To Go Back To
Requirement: Write about the one age that you wish to go back to and why?
Tag Mode: 5 bloggers
1st - You leave blog and post link and add to the list below.
2nd - Let the blogger you want to tag know they had been tagged by commenting in their blog.

The Age that they Wish to Go Back to:

Amidrin wish to go back to age 22 to correct back some mistakes in life.
Lemonjude wish to go back to age 6 to enjoy kid’s life.
Hui Sia wish to go back to age 16 to meet her first lover again.
Giddy Tiger wishes to go back to a childhood life with no worries in the world.
Rinnah wishes she could turn back time to the happiest days of her life.
Ehon doesn't wanna go anywhere.
Chen wanna go back to age 19 to take a different pathway in life.
Selba wishes to go back to the time where she could persuade her parents not to move to Indonesia.
Olivia wishes to go back to her early 20s when the world was her oyster.

********************End copy********************

Photo offensive

Sort of ought to go on a photo offensive of London, in case one day I complain: "I wish I'd taken more photos of London when I was there..."



Someone at the apartments has this fancy little Audi sports number.





The largest Hindu temple outside of India is of course in London.




The Lloyds of London building.
As some of you know by now, I love taking upshots of the tops of buildings.


**********

Friday afternoon I left the grey suit company early and went for the handover with the PA at the art dealer (Mr AD), and after an hour of familiarisation, she left to go on her holiday, and I was thrown in at the deep end.

I finally get to do the things I have been waiting to do, and then I panic. After my first attempt at answering the phone and forgetting what to say, I think I will be fine, though the buttons throw me off still. I also had to call a shipping company to remind them of a needed quote, and then call them again to absolutely ensure that the painting will be in Ireland before next Friday evening to be hung in the dining room for dinner.

I ended up staying until 6.45 pm, with Mr AD, going through various images on the hard drive, assigning them to the correct files and naming them descriptively. The knowledge in his head needs to be organised into a framework. Anyway, when we were done, he said he could tell that I had an ability with the images. I did not know I would stay that long before I started on Monday, though.

Then I wended my weary way to an Aussie party at Ruby Blue, a stylish club with a dance floor, booths, and themed lounges. The group I joined was another going away party where I knew no one, Mr Gorgeous Eyes was at home with tonsilitis, so he gave my number to A.N. a friendly New Zealander who had informed me of the venue that morning. He was at the houseleaving party last week, we weren't introduced and I only glanced at him for 3 seconds in a group before leaving. However, he's the sort who takes you under his wing, so I was introduced to countless people.

The whole group were a mixture including Aussies, Kiwis, Brits, and all very professional, cosmopolitan people, not your stereotypical types. In fact, there were two typical Aussie lads there like the ones in the Fosters beer ads, and they stuck out like sore thumbs.

However, I spent most of my time chatting with a couple of Austrians. One of them reminds me very much of my friend Jason in Houston who is undergoing pilot training at the moment; both clean-cut and straight. He texted me today and we are meeting for a drink tomorrow after work, by the way...We're both going abroad next week so decided to meet up sooner rather than later.

**********

Not a day goes by when I am not reminded of Houston or Texas - the Austrian is in oil&gas and has been to Houston. Yesterday I watched a load of Animal Cops Houston. Right now I am watching From the Earth to the Moon and seeing Mission Control in Houston. And last night my old roomie asked me yet again when I was going back.

I was recounting to my mother the day my dad took me to the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Until the security measures occasioned by 9/11, they held an annual Open Day. We wandered amongst the buildings, went on mini-tours, saw the original Mission Control, fiddled with a scanning electron microscope thereby withering an ant's antennae, got a big NASA bag and filled it with goodies as we went along, including a bumper sticker I treasured for years, and one of those US Government-issue ballpoint pens they all use. Even 40 years later, there was still a general air of "something happening" within those unassuming 1960s-style buildings.

**********

Song of My Heart

Another tag from Selba:

This tag is a nostalgic one which really does bring back the old memories.

Here are the rules:
1. Go to http://www.popculturemadness.com/Music/Number-One-Songs-90s.html
2. Pick the year you turned 18
3. Get yourself nostalgic over the songs of the year
4. Write something about how the song affected you
5. Pass it on to 5 more friends

I turned 18 in 1995.
Back then, I paid no attention to current music, preferring to flop on the couch on Friday after school and immerse myself in Beethoven.

However...a few years later, I heard the following song of 1995 (the only one I recognised from the list provided on the website), and thought it touchingly beautiful.

Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman - Bryan Adams

To really love a woman
To understand her - you gotta know her deep inside
Hear every thought - see every dream
And give her wings - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman you tell her
that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that it's gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

To really love a woman
Let her hold you -
till you know how she needs to be touched
You've gotta breathe her - really taste her
Till you can feel her in your blood
And when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman
you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that you'll always be together
So tell me have you ever really -
really really ever loved a woman?

You got to give her some faith - hold her tight
A little tenderness - gotta treat her right
She will be there for you, taking good care of you
You really gotta love your woman...

Then when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms
You know you really love a woman
When you love a woman you tell her
that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that it's gonna last together
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

interlude

Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman? You got to tell me
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman?

**********

That is really and truly a song for women, and it has a beautiful and seductive Spanish touch.
When I first heard it, the lines that really stood out for me were:

You've gotta breathe her - really taste her
Till you can feel her in your blood
And when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
You know you really love a woman

(I mean....wow...)

**********

I tag...
1) Anyone
2) Who
3) Has
4) The
5) Time

Circles n Curls

Headache day.

I'm watching CSI. It's amazing how little DNA they need these days for an ID.

I used to want to work in a crime lab. I even took a criminal justice class to start a minor in it and searched for post-grad programs, but then CSI swept onto the scene, and I could just see the wave of wannabe forensic scientists flooding the market. And then my psych degree came to completion so I didn't need to stay enrolled, and I eventually came back to London to start the art history studies.

Odd, that I started in biology AND worked in a lab - should have stayed in it, since halfway through my psych degree I knew it wasn't for me. But unlike someone I knew who changed major 9 times, I wanted to save time and stick with it. By the way, that guy who switched nine times was my admissions counselor when I started uni, and is now the associate director of admissions.

My dad kept suggesting I be a profiler. This was after my degree when I was looking at jobs in DC. One of my friends and I were going to join the CIA and he used to call me Q. Another friend and I actually took the State Department security services test. It lasted all afternoon - I got to the last stage and was disqualified - and found her waiting for me in the lobby coz she hadn't got past the first test! Go me!

After working at the Houston school district psych services department, I started looking at jobs in NYC, discovered I wanted to own all the art history books in publishing, and then it slapped me in the face.

Since high school I had owned The Art Book, spending hours poring over it on the floor until my legs went numb from sitting on them, lying on my elbows until they got carpet burn, then sitting up again. Even at university, I remember envying my friends who took art history as one of their art electives. (I didn't have to, as I had transferred in my Humanities course from college.)

Art History. Why hadn't I thought of it before?

Why?

Probably because I considered myself to be a scientist all the way through. But then a few years in biology and the right side of my brain started feeling neglected (talk about thinking like a psychologist). Psych was a nice balance between right and left hemispheres, but I hated, I mean really hated, statistics. Give me chemistry any day...

Finally in art history I found my balance. It is not all right brained. Paired with aesthetics and visual immersion is a heck of a lot of analysis and methodology and technique and science (qualitative, rather than quantitative, fortunately).

I have no idea why I thought you would be interested in that. When I started this blog, I was going to say I had nothing to talk about today.

**********

Oh wow. The suspect in CSI tonight is a chimera. A twin within a twin - one person made of two, with two conflicting sets of DNA from when, in the womb, the second twin is absorbed by the first.

.
.
.

Well, that's me shutting up for today.



Guess who?