The metric system

My parents are hilarious, helpful, and keep really cool things.






























We used to live at Ramstein - when I was 6-9 years old.

The Biggest Issue

NYT Op-Ed by David Brooks

Really interesting.

"Why did the United States become the leading economic power of the 20th century? The best short answer is that a ferocious belief that people have the power to transform their own lives gave Americans an unparalleled commitment to education, hard work and economic freedom."



As I told the friend who forwarded it to me:
Wow. Thank you so much for sharing this.

I don't fully agree with the pessimistic, condemning decision that "By 5, it is possible to predict, with depressing accuracy, who will complete high school and college and who won't." But I wholly agree that USA's increasing protectionism against globalization is the wrong direction, and that education leading to innovation and increasing human capital is the right one. Let's hope that Obama can use the latter while campaigning more than the former, too. The world out here is exhibiting concern over our reactionary defensiveness, and it doesn't bode well for our people.

Spasiba muchisimo.

Photos (I'm away, please leave a message)

Took the train from Geneva to Rolle last Saturday (after Friday night in the park at a free Armenian ethno jazz concert and a stop by the strange, man-grabby festival by the Lac). Then, my friends Dascha and Marlena (Russian and German respectively - a nice day of international diplomacy) and I biked from Rolle to Lausanne for about 28km.

Sunday I stayed in all day and was productive. Please check the work! Work, ha. I'm just trying to catch up with all the photos. I'm in between June and Italy and July and Geneva and Paris and Brittany, and a bit of May friends visiting Paris.

Internship is going well. I'm enjoying learning about new things, but not feeling so challenged. It's understandable but uncomfortable. Geneva is too conservative for me and too old school (stores close at 6:45pm - have I mentioned that?!). But I have pals and that's nice.

Spasiba. Merci. Gracias. Danke. Thanks. I am learning.

New photo sets:
Edinburgh
Geneva in May (first visit)
Bridget in Paris (high school friend, hadn't seen each other in 17 years)
Lion brings me a gift (cats are weird)
Meals, snacks, wines (some new Geneva wines and food)
Jennie, Melissa, Paul in Paris (old friends from Madison, back in May)
Sisters in Europe: Paris to Venice to Cinque Terre - Day 1
Sister in Italy: Cinque Terre - Day 2 (still being uploaded)
Geneva first weekend (with flatmate and her friend)
Geneva apartment (when I first moved in and it wasn't "lived in")
at the UNOG (a few first photos)
20eme - Pere Lachaise Cemetary (back to Paris for a visit, aka home of Jim Morrison of The Doors fame and a bunch of other cool things)
4th of July, Geneva (a weird Uncle Sam loses his mustache and I brought a Russian friend to infiltrate)

Enjoy!!

giggles

more graph humor and song chart memes

Are some McCain supporters racist?

My interpretation of this image: I wanted Hillary, she pulled out, and there's no way I'd vote for a black man so I went for the other white person in the race.

I hope I'm just misunderstanding this photo - taken from the McCain website.

Also, an interesting article on "Young Republicans, Blue About the Prospects Ahead." These 20-somethings will be 30-something and vying to run the country. Pay heed.

A gift... or a warning?

(Please skip this post if you're squeamish or an animal lover)

So, my allergies have been worse this summer than ever before. Part of it is the fresh outdoors of Geneva - which isn't so common in pollution-congested Paris. Part of it was the feather pillow and feather duvet (comforter, couette), which I traded for a sheepskin duvet and an orange blanket. Part of it is living with a cat. The last time I lived with a cat was way back in the punk rock days with the 8 kids in a 3-story house in Minneapolis: Mika and Mico, Emily's cats. I guess my allergies got used to them over time. So, for the situation in Geneva, I've been taking some homeopathic drops 3 times a day and it seems to be fine.

My flatmate's cat, Lion (pronounced in a French way as lee-OH), is actually a scaredy cat and is spooked easily. I can wave my hands when he comes creeping into my bedroom and he bolts back out. I can walk slowly down the hallway to the bathroom and he'll turn and run the other way. So, I'm not afraid of him making any relaxation imprints on my bed at all, or rubbing up all over me as I'm seated in the kitchen.

Well, my flatmate went out of town to a festival in France and told me how to scoop the poop out of the cat box and into the -plop!- toilet. How to feed him by putting a bit of hard cat food in the bowl and then dump a packet of wet food on top (he prefers the latter). There's a small jar of water in the bathroom for him to drink - not for keeping the room humid, as I'd wondered oddly. And basically that's it. He sleeps up in the loft where my flatmate sleeps. Instead of using the ladder from the loft the ground level of our apartment, he crawls out on the roof and into the apartment through the window of the bathroom, scaring the crap out of me - as I'm actually doing said act. I guess there's not enough room around the ladder for him to run down it without running into the wall so the jump from the bathroom window to the sink to the floor is easier. I'm used to this now and when I hear him meow from the bathroom window or see his shadow on the floor, I can warn him if it's a good time to come in or not. I mean, after all, a girl needs her privacy.

So, last night, I came home and heard him meowing a bit sadly, missing my flatmate, and decided I'd give him a bit of lovin' attention. I squatted in the hallway and put my hand out lazily for him to pet himself and let me kind of pet him a bit. He circled around my body purring and petting me back with his tail. And then he was off to do whatever. (Of course, I immediately washed my hands, apologizing to him from the bathroom: "It's not you, Lion, it's me. Really. Sorry.")

I usually shut my bedroom door when I go to sleep just to be sure Lion won't come in, and to get a bit of privacy. As I went to bed last night, I decided to leave my bedroom door open for breeze but also so he wouldn't feel so alone (or is it so I wouldn't feel so alone?). I didn't hear the ghosts, I didn't feel afraid, I slept well until early in the morning when I heard a sound of paper hitting something. Maybe the breeze caught a poster in the hall or something. I slept fine.

In the beautiful Sunday morning of sleeping in, I got up slowly and felt so good (a 13km = 8.077mi hike on Saturday helped).


The places where dreams are made.. waking up slowly on Sunday.










Sunny Sunday morning - lovely!












go out the bedroom - loft ladder












hallway to bathroom - whoops! the poster fell off the wall (that's what that sound was)













such a pretty poster of a brown-haired girl













she has people and birds












what's that weird thing at the end of the rug? (sleepy eyes)












Oh.. it's a bird head.












Here's the email I sent to my flatmate:
Subject: the weird question of the day
Message:
So, I woke up today and the poster in the hall next to the bathroom with the woman and the people and the birds - it had fallen off the wall in the night. At the end of the rug toward the front door was a dead (but not too bloody) bird head. I understand that it's a gift from Leon - I spent some time last night petting him a bit since he was missing you - but is it also because he's hungry?

Or he doesn't like me?
As my imagination is very dark sometimes.. this is immediately what I thought: the scene from the Godfather (scary movie clip) and the meaning (words).

Anyway. I'm not sure how to tell him that I appreciate it, but don't want more. And I'm not sure how the hell I'm going to be able to pick it up. I might have to ask the downstairs neighbor guy to do it. :\ eek!

How is France?

L.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I was brave. I used the dustpan and a piece of hard paper, a plastic bag and the garbage is going downstairs today. I haven't seen the culprit aka admirer. I've heard the birds outside squawking a bit from time to time so I know he's around. He'll get a nice thank you and then a good scolding. Maybe it'll make sense.. considering I have to do this in French (I don't think he knows any English yet).














&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

PS. I won't share all the images because they're gory and not appropriate for mixed audiences. If you're interested you can certainly view them on my flickr sets as "Lion brings me a gift."


Gift or warning?
You decide.

I think I can, I think I can

map

idea


We'll see if I can get a ride.


(for you, mom and dad)

Selle que j'aime

It's raining and raining and raining. I thought I knew how rain was produced. Big body of water, hot hot sun, clouds make precip, precip builds, falls in form of rain. If this is indeed the case, then the whole Lac Leman should be a desert by now.

Friday was the 4th. I went to a tame expat event in the park near my apartment, and brought my infiltrating Russian friend, Daria. We had cupcakes, which I haven't had in years. I got photos with a guy dressed as Uncle Sam and with a cardboard cut-out of Obama.

Saturday morning I got up and my flatmate read my tarot to the question: What will I be when I grow up? She turned the question to: What traits do I have now that will help me to the future job? My cards: the traveling magician, the lover, the devil. Hmmm. That reads horribly on paper, but a deeper discussion / reading proves that there are some good lessons and guides. Then, we did positive thinking: "I have a bicycle" -- instead of "I'm up early to go to this random bike shop in Carouge owned by some Scottish dude in hopes that I'll get a bike today so I can go bike 50km round-trip to Nyon. Please let there be a bike!"

I also need a bike for the summer, because basically Geneva is a bike town. I'm on a straight-shot bus line to my internship, which is excellent. But the bus is 2chf (=2$) for essentially what they call "a short trip" of 3 stops or less. My ride is 20 minutes, but more than 3 stops. An hour ride is 3chf (=3$), a 9am-9pm is 5chf, and a 24-hour is 7chf. Ridiculous. If I were to get a monthly pass it would be 50chf if I was under 28. For us old fogies, it's 70chf. So, I figure, July and August = 140chf, if I can get a bike, helmet, basket, kick-stand, night light, bell for 140chf I'm much better off. Plus, the added freedom since the buses run every 7-10 minutes and the stores close at 6pm, 6:30pm, 6:45pm. Add to it, this is bicycle country, man! And, I don't live at the top of the steep Veille Ville hill either.

So, I went over to the bike shop on the tram (haven't ridden a tram since Berlin). The morning was sunny, the old lady who gave me directions was sweet, the market at Marché in Carouge was colorful and beautiful and natural, and the bike shop was supercalifragilistic fantastic. I fell in love with a bike and a bike shop owner. This Scottish guy is too much, so unique, so cool. Everything was in the stars and the air, and I felt good.

I found the store by the line of bikes out front. Store-front window and small space. A bike upside-down, clamped down and, standing over it, a guy in black sleeveless shirt and black shorts (I forgot to note his shoes - a crucial telltale of personality). He looked up and I knew I'd find my bicycle here. Great smile, great personality. I tried my horrible French (but I already knew he was Scottish c/o one of my intern colleagues who pointed me to the store to begin with) and then kicked into English. He replied at first in French and then switched to his scratchy Scottish English.

"I'd like a bike, not for road cycling or mountain biking but for going about town, something around 140chf, is it possible?" I asked.

He scoffed a little, moved around, turned his back to me to put a tool down, and mumbled that most of the bikes in view right now were going for 260, but he didn't turn down the beginning of our bargaining. "It's possible, I mean what kind of bike do you want? A man's frame? A woman's frame?"

"It doesn't matter so much. A bike that needs a little repair but something I can have soon since I'm only here for 2 months. Nothing too new. Nothing too shiny. A little character would be great. It'd match me. A bike that's been loved."

He turned back around and looked up. "Loved? How am I supposed to know if it's been loved?" He asked me a bit smiling, a bit sarcastic.

"Well, we don't know how the owners treated the bike, but I'm sure you love each one of them as you work on them."

He showed me a couple of bikes that basically need a bit of repair. Depending on the price and time it would take to repair leads us to the final bidding price. Some gorgeous 1950s bodies. One was a possibility but the other needed too much work/time. "Well, I guess you want to see the back then?" he half-asked, half-said. "I don't know. Do I? What's back there?" I mean, how was I supposed to know. I didn't know the place. He went outside, around to the back of the building where there were 3 bikes laying around the walls surrounding the yard - he pointed to each and told its brief story and how much work / too much work. Then, we walked further back through the yard to a storage / garage, he opened the door and the whole thing was filled with bikes: bikes with rusty chains, bodies on twisted tires, bodies with handle bars that needed adjusting, bikes with crooked whatever, rusty this, broken that. But anyone who saw this could tell that he was a master of his trade and wouldn't mess around with quality. He'd do what you paid for and he'd do just enough but he'd do it well.

I didn't spot anything in the garage, turned around to go back to the front of the store, and it clicked. That one. Against the wall. The one that needed some work, but not too much, the one that survived a fire, was a bit blackened, a bit in need of fixing up, but the survivor. That's one hell of a tough bike. It's not ready to give up and it needs some love.

It's a Swiss-made bike, which he said meant it was well-made. It has a woman's frame, bell, light - all that need a bit of work, along with the chain and needing new, second-hand tires. "So, when can I pick her up?" I asked. He offered a week, I offered 10 days (since I won't be in town next Saturday). This will give more time for more attention, I hope. He grabbed a pad of receipts. "Can I have your name and number?" I gave it to him and then asked him, "And, what's your name?" Eddie. "And, can I have your number?" I was just poking a bit of fun. He gave me his business card, "I've prepared for that question." He smirked.

Selle que j'aime
pedalo ergo sum
Atelier de vélo
Réparation, vente d'occasion
11, rue de Veyrier
Carouge
076/534.09.45

Report will follow next week.

I'm not sure I can live without Swiss chocolate

but I think it's exciting my asthma in a bad way. I'm eating so much of it and it's so richly made of real milk, which I rarely eat or drink. Hmmm. This might be a problem.

Anyway.

Have photos, will travel.

New albums (not all photos are labelled mind you):

buildings and places random (paris - new photos)
Paris sky
Paris metro (the last metro at night)
Sarnowskis do Paris (friends visit)
Madeleing the MPA baby (a grad school colleague had her baby)
Metro station Alexandre Dumas
#68 bus ride (short ride over Seine)
From Seine to 20eme (a walk at sunset)
Bangalore (from back in February!)

My eye

"The inside of your eye is one thing you're guaranteed never to get a good look at. Even if you could, the pupil is far too small an aperture to allow you to see the entire interior. University of Michigan ophthalmologic photographer Richard Hackel compares the problem to taking a picture of a room through a keyhole. To overcome this hurdle, Hackel uses a computer program to stitch together images taken from 20 different angles by a special digital camera. The result is an unusual, fully detailed map of the inside of a healthy 26-year-old's eye."

I was afraid to look into this image at first. It's the first time my eye would be able to see itself, or an image of a similarity to itself. How would it react? Would it rejoice in seeing its insides? Would it reflect like a mirror looking at a mirror, infinitely seeing itself seeing itself? Would it recognize similarities and feel at home? Would it be curious, frightened, disgusted? Would it shatter my sight by the mere revelation?

Well, I looked. And it was okay. No explosions or implosions. It's pretty cool.

Banking in Switzerland

The U.N. has almost everything one needs in case of earthquake or mass disaster or living in Switzerland.

There are like 6 sections to the UN Geneva complex. (Fret not, I'm not revealing anything that you wouldn't learn on the public tour.) There's Pregny Gate, through which every visitor or newbie must pass for security purposes. There can be many minutes of hold-up if it's a conference day, so I'm told as I escaped with great luck somehow and made it through in 20 minutes. Once the paperwork was all settled and my horrible photo taken, I haven't been back since, now I get to enter the main gate, the Nations gate, the one in all the photos with the rows of flags.

After Pregny, there's the Salle des Assemblées (Assembly Hall). I went through on the first day as I was lost and trying to cut across the grounds to get to the UNECE building. Nice people gave me bad directions. And I was shocked at how much French was required to ask for these directions and how good my French must be since they answered me in slurred, friendly French instead of clear, "you're obviously a foreigner" French. Anyway. I've been back to this complex a few times since as it houses main conference rooms, art displays, the lunch cafeteria in the basement, and the grand Delegates' Restaurant on the roof.

After the Assembly Hall, there's the Aile de Commission Assemblées-Bibliothèque (Assembly-Library Wing), which I had the pleasure of visiting the other day. Amazing library with high ceilings, the old book smell, and round, sturdy, yet cushy, leather chairs low to the ground. And, the books. Well, don't let me tell you that I wish my internship was cataloging.

After the Library is the "New Building," which I have yet to see. I can see it from my supervisor's office. I saw it from the rooftop restaurant. I have yet to enter, although we are highly encouraged to meander on breaks and explore when we have free time. I will, I will.

Then there's the Secretariat ("The department administered by a governmental secretary, especially for an international organization"), in which is housed a variety of people doing a multitude of things. I walked through it once to find a bathroom. I didn't really notice the names or titles. There are several "Portes" on these buildings and they're useful for finding the entrance to certain buildings. This one has Porte 1, which also leads to the basement shopping - watches, perfume, food, liquors, clothing, and, yes, chocolate all on discount. It's rather like back in the military days with the commissary. Not the greatest selection, but still slightly cheaper. Not the biggest room, but big enough not to die from suffocation or claustrophobia... although small enough to want to jab a few people in the back... yes, I'll have an entire entry dedicated to patience as the theme of not only my entire f'ing life, but also of this entire city of Geneva.

Finally, there's the Aile de Commission Assemblées-Conseil (Assembly-Council Wing). And behind Porte 6 is a nice world of convenience and where I work. Ground floor has a travel agent, tourist office, bookstore/kiosk, post office, photo booth for passport photos (I made some damn nice ones in black and white, too), and a bank.

So, I walked in with the necessary materials, sat down and opened a UBS bank account. Since they needed a safe, official address for delivery of documents I gave them the UN one and picked up all the info today. And, man, is there a lot! The credit card / debit card, the pin for that, the how-to do e-banking book, the access card to do e-banking, the pin for that, the access card e-banking machine reader, the instructions for that.

Yes, I said reader. If you've been in Europe lately, you'll notice they have these super cool wireless credit card readers that they bring to your table at the end of a meal. Now, you never have to hand over your card to the waiter/server/bartender/host. You flash it, or show it, or peek it out of the bill-bearing-book. They come over to your table, take your card, and either swipe it like this one:









or insert it like this one:





They hand you the latter and you enter your pin (as the server and your table guest kindly turn their heads), you view the "Code Bon" (I have yet to see it in English), the receipt prints, a-ok!

So, when I got my UBS reader in the mail, I started wondering how much money I could get off of unsuspecting foreigners by charging them randomly in the street or at cafes. Would it work? Could I pose as an undercover bank operations manager, checking people on the street to verify that their chips work?

So, here's the set-up:





Super security, folks. So, I only get my e-banking access if I can figure out how to insert the access card (the grey card in the photo with the gold chip; not the credit/debit card) into the reader and then log on to the website and simultaneously answer both questions from the reader and website and enter in answers from them both into the other. Now, I feel bad. I should be wiring hundreds of millions of dollars over instead of the meager amount I moved over for the summer.

Oh, and I don't get to keep the account after the internship. How could would I be? "Oh, this? It's just the monthly statement from my Swiss bank account." So Bond! But, if the UN keeps me on as a consultant until I get my first real UN job... then, I could. Yes, I'm trying to plot my whole internship around how I get to keep the Swiss bank account. If you have suggestions, send 'em over.