Atlas-Reading Grown-Ups

My sister forced everyone she met to look at my 3-D World Atlas & Tour. Even our mother. And then she took their photos.

And put them on Facebook. Have a look.

Work Stuff

Wall Street Journal. Day job.

Headless Me

Kelly sent me some photos of me at the bookstore appearance.




Strangely, I had no head in several of them. But here, in this shot, I had a head.

Guest Blogging

I'm the guest blogger right now on the Chronicle Books blog.

I did a little self-cannibalizing of my own blog and works, and I also took the opportunity to dispel the myth of seeing the Great Wall from space.

Think about it. How ridiculous is that? The Great Wall is, what, ten feet across? Sometimes it crumbles and almost disappears into the landscape. It's not even as wide as your house, unless you live in a NYC railroad, in which case your 8-foot-wide apartment is probably in a large building that is way wider than the Great Wall but duh, cannot be seen from space.

Okay, sure, bring a telescope with lots of power and you can see anything. We're talking naked eye here.

I personally have not been to space to confirm all of this, and I think in China it's a "fact" that the Wall can be seen from space, but I went to a lot of trouble to look it up and NASA astronauts agree—nope, can't see it.

Knitting With Marie

I went to my second (and final) knitting class last night with Roberta and Michael Kraiger. There's a new coffee shop dedicated to knitting in JC, so it seemed wise to take advantage of it while it is still here. This new shop could surprise me and be in business in a year—it sells coffee, after all—but it does seem bit too nichey to survive. Knichey. Whatever.

I was discouraged. Roberta showed up with a good six inches of knitted red scarf, perfectly stitched. Kraiger had done even more, though less perfectly. I'd had a great deal of practice and "casting on" (loading up one stick at the start) and the "knit stitch" (the basic movement that is the basis for knitting), because I'd screwed up about 12 times, and had to rip out what I'd done to start over.

But every time I finished a few rows, I'd end up with a big knot. This repeated itself in front of the others. I pulled the mess off the needle and dangled it in the air.

"I'm good at sewing," I whined plaintively. "You can't be good at everything."

"She's a perfectionist." Kraiger dismissed the teacher's concerns when the teacher worried that she hadn't taught me well.

I glared at him, thinking "You'll pay for that Monday, when you are my assistant at work."

I hate knitting. I am a lousy knitter. That's fine, I suppose. I can leave knitting to those who appreciate it.

Photos of Iran, the Sequel

I posted more photos of Iran.

Take a look.

Photos of Iran

In 1998, I visited Iran.

This trip was part of a longer expedition, an overland truck trip from Kathmandu to Damascus. You know about overland trucks, right? Remember in Stalking the Wild Dik-Dik, when I went on that Dragoman truck around Ethiopia? Each truck is modified to have bus-style seats for passengers, a small fridge, a card table, a small library, safes, overhead nets or racks, storage space for luggage, camping gear and additional storage on top of the truck, and kitchen gear underneath. Trucks also carry spare parts and spare water/fuel.

Anyway, Americans were not getting into Iran independently or with groups when I signed up for the Kathmandu to Damascus overland truck trip. But I had a plan.

I'd read on this here Internet-thingy (yes, kids, we had Internet in 1998) that the way to get into Iran was to hire a special visa expediter. I hired an Iranian travel specialist in Switzerland and he did it! He got me a visa.

I didn't run around advertising my nationality inside Iran, but I didn't deny it either. Most people didn't seem to mind.

I posted some photos of Iran here and I'll scan in more tomorrow.

I Got Clout

Wasta is an Arabic word that makes the world go 'round in the Gulf. It means influence, or clout, or connections. Need to get paperwork through a ministry in a hurry? You better have wasta. If you don't, it's acceptable to know someone with wasta, so long as that person will contact their connections on your behalf.

I had no wasta of my own in the Gulf, but I knew people who were well-connected. This translated into a kind of semi-wasta for me, where if I had asked the right person to ask another right person, I could possibly have accomplished something.

Here at home, it's not always so different. And here at home, as in the Gulf, I have a terrific shortage of my own wasta. This might be due to my working class childhood, my choice of colleges, my disrespect for normal society, or my career choices. Whatever. I don't have wasta. Sometimes I don't care, because in my heart of hearts, I naively believe that living with sincerity, hard work, and honesty will pay off one day. Though this belief is challenged so frequently that I am having a hard time sticking to it as I age and wilt.

Wasta is kind of like being on the guest list. All the time.

For months now, we've been trying to switch my office's storage unit out of the name of a colleague who left the company and into my name (since I have the corporate card that the bill needs to go to).

D, the kid who does support work in my office, called Manhattan Mini-St0rage some time back.

"I need to change the name on the storage unit."

"The guy whose name is currently on it needs to come in. So does the person whose name it's being changed to."

But that wasn't going to happen. The former colleague has a job too...he cannot go to the storage place during the day. And I have made myself so busy after work that I can ONLY go during the day.

And so we waited. The former colleague got a new bill for the storage unit.

"Tell D to take care of this!"

Uh...hmm. What to do?

D called the storage place again.

"Is there some other way to do this?"

"No."

"What about...?"

"No."

"Can't I...?"

"No."

He gave up. Another week went by.

"Take care of this," I groused at him.

"What should I do?"

"I don't care. Do something. Fix it." I'm a firm believer in continuing to push until you get an answer you can deal with. And I didn't want to spend my time chasing this.

He called the storage place again. Somehow, he got a manager on the phone.

"I need to change it from one name to another, please, isn't there something you can do? I need to put the unit in the name of my editor in chief, Marie Javins."

(pause)

"Marie Javins? You mean the writer who travels all over Africa?"

Turns out the manager of the mini-storage place owns the garage next to my single-car condo-garage. Minutes later, he cheerfully agreed that the ex-colleague could write a letter, and I just had to come on down with it, and he'd get all the paperwork sorted out.

I have wasta at Manhattan Mini-Storage.

What a waste of wasta.

Today's Bookstore Event

My in-store appearance for the 3-D children's atlas was unlike any other event I've ever participated in.

Reminder

I'll be speaking and showing photos tomorrow at Book Culture on the Upper West Side of Manhattan at 11 a.m.

It looks like rain.

Come on out and make a girl feel useful, okay?

Book Culture
536 W. 112th St (at Broadway)
11 a.m.
Children's section (upstairs)