Sunday in the Park

I can't go into the park in front of my home yet—it's still being renovated. But I can see through the fence and it's looking great in there.

A Day at Church

There's a church down the street that I go to sometimes. Not for god stuff—I'm not a religious person—but for community events, like pie contests, art exhibits, and the weekly used book sale.

Books are fifty cents for paperbacks and a dollar for hardcovers. This can be for brand-new releases, rare books, or trashy airport novels. All are priced the same. Children's books are free. And good stuff shows up every week.

I go to the book sale frequently, usually with intent to distribute. I like to get rid of my books once I've read them, either by giving them to friends or to the book sale. I seldom keep books. I feel strongly that books are to be read, not to gather dust on a shelf.

Reality is different than intent, of course, and I can't remember the last time I left the book sale without a purchase. I figure if I get out of there with less than I went with, I'm doing all right.

Last time I went, I showed up in the last 15 minutes of the day. I whizzed around the room, glancing at tables to see if there was anything I couldn't miss. As always, I finished my circuit with a quick look at the travel section. I always stop there in case I can score a copy of Dik-Dik for fifty cents.

I'd just missed my chance today. A woman had a copy of Dik-Dik in her arms. Surprised, I blurted out "I wrote that!"

She looked surprised too, and we exchanged uncertain grins before I shuffled off to the fiction center, wondering what I'd hoped to achieve by telling her that.

A minute later, one of the volunteers who mans the book sale came over.

"You wrote this?"

"Yeah."

"Will you sign it for the woman buying it?"

And then it was all okay. I signed it, the purchaser and I had a nice chat about the value of public transportation, and for good measure, I gave her a Dik-Dik postcard, since I didn't want her to think I was some freak who wandered around claiming I'd written whatever book a stranger had in her hands.

She seemed like my kind of person... I hope my neighbor liked the book.

Energy Conservation

I'm getting quieter and quieter these days, because I have a birthday coming up in a week. I must, therefore, spend all of my spare energy on cultivating a magnificent sense of despair. The only thing I hate worse than New Year's is my birthday. Actually, now that I've worked out to spend every New Year's in a foreign country in the company of strangers, it's not as awful as it used to be.

Which means birthday is numero uno disappointment every year. Until I forget to plan ahead for New Year's, at least.

Another thing that is taking up a lot of my time is me trying to figure out if I should buy property or not. I lucked out the first time, cluelessly stumbling into a future gold mine in my mid-twenties. I was slightly less clueless the second time but just as lucky. Third time in this case is not necessarily the charm. Where property is going isn't clear. Inventory is massive, but things have started moving. But moving enough? Not yet. Can I time the market? I wish.

I've been looking all over the map. Just to give you an idea, here's a contrast. Check out cheap and tiny versus massive and expensive.

I'll have the latter, please. For my birthday. That would shut me up.

But How Would They Know?

I've been searching for decade-old graphics from MariesWorldTour.com, poring overing CDs and hard drives.

And I think I've found what I need (a map drawn by Don Hudson in 2000) for my Flash project, but I also found a stash of jpegs from an earlier trip through Southeast Asia.

This sign was on a temple in Bali in 2000. I bet it's still there.

Language Difficulties

I've mentioned before how I have problems remembering which fragments of language to speak in which country. For example, I asked for pineapple juice in Arabic in Colombia. Most of the time, I just launch into some kind of mash-up of European languages mixed with a lot of arm-waving and pointing. People feel sorry for me and try to understand.

But I really outdid myself yesterday morning.

I was walking to the train to work. There's a shopping mall between me and the PATH train, right next to the Jersey side of the Holland Tunnel.

An older man with a ring of white hair and glasses stopped me. He definitely looked out of place with his shorts, knapsack, and comfortable shoes. He was probably a tourist staying in one of the nearby hotels. The JC hotels are popular with Europeans, who don't seem to mind having to commute one stop to Manhattan.

"Where is... toilet?"

"You have to go up the escalators and go up to the food court. Wait... francais?"

He nodded. Yep, a French tourist off-track between his hotel and Manhattan. I'd just answer him in his own language then.

"Aqui," I said, pointing just above to the food court restrooms.

Too polite to acknowledge that the stupid American had just answered him in Spanish, the Frenchman nodded and headed to the escalator.

And I walked to the PATH train, laughing at myself all the way.

Cleaning Off the Kitchen Table

It took me two months to get around to making this bag for a small Australenglish girl named Daisy. I hope she hasn't gone off dogs and moved on to dragons or ponies.

Spring on 8th Street

I wish my phone camera could have done justice to the pink hue that tinted the streets tonight as I walked home from the train.

An Easter Story

I was supposed to do my homework for Flash class today. But instead I awoke to GOTOWORKNOWRIGHTNOW and FILLOUTTHISFORMNOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOWONWOWNOWNOW...

My "Er, it's Sunday and it's Easter" had no effect. I did drive, at least. Figured I'd have a better shot at getting in under the end-of-day Kuwait-time wire if I didn't waste time walking to and from the train.

So instead of doing my homework, I scrambled together a little Flash project AND Easter project, but alas, it's nothing I can turn in tomorrow.

Big Rock Stony Mountain

See this big rock? I'm going to go check it out this spring. I think it's Snake Hill, a famous big basalt rock near Secaucus Junction train station. I've never gotten a real close view of it before due to being located south of it and seldom having a reason to go through Secaucus. (Last night I was going to Montclair to see Wilco perform, but I was bored and left an hour into it. I was far more interested in Snake Hill and also in the bus ride through Newark that I took on the way home.)

This rock used to be 25 percent bigger but it was quarried and the basalt went to build structures in nearby places like JC. I wonder where I could find the basalt near my apartment. Maybe it went into the base of some of the railroad embankments or into buildings.

Nowadays, there is a park around Snake Hill. Well, to the north of it. South of it is the NJ Turnpike and the railroad. But the park has trails and a canoe launch. I'm fascinated with the idea of catching a train out of Penn Station and being in this park in ten minutes. Though I might let laziness win and just drive there.

Marie's Dilemma

Babcock made this while sitting at the other desk in my office a few days ago.

I didn't have a chance to correct his typos, or run the de-age and de-cranky filters on my images. It is, however, a fairly accurate documentary.