Poetic Sundays: the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls

Did I mention my epic road trip plan? I think I did, but here I am, mentioning it again. It is going to be amazing, in large part because it's my first chance to see large swaths of the U.S. It was starting to get a bit silly representing America and never having seen most of the middle of it.

So here I go, across the Midwest, and I am excited. However, the first stop will be the home of my alma mater, and in honor of my return, here is a not-too-flattering portrait of it for this week's Poetic Sunday. Oh, and anyone who mentions that this is once again not at all on Sunday may be flogged. Thank you.

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
e.e. cummings

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters, unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things—
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
. . . . the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy.

Summer vacation!

It feels so funny to be hanging out at home all summer--it feels like summer vacation during school, sitting home all day while everyone else is working. So far things are shaping up nicely--most importantly, we found out James will be starting A-100, so we are very excited to finally be a tandem couple! Now I finally feel like I can relax after planning (over-planning?) everything around lining us up. It looks like we're both Beijing bound, and I am thrilled.

Otherwise, lazy days... lots of shopping. I forgot how amazing outlet malls are. My mom and I raided Woodbury Commons (right over the border into NY State). I finally bought a nice pair of sunglasses! This might seem like a little thing, but I take it as a huge mark of faith in myself. I have hereby committed to stop doing dumb things like dropping my sunglasses into the toilet at the DMV.

I am dorkily excited for my first day at FSI--maybe because I feel like I did being at home during summers in high school, I am treating my return to FSI like the first day of school or something. Meaning that, without really thinking about how lame this was, I started planning my outfit because I'll finally see everyone in the cafeteria again!

Okay, enough. Friday we depart on the massive road trip, and I can't wait! Just us and the open road, you know? Did I mention that James and I are among the two worst drivers of all time? Be afraid...

Poetic Sundays, not on Sunday: The Cathedral Is

I just found a gold mine of wonderful poems that I can't wait to go through--two people on the UC-Berkeley network put together a massive compendium of all their favorite poems, and it's a treasure trove of delights. Some days I start to become rather upset that all my favorite poems aren't in one place, and this site is proof that one can easily sit down and put them all in one place, if one chose.

So here is the first one I clicked on in their compendium because John Ashbery was the first author alphabetically--and it made me laugh out loud. I once saw John Ashbery read in a small room at the Harvard Club of New York, of all places, and found him a delightful older gent--I think he said funny things. Of course, I don't remember any of them, so I'll just file this anecdote under "FAIL" and move on to the poem.

The Cathedral Is
By John Ashbery

Slated for demolition.

More New York

Back in NJ to find broken A/C... yuck. Of course, it appears someone broke the A/C on the entire city of New York... hello, heat wave!

We had a nice stay but remembered that it's much nicer to have your own place in New York than to just be visiting. But we had fun nonetheless. Tuesday we had dim sum at the always-fun Jing Fong in Chinatown before doing some shopping--James can attest to my wide-eyed delight while wandering around CB2. It was like coming to an oasis after two years in a desert... a desert of no affordable modern design. And we finished the day off by having dinner with good friends at a new bistro in the Lower East Side, Lina Frey. I would recommend trying it, if only so the waitstaff can look less lonely--it's good food at great prices in an attractive atmosphere. And plus, it's not mobbed like every other restaurant in the area.

Yesterday I had lunch with the lovely Faye from my old job at David Chang's new addition to the Momofuku empire, Ma Peche (sorry, I'm making absolutely zero attempt to put in the correct accent marks). Stuff was tasty, and I am sure Midtowners will appreciate the branch of Milk Bar, but the food was much less adventurous than at Chang's other outposts.

Then we attempted to visit MoMA but found it overrun by European schoolchildren--when did New York become completely mobbed by Italian tweens in slutty outfits? We ended up just shopping instead--who needs culture? Then we hit the weekly Speakeasy party at the Museum of the City of New York before pretty awesome tacos at Cascobel (can I just say how glad I am that decent Mexican seems to have finally come to New York? About time).

And today we picnicked in Central Park! Here we are!

The end. Tomorrow's adventure: outlet shopping. God bless America!

The return

Back for more lazy sporadic blogging during home leave... having a great time in New York, as expected. Yesterday we had a fabulous day--lunch at the amazing Austrian Cafe Sabarsky, a visit to the Neue Galerie to see the Otto Dix exhibit, time with family, and a restaurant week dinner at Tocqueville with friends. Yum, in more ways than one.

While I continue to marvel at the conveniences of America, the NY subway does not fall under that umbrella; in fact, it continues to edge into the category of things that suck. It's gotten worse in two years!

What else? We ate amazing tacos at Dos Toros (a welcome addition since I left New York), toured the Cooper-Hewitt design triennial (all focused on sustainable design--pretty interesting stuff) and hung out for Friday drinks on the lawn afterward, made a pilgrimage to Momofuku (Ssam Bar and Milk Bar--corn cookie YES), saw the movie Cyrus, devoured Daniel's Bagels (with whitefish salad!), and spent time with lots of delightful friends.

But despite all this, I feel incredibly stressed out about James's situation... I am worried it's not going to happen for September, and completely furious that he could have started in August if it weren't for many mistakes having been made. So yeah, I need an outlet for the rage. Anyone know how to kickbox? It would be nice to hit things--I would settle for playing squash, at least. Number one thing I've missed about Dhaka (not to reflect badly on all the other good things): easy access to racquet sports.

More reflections on a return home

Also, one more thing: in Dhaka, I considered myself relatively imperturbable. Okay, Dhaka friends, do hold your snickers, but I did feel at the time that I was getting through a known hardship assignment with relative equanimity. Life there wasn't that tough! Really!

But it's only being back home that I realize how much I was always looking over my shoulder there waiting for something unpleasant. Maybe I am just super wimpy, but for me the single biggest change is not constantly feeling like I'm about to find a massive, upsetting insect or arachnid at every turn. I know, I have a thing with bugs, but it is still sinking in that the hand-size spiders can't get me anymore. I WON. Mwahahaha.

I also realize how very helpless I was there. I stopped going out to my laundry room (it required going outside) because once there was a cockroach near it, so I never did laundry on the weekend when the housekeeper wasn't around, even if I wanted to wash something. I never knew where the trash went outside, because who wants to get started down that road??

But as ill at ease as I could sometimes feel in my own home, going out was much more difficult. Traffic was really insane--it's not just a boo-hoo whine to say so. It seriously impeded a great deal of social and economic activity in the city.

Also, this is not really Dhaka's fault, but more a function of time zones: I am totally shocked now every time I realize that the normal times I am awake and functional are actually times when things are open! I can call people, businesses, customer service lines at a normal time! This really boggled my mind.

So I am not sure what to say. I really liked my time in Dhaka. In some ways, it's really nice to be home, where everything is easy. But at the same time, it's not exactly interesting. I think that may be a larger reflection of my inability to live in the suburbs--I think my interest level is due to go up around, oh, tomorrow.

Update: Still in Jersey

Yeah, that is the thing with blogging from NJ. It's still the same as a few days ago. Of course, I am still marveling at all the creepy dolls in my parents' guest room and at all the touches that never seemed quite so cheesy and country when I was younger (ceramic goose, anyone?).

We just went to the restaurant where I hostessed and waitressed for a while in high school and college. In some ways, it looked really different; in other ways, it was exactly the same. Which kind of sums up everything around here. But tomorrow we're off to New York for a few days of life in the big city.

Okay, obligatory back-in-America post: guys, there is so much stuff here! The section of one aisle devoted to salad dressing alone is like 25 feet long and packed. It's amazing. And everything is so big! Suddenly, my local supermarket looks like a warehouse. Also, not that I drove much in Dhaka, but even driving there one day a week now makes driving here seem like the easiest thing ever. What?? There's not like a million pedestrians and rickshaws and carts and such nonsense coming at you every second? Child's play.

So we are currently planning an EPIC road trip--four full weeks, going through New England (Boston and Maine), Canada (Quebec City, Montreal, Toronto), and the Midwest (Detroit area, Chicago, Madison, WI, Bloomington, IN, Columbus, OH) before stopping at Gettysburg (I love history!) on the way home. Any tips would be much appreciated! On facebook, it seems like Portland, Maine, of all places, has really struck a chord with everyone. And I think we'll be there only one night!

So those four weeks might be a blog hiatus. Or they might not. After all, I would certainly have something to write about.

"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now"
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've gone to look for America

The endless journey

Whew. So here I am, back in New Jersey, suffering from jetlag and possibly the beginning of a cold (but at least I now have easy access to Cold-Eeze! Seriously, they work.).

In case anyone cares, the saga of my looooooooooong journey home:

Flight one: Dhaka to Hong Kong on DragonAir. We depart on time, all seems well.
Movie: The Bounty Hunter. Hmm, I think, this movie is kind of cute, but I definitely wouldn't watch it again.
Crazy cloud turbulence descending into Hong Kong. I try not to screech aloud. Then we land. I get through it by thinking of how much fun I'll have seeing friends in San Francisco on my rest stop there.

Flight two: Hong Kong to San Francisco on United.
They start boarding the plane, get about half the people onboard, then announce that due to mechanical issues, we'd be delayed two hours. I trek, like, a mile (I don't even think I'm exaggerating--that is a huge airport) to the free internet to inform James of this. Come back at the appointed time and find out we are another hour delayed. Go eat bad sushi at the food court, don't bother informing James, which turned out to be a good move.
We come back, all board the plane, sit there for a half-hour (at least I took a nap), and then are told that the plane is not actually fixed yet after having been hit by lightning, won't be fixed in time for us to take off that day, and that we'll leave tomorrow morning.
At this point I start to sob. Small children start judging me. Boo on them. At least they put us up in the airport hotel; instead of attempting to see Hong Kong, I nap and undertake a massive effort to reach James and the people I was supposed to see in SF. Ugh. On the plus side, the dinner buffet at the hotel was WAY better than it needed to be. This was comforting at the time.
Next morning we finally take off. Once again, no seat-back screens so we all had to watch the same movie, and it's The Bounty Hunter again. Try to embrace zen and Gerard Butler's dimples.

Third flight: San Francisco to Newark on United. Am sort of delirious while waiting for five hours at SFO (like, I thought there was an earthquake at one point. This was not true. It was just me being rather unsteady.), buy a memoir called Mennonite in a Little Black Dress for entertainment, actually quite enjoy it. About two hours in James arrives and we wait together. Finally, flight takes off almost an hour late, super smooth until the end when it's the death-turbulence! Awful. Also, two really dumb women tried to use the bathroom five minutes before landing and had to be told that if they didn't sit down immediately, the pilot would have to circle again, delaying us further. Idiots.

So, the end. What did I get out of this experience? Another book to weigh down my luggage and an ability to recite lines from The Bounty Hunter verbatim.

Poetic Sundays: Musée des Beaux Arts

Quick update--I am safely back in New Jersey and already not sure what to do with myself. Must rush off to see my grandma, but I wouldn't miss a Poetic Sunday! This is one of my favorites--I will post a photo of the painting that goes with it, and then I'm afraid you're on your own!



Musée des Beaux Arts
by W. H. Auden


About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

Poetic Sundays: A Supermarket in California

I was thinking of having something patriotic for the 4th of July (and yes, I am now a day late). The poem that always jumps to mind is Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing," but the truth is I've always hated that poem. It's one of those ones that I feel like I need to read the Cliff's Notes to remind myself why anyone thinks it's so great.

So instead, I opted for Allen Ginsberg's "A Supermarket in California," his response to Whitman's legacy. Maybe it's not quite patriotic, though I am a firm believer in dissent as patriotism, so I think it is. Another favorite has always been Ginsberg's poem "America," but it's long. So not today.

A Supermarket in California
By Allen Ginsberg

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

UGH

At the office. On the 4th of July. Yuck.

Not that there's really anywhere else to go--somehow the American Club missed the whole "barbecue" concept and instead decided to go in the dinner-dance direction. Um, fail. You don't have a dinner-dance for 4th of July! You'd think the people running the American Club weren't even American! Oh wait...

So here I am, finishing up work, taking care of business, etc. etc. I leave in just over three days! The flights home sound totally endless, unfortunately, and apparently United doesn't even have seat-back screens. Ew. Plus, we all know my feelings on air travel. A big thumbs down.

So happy 4th of July, all! While you'd think it'd feel extra special to represent your country overseas on this day, our official reception already happened, and now I'm just left with a sleepy day off (any day off is good, don't get me wrong... not that I'm not working) surrounded by lots of people who don't celebrate this holiday. Kind of like how Christmas was.