Over the ocean and far away

Using other people is wrong, right? Especially when “other people’ is you. When somebody is using you. I hate being used. It makes me feel stupid, it makes me feel betrayed, it makes me angry. And the worst part is that who is using you is usually someone closer to you than most.

Is using other people morally wrong? I think so. Have I ever done it myself? Let’s see. When I was in school I would ask a boy who had a crush on me to help me with my homework. Was I using him? I wouldn’t say so, right? I mean, I needed help and he was willing to help. This can’t be wrong. When is using “using”?

At my work light go off at 7 pm, on the assumption that everyone has left the building…
i have learnt this some time ago… it’s annoying, because you have to get your bottom off the chair and work in darkness over o find the switch and switch it back on…

At 10 pm the garage doors go down, shutting all the exits. I learnt this just yesterday and it was quite a scary experience.

Here I was, alone in this huge huge building in the middle of nowhere. Trapped inside, i was imagining horror scenario. The building comes alive and bites me back for all the times I neglected to switch off the desk light when going home. Or the garage walls start closing in on me in revenge for leaving the car engine running the other night when it bumed into the wall. Or some indescribable creatures come asking for my soul.

Brief, I was getting slowing insane, as I was driving in circles, in our huge, circular underground garage, searching for an escape route. and I found one: One small opening in the wall.. And off I went!

Only to find myself in this terror forest, dark and menacing. Everything that I loved in the daylight was becoming my worst nightmare yesterday.

Now this will teach me a lesson about staying so late at work!

4 hours before the show begins… yes, we are that lazy or that bad planners, if you will! We only got there 4 hours in advance… and got really good tickets! Aren’t we lucky?

Well, now we have 4 hours to kill. Just across the theatre there is a nice café, with a huge line outside… let’s check it out! I hope it’s for the best brunch in town, hopes my hungry stomach!

There is a blackboard with some words neatly written on it, just outside the café. And while we approach it, hoping it’s the menu, the cruel reality hits: we are in the land of the famous… This café is the celebrity café and these people are lining up to have their photo taken with some star… A glance at the list of names and I am just as confused as before… I’ve never heard of any of them… but they must be somebody. This just proves my ignorance.

We move away and find no-celebrity café, have a late lunch and then return to the theatre for more street entertainment.

And now, the best show I’ve ever seen: the pre-show auction. They are auctioning very creative tickets to various shows: ticket that allow you backstage, tickets that come with the main actor handshake, tickets that include flight to London etc… I can’t believe my eyes, my ears, my anything… I must be dreaming. Did I really just witness those 2 ladies bidding against each other for the chance to appear in a show? How exciting! Someone just paid 1500 dollars for that…

But, ladies and gentlemen, the hot ticket of tonight is actually 2 tickets, followed by on-stage appearance, followed by dinner with the main actor and endless possibilities there after… And the starting price is only 500… And here we go! 1000! 1500! 2000! 2500! Now I am all ears, sometimes I have to remind myself to breath as the bid goes above 5000! And then 6000! 7000! 8000!

No, no, no! This can’t be true! It just sold for 8500!

I am curious to see who the lucky winner was. But the bidders were two black men, talking incessantly on their mobile phones. I hope it’s not the main actor trying hard to appear popular…

Well, that’s all for my Broadway experience… We did see the show. And it was funny. But the auction was far better.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch.  And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

When I first received the invite to the Wetdown Party I discarded it, thinking it was porn spam. When later in the day, a senior manager mentioned the party during lunch, I gulped down my chicken Caesar salad and hurried back to my desk to re-read the email.

So, what’s a wetdown party? Well, once in a while the firefighter station buys a new engine and they invite firefighters from the region to come for its baptism… or something like this…

Sounds innocent enough… and they promise there will be many hot firefighters and this is extra incentive.
In New Jersey, they don’t have professional firefighters. They are all volunteers. Actually Pete, the guy at work, is a volunteer firefighter in his free time. They do receive a lot of training, but it’s not what they do for living. Sounds cool: a second life, far more adventurous than life at Merck.

He invited us to experience some real American party. We arrive in the blare of the sirens. There it is a shiny yellow brand new fire truck getting wetdown…

I thought all firetrucks were suposed to be red? Pete says tehy can be any color, actually green is trebdy these days… but yellow is not bad…

Many people, beer flowing, food (American) given away… Music, happy faces…. Photos with the firemen… More photos with more firemen… while the firetreucks come and go… And the party goes late into the night, but we must go…

I’ve never heard of anything like this in Europe… But maybe it’s because I never had a firefighter friend…

Hasta pronto!