A Bit Belated

I'm not actually sure that I ever explained the title of my blog in so many words, but it essentially comes from two things:

1. when people (usually in Ireland) would ask me where I was from, I eventually boiled down my response to the simpler "California, by way of Boston," rather than choose one or the other or try to explain how living in a city, even in a dorm, for four years and then flying from there to somewhere abroad makes you tend to say you come from that place.

2. For the forseeable future, every trip I take will likely be either to or from Boston, for reasons including but not limited to:
A. a lot of stuff that I need is still there (my sweaters, tax paperwork, the rest of my shoes).
B. a lot of friends are still there at school, or have stayed around the city, or lived around the city in the first place
C. any future going to Europe plans made by me will see me flying from the east coast; if i am for some reason flying from california, i will stop for a few days on said coast, because there is no way I can stay sane on a 14 hour flight anymore, even with a layover. Especially with a layover.

Oh, and incidentally, I'm not afraid of any of you potential tax paperwork thieves out there, because first of all it's very unlikely that anyone besides my parents and my parents' friends will actually even read this, and they're all richer than I am, and second of all, Boston is a big city, and I didn't tell you where I left the paperwork. Though if you do go to Boston and you look under the third bench from the northwest corner of the Commons and you find a waterproof envelope that seems to be full of papers, do me a favor and make sure the tape is still holding?

Actually, I know someone who did that. Not with tax papers, but with a secret note that is (purportedly) taped under the railing of a bridge in Budapest. If we had gone to Budapest, we were supposed to retrieve the note and put another in its place. But we didn't go to Budapest.

Halfway Home

Ahh, the United States. It may not have post-partition Eastern Bloc charm or as many readily available pretzels, but being back here, albeit for only 90 minutes at this point, has reminded me of many things that I missed, but forgot that I missed. And since it has also reminded me of things that I did not miss to the extent that I blocked them out upon exiting the country, get ready for another pair of contrasting lists. Exhilirating! And this time, with numbers!


I totally missed, but didn't remember to actively miss while away:

1. My electrical appliances can now plug DIRECTLY INTO THE WALL. Formerly, they all shared the two converters our apartment contained.

2. No more Arctic Bathroom due to "windows" that may as well have been made of cellophane, or possibly a small elf standing in an empty window frame to keep things from falling out the window, and to strongly recommend to bugs not to enter in the window, but doing absolutely nothing to combat cold or draughts.

3. Showers here, by and large, stay hot for MORE THAN 5 MINUTES. This is my favorite fact, ever.

4. Wall to wall carpeting. I remain shocked at how fast dust accumulates on a white-painted wooden floor. Really fast, if you were wondering. It's not an exaggeration to say that I would sweep the floor, leave the room, and come back an hour later to find new, intrepid dust bunnies rushing to occupy the clean territory.

5. Here, when I think I might have heard someone on the street or in a restaurant call my name, it could possibly be someone I know actually calling my name. Relatedly, I know more than three people in any city that I'm remotely likely to visit.


I blocked out, and didn't remember until stepping into the international arrivals hall:

1. We make all non-US-Passport holders be fingerprinted and photographed upon entering the country. Sure, it's a matter of "national security," but for some reason no European country feels the need to do that, nor any other country I've heard of, though I would be willing to believe there are a couple. But I'm also ready to believe that the other places that fingerprint incoming tourists are countries with the kind of strict laws that people here laugh at, like Singapore. And if there are still truckloads of people sneaking over the borders every day, which there are, fingerprinting at airports is not going to stop anyone who really wants to enter the US unnoticed. Okay, now I'm done. At least, until...

2. There is a framed photo of President The Rest of America Has Finally Started To Admit That He Screwed Things Up on the wall of the arrivals terminal. My reasons for thinking he looks like a shaved monkey are only a tiny bit influenced by my opinion of him as a president and an intellect; honestly, I hope whoever took that picture is hired by a talent agent at a zoo, because he could seriously cash in with his ability to make his subjects look intensely simian. But anyway, my point in especially not liking the placement of said picture is that 90% of foreigners, or at least Europeans, pretty strongly dislike Bush [This statistic has an error range of +/-10%, and comes from my experiences in four very different European countries (Germany, Ireland, Switzerland, Poland) talking to people both of the friend and stranger varieties], so greeting them with his picture would be like greeting me with giant photos of broccoli. Which, incidentally, Heathrow airport DID do to me. I wish it were a joke, but I would never joke about broccoli.

3. Employees of Boston Logan Airport, whether or not they can speak other languages, only address people in English. True, we're not part of a polyglot economic union, but still, it's the international arrivals terminal of a major airport. Yelling at Czech people because they got in the wrong line (not even any signs are in English) is not very helpful if they don't understand you. In Basle every airport employee has to speak at least three languages; in German airports, they speak at least German and English. But maybe airport employers can be more selective because of the severe unemployment.


My first wacky almost-mistake today was when I was about to try to haggle with my cab driver and set a price to Molly's house instead of using the meter. In my defense, the driver's attitude and accent both reminded me of recent cab rides in Poland. And actually, the price was exactly the same, only in Poland it was in Zloty, which is like 1/3 of the value of the dollar. But I was tired, so the cab was worth it.