Leaky Faucets

I’m starting to get a little impatient and fed up with the way American politicians talk about how to solve the energy crisis.  All of them—Republicans and Democrats alike—talk about ending our dependence on foreign oil.  It’s a worthy goal but probably unrealistic.  And really it is beside the point.  The goal should not be ending dependence on foreign oil; it should be ending dependence on all oil.  Obama continued to repeat the former showing that his ideas are not always so fresh, while only Al Gore—who is not running for anything so I guess he can speak more freely—used his Convention speech to mention his desire to free ourselves from the yokes of carbon-based energy sources whether imported or domestic.

And how do we propose to do this?  Well, again, if you listen to any of the mainstream politicians in the country, we need to find more oil or harness wind or solar or bio-fuel.  Wind and solar are obviously worthy pursuits, but the others are not the answer.  They may win elections by bringing down gas prices (temporarily) but they will not change things.

Something else needs to be done.   Something that you never hear Dems or Republicans talk about.  We need to change our consumption habits.  We need to reduce our dependence on the automobile rather than find different ways to fuel them.  Mass transit.  Bicycles.  Walking.  Of course, these means of transportation are not convenient or realistic for everyone, but they should be encouraged and increased.  Remember back in the 70s when videos of China showed everyone riding bicycles and cars were scarce?  Look at Beijing now.  It’s more choked with traffic and black smoke than most places thanks to economic prosperity and the mass introduction of the automobile.  I dare any politician to introduce tax breaks for bicycle owners into the tax code.  Only bicycle manufactures would benefit and I suspect that their lobbying power is not as strong as Detroit’s.

I don’t claim to have the exact solution.  I’m just saying that it’s time we start talking about the other side of the problem and not just focusing on supply.  It would require asking people to change their personal habits and perhaps make some sacrifices which politicians are afraid to do.  But it must be done if we really want to address this problem.  

It’s been three weeks since my last update on our trip-a reflection of how little time I had for things like blogging because of parental duties and our hectic social calendar as we tried to see as many people as we could.

We’re finally back in Cebu still trying to shake off the stubbornly lingering effects of jetlag.  Almost gone now after three days at home.  It’s strange referring to the Philippines as home and the U.S. as a vacation destination.  My world is a bit upside down for now but I’m coping.

So let us rewind a little bit here.  We spent about ten days at my mom’s house in Cleveland-which we needed after the New York City debacle.  Ana was thoroughly happy there.  She had the entire newly carpeted basement to run around with no hazards and tons of toys.  She spent hours down there every day and never fussed.  Of course, we also took her out.  We went for walks around the neighborhood and hung out in the backyard.  She had her first visit to the zoo in Cleveland.  Unfortunately, the heat was oppressive that day and many of the animals-including the tigers-took to lazing under a shady tree.  Not too exciting.  And we missed the monkeys-my favorites.  We also went to a few parks-one in beautiful and historic Hudson, Ohio and the other was surprisingly lush and vibrant Edgewater Park, just west of downtown Cleveland.  During these trips to the park, I came to realize that one of the things that makes Ana the happiest is having a large grassy area to run as fast and as far as she can and to fall down and get up over and over again.  In New York’s Central Park she had a similarly grand time.

In Cleveland we got to spend a lot of time with family and friends including some people I haven’t seen in a long while.  Aya and I got to go out a few times leaving Ana at home with my mom.  We went to see “Sex in the City,” which was better than I expected.  I went to an Indians game with the guys followed by a trip across the Cuyahoga to Now That’s Class.  We even got to hang out with Paul several times which is a bit of a minor miracle.

After Cleveland we headed back to Pennsylvania for a few days. Maki’s bakery, Cupcakes Gourmet,which just opened a few months ago, is doing very well.  In fact, they were honored by a Philadelphia area magazine MainlineToday ,earning one of the “Best of the Mainline” awards.  On our last day there Maki invited us to the award party, which consisted of a smorgasbord offering ridiculous amounts of food.  As usual I could not stop from gorging myself.  The sliced steak from a local butcher was excellent as were the meatballs from an Italian deli.  Besides Maki’s cupcakes though, I wasn’t too impressed with the desserts.

While in Pennsylvania, we also snuck back to New York for about 24 hours.  This time we left Ana at Maki’s and took the bus like the old days.  It was certainly a lot easier in the city without her but it was still a hectic day.  We had brunch with Jocelyn at Café Henri in the Village.  Best damn almond croissant I’ve ever had.  They actually don’t make it there-they get it at another French bakery in the Village but I don’t know the name.  Henri has very good entrees and coffee too.  I recognized the waitress from the Long Island City location and she remembered me from there too, asking where the baby was.  This small moment gave me a fleeting feeling of home again after really feeling that I didn’t belong in NY anymore after my last visit.  After that, we separated.  Aya went shopping with Jocelyn and I headed to 59th Street on a special mission.

I had to hit the Conran Shop to get my favorite miniature pens.  Incredibly geeky and obsessive, I know.  I get this way when I find a product a like and then find out that there is only one place in the world or only a few places that carry that item.  Like the incredibly comfortable black Ralph Lauren socks that I’ve only ever seen in a non-descript store near Ditmars Blvd in Astoria, Queens.  I think they are knockoffs because I’ve never seen them on the web or at outlet stores or any other place that carries RL and this is the type of store that would certainly sell knockoffs.  There’s also my beloved Sirius 70% dark chocolate, which I’ve only seen in Whole Foods.  (More on that later.)  Anyway, the pens are important because they are small (like a golf pencil) and can fit inside the rings of the 3×5 notebook I usually carry in my back pocket in which I write down anything and everything from to-do lists to my ideas on saving humanity, etc.

While in New York that one day, Aya had a meeting with a client and I met our real estate broker in Jackson Heights, got the mail, had to have a key made for the mailbox and cashed in about $17 worth of change at Commerce Bank’s “Penny Arcade.”  Then we met up with David at Hotel Gansevoort’s rooftop.  A total ripoff but I knew that going in.  Just wanted to cross it off my list.  We did have a surprisingly good dinner at Vento, an Italian place near Gansevoort.  

Then on to the main event, and the main reason for the one-day excursion in NYC: the Aimee Mann concert at Highline Ballroom.  I had been looking forward to this for months and was so psyched that we were able to work this into our schedule.   We saw her Christmas Show last year, but I wanted tosee a real Aimee concert without al the holiday songs.  I had pre-ordered her new album”@#%&*! Smilers” before leaving for the States in June and after repeatedlistenings I was really starting to like it.  On her site’s message board, I peeked at the playlist fromprevious shows on the tour, and it revealed a heavy emphasis on Smilers.  I was glad to be prepared.  Truthfully, though, by the time the concert arrived we were both exhausted.  We were not quite in the mood to stand for three hours, but that is what we did.  There was also an opening band called The Submarines.  They were okay but not really my thing. Didn’t really like the Macintosh-aided orchestrations and the female singer’s act seemed a bit contrived. They are like a WB-band, the type played on “Gossip Girl” to rave reviews.

Then Aimee finally climbed on the stage around 10:15.  Immediately you could tell that she had done this thousands of times before.  She had an excellent command of the audience and the material and was completely comfortable up there in complete contrast to the giggling opening act.  Between songs she also demonstrated a great sense of humor and knack for storytelling and back-and-forth with the audience.  The show lived up to my expectations although I wish I wasn’t so tired and stressed that day.  When I was younger and was a frequent concertgoer, I always had this fantasy or daydream–usually while the band was playing-that it would be so great if I could see this group perform live from the comfort of my own bed, not standing on top of each other sweating profusely or wearing uncomfortable shoes.  But that’s not reality, and I guess part of the live music experience is putting up with the crowds and the unpredictabilities involved.  I won’t go into too much detail on the concert here, but I’ll post the setlist at the end of this post in case anyone is interested.

I bought a t-shirt, which I haven’t done at a concert in years.  Then we took a cab to Trina’s place in Greenpoint, where we hung out for a bit before getting a meager amount of sleep so we could wake up early enough to catch the 8:00 bus back to PA.

This one day in the city was like a capsulated version of my ten years as a resident there.  I crisscrossed the city from Midtown to Greenwich Village to the Upper East Side to Jackson Heights to the Meatpacking District to Brooklyn and back to Midtown.  This was all within less than 24 hours.  As I walked alone from place to place random memories stirred inside me darting in and out of my mind.  Each flashback was triggered by a certain locale.  Walking in the East 60s reminded me of when I played softball for Bozell in the summer of ‘98.  We would always hit the same Upper East Side bar afterward and then I would take the long and impaired walk to the train.  It was a bit lonely after I left the bar.  Being in the Village reminded me how much time I spent down there my first year in the city, often going to hear jazz at the BYOB Small’s.  Of course, Greenpoint reminded me of visiting Paul at his place there and also of running through the neighborhood during the marathon.  The Meatpacking District was a place I frequently visited during my hotel class in 2006 as our site was there on 15th and 9th Ave.  I also thought of the marathon when I passed by the Queensboro Bridge.  I used to spend a lot of time in that Manhattan neighborhood going to movies when I lived in Astoria since there was no decent theater in my neighborhood when I first lived there and it was only 10 minutes by subway.  Of course, Jackson Heights represented the final chapter of our New York existence, for now anyway.

Okay, this post is getting way too long.  This is what happens when I don’t write for weeks.  I’ll try to wrap it up now.

We stopped in LA for a few days and spent a lot of time with Angelica and Minh and James who came up from San Diego.  Went to the Getty Center which was unbelievable and we didn’t even get a chance to see the exhibits.  Just the grounds themselves were mindblowing.  We also drove all over the city in the Honda Civic hybrid I rented.   The car was only a few bucks more per day and we definitely saved on gas.  I got a lot of comments and questions from passersby asking about the car.  I give it high marks.  We had breakfast one morning at the pier in Manhattan Beach-it was takeout from Le Pain Quotidien, one of our old favorites from the other Manhattan.  Before driving in LA, I was a bit intimidated, but now I feel pretty comfortable driving there and sort of know where I’m going with the aid of a good street map.  Tried to avoid the freeway as much as possible but got stuck in traffic a few times on the 405.

Mostly in LA we shopped.  It’s a Filipino thing.  I didn’t understand it when my in-laws used to visit and all the wanted to do was shop, my now I completely get it.  There are many things you cannot buy in the Philippines and other things that are much more expensive there.  So we spent the entire day before our departure shopping with the highlight being the trip to Costco to pick up mostly non-food items such as my cherished Charmin.  We also had to buy a bunch of items for Aya’s family at various places.  I feel like I did enough shopping to last me until I come back.  One unfortunate shopping related thing was that Whole Foods did not carry my Sirius chocolate bars.  The WF outlets in NY and Cleveland always have plenty of the white-wrappered bars, but apparently they don’t have them in the California stores, so I could not stock up until my next trip.  I had bought two in Cleveland thinking that I would get more in LA.  Of course I ate one before leaving so now I have one to last me five months or so.

Okay, I’m stopping soon, I swear.  Told you I’m obsessive.  The flight back to Cebu wasn’t so bad-guess I’m getting used to these double-digit flights.  I must say that the international terminal at LAX is pathetic.  It’s under construction and there is only one place to eat inside the checkpoints and the prices of the mediocre food are insane.  Then, after Ana was getting cranky again during the wait, we had to board a bus to take us to the plane where we had to climb the steps in order to board.  Ana was asleep by that time and slept for another five hours.  When she was awake she was pretty well behaved though we had to make frequent trips up and down the aisle where she couldn’t help trying to wake up every sleeping passenger.  Fortunately, none of them seemed to be too annoyed.  I occupied myself watching movies as usual as I have a hard time reading or writing or working on these long flights.  I can only survive by reverting to my childhood vegetative TV watching state.    Watched “Cool Runnings” with the late great John Candy, which I had never seen and was mildly entertaining.  Then “What Happens in Vegas” and “Run Fat Boy Run.”  All were entertaining to varying degrees–as I’ve said before, my standards for movies on airplanes are drastically reduced.

That’s it.  Our exhausting whirlwind six-week trip that took us to six states (seven for Aya) is finally behind us.  Many lessons learned which I hope we’ll remember next time we try to plan a trip like this.  We’re home.  Good Night Now.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Aimee Mann @ Highline Ballroom, NYC 7/30/2008
Stranger into Starman
Looking for Nothing
Freeway
Phoenix
Great Beyond
Save Me
Wise Up
Calling it Quits
4th of July
Invisible Ink
You’re with Stupid Now
Little Tornado
31 Today
Borrowing Time
Today’s the Day
Red Vines
How Am I Different?
Little Bombs**
I’ve Had It**
Deathly**

**Encore

I started writing this post while we were in New York last week, but things were so hectic and stressful that I did not have the time or energy to finish it.  So here is my attempt to wrap this one up while I’m relaxing in Cleveland.  I apologize if it seems scattered and chronologically jumbled, but I’m writing much of this a week or more after the events took place.

We got to New York late Thursday the week before last after about ten days vegging in the Pennsylvania burbs at Maki’s house.  Ana had a lot of fun playing with her cousin Chloe, although there were a few moments of tension mostly caused by Elmo-sharing issues.  I’m sure this question has been posed numerous times in the blogosphere, especially on blogs written by parents of toddlers, but I have to ask anyway: what is the deal with Elmo?  Why are kids so crazy about him?  Chloe, almost 2 1/2, is a total Elmo addict.  She listens to his songs, watches the show every day, reads Elmo books and has about ten Elmo related stuffed toys.  Ana only saw Elmo on TV for this first time last week, but she already knew Elmo from the one doll she has in Cebu.  Every time Chloe was playing with an Elmo doll, Ana grabbed it from her.  We tried to offer her one of the other 9 Elmo options, but she would only want the one Chloe had.  Naturally, Chloe wasn’t too happy with this situation but all she could do was scream; she was not willing to try to take back her toys by force.

During our five days in New York we were as exhausted as we’ve been since we left the city.  Ana could not be contained there and she is not happy spending her days in small spaces such as Nancy and Richard’s apartment.  This was her first time back in the city of her birth since she started walking, and the problem was that she couldn’t walk enough there; we couldn’t let her loose on the sidewalks, could we?  We did get to spend a few hours in Central Park on Friday afternoon and she had a grand time.  But we were exhausted, chasing her around the vast Sheep Meadow as she invaded one toddler and Caribbean nanny picnic blanket after another searching for toys or food to confiscate.  Still, it was fun being in a spacious car-free place where she could roam.

Our first morning, I was reminded of how obnoxious people can be in Queens.  It was 5 am and we were sleeping with the windows open.  The breeze was nice, but along with the fresh air you get all the sounds of the street below.  Often 73rd Street is full of honking horns and loud buses, but this time it was the drunken inane musings of an inane drunk.  There was a guy and a girl but the guy was doing most of the talking.  And all he was saying over and over again was “what happened.”  It sounded to me like a couple fighting possibly (probably) fueled by alcohol.  His repeated question reminded me of the obnoxious and scary but hilarious maniac from QPTV he fills a whole program ranting with the phrase “what’s next, what’s next, I’ll tell you what’s next.” The sound of couples fighting was not that uncommon when we lived on the first floor of this same building.  Fights over parking spots were commonplace too but lovers’ quarrels were much more interesting and usually lasted longer.  At 8 o’clock at night it is not so bad, but when your sleeping toddler is awoken prematurely you need to suppress the urge to tell them to shut the f*** up.

The day we arrived I dropped off the rental car near LaGuardia and then waited for the MTA bus back to Jackson Heights.  The Q47-which goes directly to our block-was taking too long so I started walking down 82nd Street hoping to catch the Q33 which stops at 35th Avenue, a short walk from the apartment.  After I had left the house I realized that I didn’t have a MetroCard, and there was no place to buy one on the bus, unlike the subway stations.  I was hoping they would accept $2.00 in cash.  I had never tried to board a bus in New York without a MetroCard (I always had a monthly unlimited card when I lived there) and wasn’t sure what would happened.  The driver said he could only take cash if I had $2.00 in coins.  I didn’t.  He suggested I ask the other passengers if they could make change.  “You should know by now,” he chided me.  He was right.  But I was in a cloud that day. The other passengers ignored my query.  Maybe I wasn’t loud enough.  The bus was already moving when I told the driver I couldn’t produce the appropriate coinage.  He shrugged, obviously unpleased.  “Should I get off the bus here?” I asked.  He didn’t say anything.  I sat down again.  I guess I was getting a free ride.  As I disembarked in Jackson Heights I tried to give him two one-dollar bills (this is how things would work in the Philippines), but he refused it.

Walking down the streets of Jackson Heights that first day or two, I felt like a ghost.  I didn’t belong there anymore.  My former life there had passed on.  It was eerie.  It was like there was a sign on my forehead announcing to the neighborhood that I didn’t belong anymore.  I didn’t see anyone I knew at first.  Then, later I saw my former upstairs neighbor Elaine outside of Trade Fair.  She graciously invited us to dinner at their house a few days later.  (By the way, I notice that Trade Fair changed their bags from white to yellow during the six months I was away.  You notice little changes like this when you are away for a long time.  The other major grocery store in Jackson Heights-Met Food-moved the milk section.  Most of the stores in the ‘hood are the same except for the arrival of Starbucks.  Of course, I continued to only patronize the locally run coffee shop Espresso 77 just around the corner.)  I felt better, but still not really part of the scene anymore although part of me wanted to belong again.  It’s hard living with your mind in two different places at once.  It’s better to commit to one place, even if you change your mind later.

My feelings of nostalgia, both for the people and places of New York, were strong, but they were overwhelmed by feelings of stress brought on by Ana’s complete and utter unhappiness to be there.  On one occasion, Aya had back-to-back meetings in Connecticut, so I was charged with watching Ana for the entire morning and much of the afternoon.  It was a nightmare almost from the get go.  I wanted some company so I made plans with my friend Mary to go to MOMA with lunch afterwards.  On the E train to Manhattan Ana launched into an endless screaming fit.  The entire car–which was full but not rush-hour full as it was already 10:00-was looking at me, probably wondering how a father could be so inept with his kid.  Someone offered me her seat so I could hold Ana.  It didn’t help at all.  I tried giving he milk, a snack, but she refused all offerings.  It was her teething, I was pretty sure.  (With only six teeth at 17 months, it was time for the rest to come in.)  I tried some Baby Orajel but she just screamed louder.  And louder.  Like a couple of cats in heat.  (If you’ve heard it, you’ll know the sound I’m talking about.) It was a small amount, but I think she ate it.  I got off a stop earlier at Lexington instead of 5th, hoping the movement of the stroller would calm her down.  It was raining lightly but I didn’t care.  I had to get out of there.  I hated everyone look at me either in annoyance or judgment or pity.  Walking down 53rd Street was no better.  The screaming was just as audible and the stares on the sidewalks did not cease.  Some people laughed sympathetically, as if to say “I’ve been there too” or “what can you do?”  When I got in front of the museum, there was a line of about 50 people waiting to get in when it opened at 10:30.  I was on the guest list, but Mary was not there yet so I had to wait for her.  Then I smelled something awful.  Ana had vomited all over her shirt.  It was horrible.  It might have been the Orajel that she swallowed, or maybe it was just the stress.  This only compounded my problems, as I had to change her outfit now in the middle of the sidewalk.  There was one dress in her bag but I couldn’t figure out how to get it on.  There were no sleeves.  I’m a guy, what can I say.  When Mary got there, she helped me get Ana’s dress on.  She also got some ice which Ana sucked on.  It seemed to calm her down.  We went into the museum and within a few minutes Ana feel asleep in my arms.  I carefully placed her in the stroller and she slept the whole time we were at MOMA.  She exhausted herself from her tirade.  The feature exhibit was on Dali, one of my favorite artists.  But I really wasn’t in the mood to stay long or to spend too much time reading.  I had already been to the Dali Museum in Florida so there probably wasn’t too much new for me here.  I just wanted a dose of culture since there aren’t really any good art museums in the Philippines that I know of.

After the museum, we took the train downtown for lunch in the Village.  Ana was still sleeping until we got there.  We went to a burger place called Rare on Mary ‘s recommendation.  I had some milk for her, which she didn’t want.  She had some sweet potato fries, pickle and a little of the tomato basil soup I ordered for her.  But none of this pacified her fragile emotional state.  The screaming started again, as loud as before.  There were only a few people in the restaurant, but I took here outside across to the little park by Joe’s Pizza.  I set her down thinking a little walk would calm her, but it didn’t.  She wanted me to pick her up, but that didn’t help.  I went back and quickly finished my burger. (which was pretty good but a little too rare considering I ordered it Medium.  Not sure if they are trying to live up to their name.)  Then I left and walked with Ana to Union Square to meet Aya. I thought she would fall asleep again, perhaps, but the shrill screaming started again, so I picked her up and carried her in my left arm while pushing the stroller with my right.  It was like this all the way through Washington Square Park.  Then I put her in the stroller again and she was quiet but awake.  She was happy to see her mommy and to be let loose in Union Square Park.

During this ordeal I had placed several frantic phone calls to Aya begging her to help.   At one point I left a desperate message (with Ana screaming in the background) saying to come quick before I do something bad.  I wouldn’t really do something bad to myself or Ana, but I admit the thought crossed my mind of running in front of a car.   I longed for a self-destruct button a la James Bond.  I know that is horrible but I was just in such a state that I couldn’t take it anymore.  This all happened on Monday.  That evening, even with Aya around, she had other bouts of uncontrollable crying.  I decided to leave her at home on Tuesday when I visited my old office, and we decided to cut our New York visit short by a day and leave Tuesday afternoon for a brief visit to Aya’s cousins in Nutley, New Jersey.  The traffic was surprisingly light crossing midtown on 57th street and arriving in Jersey was a welcome relief.  New York was not fun for Aya and I.  Or Ana.  She was not used to that lifestyle.  We were reminded of how difficult it could be there with a small child; for that reason alone, I’m glad we made the visit.  We also had a lot of tension with our hosts and we clearly overstayed our welcome and will not be invited back.   We’re okay with that.

While in New York, and in the U.S. in general, I’ve made it a goal of eating at all of my old favorites and gorging myself on the foods that I can’t get in the Philippines or are not near as good over there like pizza and burgers.  We had breakfast at La Flor in Woodside with Jenn and Peter on Saturday morning.   I got my usual Puebla breafast (eggs, chorizo and potatoes) and of course we got the amazing bread basket.  We also went to my favorite Japanese, Ariyoshi in Sunnyside.  I tried to go to Café Henri in the Village but it was crowded and they didn’t have a high chair.

Some other thoughts on our New York visit:

–I was happy to be reunited with the wondrous strength of New York water pressure.  I’ve never encountered this kind of perfect force anywhere else.  Some places (Arizona, suburban Pennsylvania) it is too weak; in others, it is way too strong (Moscow).  In NYC, it is perfect.
–I realized how much my carbon footprint has mushroomed since relocating overseas.  There is no citywide recycling program that I’m aware of and I’ve replaced mass transit and walking with the necessity to drive everywhere.
–I got the chance to relive some old nightmares such as racing to make a Metro-North train.  When we lived there, we almost always caught the train no matter how little time we gave ourselves.   It just worked out.  With a toddler in tow, you need to give yourselves more time.  I couldn’t run up the escalator with the stroller.  We missed the train to Riverdale, where we were attending a brunch given by Aya’s former client, by less than five minutes and had to wait an hour for the next one.
–I was reminded of how annoying it could be to have to push a stroller through the city, always getting out of someone’s way in a store and not being able to maneuver around people on the sidewalk.
–I miss the people of New York more than anything.  I haven’t really met anyone I can connect with in the Philippines.  Our backgrounds and cultures or so different.  The expat community hasn’t thrilled me either.  In New York, the people are so interesting and diverse and many have similar interests as me and are politically progressive.  We like similar music and can have long conversations about things other than sports, business or material things.  I miss that.
–It was nice to see our favorite homeless crazy guy at the entrance of the Jackson Heights subway.  It’s nice that some things don’t change.  He seems as delusional as ever.

Our arrival in Cleveland led to a rapid and complete change in Ana’s behavior.  She has been so happy here.  She’s with people who really want her here.  There’s a lot of space for her to run around and lots of toys.  We’re much more relaxed too.  Gotta go now.  More later…

After washing my hands in the men’s room at Flushing Library this afternoon, I looked for the paper towel dispenser or dryer. I was delighted to see that they had the XLERATOR model dryer. The only time I have seen this dryer previously was at the Whole Foods at Columbus Circle. The damn machine is like a Category 5 Hurricane with gale force winds. It’s the only hand dryer that you can use and actually leave the bathroom with dry hands. At least one other blogger feels the same way as I do about the Xelerator. And, by the way, this dryer appears to be more energy efficient than your average dryer.

So I haven’t posted in a few weeks. I’ve been really busy, I guess. If not busy, then tired. Or Lazy. Or all three.

Anyway, a lot has happened since I last posted. On August 30, I told Peter and Diana that I was leaving the library. Leaving the city. The country, too. I calmly explained that we’re moving to the Philippines. They took it rather well. They weren’t completely surprised that I quit, but were certainly shocked when I told them why. But after I explained the circumstances, they were actually excited for me. The next day I told the rest of my department at an impromptu staff meeting. The prevailing reaction was “Wow!!!” I must say it is a great relief to finally break the news, after keeping it a tightly guarded secret for well over a year.

I’m also really excited to move on. After 5 ½ years doing the same thing, I’m ready for a change. My previous record was about one year and 8 months. That was at McCann-Erickson-the last job that I quit. When I quit McCann in the fall of 2000, I didn’t have another job to go to or anything else to fall back on. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I just knew I hated advertising and couldn’t stand the hellish existence at 750 3^rd Avenue for another day. Three years earlier, in a similarly miserable situation (worse, actually), I quite my slavish job with the marketing research firm Information Resources, Inc. Again, I had nowhere to go. Less than two months later I had relocated from Cleveland to New York, where I was able to land on my feet rather quickly with my first advertising job at Bozell Worldwide. This time, though, even though I’ll be taking a few months off to prepare for this massive change, I do have a job when I get to my next destination.

* * * * *

What else have I been up to? Labor Day weekend, we went to Tita (aunt) Zenda’s house in New Jersey. Ana went swimming for the first time and she loved it. She stayed in the pool kicking her feet constantly for a half hour, laughing the whole time.

That same day, I got stung by a bee on my lower lip while having lunch by the pool. It killed, and was swollen until the next morning. That was the first time I was stung since I was about 12 or 13. That, and the only other time I’ve been stung, also happened poolside. That last time, I was stung on the bottom of the foot at Meadow Wood pool, where I spent much of my summers in those years. It wasn’t so bad being stung then, actually, because it meant that I got tended to by the long and lean lifeguard Millicent, who my friends and I drooled over hopelessly.

On Labor Day itself, we spent the day at the unfinished lake house of Tita Zenda on Lake Hopatcong. Despite, the utter lack of furniture, electricity and stairs, we had a great time. Let my describe the relaxing scene: the soothing breeze through the lakeside screen door, the calm lake waters, the quiet rumble of small motorboats and jet skis, the sun beaming light through the abundant windows. No television. No radio. No reliable plumbing. No artificial light. Just The New York Times Sunday magazine and the simple joy of watching my 7-month-old daughter trying to propel herself across the floor.

* * * * *

Last weekend, Aya and I took a road trip. We left Ana for two days with Tita Zenda, who seemed delighted to have her. This was the first time we left Ana overnight. We rented a car and drove up to Adams, Massachusetts in the Berkshires. It was quiet up there, and a little rainy. But just getting away for a few days was bliss. We didn’t do any hiking-in part because of the weather, but also because of my injured leg and knee. We did take in a couple of museums-the Clark Institute at Williams College and MASS MoCA, the largest contemporary art facility in the U.S. At Clark, there was an exhibit of Monet’s drawings, which I didn’t care for too much. The museum housed a trove of Impressionist works from Renoir, Gaugin and others. MASS MoCA ended up being pretty cool, although I really did not like the main exhibit of artist Spencer Finch. Maybe, I’m too much of a literalist when it comes to art, but I just can’t get into works that are abstract to a comical extent with ridiculous titles to match. (Although, I did like the Finch installation with the stacks of electric fan titled something like “breeze at Walden Pond.” Mostly, I liked it because the fans blowing in my face felt good.) I did enjoy the works by Sister Corita, a nun who did politically and socially oriented pop-art. It was basically more poetry combined with cool graphics. I looked for a book of her work in the gift shop, but they had none.

In Adams, we stayed at an ecological inn called Topia. This was a unique experience. Everything was organic including the bed sheets. Everything was pure. But not all the products they provided complimentarily were effective. When we were saying goodbye to the two women who run the place-a musician and a dancer from New York (sort of)-I whiffed something unpleasant. Later in the car, I still smelled it. It turned out that I was the one who smelled like a dirty hippy. The spray deodorant they supplied was no more useful than water. I grabbed my Tom’s of Maine stick from my backpack and applied it liberally, ending the unfortunate situation. Other than that, we really enjoyed staying in a green lodging. At times, though, I did feel like I was walking on eggshells a bit. Didn’t want to do anything un-environmental like blowing my nose.

One more thought on our trip. Being in a college town-especially one that hosts an elite liberal arts school such as Williams-is very inspiring to me. Just seeing all the flyers promoting concerts and exhibits, and the students leafing through highlighted texts en masse-makes me want do these things myself. I f only I had more time. Being in a place like this also makes me regret wasting my college years not learning. At least, not outside the classroom.

Say what you want about Al Gore III, but one thing you can’t say is that he makes his father look like a hypocrite. 

Dad may not have had that talk with his son about not smoking pot and illegally obtaining prescription drugs, but he certainly made sure that Al III didn’t drive a gas guzzler.  

By the way, who knew a Toyota Prius could go 100 MPH?

San Francisco is a real progressive city, a city that has the courage to do things that make sense.  What I’m talking about is the city by the Bay’s decision to ban plastic shopping bags.  While some European countries imposed similar laws years ago, San Francisco is the first U.S. municipality to do it.

In comparison, New York City is quite reactionary, despite its liberal reputation.  I use plastic bags when I have to, but I always try to bring my canvas NRDC bag with me to the grocery store, drug store, etc.  The cashiers at Met Food and Trade Fair and Duane Reade in Jackson Heights usually greet me with puzzled looks when I gather my purchases into my bag and tell them I don’t need their plastic.  I don’t think they can fathom the reason why I do it.  If I would explain it, these clueless teenage girls would probably laugh.  I suspect that even if the city council somehow had the inclination to try to pass something like this, and if it somehow passed despite the grocery lobby’s attempts to bribe the many centrist council people, enforcement would be pathetically lax, particularly in the outer boroughs.  What a pity.

People in the rest of the county may think that San Francisco is a city of rainbow-flag waiving queers and Haight-Ashbury burned-out hippies, but there in fact people there with really progressive ideas and the clout to enshrine them into law.

As I was going through a huge pile of mail and shredding it the other day, it struck me how hypocritical some of the environmental organizations are with the gobs of paper they send me.  Sierra Club is the worst.  The envelope contained at least 10 different pieces of literature.  Aren’t they supposed to be saving trees?  Even if its recycled paper, its still a tremendous waste.

I finally used my new NRDC “Save the Polar Bear” canvas tote bag to buy groceries.  I went to Met Food to buy some organic produce and chicken last night.  The young Hispanic cashier probably thought I was a freak when I answered “no” to her query: “You don’t want no bags for nothing?”  It was actually quite easy carrying my purchases home in one bag, and I felt like less of a hypocrite than I normally do when I let them double bag several plastic bags.

I don’t know why I’m such a stickler about recycling, but I am.  It drives me crazy whenever I witness improper recycling ,even though deep down I suspect that once the items intended for recycling are collected by the City of New York or any other municipality they are disposed of in a way that does not conform to my expectations.  Regardless, whenever I drop something in the bins located just across the lobby of my building, I tend to eye the recycling efforts of my neighbors, not in a nosy way, but to check how well they are following the regulations.  I do this not because I’m one to always follow the rules set forth by the government or other authorities, but because I genuinely care about conservation and the environment.  Often I see plastic items that don’t belong such as flimsy take out containers.  (In New York, a plastic item must have a 1 or 2 on the bottom to be of recyclable grade.  I suspect most people don’t know this and if they do don’t bother to check.) 

What I find most reprehensible is when I see something that is unrinsed because I go through painstaking efforts to rinse my bottles and cans before dropping them off including removing the limes from empty Corona bottles.  Yesterday, as I dropped off some wine and beer bottles from the dinner party we hosted the previous night, I noticed a grievous infraction of the unrinsed variety.  Someone, and I suspect the new guy who lives next to the recyling closet, put an urninsed milk carton containing the residue of curdled and spoiled milk.  I know it was spoiled because I smiled it.  Sick!  All this person needs to do is rinse it out and remove the cap which is not of recylcing grade.  If they just bother to read the poster on the wall above the bin, they they would know exactly what to do.  Pure laziness.