Happiness

Step Inside Happiness

First there was a chalk arrow on the sidewalk pointing towards happiness followed by a circle of happiness for anyone to step inside.

Morning rush hour on 6th Avenue at five minutes to nine. I giggled as I stepped inside, amused by its silliness. Then I waited around to see how many more ventured in for a moment away from their hectic mornings.

No one else did. One more paused for a picture, but he didn't step inside. I was a few minutes late for work.

Mid-afternoon I had another chance at stepping into happiness. Then I waited. I didn't see anyone else even noticing happiness was right there, or if they did, they chose not to step into it.

It was a crowded sidewalk on 6th avenue between 18th and 19th. It's a busy thoroughfare with a constant flow of foot traffic in both directions. The chalk drawing was at the edge of the sidewalk in the area generally reserved for street vendors. It was on a clear space between a hat and cellphone accessories stall and a cluster of free newspaper stands. There was plenty of room around it, but like happiness, you had to step outside the flow to reach it.

After work, I had one more opportunity. This time I stayed in there for about a minute, smiling and watching people walk by me. This in New York is crazy behavior.

Since I wasn't on my way to or back to work, I moved a few feet away and took my time. I was baffled at happiness' invisibility. When I started getting cold I decided to count. I'd wait to see if at least one in a hundred would step inside.

If happiness were right there, wouldn't you want to stop for it?

I was up to 87 when a couple in their early twenties came by holding hands. He was on the phone heading in a straight line and she pulled him towards the sign. They stopped and stared at it. They let go of their hands. She stepped in and turned, looking around her in a defiant pose. He stayed outside, only the tip of his converse grazing the circle of happiness. Still on the phone, he was non-committal.

Now is the Start by A Fine Frenzy

I Can See Land by The Big Cats

Thinking of Arkansas.

Circle by Swan Dive

"Used to be that love didn't matter to me and I could take it or I could leave it and never miss you. Came back around and I finally found what I wanted and what I wanted was to be with you."

5 Years Time by Noah and the Whale

Oh, there'll be love.

This Too Shall Pass by Ok Go

In praise of Rube Goldberg machines.

Change

Books to be curbed.

After a difficult winter last year, I did a massive spring cleaning. Though I try to keep the clutter level low, last year I realized there were many things that had escaped previous cleaning attempts.

I needed a real work space at home and since moving was out of the question at  the time, I attacked my apartment trying to get enough objects out of my life to be able to fit a real desk, one where I would enjoy working.

My old desk went on craigslist as did a few other things. A bookstore was very excited to get boks in Spanish that were not translations and a good amount of my closet ended up at my local thrift store.

I also found that I'd been keeping many things for the wrong reasons. There were many objects I'd kept because I thought they were either valuable or thought they could be useful in some way. But instead of being valuable to me, they just kept me from having room for a desk.

Sadness hiding in the back of my closet ambushed me. There was my cat's IV bag which when she passed in 2009 I'd kept thinking it might come in handy if anyone I knew had a cat having trouble keeping fluids. I couldn't throw that away! I could save a cat's life! It was also one of the last things of hers I had left.

Abby liked reading the New Yorker from under my shoulder.

Out it went. If a cat needed fluids I could administer them, but it would be better off with a bag that hadn't been sitting in a closet for years.

I started inspecting every single object, thinking what it meant to me and wondering whether I wanted it in my life. If the answer was no, then it had no value to me and it went out. I kept finding things to throw away until summer came and with it some welcome distractions. I never made it to the bathroom or the kitchen, but with some trips to Ikea and Benjamin Moore, by the time I'd stopped I was happy with the changes in my apartment.

Now I'm moving. Though I thought I'd gotten rid of all that I could, I'm finding out there's still plenty more where that came from. Though I'm excited about moving, I'm not looking forward to packing and unpacking. The fewer boxes, the better. With that in mind, I'm again throwing away all that is excess.

I spent the first three years of my life in an oil camp in Venezuela. My dad had a job in a rig there and we lived in a little house with a a dirt garage I used to crawl out of so I could go help myself to tomatoes from our local grocery store. When my mom got pregnant with my brother she decided she'd had enough of small-oil life in Venezuela and we moved back to Colombia. It was a hasty move and the new tenants were moving in on the same day we were moving out.

It was some time before my mom realized a box with our family's photo albums with its negatives (remember those?) had been left behind. She never got it back and she misses it to this day.

As I start organizing things in preparation for the move I'm finding many things I didn't even remember I had. Things that if I'd lost in the move I'd never notice. So I'm looking at things wondering if I want to pay to keep them. Three shelves of unread books? Gone. Books I know I don't want to re-read? Ditto. If I want any of them again, I can find them and the cost of getting them again will likely be less than the cost of keeping them. Because keeping them might be holding me back.

Looking forward to whatever is next.




My apartment is on the market. Check out the video the realtor made. Dramamine might be required.

70 Million by Hold Your Horses!

How many works do you recognize?

Turn me On by The Grates or Your Welcome to MAJOTV

Welcome to MAJOTV. Nothing original of mine here, just videos I like. Enjoy! Here's one by the best not-quite-flat-mates I could have ever had. One of these days I'll go visit them at Southside.

It's also a good running tune.

As Colombian as coffee

Sometimes when I start speaking passionately about coffee, I invoke the Colombian defense. Every once in a while someone will point out that Colombians don't drink coffee, or that Colombians don't drink good coffee.

Yesterday I attended a social media event (my very first industry conference!) and during the break I talked to someone who mentioned that. According to him, and he knew this because of a friend who had been to Colombia, Colombia has no coffee culture.

It's true. At least if you're going by American standards. You're not going to find a coffee shop per corner with long lines. You're not going to see people heading to work, travel mug in hand.

When I first came to New York, a friend from Brazil was showing me around. It was a snowy winter (remember those?) We were freezing in Times Square. He wanted to show me something weird, so we walked over to a street cart and bought coffee. It came in a cup, and it had a lid.

It was one of those tabbed lids that you fold back to open. The warmth in my hands my welcome, but I couldn't figure out the lid. Was it to keep the coffee warm while to you went with it somewhere?

No. More often than not the lid is just so you can drink coffee while walking. That's the part that doesn't make sense.

Handmade cup by Ming. This is what I use everyday for my morning coffee.

Coffee is more than a jolt of caffeine. Coffee is to be savored. Coffee is to be had fresh and in ceramic cups. It's best with family or friends. A close second is to have it in the morning, at home, while listening to chirping birds. That's how I have it most days.

You stop what you are doing, and you enjoy your coffee. 

Who needs coffee shops or fancy equipment when you've got Arabica beans and a pot of boiling water?

If your lifestyle doesn't allow that, then you wait for the coffee man. He'll come around at some point. He walks with a set of coffee thermoses on his shoulder. He'll be calling out his song. When you hear the song, you flag him down and he'll come to you. He'll pour you a cup and sit with you until you're done. You'll have your coffee. He'll pack up his things and go his way after having enjoyed coffee together.

Coffee man rounding up my parent's block. 

Meryl Streep's Taxi

It was late but still light out in that way that dreams have of being two things at once. The air was warm when we came out into the evening. It was beautiful out, the kind of high summer evening when dusk lingers.

We were on 10th Ave, somewhere in lower Manhattan. My cousin Eduardo hailed a cab and I got in first. Even before my other two cousins Andrés and Maria Luisa got in, I'd already gotten into an argument with the cabbie. He did not want to go to Brooklyn and was letting me know it very clearly. I got out. We could have made him take us anyway - it's the law! - but it was better to wait for another cab than have to spend time with such an angry person.

Kind of like this but without the suitcases.

As if to prove that good things come to those who don't put up with bad behavior, another cab came driving by in the other direction. It was neither a yellow cab nor a liveried car. It was a happy off-white with a black line. It had a taxi sign and it slowed to a stop when I hailed it. Crossed the street running before the driver could change her mind. My cousins were following close behind me.

When I got there I couldn't tell her where we were going. I just stared. "Well. Are you getting in?" Meryl Streep asked me, punctuated with one amused and perfectly arched eyebrow. I didn't even answer. I just ran to other side and got in with my cousins.

Meryl looked good behind the wheel.

She was wearing a white blouse and glasses. Her hair was loosely tied back. She looked like she was enjoying a private joke pulling a prank on strangers. I was too shy to sit in the front. Maria Luisa, who was last, ended up there but she was exhausted. She just followed us in and passed out as soon as she sat down without a glance towards our driver.

Meryl was charming and hilarious as she drove us. I thought of my co-worker K. who would be so jealous when he heard. We were all chatting nonsense like old friends by the time we hit the Brooklyn Bridge. When we got to my place it seemed only natural to invite her in. My apartment had a few more rooms than it does most days, which made sense with so many cousins visiting.

We were serving tea and teasing Maria Luisa because of her reaction when she woke up and realized Meryl was sitting there with us when I woke up.

Dreams can haunt us. Dreams can soothe us. I usually go home to Barranquilla in late winter. It helps me cope with winter darkness by giving me an extra strength dose ecuatorial sun and family warmth.

This winter I was not able to go home which has given me uncharacteristic spells of homesickness. It's nice to know I can still see some of my family in my dreams, along with Meryl Streep.

Cabbies can be mean. Life in New York City can sometimes be harsh but you never know when something wonderful comes along. Maybe even hail Meryl Streep in a cab.

Worldsick

When born, most Americans get inoculated against the futbol passionata. The futbol passionata is a powerful virus that affects the nervous and motor systems and, like malaria, comes in cycles.

Most other countries in the world don't bother vaccinating their citizens. Even though it does have some downsides and its effects are occasionally deadly, its benefits far outweigh its dangers.

As implied in the name, those affected by the futbol passionata benefit from higher levels of passion. They also have a greater appreciation for sportsmanship, the beauty of human movement, and, in most cases, beer. Furthermore, they are likely to find joy and an opportunity for play whenever a reasonably sturdy spherical object is nearby.

Futbol passionata also provides an outlet for nationalist feelings that does not involve killing your opponent. It provides the agony and ecstasy of the battle, the redeeming aspects of arduous struggle without leaving bodies on the field.

Due to its cyclical nature, those under its influence are often affected at the same time. Thanks to that, friends and strangers get to vibrate in unison.

Right now we are undergoing one of its most powerful cycles: the World Cup.

This cycle has been strong enough to weaken inoculation in some Americans as was evident at the Bell House this past Saturday. South Brooklyn is in its grip.

As some of you know, I'm the Overflow Magazine World Cup Correspondent and I'll be documenting the spread of this epidemic throughout South Brooklyn bars and restaurants. Drop me a line or leave a comment if you want to join me for any game.

Please keep me in your thoughts as I undertake this arduous task and pray I manage to come out of this without a face tattoo.


PS. Here's a Lego replay of the US vs England 1-1 win from last Saturday.

Just add water

It works for seeds, it works for humans. It's good before runs, it's good after. Can be applied topically or internally.

Topically it helps us not stink. Internally it helps us not be thirsty. Beer helps with that too, but it's because beer also has water.

Lately I've been having trouble figuring out how to get enough water in me. I'm a water guzzler. I don't take lady-like sips but tend to chug it loudly, entire glasses at a time. I love cold water, but can't drink ice water - it tends to end up on my shirt.

If there's water handy, I'll drink it, but if it's not right there, I can forget to get myself any until the sides of my throat are glued together and my skin feels like it's made of paper. One liter bottles are my favorite, but disposable plastic ones make me feel guilty and stainless steel ones make my back hurt. Will have to figure something out.

I've been blogging less and running more, but I think if I add water I'll be able to do both.

Stretching is good

My sciatica was talkative this morning when I woke up, so I decided to stretch before my run.

I don’t stretch enough. How little I stretch was clear to me once I got down to the floor for some action with the foam roller and found this guy (see picture) hanging out under my couch.

He’s been since evicted, along with a few other relatives of his that took offense when I got out my broom.

Crossword

Last Friday I was on the train working on this puzzle. The New York Times crossword, edited by Will Shortz. I was filling in words left and right, up and down, feeling like a badass wordsmith while doing so.

I was having an internal giggle thinking how impressed anybody who might notice me would be (ha!), since they would assume I was working on that morning's puzzle - the Friday puzzle, second in difficulty only to the gigantor weekend ones.

I wasn't. This was the Monday puzzle, which I had grabbed on Tuesday at work. (I'd also grabbed the answers posted on Tuesday but I haven't looked, I swear!)

It's Tuesday again and I haven't finished it yet.

This is my life now. I feel like I'm having Monday's breakfast on Tuesday, re-heated on Friday, only to realize there's still crumbs left a week later, I skipped lunch, and there's dishes in the sink. But I'm getting better at it.

It took me a couple of weeks to get used to writing and editing while standing, but I didn't take anyone's eyes out while I was developing that skill. But I still sometimes step some toes: so sorry Mr. Hipster Dude with the dark green bag and the ironic 'stache. I'll be more careful next time.

Three runs and a nor'easter

The hardest part about going for three runs within twenty-four hours was figuring out what to wear. I'm not above pulling out from the bin a dirty and slightly stinky running shirt when needed (not that I do this often, oh no), but I draw the line at wearing something that is still damp from the previous run.

Since this weekend's runs featured a nor'easter, I wasn't only dealing with my own sweat, but also the sky's sweat pouring on me. I was completely soaked after my first run. For the second run I was annoyed at not being able to wear my favorite gloves or my favorite tights, but I had something to wear. For the third run there was nothing to do. It was either admit defeat and not do my three runs in twenty-four hours, or put on still damp running gear.

Eeek!

Fortunately, once I started running and warmed up enough to sweat I couldn't tell old dampness apart from new dampness.

The runs themselves were fun. There was a new pond in Prospect Park at the bottom of the small hill across from the baseball diamond. The ducks had already found their way there and were doing upside down dances with their tails and feet flapping in the air. Some trees had decided it was time for spring cleaning and had dropped branches.

But best of all, I managed to do them and all body parts are still in fine working order. Next weekend, another three runs in twenty-four hours, adding mileage this time.

Why am I doing this? Because I'm Woodstalking your Girlfriend, my pretties!

Heliotropica

Dear Sun,

It was so nice getting to spend time with you lately. I know you must be tired after shining for days and days, but I wanted to let you know I miss you.

Things are better when you’re here. You give everything an extra spark and there are more smiles to go around.

I know there are some who don't like you, they might even block you and hide from you, but please don't take it personally. You are awesome and there are plenty of us who love spending time with you.

Hoping to run with you this weekend,


Majo

Round 2

It’s a good thing I like grits and congee because that’s all I got to eat yesterday. For dessert: stained glass jell-o and homemade condensed milk ice cream.

Last week condensed milk made headlines in the New York Times. Glad to see it get the recognition it deserves, I decided to buy myself a few cans and have fun with them. First on the list was stained glass jell-o. Next was condensed milk ice cream. Could making ice cream be as easy as the New York Times claimed?

It was. But I found it too intense, so I added spices to cut the taste: cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. I brought both to a party on Saturday night where they were well received.

After Monday night’s close encounter of the dental kind, I was apprehensive when heading back for round 2. It was a different dentist this time. All she had to do was file one of the fillings to set my bite right again and she did that in less than a minute.

She did not react when I mentioned I was very upset about my appointment the previous day. She didn’t ask me why. Later when she asked me why my jaw hurt so much I told her about how I had received services on Monday night without the benefit of being under anesthesia. I told her the anesthesia was taking time to take effect and I hadn’t been allowed to wait for it to numb me.

“Sometimes that happens.”

Yeah. Not going there again.

My evening was saved by the last of the stained glass jell-o and ice cream. I can chew now, but my mouth is still sore I can’t open it wide enough for large bites – so I’m being all lady-like in my eating.

And using all this as an excuse for more ice cream.

Just breathe through it

Those are not words you want to hear your dentist say.

It's not that there was no troglodyte infested cave in my tooth, it's that he didn't see it until I pointed it out a third time. The minute he saw it, he admitted I was right and he proceeded to get the excavation tools.

We can do both today, he said. You're not going to need anesthesia for the little one, but you're going to need some for the other one.

He gave me a shot near the cave. While that took effect, he went to work on the other side of my mouth. When he came back to start working on it, he noticed it was still too sensitive so he gave me another shot and tried again.

A cold blast of scraping rotating pain went through my tooth and straight to my eyeballs leaving sparks ricocheting in my skull. My eyes flew open as my arms gripped the chair and I grunted so I wouldn't scream.

Sorry, he said. It'll just be minute. Keep your eyes closed.

I'd like to take a moment now to apologize to all those of you who are afraid of dentists. I now realize I'd never had a bad experience at the dentist and I had no concept of the pain you had gone through.

While growing up I always saw the family dentist - my mother's cousin. He pleasantly chatted away with my mom as he worked on my teeth. They caught up on the lives and minor scandals of distant relatives as their chatter lulled me into indifferent boredom. When we were done, we would go downstairs to the Heladeria Americana and have a frozomalt under the almendros.

When I moved to Bogotá, I never bothered to go to the dentist. I just waited until I visited my parents back in Barranquilla, and I had only had one other dentist in New York. I'm only now realizing how gentle she was.

So I shut my eyes and he went in again with renewed vigor. I held on to those armrests until I almost bruised them

You know that cottony feeling you get from dental anesthesia where your mouth and lips feel like they've grown three times their size and your skin is made of paper? I didn't feel that. I was not numb at all and I tried to tell him.

Don't try to to talk right now, he said. I know it hurts but I can't give you any more anesthesia.

After digging out a few more bucketfuls of debris, he decided he was done. He patched things up and sent me away, telling me not to eat anything that required chewing for the rest of the day.

I paid and headed out, glad to have been released alive. I was a few blocks away when my mouth started going numb. By the time I got home my lips felt they were the size of Texas and I didn't know where half my face had gone. Anesthesia, I could have used your help a little sooner. Why did you take your sweet time stopping by?

No food for me last night - just some broth. But no food for me today either. I can't chew, I can't open my mouth too wide and even yawning hurts.

Oh, and my bite is off. It looks like I might have to go back tonight for round 2.

Laparrotoscopy

You never know when you might need a parrot perched on your shoulder. Mine had been recently showing its age and it was time to do something about it. After retiring from his duties as mascot for The A.C. Pirates, Parrot had let himself go: he had lost some feathers and those that remained hung loosely.

With the help of shoo goo, last night I performed a laparrotoscopy on him. There's no cure for baldness, but I think the feather-over becomes him. I'm glad to report he's recovering well and will soon be back in shoulder perching shape.