Springorama!

First bbq of the season-- check! I love sun. Happy Spring everyone! Naw Roz Pirozbet...or something. This time last year, I went out into the hills and saw kites flying and women and girls in sequined dresses and grass and picnics in the grass and circle dancing with tribal cries. This time this year, I am at Rittenhouse Park lying on a cement ledge with eyes closed, pretending to be on a beach with the sound of ocean waves being artificially created by my own mouth and vocal chords. I am surrounded by babies and dogs and buskers with lovely voices and buskers with awful voices and hippie hula hoopers. I am fascinated by the way babies have this internal centrifugal force that drives them around tree barks or poles, making endless circles. I tried this once, and it was fun. One can learn a lot from babies. The most unattractive thing about babies and toddlers is that they often have snot oozing out of both nostrils, and they don't even know it. It means nothing to them. I saw this the other day when I passed by a group of daycare babies in a red mega-stroller piled high with little ones. My thoughts wander freely.

In time, five minutes of sunny, warm bliss is up! I open my eyes, see branches zig-zagging across a clear, blue sky, jump off the cement ledge and head to ballet. I could be anywhere, getting a job anyplace, making plans to travel the world, going to school in sunny Santa Barbara where real beaches lay and ocean sounds are made by ocean waves. But I've found something better than all this. I always assumed it would be a boy that would anchor me, and the desire to have a family with said boy and all that nonsense. Instead, I've found something better than all this. True, it might not last forever, but nothing lasts forever. I'll find a way to make this work money-wise. I'd always been envious of those who had a single passion that they could throw themselves into regardless of the risk, just because they loved it so much that it comes to define who they are, and their very name is associated with it.

"Oh, Holly? She's the opera singer. Rit? He's the film guy. Sujit? Born physicist. There is nothing else he'd rather do." And that son of the Iranian artist, a born graphic artist, so much so that the creator of Tom & Jerry would cut off his hand so that he may never stop his work. I've always wanted to be defined. I believe this is where my curiosity for everything under the sun originates. I've spent the past 4 years since graduating college trying to define myself with this notion that the world was my oyster, and I was free to explore anything now that I was free from the bonds of school.

It's risky business throwing your entire being into one thing, or one person. You could come out of it with much gained but nothing really to show for it. You could come out alone, or penniless, or just an amateur. I can think of a number of things in my life that hold this risk: photography, Adam, and now ballet. Languages. No...that will definitely take me somewhere. Anyway, I don't regret any of it.

Just have to bide my time and put ideas into action, which is always the hard part.

A Series of Paintings; Math & Ballet

I performed on stage tonight for the first time in...since high school. Which, believe it or not, was a decade ago. My "dance", called "body cartography", was a post-modern creation: 7 or 8 of us stood in a line, dressed in colorful street clothes, and jumped up and down for 5 minutes straight, then side-to-side for another couple minutes. I have a feeling we looked like a bunch of skittles bopping around on stage. It was very silly and fun and aerobic. Afterward, we stood still and focused on our organs, then muscles, then sent stuff out of our skin toward the audience. I could feel a bead of sweat pouring down the left side of my face as my skin tingled and radiated.

After the blackout, I skedaddled into the wings while the rest of my fellow jumpers walked right into the audience and took a seat to enjoy the rest of the show. From here, I photographed a stage performance for the first time ever! The first thing I had to figure out was how to compensate for the gajillion-watted spotlights. That's an issue I've never had before in photographing tango events-- too much light! It was nice because it gave me an opportunity to stop down my shutter speed and capture movement with clarity rather than blur-- artistic blur, but blur nonetheless.

As I crouched in the wings with my camera, the music changed to something outer-space/star wars-like, and suddenly I felt like an explorer on a strange planet, observing these alien avatar creatures crouching like beasts and leaping in sync and climbing on top of each other, forming a tangle of arms and legs. It was such an incredible experience.

Lots of people say that with a camera, you can't experience the fullness of reality because you're too busy viewing through a lens and clicking away. Sometimes this is true, but other times, it's not so much a lesser experience than a totally different one. Cameras make you see things differently. You are in a separate plane from reality-- separated by a lens-- and yet more focused on the details that go unnoticed by people whose view is not boxed in by the size of the viewfinder. The viewfinder frames scenes in a particular way so you start seeing reality as a series of pictures or paintings.

During the subway ride to the event, a girl sat across from me, constantly changing the position of her head as if she couldn't find a comfortable spot, but always using her hand to support her head, and eyes always downcast. She looked so incredibly tired and sad, and yet, I was struck by how much she resembled the old paintings of the Madonna, or whatever random woman model...her pose was utterly classical, incongruously set within a dirty subway speeding through the 21st century.

Last weekend, at a dance bar called Time, Jess and I were waiting at the counter for water, when suddenly she pointed out this incredible vision of a girl's face lit up ghostly white next to the DJ's table. This mask-like paleness contrasted sharply with the surrounding blackness that permeated the space around her. Her huge eyes stared out from disturbingly long, black eyelashes. Maybe the shadows lengthened them, I don't know. It was haunting at any rate. For a brief moment, I felt slightly more intoxicated, as if maybe the absinthe was doing its hallucinogenic magic after all.

The other night, before I left the tango studio, Meredith beckoned me toward a car seat set amidst the piles of coats and bags near door. Inside this car seat was the most adorable half-Indian, half-white baby boy, sound asleep, while his parents tangoed the night away. How was it that he was undisturbed by all the activity and noise outside of his little bed-on-the-go? One could only guess what he was dreaming about with all these grown-up figures waltzing and whirling around him in the dim orange light, and tango music seeping into his subconscious mind. As Meredith and I lingered outside of the studio, we watched amazed as the couples on the other side of the glass danced in time to music that we could not hear. This is what it was like to be deaf, I thought. To see people moving to imaginary rhythms, as if they all shared the same internal clock. Hey it's like watching an ipod dance party!

The other day, after ballet class, we fell into conversation with our instructor, and he told us a very interesting thing about first arabesques. First arabesque, where both the arms and the legs are opened toward the audience, is the ballet equivalent of e^ipi + 1 = 0. In other words, it's considered to be the most beautiful position in ballet, the very symbol of classical ballet. A good first arabesque position gives the illusion of a very long line from fingertips to toes, and this is what makes arabesques so beautiful. "Ballet is about living line," as our instructor once said.

For some reason, as he explained the intricacies of this symbol of ballet, I suddenly thought of a lecture I once had in an undergraduate math course. We were going into projectile geometry, and the professor compared the point of infinity to the point where the parallel lines of a railroad track appear to meet. Of course, in reality, they would never meet, given that they are perfectly parallel lines. Just as you would never reach infinity, even if you spent your entire lifetime plus everyone else's lifetime counting. But one could comprehend infinity as a point using this railroad track analogy.

Now I find myself wondering why the discussion about arabesques made me think of projectile geometry and the railroad track analogy. Mathematics and ballet share this obsession with ideals. The ideal proof...the ideal line...the most beautiful equation...the most beautiful pose. Rigorous...precise...detail, detail, detail...

Chopin & Sylphs

Also, Happy 200th birthday, dear Chopin! In honor of this piano master, we went wild in Saturday's ballet class. Instead of the usual center work, we learned a gorgeous 19th century Romantic-style routine, and danced it to a Chopin Nocturne from La Syphilis ballet. Okay, okay, it's "Sylphide", not "Syphilis".

The 19th century romantic-style is characterized by a soft, wilted look, so throughout the routine, we danced as if we were sea coral, with arms rarely fully extended. When our instructor showed us the beginning pose, the one man in the room asked "What's the guy version of that pose?" It was funny-- especially when our instructor replied "I suppose we're not sylphs" in his sarcastic way--, but in all honesty, the guy is already dancing around in butt-hugging leggings, so what's he afraid of? Embrace your inner sylph, Men!

Iraqi Campaign Tactics

...and they took to the streets and lavished the populace with gifts of grains and peacocks and cakes of all manner...

“This is good, try it,” said Meluk Abdul Wahab, as he ate Mr. Hashemi’s cake. But Mr. Wahab was not exactly won over.

“I think I will vote for Hashemi,” he said with a smile. “But if someone else gives me something better, I will vote for him. Because after they win the elections, we will never see them or get anything from them. So I don’t care. I will vote for whoever gives me more.” 

--'Iraqis Awash in Gifts from Candidates', NY Times

I don't blame them. I love free food just as much as the next Iraqi. Free food, instant gratification...what more could a citizen ask for?

Marching with Grapes

Yesterday evening, the night before Adam's departure for DC. As we walked north toward Market Street Station, the brassy blares of a marching band sounded strangely close by. We followed the noise down to Broad street, and as we neared the small band of musicians, Adam realized that it was no ordinary band.

"Hey, it's a klezmer!"

"What's a klezmer?"

"It's for celebrating purim!"

"What's purim?"

"It's a Jewish holiday!"

"What does it celebrate?"

"I don't know."

With this insight, we joined the eclectic band of musicians-- among them, a tuba player, a trumpet player, an old grizzly-looking man carrying an adorable, wide-eyed hobbit-like child with a head of wild curly blond hair, and a young boy dressed like a giant grape with purple balloons attached to his body. A woman asked the grizzly old man what purim was.

"It's to celebrate the saving of the Jews from the Persian King!" he shouted over the colliding brass notes.

Were they saved by a bunch of oversized grapes? Anything was possible in the Biblical Age. We left the merry band at around 13th street and headed to the metro. It was time to go tango! The guest instructors this time, Adam and Ciko, were really great teachers with an intuitive style of teaching and learning. She was beautiful and sweet and he was charismatic and goofy. He also loved "that's what she said" jokes, so I liked him immediately. He was obviously a fellow "Office" fan.

I don't want to dwell-- this is what I decided, after all. Yet, whenever things like this happen-- a friend moves away, or you move away-- it's another reminder of the passage of time and how it will never return in the same form. As you lie in the present, you can't help looking both forward and backward at the things that used to be and the things that will never be again. That's all the dwelling I will do here.

 

  

  

 

  

 

 

Korean Compliment

"Wow, your skin is so white, it's like tofu!"

--from the Korean Romantic Comedy, "200-Pound Beauty"

Actually, they translated dooboo as 'bean curd', not 'tofu'.

Cause & Effect

Yesterday, as Adam and I were walking past a car at an intersection, it accidentally honked its horn, which made me scream out in surprise, which made Adam scream because he wanted to scream at the car too, which made the girl across the street from us laugh because she saw us screaming at the car.

Orange & White, Misty Light

It's 4 in the morning and the snow is coming down with a vengeance. I peeked out the bathroom window and watched amazed as the gusty winds blew gales of snow off of the rooftops and into the air lit dimly orange by the street lamps. Woosh! Woosh! Wow...the sky was strangely bright and in the distance, I could make out a faint sketch of the top of a city skyscraper blotting the otherwise uniform white with an eerie bluish light. There is magic in the air tonight.

What's the snow equivalent of "it's raining cats and dogs?" I believe it's something like, "it's snowing bunnies and polar bears." Indeed, the heaps of snow covering the cars and streets below are already a foot high and rising, rising!

Split Pea Soup Insanity

What would you wish you'd done before you died?

If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?

Watching Fight Club makes me want to do crazy things! Instead, this afternoon, I sat down at the bookstore cafe with a bowl of split pea soup. I LOVE split pea soup! Mainly because all the peas are disintegrated and all you taste is the delicious, savory ham flavor that has been infused into the broth during hours of simmering. After devouring the soup, I immersed myself in my current read: "Teach Yourself Persian". The craziness will come-- ain't no sense in rushing it.

Capturing Movement

What a crazy night! Sarah and I tramped through the snow in our dozen layers (each), approaching our destination. We stood before a gray stone-brick wall that rose into a pointed building facade with foggy, arched windows lining the bottom. One of the windows was boarded up and painted red and hung with a sign that read "Mt. Vernon Dance Space." Snow-laiden stone steps led up to the arched entrance door, wooden and painted scarlet.

The plan was to take my camera with me to the big tango event and alternate between helping behind the scenes, taking photos, and dancing. I ended up just taking pictures all night and learning so much about my camera. It was my first true attempt at photographing movement-- purposeful blurring, angling the camera to create interesting lines, allowing an arm to stray into the picture, focusing the available light to create moods...I'm just beginning to understand the technical intricacies of photography, and yet, it's one thing to finally grasp the intricacies-- a whole other thing to actually master them.

In between the workshops and the milonga (the actual dance), I re-bundled up in my dozen layers and ventured back out into the snow to walk the few blocks to Adam's place. The snow falling outside the dungeon-like building was breathtaking, as was the cold. The two of us are in a strange place-- neither here nor there, but someplace where we can both be happy. Talk about compromise. After this compromise was reached, we fell into our old, comfortable routine of cheesy pasta dinner and TED talks. TED talks are pure gold. If there is one TED talk everyone MUST watch, it is this one about the intelligence of crows. It blew me away, really. I have an incredible respect for these creepy, pesky creatures now. If there is a second TED talk everyone MUST watch, it is this one about the face of Leonardo da Vinci. Also blew me away. So by now, I am floating in the vicinity of Andromeda.

After drifting back to Earth, I tread the snowy grounds back to the dance hall and found the milonga in full swing. Tango is an interesting form of dance-- not spicy and sexy like salsa, nor goofy and acrobatic like swing, but it has a subtle grace and requires the utmost co-operation. You have to be super in-tune with your partner in tango, or else you'll miss the tiny hand gestures and tugs that allow you to know your partner's next move. It can be frustrating, especially because everyone has a natural tendency to think that their partner is the one doing it wrong, whatever "it" is, when in reality both must make adjustments. The most annoying phrase in tango is "it's okay", which is something I hear often as a semi-beginner. As in "it's okay, you'll do better next time, I'll be patient with you in the meantime." It's like a Jesus-lover patting you on the shoulder and saying "You're not a Believer, but it's okay, Jesus loves you," or "I'll pray for your salvation." Argh. Don't. Even. Bother.

What draws me to tango though, despite the frustrations, is its complexity and its semi-balletic movements. Of all dances, there is nothing that captures my fancy more than ballet. It's such a serious, strict art, but when I watch a professional ballet dancer move even in the most casual manner, I'm just overwhelmed by the absolute grace with which a human being can move. I don't think everyone is affected in this way by ballet. Many would find it boring or too serious; they'd prefer something cool and modern like hip-hop. I love hip-hop, but nothing exudes beauty like classical ballet. And if you've found an instructor who teaches "cognitively"-- why we're positioned at this angle in relation to the audience, how to use torque in pirouettes, how ballet is about "living line", and so on...and who is kind besides, you just never want to leave! Even if it means enduring horribly freezing winters and hot, humid summers.

Back in the dungeon, though we witnessed a different style of tango by the guest instructors. They weirded me out at first. She started running circles around the room and he danced around waving his arms like sea coral, bending and twisting. Then she sprawled on the floor and he did handstands. What the hell had I walked into? But eventually, I got over their overtly hippy ways because they turned out to be really fun teachers and their style of tango was lyrical and theatrical-- a bit cheesy, but still lovely and playful. In the first routine, he through up his hands at one point as if to say "I surrender" while she hung on to his neck. In the beginning of the second routine, she started out by kneeling and (what I interpreted as) tracing abstract designs into imaginary sand like the folks of Vanuatu. What really got me was how for the performance, he wore a dress jacket with a giant, red, heart-shaped garland embroidered on the back. In the end, I was sold.

Lovely Lady

Three days ago, I was on week 4, day 2 of my hundredpushups.com journey. On the 28th pushup of set 5, as I was mentally willing myself to do one last push-up, a pool of drool escaped from my mouth and landed on the yoga mat below. I'm such a lovely lady.

Meaningful Gestures

I just read an article on one person's personal discovery of Nicaraguan Sign Language (NSL) , and thought it was worth posting on both fronts. From the vivid descriptions of some of the signs the author encountered, I was struck by how poetic sign language seemed to be. Though lacking sound, sign language takes advantage of other modes of human expression involving the speaker's face, hands, body, and the space in front of the speaker's body. Signed language involves the human body much more intimately than does its spoken variety.

Also, whereas spoken language is linear- we can only make one sound/word at a time- you can sign a whole thought in one fluid movement. Moreover, despite this capacity for non-linear expression, NSL still contains syntax- word order- like regular spoken languages.

The natural development of syntax and other linguistic structure in NSL makes a case for Chomsky's "universal grammar" view of language- that language arises from a specific part of our brain that is hardwired for language creation. On the other hand, its dependency on the human face and body and the surrounding space could make a case for the "embodied cognition" view of language- that language arises from general cognitive processes, which are wholly dependent on the fact that we are trapped in a human body and are thus limited and shaped by our physical experiences within these human bodies.

I was equally fascinated by the discovery of Signwriting, which is a writing system for sign languages invented by, of all people, a ballerina named Valerie Sutton. Two years before inventing Signwriting, Sutton had invented Dancewriting in order to facilitate her dance training by standardizing how dance positions and movements were recorded on paper. Then she went on to similarly create a notation device for Sign Languages. Signwriting is heavily pictographic, which makes me wonder whether it will develop into a much more abstract form as the decades go by. After all, this is exactly how every other modern writing system evolved: from pictographs to logograms to syllabaries, abjads, and alphabets.

Oooooh, it makes me wonder!

In other news, I am happy to be back at ballet after a 2 week break...from Life. I feel ready for 2010! I've got an India trip lined up somewhere along the year, the beginning of graduate school in September, languages to learn, songs to sing, dances to dance, books to read, moments of zest followed by moments of utter despair! C'est la vie, c'est la vie...

2010 Goals:

-Learn to cook a mean biriyani.
-Learn Sanskrit in India.
-Photograph the Taj and watch a death ritual on the Ganges (I should just make a separate list for India).
-Write & illustrate a children's story.
-Go to a wedding...in Southern California...involving a bride named Jess & a groom named Eric.
-Read War & Peace and a 3rd book of poetry.
-Learn a song a month on the guitar.
-Advance to Intermediate Ballet.
-Run a half-marathon (Philly's Broad Street Run in May!).
-Do 100 pushups in a row.
-Learn to unicycle.
-Learn Dreamweaver & build my own photo website (gotta do something with all these pics!)
-Reach the 26th year of the Life of Angie Chung (I better!)

In 2009, I...
-spent over half of it in Iraq teaching Kurdish kiddies;
-traveled to Lebanon, Egypt, Oman, and Istanbul;
-toured the MET on New Years with the best personal guide;
-danced ballet and tango and found happiness there;
-worked for a wedding photographer;
-invested in my first DSLR camera;
-learned to juggle;
-saw and touched two ancient writing systems NOT in a museum: Egyptian Hieroglyphs & Akkadian cuneiform
-explored and photographed the ancient Erbil Citadel;
-met mon cher Adam in a cafe called La Citadelle;
-watched entire seasons of The Office in one sitting (& found happiness there);
-read my first and second books of poetry (Walt Whitman and Rilke)
-read a book by Einstein called "Ideas and Opinions" (It was dense.)
-went on hour-long runs along the lovely Schuylkill River;
-went to DC;
-rang in the New Year with the worst hangover ever;
-got into grad school

Cheers!

Too Happy to Create?

New York is the unhappiest state in the nation, according to a study featured in the linked article from today's Times. It ends with the following defense:

More important, might contentment be overrated? Seriously, isn’t restlessness, even outright discontent, often a catalyst for creativity?

We’re from the Harry Lime school. If you’ve seen the film classic “The Third Man,” you will remember that character’s admonition: “In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance.

In Switzerland they had brotherly love. They had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”

It sounds witty and all, but the logic is not sound. It's inaccurate to imply that 30 years of Borgia rule alone produced two out of the four ninja turtle artist doppelgangers and the Renaissance. For sure, da Vinci's engineering feats were directly influenced by warfare, but his and Michelangelo's artwork on the other hand...It was centuries of art evolution and the resulting state of art and the artist's role in that society; it was the chance biological production of genius; it was commissions by Pope Julius II-- all this and many other factors, I'm sure, which helped to produce the Mona Lisa, the Last Supper, and the Sistine Chapel.

Warfare may have driven the economy, which drove art commissions, but to imply that da Vinci and Michelangelo's creativity and the Renaissance were all products of "warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed"? It's closer to a sensationalist statement rather than a truthful one. The fact that the writer of the article used it to justify the results makes him seem like a bitter New Yorker trying to console and defend his state's last place listing in the Happiness rankings.

On the other hand, I've noticed that my blogging/writing rate has decreased dramatically since acquiring a special earthly companion. Yet, the reason for lack of productivity isn't lack of ideas; rather, the lack of time. When I get out of work or ballet, I'm presented with a repeated dilemma: should I work on my ideas or hang out with Adam? And usually, the latter wins, though I'm continually trying to strike a good balance between the two. If only we can travel near the speed of light! But this creates a new dilemma: time dilation vs. penile length contraction? Hm..heh heh.

And besides, it has not been all sunshine and daisies, despite the fact that we get along better than two peas in a pod. I didn't realize what a straight-edge I was until I met Adam. Sometimes, I feel like we're Dorothy and Darth Vader dating. Like day and night in the same sky.

New Riddle

"Backward pizza is stupid."

~ Why?

My Latest Dilemma

To wear, or not to wear a ski mask through the streets of Philadelphia? This weather is insufferable! And costly! Yesterday, I bought leggings and earmuffs to buttress my hat, gloves, and half-down-half-waterfowl-feather-filled poofy jacket. With all these winter layers on, I look like (a) a snowflake (according to Adam) or (b) a sheepdog (according to Sarah). I still need to get a microfleece cardigan with a hoodie, long underwear, gloves with the removable finger-caps so I can take pictures in the cold,...and possibly a ski mask. This is getting ridiculous.

Winning

I woke up this morning and found out that I'd won an all-expense paid trip to Santa Barbara for the next 5 years. In other words, I've been accepted to my first (and hopefully not last) grad school! This means more than just going to sunny Southern California. If all goes according to my proposed research, I'll be heading to the Himalayas in the next few years! Dreams to goals, baby! Beaches to Mountains! But right now, I need to focus on my current obsession.

If buildings were clothes, the Taj Mahal would be a wedding dress.

Halo Effect

Rittenhouse Park is all lit up with gold lights. I walked through one night and paused at the giant tree in the center of the park. A distance away, two men stood in the shadows talking and gesturing to each other. One of them stood in front of a lamp so that most of his head was blocking the lamplight from reaching me-- except for a thin ring of light outlining the shape of his head like a halo. I'd seen this before in photos of people. It didn't necessarily have to be completely dark, either, to create this divine effect. I made a mental note to use this Halo Effect in a future photo.

Update:

Thanks, Andrew, for the spectacular example!

Late-night Texting

Adamgom: Whatya up to?
Me: Looking at pictures of the Taj
AG: Agra?
Me: Yup. I want nothing more than to photograph the Taj
AG: Let’s go then! This summer vacay
Me: Won’t you be in Tajikistan?
AG: It’s a 3-hour plane ride max to Delhi
Me: That would be Awesome.
AG: Good. It’s settled then. We better start saving up now.
Me: Hey! Wanna learn Hindi with me before we go?
AG: Good to me.

Looks like I’m going to India this summer! And learning Hindi along the way! One last fling before diving into grad school- if I get in of course. I’m already making a list in my head of all the places to avoid because of monsoon season. Note to self: Stick to the North.

India to do list:
-Photograph the Taj from every angle and view and time
-bathe in the Ganges so I can live forever (or die of a human fecal matter-related disease)
-see a shadow puppet show in Kerala (this would require that I break the Stick-to-the-North rule)
-ride an elephant
Before India:
-Learn everything about the Taj (architecture, Indo-Persian history, every room, every window, every signature, every angle and view)
-learn Hindi & Sanskrit

All Cultures Are Equal. But Some Cultures Are More Equal Than Others.

Ugh. Another "honor" killing . Stories like this make me want to say,

FUCK CULTURE.

Autumn Walk

I love fall colors! When I walked out of the house on Spring Garden this afternoon, it was sprinkling and the skies were dull and gray. Bummer, I thought. As I walked into the city, though, I passed by a park with one tree gloriously ablaze with red-orange autumn leaves, standing among a dozen ordinary green ones. It was the picture of Vibrance, the tree of Life. L'Chaim!

The skyscrapers of Market Street were shrouded in fog, and umbrellas hovered and bobbed all around me despite the fact that it was barely precipitating. In front of me, one bright orange and yellow umbrella paced the sidewalk among a dozen dull, solid-colored ones, protecting a woman from the non-rain. She walked in silence among sharp, serious-looking businessmen, who walked in equal silence. Dreary weather makes city-folk so silent! I thought to myself while listening.

The aroma of bacon and eggs and sweet-and-sour sauce and other food truck smells wafted with the autumn breeze, assaulting our noses and making one girl behind me exclaim to her friend, "Oh my GOD, that SMELL! It smells so..." I crossed the street and didn't hear the following adjective.

As I was about to walk down the steps from Naked Chocolate Cafe, a small, square gutter caught my eye. It was ringed all around with bright marigold leaves like a lion's mane, the foliage, wet and bright, stuck to the stony ground- but it was not roaring! Just glistening in silence.

Early this morning, inside the house on Spring Garden, I shared a hot cup of black chai tea and Trader Joe's canned chicken soup with my "Mishka" before he had to dash off to catch a plane to China. I had stayed up all night to keep him company as he prepared for his trip. While he scratched his head- through his new Johnny Depp/Reverse-Mohawk haircut- trying to figure out what to pack and how to pack it, I made him three cranes imbued with messages about flying for good luck and he added these talismen* to his luggage, along with his GRE material and musty-smelling Dalai Lama Halloween costume. Before I knew it, he was gulping down soup and rushing out the door for his ride, and after a few hours of sleep, I was leaving for my autumn walk in the non-rain.

*It should be "talismen" for the plural form. "Talismans" sounds so ungrammatical.