More on dogs...

I was buying a bone for my dog. He gets one plastic bone, and when he finishes with that one, I buy him the next. He doesn’t really like other toys. This is a blessing—you can’t overindulge a dog like that.

The store also serves as a short-term boarding place for pets. A couple brought in their huge monster dog (looked something like this); he was scheduled to board for ONE DAY next week, and they wanted to introduce him to the environment so that he wouldn’t be traumatized when he came to spend his day there. The owner had already been in to check the place out, but now they wanted their dog to see it.

I don’t think I showed that level of concern for my girls when they were going off to school for the first time. They never got a chance to visit before hand. It was more like: “Here’s the school. Have fun. See you later.” And my dog? “Here’s the kennel, Ollie. Have fun. See you next month.” It’s not as if I’m going to ask his opinion or anything.

Informal Surveys

I asked people to call in and tell me which dog breed made for the best all-around pet. The long-awaited winner? The American Water Spaniel. I’m waiting for CNN to call. I have a few sound-bites for them to write down: if an AWS were in the White House now, we wouldn't be having all these problems! Or: a deep cocoa in color, deliciously sweet in nature, the perfect dog for a chocoholic!

Enough. The point is the study was unscientific, the sample was biased, the results tainted. But it doesn’t matter—I covered my bases by calling it an informal survey, right?

So did Ms. Stewart when she once again took in letters about which American city is the most “well-mannered,” and then announced her “informal” results. Now, I can well believe that Charleston is indeed at the top of the heap no matter whose survey you’d employ (though if I were them, I'd rethink that slogan: "Charleston--where history lives!" since it wasn't always such a polite and well-mannered history). I’ll even acknowledge that I know nothing of second-place Peoria – it may be charming in the extreme. True, a subject of ridicule in literature and song, but possibly very well-mannered. But New York and Chicago – in the top ten of polite? No way. Ms. Stewart has just given “informal surveys” a bad name.

Lost in Translation

Most people, when they hear this title, think of Bill Murray in Japan. They tell me how the movie is much better than they had expected.

Sure, it’s the title of a movie. But the phrase has been used before. To me, it recalls Eva Hoffman’s book (title: Lost in Translation) about growing up in post-war Poland and eventually moving to the States. I can’t say that I loved it when I read it. It isn’t an easy narrative: her prose is ponderous, difficult at times. But I have to say that it was one of the more meaningful books for me, for predictable reasons: the parallels are in-your-face obvious. Except, Hoffman is Jewish, and her family’s war experiences were, therefore, somewhat different than those of my parents/grandparents.

Hoffman has published another book, just this month. A fragment of it can be read online (NYT Book Review). The book, “After Such Knowledge: Where Memory of the Holocaust Ends and History Begins,” will have to bump all other reading material for a while. There are some books that one has to get going on, ASAP.

BULGARIA, HEAL THYSELF!

Of course. The NYT article (see post, January 13) inadvertently (I have to believe it was inadvertent) denouncing Bulgarian plums and vacation spots has only fueled feelings of low self esteem among Bulgarians. Take a look at this site on Bulgarian cuisine: It starts off with a little quiz:

What do you associate Bulgaria with?
- The fourth place at the World Cup Soccer Finals
- Hristo Stoichkov
- Economical crisis
- Folk music
- Wine
- Nothing

Nothing?? A crisis in the economy?? That’s pretty depressing. And I noticed that plums and vacation spots were also conspicuously absent from the list, as if the authors knew better than to tantalize savvy American/English travelers with such loser options, acceptable only to the East Germans (okay, and the Poles), during the grim 50s.

Let's rally behind Bulgaria. Did you know that they make the best damn Lactobacterium Bulgaricum in the world? Still, it would sound better if they just called it what it is -- yogurt.

IT'S THE CARROTS

Today’s paper tells us that Prime Minister Berlusconi may be taking time off to tuck in the eye lids, firm up the waist line, and take out any of the pastiness in his skin tone. Of course, the Italians tell us that appearance is a strategic issue: Mr. Berlusconi needs to look good to succeed in the forthcoming European Parliamentary elections. The Italians would think that. And if you’re genetically predisposed to looking great, as they all seem to be, it doesn’t hurt to protect that, which nature bestowed upon you.

My father has always said that he wishes he were born to an Italian mother and a Norwegian father – he’d have the height of the Nordic men (it is no secret that he covets the missing height genes), and beauty of the Italian people. But hey, the comment in the paper suggests that Mr. Berlusconi takes great pains working on his skin tone, and as a result, his skin always looks orange.

I’m one ahead of him there: you don’t have to be Italian to know that eating carrots will add orange tones to your complexion. Being a carrot cruncher myself, I can see the changes over the years. I, too, appear orange these days. Really.

Learning Curve

Everything takes time, including learning about blogs. I don’t know why, for instance, my archives currently sit empty. Communicating with tech support is like talking to Simon the computer activated voice at United Airlines. You need patience.

Yesterday at my monthly book group meeting the question came up if I can tell who logged in. The answer is yes and no: not individually, just numbers of server hits. So on my blog, your anonymity is protected, though do note that other bloggers may have purchased upgraded features that permit them to spy on their audience. I feel like writing letters of apology to those, whose sites I hit hundreds of times earlier this month as I was learning about blog options. No, I am not a stalker!

In this week’s New Yorker, there is an article about a woman who stalked her former lover on the net after they broke up – finding every bit of information on him and his new relationship. What she doesn’t say in the article is that he may know that she knows… But then, she may know that he knows that she knows. But of course, he may know that she knows that he knows that she knows. The psychological intrigue is tantalizing.

Help in Defining a Happy Marriage

Since the current administration is probably going to ignore my recommended topics for marriage training (see January 14 post), I thought maybe I’d poke around and see what others think of as appropriate subjects in our quest to educate the poor, unhappy sods who cannot maintain successful marital relationships. I only had to go to today’s Op-Ed page of the NYT to find one opinion of what needs to be fixed.

In case you fail to link, let me cite the pertinent quote. In her snappy little editorial, Dowd states: “Before Mr. Bush ventures into the inner cities to practice his conjugal noblesse oblige, perhaps he should beeline to a more rural spot — a split-level ranch house with green shag carpeting and Grateful Dead albums in Burlington, Vt. The doctors Dean seem to be in need of some tips on togetherness and building a healthy political marriage, if that's not an oxymoron.” And what does Dowd think is so troubling about the Deans’ marital home? The fact that the missus hasn’t let go of her practice to follow the mister on his political trail.

I get the speculative idea thrown around considerably in recent weeks that this wifely absence may cost Dean female voter support. (Though Dowd seems to think that Ms Dean’s presence may not be an asset. She describes her thus: “In worn jeans and old sneakers, the shy and retiring Dr. Judith Steinberg Dean looked like a crunchy Vermont hippie, blithely uncoiffed, unadorned, unstyled and unconcerned about not being at her husband's side — the anti-Laura.”). But from this must we leap to the conclusion that the MARRIAGE IS IN TROUBLE?

Well then, to get in with the cool people, let me suggest a module that therefore should be included in the marital trainings:

5. (previous 4 – see yesterday’s blog) How to keep the missus glued to the hip of a husband who chooses a profession requiring her pasty smile and warm presence even though she has a career which she finds valuable and important and despises making public appearances and flashing pasty smiles and indeed is bad at both but appears to be excellent at being a doctor and raising a son and is willing to pull up her roots and move to a big city as opposed to continuing with her rural practice just on the off chance, the very very off chance that her hub will be elected.

Did I say this already? I’m just so PSYCHED about this idea of marriage training!

The President Has An Idea

Did anyone else chuckle at Bush’s long pre-election arm, sweeping from appeasing those in need of cheap labor (through his proposal to partly legalize illegal aliens), to those in need of the “Mom ‘n Pop” model of family life? So the way I read it, soon we will have marital education programs for poor people, so that they wont let their strife get in the way of a happy marriage. I suggest the following topics for training modules:
1. How to manage the aggressive impulse that hits when you learn that your neighbor’s kid has invited his gang over to hatch plans to beat up your kid and terrorize the neighborhood
2. How to structure sharing sessions that openly, calmly explore the available strategies for dealing with the onset of the flu season given that neither parent has health benefits nor is permitted time off from work for illness – theirs or their kids’.
3. How to resist the temptation to spend money on superfluous items like organic multi-grain high-calcium low-fat raspberry bars, and concentrate laying away cash for long-term investments like Raid and light-bulbs.
4. How to make do with what’s in your kitchen and not fight about it (one class could, for instance, focus on using plastic wrap to seal everything from drafty windows and kids’ hands on cold days, to leaking toilets and porous walls that let in noise from fighting neighbors who haven’t yet signed up for the program.)

Anyway, it’s good to keep poor people busy, so I guess the programs are an inspired suggestion. As a sign-on bonus the government should give each family a palm pilot, so that there’s no confusion about scheduling in "marriage training" given that there are also "job-training," "alternatives to aggression" (for the fights that occurred prior to the start up of this program), "parenting classes" (for those who chanced to implicate their children into their quarrels and got caught doing so by social services), oh, and let’s not forget to tap in "church-going" – to keep the moral fiber strong. And they think the President’s day is long! (They don’t think that? Oh. I forgot that this President’s day isn’t too long).

The war at home

According to the latest Newsweek article on Diet, we have been paying too much attention to the wrong components of our diet. Instead of looking at fat, or simply the carb content of food, we should be monitoring each item’s “glycemic load.” Forgive me, but until yesterday, I never even heard of glycemic loads. I quickly looked at the box of my favorite organic, low-fat, high-in-calcium-and-celenium raspberry tarts that I routinely eat for “lunch” and failed to see any glycemic figures, though I have, up to now, appreciated that each bar has 0 cholesterol, 1 gram of fiber, 25% dv (daily value) calcium, and 2 g of protein. But now I suspect it is loaded with glycemic loads, therefore overworking my insulin-making cells leaving me ultimately more susceptible to diabetes and eventually heart failure.

Well now, I want to give my insulin-making cells a piece of my mind: what happened to the boost you got from all those grains, fruits, vegetables, cooked tomatoes, olive oils, handfuls of nuts, salmon, legumes and yogurts that I’ve ingested to help keep you strong and able? That’s not enough? You’re still trampled down by the glycemic loads? You’re wimps! I refuse to spend another cent to bolster a new, possibly futile war on excess glucose. Enough is enough.

BULGARIA TWICE SLANDERED IN THE NYTimes!

I don’t understand it! In today’s paper there is a suggestion that Bulgaria perhaps doesn’t quite measure up—in the foods it puts on grocery shelves, and in the vacation opportunities it provides. The article is about the former East Germany, but if you read it carefully, you’ll come across these two phrases:

1. (in reference to a museum of ubiquitous items found in the former East Germany) “About 10,000 people a year come to look at Mikki transistor radios, jars of Bulgarian plums, schoolbooks, plastic water glasses that never seemed to come in the right colors” – the implication being that Bulgarian plums are merely quaint relics of former life under Communist rule. As in, no one in their right mind would otherwise contemplate selling/buying/eating/enjoying Bulgarian plums. Ho hum. I’m sure they were fantastic (albeit sweet, but then try an English chocolate cake if you want a sugar overdose).

2. (there appears to be these days a) “post-mortem feeling that maybe the East had its good aspects after all, especially a certain economic security and stability, even if your best vacation option was Bulgaria.” This must have been put in by a spokesperson for the Greek Island Tourism Board. I’m sure Americans will now think twice about booking a week at a Bulgarian Black Sea resort. Yes, I’m defensive, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I myself spent my first holiday abroad in 1959 in...Bulgaria. I remember it as being a perfectly warm and… warm place. Really, if I were Bulgaria, I’d sue.

Eating Real Food

I neglected to do a persuasive pitch (yet again? --some might ask) for sustainable agriculture by linking to two, yes TWO stories in the NYT Sunday Magazine that open the door for a discussion of why organic/free range/regional food isn't gracing our collective tables yet. I’ve been accused of not liking simple American food (as opposed to high-end American cuisine which I do think is good). I would be a total disciple were it served as it is in the Farmers' Diner described in the second article.

One way to get quality food to appear more often, it seems, would be to ask grocers, restauranteurs, etc. where their food came from. I did that a couple of weeks ago at a local burger joint. They serve good burgers for those who like burgers, and though I’m not a crusader on this point, I do think that we should be especially inquisitive about the processing of meat in this country. I haven't trusted or eaten a burger of unknonw origins in years and thought that my dinner companions deserved to know about the beef they were about to order. I'm not sure they shared my enthusiasm for sourcing their food, but they let me fire away at the smiling (at this point) server.

So I asked, and the friendly waitress laughed and then I laughed, and to make her less uncomfortable (she clearly had no idea) I said that I’m sure it was meat from cows that grazed pastures, and this threw her even more and she laughed harder and scurried off, thinking that Mad Cow is nothing compared to this mad woman asking bizarre Qs on a Saturday night out.

Still, it would be good if many people routinely asked.

The OTHER Awards

Tonight’s the night when a very important award will be posted. You can preview the contestants at the MoveOn.org site. It really is gratifying to know how many talented people are using their creativity in this way (note today’s news story on their effectiveness). Which finalist is the most powerful? Maybe “Imagine,” but they’re all pretty extraordinary.

Testing the Patience of Travelers

A bright, warm day in Madison and the Midwest. A bright, cold day in Connecticut. A child (figuratively speaking) leaves the shelter of her little nest in Madison to travel to the mean and menacing Connecticut. Flights are cancelled. Others are delayed. Why? Who knows. It’s a conspiracy. No explanations. Eventually, many many hours later she arrives in Connecticut. But her suitcases do not. Reminiscent of last week, when her sister’s suitcases were distributed all over interesting ports of call, none of them, however, coinciding with the destination of said sister.

What’s a traveler to do? Nothing. You can do nothing but wait and kiss up to the endless people you will be talking to in order to find out where your belongings are at the moment. I teach about lawsuits and harms and damage awards for emotional distress, but I know that this is not the answer. The answer is this: we should quit flying with suitcases. We should don layers of clothing that we want to travel with and not pack anything. We should leave baggage handlers to twiddle their thumbs in boredom. We should get the bag inspectors to beg us for their business (I may allow one exception—I may give a bag to Joe, the guy who inspected Ca’s bags today at the airport. He was so nice. His kid goes to college too – studying to be a psychologist. I want to support him. The rest –I haven’t met and so I refuse to worry about).

Anyone who does not agree has not had the pleasure of speaking to Simon, the voice-activated robot that answers for United Airlines lost baggage claims. You should call Simon. He’s toll free. You’ll want to squash his little robotic brains out.

In the Hands of the Young

The NYT Magazine has an interesting, if a bit predictable story on teen blogging. It reminds me the fact that all tools or substances, when abused, misused, or simply overused, can create, especially among people (though certainly not only), obsessive compulsions. Consider the following: TV watching, alcohol consumption, driving cars, listening to music,…. playing the violin.

Excesses are a fantastic (if dangerous) flights of passion, aren’t they? The article makes me feel old. I often turn off the computer to pay the bills, cook dinner, grade exams. I would do it whether I were playing the violin or hiking the Himalayas. Thirty years ago, I would have explored all possibilities, tested limits. Today I cook dinner.

The League of Nations, Mars and the INS

What I know is this: the League of Nations was formally established on this day 84 years ago. Also, this week Bush announced a new goal for the US space programs: a manned mission to Mars. And, Bush also came forth with a proposal that would legalize the status of illegal immigrants in the US.

The immigration thing has application to the many millions who are filling such exciting jobs as picking thornberries, scrubbing floors, and washing dishes. We all know why Bush is willing to pursue it. There’s the southern vote. And, his buddies who hire countless illegal aliens want to be able to run for office without being exposed for having a nanny who speaks no English. And, no American worker wants to pick thornberries. Nor, for that matter, to wash dishes, especially under the hostile stare of waiters who resent having to share tips with guys blasting hot water on pans freshly burnt by slivers of foie gras (this I know for sure from my moments at L’Etoile). And of course, there’s that other reason called administrative efficiency: currently, there is no easy way to deport millions of illegal aliens. INS tried to do it by developing a bureaucracy that would be so tangled that everyone would lose track of what was happening, but in the end it lost track of things as well and so now dazed agents stare mindlessly at meaningless documents while the nation waits. It is very embarrassing.

There are many positive things to be said for legalizing illegal aliens: amnesty in general makes one think of forgiveness and a willingness to admit to our mutual mistakes before we all tally forth and move on. Of course, there are troubling aspects as well, and I should link to those commentators who question everything from implementation, to the feasibility, the fairness, and the intangible nature of benefits, but I am too lazy, and it is Saturday, and Ca has begun the packing rituals (leaving tomorrow). So for now, let’s concentrate on the positives.

The thing is, I can understand that there would indeed be a back and forth on the complicated topic of immigration. What I cannot see is where we would have room for even a remote back and forth on Mars. Where is the "forth"?

Maybe it’s like when you take a course in college and in the middle of the semester you are so behind that you just cannot keep up, and you don’t get what the professor is saying, and you hate your classmates because they all seem to get it, and you just want to drop it and move on, and you do, and it is all such a relief then. Could it be that Bush, having been recently characterized as incapable of showing any intelligent signs of life during Cabinet meetings (possibly being tired from his morning run), having an economy on his hands that refuses to produce new jobs (yesterday’s story), not wishing to look forward to a debate with Dean or Clark or Lieberman nor any of the others whose names, BTW he probably cannot pronounce, could it be that he just wants to chuck it all and take on Mars? He’s never worried about the cost of personal travel before, why should he now?

I think it’ll add new excitement to the currently tired observation: “we can send a man to the moon, but we cannot cure the common cold!” Let’s give it a try: “we can send a man to Mars (ed. note: the press refers to the manned mission, so I assume we’re sending a guy), but we cannot ensure health care for all…”

About the League of Nations – I just wanted to put in a good word for an attempt at unity. And, I feel obliged to say something that everyone hasn’t already read elsewhere. I bet no one knew about the League of Nations anniversary.

What's in a bottle?

Last night we had a person for dinner who possibly likes artisanal wines even more than I do. And so I opened my one great bottle, a 1990 Chablis Grand Cru, made from 70 year old vines. Old vines are like old people – they have the wisdom and capacity to produce something infinitely more complex than their young counterparts, but they do it at a dwindling pace, so that the yield becomes less each year. At some point you have to scrap the whole batch because you can’t afford to keep it going, even though the grapes can be phenomenal. I bought this wine from a winemaker (Sebastian Dauvissat) who was young enough to be in high school when it was bottled. His enthusiasm was magnificent. I almost wanted to devote myself to a life of viticulture from that moment onwards. I think I’d be good at pruning vines during the short winter days.

Opening the bottle was much less satisfying than knowing it was waiting, retaining perfection, wisdom, maturity. But it had to be done: at some point you have to let go of your stored savings, be they material (wine?) or otherwise, and live.

WHERE ARE THE TRUCKS??

If you google Poland and blogging or blogspot you’ll see that for the most part, Poland:
1. ..was hot in the blog world last year because of it’s oppositional stance toward the EU’s proposed changes in voting rights (predictable)
2. remains on people’s radar screen as the country invaded by Germany and then the Soviet Union (predictable)
3. ..is the last name of a number of people referred to in blogs (surprising)
4. appears on long lists of countries that seemingly have nothing in common (“coalition of the willing?”)
5. has many blogging American visitors who use words such as “dunno” and “gotta” (surprising)

I myself am waiting for the city of Madison to show up and trim the trees in front of our house. This seems like an idle exercise, I know, but I feel strongly about how they should be cut and I know I wont have another chance to express my opinion on this matter for some 5 – 6 years. Yesterday, the city forestry guys were working their way up the block, and I thought my wait was about to end, but the silent bell that tolled the end of the work day (2:45 pm) made them pack up their tools and leave JUST ONE TREE AWAY FROM OUR HOUSE!! Perverse luck. And today, at 10 a.m., they’re not here yet.

Surely this may be read as a very uninteresting story, and indeed, the wait is very uninteresting, forcing me to google Poland and blogspots and do all sorts of other existentially stupefying things (because I keep thinking it is only a question of minutes). On the other hand, one needs an occasional reminder about life’s randomness, and tree trimmers stopping just before your property as well as finding people with names such as David Poland (a film critic, with a very interesting take on the top 10 movies of 2003, very astute AND funny observations on the worst films, and a good column posted yesterday about the Oscars) are all surprising and random events, and so I mention both as quirky stand-ins for those trivial, unpredictable occurrences that shape the day more than we’d like to believe.

ICY THINGS

If you follow any Euro-blogs (and there are a number of them), you’ll know that much has been written lately about the fingerprinting of foreign visitors – at least those, who cannot travel to the States without a visa. I wonder if most here realize what an odd assortment of “potential trouble-makers” we are screening: from Poland, the Czech Republic – yes, fingerprinting has begun. And Germany, the UK, or France? No, not at all.

Interesting, isn’t it that the US visa requirement is like a layer of PERMAFROST: seemingly forever in place for countries once known as within “Eastern Europe,” though presumably for economic now rather than political reasons. But with COLD WAR overtones nonetheless.

Here are some conclusions I’ve drawn from a blog written by someone whom I gather is also a radio announcer in the Czech Republic:

1. If you refused entry to the Czech Republic for all Americans who could not spell Czechoslovakia, few Americans would ever get to see Prague.
2. Slovakia is much more religious than the Czech Republic (this is relevant as yesterday—Three Kings Day--was a national holiday in Slovakia, but not for the Czechs)
3. It was a FREEZING -14 C in Brno yesterday.

Just to let you know, the wind-chill gave us -30 F readings yesterday in Madison. Not to brag or anything, but it was really COLD.

WEDDING KIND OF BELLS

Fact, or fiction?
1. Britney Spears got an annulment because she is a crazed attention-getter
2. Captains can marry people, just not ones that have existing spouses
3. If you are married for a day and then annulled, your property, acquired on that one day, is divisible property
4. Britney and former husband are good friends.

Answer code:
1. An annulment is a valid legal instrument available in most jurisdictions for those who mistakenly enter in a union that proved to be erroneous, for any number of reasons. The problem here is not with Britney getting an annulment, but with the state of Nevada offering up walk-in weddings at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday mornings.
2. Lets put this to rest once and for all: captains haven’t the legal mandate to solemnize weddings, unless you are in a jurisdiction like Massachusetts which, to my knowledge, permits your buddy next door to preside over your union.
3. Oh come now. Were it that easy! Any state that transforms marital property into divisible property also permits judicial review of the circumstances. Plus it was an ANNULMENT, not a divorce.
4. They seem to be, but what do I know…

THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME!

Today our very excellent floor installer (I say very excellent because the floor looks great but for…) came to inspect his work from the summer, after I complained that the boards are separating. The separations are such that I can almost hide letters and manuscripts in the emergent cracks. I’m no contracts expert. I stick with torts. In fact, I proudly announce to my torts class that tort law triumphs over the law of contract again and again (i.e. no matter what you signed away on paper, you cannot exculpate yourself from liability just by your say-so). But I do know one thing: when we purchased the new floor, we bought ourselves a promise of beautiful wooden floor boards, neatly aligned, one next to the other. The gaps were not part of the deal.

Still, when I called the installer, he told me that separations are natural. They happen because we keep our houses warm in the winter and the absence of humidity creates the great desire for boards to huddle into themselves. Mine were just huddling, and would unhuddle come summertime. But he offered to come out and take a look in case it was more than just a predictable huddle.

I turned up the humidifier, sent the dog to another part of the house (diminishing the possibility that the installer would point an accusing finger at something other than his work) and waited. The installer came early, shook my hand in a convincing, assured way, and inspected his work. A big smile came to his face. He looked up and said “this happens all the time! We get calls daily in the winter from surprised customers! We tell them the boards are just shrinking (I prefer the term huddling) for the winter. It’s just so warm and dry now! No, this is nothing to worry about. We stand behind our work. Your boards are okay.”

It seems to me that these are attractive words that he used, and I would like to use them too. For instance, say the Dean calls me and asks why, by the beginning of Spring Semester my grades have not been turned in yet (in case I really get stalled with the grading). I answer “Don’t worry, Dean, this happens all the time! Law profs here are notorious about handing in late grades! Remember when one waited until Spring break to turn hers in? Hey, I’m sure you get calls all the time. It’s the same thing! I’m just late, that’s all. You’ll get them eventually”

Or, maybe I could call up the slogan when I fail to report income for tax purposes (say blogging suddenly turns profitable), or when I show up late for class, or when I take up too much space with my over-head luggage, or when I fail in whatever I routinely fail in, for all the reasons why we all fail repeatedly, all the time.

Anyway, I shook his hand and we parted, amidst my mumbling something about putting in yet another wooden floor in the living room in the future because we just love his work (and we do, but for the emergent cracks). It reminded me of a day when I was 16, in Poland, standing in a very long line at the post office with my boyfriend (that is perhaps an overly optimistic characterization of his status vis a vis me), and the teller decided to take a tea break just as it was my turn. I, being not one to argue, meekly went to the end of another line. My “boyfriend” looked at me and said “oferma zyciowa!” (you Warsaw types will appreciate this; in English it roughly translates to something like “life’s loser”). I took it to heart then, but today I guess I was in a more forgiving mood.