August 2006 Archives

I'm back in the United States, currently in Minneapolis, after 21 hours of some of the most unpleasant travel I've ever experienced. I will never fly British Airways again because of their ranging-from-merely-inconsiderate-to-downright-rude customer service agents on the ground at Heathrow, the 2 1/2 hour departure delay due to the airline not completing its paperwork, the lack of preparations they made for people leaving customs 3 1/2 hours late (this due to a broken conveyor belt at baggage claim), and seeing stateside agents be rude to an elderly customer. Thanks to these delays, I missed my flight to Minneapolis and found almost nobody willing to help me--only willing to hand me off to other people equally unwilling and unable to help me.

Thank you Joseph B., a CSR who got me a limo service from JFK to LaGuardia for my Northwest flight to Minneapolis. He, the flight attendant Martin Gillespie, and the cashier at London Heathrow are the only truly polite and kind people I encountered. They were the only ones interested in helping me to find a customer-friendly solution to the flight delays (all of which were caused by their airline and not my actions). In fact, for once in my life, I was at the airport far earlier than was required, a full three hours with online check-in.

By the time I got to Minneapolis, I had been in transit for 21 hours-- from London. This is about the same amount of time I needed to get from JFK to Bangalore, with a plane change in London. Unreal. I was grumpy and exhausted, but some spicy chicken wings, with crunchy carrots and celery (my current biggest food cravings, ask Ruth), made me feel better. Then, a substantial night of sleep. I'm still groggy, I'm still not sure where I am when I wake up in the night--last night, I found myself wondering if I had to be up earlier for a train or a flight--but I was safely at my mom's place, woken in the morning by Skeeter's visit to my bedside. He sounds like an avant-garde cello concerto. It's a nice wake-up call.

And I'm now at Dunn Bros. in St. Paul, the original one a few blocks from where I grew up. I pick up Enrique at the airport in an hour. Glad to have a quiet week in Minneapolis before I need to get another plane.

I'm catching up to email and such, and will get back to people later today...

Every time I go to Düsseldorf, I visit my friend Rudolf's bookstore, Literatur bei Müller. I've been going to the store since it opened, when I was 18. But I've been friends with Rudolf since 1993, when I lived in France and would come to visit Düsseldorf. I would go to whatever readings they had and then join the colorful crew afterwards.

But on this visit, things were different. The bookstore has moved. Since 2001, Rudolf and Selinde Böhm (his wife and business partner) have been in discussions with the city of Düsseldorf to do something with the Heinrich Heine Haus, the birthplace of the author. It housed a bar in the middle of the Düsseldorf Alstadt. In February, es war so weit, they were finally there: they opened the new space around the corner from the old, with a minimal selection of books. Having two locations proved difficult. Business was unusually light. They had to pay rent on two locations and support them both with staff. In July, they planned to move to the new location on Bolkerstrasse.

Rudolf said that there were two camps of people about the whole move. Some were against it, "Why move? This place is so cozy." Others wanted to help. They decided they needed an action, something to take on the offer from help, and to guide the skeptics into the new place.

So they created a Bücherkette--a chain of books--on a warm Sunday morning two weeks back. It's like a fire brigade with water, only they passed boxes of books. 140 people lined up in the Altstadt. All kinds of people... old friends of the bookstore, cultural luminaries in Düsseldorf, the media, bystanders who wanted to take part.

The very last thing they moved was a gigantic copy of Finnegan's Wake. That's what you see in the top corner at the new store.

Ever since this opening ritual, things are going swimmingly for the Buchhandlung. I've never seen Rudolf so happy.

The new space is stunning, lovely with its references to the old store but so spacious, so possible to really enjoy the books. Philosophy and theory still hold an elevated position at the back of the store, but now it's easier to get the lay of the land and see all that there is in the store. And that Andreas Gursky print! But please-- visit the pictures I took (including the old ones).

Welcome home, Selinde Böhm and Rudolf Müller! I'll bet that Heinrich Heine is very pleased to have you.

"We're leaving everything behind," the blonde haired little girl said in the glass elevator at the Brussels Midi train station. I laughed and made eye contact with her parents.

"That about sums it up," I said.

I'm adjusting to having left India. I knew I'd have to adjust but I'm surprised at how it's affecting me. Everything looks empty to me, even though it's summer travel season. There's so much empty space, even in a dense city like Brussels. Keller told me this would happen: where are all the people? The colors passing by the train window are the ones I'm familiar with. Everything looks so tidy, clean, sanitized. Everything has its place. I miss the chaos of Bangalore's traffic (I never expected to say that!), I miss the colors of sarees and salwars and so many different kinds of people.

I do seem to have gotten over the "Hey! White people everywhere!" thing that hit me the first two days. Nobody stares at me for having red hair. I don't miss that. But I do miss people, already. I miss the MSR contingent, my flatmates, my friends. I wonder whether it'll be possible to make it back for Doors of Perception in Delhi, but I suspect the timing will be wrong... we won't be on spring break yet. I'd consider not going to SXSW if it meant I could go to Delhi in March. At least Yashas and Jasmeen will be in the US in the fall. Maybe Abhishek will be convinced to visit graduate programs and stop off to see Zack. But getting a visa is a pain and travel to the States is so expensive.

* * *

Right now, I'm on the train to Düsseldorf, after taking the Eurostar from London. The trains and stations are full of groups of students with backpacks and sleeping bags. My time for that was 15 years ago--the summer of 1991, I criss-crossed Europe, from Stockholm to Italy, meeting up with friends before starting school in the Netherlands. For the first time since 1994, I have a Eurail pass in my bag. No backpack on this go (it's at Ruth and Erez's in London)--just my trusty Tumi all beaten up--and a Freitag bag with my laptop.

* * *

I am turning 35 in three months. This has hit me the last few days. Enrique turns 35 next week when we are in Minneapolis, on the 26th. I'm exactly three months younger. 35 is not very young. People seem entirely surprised when they find out that that's my age. (The nice grandmother at the fabric store on Saturday in Bangalore thought I was the age of her 19 year old granddaughter! Granddaughter and I laughed about that.) My friend Dave, who I saw last night, was 35 when I met him. I thought that sounded older and somehow distinguished. He's now 41. But I think this is the first birthday I'm freaking out about.

Last night, my mom gave me the news that Lillian Dowling died on August 15. She was 99. Lillian was my Grandpa Ed's partner from 1989 till 2004. They never married (though my grandfather had married two other women after my Nana died in 1979--all three of his wives died of cancer and I think he didn't want a further jinx).

I first met Lillian when I was about to depart for my exchange year in Germany. She was so lively. She was a schoolteacher in Wisconsin who loved theater so much, she'd rent a room in New York during the summers and go to see shows. When she was in her late 80s, she published a book, One of the Boys but Always a Lady, about her experiences as a Red Cross recreation worker in Australia during World War II. The book is hilarious.

I was used to my grandpa's house changing when he remarried. But with Lillian, it was really something. She was an antique collector. So the suburban Milwaukee ranch house they lived in was filled with marble, oriental rugs, Revolutionary War antiques, ornate wood. Some pieces had come from the governor's mansion. I would sleep in the Lincoln Bed, which was only produced during the years that Lincoln was president.

I will never forget Lillian and Grandpa Ed dancing together at my cousin Jennifer's wedding. They were grooving to "You Can Leave Your Hat On" by Randy Newman. I don't think they caught the subtext. And there's the crazy story of my Grandpa's 80th birthday, with the fortune tellers. She organized it; I missed it because I was in Germany.

But the thing that she said that meant more than anything was when we met. I was 17, and she was 82. We were discussing theater. She gave me a shoulder rub. And she told me, "I think we're sisters under the skin."

Here's my family at my Grandpa's memorial. Not the best picture of all of us, but the only one I have with her in it. I'll miss you, Lillian.

My flight was completely uneventful. I got to the airport at 3 a.m., waited outside for 45 minutes, realized a machine gun was pointed right at me at one moment in line (shudder). I checked my laptop and phone but didn't need to, and could have brought a book on board after all. British Airways is confused. No surprise there. I nodded off sitting in the bus terminal like waiting room, as Jurassic Park played on TV. Bought a tiny Ganesha figurine for a number of personal reasons. Got on the plane, took an Ativan, slept for six hours.

Now I'm in London, meeting Celia and Dan this evening in the hotel bar of where I'm crashing for the night. As it happens, my best friend is in town tomorrow on a one day pitch! Very convenient to see her here and not to have to wait till I'm back on the East Coast.

First impressions upon entering London: traffic is quiet and orderly. Where are all the interstitial vehicles that dart in and out of traffic? Where did they go?

Next impressions: I need a shower and some more sleep. I'm going to do that.

This is what I've listened to on repeat since last night. Now that I note the lyrics, I think I see why.

Well... you didn't wake up this morning -- Because you didn't go to bed. You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red The calendar, on your wall, is ticking the days off. The calendar on your wall is ticking the days off. You've been reading some old letters You smile and think how much you've changed. All the money in the world couldn't buy back those days.

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes,
You watch a plane flying across a clear blue sky.
This is the day your life will surely change.
This is the day your life will surely change.

You could've done anything if you'd wanted
And all your friends and family think that you're lucky.
But the side of you they'll never see
Is when you're left alone with the memories
That hold your life together like glue

... and with that, I'm off to the airport..

Posted to my friend Chris's Flickr stream. It's 1 a.m. and in 90 minutes, I leave for the airport. My flight isn't until 6:30 a.m. Oof.

On a happier note, thank you, everyone I met in Bangalore! Tonight, a number of people came by... my flatmates Carolyn and Savita, MSR friends Renee, Chris, Paul, and Kentaro, and local design tech mischief maker, Yashas. It was nice to eat cheap Chinese and drink bad beer. Chris snapped this shot shortly before heading out.

Now, I'm kind of killing time. I am largely done packing, amazing for me. Time for me to say goodbye, and see you in London.

i bought a saree today. it is so beautiful. it's a kancheepuram saree designed by my friend archana's mother and produced where the sarees are woven, in kancheepuram. her mother's business is in its second generation and is called kafya. the beauty of these fabrics. so lovely.

now if only someone in new haven knows how to drape a saree. i have no idea.

I brought Hamish to Hampi in large part because I knew that Lakshmi the elephant would be there. I've never met an elephant in person (believe it or not) and Hamish hasn't met his ancestors. At this temple, you put 1 rupee in Lakshmi's trunk. She gives it to her handler, and bonks you on the head with her trunk, thus blessing you. I did it twice. This picture is from the first time. I was completely charmed.

Caitlin, Jonathan's wife, paid the camera fee and took this picture. When we went for my going-away dinner last week, this was the group gift. As mentioned, the frame is also wonderful: it is made of the glass bangles many Indian women wear.

My last full weekday in Bangalore is today. On Monday very early, I fly to London on British Airways, something I was looking forward to doing, but now I'm thinking it's not going to be a fun trip. I also am planning to be in both Düsseldorf and Amsterdam next week, something I now want to do by train. That might not make things much better. I'd been looking forward to my first Eurostar trip, and I'm thinking it might be annoying and not interesting.

So this morning, I'll head to the travel agent to sort out the train. At 9:30 on the nose (in a half hour), I'll call BA and find out what's going on with flights to London out of Bangalore. My assumption, at least, is that in the wake of foiling a plot, it's probably less likely something would happen on the flight. My Indian friends here, citing their experience with spending time or living in places like Mumbai and London, say that all one can do is remain stoic. Minnesotans (maybe not me, but many of them) are good at stoicism. It's not like it was, flying right after September 11... which I did on September 17.

More on saying goodbye to India later today.

Between the foiled liquid bomb plot and the US Embassy announcing a terrorism alert in Mumbai and Delhi (please note, I will be in neither city, I will only be in Bangalore), my usual excitement for travel is instead tense and stressed. My last day at MSR was happy, but I'm spun up in a way I don't usually get before I go somewhere.

Is that enough to keep me home? No, not entirely. Not quite like what Bill Threkeld said in the New York Times

“I really do not understand why anybody would want to go anywhere,” Bill Threlkeld wrote. “Stay home. Read a book. Tend your garden. Make love. Drink wine. But most of all — stay home.”

Hm. That's not quite my world view.

But just to make it clear here, this is my itinerary for the next couple of weeks. I wouldn't usually put this information out there, but I figure this might answer questions if something happens. I have no plans to deviate from this schedule as organized.

Monday, August 14: morning flight on BA, Bangalore to London
Wednesday, August 16: train from London to Dusseldorf
Friday, August 18: train from Dusseldorf to Amsterdam
Sunday, August 20: train from Amsterdam to London
Monday, August 21: morning flight on BA to JFK
-> change airports to LGA, fly to Minneapolis
Sunday, August 27: return to LGA and get car back to New Haven

If only I could say the same for my pedicure... but I've loved these crazy sandals since my first trip to Grasshopper. Last night, the MSR contingent I've worked with most closely took me for a magical dinner there. It's one of the best meals I've had in years--so delectable.

Grasshopper also has a boutique with shoes and clothing from Indian designers. By American standards, the prices are very reasonable; by any standards, the clothing is beautiful and unusual.

from the other night, when i gave my talk at cks.

Last night, I gave a talk at CKS on Constant, Cedric Price and Archigram (at the last minute, I decided to leave out Superstudio--it was a little outside the direction the talk took). It was a really nice audience. After the fact, I learned about half the people were architects. I'm still trying to find the right balance between being too journalisty (says my advisor at Yale) and too architecty (which made it so the talk wasn't as accessible to some of my friends in the audience). But still: very nice to be a guest of CKS and to present to 40 people about something I love--something different than what I've researched this summer at Microsoft Research India.

About the title of the talk: it's been popping up a number of places lately... it was quoted in a dissertation on Archigram, and I think Adam used it for a talk he gave at Design Engaged. My experience with "All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace" goes back 18 years. I first got to know the Richard Brautigan poem by this name when I was 16, thanks to a high school boyfriend who had taken all his dad's Brautigan books. I particularly liked this galley of it.

With upcoming flights and such, I'm going to turn this presentation into a more academic paper. I already owe my advisor Emmanuel 20-30 pages on Cedric Price ... this is the jumping-off point.

As I wind up my research here at Microsoft Research, I'm shifting back toward the other part of my thesis research: Cedric Price and his characterization of mobile, social space. On that note, here are a few things for you. First, my position paper, "The O.C. Fun Palace," accepted for Ubicomp 2006's Exurban Noir workshop. Organized by Ken Anderson, Anthony Burke, Eric Paulos and Amanda Williams, the workshop promises to be an interesting few days.

I'm giving a talk on Monday night at the Center for Knowledge Societies on Cedric Price, Archigram and Superstudio, as architects who characterized mobile, social space. I've always enjoyed introducing more architecture back into the world and think it will be fun.

Then, back to my MSR research for the final stuff: what will likely be 40 interviews of people across class lines and their mobile phone sharing habits. It's yielded different results than I've expected, which makes me even happier.

One week left! Then, I head to London, Düsseldorf, and Amsterdam from the 14th till the 21st. On the 21st, I go to Minneapolis for a week. Finally, on the 27th, it's back to New Haven for the beginning of school on September 6.

We made a visit to Bangalore's biggest slum. There's more to share about that whole experience and the conversations I had with the women we spoke to. But in the meantime, there's this amusing picture. We had just finished visiting one family and were about to go to another family's place. Gautam, my research assistant (you can see him way on the left hand side in navy blue) said, "Your appearance is causing a stir."

All of a sudden, kids everywhere. We were all laughing. I asked if I could take a picture. More kids appeared. Then more. "English curry!" they yelled. We took a few pictures. Unlike tourist areas, where children demand pens and 10 rupees, here, we just took pictures and looked at the viewer together.

A few hours later, after visiting another group of women, more yelling. "English curry!"

A couple of weeks ago when Aditya and I first met up, we went to see Abhishek Hazra's exhibition, Some Fables on the Unstable Oscillation of Uniformity at GallerySKE. The show was extended and I returned with Archana, her friends and visitor Ramesh Srinivasan (from UCLA). Afterwards, I'd had plans to meet Aditya and some friends of CKS. Right in the middle of the group? Abhishek! Very convenient. It was good to have the opportunity to not just see his work twice, but to ask him about it. (We also talked about Bruno Latour, Jacques Derrida, Doors of Perception--which he is involved with-- and being Bengali).

The show displayed six large scale UV prints on aluminum composite panels, as well as a sound installation with accompanying visuals, and projections of other pieces. He uses a vivid palette on many of his pieces, like my favorite, With the matrix in the car, Chitralekha drives down to all the galleries in the itinerary and displays the matrix as her only exhibit, the printing method he used made the images even more luminous--they gained something that the projections didn't provide.

Abhishek is interested in graphic design, algorithmic generation and painting as fine art. These pieces, he said in conversation, are 80% painterly and require that level of hands-on work. This is particularly interesting to me, as he plays with the boundaries of these media and methods. His work also plays with the boundary of representation and abstraction, not settling for one or the other: a pile of clothes presents a void with is it a mouth, suckers, breasts? That said, my favorite pieces are the more abstract ones. Narrative bridges these representations and abstractions, with fable and storyline guiding his work. Did the titles generate the work? How much are stories in our own heads? I didn't ask him where the fables come from or how he created them... I think I like it better that way.

Diving deep down into the river, Kujjhatika ferrets out the sturdiest pillar of the bridge.