Beirut

When I was about five or six years old, my older sister told me and my brother that she wasn't actually our biological sister - she was adopted, from Lebanon.

She was very serious about it so we weren't really sure if she was lying to us or not. "Mooooom, is Victoria from Le-baaaa-noooooooon???" and our mom would yell back from upstairs "Of course not!!", but without offering further explanation or proof that she was actually not. Victoria would then add: "She's just saying that so that you two won't get upset, but I really am from Lebanon." For years, my brother and I weren't sure if we had an adopted sister or not.

A few years later I told my younger sister (child #4 in our family) "you know that every fourth kid that is born in the world is Chinese, right?" and she'd look at me with suspicious five-year-old eyes and then I'd say: "that means that you are Chinese!!"

"Moooooooom, am I Chiiiiiiiineeeeeeeeeseeeee???"
"Of course not!!"

Today, whenever I meet or hang out with people from Lebanon (the receptionist at work, for example) I feel like we're somehow from the same place, related.

Burn

Met up with Amy and Jinwon at Doc Watson's on 77th for beer, unhealthy bar-food and gossip. The best thing about being a girl is that there are always so many things to talk about, no matter what topic (if there even is a topic).

Anywho, I burned my arm on the hot plate with cheese fries and now I have an inch long burn mark on my arm. I'm pretty sure it's a second degree burn. It's still burning and stinging and it's been 15 hours since the accident.

Afternoon

Biked over to the 4th Ave Pub to meet Yona and her dachshund Sophie who is blond (although Yona claims Sophie is "cream", not blond) for an afternoon beer. Sean guilted me into wearing the bicycle helmet.

He: "Wear the helmet!"
Me: "But I don't want to! We never wear helmets when we're biking over in Sweden"
He: "That's because there is no traffic there!"
Me: "But it's Saturday, there's no traffic here either"
He: "Do whatever you want, but I'll worry about you"

So off I went wearing the helmet. I took if off right after I crossed Atlantic and Flatbush. I don't want to run into people I know, wearing that helmet. It also doesn't really mesh with my ponytail. Yona and Sophie crossed the street just as I was stuffing the helmet into my bag.

In the bar's garden we ordered coronas and veggie burgers but ended up eating only the buns -no burger- with cheese, mustard and ketchup since there were no veggie burgers left. Sophie stole popcorn and unabashedly spit the chewed pops on our bare feet.

Bag

Heading towards the little Mexican place on 12th street in between massage appointments, I suddenly realize how strange it is to walk around the city without my bag hanging over one of my shoulders. Not carrying a bag is just like walking around naked. Can people see me??

Most women are chronically attached to their bags but guys (or men) are not carrying anything. How is that? Sean leaves our apartment in the mornings NOT carrying anything other than his keys and wallet - he just strolls out onto the streets whistling, hands in pockets. "You're going out like that?" I sometimes ask and he says "What else do I need?"

What else? You need a bag you can put stuff in. Like your cell phone, metrocard, receipts (old and new), loose change, maybe a book to read while waiting for the train, or a magazine to peruse while on the train, pieces of paper in case you need to scribble stuff down, pens, pencils, an extra shirt if you get cold, a different shirt if you get tired of what you're wearing, business cards, other people's business cards, the address to where you are going. Stuff, stuff, just stuff.

Cigars

Every weekend, and sometimes during weekdays too, there's a group of men congregating outside our deli. They sit on black milk crates and smoke cigars, play cards and chit chat with the deli guys. Occasionally they play chess. Frankie, the oldest and most Italian-looking man, is bald and has a big belly. He walks with a cane and his lips are chronically malformed from sucking on that cigar. The other guys remain nameless. They wear their cell phones on their belts.

A friend of mine who is a retired police officer told me: "You know, those guys in front of your deli are either cops looking over the market across the street or mafia guys with the deli."
"What would the mafia do with our deli?" I asked, and he said "Gambling."

A week later he called me and said "They're cops. I saw them at the market in the Heights too." "Oh ok," I agreed, not really sure how hanging out in Brooklyn Heights proofs the cop-status. But whatever, I guess there's a thin line between the two.

Regardless of who they are, Frankie always says "How y' doin' sweetie?" when I walk by, cigar still in mouth, and sometimes one of the younger guys helps me carry my bag of laundry.

Ride

Riding my bicycle to work reminds me of being a kid in Sweden. In Sweden everyone bikes everywhere. I'm serious. Adults too. Going to the store? Take the bike. Going to the train station? Bike. The beach? Bike. Going to a party? Bike over there. The pub? Take the bike. To work? They bike there too.

In general, if the distance you want to go is longer than 200 yards but less than 3 miles, the bicycle rules. It's quite nice actually. The only times it sucks being on a bicycle is when it's cold, windy and rainy out, and also when the cops pull you over late at night because the lights on your bicycle are not working. It's illegal to bike at night without head-lights on and you will get a ticket. It's also very illegal to bike with your friend riding along on 'pakethållaren' (we don't really have those here) - basically, you can't be two people on a bike. Two people on a bike and no lights is the biggest crime possible.

Anyway, the bike-ride through Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill kind of reminds me of biking in Sweden - old houses, tree-lined streets, tiny shops, coffee places. The only stressful aspect is speeding through the housing projects on Bond street, but for the most part that area is totally cool too.

Worked out

Haven't been to the gym in a while and today I went and overdid it - 60 minutes of cardio. I did 10 minutes on each cardio-machine, so six machines all together. That's some serious cross-training. I feel so depleted that I think I need to pick up a bag of chips to neutralize the madness. I think I will do that.

4th

The Fourth of July is the perfect holiday to do nothing (except for bbq-ing). Everything is closed, obviously, so even if you'd want to take care of business, you really can't. Paying bills makes no sense since nothing will be processed until tomorrow anyway. You get the drift.

Happily relaxed and free from responsibilities, the whole neighborhood decided to chill out with the Times today. Sold out everywhere at an early hour (11am, outrage!). "It's the holiday," said deli-man. And at 3pm all the coffee was gone...