notes from Greece (after the fact) - Day 1

anyone who wonders why making Guantanamo detainees maintain fixed positions without sleep for long periods of time constitutes torture never flew coach in an aging 737-300 for 12 hours after one hour of sleep. (i'm not saying that air travel approximates our country's interrogation techniques, just that it can take a lot less than you'd think to weaken your spirit.) 24 hours after i left my home (and after only 4 additional hours of sleep), i arrived at Christos' home in Kifissia, Athens. (who's Christos? a professor at Berkeley, a key member of my "band", and one of the most surprising and awesome people i have had the pleasure to meet.) i was greeted by Efi, the Papadimitriou family's long-time friend and household assistant. she showed me around, made me dinner-breakfast-lunch (they barely feed you in coach on airplanes, even when you're at their mercy for 17 hours), offered me everything in the kitchen, and told me a bit about her history with the family. this was all done in pantomime since Efi doesn't speak a word of English and i speak only 20 words in Greek (almost all food words).

at Christos' place i had a room to myself off the kitchen, which is where Scarlett hangs out. Scarlett is a Persian that looks like a cross between Mr. Bigglesworth (pre-freezing) and Salvador Dali. my picture doesn't fully capture the unlikely curve of her whiskerstache.

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(for those interested, there's an entire book on Dali's mustache.)

i laid down for a couple hours, and dragged myself out of bed around 5pm (an attempt to get on Greek time). after a "shower" where 1/3 of the water ended up on the other side of the bathroom (i still don't understand the fixtures in Greece), i caught the subway to the Acropolis. i got there too late to get in that night, so i walked all around and then up the hill across from it. there i sat on a warm rock and watched the colors of the setting sun reflect off the Parthenon. after dark i walked through the Thission area back to the Metro. it was a weeknight, but the cafes, bars, and restaurants were packed and the night was filled with Greek conversation and laughter. only a few hours in Greece, and already it was amazing.

big, steaming pile of theses

this morning i wrote the conclusion for my thesis and printed out three copies. then i divided the big, warm pile of paper into three envelopes and hand-delivered them to the offices of my committee members. my friend Charless observed that if i set them on fire, i'd be leaving flaming piles of theses outside their offices. but that would make them hard to read, now, wouldn't it? now i can finally relax for a bit and keep my fingers crossed that nothing in there angers or dismays them.

another bit of good news in the last 24 hours: i will be going to Rio in October! back in April, i submitted a paper to a conference and i got the reviews last night, and they are good. really good. like they mixed up the babies kinda good.

there were posts i wanted to write since the last one (and some additions to that last one, in particular musings on unattended baggage that didn't make it in the first time), but it will all have to wait. tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 3:30am, Bayporter whisks me away again, this time to Greece. hopefully i'll return in two weeks with some good tales and photos.

please report unattended baggage

my trip to the DC area this week began with a 4am Bayporter pickup. it would have been 3am, but i had words with the operator (why on earth would i need 2 hours to get through Oakland airport before the sun is even up?). still, 4am hurts.

i get to OAK, scarf down a breakfast burrito and wait at the gate, resting my tired head in my hands. i look up, and count the young children. it occurs to me that there's no way i'm going to sleep on this plane, which means i won't get thesis work done either. weariness is setting in, then inspiration strikes. back up to the counter. yes, i have enough miles. yes, they have first class seats open on both legs. i relax instantly. now if only i'd planned ahead, i would have saved room for the mimosas and fresh-made french toast.

something about first class makes me feel very strange. is it the lovely, free wine served in a real, stemmed glass? or the napkin laid down before my hand-cooked meal is presented? it doesn't make sense, these aren't very luxurious things. it isn't that i stick out, it actually isn't all white business men. there are a couple college-aged girls in sweats and an older couple that could have been a quieter version of George Castanza's parents, among others. but i still find myself thinking, maybe i should have put in my expensive earrings or put on make-up. or showered. maybe it's because i'm thinking of all the souls riding in the back, wishing they had a drink of water. i overcompensate for my guilt by being more deferential than usual. i thank my seat-mate something like 10 times for letting me go to the bathroom.

from Reagan airport i hop on the Metro. when i'm on public transportation and i don't have something to read, i like to occupy myself one of two ways. either i sneakily observe details about other people or i stare off at a point in the distance and try to look like i'm contemplating something deep so that, if anyone else is observing me, they'll wonder what it is i'm thinking about. joke is on them, though, i'm just thinking about how to make then wonder what i'm thinking about. sometimes i get really into it, like i'll lean my head against the pole and stare off, squinting my eyes and pursing my lips, but just a little. really, i doubt anyone is actually paying attention, but i'm amused. i have another game kinda like this i play when i have to wait at the DMV.

i make it to my mom's house, and the social whirlwind begins. in the next 3 1/2 days, i'll drive all over the county and into Maryland to squeeze in quality time with my mom, dad, sister, cousin, college friends + baby, and high school friends (plus helping my sister with a catering gig in Baltimore), and in the gaps i'll try to post to the blog, maintain e-mail correspondences, and keep up with NPR before it swallows my hard drive. oh, and finish my thesis, which i've promised to give my committee in a week.

postscript: i didn't get around to tying in the title when i first posted. while i didn't leave or lose any suitcases, i did spend a good part of this trip thinking about my unattended baggage, perhaps spurred by hearing that message repeated a dozen times while i was waiting to board my flight. heavy on my mind was a new friendship, one that has been steeped in murky waters from the start, and an old friendship, which is simultaneously one of the most meaningful and most painful relationships of my life and has probably affected every relationship i've had since i graduated from high school. i sat at the gate, thinking, perhaps we should have that announcement playing throughout our daily lives, barely audibly, in a sweet, soothing voice. it could be a gentle reminder to sort our shit out.

the other inspiration was an article i read on the plane in The Week titled "The land of lost luggage" (there was an Atlantic Monthly article by the same title from back in 2002). where does lost luggage go? Scottsboro, Alabama, as it turns out. (as the article points out, in the parlance of the industry, it's not "lost", it's "unclaimed", as though the owner decided they didn't want it any longer.) there, United Baggage Center, a family-run monopoly since 1970, buys the bags by the pound and sells off the contents in a department store filled with lost treasures. among others, the article lists Dolce & Gabbana handbags, a 41-carat emerald, ancient Egyptian artifacts, used underwear, the guidance system for an F-17, and MC Hammer's concert backdrop.

i missed you

yesterday was Corinne Crawford's memorial ride.

i was originally planning to be in Phoenix, hanging with the women of my extended family in the pool, sipping my uncle Steve's 100-proof martinis all day, trying to take some of the shine off my buns. but i got to Phoenix Thursday and decided that night i had to come back early. the fare home had gone up $100, but no change fee. mad props to Southwest Airlines for their change policy, i fly with them when i can [get a flight without three connections and an arrival two cities away from my destination]. less than 36 hours after i arrived, i was back at the Phoenix airport with time to kill. two of those hours were spent in an airport sports bar, sipping Manhattans and reading a Neil Gaiman novel until my flight. (ever get the sense you don't entirely fit in with your surroundings?)

i only learned of the accident Wednesday, and the corners of my mind were still stretching to wrap around the whole thing. i went to the memorial service Wednesday, but that was only about 3 hours after i found out about the incident, and i could do nothing but stare off in a stunned silence. (a great strategy in this situation: gravitate toward the most talkative person you know, preferably someone that requires no feedback to keep talking.) this was sandwiched in the middle of a 14-hour work day... i was trying to get a draft of my thesis to my advisor before the next morning, so i had to will myself not to think about it all before and after the ceremony.

i rolled up to Sproul Saturday morning and found many of my former teammates, most of whom i don't have much occasion to see these days, now that i'm slower than fuck on a bike (i was exactly as slow as fuck when i was on the team). the last time for some was at the same party where i saw Corinne for the last time. do you ever have the experience that you forget to miss somebody until you see them again? it's like you retroactively miss them, even when it hadn't crossed your mind until that moment, and it doesn't even really make sense because they're now in front of you. it was kinda like that... i had forgotten to miss Corinne since i saw her last, and as i stood around, it suddenly all caught up with me, like a sonic boom, only instead of seeing her again, there was just her memory. and the guilt that i hadn't missed her sooner.

i am so thankful that i made it to the ride. the sight of the policemen stopping traffic as almost 100 of us rolled through red lights made me cry. it can be strange what things get us. the time at the site was a needed goodbye and a chance to make it real. i forced myself to contemplate her broken fork. the ride back was really good, it was the first ride in a long time with my former teammates and friends, and i sprinted harder to the Brazil Building than in years (proof: i hit my max, 188). for me, it was a chance to grieve, but also a chance to celebrate the friendships and camaraderie that live on. i think she would have liked that.