New York Minutes, Vol. 10: beyond punditry

Driving through the Yosemite Valley last month, blissed out by the stunning landscape and the 80s station on Sirius XM, we heard Howard Jones’s “No One is To Blame” -- does life get any better? Then the DJ came in with, “That’s not true -- BP’s to blame! Ha ha...”

I still don’t know what to say about it, I really don’t. There are so many dimensions of the story that could be parsed out indefinitely: the significance of the CEO transition; the challenges of implementing standards across huge companies and through a supply chain; the risks inherent in that business.

But beyond the opining that the pundits and business school academics will no doubt carry on for years (from which I am not immune, having published an op-ed off the back of the spill), I’m struggling. Not that my travails compare to those whose livelihoods have been destroyed. But having built a reputation as an expert in corporate social responsibility on my years with that company, I feel a little like an accountant who worked at Enron.

I keep replaying my decade at the company in my mind, trying to spot any of the reckless behavior that one would think by reading current accounts of the company ran rampant. But I keep coming up blank.

Maybe the projects I worked on were anomalies, so unique in their sensitivities that everyone up the chain of command was happy to go beyond what was required. Maybe I was more marginalized than I realized, allowed to carry out my nice little projects while bigger, riskier decisions were being taken behind closed doors. Or maybe it was the guys who caused the spill who were the outliers.

Who knows. Maybe after my UN gig ends next June I can spend a little more time trying to figure it out.

In the meantime, yes, I am glad to have left. My former colleagues are exhausted, working double-duty until the operation in the Gulf is fully staffed; angry and confused about how this could happen, when we’d built up such a safety culture that you could be sure to get reprimanded if you didn’t hold the handrail on the stairs; distraught that the company’s become a punchline, a symbol of everything that’s wrong with the world.

Although part of me wouldn’t mind being in the thick of it. This is one of the biggest corporate crises in history, and there’s a real opportunity for meaningful change in how the business works. It will be fascinating to see how that opportunity is realized, or not. But I’ll be content to watch from a safe distance.

Needless to say, the spill meant that my former employer beat out my husband’s current employer for Most Evil Company -- for now. I won this battle, but dare I say the war isn’t over.

Amidst all of this destruction and evil, thank goodness for Eurovision. We were in the UK for the 54th annual song contest, so I got to watch the TV broadcast in its entirety for the first time. I called the winner, a Lily Allen clone from Germany, but thought the early 80s punk band from Moldova should have received more votes.

It’s quite a spectacle, combining the pageantry of the Olympics with the train wreck of “America’s Got Talent” with the politics of the United Nations. There was even a pitch invasion, by an audience member infiltrating Spain’s Nutcracker-like number; the snarky English commentator later informed us that the offender was in police custody, along with Spain’s costume designer and choreographer. (This recent New Yorker article captured it nicely.)

That trip was one of many so far this year. I met my annual dumpling target on a two-week trip in Asia, doing workshops on business and human rights in Hong Kong, Shenzhen, and Tokyo. I just happened to be in Hong Kong for the Rugby Sevens, which I hadn’t attended since 2003. It wasn’t quite the same without my costumed frisbee friends, but it was still fun: seven Andre Agassis c. 1981 chugging pitchers of beer with a set of Flintstones, all rising to sing “Stand up if you hate the French”. Look out, Rio 2016.

Another highlight was heading back to Cape Canaveral to celebrate my birthday by watching stepbrother Nick depart on his second trip to the International Space Station.

Like his first launch, the experience was mind-blowing: We were first overwhelmed by the light that spreads across the sky, then the rumbling that we felt in our chests, then the heat, then the realization that someone we know is in that little dot disappearing over the horizon. (Carrie’s video captures the experience better than the official NASA footage.) It made me wonder, in our privileged worldly lives, what renders us truly speechless anymore?

One phenomenon that left many tongue-tied was that Icelandic volcano -- which, miraculously, given my predilection for disaster areas (Hong Kong during SARS; London on 7/7; Indonesia, well, anytime) did not ensnare me in its ashen clutches. I was indeed on a plane, but to North Carolina, where the only association with ashes is the state’s legacy tobacco industry.

Other domestic travel so far this year includes Yosemite, where we were privileged to attend our friends’ bee-yoo-tee-ful wedding. Our dancing wasn’t the energetic spectacle that it usually is, having climbed Half Dome a few days earlier. That hike was quite a slog, particularly the last stretch up the 45-degree granite slope, for which we hauled ourselves up a set of steel cables with hundreds of other summer hikers. And of course, the euphoria at having made it to the summit fades as the pain of the descent kicks in. But it was a great metaphor for those challenges that look impossible -- and that you never have to do again but can dine out on forever. (Check out Adrian’s photos.)

Our week in Yosemite was wonderful, but I’ve spent too much time with Europeans to think that one week does a holiday make. So part two kicks off Labor Day Weekend, when we’ll head to Puebla for a Mexican cooking school. It looks to be pretty low-key: I emailed the contact to ask when the course listed on their website would run, to which he replied, “When do you want to come?”

I then relayed the fact that we’re relatively comfortable in the kitchen, so want to make sure the curriculum goes beyond making guacamole. He replied that "We have a very special course for Chefs, and we call it ‘Advanced Cooking Course’. We think this is the level that you need.” “We’re not chefs.” “That’s ok.” “When are you running it?” “When do you want to come?”

Stay tuned.

much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 9: The Deep (Fried) South

Adrian and I have just returned from our tour of the South, having eaten our way through Nashville, Memphis, Mississippi, and New Orleans, a.k.a. barbecue, deep-fried everything (including, at one upscale restaurant, the dinner rolls), and oysters.

We immersed ourselves in local culture immediately, spending our first night at the Grand Ole Opry for two-plus hours of country music, which is definitely over the FDA's recommended lifetime intake. There were little American flags on each seat when we came in; I thought they might be regular party favors as there was some serious flag-waving throughout the show (such as during Darryl Worley’s “Have You Forgotten?”: “Some say this country’s just out looking for a fight / After 9/11 man I’d have to say that’s right!”).

But during intermission we were told that we were in for a real treat: They were taping the Fox News Channel New Year’s Greetings! That night’s performers lined up facing the camera and wished Fox viewers a very Happy Republican New Year, while we cheered and waved our flags in the background. Keep an eye out for me: I’m the one holding my flag with my middle finger.

Our next stop was Memphis, where I was even more moved by Graceland than I’d been on my first visit in ’93. This was largely due to our studious preparation for the trip, which included a terrific documentary that gave me a much greater appreciation of what a revolutionary - and charming - young rocker Elvis was, and of the gradual evolution from Young Heartthrob Elvis to Sad Vegas Elvis, as opposed to the Before/After dichotomy we usually see.

But the emotional needle movement there was trivial compared to experiencing the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel, which after walking you through some our country’s darkest moments brings you to room 306, within spitting distance of the spot on the balcony where MLK was shot down. A hefty dose of Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken followed by beers and blues on Beale Street brought our spirits back.

We made the pilgrimage to Tupelo to visit Elvis’s birthplace and the diner where he used to eat as a kid. (Waitress to Adrian: “Hun, you wan' shlaw on yer samich?” “I’m terribly sorry?” Repeat.) We then joined up with the Natchez Trace, an old trail with anticlimactic historic sites (“This was once a lively trading post, now all that remains is the name”) but lovely forests and a calming speed limit.

We then spent two nights in the grand plantations of the antebellum south, and wound up with four nights in New Orleans, comparing renditions of the sazerac cocktail, touring the still-Katrina’d parts of the city, and immersing ourselves in jazz and étouffée. A typical day:

11:45am, Acme Oyster House
Bartender: Can I start you off with something to drink?
Me: Just trying to decide whether it’s too early for a beer.
Bartender: You’re in N’awlins, darlin’.
Me: Good point.

And now back home, where I fear being sucked back into a primarily virtual life. I recently launched an online forum for work, the promotion of which was my primary motivator for joining Twitter, but of course my time in the Twit-o-sphere has digressed into the extracurricular (unless Andy Borowitz has taken an interest in business and human rights).

However, in positive online news, last month I had an op-ed published, which was terribly exciting, and have continued to add to my online presence with a few other podcasts and such, all available on my work blog.

To kick off 2010: January work trips for me to Amsterdam, Berlin, and Cambridge, then another trip to Cape Canaveral to see my stepbrother off to the International Space Station right after I turn 38. I suppose after the holidays some could imagine no better birthday present than a relative getting launched into space, but we’ll be there with bells on, wishing him nothing but the best for a successful mission and safe return home.

Much holiday love to you and yours,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 8: The Maine Event

As compelling as Facebook can be, it lulls me into posting one-liners while neglecting these longer musings, causing my writer's brain to atrophy and banishing faithful readers to what I'm sure is a purgatory of unbearable suspense and want. (Is there an emoticon for dripping sarcasm?) I've broken free from the site's grip for long enough to compose this entry -- I hope you can break free for long enough to read and enjoy it.

Adrian and I just returned from 10 days in Maine, starting with a five-day event that convened 21 foodies with three Brooklyn chefs and a butcher for demonstrations and eating galore.

The event began with a repeat of the pig butchery demo that we attended with the same butcher in March (photos here; vegetarians beware -- or self-congratulate, whatever), with the resulting pieces comprising subsequent meals in the form of sausages, patés, rillettes, rillons, pulled pork, and other delights.

The best part of the week? This may seem an odd pick, but the (de-)crowning moment was the chicken slaughter. Not for the squeamish, hence the vodka shots we all shared before the 11.00 kick-off -- er, head-off -- but as a city kid who thought chickens grew up in styrofoam packaging (which they essentially do nowadays), I was intrigued to witness where meals really come from.

Since I know you're wondering: Yes, one chicken reacted to its decapitation by running around in circles, reminding me of a number of former colleagues. And yes, I took part in the action.

Adrian has captured the whole five days with a beautiful 39-photo album (or a subset for the time-deprived).

The rest of our time in Maine was spent eating, hiking, biking and kayaking up and down the coast. Having set this excellent precedent for extended domestic travel, we envision a December roadtrip down south, very likely to include New Orleans. Suggestions welcome.

A less bloody highlight of the past few months was a meeting of the eminent group we've convened for my work project, which was terrific for content but more importantly took place at the Sound of Music castle in Salzburg, which caused my distinguished colleagues to degenerate into skipping and singing.

I also spent a few days in Oregon with my sister, which included the Oregon Brewers Festival, Voodoo Doughnuts, and a rafting trip down the Deschutes river ably led by friends.

And of course, there were the NY Air Guitar Championships.

In case this hasn't sated your interest in All Things Me (cue dripping sarcasm again), my jobs blog has links to two recent podcasts and a profile and interview.

I'm back in a proper office, subletting from Human Rights First in the Garment District. Not as groovy as the previous space within a dumpling's throw of Chinatown, but Koreatown is just a few blocks away. Plus I get to commute on the subway once again, with all of the Metropolitan Diary-worthy eavesdropping that entails. To wit, from Thursday: "That's obviously no longer hermetically sealed."

Hope you've had a wonderful summer.

much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 7: What's on my mind?

My fellow Facebook addicts are familiar with the status update, the blank box on Facebook begging you to inform the world of your whereabouts, medical conditions, toddlers’ newest tricks, culinary experiments, or whatever else occurs to you. To wit:

Christine temporarily broke her New Year’s resolution of a no-booze January for a Brunello di Montalcino tasting, which is clearly understandable, right?
January 15

Christine decided that not drinking for all of January had too many negative externalities.
January 18

Christine is off to Canyon Ranch spa with mom & sis.
January 29

Christine just took a yoga class with Cyndi Lauper.
January 30

Christine went snowshoeing this morning (yes, with Cyndi Lauper).
February 1

Christine is really sick of Cyndi Lauper.
February 2

Christine is
February 4

Christine occasionally hits “enter” by mistake before typing anything in the status update box.
February 4

Christine is looking forward to spending her birthday on an economy flight to Johannesburg.
February 5

On my birthday I broke another New Year's resolution – to travel less – and went to South Africa with 21 of my fellow term members at the Council on Foreign Relations. We were in turns awestruck by the commitment to reconciliation of those who fought apartheid (makes you feel a little silly for begrudging the colleague who always “borrows” your post-its) and terrified by the problems the country faces - not least because they've just chosen to be led by a man who was recently cleared of corruption charges on a technicality rather than any presumption of innocence.

But my goodness, there are some amazing people doing some amazing work there... and the wine ain't bad neither.

Christine is on the $1 bus home from Boston. Oh, how far the mighty tumble.
March 20

Christine is off to Geneva for the final meeting of blihr.org.
March 29

Christine has been diverted to Montreal on the way home from Geneva, perhaps to refuel with poutine.
April 3

My travel schedule was supposed to be eased by the fact that I no longer work for Big Oil, and therefore cannot just look at my calendar upon receiving an invitation but actually have to think about whether I should make a trip, and then whether I can afford it. But there have been plenty of worthwhile events to attend, and plenty of either cheap ways to get there or people willing to fund me.

Christine fears for a country in which visiting fans are met by police at the train station to be escorted to their fenced-in area of the stadium.
April 13

And then, yes, back to the UK. Southwest England for Easter with the in-laws, Dublin to see friends and imbibe the requisite whiskey and Guinness, and London for a mix of business and pleasure.

Christine seeks 2-4 workspaces in Manhattan, able to pay rent in the form of really great company and kudos for supporting such worthwhile work.
May 4

The kind soul who was hosting my team in his groovy Soho office has had to give up his space, so we’re back on the street - or rather, back into the NYC scene of freelancers who work in coffee shops. Good thing I got a MacBook, as it’s definitely not a PC scene. (In an IBM sort of way, that is -- it’s most certainly a politically correct scene.) So if you know of anyone with space, ideally south of 23rd St…

Christine's project's new report is out!
April 30

But we roll on nonetheless, changing the world, one report at a time. (?)

On the home front, life is good, as the t-shirt says; my husband (who still actively resists Facebook, although his envy at my now being privy to the quotidian movements of his London friends might finally break him down) is still employed on Wall Street, which every day is like a little Christmas present.

As his visa is getting renewed over some indeterminate period of time this year, we’re thinking about staying in the lower 48 for vacation. We’re thinking lower 48, as I’ve been to fewer states in the southeast U.S. than I have countries in southeast Asia. Recommendations welcome.

much love,
cb

P.S. Christine requests that you don't post this to your Facebook page, as she still deludes herself into thinking that she can control with whom she shares what.

New York Minutes, Vol. 6: Feliz Año Nuevo

Greetings from our new home, a whopping six blocks away from our old home, seventeen floors above the construction site next to the Woolworth Building. The site is to become a Four Seasons Hotel – but not until the completion of the Freedom Tower, so our view north should be unobstructed for a few years to come. The week around Christmas was spent listening to the mellifluous sounds of packing tape – but all in all it went smoothly...

...hopefully indicating a trend of seamless transitions, as I finally left company payroll a few weeks ago. It's incredible how much more responsive organizations can be when you leave than when you stay: I got booted out of the e-expenses system and received my severance pay and accoutrements faster than I'd ever had an issue resolved by the company before.

A friend through work circles just moved his small consulting firm into a space that's a few sizes too big for now, so the four of us working on the UN mandate who've all been working at home will actually try sitting together for awhile.

Having people to talk to during the day other than doormen and gym staff is almost as exciting as the fact that the office itself borders Chinatown, which is a treat for all the senses. The drawback is the threat of the China Ten, the weight-gaining phenomenon I was warned about upon moving to Shanghai: like the Freshman Fifteen from college, but brought on by an abundance of dumplings and noodles rather than calzones and pizza.

Speaking of food (and when do we not, really), we just spent two weeks eating beef and empanadas in Argentina and Chile to celebrate surviving our first year of marriage. You may recall that since Adrian planned the honeymoon as a surprise last year, it was my turn – and I was SO close to pulling it off…

…But a few weeks before we left, I found myself in a rare moment of high stress, my only full week at home during the entire autumn, during which I spoke at two sessions at the annual conference of my field so it wasn’t exactly relaxing. We still hadn’t found a new apartment; I’d managed to slip out of the conference to see one that I thought might work, but Adrian didn't think he'd have time to see it the next day, so the following conversation ensued while cleaning up after a dinner party we’d hosted:

Panicked Wife: “When do you think we’re going to find a place?”
Calm Husband: “A few weeks before we have to move, I guess.”
Frustrated Wife: “When?! We can’t look at anything while we're in Argentina?!...”
Disappointed Husband: “You didn't mean to say that, did you?”
Exasperated Wife: “Say what?!...”

A moment after which Said Wife crumbled onto the floor into a little heap, and the next day dropped a few extracurricular activities and vowed not to spend as much time on the road. (No longer having a travel budget will help.)

But bless him, he did his best to forget and we had a fabulous time. A few nights in Buenos Aires; three nights in Mendoza, touring vineyards; one night at the truly spectacular Iguazu Falls, which we visited by light of the full moon; then all the way down to Ushuaia, the world's southernmost city, where after the requisite visit to the world's southernmost Irish pub we embarked on a three-night cruise that took us to Cape Horn and through the Beagle Channel and Magellan Straits.

Now, I'd never had any interest in going on a cruise, but Adrian had, so I figured this would be a good introduction – supposedly not a very cruisey cruise, and it's the only way to access Cape Horn.

But my apprehensions were vindicated when we were assigned to the table at which we would spend the next eight meals, and one of the first things the couple next to us said to the couple on their other side (thankfully) was, “Sarah Palin? I thought she was a breath of fresh air.”

So instead of meals being long leisurely affairs as one might want on vacation, we spent as little time at the table as we could while still masticating like civilized people. Luckily our waiter had us pegged and kept the Malbec flowing.

But we did get to disembark at Cape Horn, and see a glacier calving in a big way – and I nearly exploded when I spotted a pod of dolphins swimming alongside our boat.

After disembarking in Chilean Patagonia we made our way to Torres del Paine National Park where we hiked to the base of the iconic mountain peaks, then flew back to Buenos Aires before heading home. The three-hour time difference is negligible, but it was the typical 9:30pm dinnertime that it took some time to shake off.

So there you have it. I’m ready for 2009: New Year, new apartment, new haircut, new work mode, new MacBook… and yes, finally, a Facebook account. See you there – it will help distract me from my attempts at a booze-free January.

Much love,
cb

P.S. Speaking of putting 2008 behind us, one of my favorite nonprofits has been hit hard by the Madoff fallout; grateful if you might consider whether you know anyone who could support an initiative to track lawsuits against companies accused of human rights abuses.

New York Minutes, Vol. 5: Big Oil Don’t Cry

Here’s an email I recently sent to about 300 former and current colleagues (names of company, projects and people deleted for less Google-ability):

______________________________________________
From: me
Sent: 21 September 2008 18:30
Subject: from a shaky start...

B- colleagues past & present:

I don't believe I've ever told any of you this, but I began my first day at B- in 1999 with a mixture of excitement, skepticism, jetlag, and some sort of stomach bug; a few hours into my B- career, I threw up in the executive floor bathroom.

It got better from there.

Since then, I've had the opportunity to take part in our groundbreaking management of social impacts around T- & S-; help our company realize its supermajor size as part of the first Group Planning team; and bring colleagues together from all over the world to develop our human rights guidance note.

For the past two years, I've been on secondment to the U.N. mandate on business & human rights led by Harvard professor John R-. In June, the Human Rights Council welcomed his work to date and renewed his mandate for three years – specifically requesting that he develop practical recommendations for companies, governments and others to protect human rights in the context of corporate activity.

At the end of this year, I'll move from B- to Harvard to continue supporting Professor R-‘s work, still based in New York City.

It's been a great honor to work with all of you over the years. May your most inauspicious beginnings prove fruitful beyond your imagination.

Sincerely,
Christine

______________________________________________

End of an era. I’ll miss being part of one of the world’s greatest companies – it’s been a terrific ride, as all of you can attest. But I sensed it might be time to go when our new CEO ordered the art off the walls in our offices worldwide, to be replaced with photos of oil rigs and hard-hatted workers. (I’m not making this up.)

It will be interesting to see how much changes, given that I’ve been working on this U.N. project for over two years now. I’ll keep in touch with the colleagues working on human rights, but I may miss the broader community that I enjoyed being part of but will likely never see again: the old guard secretaries who really ran the company; the security guards and printroom staff; the people I worked with during my brief forays into the quantitative world. And I will certainly miss turning left upon boarding the aircraft.

Speaking of aircraft, since Adrian planned our honeymoon in secret, I get to wreak revenge for our first anniversary trip in December. The problem is that I’m terrible at keeping secrets (my own, that is – all of yours are safe and sound). See, like I shouldn’t even said “Speaking of aircraft” at the beginning of this paragraph. I mean, maybe we’re not even flying. I should have said, “Speaking of travel.” Although given the current balance of my mutual funds, maybe it will be a stay-cation. In any case, I’d better get planning.

Speaking of planning, our landlord has just informed us that our lease will not be renewed when it expires 9 January: Apparently the apartments above and next to ours that she and her family currently inhabit don’t add up to enough space, so she needs ours as well.

So here we go back into the Manhattan New York real estate market, which thus far has been immunized against the national slowdown by Europeans who come over for the weekend and buy iPods and condos. They say the market may be softening, but “they” don’t have to move, and anyway that feels like assuring someone diving into a shark pit that the sharks’ teeth have dulled a bit. Do feel free to pass along any two-bedroom apartments in Tribeca that come your way.

To make myself feel even worse about our cost of living, I’ve just arrived in Madison, Wisconsin, to eat cheddar and speak at the UW-Oshkosh’s Earth Charter Summit on the invitation of my fellow Amherst rugby captain. The taxi driver who took me into town from the airport was extremely tired, having worked both the Dairy Expo and the night Badgers game in the past week, but still impressively verbose.

Hope you all are weathering the financial storm. Stay the course, read my college classmate Ron Lieber’s “Your Money” column in the New York Times, and for God’s sake don’t touch your 401k.

Much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 4: ow

I’m a bit achy today. This past weekend I went to my undergrad alma mater to celebrate fifty years of (men’s) rugby at the college. I’d planned to skip around the field for a few minutes in order to have participated in the women’s alumni game, but there were few substitutes so I ended up playing most of the game in the depths of the scrum.

For the first few minutes I felt great, fitter than I thought I would, enjoying the cheering and heckling from the sidelines by the men warming up for their game, entertaining thoughts of seeking out the NYC women’s club… But then someone stepped on my foot, which kind of hurt. Then I got tackled and dumped on my head, which also smarted a bit. Then we drank a lot of bad beer and woke up early the next day, which wasn’t too pretty either. So the gym downstairs from my apartment remains the most appealing option.

But it was a terrific weekend, different from the family affair that my 15th reunion in one month’s time is expected to be. I was reminded of the strength and sisterhood that our team provided, and how formative the whole experience was in developing physical and psychological confidence.

As we were going down for a scrum at one point during the game, the hooker suggested I adjust my posture to be a stronger second row, which I did to good effect. It occurred to me what a great example that was of effective and constructive feedback, well-delivered and received – such an essential part of what we hope to achieve with our colleagues. And in fact, how team sports are a physical manifestation of our workplaces…

Later it occurred to me that, duh, I’m not the first one to think of these parallels. But I was pleasantly surprised to realize how valuable and relevant such a major part of my undergrad experience is to what I do today, since in recent years I’ve been far more engaged with my grad school than my college, which has come as a surprise given that my blood ran purple for so long.

None of this elevates hanging out in a totally gross dormitory basement (the furniture hasn’t changed since I was there, and it was pretty nasty then), drinking American beer out of cans (when we’re not racing to drink out of plastic cups and turn them upside down on our heads), and singing rude songs – but all that sure was fun.

On a more adult note, the sixth month of married life is going swimmingly, thank you very much. (Not least because I did not subject my husband to this rugbypalooza, although I will drag him up to reunion next month.) With a great deal of practice, I’ve become accustomed to calling him “my husband”, although being referred to as his “wife” is still kinda funny.

We wondered what we would talk about after planning our wedding for nine months; turns out we talk about how great the wedding was and occasionally wonder what to do with our 1400 photos.

Work is going fabulously: Our latest report to the UN Human Rights Council has been received well (even got a bit of play in the Economist), and I’m enjoying participating in a number of initiatives outside of the extractives industry to gain a broader perspective on business and human rights, as well as doing a bit of speaking and writing.

Although one recent speaking engagement demonstrated just how long it’s been since I was in school: I was on a panel in an internet law class, during which the teaching assistant googled items as we mentioned them, the results appearing on the screen behind us. The students do that anyway, the professor explained. Too much for my brain to process.

One initiative enabled my first trip to India, to Bangalore. I knew it was going to be a good week when I received a proper head waggle at immigration – and indeed it was. Some elements reminded me of Jakarta: Women in beautiful saris on motorbikes, often riding with an improbably large number of family members; traffic anarchy (cows in the street!); broken sidewalks packed with vendors in front of open storefronts. The Hindu temples stunned me with their rainbows of color, wedged between nondescript commercial buildings; and I survived some dozen consecutive delicious Indian meals, happy if a little bloated.

One final work-related note: I finally tired of digging through my deleted e-mails whenever someone tells me that he or she is looking for a job just like the one I deleted sometime in the previous month or two, so I set up a blog to post listings and other resources.

Best movie of the year so far: “Man on Wire”, a documentary about Philippe Petit plotting his 1974 tightrope walk between the Twin Towers. (And it wasn’t just because Sting was in the audience with us.) We saw the film’s New York premiere last week as part of the Tribeca Film Festival, and yesterday caught Petit doing his street performer act in Washington Square Park, complete with a brief tightrope walk between a tree and a lamppost.

In one week’s time we’re off to Japan to celebrate the wedding of a dear Jakarta friend. This will be my husband’s first time east of Istanbul, so we’re very excited. This will be the first long-haul flight in awhile for which I’ll have to turn right upon boarding. Could be painful, but at least I probably won’t get tackled and dumped on my head.

Hope all is well in your neck of the woods.

Much love,
cb