The Quest for the Perfect Bro Tank

I'm sure you've seen them, those incredibly lewd sleeveless tanks that tourists bring back from tropical destinations, the ones prominently featuring scantily dressed women and maybe a beer or two, shirts that proclaim "I was on vacation while you were wearing a suit to the office you poor thing". My roommate decided that, since we were doing spring break in Hawaii, we had to have some. How this would be interpreted - four relatively feminist female Berkeley students sporting sexist men's tanks - we did not consider, and the quest began.We struck out at a tourist stand and an ABC store near the condo, so we paid $2 (exact change only) to catch the bus to Lahaina. We strolled down the main tourist drag, hopefully stopping off at each T-shirt store. Our challenge was in finding the right size and a tank that was scandalous without being downright disgusting. We were also distracted in our efforts by the beautiful Banyan tree in the center of town and by the seductively azur ocean off to the west. We stopped to watch the black, grey and silver crabs scuttling along the rocks at the water's edge but managed to resist the lure of Hawaiian shaved ice. We were on a Quest; no time for dilly-dallying. Finally, all distractions aside, we achieved success. "Where are you going to wear these?", you might ask. The answer, my friends, is everywhere.

Celebrate Maui-style with a Pb & J in the Pacific.

"Us"

Today I bought a styrofoam globe

and painted it blue with brown and green continents.

I bought pushpins and placed one where I am and one where you are.

I cut a bit of string to tie to the pushpins and pulled it taut between "you" and "me".

The rain falls like confetti from a pinata

and my fan spins in earnest circles because I do not know how to turn it off.

My indefatigable fan and the confetti are the only things in motion

when I am not writing.

Perhaps if I open the window,

I will find a wire stretching from my room into the distance

and I will tightrope across my city and my land and my continent

and our ocean

and over to your continent and your land and your village

and rap the knuckles of my right hand

on the panels of your wooden shutters,

asking to be let in.

Last Few Days

I sat on the quai down by the Seine the other day, lifting up my feet every time a boat sailed by to avoid getting splashed by its wake, and contemplated Paris. I watched boats sail under the ponts while seagulls played with wind patterns (lift feet), boats low in the water when their hulls were full and high on the water when they were empty (lift feet quickly), and small police boats zipping on by, speeding for no apparent reason (lift feet extra high). The Hotel de Ville and St. Jacques tower were on my right, the Pantheon and Eiffel tower were off to the left, and Notre Dame was straight ahead. The sun set slowly over the city (wasn't fast enough; left toe damp) and we ate gauffres with hazelnut creme by the ice skating rink at Hotel de Ville before heading home.

It was warm for January in Paris

and the red wine was good

and the conversation was all in French

and I don't want to leave.

The Parisian Metro

The metro in Paris is pretty dern good. It is definitely not perfect, and it stops running way too early on weekends (metro stops at 1:30 and French celebrations don't get underway until 12:00...), but transfers are usually quick and even at rush hour one can often get a seat.

However, my 7:30 morning commute is an exception. In order to make my transfer and avoid waiting for a later train, I have to board the 12 line at the very farthest end of the track and then run like the wind to catch the 10 at the Sevres-Babylone stop. I am not the only one to do this; at this time of day there are a ton of high school and college students pouring into the Latin Quarter. This means that the last car on the 12 is suspiciously full on a mostly empty train only to clear out in seconds at our transfer point. If you ever want to see groggy and over-caffeinated students running with backpacks and books and heavy coats flapping around, just pull up a chair at Sevres-Babylone and enjoy the show.

What a way to start off the first Monday of the New Year.