Adventures in the World of Mobile Knowledge Workers

The Mobile Knowledge Worker & the Full-Body Scanner, Pt. 3

At last it was our turn. A laconic young woman, hair pulled back and wearing glasses, supervised the conveyor belt.

As I put my stuff in the bins, I said, "I want the Pat Down. I don't want to go through the machine."

The Mobile Knowledge Worker & the Full-Body Scanner, Pt. 2

We got to the airport in plenty of time on the travel day. We checked in curbside. There was no line. The skycap was cheery and efficient.

"I'm just nervous about this whole Pat Down thing," I confessed.

"It's not bad now. The first couple of days there were a lot of delays, but now it's moving smoothly," he said.

When the skycap handed us our tickets, he gave us a hint. "Here's your gate and if you go in, make a left and take the elevator -- there's no one in that security line now." I thanked him profusely. So far, so good.

I was like a professional football player as he trots onto the field.

The Mobile Knowledge Worker & the Full-Body Scanner, Pt. 1

Happy 2011! It's the New Year, which marks a temporary end to the family-related travel season.

My trip back to the old homestead was not marred by weather delays. I didn't have to sleep in an airport or try to figure out alternative travel. But I did have to buy a new bra.

Coffee Names

I was in the car this summer when I heard a National Public Radio interview with Shefali Kulkarni, the writer of a Village Voice blog post about "coffee names." A coffee name is a name you give the barista which is not your own. Often customers give these names because they are easier for people to say and to spell. Kulkarni (coffee moniker: Sheila) developed her coffee name because baristas struggled with Shefali. She noticed that many of the names baristas write on coffee cups are very "American" but don't seem to match the customers waiting for their coffees.

Both the interview and the post made me laugh. Kulkarni suggests that coffee customers have trouble because of the non-Americaness of their names ( e.g., "Chandani" or "Virginie"). It's a question of perspective. I've always had trouble with my name, but never thought that it had anything to do with Americaness. I see myself as the quintessential American: my African ancestors have been here since the 1700s, while the Native American ones have been here even longer.

Today I'm blogging about coffee names because of a recent experience using my own fake name.

Chez Germen - Civic Center Dr. & Foothill

Let's say you have a couple of minutes to kill before your meeting in Beverly Hills. Why not go to Chez Germen, a cafe conveniently located close to City Hall and many offices? It's also a hair salon.

I accidentally stumbled upon this cool slice of Los Angeles -- cool because its quirkiness is real. It almost seems incredible that in LA, which isn't much of a melting pot, you would find a cafe/hair salon whose neighbors are the local Chabad, Slimmons (Richard Simmons's gym -- yes, that Richard Simmons) and an answering service company. Some phones still need to be answered by human beings. I'm fascinated by that business, which always makes me think of the movie "Bells are Ringing." 

I'll give you the tour. You walk in and are directly in the cafe. Almost everything is white.

Espresso Profeta - Glendon Ave. between Lindbrook & Westwood

I love Espresso Profeta because it has a point of view that trickles down to all aspects of the experience of the place. Espresso is in their name and that's what they do. You can have an espresso or any of the variations thereof (Americano, cappuccino, Italiano, etc.). They also have teas. Comestibles include savory breads (like olive), sweet breads (like white chocolate), cookies and sometimes brownies. That's mostly it. There's the occasional cupcake.

It's the kind of establishment where you often hear people asking for recommendations. Happily, you also hear servers taking the questions seriously and replying thoughtfully. It matters to them. And so it was that I settled on the white chocolate bread one of the times that I visited, and the cashew banana bread another time.

When I ordered a decaf cappuccino the first time I said that I wanted it dry, foam only. I've gotten into the habit of saying that because I hate cappuccinos that are really milky and watery. "We only do our milk one way," the server said, "But I'll do a short." He didn't like the first one he prepared, so he poured it out. "Just a second -- I have to recalibrate for decaf." They're very specific, but it works. The cappuccino was delicious. Espresso, which I ordered on other occasions, is served with sparkling water on the side. 

This picture captures my second go-round, which included cappuccino. I'd already had an espresso and half of the white chocolate bread. It was moist and sweet and good. The banana cashew bread that I had on another visit had a wonderfully voluptuous quality.

By the way, I noticed that a toast and nutella combo is available for $3.75. You get either 7 grain or brioche toasted and served with nutella and berries.

Now let's talk about the setting.

LA and Chicago: An Essential Difference, Part 4

You know that I'm new to the photo game. I've never had to prepare for a photo shoot, especially not one that included changes of clothes. Until now.

The morning of the shoot, tensions were running high in our household. Terse remarks were the order of the day. As my fiance and I were both trying to figure out what we were going to wear, I asked, "How does this look?" indicating a dress and patterned stockings combination.

"I can't believe you're asking me for fashion advice. Call Jessica [you remember the Fabulous Jessica, my hairstylist who is an expert on everything]. Jesus!" he said.

"Leave Him out of this." I snapped.

Since this is a verite blog, I should mention that I invoked the name of God, myself, at many moments during the prep. For example, I moaned "Oh my God" when I put on my dress. Thanks to a solid month of holiday cheer and getting ready for the new decade, the dress was a little more snug than was ideal. I had suspected that everything was going to be a little tight, so my strategy was to put off the inevitable until the morning of the shoot.

The downside of this strategy was that I did have a mini- "What am I going to wear?" meltdown.

LA and Chicago: An Essential Difference, Part 3

At the cliffhanger ending of my last post on this topic, I was working with my Photo Guru who was teaching me the ways of picture-taking (that is, looking good in any picture that's taken of you).

I think I may have finally arrived in the world of Angelenos. But don't worry, I won't forget my Midwestern roots and will remain as charmingly down-to-earth as always.

What's the excitement? My fiance and I need photos so I called Photo Guru. She is going to make a photo shoot for us, because she's also a wonderful photographer. Yes, it's very thrilling.

Our phone conversation to set up the shoot was hilarious.

Hello World

You haven't heard from me in a while as I've been busily getting ready for the new decade. I'll be back with more reviews in January. In the meantime, here's something from a piece that I wrote while in Moscow at the Hotel Ukraina a few years ago. Happy New Year!

***

Sometimes there are angels who simply appear, exactly when you need them. I was just chatting with an older German woman who was sitting across the table from me at breakfast. First we talked about the places she's visiting (not St. Petersburg, the mecca for most travelers, but some of the older cities). Her "thank you" in Russian to the servers came out so fluently that I suspected that she must speak the language. So I asked her, and it turned out that, indeed, she did learn Russian. At a prison camp. In Kalingrad.

She was there for 3 1/2 years after the war. We both agreed that that's a long time. And now she's here in Moscow and the language is coming back to her. She says that her prison camp life is in the past, that "It's like a picture, that I can see but it's not my life." But I could see the emotion in her eyes.

Back to the present day. Here she is in Russia, visiting the land of her captors. She had previously visited Kalingrad with her husband.

Then she went on to say, this is the angel part, that it's important to live today. Only today. And to laugh. Better to laugh than to cry. I said, "But crying is so easy!" And we both laughed about that. What an amazing woman. She learned English at 65, before a trip to the States. Her motto is "Always learn the language of the place you're going to." She told me that I should learn Russian.

She won't go back to the U.S. again, because she traveled there a lot with her husband, who's now dead. It brings up memories that she doesn't like.

We also talked about Kazakhstan. It turns out that there are a lot of Kazakhs where she lives, in the center of Germany. Their grandparents couldn't find work in Germany, so they moved to Kazakhstan. Now these young people are coming back and they can because they're German. BUT they speak a German of 100 years ago. In Russia they were considered German, in Germany they are considered Russian. They don't really belong anywhere. She says that they don't have work and that they don't want to learn the language (Modern German). And she says that they just hang out, drink vodka and drive their cars like crazies.

We left the restaurant together. I thanked her in English and then in Russian. She taught me how to say "thank you" in a way that's even stronger than "thank you very much."

How in the world could a prisoner of war learn that? Life is truly amazing.

"Remember to laugh," she said. "And to make peace, not war."

Salades de Provence - La Cienega & Holloway

As promised, I went back to check this place out. This time I was armed with my laptop. The same handsome waiters were in attendance. It looked as though sunlight had painted the walls, but it was simply a clever paint job using  burnt yellow paint. You can see the brushstrokes. The tables are dark wood; there's a tablecloth near the entrance with one of those typical Provencal patterns (olives I think, on a yellow background). Lovely.

I couldn't decide what to order. Should I try a sandwich? Or a salad? Or should I just go with a quiche? The waiter walks towards me. But then he immediately says,  "Prenez votre temps Madame (Take your time Madame)," because he reads the indecision on my face. Nice.

He has brought me a glass bottle filled with water. Slices of lemons are at the bottom. The bottle has a heft that's comforting. The water tastes good. I munch on ratatouille on "toasts" as I mull over my food choices.

All kinds of people come in:  a woman with a baby, who gurgles.