Dear Administrative Entity,

Please allow me to start this letter by acknowledging that I am nothing but an insignificant student. The many, many hours I devote to the study of computer science do not, alas, allow me to apply myself to perfecting the art of mind reading. This is why I humbly come to you with a doubtlessly ridiculous suggestion.

What if instead of "Please fill in the attached form and bring it to our office during opening hours", your instructions read "Please fill in the attached form, disregard the mention that you should not fill in sections D.2 and E, and bring it to our office during opening hours together with your student ID and social security card, as well as copies of your visa, both sides of you I-94, and pages 1 and 3 of your I-20"?

Wouldn't that be most helpful to all the students who, like me, only have a very limited success in the art of divination, and to your employees, whose precious working hours could then be freed of repeating to every one of us the same information regarding forms, copies, and sections D.2 and E?

May I also mention that, aside from the very inconvenient location of your offices with respect to my department, what is for you a mere trifle of carefully aligned numbers and neatly stacked triplicates is, for me, the key to my paycheck, which you are holding up until you are fully satisfied with my form-filling abilities.

On an additional note, is the employee I saw today (a very nice lady, by the way, despite her complete inability to understand why I would feel ever so slightly upset over this situation) always made up in this peculiar fashion or are the white foundation and red eye shadow a Halloween special?

With much humble respect,
#49462916 (student ID redacted to protect the guilty).

Some work days are really, really worse than others. You keep bumping into technical problems, and looking for workarounds where none should be needed, and having to debug a stupid piece of code you yourself wrote poorly, and before you know it it is night already and you have lost your damn day.

Despite the fact that you went to a very interesting talk earlier on, attended a good class, and actually solved the heck out or four problems that should never have existed in the first place.

You're in such a poorly mood that you have to drag yourself out of your apartment to get your butt to swing dance class, when swing is your favorite dance of all times and you absolutely love that class. But drag yourself you do, and boy are you right to. Because what a blast! You push the door of this dance room and it's a different world entirely.

Oh, wait, what?

Apparently I screamed already.

From the bathroom. Where I had taken the latest issue of Time. The cover of which promises "The State of the American Woman. A new poll shows why they are more powerful — but less happy". The only reasonable course of action would have been to toss the magazine right away but... I was actually curious about how the poll showed why they are more powerful and less happy rather than that they are more powerful and less happy.

I never made it that far.

Here are some numbers from that poll.

• 54% of women and 38% of men agree it is possible for a woman to have a fulfilling life if she remains single.

• Having religious faith is very important for 68% of women and 58% of men.

• Being married is very important for 53% of women and 58% of men.

Yes. More men than women. But still a ridiculously high number.

• 51% of women and 57% of men agree it is better for a family if the father works outside the home and the mother takes care of the children.

• 81% of Republicans view negatively the fact that only about 30% of children grow up with a stay-at-home parent (versus "most" in the seventies).

• 68% of Republicans view positively the fact that nearly half of workers are women (versus one third of workers forty years ago).

• 63% of women and 56% of men strongly disagree with the statement "Mothers cannot be as productive at work as fathers"

Of course, some other numbers are very encouraging. The evolution of responses between 1970 and now, for instance, is a striking illustration of the shift in mentalities. But there is still a long, long way to go...

I may have many pairs of shoes, but I only have one pair of sneakers. I'm probably afraid to appear too sporty or something. However, sneakers are my default shoes once the weather (or my office) is too cold for sandals. I have cute flats, low heel pumps, and even a pair of Doc Martens Mary Janes that I can walk comfortably in all day long, but I still wear sneakers most of the time.

Yes, I also have a few pairs of not-so-comfortable heels, some boots, and three pairs of dance shoes. Thanks for asking.

Anyway, my only sneakers, a cute pair of purple Converse Grimes, were dying. Nothing surprising, really, as I've had them for over a year and that's how long Converses usually last me. So I went and perused several shoes websites, and was attracted by a dark red pair. I clicked on them and decided they were exactly what I wanted.

And that's when I realized they were actually sustainable and eco-friendly. And promising me to get in touch with my inner hippie. I didn't even know I had an inner hippie, so imagine my surprise.

These shoes have a silk top, which means that I won't be able to wet them, which shouldn't be too much of a problem except maybe for crossing through freshly watered lawns, and are otherwise made of organic cotton, recycled car tire, post-consumer paper pulp, and vulcanized rubber, whatever the hell that is (okay, fine, the cross-linking of rubber by addition of sulfur under heat, if you really want to know). The laces are made out of recycled soda bottles. Fan-ceh.

But anyway, they were cute.

So I bought them. And received them promptly. And tried them on. Only to realize that they really make me look like I have the tiniest little feet.

But still, cute new shoes.

Squeeeee!

I don't believe I am jet-lagged. It's more that I am a bit overwhelmed. I have spent a little over three months away from California. A lot has happened.

My stay in Israel was quite an experience. Discovering a new country, a different culture, a new type of work environment also; all that was very exciting. Then I traveled some more. I am only now fully realizing I was indeed in Jordan for a few days; the trip was that intense.

Emotionally speaking, the last two weeks have been draining; it was all about leaving or being reunited with people and places. The few days I spent in Paris made me feel more than ever how much I belong there, in these streets and among my friends. And then of course there's the family drama I vaguely mentioned here or there. I will not expose the details here for the world to read, but there were tears, and pain, and humiliation, and anger, and this terrible feeling of waste and destruction.

Things here are pretty much the same, although there are a few slight differences that constantly remind me that I was not here. E has a baby seat in his new car. The new building is finished. There is a new traffic light. K wears her engagement ring. And our new roommate is well settled in.

In a way, however, the best thing about being back is that I am taking a break from the unknown. I'm slipping into my old habits with delight; being tired from the trip doesn't matter much, because I can just get by automatically. I'm doing things before realizing I meant to do them. And I don't have to worry about people not understanding me anymore, which is really relaxing.

So yep, I am back. And you might have heard that I am scheduled to graduate in about a year (the final date will be decided of around Christmas). This prospect might be just what I need to move my butt and do some kick-ass research in the coming months!

Does anybody even reads these pages? Well, it's always worth mentioning in case someone who doesn't read French inadvertently stops by.

Otir is having a fundraiser to purchase a refurbished iPod Touch for her autistic son, Mr. Ziti. It goes without saying that said iPod could very well turn out to be a very useful tool to help him develop new activities and become more independent. Please read more about it here and, if you have five dollars to spare, ponder whether it wouldn't be an awesome, awesome way to put them to good use.

If the fundraiser is so popular it's over by the time you get there, or that you're feeling extra-generous, feel free to chip in for F.E.C.A., the specialized school Mr. Ziti attends.

(Oh, and I almost worked overtime today so no surprise if my English is all broken.)

My internship in Israel is drawing to a close. In a matter of days, I'll have given my last talks, completed all the paperwork related to the termination of my employment, wrapped up my final report, made sure there is at least one person who knows when and how to use the code I wrote, and maybe even gotten some results, although I'm not very optimistic about that last one.

Then, if everything goes well with my visa (I have no reason to think otherwise but better be cautious, everything will be between the hands of the Ministry of the Interior tomorrow), I'll pick up my mum at the airport, and we'll set off for a week of tourism in Israel and Jordan. I want to show her Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, and maybe Masada. I've also booked a three-day tour of Jordan for the two of us. Although I still don't have the final confirmation on that one.

On September 10 I'll close my bank account and my P.O. box. On September 11 I'll hand over the keys of the apartment to my landlady and pay the phone bill, then we'll fly back to Paris. I'll be in France for eight days, visiting family and friends as much as the short period of time, busy schedules, and distances allow. Then on the day before the quarter kicks in I'll fly back to California, where I'll be happy to be reunited with friends, lab, pleasant weather, dance partners, an apartment.

It's been ten years since I moved out of my mum's for the first time. Over the years I've had less and less belongings left at her place, and I've been back less and less frequently. We've moved from talking on the phone almost every single day to roughly once a week. I've lived in three different countries other than France. I've had about ten different bedrooms, although I might have lost count. I've accumulated knowledge and knowhow, friends and places to miss dearly, degrees, health issues and ways to deal with them, cultural shocks, heartbreaks, happiness, reasons to laugh until I my abs ache and reasons to cry until there were no tears left in me. I've grown up, tremendously.

It's been four years since I moved to California, as I wrote about in French here, where I've been, overall, the happiest of my adult life so far.

So don't be surprised if I'm busy pondering, assessing, planning, reviewing, and generally overthinking what my life has been so far and where I want to take it. Not mentioning how to take it there.

Good day

My name is Richard Tang, from hong Kong. I have a business transaction that would benefit us.

This project has to do with funds transaction and investment. Please write to my private e-mail richardtang177@yahoo.com.hk to enable me provide you with details on what I propose. Thanks.

Mr. Richard Tang

Besides proper use of grammar and spelling, could you be any less specific, if it's not too much to ask? I'm afraid you let out too much information in this email and you never know who snoops on your inbox. Well, I'm ready to let that slip for once, because this new email address seems so much more secure than the one you sent the message from, kerkhoff35@hetnet.nl.

Dude.

People seriously take the time to reply to that kind of message?

(No need to point out people seriously take the time to read them and comment them on their blog. Procrastination has nothing to do with willfully setting oneself for a rip-off.)

Dear Launderette Serial Flirters,

I have had a long day. I am tired. I am sweaty. I am doing laundry, or reading my book waiting for laundry to be done. Chances are I am not very receptive to your hitting on me.

True, I am never very receptive to complete strangers hitting on me. Please complain to the multiple guys who thought that my politely answering meant I was totally digging them. It makes you wary, after a while. And if I've never met you before you came up to me to tell me I have beautiful eyes, the chances that I dig you are slim. Very slim. Between naught and nonexistent, I'd say. (Especially, although that does not apply to doing laundry in the evening but has been known to happen before, if I am wearing shades. I mean, you're right, I do have beautiful eyes hidden behind the dark lenses, but I'm just not that into diviners. They give me the creeps.)

But even if I was into being hit on at random by complete strangers, I don't think that asking me for change would be the best route. I make sure to ask for change in the right denominations at the store and to keep the precious coins aside. And if I don't have enough, I go buy a bottle of water or a journal or something at a nearby shop rather than bother people who probably need their spare ones and fives as much as I do. So, well, it makes you look a bit irresponsible, especially if you let me know that you've used this laundromat many times before. And if turns out afterwards that you actually had enough coins, I'm not going to be flattered. I'm going to be pissed.

That said, your best chance to irk me is to ask me at what temperature to wash each piece of clothing. Because you see, I doubt that being a female makes me any more qualified than you to read the freaking label. And if by the age of thirty you haven't figured out how to wash your clothes on your own, be assured that I have no intention whatsoever to be the sweet chick who'll do it for you. You might want to go look up "independence" in the dictionary, too.

Also, I kinda hope you choke. K².

(No, this has nothing to do with Jane Austen. Don't be worried like that.)

One of the things I love about Tel Aviv is that when you walk in residential neighborhoods in the evenings, you're pretty sure to hear someone practicing some instrument or other through their open windows. One street nearby has a pretty good pianist, there's a cello player not far and one of my neighbors is a violinist who is very much into Tchaikovsky's concerto at the moment.

And of course there are street musicians. I usually like street musicians, provided they are not trying to wrestle money out of me in a crowded subway car long after I've decided they actually made my trip worse rather than better (hello, Paris!). I usually give them some change, actually. Never knows when I might need to become one myself, after all. But I cannot bring myself to do it here.