Freakish early-riser that I am, I bounced right back from the grim and horrible time change inflicted upon us this morning. My girlfriend, who describes her reluctance to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning as “sleep inertia,” did not. Loving boyfriend that I am, I walked over to the little micro-Chinatown on the other side of 19th Avenue and grabbed two items guaranteed to motivate her to shake off the fog caused by daylight savings: a Vietnamese-style paté sammich and an iced latte.
The sandwich is a toasted six-inch french roll full of meat, vegetables, sauce, spices and homemade mayo that’s so good even I will eat it — and I find mayonnaise indescribably disgusting. The coffee is two shots of burnt espresso dropped into some milk and ice. Can you guess which cost more? Yes, that’s right, the coffee. It was bought at a store run by a massive corporation designed to drain overworked yuppies and hipsters of as much money as possible. The sandwich shop is run by Chinese immigrants in a neighborhood full of their own kind and is priced to provide a filling meal on an immigrant’s salary. They are situated, physically, a few blocks apart, but there is another sort of distance between them that humanity has been trying to close for centuries.
And who bridged it? That’s right, baby: it was all me.
Anyway, this was mainly a test post to see if my cameraphone-email-to-Flickr setup works. Looks like the answer is “yes.” Handily, the phone I’m renting in Japan has a small camera and email capabilities, so hopefully the upload service works as nicely with a Rentafone’s functions as it does with mine, aka America’s most alarmingly pervasive personal device, aka the iPhone.