The week in review

It’s been a bit quiet on the blogging front this week as I’ve been completely consumed by addressing some of our world’s most challenging issues:

Furthering Peace Talks
Fauxhawk and I had another long and heartbreaking discussion about our future together. After almost two years of fear and indecision, he is sure. Suddenly, I am not. He wants to go to Vegas to get hitched; I need to go to Paris to explore. We are taking a risk by once again letting each other go and it’s a scary, uncertain time for both of us.

Fostering a Sense of Community
The catalyst for this community-building exercise was a crying jag I had on the train coming home from Fauxhawk’s place. I have a bad habit of crying in public – on street corners, at bars, in restaurants – wherever. I like to cry – I am a good, solid crier – and I don’t mind crying in front of other people. As I told Elly in her post about public crying, I spent an entire year in London weeping on the tube, tears running down my face and dropping onto my Arabic flashcards. In London, I was crying over Dermonster; in New York, I cry over Fauxhawk. New York is a city in which everything is heightened, including emotion. During the course of a subway ride, it’s not unusual to witness a fight, a mother screaming at her child, a couple making out, an impromptu a cappella performance, or a homeless man passionately preaching the gospel. So it was no surprise to anyone when I sniffled audibly in my seat and hunted unsuccessfully for something to wipe my extremely red and soggy nose. When a nice Jamaican woman silently handed me a Kleenex in sympathy and her son gave me a piece of a candy, I cried even harder. In a town where toughness and tenacity are prized, it’s the gentle acts of fellow feeling make this a wonderful place to live.

Supporting the Italian Economy
After the diplomatic negotiations with Fauxhawk, I spent an entire day curled up in fetal position on my bed and sucking my thumb. Realizing that this wouldn’t do, I called my friend Nicole, who is one of the most positive and pragmatic women I know. She suggested underwear. Off I went, and within fifteen minutes, I spent an absurd amount of money on colorful Hanky Panky underwear and a gorgeous little Cosabella number. For some reason, this small, frivolous act cheered me up tremendously - it seems new underwear is more therapeutic than therapy.

Celebrating Modern Matriarchy
As I mentioned, it was my mom’s 70th birthday this week and we wanted to make sure she was honored accordingly. My dad and I organized a dinner party at Le Perigord with family and friends and enjoyed a series of weepy toasts and lots of good cheer. I was extremely touched by the power of enduring friendship and the love of family – it was very healing to be part of it. It also gives me great pleasure to know that my mom can still rock the pair of lime green lacy Hanky Panky underwear (matching a pair of birthday peridot earrings) that I tucked in her goody bag.

Debating Issues of Gender and Sexuality in the Middle East and Beyond
Another benefit of living in New York is exposure to erudite and enlightened people of all kinds. It’s not unusual, for instance, to share moules frites with a friend who can articulately argue that tying someone up during sex can be more tiresome than plain vanilla boinking, but is equally comfortable proposing the relative merits of being Wife Number Two in Yemen.

Repairing Franco-American Relations
I leave for Paris tonight. It’s a city that has always allowed my heart and imagination to wander and explore, and this is what I need more than anything. Blue Eyes, a French friend from my travels in Ethiopia, will be there. We will talk. We will see.

See you all on Wednesday.