About Daedalus and Bloom

Back over in Taiwan but I am not in Taipei.  Taichung feels rather different. I’ve been here before, but only once, a few years back.  I’ve made my way across from my hotel to a “Hakka” restaurant, which I noticed on the way in.  I have in mind that I want those super-fresh Taiwan flavors.  Two dishes have arrived since I ordered and they are . . . something other than super-fresh.  The third dish, a fresh leafy vegetable is more memorable. 

Found myself testing wills with a young man this morning who insisted I’d come too late to board the plane.  I asked him twice and he told me twice:  “there’s nothing I can do.  The system won’t let me put you in.”  I asked and he confirmed.  I was exactly nine minutes late.  I was close to giving up.  He was fairly insistent.  But I asked him to make a call and see.  “Just try.”  That worked.

Ticket in hand I marched up to diplomat’s line and was served without a fuss.  I told the guard I was “already boarding” and he let me cut the long security line and placed me in the expedited line that was frightfully long itself.  I checked and craned my neck and looked at the time once again.  I still had I had three veins of thought that I kept shifting back and forth between:  A. I should tell the three or four families in front of me who are in this line because they have small children that my plane was boarding.  B.  If anyone from behind me tries that shit I will demand to see their departure time and not let them pass unless it is notably worse than mine.  And indeed, it can’t be or you’d have already missed your gate close.   I toggled back and forth repeatedly between A. and B.  And C?  C was the meditative voice of that said none of this matters, it’s cool, close your eyes, if you miss the flight you’ll get the next one, don’t be disruptive.

C. won in part because there was logic to this reasoning and in part because I was still trying to steady my vessel after a night of Thanksgiving vodka shots with dear friend from Russia, who emigrated (fled) to Brooklyn in the days of Ronald Reagan and who rubbed shoulders with Robert Zimmerman in an orthodox apartment in Crown Heights, who currently holds the fervent position that Ted Cruz is the best answer to his adopted nation’s woes.  He raised and I feasted on the topic of the“special” relationship between the Irish and Jews, and I started in about Daedalus and Bloom and well, you see, when he said we had to have another shot to Jewish and Irish friendship, I threw it back without as much as a second thought. 

Of course, they needed to put the bag through twice.  “We noticed toothpaste.”  "Did you?"  C. was in ascendency and I waited, packed my bag and dashed off to my gate, E54.  It seemed like a daunting number.  It proved to be and, as expected, I was the last soul on to the little minibus that was there to take us out to the plane.  “Hey, wait, Ms.?  They never entered my frequent flyer number, is that something you might be able . . . ?”  “Sir, the bus is leaving . . .”  Fair enough.

I’m the last idiot in this restaurant now.  They want me to leave.  I will soon.  I have the Julian Priester Sextet blaring in my ears over the dreadful Ariana Grande, Ed Sheran mix that plays at loud volumes all around me.   Along the wall are traditional Chinese characters and they look so beautiful as if they breathe.  What a hard thing it must have been to part with these.  

Friday 11/24/17