A Grand, Ornamental, Fluted Flourish

It is forever difficult to learn.  Something tougher than the stuff I’m made of, is required.  A week ago, a guy wrote me, albeit someone I’d never met, across cultures and language, very far away, and who typed, “The project (which I’d proposed) is approved.  We just need to decide upon the date.”  Cool.  I allowed myself to feel good about this.  I began, as one does, to imagine how I might use that money.  This morning he wrote back to say that rather than conducting this affair in October or November as discussed, they were would like to try to schedule for . . . May of next year.  Don’t send the snarky response you typed out initially.  Breathe first.  The cost of this is the equal measure of deflation to the elation I’d supped up just the other day.  Learning for the nine hundredth time that it ain’t yours till its in the bank. 

A call at 6:00AM.  Smart enough to shower and suit up before hand for then it’s a DiDi ride down to Jianguomen for a seven-thirty breakfast coffee there at the Ritz Carlton. The last time I was here we were all seeing a comedy show down in the basement.  I don’t know just what I prefer in terms of hotel styles.  Places like the Chaoyang Westin are cold and angular in their attempts to be modern.  This place tries to convey and old-world stuffiness that seems out of place here in this town.  I can almost smell the cigar smoke from the old Ritz Carlton there in Hong Kong before it was demolished. 

A very good meeting though.  And then another call to follow between Boston and Tokyo.  I need to be on it.  But I don’t need to drive it.  Outside I walk for a while and find one of “my” brand of cycles, the mint chocolate chip colored Qing Ju bikes and soon I’m pedaling along Guanghua Lu, listening to the call, pausing occasionally to interject an idea here and there.  Once upon a time, was it 2003 or so, I had an office on this street.  It’s probably long since been demolished.  Perhaps it forms the base for the remarkable new tower that Beijing has just about finished over there, on the left, the Zun Tower.  A “zun” is an ancient ceremonial vessel, and the character is also the first of two to form the word “respect.”   It’s a whole lot more majestic than the highly compromised, lame-as-f@ck Liberty Tower standing sadly at the tip of Manhattan, back home.  I’ve never seen the bottom of this building before and it has a grand, ornamental, fluted flourish, like a vase on its head.  Xi Da Da apparently put the word out that he didn’t want any more “weird” buildings being built, presumably like the CCTV, underpants building across the street.  No word yet on whether or not he finds this garish. 

I learned a lesson last time I tried to cross the ring roads on my way to Beijing and I progress nearly all the way to the second ring road before I make my way north.  A local mapping app could probably get me through more effectively.  Neither Google Maps nor Apple Maps seem to be able to handle the challenge of suggesting bike paths through this metropolis.  But I’m in no hurry.  And the call is over before I reach San Yuan Qiao and I key up Lee Morgan’s “Taru” for the rest of the ride.  I’m convinced it must be Herbie Hancock on the keys, but it turns out to be John Hicks.  This road leads to wall, that forces me to go in the wrong direction for a few blocks.  I curse the capital, involuntarily.  I mis guess another road that just loops around a shopping center not long after.  But soon I’m back on terra-firma.  Good and sweaty now, by the time I finally click this rental bike locked, outside of my apartment with just a little more of this vast city added to the known of my mind. 

Friday 9/20/19