ATM Irritations

I recently had occasion to withdraw money from my US bank account using an Italian ATM. I was presented with a choice of amounts ranging from 10 to 250 euros, plus one item marked “Other Amount.” I chose that one then, as prompted, entered the desired amount (500).

I got a message “Amount too large, try again” or something of the sort. I entered 400. Same message. I entered 300.

“Amount too large. Too many attempts. Operation concluded.” And it spit out my card.

Apparently, 250 was not just one of several options: it was the maximum allowed. But this was not clear from anything on the screen and, having failed to make clear to me that there was a limit, the machine blamed me for making too many guesses as to what that limit might be!

Solution: If there’s a limit, tell me what it is on the first screen, don’t leave me poking around trying to figure it out.

 

The Twitter Diaries: July, 2007

I don’t have precise dates on these; something goes wrong in Google Reader’s interpretation of Twitter’s RSS feed.

my head hurts so bad I could cry

Occasionally, I get something that is actually identifiable as a migraine. Not too surprising given the stress I was going through at the time.

@pm10 spero che sia anche mamma porno-tolerante – mi dicono che e’ tutto sesso li’ dentro!

A friend was showing her mother around Second Life. I had just tried it a bit myself, and had read that there’s a lot of online sex in there. Not that I mind, but don’t consider it a compelling business venue for this reason. At least not for the kind of business I deal with…

maybe my migraine is finally calming down. I still just want to crawl into a corner and whimper.

@rosso received my second copy of HP from Amazon today, gave it to peppermint patty. Who passed our lunch together petting it. ; )

pensieri di una figlia in partenza: http://www.fotolog.com/rossella/ – non sa’ cosa sta passando la mamma!

@kitykity – sounds like my own pathetic fallacy of assuming that whatever is obvious to me is obvious to everybody, i.e. nothing special.

I’m awake, I’m awake! For once my body would have slept, but have things to do. Statistical things. Very exciting.

up to my eyeballs in web metrics. Should I try to corral my wandering content?

just posting about my daughter leaving. And Google slaps on an ad for sugardaddie.com ?!?!?!?!?

Ross shedding possessions: just “lent” her Fornarina shirts – considered part of her public identity – to a friend for the year she’s away

Argh! BA only allows 1 bag Milan-London. But Ross is going on to India for 10 months (Air India allows 2). !@#$@!$@#@#$ airlines!

http://www.fotolog.com/rossella

NOT participating in a 2.5 hour conference by phone. just too much for a hot summer night in Italy. Had a great dinner and too much wine.

ordered HP 7 read by Stephen Fry to meet me in Milton Keynes. Absolute bliss for airplane listening.

@blublog se fossi passato per Jesolo la settimana scorsa, avresti trovato Rossella!

Symbols & Connections: https://www.beginningwithi.com/Woodstock/symbols.html

last-minute stuff: online check-in, print boarding passes, pay extra baggage, print that receipt just in case, what am I forgetting?

sticking last-minute things into suitcases. Are they too heavy now? Probably. I paid $77 for Ross’ “extra” bag – better not hassle me!

@jeffreytaylor – thanks, yeah, been through that. Apparently some passengers have resorted to putting everything into a garbage bag!

Departure

I feel so cosmopolitan!

One day I’m wandering around London with my hair expensively curled, looking at shop windows where the price of a pair of underwear equals the bimonthly salary of some Indian whom I will see in a few days, on the streets of New Delhi.
Ross and Moet
5:26 AM

I’m leaving.

([photo of] the celebrations from last night)

Next upload from India, it’s official!

Symbols and Connections

A few weeks ago, Ross posted the above picture on her fotolog, of the jewelry she’d been wearing for days, with the caption: “you are what you wear.” A very interesting statement, in light of what she was wearing.

The gemstone is alexandrite, a semi-precious stone that changes colors in different light. My father bought it for me in Delhi in 1977, as my going-to-Woodstock present, and I wore it almost constantly during my first year there. I haven’t worn it much recently (that’s how Ross was able to make off with it) – nowadays I usually wear a golden heart necklace that Enrico gave me, though for Woodstock occasions I wear the silver Woodstock lyre tree pendant that my classmate Sarah got me when I couldn’t attend our class of 81’s 20th-anniversary reunion.

Of course the other pendant is the Om. I think I bought that for Ross on one of my trips to India, or she bought it for herself when we went together in 2005. Or maybe she even bought it in Italy. When she was mad for a tattoo a couple of years ago, she designed her own tattoos based on the om (fortunately, she was still underage, so we were able to veto any tattoo whatsoever!).

Not shown in the photo is another piece of my jewelry that Ross seems intent on keeping: the silver chain bracelet that my classmates gave me at the 2004 reunion, to thank me for 20 years’ service as class secretary.

There’s something beyond mere fashion in all this.

Packing

Just me.

Two suitcases*, max 20 kilos each.

Since this will be a year in India, I was forced to discard low-necked shirts, miniskirts and short-shorts, high heels and wedge sandals: in other words, everything I usually wear!

Put aside is the useless junk, the designer stuff that I’d be ashamed to show off.

I look around, see my usual room – companion of strange moods, breakdowns in front of the mirror, wild dances, and songs at the top of my voice. My bed that creaks, the TV that keeps me company during sleepless nights, old diaries, fashion magazines, Barbies covered in dust, horse models, stuffed animals.

An archive of memories and variegated objects which, up til a little while ago, I was convinced were a big part of who I am.

Every Saturday evening after dinner, I faced my closet with an air of challenge, thinking that, no matter how full it was, it wouldn’t be enough to supply a completely satisfactory outfit that would make me feel beautiful, carefree, and happy.

From the closet I moved to the mirror, to wage battle with my image, my weapons mascara and eyeshadow.

I smile thinking of the usual “stroke of genius” that comes to me every now and then.

Today it was to photograph myself nude.

While I did it I felt beautiful,

carefree,

happy.

Tomorrow I will leave with two suitcases which I hope weight more or less 20 kilos each, filled with the bare necessities.

In any case, I’m always me.

Minus a few costumes to wear.

(However, if I return with my head shaved and converted to some strange religion – hit me!)

*Mom: Well, that turned out to be wrong!

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia