Happy Birthday America
This morning I walked into the city on the way to work with my friend Anya, the private secretary to the NZ Minister of Transport. As we walked, the sound of big rig truckers laying on their horns as they circled the capital in a figure eight and blocking traffic in protest of recent taxes filled the air. "They're calling your name Anya!" I couldn't help myself from saying. She laughed and cursed.
As we walked into town, trucks, large honky ones and small cute ones tooted their horns and I gave a few drivers the thumbs up in the name of freedom of expression. It is after all, the fourth of July and I wish I was in New Jersey with some special people and a barbeque.
This afternoon held a tradition I started 2 years ago called the Manhattan lunch. A boys' club dedicated to meeting every couple of months for a long boozy Friday lunch. It is in observance of the fact 20 years ago in Manhattan businessmen would spend lunch throwing back martinis before returning to work. The guest list now to get in on this event, is huge.
Now back at work and making executive decisions, I think it'll be a short day, meet up with a few other friends for drinks and nibbles before the buffet of house parties around town tonight.
As a side note, an Icelander named Ragnar I befriended six years ago in .. Iceland, via a friend's ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, instant messaged me to catch up. Turns out he joined the airline industry and has spent the past few years in Saudi Arabia, Lithuania, Kenya, and Malaysia. We've come to the same point, wondering “what's the point anyway.”
It was good catching up with him as it felt like we picked up right where we left off; neck deep in snow and the utter Icelandic darkness of January, blabbering on the shore in the middle of the night outside a party being held in Reykjavik under the roof of an old house. It had been built by his ancestors 400 years ago when they murdered a gang of pillaging Norwegians and used the Norwegian boat as the roof which protected the party from the elements. We had been heavily drinking brenavit (translates as black death) outside in the blizzard raving about women, literature, and the gods, wishing each other the best of what life has to bring. Life's funny like that.
At some point this afternoon the sky opened up and the weather has turned from heaven to horrific. And with that, happy 4th of July America, I love and miss you. I'm off now to do a little of pillaging of my own.
As we walked into town, trucks, large honky ones and small cute ones tooted their horns and I gave a few drivers the thumbs up in the name of freedom of expression. It is after all, the fourth of July and I wish I was in New Jersey with some special people and a barbeque.
This afternoon held a tradition I started 2 years ago called the Manhattan lunch. A boys' club dedicated to meeting every couple of months for a long boozy Friday lunch. It is in observance of the fact 20 years ago in Manhattan businessmen would spend lunch throwing back martinis before returning to work. The guest list now to get in on this event, is huge.
Now back at work and making executive decisions, I think it'll be a short day, meet up with a few other friends for drinks and nibbles before the buffet of house parties around town tonight.
As a side note, an Icelander named Ragnar I befriended six years ago in .. Iceland, via a friend's ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, instant messaged me to catch up. Turns out he joined the airline industry and has spent the past few years in Saudi Arabia, Lithuania, Kenya, and Malaysia. We've come to the same point, wondering “what's the point anyway.”
It was good catching up with him as it felt like we picked up right where we left off; neck deep in snow and the utter Icelandic darkness of January, blabbering on the shore in the middle of the night outside a party being held in Reykjavik under the roof of an old house. It had been built by his ancestors 400 years ago when they murdered a gang of pillaging Norwegians and used the Norwegian boat as the roof which protected the party from the elements. We had been heavily drinking brenavit (translates as black death) outside in the blizzard raving about women, literature, and the gods, wishing each other the best of what life has to bring. Life's funny like that.
At some point this afternoon the sky opened up and the weather has turned from heaven to horrific. And with that, happy 4th of July America, I love and miss you. I'm off now to do a little of pillaging of my own.