Went to the United Nations today, and was surprised at first to see foreign tourists everywhere. I thought I'd been everywhere the big busses went. But I went and got my press pass and my seat and let that little white thing wobble around on my ear. Listened to many men with big Santa beards and pastel ties, many dignitary-type women in pruple wraps, and the harried NGO-type ladies with their dye jobs growing down their heads.
All the diplomatic buildings in Africa may have drawn inspiration from the UN. The smudged white walls at odd angles, all highlighted with planks of stained wood are all the same. It's the architectural equivalent of dramamine.
And I was already on about 4 hours of sleep, nodding off at the end of a row of countries. It went Palau, Panama, Papua New Guinea, John.
By ten after five it was Britain's turn to talk, and he asked permissions to rip through his statement before the meeting ended. Permission granted, he went at it like an auctioneer. He cracked the joint up, particularly a maternally pretty rep from the Norwegian delegation who sat next to me. She giggled and dropped a book onto the console between us and gasped, "Oh! Did eye mek you here Chinese?"
Ah, my people. So red-faced and giggly. Maybe this one is a Naef or a Naess or whatever we we used to be called. We had no potato famine, no depression, no boll weevils, so what was my great great grandpa running away from? Short shorts? To get away from the snooty bastards the Swedes (Norwegians is apparently Scandanavia's red state, full of hate for the elitist fatwits in Stockholm)?
So yeah, go to the UN, you idiot New Yorkers. It's right freaking there.
