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Noted on the run...
Jul. 12th, 2006 12:19 pmI went over to the Kometa last night and got some exercise riding a bicyle back to the Fili. It seems that our bicycles have a tendency to end up there, leaving us with this one bike that has a flat tire and is thus useless (else who knows? it might have ended up at the Kometa as well). Why this happens isn't quite clear, but it does.
Earlier, after an overdue phone conversation with Galina, I went downstairs and "worked out" on the treadmill (150+ calories over 1.5+ miles in about 20 minutes). As I have no athletic shoes right now, I worked out barefoot, which turns out to have been not so good an idea, as I can feel a blister forming on the ball of my left foot. Also, I am told that walking barefoot on a powered treadmill is a safety hazard, as one can cut oneself up pretty good under the right circumstances.
Anyway, I am showered, shaved, limping slightly, and ready for the day.
Olga is being moved from the Fili to the Kometa, ostensibly as a safety precaution (they have no interpreters there, and whoever does go there should speak French), so we shall have to arrange to play table tennis at a "neutral" site, such as the Proton Club. The Proton, BTW, will be the venue of the Bastille Day celebrations Friday, and Olga and I are on tap as the working interpreters for that evening.
A number of the French managers left for home yesterday, and have been replaced by new ones (the reasoning has to do with vacation scheduling, I was told). The outgoing team surprised me by distributing tee shirts to the team early (usually this occurs during the last day or two of the campaign). The lead, Daniel, also was gracious enough to thank me for the interpretation job I had performed, thus helping undermine this persistent inferiority complex I have about my French skills.
Aside: Whenever I hear or think of "inferiority complex," I recall an old acquaintance, the late Jay Malbrough, who taught me a lot about the business of performing in front of people. He was a Baptist preacher when I knew him, specializing in something called "gospel magic," wherein the lessons in the Bible were taught with the aid of illusions and sleight-of-hand. I knew him back when I used to hang out at the Forks Hotel, and lost track of him, his wife and son when I left Buffalo to go back to New York City.
Anyway, he used to tell of a time before he became a reverend, when he lived the often difficult life of a far-from-the-A-list stage performer, into drugs and alcohol and the whole scene, and one of the heckler putdowns he shared with me was, "You know, you really don't have an inferiority complex, buddy. You're just plain inferior!"
The line has apparently made an indelible impression, which makes itself known as I wonder: "Are all the people who are saying nice things about my spoken French just being kind?" Am I being too hard on myself?
Anyway, it's not something I plan to waste too much time on in the near future. Je ferai de mon mieux, and that's all I can do.
Time to go to lunch and then to the полтинник until the end of the work day.
Cheers...
Earlier, after an overdue phone conversation with Galina, I went downstairs and "worked out" on the treadmill (150+ calories over 1.5+ miles in about 20 minutes). As I have no athletic shoes right now, I worked out barefoot, which turns out to have been not so good an idea, as I can feel a blister forming on the ball of my left foot. Also, I am told that walking barefoot on a powered treadmill is a safety hazard, as one can cut oneself up pretty good under the right circumstances.
Anyway, I am showered, shaved, limping slightly, and ready for the day.
Olga is being moved from the Fili to the Kometa, ostensibly as a safety precaution (they have no interpreters there, and whoever does go there should speak French), so we shall have to arrange to play table tennis at a "neutral" site, such as the Proton Club. The Proton, BTW, will be the venue of the Bastille Day celebrations Friday, and Olga and I are on tap as the working interpreters for that evening.
A number of the French managers left for home yesterday, and have been replaced by new ones (the reasoning has to do with vacation scheduling, I was told). The outgoing team surprised me by distributing tee shirts to the team early (usually this occurs during the last day or two of the campaign). The lead, Daniel, also was gracious enough to thank me for the interpretation job I had performed, thus helping undermine this persistent inferiority complex I have about my French skills.
Aside: Whenever I hear or think of "inferiority complex," I recall an old acquaintance, the late Jay Malbrough, who taught me a lot about the business of performing in front of people. He was a Baptist preacher when I knew him, specializing in something called "gospel magic," wherein the lessons in the Bible were taught with the aid of illusions and sleight-of-hand. I knew him back when I used to hang out at the Forks Hotel, and lost track of him, his wife and son when I left Buffalo to go back to New York City.
Anyway, he used to tell of a time before he became a reverend, when he lived the often difficult life of a far-from-the-A-list stage performer, into drugs and alcohol and the whole scene, and one of the heckler putdowns he shared with me was, "You know, you really don't have an inferiority complex, buddy. You're just plain inferior!"
The line has apparently made an indelible impression, which makes itself known as I wonder: "Are all the people who are saying nice things about my spoken French just being kind?" Am I being too hard on myself?
Anyway, it's not something I plan to waste too much time on in the near future. Je ferai de mon mieux, and that's all I can do.
Time to go to lunch and then to the полтинник until the end of the work day.
Cheers...
