God in the elevator

People talk in the elevator.  On the phone. Drives me crazy. Yesterday, in the elevator annoyed by several simultaneous such conversations, I grabbed my wife's iphone and started to talk to Siri. (definitely not a Sir I ). She asked me: Who are you?  Started I am ... intending to say I am that I am.  Did not want to tbe blasphemous, although I probably qualified as Siri's god in that elevator. I only said: I am a bunch of passwords (combinations of letters, numbers and capital letters). This is who I am in Siri's world. Let her figure out what the passwords were.

Russians on 5th Avenue

By Central Park in the 90s. Thirty, forty Russians bearing placards in Russian. What they were asking for? Niznayu. Probably hoping some tv station will pick them up on this slow news day. What could they want?

Bearing Bad Luck

Last Sunday decided to have lunch at an Indian restaurant. It had closed. Each time I start patronizing a restaurant it closes. This is a maledizione since I voted for Mondale. Go to the opera. The conductor is  sick. The soprano is sick. The tenor lasts only one act. The Giants  might be leading by ten points. I turn the TV on. They lose. I  enjoy watching Hung. It is cancelled. I throw my support to Gingrich, he collapses. Someone is reading this blog....