New York Minutes, Vol. 7: What's on my mind?

My fellow Facebook addicts are familiar with the status update, the blank box on Facebook begging you to inform the world of your whereabouts, medical conditions, toddlers’ newest tricks, culinary experiments, or whatever else occurs to you. To wit:

Christine temporarily broke her New Year’s resolution of a no-booze January for a Brunello di Montalcino tasting, which is clearly understandable, right?
January 15

Christine decided that not drinking for all of January had too many negative externalities.
January 18

Christine is off to Canyon Ranch spa with mom & sis.
January 29

Christine just took a yoga class with Cyndi Lauper.
January 30

Christine went snowshoeing this morning (yes, with Cyndi Lauper).
February 1

Christine is really sick of Cyndi Lauper.
February 2

Christine is
February 4

Christine occasionally hits “enter” by mistake before typing anything in the status update box.
February 4

Christine is looking forward to spending her birthday on an economy flight to Johannesburg.
February 5

On my birthday I broke another New Year's resolution – to travel less – and went to South Africa with 21 of my fellow term members at the Council on Foreign Relations. We were in turns awestruck by the commitment to reconciliation of those who fought apartheid (makes you feel a little silly for begrudging the colleague who always “borrows” your post-its) and terrified by the problems the country faces - not least because they've just chosen to be led by a man who was recently cleared of corruption charges on a technicality rather than any presumption of innocence.

But my goodness, there are some amazing people doing some amazing work there... and the wine ain't bad neither.

Christine is on the $1 bus home from Boston. Oh, how far the mighty tumble.
March 20

Christine is off to Geneva for the final meeting of blihr.org.
March 29

Christine has been diverted to Montreal on the way home from Geneva, perhaps to refuel with poutine.
April 3

My travel schedule was supposed to be eased by the fact that I no longer work for Big Oil, and therefore cannot just look at my calendar upon receiving an invitation but actually have to think about whether I should make a trip, and then whether I can afford it. But there have been plenty of worthwhile events to attend, and plenty of either cheap ways to get there or people willing to fund me.

Christine fears for a country in which visiting fans are met by police at the train station to be escorted to their fenced-in area of the stadium.
April 13

And then, yes, back to the UK. Southwest England for Easter with the in-laws, Dublin to see friends and imbibe the requisite whiskey and Guinness, and London for a mix of business and pleasure.

Christine seeks 2-4 workspaces in Manhattan, able to pay rent in the form of really great company and kudos for supporting such worthwhile work.
May 4

The kind soul who was hosting my team in his groovy Soho office has had to give up his space, so we’re back on the street - or rather, back into the NYC scene of freelancers who work in coffee shops. Good thing I got a MacBook, as it’s definitely not a PC scene. (In an IBM sort of way, that is -- it’s most certainly a politically correct scene.) So if you know of anyone with space, ideally south of 23rd St…

Christine's project's new report is out!
April 30

But we roll on nonetheless, changing the world, one report at a time. (?)

On the home front, life is good, as the t-shirt says; my husband (who still actively resists Facebook, although his envy at my now being privy to the quotidian movements of his London friends might finally break him down) is still employed on Wall Street, which every day is like a little Christmas present.

As his visa is getting renewed over some indeterminate period of time this year, we’re thinking about staying in the lower 48 for vacation. We’re thinking lower 48, as I’ve been to fewer states in the southeast U.S. than I have countries in southeast Asia. Recommendations welcome.

much love,
cb

P.S. Christine requests that you don't post this to your Facebook page, as she still deludes herself into thinking that she can control with whom she shares what.

New York Minutes, Vol. 6: Feliz Año Nuevo

Greetings from our new home, a whopping six blocks away from our old home, seventeen floors above the construction site next to the Woolworth Building. The site is to become a Four Seasons Hotel – but not until the completion of the Freedom Tower, so our view north should be unobstructed for a few years to come. The week around Christmas was spent listening to the mellifluous sounds of packing tape – but all in all it went smoothly...

...hopefully indicating a trend of seamless transitions, as I finally left company payroll a few weeks ago. It's incredible how much more responsive organizations can be when you leave than when you stay: I got booted out of the e-expenses system and received my severance pay and accoutrements faster than I'd ever had an issue resolved by the company before.

A friend through work circles just moved his small consulting firm into a space that's a few sizes too big for now, so the four of us working on the UN mandate who've all been working at home will actually try sitting together for awhile.

Having people to talk to during the day other than doormen and gym staff is almost as exciting as the fact that the office itself borders Chinatown, which is a treat for all the senses. The drawback is the threat of the China Ten, the weight-gaining phenomenon I was warned about upon moving to Shanghai: like the Freshman Fifteen from college, but brought on by an abundance of dumplings and noodles rather than calzones and pizza.

Speaking of food (and when do we not, really), we just spent two weeks eating beef and empanadas in Argentina and Chile to celebrate surviving our first year of marriage. You may recall that since Adrian planned the honeymoon as a surprise last year, it was my turn – and I was SO close to pulling it off…

…But a few weeks before we left, I found myself in a rare moment of high stress, my only full week at home during the entire autumn, during which I spoke at two sessions at the annual conference of my field so it wasn’t exactly relaxing. We still hadn’t found a new apartment; I’d managed to slip out of the conference to see one that I thought might work, but Adrian didn't think he'd have time to see it the next day, so the following conversation ensued while cleaning up after a dinner party we’d hosted:

Panicked Wife: “When do you think we’re going to find a place?”
Calm Husband: “A few weeks before we have to move, I guess.”
Frustrated Wife: “When?! We can’t look at anything while we're in Argentina?!...”
Disappointed Husband: “You didn't mean to say that, did you?”
Exasperated Wife: “Say what?!...”

A moment after which Said Wife crumbled onto the floor into a little heap, and the next day dropped a few extracurricular activities and vowed not to spend as much time on the road. (No longer having a travel budget will help.)

But bless him, he did his best to forget and we had a fabulous time. A few nights in Buenos Aires; three nights in Mendoza, touring vineyards; one night at the truly spectacular Iguazu Falls, which we visited by light of the full moon; then all the way down to Ushuaia, the world's southernmost city, where after the requisite visit to the world's southernmost Irish pub we embarked on a three-night cruise that took us to Cape Horn and through the Beagle Channel and Magellan Straits.

Now, I'd never had any interest in going on a cruise, but Adrian had, so I figured this would be a good introduction – supposedly not a very cruisey cruise, and it's the only way to access Cape Horn.

But my apprehensions were vindicated when we were assigned to the table at which we would spend the next eight meals, and one of the first things the couple next to us said to the couple on their other side (thankfully) was, “Sarah Palin? I thought she was a breath of fresh air.”

So instead of meals being long leisurely affairs as one might want on vacation, we spent as little time at the table as we could while still masticating like civilized people. Luckily our waiter had us pegged and kept the Malbec flowing.

But we did get to disembark at Cape Horn, and see a glacier calving in a big way – and I nearly exploded when I spotted a pod of dolphins swimming alongside our boat.

After disembarking in Chilean Patagonia we made our way to Torres del Paine National Park where we hiked to the base of the iconic mountain peaks, then flew back to Buenos Aires before heading home. The three-hour time difference is negligible, but it was the typical 9:30pm dinnertime that it took some time to shake off.

So there you have it. I’m ready for 2009: New Year, new apartment, new haircut, new work mode, new MacBook… and yes, finally, a Facebook account. See you there – it will help distract me from my attempts at a booze-free January.

Much love,
cb

P.S. Speaking of putting 2008 behind us, one of my favorite nonprofits has been hit hard by the Madoff fallout; grateful if you might consider whether you know anyone who could support an initiative to track lawsuits against companies accused of human rights abuses.

New York Minutes, Vol. 5: Big Oil Don’t Cry

Here’s an email I recently sent to about 300 former and current colleagues (names of company, projects and people deleted for less Google-ability):

______________________________________________
From: me
Sent: 21 September 2008 18:30
Subject: from a shaky start...

B- colleagues past & present:

I don't believe I've ever told any of you this, but I began my first day at B- in 1999 with a mixture of excitement, skepticism, jetlag, and some sort of stomach bug; a few hours into my B- career, I threw up in the executive floor bathroom.

It got better from there.

Since then, I've had the opportunity to take part in our groundbreaking management of social impacts around T- & S-; help our company realize its supermajor size as part of the first Group Planning team; and bring colleagues together from all over the world to develop our human rights guidance note.

For the past two years, I've been on secondment to the U.N. mandate on business & human rights led by Harvard professor John R-. In June, the Human Rights Council welcomed his work to date and renewed his mandate for three years – specifically requesting that he develop practical recommendations for companies, governments and others to protect human rights in the context of corporate activity.

At the end of this year, I'll move from B- to Harvard to continue supporting Professor R-‘s work, still based in New York City.

It's been a great honor to work with all of you over the years. May your most inauspicious beginnings prove fruitful beyond your imagination.

Sincerely,
Christine

______________________________________________

End of an era. I’ll miss being part of one of the world’s greatest companies – it’s been a terrific ride, as all of you can attest. But I sensed it might be time to go when our new CEO ordered the art off the walls in our offices worldwide, to be replaced with photos of oil rigs and hard-hatted workers. (I’m not making this up.)

It will be interesting to see how much changes, given that I’ve been working on this U.N. project for over two years now. I’ll keep in touch with the colleagues working on human rights, but I may miss the broader community that I enjoyed being part of but will likely never see again: the old guard secretaries who really ran the company; the security guards and printroom staff; the people I worked with during my brief forays into the quantitative world. And I will certainly miss turning left upon boarding the aircraft.

Speaking of aircraft, since Adrian planned our honeymoon in secret, I get to wreak revenge for our first anniversary trip in December. The problem is that I’m terrible at keeping secrets (my own, that is – all of yours are safe and sound). See, like I shouldn’t even said “Speaking of aircraft” at the beginning of this paragraph. I mean, maybe we’re not even flying. I should have said, “Speaking of travel.” Although given the current balance of my mutual funds, maybe it will be a stay-cation. In any case, I’d better get planning.

Speaking of planning, our landlord has just informed us that our lease will not be renewed when it expires 9 January: Apparently the apartments above and next to ours that she and her family currently inhabit don’t add up to enough space, so she needs ours as well.

So here we go back into the Manhattan New York real estate market, which thus far has been immunized against the national slowdown by Europeans who come over for the weekend and buy iPods and condos. They say the market may be softening, but “they” don’t have to move, and anyway that feels like assuring someone diving into a shark pit that the sharks’ teeth have dulled a bit. Do feel free to pass along any two-bedroom apartments in Tribeca that come your way.

To make myself feel even worse about our cost of living, I’ve just arrived in Madison, Wisconsin, to eat cheddar and speak at the UW-Oshkosh’s Earth Charter Summit on the invitation of my fellow Amherst rugby captain. The taxi driver who took me into town from the airport was extremely tired, having worked both the Dairy Expo and the night Badgers game in the past week, but still impressively verbose.

Hope you all are weathering the financial storm. Stay the course, read my college classmate Ron Lieber’s “Your Money” column in the New York Times, and for God’s sake don’t touch your 401k.

Much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 4: ow

I’m a bit achy today. This past weekend I went to my undergrad alma mater to celebrate fifty years of (men’s) rugby at the college. I’d planned to skip around the field for a few minutes in order to have participated in the women’s alumni game, but there were few substitutes so I ended up playing most of the game in the depths of the scrum.

For the first few minutes I felt great, fitter than I thought I would, enjoying the cheering and heckling from the sidelines by the men warming up for their game, entertaining thoughts of seeking out the NYC women’s club… But then someone stepped on my foot, which kind of hurt. Then I got tackled and dumped on my head, which also smarted a bit. Then we drank a lot of bad beer and woke up early the next day, which wasn’t too pretty either. So the gym downstairs from my apartment remains the most appealing option.

But it was a terrific weekend, different from the family affair that my 15th reunion in one month’s time is expected to be. I was reminded of the strength and sisterhood that our team provided, and how formative the whole experience was in developing physical and psychological confidence.

As we were going down for a scrum at one point during the game, the hooker suggested I adjust my posture to be a stronger second row, which I did to good effect. It occurred to me what a great example that was of effective and constructive feedback, well-delivered and received – such an essential part of what we hope to achieve with our colleagues. And in fact, how team sports are a physical manifestation of our workplaces…

Later it occurred to me that, duh, I’m not the first one to think of these parallels. But I was pleasantly surprised to realize how valuable and relevant such a major part of my undergrad experience is to what I do today, since in recent years I’ve been far more engaged with my grad school than my college, which has come as a surprise given that my blood ran purple for so long.

None of this elevates hanging out in a totally gross dormitory basement (the furniture hasn’t changed since I was there, and it was pretty nasty then), drinking American beer out of cans (when we’re not racing to drink out of plastic cups and turn them upside down on our heads), and singing rude songs – but all that sure was fun.

On a more adult note, the sixth month of married life is going swimmingly, thank you very much. (Not least because I did not subject my husband to this rugbypalooza, although I will drag him up to reunion next month.) With a great deal of practice, I’ve become accustomed to calling him “my husband”, although being referred to as his “wife” is still kinda funny.

We wondered what we would talk about after planning our wedding for nine months; turns out we talk about how great the wedding was and occasionally wonder what to do with our 1400 photos.

Work is going fabulously: Our latest report to the UN Human Rights Council has been received well (even got a bit of play in the Economist), and I’m enjoying participating in a number of initiatives outside of the extractives industry to gain a broader perspective on business and human rights, as well as doing a bit of speaking and writing.

Although one recent speaking engagement demonstrated just how long it’s been since I was in school: I was on a panel in an internet law class, during which the teaching assistant googled items as we mentioned them, the results appearing on the screen behind us. The students do that anyway, the professor explained. Too much for my brain to process.

One initiative enabled my first trip to India, to Bangalore. I knew it was going to be a good week when I received a proper head waggle at immigration – and indeed it was. Some elements reminded me of Jakarta: Women in beautiful saris on motorbikes, often riding with an improbably large number of family members; traffic anarchy (cows in the street!); broken sidewalks packed with vendors in front of open storefronts. The Hindu temples stunned me with their rainbows of color, wedged between nondescript commercial buildings; and I survived some dozen consecutive delicious Indian meals, happy if a little bloated.

One final work-related note: I finally tired of digging through my deleted e-mails whenever someone tells me that he or she is looking for a job just like the one I deleted sometime in the previous month or two, so I set up a blog to post listings and other resources.

Best movie of the year so far: “Man on Wire”, a documentary about Philippe Petit plotting his 1974 tightrope walk between the Twin Towers. (And it wasn’t just because Sting was in the audience with us.) We saw the film’s New York premiere last week as part of the Tribeca Film Festival, and yesterday caught Petit doing his street performer act in Washington Square Park, complete with a brief tightrope walk between a tree and a lamppost.

In one week’s time we’re off to Japan to celebrate the wedding of a dear Jakarta friend. This will be my husband’s first time east of Istanbul, so we’re very excited. This will be the first long-haul flight in awhile for which I’ll have to turn right upon boarding. Could be painful, but at least I probably won’t get tackled and dumped on my head.

Hope all is well in your neck of the woods.

Much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 3: "Mrs. Who?"

“Hello Mrs. C--, may I please speak with your husband?”

“Who? My what? Sorry, you have the wrong... Oh! Yes, hold on...”

So went a number of phone conversations with hotel concierges in Mexico and Belize during the first two weeks of December.

Yes, we went through with it. Evidence on our photographers' blog.

But no, I'm not changing my name. I considered dropping my first name, but have decided that the status quo is just fine for now.

The wedding planning process was not unlike going on safari in Africa, where the goal is to nail the Big Five: the buffalo, the elephant, the leopard, the lion, and the rhino. In Weddingland, substitute the venue, caterer, florist, dj, and photographer. (Assuming, of course, that the groom has already been bagged.)

Some of the planning was fun (pink champagne tasting with the caterer); some not so much (vendor negotiations, first-ever migraine while getting measured for the dress).

And of all the advice I received, why did no one point out that we only needed about two-thirds as many invites as invitees? (What, you thought we would have worked that out ourselves?) Our 2008 grocery lists will be on very nice paper.

For my bachelorette party (“hen do” for you Brits), I was worried when Heidie first told me her idea: “You want to do a Sex & the City tour?” I responded, picturing us queuing for an hour for a cupcake with squealing women from the Midwest. (Not that there's anything wrong with women from the Midwest.)

“No,” she replied, “I thought we could do a Bader & the City tour!” We rented a delightfully embarrassing party bus, complete with strobe and neon, and met at my childhood apartment building, where the doorman I grew up with just happened to be on duty. We continued onto the sites of my various schools, jobs, doctors' offices, and other New York hotspots. It was surprisingly fun touring around Manhattan in such a vehicle, attracting a predictable combination of cheers and insults.

As for the wedding itself, it was a rockin' good evening, filled with cocktails, laughter, tapas, guests eating the centerpieces – you know, that old chestnut. It was the first time since my brief Cyndi Lauper phase in the mid-80s that I wore make-up - that level of frequency feels about right. It was also probably the first and last time that people would happily sit and watch Adrian and me dance, although I am convinced that his air guitar is competition-worthy. (Yes, of course we went to the US Air Guitar Championships this summer.)

And then two weeks of sunshine, punctuated by ceviche, beer, and sporadic realizations that we’d just committed to being together for the rest of our time on earth. A daunting but rather lovely prospect.

Adrian had planned the whole honeymoon as a surprise. What to pack? Bikini and a fur coat, of course - appropriate for all seasons. Sure enough, the hotel rooms that had air conditioning got a bit nippy. But the bikini was more useful on the best segment of the trip: three nights on a 35-foot catamaran tooling around the Belizean cayes, just us and a skipper, who would occasionally dive into the water and come back up with a lobster or conch that he'd cook for us. Who knew that barracuda burritos were so tasty?

We snorkelled, kayaked, and slept around some impossibly small islands, most uninhabited but for some pelicans. I thought I'd been to some remote places, but to see nothing on the horizon except a cluster of mangroves, flying fish, and waves breaking on the world's second-largest reef was quite an experience.

And now back to a chilly New York winter. Not that work hasn't been plenty interesting this year (mind the double negative): Those who recall my travails getting to Zurich last year will be pleased to learn that I made it back there with much less strife, although was so focused on getting the flights right that I found myself without a hotel room.

My UN team is starting to formulate recommendations in preparation for our mandate’s conclusion in June; in the meantime, my company has decided that it no longer needs a New York office because our investor relations team should be based in the financial capital of the world, Houston.

So I’ll soon be working from home full-time; any advice on this front in terms of either infrastructure or psychology would be much appreciated. For example, I recently heard of one man who would put on a suit and walk around the block before returning to his home office to start his day.

Upon conclusion of the UN mandate the plan is for me to rejoin the company virtually, working for the new policy and strategy team based in London, to help set that team up and disseminate all the good stuff I’ve learned in the past 18 months.

Which likely means a few trips back to London, where I still enjoy the man-on-the-street wit: Walking along Piccadilly during my last visit, a man shouted at me, “Glue sniffing!” This had me stumped until I remembered that I was wearing a t-shirt from my former London frisbee team, Bad Habits.

Thank you for all of your love and good wishes this year. Here’s to an even more joyous 2008.

New York Minutes, Vol. 2: ice ice baby

17 March 2007, New York City

Date Night, a regular occurrence. As it's St. Patrick's Day, we're able to secure a table at Chanterelle, one of Tribeca's most revered restaurants. (I guess fine diners drink green beer elsewhere.) We had a lovely meal, at the end of which we selected the cheese plate, also standard operating procedure. Adrian ordered us some champagne, sensible since we had recently attended a tasting that proclaimed champagne to be the perfect companion to any cheese.

I still had a bit of red wine left over, and deliberated whether to finish that as I started my cheese or cut straight to the bubbly. I picked up the red wine glass, to which Adrian barked, "Park it!" Goodness, he's quite determined about the champagne pairing, I thought, as I put down my wine glass and picked up the champagne flute. I turned to him to clink glasses, at which point he declared his love for me and asked if I would marry him.

Now, I suppose some people see this moment coming in their lives; I, clearly, am not one of those people.

"Are you serious?" I squawked, eyebrows contorted, flute hovering in front of my face.

He fumbled into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box, which he put on the table in front of me. Then turned it around so that the hinges faced him. Then opened it.

You know how babies look when you put something shiny in front of them?

The champagne remained suspended in the air while my head dipped down towards the table. I stared. And stared. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" And stared.

Finally I remembered that I wasn't alone. I looked up at Adrian, who raised an eyebrow. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "Of course I will!"

He smiled, and we looked back at the ring. Now what? It somehow made it onto my finger, at which point all surrounding diners burst into applause.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was a bit of a blur. (We don't even remember what was on the cheese plate, if that tells you something.) We proceeded to celebrate at our favorite wine bar with a bottle of champagne... then at another bar nearby that specializes in champagne... getting up the next day just in time to call Adrian's parents before the sun set on southern England.

So I'm sorry not to have written for awhile. I have had a bit to do, but more critically, I've been unsure how to treat this momentous turn of events in these virtual pages. I don't want this to turn into a wedding blog, although I will certainly be sharing some choice moments from this rather unique process.

To be honest, I've felt a bit awkward writing about it because as much as I'd like to invite every single one of you, and your partners and prospective partners and former partners and children and parents and pets, and everyone we went to school/camp/work/played rugby/golf/frisbee with/against/met in a hostel/bought a beer from/babysat, I can't. Adrian has this strange notion that he wants to know most of the people at his wedding ... and I've come to want a small gathering as well. (And that's not just because the cost of holding such an event in New York City rivals the GDP of some island nations.)

I know that those of you who have been through this understand, and those who haven't are sensible enough to know that we have a lifetime of partying ahead of us anyway. So whether or not you're with us in New York on December 1st, please raise a glass and know that you're in my heart, if not in the room.

And oh, what a fabulous room it is! We'll be in the Prince George, a landmark building that was one of New York's most glorious hotels from its construction in 1904 until it fell into disrepair some seventy years later; it's now a supportive housing facility run by an alum and trustee of my fairest college. The ballroom has been restored to its original neo-Renaissance glory, and the rental fee supports services in the building for its residents. It's quite a special place.

The only other bridezilla tidbit I will inflict upon you in this dispatch is the Dress Ordeal. As you might guess, I am not someone who has nurtured a vision of My Dress since childhood. But I figured this would be my only opportunity to experience firsthand the phenomenon that is Kleinfeld's, so I booked an appointment at their new Chelsea store that Heidie, my matron of honor (or MoH, as the wedding websites call her), points out has managed to maintain the Bay Ridge feel when they moved to Manhattan, with a faux classical aesthetic (if one can call it that) throughout.

The receptionist, without looking up from her computer screen, greeted me with a monotone "Congratulations and welcome have a seat your consultant will be with you in a minute."

My "consultant" eventually popped out from behind a Corinthian column, clad in a black pants suit and white slippers like everyone else in the shop, and escorted me and my entourage back to her dressing room. "So, tell me about your wedding!" she said, smiling until she did a double-take at the clipboard in horror: "December 1st... of THIS year? Oh, honey, ok..."

We tried on a few dresses, most of which were really quite horrible. The session came to an abrupt close when I tried on a dress by Rivini, a designer with some interesting features but an overall effect totalling well over a month's rent (and that's Tribeca rent, mind you), and my consultant and her boss both exclaimed: "OH - MY - GOD, you are TOTALLY a Rivini bride!" Thanks and bye bye!

Heidie's two-year-old son Ellis, a veteran of New York's bridal shops, helped eliminate another dress when upon seeing me in it he shouted a line from his Dora the Explorer books: "Steep and hard to climb!" Again, I have no strong views on what I should look like in a wedding dress, but a mountain is definitely not on the list.

The end of the Ordeal (or at least the selection phase) arrived when I visited one shop during a trunk sale, during which a designer brings in her latest samples. I tried on one of the dresses on offer (and when I say "tried on", I really mean "subjected myself to having the dress clipped onto me like a paper cut-out while I stood there in my underwear, since samples are made for models the size of my forearm") and it seemed to work, as far as one could tell under the circumstances. We invited in the designer, a totally chilled-out older woman from Atlanta, and she suggested a few additional changes we could make (in addition to making sure it fit all the way around my body). I figure if I'm going with the genre at all, "working" directly with the designer could actually be a fun way to do it.

On the way out, we walked by another room with a bride-to-be squealing about how much she LOVED the dress she had on, but how her father was questioning whether she could really know what she'll want in 18 months' time. "A bit harsh on the groom, isn't it?" whispered Heidie. "I think they're talking about the dress," I replied.

...

Moving from Modern Bride to Business Week, some of you may have caught wind of the recent leadership transition at my company. (If you missed it, you can google my company and "gay CEO" on your own.) It's been a rough period; our now-former CEO was a remarkable leader, and I certainly hope he eventually re-emerges proud of who he is and what he's done for the world.

In the meantime, however, I'm quite happily out of the morass of uncertainty that is headquarters and continuing to enjoy my work. The UN mandate on business and human rights to which I am deployed was extended until June 2008 by the Human Rights Council, so I should be set for the time being.

Which suits me just fine, since with a few short words traded over a cheese plate, 2007 suddenly became The Year of the Wedding.

Please send news from your corner of the world.

Much love,
cb

New York Minutes, Vol. 1: I’m back and I’m proud

ode to my stepbrothers

This dispatch begins with a tribute to my two stepbrothers. First, a big round of applause for Rupert, who continues his winning streak by naming this series as well as the Anglo Files. Well done, sir.

Second, a hearty congratulations to Nick, who was part of NASA’s Mission STS-116, which sent the space shuttle Discovery to the International Space Station in December to continue the station’s construction and rewire its power system.

We went to Cape Canaveral for the launch and a few days of friends and family activities. Astronauts who had been to space before held Q&A sessions to field enquiries ranging from what it’s like when the engine starts up (“you definitely feel like you’re going somewhere”) to whether you can drink coffee in space (of course, “which is good news for us coffee drinkers”).

We gathered in a designated parking lot three hours before the first scheduled launch attempt to be herded onto buses and taken to the building that houses an actual Saturn V rocket from the late '60s – a massive piece of kit. We bought the requisite NASA paraphernalia at the gift shop (I’m sure the agency’s government funding pales in comparison to retail income) and took our spots in the bleachers with a clear view to the launch pad three miles away.

The audio from Mission Control was broadcast over the loudspeakers, a television monitor was sharing video feeds, and the veteran astronauts were providing commentary and answering questions. Everything seemed to proceed smoothly, with the weather the only questionable element.

I’d never appreciated why shuttles need a clear sky to launch if airplanes could take off in storms, but this was among the many things I learned that week. First of all, there needs to be an unobstructed view to see whether there’s any damage to the shuttle on take-off. Secondly, the shuttle (which I was most familiar with from MTV’s early station id’s) is made up of three elements: the solid rocket boosters, two skinny things that get jettisoned into the Atlantic first; the big orange fuel tank, which falls off next once it’s empty; and finally the orbiter, the small glider that makes the rest of the trip. The orbiter needs decent weather to land, so in case an emergency landing is necessary, weather needs to be ok at Cape Canaveral for a little while after launch and at one of the three emergency landing sites in Europe (in France, Spain, and North Africa), which the orbiter would be over mere minutes later.

The cloud cover that night was just over the maximum acceptable thickness of a few thousand feet, so the mission controller stopped the countdown clock at 05:00 while we all waited with baited breath, watching the weather plane dart in and out of the clouds and listening to the pilot’s reports. (Apparently this is much more stressful for the friends and family than for the astronauts, since the crew are busy and have simulated this many times before.) At the last possible second – each day there’s only a ten-minute window within which they can launch and meet up with the Space Station’s orbit – the mission controller said we’d have to give up for today, so we boarded the buses dejectedly and headed back to our hotel.

We came back two nights later with a less-than-favourable forecast, wondering how many more days we could milk what the town of Cocoa Beach had to offer, but miraculously the clouds cleared and the big red clock raced down to 0:00:00: We saw the exhaust cloud form, then the rumbling sound reached us and turned into a loud crackle, then the cloud expanded as the shuttle slowly rose and started to accelerate. The glow around the shuttle grew and lit up the 9pm sky like it could have been midday.

After about a minute, the shuttle faded into a dot and appeared to descend – luckily we were warned that that visual effect was actually due to the curvature of the earth.

As the overwhelming sights and sounds receded, I remembered why we were there and turned to Rupert: “Dude, your brother’s IN that thing!” (He was busy retrieving his son’s toys from under the bleachers, as four-year-old Charlie had been chattering away but was so stunned by the launch that he dropped everything and froze, eyes up and jaw on the ground.)

In a clever ploy to get us back onto the buses quickly, we were warned that the exhaust cloud was heading our way and could produce a sort of acid rain effect that “might” cause “minor skin irritation”. By the time we arrived back at the parking lot, we were informed that they had already orbited the earth once.

There are some wonderful photos and video clips on nasa.gov, so I’ll add just one here:

The mission was indeed successful, not just because the crew completed their tasks and came home safely in time for Christmas, but because the Swedish astronaut on board, a keen ultimate player, set a new world record for Maximum Time Aloft for a frisbee. Not surprisingly, debate is raging on the disc blogs, as some have posited that the world record actually needs to take place on the world.

back to planet earth…

My first moment of readjusting to New York came very early on, when I took Adrian to an improv show. For one sketch, one of the improvisers left the room while the others asked the audience for a cliché that they would act out for the absent one to guess. There was a moment of silence from the audience, so I shouted out, “Bob’s your uncle!” This provoked a less-than-enthusiastic response from my fellow audience members (“No one’s ever HOID of that,” “Could we, like, VOTE or something?”), but the cast got it, eventually.

Of course, the rudest welcome-back-to-New-York of all is the apartment hunt. Can anyone explain to me why brokers haven’t gone the way of travel agents towards obsolescence? They all use the same central “database”, actually a publicly-accessible website, but also tout their “exclusives”. So you have to work with multiple brokers, who then get grumpy about your working with others – which is almost understandable, since there’s no justice in that the winner is the one who happens to produce the right apartment for you at the right time, regardless of how helpful or unhelpful he or she has been throughout the process. And once you start working with a broker, God forbid should you look at any property on your own, even if it is in the public domain where anyone else could rent it without the hassle, delay, and 15% fee of the middleman.

In spite of this truly unpleasant process, we’ve landed squarely in Tribeca, where Adrian can walk to work and I can work at home overlooking the Hudson River (well, I can see bits of it between the big buildings), with an easy subway ride to my midtown office when necessary. I was never well-acquainted with the bits of Manhattan that have names and crooked streets, and even if I had been, the area’s changed so much since I left the city in 1997 that it’s a whole new town to explore.

…and down south

I went to Colombia with my UN gig in January. I was very excited to finally go there, having gotten to know a number of Colombian colleagues over the years – it’s our largest exporter of labor within the company after the US and UK. Our meetings in Bogotá were sandwiched by visits to my company’s facilities, a human rights training facility for the army, and a bottling plant and sugar cane plantation and mill that supplies one of the world’s largest beverage companies. It was a fantastic week, full of challenging issues but incredible capability, passion, and optimism; wonderfully gracious hospitality; and a night out at one of the most fabulously fun restaurants I’ve ever been to, a maze of a place crowded with bric-a-brac and people celebrating every occasion imaginable.

Now down to the business of building a new life in New York, including re-connecting with friends from every episode of my life so far. In every station abroad, I had a frisbee scene, a work scene, and a few other great friends, but I’d forgotten how rich it is to have so many different circles of people around: classmates from grad school, college, high school, and even elementary school; former colleagues from city government; and friends from other phases who have taken the inevitable path to New York.

Our house has been warmed, and Adrian took me to Per Se for my 35th (partly in response to my treating him to Masa for his most recent birthday). We’re off to a good start.

Here’s to a fun filled 2007.