He was checking out the chantrelle in the Whole Foods Market at the end of our block today, and I was too respectful of his privacy to indicate that I recognized him. But I didn't give a damn about his celebrity celebrity, rather wishing I could only tell Sam Waterston how much I appreciated and admired his activism and his work marketing The Nation.

"NOBODY OWNS THE NATION. THAT'S WHY SO MANY SOMEBODIES READ IT"

Hi, Sam. Thanks.

Oh, and you look great, sexier than ever.

There's at least a little bit of Andrés in most of the people who will take the time to read his story, and so it will really mean a lot to most. Still, I sure wish I had more of this guy's courage.

Mr. Zambrano, who left Ecuador when he was 14, is now a 19-year-old junior at Bard College, a liberal arts school 90 miles north of New York City. There, he revels in the works of new writers, and writes poems of his own. With a probing mind, he questions everything from politics to religion.

And he fears nothing. Because at Bard, he need not worry about being called names, or getting beaten up for reading under a tree. Nor does he worry that others might chastise him for writing poetry in his room.

Since he left Ecuador, he says, he has had to live with such fears in the places you might expect to be the safest havens from them: at home and in his community.

His stepfather, whom Mr. Zambrano described as macho, often belittled him for his intellect. He was told time and time again, he said, that a real man works.

If you have access to today's NYTimes, look for the wonderful picture which accompanies this article in The Times Neediest Cases series.

As if we didn't already have plenty to worry about when flying!

Three men [sailors returning to their homes in the central Pacific nation of Kiribati] carrying strange-looking documents who took turns locking themselves in the toilets before take-off on a plane leaving Paris for Hong Kong, were thrown off the plane after causing a terrorism alert.

It then became clear they had only been relieving sexual urges, airport officials said.

....

Police officers then discovered that the documents carried by the men in fact contained pornographic material and said this apparently explained why they had been in a hurry to visit the toilet.

Despite the innocent explanation, the plane's captain refused to let the men travel on his flight and they were taken off the aircraft, airport officials said.

Jeesh. There are less than a hundred thousand people in the entire country! If Kirbati is anything like the U.S., they might as well forget any privacy for the rest of their lives. On the other hand, if Kirbati is like the U.S. today, they might be able to build whole careers on their hapless airplane apprehending.

[story scoop courtesy of Bill Dobbs]

No name yet.

This little guy (gal?) essentially flew into our apartment this afternoon.
I was in the kitchen when I heard a soft thump at the window of the breakfast room. I looked up and saw a bright little fuzzy splotch in sort-of-a-chartreuse hue clinging desperately to a tiny steel muntin.

Fully aware that my next move might determine both of our fates, I opened the abutting window to the very cold air with very mixed feelings. He/she didn't need much encouragement at all, and soon ended up inside. An hour later it was sitting on my shoulder. By all appearances and movements, our guest is a very healthy young adult.

No one knew of any budgerigars in the building. I checked.

By the end of the afternoon all three of us were in posession of a parakeet home starter set, complete with, and this is my favorite, a colorful playgym combination abacus, mirror, feedcup and perch.

I mean, we didn't go out and buy a pet; the beautiful little creature dropped in on us.

When I explained to Douglas, our neighborhood pet store clerk, why I needed just a few ounces of seed, I still thought I had a choice. Maybe so, but he at least cinched my decision with, "Hey, it's got to mean something. Besides it'll bring all that serenity."

But I don't think it's working that way yet.

A better picture soon.

I've always called it my magic carpet, for the, to me, obvious reasons of its magical appearances (usually) and ease of operation (also only usually), but for many New Yorkers it's a truck as well. It's the subway!

While other Americans may arrange their purchases neatly in capacious car trunks, New Yorkers are towing theirs mightily through the turnstiles. While other Americans may strap surfboards atop PT Cruisers, New Yorkers are dragging theirs onto the A train to Far Rockaway. And while other Americans try to lock in a good radio station on the highway, New Yorkers are trying to figure out how to hang onto the pole in a packed train without losing control of the briefcase, the overcoat, the gym shoes, the large box of Pampers and the Big Brown Bag from Bloomingdale's.

The article includes a modest but impressive list of cartage phenomena sited in the last hundred years.