"Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear. For I wear a thousand masks,
masks that I am afraid to take off and none of them are me." —Unknown

26 January, 2005 - 12:48 p.m. - Libraries
From The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon:

The man called Isaac nodded and invited us in. A blue-tinted gloom obscured the sinuous contours of a marble staircase and a gallery of frescoes peopled with angels and fabulous creatures. We followed our host through a palatial corridor and arrived at a sprawling round hall, a virtual basilica of shadows spiraling up under a high glass dome, its dimness pierced by shafts of light that stabbed from above. A labyrinth of passageways and crammed bookshelves rose from base to pinnacle like a beehive woven with tunnels, steps, platforms, and bridges that presaged an immense library of seemingly impossible geometry. I looked at my father, stunned. He smiled at me and winked.

"Welcome to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, Daniel."

The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surrounded by very low railings. From any of the hexagons one can see, interminably, the upper and lower floors. The distribution of the galleries is invariable. Twenty shelves, five long shelves per side, cover all the sides except two; their height, which is the distance from floor to ceiling, scarcely exceeds that of a normal bookcase. One of the free sides leads to a narrow hallway which opens onto another gallery, identical to the first and to all the rest. To the left and right of the hallway there are two very small closets. In the first, one may sleep standing up; in the other, satisfy one's fecal necessities. Also through here passes a spiral stairway, which sinks abysmally and soars upwards to remote distances. In the hallway there is a mirror which faithfully duplicates all appearances. Men usually infer from this mirror that the Library is not infinite (if it were, why this illusory duplication?); I prefer to dream that its polished surfaces represent and promise the infinite ... Light is provided by some spherical fruit which bear the name of lamps. There are two, transversally placed, in each hexagon. The light they emit is insufficient, incessant.

24 January, 2005 - 9:16 a.m. - The memories of snow days
Albany doesn't stop for snow, even a foot of it. Blizzard warnings don't seem to scare the city. The moment the warnings come, the plows are already on the road. A few schools might close out of custom or some obligation to bus safety or snowy parking lots, but most businesses stay open, even if it means opening a little late.

This is why i don't understand why people still freak out about snow. We know the roads will be clear and reasonably safe once the snow had ended--usually after a few hours. And yet we still flock with absolute panic to the grocery stores with carts full enough for two weeks' worth of meals.

I find it strange that regardless of how matter-of-factly the city handles snow emergencies, and regardless of the might of our fleet of plows, people still find the snow so intimidating. We've learned to live with it, but we still panic.

And a part of me wonders: maybe this panic merely disguises our childlike joy at seeing the flakes come down, our deep and adventuresome fantasies of being antarctic explorers, our hopes that maybe--just maybe--they'll close school tomorrow.