I started to regain some of my fondness for New York these last two days as the cold weather departed. It was possible to go out at night just wearing a sweat-shirt, and, today at least, it had warmed up to t-shirt weather. As I left Midtown around 4.00, the streets were alive with color and chaos. I've been down on New York ever since coming home to San Francisco after my six months in Manhattan, for two reasons: the horrible Winter weather, and the unpleasantness of so many interactions. I've almost dreaded going to New York. But now that the weather is warming up again, I find I'm already looking forward to my next trip here, at the end of April. For that trip, I'll spend a whole weekend in New York.

It's been a very good week at work. We reached a major milestone today, in getting the running time of our daily process down to around ten hours. (Last time it ran, it took 30 hours, which isn't much use for a process that has to run daily.) This daily process is transforming tens of millions of detailed financial transactions every day into data that communicates to the customers for whom we're building it. It would be tedious to explain all the invention and toil that went into reducing the running time. But it's one of the things I most like about my job; taking on difficult technical challenges and pulling them off.

(American Airlines Flight 177, Fri, Mar 26, 2004, 6:02 PM Pacific)

I'm on the plane now, comfortably ensconced in the front row of business class, after a decent meal. I was relieved to get upgraded; one unfortunate side effect of the recovering economy is that upgrades have become scarce. I should be wary of writing a journal entry while flying. I don't know how many times I've written, on the plane, an entry which seems, as soon as I'm on land again, far too introspective and confessional. There is something about being on a plane which makes you see the world differently. I can't put my finger on it. For one thing, I find that I become sentimental, crying like a baby at the silly romantic comedy they usually show as in-flight entertainment. Then I become either thoughtful or excited; the former leads me to strategems of transforming my life, becoming a better person; the latter gives rise to big and bold plans, and an eager involvement in whatever books, writing or creative activity is nearest at hand.

Yet I'm becoming such an old hand at travel; I don't seem to enter that realm of in-flight excitable creative activity so easily. Maybe I'm turning into a business drone, armed with my laptop, like so many around me who while the long hours away with their spreadsheets and business magazines. Suffer the thought. See what I mean? Already this journal entry is becoming one of those introspective doodles.

In more ways than one, have I become a seasoned traveler. All types of wiles and sneaky ways have I developed. (If I sound a little like Gandalf it's because I'm still in the middle of reading The Lord of the Rings). For instance, my to-be-checked luggage is alway on the verge of exceeding the free allowance of fifty pounds. So I put my heavy work laptop in my backpack when checking in; then steal it out and shove it into my suitcase in between checking in and depositing my bag at the security x-ray machine. And while I'm in New York, I use my daily meals allowance to shop for protein powder, flax-seed oil and other supplements at the great healthfood store I discovered in Hells Kitchen, when I lived in that neighborhood last year.

Then of course there is the well-abused tactic of dining out with friends, paying for the combined meal by credit-card, collecting cash from my friends, then itemizing the entire bill when I file my expense report. I thought I was a little devil with all these secret tricks. Yet I find that my colleagues are even worse; picking up business cards in restaurants they don't even eat at, and scribbling down whatever figure they fancy and submitting that a receipt. There are arts indeed so fell and grim that ... oh, hold on, I'm talking like Gandalf again. In any event, I don't feel particularly guilty at my little deceptions; they are not adequate repayment for having to part myself from my San Francisco life so frequently, nor do they cover the costs of incidentals my company won't reimburse me for, such as daily gym fees while traveling.

The week in New York has been more enjoyable than my last visit. I got to see Chris and Phoenix twice each; had a fun night out dancing with both of them on Sunday, and I enjoyed the warming trend midweek. The Marriott Marquis proved a great find, with the comfortable guest room, the fantastic gym, and the exciting location smack in the middle of Times Square. But I was frequently out of sorts too. A brooding depression was nibbling away at the edges of my mind. I wish the playful ebulliance of a few weeks ago would return.

I find one particular set of cirumstances never fails to get me down while I'm in New York. There is always a congregation of my colleagues in the New York office. They come in for the week from Maryland and from our headquarters in the south and they're used to socializing with each other. Back at our headquarters in our headquarters in the south, they all work on a huge, landscaped campus with common dining areas, so they frequently have lunch together, and they expect to continue that association when in New York. So they all have a free and easy manner with each other, a manner that comes from long lunch hours avoiding difficult topics. And I can't easily share that easygoing intercourse. For one thing, I have better things to do with my time. I'd much rather read the New York Times and get my work done early than spend 90 minutes over lunch and banal conversation. (I did go for lunch with them once, wondering why they liked each other's company so much, expecting the conversation to be lively and interesting. For much of the lunch, however, when they weren't either joking or gossiping, they just stared at their plates.)

So I pull away. I go neither to lunch nor dinner, and I'm sure they must think I'm anti-social. Perhaps I am. I'd guess it will probably also affect my chance of advancement, since my new boss is amongst the happy revelers. Yet I can't avoid the playful interactions in the office, and I can't readily join in. I can play the part to some extent, but frequently I just feel wooden, and can't grasp my full personality around them. And I can't help my inner critic lambasting me for not being one of the guys. The end result of all this mental turmoil is that I frequently fall into an afternoon depression. Sometimes I wish I was like Sam Gamgee, in Lord of the Rings; an unquestioning, cheerful soul.