is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.

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Eyes on Watches, and Hands with Eyes.

Eyes on Watches, and Hands with Eyes.

Marco asked for some photos of the outside of the building where I live. Evany asked for photos of the interiors, now that they are all set up and unpacked. Today I give you three photos of the exterior. First, we have the autumnal view of the duckpond from the front of the house. Right before taking this shot I cleared out the geese by walking through their pack. Otherwise they would be parked and honking all over the grass.

That is the view I would have if my apartment were on the other side of the building. That would be nice. However, I�m OK with my not-so-interesting view of the Post Office because my apartment is so much better than the apartment on the other side of the hall.

Here is one shot of part of the building. It�s a huge and very long building, so I can�t capture it all at once. The three sets of windows you can see on the top floor are all part of my huge living room.

And here�s a shot with some lovely sun polarization. All the windows you can see on the top floor are mine. If you're thinking that you can see painted wood, stone, and brick on the face of this building, and that that seems kinda crazy, you're right. There's also wooden sign with the address burnt into it that hangs upside down at angle.

My weekend was uneventful. On Friday when I was driving my colleague J home from our seminar with the visiting philosopher, I said, �I am SO VERY HAPPY about the fact that I am on the way home and I do not have to leave my home again unless I want to until MONDAY MORNING.� He said, �OK. Whatever.� Then I went and bought watch batteries for him and for me, because I happened to mention that I was on my way to buy watch batteries and he said, �that is so strange, because I was going to try to buy a watch battery today.� He even had the old battery in his pocket. So I took it and told him, �Fear not. Jill will TCB.� And I got him a watch battery for four earth dollars.

So you know I have a strange relationship to time. But how weird is this? One day, two weeks ago, I dropped my watch on the floor by mistake. The wonderful watch I bought when I was in Switzerland with Richard. There is nothing to do in Switzerland except yodel and eat chocolate and buy watches. I did all three. Richard spent time in some archives, as is his way. Anyway, I love this watch. I had set myself the task of finding a watch that had a blue face with no numbers and a silver casing and band, and it had to cost less than 200 swiss francs (at the time that was roughly $120). It took quite awhile to find it, but there it was, finally, in a department store in Zurich, in its lovely cobalt-blue matte-silver non-numbered minimalist glory, for 185 francs. I told the shopkeeper that I mochte kaufen that watch, STAT.

Whenever I take it to get its battery replaced, the watch-repair person appreciates its fine Swiss workpersonship. Anyway, I dropped it on the floor, and the band popped off. I was able to fix one side of the break by reinserting the pin, but the other pin has been lost somewhere on the vast surface of my hardwood floors. So, just after the drop, I went to put on my second watch, and found that its battery was dead. So I went to put on my third watch, and found that its battery was dead. So I looked into my bookbag for the watch that is attached to the inner keyring. And I found that its battery was dead!

It�s strange, to have all my watches stop working at once, isn�t it? (It is of course very likely that they did not all stop working at once. Rather, the breakage of the band on Watch Number One made me notice at once that watches 2, 3 and 4 had stopped working at some point. Still, it was strange. I had to keep my sidekick on the desk while teaching so I�d know what time it was.)

In other news, someone from San Francisco, with an address in the 3000s on 26th Street, sent me a gift to my Amherst address. It got forwarded to my Haverford address. There is no note, nor identification of who sent the gift or why. The gift is a small rectangular glass block with a floating hand etched in the center of it.

It reminds me of the bug sealed in acrylic that Veronica Mars put in the sheriff�s office. It had a hidden camera in it, so she could record his activities. I�m not sure what to do with the floating hand. I�m not going to put it anywhere where it might see me naked.

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