Police station, souvenirs and growing up

Yesterday, I went to my local police station to get fingerprinted and I must say, it was an odd experience:

a) cops/people with guns un-nerve me
b) it was like TV, but not
c) they only have a men's bathroom
d) it's totally a boys' club --> stares, chuckles and random comments at the guy who offered to help me though he was not on duty and clearly had no idea what he was doing (uh yeah... we had to do them twice).

I've never felt more watched -- and I wasn't even guilty of doing anything bad!
----
So my friend and I went to walk around in Central Park and look at the Gates, and these people were handing out tiny swatches of the "saffron"-colored nylon. The whole thing is a bit crazy to me -- $20 million! What that could do...
And I'm not exactly sure how they're going to recycle all these after... what does one make with this nylon? Tents? And how much extra material did they have to pass out samples to the hundreds of visitors?
---
On another note...

Despite the wonders of technology, the possibility of shooting someone an email, hearing someone's voice halfway around the world, chatting online and all that jazz, there's something very lonely about the prospect of growing up. Of picking up and traversing your own course even if it means walking away from a lot of people and things you love; of heading towards something really good but knowing as you put one foot in front of the other that you've also left pieces of yourself behind that you only wish you could bring with you. Walking away from sounds harsh, but it's not meant to. Heading in a different direction, perhaps.