This weekend I went back to the Island to run my yearly 10k with Pops. This year the Cow Harbor race had more runners registered than ever before - 5600 people. Not too shabby. My race time, however, was pretty shabby. Very shabby, I'd say. I could blame my 11+ minutes per mile pace on the unseasonable heat. Or the fact that my second toe on my left foot bled through my sock. Or even the fact that, after gratefully running through the incredibly refreshing water being sprayed from the sidewalks from hoses held by generous Northport residents, I realized that I was wearing a plain white t-shirt and white sports bra. (Oops.) But, I won't blame my lacking time on any of these easy excuses. I will, instead, concede that I should have trained. There's always next year.
I'm not sure what has happened in New York City in the past month, but for some reason the city's public transportation system has become twice as crowded as it was previously. I first noticed it about a month ago. Perhaps it has to do with the beginning of the new school year. Students and teachers take public transportation, right? I can't really picture the big yellow school buses pulling up at a random street corner to get the kiddies off to the first day of school. (On a side note, I remember having a great time at my elementary school bus stop. Except, of course, when the dad who lived across the street from me used to stand there with his son and smoke cigars. Ugh, gross. To this day, I can't smell a cigar without thinking of that man.) Maybe more city folk are trying to "go green" and take the subway (There's nothing like those Pepsi Refresh Project commercials to encourage the lazy man to do good). Whatever the reason, September has made me feel like a sardine like no month has ever before. Being touched on all sides by strangers and their messenger bags is bad enough. But some of these people really need to learn the wonders of gum. I've smelled my fair share of bad breath on the subway; but I was totally unprepared for what this morning's ride brought me. After I stepped onto the 4 train headed uptown around 908am, I quickly became sandwiched between (i) a tall teenage to twenty-something man (I'm horrible at guessing ages) wearing baggy clothes and a backwards/sideways (you know, that place halfway between the two) hat and (ii) an extremely put-together woman in her early twenties, wearing business attire. Usually I don't notice many details about the people standing near me on the train (especially while balancing a 400+ page book, an umbrella, my ipod, and work bag), but my nostrils couldn't help but take in the (vaguely) familiar aroma of a certain illicit substance, pouring out of the mouth of one of my fellow close-standing subway riders. Now, which of these two individuals, might you ask, was riding to work/school/somewhere high on a Tuesday morning at 913am? I'll just say, remember not to judge a book by its cover. And somewhere in midtown, at an accounting firm or a law firm or some other boring white color job, there's a young woman having way more fun on a Tuesday morning than the rest of us.
With ACL just over a week away, I can hardly contain my excitement to be there and my lack of enthusiasm to be at the office. I have, not surprisingly, fallen behind on my plan to listen to all of the bands I have not yet heard and discover all kinds of new gems. Well, there's still a week. Here we go!
As a final note, I am so so pleased with the writers of glee for including a brief reference to the wildly under-appreciated show that rocked my childhood, Kids Incorporated. Too bad my parents stopped getting Disney after a few years, so I never got to see the end of the show. To those few Disney executives likely reading this, I implore you to air reruns of this fabulous show. You have the opportunity to impress our nation's children (and adults who appreciate such wonders) with quality programming. Take advantage of it. Thanks.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
New Name, New Look, New Year.
Gosh, I have so much to say (type), I don't even know where to start. I guess chronological order is always the most logical way to approach starting. Sometimes alphabetical works, too. But in the case of story-telling and recounting events, chronological will do. So here we go.
Since our last encounter, the Bride and her fiance - maybe he deserves a capital letter; let's call him "Hubby" - got married! Wahooo, and mazel! But before they got married, there was mikvah, and henna, and rehearsal(ah), and makeup, and hair, and everything. And while they were getting married, there were sweaty bridesmaids (mostly Small Asian Friend and our other college friend who may or may not have a name on here as of yet, but whom I shall now declare to be called "Boston Brit," but not me because I only sweat normal person amounts, while these ladies tend to "glisten," as they say, more than average) pained toes (followed by happy toes when Boston Brit and I donned our toms during the party part instead of our strappy heels), and a pear martini spilled completely down the front of my dress (entirely my fault). It was an extremely joyous occasion, complete with two hours of hora-like circle dancing, one problematic dance with a bride-hunting cantor, silk bouquets, and a college reunion. Wowwee, the level of fun that was had could only have been predicted by the incredibly appropriate lyrics "I got a feeling...that tonight's gonna be a good night [sics all around]." Oh, and I can't forget about the next day. There was brunch. Buffet-style. Which means seconds, possibly thirds for some people I won't name who came down from Boston for the occasion and then drove back to Boston that night.
Then came the Jewish new year. This is the best time of year to be a Jew. It's better, even, than Hanukkah (which really isn't all that great compared to other holidays where you get to eat more and have more fun). I jetted to the Island to see Mother and Pops, attended the obligatory service, and saw the cousins. Two of my cousins have given birth in the last month. Another just celebrated the first birthday of her adorable small child. In the past two years, the average age at Rosh Hashanah festivities has dropped by about 15 years. It's marvelous. Kids are impressed by sunglasses and sparkly shoes in ways that grownups (other than Boston Brit) just aren't. Their parents, sadly, didn't get to spend much time with other adults (what with the feeding, changing diapers, rocking, packing, unpacking, crying), but at least everyone agreed that their babies were really cute! Maybe next year. I just hope they ("they," meaning the babies) don't become more stylish than me. That might make me sad. So, we had all the works - challah, apples and honey, knishes, and all the dishes whose names I can't remember, but whose tastes leave a lasting impression on my 'buds all year long - all the fam, and all the sunshine. My family is pretty great. It was kind of perfect. (Apologies for the sap. It comes out sometimes. Feel free to ignore it.)
The next morning, Mother and I hopped in the ol' wagon (it's actually new, and actually a 2-door regular car, but it sounds so much cooler to say "the ol' wagon") and headed up to visit The Famous Auntie Bevy, Gramps, and eventually, Sister. Boston was the same terrific time as usual. Dinner with TFAB and Gramps and the gang, followed by Richardson's (possibly the best ice cream ever), and a stay at a hotel without wireless (how is that even possible?). Did I mention the B family loves to eat? Ok, good. I didn't want that to slip past you.
Then Mother and I headed even further north, through the farmland, across the border, and into the land of Cabot Cheese and maple syrup - the Great State of Vermont. (As a side note, doesn't it sound so great to say "the Great state of ____"? It was so smart of whoever came up with the word "state" to make it rhyme with "great." You can make any state sound fabulous by sticking it into that phrase. "The Great State of Iowa." "The Great State of Oklahoma." These states are not really great. But putting those few words in front of them makes them so alluring. Just something to note.) Sister told me she lived in a town with one street. She told me there were horses and carriages (for real). She told me there was one bar in this town. And she told me that the next town over was 11 miles away. She also told me that she drove across the border into New Hampshire to buy groceries. I did not believe Sister. I did not believe her one bit. I, as you may have gathered, am prone to use of hyperbole. I thought Sister might have that same tendency. Then I visited her.
There really is one road. I didn't quite get a look, but it's probably called "Main Street." That sort of name usually goes over well. The law school is beautiful (Vermont Law School - look it up.), the town is "quaint," as they say, and the Cabot Cheese and maple syrup were delicious. The biggest problem wasn't the small town or daddy long legs infestation. No, it was the fact that someone had mistakenly flipped the switch to turn on the heat in all of the basement apartments (to "test" something, someone claimed) and then neglected to turn it off. Sister's apartment was nearly 90 degrees when Mother and I arrived. As I mentioned above, I am not really a sweater. That night I sweat a ton. The insufferable heat aside, I loved the visit. I met Sister's two friends in law school. (Side plea: people at VLS, be Sister's friend. She is very nice. And very smart. And maybe she'll let you have my old outlines.) (Just kidding. Sister does not need my help making friends. She has lots, but two good friends are really all one needs in a town of 25 people, right?) I visited the one bar in town. I thought Sister was showing me where the outhouse was, but she was, in fact, pointing out the school gym. Those of you fortunate enough to be friends with me on facebook can find the photo I posted of Sister's gym and decide for yourselves what such a structure should be used for. In any event, Sister is having a ball up there, and with all the trees and clean air, I doubt she'll ever come back to New York. Perhaps I will move there. Give it time.
This post is way too long. I was planning to explain the blog's new name and new look, but alas, you will have to wait until next time to hear the story behind my re-branding. Enjoy the crisp fall air and pumpkin spice!
Since our last encounter, the Bride and her fiance - maybe he deserves a capital letter; let's call him "Hubby" - got married! Wahooo, and mazel! But before they got married, there was mikvah, and henna, and rehearsal(ah), and makeup, and hair, and everything. And while they were getting married, there were sweaty bridesmaids (mostly Small Asian Friend and our other college friend who may or may not have a name on here as of yet, but whom I shall now declare to be called "Boston Brit," but not me because I only sweat normal person amounts, while these ladies tend to "glisten," as they say, more than average) pained toes (followed by happy toes when Boston Brit and I donned our toms during the party part instead of our strappy heels), and a pear martini spilled completely down the front of my dress (entirely my fault). It was an extremely joyous occasion, complete with two hours of hora-like circle dancing, one problematic dance with a bride-hunting cantor, silk bouquets, and a college reunion. Wowwee, the level of fun that was had could only have been predicted by the incredibly appropriate lyrics "I got a feeling...that tonight's gonna be a good night [sics all around]." Oh, and I can't forget about the next day. There was brunch. Buffet-style. Which means seconds, possibly thirds for some people I won't name who came down from Boston for the occasion and then drove back to Boston that night.
Then came the Jewish new year. This is the best time of year to be a Jew. It's better, even, than Hanukkah (which really isn't all that great compared to other holidays where you get to eat more and have more fun). I jetted to the Island to see Mother and Pops, attended the obligatory service, and saw the cousins. Two of my cousins have given birth in the last month. Another just celebrated the first birthday of her adorable small child. In the past two years, the average age at Rosh Hashanah festivities has dropped by about 15 years. It's marvelous. Kids are impressed by sunglasses and sparkly shoes in ways that grownups (other than Boston Brit) just aren't. Their parents, sadly, didn't get to spend much time with other adults (what with the feeding, changing diapers, rocking, packing, unpacking, crying), but at least everyone agreed that their babies were really cute! Maybe next year. I just hope they ("they," meaning the babies) don't become more stylish than me. That might make me sad. So, we had all the works - challah, apples and honey, knishes, and all the dishes whose names I can't remember, but whose tastes leave a lasting impression on my 'buds all year long - all the fam, and all the sunshine. My family is pretty great. It was kind of perfect. (Apologies for the sap. It comes out sometimes. Feel free to ignore it.)
The next morning, Mother and I hopped in the ol' wagon (it's actually new, and actually a 2-door regular car, but it sounds so much cooler to say "the ol' wagon") and headed up to visit The Famous Auntie Bevy, Gramps, and eventually, Sister. Boston was the same terrific time as usual. Dinner with TFAB and Gramps and the gang, followed by Richardson's (possibly the best ice cream ever), and a stay at a hotel without wireless (how is that even possible?). Did I mention the B family loves to eat? Ok, good. I didn't want that to slip past you.
Then Mother and I headed even further north, through the farmland, across the border, and into the land of Cabot Cheese and maple syrup - the Great State of Vermont. (As a side note, doesn't it sound so great to say "the Great state of ____"? It was so smart of whoever came up with the word "state" to make it rhyme with "great." You can make any state sound fabulous by sticking it into that phrase. "The Great State of Iowa." "The Great State of Oklahoma." These states are not really great. But putting those few words in front of them makes them so alluring. Just something to note.) Sister told me she lived in a town with one street. She told me there were horses and carriages (for real). She told me there was one bar in this town. And she told me that the next town over was 11 miles away. She also told me that she drove across the border into New Hampshire to buy groceries. I did not believe Sister. I did not believe her one bit. I, as you may have gathered, am prone to use of hyperbole. I thought Sister might have that same tendency. Then I visited her.
There really is one road. I didn't quite get a look, but it's probably called "Main Street." That sort of name usually goes over well. The law school is beautiful (Vermont Law School - look it up.), the town is "quaint," as they say, and the Cabot Cheese and maple syrup were delicious. The biggest problem wasn't the small town or daddy long legs infestation. No, it was the fact that someone had mistakenly flipped the switch to turn on the heat in all of the basement apartments (to "test" something, someone claimed) and then neglected to turn it off. Sister's apartment was nearly 90 degrees when Mother and I arrived. As I mentioned above, I am not really a sweater. That night I sweat a ton. The insufferable heat aside, I loved the visit. I met Sister's two friends in law school. (Side plea: people at VLS, be Sister's friend. She is very nice. And very smart. And maybe she'll let you have my old outlines.) (Just kidding. Sister does not need my help making friends. She has lots, but two good friends are really all one needs in a town of 25 people, right?) I visited the one bar in town. I thought Sister was showing me where the outhouse was, but she was, in fact, pointing out the school gym. Those of you fortunate enough to be friends with me on facebook can find the photo I posted of Sister's gym and decide for yourselves what such a structure should be used for. In any event, Sister is having a ball up there, and with all the trees and clean air, I doubt she'll ever come back to New York. Perhaps I will move there. Give it time.
This post is way too long. I was planning to explain the blog's new name and new look, but alas, you will have to wait until next time to hear the story behind my re-branding. Enjoy the crisp fall air and pumpkin spice!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Enough hibernating.
So, it's a little over 6 months since my last post, and I figured it's finally time to emerge from my silent hibernation and start sharing my rambling once again. Several things have sparked my desire to rekindle my affectionate relationship with you people. I break down these items, in no particular order, below.
1- The Bride (discussed several posts ago) and her fiance are getting hitched THIS weekend. This is huge. After months and months of preparations (choosing the bridesmaids' dresses, re-wrapping the bridal shower gifts and making sure the proper card was with the proper gift, planning a kick-ass bachelorette weekend...and I think the Bride probably had a few things to do to prepare, too), the big day is finally here. I'm so excited I even got purple nail polish to match my plum bridesmaid dress. Too bad my hot pink retro chic Timex won't match. Hmm, maybe for the rehearsal dinner?
2- I changed departments at work, and I feel like a born-again...something. It's amazing the huge difference the people you work with can make. I actually don't dread going to work anymore. Sometimes, I even look forward to it. (Well, I really only look forward to it on Fridays when Harold comes around with 3pm snacks. Last week, we had chocolate cupcakes from Crumbs. Oh. So. Good.) I'm now a real estate lawyer, and I got my apartment's leasing agent to lower the rent she was asking for my lease renewal by $90/month. If that doesn't mean I've proved myself, then I don't know what does.
3- I discovered the most amazing commercial ever, which I am sharing here, exclusively, with you. Those clever folks over at Geico have succeeded in making me laugh for a full five minutes with this beauty. Check it out here.
With that, I call it a night. Till next time.
1- The Bride (discussed several posts ago) and her fiance are getting hitched THIS weekend. This is huge. After months and months of preparations (choosing the bridesmaids' dresses, re-wrapping the bridal shower gifts and making sure the proper card was with the proper gift, planning a kick-ass bachelorette weekend...and I think the Bride probably had a few things to do to prepare, too), the big day is finally here. I'm so excited I even got purple nail polish to match my plum bridesmaid dress. Too bad my hot pink retro chic Timex won't match. Hmm, maybe for the rehearsal dinner?
2- I changed departments at work, and I feel like a born-again...something. It's amazing the huge difference the people you work with can make. I actually don't dread going to work anymore. Sometimes, I even look forward to it. (Well, I really only look forward to it on Fridays when Harold comes around with 3pm snacks. Last week, we had chocolate cupcakes from Crumbs. Oh. So. Good.) I'm now a real estate lawyer, and I got my apartment's leasing agent to lower the rent she was asking for my lease renewal by $90/month. If that doesn't mean I've proved myself, then I don't know what does.
3- I discovered the most amazing commercial ever, which I am sharing here, exclusively, with you. Those clever folks over at Geico have succeeded in making me laugh for a full five minutes with this beauty. Check it out here.
With that, I call it a night. Till next time.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
U.S.A., U.S.A.!
February is generally a fairly uneventful month for me. Sure, it begins with Pops' birthday, which is always a good time. But after the early joy of giving wears off, there's really not much else to look forward to. Valentine's Day is fine (I'm obviously always up for chocolate), but when you're single and have the flu on V-Day (I am, and I did), you think things couldn't get much worse. The one thing that has totally saved this February and even catapulted it into a favored spot in my ranking of months is the 2010 winter Olympics. I have been absolutely glued to my television, feeling the pain of every skier who wipes out and slides down the mountain on her face, and gasping in horror and disappointment as the figure skaters land on their bottoms after attempting triple axles.
The odd thing about watching the Olympics is how these athletes make us viewers think that we are way more talented than we are. They make everything look so easy; it can't be THAT difficult, can it? I haven't skied in almost two years, and before then, I hadn't touched a mountain in nearly half a decade. Those facts aside, watching my girls Lindsey and Julia make their turns with such ease and grace at 80 miles per hour makes me think that tackling a black diamond would be a cinch. And of course the folks over at NBC are keen on making every American athlete into a human interest story, so I'm now totally invested in them. I know who's friends with whom, who spends Christmas at whose cabins, and who listens to which songs during their warm ups. It's pretty absurd. And you absolutely have to laugh at the way the camera zooms in on every medalist's profile during the medal ceremonies, desperately trying to catch a tear - or at the very least, a moist eye. (The camera was disappointed by Shaun White in that respect.)
Though I think it's probably (I say "probably," rather than "certainly" because I don't like to ever lose total hope) a tad too late in life to set my sights on the Olympics, watching these games has reignited my competitive athletic nature. And it's perfect timing, as my firm softball season is fast approaching. I haven't picked up my glove in over a year, and I've never even attempted to hit slow pitch before, but I'm beyond stoked to get back on the field. Unfortunately, I'm not sure intramural firm sports carry the same weight as college varsity. (I don't think Coach telling a partner I have an 8pm game will get me out of a late night of work the same way an away game in Vermont excused me from Friday afternoon classes.) But if all goes as planned, our team will be so successful, we will become the pride and joy of the firm (earning a headline on the internal website), and they will hold happy hours in our honor. I have big, big plans. So, if you're reading this and you work with me, please PLEASE join our softball team. I don't want any of this forfeiting because we can't field a full team. Let's go people - make it a priority.
And on that note, it's time to watch Apolo Ohno snag the bronze. Team USA, you make me proud every day. (Yes, I am a cheese ball.)
The odd thing about watching the Olympics is how these athletes make us viewers think that we are way more talented than we are. They make everything look so easy; it can't be THAT difficult, can it? I haven't skied in almost two years, and before then, I hadn't touched a mountain in nearly half a decade. Those facts aside, watching my girls Lindsey and Julia make their turns with such ease and grace at 80 miles per hour makes me think that tackling a black diamond would be a cinch. And of course the folks over at NBC are keen on making every American athlete into a human interest story, so I'm now totally invested in them. I know who's friends with whom, who spends Christmas at whose cabins, and who listens to which songs during their warm ups. It's pretty absurd. And you absolutely have to laugh at the way the camera zooms in on every medalist's profile during the medal ceremonies, desperately trying to catch a tear - or at the very least, a moist eye. (The camera was disappointed by Shaun White in that respect.)
Though I think it's probably (I say "probably," rather than "certainly" because I don't like to ever lose total hope) a tad too late in life to set my sights on the Olympics, watching these games has reignited my competitive athletic nature. And it's perfect timing, as my firm softball season is fast approaching. I haven't picked up my glove in over a year, and I've never even attempted to hit slow pitch before, but I'm beyond stoked to get back on the field. Unfortunately, I'm not sure intramural firm sports carry the same weight as college varsity. (I don't think Coach telling a partner I have an 8pm game will get me out of a late night of work the same way an away game in Vermont excused me from Friday afternoon classes.) But if all goes as planned, our team will be so successful, we will become the pride and joy of the firm (earning a headline on the internal website), and they will hold happy hours in our honor. I have big, big plans. So, if you're reading this and you work with me, please PLEASE join our softball team. I don't want any of this forfeiting because we can't field a full team. Let's go people - make it a priority.
And on that note, it's time to watch Apolo Ohno snag the bronze. Team USA, you make me proud every day. (Yes, I am a cheese ball.)
Monday, January 18, 2010
My feet play a large role in this post. I'm sorry.
Broken promises are never fun. That is why I am not going to promise to write more often. I don't want to let you down. I will, however, promise to TRY to write more often. Being a working person is a lot harder and takes a lot more time than TV suggests. Remember Miranda from Sex and the City? She was a lawyer. She always talked about how being a lawyer meant not having time for anything else. But then she was always talking about it from somewhere other than her office. Like at brunch with the ladies. Or in LA with the ladies. Or at a pizza place in Brooklyn with Steve. The whole thing was very deceiving, but in case you're wondering, lawyers in NYC work harder than Miranda. I'm living it. It's a fact.
Notwithstanding the above paragraph, I was able to get away to Boston this weekend and had a lovely three days up in the land of Anna's Taqueria and hailstorms. I hopped on Amtrak after work on Friday and took one of the only empty seats, next to a girl who looked a tad younger than me. She had chin and eyebrow piercings, and it looked like she hadn't washed her hair in about two weeks. We had a ton in common. My favorite part was when we were about 20 minutes from South Station and she called the person picking her up to complain about how badly she needed a cigarette. She must have dropped the f-bomb seven times during that phone call. For once in my life, my intense desire to arrive at my destination was not driven by my bladder. No, Friday night I counted down the seconds to our arrival, only hoping that my seatmate would wait until the doors opened before lighting up. Mission accomplished.
The weekend was one of relaxation and small indulgences. Small Asian Friend and I got pedicures on Saturday. The women told SAF and me to sit next to each other and to dip our feet into the water basins at our feet (pretty standard pedi procedure). They then, however, proceeded to work on my feet while letting SAF's wombat feet soak till they resembled giant prunes. Poor SAF. At least she had US Weekly and Brangelina to keep her company. Of course, since it's winter and I haven't worn anything other than flip flops to a pedi in about 3.5 years, I had no idea they would provide us with enormous foam flip flops. At first this seemed a good idea. That was, until I stood up to walk over to the dryer and my big toes on both feet got messed up as I tried to walk in those things. Oh well, I decided since it's winter and no one will see my toes but me, it really didn't matter. I finished and must have dried my toes for about 45 minutes by the time SAF was ready. Then came the real fun. SAF wanted that crazy oil stuff so her nails would dry faster, but I wanted none of it. I had been drying for 45 minutes- there was no need. I tried explaining that to the woman who rushed over with oil, but to no avail. Before I knew what was happening, she had oiled my toes and shoved plastic bags over my feet. I was then forced to put my boots on and walk up the giant hill to SAF's apartment with gross, wet plastic covering my feet inside my shoes. WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT? It was the most uncomfortable feeling ever. Just totally awkward. SAF didn't seem to mind. I mean, she did ask for it. Thanks a lot.
On Sunday, we partook in the amazingness that is Zipcar (Mr. Zipcar, I salute you) and made our way up to Maine for the outlet shopping. Mother would be so proud. It was a beautiful day as we set out on I-95. Much to our dismay and surprise, the clouds appeared, and then grew darker, the further north we drove. By the time we got to Kittery, it was pouring, and I was (obviously) wearing totally inappropriate footwear. To rectify that situation, we made the Kittery Trading Post our first destination, and I emerged from the store wearing sparkling new duck boots with the tags attached. My feet were instantly warmer, and thus spent the rest of the day thanking me. We drove on towards Bob's Clam Hut, a family favorite lunch spot, and found the parking lot surprisingly empty. Excited at the thought of shellfish and warmth, we bounded into the Hut, only to find the entire kitchen covered in darkness. Apparently, the power had gone out in all of Kittery, and the only reason we hadn't noticed it earlier was because the Trading Post had its own generator. Of course. We were forced to drive on, in an attempt to find some nourishment and dry quarters. The restaurant we found in Portsmouth exceeded all expectations (although its decor reminded me a bit of the cult restaurant Monard and I ate at months ago in Ithaca). We returned to Kittery to find the power had come back on and enjoyed a very successful (though lengthy) visit to Tumi.
On our way back to Boston, we surprised The Famous Auntie Bevy with a visit. Amazingly, we entered her house in the middle of a huge family event, so Small Asian Friend had the fortunate occasion to meet the whole clan. Of course, TFAB told her age old story about bathing me in the tiniest bowl when I was a baby. I may have mentioned this tale once or twice before, but suffice it to say that over the years I have progressed from being the size of a normal healthy baby, to fitting in a thimble full of soap and water. Priceless. The visit was terrific, and if it weren't for the time constraints of Zipcar, SAF would have enjoyed the best steak tips north of the Carolinas. But rather than turn into pumpkins (who owed Mr. Zip even more money), we returned to Boston, to an evening of mac and cheese and facebook stalking. Just perfect.
A few additional highlights of the trip included:
- finally joining the 21st century by buying an iPod touch. I love it. I love everything about it.
- seeing Leap Year by myself, while, due to unforeseen scheduling issues, my host and our other Boston friends saw In the Heights. The movie was horrible.
- discovering the best tea ever in SAF's kitchen cabinets: Yogi, Calming. Try it. You'll thank me. I promise.
In other news: I was asked to be a bridesmaid! This is incredibly exciting, and I am honored and thrilled to have been asked. The Bride is one of my housemates and best friends from college, and so far all the wedding prep stuff I've attended has been a blast. I can't believe we're old enough to be getting married. It's pretty incredible. Oh, and as a side note: I will be accepting applications for my plus-one beginning in a few months, so start working on those personal statements.
One more thing: I just caught the end of The Notebook. I don't think I ever cry as much at a screen as I do when I watch this movie. Oh wait, other than when I watch Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. Say what you will, but that show is heartwarming and uplifting and mushy and sad and fantastic.
Notwithstanding the above paragraph, I was able to get away to Boston this weekend and had a lovely three days up in the land of Anna's Taqueria and hailstorms. I hopped on Amtrak after work on Friday and took one of the only empty seats, next to a girl who looked a tad younger than me. She had chin and eyebrow piercings, and it looked like she hadn't washed her hair in about two weeks. We had a ton in common. My favorite part was when we were about 20 minutes from South Station and she called the person picking her up to complain about how badly she needed a cigarette. She must have dropped the f-bomb seven times during that phone call. For once in my life, my intense desire to arrive at my destination was not driven by my bladder. No, Friday night I counted down the seconds to our arrival, only hoping that my seatmate would wait until the doors opened before lighting up. Mission accomplished.
The weekend was one of relaxation and small indulgences. Small Asian Friend and I got pedicures on Saturday. The women told SAF and me to sit next to each other and to dip our feet into the water basins at our feet (pretty standard pedi procedure). They then, however, proceeded to work on my feet while letting SAF's wombat feet soak till they resembled giant prunes. Poor SAF. At least she had US Weekly and Brangelina to keep her company. Of course, since it's winter and I haven't worn anything other than flip flops to a pedi in about 3.5 years, I had no idea they would provide us with enormous foam flip flops. At first this seemed a good idea. That was, until I stood up to walk over to the dryer and my big toes on both feet got messed up as I tried to walk in those things. Oh well, I decided since it's winter and no one will see my toes but me, it really didn't matter. I finished and must have dried my toes for about 45 minutes by the time SAF was ready. Then came the real fun. SAF wanted that crazy oil stuff so her nails would dry faster, but I wanted none of it. I had been drying for 45 minutes- there was no need. I tried explaining that to the woman who rushed over with oil, but to no avail. Before I knew what was happening, she had oiled my toes and shoved plastic bags over my feet. I was then forced to put my boots on and walk up the giant hill to SAF's apartment with gross, wet plastic covering my feet inside my shoes. WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT? It was the most uncomfortable feeling ever. Just totally awkward. SAF didn't seem to mind. I mean, she did ask for it. Thanks a lot.
On Sunday, we partook in the amazingness that is Zipcar (Mr. Zipcar, I salute you) and made our way up to Maine for the outlet shopping. Mother would be so proud. It was a beautiful day as we set out on I-95. Much to our dismay and surprise, the clouds appeared, and then grew darker, the further north we drove. By the time we got to Kittery, it was pouring, and I was (obviously) wearing totally inappropriate footwear. To rectify that situation, we made the Kittery Trading Post our first destination, and I emerged from the store wearing sparkling new duck boots with the tags attached. My feet were instantly warmer, and thus spent the rest of the day thanking me. We drove on towards Bob's Clam Hut, a family favorite lunch spot, and found the parking lot surprisingly empty. Excited at the thought of shellfish and warmth, we bounded into the Hut, only to find the entire kitchen covered in darkness. Apparently, the power had gone out in all of Kittery, and the only reason we hadn't noticed it earlier was because the Trading Post had its own generator. Of course. We were forced to drive on, in an attempt to find some nourishment and dry quarters. The restaurant we found in Portsmouth exceeded all expectations (although its decor reminded me a bit of the cult restaurant Monard and I ate at months ago in Ithaca). We returned to Kittery to find the power had come back on and enjoyed a very successful (though lengthy) visit to Tumi.
On our way back to Boston, we surprised The Famous Auntie Bevy with a visit. Amazingly, we entered her house in the middle of a huge family event, so Small Asian Friend had the fortunate occasion to meet the whole clan. Of course, TFAB told her age old story about bathing me in the tiniest bowl when I was a baby. I may have mentioned this tale once or twice before, but suffice it to say that over the years I have progressed from being the size of a normal healthy baby, to fitting in a thimble full of soap and water. Priceless. The visit was terrific, and if it weren't for the time constraints of Zipcar, SAF would have enjoyed the best steak tips north of the Carolinas. But rather than turn into pumpkins (who owed Mr. Zip even more money), we returned to Boston, to an evening of mac and cheese and facebook stalking. Just perfect.
A few additional highlights of the trip included:
- finally joining the 21st century by buying an iPod touch. I love it. I love everything about it.
- seeing Leap Year by myself, while, due to unforeseen scheduling issues, my host and our other Boston friends saw In the Heights. The movie was horrible.
- discovering the best tea ever in SAF's kitchen cabinets: Yogi, Calming. Try it. You'll thank me. I promise.
In other news: I was asked to be a bridesmaid! This is incredibly exciting, and I am honored and thrilled to have been asked. The Bride is one of my housemates and best friends from college, and so far all the wedding prep stuff I've attended has been a blast. I can't believe we're old enough to be getting married. It's pretty incredible. Oh, and as a side note: I will be accepting applications for my plus-one beginning in a few months, so start working on those personal statements.
One more thing: I just caught the end of The Notebook. I don't think I ever cry as much at a screen as I do when I watch this movie. Oh wait, other than when I watch Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. Say what you will, but that show is heartwarming and uplifting and mushy and sad and fantastic.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
It's snowing in the city.
Once again, I've taken a longer hiatus from this than I intended. My sincerest apologies. The simple reason for my prolonged absence from the blogosphere is that I began working three weeks ago. And it has taken over my life. Once an avid (ok, somewhat enthusiastic) bar-goer on weeknights, I have transformed into the get home from work and crawl into bed exhausted, with or without dinner, type. It's pathetic.
Ok, glad we got that out of the way. I will now address interesting things that have happened in my life since last time.
I bought my first business class ticket (Amtrak), and I will never go back to coach (depending, of course, on my financial situation). I made my way up to Beantown to see Small Asian Friend, the Cousins, and the famous Auntie Bevy for Thanksgiving. As usual, the company was superb, and the food (other than Thanksgiving Day) was terrific. In fact, I ate so much in the week leading up to Turkey Day and its immediate aftermath that when I tried on the new dress pants I had purchased way back in October for my first day of work the Monday after T-Day, they were all too small. YIKES. You'll be happy to know three weeks later they fit just fine. Phew. Anyhoo, the holiday (like all holidays, let's be honest) consisted of lots of shopping and lots of eating- things the B family do rather well. The real kicker happened on the way home. Mother and Pops were driving me back to the city on their way home, and Brother got the front seat. That meant Mom and I sat in the back, with barely enough room between us to fit my laptop. There was (obviously) a sale at some random place in Connecticut that we just HAD to stop at on the way home, and two hours later, I was sandwiched between Mother and boxes of newly purchased items, packed right up to the ceiling. The Manhattan skyline's approach was never quite as exciting as it was that day.
I saw the next installment in The Twilight Saga. What a poor decision. Other than Taylor's abs and KStew's mouth, there was really nothing of interest in the entire film. The acting was so bad, I felt weird sitting there, watching them. It was so melodramatic and over the top that I wondered whether they had actually just filmed the preliminary rehearsals and said "good enough." I guess that's what happens when you make a movie whose target audience couldn't care less about plot or character development, or acting, or...dignity. Apparently, the teeny boppers are happy as long as Pattinson is making creepy eyes at KStew, and as long as their terribly awkward (but of course deeply passionate) kisses contain enough heavy breathing to fill the theater with the minty fresh scent of Certs. Please don't make me go on.
I also saw Up in the Air. [SPOILER ALERT. Skip to the next paragraph if you want to be surprised about what emotion you're feeling when you leave the theater after seeing this movie.] It was way better than New Moon. Clooney is still the man, and while the end is incredibly depressing, I really liked the movie up to that point.
I made it out to Brooklyn for the first time since moving back to NY. Dr. Dog was playing down at the Brooklyn Bowl in Williamsburg. It was a pretty strange/awesome venue- bowling lanes on one side and huge open area in front of a raised stage on the other side. It was hipster-tastic (a sea of flannel and 80's-style sunglasses). The music was decent, too. OH, and there was fake snow! Speaking of the white stuff, it's been snowing here for most of today. A snow-capped city is so pretty. Now if only I didn't have to go outside tomorrow, it'd be just perfect. But alas, life must go on. At least I don't have to worry about how I'm going to get Otto out of the driveway or whether he has enough wiper fluid.
One final thought: So I have no idea what random email list I signed up for, but in the past two days I have received over fifty spam messages. Come on, people! Get your act together and stop selling my email address to creepos. Kudos, however, to the folks at gmail for sorting out spam with such precision and accuracy. I am extremely appreciative of your efforts.
Ok, glad we got that out of the way. I will now address interesting things that have happened in my life since last time.
I bought my first business class ticket (Amtrak), and I will never go back to coach (depending, of course, on my financial situation). I made my way up to Beantown to see Small Asian Friend, the Cousins, and the famous Auntie Bevy for Thanksgiving. As usual, the company was superb, and the food (other than Thanksgiving Day) was terrific. In fact, I ate so much in the week leading up to Turkey Day and its immediate aftermath that when I tried on the new dress pants I had purchased way back in October for my first day of work the Monday after T-Day, they were all too small. YIKES. You'll be happy to know three weeks later they fit just fine. Phew. Anyhoo, the holiday (like all holidays, let's be honest) consisted of lots of shopping and lots of eating- things the B family do rather well. The real kicker happened on the way home. Mother and Pops were driving me back to the city on their way home, and Brother got the front seat. That meant Mom and I sat in the back, with barely enough room between us to fit my laptop. There was (obviously) a sale at some random place in Connecticut that we just HAD to stop at on the way home, and two hours later, I was sandwiched between Mother and boxes of newly purchased items, packed right up to the ceiling. The Manhattan skyline's approach was never quite as exciting as it was that day.
I saw the next installment in The Twilight Saga. What a poor decision. Other than Taylor's abs and KStew's mouth, there was really nothing of interest in the entire film. The acting was so bad, I felt weird sitting there, watching them. It was so melodramatic and over the top that I wondered whether they had actually just filmed the preliminary rehearsals and said "good enough." I guess that's what happens when you make a movie whose target audience couldn't care less about plot or character development, or acting, or...dignity. Apparently, the teeny boppers are happy as long as Pattinson is making creepy eyes at KStew, and as long as their terribly awkward (but of course deeply passionate) kisses contain enough heavy breathing to fill the theater with the minty fresh scent of Certs. Please don't make me go on.
I also saw Up in the Air. [SPOILER ALERT. Skip to the next paragraph if you want to be surprised about what emotion you're feeling when you leave the theater after seeing this movie.] It was way better than New Moon. Clooney is still the man, and while the end is incredibly depressing, I really liked the movie up to that point.
I made it out to Brooklyn for the first time since moving back to NY. Dr. Dog was playing down at the Brooklyn Bowl in Williamsburg. It was a pretty strange/awesome venue- bowling lanes on one side and huge open area in front of a raised stage on the other side. It was hipster-tastic (a sea of flannel and 80's-style sunglasses). The music was decent, too. OH, and there was fake snow! Speaking of the white stuff, it's been snowing here for most of today. A snow-capped city is so pretty. Now if only I didn't have to go outside tomorrow, it'd be just perfect. But alas, life must go on. At least I don't have to worry about how I'm going to get Otto out of the driveway or whether he has enough wiper fluid.
One final thought: So I have no idea what random email list I signed up for, but in the past two days I have received over fifty spam messages. Come on, people! Get your act together and stop selling my email address to creepos. Kudos, however, to the folks at gmail for sorting out spam with such precision and accuracy. I am extremely appreciative of your efforts.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Just say no to caffeine.
First thing's first. If you ever see me consuming a caffeinated beverage (even mildly caffeinated) after 430pm, kindly knock the drink out of my hand. Tonight was a brisk, windy evening in lower Manhattan, and on my walk back from the grocery store, I (of course) passed a Starbucks. From outside the slightly fogged window, I could see the little Christmas-y cups dancing with delight at the hope that I might venture in and take one of them home. I couldn't resist, so I went inside and ordered the only liquid sold in Starbucks that I enjoy: a grande non-fat no-foam chai. As always, I burned my tongue at the first taste of the sweet nectar, but I didn't let that stop me from sipping it all the way back to my apartment, and then throughout two episodes of The Sopranos, season 1. Yes, I like to nurse my drinks- even the non-alcoholic kind. Fast forward eight hours, and here I am, lying in bed, utterly unable to fall asleep. I have read chapter after chapter in my bedside book, hoping it will put me to sleep, but then I turn out the lights and all I can pay attention to is my heartbeat and the sounds coming from my cable box. Pathetic. Moral of the story: Starbucks is vicious. It lures you into its stores late at night, with the promise of peppermint and pumpkin spice, only to keep you from sleeping well, if at all. Then you awake the next morning, having slept for a good two hours, and desperately in need of some caffeine with which to jump start your day. So you head back there, and it starts all over again. If I didn't love capitalism so much, I'd hate it.
Moving on. If you have spent any time with me since I moved into Manhattan, you may have heard me complain about my next-door neighbor and his penchant for late night viewings of slasher movies in his apartment. Or, at least that's what it sounds like through my wall. During my first few weeks at my new residence, I would often hear muffled scary music and women screaming through the wall. This, as you can imagine, was a tad disconcerting. I also heard my neighbor during the day, usually talking on the phone, and usually about going out and using a lot of "dude" and "come on, man" and such. That led me to believe he was not some creepy forty year old man, but rather a creepy twenty-something, either unemployed or working from home. Well, I finally met my neighbor. In a building full of young people, where girls look you up and down before deciding whether to smile back at you in the elevator, and your "hello" and "have a good night" are met with half smiles or nods or absolutely nothing, it is a huge shock to the system when anyone strikes up a conversation. A few days ago, I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator. A young guy stood nearby, but did not look up when I walked over. When the door opened, he motioned for me to enter first. How gentlemanly. I thanked him and walked in and then asked him which floor. He said the number of the floor I live on. I said, "Oh, I guess we're neighbors." And he said "Why yes, I guess so. What's your name?" He asked if I had just moved in, and for some reason (probably as some sort of explanation for my being in the building midday on a weekday, clearly not in work clothes) I disclosed that I've been living here for months but I don't start work till the end of the month so I'm just chilling. He said he wasn't working right now either, that he'd be back at work next month. [Longest elevator ride ever.] We arrived at our floor, and the Gentleman stepped back as I exited first. I went to my door and as he walked past me to the door directly next to mine, he said, "We're neighbors, all right." I said, "Oh, you're next door, huh?" And he said, "Yeah, hope I'm not too loud," with a smile. I wanted so badly to say, "Well, actually, yes, you are. Especially at night. When you're watching horror movies at full volume while I'm trying to fall asleep." But I said, "Oh, it's all good." Who even says that?? So now that I've officially met my neighbor, I'm relieved to see he's a normal-ish young person, even if he likes to watch slasher movies at night. Oh, and one more thing. He plays wii fit during the day. I know the music from watching Brother play it all summer. I am tempted to one day go over and ask if I can play, too. But I think we need to have at least one more run-in at the elevator before that's acceptable behavior.
This week I did something I've been meaning to do since I moved back. I went to the gorgeous midtown New York City Public Library and acquired a library card. This place is amazing. I felt like a rockstar studying in Olin and Hugh & Hazel, but those libraries can't even begin to compare to this one. It's huge and imposing and inviting and embracing all at once. I think I could get lost for days in there and not even notice - or care. It's really too bad Carrie Bradshaw decided to try to get married at the New York Public Library. Because I would totally love to have my wedding there. But she ruined it for every New York girl. Now if I chose to have my wedding there (assuming they even allow weddings to take place inside and assuming my future Someone would be down for it, too), I'd be copying. Blast.
Moving on. If you have spent any time with me since I moved into Manhattan, you may have heard me complain about my next-door neighbor and his penchant for late night viewings of slasher movies in his apartment. Or, at least that's what it sounds like through my wall. During my first few weeks at my new residence, I would often hear muffled scary music and women screaming through the wall. This, as you can imagine, was a tad disconcerting. I also heard my neighbor during the day, usually talking on the phone, and usually about going out and using a lot of "dude" and "come on, man" and such. That led me to believe he was not some creepy forty year old man, but rather a creepy twenty-something, either unemployed or working from home. Well, I finally met my neighbor. In a building full of young people, where girls look you up and down before deciding whether to smile back at you in the elevator, and your "hello" and "have a good night" are met with half smiles or nods or absolutely nothing, it is a huge shock to the system when anyone strikes up a conversation. A few days ago, I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator. A young guy stood nearby, but did not look up when I walked over. When the door opened, he motioned for me to enter first. How gentlemanly. I thanked him and walked in and then asked him which floor. He said the number of the floor I live on. I said, "Oh, I guess we're neighbors." And he said "Why yes, I guess so. What's your name?" He asked if I had just moved in, and for some reason (probably as some sort of explanation for my being in the building midday on a weekday, clearly not in work clothes) I disclosed that I've been living here for months but I don't start work till the end of the month so I'm just chilling. He said he wasn't working right now either, that he'd be back at work next month. [Longest elevator ride ever.] We arrived at our floor, and the Gentleman stepped back as I exited first. I went to my door and as he walked past me to the door directly next to mine, he said, "We're neighbors, all right." I said, "Oh, you're next door, huh?" And he said, "Yeah, hope I'm not too loud," with a smile. I wanted so badly to say, "Well, actually, yes, you are. Especially at night. When you're watching horror movies at full volume while I'm trying to fall asleep." But I said, "Oh, it's all good." Who even says that?? So now that I've officially met my neighbor, I'm relieved to see he's a normal-ish young person, even if he likes to watch slasher movies at night. Oh, and one more thing. He plays wii fit during the day. I know the music from watching Brother play it all summer. I am tempted to one day go over and ask if I can play, too. But I think we need to have at least one more run-in at the elevator before that's acceptable behavior.
This week I did something I've been meaning to do since I moved back. I went to the gorgeous midtown New York City Public Library and acquired a library card. This place is amazing. I felt like a rockstar studying in Olin and Hugh & Hazel, but those libraries can't even begin to compare to this one. It's huge and imposing and inviting and embracing all at once. I think I could get lost for days in there and not even notice - or care. It's really too bad Carrie Bradshaw decided to try to get married at the New York Public Library. Because I would totally love to have my wedding there. But she ruined it for every New York girl. Now if I chose to have my wedding there (assuming they even allow weddings to take place inside and assuming my future Someone would be down for it, too), I'd be copying. Blast.
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