Turtleneck quandaries solved; misconceptions debunked!!!

What is the origin of the term “turtleneck”?

Our British friend wondered about the etymology of the term “turtleneck.” The word turtleneck is combination of the words turtle (from the French “tortue”) and neck (from the Old English “hnecca”). The more interesting question is not the origin of the term but rather the origin of the form. The Victorians started wearing turtlenecks in the late 19th century because they were prudish and needed to cover up their hickies.



Should men ever wear turtlenecks?



Yes they should. There is a common misconception that the only men who can get away with wearing turtlenecks are performance artists and European graduate students. This is simply not the case. True, there is something innately “feminine” about turtlenecks but all that means is your man needs to pair his turtleneck with more masculine garb such as sweat pants or a cowboy hat.
[This is off topic, but in terms of what men should not wear, I feel very strongly that they should avoid wide wale corduroys which make their butts look puffy.]


Should busty women wear turtlenecks?

Of course! Turtlenecks, like women, come in all shapes and sizes. The trick is to find the right fit your body type. In my opinion, busty women should wear well-tailored clothes that fit. Baggy, oversized clothes always make that which is large look bigger. I would recommend a trim-fitted ribbed turtleneck in a dark, solid color. If anyone stares at your breasts, you can say “ribbed for her pleasure” and walk away laughing.

Fold-over or scrunch?

Fold-over, otherwise you are wearing a scrunch neck and that is not a turtleneck. Which leads to the next questions…

Cowl necks?

Mock turtlenecks, scrunch necks, and cowl necks are all variations on the turtleneck. I am a traditionalist and always prefer and turtleneck, though I do own a couple cowl neck sweaters. These mutations seem to appeal to people who feel “choked” by turtlenecks yet are stylistically uncomfortable with a crew, v, or ballet neck top.

Zara Answers Your Questions About Turtlenecks

It is nice to think that all humans have at least one area of expertise; one topic that we can expound on with confidence. We encounter “experts” every day. The weather woman on the local news channel, a Banana Republic salesperson, the barista at your neighborhood Starbucks, etc. They can tell you all you need to know about nor’easters, boot-cut corduroys, and peppermint mocha lattes. (The latter being a delicious coffee treat that is available for a limited time –so drink up!)

At 32 years of age, I am quasi-knowledgeable about many subjects. As I subscribe to periodicals such as Vanity Fair and Real Simple, I am keenly aware of the “latest and greatest” high-brow celebrity gossip and which jar of peanut butter tastes the peanut-iest. As a college graduate who majored in Sociology, I am pretty sure that I know more about Max Weber than say someone who majored in graphic design.

However, my true area of expertise is turtlenecks. I am confident that I know more about these garments than any being in the entire universe. My love of turtlenecks began as a child. One of my favorite activities was to play “Charlie’s Angels.” A game that involved dressing up in my play outfit which consisted of a turtleneck, tights, and knee-high winter boots [those who play with me now know that this is STILL my favorite costume] and asking my mother to play the Saturday Night Fever album so that I could run circles around the dining room table while shooting criminals with my finger gun. My infatuation with turtlenecks continued into my adult life as I grew into one of those people who are “always” cold. To me, a turtleneck is both practical and romantic.

Back to the title of this piece…..

I would very much like to share my knowledge of turtlenecks with others and I am eager and excited to field any and all questions sent to me regarding turtlenecks. Andrea has already been kind enough to ask about the enigmatic “cowl neck.” I will answer Andrea’s question and any others that are sent my way in a soon to be published follow-up piece.

So please, stop wondering and start sending all of your turtleneck questions to me!!!

There Are No Bad Questions, Only Bad Answers

After a week of eating turkey and orange vegetables (I hope, hope, hope that squash and sweet potatoes have super qualities such as the power to get me through the holidays to come and past the New Year), my mind is groggy and this post will be slightly cheating: an email exchange. But sometimes the questions your friends ask are questions EVERYONE wants to know the answer to. So, Rashmi and I were planning a meeting to discuss Girl Scouting and it ensues:

Rashmi: Will talk to you about lunch...but first: what do you think of this backpack? Does it seem roomy enough for my life?http://www.manhattanportage.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=187&osCsid= And what color do you think would be good? I was going with either the red or the black...

Andrea: I like it-- it looks like G's dj bags. Which hold lots of records. I bet you could fit your laptop in there and some other stuff. I'd go red, since I myself have bought the same red backpack multiple times.

Rashmi: I was thinking red because it's less boring. BUT do you think that black is more professional? (Like less obtrusive at a bar?)What type of backpack do you carry?

Andrea: You are asking the right person since I generally carry no fewer than 3 bags per day:

• 
  beige shoulder bag which I have recently switched to to hold GS stuff
  
  
• Red paisley/quilted soccer mom bag to hold my gym stuff (the kind of bags you and Jane don't like, but it's for the gym so serves a good purpose)
  
• green plastic lunch bag
  Yesterday I had two ADDITIONAL bags after I picked up some stuff at Trader Joe's and Crate and Barrel. I take up two seats on the bus. Furthermore, I just retired my Parisian tote...not professional and very obtrusive. I'd say go with the red. You only live once.
  

Rashmi: I have been told a theory about bag carrying: apparently the number of bags and their condition say a lot about the person carrying them. For example, multitudes of tattered plastic bags generally indicate either homelessness or insanity. BUT, two or three purposeful bags such as a cloth lunch bag, a tote and a purse indicate industry and a certain level of anal retentiveness. One stylish bag such as a messenger or hip backpack speak to hipsterness, while one Jansport-esque backpack indicates student status. Or longing to be a student. Or a severe lack of fashion sense.

I hope this discussion is useful, whether in making a gift buying decision for the holiday season, or perhaps as a New Year's Resolution (note to self: consolidate bags so as not to look homeless or insane!)

A Birthday Tree

E-mail is a blessing and a curse, as most can attest. I've relegated most of my subscribed letters to an older account, but actually look forward to my DailyCandy. It's usually short, sweet, witty and harmless (as opposed to a Word of the Day subscription which just gets tiresome, tedious and forces you to think about the brain cells laying dormant when they should be preparing for the GRE for once and for all!). Today, however, the DailyCandy featured the charming Birthday Sock. Before focusing on why the Birthday Sock should cause distress, Zandrea! would like to invite you to time travel back to the year 1997 (because dwelling in the past gets a bad rap every time).

It's 1997 and Andrea lives in BU housing-- the swanky 1019 Comm. Ave. suites. Think back to 1997-- the Clinton years, and before Zara and Andrea even knew each other! It was a time when the internet was hot, but DVDs had barely touched the common collective. Pleated pants being still socially acceptable, along with too big wire framed glasses, Andrea made the wise decision to stay in with her suitemates, Steph in particular, one blustery night.
Andrea: I think we should order pizza.
Steph: From Domino's, on our Points?
Andrea: Yes, because although it tastes bad and their politics are something awful, we must eat.
Steph: Too bad they can't deliver a movie to us also...
Andrea: Wouldn't that be fantastic...to have a VHS tape delivered to us!
Steph and Andrea (this was actually spoken together because we thought of it at the exact same time): We should start a Video Van business! We could stock a van with popular movies, have People call us, deliver them to the People and the People will return them to drop boxes within two or three days, details to be worked out later!
Within 6 months Kozmo.com was up and running...and then went under probably a year and a half later. Netflix is going strong now and seems nearly perfect to me. That is to say, the movie delivery business was OUR idea, we just didn't act on it.

Back to present and the Birthday Sock problem. This summer I had a gift shipped to my mom in Seattle and told Marvin to make sure it went under the Birthday Tree before her birthday, and was to remain there until her birthday (not to be opened before). Marvin picked up on my joke involving the Birthday Tree, and created one. It's a small, not too gaudy number that sits on the buffet behind the dining room table. How nice it was to go home for MY birthday and see birthday trinkets dangling from the branches and wrapped gifts sitting proudly beneath.
So as not to fail in a potentially profitable market yet again, I will offer a prototype of a Birthday Tree created by me to the first responder who wants one. I will not promise a timely delivery, or even something you would want to showcase year around. But I will create it, and you will get it. That's a Zandrea! guarantee.

New Music Review: Clogs and Bell Orchestre

One thing I love best about living in Boston is access to all the cultural events...concerts, operas and clubs. I really feel it's important to take advantage of what's offered. Having grown up in a city with limited (but some, still) entertainment, I really feel like I'm fulfilling an obligation when I have the opportunity to listen to great music.
Friday night G and I had tickets to a concert at the Museum of Fine Arts. Although we hadn't heard of the two groups specifically, the Bell Orchestre features members of the Arcade Fire, who we like. The tickets were cheap ($20 each) so we got dressed in our hipster finest and went.
The opening group, Clogs, appeared on a stage full of percussion and string instruments. This show was no stand up, drink beer and mosh event. I tried my best to focus, stay still and not be itchy. Fortunately the music was an innovative mix of ethereal, post modern rock, classical and jazz. I wasn't crazy about the last (and only) song with vocals; the rest were solely instrumental.
The Bell Orchestre followed with a similar style. During their set I found myself smiling at their creativity. At one point, there was a typewriter solo and it was so well composed, I wondered why I'd never heard the typewriter played before.
Both groups were tight and clearly enjoying playing together. There were no visual gimmicks and they weren't needed. I'm sure the MFA organized this series to draw a younger crowd, but I truly felt like anyone with artistic appreciation would appreciate both acts.

Halloween!

"Halloween is our chance to slip out of the stereotypes assigned to us, and find truth and beauty in caricature."
--Garrison Keillor

Halloween is not the loaded holiday that Christmas or Thanksgiving can be. There is little to worry about when this holiday rolls around. At best, it's a time to dress up, find a party and live it up, and at worst, it can slip by without inducing guilt (but a few pounds are highly likely with all the candy out).
G and I decided to host a Halloween open house yesterday. It was a good incentive to get the apartment in ship shape after weeks of stalled near completion. We cleaned and organized on Saturday, and spent Sunday morning buying pumpkins, candy and decorations. Guests were scheduled to arrive around 2:00, and at 1:45 I was worried I wouldn't have everything ready. Then G noticed that his computer said 12:45...and we remembered the "fall back" time change. An hour reprieve!
Friends brought pumpkins to carve and drank beer and cider. Although evil twin #1 couldn't make it, we were slightly relieved to put our fear of her knife weilding aside, and the cats were able to slink around, with Soul showing off his "black cat" costume.
By the end of the evening, we'd all shared stories, therapeutically carved jack o'lanterns, and consumed way too many simple starches.
And this morning, in classic candy hangover mode, Soul was passed out on the sofa with no energy to play or try to run out the door as G and I made our way to work.

Review of New Food: The Parsnip

The change in season (any season) inspires me to cook. This summer I made several strawberry cakes, using the cheap and abundant flats of strawberries from Trader Joe's. As the weather cools, I feel more comfortable standing over a stove or heating up the whole kitchen by having the oven at 400. Sometimes my zeal and optimism nearly outweigh my physical capabilities. I committed myself to making two savory pies for Rosh Hashanah last week, one involving cutting up a whole chicken (despite having watched my mom do this many times, I'm no expert and always wish for a sharper knife) AND phyllo dough. I had a vague recollection of using phyllo dough in college, but like many things from college, the specifics must have slipped away. Phyllo dough requires constant attention-- it must be frozen, then just thawed, then kept moist with a wet towel-- but not too wet. No matter what, the dough seems to flake, rip and tear and who can count out seven layers of micro thin dough, followed by five, followed by three? As the clock was ticking down to the arrival of guests, I just started throwing the dough over the chicken. In the end it was fine.
G and I enjoy cooking together-- a testament to patience and the adventure involved. Last fall and winter we made several trips to Haymarket for fresh, cheap produce, returning with a need to figure out what exactly to do with the pound of jalepenos we just bought (only 50 cents). This year we have been meeting after work on days the farmer's market is set up outside his office. We usually return with lots of potatoes, leafy greens, carrots, peppers and eggplants (so many eggplants-- there's only so much you can do with them!). I returned recently with several parsnips. This is not a vegetable I remember from my childhood-- it looks like the carrot's sickly, anemic cousin. But root vegetables are in, and I think many vegetables that had previously fallen out of fashion are making a comeback (cauliflower and the dreaded gaucho/cullottes pants must be in cahoots!). I decided to roast them along with the carrots and some yams. I covered them with a little water, some butter, cinnamon and herbs de provence and the kitchen began to smell like fall. I asked G, who'd also never tried a parsnip before, what he thought. His response? "Interesting." Probably the same response your mom would get when she asked how your afternoon with your weird cousin was.

Fresh Start

I've always lived in an Academic Year calendar, and with my birthday capping summer and heralding in this "new year" I always find Fall a good time for resolutions. Since retiring from my mentoring gig a year and a half ago, I've been waiting for a new volunteer opportunity. Volunteering my time is crucial for me, but I prefer active endeavors (face to face time) over envelope stuffing and making phone calls. I have early memories of cavassing neighborhoods with my mom in support of political candidates and a requirement in elementary school was to do an act of service each week and have it signed off. One doesn't have the luxuries, in fifth grade, of searching out too many service opportunities, but I do remember bringing the newspaper from the bottom of my elderly neighbor's driveway to his doorstep. At the very least it got me thinking of ways to repay others for all the benefits I received. By the time I was in high school, a criteria for graduation was 200 hours of creative and active service. I tutored elementary children after school and helped set up art shows. After I graduated college in Boston, I felt like I needed to be part of a community, and so started mentoring a school age boy once a week and did that for two years. The rewards of volunteering are non-monetary, but you feel like you are making a small difference in world where natural disaster, war and disease are right outside the door.
When Rashmi asked me two weeks ago if I would like to co-lead a Girl Scout troop with her, I hesitated. I knew there would be a long-term commitment and that I'd have to be "on" as well as give up personal time. But the hesitation was short lived.
Although I was a "Bluebird" and not a Brownie or Girlscout, I distinctly remember the after school meetings. All or most of the girls in my class were in my troop; we proudly wore our Bluebird uniforms (distinguishing us from our standard uniforms that girls in other grades wore those days). We each had small enamal bluebird pins. We met in the basement of a classmate's house and although the usual activities were probably crafts, I do remember a trip to the Coca Cola factory and the Wonder Bread factory (so 1950's, and yet this was probably about 1985).
To this day I love clubs; I have my book club, my music/cd club, a (sometimes) Spanish club...all group centered, stemming from my early immersion in groups, I'm sure. Why not give a few hours a month to give some girls the same chance I had?

Friendster BEWARE!!!!

ALL POINTS BULLETIN!!!

Dear Fellow Snoops,

I feel that I must warn all Friendster users that those on Friendster can now see WHO is looking at them!!! Very traumatic. [Apparently, I am HOT stuff in Indonesia.]

Yes, you can re-adjust your settings to "explore" anonymously, BUT those tricksters at Friendster like to add new features on a semi-regular basis and when new features are added our settings seem to go back to the default settings which makes us all vulnerable.

And yes, of course you can create fake accounts and stalk people that way. Just be sure to use a name that cannot be traced to you. Example: I should NOT use "blackturtlenecklover" or "ilovecheese"

Please remember, the internet can be your friend; it can introduce you to people and ideas and spectacular sales at Banana Republic, BUT it can also be used embarrass you.

Be safe out there...

Apocolypse

Four years ago Americans of my generation experienced an apocolypse. We were glued to our televisions watching planes hit the twin towers over and over, followed by endless news analysis, speculation, and from our government, promise of retribution. I would awake to NPR with newscasters telling me my life would never be the same. Collective shock became collective anger and defiance. We exuded a loud silence by displaying American flags on cars, windows, shirts, pins...
And now, four years later, in the aftermath of a natural disaster, Americans are witnessing another apocolypse. At first I was surprised that so many more lives of those I know and care about were directly affected than after 9/11. But then I realized the hit was much larger-- thousands to millions of people, miles, acres.
The difference as I feel it is there is no silence. The loud winds and rains of the hurricane ripped through, and millions of voices followed: offers of money, food, shelter...schools for displaced, jobs for the newly unemployed. This time the voice of retribution is not from the government to the initiator, but from the people to the government. And over it all is the beautiful music of the Gulf states. I've been listening to WERS and WUMB. Louis Armstrong, Nina Simone, Charlie Haden, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Donald Byrd, Wynton Marsalis all sing out reminding us of New Orleans and the South. They sing of hope among the hopeless. At the end of they day they pour a drink and know there will be a tomorrow.

Vacation Report: Summer '05

Having recently returned from a long vacation of mini vacations, and a short weekend trip, I think it's time to post on what this blog is really about. That is, shopping-- the how, to and why.
Close readers of Zandrea! might have noticed Zara's distress over the current upgrade (and thus lack of access) of the gap.com website. It is frustrating when you cannot regularly check for sales and availability of certain items but, there are alternatives.
First, think of gap.com as the "Jan" in the Brady Bunch and upgrade to the Marcia-- bananarepublic.com. If that's too out of your league, try oldnavy.com (baby Cindy of course).

When on vacation in a new city, it's great to explore unique and different attractions, but faced with a crisis, it's good to turn to the familiar. In San Francisco, the crisis was the cold (under 70 degrees-- needed a sweater). The familiar was Macy's. My mom, sister and I found the landmark and jumped in, much like delving into your best friend's closet. Unfortunately, the onset of the school year and end of summer left us with no sweater sales...so we headed to, [in my sister's voice] "Oh my God, a Loehmann's!" Unfortunately, the store was scheduled to close in half an hour. I knew this is when I most needed to put all my shopping training into practice. Within five minutes I had found the perfect sweater at the perfect price...but I saw my sister lagging behind. We had the following conversation:
"Liz, can't you find a jacket or sweater?"
"Oh, I love Loehmann's, but I can't focus with such a small amount of time! I can't see everything!"
"Liz, you don't have to-- just find what you need!"
"But what I need is a jacket, which costs money, which reminds me of my job, and I hate my job, and if I'm buying clothes, I should be buying BETTER clothes for a BETTER job! It's all so stressful!"
At this point, I realized I really couldn't help her, so I passed her off to my mom and went to look at the "better sportswear". As a sales associate announced we needed to make our final purchases, my sister took a deep breath and realized she would just have to return the next day, upon the 9 am opening.
Following the meltdown, we ate in Chinatown and felt rejuventated. Enough to look in a myriad of low cost souvenir stores. While most stores sold the same or similar trinkets, we felt like we should look in each one...and by 10:00 pm decided to also return the next day.
The next day we returned to Loehmann's (Liz purchased two job and vacation friendly blazers, stress free!) and then to Chinatown. *Readers note-- those with claustrophobia and efficiency issues are advised that the following description may cause anxiety!
As the night before, we perused the same stores for many hours...always hoping to find a different or cheaper treasure. The stores were packed with tchochkes including endless chirping bird and cricket toys. We paused for bubble tea and eggrolls, but then continued on...we were stuck in Chinatown and had to get out! The stores were endless! The discounts extravagant! As half our day (not including the evening before) passed, my mom, sister and I were finally able to escape the spell of Chinatown. We ate a well needed lunch at a faded glory of a restaurant and made our way to other San Francisco attractions...
My sister and I inherited from our mom a physical condition when unexpectedly encountering a discount store (Loehmann's, Marshall's, T.J. Maxx)-- sweaty palms, increased heart rate and the impulse to jump up and down squealing with anticipation. This overcame the three of us as we disembarked a bus our last day and found ourselves squarely in front of a Marshall's, caddy-corner from a Forever 21. My mom gave us half an hour to peruse Marshall's (again, closing time) and this time we were all ready. My sister turned in a great perfomance, purchasing shorts and two pairs of slacks and I got a $5 summer shirt and a lightweight fall sweater. Door in to door out was 45 minutes.
Yes, San Francisco is known for cable cars, sourdough bread and burnt out hippies, but we embraced what we knew, and were just as happy for it.

An Interview with Nora: The Avocado Plant

A: Did you eat the avocado? If so, how?
N: I ate the avacado in a burrito!

A: When did you plant the avocado seed?
N: I planted the seed 3 months ago.

A: I know you told me last night, but how long before the tree matures? And will it bear avocados?
N: And the tree matures in about 15 years to bear fruit but it takes 5 more before it produces fruit you can eat!

A: What is your favorite recipe using avocados?
N: I love anything related to avacados especially making guacamole.

A: Are you a hippie?
N:I am not a hippie... maybe?

A: Do you recommend starting it with toothpicks in a dixie cup of water, or planting it in soil and a pot?
N: Definitely put it in soil, I tried 2 times in water with toothpickswith limited success. One failed, one started then failed. This is the best yet... [current picture is from September 1].

A: What are some health benefits of the avocodo?
N: Avacados have good fat and also good vitamins for you. Use them in salad instead of dressing or cheese.

A:Have you ever grown anything else in your office? Maybe a potato?
N: We also had poinsetta plants that were only supposed to survive during Christmas but that we grew for a whole year. Then it became unruly and we decided that we would just get new ones next Christmas anyway. We have some other plants here, too. But nothing as exciting as the avacado tree!

Pen-Pal...Music Pal?

Refreshed from a beatiful vacation in Northern California, I return older, wiser and ready to delve into new possibilities. This has nothing to do with drinking too much wine in Napa, or inhaling "funny fog" in San Fransico. In fact, it has everything to do with NPR...
But first. I invite you to recall your first pen-pal. Perhaps it was a class project-- everyone in your home-room was matched with a 2nd grader in a classroom in Ohio. You took some time to compose a thoughtful and penmanship perfect letter on lined paper to Molly in Mississippi, or Oliver in Ohio. Maybe it was even Francoise in France. Oh la la! You'd send the letter and then...wait...and finally, a response! Rupa from Roanoke wrote about her pet guinea pig and a field trip to a local museum. So like your own life, and yet so different.
Listening to NPR Saturday, there was a story, paraphrased, "There are thousands of ways to express who you are and mixing a CD of your favorite music is the latest thing. Around the country, CD clubs are exchanging mixes, discovering new music and getting to know each other in a unique way. Every month, twelve members of the Bobcats await the latest delivery. Producer Gideon D'Arcangelo explores the world the CD clubs with members from New York City."
Not only do you get to receive a treasure in the mail, you get to discover new music, and while I hesitate to suggest making new friends, it is possible!

So reader, please post a response if you are seriously interested in joining such a club-- I found one willing participant on line already, and Evil Twin #1 might join...you would be responsible for making a mix cd and sending out 11 copies one month-- the other 11 months you would receive a different mix.

Roots: Part 2, Or, How To Grow An Avocado Tree

Hot on the heels of my post on my roots, is a new feature-- Nora's Avocado Tree. She has been growing it for 2 months. The first picture is from Monday....see the difference between then and NOW, Friday! Oh, wait, the pictures are reversed. Stay tuned for more updates...

Roots

In the past 9 years I've lived in Boston, I've settled in, but always kept a few things (banks, licenses) local to Wichita or Seattle-- my other "homes". Living in Boston can be a transitory experience; people move frequently because of roommate changes, rent increases, pest problems. And being young and with limited responsibility, it's nice to have the option to get up and leave at any time. My friend Rashmi notes that she always leaves one box packed, symbolizing a chance at impermanence.
This past year I decided to fully embrace Boston. I had the address on my checks changed (so what if I move-- I'll change it again) and yesterday I went to the DMV to finally get a Massachusetts driver's license (those who go out with me know I have no fewer than 3 ids-- two former driver's licenses and a passport). Alas, our best laid plans can hit a snag. I didn't have all the necessary paperwork (I did have two valid signatures, my checkbook, passport and old license, but nothing "official" with my current/new address). I was frustrated but knew there was nothing I could do. So it looks like I'll be off to the West Coast today...using my passport.

The Top 10 Things About Moving

10. The 24' standard transmission, if-you're-a-trucker-you'll-know-how-to-drive-this, van. Quick downgrade to 14' automatic transmission.
9. Not having ever gone to the Corrib Pub on Beacon, my closest bar (or the Holiday Inn bar, which is likely closer).
8. 6 half hour sessions on the stairmaster at the gym condensed into one 3 hour workout. In 92 degree heat.
7. Smog advisory!
6. Having one of the movers poop out halfway through the day.
5. G checking for a hotspot first thing after the movers leave.
4. What's more expensive than Trader Joe's? The Harvest Coop!
3. Water, water, more water...
2. Forgetting the coffee maker.
1. Eating dinner and having a beer at 9 pm on the front porch with G.

Reunion

I received an email a few weeks ago informing me of my upcoming 10 year high school reunion. Reunions strike fear in some, and barely containable anticipation in others. Although a few years ago I was excited and couldn't wait, now I feel a little ambivelant. I haven't returned to Wichita in 5-6 years, and feel I keep up with most people I want to. There was a link to our reunion website attached to the e-mail and I decided to check it out.
Success is truly in the eye of the beholder as many people have taken paths I would never have dreamed of (not attending/finishing college, married with children, conversion to evangelical Chritianity, living in small town America...). But those who have posted seem genuinely happy and excited to see people next summer.
Anyone who's seen "Romy and Michele's High School Reunion" will recall that the two friends decided they would go only if they reinvented themselves. The created for themselves new outfits, new jobs and fabulous resumes (including inventing post-its). I know the moral of the movie is to embrace what you actually have achieved, blah, blah, blah. But I am below that and want a fabulous past nine years and, in order to make this blog more INTERACTIVE, am soliciting suggestions (real, or imagined!) for my own bio.

Frame Blame

Zara's lack of anger has left a black hole and void which the rest of us must now recover. There are PLENTY of things to be angry about, so, in love as I too am, I will have to step up to the plate. I started today, not 20 minutes ago, when I went to The Art Store to return an inexpensive frame I bought last week. Details are below:
One week ago I purchased the frame, only to open it at home and see that the plexiglass was scratched (under 2 layers of plastic). Despite the receipt saying that returns would only be accepted for items in the original packaging, I thought for sure their customer service would step in with some sort of customer-is-always-right-here's-your-refund-with-a-smile. I took the opened frame in with the receipt this afternoon, and Jim refused to refund my $13. I explained to him that I was aware of the policy, but surely they would make an exception for this obviously inferior product. "No", Jim explained, because, "There's no way I can know that you didn't scratch it and we can only accept returns that we can resell." Could I speak to the manager? "No." Is there truly nothing I can do? "No." Not even an apology...I understand that in his peon part time job status, Jim's only following rules, but does that also entail offering no semblance of sympathy? Apparently. I started to walk out of the store, when Jim kindly asked, "Do you want to take the frame with you?" Seriously, it was scratched something awful-- completely unusable. And finally, "Well, do need parking validation?" My response to both these questions? "No."
Below is my e-mail fired off to customer service.

I purchased a frame at your Brookline Ave. store in Boston last week, and when I opened it at home, the surface of the plexiglass was scratched (under the double layer of plastic!). I understood from the receipt that the store couldn't accept returns for opened products, but I would have hoped that you would have a policy supporting the customer that trumps that policy. It's a $13 frame-- no great financial loss for me, or, certainly for your store. But now you have lost a multi-year customer-- worth a lot more than $13. I asked the man helping me if I could speak to the manager, and he said, "no". I was offered no alternative recourse (no refund, no store credit, and most importantly, NO APOLOGY!). Your policy, for honest consumers such as myself, is like nothing I have encountered at any other business, and is flawed.

**Editor's note: An e-mail exchange with the regional manager yielded an apology an explanation that the peon was likely following the policy for the frame makers, not the store, and a promise of a refund, if I bring the frame back to the store...which I would do, if I hadn't left it there in my fit of anger...The apology is good enough for me.

Where is Zara?

Dearest Zandrea readers,

You may have noticed that I have not added anything to this blog in many months. Andrea has diligently and most capably kept up the blog and has been exceptionally kind by not overthrowing the blog and declaring it her own. (Though, she is a pirate, and pirates do like to plunder and pillage, so it is probably just a matter of time before the inevitable coup d’etat….)

I will try to explain my absence. Please prepare yourself for an existential journey into my psyche.

Bottom-line, I have not written anything because I have had nothing creative to say. In the past, my creativity has been exclusively linked to my vast reserves of anger and resentment.

However, sometime in the fall of 2004, I fell in love.

The dank and musty hollows of my heart and mind are now full of “cheerful” thoughts and feelings. You know the usual: rainbows, waterfalls, unicorns, that horse with wings, cheeses (imported AND domestic), puppies, kittens, a revisionist account of my teenage years, etc.

I am happy. There, I said it!

I have tried to write.

A piece I started to write about my feud with several Brookline dry cleaning establishments stopped dead in its tracks when I had to admit that everyone makes mistakes. [Please note: the old Zara did NOT make allowances for human error.]

Another piece that was over before it started was to be about how annoying I find people who choose to procreate on this God forsaken planet. But then I thought maybe there will be peace on Earth and heck, shouldn’t that be shared with a new glorious generation??? [You are correct if you are remembering that the old Zara had no hope for humanity and was surprised we had not blown up the planet prior to the 21st century.]

So, back to the title of this blog piece…

Where is Zara?

Well, I am here. I am just trying to find my voice in the midst of all of this confounding romance. Trying to find humor and irony in between kisses and love songs.

Please be patient,
Zara

Maintenance

The time has come to do a little work around this site. At the request of a reader, I've decided to delve into the complicated world of blog programming and get some pictures up. The Evil Twins have made nice use of pictures for such favorites as vacations and museum outings-- I really felt like I was there too! In truth, it was laziness, pure laziness, that didn't get pictures up here before. I quick perusal of FAQs on Blogger and Flickr revealed precise directions for uploading pictures...without having to download any programs to my computer.
With that intro, please look to your left at the nice profile shot of mine and Zara's wrists-- a pair of handsome matching Swatches (did we synchronize our Swatches? Oh no, Parker Lewis, Zara would in fact arrive before me...).
More illustrated updates to follow...

First Annual Teen Drama Queen Movie Festival

The First Annual Teen Drama Queen Movie Festival just showed it's final official entry last night. Alas, there are no red carpet pictures to show, which is likely just as well since the temperature was 85+ with about 200% humidity. Only Mandy Moore's hair could possibly still look good in those conditions.
The entries this year were as follows:
Thursday-- "The Prince and Me" and "Chasing Liberty". Of the two, the informal consensus gave the prize to Chasing Liberty. Not because the story line was any more plausible, or the acting really any better...but because Matthew Goode is hot. And the subplot with Jeremy Piven and Annabella Sciorra was endearing. Movie attendees T, R and roommate L (and of course, myself) managed to gorge ourselves on a full dish of 7 layer dip...and wine, margaritas followed intermittently with chocolate covered pretzels and Exquisite cookies. Mmmmm!
Unifying theme through both movies: Men with foreign accents

Monday-- "A Cinderella Story" and "New York Minute". A Cinderella Story was a late entry (thanks to T) due to lack of Hilary Duff and also due to a Netflix mishap**. NYM was indeed as bad as the reviews made it out to be. The Twins escape (apartment critics) unscathed due to a power costume change montage. Evil Twin #1 and N joined T and R for the festivities this night. There was more wine and more margaritas, plus teen-tastebud-memory-flashback frozen pizza and microwave popcorn.
Unifying theme through both movies: ummm, predictability?

Tuesday-- "Saved!" and "Raise Your Voice". Let me take a quick moment to thank the movie festival participants-- especially those who trekked to Brookline from far away (yes, Cambridge is far) over many days in the heat and humidity. Especially also to T who provided the majority of the movies, and had thoughtfully provided back up movies in case the originally planned ones didn't arrive ("Crossroads" and "But I'm A Cheerleader"). This might have been deemed Satire Night, or at least, Movies-Which-We Might-Actually-See-In-A-Real-Festival,-Not-a-Ghetto-Apartment-Festival. T warnd us that RYV might make us cry 3-5 times and yup, it delivered. Saved! Made us laugh out loud and was close to home for some of us who had to endure years of Christian School and/or Youth Group. We reheated the pizza, ate more chips, more popcorn, more cookies, more wine (white Zin...how high school!) and french fries.
Unifying theme through both movies: Jesus

I was surprised that many people who came (I won't mention names) had already seen MOST if not ALL of the movies I chose! I was not surprised that the foods we ate in high school and which tasted so good again are best eaten only in high school and maybe in college...but after 25 one does not have the same metabolism as one who is 16.
**Netflix, with normally reliable turnaround, FAILED during the height of the festival, delivering movies a day later than needed. Either that or the mailman caught wind of the movies and decided to keep them to himself to watch first, before delivery.

Housekeeping

Sharing communal washers and driers involves patience and flexibility, but also acknowledgement of the tacit rules: do not remove other's clothes prematurely form either the washer or dryer; give others a fair chance to do so themselves.
When this system suffers a breakdown, a battle will ensue.

The scenario:
Wednesday morning (8 am):
Evil Twin #1 attempts to start laundry, but waits as all 4 washers are in use.

Wednesday evening (8:30 pm):
I go to put two loads of laundry in the washers, only to find they have laundry in them (the corresponding dryers are free). I decide to return in 15 minutes.

8:45 pm: I return to find Pathetic Redhead has moved the laundry out of one of the machines, and put hers in. I notice that she is sitting with baskets of laundry around her, and armed for a stakeout, with a Harry Potter book in hand. I ask her if the laundry in the other machine is hers ("no" she answers). I go to move it into a drier, and have a sneaky suspician that this laundry belongs to Evil Twin #1. I put it in the large drier, thinking that I'll dry it for her, along with my laundry, when it finishes in a half hour.

9:10 pm: Evil Twin #1 comes home, and declares that Pathetic Redhead (still camped out in the basement) has carelessly removed all Evil Twin's laundry to put her own in the large drier. I declare this unacceptable, as I had planned to dry my own laundry, as well as Evil Twin's, in the large drier. I fear the removal of my own laundry, so hoof it to the basement pronto.

9:15 pm: My wash is finishing up, and I notice that Pathetic Redhead has 12 minutes left on the drier. I decide it's time for a standoff. If she can remove laundry so cavalierly, and is willing to spend her evening in the basement, then I'm sure she'll have no problem removing her laundry from the drier to make room for mine. I wait.

9:27 pm: (I've taken my wet clothes out of the drier and put my second load in my just used washer.) Before all Pathetic Redhead's clothes have had a chance to settle, I ask, "You don't mind if I move your clothes out for mine, do you?" She's taken aback, but responds, "No...they're dry?" "Yes." I proceed to pull her clothes out of the drier as she walks toward me. I pass them to her then put mine in.

9:35 pm: I return to the apartment, where B tells me I should add enough quarters to the drier to assure that Pathetic Redhead won't be able to use it. Evil Twin tells me she will return with me, and we bring our drinks with the idea of scandalizing her out of the laundry room with disturbing conversation (or at least boring her).

9:45-10:30 pm: With some quick thinking and careful sleight of hand, Evil Twin #1 and I dominate the laundry room and win the battle...and return home with clean laundry. Pathetic Redhead couldn't stand the heat, and left humbled and several quarters less rich than when she arrived.

Bad Habits

With G away, I've noticed myself returning to my single-girl-lacking-responsibility self. Perhaps it's not bad habits so much as indulging guilty pleasures (akin to spending a week at Grandma's growing up in the summer). I've been staying up late reading and watching movies (G is an early to bed, early to riser, so we finish movies together only about half the time). I've forgone many a healthy dinner in favor of the easier and carb satisfying cheese and crackers dinner (in bed, no less). Yesterday I enjoyed Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee and not one, but two (!) donuts on my outside deck. I've been laying in bed in my pajamas until well past 11 on the weekend days.

Finally, I've been shopping...the always enjoyable pastime which is like a drug. I pride myself on my bargain shopping (the $20 rule has fallen by the wayside in recent times, but I've managed to resurrect it with the onslaught of Summer Sale! and free time). When Saturday looked like it wouldn't be a beach day after all, I improvised and went to Downtown Crossing. I was armed with a gift card to Filene's and hope to make short shrift of the $25 balance. Alas, I failed. The shirt I picked out for $35 rung up at just $19...it looks like another trip will need to be made to polish off that $5+. I forewent the Basement and H&M in favor of the less frequented TJ Maxx. A friend's recent purchase of several swimsuits for under $10 piqued my curiosity. There were slim pickings in the swimware department, but the skirts were cute and all under $20...and the four I tried on all fit. I closed my eyes and picked the one which would be mine. I also wasted no time in scouring the shoe rejects on the floor for a pair of cute wedge heels, size 7. Thoroughly warmed up with my keen eye on the lookout, I bought lunch (hot dog and Coke) and resumed my mission: birthday gifts for sister (unmentionable pending actual birthday next week). The five hour afternoon kept me entertained, provided an outfit for going out that night, and really, hardly made a dent in my checking account. In fact, it was perhaps not so much a guilty pleasure as a necessity!

Move Preparation: Installment 2

G and I found a charming apartment, moved most of his worldly belongings to the storage unit (the most precious electronics and comic books staying with me) and sent him on his month long trip to Israel. Save for the physical act of moving our stuff to the new apartment in mid-August, the big parts are taken care of. Packing, shmacking...any further proactive measures on my part would severely cut into what is shaping up to be : The July of Andrea.***

My friend J invited me to join her in a drop in hip hop dance class Saturday morning. We both enjoyed dancing (although often infused with alcohol) and thought, how hard could it be? We arrived at 9:30 am and to our surprise (read: chagrin) the Boston Herald was doing a piece on dance in the Boston area, and none of us would mind being photographed during the class, would we?
The warm up started fine-- we got moving and were able to stave off the headaches resultant from lack of morning caffeine. The instructor introduced some steps and we slowly went through, following her and feeling good...until she dropped to the floor,break dance style,then upped the tempo double time. No one else in the class seemed surprised by this. In fact, they barely regarded it as a challege. For the next 45 minutes, J and I attempted the moves and were duly humbled. My two plus years of yoga practice did not give me the upper arm strength needed to fall and jump up, over and over. My body ached in places I didn't even know existed the next day. Of course, we're planning on returning as soon as possible.

The July of Andrea includes activities that G would not enjoy. Activities that might make G throw up. Starting next week, I will screen not one, and not two, but three nights of teen movies (the bad ones-- lots of Mandy Moore, some Britney and many hijinks). Many of my girlfriends have expressed more than a passing interest in this, so it could actually become an annual, if not monthly, event.

Further Andrea events include Salsa dancing, sewing a skirt, learning some Hebrew and practicing my Spanish, conscientiously grocery shopping with reusable bags...and perhaps getting a Massachusetts Drivers License. I've already entertained three friends from out of town, and hope to entertain at least one more. I'll travel to DC to see my sister and I'll take the African Dance class at my gym before I move.

This is Molly's and Nancy's Fourth of July Parade Story

Another guest post, since the editors here are busy keeping busy. This tale is told alternately from my mom's (Nancy) and her dog's (Molly) perspective.

We wanted to have a great Fourth of July weekend. Molly was surrounded
by new people-she had gotten use to Grandma, but then here came Ginny
and Bob from Chicago and she was excluded from all fun outings and
didn't even get her customary walk on Friday or Saturday-because of the
cleaning frenzy that was taking place. When Ginny and Bob came to the
house, they just ate lunch then everyone left--and left her in her
"room." They did return home, but immediately stated fixing and eating
dinner-hardly any playtime.
Sunday was not much better from Molly's perspective--first left while
everyone goes sightseeing-but at least got left on the deck/den on a
beautiful day. Then, Marvin, Grandma and Nancy return home, but say
they need a rest (at least Nancy does, so no walk for me). Then more
dinner preparation for Julie and Susan coming over. Julie and Susan
played a little Frisbee (Molly got two new ones, both pink), but mostly
just talk and eating.
Monday, finally a dog day. First thing, up and out to the dog part-at
last some wonderful one on one with Nancy and lots of new friends and a
couple of trips to the river! It was heaven! Sometime after getting
home, though, Nancy thought she'd just take me to walk in the Bothell
Fourth of July parade with her to support the County Council candidate.
Well, we situated Grandma in a very low chair on the parade route and
then we walked up a hill (Molly getting pets along the way) to wait for
the little kids part to finish. We did get to go a short way down main
street, and I was doing ok, until those dressed up reenactors starting
shooting their muskets right behind us; I was really scared and just
wanted to leave. Nancy handed her sign back to Jeff because I was just
going way too fast; I was frantic; I wanted to get out of that parade
and away from those loud noises and I was hot!
I thought we'd never get back to the car! After we got Grandma into the
car, we were finally able to turn on the air-conditioning and go home.
Luckily, Nancy knew enough to let the hose run on me in the front yard.

And last night--even more firecrackers---way too much Fourth of July for
me!

Tales From the Fruit Cart: A Fruit Cart Announcement

Ever intrepid journalist Elizabeth Crawford takes a moment out of her daily reporting and source follow ups to update us on the MIA fruit cart.

It is [Employer's] turn to push the fruit cart again. My day is July 29. I thought you'd enjoy the announcement about it sent out by the president of [Employer]. See below.

It's time again for us to take the lead
And fulfill UCG's fruit and vegetable need.
I know you'd rather give out Twinkees and Hohos
But that won't regain your Fruit Cart Mojo.

A push, a shove and it's manna from heaven above.
(Well, not manna, but lots of green banana.)
Sing and dance and enjoy the grins,
But don't forget the napkins.

When: [Employer] does the Fruit Cart from July 22 through September. (Interns are signed up already.) There's one day for EVERYONE. Sign up now and improve the chances you'll get your preferred day.

Where: See the calendar sign-up sheet on the pillar near [fellow employee's] desks.

Why: The benefits of fiber are best not discussed publicly.

The readers of Zandrea! will wait with bated breath for the EC's July 29 turn and subsequent update, I'm sure!

A Cool Summer

Growing up in Wichita, Central Air was a necessity. The summers are long and terrible-- the heat is 80+ from April through October (I recall more than one Halloween wearing shorts and a t-shirt to school). It is not uncommon to go directly from the air conditioned house, to the air conditioned car, to air conditioned work. Public schools have half days the first week of school because the heat is so bad. Actual contact with Nature is driving the car to the neighborhood pool and spending the afternoon swimming (resultant in first day of school green hair each September, but that's another story). Henry Miller titled his 1945 critique of American culture, "The Air-Conditioned Nightmare."
"Nowhere else in the world," Miller wrote of the United States, "is the divorce between man and nature so complete."**
Before coming to college in Boston, my cousin told me not to bother packing t shirts-- it would never be warm enough in my 9 months academic year to wear them. She was correct, and I realized also the Central Air for people's homes was practically non-existent. Air conditioning units are the prefered means of keeping cool, when needed. In fact, many people get by with a window or stand alone fan.
The temperature hit near 100 this past weekend and I would have suffered through sans fan or AC, but for an inheritance from G-- his AC window unit to use while he travels for the next month. I generally prefer to keep my windows open, enjoy the cool night breeze and be awakened by the sounds of birds and garbage trucks-- idyllic morning sounds. But the past several nights I have guiltilly enjoyed the AC, being able to snuggle under the blankets and wake up refreshed-- not sweaty and sticky.
I'd like to believe that once G leaves on Friday, I'll revert back to my normally conservative persona and open the windows...but sometimes it's nice to be spoiled.


** Thanks to the New York Time's story Shivering for Luxury, printed Sunday June 26.

Souvenirs

Shopping in any foreign country holds such appeal that even (and especially!) the tchotchkes one gives and receives hold special personal value. When I was in high school, I started collecting the small "floaty" pens-- a cactus floating through a desert scene for a town in Texas, David or Venus floating up and down in Italy or a car floating under the Saint Louis Arch. The appeal of these pens is that they are cheap and portable, and have the benefit of reminding you where you (or your friend) was when purchased.
A former co-worker of mine traveled to India every couple of years, and before she would go, she would ask us to make a list, including spending limits, of things (jewelry, fabrics, etc) we would like her to bring back. For a total of $75, I received a custom made silver jewelry set and a hand embroidered wool shawl. My friend Rashmi has offered a similar service-- no doubt the shopping will be for her as fun as it is for us to receive!
Visitors to the U.S. often have lists of things that can be purchased here for cheaper than in their country, or perhaps not purchased at all. My friend Salma would come to Boston for usually a month at a time in the summer, and would stock up on Marshmallow Fluff, cranberry juice, Hamburger Helper and Gap clothes. Her shopping would be punctuated by frequent stops at Starbucks-- a surprisingly non-entity in her Mexican home. In return for accompanying her to the Hard Rock Cafe, she would bring me boxes of KinderEggs...a rare and expensive treat here.
I just helped G through a treasure hunt list for his aunt in Israel. The varied list included clothes, makeup and linens. An easy list save for the translation differences-- no fewer than 3 Bed, Bath and Beyond employees helped us convert the towels size from centimeters to inches.
I spoke to a friend last night who just got back from a year abroad. She buys a children's book (and asks her friends to do the same) from every country she visits, so her future children will have a world library.

Feel better soon?

A week or so ago I was on the phone with a work related call, and my office mate gave me a folder with a card in it to sign. I smiled at her and she left it on my desk. When I got off the phone to sign it, I realized I didn't know who it was for, but it was a get well card. She had already signed it and the person's name (beginning with a K) was not someone whose name I recognized). My office mate was away from her desk then, and I knew I had to go somewhere soon, so I just signed it, "feel better! sincerely, Andrea" and put it back on her desk. Later she came back and asked if I still had the card; I know I should have just asked her who it was for then, but I just told her I put it on her desk, and then I heard her open it and go, "oh...okaaaay." And then off to deliver it to someone else.

Move Preparation: Installment 1

Just as chicken pox, sunburns and your teenage years seem to get worse before getting better, so does the attempt at improving one's lot in life. G and I have decided to live together as the next step in our relationship, but unfortunately this entails finding an apartment, finding a replacement roommate (for me) and physically packing and moving.
When I moved to my current place a year and a half ago, my (good) life started falling into place. I had (and still have) a job that I enjoy, I had a good stash of friends and family and my new apartment and roommates seemed to be problem free. About a month after I moved in I met Gabriel and things have been going well ever since.
Gabriel started planning a return trip to Israel this winter. The month long service/vacation would allow him to reconnect with his home and allow him to "volunteer" his mandatory military service.
Eventually we decided it would be good to move in together just after his month long sojourn, in August. He and his other two roommates are moving just prior to his departure, which means he had to find a home for his two cats and store all his belongings.
Last night we took a load of boxes to his storage unit...which was something straight out of a murder mystery. When he signed the contract, they made him promise not to store firearms, explosives...or ex-girlfriends. We pulled the car into the unloading garage and adult contemporary rock (Sarah McLachlan) played softly in the backgroud. The automatic sliding doors opened and we followed the corridor down to his unit. I kept expecting someone to turn a corner in front of us, or for us to stumble upon a dead body, while the Police sang "Every Breath You Take" overhead. We moved quickly since I didn't want to spend any more time there than we had to.
When he finally pulled the car out of the garage, I pushed the button to lower the garage door behind him, hoping to run under it before it closed, but the mechanism stopped the door and wouldn't let me do that. So I closed the garage door and tried to get out the normal egress, but it locked from the inside as well as the outside. I knocked for G to let me out, but he couldn't find the cards with the codes on them in any of his pockets! For about 30 seconds I felt trapped and alone inside the scary storage unit while G was free outside...and worried about all aspects of the impending move (will we find a place before G goes to Israel or will I have to find one on my own? will it be affordable and nice or will it be in the ghetto with bars on the windows? will I find a good replacement roommate for my roommates?). Then I remembered I had the card in my pocket so showed it to G and he let me out.

*Editor's note: I should note it's not all gloom and doom! We are optimistic and while we have seen a couple of doozies, it's good to know that G and I are in the same boat and can commiserate after the bad apartments over drinks at the closest bar!

Vacation in Boston!

Memorial Day weekend is the traditional start of the summer vacation season. Sometimes it's nice to evaluate your current surroundings and "go on vacation" where you live. This works especially well if you'd prefer to be elsewhere, but can't afford to.
Boston is actually a popular tourist destination and with my sister in town for the long weekend, we decided to hit a couple historical hot spots.

Stop 1: Mike's Pastry in the North End for cannoli and cappucino.
Overheard conversation regarding Red Sox hero Johnny Damon by two authentic North End Italian American locals

Stop 2: Haymarket. Tons of cheap produce...but with the caveat that what they put into your bag might be different than what you would pick out (ie moldy hot peppers).
Overheard "conversation" between vendors calling each other "jerk".

Stop 3: Walden Pond. Due to the close proximity of other pond bathers, the quiet and solitude achieved by Thoreau is hardly reached.
Overheard conversation between two college students:

"There was a girl in one of my classes who was actually going to write about how following The String Cheese Incident is actually a religion! I'm so tired of these hippies!"

Also, school of large, ornamental koi spotted in pond. Koi were followed by canoers, as well as an intrepid wildlife photographer who ran past us and into the woods to get a land shot of the fish. College girls offered themseleves as photo subjects.

Stop 4: Mt. Auburn Cemetery. A scenic drive through America's oldest garden cemetery resulted in an abrubt stop by driver, G, when a medium sized animal loped across the street, and over a hill. G exclaimed, "What was that?!" Liz replied, "I think it's a marmot." G jumped out of the car, saying, "I'm going to get that dog!" and proceeded around the bend in search of the oversized rodent.

The long weekend brought the first nice and seasonable weather in weeks, if not months. We upped the vacation factor by making a fiesta with fresh salsa, margaritas, lanterns and candles and the newly cleaned back deck.

The next day was spent shopping in downtown crossing and memorializing the day with photo booth snapshots.

By the end, the vacation home away from home was well spent, with a true Memorial Day barbeque to mark the beginning of summer.

Creature (Dis)comforts

Humans and animals have long had an indifferent, yet co-habitative relationship. Although close to our domesticated dogs and cats, we maintain a cool distance with our urban wildlife. We grumble about raccoons attacking the garbage and have found ways to effectively keep the critters out of our abodes...but every so often the status quo is disrupted, as described in a recent article on black squirrels in Washington, DC.
Investigative journalist Elizabeth Crawford comments, "What I thought was interesting is that DC is one of the most racially segregated cities, and here are these squirrels living happily with each other and then people start projecting their racism on the squirrels!"

The story of Washington's black squirrels -- which scientists say arejust a color variation within the common gray squirrel species --still has its shades of mystery. Scientists say the black variety now comprises 5 to 25 percent of thesquirrels in some neighborhoods. Here's why some scientists believe the black squirrels weremultiplying: In winter, their dark coats allowed them to retain heatfrom sunlight, leaving them less desperate for warmth than their lighter-colored cousins. In Montgomery, the squirrels are spreading into Gaithersburg and Rockville -- though not without a little controversy.Some residents have called to complain that the new squirrels areaggressive, driving out the friendly gray squirrels, said Bill Hamilton of the county Department of Park and Planning. He said he reassures residents: "It's the same squirrel," just a different color. Among themselves, the squirrels appear to feel the same way, accordingto Vagn Flyger, a retired University of Maryland professor. He has studied their behavior -- now using feeders rather than Valium-- and determined that the squirrels don't appear to treat each other differently because they are black or gray."They don't seem to care," he said.

In farther reaches of the world (all the way in Japan!), a runaway Macaque is truly causing problems.

TOKYO -- Japanese officials are struggling to capture a rogue monkey roaming the streets of Tokyo. Believed to be a Japanese macaque that has come out of the wild, the monkey has been sighted at least 11 times since April 30 perched atop roofs, telephone poles and scampering among trees in backyards.
Though it has caused little damage -- yet -- police and animal welfare officials are in hot pursuit of the monkey, which has been traversing some of the capital's most densely populated neighborhoods.
"It's a bit of a problem. The animal welfare staff is trained to catch dogs but not monkeys," said Tokyo city official Hiroyuki Satsuke.
In rural Japan, the macaques -- an endangered species -- have been known to attack and bite humans. The average adult weighs about 33 pounds and stands about two feet tall, but their thick fur can make them appear much larger.
Teaching staff ushered children to safety when the monkey entered an elementary school in Tokyo's Kita ward on May 2, Satsuke said. The Asahi newspaper quoted a priest at a nearby temple who saw the monkey scattering flowers left on graves.
"We just can't seem to locate it ... but there is a possibility it could cause physical damage," said a National Police Agency spokesman.
It was not clear why the animal may have wandered into the city, officials said.

With people involved in conflict with other people around the world, it is not surprising that our anxieties and agressions have turned to animals in nature. Derive what morality from these stories that you like...


**Editor's note: see CNN article for rhino/goat friendship.

"Jessica never drove a car. She always rode her bicycle or took a cab."*

And so I'd like it to be with me. Each week, Jessica solved murder after murder from Cabot Cove. Her training as as a mystery writer kept her on par or above the local police force, and despite living in Maine, she owned only a bicycle as her means of transportation (I guess the cabs came in handy during the 10 months of inclement weather).
I pride myself on my walk to and from work (a brief 15 minutes door to door) and my fastidious knowledge of the MBTA buses and trains. If a place is accessible via public transportation, I can get there! I can drive, and will if I have to (G has a car which I drove by myself, this winter, on Storrow Drive to pick him up from the airport. It's the biggest favor I've ever done for anyone), but prefer environmentally friendly walking and soon...biking!
I got on a bike for the first time in maybe 15 years last fall in Block Island. True to the saying, once you learn, you don't forget. It was an exhilerating experience and since then, and especially with the onset of nice weather, I have been desirous of a bike. But a retro one with a basket (hopefully in pink or yellow!).
I came across these lovlies http://www.skeppshultbikes.com/index.htm, but have not been able to locate a local retailer or price. Mihee told me all I really needed was a cruiser, so some more searching located the following: http://www2.trekbikes.com/Bikes/City_Bike_Path/Cruiser/Classic/Index.php.
I'm pretty sure that paired with my writing, once I get my bike, I can solve Brookline's most intriguing crimes (see, "Oh my God, Where are my Spoons" and "The Case of the Loud Asshole in Zara's Basement").

*thanks to IMDB.com for this bit of Murder, She Wrote trivia

A Horoscope

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22):

With the arrival of spring, you notice a skip in your step and a decrease of weight from your shoulders. A lightened conscience, or just a lighter jacket? Someone will offer you a free bag of chips-- don't over analyze it-- you're a Leo! Just take it and run! A well-intended onlooker might accuse you of being a Virgo, but don't worry. You're as much a Virgo as President Bush is a self-made philanthropist. Just dwell on it tonight at home in bed. By yourself. In the dark. Is that a noise you hear? Maybe you should check the front door one more time. And did you remember to pay your credit card bill? Does something smell like gas...?

Boston Fashion Week

New York, Paris and Milan have spring fashion weeks, in February, well documented by daily articles and slide shows in the New York Times. Boston, being the humble city it is, has a less coordinated fashion week, around the time you can safely take the winter coat to the cleaners without fear of a sub-artic cold snap, ie, last week.
Boston fashion week consists of the Gap putting spring clothes (still too lightweight to actually wear) on clearance and me craving white and linen. I confessed my craving to buy Keds to Mihee and Rashmi and fortunately, they were both more than willing to help reintroduce a trend (I'm taken with the $110 Lacoste fashion sneakers, but I can't bring myself to actually buy them). We planned an outing to DSW shoe warehouse and Filene's. I wrote to my sister (as an aside, the fruit cart was given a sabbatical last week while fresh, hot pretzels were delivered instead!) and she said she herself had been contemplating buying Keds, with the hope they'd be as comfortable as she remembered.
DSW indeed had the Keds we remembered, and our evening shopping trip was soundtracked by familiar '80s pop songs in all the stores we went to, as though willing us on to more and more retro purchases.
In addition to the updated Keds (thicker sole, added lycra), I purchased a pair of sweet gold Easy Spirit pumps. Perfect for going out, especially at $11.00! Rashmi found a similar deal on bedazzled black pumps, and the new Keds, while Mihee held out for the very classic Keds...cut to crossing the street and entering Filene's. Shoe display of multi colored classic Keds endorsed by Mischa Barton (go to keds.com to find out "what Mischa Barton thinks is cool". I'm serious. Ugh.). Mihee gets the attention of the salesman, and less than 10 minutes later we all have our Keds. The shopper's high is in full force, so we head down to the Basement ("We start at the dresses, go to handbags, then check out accessories, then go to the Vault. Any remaining time can be used to look for Automatic Markdown bargains", according to Mihee).
We each found several potential items, but ultimately came away with a green print halter dress for Mihee and a beige linen jacket for me. Rashmi was satisfied with the two pairs of shoes purchase.
We each wore the new Keds this weekend. Rashmi and I have war wounds on the backs of our ankles and Mihee suffered blisters on the soles of her feet. My sister did buy a pair, as well as ankle socks with blue trim to match the blue Keds logo, but a woman ran over her foot with a stroller on the first outing, sullying the pristine white.
Mihee and I rounded out the week by taking advantage of the Gap's sales (t-shirts, jeans and denim jackets) and now have the basics to take the summer by storm!

2005 Food Recommendations: Installment 3

New food reviewed by Andrea: Lamb

I've always rejected lamb on the basis of it's gamey taste and pungent odor. It's not so usual on menus, so thus not hard to avoid. But in the past three weeks I have tried it not once, not twice, but three times! The first time was at Matt Murphey's when G ordered the Winter Mixed Grill-- it sounded cozy and hearty, featuring also duck and Irish bacon. But the first taste of lamb and I could barely swallow. I felt like I was eating in a petting zoo and couldn't gulp my Guiness fast enough.
On Monday Mihee e-mailed me asking if I was up for a free dinner (the catch: a 5 minute spiel on American Express Financial Services) at an upscale Greek restaurant, Meze Estatiorio (or something like that) in Charlestown. I ditched yoga and joined her on a Monday night adventure using Boston's finest public transportation (as we were crowing over how proud we were for figuring out which bus to take, the bus deposited and picked up the regular riders, leaving us in the diesel fumed dust. A "local" informed us that we could probably walk, so we did. We arrived just after 7 and met our date for the evening, one F. (rhymes with red) W. (rhymes with ebster), an AE rep dressed to the nines. He surveyed us (jeans and backback, late 20s ennui) and spared us the long talk (also, the others invited never showed up), likely knowing he'd get no money from us. He told us to order whatever entree from the menu and he would cover it. We never saw him again. Our waiter recommended the lamb-- the restaurant's specialty (Mihee had called earlier inquiring if there were vegetarian options. The response, "No vegetarian! We're Greek!"). Mihee went for the chops, and I opted for fish stew, surprising the waiter. I told Mihee of my disdain for lamb, but said also that I'd try it. When our dishes beautifully arrived (at $30+, they should be beautiful!) I had a bite and could not distinguish one hint of the gaminess I normally detest! I started envisioning a culinary turnaround-- I'd be able to expand my gastronomic pleasure at many an ethic restaurant! It was with this optimism that I let G cook for me at his ranch, last night. He'd purchased a marinated and frozen leg of lamb from Trader Joe's, and I said I'd help him eat it. It cooked beautifully-- crispy and well seasoned on the outside, and pink and juicy on the inside. He sliced me a couple slices, and took the rest of the behemouth for himself. It was easy to eat-- tender and delectable, with only a slight taste of the farm. Too bad G couldn't enjoy it as well; he was too busy dissecting out all the unsavory bits of fat (seen and unseen) to eat. I guess it's back to the sanitary, flash frozen, boneless, skinless chicken breasts.

2005 Food Recommendations, Installment 2

Before winter ends, and takes with it the citrus fruit season, a review of the doyenne of citrus fruit, the grapefruit. By Elizabeth Crawford


The fruit cart just came by. There was nothing exciting or exotic on it, so I chose an orange which was in the same basket as the grapefruits. This reminded me about my latest grapefruit epiphany, which I am not sure that I shared with you. Well, B eats grapefruit for breakfast every morning, like a few other people in the world. And I always thought she was weird for it because they aren't really that filling, plus they have some other undeniably negative aspects. For instance:
a) they take up way too much space in the toe of your Christmas stocking;
b) they take way too long to eat;
c) they require special grapefruit spoons that are pointier than normal spoons but just as hard to find in stores as Zara's missing spoon;
d) they squirt you in the eye; and
e) unlike oranges which you can buy by the five pound bag for something like $1.99 in the winter, grapefruits are always expensive (their market value hovers around 89 cents a piece at the Safeway on Columbia next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken).

But, then, I had my epiphany. Or rather, B in combination with a mistake had my epiphany for me.

When I told B she was weird for eating grapefruits every morning (except when she eats grapenuts -- which is rare because she doesn't like them and we have a slight weevle problem), she said that she thought I would like eating grapefruits in the morning because they are a nice slow way to wake up. She compared eating them to me sitting on the futon at 5:30 every morning, watching the weather and waiting for my coffee to cool. This piqued my interest because I like sitting on the couch all grumpy with my coffee in the morning.
Then, by accident I grabbed a grapefruit off the fruit cart instead of an orange (again they were sharing a basket). Rather than go fruitless I ate the grapefruit and I realized love them!

A Party, Sideways Style, but distance travelled only from living room to bathroom, not through the wine valleys of California

Before the passage of time addles my memory further than the wine already has, I'd like to recount some highlights from the party that the team of Zandrea! were at Saturday night.
The party took place in the Andrea part of Zandrea's apartment, in cooperation with roommates. The pre-party planning involved the making of checklists, cleaning and shopping. Trader Joe's fans that we are (see 2005 Food Recommendations, Installment 1), Mihee and I undertook the food and wine shopping. My expertise lies more in cheese,than wine, so I took responsibility for that (cheddar, brie and manchega, thank you very much) while Mihee chose the wine ("I really love the Wilhemette Valley wines"). Brandi took care of the rest of the food, as well as wine glasses (we're all post-college, so now red plastic cups!) and candles, for ambience. Lauren put away the holiday decorations (a range of holidays from fall through winter-- we all maintain busy lifestyles).
Zara and Arnold arrived when the party was in full swing. Zara is a famous mystery, so those who finally got to meet her were dazzled and in awe. She came decked out in black(Mihee: "Zara, black, but no turtleneck?" Zara: "No, I dress up in black v-necks for parties."). Arnold played our game-- Choose the Wine: Classy vs. Trashy, and did quite well, earning him a "wine snob" lable (as opposed to the "wine- yes!" lable others of us earned, indicating that any wine is good wine. One might say "wino", but that's an offensive term.).
The night rolled on...people drank, chatted, socialized, took inappropriate polaroid pictures. In other words, the party proceeded as planned. Late into the night, a mini dance party, or more to say, homecoming/prom started in my bedroom. Journey played, and ths slow dance was on.
A few lessons were learned throughout the night:
1) If you plan to wear a white shirt to a party where mostly red wine will be drunk in copious amounts, it better be your own party so you can change when you spill it all down your front.
2) Yellowtail is no good. I'll take Charles Shaw over that.
3) If you think you might want leftover cheese for breakfast, see that it gets put in the fridge the night before.

A Horoscope

TAURUS (April 20-May 20):

As you pile all the pants with dirty cuffs from the continuous onslaught of snow into a giant Filene's bag to take to the dry cleaners, wondering if your birthday will ever come, along with the promise of spring, warm weather and new love, fear not. Take a deep breath, relax, pour yourself a margarita and turn the bossa nova up. RSVP to all parties you are invited to, and take up an adult ed class. Something involving a foreign language.

Tales From the Fruitcart: Fruit Cart Fashion

Zara and I are snowlogged, which we why we cannot be bothered to report our own adventures at this time. Our dedicated correspondants are out there living. They will do the reporting until the spring thaw, or until Zara and myself can leave our respective apartments (replete with clean laundry, catalogs and magazines, and the delivered-to-your-mailbox Netflix) to relay our tales. In the meantime, Tales From the Fruitcart: Fruit Cart Fashion, by Elizabeth Crawford.


I've noticed that when people push the fruit cart (myself included) that they tend to dress up more. This might be because you have to deliver fruit to the big wigs in charge of the company or, for new employees, because it is the equivalent of a debutant ball (in that you announce your employment to all the other workers who you never met previously). I for one wore nice black pants and a scrunchy, stylish white shirt -- conservative, but fun; so that as the fruit cart pusher I would appeal to everyone without intimidating them. My co-worker wore a nice button down shirt on his fruit cart day, as oppose to the long sleeve black tee shirt with a tear in the seam of his right shoulder that he is wearing today. And, I noticed, that today's fruit cart pusher, who usually wears nice skirts and matches her hand bag to her shoes went above and beyond her usual graceful style and wore one of those fur collars that you tie around your neck. Clearly a sign that she is one of the most refined fruit cart pushers.

When selecting an outfit for fruit cart day, you should consider:
* You have to lift heavy tubs of fruit out of the cupboard so you should not wear too high of heals lest you teeter over under the weight of the grapefruits.
* Sometimes it is hard to gather momentum when pushing the fruit cart so you kind of have to stick out your rear end to get leverage. Thus, tight, short skirts are a bad idea (they should be a bad idea for work any way).
* Sometimes it is hard to stop the fruit cart once you get it going, so you don't want to wear shirts that are too tight across your back -- that can hinder the tugging motion necessary to stop a runaway fruit cart before it crashes into a pillar and causes a ruckus.
* You need to wear something that makes you feel confident because everyone will look at you. At the same time though you don't want to appear snooty or intimidating.
* If you can pull it off, wear a themed outfit. This summer a woman wore black Capri pants with limes, oranges, lemons and cherries all over them. But you need to be careful not to over do it. (For example: Fruit shaped earrings are okay, but a hat with fake plastic fruit on it is not -- yes, someone has worn that before and it was distracting).

Finally, to set the record straight. An upcoming fruit cart day is a valid reason to buy a new outfit. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Just select carefully and according to the aforementioned guidelines.

A Valentine's Letter from a Loyal Reader

The story begins in California during the holiday break. I flew home to see my parents, my sister, her husband and my very fat niece. The weather was uncooperating and every day of my 10 vacation was a rainy one. Although my Dad and I did venture out to the golf course one day, we realized as we squished in our shoes and huddled around a striped umbrella that it was best to leave the clubs in the garage for the rest of my trip.

At home every attempt to leave to visit friends was thwarted by my mother who finally got to have her girls around her. So under house arrest, I played with my niece, watched way too much TV and bonded with my family. Apparently, Green tea flavored soju was on sale at the Korean store and my dad bought multiple six packs, which enhanced the family round table discussions.

As my parents, and to a lesser point my sister and brother-in-law, dissected my life, they came to their final conclusion: Mihee is single because she does not wear high heels. Since it appeared that I might not change my shoes anytime soon, my parents would help me in otherways. My parents decreed that all dating bans were being lifted and that I may: date any one I please irregardless of profession, live with a boy before I got married, and I do not need their approval before doing the aforementioned acts. Let me translate: they are getting desperate for more grandchildren.

Returning to Boston was a slight relief as I was able to concentrate on work and got into a nice rhythm going again. I had made a New Year's resolution to go out more and managed to sneak in nights of partying. One thing is clear is that I am a magnet for undergraduates. Actually, let me rephrase that undergraduates seems to teem into the Boston bars and arewilling to hit on me. I'm not above it and it is definitely an ego boost, but nothing else. Perhaps I needed to change strategies a bit, so when I got the e-mail about the Harvard Graduate council hosting a matchmaking party, aka the Crimson Crush, I thought why not?

A week before the party, we filled out personality surveys online, and at the party we were supposed to receive a list on compatible individuals. The night of the dance began witha few mugs of wine at a friend’s house. (Honestly, I am not an alcoholic,but considering the situations wouldn't you be drinking too?). All dressed up and four of my Harvard gal pals in tow, we made our way to the Roxy, site of this year's dance. For the first hour the place was dead. Two Chinese girls were ballroom dancing to Sean Paul and one white boy in his own soultrain world was on making his moves on the 360. Above them laser lightskept spelling out the word "Harvard" in bright green letters. The initial omens were not good. At 11 when the place began to fill up, we all picked upour surveys and started the hunt. The point of the game is to get a matchlist and it can serve a springboard for a conversation even if the otherperson was not your match. It worked for a while, and it was fun to talk topeople from all the different schools. Some people took their lists a littletoo seriously and were adamant on finding their soul mates. Others likemyself talked to anyone. One boy was promising, until the song “OPP” cameon the loudspeakers. I said “Wow, this takes me back....ah high school." Hereplied, “High school? This was like elementary school. Dude, you must beold.” I could not figure out what I liked least, being referred to as dudeor as old, but safe to say he ran away. Despite meeting many nice awkward Jewish lawyers-to-be, I did not find my future husband. That is not to say the night was a bust. My friend V gave her number away to two verynice boys and my other friend S managed to bring two random people together. I, also, had a great night of dancing and realized that going outshould not be reserved fro the weekend. As we waited for our cab at the end of night and I was shaking the street sand off my loafers, we watched thedrunken couple besides us and listened in on their conversation. “Sweetie,my feet really hurt” Her boyfriend gave her a piggyback ride to the corner and hailed down a cab for the two of them. Hmmm... high heels, maybe I should give them some more thought. Happy Valentines Day all!

Tales From The Fruit Cart, A Communication

My sister is a writer for a progressive-minded company which provides fruit daily for its employees. Each employee gets a chance twice a year to push and deliver the fruit to the various floors. (If any food gets peddled in my office, it's usually leftover bagels or seafood salad sandwiches.) Here is an account of my sister's first experience pushing the fruit cart herself.

Jan. 7:
Also, I have to do the fruit cart today which makes me nervous because I don't know how to do it and I don't want to talk to every person in the Rockville office. Grump, grump, grump.

me, later...Did you push the fruit cart? how'd it go?

Liz, later still...The fruit cart is in T-minus 2 hours and counting. I'll let you know how it goes. Holly warned me that the people on the fourth floor are greedy so I have to keep them in line and should do the 11th floor first. People are only suppose to take one serving. They better not try and steal fruit from me or else I'll tell them what for! (does that sound fierce?)

me, again, later...Liz--how did the fruit cart go??

Liz, finally...! So far it has been the highlight of my day. It was fun to take a break and push the fruit around. Everyone was so happy to see me (or the fruit). I only crashed once, which I thought was pretty good considering the cart wanted to go every way I didn't want it to go. I snagged an Asian pear off it before they were all gone -- which they were quickly. People who didn't want fruit came running (literally) when they saw the smokey brown, round pears. The people on the fourth floor were crazy. They kept coming back over and over and over again for more and more fruit. One guy said they were getting it for the night crew, but I am skeptical. Also, another guy asked me who I worked for and when I told him he said, oh. They burn through people real quick in that group. Hmmm. True, true, true.
Me: This is the funniest thing I have seen in a long time!
Liz: Oh well, I left out the part where I couldn't lift the basket of bananas because they were too heavy and too full, so I had to ask for help and when I did I blushed like I haven't blushed in a long time. I don't even know why! All of a sudden I felt so embarrassed. But I managed the grapefruits, oranges and apples on my own. I also ended up in the elevator with the fruit cart and two of the company's partners. Real big-wigs. And the wheel of the cart got stuck in the crevice of the elevator and one of them had to help me push it out.

Stay tuned for updates from the fruit cart!

Breasts! Art? Freedom of Speech?

"A year later, terror of Janet's breast lingersIn post-flash America, no 'damn' in sports shows, but Cialis for all"
Michael Ventre, MSNBC contributor


At Zandrea, we don't shy away from controversy, nor do we shirk intelligent philosophizing. So when I awoke at 6:15 this morning to NPR's coverage that it had been a year since Janet's malfunction, my first thought was, "How is this still news?" and my second was, "How can I work this to the benefit of all Zandrea's readers, who have been painfully wondering when we will update our blog?"

The broad implications of this event were issues pertaining to free speech and control of the media. But also, is there an underlying innate sexism? What is really more terrorizing-- Ms. Jackson's breast or a 72 year old male with a 12 hour erection? I personally was never traumatized by the Super Bowl scandal of 2004, but the subject of breasts does come up in common conversation with me (seriously).

My boyfriend frequently submits photos to a website community of like-minded photographers, and there have always been photos of naked women, often taken by men. Recently there have been more and more self-portraits by women baring their breasts and I'm torn between weather this is art and self-expression or a grab for attention. On the one hand, it would be nice if this wasn't taboo, but on the other hand I think most people view it as erotic and so the women come off as being exhibitionist and the whole field of art is degraded. For example, Gabriel has a picture of a young woman looking through a pane of glass at him...she was caught off guard, but has a look of longing for something-- an escape? This , to me, is a very sensual picture. The women who take pictures of their breasts are pigeonholing themselves and essentially defining themselves by a physical feature. I think women embody much more than that, and there are more complex ways to capture that.

Women think, laugh, work, care...Ms. Jackson's career might just be defined by her infamous moment on stage, not by the whole work of her many years of entertaining.

Your opinions are welcome!

A Horoscope

ARIES (March 21-April 19): Try not to read too much into creepy weather patterns, but discuss the merits of believing in fate with two close friends. Make plans for the weekend of February 19-20. Enjoy the practical and spiritual benefits of winter greens and vegetables. If you wake up feeling nauseous on February 5, you are likely hungover, so follow this regimen: wake up and panic, then relax, realizing it’s a weekend. Panic again when you realize you are supposed to help an old friend paint her bedroom. Drag yourself to shower, then drink a bottle of cranberry juice, diluted with Poland Springs fizzy water. Get dressed. Hangover clothes=painting clothes. Go to local sub shop and buy LARGE Italian sub and DEVOUR. The death of a distant cousin and pickle heiress will leave you with an amount of money you would do well to invest wisely.

2005 Food Recommendations, Installment 1:

Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's having passed, along with the turkeys, hams, roast beefs, cookies, truffles, pecan pies, bacon wrapped green bean bundles, stuffing, more cookies, wine, champagne, margaritas and alka-seltzer, it is now the time of year we think about improving our lives, which often involves a diet or two. At best, Zara and I would like to help our readers make informed decisions about the food one puts in one's mouth. For example, Zara and I are self-proclaimed experts on the delights you can find at your local Trader Joe's. We agree that cheese and crackers are acceptable for dinner, and the cheese should be no less fine than Cambonzola. Zara is also quite fond ofthe frozen mushroom risotto, while I tend to the more lowbrow frozen taquitos…or cheese fries and a bottle of wine. Our tastes quite diverge when the issue of cookies comes up. We only agree that Exquisite cookies are always delicious. After that, we take our own paths. But I digress. This is the time of year to know what to avoid eating, so below is an excerpt from an e-mail correspondence between my sister, Elizabeth and me.
12/29/04 "I should go -- oh but, I did want you to know that I have a new persimmon to eat and it is ripening on my desk. It is from Israel -- like Gabriel."

1/4/05 "Bleh. You know that persimmon from Israel that I had ripening on my desk? I don't like it! It tastes and looks like a slimy pumpkin/squash. It is not fruity. Ick. I gave one wedge away, ate one, but still have two more to deal with."

Me: "ha! I don't really know what they are supposed to taste like. I had one with Tishka a few years ago, but it wasn't ripe. It tasted chalky and had a scary texture on my tongue!! You don't have anyone else togive them to?"

1/5/05 "Well, I am glad someone enjoyed that persimmon because I didn't. But I did eat the other wedges...sort of. Oh, but they were slimy. Julia asked for a review bc she has one on her desk too, and when I told she pushed it to the corner of her desk and thanked me for the warning."