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.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
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!
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!
Thursday, February 03, 2005
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!
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!
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!
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