Before G left, things were fine. There were no major apartment issues or other "manly" things that needed to be addressed. However a few days after his departure things went downhill and I quickly had to become the "man of the house". But upon further reflection, the "man of the house" can only be with help from a woman. Here's a few examples, with reasons why the woman really is "the man":
1. I return home from a long day at work and the house is dark. The kitties are ready to mutiny so we all head to the kitchen for food and...*blink*! The kitchen light burns out. I normally would have asked G to change the fixture since he is tall and I am short. I found the flashlight** and found the lightbulbs***. I climbed on the dining room chair, undid the fixture and replaced the lightbulb.
**The man would not have known where the flashlight was
***ditto the lightbulbs
2. The downstairs neighbors had a small mouse problem. When the exterminator came upstairs and asked if we needed any traps, I replied, "no problems here! I've got the cats!". The following weekend three rogue mice escaped upstairs and the cats tossed them around until they were dead, or nearly so. When faced with a twitching mouse at my bedroom door, I would have been tempted in the past to ask G to deal with it. But it was just me and the cats, and cats do not have opposable thumbs which to dispose of mice. So I used two shoeboxes* for two mice, and one dustpan, brush and a toilet for the other.
*Would a man have had so many extra shoeboxes laying around? I don't think so.
3. The Red Sox just won the World Series. But there was no time to relax; football season was well under way and the Pats and the Colts were both undefeated. After a call from one of my best bachelor(ette) friends (ET#1), I got into manly mode and we headed to a bar and watched the game, ordered our weight in buffalo wings (bone in) and cheap beer (dollar drafts)*.
*There's nothing here that a woman could do better, but I try to relegate myself to watch only one sport a year, so the fact that I was on to sport #2 is impressive in itself. And ET#1 and I can drink beer and eat wings with the best of them.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Costa Rica: The End!
A small delay in posting, but delightful descriptions are forthcoming! One of the wonderful things about Costa Rica is that, like Hawaii, you can be on the beach, and then a short couple hours later in the mountains. So on my birthday we left Jaco and started the drive to Santa Elena/Monteverde. My mom said it would take several hours, so when we got to the base of the mountains not too long later, I was kind of surprised. We'd stopped at a gas station earlier where I stocked up on Tostitos and surprise eggs (as if my blond hair didn't give away my Americanness, I bought "imported" chips from the U.S.A.). As we headed up the moutain the clouds started floating in and out of view revealing the ocean below. Then, when we were a mere 30 kilometers away, the road became gravelly and rocky and unmaintained. This slowed us down considerably. We passed cyclists going faster than we could (again, kids on bikes, going uphill without huffing and puffing!). But it was a pretty day and we had Tostitos and Cokes. About half an hour later we passed a sign saying 27 km to Monteverde. A Dios mio! This was going to me a long trek.
By late afternoon we hit the town and asked a local woman if she knew where the Mirador Lodge was. She didn't speak English, but said in Spanish that it was quite far. We kept driving not knowing how far was "far". We eventually came upon an office with "Mirador Lodge" and various activities on it, but we parked and it looked quite locked. Signs on the door revealved it had been shut down! We figured we could find alterate arrangements, but this was strange. We turned back to town and Liz and I sought help. A man told us the lodge was quite far (that word again!) and brought us upstairs to point through the window where we needed to go. He indicated the place we had been so...we inquired at the Chamber of Tourism. The woman said no one had been answering the phone at the lodge, so she didn't know if they were open or not. But, we convinced her to give us a map and looked up the lodge. Lo and behold, it was actually much farther than we had gone before. And...on more unmaintained road. We were getting low on Tostitos too! It took us about another 40 minutes to get there, but when we did, it was breathtaking! The lodge is literally off the grid, making their own electricity. Our cabin had a small porch overlooking sloping green hills and the Arenal Volcano and Lake. Clouds drifted in so that walking on the grounds was liking walking through a moor or heather. We hiked down a small trail near our cabin and found ourselves in the middle of the rainforest.
We dined at the lodge restaurant that night, but were warned ahead of time that a large group of students had a reservation at 7:30. We arrived around 6:45 and practiced our Spanish (the young waiter spoke very little English). The food was delicious and then...the Frenchies arrived. The student group was large-- probably around 20 French students and a few adult chaperones. We surmised they were French by a) they spoke French, b) their European clothes and c) the fact that they smoked at the table. We quickly finished and retired to our cabin.
In the middle of the night a fortuitous event happened (for my mom and myself): my sister got sick. Many people get sick in foreign countries, but Liz gets sick in foreign countries like Canada, and California. So, while she was in the bathroom, my mom and I took turns out on the porch-- the sky had cleared and the stars were out. And by stars I don't mean the pinpricks one sees in the city, I mean 3-D layers of stars-- some dim, many bright, some close, some far, clusters, colors...it was like nothing I had ever seen. I couldn't help but think of all my city girlscouts who might never have seen the sky like this. Further, to add to the magic, the lake was illuminated and fireflies darted about. None of us slept so great the rest of the night, so we also got to see the sun rise over the volcano.
Liz still wasn't feeling so hot, but rallied the next day (if college teaches one anything, it is that being sick from a hangover, say, should not deter one from following through with the next day's plans). So, we headed to the forest where we had reservations to do the canopy tour. I was a bit apprehensive about sailing on a zipline hundreds of feet off the forest floor, but Liz agreed to do it despite a timid tummy, so I couldn't let her show me up. Plus, I just turned 30, so thought it a memorable way to celebrate. In our group there were kids, parents, teenagers, and maybe some grandparents? You get strapped into a harness and the (cute and friendly!) Costa Rican guys working there hook the pulley to the zipline and send you on your way. Some of the lines were more than a hundred feet and you probably zip up to 20 mph (well, it's hard to judge-- maybe more, maybe less?) through trees and clouds until you land at the next platform. It was a really amazing experience-- totally solitary and beautiful and it felt safe and not scary at all. Of course it's no way to see any animals, unless a bird flies right into you. The tours lasted about 2 hours and towards the end it had started raining. We warmed up in the restaurant waiting for the rain to die down. It didn't really, so we bought plastic ponchos and walked the bridges through the forest.
The next day we headed out early to drive back to San Jose and catch our flight back to D.C. It would have been nice to stay longer, perhaps as long as it's taken me to post all these updates. I'll get some quality photos up too, for those of you not brave enough to read this whole thing.
By late afternoon we hit the town and asked a local woman if she knew where the Mirador Lodge was. She didn't speak English, but said in Spanish that it was quite far. We kept driving not knowing how far was "far". We eventually came upon an office with "Mirador Lodge" and various activities on it, but we parked and it looked quite locked. Signs on the door revealved it had been shut down! We figured we could find alterate arrangements, but this was strange. We turned back to town and Liz and I sought help. A man told us the lodge was quite far (that word again!) and brought us upstairs to point through the window where we needed to go. He indicated the place we had been so...we inquired at the Chamber of Tourism. The woman said no one had been answering the phone at the lodge, so she didn't know if they were open or not. But, we convinced her to give us a map and looked up the lodge. Lo and behold, it was actually much farther than we had gone before. And...on more unmaintained road. We were getting low on Tostitos too! It took us about another 40 minutes to get there, but when we did, it was breathtaking! The lodge is literally off the grid, making their own electricity. Our cabin had a small porch overlooking sloping green hills and the Arenal Volcano and Lake. Clouds drifted in so that walking on the grounds was liking walking through a moor or heather. We hiked down a small trail near our cabin and found ourselves in the middle of the rainforest.
We dined at the lodge restaurant that night, but were warned ahead of time that a large group of students had a reservation at 7:30. We arrived around 6:45 and practiced our Spanish (the young waiter spoke very little English). The food was delicious and then...the Frenchies arrived. The student group was large-- probably around 20 French students and a few adult chaperones. We surmised they were French by a) they spoke French, b) their European clothes and c) the fact that they smoked at the table. We quickly finished and retired to our cabin.
In the middle of the night a fortuitous event happened (for my mom and myself): my sister got sick. Many people get sick in foreign countries, but Liz gets sick in foreign countries like Canada, and California. So, while she was in the bathroom, my mom and I took turns out on the porch-- the sky had cleared and the stars were out. And by stars I don't mean the pinpricks one sees in the city, I mean 3-D layers of stars-- some dim, many bright, some close, some far, clusters, colors...it was like nothing I had ever seen. I couldn't help but think of all my city girlscouts who might never have seen the sky like this. Further, to add to the magic, the lake was illuminated and fireflies darted about. None of us slept so great the rest of the night, so we also got to see the sun rise over the volcano.
Liz still wasn't feeling so hot, but rallied the next day (if college teaches one anything, it is that being sick from a hangover, say, should not deter one from following through with the next day's plans). So, we headed to the forest where we had reservations to do the canopy tour. I was a bit apprehensive about sailing on a zipline hundreds of feet off the forest floor, but Liz agreed to do it despite a timid tummy, so I couldn't let her show me up. Plus, I just turned 30, so thought it a memorable way to celebrate. In our group there were kids, parents, teenagers, and maybe some grandparents? You get strapped into a harness and the (cute and friendly!) Costa Rican guys working there hook the pulley to the zipline and send you on your way. Some of the lines were more than a hundred feet and you probably zip up to 20 mph (well, it's hard to judge-- maybe more, maybe less?) through trees and clouds until you land at the next platform. It was a really amazing experience-- totally solitary and beautiful and it felt safe and not scary at all. Of course it's no way to see any animals, unless a bird flies right into you. The tours lasted about 2 hours and towards the end it had started raining. We warmed up in the restaurant waiting for the rain to die down. It didn't really, so we bought plastic ponchos and walked the bridges through the forest.
The next day we headed out early to drive back to San Jose and catch our flight back to D.C. It would have been nice to stay longer, perhaps as long as it's taken me to post all these updates. I'll get some quality photos up too, for those of you not brave enough to read this whole thing.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Costa Rica, Part III
The midpoint of our trip (both in time and location) was the small town of Jaco. It's a touristy surfing town, but there was the allure of the Best Western Resort replete with pool. On our way out of Manuel Antonio, we got a flat tire, reminiscent of last year's escapades with the rental car. Two locals immediately helped us change the flat and directed us to the nearest service station. In the time it took Liz and I to remember how to ask "how much" in Spanish, my mom had communicated to the non-English speaking attendant the universal language of flat tire. Liz and I watched the telenovela in the parking lot and hoped the sunny day would hold out.
Eventually we were back on the road and made it to Jaco by lunchtime. The main drag in Jaco consists of mega hotels and small tiendas, and the requisite strip mall. We headed to a little French Bakery for lunch and the native French speaking owner spoke with us in nearly the same passable Spanish that we spoke. We all ordered the same sandwich for simplicity's sake, but then Liz's Spanish came out like gangbusters; those who do not like mayonaisse are very adamant about it and will find a way to communicate it! After lunch Liz and I were eager to hit the pool (the beach was full of waves, but also debris, so the pool was the better option) before it stormed.
And storm it did. That evening we took the covered walkway out to the bar while the rain pounded down all around us. We were three of about five people at the bar (maybe at the resort at all). The bartender was friendly and asked us where we were from (being from Seattle, Washington, DC and Boston caused endless confusion for most people, so we started just picking one place) and made us margaritas. Since it was dark and rainy (I mean soooo rainy!) we didn't feel we could easily walk along the highway to find someplace to eat, and we were unsure about taking out the car and parking. So we bid adieu to our bartender and went in to the restaurant. And that's when things got really dicey. Because although it was a Tuesday night, it was International Night. Nothing good comes from International Night. A mishmash of pastas and taco salads and leftovers to create not one signature dish, but a series of mediocre dishes. Plus it was buffet. We headed back to the bar and the bartender laughed when he saw us coming back. This time we really were the only people there. We ordered hamburgers and they were just right. Bar food is bar food-- it doesn't pretend to be anything else. So we were satisfied.
next up: canopy tours in the clouds
Eventually we were back on the road and made it to Jaco by lunchtime. The main drag in Jaco consists of mega hotels and small tiendas, and the requisite strip mall. We headed to a little French Bakery for lunch and the native French speaking owner spoke with us in nearly the same passable Spanish that we spoke. We all ordered the same sandwich for simplicity's sake, but then Liz's Spanish came out like gangbusters; those who do not like mayonaisse are very adamant about it and will find a way to communicate it! After lunch Liz and I were eager to hit the pool (the beach was full of waves, but also debris, so the pool was the better option) before it stormed.
And storm it did. That evening we took the covered walkway out to the bar while the rain pounded down all around us. We were three of about five people at the bar (maybe at the resort at all). The bartender was friendly and asked us where we were from (being from Seattle, Washington, DC and Boston caused endless confusion for most people, so we started just picking one place) and made us margaritas. Since it was dark and rainy (I mean soooo rainy!) we didn't feel we could easily walk along the highway to find someplace to eat, and we were unsure about taking out the car and parking. So we bid adieu to our bartender and went in to the restaurant. And that's when things got really dicey. Because although it was a Tuesday night, it was International Night. Nothing good comes from International Night. A mishmash of pastas and taco salads and leftovers to create not one signature dish, but a series of mediocre dishes. Plus it was buffet. We headed back to the bar and the bartender laughed when he saw us coming back. This time we really were the only people there. We ordered hamburgers and they were just right. Bar food is bar food-- it doesn't pretend to be anything else. So we were satisfied.
next up: canopy tours in the clouds
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Costa Rica, Part II
I live my regular life in a tourist destination. While waiting for the bus home after a day of work, after the gym, eating a banana, and mentally listing what I need from the grocery store, inevitably three duck tours will go by and every tourist on them will snap of picture of the church in Copley Square, with me in the foreground rummaging through my bag. I can balance my phone, a latte, and my reading material, in heels, crossing Boylston St. with the same grace as the helmetless hurricane enduring renegade biker in Costa Rica. But on vacation our roles do reverse, and I become the tourist who snaps pictures of...a squirrel.
I embrace my inner tourist.
Our first two full days in Costa Rica were spent on tours to see the famed wildlife. There is a beautiful protected forest in Manuel Antonio, just off the ocean. Our guide impressed us with his abililty to spot bats in trees twenty feet above us, camoflauged Jesus Christ lizards, three toed sloths hanging around and insects-- colorful (grasshoppers) and famous (leaf cutting ants straight from a PBS special. Of which I intrepidly filmed two videos on my camera). The heat, humidity, jungle itself and the wildlife prompted my mom to comment that this was like the best kind of zoo. Indeed!
We hit the beach in the afternoons. The water in the equatorial Pacific bears no resemblance to Northern Atlantic water at all, except being wet. It was so warm I'd hazard to say it wasn't even refreshing! Families on the beach interacted happily-- several generations would play a game of soccer together with the requisite adopted dog jumping in. We read and enjoyed happy hour (two for one margaritas-- never mind that a margarita is more of a Mexican drink).
In a mangrove boat trip, our guide spotted a crocodile snacking on a dog and impressed us with all manner of bird and animal imitations. He also deftly navigated American humor; when asked what kind of animals might prey on the Jesus Christ lizard, he answered, "Oh, hawks mostly. But only the sacreligious kind!" Or when driving across an especially precarious bridge, he asked if we knew what the name of this bridge was? "The Oh-My-God bridge!" The humor was sometimes unintentional-- an alcholic concoction made of the bark of a native tree that became more potent as the weather gets hotter through the day was said to be "illegal in any other country, but here it is an appetizer."
Our tourist destiny was fulfilled by approaching and befriending the "friendly" group of white faced Capuchin monkeys. Half a dozen or more jumped out of the trees and into our boat, on our heads and eagerly snatched bananas* out of our hands. They are clever devils and not to be trusted because in short, they are smarter than us. One of them had no problems peeing on my mother while reaching out for a banana at the same time!
Time in Manuel Antonio was winding to a close-- we would travel to Jaco and Monteverde before the week's end.
*feeding bananas to the white faced monkeys is actually not recommended; it is not a native food, it causes them to become dependent on people and thus become overly trusting. They also need to travel through the trees many, many kilometers a day to stay fit, and if they know people will feed them, they will not do this. In short, we become the McDonald's of the monkey kingdom.
next up: surviving International Night and keeping our heads in the clouds.
I embrace my inner tourist.
Our first two full days in Costa Rica were spent on tours to see the famed wildlife. There is a beautiful protected forest in Manuel Antonio, just off the ocean. Our guide impressed us with his abililty to spot bats in trees twenty feet above us, camoflauged Jesus Christ lizards, three toed sloths hanging around and insects-- colorful (grasshoppers) and famous (leaf cutting ants straight from a PBS special. Of which I intrepidly filmed two videos on my camera). The heat, humidity, jungle itself and the wildlife prompted my mom to comment that this was like the best kind of zoo. Indeed!
We hit the beach in the afternoons. The water in the equatorial Pacific bears no resemblance to Northern Atlantic water at all, except being wet. It was so warm I'd hazard to say it wasn't even refreshing! Families on the beach interacted happily-- several generations would play a game of soccer together with the requisite adopted dog jumping in. We read and enjoyed happy hour (two for one margaritas-- never mind that a margarita is more of a Mexican drink).
In a mangrove boat trip, our guide spotted a crocodile snacking on a dog and impressed us with all manner of bird and animal imitations. He also deftly navigated American humor; when asked what kind of animals might prey on the Jesus Christ lizard, he answered, "Oh, hawks mostly. But only the sacreligious kind!" Or when driving across an especially precarious bridge, he asked if we knew what the name of this bridge was? "The Oh-My-God bridge!" The humor was sometimes unintentional-- an alcholic concoction made of the bark of a native tree that became more potent as the weather gets hotter through the day was said to be "illegal in any other country, but here it is an appetizer."
Our tourist destiny was fulfilled by approaching and befriending the "friendly" group of white faced Capuchin monkeys. Half a dozen or more jumped out of the trees and into our boat, on our heads and eagerly snatched bananas* out of our hands. They are clever devils and not to be trusted because in short, they are smarter than us. One of them had no problems peeing on my mother while reaching out for a banana at the same time!
Time in Manuel Antonio was winding to a close-- we would travel to Jaco and Monteverde before the week's end.
*feeding bananas to the white faced monkeys is actually not recommended; it is not a native food, it causes them to become dependent on people and thus become overly trusting. They also need to travel through the trees many, many kilometers a day to stay fit, and if they know people will feed them, they will not do this. In short, we become the McDonald's of the monkey kingdom.
next up: surviving International Night and keeping our heads in the clouds.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Costa Rica, Part 1
My recent foray into foreign travel started with a joke of sorts; my director saw my luggage in my office, came in and told me, "you know Logan is closed...". My look of shock and disbelief caused him to break and he admitted that he was trying to get my goat. He then wished me safe travels and I smiled and prepped my out of office responses. Ten hours later, the joke on me after all, I was in near tears heading home from Logan in a cab which would not accept the USAirways cab voucher I was given for my cancelled flight to D.C.
I headed back to Logan the next morning at 4am, and from there on out, the skies were friendly. I met my mom and sister in Philly, where we flew on to San Jose, Costa Rica.
Some people do not travel to the Carribbean or Central America during the late summer, due to the "rainy season", but those people probably did not grow up taking marathon car trips in a station wagon without AC in the dead of summer through hundreds of miles of Western Kansas plains. They were likely not taken across the border to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico at age 10 and told they would not have any water to drink or be able to use the bathroom until all matter of cheap pinatas, faux Retin A and colorful tin Christmas Tree ornaments were thoroughly examined, haggled, and bought. So a little occurrence called Hurricane Dean did not hamper our spirits (although our shoes got a little wet). The heavy downpour (which lasted the entire 4 hours of our drive from San Jose to Manuel Antonio) did not hamper the locals either-- every few miles we'd pass someone biking, without a helmet, while carrying a long pole or some contraption, possibly a second rider, AND and umbrella, with a dog trotting alongside.
Manuel Antonio is on the southwest coast of Costa Rica and we arrived around 6:30. We were tired, travel weary and hungry (we did not pull over for any snacks) but the front desk attendant at our hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, and recommended several restaurants as well as set up a tour for us to see monkeys, er, all sorts of wildlife, the next day in the park.
We did eat well that night (platefuls of mariscos and steak and beer) and slept even better. The next morning only the dripping trees, bathed in restorative sunlight, reminded us of the previous day's rain.
next, monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys!
I headed back to Logan the next morning at 4am, and from there on out, the skies were friendly. I met my mom and sister in Philly, where we flew on to San Jose, Costa Rica.
Some people do not travel to the Carribbean or Central America during the late summer, due to the "rainy season", but those people probably did not grow up taking marathon car trips in a station wagon without AC in the dead of summer through hundreds of miles of Western Kansas plains. They were likely not taken across the border to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico at age 10 and told they would not have any water to drink or be able to use the bathroom until all matter of cheap pinatas, faux Retin A and colorful tin Christmas Tree ornaments were thoroughly examined, haggled, and bought. So a little occurrence called Hurricane Dean did not hamper our spirits (although our shoes got a little wet). The heavy downpour (which lasted the entire 4 hours of our drive from San Jose to Manuel Antonio) did not hamper the locals either-- every few miles we'd pass someone biking, without a helmet, while carrying a long pole or some contraption, possibly a second rider, AND and umbrella, with a dog trotting alongside.
Manuel Antonio is on the southwest coast of Costa Rica and we arrived around 6:30. We were tired, travel weary and hungry (we did not pull over for any snacks) but the front desk attendant at our hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, and recommended several restaurants as well as set up a tour for us to see monkeys, er, all sorts of wildlife, the next day in the park.
We did eat well that night (platefuls of mariscos and steak and beer) and slept even better. The next morning only the dripping trees, bathed in restorative sunlight, reminded us of the previous day's rain.
next, monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Yard Sale
The suburban garage can hold many an untold treasure. My family's homes were always spacious, with enough room to hold anything that might not be immediately needed, but could certainly be useful in the future. Our garage in Wichita held an extra full sized freezer, so that we might always have a steak should we need it. Our Oklahoma City garage had it's own extra room/workspace, which was filled with dried flowers, florist's tape and ribbon-- all in order for my mom to make seasonal wreaths for our front door. My parents' current garage in Seattle is so filled with...stuff...that neither car can fit in. There's a pantry, tools, and my childhood, all boxed up.
I do recall having garage sales in Wichita. We could plan a day with neighbors and friends, and set stuff out on our long, winding driveway. Sale hunters start early, so we would be out at 6:30 or 7:00, usually with a box of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee and hot chocolate. We would sell old toys, appliances, and I remember trying to sell my Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul tapes.
Since living in Boston, I have moved apartments every few years, so have kept my belongings relatively trimmed. But, after living here for 11 years, certain things have had their day in the sun. So when Steph suggested a yard sale (small yard, no garage), I offered up my lawn and emailed ET#1 and my girlscout co-leader, Amy, to join in. I bought cute colored stickers and tags with pre-printed prices and started going through my closets and basement. I spent a weekend transferring cds to my iBook and iTunes, cleaned off my bookshelf of read books and decided to give the pink satin party pants a chance at a new home with someone younger and thinner.
ET#1 brought by her treasure trove of items including shoes, a vcr (with remote!) and some wooden combs (a note to ET#1-- these did not sell, but at your request, I held on to them and will return to you).
The Saturday of the yard sale my excitement was such that I awoke at 6:45 after a delightful dream in which my whole block was involved in the yard sale and friends I hadn't seen in years came by and everyone was laughing and playing the guitar...and of course raking in millions. I waited and waited for Steph and finally texted her, just to make sure she was up and hadn't overslept. About 5 minutes later she and her charge, 9 year old M, showed up with a mini-van full of kids' books, puzzles, a changing table, handbags, adirondack chairs (which I claimed for myself) and a table full of frames.
It was about 90 degrees in the shade and we haphazardly displayed our wares and waited for people to show up. And soon they did. Some people just glanced around, but many knew what they were looking for ("you got any computer parts?" or "I see cds, but how about dvds?"). One woman took all of the shoes, as well as some handbags. A pair of eldery men berated me for charging $3 for each of my cds ("You're out of touch!") while in the same breath asking if I had any disco (answer? no). Many people knew each other from the yard sale "circuit" ("I'll meet you over Wyman St.") and several people bought stuff they were clearly going to resell later.
By 1:30 we had done pretty well, were hot and tired and ready to donate the rest. We made about $175 in all, but it wasn't about the money. It was about cleaning house, physically and mentally, meeting the neighbors, sharing with the community and enjoying a summer day outside. In fact, I was reminded of the Mastercard commercials when M found one of ET#1's old watches:
price of sale tags and stickers: $11
price of coffee to get us through the morning: $6.50
price of book club bestsellers: $0.50
the look on M's face when told she had earned the watch through her helpful care with counting change to customers: priceless
I do recall having garage sales in Wichita. We could plan a day with neighbors and friends, and set stuff out on our long, winding driveway. Sale hunters start early, so we would be out at 6:30 or 7:00, usually with a box of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee and hot chocolate. We would sell old toys, appliances, and I remember trying to sell my Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul tapes.
Since living in Boston, I have moved apartments every few years, so have kept my belongings relatively trimmed. But, after living here for 11 years, certain things have had their day in the sun. So when Steph suggested a yard sale (small yard, no garage), I offered up my lawn and emailed ET#1 and my girlscout co-leader, Amy, to join in. I bought cute colored stickers and tags with pre-printed prices and started going through my closets and basement. I spent a weekend transferring cds to my iBook and iTunes, cleaned off my bookshelf of read books and decided to give the pink satin party pants a chance at a new home with someone younger and thinner.
ET#1 brought by her treasure trove of items including shoes, a vcr (with remote!) and some wooden combs (a note to ET#1-- these did not sell, but at your request, I held on to them and will return to you).
The Saturday of the yard sale my excitement was such that I awoke at 6:45 after a delightful dream in which my whole block was involved in the yard sale and friends I hadn't seen in years came by and everyone was laughing and playing the guitar...and of course raking in millions. I waited and waited for Steph and finally texted her, just to make sure she was up and hadn't overslept. About 5 minutes later she and her charge, 9 year old M, showed up with a mini-van full of kids' books, puzzles, a changing table, handbags, adirondack chairs (which I claimed for myself) and a table full of frames.
It was about 90 degrees in the shade and we haphazardly displayed our wares and waited for people to show up. And soon they did. Some people just glanced around, but many knew what they were looking for ("you got any computer parts?" or "I see cds, but how about dvds?"). One woman took all of the shoes, as well as some handbags. A pair of eldery men berated me for charging $3 for each of my cds ("You're out of touch!") while in the same breath asking if I had any disco (answer? no). Many people knew each other from the yard sale "circuit" ("I'll meet you over Wyman St.") and several people bought stuff they were clearly going to resell later.
By 1:30 we had done pretty well, were hot and tired and ready to donate the rest. We made about $175 in all, but it wasn't about the money. It was about cleaning house, physically and mentally, meeting the neighbors, sharing with the community and enjoying a summer day outside. In fact, I was reminded of the Mastercard commercials when M found one of ET#1's old watches:
price of sale tags and stickers: $11
price of coffee to get us through the morning: $6.50
price of book club bestsellers: $0.50
the look on M's face when told she had earned the watch through her helpful care with counting change to customers: priceless
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Tales From the Fruit Cart: Summer 2007 Edition
Intrepid sister/fruit cart pusher, Liz, gives us the latest update.
On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.
This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.
On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.
This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
If My Favorite Television Characters Ran the USA
I really enjoy presidential campaigns. They are full of drama and comedy and oh so many questions. Is America ready for a female president? Is America ready for a black president? Is America ready for a Mormon president? Is America ready for a stone cold fox (John Edwards) president? Besides the candidates, there is the political milieu. Where will America be come the 2008 election? Will we be voting in submarines since we will be living underwater due to global warming? Will Iraq be under water? I ask because I am not sure if the whole planet will be underwater or just certain areas. The Middle East seems so dry maybe it will take longer to be submerged. Maybe it will go through a swamp stage? Will be able to provide our troops with the swamp war gear they need?
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
Friday, June 29, 2007
High/Low
Many people can appreciate the high and the low. For example, a confirmed boutique store shopper may find the bargain basement and the vault at Filene's Basement a joy, just as the swanky restaurant diner can also enjoy a couple beers and Fenway Franks at the ballpark. I found myself last week keeping company with the yacht club set on one night, and the following night...well, a decidedly more frugal and less preppy crowd...
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
Monday, June 18, 2007
I'm A Vegetable Machine!
My sister undertook a year of veggie/salad eating. Here is her report.
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Girlscout Camping...Eat Your Heart Out Shelly Long!
The girls had been excited for camping for a couple months. We'd been prepping them by having them come up with food they would like to make and eat (there is a cereal called Reese's Puffs, and that's what they wanted, but being from Cambridge with sophisticated palates, also informed us that pecorino romano is better on pasta than parmesan), and having them make a list of any safety issues that might come up while camping (on the list of 30 plus risks, nestled by "snake bite", "tsunami" and "quick sand" was a true issue-- "can't poop").
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Racing Along
This entry will serve as an update of sorts. I have been going along with my normal Andrea things-- svelting, cooking, scouting and reading and they are all coming to a pinacle. This weekend Steph, ET#1 and I ran the Corrib Pub 5K, as part of an Ultimate Svelte Challenge. For Steph and myself, this was our first race. Although in an effort to back out last minute should I need to, I did not register so have no official time. I did eat an official hot dog after the race. My time was about 35 minutes (to run, not to eat the hot dog).
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Funnies
As a kid, I would wake up bright and early every Saturday morning to watch cartoons and I couldn't understand why a) my parents didn't wake up to watch them with me and b) why they would instead choose to read the paper! The only good thing about the paper was, of course, the funnies. The Sunday paper promised page after page of funnies, and in color to boot! I always read all of them except the soap opera/serial ones (although my sister and step dad always shared a love of Prince Valiant, and I think secretly Apartment 3G also). My grandfather loved Calvin and Hobbes for the slapstick and dark humor it provided and as dopey as The Family Circus is, who doesn't love the strips where Billy's tracks are traced through the neighborhood? Doonsbury validates our liberal leanings and Dagwood's giant sandwiches look delicious even first thing in the morning. Finding consistency in the funnies is always nice, first thing in the morning, also: Cathy will always freak out about her Christmas cards, Garfield will always get the best of Odie and, of course, Lucy will always pull the football away from Chuck.
As I got older Saturday morning cartoons did lose their charm (mostly though, they just ceased to exist!) and I learned to appreciate the newspaper. By the time I graduated college I actually craved the Sunday morning ritual of reading the paper while having coffee. I read the paper online now and don't have much time to read the funnies, although I allow myself to check in on For Better or Worse each day. Michael, Elizabeth and April have grown up with me and I love finding out what will happen with Michael and Deanna's awful neighbors, or who Elizabeth will date next. April remains a pesky little sister to Elizabeth, but they've grown to be more adult friends, much like me and my own sister.
I was introduced to a friend of a friend's comic blog awhile back and am always excited when it's updated. Since she chronicles her real life, her blows are equally poignant to her readers (at least to me and the two friends with whom I discuss this comic); we truly empathized with her when she and her boyfriend broke up. When that happened, I realized that technically, I wasn't reading a funny anymore. In fact it's bittersweet under (sometimes over) tones are found in all my favorites. Blondie will always essentially be a housewife and Cathy will never truly get over her neuroses. Charlie Brown will always be lonely, with even Snoopy being "cooler" than him. Calvin is really just a lonely only child.
Sometimes toward the end of the day, if I feel like something's missing, I'll go online to read a comic, and my day feels complete, if only because even in the funnies, the characters are going through the same trials and tribulations.
As I got older Saturday morning cartoons did lose their charm (mostly though, they just ceased to exist!) and I learned to appreciate the newspaper. By the time I graduated college I actually craved the Sunday morning ritual of reading the paper while having coffee. I read the paper online now and don't have much time to read the funnies, although I allow myself to check in on For Better or Worse each day. Michael, Elizabeth and April have grown up with me and I love finding out what will happen with Michael and Deanna's awful neighbors, or who Elizabeth will date next. April remains a pesky little sister to Elizabeth, but they've grown to be more adult friends, much like me and my own sister.
I was introduced to a friend of a friend's comic blog awhile back and am always excited when it's updated. Since she chronicles her real life, her blows are equally poignant to her readers (at least to me and the two friends with whom I discuss this comic); we truly empathized with her when she and her boyfriend broke up. When that happened, I realized that technically, I wasn't reading a funny anymore. In fact it's bittersweet under (sometimes over) tones are found in all my favorites. Blondie will always essentially be a housewife and Cathy will never truly get over her neuroses. Charlie Brown will always be lonely, with even Snoopy being "cooler" than him. Calvin is really just a lonely only child.
Sometimes toward the end of the day, if I feel like something's missing, I'll go online to read a comic, and my day feels complete, if only because even in the funnies, the characters are going through the same trials and tribulations.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
New Food: Chicken Livers and Frog Legs
G and I have been watching episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. In this show he travels worldwide and hits off the beaten track restaurants and markets; in L.A. he eschews the Hollywood stars for ethnic fare in little Thailand, in Northern Ireland he shares pints with two tour guides-- one Protestant and one Catholic-- with the idea that good food and drink will unite all. We recently watched an episode set in Miami (no South Beach, but instead a visit to a Haitian shaman and a tour of various immigrant neighborhoods) where he spent one evening frog hunting in a nearby swampy area. The frogs he and his guide caught were taken to a nearby shack and skinned and the legs fried. This guy will eat anything!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Jane Fonda: Resurrected
Exercise videos go through phases of popularity. Jane Fonda popularized aerobics in the 1980s, supermodels created their own workouts in the early 90s, and Tae Bo was a craze in the early 2000s. These videos are easy to laugh at-- uncomfortable looking leotards, perfect hair and makeup, and a perfectly sculpted group of demonstrators.
I had thought these videos were created exclusively for the suburban mom...until my sister took our mom's stash (and a pair of my old leg warmers) to her very urban abode. Then,at home on vacation recently, she relayed stories about her workouts and the pilates class she was taking. "The instructor really makes us work our abs" and "We do a lot of lengthening and strengthening in pilates" were a few exlamations she made while we cooked dinner one night. My mom asked if she had joined a gym.
Liz: "No..."
Mom: "Then who's 'we'?"
Liz: "Uh..the instructor and the class on the pilates dvd I have rented from Netflix."
While my sister's revelation was initially funny, I realized that she is in much better shape than me and that maybe she was on to something. I perused through the workout dvd selection on Netflix and saw a plethora of workout options: boot camp, ab attack, cardio salsa, strip tease (?!), belly dancing-- whoa, belly dancing?
I rented the belly dancing and invited some friends over and kicked G out for the evening. Veena and Neena are beautiful and the steps started off quite simply. As the Voice told us we were working the cardio and asked if we could feel the burn, we snickered. This was cake. And then we started to break a sweat. The steps increased faster and harder! How do Veena and Neena keep their upper bodies still while shimmy-ing? After 30 minutes I didn't feel like I'd run a marathon, but I did get my heart rate up.
Last week was my turn to lead the girlscout meeting. I decided to have the girls work on the Fun and Fit badge and thought how better to exemplify creative exercise than to have them attempt the belly dancing? The girls loved it and followed along quite well. We all laughed and the girls noted that holding their arms was hard, and that their abs were sore. We had to shut down the dvd before it was over due to time although none of the girls wanted to stop. And then one of the girls said, "Maybe I should do some of my mom's workout videos!" Ah yes, the Jane Fonda workout endures and is passed on to a new generation!
I had thought these videos were created exclusively for the suburban mom...until my sister took our mom's stash (and a pair of my old leg warmers) to her very urban abode. Then,at home on vacation recently, she relayed stories about her workouts and the pilates class she was taking. "The instructor really makes us work our abs" and "We do a lot of lengthening and strengthening in pilates" were a few exlamations she made while we cooked dinner one night. My mom asked if she had joined a gym.
Liz: "No..."
Mom: "Then who's 'we'?"
Liz: "Uh..the instructor and the class on the pilates dvd I have rented from Netflix."
While my sister's revelation was initially funny, I realized that she is in much better shape than me and that maybe she was on to something. I perused through the workout dvd selection on Netflix and saw a plethora of workout options: boot camp, ab attack, cardio salsa, strip tease (?!), belly dancing-- whoa, belly dancing?
I rented the belly dancing and invited some friends over and kicked G out for the evening. Veena and Neena are beautiful and the steps started off quite simply. As the Voice told us we were working the cardio and asked if we could feel the burn, we snickered. This was cake. And then we started to break a sweat. The steps increased faster and harder! How do Veena and Neena keep their upper bodies still while shimmy-ing? After 30 minutes I didn't feel like I'd run a marathon, but I did get my heart rate up.
Last week was my turn to lead the girlscout meeting. I decided to have the girls work on the Fun and Fit badge and thought how better to exemplify creative exercise than to have them attempt the belly dancing? The girls loved it and followed along quite well. We all laughed and the girls noted that holding their arms was hard, and that their abs were sore. We had to shut down the dvd before it was over due to time although none of the girls wanted to stop. And then one of the girls said, "Maybe I should do some of my mom's workout videos!" Ah yes, the Jane Fonda workout endures and is passed on to a new generation!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Luck, Fate, and Destiny (AKA: A dead black cat, LOST, and Battlestar Galactica)
It has been quite awhile since I last posted on Zandrea, but I am back and full of questions for our blog readers and the universe. I am not sure if the “universe” reads blogs, but for the sake of this entry lets pretend that the universe is personified and sitting at her/his laptop with a cup of coffee and a mind eager for reading about my inner most thoughts.
This morning as I was walking to work I tripped on a stick which somehow jumped into the air and landed on its end and I as my motion continued the stick jabbed into my left calf muscle which made me scream (because it hurt) and then right next to me I saw a dead black cat which had been crushed by a car. I was dealing with the stick induced leg pain when I saw the gross dead animal but as I progressed down the street I forgot the pain and thought of the cat. I know that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, but what about “stumbling” upon a dead black cat? It felt ominous and I am pretty sure that something bad will happen now. But what? I will keep you posted.
As I was thinking about luck, I thought about two of my favorite television programs: LOST and Battlestar Galactica. Both shows deal with luck, fate, and destiny. Last night on Battlestar Galactica, Starbuck came face-to-face with her destiny. She did not want to, she did not choose to be special, she just wants to fly vipers and think dreamy thoughts about Lee Adama, but she has a destiny that must be acknowledged. So, it appears that she was blown to bits, BUT clearly she is not dead, I mean she is kind of the star of the show. So, the question is: how is she not dead? And who was “channeling” Leoben? Clearly she is a cylon and in a future episode will emerge gasping from one of those cylon mucus baths. Any BG fans out in the Zandrea audience? I would love to hear what others think. I have been waiting all season for another of the “5” remaining cylons to manifest and I think it is happening. (Though I was hoping it would be Madame President…)
I do not even know where to begin with LOST. Yeah, I still have the same questions I had a year ago; What is the Dharma Initiative? How did Locke end up in a wheelchair? Who is Alvar Hanso? What do they feed Vincent? Who are the Others? Where the hell are they? Last week’s episode offered a strong dose of comic relief (thank you Hurley and Sawyer) but still was full of questions about luck, fate, and destiny. Was Hurley cursed? Do we make our own luck? Do we have pre-ordained destinies? No clear answers, but that’s cool. LOST seems to frustrate many viewers, but not me. Fans tune in each week looking for answers yet end up with more questions. But for me, the show is about escapism. What is more liberating than imagining being on a creepy deserted island with seemingly mystical powers and village of Others who steal children and blackmail you into performing complex spinal surgery? Oh, and the polar bears. What are polar bears doing on a Pacific island? Any LOST fans reading this blog? If so, please send along your theories about the island. I believe they are playing a game and are not really on an island but rather are “lost” in space (Battlestar Galactica style) and have no way home and our “losties” are plugged into an elaborate virtual reality game where they choose characters (doctor, convict, junkie, crazy French lady, etc.); location (uncharted island); and goal (two teams compete to see who can survive) and I think the show we are watching is the “competition” of the two groups (Others versus 815 survivors). I think they are just passing time while they are lost in space. I like to imagine that the last episode will be Jack alone on the island (the final survivor) where he starts to hear his name being called out in the distance, over and over again until he wakes up out of the game and is patted on the back by Sawyer who congratulates him for playing a great game. The final scene would be the lost group planning their next game. I realize there are many “holes” in this theory. Not sure how the flashbacks fit (maybe they are character backstories the players get) or which team Rousseau would be on, but it is a theory in development.
Oh well.
Zandrea readers: please send along your luck, fate, and destiny stories/questions as well as any commentary on my favorite TV shows.
This morning as I was walking to work I tripped on a stick which somehow jumped into the air and landed on its end and I as my motion continued the stick jabbed into my left calf muscle which made me scream (because it hurt) and then right next to me I saw a dead black cat which had been crushed by a car. I was dealing with the stick induced leg pain when I saw the gross dead animal but as I progressed down the street I forgot the pain and thought of the cat. I know that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, but what about “stumbling” upon a dead black cat? It felt ominous and I am pretty sure that something bad will happen now. But what? I will keep you posted.
As I was thinking about luck, I thought about two of my favorite television programs: LOST and Battlestar Galactica. Both shows deal with luck, fate, and destiny. Last night on Battlestar Galactica, Starbuck came face-to-face with her destiny. She did not want to, she did not choose to be special, she just wants to fly vipers and think dreamy thoughts about Lee Adama, but she has a destiny that must be acknowledged. So, it appears that she was blown to bits, BUT clearly she is not dead, I mean she is kind of the star of the show. So, the question is: how is she not dead? And who was “channeling” Leoben? Clearly she is a cylon and in a future episode will emerge gasping from one of those cylon mucus baths. Any BG fans out in the Zandrea audience? I would love to hear what others think. I have been waiting all season for another of the “5” remaining cylons to manifest and I think it is happening. (Though I was hoping it would be Madame President…)
I do not even know where to begin with LOST. Yeah, I still have the same questions I had a year ago; What is the Dharma Initiative? How did Locke end up in a wheelchair? Who is Alvar Hanso? What do they feed Vincent? Who are the Others? Where the hell are they? Last week’s episode offered a strong dose of comic relief (thank you Hurley and Sawyer) but still was full of questions about luck, fate, and destiny. Was Hurley cursed? Do we make our own luck? Do we have pre-ordained destinies? No clear answers, but that’s cool. LOST seems to frustrate many viewers, but not me. Fans tune in each week looking for answers yet end up with more questions. But for me, the show is about escapism. What is more liberating than imagining being on a creepy deserted island with seemingly mystical powers and village of Others who steal children and blackmail you into performing complex spinal surgery? Oh, and the polar bears. What are polar bears doing on a Pacific island? Any LOST fans reading this blog? If so, please send along your theories about the island. I believe they are playing a game and are not really on an island but rather are “lost” in space (Battlestar Galactica style) and have no way home and our “losties” are plugged into an elaborate virtual reality game where they choose characters (doctor, convict, junkie, crazy French lady, etc.); location (uncharted island); and goal (two teams compete to see who can survive) and I think the show we are watching is the “competition” of the two groups (Others versus 815 survivors). I think they are just passing time while they are lost in space. I like to imagine that the last episode will be Jack alone on the island (the final survivor) where he starts to hear his name being called out in the distance, over and over again until he wakes up out of the game and is patted on the back by Sawyer who congratulates him for playing a great game. The final scene would be the lost group planning their next game. I realize there are many “holes” in this theory. Not sure how the flashbacks fit (maybe they are character backstories the players get) or which team Rousseau would be on, but it is a theory in development.
Oh well.
Zandrea readers: please send along your luck, fate, and destiny stories/questions as well as any commentary on my favorite TV shows.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Puerto Rico: Sailing Away
Monday morning, 7 am rise and shine:
8:00 am: G had spotted a breakfast place down by the harbor that boasted coffee, eggs, ham and toast for $3.00. Since this was more food than what we were getting at the hotel (icky $9.50 breakfast of so-called "croissants" and "fruit salad") we hit it bright and early.
8:30 am: drove 10 minutes to the over harbor which was home to our chartered boat of the day: the Erin Go Braugh (not so Latin...).
8:45 am: arrived 45 minutes early, so slathered on the sun screen
The marina was full of large, expensive boats with catchy names. We caught our first look of Captain Bill, who looked just like you'd expect a boat Captain to look like: crazy white hair and long white beard, both yellowing, sun/age spots, leathery skin. He was only missing a pipe and a parrot.
9:45 am: a 5 person family arrives-- a husband and wife and their 3 young children. The husband eyed us and told Captain Bill he thought they had booked the boat "exclusively" and when told they hadn't, muttered "that's disappointing." G and I looked at each other and thought it would be a looong day on the boat with this family.
10:00 am: The husband sucks it up and puts on a happy face and introduces us to his family. Turns out they are from New York (ah ha!). Captain Bill is originally from New Hampshire, which shows that even when you go on vacation, you are never far from home. The sails unfurled, we set off.
10 am-1 pm: I don't feel seasick at all (except when G steers) and we enjoy homemade salsa and swimming and snorkeling off a small private island. Captain Bill bbq's lunch and the family offers us a bottle of wine. Life is good and very relaxing.
2 pm: the skies begin to darken and the wind picks up. The boat is rolling and I'm worried about my lunch. Captain Bill tells us this wasn't predicted...and as the storm gets worse (rain is now pelting down) he tells us he hasn't sailed in weather like this for a very long time.
2:30-5:00 pm: the storm wanes a bit as we head back to port. I clutch the side of the boat and huddle under my towel.
5:00 pm: Captain Bill advises us on some local restaurants and we head out, making use of our land legs once again.
7:00 pm: Eat at Rosie's Seafood. The restaurant is nearly empty and the staff is all sitting around the back. But we get excellent service and the food is affordable and delightful. Another evening passes and we hit the sack early.
Tuesday morning, 7 am:
Careless packing and dressing in layers for our return to Boston.
9:00 am-- drive to San Juan to check out the old city before our flight.
10-11 am-- having overlooked the part about impossible parking in Old San Juan in our guidebook, drive up and down the streets only, enjoying the old architecture, beautiful colors and amazing scenic views over the water.
Afternoon: leave Puerto Rico. It's raining so we don't feel bad. And it's a balmy 47 when we arrive in Boston! There's still ice on the ground, but we feel rejuvenated.
8:00 am: G had spotted a breakfast place down by the harbor that boasted coffee, eggs, ham and toast for $3.00. Since this was more food than what we were getting at the hotel (icky $9.50 breakfast of so-called "croissants" and "fruit salad") we hit it bright and early.
8:30 am: drove 10 minutes to the over harbor which was home to our chartered boat of the day: the Erin Go Braugh (not so Latin...).
8:45 am: arrived 45 minutes early, so slathered on the sun screen
The marina was full of large, expensive boats with catchy names. We caught our first look of Captain Bill, who looked just like you'd expect a boat Captain to look like: crazy white hair and long white beard, both yellowing, sun/age spots, leathery skin. He was only missing a pipe and a parrot.
9:45 am: a 5 person family arrives-- a husband and wife and their 3 young children. The husband eyed us and told Captain Bill he thought they had booked the boat "exclusively" and when told they hadn't, muttered "that's disappointing." G and I looked at each other and thought it would be a looong day on the boat with this family.
10:00 am: The husband sucks it up and puts on a happy face and introduces us to his family. Turns out they are from New York (ah ha!). Captain Bill is originally from New Hampshire, which shows that even when you go on vacation, you are never far from home. The sails unfurled, we set off.
10 am-1 pm: I don't feel seasick at all (except when G steers) and we enjoy homemade salsa and swimming and snorkeling off a small private island. Captain Bill bbq's lunch and the family offers us a bottle of wine. Life is good and very relaxing.
2 pm: the skies begin to darken and the wind picks up. The boat is rolling and I'm worried about my lunch. Captain Bill tells us this wasn't predicted...and as the storm gets worse (rain is now pelting down) he tells us he hasn't sailed in weather like this for a very long time.
2:30-5:00 pm: the storm wanes a bit as we head back to port. I clutch the side of the boat and huddle under my towel.
5:00 pm: Captain Bill advises us on some local restaurants and we head out, making use of our land legs once again.
7:00 pm: Eat at Rosie's Seafood. The restaurant is nearly empty and the staff is all sitting around the back. But we get excellent service and the food is affordable and delightful. Another evening passes and we hit the sack early.
Tuesday morning, 7 am:
Careless packing and dressing in layers for our return to Boston.
9:00 am-- drive to San Juan to check out the old city before our flight.
10-11 am-- having overlooked the part about impossible parking in Old San Juan in our guidebook, drive up and down the streets only, enjoying the old architecture, beautiful colors and amazing scenic views over the water.
Afternoon: leave Puerto Rico. It's raining so we don't feel bad. And it's a balmy 47 when we arrive in Boston! There's still ice on the ground, but we feel rejuvenated.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Puerto Rico, Day 2
Sunday morning, 8 am: Rise and Shine!
8:30 am: dismal hotel restaurant breakfast-- overpriced and not good!
9:30 am: drove down to Balaneiro Seven Seas Beach. We set up camp in a not yet populated edge. The water was warm and the sun was starting to bear down...perfect! Soon couples, friends and families set up near us. I was weary of the families at first, but everyone was having a great time. As G pointed out, the difference between the Puerto Rican families and the U.S. families is that the PR families don't yell at their children.
noon ? (no watch, so who knows): hit the clam shack for lunch. G discoverd Medalla beer-- only $1.50 per can! We also ordered several fried treats and mofongo.
3:00 pm: felt cooked so left the beach and headed to El Yunque, the rainforst.
4:00-5:30 pm: with only limited time until the gates closed, we just did the rainforest drive through. We took the main road and pulled over to take pictures, but didn't really have time to hike any trails; next time.
6:30: back in Fajardo...we fortuitously found a restaurant, El Estacion, recommended to us by the beach lifeguard. I got the yellowtail and it was great! Also, more pina coladas.
Overstuffed, slightly tipsy and sun fatigued, we called it a night and were asleep by 10 pm.
next up...all aboard! sailing and snorkeling
8:30 am: dismal hotel restaurant breakfast-- overpriced and not good!
9:30 am: drove down to Balaneiro Seven Seas Beach. We set up camp in a not yet populated edge. The water was warm and the sun was starting to bear down...perfect! Soon couples, friends and families set up near us. I was weary of the families at first, but everyone was having a great time. As G pointed out, the difference between the Puerto Rican families and the U.S. families is that the PR families don't yell at their children.
noon ? (no watch, so who knows): hit the clam shack for lunch. G discoverd Medalla beer-- only $1.50 per can! We also ordered several fried treats and mofongo.
3:00 pm: felt cooked so left the beach and headed to El Yunque, the rainforst.
4:00-5:30 pm: with only limited time until the gates closed, we just did the rainforest drive through. We took the main road and pulled over to take pictures, but didn't really have time to hike any trails; next time.
6:30: back in Fajardo...we fortuitously found a restaurant, El Estacion, recommended to us by the beach lifeguard. I got the yellowtail and it was great! Also, more pina coladas.
Overstuffed, slightly tipsy and sun fatigued, we called it a night and were asleep by 10 pm.
next up...all aboard! sailing and snorkeling
Thursday, February 22, 2007
From Icy Sidwalks to Icy Drinks: Puerto Rico, Day 1
Before living in Boston, I didn't understand why New Englanders felt compelled to go to the Carribbean in the late winter/early spring. Vacation, sure, but why always the beach? I spent many a forced, I mean, happy, spring break in Oklahoma City growing up and was no worse for the wear. After a few years living in Boston, however, I realized the draw. A midwestern winter can be brutal, but it is also relatively brief. Spring really does arrive by mid April and you can safely pack away the winter coats and sweaters. In New England, June 1 is still risky and the radiators still clang and thump. So, for the past several years, I've tried to head to warmer climes if possible, even if only for a few days. G and I decided on Puerto Rico this year and the gods must have been smiling on us since we were some of the only ones to make our scheduled flight after a huge storm left major parts of the country inundated under snow and ice. In fact, our brief trip went so smoothly and we packed so much in to our 2 full days (and 2 partial days) that a timeline is below:
A few days before takeoff:
Andrea to G on phone: "Our flight is at 6 am, so we should call a cab and leave the house by 4 am."
G to Andrea: "-----------"
Andrea to G: "Just be ready."
Friday night:
Whirlwind packing, trying on summer clothes and finding sunscreen. Procrastination method employed to further delay packing: clearing off bedside table and identifying back issues of the New Yorker that must not be thrown out because I will definitely get to that May 13, 2006 issue soon, I'm sure.
Saturday morning, 3:30 am: alarm goes off, cats tumble out of bed confused.
3:55 am: cab driver calls from downstairs
4:00-4:25 am: drive to airport with chatty G who has no shortage of conversation-- replete with questions-- at such an early hour.
6:00am-2:00pm: no recollection as I passed out on the plane.
2:30 pm: rent car and head from San Juan to Fajardo
3:00 pm:feeling famished, pull over to a stand selling pork (the pig's head is prominently displayed). Tell the vendor, "we need lunch!" and he chops up 1 lb of pork for the 2 of us. We take that and 2 Cokes and devour.
4:00 pm: arrive at the hotel where G asks a series of questions all pertaining to the beach and snorkeling. We're told that it's really too late to go to the beach and that we should enjoy the pool instead, then hit the beach the next day. G rephrases the questions several times, trying to elicit the answer he wants (which would be something like, "the beach is a 5 minute walk down the hill, you can rent snorkel equipment and of course there are reefs and fish just off shore."). Nevertheless, we do hit the pool then decide to try out one of the hotel's two restaurants.
8:00 pm: The Mexican restaurant had been deemed so good as to attract locals by the guidebook. Sure enough, there were locals...they were the servers and bartenders. The salsa tasted kind of like ketchup, but the drinks had alcohol in them, and the food was filling. We were tired and vowed to do better on a full night's rest.
next...hitting the beach and fried food
A few days before takeoff:
Andrea to G on phone: "Our flight is at 6 am, so we should call a cab and leave the house by 4 am."
G to Andrea: "-----------"
Andrea to G: "Just be ready."
Friday night:
Whirlwind packing, trying on summer clothes and finding sunscreen. Procrastination method employed to further delay packing: clearing off bedside table and identifying back issues of the New Yorker that must not be thrown out because I will definitely get to that May 13, 2006 issue soon, I'm sure.
Saturday morning, 3:30 am: alarm goes off, cats tumble out of bed confused.
3:55 am: cab driver calls from downstairs
4:00-4:25 am: drive to airport with chatty G who has no shortage of conversation-- replete with questions-- at such an early hour.
6:00am-2:00pm: no recollection as I passed out on the plane.
2:30 pm: rent car and head from San Juan to Fajardo
3:00 pm:feeling famished, pull over to a stand selling pork (the pig's head is prominently displayed). Tell the vendor, "we need lunch!" and he chops up 1 lb of pork for the 2 of us. We take that and 2 Cokes and devour.
4:00 pm: arrive at the hotel where G asks a series of questions all pertaining to the beach and snorkeling. We're told that it's really too late to go to the beach and that we should enjoy the pool instead, then hit the beach the next day. G rephrases the questions several times, trying to elicit the answer he wants (which would be something like, "the beach is a 5 minute walk down the hill, you can rent snorkel equipment and of course there are reefs and fish just off shore."). Nevertheless, we do hit the pool then decide to try out one of the hotel's two restaurants.
8:00 pm: The Mexican restaurant had been deemed so good as to attract locals by the guidebook. Sure enough, there were locals...they were the servers and bartenders. The salsa tasted kind of like ketchup, but the drinks had alcohol in them, and the food was filling. We were tired and vowed to do better on a full night's rest.
next...hitting the beach and fried food
Friday, February 16, 2007
Preparing for Paradise
I've recently emerged from several busy months at work only to find frigid, tundra conditions outside. To remedy the dry skin and frozen nostrils this creates, G and I booked a trip to Puerto Rico! Since I will not be wearing five layers of clothes, hats, gloves and coats, I realized I needed to take action to make myself presentable. Starting the beginning of January, my svelting group and I started to prepare for bikini bodies. I had to work on a shortened timeline-- Feb. 17 instead of May 31. This past week was dedicated to all that could not be fixed from cardio and healthy eating, namely, bikini wax to pedicure. These "ladies activities" were interspersed with, and included, quality time with girlfriends, many whose faces looked unfamiliar after my self imposed hibernation due to stress.
To prepare mentally for tropical temperatures, G's mom and I went to Boston Ballet's production of A Midsummer's Night Dream. The lush sets and gorgeous costumes made me temporarily forget the sub-arctic temperatures outside. I also met Nora for a sushi dinner-- seafood, omega 3s and serious discussion about shoes. Slowly but surely, my mind was checking out from the workaday worries I'd been so preoccupied with recently. Last night was the piece de resistance of the week of preparations: a pedicure with ET#1.
A winter storm the day before brought rain and slush, which froze over, creating icy roads and sidewalks, forcing me to wear boots with dorky grippy things attached (a bruised bum would not be attractive on the beach). Perhaps not the best time to get pedicures? Au contraire...after waiting for the bus in 10 degree weather for 30 minutes, our frozen toes steamed and turned red when we put them in the foot baths. I chose a pink color called "Tunnel of Love" and ET #2 forgot to choose a color, confounding the pedicurist further when she declared that she didn't even really care what color would go on her toes, as only she would see them. Except a bright red would personally offend her, so she used my pink as well. We relaxed in the massaging chairs which contorted our backs in strange ways, and caught up on our lives until Entertainment Tonight came on with updates on the "Anna Nicole Tragedy". ET#1's eyes glazed over as she became absorbed in the drama, and filled me in on the strange updates. The pedicurist chastised ET#1 for her falling off nails (ET#1 is an avid runner, so this is an unfortunate side effect) and I felt guilty for not having shaved my legs in a month. No doubt the pedicurist thought we were a couple of hippies, or at least weirdos, especially when I told her I'd brought a second pair of shoes and socks to wear out. When we stood up our legs were so relaxed that it was difficult to walk out, but the promise of salty carbs and beer at the Washington Square Tavern lured us into the cold.
Now, I'm all ready to go-- toned, buffed and polished. Of course, both G and I still have to pack, but as long as we have swimsuits and sunscreen, I'm sure we'll be in paradise.
To prepare mentally for tropical temperatures, G's mom and I went to Boston Ballet's production of A Midsummer's Night Dream. The lush sets and gorgeous costumes made me temporarily forget the sub-arctic temperatures outside. I also met Nora for a sushi dinner-- seafood, omega 3s and serious discussion about shoes. Slowly but surely, my mind was checking out from the workaday worries I'd been so preoccupied with recently. Last night was the piece de resistance of the week of preparations: a pedicure with ET#1.
A winter storm the day before brought rain and slush, which froze over, creating icy roads and sidewalks, forcing me to wear boots with dorky grippy things attached (a bruised bum would not be attractive on the beach). Perhaps not the best time to get pedicures? Au contraire...after waiting for the bus in 10 degree weather for 30 minutes, our frozen toes steamed and turned red when we put them in the foot baths. I chose a pink color called "Tunnel of Love" and ET #2 forgot to choose a color, confounding the pedicurist further when she declared that she didn't even really care what color would go on her toes, as only she would see them. Except a bright red would personally offend her, so she used my pink as well. We relaxed in the massaging chairs which contorted our backs in strange ways, and caught up on our lives until Entertainment Tonight came on with updates on the "Anna Nicole Tragedy". ET#1's eyes glazed over as she became absorbed in the drama, and filled me in on the strange updates. The pedicurist chastised ET#1 for her falling off nails (ET#1 is an avid runner, so this is an unfortunate side effect) and I felt guilty for not having shaved my legs in a month. No doubt the pedicurist thought we were a couple of hippies, or at least weirdos, especially when I told her I'd brought a second pair of shoes and socks to wear out. When we stood up our legs were so relaxed that it was difficult to walk out, but the promise of salty carbs and beer at the Washington Square Tavern lured us into the cold.
Now, I'm all ready to go-- toned, buffed and polished. Of course, both G and I still have to pack, but as long as we have swimsuits and sunscreen, I'm sure we'll be in paradise.
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