Zandrea!

Menu Planning

2011-01-27T16:55:00.000-05:00

Subject: menu planning
------------------------

From: and
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 2:59 PM
To: Liz , ET#1

I've just about got it--

appetizer: chex mix
main entree: 7 layer dip
dessert: snicker salad*

*I know it's a salad, but put it at the dessert end of the buffet and no one will know the difference

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From: Elizabeth Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 3:03 PM
To: and
Cc: ET#1

It goes on the salad table, Andrea. If you are going to do it. Do it right.

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From: and
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 3:04 PM
To: Elizabeth
Cc: ET#1

Okay, then we need a dessert. Can only think...chocolate sheet cake.

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From: Elizabeth
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 3:05 PM
To: and
Cc: ET#1

That sounds about right. Or rice krispie treats. That would make
cereal bookends.

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From: ET#1
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 3:14 PM
To: Elizabeth
Cc: and

what is ambrosia then? dessert or salad?

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From: and
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 4:39 PM
To: ET#1
Cc: Elizabeth

Oh that is salad. Marshmallows, right? Salad.

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From: Elizabeth
Date: Thu, Jan 27, 2011 at 4:41 PM
To: and
Cc: ET#1

fruit salad to be precise.

If you are confused, which is understandable, just think about where
it is on the buffet table in relation to the ham and biscuits. Close
to the bisscuits = salad. On the other side of the ham from the
biscuits = dessert.

Apologies

2010-10-20T12:51:00.000-04:00

Here's a list of apologies I'd like Mrs. Thomas to solicit on my behalf:

Downstairs neighbors, for finishing my laundry detergent.
Massachusetts liquor stores, for being closed on Sundays while I was in college.
Muggers, for causing me distress, but mostly for taking my vintage going-out purse.
The Cats, but especially Soul, for destroying the couch AND for eating through the straps on my best camisoles.
Anthropologie, for taking so much of my money for cute, but not well made, dresses and shirts.
Middle school.
Genetics, for giving me short legs and wide hips.
WA state DMV, for making me spend part of my 23rd birthday in their waiting room.
Ex-boyfriends, for me and my friends (regardless if they did apologize, we never tire of hearing it).

Car Trip

2010-09-01T16:52:00.002-04:00

"Mommie tricked me. We have to DRIVE 12 hours to Yellowstone from Seattle."
My sister has an aversion to long car trips ever since our epic 12+ hour trips from Kansas to Colorado or New Mexico growing up. But growing up in the midwest, to get anywhere fun you had to drive at least 12 hours and a lot of those hours would be spent cruising through western Kansas where there would be endless horizon and fields of wheat. I loved seeing the rain in the distance, and at night leaning my head on the window to look at the stars. We'd keep our eyes peeled for the first mesa, which would signal we were at least getting close to the mountains. But that hardly occupies hours of cramped car ride. To entertain ourselves, we would pack our travel bags which included cray pas and paper, Barbies and our Jem doll, little forest creatures branded as Mapletown, books, tapes and our red tape recorders and headsets. I would listen to The Cars Greatest Hits and the We Are The World soundtrack over and over. We played Art Rummy, with my mom playing her hand from the driver's seat and Liz passing her cards to the front with her toes. We'd pack our little Datsun hatchback full of luggage and snacks and we all brought our pillows.
My mom liked to drive with minimal stops, but we'd occasionally stop by the side of the road for a picnic of Cokes, Vienna Sausages, saltines, olives and cheese. To keep our appetite at bay while driving, we had beef jerky (I haven't had a Vienna sausage OR beef jerky in years...and don't intend to) and would get Dairy Queen Blizzards. Our vacations were often taken on my birthday so I'd get to pick where to stop for dinner (Long John Silver's was a good choice!). If we were in Buena Vista, CO for either mine or my sister's birthday, my mom would decorate the cabin with streamers and get a cake from the local bakery.
I don't remember a lot of fighting in the car but I'm sure it must have happened. I know Liz and I would take turns riding in the front seat but on at least one occasion our cousins complained to my uncle about "Liz pinching in the back seat". She remembers this differently. If our dog Char came with us, we liked to have her situated between us, but Char would prefer to have her head in one of our laps. Whoever got her tail obviously got the "bad end" so we would each campaign to get her head (with her animated eyes and soft ears).
I had to miss the family vacation this year, but reminisced with my mom and Liz about our old car trips. Maybe because I wasn't there to pester her or maybe because we have more patience as adults but Liz said, "Somehow driving to OKC from Wichita was longer than driving from Seattle to Yellowstone." I wish I had gone.

NPR ran a story about car games pre-dvd player, which prompted these memories. The story is great, but the comments are priceless!

The True Story of Steven Slater and Naomi Campbell: A Play in Four Acts

2010-08-12T15:29:00.001-04:00

The two hottest stories of the week, reimagined by Andrea as one Superstory.

Act I: The Airplane

Passengers are settling into their seats on an airplane. It's Jetblue, so there's no business class. On the overhead, flight attendant Steven Slater begins making announcements, reminding folks to share the overhead bins and place smaller items under the seats by their feet. Amid the usual chatter a shrill voice overtakes the cabin. Mr. Slater walks back to where a tall Naomi Campbell is removing items from the overhead even as passengers are putting them in. She's becoming more and more agitated, wanting an entire bin for her handbag, claiming that the other passengers' bags are "dirty". Mr. Slater tries to diffuse the situation, asking Ms. Campbell to allow others to place their bags first and hers can nestle in the front, for her to easily access. She refuses and when Mr. Slater suggests she place it on the floor, she screams, "are you crazy?!" and attacks him on the head with her cell phone. Mr. Slater leans in and demands an apology. Ms. Campbell says something unintelligible.* Mr. Slater storms to the front of the plane, tells the passengers to f off and deploys the emergency slide. He grabs a Heineken prior to his egress.

Act II: UN Tribunal

Rewind to one week prior. Ms. Campbell, carrying the same handbag she will have on the plane from Pittsburgh to JFK, is hounded by paparazzi. She's just testafied at a UN tribunal indictment of Charles Taylor. Off to the side, a ruddy complexioned, blue eyed, manly man (who doesn't look gay. AT ALL) catches her eye. She momentarily pauses and nearly trips (but Ms. Campbell, in 25 years on the runway, has never tripped). She catches her breath and their gazes lock.

Act III: The Dinner Party

Thirteen years prior to the flight, a dinner party in South Africa. Ms. Campbell has been a flirty face with Charles Taylor all night, while her frizzy haired and glasses wearing assistant (not to be mistaken for Mia Farrow) sulks in the background. Ms. Campbell retires around 2 am and a half hour later there is a knock at her door. Two men in suits present her with a handbag. Inside is a pouch with some small stones. "Magic beans?" wonders Ms. Campbell. She falls into a deep sleep, dreaming of a man, her soulmate, whom she has never met. She dreams they meet in Indianapolis. She awakes and looks again in the pouch and mumbles, "just some dirty stones."

Act IV: Denouement

Four hours post flight/dramatic exit, an undisclosed tropical location. "It's been so long...I thought we'd never be united!" cries Ms. Campbell. "Well, I worked for Jetblue, not United." explained Mr. Slater, and takes a gulp of Heineken.
Same time, but back at JFK, at the Chile's bar. Ms. Farrow is seen with a handbag at her feet, a margarita in her left hand and a small pouch in her right. She smiles and says to no one in particular, "another charitable act completed."

*"Mon amour! I've been waiting half my life for you. Come away with me...love me."

JELLYFISH ATTACK!

2010-07-23T15:33:00.008-04:00

This is the first in a series in which the editors at Zandrea take a deeper look into the pressing stories of today. In the case of the attacking jellyfish, we look at the backgrounds of the first responders and the jellyfish.

On Wednesday, July 21st, unsuspecting beach-goers in Rye, NH felt the stinging wrath of the undead. Unlike, mammalian zombies who savagely tear into the flesh and organs of their prey, the medusozoa zombie prefer to let its detached, undead tentacles enact a unique brand of horror. In a cruel, yet humorous twist, zombie jellyfish specifically target children.

The article below, based on eyewitness accounts, depicts the scene:

RYE, N.H. — The culprit* sat in an open trash bag baking in the hot sun, raked to shore by a pitchfork-wielding lifeguard** who paddled out on a surfboard.

*Wednesday was not a great day for me. At some point during the previous evening I died. Not wanting to cause any trouble for anyone, I willed my still living tentacles to swim towards the shore so that my carcass could be discovered and properly disposed of before my decay became an eyesore. Let me tell you, I can’t win for losing. Just as I approached the beach, some jack-off teenager comes at me with a pitchfork and guts me like a mackerel. And now I’m the “culprit:” the villain of the piece!

**This is my first summer as a lifeguard. I trained all spring and was so pumped to make it. We were told there might be an occasional shark sighting, but were never told what to do about jellyfish. We didn’t train with pitchforks at all!
A crowd gathered around the trash bag that now contains the dead jellyfish that washed into Wallis Sands State Park stinging nearly 150 swimmers in Rye, New Hampshire on Thursday.

Staring down in wonder — and disgust — at the huge jellyfish carcass at Wallis Sands State Park, Simon Mayer of Rye asked, “Is that the monster?”

It was to some, and it was doing plenty of posthumous damage. About 150 people were stung Wednesday by what officials said was a lion’s mane jellyfish weighing nearly 40 pounds, which turned the tranquil beach into a frenzied sea of screaming children and aching adults with red, sore feet and legs.

It was not the blob of dead jellyfish, but rather pieces of its stinging tentacles that stung the waders, scientists said. Jellyfish can still emit toxins when dead or broken apart, said Renee Zobel, a marine biologist with the New Hampshire Fish and Game Department.

“The cell type will keep on firing in the tentacles,” which also remain alive when separated from the animal, Ms. Zobel explained.

Alycia Bennett of Hampstead, N.H., who was stung while wading with her 10-year-old daughter, Emma, said, “When we got to the bathhouse it was complete chaos, mayhem.” It took a while for the severity of the sting to set in, she said.

“By the time you got up to the bathhouse it burned,” she added. “There were a lot of little kids, and understandably they were hysterical. It was so bizarre. So much for a peaceful day at the beach.”

Officials said there were no serious injuries, though five children from a camp were taken to the hospital as a precaution with skin irritations but later released.

“There were five ambulances and a hook and ladder here,” said the park manager, Ken Loughlin. “Seeing a hook and ladder was almost comical.” Lifeguards were sent to a nearby grocery store to buy vinegar and baking soda for emergency medical technicians, who set up a triage area.

Mr. Loughlin and others at the beach said it took a while for everyone to realize what was happening, because jellyfish stings are so rare at the beach.

“You couldn’t see it in the water coming at you,” said Kim Raiti of Atkinson, N.H. “You couldn’t see anything you would know to avoid.” Two of her four children were stung.

“Everyone was getting stung at the same time,” she added. “Kids were crying. It was like a scene from a movie***.”

***My name's Leonard Brubacher and as a starving Hollywood screenwriter, I can't tell you how excited I am to be vacationing at my childhood home. Being in the right place at the right time...you just can't ask for something better than this. It's going to be bigger than JAWS. Because it's going to be 3D. I think I can get some New England starpower on-board...maybe some Matt Damon, some John Malkovich. I envision a blockbuster Summer 2013.

New Hampshire Fish and Game officials said lion’s mane jellyfish, which are common to the Gulf of Maine, rarely show up on beaches as far south as New Hampshire. Tides often detach tentacles from jellyfish that are washing toward shore, scientists said, but raking the jellyfish “probably broke it up into quite a large number of individual tentacles, still healthy, because these things don’t disintegrate,” said Larry Harris, a professor of zoology at the University of New Hampshire. The tentacles are like “loose spaghetti” floating around, he said.

“When you’re talking about thousands of tentacles and little kids splashing about, it’s a recipe for chaos,” Professor Harris said.

The beach reopened Thursday, and swimmers were back in the water. The tide washed all the tentacles out to sea, leaving only the carcass, which was guarded by a young beach employee who said he was not authorized to give his name****.

“I’m going to have to start charging you guys,” he said to the curious crowd gathered around the Dumpster, snapping photos.

****Okay, so I can’t give my name because of an incident with a small amount of pot I got caught with by my supervisor last month. He promised to keep me on as long as I kept clean. But between you and me, if I could start charging people to take pictures of this fish, I’d be all set for the rest of the summer, if you know what I mean.

Lynn Nicholson, of Methuen, Mass., wanted to name the jellyfish Wally. “Wally from Wallis Sands,” she said. Ms. Nicholson told Mr. Loughlin that she should put the jellyfish under glass and preserve it as a tourist attraction.

“No one wants to come see a pile of puke,” Mr. Loughlin said.

“Yes they do*****,” the young employee shot back.

Andrew Keh contributed reporting from New York.

*****The editors agree. We ALL want to see a pile of puke!

Oui, Oui Mon Ami!

2010-07-19T22:13:00.001-04:00

Andrea: So we saw Breathless last week at the Coolidge Corner Theater. How excited were you to see it? Do you think you were more excited than me?

Zara: I was marginally excited. You and my husband are the French New Wave fans. I think you were more excited about seeing it on the big screen. HOWEVER, when the film began and I realized that the only other time I had seen “Breathless” was sans subtitles so I was VERY excited to understand the dialogue. It was funny that French people were saying the French equivalent of “puke.”

Andrea: I bought us tickets a week in advance because I imagined the tickets (for a Thursday night) would sell out. I was surprised they didn't sell out but can only imagine it's because every other Bostonian saw the film over the course of the previous week. I was surprised we had our choice of all the best seats in the house. In high school my friend Caron and I got up early to buy tickets to see the Black Crowes right when they went on sale. We imagined there would be a line out the grocery store (you bought your concert tickets at Dillon's in Wichita). Needless to say, we were roaming the frozen food aisles by ourselves until the tickets actually went on sale and we were there to purchase them first.

Zara: I was surprised as well. Not as surprised as I am to read about you seeing the Black Crowes? And you make fun of me for liking Steely Dan??? Hey, did you know that Eddie Money gave a free concert at the Hatch Shell on Saturday? Nobody would go with me.

Andrea: Hey! I grew up in Wichita. I'm a country mouse. Also it was 1995. Also we never ended up seeing them because there was the Oklahoma City bombing and they canceled our show in favor of a benefit.

Andrea: What do you think the chances are of you getting a pixie cut like Jean Seberg?

Zara: Let me tell you something. I have been telling myself for years that if lost 20 pounds I would cut my hair short and get my belly button pierced. How many years? Well, I don’t think belly button piercing is still considered sexy and the short haircut I wanted was based on a style that I saw an actress wear on the TV show, “Chicago Hope.” “Chicago Hope???” It was a medical drama that came on the air the same year as ER and lost out to the Clooney juggernaut. That is how many years! To answer your question, not likely…..

Andrea: We had dinner at Bottega Fiorentina ahead of the movie, as we usually do. I'll let you explain what happened with the parmesan cheese.

Zara: I have many enemies. The largest enemy I have is the teenage population. When I was a child they would tease me. For example: I would try to play with the older kids on the block and once I fell on the ground and a female teenager said “Swift move measles face!” (I had a chronic staph infection on my face from 4-10 years old.) When I was a teenager they were mean to me. For example: “You walk funny!” and “Hey you, pimple face, you must be a virgin!” (I had severe acne from 12-22 years old.) And now, as an adult, teenagers give me scary looks and make no room for me on sidewalks so that I am forced to walk in traffic if I want to get anywhere. Last Thursday, some crafty and surly teenagers played a joke on me when I was trying to enjoy dinner. Knowing that I like to sit at the window seat they snuck into the restaurant earlier in the day and loosened the lid on the parmesan shaker so that when I used it at dinner all of the grated parmesan and the lid fell atop my dinner. Brats!

Andrea [choking on a handful of crab chips]: Do you think we should break into Brookline High and shove some kids into lockers?

Andrea: Because I am have a taste for the rich life, I rented a car and drove to Brookline to meet you. I also bought us souvenirs. Have you worn your t shirt yet?

Zara: Thank you for the t-shirt; I love it!!! No, I have not worn it yet as I need to wash it before wearing. You might remember that during our evening out I mentioned that I broke my rule about always washing clothes before wearing them with the jeans I wore out that night. You also might remember if you have not repressed the memory, my describing to you in great detail how the combination of my sweat and the blue dye from jeans resulted in me leaving a wet, blue stain on the toilet seat at work.

Andrea: I know a certain Evil Twin who found pieces of crab shell in her underwear after a feeding frenzy in Annapolis. Nothing fazes me.

Andrea: If you could see any movie on the big screen, what would it be? I think I would like to see The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Catherine Deneuve is so foxy.

Zara: I would like to see the video we made of our re-enactment of Grey Gardens. You were an exquisite Little Edie!

Andrea: OMG! You are right-- that would be the best movie to see on the big screen.

Dial 911 for Emergencies

2010-07-07T12:11:00.001-04:00

The one in which Z interviews A about calling 911

Zara: Recently, I encouraged you to call 911 to report suspicious activity related to a bag of trash that was dropped off near your apartment by some maniac who drove off after the dump. Can you please expand on the details of the incident, your investigation, the phone call, and the aftermath?

Andrea: A couple weeks ago I watched from my bedroom window as a man drove around the corner with a black trash bag on the hood of his car. He stopped the car, got out and deposited the trash bag on the corner. I didn't think much about it until a few days later when a whole troop of Russian spies were identified and arrested. It became immediately clear to me that whatever was in that bag was probably suspect evidence. I made my friend Morgan rip open the bag and peer in while I watched from several feet away. She first said it was a carpet, then changed her mind and said linoleum. She couldn't see it, but I'm sure the linoleum was covered in blood. The next day I called 911 to report it. As far as I know the bag is still there.

Zara: Have you ever called 911 before? I have called many times to report crimes and personal annoyances such as: loud parties, finding a dead body, and most recently when I witnessed two cases of suspected rabid animal activity. Sometimes, I feel like Angela Lansbury’s iconic character, Jessica Fletcher. Do you think that I am actually surrounded by crime or are you of the school of thought that I am paranoid and apt to make mountains out of molehills?

Andrea: Mostly I call 911 to report on men who drop trou and show their penises. No one likes to see that. The most recent time was on the T and I said, "nuh uh. Pull your pants up!" And I alerted the nearest authority. Another time was on Nahant beach and another time was at the airport and another time was on Comm. Ave.

You are beautiful, smart and blonde-- an attractant to all manner of crime. How was it that there were so many murders in Cabot Cove? I think you need a cute bike with a basket to increase your territory. Tell more about the dead body!! I walk to work along the muddy river and pass by several homeless people daily. I dread the day I find one of the homeless people dead in that river.

Zara (follow-up): Yuck, somehow I never see that type of indecent exposure. Once I saw a pseudo-homeless man with his pants pulled down humping one of those green storage containers used to store salt at the Chestnut Hill T-stop, but I just kept moving.

In terms of the dead body, it was surreal. Many years ago, I woke up early one morning and had the bright idea of picking up my dry cleaning before going to work and as I walked down a Brighton side street something unusual entered my field of vision. First, I saw toes and feet and then legs lying on the ground, and my first thought was why would someone sunbathe near the sidewalk. Then, it registered, I was looking at a dead body. It was an elderly woman who had fallen from the balcony of her senior’s apartment complex. It was awful; she was in a nightgown and had fallen through trees. I ran to the dry cleaners, owned by Russians by the way, and called 911. Then I went back to wait near the body because I felt like I had to protect her until the cops showed up. It was sad.

Zara: I very much enjoy reporting crimes, naming names, and being a tattle-tale. I am known as the unofficial and self-proclaimed “neighborhood watchdog” in my apartment complex. Did the stigma associated with being a “snitch” influence your decision to make the call?

Andrea: It is well known that I am a law abiding citizen-- I have no traffic tickets, cross at cross walks and also am totally cavity free. Clearly reporting crimes is Important! If being a good citizen is being a snitch, then so be it!

Concert Review: She & Him

2010-07-02T12:24:00.003-04:00

Andrea interviews Zara post late night concert.

So Zara, when you agreed to accompany me to see She & Him, did you know who they were? No, I did not. If your band is not playing on Magic 106.7 (Boston’s Continuous Soft Rock) then I do not know your band. Remind me again of your feelings for The Captain and Tennille....
I liked that you decided to reinstate the Fashion Showdown for this special occasion. What made you pick the dress you wore? Did you know Zooey was also going to wear a silver sparkle dress? Well, I am pretty sure you told me to wear the dress after our epic trip to the Natick Collection during which I searched high and low for just the right black cinch belt. After accusing you and the universe of conspiring to deny me the belt, you had no choice but to insist that I wear the damned belt with the silver dress. And yes, I did know what Zooey would be wearing. The demyelinating disease in my brain has created a wormhole that allows me to share fashion consciousness with celebrities.
We ate dinner at a new sushi restaurant before the show. Did you like what you ordered? I kind of felt like Derrick from P.F. Chang's would have made dinner a little more...awkward. What do you think? I did enjoy my dinner, but I wish I had ordered something other than my usual sushi standards. Basho intimidated me. I had never seen fois gras on a sushi menu. I did like that twice in one week we sat in large u-shaped booths and still managed to sit in awkward positions even though we had tables that would accommodate endless permutations of comfortable seating options. Derrick would have made dinner weird – his trademark “crouch” position is irritating.
I enjoyed hanging out at the West Elm and pretending it was our home. It reinforced my desire to have a maid. If you could buy one thing from the store, what would it be? I would buy one of those hairy pillows that reminded me of my sister's hair. Obviously, I would pick the faux bear skin rug that I wanted to use as prop for dirty photos. I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me pose for the camera?
Once we got into the show, it became immediately obvious we were surrounded by Russian Spies. I guess this isn't a question so much as a statement. But I think you have a special talent for identifying spies because whenever I interacted with one, you had an asthma attack. Indeed, it would appear that my sixteen year pack-a-day smoking habit has come back to bite me in the form of uncontrollable choking and wheezing in the presence of Eastern European espionage. Theory One: The Russians/Soviets only had access to cheap cigarettes for decades and they are jealous of my unlimited access to Camel Lights and have somehow poisoned me. Theory Two: The Russians are dusty. Unfortunately my wit was lost on the foreigners. I told the woman whose breasts were smooshed up against my back that if she got any closer I'd have to buy her a drink and she'd have to take me home. She didn't get it.
How many Anthropologie dresses were worn last night? Do you think it was more or less than the number of plaid shirts worn by men? Many, many Anthropologie dresses were worn. Far more than plaid shirts. I especially liked that we identified the dresses/skirts with such enthusiasm. Cat dress!!! OMG, she paid top dollar for that dress! I am waiting until it gets below $60 and then it's mine.
Do you think if we had waited around after the show we would have seen Zooey? And if so, do you think you could have convinced her to go home with you? Yes, and yes. Chicks dig me. Every since I got married, I have become remarkably in demand. Inevitably, people want what they can’t have. It’s human nature.
Thanks for coming with me to see She & Him last night! It was my pleasure! That is what identical cousins are for : )

The One Where I Take The Non-Violent Approach

2010-06-09T12:30:00.001-04:00

texts from last night...on the bus

And: College kids are soooo loud!
Lynne: I hate young people these days
And: Me too. Let's be old and kick them off our lawn
Lynne: We would have to get a lawn...
And: I cannot read my New Yorker
Lynne: Roll it up and hit them with it
And: I moved seats

The Hidden World of Girls

2010-06-06T16:24:00.002-04:00

NPR is running a series called The Hidden World of Girls and when they put out a call for journal entries, I was thrilled. I've been keeping journals semi-regularly since 1993 and thought for sure they would be a trip to read through. I consulted my sister.

me: I want to get back into thoughtful writing

did you ever read my journal(s)?

Liz: how is your new journal

what?

me: or has matt read yours?

Liz: no

4:02 PM no

me: I didn't think so

I always just leave mine out

Liz: those are private!

me: but never thought that anyone read it

Liz: i do to

did someone?

daddy read mine once

me: really??

Liz: i busted him!

me: how do you know?

oh my

Liz: it was awkward

and shocking

and embarrasing

me: yikes

Liz: mostly shocking

4:03 PM are you worried someone will read yours./

me: oh no

I was actually going to photo some of the pages and post them on flickr

on that group I sent

the hidden life of girls

I like that girls everywhere and throughout time have written journals

Liz: i haven tlooked at it yet

4:04 PM me: and I don't mind contributing some of mine

from years ago

Liz: oh

hmm. I don't think i would share mine

I don't even re-read them!

I put my thoughts in there so I have a clear head.

4:05 PM me: me too

but I've been doing it so long

Liz: no need to clutter it back up by reerading

me: and always thought I'd give them to a daughter

Liz: oooh

me: since that might not happen, maybe I'll just share with the world

Liz: haha!

i love you!!!

me: I love you too!

I came home after work Friday and cracked a few old ones open. They weren't hilarious-- in fact, I lot of them were kind of sad. I spent a lot of time lamenting the death of my grandfather in 1994 and the more recent ones-- even from 2001-- just seem too recent to share. My voice changes too-- the older ones seem to be written for some audience, or like I didn't know exactly for whom I was writing (just me?). I like reading about my friends-- lots of friends I still have, like Caron, Lesley, Nora and Steph and of course my family. A dedicate pages and pages to how much my math and science classes suck. I picked a few of the less embarrassing entries to share and have them up on my flickr account now. Feel free to share your own tales of journaling!

Advice

2010-05-21T16:28:00.000-04:00

In this brief time sandwiched between Mother's Day and Father's Day, and with graduates tossing their caps, it's a good time to think about advice and the maxims our parents shared with us. As adults, we are now charged less with the asking of advice and more with the dispensing of it.
I couldn't immediately remember specifics from my mom or dad, so asked my sister. She remembered our dad telling her not to worry about things she couldn't control. "He told me this the night before my first day as a crossing guard. I was so worried about how I would get to school on time, how to hold the sign since I was too short to reach the top like the other crossing guards, etc. that I couldn't sleep and was crying."
Nora's dad used to tell her when she was worried about a test or something, "I'll blow up the building", which broke the ice and made her laugh. And I guess it's a way of re-evaluating the situation-- is it really so important to worry about? When I would worry about my grades in college, Nora didn't tell me she would blow up a building, but she did tell me to go to office hours and would remind me, "don't worry, the professors have seen worse than you."
Sometimes our parents' advice is contradictory. ET#1's parents told her, "If you get in trouble with a boy, don't come home." But my mom, as she shipped me off to BU told me, "When you get there, head straight to student health for birth control."
My mom also frequently told us not to do a half ass job. Usually this applied to cleaning the kitchen, the one chore Liz and I were to do everyday. But it's certainly stuck with me and if anything, I feel guilty when I don't wipe the crumbs off the counter.
The other best advice my mom gave was to never leave the house without makeup. She gave me makeup for my 8th grade graduation and the times are few and far between that I leave the house without at least lipstick or mascara. It's not just the makeup-- it's putting your best face forward. When she went into labor with me, she didn't leave for the hospital until she had put on eyeliner (and this was the 70s, when eyeliner was a big deal).
Finally, my mom told me to ALWAYS have a job. Not only a good way to get money, but a good way to manage time. Since I was 14, I've always held a job (with the exception of freshman year of college and I got in big trouble for that one).
So as my friends have children of their own, I hope to be able to share some good advice. Or at least help them apply mascara.

Momentum

2009-10-07T14:24:00.001-04:00

Today's the last day of farm share pick-up, so I unless I actually do meet the love of my life at the intersection of winter squash and kale, the cautionary tale I'm about to write is almost certainly putting the carriage before the horse.
My director oversees a large program of medical residents, is on various national committees and is the mother of two grade school aged boys and a six month old puppy. She gets her fair share of female-in-power backlash and worries aloud that her work and travel schedule keeps her from spending adequate time with her boys. Before leaving for a weekend business trip to Chicago on Friday, she announced that she had sent her husband a detailed email explaining various soccer schedules and meal plans and reminders that the dog needed walking and homework needed to be done.
Monday afternoon she emerged from her office looking tired and announced she needed to leave a bit early in order to catch her son's second soccer match. She also said that upon returning the family life was in disarray: gym bags dumped on foyer floor and clothes not washed, dishes in the sink, lunch bags not emptied since after school Friday and homework not done, in part because one son stayed at her sister's house all weekend. "You know, there's a certain amount of momentum that needs to be in effect to run a household. It's going to be hard to get things going again." She described this, I know, looking for empathy, or at least sympathy and commiseration.
But what does this have to do with me?
As someone concerned about how I'll raise a future family, I already know that my math skills end with fractions (and even that's shaky). So a future husband would either have to be good enough with math to help with homework, or else we'll just have to get a tutor. But on all other grounds, I pretty much thought I had it covered. I can cook, I can keep a (decent) schedule, and I'm fun.
However, my Monday morning: gym bag dumped on foyer floor and clothes not washed, dishes in the sink, lunch bag not emptied since after work Friday, thumbs sore from video games. Apparently I have the same (lack of) momentum as 8 and 10 year old boys.

In Need of an "Emma"

2009-07-14T11:21:00.000-04:00

Jane Austen and all those Brontes seemed to believe that true love could be found by nary leaving your house...a house that was usually large and in a very rural location where few men would venture. But the men that did venture, they won the girls.
Here's a modern plan for me to meet a man without leaving my home:

1. From my 3rd floor front porch, lure passers-by a la girls in Amsterdam. Never mind that the typical passers-by are women and men with strollers and dogs and, most often, middle-aged lesbian couples.

2. Instead of making faces and grumpily leaping over the crevasses in my street made by construction men at 7 am, step outside and "accidentally" twist my ankle (the old damsel in distress ruse). The cigarette smoking townies will run to my aid.

Even Jane Eyre went to the market in town sometimes.

3. While picking up my farm share at the Coop, bump into a handsome, single, mid-30s aged man. My lettuce spills with his tomatoes and we decide to make a salad! We're married within the year.

A Modern Day Science Project

2009-05-26T12:26:00.000-04:00

Intro and purpose
In a recent attempt to "go green", I bought a kitchen composting bucket, which promted my mom's comment,"oh, just like your 7th grad science project!" Indeed, my 7th grade science project involved several buckets of kitchen scraps, dirt and (in the non-control group), worms. My hypothesis was probably something like worms would help degrade the matter faster. My results were probably inconclusive since I likely started the project approximately one week before it was due. Twenty years later, I wondered if perhaps we all did science projects that ulitmately shaped who we became in our careers and lives.

Hypothesis
I distinctly remember 7th grade science being when I decided the environment was important and that I wanted to become a marine biologist. Today I am not a marine biologist; I recruit medical students into medicine and then work with the government to get them medical licenses. But I try my best to be an urban hippie-- I recycle, walk and take public transportation, make my own yogurt and bread and in general try to reduce my carbon footprint. I hypothesized that my friends' middle school science projects would likewise have a positive effect on their current lives.

Materials and Methods
Conducting research in 2009 is so much easier than in 1991! I need not leave my chair to simply email my friends. Email I did: "what was your 7th grade science project-- was it something that still influences you today?" The responses were slow in coming in...apparently people did not remember or else chose to forget.
ET#1 is now a scientist and provided this eloquent response:
"I did however have the following projects that i do remember:in the 4th grade I wrote and illustrated a biography of Daniel Boone. in the 5th grade I made a topographical map of California using salt dough. in the 7th grade I wrote a book of short stories in the style of Jack Londonin the 9th grade I wrote a computer program of Logo that was imitated what a hypercube would look like in a 2d image. Also, I remember some elaborate proof which was a final project on how to estimate the surface of a sphere not using calculus, but algebra only. in the 12th grade in applied math we designed how to draw our classroom using fractals and tried to reduce everything into iterative functions."
My sister did her project, "What Will The Dogs Drink?", an experiment that involved chasing the family pets around the yard and then letting them choose what to drink, red or clear water, salty or sweet, when they were sufficiently thirsty. This project got her the prize in the state competition!
Nora and Jane, a water chemist and law student respectively, both had stories of science fair shame: the fear of public speaking and anxiety about coming up with a worthwhile project. Jane in particular had a harrowing memory:
"I don't remember my 7th grade one but in 5th grade I signed up for an optional one, then procrastinated until the day of, went out and got some rocks from my yard, put them on the table and poured water on them to see which one would absorb water fastest. It had no tagboard no nothing. Just rocks sitting on a piece of paper. I was so ashamed that I didn't tell my parents I was participating and begged my friend to let me stand next to her rock -candy demo whenever she went to the bathroom."
I thought my former neighbor who currently lives, studies and works in a lab in Germany might have had an interesting project, but she couldn't remember. She thought maybe it had something to do with dinosaurs.

Data and Results
In true Andrea form, I'm taking a shortcut here and not providing charts or data. Part of being an adult is being able to make such decisions. I can also eat cookies for dinner and no one will care.
The results were a bit surprising initially, but ultimately make sense. There is a nearly common thread of procrastination, even if few of us actually refer back to the actual projects, or as ET#1 put "Sadly, I don't use any of those things, but I remember I liked finishing them. So maybe that is the lesson I took away. I also remember procrastinating starting each one. So maybe that is the real lesson I took away." Liz, however, is not a procrastinator, which likely helped in getting her to the state competition.

Conclusion
I'd like to make a joke here about how composting is akin to the government forms and documents, but instead I'll just say that regardless of our anxiety, forgetfulness or procrastination tendencies, we are all successful women.

Help A Sister Out!

2009-05-22T16:14:00.002-04:00

Why I love my sister. I sent her an email because of an overwhelming amount of personal projects. She's so good at lists and prioritizing!

My quandry:
Here's a partial list of projects that I've either thought about, bought supplies for, or started...but haven't finished. I need help!

felt fruits and vegetables
a new quilt/pillows
painting bathroom
sew slipcover for couch
create terrariums
finish composting project*

Liz's response
Do them like this:
1. finish composting prjct -- deadline this Saturday (this won't takeyou v. long and is urgent priority bc of the mold growing in your expensive bucket)
2. Paint the bathroom -- before new roommate moves in -- maybe this long weekend or during that time when your roommate is out and new person hasn't moved in yet
3. Slip covers -- Also before new roommate moves in but after you paint the bathroom.
4. quilt, felt produce -- start in the fall. it is too hot now for these things. Plus will be good for when you are snowed in.
5. terrarium -- also fall. enjoy your porch plants for now.

*There is an upcoming blog post on this fascinating project, but I'm lazy. Obviously!

Miss USA

2009-04-15T14:34:00.000-04:00

I've been hit with a case of nostalgia something bad. Maybe, like allergies, it's something in the air...Nora and I recently dyed Easter eggs, a craft that hearkens many years of spring weekends spent. I also took up a sewing project and tried to remember my Grandma's instructions on hemming, pinning and sewing in a straight line. My daily perusing through the food blogs dredged up classics such as banana pudding, a snack my mom would make and serve after nap time. And I channeled my father when making my NCAA brackets this year, letting my heart dictate wins for KU and OU. But the clincher, the memory that if it was a cold would set me up on the couch with a roll of toilet paper for my nose for at least two days, was this: a commercial for the Miss USA pageant.
My friends parents and my mom always advocates of slumber parties for my friends and me. A group of us regularly met at each others houses and set up our sleeping bags in dens, played cards, Nintendo and ate junk food to our hearts' content. We'd stay up until 4 am or until the very last one of us couldn't hold her eyes open any longer.
The best slumber parties were the ones when Miss USA was on. From 1990-1993 it was hosted in Wichita, so naturally the whole town was excited and we'd host our own viewing parties. Simultaneously, we'd host our own version of the competition-- Miss Fruitcake (we were enlightened 12 year olds and never took the competition seriously. We all expected to go to college and work hard and if in the course of life we were viewed as attractive in swimsuits, well, that was a bonus). We raided our mom's closets for old dresses and put on make up. My house had a staircase leading to the den and I remember LH vamping in a white satin gown with her golden curls.
Sometimes the best cure for disease is administering a small dose of the offending allergen. With that in mind, if you call on me Sunday night, you might just find me wearing a tiara on the couch, watching the pageant Live from Las Vegas. And that roll of toilet paper? Not for my nose...as any good adolescent girl knows, tp is best stuffed in bras to create falsies.

Passover Advice From Two Non-Jews

2009-04-09T12:27:00.004-04:00

Last year ET#, a former roommate and I staged our first Passover Seder. A year later, being not quite experts in the Jewish faith, we still query each other on technicalities. But anyone could learn from us! Who needs Joan Nathan?!

me: last night had matzoh ball soup from the mix for passover but got a headache from the msg
ET#1: i don't make from mix
me: you are a good Jew
ET#1: it is super easy yes i am a good jew
i threw away all my bread
me: but I like the salty goodness from the mix and I did use schmaltz from my chicken earlier in the week
ET#1: wow
me: but since the chicken was roasted in milk it wasn't kosher
ET#1: i think it might be milk and chicken okay
me: really?
ET#1: milk an beef not okay
me: huh well, it's okay by me either way
ET#1: because a chicken sandwich with ceese okay but a cheeseburger bad
me: really? why would you have a chicken sandwich with cheese? unless it was chicken cordon bleu which is illegal
ET#1: chicken parm
me: OH YUM!! and it's kosher you say?
ET#1: am pretty sure me: using matzoh crumbs?
ET#1: will email my friend i think it is korsher just not allowed during passover big difference anyway matzo balls totally easy to make sans schmaltz as long as you have tasty broth and seperate eggs
me: yes, I am sure you are right
ET#1: no jews in baltimore
me: really??
ET#1: or at least near where i live
me: what about those movies about jews in the 50s in baltimore...
ET#1: i think they live up north in reierstown
me: I'm trying to think
ET#1: really? what movies
me: I don't know I have to think/google but I feel like I can see one in my mind
ET#1: now i am hungry for matzo ball soup

Lenten Resolutions

2009-03-30T16:09:00.000-04:00

I started observing Lent well after I quit attending church. Protestants aren't so big on Lent anyway (there's no rules like fish on Friday) and most Catholics I knew seemed to make it like a diet. But I started observing maybe 6 or 7 years ago, in part because my sister started. I found it kind of refreshing to take away something I enjoyed for a limited amount of time and appreciate my life going on without that item. Many years I gave up shopping for fun. Obviously I'd allow myself necessities like groceries and soap, but would not allow myself to purchase dresses, makeup, skirts or going out shirts from H&M, for example. One year I tried to give up gossiping, but I realized a goal is only as good as it's ease.This year I am trying two things. The first is going to church. So far so good. I only go on Sundays so it's not like I have to think about not eating chocolate every day of the week.
The second is a pantry challenge-- I only eat the food I have in the pantry and in the fridge and freezer before buying new food, and I only allow myself to go to the grocery store once a week. After G left, I never really got used to cooking for one, so would still make enough for at least two, and therefore the freezer was stuffed to the gills with frozen soups and casseroles. Since grocery shopping is also one of my favorite pastimes, I frequently make purchases willy-nilly. Thus my pantry was filled with bulk items such as kasha and millet and wheat berries, boxes of fancy pasta from the North End, dried fruits and puffed rice for homemade powerbars. Oftentimes I'll find a recipe and buy the ingredients and just use some of it. See kasha, above.
So as Lent started, so did the challenge. I've learned that pasta does go a long ways. As does bacon. Together with some sour cream I improvised a pasta carbonara, which lasted the whole first week in various iterations (including adding braised tomatoes and eggplant). I've learned that soups can use up ingredients like scallions and mushrooms. I also made a soup using anchovies, a can of tomatoes and some pasta. "How interesting you had anchovies" said my mom. My point exactly! I've learned that the crock pot is my best friend-- bread pudding uses up leftover bread, eggs, cranberries from the freezer and the end of a carton of milk.
A month down and I can see the bottoms of my shelves of the fridge and have freed up some pantry jars for more pasta and rice. Above all I've learned that I don't need to go to the grocery store every few days. Careful planning has helped me save money and trim my waistline. But maybe above all I've learned to cook for myself. Just one.

See my recipe for pantry cleaning muffins on my friend's blog, Puff and Choux.

Home Buying: A Tragedy

2009-02-18T13:54:00.001-05:00

A close friend (we'll call her Dora) recently purchased her first condo. A new home requires lots of upfront work, like painting and minor repairs and renovations. But also some future planning. I sent Dora an email offering to go with her to Home Depot to plan her porch container garden and she sent me this response: "Russo's is much cheaper for this stuff than Home Depot! I've heard it through the grapevine by people that compared prices! "
However, just today her Facebook status says, "Dora is getting to know Home Depot so well! Like we're best buds now." I sense future conflict. Let's see how this pans out over the next few months...

The condo walls look fantastic. Dora and Terry (her hubby) spent the better part of three days painting, courtesy of paint purchased at Home Depot. What does Russo's think about this?
Dora: "Fortunately Russo's is mainly a grocery store, so doesn't even know that I get painting supplies from someplace else."

Three months hence, on a balmy spring day-- grilling and drinks on the porch.
Andrea: "What a great grill-- Terry, you can really do a number on these veggies! Speaking of which, so delightful! Where could you ever have purchased a fine grill like this and such handsome, fresh vegetables?"
Terry: "We picked up the grill from Home Depot! Dora's really developed a close relationship with Depot recently. Depot even joined her bookclub!"
Dora (eyes averted, sheepishly): "But the veggies...they came from Russo's."
Andrea (suddenly serious, with judgement in her eyes): "Don't you think it's a little unfair for you to still be seeing both Depot and Russo's? I think you ought to pick one and let the other know."

Two months later, in the heat of summer, I visit Dora and Terry. Dora looks ravaged and thin, with dark circles under her eyes. The condo is quite...hot.
Andrea: "Can't you guys get an AC, or at least some fans in here? It's 95 degrees outside!"
Dora: "No...Depot won't see me. I buy too much produce from Russo's and Depot has shut me out! And Russo's is too 'cheap' to give us a cooling device. We'll have to sit outside, where at least there are plenty of ferns."

Fortunately there's still time to get this resolved, early in this relationship...what will Dora decide?

Herding Cats

2009-02-05T10:35:00.001-05:00

Soul is about six years old, but still on occassion has the fire of a kitten. He's recently taken to jumping in the kitchen sink and on the kitchen counters-- really the only places in the apartment he's not allowed. Below are some suggestions and tips I've received to dissuade him from this bad behavior.

1. Spray him with a water bottle.
tried? yes.
result? hates it, but not enough to keep him off the counters permanently.

2. Solitary confinement: catch him after he jumps off the counter and toss him into the dark bedroom for the evening while Nova and I enjoy tv and snacks.
tried? yes.
result? keeps him off the counter for the time he's in the room, but the jealously tactic doesn't work and he's back on the counter as soon as he's released.

3. Whisper, "you're a goooood cat, you're so well behaved! be a goooooood cat" to him in his ear while he's sleeping, as sort of subliminal messaging.
tried? yes.
result? positive! he seems to like positive attention at least as much as negative attention and since I've started this tactic, he's maybe jumped on the counter slightly less. But he still jumps on the counter.

4. Scold the counter, not the cat. Idea being that who would want to jump on a counter that always gets in trouble?
tried? nooooo....

5. Spiritual guidance.
tried? not yet. St. Francis prayer cards, candles and icons will soon be ordered from totallycatholic.com.

Advice For Tough Times

2009-01-26T22:16:00.002-05:00

Times are tough. No doubt you were surprised a few months back when Economic Officials declared the U.S.A in a recession. Turns out that all the job losses, home foreclosures, expensive groceries and limited goods (Wiis stilll hard to find) were not just coincidental.
We've had eight years of free reign in the school yard, and now President Obama has asked that we make hard choices and sacrifices. Here's some advice on how to live in this New Order.

recycling and reusing:

We've all been conditioned to drink our water out of Siggs or Camelbaks, but how far can we take it? While in the Tannery* yesterday an old episode of American Top 40 was on. ET#1 and I were stopped in our tracks as the Long Distance Dedication came on. Instantly time was recycled. Were we in 2009? Or 1989?

ration coupons:

We're in the middle of two wars and thus have to limit our coffee, sugar and gasoline consumption. We've been granted ration cards. Oops, wait. Actually, we've been issued government coupons for the digital tv box converter.

shopping:
Can we go shopping even though we need to use cash not credit? Yes We Can! Go downscale: skirts at Old Navy can be found for $1.99. Or better yet, go upscale. Make a day of shopping at only stores like Barney's and Louis Boston. Make remarks like, "Ah this Ferragamo bag is on sale-- marked down from $1199 to $699-- not bad!" Or, try on BCBG dresses marked down 70%. When the salesclerk asks how you are doing, sigh and say, "I really wanted this in green." Don't buy anything.
(*Unless you need a pair of fur lined boots, to keep you warm when you aren't using your heat. All shoes at the Tannery are buy one pair, the 2nd pair is half off).

With a little determination, elbow grease and ingenuity, we will have Change We Can Believe In!

Alternate (Superhero) Endings to My Recent Mugging

2009-01-10T19:56:00.001-05:00

About a month ago, while walking down my street around 7:15 pm, I was mugged, but not hurt, by a group of teenagers in front of a church. They got away with my going out purse, containing my keys, my T pass, my debit card, my license, my phone, and $15.
The following are imagined scenarios with better endings.

1. As the kids snicker about 20 feet behind me, I turn around. I am a vampire and with lightening speed rush towards them. I need only bare my fearsome teeth and they all turn and run.
2. When approached by two kids right behind me, I stop, jab my elbows backward, expertly knocking them both in the chins, a la Angelina Jolie. I then do a roundhouse kick, knocking them both to the ground and step, with my navy patent 4 inch heels, on hand of the one holding the gun, daring the others to continue their assault. They flee in fear.
3. As the kids snicker and approach behind me, a winged Christian Bale/Batman jumps off the daycare building to my right. He wrestles the gun out of the assailant's hand, knocks the heads of two sidekicks together and swoops me to safety.
4. When the kids surround me, I blink my eyes, stopping time like Hiro Nakumura. In stopped time I manuever the kid with the gun to face instead his friend. I remove the belts of the whole group of kids and pull down their hats over their eyes. I hide behind the Mary statue and start time, watching as chaos ensues.
5. I'm walking fast, but not fast enough. The kids surround me. But just then, lightening strikes and thunder rumbles. God comes out of the church and smotes the kids. He is pissed, but I am saved.

In all scenarios, I straighten my jacket, rub a smudge off my right shoe, and continue on to the party that in real life I missed.

Grocery Shopping

2008-09-08T22:36:00.002-04:00

At the Boylston Street Trader Joe's last week....

Checker: And would you like paper or plastic?
Me: Oh, I brought my own bag, thanks!
Checker: Great! And, how will you be paying, credit or debit?
Me: (taking out wallet) Credit
Checker: (looking at me) You've got a pregnant...
Me: (to self) Oh.My.God. If he even says I am pregnant?! I know after my depression starvation I've put on a little more weight, but really, I've been doing crunches. Is my shirt to tight? I need to clean out my clothes. And hold in my belly! But really, I could be pregnant. I really only have a limited time frame left anyway...but why does this guy need to be telling me that? I think he has an accent. Maybe it's a cultural difference and it's okay that he's saying this. Oh, God. I think I'm going to cry! I'm not pregnant! I'm turning bright red, I can feel it! I've got to get out of here. This is so embarrassing.
Checker: (finishing sentence) ...wallet.
Me: (to self, relieved) Oh. The George Costanza wallet.
Checker: Have a great night!

A Legacy for the Ages

2008-07-17T12:09:00.001-04:00

Dubya's in lame duck mode right now, and in a couple months we'll all be contemplating his legacy. A lot has happened over the past seven and a half years, and I think we can all agree on his most successful act: the marriage of his daughter Jenna to a hand-picked up and coming Republican. Before 9/11, before we invaded Iraq and before gas was $4/gallon, Bush vacationed at his ranch non-stop, sharks were rampant on America's beaches, and the Bush twins were out of control...

At approximately 10:19 on Tuesday, May 29th, the Austin Police Department received a 9-1-1 call reporting minors attempting to purchase alcohol. The caller was the manager of Chuy's Restaurant located at 1728 Barton Springs Road.
APD patrol officers arrived and found that Jenna and Barbara Bush, 19, were alleged to have been involved in this incident. As no offense was witnessed by APD officers, following routine procedures, further investigation is required to determine if any charges will be filed. APD and the Texas Alcohol Beverage Commission are investigating this incident.
ABCNEWS.com, June 4, 2001

*The night of the "alleged incident" is clear in my mind. Barbara was visiting from Yale and I had promised her a good night on the town. It had been chilly and rainy the previous week, but Tuesday was beautiful and warm and everyone was ready to go out and pary. Barb is very sweet, but just doesn't know how to have a good time. This is off the record, but I generally think of myself as being the social butterfly. I mean, she goes to Yale where all they do is study! Anyway, the end of the semester was approaching and I had a few favors to call in. I borrowed Maggie's ID--she's 21 and I had lent her my favorite capris a few weeks earlier and she had spilled beer all over them, ruining them. She felt so bad about it that she was more than happy to lend me her ID. I gave my Secret Service guys, Joe and Nathan, twenty bucks each to leave us on our own for the night. I have them wrapped around my finger. My good friend Lisa assured me her roommate was tending bar at Chuy's and that if we asked for Sarah, we would have no problem getting served. Once there, I couldn't find Sarah, but calmly and cooly used Maggie's ID to order a round of margaritas. So when APD officers arrived at the restaurant at around, I guess, 10 o'clock, I had no idea what had gone wrong...

Of course she had no idea what went wrong! The girl was wrecked. I don't know what Jenna told you, but I knew the night was ill-fated from the beginning. First of all, she was still in the doghouse with mom for her possession of alcohol incident about a month ago. I told her we should lie low and maybe just take in a movie. My friend Ashley was with me and didn't have a fake ID and didn't want to risk getting in trouble. But there is no stopping Jenna when she puts her mind to something, even though she rarely thinks things through. We may be twins, but we are as different as night and day. To tell you the truth, I always consider myself to be the smarter one. But back to May 29th. Early in the evening Jenna snuck into this girl Maggie's room and searched through her desk until she found her driver's license. She mumbled something about capri pant, and when I asked her if she should really be searching through this girl's private stuff, she just said something about Maggie owing her. Then she broke out the Coronas. After about three beers, she said this girl Lisa's roommate, Sarah, worked at a restaurant in South Austin and that she had some stuff on her about cheating on a Biology exam first semester, so if she refused to serve us, Jenna would have only to make a call to the dean. Ditching our Secret Service guys was the hardest part of the evening. But by 8:30 Jenna had already downed the whole six-pack of beer, and was determined to get to that restaurant! Jenna tried to bribe Nathan and Joe with 40 bucks, but they just laughed at her. So we came up with something and ended up having to climb out of the second floor bathroom window and shimmy down the drain pipe.
Once at Chuy's, I was hoping to just sit down and order some food, but Jenna had to make a big production. You'd think, since she was using someone else's ID, she would keep a low profile and be subtle, but no. She was dancing and singing on the table! Before I knew it we all had drinks in front of us. Some guy bought us a round of shots. By then the manager had already called the police. Jenna was angry and kept yelling at the police, asking them if they knew who her father was. She said she would tell Daddy not to give them their tax rebates.
After we got home, I knew we were really going to be in for it. There were irate messages from Maggie, Lisa and Sarah. Nathan and Joe were not happy. They had already called Daddy and seemed pretty concerned about their jobs. I think I overheard them say something about Chelsea being an ideal charge.

I remember it being a great night--except for the police coming. I'm not sure why Barb is so grumpy. What's the big deal? She wanted a good time and I showed it to her. Nathan and Joe just laughed at us and joked about how much more fun we were than that goody-two-shoes, Chelsea. I'm really lucky they have such a great sense of humor. Appeasing Daddy is a piece of cake, but Mom's another story. I think she might still be mad about last month. The other week at Camp David I caught her in the kitchen taking some pills and mumbling something about Chelsea being a dream daughter.

Yeah, I'm pretty mad at Jenna right now. I'm going to have to smooth things over with Mom and Daddy, as usual, not to mention straightening things out with her friends. She just takes no responsibility! I don't know what she would do it she didn't have me.

Barb is so lucky she has me. I mean, who else is as much fun as me? She would be stuck at Yale, studying, studying, studying.

*This bit of fiction is reprinted, courtesy of myself, Andrea. I found it in a box, where it's been sitting since I took a summer creative writing class years ago.

On Being a Good Friend

2008-07-14T14:15:00.000-04:00

If you happened to pass by the corner of Boylston and Clarendon around 6:30 the evening of Wednesday July 2, you might have seen two professional 30 year old women fishing around in the gutter. Had Rashmi and I fallen to drugs? Not exactly...the following is the series of events leading up the the gutter episode.
4:30 pm-- Decide to meet for dinner and drinks at the Globe. Contemplate The Cactus Club but decide that burgers and waffle fries would be better.
5:20 pm-- Arrive at the Globe and decide to drink iced tea and Roy Rogers, making it a "sober night". But I decide to subsitute the iced tea for a Rolling Rock.
5:45-6:15 pm-- chow down and sandwiches and waffle fries and comment on passers-by.
6:25 pm-- walk down Boylston deciding where to go next...and Rashmi gives her necklace a thoughtful tug, which causes the line to snap and a cascade of beads to fall into the gutter.
Since she still had a good handful, I said, "quick, just stuff those into your bag and you can restring them. It will be okay!" She looks unsure and says, "But it's my favorite necklace [later confirmed by her sister, who knew exactly which necklace it was without missing a beat]! It's from Target but..."
As I'm telling her it will be okay, that she still does have most of the beads, she starts picking loose beads up off the sidewalk...and then fishing them out of the gutter.
"Uh, do you need help?" I hesitate, but can't stand by while my friend dirties her hands, while balancing on her haunches. So down I go, and start fishing them out as well.
"Andrea, there's one over there."
"No, that's a cigarette butt."
When we had sufficiently gathered the beads into our hands, I looked at her and said, "You realize we need to beeline for the Filene's Basement bathroom stat." We hurried across the street with our hands in front of us and ran upstairs equally laughing and pushing bargain shoppers out of the way.
When we were washing the beads and our hands, Rashmi said, "thanks-- you are such a great friend!" Well, if all it takes is fishing around in a Boston gutter, I'll take it!

On Ageing Gracefully

2008-06-12T21:17:00.001-04:00

A celebratory birthday trip to D.C. yielded some helpful lessons On Ageing Gracefully.

My mom and I arrived just in time for cocktail hour on Thursday. We had a few drinks at Liz's apartment, then proceeded on to Lauriol Plaza for Mexican food and margaritas.

Liz ordered a round of tequilla shots for us. We all downed them...or so we thought.

Lesson 1. If you feel you can't do the whole shot in one gulp, just go, "whew, that was strong!" and wipe your brow AS IF you too had taken the shot. When your daughters realize you faked them out, just dump half untouched shot in your margarita, swallow the rest of it, then proceed to finish everyone else's margarita at the table, shaming your daughters. Old does not mean lame!

We arranged time for birthday facials on Friday afternoon. In the waiting area we were asked to fill out a questionnaire regarding our skin care regime and skin quality, texture, etc. A series of boxes asked that we indicate what age range we were, ie, 20 and under, 21-30, 31-45, etc.

Lesson 2. Upon realizing that you really fall in the very last age range of 60 or older, declare that "they don't really need to know that" and check off the 2nd to last box instead.

After a disappointing Nationals game (the game was disappointing, the beer, peanuts and hot dogs were not), we decided to go to Kramer's for dessert and drinks. Our young server asked us for our IDs, which my sister and I gladly handed over. To my mom, in all seriousness, she said, "I'll need to see yours too." My mom blushed, "really?" then dug out her ID when the server sheepishly apologized but said she didn't want to get in trouble.

Lesson 3. Being carded is the sincerest form of flattery.

Having eaten out and walked the city for three 90+ degree days, we stayed in on Sunday to make dinner. Matt set up the Wii so we could play Mario Kart and Liz worked on the dinner. My mom and I teamed up and raced through multiple levels while Matt was grilling. Liz asked for someone to set the table to which I responded, "I can't-- I've got two more laps!" She looked at my mom, who responded, "I can't either-- we're a team and I've got to cheer her on!" (My sister huffed and purposely kept walking in front of the tv).

Lesson 4. You're only as old as you feel, or when in doubt, enact mother-daughter role reversal.

Lesson 5. Note to self: Remember these lessons, and this weekend, so that when you are 40 years old (with a couple extra decades of experience), you can age gracefully as well.

Boston, I Love You

2008-05-20T12:04:00.000-04:00

Something strange has been happening in Boston recently. Sure, the Celts are kicking it and Lester had a no-hitter, but something more subversive has been taking place. I asked my friend Rashmi, "Have you noticed that people are a lot more...friendly recently?" Once my eyes weren't clouded by a daily deluge of tears, I realized that basic courtesy and then some has been running rampant throughout Beantown.
It started with a low point a few months back. On one (probably rainy) day, I was yelled at by both the bus driver (for not waiting the appropriate amount of time to tap my Charlie Card on the sensor) and the librarian at the BPL (for mistakenly believing that when she had finished helping the patron in front of me that she would be ready to help me). In the words of LCD Soundsystem, "New York I love you, but you're bringing me down." Only substitute Boston for New York. I retreated home and emerged only when the trees started to green and the crocus and daffodils started to bloom. And that's when I noticed it.
The crossing guard by the school near me sees me coming down the street and always pushes the walk button before I get there. Then she waves me across and we wish each other good morning. The high school kid working the register at Harvest notices that the celery I'd picked up were fairly limp; did I still want to buy them? A bus driver with an out of service bus picks me and one other woman up, saying he'll at least make two people happy, although he has to bypass the hoards of people waiting at other stops while the buses get back on the right time. On the last T of the night a tired woman with many bags looks at me and offers me her seat! (I respectfully declined). And finally, most impressively, the Haymarket vendors not only lack their usual surliness, but are downright chatty: they joke with us, tell us which fruits really are best, let us choose our produce and even ask what we're planning to cook. Totally unheard of.
Rashmi's response to my original query was this. "The citizens of Boston are a mirror of you. I'm glad you're feeling happier."

Spiritual Help, Part 3

2008-04-28T21:02:00.003-04:00

I am a midwestern raised Protestant which I like to tell people means I have certain inherent qualities: the Protestant work ethic (ie, even if I'm sick, which in itself should never happen, I would still report to work), a sense of patience (attributed to long drives over the prairies and farmland) and a reticence to talk about personal stuff too much (no need to burden someone else with my problems). Since Protestants are allowed to interpret the Bible as best they see fit, church services are short and sweet, with the ultimate goal to get into heaven, but with a stop at the social hall after service for donuts and coffee first.

Needless to say the pomp and ritual of Catholicism was always fascinating to me. Remember the scene in Mermaids where Winona Ryder is praying to a homemade shrine to the Virgin Mary and her mother played by Cher says, "Charlotte, we're Jewish."? I think of that scene often...

So when I was waiting to act on my psychic's advice, I started getting anxious. Some research (http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/sf/real-estate/real-estate-superstition-st-joseph-statues-043270) revealed that St. Joseph is the patron saint of housing. I didn't exactly need to sell my house, but I did in effect need to sell one room. Despite months of living frugally and saving every last penny, I had no compunction about immediately purchasing the Double Novena St. Joseph & Jude Housing Kit from totallycatholic.com.
It arrived a few days later and contained 1 2.5 inch plastic Saint (I'm guessing Joseph?), one tiny 1 inch Saint in a plastic case (St. Joseph, to bury in the ground), one St. Joseph medallion (perhaps good for a certain cat's collar) and 2 saint cards.
The best part of the package may well be the invoice. One line on the invoice says, "Catholic Church Canon Law forbids the sale of items that have been blessed - please have your items blessed by a Catholic priest so that they may become true sacramentals. Tell your family and friends about TotallyCatholic.com - make $$! Sign up free for our affiliate program!" This doesn't make sense to me so if anyone can elucidate, please do so! Further down along the invoice they request the customers share their successful home selling stories, saying "We have sold thousands of kits since we first invented the idea 13 years ago." Um, I guess I was under the impression that this was "invented" by St. Joseph? Finally, at the very bottom it reads, "TotallyCatholic.com now serving Mystic Monks Coffee - the finest coffee in the world, made by real monks! www.MysticMonksCoffee.net" Ah ha! Finally the lost connection between us social hour loving Protestants and our Catholic brethren.
The psychic and/or saints paid off-- I had a roommate by the end of the week.

Spiritual Help, Part 2*

2008-04-22T21:43:00.003-04:00

In my opinion, the best way to pass the time when feeling blue is to coerce your friends into spending time with you, and perhaps forcing them to cook for you as well. If you force them to cook a 5 lb brisket, all the better. And, if you force them to cook brisket for you, while pretending to be Jewish, well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Mood improvement is guaranteed.

Last Wednesday I emailed ET#1 and told her we should be on the lookout for Passover Coca Cola. It is made with actual sugar, not high fructose corn syrup and thus brings about a nostalgia for so many things past (taping songs off the radio, watching movies on beta max, Atari, Sweet Valley High...). She responded that she would indeed look for it, and that also she'd had a dream about brisket. Should we have a Passover Seder? Of course. Not being Jewish is just a technicality, plus don't we all need to free ourselves from captivity at some point?

By Friday she had a 5 lb brisket, a shank bone and a full menu planned. I had invited our other former roommate, Brandi, who agreed to attend our seder without batting an eye. I collected recipes from Jewish (thanks for the charoset, Nora) and non-Jewish (the flan was a hit, Rashmi) friends alike. Saturday morning ET#1 and I met at 8:30 am at Mike's Pastry before hitting Haymarket. I ordered my standard canoli and when I mentioned it to my mom later, she snarkily replied she was glad to know it being Passover didn't stop me from eating pastries. I reminded her we aren't Jewish. Haymarket provided some necessary fruits and veggies (apples and leeks) and some non necessary ones (a 5 lb bag of salad for $2). I spent the remainder of the Sabbath preparing the flan using a dozen eggs and snacking on matzoh. I headed over to ET#1's abode and was greeted with the following menu:

Matzoh ball soup

Frisee Salad with orange

The 5 lb. Brisket

Sauteed carrots

Steamed asparagus

Charoset (apples, walnuts, dried cherries and just a touch of red wine)

Red Wine

Roasted tomatoes

Potato Kugel

Orange Almond Flan

The Seder Plate and Matzohs

I started to feel full just looking at it all. Needless to say, it was too much food for 3 people, even though we left the door open for Elijah. But eat we did, and I really did get full. And I really did not feel blue at all!

*Due to the time sensitive nature of Passover, this post is going up before the totallycatholic.com post.

Spiritual Help, Part 1

2008-04-15T15:23:00.002-04:00

Those of you who know me and read this know the past 6 months have been less than stellar. Sure, the mice got caught and friends supported me with crappy food* and entertainment, but despite my best efforts life was difficult. A couple weeks ago I decided my life was out of control and someone else needed to help.

It was time to go to the psychic.

It was my mom's idea. Apparently mom advice only lasts so long, so she said to me, "You and ET#1 need to go to the psychic." Some yelp research landed us at the Tremont Tearoom. A call to make appointments rendered a chuckle; apparently business is not so great as to require appointments. So we went on a Sunday, when we could claim the $5 off discount. After stopping for breathmints and a lotto ticket, we found our way into a dark building and took the beer smelling elevator up to 3. Nag Champa and Patchouli lured us into a studio with a handful of psychics at small tables, at least one working the phone for call-ins. I paid cash upfront for our adventure and we each chose our psychic after consulting a menu of services (the combo platter of palm reading and tarot reading sounded delicious to me). Like making a birthday wish, I'm not sure one is supposed to reveal their reading but let me say that my reading was satisfying. Being a perpetual renter I am annually or biennially looking for a roommate and was assured by my pyschic that I need only wait until the end of the week, re-word and re-post my ad. She also said I should take sailing lessons.
ET#1 and I left with renewed focus and determination and wandered over to Chinatown to eat soup. My peace of mind lasted a few days, but I started getting anxious mid-week. Once again I needed help outside the earthly realm. I needed God.

I decided to place and order with totallycatholic.com.

*My friends are good enough to not just endure, but actively support my watching of bad tween movies like The Baby-Sitter's Club. A recent viewing was paired with Tostinos frozen pizzas, Doritos and queso, GirlScout Cookies and donut holes. And because we actually are adults, red wine.

Up Next, how an order from Totally Catholic might just have saved my life.

The Man of the House

2007-11-16T14:57:00.001-05:00

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.

Costa Rica: The End!

2007-09-18T15:00:00.000-04:00

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.

Costa Rica, Part III

2007-09-05T11:44:00.000-04:00

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

Costa Rica, Part II

2007-08-29T15:37:00.000-04:00

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.

Costa Rica, Part 1

2007-08-28T14:46:00.000-04:00

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!

Yard Sale

2007-08-09T12:01:00.000-04:00

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

Tales From the Fruit Cart: Summer 2007 Edition

2007-08-07T15:45:00.000-04:00

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.

If My Favorite Television Characters Ran the USA

2007-07-25T15:43:00.000-04:00

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.

High/Low

2007-06-29T14:07:00.001-04:00

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!

I'm A Vegetable Machine!

2007-06-18T14:35:00.000-04:00

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!

Girlscout Camping...Eat Your Heart Out Shelly Long!

2007-06-13T16:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Racing Along

2007-06-04T11:08:00.000-04:00

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!

Funnies

2007-05-10T16:03:00.000-04:00

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.

New Food: Chicken Livers and Frog Legs

2007-03-22T11:23:00.000-04:00

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!

Jane Fonda: Resurrected

2007-03-12T10:32:00.000-04:00

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!

Luck, Fate, and Destiny (AKA: A dead black cat, LOST, and Battlestar Galactica)

2007-03-05T10:15:00.000-05:00

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.

Puerto Rico: Sailing Away

2007-02-28T13:16:00.000-05:00

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.

Puerto Rico, Day 2

2007-02-23T10:59:00.000-05:00

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

From Icy Sidwalks to Icy Drinks: Puerto Rico, Day 1

2007-02-22T15:46:00.000-05:00

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

Preparing for Paradise

2007-02-16T10:54:00.000-05:00

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.

Pomegranate vs. Persimmon, or, How to Eat Fruit Amazing Race Style

2006-12-18T21:00:00.000-05:00

My sister hosted Thanksgiving this year in D.C. She lives in a tiny apartment so we all got rooms at the hotel around the corner. I lost the battle with G over not having the tv on in the hotel room, but to make up for it, we watched Martha Stewart while getting ready one morning.
Usually Martha's tips and "good things" verge on being too much work or else not as useful as she intends. So I was intrigued when she showed us how to cut open a pomegranate, extract the seeds and not end up looking like murderer. My way involves hacking it open and scooping out seeds directly into my mouth while standing over the kitchen sink. Her technique involved scoring the fruit, breaking it in half and then knocking the seeds into a bowl with a wooden spoon. Seemed easy enough! Two dozen bottles of wine and four days later we returned to Boston and, inspired by the bounty of Thanksgiving, bought a pomegranate. The finale of The Amazing Race seemed like a special enough occasion to try to 3 steps: I scored the fruit and tried to pull it apart-- no dice, and then the commerical was over, so I raced myself back to the living room. Would Kimberly finally lose it on Rob? Would we witness domestic abuse played out internationally? Next commercial: I just cut the fruit in half and started banging on the fruit with a wooden spoon to release the seeds. They clung for dear life. End of commercial, raced back to the living room. Why are the models so boring? Would they really win? Next commerical: started scooping seeds out with a teaspoon. Had to cut the fruit into more wedges to avoid the membrane. A pool of juice collected on the cutting board. Commercial ends and I lick juice off my fingers and bring the first "fruits of my labor" to G, who gulps them down without appreciation for all the work I've gone through. And why can't the Alabama ladies be a little more telegenic? They needed some PR-- I didn't want them to win even if it was for their kids. Final commercial-- I give up and start scraping the seeds out with my hands, over the sink. Juice has splattered on my clothes and the floor and the cats eye loose seeds suspiciously. All the seeds obtained, I meander back to the living room in time to see a CAB DRIVER take the models to the finish. Lame.
Not to be outwitted by a fruit, I decided to conquer The Persimmon. I purchased three, shrink wrapped in a Trader Joe's package. I tried a persimmon a few years back, before it was ripe, and was I felt like I ate a box full of chalk. Since then I've avoided that fall fruit. I let them sit on the butcher block a few days to make sure they were good and ripe. And then I let them sit some more. Finally, I tried one and my mouth did not pucker. I decided to let the remaining ones sit a little longer...G came home and said, "what are you going to do with those tomatoes?" "They're not tomatoes, they're persimmons." The next day, G said, "Aren't you going to use those tomoatoes for something?" "They're persimmons!! Fruit! It wouldn't hurt you to try one!" And still they sat, still ripening, more and more until G said, "Why are you holding on to these moldy tomatoes?" The truth is, I wasn't so impressed with the persimmon. Like the models, it was rather bland an boring, but held out, on the counter, for more than a week.

Fishtailed

2006-10-24T21:10:00.000-04:00

Fall always brings out my nesting sensibilities and an instict to do things my foreparents did, like can fruits and veggies. Last year I made preserved eggplant and I decided to try drying tomatoes and preserving them with the peppers I grew this year. I dried one batch on tomatoes then, when it wasn't enough, went to the store to buy more. I read up on canning, so stuck them, the peppers and some garlic and herbs in boiling balsalmic for a few minutes, then sealed them in a jar with oil. I then submerged the jar in boiling water and oil started to leak out of the top...as I tried to pull the jar out with tongs, it slipped, splashing boiling oil and water in my face. Fortunately I didn't suffer any disfigurement.
I then moved on to preserving lemons, which seemed less risky-- no boiling. Just salt and lemon juice. I also made a sourdough starter-- so I have a jar of flour and water fermenting on my kitchen counter. This caused a sticky paste all over the counter and sink.
G brought a book of Israeli cooking home from the library and decided we should cook a whole fish. Where better to buy a whole fish than Whole Foods? G pointed a whole red snapper out to the fishmonger, who looked at my wary face and asked G, "Did you ask her about this? She's the boss." He told us he was African so knew about cooking a whole fish (and likely looked at me and ascertained my familiarity with whole fish was limited to an aquarium at the Chinese restaurant). I told him it was okay (head, tail and all) and that it was G's project. I went off to look at the imported cheeses. Anyway, $30 later we had a fish and cheese.
When we got home, G got to work. I made an orange-date cake while he prepared the fish. We used every kitchen appliance we have and the sink was full. We ate while watching "The Break Up". We both made sure we did the dishes after. I think there is an obvious evolution from canning/fishing/preserving: take out.

Dude, Where's My Beer?

2006-10-11T10:01:00.000-04:00

For his birthday this year, I gave G a tent. My mom completed the theme by giving him some mess kits and pans and a propane stove. In turn, he bought me a sleeping bag and we prepared for our first camping trip together. He found a couple campsites in the Berkshires so we decided to head west for the long weekend. As a nice coincidence, the Saturday was also the start of Sukkot. I'm usually able to eke out the basic meanings of Jewish holidays from G-- he can tell me if they are happy or solemn, but further info I usually have to figure out elsewhere. Sukkot is historical-- commemorating the 40 years the Isrealites lived in temporary shelters while wandering the desert-- and agricultural-- a harvest festival. So by assembling the tent we (sort of) fulfilled the command to dwell in a temporary shelter.
Camping and car trips mean for me a sort of primitive way of eating: Lipton instant soup, saltines, Vienna sausages. So I was perplexed when G favored steaks and fancy cheese. We had two nights, so we compromised. We had hamburgers and hotdogs the first night, and steak and grilled veggies the second. And of course, we agreed on beer and s'mores.
The campsite specifically instructed us to not have alcoholic beverages. And I would have thought the rangers would turn a blind eye (who camps without beer? It's the only thing democrats and republicans can agree). But not wanting to risk eviction, we imbibed discreetly. G had a beer in his hand when we decided to walk down to the wash house. He left the beer on the top of the car to return to later. After washing our faces and brushing our teeth, we returned and the beer...was gone! We used the flashlight to look around the car if it had fallen, but nothing! We recalled seeing a ranger drive past when we were at the wash house-- could he have taken it? We'll never know.

Fall Update

2006-10-05T17:12:00.000-04:00

The early part of the fall has been busy. I turned 29, got a new job, and perhaps most importantly, got my hair cut. I also bought three hair products and dug out the blow drier a close friend gave me the day we both left for college, back in 1996. Doing my hair takes time, thus the lack of blogging.
The Summer of Svelte ended and I can proudly say that I can easily run 3 miles in a half hour (on the treadmill). But a recent run with Evil Twin #1 proved a challenge. She made me run up a hill and promised me a bench and water. There was no water. I had to stop frequently and she frequently had to slow down to keep pace with me. When asked to go running with a friend, you should ask yourself if said friend ran the Boston Marathon without stopping once. If the answer is yes, then perhaps consider going to brunch with that friend instead. I'd like to wish both Evil Twins (especially #2) good luck in the upcoming marathon.
G and I did another whirlwind trip to New York and this time brought a couple friends. We didn't get lost or fall into disagreement (although there was a close call when we still hadn't eaten lunch by 3:30). G and I will be going camping this weekend. This should certainly test our mettle-- if not the lack of facilities, at least the lack of a wireless connection. I'm sure we'll be fine. We'll resort to old school "reading" in the evenings.
Finally, I had to reveal a secret I'd been harboring to G. He likes to keep current of the cinema by watching previews and the new 007 was no exception. I had to confess I've never seen any James Bond movie to my knowledge. Perhaps I've spent too much time watching French New Wave.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, or, Hitchhikers of the World, Unite!

2006-09-05T16:31:00.000-04:00

The day after the dead battery/birthday incident was only Wednesday-- still three full days left of Amazing Race competition until the elimination task (AKA back to Boston). While G caught up on some work at the local coffee shop, I read and did some laundry. So we were both ready to head back into Seattle by the early afternoon. Armed with the general address/location of some galleries, I drove us once again into the city, getting off in Pioneer Square to park the car. G's demeanor turned sour when he realized we were close to tourist central. But my main concern was not having to parallel park. Growing up in Wichita where there is never any need to parallel park, I never learned. So I pulled into the first curbside space I could find that required no reversing. There were other cars parked there, and we did look at nearby signs...it seemed okay to park. I paid for just over an hour and a half, giving us until 3:30 pm. We walked through the Public Market and down first and second aves. We walked into Belltown and through several galleries and unique stores. G was impressed by Seattle's cool nature compared to Boston's archaic demeanor and I chimed in that even the parking meters were progressive-- once you paid and stuck the sticker on your window, you could even move around as long as you were within your set time. We strolled back leisurely to Pioneer Square to where our car should have been parked. It wasn't in front of the pizza place, and my first thought was that we were on the wrong block...but there were no other cars and slowly we realized our car was gone. We looked at ALL the signs and determined it had been towed due to an obscure sign that said no parking between 3-6 pm.
Those that know me well know that in periods of stress or boredom I rip and chew my fingernails off. Needless to say my relaxing summer had given my nails a rest from their normal mutilation, until this week. After the dead battery I had no nails left to chew and helplessly asked G to call the towing company. He looked like he was ready to blow, just like the cartoon character whose face turns red and has steam coming out of his ears. He called, got the address (allegedly three miles away; too far to conveniently walk) and we started looking for a cab. Anyone in Boston can give a horror story about a crazy cabdriver, but we weren't even given this opportunity in Seattle as any cab that stopped refused to take us north. Tears were stinging my eyes and I was trying to figure out when, exactly, we had been cursed. We walked a block up to catch the traffic going north. No sign of a cab, but then like a ray of light from heaven, a city bus advertising "Fairview", the street we needed, pulled up. I asked the driver if he was passing the address we needed. "If you're willing to ride with me, I'm going there", he responded. G and I hopped aboard. The driver told us to pay when we exited and then also told us when our stop was approaching, pointed out the towing lot and smiled and refused to take our fare when we deboarded. "You'll be paying enough where you're going." Sure enough. $149 poorer, plus the $38 ticket (adding insult to injury), G and I collected the car and entered I-5. G wondered why we never have these problems in Boston. Our Amazing Race mission was obviously being thwarted. From here on out, we eschew the rental car and hitchhike. It will be faster and cheaper.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation Part II, or, How Not To Enjoy Your Birthday

2006-08-30T17:23:00.000-04:00

The day after kayaking we checked out of our B&B and waited with the car on dock for the return ferry ride back to Anacortes, and then Seattle. The wait let us see some interesting "wildlife": the hippie mom who let her child run around the parking lot without shoes or socks, and who had a bumper sticker that read, "Magick is alive" and the jovial 65 year old man who the previous evening at dinner had been downing martinis like they were going out of style, and who thus looked a little worse for the wear.
We took the hour long ferry and deboarded around 12:30. It was an overcast day, so I turned on the headlights for the hour and a half drive back to Seattle. With a good portion of the afternoon remaining, we decided to brave the Seattle freeway traffic and check out Capitol Hill.
We crawled along, found parking and wandered the streets. Independent stores that would never be able to afford rent in Boston abounded, kitschy bars and seedy lounges beckoned. We entered one with a Mexican motif and asked what was on tap. Only Ranier (a kind of PBR equivalent) so G ordered us each one. I should mention that it was my birthday. We read the local papers and nursed our watery beer, then asked for the check. The bartender mumbled something about $3...G thought he must have misunderstood and so said, "No, I'll pay for both." The bartender said, "Sure-- they are $1.50 each-- it's Happy Hour!" G demanded to know what other specials we were missing out on then asked the barkeep to hit him again. We wandered out of the bar into the refreshing Seattle air and decided to head back so that we could enjoy my birthday dinner with my stepdad. I went to start the car while G finished a phone call...but the car wouldn't start. I made sure the key was in the right way and that all systems were go. And that's when I noticed the headlights had been left on. G and I exchanged angry glances and he tried to turn on the car while I called the rental agency who put us through to AAA. I was told someone would be by in "half an hour or less" and that I should remain with the car. G and I had reading material, but limited water and no snacks. My stomach started to growl. We played count the hipsters as they walked past and tried to find our Seattle area couple match. Forty five minutes passed and G went to scavenge for food. I called AAA again and was told they were delayed. I stared at the sunset behind the space needle through the rearview mirror. G brought back sandwiches and fries. After an hour and a half the AAA guy arrived, our car was jumped and we were reminded to just drive for half an hour to keep the charge. I smiled and turned on the car and that's when the gas light went on. G had that "I told you so" look on his face, because he had, in fact, told me that we should fill up with gas earlier. I didn't know if we could drive 30 minutes and then buy gas, or if we would run out. We took the gamble, found a station, turned off the ignition, bought gas and...the car started. We made it home, and my birthday dinner was at the breakfast bar; sandwiches, the salt from the remaining fries, and a bottle of bubbly found in the garage. In Amazing Race terms we were 0 for 2.

next...like a monkey hitting itself over and over, we take the car into the Seattle AGAIN

What I Did on My Summer Vacation, or, Why the Amazing Race Will Forever Be Out of My Grasp

2006-08-29T10:18:00.000-04:00

Having initially eschewed a vacation in order to save money, by mid-summer I knew I would need one badly, so G and I booked a trip to Seattle and the San Juan Islands. G is a good sport about visiting my family in Seattle, but I realized some ameneties to improve our independence were in order. So we rented a car and reserved some personal time in a B&B on San Juan Island, off the northern coast of Washington. When we picked up the sporty black Dodge Neon, we felt a freedom akin to a 16 year old getting her first set of wheels. I put previous bad experience with cars in Seattle (two parking lot fender benders 8 summers ago when I lived in Seattle) in the back of my mind and instead prepared for The Amazing Race.
Early Sunday morning, G and I set off for San Juan Island with the ferry schedule in our hand. We made excellent time, boarded the ferry and made it to the island by 10:15 am. We had no map nor directions to our B&B, but instinctively we found it! We then tooled around the island and found the British Camp where we hiked and ate lunch. After a nap at the B&B, we headed out again, G nearly dove into the 50 degree water, but then thought better of it. We saw about a dozen Orcas from the beach and then headed to an early dinner. We were feeling great and even managed to polish off a Netflix movie that night. We awoke early, had breakfast with another couple staying at the inn and then made it over to see about some sea kayaking. The woman we checked in with said she had room on the 10:30 if we could make it down to Snug Harbor. It was a beautiful day and we were excited about a new adventure. We saw the couple from breakfast at the harbor and the there were two other couples. We climed in our kayaks (G in back, me in front) and received our rudimentary lesson. How hard could it be? Paddle in unison and use the peddles to control the rudder-- press right to go left and vice versa. The tour guide told us all to stay together not only for safety, but also so we could hear what he was describing throughout the morning tour. We were off! G and I lagged behind, but at first I figured it would just take us awhile to get the hang of it. About an hour into it we were still behind-- the rest of the group frequently waited for us to catch up.
Guide to A and G: "This your first time doing this? You okay?"
A: "We're city folk, but I'm sure we'll get better."
We saw starfish, some harbor seals, paddled through a bull kelp forest (which slowed us down again!) and saw Victoria in the distance. Two hours into the tour I was getting worn out-- we kept zig zagging. With an hour to go, I figured we were likely (hopefully) going to paddle into another harbor and catch a van back to the original harbor. But then the tour guide told us it was time to head back.
Guide to A and G: "Where you folks from?"
G: "Boston."
Guide: "Hey--that couple's from New York! (yells over to NY couple that we are from Boston)"
NY couple: "Sorry! HAHA!"
G: "It's JUST A GAME! (through clenched teeth)."
This was probably the point where I realized we were not the fun loving hippies, but the annoying, fighting couple. G would whap me with sea kelp or poke me with his paddle, and I would yell back for him to focus on steering. He stopped steering and we started to head out to sea. I almost started crying and imagined having to be rescued and pulled back to the harbor by a rescue boat. It would be so humiliating. G put all his force into paddling. I started to feel faint.
We eventually made it back to the harbor. We were the last to arrive and I was thankful to be on steady ground. Perhaps we lacked the kayaking technique or should have been more coordinated, but in my mind I know what the real problem was. G and I had a defective kayak. It's really the only logical explanation. We headed to lunch and enjoyed sandwiches and beer in the sun. We may have lost this leg of the Amazing Race, but the week was just beginning.

next...taking the car to Seattle Part 1.

Netflix

2006-08-04T10:12:00.000-04:00

Zara recently emailed me to join her as a Netflix friend.

A: Yeah! Don't be intimidated by my massive list of foreign films.

Z: Don't be intimidated by "Kate and Allie".

Touche!

A Girl, the Internet and a Tape Measure, Or, My Own Personal Model

2006-07-24T13:46:00.000-04:00

A rainy weekend in Boston provided the perfect opportunity to clean and catch up on chores neglected during the recent rash of good weather, which sent us all to outdoor locales. Unfortunately cleaning and chores also mean, "find a further way to procrasinate." Which is what I was doing when G asked me (computer and internet open, tape measure around the widest part of my abdomen), "What are you doing?!" Me (rolling eyes): "Taking my most accurate measurements."
Earlier in the week, I had been planning to svelte at the gym, but Rashmi called with an urgent request for help. Her reunion was Saturday and she needed an outfit. Fortunately shopping DOES count as cardio. We trekked to the Basement since I pooh-poohed the paltry recent offerings at H&M. But at the Basement Rashmi enlightened me to a feature on the H&M website-- a virtual dressing room! My "ohs" and "ahs" piqued the interest of a fellow shopper who timidly turned around and inquired what we were talking about. It sounded that fabulous. (I should note here that of all places in Boston, the Basement is the one where you can be most friendly and candid with your fellow shopper. The intimacy in the no privacy and poorly lit dressing room is testament to that. If you haven't brought along a friend or a sister, you are completely within your rights to obtain the opinion of woman next to you. You're both in your skivvies-- who's going to lie?).
Fast forward to balmy Saturday. I decided to try the virtual dressing room out. I chose my body type, hair color and length (even nose shape!) and then entered the specific measurements of my personal self. As Rashmi promised, a decent likeness was turned out!
I then proceeded to try on jeans (including skinny jeans, which I would never ever try on in real life), swimsuits, blouses and dresses. The program then told me the actual size I would want from the store. The upside to this? No eye-averting cellulite and perpetually flattering "virtual" lighting. The downside? No sister with whom to commisserate on mis-sized dresses nor fellow shopper to rally around a $50 jacket purchase. Until the virtual dressing room can recreate this sisterhood, the actual Basement will continue to be a very real destination...at least after the kitchen gets cleaned.

First Job

2006-07-17T13:24:00.000-04:00

My previous post hinted at some "firsts". One first I left out is one's first job. People rarely forget their first job, although it might be a more onerous, later job that better sticks in their minds. Technically my first job was in a school supply stockroom, with a friend of the family, for a couple weeks the summer before my freshman year of high school. We collated papers, used a shrink wrap machine to bundle colorful construction paper, ate at Johnnie's, and returned to my friend's house every day to go swimming in the pool. And I got a paycheck!

The next summer I was to obtain a not-so-cushy job, yet one that would serve me until I went away to college. Friends of the family (it's always about connections!) owned a Baskin Robbins franchise and my mom helped me draw up a resume and references. One afternoon in June I showed up, met Betsy, the manager and the rest was history. I learned to count change (it's unlikely any Zandrea! reader can recall the last time a clerk counted change back to you, but this is a skill I learned and still have), watched videos on the different types of ice cream desserts which could be prepared, learned not to let "unappetizing ice crystals" form on the top to the buckets of ice cream, and learned the proper way to scoop and weigh (for each scoop must not be over a certain weight-- money doesn't grow on trees, you know!). I was given a pink polyester polo shirt, was shown how to prepare and make waffle cones, clown cones and, eventually, make and decorate ice cream cakes.
An article in this weekend's New York Times reminded me of all this. While we weren't allowed all the ice cream we could eat, boxes of taster spoons lent themselves to near constant "quality control". If someone asked how was the chocolate mousse royale, it was my professional responsibility to give an honest answer, correct? My co-workers and I suffered burned fingers from the waffle cones, and the lingering smell of ice-cream, waffle cones and disinfectant (the store was mopped top to bottom each evening). We learned to read customers and could predict within three ice cream flavors what anyone would order. We raced to prepare treats for the regulars; a junior scoop of jamoca in a regular sized cup for elderly Bea, a jamoca shake for Jamoca Jim. When the phone rings, I still want to answer, "Baskin Robbins Normandy" and for years after I left, I hated to wear anything pink.
I don't eat a lot of ice cream now. But the refreshing taste of daquiri ice still sends me immediately back to high school.

Library

2006-07-13T12:02:00.000-04:00

There are many firsts you are supposed to remember: your first kiss, your first day of college, your first apartment, your first D (erm...) and a recent article even said most women remember their first purse (not me, but I do remember my first makeup-- a gift for 8th grade graduation). What I do remember is my first library card. I lived in Oklahoma City, and as soon as I was able to sign my name, I was able to have a library card. I remember frequent trips to the library with a "limit" on books imposed by my mom. Summer was the most fun-- tons of free time to read all the young adult fiction and then move on to the adult fiction. I remember some traumatic evenings at the library during elementary school "researching" countries like India (average temperature, major exports, type of government, etc.) from the encyclopedias and world books.

I prefered the library for pleasure, not for deadline.

The deadline fear and procrastination persisted through high school, then college. I always got my work in on time, but alas, the books did not always befall the same fortune, languishing on my desk, or perhaps in my bag. Once a fee was assessed, I quickly retreated from the library and to the comfort of bookstores-- the price was more than the fee, but at least I could keep the books.
In an effort to exercise restraint on my budget and also because I pass the Boston Public Library at Copley several times a week, and finally because summer makes me think of the carefree days of checking out and reading fifteen books a week, I decided to reactivate my long lost library card, pay whatever fees there may be, and take advantage of this great public good. I showed up with my drivers license and a current piece of mail a few weeks back. The gentleman immediately pulled up my name, quoted my address from college and informed me that I had a fine of $5. Plus I'd need to pay $1 to replace the missing card. I sighed and thought if the library can keep such detailed records over time, why is there such a problem catching terrorists?
The receipt printout of the overdue, but ultimately returned, books, showed about six books checked out in May of 1999-- books on global warming, national parks, ecotourism. I recalled the classes I was taking then, my junior year, and remembered the A's and B's I received. Good old library card.

Svelte Challenge

2006-07-12T14:05:00.000-04:00

A dinner with Zara last night had her asking, "what is a Summer of Svelte"? Well, Zara, here's your answer. About a month ago, I received this email from Liz:
In two to three business days your cushy lifestyle of eating apple pie in bed and watching the cats play tennis will end. You will be faced with the ultimate work out challenge: The Summer of Svelte -- a 15 week cardio, fat burning, muscle building contest.
Because the stakes are high (as many as 15 free drinks and possible bonus svelte challenge prizes), start stretching now, drinking lots of water and recruiting challengers who you can take down one-by-one with your stunning athletic abilities.
To help you win and ensure you are on your A-game, you will receive an official svelte package in the mail any day. This kit -- a fashionable, fun and inspirational bag of goodies -- is yours for free and includes everything you need to get started.
Are you ready?
Remember: You can do this. You are a star of track and field.
My Summer of Svelte package? A mix cd, Shape magazine, jumprope and a progress chart with foil stars...all in a brand new gym bag. I recruited Nora to be my local competitor and we've had 3 "challenges" so far. Week 1 was to do 10 pushups per day. I failed because I got a terrible cold that made it so I could only watch movies listlessly in front of the fan. Week 2 was to take the stairs whenever possible. This was good in theory, but the door to the stairs on the first floor of my office is locked, so that didn't really work. Week 3 was last week-- the 4th of July week. The goal that week was to just somehow counterbalance a week's worth of beer and hotdogs and break even at the end. This week's Challenge is to eat the FDA's suggested 5-7 servings of fruits and veggies per day. A food challenge, that's practically fun! Nora's response?
I feel sorry for anyone who goes against me in this challenge. Know why?! Because I'm a vegetarian and obsessed with fruits/veggies :)
In fact, I almost fell off of my chair when I found out how much Liz hates salads because I love them so much.
So far, so good. I've definitely had to up my intake. At 11 pm the other night I prepared strawberries and whipped cream.

Beach Vs. Pond

2006-07-03T11:42:00.000-04:00

When I met G several years ago, I was introduced to Walden Pond. Walden entrances G about as much as it did Thoreau, although Thoreau's retreat and sactuary has been developed enough to now include a man-helped beach and a boat launch. G loves that the lake water is clean and warm enough to swim (unlike the chilly Atlantic, even in summer) and likes the trees, nature and peace that can be found at far ends of the pond.
Having grown up in the middle of the country where a vacation to the beach (either a loooong drive to the Gulf or a flight out to Massachusetts) was a luxury, I never take the close beaches nearby for granted and try to go every weekend in the summer, weather permitting. Two summers ago I assumed G would feel the same way. But the beach for him is a tempting, yet prohibitively cold body of water...and roasting in the sand amidst crying children and my own personal favorite, leathery Boston natives oiling their wrinkly dark skin, all while smoking cigarettes, causes him to be grumpy.
An article in last week's New York Times almost perfectly captured the eternal dilemma-- go to Walden or the beach? While To Beach or Not to Beach argues the merits of purchasing a second home either on the beach or in the mountains, on a lake, the sentiments behind each choice resonate clearly, 'Both money and memories have played starring roles in the vacation-home debate that has long occupied Tom and Kathy Kingston. "We've been happily married for 37 years," Mr. Kingston said. "But 30 of them have been spent debating the merits of beach versus mountains."' I identified with Ms. Fox: "Being the ultimate New Yorker, I don't have a driver's license, and my husband didn't want to be involved in my getting there," she said. "Even when we go to the beach as a family, it's always on a timer, and after a few minutes he starts to complain about being sunburned." G is well known for his propensity to get "cooked" and guards our water supply closely. But in the article, "Mr. Kingston will counter that there is more to do in the mountains — there's biking, there's hiking. If it rains at the beach, what can you do besides head for the movies?"
Since G and I don't even own our first home, so are clearly not in the leagues of those vying for a second, vacation, home, our main arguments can be reduced to scouring the weather-- if both weekend days are sunny, like this last one, we can go to the beach one day and Walden the other. That works much better than resorting to civil disobedience recommended by Thoreau.

--
http://zandrea.blogspot.com/

Wichita: The Next Hollywood?

2006-06-21T14:15:00.000-04:00

Every now and again my hometown of Wichita, Kansas is featured in a movie. Perhaps with my upcoming high school reunion I was feeling a sense of nostalgia. So I rented a recent Wichita movie-- The Ice Harvest. Before I delve into a review, I'd like to note there are many conceptions (pre and mis) about Wichita. To clear some of these up: is Wichita a cow town? No. I suppose it used to be, but now it is a metropolis of half a million. There is industry and commerce. There are neighborhood swimming pools. There is a Starbucks. And yes, there are farms, but they are outside the city proper. Next...Is Wichita a red state? Yes! Conservative Christians run rampant. But there are at least some liberals...although many of us have moved out. Does Kansas have tornados? Yes...but houses with girls named Dorothy rarely land on witches.
The Wizard of Oz fixed Kansas (if not Wichita) in the minds of cineophiles decades ago, but alas, the current crop of movie offerings are nearly forgettable. Ten years ago Tim Burton directed Mars Attacks! It was filmed in Wichita and featured a big cast of A list actors including Jack Nicholson, Glenn Close, Annette Bening, Danny DeVito...I remember the call for extras and the excitement of the filming. In the end, the movie, clearly about martians, caused Wichitans to further defend themselves. It was a strange flop, now remembered only by cult fanatics.
Several years later, The Big Kahuna featuring Kevin Spacey and (again!) Danny DeVito was released. Although it got fair reviews, in the end was a character study of several salesmen and took place entirely in a hotel suite. I wasn't impressed.
Two duds, but the passing of the years must have made me forget that, so The Ice Harvest was sent to me by Netflix. A film noir starring John Cusick and Billy Bob Thornton, The Ice Harvest promised a dark comedy reminiscent of Bad Santa. It did take place at Christmas, and it was dark...but there were few funny moments. The premise: two guys embezzle 2 million from a local gangster. They need to get out of town alive with the money. It's a basic story line, but I never really understood the motivation, or why the two guys went in on it together. There is a twist at the end, and I did keep watching, but there was little to indicate this movie needed to take place in Wichita, save for a running riddle, "As Wichita Falls, so does Wichita Fall." In the extras commentary, the filmmakers joke, "who knows what Wichita looks like? No one. So we shot in suburban Chicago." They argued that for this movie, the set need be only any suburban landscape from which the leads needed to flee...still, if they had consulted anyone from Wichita, they would have been informed that no one goes to Citgo as a convenience store. You'd go to Quicktrip.
I guess Wichita doesn't lend itself to glamour the way L.A., New York, London or Paris do. Perhaps that's why the house in the Wizard of Oz was trying to get away.

World Cup

2006-06-12T14:09:00.000-04:00

I guess you don't really know someone until you've been with them four years, or at whichever point in the four year cycle the World Cup hits. For myself and G, it's been nearly two and a half years and until a week ago I had no idea the lengths he'd go to watch these soccer matches. I think Americans equate soccer to the activity their kids play after school and on weekends (think Soccer Mom) and at some point the kids outgrow soccer, so that we can all be free to obsess about the Red Sox, er, I mean baseball, in general.

Boston is a cosmopolitan city, so even those of us who barely know the difference between a soccer ball and a whiffle ball are forced to notice the proliferation of World Cup media as of late. A few years back I lived in a building with a large Brazilian ex-pat population...I first understood the true fanaticism of the games when Brazil finally won-- at 3 am.

At any rate, G showed his European background by making plans with his Irish friend to meet at the bar on Saturday morning at 9 am. He tried to get me to go, but I'd already determined I wasn't getting out of bed for anything short of a national emergency on Saturday morning. And in fact, when 8:45 did roll around (after a night of dinner out, followed by drinks for Evil Twin #1's pre-departure to Japan), and it was rainy, I was surprised at G's determination to make it to the bar.
So what did I do, as a good American, while G was off drinking Guiness and eating blood sausage? What any good American would do. I ate apple pie in bed.

Summer of...

2006-06-05T16:33:00.000-04:00

Even though I've been out of school for years, Memorial Day weekend still means the start of summer and all that entails-- sleeping in, a morning class of something, watching soap operas, heading to the neighborhood pool for a long afternoon, followed by dinner and iced tea out on the porch and running around outside until the late sunset. Unfortunately this is a memory and does not reflect a working professional's summer (fortunately my memory falls just short of remembering the grueling task of mowing the lawn in 100+ degree weather and other "God, Mom, please, no!" tasks presented daily in the chore notebook). A summer in Boston usually means staring out my work window, into the sunshine, waiting for the weekend when all manner of New England activities can be enjoyed (the beach! a clambake!)...and then sighing with frustration when the weekend yields two days and two nights straight of rain and only 55 degree weather.
Because summer is now only what we make of it, it helps to set specific goals. Last summer was the Summer of Evil Twin #1 and I hosted a series of teen movies (which I probably looked forward to more than I should admit). My sister has deemed this summer to be the Summer of Svelte. I'm awaiting my official package, but I believe it involves excercise competitions with one other person (perhaps someone you live with). At the end of each two weeks, whoever has best accomplished his/her goals takes the other person out for drinks. Unlike some people (you know who you are), I am not goal oriented, so really the motivation's (beer, really?!) got to be good. It's no use reflecting on the past, when ballet camp every morning and swimming every afternoon kept me in shape.
With less than 12 weeks left of "summer", it's time to start svelting...and drinking.

Tales from the Fruitcart: Trouble Ensues When the Fruitcart is Forgotten

2006-05-24T11:13:00.000-04:00

Liz reports on her day pushing the fruitcart, dispenses some career advice, and reminds us all of the importance of dressing appropriately for the occassion.

Twice a year every employee in my office (except the really important ones and the lowly ones who stuff envelopes in the printing room) dispenses free fruit to all the other employees. If done correctly this is an opportunity to "manage up" without looking like a brown nose and a chance to show how benevolent you can be to those who are below you (in my case, only the envelope stuffers are below me).

Despite knowing for weeks that today was my turn, I forgot to wear my cherry sundress or fruit shaped earrings, and instead am dressed in a ratty tee shirt and dirty jeans. Needless to say, this did not bode well for "managing up," although I fit right in with envelope stuffers.

Nonetheless, I tried my best and was all ready to be witty and cheerful and show off my "natural leadership skills" when I rounded the corner where our new CEO sits. But instead of pushing the cart with confidence and grace, I crashed it into her computer. This would have been bad enough, but it got worse when another employee, who sits across from the CEO, called me a "bad penny." The CEO said I could throw one of the tomatoes at her (which is an example of her effectively being benevolent to someone below her). I restrained the impulse to comply and, instead pretended to shoot the 'bad penny' person with a banana. I think this could have been "witty" except that I sort of stumbled backwards over some cords at the same time. So then I didn't know if they were laughing because I was successfully engaging in office banter, or because I tripped.

After failing at "managing up" I went to the fourth floor where the envelope stuffers reside and tried my hand at being benevolent. I was going along fine – telling them to take extra bananas or to try the grapes. I even picked up a paper plate that one of them dropped and handed them a new one. Then, as I was smugly leaving, thinking that I was a very nice fruit cart pusher, this guy with a limp had to chase me down because I missed him. To make matters worse, I think he'd been shouting at me to wait but I hadn't heard him (it is hard to hear down there with all the printing presses whirring), and another person had to flag me down for him before I realized what was going on.

I apologized, but this clearly did not compensate for the bad karma I had created for myself, because just as I was going into the kitchen to put the remaining fruit away and end my misery, I got stuck. This was no normal, fruit cart jammed in a tight spot stuck. Oh no. My belt loop got hooked on door handle so that I couldn't move away from the door. It took me a couple pulls before I realized what was going on, and then once I had, I had trouble wiggling free. Even though no one saw me (I hope) it was all very embarrassing.

So much for using fruit cart duty as a way to get on the "fast track" program and be promoted.

Weekend in D.C.

2006-05-18T14:49:00.000-04:00

At some point we run out of excuses, that is to say, excuses that hold water, as to why we aren't updating our blog. It really boils down to an unlikely combination of business and laziness.
I was in D.C. this weekend visiting Liz and my mom. I witnessed first hand Liz trying salad. Some people take her forrays into salad eating too seriously. It's salad, people, not a psychological problem. That being said, she pulled the oldest manuever in the book on me-- the old bait and switch.
At brunch, on Sunday, where we've both ordered the mesclun greens:
L: Andrea, will you switch with me? Yours is smaller.
Me: Um, sure.
As we switch, Liz throws some salad on the ground, making her portion smaller yet. She caused a ruckus by asking the next table over for pepper for her salad. By the time this had all taken place, our entrees had arrived, so she could push her salad away without guilt. She later pointed to the salad on the ground and said, "Andrea, why are you dropping your salad on the ground? Maybe it's you who doesn't eat salad!" And of course the only person who mattered that day, Mother's Day, believed her and the whole charade. Sigh.
We went to the National Zoo to see the baby panda. I thought some people might have some questions about what to wear to the zoo (a la the turtleneck post) in order to impress the animals. If you have such a question, post below in the comments and I'll get back to everyone with some smart replies.

Amazing Race

2006-05-05T11:17:00.000-04:00

I've often noticed that if I have to go without something, or give something up, I usually fare well and don't miss it-- it's never as traumatic as it seems it will be. I recently took a pay cut of 10%, but some twists and changes to my budget (and, um, the Lenten no-shopping fast) has actually put me in better financial state than I was previously. The same with tv. At some point in college (around the time my family moved and decided not to get cable) I gave up tv, and found that there were plenty of other things to do with my life, plus I didn't have to worry about conflicting a tv show with some other plan, and I didn't need to learn how to record a show. All was good until I started watching Lost with my roommates last year. It was captivating and it's return this year meant that I had standing plans with the tv on Wednesday nights. Once the evening was already blocked off, I realized the tv could be on before Lost, and no great harm would be done. And so it happened that G and I started watching The Amazing Race. I found I could somehow identify with the average couples participating in the show-- the young, nerdy couple, the mom and daughter team, the best friends who always wore pink...G and I would find ourselves asking, "What if we were on the Amazing Race?" We decided to test our mettle by taking a one-day trip to NYC last Saturday.
Challenge 1: Waking up at 5:30 to get on the 7:30 am bus to New York
Outcome: Success, and, due to remembering snacks, staved off grumpiness for a few hours
Challenge 2: At 10:30 am arrival, onset of grumpiness by A leads to quickly identifying coffee and breakfast
Outcome: Semi-success as Little Italy cafe served us a once frozen croissant, and charged us for the tip, but caffeine intake nipped grumpiness in the bud
Challenge 3: G's feet start to hurt around 1:30, in Union Square
Outcome: Success-- G brought now fewer than 3 changes of socks
Challenge 4: Identify and shop at store Mexx
Outcome: Failure! Address and cross streets A had written down didn't exist
Challenge 5: Identify restaurant for dinner with limited map
Outcome: Success, but barely. A hates asking for directions but finally capitulated to G's urging to call the restaurant. Restaurant was delightful, and drinks and apps refreshed our spirit.

We dozed off and on until we arrived back in Boston around midnight. A wonderful and full day was had by us both, as well as realizing that we could survive the Amazing Race after all.

Club Rules

2006-04-25T14:05:00.000-04:00

As I much as I love clubs (book club, cd club, etc.), I really despise grocery or pharmacy "clubs", where to get the sale price of an item, you have to dig and find the associated card. These are not clubs that require any outstanding qualification, they are merely vehicles used by the Man to track purchases. I usually either forego the sale price or ask the cashier to use his/her card.
Airline Frequent Flier clubs present a similar quandry for me, but the stakes are much higher. The allure of one day having a ticket to Hawaii just by flying to and from Boston and Seattle, or Boston and D.C. (many, many times) is quite a carrot. But the reality it this: airlines go bankrupt (four years of flying TWA in college with nearly enough miles to somewhere exotic...and bam, they're gone), the rules are arcane (travel must be completed only in months ending in "r"), and the prize itself elusive (as soon as you think you're ready, the miles have expired!). For the past 10 years I've been accruing miles (which means remembering my various frequent flier numbers, plus pins or passwords) on several different airlines, so that if they were all pooled together I could use them, but separately they are useless. Except for USAirways...the shuttle that transports me and my sister between Boston and D.C. several times a year. An astounding 35,000 miles had been earned and I decided to see if they could in fact be redeemed. As I clicked through the steps on the website to redeem miles for a ticket to D.C. on Mother's Day weekend, I surprisingly hit no snags. "This system might work", I thought. Soon enough, victory (really, a major coup!) was mine. I had an e-ticket sitting right in my email. The impossible has been made possible! I thought then that I'd use my coop card that very day to save $0.63 on groceries.

Salad Days

2006-04-17T12:05:00.000-04:00

Things have not been going so well on the salad front for Liz. Her update below...

Encouraged by the fact that I successfully ate two side salads (baby greens with blue cheese, pears, currents and vinaigrette) in the last two weeks along with a lunch salad (which, mistakenly included a hard boiled egg -- something I never have to do again), I decided to try a "savory dinner salad" Saturday night. This bold step forward in my summer of salads was a complete disaster and I am sure it set me back weeks in my learning-to-eat-salad endeavor.

It was absolutely AWFUL. Even though it was full of things I like (Cheddar cheese, carrots, chow mien noodles and fresh shrimp in addition to the questionable orange bell pepper and baby spinach spring mix) I could barely choke down two bites (I made a face and had to stick out my tongue -- much to Matt's amusement, but not mine). I had to retreat to the kitchen to fetch Ben and Jerry's Neapolitan Dynamite with which to cleanse my palate. Matt and I decided that it was the pepper and the Caesar salad dressing that I used -- which was too salty. It made the whole thing taste like sea weed. I even bought expensive Caesar salad dressing thinking it would be better than the regular wishbone or Safeway salad dressing. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I'm never eating Caesar salad again -- no matter what the Washington Post says about it ( http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/03/28/AR2006032800311.html). And, as a matter of fact, I am not trying anything new for the next week -- and maybe the next two weeks when it comes to salad type things -- including the allegedly 'crispy, crunchy' radishes in the fridge. YUCK.

Barney: And Interview with Nora

2006-04-11T11:19:00.000-04:00

With the success (erm, sort of) of Nora's avocado plant, she moved on to a higher life form; a beagle! Nora volunteers at a weekly dog training class at the animal shelter and after working with this 6 month old beagle one evening, decided to adopt him. I asked her a few questions:
1. What made you decide to volunteer at the animal shelter?
I needed a new volunteer project and animals make everyone feel warm and fuzzy, I thought it would be good for the animals and for me.
2. Did your previous experience growing an avocado plant have any bearing on your decision to adopt a dog?
I don't have a lot of luck with plants, but I did get that little seed to grow, so it gave me hope that I could care for a living thing.
3. How is your avocado plant?
That said, the avacado tree is not doing very well. But I blame the weather, as it is a tropical plant. I do not blame me and lack of care/water...
4. What made you decide on the name Barney?
Barney the name was picked by Barry because his favorite book as a child was "Barney Beagle Plays Baseball". The other night I heard the two of them in the living room... the Red Sox were playing and Barry was telling Barney "Did you see that hit?" and "Wow, that was a good play, Barney!" I'm not sure if Barney gets the rules yet.
5. Do you ever listen to Three Dog Night?
I don't listen to 3 Dog Night often at all.

Tales from the Fruitcart: On Being An Adult

2006-04-07T13:41:00.000-04:00

The editors have been busy with work and life. I saw Zara yesterday and she was sparkly and with perfectly coifed hair as always. We are both collecting tales to report, but in the meantime, here's an update from Liz, my sister, a reporter and employee of a company which itself employs a fruit cart to keep worker morale high. Looks like it's working!

So, as you may know, I have decided that this is the summer of salads and baseball. Two things I always think look good -- but then aren't when actually eat them or attend them. As you know, for years I have said there is no reason to learn to like either one of these things -- even though people informed me that when I am an adult I'll need to know how to eat a salad and go to a baseball game. Well. Here I am. "An adult." And, low and behold, I do need to know about salads and baseball because it is increasingly embarrassing to go out to a work lunch or function and be the only person who a) doesn't order salad and b) can't follow the conversation about the Nationals or the Red Sox or the Yankees. As a result, I fear I may be left behind professionally. (It is that whole social skills thing.)

I realized when I made this resolution a few weeks ago that learning to like salads and baseball may be easier said then done. As if by magic, while sat at my desk thinking about this instead of my actual work, the fruit cart came by with what else other than fruit? Cracker Jacks of course! It was opening day and the office was getting into the spirit of it with a fun afternoon treat. As I was mulling over my Cracker Jack prize (a weird portrait of Susan B Anthony as either a young adult or an old lady depending on how you folded the corners) I was inspired. People not only eat Cracker Jacks at baseball games, but they also drink beer! Why can't I just go to the game and drink and pretend to know what number 11 (who is only 21!) is doing. Well, I put this plan into action last week at an exhibition game at JFK and, other than the yucky hang over the next day, it worked out splendidly! Now that I know a baseball stadium is really just an overpriced sports bar with a cover charge this baseball thing will be a snap.

Salads, on the other hand might not be. I started small (putting four spinach leaves on my sandwiches) but now it is time to move on to 'real' salads. And, thanks to the fruit cart again, I successfully made my first dinner salad last night. The fruit cart inspired me yesterday afternoon because it had some of the first pears of the season on it. As soon as I saw them I knew I had to take one home to put in my salad, along with currents, blue cheese and pine nuts, to disguise the taste of my "spring green mix." It worked out very well, if I do say so myself! Even Matt congratulated me -- I ate all but one purple leaf without grimacing!

I let you know what adventures transpire when I push the fruit cart around the office in a few weeks. Maybe I'll get the ice cream fruit cart since it will be warm then! Fingers crossed. Everyone likes the people who bring non-fruit fruit carts.

"It's Zydeco, Matt!"

2006-03-24T15:39:00.000-05:00

G and I trekked down to New Orleans this past weekend for a wedding. Having not been on spring break in six years, I mistakenly made the faux pas of wearing a black cardigan out the first night. My Miami spring break in college came flooding back to me as I had to reevaluate my going out clothes from Boston Conservative to New Orleans Fun. We arrived the night of St. Patrick's Day to a boisterous crowd of spring breakers and locals on Bourbon Street...and my mom who greeted us coming out of the wedding she was crashing at the hotel. With wine in her hand and beads on her neck, we foresaw a fun weekend, and headed out right away to join the fun.
The city of New Orleans still has a fighting spirit, if not hampered somewhat by post-Katrina beauracracy. There's rebuilding and jobs to be had, but a lack of housing for potential workers (and a half million residents who have not returned) have created an air of interrupted activity. For example, the toilet in our hotel room was broken and the first room we were given did not even have beds made (due to lack of staff), but we eventually settled in. Saturday morning we ambled over to the French Market for beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe Du Monde. Three powdered sugar covered beignets might not look like a lot, but by the time I finished the second one, I was barely able to carry on.
We trolled the streets that afternoon...the weather was balmy and music was everywhere. Even desolate and deserted areas were enlivened by music. We toured a mausoleum-filled cemetery and parks and galleries. Saturday evening was a pre-wedding party at the Rock N Bowl where we mingled with the bride's and groom's families, and again, my mom (upon meeting and introducing myself to someone, the response would invariably be, "Oh, you're Nancy's daughter!") and Marvin. We bowled, G for the first time, and snacked and drank beer, all while listening to wonderful local music. Later that night we went out in the French Quarter again, and ordered famed sazeracs.
Early Sunday was prioritized for eating and making sure we had real gumbo and/or jumbalaya. So we again started off with beignets, then made our way over to the Acme Oyster House with Lesley. Having recently got over a bad stomach virus, I opted out of the oysters, but did order the fried shrimp po-boy. We also had giant styromfoam cups of frozen margaritas and daiquiries-- more than we'd ever be able to fully consume. After lunch and a little more walking, we rested before the big event.
The wedding was beautiful and fun, with Caron and Tom reading their own vows. The judge who married them was brief but thorough and after the ceremony, the staff quickly set up dinner tables and the buffet. The band (again, wonderful New Orleans music) was already ready to go. We enjoyed the oysters rockefeller, blackened chicken, fried catfish and more gumbo! The band played and everyone (but Marvin) danced and had a great time. It's important to note that the mark of a good wedding must be realizing that you have to take your dress/suit to the dry cleaner AGAIN, even though you only wore it for 5 hours.
Our flight left early the next morning, so we said goodbye to the music, balmy weather and good food that night.

Shopping, Food and Clubs

2006-03-09T13:26:00.000-05:00

Aside from the normal attention to family, friends and World Peace, there are three things I hold dear: shopping, food and clubs. Shopping is on hiatus until after Easter-- I gave up non-essential shopping for Lent so I could better guage spiritual needs to worldly needs. So far it's been a week and I'm doing well, not feeling undernourished or overly deprived. It helps, too, that I recently got a pay cut at work.
The New York Times highlighted my other passions, sometimes in tandem!, very clearly yesterday, however. I was pleased to see not one, not two, but three articles on Trader Joe's! Soon a store will open in New York-- Bostonians had this to hold above New Yorkers heads for awhile, but alas, New Yorkers will soon enjoy this food shopper's paradise for themselves. From one of the articles:
"Long before Trader Joe's went national, its inexpensive but unusual products — things like wild blueberry juice, Sicilian extra-virgin olive oil and frozen chicken-lemon grass spring rolls — inspired an intense following among American food lovers, rarely seen in the aisles of a supermarket.
The stores are small, the selection is uneven and the corporate culture can be described as dorky. But because its products are often not available anywhere else; because they mysteriously appear, disappear, then reappear on the shelves; or perhaps simply because they often taste very, very good, Trader Joe's has become tremendously popular among Americans who like to be entertained and educated by what they eat, as well as nourished by it."
The article also highlighted the making of the spicy Thai Chili Lime Peanuts-- a new household favorite for us.
The Times also featured an article on The Dames of Beef-- a group of 12 or so women in New York who meet once a month to get cocktails and eat at one of New Yorks older eating establishments (before it's demise, The Russian Tea Room came to mind). This club has few rules, but one it does have is that one must be female. This pulled at my heartstrings for my love of Book Club, where just this past Friday we gathered to snack, drink Floot (a delightful sparkling wine beverage enjoyed out of a can and with a straw. It comes not from France, or even California, but Indiana. Which explains the can.) and play karaoke on Steph's PlayStation 2. Ahem, and discuss the book. Our club has remained female only for the past several years (we've had a few men, but they haven't stayed long) mostly because we read books of interest to woman and discuss things men probably don't care to discuss, or if they do, the prefer to in the company of other men.

Moral Dilemma II

2006-03-01T16:06:00.000-05:00

Zara and I met for a meeting of the minds last night. We ate sushi, caught up on life stories and reminisced about the past and the decions we'd made (such as spending one Valentine's Day together eating dinner at the Coolidge Corner Clubhouse; an odd choice such that not even we can recall why we would choose to eat at a sports bar anytime, but I'm sure blue cheese was involved on a salad or wrap, and that probably tipped the scales in favor of said eatery). We've remained friends throughout the years due to our consistent natures-- I can still regale her with a story of debauchery and she can still recommend very bad tv shows that I should (or maybe shouldn't) tune into. We were barred from the Gap, due to an early closing time (7 pm!) so couldn't fully relive our time spent in Coolidge Corner in years past.
I'd also like to post an update to Moral Dilemma. The other evening (the coldest evening of the year) I stopped in the Coop on my way home for a few dinner items, and toothpaste. As I checked out, I took the time to button my coat, put on my hat and gloves and then grabbed my bags of groceries. When I got home, I realized I had grabbed the bag of groceries of the guy behind me as well. It was all food that I would have picked out (feta cheese, grilled eggplant, candied pineapple...well, maybe not). I knew the right thing to do was to go out in the cold and return it, but I also figured he was long gone and the store had probably already remedied the situation. Still, it was a Monday night and there was a long week ahead for bad karma to catch up, so I asked G to drive me back and return the groceries. I went inside and the cashier said knowlingly, "oh, yeah, right." But having done that, the week has gotten progressively better...

Moral Dilemma

2006-02-21T10:59:00.000-05:00

After a Girl Scout troop meeting the other night, Rashmi and I encountered a Moral Dilemma. A woman was asking people to complete questionaires on moral decision making, after which they would receive $5. The woman was busy with participants, so we weren't asked, but just in front of us on the way out was another woman who dropped a pack of cigarettes without noticing. Rashmi and I looked at each other and decided not to alert the woman because we think smoking is bad. And we are girl scout leaders! But then I thought that we had become part of the moral decision making questionaire! Which is worse (or better)-- not alerting the woman of her dropped cigarettes and therefore perhaps saving her health? Or telling her, since they were hers and we saw her drop them?

Experimental Food

2006-02-09T11:29:00.000-05:00

It came to my attention recently that I missed out on an "experimental food phase" when growing up. I was at Rashmi's house eating Thai cookies when one of her roommates started reminiscing about her phase as one might reminisce about such childhood standards such as hour long recess and summers at the community pool. Rashmi jumped in saying that she used to eat bananas by peeling them, and breaking them into thirds and then covering them with chocolate chips or peanut butter or other toppings. One of her roommates described how to peel an orange so it looks like a man (I couldn't understand it). They both talked about peeling the banana the reverse way, so you have a "handle" to hold onto while eating it!
The next day I queried my friend Jane if she had an experimental food phase and she said she used to eat rabbit poo and make meals out of flowers and then in college would make sandwiches of candy bars and bread. I couldn't match that with anything! The only thing I could think of was eating dill pickle slices with lemon pepper seasoning when I was little, with my cousins and sister at my grandma's house. I asked G about his phase and he said (disgusted) that yes, in college he ate spaghetti. You mean like...? Yes, pasta.
Knowing I have a failing memory with things (no recollection of 4th grade at all!), I checked in with my sister. If I did, or didn't, have this phase, chances are that she would remember. She did recall the pickles and also said that we used to eat many kinds of jello salads at holidays and if that wasn't experimental, she didn't know what was. She said our parents were always good about letting us try new foods (I remember eating and loving escargot at my grandmother's house, as well as requesting lobster for my 8th birthday) so we likely had no need to "experiment" wildly. So, Zandrea! readers: what was your experimental food phase?

On The Town

2006-01-31T11:29:00.000-05:00

Rashmi and I treated Jane to a night on the town this weekend as a sort of Bon Voyage before her two year stint with the Peace Corps in Africa. There are parts of the night that are rated R, or, at least should follow the credo, "What happens in the Copley Marriott stays in the Copley Marriott." But the majority of the evening followed the slumber party guidelines of youth with a dash of the old college "throw caution to the wind." The main focus was on obtaining, and preparing, the Trader Joe's snacks. It was also necessary to have four bottles of cheap champagne, overnight bags filled with several changes of clothes, makeup and swimsuits-- as we told Jane, bring whatever you will need for the next 20 hours.
The best part of staying in a hotel is a toss up between the swimming pool, the view of the city from 26 floors up and room service at 2:30 am. I lived in a hotel for a semester in college. It actually was indulgent: a queen size bed each for me and my roommate, our own bathroom, sheets and towels changed and washed regularly, free cable. We were afforded several additional luxuries due to the "hardship" of having to live at the hotel and not a dorm. We had free phone service and no security guard which meant friends from other dorms could come and go as they pleased.
As the night progressed we drank, talked, laughed, commiserated and divulged. We hit the bars around 11 and stayed until closing time at 2, when we came back and ordered a "medium" pizza (ie, 2 personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut) for $21-- with the luxury to say, "put it on our room tab." We awoke the next day in disheveled clothes, dizzy and hungry...in other words, happy to have had a night full of stories to relate and recall in the years to come.

Ski Bunny

2006-01-23T14:46:00.000-05:00

G took me skiing on Saturday. It was my Christmas gift and it involved me learning to ski (a new thing!). I grew up in flat Kansas so no skiing there, and then I just never went skiing in New England in the past 10 years. I was excited, but also a little nervous. The best way to combat public performance anxiety is by looking cute, so I paid a visit to Rashmi ahead of time to borrow ski clothes. She gave me two pairs of pants, a pair of ski gloves, a silky undershirt, a fuzzy neck thing she called a balaclava and a ski coat (I got to choose between red and white, and I chose red-- the better to identify me in case of avalanche). I felt well prepared to battle the cold, so when the temperature reached nearly 60, I was actually quite warm. I also wore my hair in two braids. We signed up for our lessons (beginner for me, and return to learn for G). We ended up having the same instructor, a (likely) 17 year old named Paul. The "polar kids" skied and snow boarded all around us and I fell, fell, fell. But just the first few times (poor Paul had to help me up each time). I tried to think of my yoga and core training for balance, but really, bending your knees and leaning forward isn't natural. We learned "small pizza"-- angling skis in to slow down and "big pizza" angling them in even more to stop. An hour practicing on Ollie's Area, we were sent off with our advancement cards and allowed to go to the beginner's slopes. G had many questions about the black diamonds and I could tell Paul was nervous and tried his best to dissuade G from such thinking. I myself would have been happy to stay on the little bunny hill, but the 5 year olds were giving me the evil eye. We moved on to the Easy Rider which looked like a much steeper hill. I did fine, though, remembering to turn, bend my knees, lean forward and keep the baskets of my poles back (but, as Paul told me, no need to keep them back under my armpits like a pro Alpine skier. Sigh.). I went down that beginner slope a few more times, successfully then decided to brave the ski lift with G, and go down the Sundowner. He told me that getting off was a little tricky, but he was sure I would be fine. But as we neared the top I didn't know exactly when to slide off, and waited too long, so I kind of had to jump, then went flying. It was a bad sign. Going down the hill was okay until G got ahead of me. I started accelerating, then panicking and I saw a non-snowy area just ahead! In order to stop I decided to fall over, which worked, but then there was no one to help me up. I had to propel all my 130 lbs up AND retrieve my poles by myself. I managed to get down another quarter of the hill to where G was, and then I fell again. My confidence was shot and I recalled my mom's story about skiing once in college: "I didn't like the skiing, but I liked drinking rum in the lodge." I didn't care so much about the rum, but I did want to sit down, take off the skis and drink a Coke. Later that afternoon I did a few more runs on Easy Rider, then called it a day. My shins were aching where they leaned into the boots. I have one more day with a lesson and after that...black diamond? Or back to the bunny hill with the 5 year olds.

January Blahs

2006-01-20T10:50:00.000-05:00

I like this blog to be funny, as I know Zara does as well. So when life goes along, and nothing much funny happens, it's hard to find inspiration to write. Boston winters are usually about survival-- just before a predicted blizzard there is a run on Trader Joe's so citizens of this fair city can hunker down with their loved ones, watch a Pats game (they seem to play regardless of weather) and eat snacks until the eerie sound of snow plows and the stopping of falling snow indicates you can brave the outside and get on with your life. But this winter has been unseasonably warm-- we've had at least one 60 degree day and several 50 degree days. This can really only be explained by the fact that G and I got sleds for Christmas, and live conveniently near a hill, but no snow means no sledding.
Instead, we've been watching movies-- King Kong and Cache in the theatres, and The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill and endless episodes of Lost and Seinfeld at home. I also hung up curtains and built a kitchen island (if this were a funny post, there would be a joke about a pirate here). And, of course, kept up my battles with bureauocracies: Andrea 1, DMV O; Andrea 0, Post Office 2. Like I said, nothing funny there. Instead, I'll point out some of the funnier things I've read, recently:
The Meat Book
Usually hits the mark...McSweeneys
The Onion

Keep reading, with the hope that February will be more entertaining.

Of Department Stores, Cooking, a TV and the Mail

2006-01-04T12:39:00.000-05:00

Last year ended with a wave of self induced stress, but was followed by a delightful vacation home to Seattle. The vacation is followed by an unsolved mystery, but I won't go into details just yet...My mom loves everything Christmas, so the house was well decorated with trees and other decorations. The highlight of Christmas, of course, is opening presents. It is good to give AND to receive, so the day after Christmas my mom, sister and I got dressed up and headed downtown. As my sister's boyfriend noted, he knows of no other family who can spend an entire day opening gifts and then go out and shop more the next day. He may not know another family, but retail sales will show that there are, in fact, many families who do this. There was a Golden Era of Department Stores in the past-- ladies would dress up or families would go and get lunch at the cafeteria. We like to pretend that a day in the city is still worth more than the cost of one's purchases, so we fixed our hair, dressed in our nice clothes and reported to the Nordstrom's makeup counter to have our makeup and colors done. We followed this by lunch with cocktails and appetizers.
The theme of gifts received this year was Kitchen. A crock pot, panini press and kitchen island/butcher block were all received, in addition to many, many cookbooks. G decided that a perfect compliment to staying home and cooking would be a tv. I've been proudly stoic in my lack of this modern amenity the past several months. I've always felt that one can accomplish more (reading, excercising, seeing the city) without a tv, although I will admit to watching a plethora of movies. New Year's Day we headed to Best Buy, hungover, and purchased a tv. And this is where the mystery heads into full swing. Some background:
December 23:
Andrea to G: "Why aren't we getting our mail on time? Shouldn't we have received many, many more holiday cards? Why isn't my New Yorker here? And where are those blasted Netflix movies??"
Possible explanations: We aren't as well loved as we thought OR the postal carrier reads and delivers my New Yorker late, after reading it and disheveling it and devilishly keeps our movies from us. G goes with option 2 and calls the post office to complain.
Fast forward to 2006, January 3:
G to Andrea: "I'm sorry, I accidentally ripped the cover to your New Yorker. I'll tape it together and I'm sorry."
Andrea to G: "No problem, accidents happen." (then sees the REAL damage done, and NOT by G). "There are entire pages ripped out?!?! How can I read the short fiction? Or the review of the James Agee box set?" The destruction was unprecedented. I sent off a complaint to the postal service today, but my night was ruined. Did the postal carrier receive our initial complaint and sabotage our mail? OR, is the tv to blame...(because we have a tv, reading is rendered unnecessary, and the Powers That Be are punishing us).

Turtleneck quandaries solved; misconceptions debunked!!!

2005-12-07T11:05:00.000-05:00

What is the origin of the term “turtleneck”?

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

Should men ever wear turtlenecks?

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

Should busty women wear turtlenecks?

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

Fold-over or scrunch?

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

Cowl necks?

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

Zara Answers Your Questions About Turtlenecks

2005-11-30T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

Back to the title of this piece…..

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

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

There Are No Bad Questions, Only Bad Answers

2005-11-29T11:19:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Birthday Tree

2005-11-14T15:41:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

New Music Review: Clogs and Bell Orchestre

2005-11-08T12:59:00.000-05:00

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

Halloween!

2005-10-31T10:57:00.000-05:00

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

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

Review of New Food: The Parsnip

2005-10-14T12:16:00.000-04:00

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

Fresh Start

2005-10-10T13:40:00.000-04:00

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

Friendster BEWARE!!!!

2005-09-30T16:13:00.000-04:00

ALL POINTS BULLETIN!!!

Dear Fellow Snoops,

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

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

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

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

Be safe out there...

Apocolypse

2005-09-16T14:16:00.000-04:00

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

Vacation Report: Summer '05

2005-09-09T10:54:00.000-04:00

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

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

An Interview with Nora: The Avocado Plant

2005-09-02T10:05:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pen-Pal...Music Pal?

2005-08-30T13:36:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

2005-08-19T10:41:00.000-04:00

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

Roots

2005-08-19T09:06:00.000-04:00

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

The Top 10 Things About Moving

2005-08-10T16:18:00.000-04:00

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

Reunion

2005-08-05T23:28:00.000-04:00

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

Frame Blame

2005-08-04T15:15:00.000-04:00

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

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

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