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.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
If My Favorite Television Characters Ran the USA
I really enjoy presidential campaigns. They are full of drama and comedy and oh so many questions. Is America ready for a female president? Is America ready for a black president? Is America ready for a Mormon president? Is America ready for a stone cold fox (John Edwards) president? Besides the candidates, there is the political milieu. Where will America be come the 2008 election? Will we be voting in submarines since we will be living underwater due to global warming? Will Iraq be under water? I ask because I am not sure if the whole planet will be underwater or just certain areas. The Middle East seems so dry maybe it will take longer to be submerged. Maybe it will go through a swamp stage? Will be able to provide our troops with the swamp war gear they need?
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
Friday, June 29, 2007
High/Low
Many people can appreciate the high and the low. For example, a confirmed boutique store shopper may find the bargain basement and the vault at Filene's Basement a joy, just as the swanky restaurant diner can also enjoy a couple beers and Fenway Franks at the ballpark. I found myself last week keeping company with the yacht club set on one night, and the following night...well, a decidedly more frugal and less preppy crowd...
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
Monday, June 18, 2007
I'm A Vegetable Machine!
My sister undertook a year of veggie/salad eating. Here is her report.
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Girlscout Camping...Eat Your Heart Out Shelly Long!
The girls had been excited for camping for a couple months. We'd been prepping them by having them come up with food they would like to make and eat (there is a cereal called Reese's Puffs, and that's what they wanted, but being from Cambridge with sophisticated palates, also informed us that pecorino romano is better on pasta than parmesan), and having them make a list of any safety issues that might come up while camping (on the list of 30 plus risks, nestled by "snake bite", "tsunami" and "quick sand" was a true issue-- "can't poop").
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Racing Along
This entry will serve as an update of sorts. I have been going along with my normal Andrea things-- svelting, cooking, scouting and reading and they are all coming to a pinacle. This weekend Steph, ET#1 and I ran the Corrib Pub 5K, as part of an Ultimate Svelte Challenge. For Steph and myself, this was our first race. Although in an effort to back out last minute should I need to, I did not register so have no official time. I did eat an official hot dog after the race. My time was about 35 minutes (to run, not to eat the hot dog).
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Funnies
As a kid, I would wake up bright and early every Saturday morning to watch cartoons and I couldn't understand why a) my parents didn't wake up to watch them with me and b) why they would instead choose to read the paper! The only good thing about the paper was, of course, the funnies. The Sunday paper promised page after page of funnies, and in color to boot! I always read all of them except the soap opera/serial ones (although my sister and step dad always shared a love of Prince Valiant, and I think secretly Apartment 3G also). My grandfather loved Calvin and Hobbes for the slapstick and dark humor it provided and as dopey as The Family Circus is, who doesn't love the strips where Billy's tracks are traced through the neighborhood? Doonsbury validates our liberal leanings and Dagwood's giant sandwiches look delicious even first thing in the morning. Finding consistency in the funnies is always nice, first thing in the morning, also: Cathy will always freak out about her Christmas cards, Garfield will always get the best of Odie and, of course, Lucy will always pull the football away from Chuck.
As I got older Saturday morning cartoons did lose their charm (mostly though, they just ceased to exist!) and I learned to appreciate the newspaper. By the time I graduated college I actually craved the Sunday morning ritual of reading the paper while having coffee. I read the paper online now and don't have much time to read the funnies, although I allow myself to check in on For Better or Worse each day. Michael, Elizabeth and April have grown up with me and I love finding out what will happen with Michael and Deanna's awful neighbors, or who Elizabeth will date next. April remains a pesky little sister to Elizabeth, but they've grown to be more adult friends, much like me and my own sister.
I was introduced to a friend of a friend's comic blog awhile back and am always excited when it's updated. Since she chronicles her real life, her blows are equally poignant to her readers (at least to me and the two friends with whom I discuss this comic); we truly empathized with her when she and her boyfriend broke up. When that happened, I realized that technically, I wasn't reading a funny anymore. In fact it's bittersweet under (sometimes over) tones are found in all my favorites. Blondie will always essentially be a housewife and Cathy will never truly get over her neuroses. Charlie Brown will always be lonely, with even Snoopy being "cooler" than him. Calvin is really just a lonely only child.
Sometimes toward the end of the day, if I feel like something's missing, I'll go online to read a comic, and my day feels complete, if only because even in the funnies, the characters are going through the same trials and tribulations.
As I got older Saturday morning cartoons did lose their charm (mostly though, they just ceased to exist!) and I learned to appreciate the newspaper. By the time I graduated college I actually craved the Sunday morning ritual of reading the paper while having coffee. I read the paper online now and don't have much time to read the funnies, although I allow myself to check in on For Better or Worse each day. Michael, Elizabeth and April have grown up with me and I love finding out what will happen with Michael and Deanna's awful neighbors, or who Elizabeth will date next. April remains a pesky little sister to Elizabeth, but they've grown to be more adult friends, much like me and my own sister.
I was introduced to a friend of a friend's comic blog awhile back and am always excited when it's updated. Since she chronicles her real life, her blows are equally poignant to her readers (at least to me and the two friends with whom I discuss this comic); we truly empathized with her when she and her boyfriend broke up. When that happened, I realized that technically, I wasn't reading a funny anymore. In fact it's bittersweet under (sometimes over) tones are found in all my favorites. Blondie will always essentially be a housewife and Cathy will never truly get over her neuroses. Charlie Brown will always be lonely, with even Snoopy being "cooler" than him. Calvin is really just a lonely only child.
Sometimes toward the end of the day, if I feel like something's missing, I'll go online to read a comic, and my day feels complete, if only because even in the funnies, the characters are going through the same trials and tribulations.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
New Food: Chicken Livers and Frog Legs
G and I have been watching episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. In this show he travels worldwide and hits off the beaten track restaurants and markets; in L.A. he eschews the Hollywood stars for ethnic fare in little Thailand, in Northern Ireland he shares pints with two tour guides-- one Protestant and one Catholic-- with the idea that good food and drink will unite all. We recently watched an episode set in Miami (no South Beach, but instead a visit to a Haitian shaman and a tour of various immigrant neighborhoods) where he spent one evening frog hunting in a nearby swampy area. The frogs he and his guide caught were taken to a nearby shack and skinned and the legs fried. This guy will eat anything!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!
Monday, March 12, 2007
Jane Fonda: Resurrected
Exercise videos go through phases of popularity. Jane Fonda popularized aerobics in the 1980s, supermodels created their own workouts in the early 90s, and Tae Bo was a craze in the early 2000s. These videos are easy to laugh at-- uncomfortable looking leotards, perfect hair and makeup, and a perfectly sculpted group of demonstrators.
I had thought these videos were created exclusively for the suburban mom...until my sister took our mom's stash (and a pair of my old leg warmers) to her very urban abode. Then,at home on vacation recently, she relayed stories about her workouts and the pilates class she was taking. "The instructor really makes us work our abs" and "We do a lot of lengthening and strengthening in pilates" were a few exlamations she made while we cooked dinner one night. My mom asked if she had joined a gym.
Liz: "No..."
Mom: "Then who's 'we'?"
Liz: "Uh..the instructor and the class on the pilates dvd I have rented from Netflix."
While my sister's revelation was initially funny, I realized that she is in much better shape than me and that maybe she was on to something. I perused through the workout dvd selection on Netflix and saw a plethora of workout options: boot camp, ab attack, cardio salsa, strip tease (?!), belly dancing-- whoa, belly dancing?
I rented the belly dancing and invited some friends over and kicked G out for the evening. Veena and Neena are beautiful and the steps started off quite simply. As the Voice told us we were working the cardio and asked if we could feel the burn, we snickered. This was cake. And then we started to break a sweat. The steps increased faster and harder! How do Veena and Neena keep their upper bodies still while shimmy-ing? After 30 minutes I didn't feel like I'd run a marathon, but I did get my heart rate up.
Last week was my turn to lead the girlscout meeting. I decided to have the girls work on the Fun and Fit badge and thought how better to exemplify creative exercise than to have them attempt the belly dancing? The girls loved it and followed along quite well. We all laughed and the girls noted that holding their arms was hard, and that their abs were sore. We had to shut down the dvd before it was over due to time although none of the girls wanted to stop. And then one of the girls said, "Maybe I should do some of my mom's workout videos!" Ah yes, the Jane Fonda workout endures and is passed on to a new generation!
I had thought these videos were created exclusively for the suburban mom...until my sister took our mom's stash (and a pair of my old leg warmers) to her very urban abode. Then,at home on vacation recently, she relayed stories about her workouts and the pilates class she was taking. "The instructor really makes us work our abs" and "We do a lot of lengthening and strengthening in pilates" were a few exlamations she made while we cooked dinner one night. My mom asked if she had joined a gym.
Liz: "No..."
Mom: "Then who's 'we'?"
Liz: "Uh..the instructor and the class on the pilates dvd I have rented from Netflix."
While my sister's revelation was initially funny, I realized that she is in much better shape than me and that maybe she was on to something. I perused through the workout dvd selection on Netflix and saw a plethora of workout options: boot camp, ab attack, cardio salsa, strip tease (?!), belly dancing-- whoa, belly dancing?
I rented the belly dancing and invited some friends over and kicked G out for the evening. Veena and Neena are beautiful and the steps started off quite simply. As the Voice told us we were working the cardio and asked if we could feel the burn, we snickered. This was cake. And then we started to break a sweat. The steps increased faster and harder! How do Veena and Neena keep their upper bodies still while shimmy-ing? After 30 minutes I didn't feel like I'd run a marathon, but I did get my heart rate up.
Last week was my turn to lead the girlscout meeting. I decided to have the girls work on the Fun and Fit badge and thought how better to exemplify creative exercise than to have them attempt the belly dancing? The girls loved it and followed along quite well. We all laughed and the girls noted that holding their arms was hard, and that their abs were sore. We had to shut down the dvd before it was over due to time although none of the girls wanted to stop. And then one of the girls said, "Maybe I should do some of my mom's workout videos!" Ah yes, the Jane Fonda workout endures and is passed on to a new generation!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Luck, Fate, and Destiny (AKA: A dead black cat, LOST, and Battlestar Galactica)
It has been quite awhile since I last posted on Zandrea, but I am back and full of questions for our blog readers and the universe. I am not sure if the “universe” reads blogs, but for the sake of this entry lets pretend that the universe is personified and sitting at her/his laptop with a cup of coffee and a mind eager for reading about my inner most thoughts.
This morning as I was walking to work I tripped on a stick which somehow jumped into the air and landed on its end and I as my motion continued the stick jabbed into my left calf muscle which made me scream (because it hurt) and then right next to me I saw a dead black cat which had been crushed by a car. I was dealing with the stick induced leg pain when I saw the gross dead animal but as I progressed down the street I forgot the pain and thought of the cat. I know that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, but what about “stumbling” upon a dead black cat? It felt ominous and I am pretty sure that something bad will happen now. But what? I will keep you posted.
As I was thinking about luck, I thought about two of my favorite television programs: LOST and Battlestar Galactica. Both shows deal with luck, fate, and destiny. Last night on Battlestar Galactica, Starbuck came face-to-face with her destiny. She did not want to, she did not choose to be special, she just wants to fly vipers and think dreamy thoughts about Lee Adama, but she has a destiny that must be acknowledged. So, it appears that she was blown to bits, BUT clearly she is not dead, I mean she is kind of the star of the show. So, the question is: how is she not dead? And who was “channeling” Leoben? Clearly she is a cylon and in a future episode will emerge gasping from one of those cylon mucus baths. Any BG fans out in the Zandrea audience? I would love to hear what others think. I have been waiting all season for another of the “5” remaining cylons to manifest and I think it is happening. (Though I was hoping it would be Madame President…)
I do not even know where to begin with LOST. Yeah, I still have the same questions I had a year ago; What is the Dharma Initiative? How did Locke end up in a wheelchair? Who is Alvar Hanso? What do they feed Vincent? Who are the Others? Where the hell are they? Last week’s episode offered a strong dose of comic relief (thank you Hurley and Sawyer) but still was full of questions about luck, fate, and destiny. Was Hurley cursed? Do we make our own luck? Do we have pre-ordained destinies? No clear answers, but that’s cool. LOST seems to frustrate many viewers, but not me. Fans tune in each week looking for answers yet end up with more questions. But for me, the show is about escapism. What is more liberating than imagining being on a creepy deserted island with seemingly mystical powers and village of Others who steal children and blackmail you into performing complex spinal surgery? Oh, and the polar bears. What are polar bears doing on a Pacific island? Any LOST fans reading this blog? If so, please send along your theories about the island. I believe they are playing a game and are not really on an island but rather are “lost” in space (Battlestar Galactica style) and have no way home and our “losties” are plugged into an elaborate virtual reality game where they choose characters (doctor, convict, junkie, crazy French lady, etc.); location (uncharted island); and goal (two teams compete to see who can survive) and I think the show we are watching is the “competition” of the two groups (Others versus 815 survivors). I think they are just passing time while they are lost in space. I like to imagine that the last episode will be Jack alone on the island (the final survivor) where he starts to hear his name being called out in the distance, over and over again until he wakes up out of the game and is patted on the back by Sawyer who congratulates him for playing a great game. The final scene would be the lost group planning their next game. I realize there are many “holes” in this theory. Not sure how the flashbacks fit (maybe they are character backstories the players get) or which team Rousseau would be on, but it is a theory in development.
Oh well.
Zandrea readers: please send along your luck, fate, and destiny stories/questions as well as any commentary on my favorite TV shows.
This morning as I was walking to work I tripped on a stick which somehow jumped into the air and landed on its end and I as my motion continued the stick jabbed into my left calf muscle which made me scream (because it hurt) and then right next to me I saw a dead black cat which had been crushed by a car. I was dealing with the stick induced leg pain when I saw the gross dead animal but as I progressed down the street I forgot the pain and thought of the cat. I know that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck, but what about “stumbling” upon a dead black cat? It felt ominous and I am pretty sure that something bad will happen now. But what? I will keep you posted.
As I was thinking about luck, I thought about two of my favorite television programs: LOST and Battlestar Galactica. Both shows deal with luck, fate, and destiny. Last night on Battlestar Galactica, Starbuck came face-to-face with her destiny. She did not want to, she did not choose to be special, she just wants to fly vipers and think dreamy thoughts about Lee Adama, but she has a destiny that must be acknowledged. So, it appears that she was blown to bits, BUT clearly she is not dead, I mean she is kind of the star of the show. So, the question is: how is she not dead? And who was “channeling” Leoben? Clearly she is a cylon and in a future episode will emerge gasping from one of those cylon mucus baths. Any BG fans out in the Zandrea audience? I would love to hear what others think. I have been waiting all season for another of the “5” remaining cylons to manifest and I think it is happening. (Though I was hoping it would be Madame President…)
I do not even know where to begin with LOST. Yeah, I still have the same questions I had a year ago; What is the Dharma Initiative? How did Locke end up in a wheelchair? Who is Alvar Hanso? What do they feed Vincent? Who are the Others? Where the hell are they? Last week’s episode offered a strong dose of comic relief (thank you Hurley and Sawyer) but still was full of questions about luck, fate, and destiny. Was Hurley cursed? Do we make our own luck? Do we have pre-ordained destinies? No clear answers, but that’s cool. LOST seems to frustrate many viewers, but not me. Fans tune in each week looking for answers yet end up with more questions. But for me, the show is about escapism. What is more liberating than imagining being on a creepy deserted island with seemingly mystical powers and village of Others who steal children and blackmail you into performing complex spinal surgery? Oh, and the polar bears. What are polar bears doing on a Pacific island? Any LOST fans reading this blog? If so, please send along your theories about the island. I believe they are playing a game and are not really on an island but rather are “lost” in space (Battlestar Galactica style) and have no way home and our “losties” are plugged into an elaborate virtual reality game where they choose characters (doctor, convict, junkie, crazy French lady, etc.); location (uncharted island); and goal (two teams compete to see who can survive) and I think the show we are watching is the “competition” of the two groups (Others versus 815 survivors). I think they are just passing time while they are lost in space. I like to imagine that the last episode will be Jack alone on the island (the final survivor) where he starts to hear his name being called out in the distance, over and over again until he wakes up out of the game and is patted on the back by Sawyer who congratulates him for playing a great game. The final scene would be the lost group planning their next game. I realize there are many “holes” in this theory. Not sure how the flashbacks fit (maybe they are character backstories the players get) or which team Rousseau would be on, but it is a theory in development.
Oh well.
Zandrea readers: please send along your luck, fate, and destiny stories/questions as well as any commentary on my favorite TV shows.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Puerto Rico: Sailing Away
Monday morning, 7 am rise and shine:
8:00 am: G had spotted a breakfast place down by the harbor that boasted coffee, eggs, ham and toast for $3.00. Since this was more food than what we were getting at the hotel (icky $9.50 breakfast of so-called "croissants" and "fruit salad") we hit it bright and early.
8:30 am: drove 10 minutes to the over harbor which was home to our chartered boat of the day: the Erin Go Braugh (not so Latin...).
8:45 am: arrived 45 minutes early, so slathered on the sun screen
The marina was full of large, expensive boats with catchy names. We caught our first look of Captain Bill, who looked just like you'd expect a boat Captain to look like: crazy white hair and long white beard, both yellowing, sun/age spots, leathery skin. He was only missing a pipe and a parrot.
9:45 am: a 5 person family arrives-- a husband and wife and their 3 young children. The husband eyed us and told Captain Bill he thought they had booked the boat "exclusively" and when told they hadn't, muttered "that's disappointing." G and I looked at each other and thought it would be a looong day on the boat with this family.
10:00 am: The husband sucks it up and puts on a happy face and introduces us to his family. Turns out they are from New York (ah ha!). Captain Bill is originally from New Hampshire, which shows that even when you go on vacation, you are never far from home. The sails unfurled, we set off.
10 am-1 pm: I don't feel seasick at all (except when G steers) and we enjoy homemade salsa and swimming and snorkeling off a small private island. Captain Bill bbq's lunch and the family offers us a bottle of wine. Life is good and very relaxing.
2 pm: the skies begin to darken and the wind picks up. The boat is rolling and I'm worried about my lunch. Captain Bill tells us this wasn't predicted...and as the storm gets worse (rain is now pelting down) he tells us he hasn't sailed in weather like this for a very long time.
2:30-5:00 pm: the storm wanes a bit as we head back to port. I clutch the side of the boat and huddle under my towel.
5:00 pm: Captain Bill advises us on some local restaurants and we head out, making use of our land legs once again.
7:00 pm: Eat at Rosie's Seafood. The restaurant is nearly empty and the staff is all sitting around the back. But we get excellent service and the food is affordable and delightful. Another evening passes and we hit the sack early.
Tuesday morning, 7 am:
Careless packing and dressing in layers for our return to Boston.
9:00 am-- drive to San Juan to check out the old city before our flight.
10-11 am-- having overlooked the part about impossible parking in Old San Juan in our guidebook, drive up and down the streets only, enjoying the old architecture, beautiful colors and amazing scenic views over the water.
Afternoon: leave Puerto Rico. It's raining so we don't feel bad. And it's a balmy 47 when we arrive in Boston! There's still ice on the ground, but we feel rejuvenated.
8:00 am: G had spotted a breakfast place down by the harbor that boasted coffee, eggs, ham and toast for $3.00. Since this was more food than what we were getting at the hotel (icky $9.50 breakfast of so-called "croissants" and "fruit salad") we hit it bright and early.
8:30 am: drove 10 minutes to the over harbor which was home to our chartered boat of the day: the Erin Go Braugh (not so Latin...).
8:45 am: arrived 45 minutes early, so slathered on the sun screen
The marina was full of large, expensive boats with catchy names. We caught our first look of Captain Bill, who looked just like you'd expect a boat Captain to look like: crazy white hair and long white beard, both yellowing, sun/age spots, leathery skin. He was only missing a pipe and a parrot.
9:45 am: a 5 person family arrives-- a husband and wife and their 3 young children. The husband eyed us and told Captain Bill he thought they had booked the boat "exclusively" and when told they hadn't, muttered "that's disappointing." G and I looked at each other and thought it would be a looong day on the boat with this family.
10:00 am: The husband sucks it up and puts on a happy face and introduces us to his family. Turns out they are from New York (ah ha!). Captain Bill is originally from New Hampshire, which shows that even when you go on vacation, you are never far from home. The sails unfurled, we set off.
10 am-1 pm: I don't feel seasick at all (except when G steers) and we enjoy homemade salsa and swimming and snorkeling off a small private island. Captain Bill bbq's lunch and the family offers us a bottle of wine. Life is good and very relaxing.
2 pm: the skies begin to darken and the wind picks up. The boat is rolling and I'm worried about my lunch. Captain Bill tells us this wasn't predicted...and as the storm gets worse (rain is now pelting down) he tells us he hasn't sailed in weather like this for a very long time.
2:30-5:00 pm: the storm wanes a bit as we head back to port. I clutch the side of the boat and huddle under my towel.
5:00 pm: Captain Bill advises us on some local restaurants and we head out, making use of our land legs once again.
7:00 pm: Eat at Rosie's Seafood. The restaurant is nearly empty and the staff is all sitting around the back. But we get excellent service and the food is affordable and delightful. Another evening passes and we hit the sack early.
Tuesday morning, 7 am:
Careless packing and dressing in layers for our return to Boston.
9:00 am-- drive to San Juan to check out the old city before our flight.
10-11 am-- having overlooked the part about impossible parking in Old San Juan in our guidebook, drive up and down the streets only, enjoying the old architecture, beautiful colors and amazing scenic views over the water.
Afternoon: leave Puerto Rico. It's raining so we don't feel bad. And it's a balmy 47 when we arrive in Boston! There's still ice on the ground, but we feel rejuvenated.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Puerto Rico, Day 2
Sunday morning, 8 am: Rise and Shine!
8:30 am: dismal hotel restaurant breakfast-- overpriced and not good!
9:30 am: drove down to Balaneiro Seven Seas Beach. We set up camp in a not yet populated edge. The water was warm and the sun was starting to bear down...perfect! Soon couples, friends and families set up near us. I was weary of the families at first, but everyone was having a great time. As G pointed out, the difference between the Puerto Rican families and the U.S. families is that the PR families don't yell at their children.
noon ? (no watch, so who knows): hit the clam shack for lunch. G discoverd Medalla beer-- only $1.50 per can! We also ordered several fried treats and mofongo.
3:00 pm: felt cooked so left the beach and headed to El Yunque, the rainforst.
4:00-5:30 pm: with only limited time until the gates closed, we just did the rainforest drive through. We took the main road and pulled over to take pictures, but didn't really have time to hike any trails; next time.
6:30: back in Fajardo...we fortuitously found a restaurant, El Estacion, recommended to us by the beach lifeguard. I got the yellowtail and it was great! Also, more pina coladas.
Overstuffed, slightly tipsy and sun fatigued, we called it a night and were asleep by 10 pm.
next up...all aboard! sailing and snorkeling
8:30 am: dismal hotel restaurant breakfast-- overpriced and not good!
9:30 am: drove down to Balaneiro Seven Seas Beach. We set up camp in a not yet populated edge. The water was warm and the sun was starting to bear down...perfect! Soon couples, friends and families set up near us. I was weary of the families at first, but everyone was having a great time. As G pointed out, the difference between the Puerto Rican families and the U.S. families is that the PR families don't yell at their children.
noon ? (no watch, so who knows): hit the clam shack for lunch. G discoverd Medalla beer-- only $1.50 per can! We also ordered several fried treats and mofongo.
3:00 pm: felt cooked so left the beach and headed to El Yunque, the rainforst.
4:00-5:30 pm: with only limited time until the gates closed, we just did the rainforest drive through. We took the main road and pulled over to take pictures, but didn't really have time to hike any trails; next time.
6:30: back in Fajardo...we fortuitously found a restaurant, El Estacion, recommended to us by the beach lifeguard. I got the yellowtail and it was great! Also, more pina coladas.
Overstuffed, slightly tipsy and sun fatigued, we called it a night and were asleep by 10 pm.
next up...all aboard! sailing and snorkeling
Thursday, February 22, 2007
From Icy Sidwalks to Icy Drinks: Puerto Rico, Day 1
Before living in Boston, I didn't understand why New Englanders felt compelled to go to the Carribbean in the late winter/early spring. Vacation, sure, but why always the beach? I spent many a forced, I mean, happy, spring break in Oklahoma City growing up and was no worse for the wear. After a few years living in Boston, however, I realized the draw. A midwestern winter can be brutal, but it is also relatively brief. Spring really does arrive by mid April and you can safely pack away the winter coats and sweaters. In New England, June 1 is still risky and the radiators still clang and thump. So, for the past several years, I've tried to head to warmer climes if possible, even if only for a few days. G and I decided on Puerto Rico this year and the gods must have been smiling on us since we were some of the only ones to make our scheduled flight after a huge storm left major parts of the country inundated under snow and ice. In fact, our brief trip went so smoothly and we packed so much in to our 2 full days (and 2 partial days) that a timeline is below:
A few days before takeoff:
Andrea to G on phone: "Our flight is at 6 am, so we should call a cab and leave the house by 4 am."
G to Andrea: "-----------"
Andrea to G: "Just be ready."
Friday night:
Whirlwind packing, trying on summer clothes and finding sunscreen. Procrastination method employed to further delay packing: clearing off bedside table and identifying back issues of the New Yorker that must not be thrown out because I will definitely get to that May 13, 2006 issue soon, I'm sure.
Saturday morning, 3:30 am: alarm goes off, cats tumble out of bed confused.
3:55 am: cab driver calls from downstairs
4:00-4:25 am: drive to airport with chatty G who has no shortage of conversation-- replete with questions-- at such an early hour.
6:00am-2:00pm: no recollection as I passed out on the plane.
2:30 pm: rent car and head from San Juan to Fajardo
3:00 pm:feeling famished, pull over to a stand selling pork (the pig's head is prominently displayed). Tell the vendor, "we need lunch!" and he chops up 1 lb of pork for the 2 of us. We take that and 2 Cokes and devour.
4:00 pm: arrive at the hotel where G asks a series of questions all pertaining to the beach and snorkeling. We're told that it's really too late to go to the beach and that we should enjoy the pool instead, then hit the beach the next day. G rephrases the questions several times, trying to elicit the answer he wants (which would be something like, "the beach is a 5 minute walk down the hill, you can rent snorkel equipment and of course there are reefs and fish just off shore."). Nevertheless, we do hit the pool then decide to try out one of the hotel's two restaurants.
8:00 pm: The Mexican restaurant had been deemed so good as to attract locals by the guidebook. Sure enough, there were locals...they were the servers and bartenders. The salsa tasted kind of like ketchup, but the drinks had alcohol in them, and the food was filling. We were tired and vowed to do better on a full night's rest.
next...hitting the beach and fried food
A few days before takeoff:
Andrea to G on phone: "Our flight is at 6 am, so we should call a cab and leave the house by 4 am."
G to Andrea: "-----------"
Andrea to G: "Just be ready."
Friday night:
Whirlwind packing, trying on summer clothes and finding sunscreen. Procrastination method employed to further delay packing: clearing off bedside table and identifying back issues of the New Yorker that must not be thrown out because I will definitely get to that May 13, 2006 issue soon, I'm sure.
Saturday morning, 3:30 am: alarm goes off, cats tumble out of bed confused.
3:55 am: cab driver calls from downstairs
4:00-4:25 am: drive to airport with chatty G who has no shortage of conversation-- replete with questions-- at such an early hour.
6:00am-2:00pm: no recollection as I passed out on the plane.
2:30 pm: rent car and head from San Juan to Fajardo
3:00 pm:feeling famished, pull over to a stand selling pork (the pig's head is prominently displayed). Tell the vendor, "we need lunch!" and he chops up 1 lb of pork for the 2 of us. We take that and 2 Cokes and devour.
4:00 pm: arrive at the hotel where G asks a series of questions all pertaining to the beach and snorkeling. We're told that it's really too late to go to the beach and that we should enjoy the pool instead, then hit the beach the next day. G rephrases the questions several times, trying to elicit the answer he wants (which would be something like, "the beach is a 5 minute walk down the hill, you can rent snorkel equipment and of course there are reefs and fish just off shore."). Nevertheless, we do hit the pool then decide to try out one of the hotel's two restaurants.
8:00 pm: The Mexican restaurant had been deemed so good as to attract locals by the guidebook. Sure enough, there were locals...they were the servers and bartenders. The salsa tasted kind of like ketchup, but the drinks had alcohol in them, and the food was filling. We were tired and vowed to do better on a full night's rest.
next...hitting the beach and fried food
Friday, February 16, 2007
Preparing for Paradise
I've recently emerged from several busy months at work only to find frigid, tundra conditions outside. To remedy the dry skin and frozen nostrils this creates, G and I booked a trip to Puerto Rico! Since I will not be wearing five layers of clothes, hats, gloves and coats, I realized I needed to take action to make myself presentable. Starting the beginning of January, my svelting group and I started to prepare for bikini bodies. I had to work on a shortened timeline-- Feb. 17 instead of May 31. This past week was dedicated to all that could not be fixed from cardio and healthy eating, namely, bikini wax to pedicure. These "ladies activities" were interspersed with, and included, quality time with girlfriends, many whose faces looked unfamiliar after my self imposed hibernation due to stress.
To prepare mentally for tropical temperatures, G's mom and I went to Boston Ballet's production of A Midsummer's Night Dream. The lush sets and gorgeous costumes made me temporarily forget the sub-arctic temperatures outside. I also met Nora for a sushi dinner-- seafood, omega 3s and serious discussion about shoes. Slowly but surely, my mind was checking out from the workaday worries I'd been so preoccupied with recently. Last night was the piece de resistance of the week of preparations: a pedicure with ET#1.
A winter storm the day before brought rain and slush, which froze over, creating icy roads and sidewalks, forcing me to wear boots with dorky grippy things attached (a bruised bum would not be attractive on the beach). Perhaps not the best time to get pedicures? Au contraire...after waiting for the bus in 10 degree weather for 30 minutes, our frozen toes steamed and turned red when we put them in the foot baths. I chose a pink color called "Tunnel of Love" and ET #2 forgot to choose a color, confounding the pedicurist further when she declared that she didn't even really care what color would go on her toes, as only she would see them. Except a bright red would personally offend her, so she used my pink as well. We relaxed in the massaging chairs which contorted our backs in strange ways, and caught up on our lives until Entertainment Tonight came on with updates on the "Anna Nicole Tragedy". ET#1's eyes glazed over as she became absorbed in the drama, and filled me in on the strange updates. The pedicurist chastised ET#1 for her falling off nails (ET#1 is an avid runner, so this is an unfortunate side effect) and I felt guilty for not having shaved my legs in a month. No doubt the pedicurist thought we were a couple of hippies, or at least weirdos, especially when I told her I'd brought a second pair of shoes and socks to wear out. When we stood up our legs were so relaxed that it was difficult to walk out, but the promise of salty carbs and beer at the Washington Square Tavern lured us into the cold.
Now, I'm all ready to go-- toned, buffed and polished. Of course, both G and I still have to pack, but as long as we have swimsuits and sunscreen, I'm sure we'll be in paradise.
To prepare mentally for tropical temperatures, G's mom and I went to Boston Ballet's production of A Midsummer's Night Dream. The lush sets and gorgeous costumes made me temporarily forget the sub-arctic temperatures outside. I also met Nora for a sushi dinner-- seafood, omega 3s and serious discussion about shoes. Slowly but surely, my mind was checking out from the workaday worries I'd been so preoccupied with recently. Last night was the piece de resistance of the week of preparations: a pedicure with ET#1.
A winter storm the day before brought rain and slush, which froze over, creating icy roads and sidewalks, forcing me to wear boots with dorky grippy things attached (a bruised bum would not be attractive on the beach). Perhaps not the best time to get pedicures? Au contraire...after waiting for the bus in 10 degree weather for 30 minutes, our frozen toes steamed and turned red when we put them in the foot baths. I chose a pink color called "Tunnel of Love" and ET #2 forgot to choose a color, confounding the pedicurist further when she declared that she didn't even really care what color would go on her toes, as only she would see them. Except a bright red would personally offend her, so she used my pink as well. We relaxed in the massaging chairs which contorted our backs in strange ways, and caught up on our lives until Entertainment Tonight came on with updates on the "Anna Nicole Tragedy". ET#1's eyes glazed over as she became absorbed in the drama, and filled me in on the strange updates. The pedicurist chastised ET#1 for her falling off nails (ET#1 is an avid runner, so this is an unfortunate side effect) and I felt guilty for not having shaved my legs in a month. No doubt the pedicurist thought we were a couple of hippies, or at least weirdos, especially when I told her I'd brought a second pair of shoes and socks to wear out. When we stood up our legs were so relaxed that it was difficult to walk out, but the promise of salty carbs and beer at the Washington Square Tavern lured us into the cold.
Now, I'm all ready to go-- toned, buffed and polished. Of course, both G and I still have to pack, but as long as we have swimsuits and sunscreen, I'm sure we'll be in paradise.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Pomegranate vs. Persimmon, or, How to Eat Fruit Amazing Race Style
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Fishtailed
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Dude, Where's My Beer?
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.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Fall Update
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
What I Did On My Summer Vacation, or, Hitchhikers of the World, Unite!
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
What I Did On My Summer Vacation Part II, or, How Not To Enjoy Your Birthday
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
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
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