A Horoscope

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22):

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

Boston Fashion Week

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

2005 Food Recommendations: Installment 3

New food reviewed by Andrea: Lamb

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

2005 Food Recommendations, Installment 2

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


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

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

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

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

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

A Horoscope

TAURUS (April 20-May 20):

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

Tales From the Fruitcart: Fruit Cart Fashion

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


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

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

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

A Valentine's Letter from a Loyal Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Tales From The Fruit Cart, A Communication

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned for updates from the fruit cart!

Breasts! Art? Freedom of Speech?

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


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

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

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

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

Your opinions are welcome!

A Horoscope

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

2005 Food Recommendations, Installment 1:

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

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

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

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

Oh my God, where are my spoons?

In the midst of the already chaotic 2005 holiday season the last thing I needed was something else to fret over. But, because life is not fair (i.e. bad things always happen to me), I face yet another neurotic hurdle.

Two of my tablespoons are missing.

Some background: I own (or did own) a fine Martha Stewart silverware set for eight.

However, this morning as I was unloading the dishwasher and neatly lining up the silverware in the cutlery drawer I noticed that the stack of tablespoons appeared shorter than would be expected. I counted the spoons. There were six. I looked in the sink to see if there were any dirty spoons. There were not. I did a recount. Still, I counted six tablespoons. I put my head deep in the dishwasher wondering if maybe the spoons were stuck in some spoon-sized crevice. No luck.

Already having a mini meltdown about preparing my apartment for my mother’s upcoming visit, I decided that I could not handle this crisis on my own. Luckily, two of my ever devoted stuffed animals were ready to help. Sabrina Goodlamb and Teddy Mittens are so much more than cuddly creatures, they are trusted advisors.

Teddy Mittens hypothesized that I may have “accidentally” thrown the spoons away. Sabrina scoffed at that theory and explained that the ONLY explanation was that one of my good for nothing human “friends” is screwing with me. I begged her to continue. She expounded on her clever deduction by reminding me that some people find my “neat-freak” ways to be funny and/or annoying and people are so jealous of my clean and well-organized household they feel they must sabotage that which they themselves cannot attain. Teddy Mittens shook his head and told Sabrina to stop feeding my paranoia.

But it was too late, I knew she was right. People are jealous of me. Somebody took two of my tablespoons in an effort to ruin me and my carefully planned holiday festivities.

Well, try again suckers! Have you ever heard of EBay? Yeah, that’s right. I will have two replacement spoons before you can say “obsessive compulsive woman in a black turtleneck in need of a stronger dose of her SSRI.”

But why should we continue this dance? You made your point. Please, just tell me……where the fuck are my spoons?

Holiday Shopping

"The holidays, it is generally accepted, are a time of giving, ofsharing, a period when a spirit of generosity sweeps the land. Behindthe snow-globe fantasy, however, lies another, slightly skewedportrait of the seasonal altruism. For a lot of consumers the lineappears to be blurring between giving and receiving. And the personone seems likeliest to shop for come December is, increasingly,oneself."
The New York Times, December 14, 2004

Andrea's shopping list: Mom, Dad, Stepdad, Sister, Grandma, Boyfriend, Roommates

Thursday night, after work, account balance high with newly deposited paycheck, comfortable walking shoes on, iPod fully charged.

First stop: Jasmine Sola, trendy Newbury Street boutique. Looking for: Gift for sister. Actually bought: skirt on sale for self. White lie told to 20 year old salesclerk who asked if I'd had a chance to try it on: "No, but it's a gift, so I don't need to try iton."

Second stop: Gap. Looking for: Gift for boyfriend and Dad. Actually bought: 2 scarves--one each for boyfriend and dad. DID NOT BUY: silky pajamas forself...the guilt from Jasmine Sola was still too great.

Third stop: Lush, fancy soap store. Looking for: gifts for three roommates and mom. Actually bought: 4 soaps total...and a total of $45-- on soap!! Mental Status check: A little hungry and a lot proud for going into TWO stores and not buying self anything.

Fourth stop: Restoration Hardware. Looking for: stocking stuffers for everyone. Actually bought: stocking stuffers for everyone.

Fifth stop: Anthropologie, aka, the rich woman's link to a nostalgiac past. Looking for: Mom, Grandma, sister. Actually bought: jacket for mom,perfume for Grandma...and a sexy shirt for self-- I needed it, really,for New Year's. In fact, it could potentially go into the "boyfriend"category since he'll benefit by looking at me looking hot in the lowcut shirt...Mental Status check: A little delirious, fairly hungry,hands and feet hurt.

Last stop: Marshall's, aka, the lowbrow alternative to Anthropologie,when you realize your paycheck should be used for things other than"gifts"-- things like rent and bills. Sigh. Looking for: Anything to make up the balance of everything I haven't got people on the list. Actually bought: $5 Picture frame forboyfriend (after $30 leather frame from Restoration Hardware was rejected). Trouser socks for self (a small, but needed, purchase).Mental status check: starving, tired, broke.

Found: 2 crumpled dollars in wallet, enough to get me home.

Things To Keep In Mind When Meeting My Mother For The First Time

1. My mother thinks that every sitcom/film about a smart, sassy, and silly single woman trying to “juggle it all” is based on my life experiences in Boston. You know, lots of dating hijinks and comical workplace shenanigans. DO NOT tell my mother that I am NOT Sarah Jessica Parker.

2. If you are meeting my mother, then you are a friend of mine. If you are a friend of mine, then my mother loves you. Though I am good enough to be the basis for tv/movie plots, I am not so much deserving of friends. DO NOT freak out when she corners you and “thanks” you for being my “special” friend.

3. My mother is better looking than me. Think of the Judds; Naomi is slim and not-too-tacky, whereas Winona is lumpy and tres gauche. My mother lives on brown rice and vegetables. She once cried when I told her I ate 16 cookies in one sitting. DO NOT ask about my cholesterol level in front of my mother.

4. My mother has never been drunk and has never said the “F” word. True, she did get loopy off a single glass of wine during our last visit to Sol Azteca, and true, I did find her staring blankly at the duct tape selection at Economy Hardware after dinner. DO NOT offer my mother $100 to say the “F” word. (She will not, I have tried before.)

5. Celebrities ranging from Sharon Stone to Catherine Zeta Jones to Warren Beatty have “copied” and/or “stolen” my mother’s hairstyle. Also, she does not have grey hair, but rather ever-desirable silver highlights. DO NOT tell my mother that she looks like Milhouse’s mom from “The Simpson’s” – because that is not funny.

The Case of the Loud Asshole in Zara's Basement

an update from your very own shut-in detective....

The Case of the Loud Asshole in Zara's Basement

Status: Solved

On Wednesday of this week, Zara Katherine spent an enjoyable evening with Clark K. who, for the record, affectionately refers to her as his "client". Upon his post midnight departure, Zara prepared herself for sleep, crawled into her cozy bed, and reassured her monkey "Snuggly" that there was room in her heart for both him and that "human" man who just left. Before she was able to drift into dreamland, Zara was startled by an unfamiliar noise emanating from the basement. From the comfort of her bed she could not clearly decipher the foreign sounds though it was clear something unusual was afoot. Loathe to get out of her warm bed she waited anxiously for a few minutes hoping that the noise would go away. It did not. Zara got out of bed and walked to her backdoor and put her ear to it in an effort to better ascertain the situation. The noise appeared to be that of a man, who may or may not have been speaking Chinese (Mandarin?). She listened attentively for a second voice, but there was none. This led Zara to formulate the hypothesis that the culprit was either a drunken homeless person speaking in tongues to himself OR an inconsiderate neighbor having a loud, subterranean cell phone conversation with a friend in Beijing. Feeling equally sleepy and agitated, Zara opened her backdoor and slammed it shut hoping the sound would drive the man away. It did not. Fearful of confronting the individual and not wanting to call the landlord and/or police, Zara attempted to "think outside the box" to surmise a solution. She settled on setting up a "booby trap" in front her back door which consisted of various boxes and whatnot leaned against her backdoor so that if the man in the basement attempted to break into her apartment she would hear his entry and have time to save herself. She had a brief internal dialogue about whether or not she was a "fight or flight" person, but then decided it was way too late for hypotheticals and went back to bed. With her covers over her ears, Zara finally fell asleep and was pleased to wake up without injury the next day.

On Thursday, Zara relayed her tale to friends and co-workers who unanimously told her she should alert her property management company. She did so, and on that evening at approximately 9:30pm her phone rang. This surprised her because she was watching one of her favorite television programs, CSI, and most people knew not to call her during her dates with the boob tube. (Yet she knew, in all fairness, it was a lot to ask for her friends to keep up with ever-morphing viewing preferences.) The caller id revealed that it was her upstairs neighbor/property manager, Betty. Betty was calling to "follow-up" on Zara's phone call to the office. She informed Zara that though she was not certain, it was the consensus of the rental office staff that the man she had heard was most likely a tenant who was in the midst of a messy divorce and that the man was most likely yelling at his soon-to-be ex-wife on his cell phone while he was doing laundry in the basement. Betty strongly emphasized that 1:00am was no time to do laundry. Zara knew this as she and her fellow tenants had received numerous memos on various shades of colored paper reminding the tenants that there is "No Laundry" after 10pm. Though it was clear that this man's misuse of the laundry facilities was the greater infraction in terms of the management's agenda, Betty did acknowledge that he should not have been so loud. Furthermore, she informed Zara that in the future she should report any "disruptions" to the on-call maintenance people. She also told Zara “not” to call the police.

With that, the case was closed, and Zara fell asleep on the couch. Which poses the next mystery: Why can't Zara go to bed like a normal person?

Love Police

Love Police here. We represent the municipality of Romance City. According to our records, you haverecently moved into a cozy 2 person heterosexualrelationship with one (name withheld). First, let us WELCOME you to our city. You will find that the air is sweeter and the grass is indeed greener than that found in Spinsterville, your former place of residence. Second, let us offer you some helpful tips for navigating our vast metropolis:

1. Take a dip in the "Pool of Oblivion". The waterfeels great as does being marinated in bath of ignorance. Your lover can do no wrong - your mind simply won't let you believe anything less thanwonderful about your mate.

2. Avoid "Self-Sabotage Street". A bunch of no good elves populate this area and whisper notions of selfdoubt and irrational concerns regarding yourrelationship. They are quite persuasive and canconvince even the most dedicated heart that her partner is cheating or that her butt is too big and that she should chronically share these fears with her partner until he dumps her.

3. Steer clear of "Temptation Island". You may have thought it was just a realty show on the FOX network,but it is real. While we are on the subject, beware of"Adultery Alley". Only married couples are granted access to this zone, but the sooner you respect its power the better.

4. Perhaps consider renting a vacation property in"Hedonistic Heights". The perfect place to get-away for a weekend of kinky sex. Few have the stamina to live here year-round, but time shares are a popular option.

In closing, we wish you and your partner a long and satisfying relationship. Please feel free to check outour chamber of commerce's web site for other hot spots that you may find "stimulating"!

Spooky!

Circus or Carnival?

On Tuesday, October 5, 2004, Andrea included the following passage in an e-correspondence to Zara.

"I was reading an article on personality tests for the workplace and one of the questions used is the following, "True or False: if money were no object, I would join a carnival or circus." I thought that was interesting (although not exactly sure what it would indicate) and so I asked G, and without hesitation, as if it were the question he'd been waiting on his whole life, he said "carnival". I started laughing, because the correct answer is supposed to be either true or false...so I'm laughing and said "no...!" and he looked at me and asked, "oh, circus?" It was too much, Zara. But then I e-mailed this same story to my sister and she wrote back that when she read it, she thought carnival too!!"

On Wednesday, October 6, 2004, Zara responded to Andrea.

"Your anecdote about the Gabriel and the circus/carnival was a riot. Did he know it was a true/false question? I must say, I forgot that it was a true/false and thought that you thought it was funny just because he had such a quick, clear response. I wonder if we sent out an e-mail asking for people to choose between circus and carnival what kind of numbers we would get? Should we? I think we would get more carnival. Our friends tend to be of the over-educated, under-employed type and I hypothesis that they would embrace the term carnival because:

1. It has one more syllable and everyone knows that smart people use big words

2. It sounds mysterious, I mean, what is a carnival? When the circus comes to town everyone knows since they advertise and stay for a few days. But a carnival comes out of nowhere and leaves before you can ask it any questions. The only thing more enigmatic than a carnival is a church bazaar.

3. The circus has clowns and you know how people universally dislike clowns. The carnival may or may not employee that brand of entertainment."

Thus began a project...

Part I
Andrea began by eliciting feedback from her sister, Elizabeth. Liz, as those in the know refer to her, is a recent graduate of George Washington University where she majored in their nationally competitive journalism department. Liz, in return, posited the question to her significant other, Matt.

Commentary from Liz and Matt
"That's funny about Zara and carnival's being mysterious because they pop up and disappear. I chose carnival for the opposite reason: because I thought they were fairly stable and always in the same spot only with different acts and whatnot rotating through. But maybe I was confused with fairs." - Liz

"Last night we went to Ben's Chili Bowl for dinner and I asked him about it and he said, "If the question were between carnival and circus I would chose carnival even though I don't know anything about them because the only times I have been to the circus there has been lots of hay and animal shit and I wouldn't want to live around that, it would bother my nose."" - Matt (as reported by Liz)

Part II
Zara, who arrived to work on Thursday, October 7, 2004, with a monstrous headache,
was not in the mood for doing her job so she decided to send an e-mail to her friends asking for them to pick between circus and carnival. Her friends constitute a diverse group that includes someone from Somerville, an actor, medical students, a number cruncher, course managers, a producer, and an IT person. None of Zara's friends know each other, (something she has carefully orchestrated since college so as to avoid the inevitable comparing of notes and talking about her behind her back) so she believed their responses would be pure and untainted by group analysis.

The Responses
"I would like to grow my own freak show. Get a research department at Genzyme to help me alter people, to improve the work force. Like waiters should have six arms and eyes in the back of their heads. Cops should have skin somewhat like a bullet proof vest. Politicians should have their noses grow when they lie - Pinnochio-esque. When immune systems are compromised (colds/flu) skin should turn green as a warning to others. But as for joining a carnival or circus - no. The animals are treated cruelly which is disgusting. There isn't much time for rest with setting up, dismantling, and traveling to the next show. And most importantly - it's no longer "the greatest show on earth". The circus/carnival has been replaced with Sea World, Disney World, Las Vegas, monster truck shows, wrestle mania, and reality tv shows (i.e-fear factor). People can travel anywhere now, so who the hell wants to see a bear on a unicycle?! It's a tired business that will eventually exhaust itself. Hopefully rodeos will die too!"

"You're nuts! My answer...no because carnival/circus people are freaks, I don't love carnival rides and circus animals and I wouldn't want to live out of a trailer and travel around."

"I would never join the carnival or the circus regardless of the compensation. Why? You need to ask? People who join these wonderful traveling establishments usually do so because of large patches of unwanted facial hair, a fascination with Twinkies that has let them expand to a solid 400lbs, an unfortunate joining of two midget parents that has left you actually aspiring to that height or you are one of those people who actually believes that the 700 pound tiger doesn't get tempted each and every time you decide to put your head in its mouth. The ensemble of traveling performers doesn't usually get mistaken for a think tank."

"Nope. I wouldn't. I moved around a lot as a kid and I relish the stability a home offers. Though, if money weren't an issue I might join a cruise line...I would have to get rid of a considerable amount of stuff though!"

"Carnival yes- circus no. Circuses (is that the correct plural? Circusi?) make me sad and they smell and I'm allergic. But clearly I'm already drawn toward carnival/carnies in some weird way so that I would do. Or may do, regardless of money."

"Long answer: Although a carnival worker/performer likely would not make a lot of money
I believe a circus performer would. In fact it's likely that circus performers make
more money than I do right now. So if you are offering me a job as a circus performer and
also offering me a job where I can wear tight-fitting sparkly outfits then sign me up baby!
But if you are offering me some low paying, clean up after a donkey and elephants kind of job where I only get to wear dickies and work boots then the answer is NO.
Short answer: Carnival: Never. Carnivals are lame and gross. How much fried dough can anyone eat? Circus: Only if it's some kind of performer position with sparkly outfits. (perhaps a death defying feat too.)"

"I'm going to have to say "circus." There's something slightly less sad and creepy about the circus. Not that I want to be a part of any cruelty to animals (I could make sure they treat them well), but I have this notion of the carnival as being a bunch of scam artists, tricking people into playing games they can't win, charging them to see "the Fish Man" who's really just a guy with some strange skin condition, etc. Plus, at a carnival, I'm not sure what job I'd actually like to have, but at a circus, I could see being a clown or some kind of crazy act."

"I would join the circus instead of the carnival b/c there's an eerie element to the carnival something sinister whereas the atmosphere of the circus is much lighter and playful."

"Interesting question. I'm not entirely sure what the difference is, but I like the sound of the circus better (I always thought cirque de soleil would be fun...)"

"So...given the choice between joining a carnival or a circus, I would choose the circus. Here are the reasons that first spring to mind:
1) The circus stays in one place for longer - less frequent travel.
2) The circus goes to major cities and towns, while the carnival goes to lots of random little redneck towns.
3) The circus has a captive audience, while people walk around (and may or may not stop) for carnival performers.
4) The circus strikes me as high budget, and the carnival seems to be the low budget counterpart.
5) Cooler costumes, better animals, and better tricks in the circus."

Analysis
Well, today is Friday and we have tired of our project. What seemed so silly earlier in the week has now become entirely irritating. We thank everyone for sharing their input with us. The only conclusions we have arrived at are:

1. Pose a confusing question with multiple interpretations and comedy may or may not ensue.
2. Nobody can clearly articulate the differences between a carnival/circus.
3. Our friends are very good for putting up us, even those of you who chose "circus" - OK, eewww, what were you thinking?

Election Day!

Today is election day, tra la la!