Moral Dilemma

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

Experimental Food

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

On The Town

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

Ski Bunny

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

January Blahs

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

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

Of Department Stores, Cooking, a TV and the Mail

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

Turtleneck quandaries solved; misconceptions debunked!!!

What is the origin of the term “turtleneck”?

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



Should men ever wear turtlenecks?



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


Should busty women wear turtlenecks?

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

Fold-over or scrunch?

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

Cowl necks?

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

Zara Answers Your Questions About Turtlenecks

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

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

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

Back to the title of this piece…..

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

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

There Are No Bad Questions, Only Bad Answers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Birthday Tree

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

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

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

New Music Review: Clogs and Bell Orchestre

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

Halloween!

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

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

Review of New Food: The Parsnip

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

Fresh Start

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

Friendster BEWARE!!!!

ALL POINTS BULLETIN!!!

Dear Fellow Snoops,

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

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

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

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

Be safe out there...

Apocolypse

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

Vacation Report: Summer '05

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

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

An Interview with Nora: The Avocado Plant

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pen-Pal...Music Pal?

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

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

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

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