Club Rules

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

Salad Days

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

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

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

Barney: And Interview with Nora

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

Tales from the Fruitcart: On Being An Adult

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Zydeco, Matt!"

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

Shopping, Food and Clubs

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

Moral Dilemma II

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

Moral Dilemma

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.