At the Boylston Street Trader Joe's last week....
Checker: And would you like paper or plastic?
Me: Oh, I brought my own bag, thanks!
Checker: Great! And, how will you be paying, credit or debit?
Me: (taking out wallet) Credit
Checker: (looking at me) You've got a pregnant...
Me: (to self) Oh.My.God. If he even says I am pregnant?! I know after my depression starvation I've put on a little more weight, but really, I've been doing crunches. Is my shirt to tight? I need to clean out my clothes. And hold in my belly! But really, I could be pregnant. I really only have a limited time frame left anyway...but why does this guy need to be telling me that? I think he has an accent. Maybe it's a cultural difference and it's okay that he's saying this. Oh, God. I think I'm going to cry! I'm not pregnant! I'm turning bright red, I can feel it! I've got to get out of here. This is so embarrassing.
Checker: (finishing sentence) ...wallet.
Me: (to self, relieved) Oh. The George Costanza wallet.
Checker: Have a great night!
Monday, September 08, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
A Legacy for the Ages
Dubya's in lame duck mode right now, and in a couple months we'll all be contemplating his legacy. A lot has happened over the past seven and a half years, and I think we can all agree on his most successful act: the marriage of his daughter Jenna to a hand-picked up and coming Republican. Before 9/11, before we invaded Iraq and before gas was $4/gallon, Bush vacationed at his ranch non-stop, sharks were rampant on America's beaches, and the Bush twins were out of control...
At approximately 10:19 on Tuesday, May 29th, the Austin Police Department received a 9-1-1 call reporting minors attempting to purchase alcohol. The caller was the manager of Chuy's Restaurant located at 1728 Barton Springs Road.
APD patrol officers arrived and found that Jenna and Barbara Bush, 19, were alleged to have been involved in this incident. As no offense was witnessed by APD officers, following routine procedures, further investigation is required to determine if any charges will be filed. APD and the Texas Alcohol Beverage Commission are investigating this incident.
ABCNEWS.com, June 4, 2001
*The night of the "alleged incident" is clear in my mind. Barbara was visiting from Yale and I had promised her a good night on the town. It had been chilly and rainy the previous week, but Tuesday was beautiful and warm and everyone was ready to go out and pary. Barb is very sweet, but just doesn't know how to have a good time. This is off the record, but I generally think of myself as being the social butterfly. I mean, she goes to Yale where all they do is study! Anyway, the end of the semester was approaching and I had a few favors to call in. I borrowed Maggie's ID--she's 21 and I had lent her my favorite capris a few weeks earlier and she had spilled beer all over them, ruining them. She felt so bad about it that she was more than happy to lend me her ID. I gave my Secret Service guys, Joe and Nathan, twenty bucks each to leave us on our own for the night. I have them wrapped around my finger. My good friend Lisa assured me her roommate was tending bar at Chuy's and that if we asked for Sarah, we would have no problem getting served. Once there, I couldn't find Sarah, but calmly and cooly used Maggie's ID to order a round of margaritas. So when APD officers arrived at the restaurant at around, I guess, 10 o'clock, I had no idea what had gone wrong...
Of course she had no idea what went wrong! The girl was wrecked. I don't know what Jenna told you, but I knew the night was ill-fated from the beginning. First of all, she was still in the doghouse with mom for her possession of alcohol incident about a month ago. I told her we should lie low and maybe just take in a movie. My friend Ashley was with me and didn't have a fake ID and didn't want to risk getting in trouble. But there is no stopping Jenna when she puts her mind to something, even though she rarely thinks things through. We may be twins, but we are as different as night and day. To tell you the truth, I always consider myself to be the smarter one. But back to May 29th. Early in the evening Jenna snuck into this girl Maggie's room and searched through her desk until she found her driver's license. She mumbled something about capri pant, and when I asked her if she should really be searching through this girl's private stuff, she just said something about Maggie owing her. Then she broke out the Coronas. After about three beers, she said this girl Lisa's roommate, Sarah, worked at a restaurant in South Austin and that she had some stuff on her about cheating on a Biology exam first semester, so if she refused to serve us, Jenna would have only to make a call to the dean. Ditching our Secret Service guys was the hardest part of the evening. But by 8:30 Jenna had already downed the whole six-pack of beer, and was determined to get to that restaurant! Jenna tried to bribe Nathan and Joe with 40 bucks, but they just laughed at her. So we came up with something and ended up having to climb out of the second floor bathroom window and shimmy down the drain pipe.
Once at Chuy's, I was hoping to just sit down and order some food, but Jenna had to make a big production. You'd think, since she was using someone else's ID, she would keep a low profile and be subtle, but no. She was dancing and singing on the table! Before I knew it we all had drinks in front of us. Some guy bought us a round of shots. By then the manager had already called the police. Jenna was angry and kept yelling at the police, asking them if they knew who her father was. She said she would tell Daddy not to give them their tax rebates.
After we got home, I knew we were really going to be in for it. There were irate messages from Maggie, Lisa and Sarah. Nathan and Joe were not happy. They had already called Daddy and seemed pretty concerned about their jobs. I think I overheard them say something about Chelsea being an ideal charge.
I remember it being a great night--except for the police coming. I'm not sure why Barb is so grumpy. What's the big deal? She wanted a good time and I showed it to her. Nathan and Joe just laughed at us and joked about how much more fun we were than that goody-two-shoes, Chelsea. I'm really lucky they have such a great sense of humor. Appeasing Daddy is a piece of cake, but Mom's another story. I think she might still be mad about last month. The other week at Camp David I caught her in the kitchen taking some pills and mumbling something about Chelsea being a dream daughter.
Yeah, I'm pretty mad at Jenna right now. I'm going to have to smooth things over with Mom and Daddy, as usual, not to mention straightening things out with her friends. She just takes no responsibility! I don't know what she would do it she didn't have me.
Barb is so lucky she has me. I mean, who else is as much fun as me? She would be stuck at Yale, studying, studying, studying.
*This bit of fiction is reprinted, courtesy of myself, Andrea. I found it in a box, where it's been sitting since I took a summer creative writing class years ago.
At approximately 10:19 on Tuesday, May 29th, the Austin Police Department received a 9-1-1 call reporting minors attempting to purchase alcohol. The caller was the manager of Chuy's Restaurant located at 1728 Barton Springs Road.
APD patrol officers arrived and found that Jenna and Barbara Bush, 19, were alleged to have been involved in this incident. As no offense was witnessed by APD officers, following routine procedures, further investigation is required to determine if any charges will be filed. APD and the Texas Alcohol Beverage Commission are investigating this incident.
ABCNEWS.com, June 4, 2001
*The night of the "alleged incident" is clear in my mind. Barbara was visiting from Yale and I had promised her a good night on the town. It had been chilly and rainy the previous week, but Tuesday was beautiful and warm and everyone was ready to go out and pary. Barb is very sweet, but just doesn't know how to have a good time. This is off the record, but I generally think of myself as being the social butterfly. I mean, she goes to Yale where all they do is study! Anyway, the end of the semester was approaching and I had a few favors to call in. I borrowed Maggie's ID--she's 21 and I had lent her my favorite capris a few weeks earlier and she had spilled beer all over them, ruining them. She felt so bad about it that she was more than happy to lend me her ID. I gave my Secret Service guys, Joe and Nathan, twenty bucks each to leave us on our own for the night. I have them wrapped around my finger. My good friend Lisa assured me her roommate was tending bar at Chuy's and that if we asked for Sarah, we would have no problem getting served. Once there, I couldn't find Sarah, but calmly and cooly used Maggie's ID to order a round of margaritas. So when APD officers arrived at the restaurant at around, I guess, 10 o'clock, I had no idea what had gone wrong...
Of course she had no idea what went wrong! The girl was wrecked. I don't know what Jenna told you, but I knew the night was ill-fated from the beginning. First of all, she was still in the doghouse with mom for her possession of alcohol incident about a month ago. I told her we should lie low and maybe just take in a movie. My friend Ashley was with me and didn't have a fake ID and didn't want to risk getting in trouble. But there is no stopping Jenna when she puts her mind to something, even though she rarely thinks things through. We may be twins, but we are as different as night and day. To tell you the truth, I always consider myself to be the smarter one. But back to May 29th. Early in the evening Jenna snuck into this girl Maggie's room and searched through her desk until she found her driver's license. She mumbled something about capri pant, and when I asked her if she should really be searching through this girl's private stuff, she just said something about Maggie owing her. Then she broke out the Coronas. After about three beers, she said this girl Lisa's roommate, Sarah, worked at a restaurant in South Austin and that she had some stuff on her about cheating on a Biology exam first semester, so if she refused to serve us, Jenna would have only to make a call to the dean. Ditching our Secret Service guys was the hardest part of the evening. But by 8:30 Jenna had already downed the whole six-pack of beer, and was determined to get to that restaurant! Jenna tried to bribe Nathan and Joe with 40 bucks, but they just laughed at her. So we came up with something and ended up having to climb out of the second floor bathroom window and shimmy down the drain pipe.
Once at Chuy's, I was hoping to just sit down and order some food, but Jenna had to make a big production. You'd think, since she was using someone else's ID, she would keep a low profile and be subtle, but no. She was dancing and singing on the table! Before I knew it we all had drinks in front of us. Some guy bought us a round of shots. By then the manager had already called the police. Jenna was angry and kept yelling at the police, asking them if they knew who her father was. She said she would tell Daddy not to give them their tax rebates.
After we got home, I knew we were really going to be in for it. There were irate messages from Maggie, Lisa and Sarah. Nathan and Joe were not happy. They had already called Daddy and seemed pretty concerned about their jobs. I think I overheard them say something about Chelsea being an ideal charge.
I remember it being a great night--except for the police coming. I'm not sure why Barb is so grumpy. What's the big deal? She wanted a good time and I showed it to her. Nathan and Joe just laughed at us and joked about how much more fun we were than that goody-two-shoes, Chelsea. I'm really lucky they have such a great sense of humor. Appeasing Daddy is a piece of cake, but Mom's another story. I think she might still be mad about last month. The other week at Camp David I caught her in the kitchen taking some pills and mumbling something about Chelsea being a dream daughter.
Yeah, I'm pretty mad at Jenna right now. I'm going to have to smooth things over with Mom and Daddy, as usual, not to mention straightening things out with her friends. She just takes no responsibility! I don't know what she would do it she didn't have me.
Barb is so lucky she has me. I mean, who else is as much fun as me? She would be stuck at Yale, studying, studying, studying.
*This bit of fiction is reprinted, courtesy of myself, Andrea. I found it in a box, where it's been sitting since I took a summer creative writing class years ago.
Monday, July 14, 2008
On Being a Good Friend
If you happened to pass by the corner of Boylston and Clarendon around 6:30 the evening of Wednesday July 2, you might have seen two professional 30 year old women fishing around in the gutter. Had Rashmi and I fallen to drugs? Not exactly...the following is the series of events leading up the the gutter episode.
4:30 pm-- Decide to meet for dinner and drinks at the Globe. Contemplate The Cactus Club but decide that burgers and waffle fries would be better.
5:20 pm-- Arrive at the Globe and decide to drink iced tea and Roy Rogers, making it a "sober night". But I decide to subsitute the iced tea for a Rolling Rock.
5:45-6:15 pm-- chow down and sandwiches and waffle fries and comment on passers-by.
6:25 pm-- walk down Boylston deciding where to go next...and Rashmi gives her necklace a thoughtful tug, which causes the line to snap and a cascade of beads to fall into the gutter.
Since she still had a good handful, I said, "quick, just stuff those into your bag and you can restring them. It will be okay!" She looks unsure and says, "But it's my favorite necklace [later confirmed by her sister, who knew exactly which necklace it was without missing a beat]! It's from Target but..."
As I'm telling her it will be okay, that she still does have most of the beads, she starts picking loose beads up off the sidewalk...and then fishing them out of the gutter.
"Uh, do you need help?" I hesitate, but can't stand by while my friend dirties her hands, while balancing on her haunches. So down I go, and start fishing them out as well.
"Andrea, there's one over there."
"No, that's a cigarette butt."
When we had sufficiently gathered the beads into our hands, I looked at her and said, "You realize we need to beeline for the Filene's Basement bathroom stat." We hurried across the street with our hands in front of us and ran upstairs equally laughing and pushing bargain shoppers out of the way.
When we were washing the beads and our hands, Rashmi said, "thanks-- you are such a great friend!" Well, if all it takes is fishing around in a Boston gutter, I'll take it!
4:30 pm-- Decide to meet for dinner and drinks at the Globe. Contemplate The Cactus Club but decide that burgers and waffle fries would be better.
5:20 pm-- Arrive at the Globe and decide to drink iced tea and Roy Rogers, making it a "sober night". But I decide to subsitute the iced tea for a Rolling Rock.
5:45-6:15 pm-- chow down and sandwiches and waffle fries and comment on passers-by.
6:25 pm-- walk down Boylston deciding where to go next...and Rashmi gives her necklace a thoughtful tug, which causes the line to snap and a cascade of beads to fall into the gutter.
Since she still had a good handful, I said, "quick, just stuff those into your bag and you can restring them. It will be okay!" She looks unsure and says, "But it's my favorite necklace [later confirmed by her sister, who knew exactly which necklace it was without missing a beat]! It's from Target but..."
As I'm telling her it will be okay, that she still does have most of the beads, she starts picking loose beads up off the sidewalk...and then fishing them out of the gutter.
"Uh, do you need help?" I hesitate, but can't stand by while my friend dirties her hands, while balancing on her haunches. So down I go, and start fishing them out as well.
"Andrea, there's one over there."
"No, that's a cigarette butt."
When we had sufficiently gathered the beads into our hands, I looked at her and said, "You realize we need to beeline for the Filene's Basement bathroom stat." We hurried across the street with our hands in front of us and ran upstairs equally laughing and pushing bargain shoppers out of the way.
When we were washing the beads and our hands, Rashmi said, "thanks-- you are such a great friend!" Well, if all it takes is fishing around in a Boston gutter, I'll take it!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
On Ageing Gracefully
A celebratory birthday trip to D.C. yielded some helpful lessons On Ageing Gracefully.
My mom and I arrived just in time for cocktail hour on Thursday. We had a few drinks at Liz's apartment, then proceeded on to Lauriol Plaza for Mexican food and margaritas.
Liz ordered a round of tequilla shots for us. We all downed them...or so we thought.
My mom and I arrived just in time for cocktail hour on Thursday. We had a few drinks at Liz's apartment, then proceeded on to Lauriol Plaza for Mexican food and margaritas.
Liz ordered a round of tequilla shots for us. We all downed them...or so we thought.
Lesson 1. If you feel you can't do the whole shot in one gulp, just go, "whew, that was strong!" and wipe your brow AS IF you too had taken the shot. When your daughters realize you faked them out, just dump half untouched shot in your margarita, swallow the rest of it, then proceed to finish everyone else's margarita at the table, shaming your daughters. Old does not mean lame!
We arranged time for birthday facials on Friday afternoon. In the waiting area we were asked to fill out a questionnaire regarding our skin care regime and skin quality, texture, etc. A series of boxes asked that we indicate what age range we were, ie, 20 and under, 21-30, 31-45, etc.
Lesson 2. Upon realizing that you really fall in the very last age range of 60 or older, declare that "they don't really need to know that" and check off the 2nd to last box instead.
We arranged time for birthday facials on Friday afternoon. In the waiting area we were asked to fill out a questionnaire regarding our skin care regime and skin quality, texture, etc. A series of boxes asked that we indicate what age range we were, ie, 20 and under, 21-30, 31-45, etc.
Lesson 2. Upon realizing that you really fall in the very last age range of 60 or older, declare that "they don't really need to know that" and check off the 2nd to last box instead.
After a disappointing Nationals game (the game was disappointing, the beer, peanuts and hot dogs were not), we decided to go to Kramer's for dessert and drinks. Our young server asked us for our IDs, which my sister and I gladly handed over. To my mom, in all seriousness, she said, "I'll need to see yours too." My mom blushed, "really?" then dug out her ID when the server sheepishly apologized but said she didn't want to get in trouble.
Lesson 3. Being carded is the sincerest form of flattery.
Having eaten out and walked the city for three 90+ degree days, we stayed in on Sunday to make dinner. Matt set up the Wii so we could play Mario Kart and Liz worked on the dinner. My mom and I teamed up and raced through multiple levels while Matt was grilling. Liz asked for someone to set the table to which I responded, "I can't-- I've got two more laps!" She looked at my mom, who responded, "I can't either-- we're a team and I've got to cheer her on!" (My sister huffed and purposely kept walking in front of the tv).Lesson 4. You're only as old as you feel, or when in doubt, enact mother-daughter role reversal.
Lesson 5. Note to self: Remember these lessons, and this weekend, so that when you are 40 years old (with a couple extra decades of experience), you can age gracefully as well.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Boston, I Love You
Something strange has been happening in Boston recently. Sure, the Celts are kicking it and Lester had a no-hitter, but something more subversive has been taking place. I asked my friend Rashmi, "Have you noticed that people are a lot more...friendly recently?" Once my eyes weren't clouded by a daily deluge of tears, I realized that basic courtesy and then some has been running rampant throughout Beantown.
It started with a low point a few months back. On one (probably rainy) day, I was yelled at by both the bus driver (for not waiting the appropriate amount of time to tap my Charlie Card on the sensor) and the librarian at the BPL (for mistakenly believing that when she had finished helping the patron in front of me that she would be ready to help me). In the words of LCD Soundsystem, "New York I love you, but you're bringing me down." Only substitute Boston for New York. I retreated home and emerged only when the trees started to green and the crocus and daffodils started to bloom. And that's when I noticed it.
The crossing guard by the school near me sees me coming down the street and always pushes the walk button before I get there. Then she waves me across and we wish each other good morning. The high school kid working the register at Harvest notices that the celery I'd picked up were fairly limp; did I still want to buy them? A bus driver with an out of service bus picks me and one other woman up, saying he'll at least make two people happy, although he has to bypass the hoards of people waiting at other stops while the buses get back on the right time. On the last T of the night a tired woman with many bags looks at me and offers me her seat! (I respectfully declined). And finally, most impressively, the Haymarket vendors not only lack their usual surliness, but are downright chatty: they joke with us, tell us which fruits really are best, let us choose our produce and even ask what we're planning to cook. Totally unheard of.
Rashmi's response to my original query was this. "The citizens of Boston are a mirror of you. I'm glad you're feeling happier."
It started with a low point a few months back. On one (probably rainy) day, I was yelled at by both the bus driver (for not waiting the appropriate amount of time to tap my Charlie Card on the sensor) and the librarian at the BPL (for mistakenly believing that when she had finished helping the patron in front of me that she would be ready to help me). In the words of LCD Soundsystem, "New York I love you, but you're bringing me down." Only substitute Boston for New York. I retreated home and emerged only when the trees started to green and the crocus and daffodils started to bloom. And that's when I noticed it.
The crossing guard by the school near me sees me coming down the street and always pushes the walk button before I get there. Then she waves me across and we wish each other good morning. The high school kid working the register at Harvest notices that the celery I'd picked up were fairly limp; did I still want to buy them? A bus driver with an out of service bus picks me and one other woman up, saying he'll at least make two people happy, although he has to bypass the hoards of people waiting at other stops while the buses get back on the right time. On the last T of the night a tired woman with many bags looks at me and offers me her seat! (I respectfully declined). And finally, most impressively, the Haymarket vendors not only lack their usual surliness, but are downright chatty: they joke with us, tell us which fruits really are best, let us choose our produce and even ask what we're planning to cook. Totally unheard of.
Rashmi's response to my original query was this. "The citizens of Boston are a mirror of you. I'm glad you're feeling happier."
Monday, April 28, 2008
Spiritual Help, Part 3
I am a midwestern raised Protestant which I like to tell people means I have certain inherent qualities: the Protestant work ethic (ie, even if I'm sick, which in itself should never happen, I would still report to work), a sense of patience (attributed to long drives over the prairies and farmland) and a reticence to talk about personal stuff too much (no need to burden someone else with my problems). Since Protestants are allowed to interpret the Bible as best they see fit, church services are short and sweet, with the ultimate goal to get into heaven, but with a stop at the social hall after service for donuts and coffee first.
Needless to say the pomp and ritual of Catholicism was always fascinating to me. Remember the scene in Mermaids where Winona Ryder is praying to a homemade shrine to the Virgin Mary and her mother played by Cher says, "Charlotte, we're Jewish."? I think of that scene often...
So when I was waiting to act on my psychic's advice, I started getting anxious. Some research (http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/sf/real-estate/real-estate-superstition-st-joseph-statues-043270 ) revealed that St. Joseph is the patron saint of housing. I didn't exactly need to sell my house, but I did in effect need to sell one room. Despite months of living frugally and saving every last penny, I had no compunction about immediately purchasing the Double Novena St. Joseph & Jude Housing Kit from totallycatholic.com.
It arrived a few days later and contained 1 2.5 inch plastic Saint (I'm guessing Joseph?), one tiny 1 inch Saint in a plastic case (St. Joseph, to bury in the ground), one St. Joseph medallion (perhaps good for a certain cat's collar) and 2 saint cards.
The best part of the package may well be the invoice. One line on the invoice says, "Catholic Church Canon Law forbids the sale of items that have been blessed - please have your items blessed by a Catholic priest so that they may become true sacramentals. Tell your family and friends about TotallyCatholic.com - make $$! Sign up free for our affiliate program!" This doesn't make sense to me so if anyone can elucidate, please do so! Further down along the invoice they request the customers share their successful home selling stories, saying "We have sold thousands of kits since we first invented the idea 13 years ago." Um, I guess I was under the impression that this was "invented" by St. Joseph? Finally, at the very bottom it reads, "TotallyCatholic.com now serving Mystic Monks Coffee - the finest coffee in the world, made by real monks! www.MysticMonksCoffee.net" Ah ha! Finally the lost connection between us social hour loving Protestants and our Catholic brethren.
The psychic and/or saints paid off-- I had a roommate by the end of the week.
It arrived a few days later and contained 1 2.5 inch plastic Saint (I'm guessing Joseph?), one tiny 1 inch Saint in a plastic case (St. Joseph, to bury in the ground), one St. Joseph medallion (perhaps good for a certain cat's collar) and 2 saint cards.
The best part of the package may well be the invoice. One line on the invoice says, "Catholic Church Canon Law forbids the sale of items that have been blessed - please have your items blessed by a Catholic priest so that they may become true sacramentals. Tell your family and friends about TotallyCatholic.com - make $$! Sign up free for our affiliate program!" This doesn't make sense to me so if anyone can elucidate, please do so! Further down along the invoice they request the customers share their successful home selling stories, saying "We have sold thousands of kits since we first invented the idea 13 years ago." Um, I guess I was under the impression that this was "invented" by St. Joseph? Finally, at the very bottom it reads, "TotallyCatholic.com now serving Mystic Monks Coffee - the finest coffee in the world, made by real monks! www.MysticMonksCoffee.net" Ah ha! Finally the lost connection between us social hour loving Protestants and our Catholic brethren.
The psychic and/or saints paid off-- I had a roommate by the end of the week.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Spiritual Help, Part 2*
In my opinion, the best way to pass the time when feeling blue is to coerce your friends into spending time with you, and perhaps forcing them to cook for you as well. If you force them to cook a 5 lb brisket, all the better. And, if you force them to cook brisket for you, while pretending to be Jewish, well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Mood improvement is guaranteed.
Last Wednesday I emailed ET#1 and told her we should be on the lookout for Passover Coca Cola. It is made with actual sugar, not high fructose corn syrup and thus brings about a nostalgia for so many things past (taping songs off the radio, watching movies on beta max, Atari, Sweet Valley High...). She responded that she would indeed look for it, and that also she'd had a dream about brisket. Should we have a Passover Seder? Of course. Not being Jewish is just a technicality, plus don't we all need to free ourselves from captivity at some point?
By Friday she had a 5 lb brisket, a shank bone and a full menu planned. I had invited our other former roommate, Brandi, who agreed to attend our seder without batting an eye. I collected recipes from Jewish (thanks for the charoset, Nora) and non-Jewish (the flan was a hit, Rashmi) friends alike. Saturday morning ET#1 and I met at 8:30 am at Mike's Pastry before hitting Haymarket. I ordered my standard canoli and when I mentioned it to my mom later, she snarkily replied she was glad to know it being Passover didn't stop me from eating pastries. I reminded her we aren't Jewish. Haymarket provided some necessary fruits and veggies (apples and leeks) and some non necessary ones (a 5 lb bag of salad for $2). I spent the remainder of the Sabbath preparing the flan using a dozen eggs and snacking on matzoh. I headed over to ET#1's abode and was greeted with the following menu:
Matzoh ball soup
Frisee Salad with orange
The 5 lb. Brisket
Sauteed carrots
Steamed asparagus
Charoset (apples, walnuts, dried cherries and just a touch of red wine)
Red Wine
Roasted tomatoes
Potato Kugel
Orange Almond Flan
The Seder Plate and Matzohs
I started to feel full just looking at it all. Needless to say, it was too much food for 3 people, even though we left the door open for Elijah. But eat we did, and I really did get full. And I really did not feel blue at all!
*Due to the time sensitive nature of Passover, this post is going up before the totallycatholic.com post.
*Due to the time sensitive nature of Passover, this post is going up before the totallycatholic.com post.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Spiritual Help, Part 1
Those of you who know me and read this know the past 6 months have been less than stellar. Sure, the mice got caught and friends supported me with crappy food* and entertainment, but despite my best efforts life was difficult. A couple weeks ago I decided my life was out of control and someone else needed to help.
It was time to go to the psychic.
It was my mom's idea. Apparently mom advice only lasts so long, so she said to me, "You and ET#1 need to go to the psychic." Some yelp research landed us at the Tremont Tearoom. A call to make appointments rendered a chuckle; apparently business is not so great as to require appointments. So we went on a Sunday, when we could claim the $5 off discount. After stopping for breathmints and a lotto ticket, we found our way into a dark building and took the beer smelling elevator up to 3. Nag Champa and Patchouli lured us into a studio with a handful of psychics at small tables, at least one working the phone for call-ins. I paid cash upfront for our adventure and we each chose our psychic after consulting a menu of services (the combo platter of palm reading and tarot reading sounded delicious to me). Like making a birthday wish, I'm not sure one is supposed to reveal their reading but let me say that my reading was satisfying. Being a perpetual renter I am annually or biennially looking for a roommate and was assured by my pyschic that I need only wait until the end of the week, re-word and re-post my ad. She also said I should take sailing lessons.
ET#1 and I left with renewed focus and determination and wandered over to Chinatown to eat soup. My peace of mind lasted a few days, but I started getting anxious mid-week. Once again I needed help outside the earthly realm. I needed God.
I decided to place and order with totallycatholic.com.
*My friends are good enough to not just endure, but actively support my watching of bad tween movies like The Baby-Sitter's Club. A recent viewing was paired with Tostinos frozen pizzas, Doritos and queso, GirlScout Cookies and donut holes. And because we actually are adults, red wine.
Up Next, how an order from Totally Catholic might just have saved my life.
It was time to go to the psychic.
It was my mom's idea. Apparently mom advice only lasts so long, so she said to me, "You and ET#1 need to go to the psychic." Some yelp research landed us at the Tremont Tearoom. A call to make appointments rendered a chuckle; apparently business is not so great as to require appointments. So we went on a Sunday, when we could claim the $5 off discount. After stopping for breathmints and a lotto ticket, we found our way into a dark building and took the beer smelling elevator up to 3. Nag Champa and Patchouli lured us into a studio with a handful of psychics at small tables, at least one working the phone for call-ins. I paid cash upfront for our adventure and we each chose our psychic after consulting a menu of services (the combo platter of palm reading and tarot reading sounded delicious to me). Like making a birthday wish, I'm not sure one is supposed to reveal their reading but let me say that my reading was satisfying. Being a perpetual renter I am annually or biennially looking for a roommate and was assured by my pyschic that I need only wait until the end of the week, re-word and re-post my ad. She also said I should take sailing lessons.
ET#1 and I left with renewed focus and determination and wandered over to Chinatown to eat soup. My peace of mind lasted a few days, but I started getting anxious mid-week. Once again I needed help outside the earthly realm. I needed God.
I decided to place and order with totallycatholic.com.
*My friends are good enough to not just endure, but actively support my watching of bad tween movies like The Baby-Sitter's Club. A recent viewing was paired with Tostinos frozen pizzas, Doritos and queso, GirlScout Cookies and donut holes. And because we actually are adults, red wine.
Up Next, how an order from Totally Catholic might just have saved my life.
Friday, November 16, 2007
The Man of the House
Before G left, things were fine. There were no major apartment issues or other "manly" things that needed to be addressed. However a few days after his departure things went downhill and I quickly had to become the "man of the house". But upon further reflection, the "man of the house" can only be with help from a woman. Here's a few examples, with reasons why the woman really is "the man":
1. I return home from a long day at work and the house is dark. The kitties are ready to mutiny so we all head to the kitchen for food and...*blink*! The kitchen light burns out. I normally would have asked G to change the fixture since he is tall and I am short. I found the flashlight** and found the lightbulbs***. I climbed on the dining room chair, undid the fixture and replaced the lightbulb.
**The man would not have known where the flashlight was
***ditto the lightbulbs
2. The downstairs neighbors had a small mouse problem. When the exterminator came upstairs and asked if we needed any traps, I replied, "no problems here! I've got the cats!". The following weekend three rogue mice escaped upstairs and the cats tossed them around until they were dead, or nearly so. When faced with a twitching mouse at my bedroom door, I would have been tempted in the past to ask G to deal with it. But it was just me and the cats, and cats do not have opposable thumbs which to dispose of mice. So I used two shoeboxes* for two mice, and one dustpan, brush and a toilet for the other.
*Would a man have had so many extra shoeboxes laying around? I don't think so.
3. The Red Sox just won the World Series. But there was no time to relax; football season was well under way and the Pats and the Colts were both undefeated. After a call from one of my best bachelor(ette) friends (ET#1), I got into manly mode and we headed to a bar and watched the game, ordered our weight in buffalo wings (bone in) and cheap beer (dollar drafts)*.
*There's nothing here that a woman could do better, but I try to relegate myself to watch only one sport a year, so the fact that I was on to sport #2 is impressive in itself. And ET#1 and I can drink beer and eat wings with the best of them.
1. I return home from a long day at work and the house is dark. The kitties are ready to mutiny so we all head to the kitchen for food and...*blink*! The kitchen light burns out. I normally would have asked G to change the fixture since he is tall and I am short. I found the flashlight** and found the lightbulbs***. I climbed on the dining room chair, undid the fixture and replaced the lightbulb.
**The man would not have known where the flashlight was
***ditto the lightbulbs
2. The downstairs neighbors had a small mouse problem. When the exterminator came upstairs and asked if we needed any traps, I replied, "no problems here! I've got the cats!". The following weekend three rogue mice escaped upstairs and the cats tossed them around until they were dead, or nearly so. When faced with a twitching mouse at my bedroom door, I would have been tempted in the past to ask G to deal with it. But it was just me and the cats, and cats do not have opposable thumbs which to dispose of mice. So I used two shoeboxes* for two mice, and one dustpan, brush and a toilet for the other.
*Would a man have had so many extra shoeboxes laying around? I don't think so.
3. The Red Sox just won the World Series. But there was no time to relax; football season was well under way and the Pats and the Colts were both undefeated. After a call from one of my best bachelor(ette) friends (ET#1), I got into manly mode and we headed to a bar and watched the game, ordered our weight in buffalo wings (bone in) and cheap beer (dollar drafts)*.
*There's nothing here that a woman could do better, but I try to relegate myself to watch only one sport a year, so the fact that I was on to sport #2 is impressive in itself. And ET#1 and I can drink beer and eat wings with the best of them.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Costa Rica: The End!
A small delay in posting, but delightful descriptions are forthcoming! One of the wonderful things about Costa Rica is that, like Hawaii, you can be on the beach, and then a short couple hours later in the mountains. So on my birthday we left Jaco and started the drive to Santa Elena/Monteverde. My mom said it would take several hours, so when we got to the base of the mountains not too long later, I was kind of surprised. We'd stopped at a gas station earlier where I stocked up on Tostitos and surprise eggs (as if my blond hair didn't give away my Americanness, I bought "imported" chips from the U.S.A.). As we headed up the moutain the clouds started floating in and out of view revealing the ocean below. Then, when we were a mere 30 kilometers away, the road became gravelly and rocky and unmaintained. This slowed us down considerably. We passed cyclists going faster than we could (again, kids on bikes, going uphill without huffing and puffing!). But it was a pretty day and we had Tostitos and Cokes. About half an hour later we passed a sign saying 27 km to Monteverde. A Dios mio! This was going to me a long trek.
By late afternoon we hit the town and asked a local woman if she knew where the Mirador Lodge was. She didn't speak English, but said in Spanish that it was quite far. We kept driving not knowing how far was "far". We eventually came upon an office with "Mirador Lodge" and various activities on it, but we parked and it looked quite locked. Signs on the door revealved it had been shut down! We figured we could find alterate arrangements, but this was strange. We turned back to town and Liz and I sought help. A man told us the lodge was quite far (that word again!) and brought us upstairs to point through the window where we needed to go. He indicated the place we had been so...we inquired at the Chamber of Tourism. The woman said no one had been answering the phone at the lodge, so she didn't know if they were open or not. But, we convinced her to give us a map and looked up the lodge. Lo and behold, it was actually much farther than we had gone before. And...on more unmaintained road. We were getting low on Tostitos too! It took us about another 40 minutes to get there, but when we did, it was breathtaking! The lodge is literally off the grid, making their own electricity. Our cabin had a small porch overlooking sloping green hills and the Arenal Volcano and Lake. Clouds drifted in so that walking on the grounds was liking walking through a moor or heather. We hiked down a small trail near our cabin and found ourselves in the middle of the rainforest.
We dined at the lodge restaurant that night, but were warned ahead of time that a large group of students had a reservation at 7:30. We arrived around 6:45 and practiced our Spanish (the young waiter spoke very little English). The food was delicious and then...the Frenchies arrived. The student group was large-- probably around 20 French students and a few adult chaperones. We surmised they were French by a) they spoke French, b) their European clothes and c) the fact that they smoked at the table. We quickly finished and retired to our cabin.
In the middle of the night a fortuitous event happened (for my mom and myself): my sister got sick. Many people get sick in foreign countries, but Liz gets sick in foreign countries like Canada, and California. So, while she was in the bathroom, my mom and I took turns out on the porch-- the sky had cleared and the stars were out. And by stars I don't mean the pinpricks one sees in the city, I mean 3-D layers of stars-- some dim, many bright, some close, some far, clusters, colors...it was like nothing I had ever seen. I couldn't help but think of all my city girlscouts who might never have seen the sky like this. Further, to add to the magic, the lake was illuminated and fireflies darted about. None of us slept so great the rest of the night, so we also got to see the sun rise over the volcano.
Liz still wasn't feeling so hot, but rallied the next day (if college teaches one anything, it is that being sick from a hangover, say, should not deter one from following through with the next day's plans). So, we headed to the forest where we had reservations to do the canopy tour. I was a bit apprehensive about sailing on a zipline hundreds of feet off the forest floor, but Liz agreed to do it despite a timid tummy, so I couldn't let her show me up. Plus, I just turned 30, so thought it a memorable way to celebrate. In our group there were kids, parents, teenagers, and maybe some grandparents? You get strapped into a harness and the (cute and friendly!) Costa Rican guys working there hook the pulley to the zipline and send you on your way. Some of the lines were more than a hundred feet and you probably zip up to 20 mph (well, it's hard to judge-- maybe more, maybe less?) through trees and clouds until you land at the next platform. It was a really amazing experience-- totally solitary and beautiful and it felt safe and not scary at all. Of course it's no way to see any animals, unless a bird flies right into you. The tours lasted about 2 hours and towards the end it had started raining. We warmed up in the restaurant waiting for the rain to die down. It didn't really, so we bought plastic ponchos and walked the bridges through the forest.
The next day we headed out early to drive back to San Jose and catch our flight back to D.C. It would have been nice to stay longer, perhaps as long as it's taken me to post all these updates. I'll get some quality photos up too, for those of you not brave enough to read this whole thing.
By late afternoon we hit the town and asked a local woman if she knew where the Mirador Lodge was. She didn't speak English, but said in Spanish that it was quite far. We kept driving not knowing how far was "far". We eventually came upon an office with "Mirador Lodge" and various activities on it, but we parked and it looked quite locked. Signs on the door revealved it had been shut down! We figured we could find alterate arrangements, but this was strange. We turned back to town and Liz and I sought help. A man told us the lodge was quite far (that word again!) and brought us upstairs to point through the window where we needed to go. He indicated the place we had been so...we inquired at the Chamber of Tourism. The woman said no one had been answering the phone at the lodge, so she didn't know if they were open or not. But, we convinced her to give us a map and looked up the lodge. Lo and behold, it was actually much farther than we had gone before. And...on more unmaintained road. We were getting low on Tostitos too! It took us about another 40 minutes to get there, but when we did, it was breathtaking! The lodge is literally off the grid, making their own electricity. Our cabin had a small porch overlooking sloping green hills and the Arenal Volcano and Lake. Clouds drifted in so that walking on the grounds was liking walking through a moor or heather. We hiked down a small trail near our cabin and found ourselves in the middle of the rainforest.
We dined at the lodge restaurant that night, but were warned ahead of time that a large group of students had a reservation at 7:30. We arrived around 6:45 and practiced our Spanish (the young waiter spoke very little English). The food was delicious and then...the Frenchies arrived. The student group was large-- probably around 20 French students and a few adult chaperones. We surmised they were French by a) they spoke French, b) their European clothes and c) the fact that they smoked at the table. We quickly finished and retired to our cabin.
In the middle of the night a fortuitous event happened (for my mom and myself): my sister got sick. Many people get sick in foreign countries, but Liz gets sick in foreign countries like Canada, and California. So, while she was in the bathroom, my mom and I took turns out on the porch-- the sky had cleared and the stars were out. And by stars I don't mean the pinpricks one sees in the city, I mean 3-D layers of stars-- some dim, many bright, some close, some far, clusters, colors...it was like nothing I had ever seen. I couldn't help but think of all my city girlscouts who might never have seen the sky like this. Further, to add to the magic, the lake was illuminated and fireflies darted about. None of us slept so great the rest of the night, so we also got to see the sun rise over the volcano.
Liz still wasn't feeling so hot, but rallied the next day (if college teaches one anything, it is that being sick from a hangover, say, should not deter one from following through with the next day's plans). So, we headed to the forest where we had reservations to do the canopy tour. I was a bit apprehensive about sailing on a zipline hundreds of feet off the forest floor, but Liz agreed to do it despite a timid tummy, so I couldn't let her show me up. Plus, I just turned 30, so thought it a memorable way to celebrate. In our group there were kids, parents, teenagers, and maybe some grandparents? You get strapped into a harness and the (cute and friendly!) Costa Rican guys working there hook the pulley to the zipline and send you on your way. Some of the lines were more than a hundred feet and you probably zip up to 20 mph (well, it's hard to judge-- maybe more, maybe less?) through trees and clouds until you land at the next platform. It was a really amazing experience-- totally solitary and beautiful and it felt safe and not scary at all. Of course it's no way to see any animals, unless a bird flies right into you. The tours lasted about 2 hours and towards the end it had started raining. We warmed up in the restaurant waiting for the rain to die down. It didn't really, so we bought plastic ponchos and walked the bridges through the forest.
The next day we headed out early to drive back to San Jose and catch our flight back to D.C. It would have been nice to stay longer, perhaps as long as it's taken me to post all these updates. I'll get some quality photos up too, for those of you not brave enough to read this whole thing.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Costa Rica, Part III
The midpoint of our trip (both in time and location) was the small town of Jaco. It's a touristy surfing town, but there was the allure of the Best Western Resort replete with pool. On our way out of Manuel Antonio, we got a flat tire, reminiscent of last year's escapades with the rental car. Two locals immediately helped us change the flat and directed us to the nearest service station. In the time it took Liz and I to remember how to ask "how much" in Spanish, my mom had communicated to the non-English speaking attendant the universal language of flat tire. Liz and I watched the telenovela in the parking lot and hoped the sunny day would hold out.
Eventually we were back on the road and made it to Jaco by lunchtime. The main drag in Jaco consists of mega hotels and small tiendas, and the requisite strip mall. We headed to a little French Bakery for lunch and the native French speaking owner spoke with us in nearly the same passable Spanish that we spoke. We all ordered the same sandwich for simplicity's sake, but then Liz's Spanish came out like gangbusters; those who do not like mayonaisse are very adamant about it and will find a way to communicate it! After lunch Liz and I were eager to hit the pool (the beach was full of waves, but also debris, so the pool was the better option) before it stormed.
And storm it did. That evening we took the covered walkway out to the bar while the rain pounded down all around us. We were three of about five people at the bar (maybe at the resort at all). The bartender was friendly and asked us where we were from (being from Seattle, Washington, DC and Boston caused endless confusion for most people, so we started just picking one place) and made us margaritas. Since it was dark and rainy (I mean soooo rainy!) we didn't feel we could easily walk along the highway to find someplace to eat, and we were unsure about taking out the car and parking. So we bid adieu to our bartender and went in to the restaurant. And that's when things got really dicey. Because although it was a Tuesday night, it was International Night. Nothing good comes from International Night. A mishmash of pastas and taco salads and leftovers to create not one signature dish, but a series of mediocre dishes. Plus it was buffet. We headed back to the bar and the bartender laughed when he saw us coming back. This time we really were the only people there. We ordered hamburgers and they were just right. Bar food is bar food-- it doesn't pretend to be anything else. So we were satisfied.
next up: canopy tours in the clouds
Eventually we were back on the road and made it to Jaco by lunchtime. The main drag in Jaco consists of mega hotels and small tiendas, and the requisite strip mall. We headed to a little French Bakery for lunch and the native French speaking owner spoke with us in nearly the same passable Spanish that we spoke. We all ordered the same sandwich for simplicity's sake, but then Liz's Spanish came out like gangbusters; those who do not like mayonaisse are very adamant about it and will find a way to communicate it! After lunch Liz and I were eager to hit the pool (the beach was full of waves, but also debris, so the pool was the better option) before it stormed.
And storm it did. That evening we took the covered walkway out to the bar while the rain pounded down all around us. We were three of about five people at the bar (maybe at the resort at all). The bartender was friendly and asked us where we were from (being from Seattle, Washington, DC and Boston caused endless confusion for most people, so we started just picking one place) and made us margaritas. Since it was dark and rainy (I mean soooo rainy!) we didn't feel we could easily walk along the highway to find someplace to eat, and we were unsure about taking out the car and parking. So we bid adieu to our bartender and went in to the restaurant. And that's when things got really dicey. Because although it was a Tuesday night, it was International Night. Nothing good comes from International Night. A mishmash of pastas and taco salads and leftovers to create not one signature dish, but a series of mediocre dishes. Plus it was buffet. We headed back to the bar and the bartender laughed when he saw us coming back. This time we really were the only people there. We ordered hamburgers and they were just right. Bar food is bar food-- it doesn't pretend to be anything else. So we were satisfied.
next up: canopy tours in the clouds
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Costa Rica, Part II
I live my regular life in a tourist destination. While waiting for the bus home after a day of work, after the gym, eating a banana, and mentally listing what I need from the grocery store, inevitably three duck tours will go by and every tourist on them will snap of picture of the church in Copley Square, with me in the foreground rummaging through my bag. I can balance my phone, a latte, and my reading material, in heels, crossing Boylston St. with the same grace as the helmetless hurricane enduring renegade biker in Costa Rica. But on vacation our roles do reverse, and I become the tourist who snaps pictures of...a squirrel.
I embrace my inner tourist.
Our first two full days in Costa Rica were spent on tours to see the famed wildlife. There is a beautiful protected forest in Manuel Antonio, just off the ocean. Our guide impressed us with his abililty to spot bats in trees twenty feet above us, camoflauged Jesus Christ lizards, three toed sloths hanging around and insects-- colorful (grasshoppers) and famous (leaf cutting ants straight from a PBS special. Of which I intrepidly filmed two videos on my camera). The heat, humidity, jungle itself and the wildlife prompted my mom to comment that this was like the best kind of zoo. Indeed!
We hit the beach in the afternoons. The water in the equatorial Pacific bears no resemblance to Northern Atlantic water at all, except being wet. It was so warm I'd hazard to say it wasn't even refreshing! Families on the beach interacted happily-- several generations would play a game of soccer together with the requisite adopted dog jumping in. We read and enjoyed happy hour (two for one margaritas-- never mind that a margarita is more of a Mexican drink).
In a mangrove boat trip, our guide spotted a crocodile snacking on a dog and impressed us with all manner of bird and animal imitations. He also deftly navigated American humor; when asked what kind of animals might prey on the Jesus Christ lizard, he answered, "Oh, hawks mostly. But only the sacreligious kind!" Or when driving across an especially precarious bridge, he asked if we knew what the name of this bridge was? "The Oh-My-God bridge!" The humor was sometimes unintentional-- an alcholic concoction made of the bark of a native tree that became more potent as the weather gets hotter through the day was said to be "illegal in any other country, but here it is an appetizer."
Our tourist destiny was fulfilled by approaching and befriending the "friendly" group of white faced Capuchin monkeys. Half a dozen or more jumped out of the trees and into our boat, on our heads and eagerly snatched bananas* out of our hands. They are clever devils and not to be trusted because in short, they are smarter than us. One of them had no problems peeing on my mother while reaching out for a banana at the same time!
Time in Manuel Antonio was winding to a close-- we would travel to Jaco and Monteverde before the week's end.
*feeding bananas to the white faced monkeys is actually not recommended; it is not a native food, it causes them to become dependent on people and thus become overly trusting. They also need to travel through the trees many, many kilometers a day to stay fit, and if they know people will feed them, they will not do this. In short, we become the McDonald's of the monkey kingdom.
next up: surviving International Night and keeping our heads in the clouds.
I embrace my inner tourist.
Our first two full days in Costa Rica were spent on tours to see the famed wildlife. There is a beautiful protected forest in Manuel Antonio, just off the ocean. Our guide impressed us with his abililty to spot bats in trees twenty feet above us, camoflauged Jesus Christ lizards, three toed sloths hanging around and insects-- colorful (grasshoppers) and famous (leaf cutting ants straight from a PBS special. Of which I intrepidly filmed two videos on my camera). The heat, humidity, jungle itself and the wildlife prompted my mom to comment that this was like the best kind of zoo. Indeed!
We hit the beach in the afternoons. The water in the equatorial Pacific bears no resemblance to Northern Atlantic water at all, except being wet. It was so warm I'd hazard to say it wasn't even refreshing! Families on the beach interacted happily-- several generations would play a game of soccer together with the requisite adopted dog jumping in. We read and enjoyed happy hour (two for one margaritas-- never mind that a margarita is more of a Mexican drink).
In a mangrove boat trip, our guide spotted a crocodile snacking on a dog and impressed us with all manner of bird and animal imitations. He also deftly navigated American humor; when asked what kind of animals might prey on the Jesus Christ lizard, he answered, "Oh, hawks mostly. But only the sacreligious kind!" Or when driving across an especially precarious bridge, he asked if we knew what the name of this bridge was? "The Oh-My-God bridge!" The humor was sometimes unintentional-- an alcholic concoction made of the bark of a native tree that became more potent as the weather gets hotter through the day was said to be "illegal in any other country, but here it is an appetizer."
Our tourist destiny was fulfilled by approaching and befriending the "friendly" group of white faced Capuchin monkeys. Half a dozen or more jumped out of the trees and into our boat, on our heads and eagerly snatched bananas* out of our hands. They are clever devils and not to be trusted because in short, they are smarter than us. One of them had no problems peeing on my mother while reaching out for a banana at the same time!
Time in Manuel Antonio was winding to a close-- we would travel to Jaco and Monteverde before the week's end.
*feeding bananas to the white faced monkeys is actually not recommended; it is not a native food, it causes them to become dependent on people and thus become overly trusting. They also need to travel through the trees many, many kilometers a day to stay fit, and if they know people will feed them, they will not do this. In short, we become the McDonald's of the monkey kingdom.
next up: surviving International Night and keeping our heads in the clouds.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Costa Rica, Part 1
My recent foray into foreign travel started with a joke of sorts; my director saw my luggage in my office, came in and told me, "you know Logan is closed...". My look of shock and disbelief caused him to break and he admitted that he was trying to get my goat. He then wished me safe travels and I smiled and prepped my out of office responses. Ten hours later, the joke on me after all, I was in near tears heading home from Logan in a cab which would not accept the USAirways cab voucher I was given for my cancelled flight to D.C.
I headed back to Logan the next morning at 4am, and from there on out, the skies were friendly. I met my mom and sister in Philly, where we flew on to San Jose, Costa Rica.
Some people do not travel to the Carribbean or Central America during the late summer, due to the "rainy season", but those people probably did not grow up taking marathon car trips in a station wagon without AC in the dead of summer through hundreds of miles of Western Kansas plains. They were likely not taken across the border to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico at age 10 and told they would not have any water to drink or be able to use the bathroom until all matter of cheap pinatas, faux Retin A and colorful tin Christmas Tree ornaments were thoroughly examined, haggled, and bought. So a little occurrence called Hurricane Dean did not hamper our spirits (although our shoes got a little wet). The heavy downpour (which lasted the entire 4 hours of our drive from San Jose to Manuel Antonio) did not hamper the locals either-- every few miles we'd pass someone biking, without a helmet, while carrying a long pole or some contraption, possibly a second rider, AND and umbrella, with a dog trotting alongside.
Manuel Antonio is on the southwest coast of Costa Rica and we arrived around 6:30. We were tired, travel weary and hungry (we did not pull over for any snacks) but the front desk attendant at our hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, and recommended several restaurants as well as set up a tour for us to see monkeys, er, all sorts of wildlife, the next day in the park.
We did eat well that night (platefuls of mariscos and steak and beer) and slept even better. The next morning only the dripping trees, bathed in restorative sunlight, reminded us of the previous day's rain.
next, monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys!
I headed back to Logan the next morning at 4am, and from there on out, the skies were friendly. I met my mom and sister in Philly, where we flew on to San Jose, Costa Rica.
Some people do not travel to the Carribbean or Central America during the late summer, due to the "rainy season", but those people probably did not grow up taking marathon car trips in a station wagon without AC in the dead of summer through hundreds of miles of Western Kansas plains. They were likely not taken across the border to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico at age 10 and told they would not have any water to drink or be able to use the bathroom until all matter of cheap pinatas, faux Retin A and colorful tin Christmas Tree ornaments were thoroughly examined, haggled, and bought. So a little occurrence called Hurricane Dean did not hamper our spirits (although our shoes got a little wet). The heavy downpour (which lasted the entire 4 hours of our drive from San Jose to Manuel Antonio) did not hamper the locals either-- every few miles we'd pass someone biking, without a helmet, while carrying a long pole or some contraption, possibly a second rider, AND and umbrella, with a dog trotting alongside.
Manuel Antonio is on the southwest coast of Costa Rica and we arrived around 6:30. We were tired, travel weary and hungry (we did not pull over for any snacks) but the front desk attendant at our hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, and recommended several restaurants as well as set up a tour for us to see monkeys, er, all sorts of wildlife, the next day in the park.
We did eat well that night (platefuls of mariscos and steak and beer) and slept even better. The next morning only the dripping trees, bathed in restorative sunlight, reminded us of the previous day's rain.
next, monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Yard Sale
The suburban garage can hold many an untold treasure. My family's homes were always spacious, with enough room to hold anything that might not be immediately needed, but could certainly be useful in the future. Our garage in Wichita held an extra full sized freezer, so that we might always have a steak should we need it. Our Oklahoma City garage had it's own extra room/workspace, which was filled with dried flowers, florist's tape and ribbon-- all in order for my mom to make seasonal wreaths for our front door. My parents' current garage in Seattle is so filled with...stuff...that neither car can fit in. There's a pantry, tools, and my childhood, all boxed up.
I do recall having garage sales in Wichita. We could plan a day with neighbors and friends, and set stuff out on our long, winding driveway. Sale hunters start early, so we would be out at 6:30 or 7:00, usually with a box of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee and hot chocolate. We would sell old toys, appliances, and I remember trying to sell my Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul tapes.
Since living in Boston, I have moved apartments every few years, so have kept my belongings relatively trimmed. But, after living here for 11 years, certain things have had their day in the sun. So when Steph suggested a yard sale (small yard, no garage), I offered up my lawn and emailed ET#1 and my girlscout co-leader, Amy, to join in. I bought cute colored stickers and tags with pre-printed prices and started going through my closets and basement. I spent a weekend transferring cds to my iBook and iTunes, cleaned off my bookshelf of read books and decided to give the pink satin party pants a chance at a new home with someone younger and thinner.
ET#1 brought by her treasure trove of items including shoes, a vcr (with remote!) and some wooden combs (a note to ET#1-- these did not sell, but at your request, I held on to them and will return to you).
The Saturday of the yard sale my excitement was such that I awoke at 6:45 after a delightful dream in which my whole block was involved in the yard sale and friends I hadn't seen in years came by and everyone was laughing and playing the guitar...and of course raking in millions. I waited and waited for Steph and finally texted her, just to make sure she was up and hadn't overslept. About 5 minutes later she and her charge, 9 year old M, showed up with a mini-van full of kids' books, puzzles, a changing table, handbags, adirondack chairs (which I claimed for myself) and a table full of frames.
It was about 90 degrees in the shade and we haphazardly displayed our wares and waited for people to show up. And soon they did. Some people just glanced around, but many knew what they were looking for ("you got any computer parts?" or "I see cds, but how about dvds?"). One woman took all of the shoes, as well as some handbags. A pair of eldery men berated me for charging $3 for each of my cds ("You're out of touch!") while in the same breath asking if I had any disco (answer? no). Many people knew each other from the yard sale "circuit" ("I'll meet you over Wyman St.") and several people bought stuff they were clearly going to resell later.
By 1:30 we had done pretty well, were hot and tired and ready to donate the rest. We made about $175 in all, but it wasn't about the money. It was about cleaning house, physically and mentally, meeting the neighbors, sharing with the community and enjoying a summer day outside. In fact, I was reminded of the Mastercard commercials when M found one of ET#1's old watches:
price of sale tags and stickers: $11
price of coffee to get us through the morning: $6.50
price of book club bestsellers: $0.50
the look on M's face when told she had earned the watch through her helpful care with counting change to customers: priceless
I do recall having garage sales in Wichita. We could plan a day with neighbors and friends, and set stuff out on our long, winding driveway. Sale hunters start early, so we would be out at 6:30 or 7:00, usually with a box of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee and hot chocolate. We would sell old toys, appliances, and I remember trying to sell my Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul tapes.
Since living in Boston, I have moved apartments every few years, so have kept my belongings relatively trimmed. But, after living here for 11 years, certain things have had their day in the sun. So when Steph suggested a yard sale (small yard, no garage), I offered up my lawn and emailed ET#1 and my girlscout co-leader, Amy, to join in. I bought cute colored stickers and tags with pre-printed prices and started going through my closets and basement. I spent a weekend transferring cds to my iBook and iTunes, cleaned off my bookshelf of read books and decided to give the pink satin party pants a chance at a new home with someone younger and thinner.
ET#1 brought by her treasure trove of items including shoes, a vcr (with remote!) and some wooden combs (a note to ET#1-- these did not sell, but at your request, I held on to them and will return to you).
The Saturday of the yard sale my excitement was such that I awoke at 6:45 after a delightful dream in which my whole block was involved in the yard sale and friends I hadn't seen in years came by and everyone was laughing and playing the guitar...and of course raking in millions. I waited and waited for Steph and finally texted her, just to make sure she was up and hadn't overslept. About 5 minutes later she and her charge, 9 year old M, showed up with a mini-van full of kids' books, puzzles, a changing table, handbags, adirondack chairs (which I claimed for myself) and a table full of frames.
It was about 90 degrees in the shade and we haphazardly displayed our wares and waited for people to show up. And soon they did. Some people just glanced around, but many knew what they were looking for ("you got any computer parts?" or "I see cds, but how about dvds?"). One woman took all of the shoes, as well as some handbags. A pair of eldery men berated me for charging $3 for each of my cds ("You're out of touch!") while in the same breath asking if I had any disco (answer? no). Many people knew each other from the yard sale "circuit" ("I'll meet you over Wyman St.") and several people bought stuff they were clearly going to resell later.
By 1:30 we had done pretty well, were hot and tired and ready to donate the rest. We made about $175 in all, but it wasn't about the money. It was about cleaning house, physically and mentally, meeting the neighbors, sharing with the community and enjoying a summer day outside. In fact, I was reminded of the Mastercard commercials when M found one of ET#1's old watches:
price of sale tags and stickers: $11
price of coffee to get us through the morning: $6.50
price of book club bestsellers: $0.50
the look on M's face when told she had earned the watch through her helpful care with counting change to customers: priceless
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Tales From the Fruit Cart: Summer 2007 Edition
Intrepid sister/fruit cart pusher, Liz, gives us the latest update.
On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.
This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.
On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.
This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
If My Favorite Television Characters Ran the USA
I really enjoy presidential campaigns. They are full of drama and comedy and oh so many questions. Is America ready for a female president? Is America ready for a black president? Is America ready for a Mormon president? Is America ready for a stone cold fox (John Edwards) president? Besides the candidates, there is the political milieu. Where will America be come the 2008 election? Will we be voting in submarines since we will be living underwater due to global warming? Will Iraq be under water? I ask because I am not sure if the whole planet will be underwater or just certain areas. The Middle East seems so dry maybe it will take longer to be submerged. Maybe it will go through a swamp stage? Will be able to provide our troops with the swamp war gear they need?
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
I also really enjoy television. I watch a lot of television and when I am not watching it I am thinking about television. So it is only natural I combine these two interests and imagine an America where my favorite TV characters are running the show. I have not thought through the whole presidential cabinet, just the positions I think are important.
Jack Shepherd (“LOST”) is a natural for our next commander-in-chief. Currently, he is the unofficial leader of a diverse group of survivors from the doomed Oceanic Airlines flight 815. Jack gracefully navigates the unpredictable terrain of island life and manages to address the needs of his varied constituency while trying to achieve diplomatic relations with the persistently mysterious and hostile “others.” But don’t think that he is all talk. Jack is so not afraid to cut into your kidney sack and let you bleed to death if he does not get his way. Also, he seems to be able to deal with the French. Before attaining power on this uncharted island, Jack was a leader back home where he blew the whistle on his alcoholic surgeon father whose medical license was revoked. No nepotism in the Shepherd White House. Speaking of the WhiteHouse, President Jack will not be living there since there is no telling when (if ever) he will get off that confounding island.
Since President Jack will be operating outside the continental US it will be the Vice President’s job to be the face of the executive branch. Claire Bennett (“Heroes”) will be the one to travel the country and to connect with the people; hear them and maybe even“cheer” for them. Detractors may say something like“legally she is ineligible to be the VP since she is 16 years old” but I would counter that Hiro could manipulate the space/time continuum and make it work somehow. Also, there is a subculture of presidential assassins in this nation and since they will not be able to get at Jack they will follow the chain of command and go after Claire and we all know she cannot die. No matter the method, she will regenerate and heal and maybe even videotape it and post it onYouTube. “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World.”
While Claire is taking the pulse of the nation, Kara “Starbuck” Thrace (“Battlestar Galactica”), our nextSecretary of State, will be serving as our ambassador for all politics both international and intergalactic. Starbuck, a determined woman with no planet to call home, has extensive expertise in dealing with foreigners (AKA: anyone not from Caprica). Since she is so inept at personal relationships, she will have plenty of time to represent the interests of the US as she travels about the Earth (if only she could find it!) and other planets. Keep in mind there is a good chance that she is cylon meaning that like vice president Claire she cannot be killed and more importantly this dual citizenship will enable her to effectively manage the inevitable “peace summits” with the aliens currently menacing (i.e. abducting) the human race. Also, she is a damn fine viper pilot.
In a post 9/11 world where domestic and international threats abound it is especially crucial to have the right team in place to protect our national interests.The appointments of Jack Bauer (“24”) as Secretary of Defense and Gil Grissom as Secretary of Homeland Security (“CSI”) will feel like a warm hug from two very big brothers. The combined strategic and forensic prowess of Jack and Grissom will keep us safe until construction of the highly anticipated “terror dome”(which will keep out immigrants, cylons, and the environment) is completed. As a nation, we must accept that our civil liberties are gone and not coming back. So just sit back and feel safe as Jack goes about his business of racial profiling and torture, and please allow Grissom collect a swab of DNA from your cheek. After all, if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear.
Friday, June 29, 2007
High/Low
Many people can appreciate the high and the low. For example, a confirmed boutique store shopper may find the bargain basement and the vault at Filene's Basement a joy, just as the swanky restaurant diner can also enjoy a couple beers and Fenway Franks at the ballpark. I found myself last week keeping company with the yacht club set on one night, and the following night...well, a decidedly more frugal and less preppy crowd...
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
To start, the High...the Clambake.
Each year a couple meet and greet events are held for the incoming interns at work. Thursday was a clambake catered by famed Woodman's, hosted at Community Boating on the Charles. The sailboats were prepped for sailing and Mr. Woodman himself dumped dozens of lobsters in boiling pots of water, prepared steamers with drawn butter and grilled up chicken breasts for non-seafood fans. People donned lobster bibs and mingled amongst their khaki clad colleagues. Babies were passed around and family photos taken. At the end of the night there were half a dozen leftover lobsters-- already boiled and ready for...a bisque? a lobster roll? a salad? And here's where things started to go downhill, to the Low. I would have to transport the lobsters home on the T, and the best way to do this was to throw them in a black garbage bag. But before actually getting on the T, the lobsters made a final journey to a local bar with the interns. I shoved my way in, pushing the garbage bag of crustaceans against legs to make my way to the back. I found an empty table and ordered the lobsters, er, myself, a beer. The lobsters and I eventually made it home, where I tucked them in the fridge for future preparation, then climbed into bed myself, for the next day held big plans...
The Low...Popeye's Fried Chicken.
At some point after high school and part way through college, I swore off most fast food. My teenage metabolism and live forever mentality led me to believe that there was nothing wrong with a lunchtime diet of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Dog 'N' Shake. I did eat a fair amount of Chinese take out in college, however, and Wing It was a good standby when all that was in the fridge was a case of beer and soy sauce. One of the last traditions of college fast food was Fried Chicken Friday, when Dana and I would bring KFC into the admin office for Zara. Recently a Popeye's opened in Kenmore Square and I was immediately transported back to Wichita, where we would occasionally get the family meal. I recruited ET#1 to join me Friday after work. Even for fast food, 5 pm is a little early for dinner, so we had some pints at Boston Beer Works first. We then tippled over to Popeye's and headed down to the basement entrance. Although tempted by the variety and quantity of the Family Meal, ET#1 wisely convinced me to choose the 2 piece dinner with a side, and she also purchased an additional side. The cashier asked us the requisite questions as we orderd: dark meat or light (dark, of course!), regular or spicy (spicy!) and which side (red beans and rice for me, cole slaw and mac n cheese for ET#1). Finally, we each had to order a large drink. There is never really a time I need a jumbo sized soda of any type, but I was fairly sure not ordering one would wreak havoc on the cash register. I then picked up salt n pepper packets, some Cajun Sparkle and extra napkins. ET#1 also remembered to request honey for the biscuits. We chowed down and when I later headed home on the bus, feeling full and drunk, I felt not unlike I had the night before...so, in the end, it didn't really matter whether the experience was high or low-- I was in heaven!
Monday, June 18, 2007
I'm A Vegetable Machine!
My sister undertook a year of veggie/salad eating. Here is her report.
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
So, I wanted to update you on the official close to my summer/year of salads.Despite a rocky start, last night I celebrated the one-yearanniversary of the summer of salads and learning to eat vegetables bymaking a veggie pizza. It included 2 Roma tomatoes, one thinly slicedsmall yellow squash, a quarter of a red onion, half a green (emphasison GREEN) pepper and basil. That is a lot of vegetables that I neverate willingly before this year.
Other successful highlights from this year include:Eggplants. I've grilled them, baked them, fried them and made eggplantparm with them.
Artichokes. This we accidentally boiled instead of steamed, but it was okay.
Bell peppers. I regularly eat these now, but my favorite is when redpeppers are grilled or when we ate the stuffed orange peppers thisfall.
Acorn and winter squash. You may remember these from thanksgiving! AndI just had it on pizza. Plus we grill them and stir fry them.
Spinach. This, I must admit, is still a challenge. But I do like it cooked down with some curry and chickpeas.
Carrots. I know, I know. This is a boring vegetable that I always ate.But now I've graduated beyond baby carrots to peeling and choppingfull sized carrots into sticks. That is carrot dedication. Plus we had that ginger carrot dish at thanksgiving. AND I eat them in my lunch almost every day – except when I have a veggie medley like broccoli,cauliflower, or sugar snap peas (also a knew adventure!).
Tomatoes. If I cut them up small enough, I can eat these things raw. I even made gazpacho!
I also routinely order fancy salads when I go out to lunch or dinneron business. In fact, I had one last week at a work function at the May Flower Hotel downtown. And, just like a grown up, I asked for the salad dressing on the side! Plus, when I have people over for dinner, I can serve – and eat – side salads without grimacing and gagging. As if this weren't enough, I am now even growing vegetables to eat.This includes THREE tomato plants (purple treasure, big boy and greenzebra), two super chilies (Thia chilies) and a bell pepper plant.
But my crowing achievement on the salad/veggie front was last night when I didn't want a salad to go with my veggie pizza, and Matt said Ididn't have to have one if I didn't want to. He said I have nothing to prove on the salad front anymore. I am an official salad eater!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Girlscout Camping...Eat Your Heart Out Shelly Long!
The girls had been excited for camping for a couple months. We'd been prepping them by having them come up with food they would like to make and eat (there is a cereal called Reese's Puffs, and that's what they wanted, but being from Cambridge with sophisticated palates, also informed us that pecorino romano is better on pasta than parmesan), and having them make a list of any safety issues that might come up while camping (on the list of 30 plus risks, nestled by "snake bite", "tsunami" and "quick sand" was a true issue-- "can't poop").
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Friday rolled around and Rashmi, Amy and I had checked our lists multiple times. Rashmi and I waited for Amy, and when I saw her out the window I thought how prepared she looked, replete in jeans, hiking shoes and a vest. When we met her downstairs she was now holding an industrial sized coffee maker. We told her there might not be room in the car for it along with everything else...she paused and looked like we were asking her to sacrifice a beloved pet...but turned to take it back to her car. Three minutes later she returned still carrying the coffee maker and claiming she was happy to hold it on her lap, but she needed it.
We met the girls and their parents and were thankful that we had an actual mom also coming along to chaperone (ie, a "real" adult). We packed the two cars, and despite my assurance that the girls were small and could fit in amongst the stuff (summer memories of 12+ hour car rides, the car packed to the gills with my sister and I stuffed in amongst coolers and pillows and activity bags, across the plains in the Datsun came flooding back to me), we elected to bring Amy's car after all. The girls were divvied up and we set off for Camp Wabasso in New Hampshire. Half an hour later we were still in Cambridge since the traffic was so bad. We eventually all arrived at the camp and the girls were ecstatic. As the grounds keeper showed us around and gave us the rules, one girl asked him a question: "Is there a shower?" No. "But I wash my hair on Saturdays-- what will I do?" Wash it on Sunday. City kids.
We had them all unpack, and had half the girls start preparing for dinner. It was around 8:20 or so and we asked The Mom about what time the girls' bedtime was. She paused and said, "Well, it's a little later on weekends." And then her daughter chimed in saying, "I get to stay up until 8:45 on weekends!" Well, this would be an extra special weekend then.
I went to church camp for several summers and have some recollection of it...but most of my camp memories come from The Parent Trap starring Haley Mills and Haley Mills. Our lodge did not mesh with these memories. There were vinyl covered twin sized mattresses for to sleep on...on a linoleum floor. There was a 3 stall bathroom. There was (fortunately) a kitchen. As we got ready for bed, one girl broke out her dental floss. I asked her if she always flossed (because I know I didn't-- and still don't-- everynight as a kid) and she looked at me and said, "It's a good idea to do it at least once a day" and gave me a strand. In fact, she shared her floss with eveyone, so all nine of us flossed that night.
That night in my sleeping bag on my mattress, I hoped that I was being a good role model...and then as I tried to get comfortable and swatted away stray mosquitoes, I thought about Paris Hilton and how she too was likely trying to get comfortable in jail. There was a difference, of course. I had to wake up at 5:15 am to 5 wiggly and whispering girls. I'm sure Paris got to sleep in.
Saturday was cool and kind of rainy-- we took a short walk around the campgrounds and down to the lake. We taught (and learned ourselves) the girls about compasses and had them make maps of the lodge. Then they got started making the fire for lunch. We all made quesadillas and then we decided to give them some free time. I remember afternoons at camp where we would go exploring with no adult in sight. This camp wasn't so big so I wasn't worried. A few girls said they would go for a walk...but before starting, one remembered something in the lodge-- of course, her purse! Five minutes later their walk was finished and the rest of the afternoon they all stayed in the backyard area, making crafts. Again, city kids. Around 3:30 we noticed them being snippy and crabby. What should we do? Make them lay down? Take naps? Solitary confinement? "They need a snack", said The Mom. Ahhh. Of course! We gathered the granola bars and apples and again felt relieved at the voice of reason.
That night the dinner menu consisted of hamburgers and tacos (because why have one main entree when you can have two?). As the dinner prep team was cutting the watermelon, one girl asked, "is this for dessert?" To which Rashmi replied, "oh no, dessert is smackos-- peanut butter and chocolate chips melted in a quesadilla over the fire." That's right-- there was no healthy eating badge earned this weekend. The girls further proved their wilderness mettle by demanding and eating stove top popped popcorn after the double dinner and smackos. I did some quick math and realized they'd all been awake for 16+ hours...and showed no sign of wanting to go to sleep any time soon. After some skits and dramatic renditions of songs from High School Musical, the girls did start to wind down. At 9:30 we told them lights out in a half hour. In twenty minutes they were begging for lights out. Needless to say, no one woke up at 5:15 the next morning.
Sunday morning we cleaned and took stock of what we were going to tell the parents. One girl had chosen not to brush her teeth all weekend, another had marshmallow and sticks in her hair. We all needed showers. While they were packing and cleaning, Rashmi and I hid 5 bags of cracker jacks on the grounds, and created a treasure hunt using the compasses.
While we were packing the cars, one of our girls who is moving presented us a letter, with one sentence to everyone: One girl has the coolest hairstyle, another has the best laugh, Amy is awesome building fires, Rashmi makes girlscouts so fun and for me? "Andrea, you are the one I admire most." Inexplicably, I'm less like Paris than I thought.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Racing Along
This entry will serve as an update of sorts. I have been going along with my normal Andrea things-- svelting, cooking, scouting and reading and they are all coming to a pinacle. This weekend Steph, ET#1 and I ran the Corrib Pub 5K, as part of an Ultimate Svelte Challenge. For Steph and myself, this was our first race. Although in an effort to back out last minute should I need to, I did not register so have no official time. I did eat an official hot dog after the race. My time was about 35 minutes (to run, not to eat the hot dog).
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
With G working this weekend, I had the apartment to myself so took the opportunity to clean out the fridge and bake bread and roast a chicken. Nothing too exciting. What is exciting is the amount of time I spent reading! For every book I read off my list-of-books-that-are-gathering-dust-on-my-shelf list, I get to post to my new shared blog, A Shelf Full of Books! It promises to be nearly as exciting as Fruit Cart updates and vacation photos.
Finally, next weekend I will go camping with the girlscouts. Since I never was a girlscout, I am winging it (but have very capable co-leaders as well as one actual parent), but hope that my neurotic planning will at least leave us with plently of food and activities. Should anyone have anything they want to share/suggest about scout camping, please leave a comment!
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