as most of you know (or have easily extrapolated), my blogmate and i are pretty good friends. to the extent that i'm a fairly well-adjusted person, i can often credit my emotional well-being to her willingness to listen to the details of my life as told in play-by-play form, and from her i get all sorts of validation... or at least distraction. it's not really her style to talk me off yet another ledge by telling me that i'm a good person- her brand of friend-therapy is usually to derail me from my self-destructive rants by taking me shopping, or by finding my trademark self-deprecation so funny that i, in turn, at least feel good about my budding sense of humor.
and while she was pretty apologetic in giving me athletic socks and fudge for my birthday this year, i actually thought that this was a wonderful constellation of gifts and was yet again thankful to have such a considerate blogmate... especially when there was a second round of birthday present a few weeks later involving a reversible strawberry purse.
it was thus with great delight that i presented her with her birthday gifts this afternoon. on the surface it was standard stuff: a book and a CD. for the record i think that book + CD is not only a good present, but kind of a classy one, and i have used the synergistic power of these items to impress a few (now ex-) boyfriends over the years. but as you also know, thoughtful and classy aren't really my strong suits... instead, my blogmate is now the proud owner of an out-of-print (but available on amazon) sociology book (somebody's dissertation) that showcases the goings on at our very own valois (that's "vuh loise") "see your food" cafeteria on 53rd street AND "italian dance anthems + euro hits," which i had unwrapped, listened to, and burned before i gave it to her.
among other things, i think we might be getting to the bottom of our collective musical bankruptcy.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
blogger in the big apple
here i am in brooklyn heights, once again wishing that i was as cool as everyone around me. i'm now convinced that no matter who you and where you're from, you always feel like a dork when you're in new york (i really wish that didn't rhyme that way). people in this town just look better, wear better clothes, hang out in better bars, have a better assortment of deep fried foods at their neighborhood festivals.
transiently, at least, i've felt like i was getting the hang of it (or that it was just rubbing off). after a satisfying day of wandering around the city, my friend mbk and i met my brother at an unbelievably cute bar in the village (exposed brick, good music, waitress that was so pretty and stylish that i couldn't stop staring at her- although that may have been because she'd apparently forgotten to wear pants). even my brother has become trendy- i'm not clear on how he's making his hair do that or how he's pulling off such a vintage-y look when i know that he only shops the clearance rack at old navy. we had dinner at a vietnamese restaurant in chinatown (somehow i've randomly ended at the same vietnamese restaurant in chinatown three times) and, with weird fried sesame rice dough balls stuffed with red bean paste in hand, dove headfirst into the mayhem that was the 78th annual san genarro festival in little italy. the streets were lined with all sorts of interesting vendors- rosaries, fried oreos, pope figurines, fried twinkies, faux-lv purses, sweet breads. we were very disappointed by the much-anticipated "shoot the freak" game, which turned out to be a stationary guy in a protective suit getting paint-balled by little kids. equally dissappointing were the world's smallest woman and the world's smallest horse.
i'm leaving new york with one of those uber-stylish necklaces bought from a street vendor in times square (that's remarkably similar to something my grandmother wears) and a $16 shiseido eyelash curler (bought at the shiseido outlet in chinatown- it should have been $25). that i'm making these kinds of purchases suggests to me that i've crossed some sort of line into fashion-land. the lessons i've learned are these: 1) it's all about accessories and 2) i shouldn't be allowed to buy anything within 2 weeks of meticulously pouring through the harper's bazaar fall fashion double-issue.
transiently, at least, i've felt like i was getting the hang of it (or that it was just rubbing off). after a satisfying day of wandering around the city, my friend mbk and i met my brother at an unbelievably cute bar in the village (exposed brick, good music, waitress that was so pretty and stylish that i couldn't stop staring at her- although that may have been because she'd apparently forgotten to wear pants). even my brother has become trendy- i'm not clear on how he's making his hair do that or how he's pulling off such a vintage-y look when i know that he only shops the clearance rack at old navy. we had dinner at a vietnamese restaurant in chinatown (somehow i've randomly ended at the same vietnamese restaurant in chinatown three times) and, with weird fried sesame rice dough balls stuffed with red bean paste in hand, dove headfirst into the mayhem that was the 78th annual san genarro festival in little italy. the streets were lined with all sorts of interesting vendors- rosaries, fried oreos, pope figurines, fried twinkies, faux-lv purses, sweet breads. we were very disappointed by the much-anticipated "shoot the freak" game, which turned out to be a stationary guy in a protective suit getting paint-balled by little kids. equally dissappointing were the world's smallest woman and the world's smallest horse.
i'm leaving new york with one of those uber-stylish necklaces bought from a street vendor in times square (that's remarkably similar to something my grandmother wears) and a $16 shiseido eyelash curler (bought at the shiseido outlet in chinatown- it should have been $25). that i'm making these kinds of purchases suggests to me that i've crossed some sort of line into fashion-land. the lessons i've learned are these: 1) it's all about accessories and 2) i shouldn't be allowed to buy anything within 2 weeks of meticulously pouring through the harper's bazaar fall fashion double-issue.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
i want to be a non-conformist, just like everybody else
south park last night had stan joining the goth kids following his break-up with wendy. ("dude, if you want to be a non-conformist you have to drink coffee like us...") today, in the midst of a long-overdue but typically ridiculous adventure involving my blogmate and i driving in circles in the north suburbs trying to find suitably low-brow lunch in an office park, we reviewed our own phases of music identity, and mostly why they'd failed. highlights?
1) consensus that we'd both tried to do the phish/widespread panic jam band scene, but while we liked the music on cd, didn't like the live scene enough, mostly because we weren't high enough, and that it takes too much pot for a newbie to be high enough to enjoy phish solos.
2) consensus that we'd both tried the raver look, but while we both enjoyed the baggy jeans and little dr. seuss t-shirts, that i was vaguely surprised to discover that the look seemed to come with bad techno music, and that my blogmate was unwilling to drop acid and lose hours of brain control just in order to wear cute t-shirts.
3) me reassuring my blogmate that i never really was a goth, but that i had lots of friends who were goths, and that my college roommate and i spent lots of saturdays making fun of them as sport.
4) both of us going through a surprisingly angst-less nine inch nails phase.
fast forward to current musical tastes:
5) my blogmate's desire to be a better music critic, but unwillingness to spend time learning about new bands, and resultant embarrassment when around our much more music-cool friends m and n.
6) my desire to like indie rock, but as i eloquently stated, "my problem with indie rock is that i don't like it..." and "i kind of just want to listen to happy music like jack johnson without the embarrassment of actually liking jack johnson."
so our tastes seem to be informed by our sloth.
enter butters, also from last night's episode: "i'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy goth kid."
but while we may be lazy on the discovery forefront, there's no end to how much energy we can spend hating mainstream trends. i was pleased to discover:
7) i don't love coldplay x&y. it sounds like old u2 but more boring. i do, however, love the vh1 i-love-the-whatever-decade episode where two guys hypothesize that everything looks more dramatic when you play coldplay in the background, and promptly re-enact a) touching each other, and b) touching each other to coldplay in a slow-mo gay-love-scene demonstration. as my blogmate said, "coldplay makes great homoerotic background music."
so. since i think our readership has more energy and taste than we do, we hereby invite suggestions for new phases of music and artists we should like. criteria? a) we are cynical but not angry. b) no broken-down-and-self-important (i.e. counting crows). c) we accept "barbecue" as a valid genre.
thank you for your support.
1) consensus that we'd both tried to do the phish/widespread panic jam band scene, but while we liked the music on cd, didn't like the live scene enough, mostly because we weren't high enough, and that it takes too much pot for a newbie to be high enough to enjoy phish solos.
2) consensus that we'd both tried the raver look, but while we both enjoyed the baggy jeans and little dr. seuss t-shirts, that i was vaguely surprised to discover that the look seemed to come with bad techno music, and that my blogmate was unwilling to drop acid and lose hours of brain control just in order to wear cute t-shirts.
3) me reassuring my blogmate that i never really was a goth, but that i had lots of friends who were goths, and that my college roommate and i spent lots of saturdays making fun of them as sport.
4) both of us going through a surprisingly angst-less nine inch nails phase.
fast forward to current musical tastes:
5) my blogmate's desire to be a better music critic, but unwillingness to spend time learning about new bands, and resultant embarrassment when around our much more music-cool friends m and n.
6) my desire to like indie rock, but as i eloquently stated, "my problem with indie rock is that i don't like it..." and "i kind of just want to listen to happy music like jack johnson without the embarrassment of actually liking jack johnson."
so our tastes seem to be informed by our sloth.
enter butters, also from last night's episode: "i'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy goth kid."
but while we may be lazy on the discovery forefront, there's no end to how much energy we can spend hating mainstream trends. i was pleased to discover:
7) i don't love coldplay x&y. it sounds like old u2 but more boring. i do, however, love the vh1 i-love-the-whatever-decade episode where two guys hypothesize that everything looks more dramatic when you play coldplay in the background, and promptly re-enact a) touching each other, and b) touching each other to coldplay in a slow-mo gay-love-scene demonstration. as my blogmate said, "coldplay makes great homoerotic background music."
so. since i think our readership has more energy and taste than we do, we hereby invite suggestions for new phases of music and artists we should like. criteria? a) we are cynical but not angry. b) no broken-down-and-self-important (i.e. counting crows). c) we accept "barbecue" as a valid genre.
thank you for your support.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
you had to be there?
while i find the intricacies of my love life (or lack thereof) endlessly fascinating, i've had to accept that this topic probably isn't nearly as interesting to our loyal blog readership, and i'm trying to cut back. in making this decision i've discovered that once i've talked about boys, shopping, and beer, i'm pretty much tapped out. having exhausted my repertoire but remaining steadfast in my refusal to let the blog die, i'm taking on a new approach: blogging about events i didn't witness and know almost nothing about:
as a good number of you already know, my blogmate's brother got hitched to butterknife last weekend. as a preamble, i'll tell you that i only met my blogmate's brother (whom i have no choice but to dub mbmb until i remember what other name we use for him) once over icecream (at the sadly out-of-business ice dreams) a couple of years ago, and have never met butterknife. nonetheless, i've been hanging over my blogmate's every word for months as the wedding plans have unfolded. come to think of it, i seem to recall being kept pretty current on the ring-buying and proposal as well. anyway, as my blogmate is out on yet another outdoor adventure weekend (it seems i have wedding planning and outdoor envy) i decided to take on the rendering of the wedding story.
my personal favorite anecdote involves one "great uncle father bob" who made a last minute announcement that he'd be joining the priest up on altar during the ceremony, resulting in butterknife's rather flamboyant entry into the church which involved what i can only guess is more profanity than is customary in a place of worship.
apparently butterknife was able to settle down a little after "chillin' in the bride get ready room" and proceeded to have a very nice wedding in spite of the throng at the altar and the occasional outburst from the audience. i'm told that the bride and groom landed on a somewhat whimsical priest who takes the fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants approach to wedding ceremonies (i.e. rehearsals are for sissies) and managed to grossly miscalculate the handling of communion.
from my blogmate's recounting i can also tell you that there was a posse of rowdy engineers from mbmb's days as a rowdy engineer, the expected number of terse, funny comments from my blogmate's terse, funny dad, and the rather interesting cultural interaction that results from hard-core italian meets hard-core wisconsin dutch. for those of you who are neither one of those (present company included), rest assured that we're all included, even if we are lumped into great-uncle father bob's culturally-sensitive wedding-prayer category of "whatever."
i'm very proud of several of the wedding guests, most notably m for showing up with her sassy new haircut and managing to get good and drunk, n for managing to work bon jovi lyrics into his best man speech, and my good blogmate, who managed not to fall flat on her face in her uber-stylish but cripplingly high-heeled custom-made, sparkly steve maddens.
as a good number of you already know, my blogmate's brother got hitched to butterknife last weekend. as a preamble, i'll tell you that i only met my blogmate's brother (whom i have no choice but to dub mbmb until i remember what other name we use for him) once over icecream (at the sadly out-of-business ice dreams) a couple of years ago, and have never met butterknife. nonetheless, i've been hanging over my blogmate's every word for months as the wedding plans have unfolded. come to think of it, i seem to recall being kept pretty current on the ring-buying and proposal as well. anyway, as my blogmate is out on yet another outdoor adventure weekend (it seems i have wedding planning and outdoor envy) i decided to take on the rendering of the wedding story.
my personal favorite anecdote involves one "great uncle father bob" who made a last minute announcement that he'd be joining the priest up on altar during the ceremony, resulting in butterknife's rather flamboyant entry into the church which involved what i can only guess is more profanity than is customary in a place of worship.
apparently butterknife was able to settle down a little after "chillin' in the bride get ready room" and proceeded to have a very nice wedding in spite of the throng at the altar and the occasional outburst from the audience. i'm told that the bride and groom landed on a somewhat whimsical priest who takes the fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants approach to wedding ceremonies (i.e. rehearsals are for sissies) and managed to grossly miscalculate the handling of communion.
from my blogmate's recounting i can also tell you that there was a posse of rowdy engineers from mbmb's days as a rowdy engineer, the expected number of terse, funny comments from my blogmate's terse, funny dad, and the rather interesting cultural interaction that results from hard-core italian meets hard-core wisconsin dutch. for those of you who are neither one of those (present company included), rest assured that we're all included, even if we are lumped into great-uncle father bob's culturally-sensitive wedding-prayer category of "whatever."
i'm very proud of several of the wedding guests, most notably m for showing up with her sassy new haircut and managing to get good and drunk, n for managing to work bon jovi lyrics into his best man speech, and my good blogmate, who managed not to fall flat on her face in her uber-stylish but cripplingly high-heeled custom-made, sparkly steve maddens.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
neither rain nor sleet nor hail
on the way home from work today i passed a postal police car and amused myself most of the way home trying to imagine what sort of postal emergency would warrant the use of such a vehicle. i understand that there are all sorts of legitimate postal crimes and that mail fraud is a very serious offense but it's hard for me to picture the elaborate and highly dangerous mail heist that would involve the use of lights and sirens and high-speed chases.
i sniggered all the way down lakeshore drive until i passed soldier field which is currently being used as the staging grounds for the american idol trials. not being of the artisitc persuasion myself, maybe i don't understand what it is to be an aspiring vocalist in search of glamour, fame, and oodles of money- but as i passed the throng of american idol potentials wrapped all the way around a football stadium (i think to the tune of 50,000) it occurred to me that maybe i'm the odd one out.
to wrap up my thursday afternoon ponderings i have to ask myself: wasn't one nauseating reese witherspoon romantic comedy that shared the name of an overplayed pop song enough?
i sniggered all the way down lakeshore drive until i passed soldier field which is currently being used as the staging grounds for the american idol trials. not being of the artisitc persuasion myself, maybe i don't understand what it is to be an aspiring vocalist in search of glamour, fame, and oodles of money- but as i passed the throng of american idol potentials wrapped all the way around a football stadium (i think to the tune of 50,000) it occurred to me that maybe i'm the odd one out.
to wrap up my thursday afternoon ponderings i have to ask myself: wasn't one nauseating reese witherspoon romantic comedy that shared the name of an overplayed pop song enough?
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
don't buy me some peanuts or cracker jacks, because they'll get stuck in my teeth
my apologies to all real baseball fans out there. but last night my blogmate and i scored free tickets along with two co-workers to watch the cubs play the cincinnati reds at wrigley field in what will be the most amazing seats i will ever see in my lifetime: 6th row behind home plate. and how did we celebrate the occasion? old style in plastic cups and the most intelligent baseball discourse i'm sure home plate has ever heard:
"sooo... three strikes and you're out... and then three outs until the next team is up... and then when both teams are done, that's an inning, right?"
"wait, which one's derrek lee?"
"aaawwww.... oh, wait, that was a good thing! yay!"
"hold on; i'm trying to see if derrek lee is cute. i can't see his face..."
"no, it's not his face that's cute..."
"does anyone think it's weird that they all wear white uniforms when they slide in the dirt?"
"does anyone think their uniforms look like pajamas?"
"does anyone know if the uniforms are a shirt and pants or all one piece?"
"hey, you said you didn't care about baseball! you're totally watching."
"how can i tell if it's a ball or a strike?"
"how can i tell who's winning?"
"i'm glad we're behind the net. i'm afraid of fly balls."
"did you know garciaparra is married to mia hamm?"
"girl, i know that part!"
"twinset saw them together at bijam...."
"do you think mia hamm is here?"
"quick! has anyone seen any celebrities? it's my dream to watch baseball next to john cusack."
"sooo... three strikes and you're out... and then three outs until the next team is up... and then when both teams are done, that's an inning, right?"
"wait, which one's derrek lee?"
"aaawwww.... oh, wait, that was a good thing! yay!"
"hold on; i'm trying to see if derrek lee is cute. i can't see his face..."
"no, it's not his face that's cute..."
"does anyone think it's weird that they all wear white uniforms when they slide in the dirt?"
"does anyone think their uniforms look like pajamas?"
"does anyone know if the uniforms are a shirt and pants or all one piece?"
"hey, you said you didn't care about baseball! you're totally watching."
"how can i tell if it's a ball or a strike?"
"how can i tell who's winning?"
"i'm glad we're behind the net. i'm afraid of fly balls."
"did you know garciaparra is married to mia hamm?"
"girl, i know that part!"
"twinset saw them together at bijam...."
"do you think mia hamm is here?"
"quick! has anyone seen any celebrities? it's my dream to watch baseball next to john cusack."
Monday, September 12, 2005
all you can tolerate
mb and i spent labor day weekend in the upper peninsula of michigan, enjoying a fun few days of mountain biking, hiking and swimming in a very wavy lake superior. i'm sure i could find something in me about nature or getting away from the city or something, but instead let me focus briefly on one of the best things the northwoods has to offer: the all-you-can-eat buffet.
coming in at number three for funniest all-you-can-eat: friday night fish fry. while quite welcome after twenty miles of biking dirt roads along cliffs, there's something funny about a whole table with nothing but piles of unmarked battered [presumably] fish. i didn't care really what it was after being outside all day, but it's still a little disturbing.
number two goes to the restaurant next door's breakfast buffet, which advertised a selection of hot foods plus a "fruit bar." excellent, we thought. it would be nice to eat something fresh. but "fruit bar" turned out not to hold actual fruit, but four different colors of fruit whip (you know, that cream stuff with colored pieces of some kind?), lemon pudding, and grapes.
but solidly above the pack was the new lunch buffet near my parents' place, which i attended on returning to their house to prepare for my brother's wedding. $5.45 buys you a ticket to a chinese-japanese-mongolian-barbecue-dim-sum-sushi-american-italian smorgasbord. you know you're dining in style when a glittering lite-brite-esque picture of an eagle on a mountain hovers over ham-and-pickle sushi next to 8 options of greasy chicken pieces next to tater tots next to egg rolls in which nobody told the chef you can't substitute sauerkraut for regular cabbage, all topped off with a soft-serve ice cream machine.
mb said it best: the reason we got higher educations and left our small hometowns was so we could come back and look down our noses at them for sport... but we don't really want to lose token-hick-in-the-city status either. so i think we have to employ selective memory (if the first buffet wasn't very good, why did we think the next two would be better?) and a love of the ridiculous. if we keep putting ourselves in all-you-can-eat country, we can enjoy our assumed superiority with statements like "really, mother, you must know about pedicures" and "what do you mean, there's no starbucks or jamba juice for the next 100 miles???" and when we come back to the city we can claim disgust over the unhealthy food we just ate over some butt-firming pseudo-yoga (thanks, blogmate!) before deciding we're better than the yuppie frills of the city and going in search of a city fish fry and cheap beer. good thing we don't mind contradictions.
coming in at number three for funniest all-you-can-eat: friday night fish fry. while quite welcome after twenty miles of biking dirt roads along cliffs, there's something funny about a whole table with nothing but piles of unmarked battered [presumably] fish. i didn't care really what it was after being outside all day, but it's still a little disturbing.
number two goes to the restaurant next door's breakfast buffet, which advertised a selection of hot foods plus a "fruit bar." excellent, we thought. it would be nice to eat something fresh. but "fruit bar" turned out not to hold actual fruit, but four different colors of fruit whip (you know, that cream stuff with colored pieces of some kind?), lemon pudding, and grapes.
but solidly above the pack was the new lunch buffet near my parents' place, which i attended on returning to their house to prepare for my brother's wedding. $5.45 buys you a ticket to a chinese-japanese-mongolian-barbecue-dim-sum-sushi-american-italian smorgasbord. you know you're dining in style when a glittering lite-brite-esque picture of an eagle on a mountain hovers over ham-and-pickle sushi next to 8 options of greasy chicken pieces next to tater tots next to egg rolls in which nobody told the chef you can't substitute sauerkraut for regular cabbage, all topped off with a soft-serve ice cream machine.
mb said it best: the reason we got higher educations and left our small hometowns was so we could come back and look down our noses at them for sport... but we don't really want to lose token-hick-in-the-city status either. so i think we have to employ selective memory (if the first buffet wasn't very good, why did we think the next two would be better?) and a love of the ridiculous. if we keep putting ourselves in all-you-can-eat country, we can enjoy our assumed superiority with statements like "really, mother, you must know about pedicures" and "what do you mean, there's no starbucks or jamba juice for the next 100 miles???" and when we come back to the city we can claim disgust over the unhealthy food we just ate over some butt-firming pseudo-yoga (thanks, blogmate!) before deciding we're better than the yuppie frills of the city and going in search of a city fish fry and cheap beer. good thing we don't mind contradictions.
Friday, September 09, 2005
memories of portia
my college roommate had a hedgehog named portia, who was adorable but angry and dumb, a bad combination. she used to run away from us to the corners of the room, where she promptly got confused under the radiator, rolled up in a little ball, but then was too big to get out from under the radiator. she stayed there one time for hours until she figured out that if she would relax she could escape. kind of a live chinese finger trap, i guess. anyway, in honor of portia, here's a blogpet for us. he even gets stuck in the corner of the screen:
| adopt your own virtual pet! |
Thursday, September 08, 2005
hair of the up-dog
i've allowed the accumulation of an unfortunate amount of blog backlog, so i'm putting a couple of blog projects on hiatus.
one is my thus far unproductive attempt to put some sort of humorous spin on the hurricane aftermath. not there's anything funny about it really, but as a new orleans native i was able to make some fairly amusing observations about my parents as they settled into their newfound refugee status.
yet unblogged is the account of my adventurous, pre-hurricane weekend in atlanta. in and of itself, it was the uneventful visiting of friends, punctuated by the expected amount of drinking and silliness, and the unexpected morning of frantic parent-finding, as we realized that all of our families were in mid-evacuation by the time we dragged our hungover selves out of bed.
more surprsing was my realization that i do so many things with only marginal proficiency. one of my atlanta friends kicked off the weekend by taking me to her saturday morning power yoga class, an experience that turned out to be quite humbling. having only been exposed to butt-firming pseudo-yoga, i was totally unprepared for the pain and misery that accompanies doing actual yoga in a 90 degree room. i think the instructor (guru?) had a hard time keeping a straight face.
that night we moved on to another trendy activity... and i got my ass handed to me once again, this time by salsa dancing. let's be clear that i never pretended to be particularly skilled when it came to yoga or salsa, but i knew enough lingo to have convinced not only my friends, but apparently myself that i could at least fake it for a couple of hours.
i stand corrected.
one is my thus far unproductive attempt to put some sort of humorous spin on the hurricane aftermath. not there's anything funny about it really, but as a new orleans native i was able to make some fairly amusing observations about my parents as they settled into their newfound refugee status.
yet unblogged is the account of my adventurous, pre-hurricane weekend in atlanta. in and of itself, it was the uneventful visiting of friends, punctuated by the expected amount of drinking and silliness, and the unexpected morning of frantic parent-finding, as we realized that all of our families were in mid-evacuation by the time we dragged our hungover selves out of bed.
more surprsing was my realization that i do so many things with only marginal proficiency. one of my atlanta friends kicked off the weekend by taking me to her saturday morning power yoga class, an experience that turned out to be quite humbling. having only been exposed to butt-firming pseudo-yoga, i was totally unprepared for the pain and misery that accompanies doing actual yoga in a 90 degree room. i think the instructor (guru?) had a hard time keeping a straight face.
that night we moved on to another trendy activity... and i got my ass handed to me once again, this time by salsa dancing. let's be clear that i never pretended to be particularly skilled when it came to yoga or salsa, but i knew enough lingo to have convinced not only my friends, but apparently myself that i could at least fake it for a couple of hours.
i stand corrected.
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