I moved in May. For some reason, the Universe won't allow me to settle in one place for very long.
Just when I finished unpacking and was looking to find homes for the last of my "stuff," some guy two floors up from me hires a guy who thinks he knows a little something-something about plumbing. But he didn't really. He broke a pipe that managed to flood out four apartments, up to two floors down. This included mine. *le sigh*
I woke up on the morning of July 4th and staggered into my kitchen intent on making a strong pot of coffee. It took me a good 30 seconds to assess that the puddle I was standing in should not actually be there, gathered on my kitchen floor.
Fast forward a month and a half, I'm out of my apartment for the next week, feeling very much like a refugee might...except that I have considerably more bagged stashed in the trunk of my car. And the cats are at the sitter, as traumatized as I am.
It's not like I don't have a place to stay. The point is, it's not my place.
Who can I blame? Who's fault is it? Who's the rat bastard who's inconvenienced me yet again? What did I do that I have this weird karmic debt of never being able to settle in to one place?
I'll feel better if I know that my creatures haven't been so traumatized from being at the sitter that they've gone into cardiac arrest. It would help if the one little guy didn't always run, hide, and play possum.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Morning coffee thoughts with a side of rain
It's raining. I've got Always Look at the Bright Side of Life off official cast recording of Spamalot playing on my iTunes and a decent cup of coffee in short reach. I'm thinking about what I have to do today, and the most interesting bits have nothing to do with work.
But interesting isn't always good.
Have you ever set events in motion to the point where you know exactly when that snowball is going to crash at the bottom of the hill? I can't say exactly how spectacular that crash is going to be, but I'm getting the popcorn ready regardless.
Ah, so now the live version of Action by the Rollins Band is playing. Still appropriate for my mood, which I would describe as "unsettled." I might laugh, I might cry, or I might punch someone in the face...and a really good candidate for the latter is standing right outside my office. Hmmm...
Nope, I'll just continue to sit here, sipping my coffee, typing. Violence isn't the answer. Besides, karma gets there eventually, so I don't have to do a thing.
Peter Murphy's I'll Fall With Your Knife is now playing. Amazing how iTunes seems to know exactly what to play and when. It's almost as intuitive as Pandora Radio.
Where's the tea? Where's the scandal? The scandal today will only come if I punch that person and end up without a job and in jail. The tea will happen after my coffee is gone and I make myself a cup of Earl Grey. So the tea is definitely going to happen. Scandal is going to have to wait.
But interesting isn't always good.
Have you ever set events in motion to the point where you know exactly when that snowball is going to crash at the bottom of the hill? I can't say exactly how spectacular that crash is going to be, but I'm getting the popcorn ready regardless.
Ah, so now the live version of Action by the Rollins Band is playing. Still appropriate for my mood, which I would describe as "unsettled." I might laugh, I might cry, or I might punch someone in the face...and a really good candidate for the latter is standing right outside my office. Hmmm...
Nope, I'll just continue to sit here, sipping my coffee, typing. Violence isn't the answer. Besides, karma gets there eventually, so I don't have to do a thing.
Peter Murphy's I'll Fall With Your Knife is now playing. Amazing how iTunes seems to know exactly what to play and when. It's almost as intuitive as Pandora Radio.
Where's the tea? Where's the scandal? The scandal today will only come if I punch that person and end up without a job and in jail. The tea will happen after my coffee is gone and I make myself a cup of Earl Grey. So the tea is definitely going to happen. Scandal is going to have to wait.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
From noodles to boobies
I'm a smart and open-minded adult, or so Doc Wasabassco said to me, and about 100 other people, last Friday night at the City Winery.
Mr. G shared a link for the Wasabassco show that "inexplicably" ended up in his in-box. He thought it might be fun to catch a burlesque show. I've been aching to hit the Slipper Room on the Lower East Side for ages, but it's currently closed until early 2011 for renovations, and this just sounded like fun, so we went. For $10, how bad could it be, really?
I met up with Mr. G in Tribeca and we crossed Canal to head up the handful of blocks to the corner of Varick and VanDam. It was only 10 p.m., and we had plenty of time to kill before the doors opened at 11. I hadn't eaten dinner, so we walked around to see what we could find. I spent all of 30 seconds considering the McDonald's annex two or three blocks up, and we moved on to Carmine Street where I rediscovered the Noodle Bar near the corner of Bleecker.
Two Halloweens ago I was a witch (no one is surprised, right?) wandering the streets of the West Village with two pirates and Captain Kirk. We four cold, hungry, and thirsty travelers happened upon the Noodle Bar while enjoying the crowds and catching glimpses of the annual parade. Well, last Friday I dragged Mr. G in to gain nourishment and maybe help him with his chopstick skills.
The Noodle Bar is small, with maybe three tables and a long counter from which you can watch the cooks stir and fry dishes inspired by the tastes of Asia - China, Japan, Thailand, etc. I ordered the vegetarian Pad Thai and a Thai iced tea. Mr. G claimed to not be hungry, though he grabbed a fork and dug in just to have a taste. My plate was in front of me in less than five minutes, and it would have been worth waiting 10 minutes for, or more. Pad Thai is so simple to make, and so easy to screw up, but this dish was perfect - fresh, crunchy veggies, not too much peanut, and barely there fish sauce.
After dinner, we circled back up to Sixth Avenue, hiked to VanDam, back down to Varick. We entered the winery, checked our names off the list, were shown to our table (right up against the stage - a better vantage point from which to see boobies), and were given vouchers for gin and tonics, courtesy of Hendrick's Gin, co-sponsor of the evening's entertainment.
I hate gin, so Mr. G took my drink ticket. I opted for a glass of prosecco instead, though I did eat all the garnish from the g&ts. The barkeep was nice enough to include cucumber spears and no olives; I can't resist cucumbers, no matter what form of alcohol they've been soaking in.
Finally, Doc Wasabassco himself came on stage. A dapper gentleman dressed in a proper suit and vest, he entertained us, flattered us, and introduced the first performer - a 1950s lunch lady who included an interesting variation on the fan dance - she used lunch trays. There were nine (?) other ladies after her, all with sparkly gown/g-string/pasties combinations.
It was a fun show and definitely an interesting experience that lasted just under two hours. Again, for $10 per person, you couldn't beat it. Mr. G complained that the ladies were too skinny and overly bony. While I always wonder why it's necessary to be able to visually count any woman's ribs, I'm happy so long as the people I'm looking at are happy.
Could some of the performers have used some unadulterated fat in their diets? Absolutely. I'm hoping that the tips they gained while passing the hat immediately after the show were used on after-show diner stops. A cheeseburger deluxe or three would definitely do wonders for the lunch lady...
Mr. G shared a link for the Wasabassco show that "inexplicably" ended up in his in-box. He thought it might be fun to catch a burlesque show. I've been aching to hit the Slipper Room on the Lower East Side for ages, but it's currently closed until early 2011 for renovations, and this just sounded like fun, so we went. For $10, how bad could it be, really?
I met up with Mr. G in Tribeca and we crossed Canal to head up the handful of blocks to the corner of Varick and VanDam. It was only 10 p.m., and we had plenty of time to kill before the doors opened at 11. I hadn't eaten dinner, so we walked around to see what we could find. I spent all of 30 seconds considering the McDonald's annex two or three blocks up, and we moved on to Carmine Street where I rediscovered the Noodle Bar near the corner of Bleecker.
Two Halloweens ago I was a witch (no one is surprised, right?) wandering the streets of the West Village with two pirates and Captain Kirk. We four cold, hungry, and thirsty travelers happened upon the Noodle Bar while enjoying the crowds and catching glimpses of the annual parade. Well, last Friday I dragged Mr. G in to gain nourishment and maybe help him with his chopstick skills.
The Noodle Bar is small, with maybe three tables and a long counter from which you can watch the cooks stir and fry dishes inspired by the tastes of Asia - China, Japan, Thailand, etc. I ordered the vegetarian Pad Thai and a Thai iced tea. Mr. G claimed to not be hungry, though he grabbed a fork and dug in just to have a taste. My plate was in front of me in less than five minutes, and it would have been worth waiting 10 minutes for, or more. Pad Thai is so simple to make, and so easy to screw up, but this dish was perfect - fresh, crunchy veggies, not too much peanut, and barely there fish sauce.
After dinner, we circled back up to Sixth Avenue, hiked to VanDam, back down to Varick. We entered the winery, checked our names off the list, were shown to our table (right up against the stage - a better vantage point from which to see boobies), and were given vouchers for gin and tonics, courtesy of Hendrick's Gin, co-sponsor of the evening's entertainment.
I hate gin, so Mr. G took my drink ticket. I opted for a glass of prosecco instead, though I did eat all the garnish from the g&ts. The barkeep was nice enough to include cucumber spears and no olives; I can't resist cucumbers, no matter what form of alcohol they've been soaking in.
Finally, Doc Wasabassco himself came on stage. A dapper gentleman dressed in a proper suit and vest, he entertained us, flattered us, and introduced the first performer - a 1950s lunch lady who included an interesting variation on the fan dance - she used lunch trays. There were nine (?) other ladies after her, all with sparkly gown/g-string/pasties combinations.
It was a fun show and definitely an interesting experience that lasted just under two hours. Again, for $10 per person, you couldn't beat it. Mr. G complained that the ladies were too skinny and overly bony. While I always wonder why it's necessary to be able to visually count any woman's ribs, I'm happy so long as the people I'm looking at are happy.
Could some of the performers have used some unadulterated fat in their diets? Absolutely. I'm hoping that the tips they gained while passing the hat immediately after the show were used on after-show diner stops. A cheeseburger deluxe or three would definitely do wonders for the lunch lady...
Friday, August 6, 2010
"Down on the World"
I was blasting Down on the World by Social Distortion, as loud as my car speakers could handle this morning. I like to play angry music while driving to work, you see. I figure between that and punching the occasional heavy bag at the gym, I can work all my frustrations out in an attempt to remain a productive and contributing member of society.
Now, I'm a middle-class white chick from the suburbs, so I can't really say that I've ever experienced much in the way of hardship. I had my share of teen angst and I just knew that my mom was out to ruin my life when I was 16, but then I grew up and realized that I didn't have it so bad.
When the song was over, I switched on the news and heard that today is the 65th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. The presenter also reported that today marked the first time that the United States was represented at the memorial service held on site. My first thought, of course, was "shouldn't we have been there before this?"
I know and understand the historic arguments about why the decision was made to drop the bomb in the first place. Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time. But not showing up to pay our respects for the 140,000 people who died from that blast until now just seems wrong.
I forgot all about my personal animosity towards my corporate masters and started to wonder about all of the people we, as a nation, have pissed off over the years. Are there still people in Japan who want retribution? What about the people who continue to blow Americans up all over the world? Is it because Truman thought he was doing the right thing 65 years ago? Is it because in modern times that we have always had the coolest and most destructive toys on the block?
So, back to Mike Ness, his growly voice, and his angry lyrics...
"There's a world of guilt written on my face
and I feel ashamed for the human race
I've been forsaken
And I'm down on the world again"
I wouldn't call my mood upbeat an happy today. We've been hacking and blowing each other up for as long as H. sapiens sapiens has been making tools.
This was all running through my head as I stopped for coffee. When the fine citizen in line ahead of me started to bitch about his cappuccino having too much froth, I understood for a split second how violence is possible.
*sigh*
There are much bigger things to worry about, but you're going to ruin some one's day because you think she deliberately shorted you on coffee? Really? How hard your life must be. Guess those 140,000 souls who died 65 years ago have nothing on you.
Now, I'm a middle-class white chick from the suburbs, so I can't really say that I've ever experienced much in the way of hardship. I had my share of teen angst and I just knew that my mom was out to ruin my life when I was 16, but then I grew up and realized that I didn't have it so bad.
When the song was over, I switched on the news and heard that today is the 65th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. The presenter also reported that today marked the first time that the United States was represented at the memorial service held on site. My first thought, of course, was "shouldn't we have been there before this?"
I know and understand the historic arguments about why the decision was made to drop the bomb in the first place. Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time. But not showing up to pay our respects for the 140,000 people who died from that blast until now just seems wrong.
I forgot all about my personal animosity towards my corporate masters and started to wonder about all of the people we, as a nation, have pissed off over the years. Are there still people in Japan who want retribution? What about the people who continue to blow Americans up all over the world? Is it because Truman thought he was doing the right thing 65 years ago? Is it because in modern times that we have always had the coolest and most destructive toys on the block?
So, back to Mike Ness, his growly voice, and his angry lyrics...
"There's a world of guilt written on my face
and I feel ashamed for the human race
I've been forsaken
And I'm down on the world again"
I wouldn't call my mood upbeat an happy today. We've been hacking and blowing each other up for as long as H. sapiens sapiens has been making tools.
This was all running through my head as I stopped for coffee. When the fine citizen in line ahead of me started to bitch about his cappuccino having too much froth, I understood for a split second how violence is possible.
*sigh*
There are much bigger things to worry about, but you're going to ruin some one's day because you think she deliberately shorted you on coffee? Really? How hard your life must be. Guess those 140,000 souls who died 65 years ago have nothing on you.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
It's all about the bergamot
Today is filled with the scent of bergamot. I'm drinking Jackson's of Piccadilly Earl Grey tea and I'm slathered in Further Hand Lotion.
Anyone who knows me knows that I judge a tea brand by drinking its Earl Grey. I recently decided that my addiction to said type of tea is because I'm drawn to the smell of bergamot. It's clean, fresh, floral, and not too overwhelming. Some people hate it, but that's their loss.
I attended the LA Street Food Fest on Saturday, July 24, with my dear friend, Mrs. Sandwich. After we had eaten ourselves nearly into a coma inside the Rose Bowl, we exited only to realize that we had completely missed the ice cream vendors immediately outside. Hoping we had enough room for just a tiny bit more, we patiently waited on line to sample Peanut Butter and Candied Bacon ice cream sandwiches from CoolHaus (FABULOUS, by the way), and then strolled along to look at what the other vendors and sellers had to offer.
We paid moderate attention to Marshall, one half of the founding team of Further, who told us briefly about how his products are the absolute end result of what happens after he distills his biofuel. Glycerin is a beautiful and handy byproduct, so why waste it? Mrs. Sandwich and I were treated to a dollop of the lotion, thought about buying, made excuses about how much moisturizer we both own, and moved on. Was the $12.50 worth it for more? Neither of us saw the immediate benefit, so end of story, right?
Wrong.
As the evening wore on, I kept sniffing my hand and commenting on how I really liked the smell and feel of the lotion. By bedtime I was lamenting that I'd been too cheap to buy a bottle.
I flew home on Monday, made the effort to find Further on line by Tuesday, placed my order from their Amazon store Wednesday, and received my bottle yesterday. I could have avoided the wait and shipping costs if I had just gone with my gut and bought the damn thing in the first place.
Anyone who knows me knows that I judge a tea brand by drinking its Earl Grey. I recently decided that my addiction to said type of tea is because I'm drawn to the smell of bergamot. It's clean, fresh, floral, and not too overwhelming. Some people hate it, but that's their loss.
I attended the LA Street Food Fest on Saturday, July 24, with my dear friend, Mrs. Sandwich. After we had eaten ourselves nearly into a coma inside the Rose Bowl, we exited only to realize that we had completely missed the ice cream vendors immediately outside. Hoping we had enough room for just a tiny bit more, we patiently waited on line to sample Peanut Butter and Candied Bacon ice cream sandwiches from CoolHaus (FABULOUS, by the way), and then strolled along to look at what the other vendors and sellers had to offer.
We paid moderate attention to Marshall, one half of the founding team of Further, who told us briefly about how his products are the absolute end result of what happens after he distills his biofuel. Glycerin is a beautiful and handy byproduct, so why waste it? Mrs. Sandwich and I were treated to a dollop of the lotion, thought about buying, made excuses about how much moisturizer we both own, and moved on. Was the $12.50 worth it for more? Neither of us saw the immediate benefit, so end of story, right?
Wrong.
As the evening wore on, I kept sniffing my hand and commenting on how I really liked the smell and feel of the lotion. By bedtime I was lamenting that I'd been too cheap to buy a bottle.
I flew home on Monday, made the effort to find Further on line by Tuesday, placed my order from their Amazon store Wednesday, and received my bottle yesterday. I could have avoided the wait and shipping costs if I had just gone with my gut and bought the damn thing in the first place.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Ribbon!
So I was in Portland, ME, this past weekend and I just knew, almost instinctively, that there was a yarn shop somewhere downtown. My Gracious Host believed me, and together we set off in search of it. Of course I didn't have the shop's name and though he suspected that I might be right, he was almost as clueless as I. He did keep mumbling something about "Spring Street," though...
I love old, seafaring New England towns. They're always designed like a series of terraced fields where walking uphill is de rigueur. Portland's Old Port isn't as bad as some, (Portsmouth, NH, for example), but if you don't like hills, don't do it.
We must have traversed the Old Port three or four times, but we kept coming up empty. Sure there are lots of shops, boutiques, eateries, watering holes where I could have dropped lots of moola...but nothing for knitters.
We both had the brilliant idea at the same time that maybe what we needed was a tourist map. The Portland Harbor Hotel was kind enough to supply us with the same, though I don't think they knew it. At least no one was yelling, "Stop! Thief!" as we exited the lobby.
Anywho...
We discovered that there was, indeed, a yarn shop (point for me), that it was actually on Spring Street (point for my Gracious Host), and it was only two blocks away (Win!)...uphill. Well, you can't have everything, right?
Tess' Designer Yarns is a tiny storefront set a little away from the bulk of the tourist traffic at the intersection of Union and Spring streets. It's actually close to the border between the Old Port and the arts district. A small, dark, sweet-smelling shop where all the fiber is hand-dyed and arranged by color, not type, Tess' didn't disappoint.
The proprietor (Tess, maybe? I didn't ask and she didn't offer) was so helpful and friendly. All of her fibers are represented by at least one project, all simple to knit and skillfully executed. Simple is perfect because I am barely out of the "novice" stage when it comes to knitting.
Two projects caught my eye; the Wavy Ribbon Scarf and the Bias Scarf. I coveted the former because I'm a sucker for ribbon yarn and the colors were just deeply jeweled and gorgeous. I bought two kits for $25 a piece. This included one skein of the ribbon yarn and instructions for the scarf (the skiens were actually $25 each, with the pattern thrown in, but whatever). It's a simple series of garter stitches, yarn overs, and drops. The ribbon is mainly nylon and oh-so-lightweight!
I didn't pay any attention to the names of the colors I bought. The yarn I dove into first is predominantly a shiny pink and purple with a hint of blue, yellow, and green. It's knitting up fairly quick, and I intend it as a gift for a friend who probably can't or shouldn't even own any scarves for the simple reason that she lives in Florida. BUT every woman should have a pretty, bright, and airy scarf, just in case.
And maybe because I was friendly and chatty or maybe because I was buying two kits already, but the Alleged Tess told me what the pattern is for the Bias Scarf. I have that tucked into the back of my brain for later, when I get through the 50 million other projects I have started...and because I have pink and black bouclé yarn just crying out to be used...
I love old, seafaring New England towns. They're always designed like a series of terraced fields where walking uphill is de rigueur. Portland's Old Port isn't as bad as some, (Portsmouth, NH, for example), but if you don't like hills, don't do it.
We must have traversed the Old Port three or four times, but we kept coming up empty. Sure there are lots of shops, boutiques, eateries, watering holes where I could have dropped lots of moola...but nothing for knitters.
We both had the brilliant idea at the same time that maybe what we needed was a tourist map. The Portland Harbor Hotel was kind enough to supply us with the same, though I don't think they knew it. At least no one was yelling, "Stop! Thief!" as we exited the lobby.
Anywho...
We discovered that there was, indeed, a yarn shop (point for me), that it was actually on Spring Street (point for my Gracious Host), and it was only two blocks away (Win!)...uphill. Well, you can't have everything, right?
Tess' Designer Yarns is a tiny storefront set a little away from the bulk of the tourist traffic at the intersection of Union and Spring streets. It's actually close to the border between the Old Port and the arts district. A small, dark, sweet-smelling shop where all the fiber is hand-dyed and arranged by color, not type, Tess' didn't disappoint.
The proprietor (Tess, maybe? I didn't ask and she didn't offer) was so helpful and friendly. All of her fibers are represented by at least one project, all simple to knit and skillfully executed. Simple is perfect because I am barely out of the "novice" stage when it comes to knitting.
Two projects caught my eye; the Wavy Ribbon Scarf and the Bias Scarf. I coveted the former because I'm a sucker for ribbon yarn and the colors were just deeply jeweled and gorgeous. I bought two kits for $25 a piece. This included one skein of the ribbon yarn and instructions for the scarf (the skiens were actually $25 each, with the pattern thrown in, but whatever). It's a simple series of garter stitches, yarn overs, and drops. The ribbon is mainly nylon and oh-so-lightweight!
And maybe because I was friendly and chatty or maybe because I was buying two kits already, but the Alleged Tess told me what the pattern is for the Bias Scarf. I have that tucked into the back of my brain for later, when I get through the 50 million other projects I have started...and because I have pink and black bouclé yarn just crying out to be used...
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Paean to the Cucumber
Can enough good things really be said about the cucumber?
Get your minds out of the gutter (You know who you are...I see those smirks. Cut it out.). I'm talking about the green, vine-growing gourd, Cucumis sativus.
It's summer and all I really want to see on my plate is a cucumber. Well, OK. Or a slice of watermelon. It's too hot to cook and the cucumber is perfect raw. You can peel it or not, remove the seeds or not.
Sweet, crunchy, refreshing; fresh from the garden or the produce aisle at Whole Foods. Good as a supporting player in a salad or by itself, giving a little sparkle to some fresh (or frozen) gazpacho, garnish on a drink, or hobnobbing with bits of watermelon in a salad.
As August draws to a close, I'll probably be pickling some in garlic and dill. I'll have none of this bread and butter pickle nonsense.
I have no idea what the nutritional value of a cucumber is. I suspect that aside from the Vitamin C, it's got about as much to offer nutritionally as iceburg lettuce. Doesn't matter. It tastes better and is more versatile.
Get your minds out of the gutter (You know who you are...I see those smirks. Cut it out.). I'm talking about the green, vine-growing gourd, Cucumis sativus.
It's summer and all I really want to see on my plate is a cucumber. Well, OK. Or a slice of watermelon. It's too hot to cook and the cucumber is perfect raw. You can peel it or not, remove the seeds or not.
Sweet, crunchy, refreshing; fresh from the garden or the produce aisle at Whole Foods. Good as a supporting player in a salad or by itself, giving a little sparkle to some fresh (or frozen) gazpacho, garnish on a drink, or hobnobbing with bits of watermelon in a salad.
As August draws to a close, I'll probably be pickling some in garlic and dill. I'll have none of this bread and butter pickle nonsense.
I have no idea what the nutritional value of a cucumber is. I suspect that aside from the Vitamin C, it's got about as much to offer nutritionally as iceburg lettuce. Doesn't matter. It tastes better and is more versatile.
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