My original plan for July 18th had been to go see the New York Philharmonic in Central Park play Beethoven's 5th. But then, late last week, Jeeves got word that he had scored a pair of tickets through work to see Madonna at Madison Square Garden. Woohoo! I had never seen Madonna in concert before, and like all girls who grew up in the 80s and early 90s, I have a soft spot for her.
Evening started off doubtfully – I wound up having to ride the elevator to the parking deck at work with the managing partner… and I had changed into street clothes. I hate it when that happens. And of course, it was a sauna outside. I had some time once I arrived in NYC to grab a bite to eat – I had been planning on checking out the 38th St. Restaurant. But on my sweltering walk up there, I got distracted by Gray's Papaya and decided a Recession Special was just what I wanted. I must confess – I think Gray's is a tad overrated. Maybe that's cause there was a thick white string running through one of my dogs. It might also be because I just ate at Nathan's on Coney Island last weekend. I hoped to run into Mr. Softy on my walk back to MSG, but he was nowhere to be found.
Jeeves and I met up at Rose Pizza in the LIRR wing of Penn Station, as per Philly's recommendation that they have the best beer prices. He was right – 32 oz Heineken for $5, and much cheaper if you wanted Bud or Bud Lite.
The concert was technically scheduled for 8, but Jeeves had heard that the Material Girl didn't go on till 9pm on other nights. So we headed upstairs around 8:40, got situated, and only had to wait a few minutes before the lights dimmed and the music started.
The show was a great time – what can I say, the lady knows how to entertain. She played a lot of stuff from her newest album, Confessions on a Dance Floor, but there were definitely decent amount of old hits, mostly remixed. The old(er) stuff included "Like a Virgin," "La Isla Bonita," "Live to Tell," "Music," "Drowned World," "Lucky Star," "Erotica," and "Ray of Light." In terms of Madge's 80s hits, I personally prefer "Material Girl" and "Dress You Up." And I prefer "Human Nature" to "Erotica" but hey, that's me. For my money, it doesn't get better than "Ray of Light" and she really killed it (in a good way). Of the new stuff, my personal favorite is "Jump" which was great, but "Sorry" was also a lot of fun. But I think it was definitely a highlight of the night when she came out singing "Future Lovers" and it morphed into a cover of Donna Summer's classic "I Feel Love."
Jeeves kept remarking that she was dancing up a storm, and yet still singing without being remotely out-of-breath. And yes, she really was singing - no lip-synching here. It must be all the pilates - the woman is in amazing shape, looked completely beautiful and is teeny tiny in real life.
There's not much more to say - I just can't think of anyone else, who at the age of 47, can come out in a Saturday Night Fever-style white suit and do a remix of her own song, "Music" to "Disco Inferno" and just sell it. The loudest thing in MSG that night wasn't Madge - it was the scream of her fans. And rightfully so.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Happy Birthday, Butterstick
Since K left, there are only two other female attorneys where I work and I wouldn't say I am friends with either of them. But one of them shares my affinity for baby pandas in general, and the DC panda, Tai Shan, in particular. She sent along this picture of Tai Shan celebrating his first birthday.
Jim, while once walking through a grocery store with me and watching me cluck with joy over miniature coca-cola cans, premised that girls really seem to love short, fat things. Short and fat reminding us perhaps of babies. I had dismissed him, but as I have gotten older, I tend to think he might have been on to something. Baby pandas are no different, though it should be said that I know a guy or two who love baby pandas as much as any girl.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
I've got a sweet love hangover, and I don't need no cure
Okay, so actually it was influenza and a cure would have been swell. Monday, late afternoon, while sitting in my shitty, windowless office, my back started to really hurt and I felt feverish. Also, I had been crying at really stupid stuff, which happens when I start running a temperature. The last time I had the flu, I started crying because I became convinced that I had a leg infection, they would have to amputate my leg, and no one could ever love someone with a stump. Yeah. What do you want? I was delirious!
So I was out of work for two days. I wish I could say it was all fun and games, but the first day was mostly spent sleeping, whining to Abbott about how much my back hurt, and feeling massively guilty about missing work. On the second day, my Battlestar Galactica DVD came from Netflix, and that's when life drastically improved.
Back in the day when Kate had cable, she would watch the new shows and tell me what was worth watching. Thanks to Kate, I watched West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, two favorites from my college years. Kate no longer has cable, but does have a Netflix subscription, and she probably watches more TV now than she did when she had cable. Anyway, thanks to Netflix, Kate has started watching some of the shows that I recommended. But it's a two way street and I knew I couldn't keep getting her to watch my stuff if I didn't watch some of her's.
She had been pushing BSG (the new version, for the record, not the 1978 version) for awhile, but finally piqued my interest when she said, "Bart loves it and you know he hates sci-fi!" It's true. I hadn't really trusted Kate on BSG because she's also a Star Trek fan and I hate that shit. She assured me that it wasn't a normal science fiction show - sure it took place in outer space and there were robots and stuff, but really, it was more political, religious and social commentary with some really exciting espionage and good character development.
The premise - in some distant galaxy, there are the 12 colonies of man. (The number 12 is very important on the show, and yes, it is most certainly related to the bible). Man creates these robots with artificial intelligence called the Cylons (they look like giant toasters with legs). So at this point, very sci-fi and very Isaac Asimov. One day the Cylons rise against their masters, and there's bloody war, until an armistice is declared. The Cylons go off to find their own home and no one on the colonies sees or hears from them for over 40 years. Then one day they return, launch a massive attack on the colonies and pretty much kill all but 50,000 people, who escape into space. The Cylons, fyi, still look like toasters, but they also have managed to make models that look just like humans. And they have an eeeeevil and diabolical plan for the humans who escaped. It's all very exciting.
Unfortunately, the show starts with a miniseries, which Kate had told me, and I had forgotten. But I hadn't ordered to miniseries. I ordered the start of the regular series. So I was pretty confused. Regardless, the show is a good time. As the New Yorker review stated: "But what interests people who normally don’t care about science fiction is how timely and resonant the show is, bringing into play religion and religious fanaticism, global politics, terrorism, and questions about what it means to be human."
As for my love hangover, it's all for Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama. He's dreamy and he defends democracy!
So I was out of work for two days. I wish I could say it was all fun and games, but the first day was mostly spent sleeping, whining to Abbott about how much my back hurt, and feeling massively guilty about missing work. On the second day, my Battlestar Galactica DVD came from Netflix, and that's when life drastically improved.
Back in the day when Kate had cable, she would watch the new shows and tell me what was worth watching. Thanks to Kate, I watched West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, two favorites from my college years. Kate no longer has cable, but does have a Netflix subscription, and she probably watches more TV now than she did when she had cable. Anyway, thanks to Netflix, Kate has started watching some of the shows that I recommended. But it's a two way street and I knew I couldn't keep getting her to watch my stuff if I didn't watch some of her's.
She had been pushing BSG (the new version, for the record, not the 1978 version) for awhile, but finally piqued my interest when she said, "Bart loves it and you know he hates sci-fi!" It's true. I hadn't really trusted Kate on BSG because she's also a Star Trek fan and I hate that shit. She assured me that it wasn't a normal science fiction show - sure it took place in outer space and there were robots and stuff, but really, it was more political, religious and social commentary with some really exciting espionage and good character development.
The premise - in some distant galaxy, there are the 12 colonies of man. (The number 12 is very important on the show, and yes, it is most certainly related to the bible). Man creates these robots with artificial intelligence called the Cylons (they look like giant toasters with legs). So at this point, very sci-fi and very Isaac Asimov. One day the Cylons rise against their masters, and there's bloody war, until an armistice is declared. The Cylons go off to find their own home and no one on the colonies sees or hears from them for over 40 years. Then one day they return, launch a massive attack on the colonies and pretty much kill all but 50,000 people, who escape into space. The Cylons, fyi, still look like toasters, but they also have managed to make models that look just like humans. And they have an eeeeevil and diabolical plan for the humans who escaped. It's all very exciting.
Unfortunately, the show starts with a miniseries, which Kate had told me, and I had forgotten. But I hadn't ordered to miniseries. I ordered the start of the regular series. So I was pretty confused. Regardless, the show is a good time. As the New Yorker review stated: "But what interests people who normally don’t care about science fiction is how timely and resonant the show is, bringing into play religion and religious fanaticism, global politics, terrorism, and questions about what it means to be human."
As for my love hangover, it's all for Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama. He's dreamy and he defends democracy!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Food, mostly tasty
I've gotten a lot of remarks over the last couple of weeks about all the cool places I eat. And I respond with "Actually, I've eaten at a lot more places lately than I blog about, but I'm worried that the perpetual food entries will get boring." Then I remembered who my readers are. So I decided to do an entry about all the other places I have been that haven't gotten mentioned yet.
Back in early June, Jim and I finally hit Fatty Crab. I have been excited about Fatty Crab ever since I read it's short review in the Times, and also, Eric Asimov's (whom I have dumped in favor of Frank Bruni) comments on in The Pour. In a word: disappointing. FC is located on Hudson Street in the Village. It's teeny tiny, and as such, there is usually a wait. But there was space to sit at the bar, and so we had a drink. FC's specialty is Malaysian street food, and so, food ought to be shared. We ordered the fatty duck, chicken claypot, short ribs and chicken wings. The claypot was quite tasty, with lots of tofu, which I liked, and the short ribs were tender and had a nice sauce. But the duck was disappointing as compared to Hunan Cottage and the chicken wings were undercooked. Jim says that the practice in China is to undercook the chicken, as compared to here where we burn the shit out of it. I personally prefer the latter method. And sadly, at the end of the meal I was still a bit hungry. Oh well.
As Jeeves was busy being a law student on my birthday, he took me out in June for a belated celebration to Yama, which he assured me would blow my mind. And it did. Apparently Yama is another place where you can expect a wait, and there's not much space inside to stand around, so it's best in good weather. But it is certainly worth standing around. Once inside, we marked off how may pieces of nigiri that we wanted (we had tuna, eel, yellow tail, salmon, mackeral, giant clam and maybe another piece which has subsequently escaped me, along with an eel avocado roll and yellowtail salmon roll). The pieces of sushi were completely enormous - I've never seen anything like it. The eel took me 4 bites to get through. Everything was superbly cut and tender, and the rolls? Heavenly. I daydream about the eel avocado roll - the eel sauce was perfect and the avocado was super ripe.
Other notable city eats - Great Jones Cafe for brunch which serves cajun spins on breakfast food. I had the eggs with ham on biscuits and smothered in gravy with a side of grits. It's pretty hard to find good grits in the northeast and my mom always made the best. But these grits definitely gave hers a run for their money. Creamy, but not too runny. And eggs with gravy? Brilliant. Jeeves swears by the bloody marys and indeed, they use fresh horseradish. And on this past Friday, very late, I went to Florent in the meatpacking district. Think of it as a french diner. I was boring and got eggs and bacon (sorry, but that's my go-to late at night in a diner-type setting), which came with a nice thick multi-grained toast and the bacon was well-done as requested. Jason was more adventurous and had the goat cheese and apple omellette and Jeeves had the veggie burger (which I think is bizarre, especially coming from someone who eats as many hamburgers as I do, but he insists is excellent). Also, I like that it's on Gansevoort Street, mainly because "Gansevoort" is fun to say.
What of New Jersey, you ask? Have I abandoned the food of my home state? Not at all. Wendy and I went to Reservoir in South Orange for her birthday. If you live in the area, you may know of it - great word of mouth. And with good reason. They serve up a nice thin-crust pizza. Wendy and I had one of those, some bruschetta (which was seriously out of this world - thick cuts of toasted bread which were crispy on the outside, but east to take a bite out of, with ridiculously fresh tomatoes and onions and a nice balsalmic maranade). We also had a penne dish which came with an excellent marinara sauce, mozarella and prosciutto. I highly recommend it, and in fact think I will suggest to Wendy that we head back there soon. Also, in typical Jersey , cash-only, Italian fashion, the prices were quite low - all that food for $30.
Well, another weekend has slipped by me and I had intentions of multiple entries, but as it is late, I have a cold... and sadly work tomorrow, I will have to postpone.
Back in early June, Jim and I finally hit Fatty Crab. I have been excited about Fatty Crab ever since I read it's short review in the Times, and also, Eric Asimov's (whom I have dumped in favor of Frank Bruni) comments on in The Pour. In a word: disappointing. FC is located on Hudson Street in the Village. It's teeny tiny, and as such, there is usually a wait. But there was space to sit at the bar, and so we had a drink. FC's specialty is Malaysian street food, and so, food ought to be shared. We ordered the fatty duck, chicken claypot, short ribs and chicken wings. The claypot was quite tasty, with lots of tofu, which I liked, and the short ribs were tender and had a nice sauce. But the duck was disappointing as compared to Hunan Cottage and the chicken wings were undercooked. Jim says that the practice in China is to undercook the chicken, as compared to here where we burn the shit out of it. I personally prefer the latter method. And sadly, at the end of the meal I was still a bit hungry. Oh well.
As Jeeves was busy being a law student on my birthday, he took me out in June for a belated celebration to Yama, which he assured me would blow my mind. And it did. Apparently Yama is another place where you can expect a wait, and there's not much space inside to stand around, so it's best in good weather. But it is certainly worth standing around. Once inside, we marked off how may pieces of nigiri that we wanted (we had tuna, eel, yellow tail, salmon, mackeral, giant clam and maybe another piece which has subsequently escaped me, along with an eel avocado roll and yellowtail salmon roll). The pieces of sushi were completely enormous - I've never seen anything like it. The eel took me 4 bites to get through. Everything was superbly cut and tender, and the rolls? Heavenly. I daydream about the eel avocado roll - the eel sauce was perfect and the avocado was super ripe.
Other notable city eats - Great Jones Cafe for brunch which serves cajun spins on breakfast food. I had the eggs with ham on biscuits and smothered in gravy with a side of grits. It's pretty hard to find good grits in the northeast and my mom always made the best. But these grits definitely gave hers a run for their money. Creamy, but not too runny. And eggs with gravy? Brilliant. Jeeves swears by the bloody marys and indeed, they use fresh horseradish. And on this past Friday, very late, I went to Florent in the meatpacking district. Think of it as a french diner. I was boring and got eggs and bacon (sorry, but that's my go-to late at night in a diner-type setting), which came with a nice thick multi-grained toast and the bacon was well-done as requested. Jason was more adventurous and had the goat cheese and apple omellette and Jeeves had the veggie burger (which I think is bizarre, especially coming from someone who eats as many hamburgers as I do, but he insists is excellent). Also, I like that it's on Gansevoort Street, mainly because "Gansevoort" is fun to say.
What of New Jersey, you ask? Have I abandoned the food of my home state? Not at all. Wendy and I went to Reservoir in South Orange for her birthday. If you live in the area, you may know of it - great word of mouth. And with good reason. They serve up a nice thin-crust pizza. Wendy and I had one of those, some bruschetta (which was seriously out of this world - thick cuts of toasted bread which were crispy on the outside, but east to take a bite out of, with ridiculously fresh tomatoes and onions and a nice balsalmic maranade). We also had a penne dish which came with an excellent marinara sauce, mozarella and prosciutto. I highly recommend it, and in fact think I will suggest to Wendy that we head back there soon. Also, in typical Jersey , cash-only, Italian fashion, the prices were quite low - all that food for $30.
Well, another weekend has slipped by me and I had intentions of multiple entries, but as it is late, I have a cold... and sadly work tomorrow, I will have to postpone.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
No Crying in Softball
My firm has a softball team, which I stupidly agreed to play on. Miraculously, there are only three attorneys who play on the team - everyone else is staff... or staff's kids. And thank goodness for those kids cause they are ringers. They smack the cream cheese out of that ball.
Anyway. Growing up, I was not athletic. I played soccer like most kids in New Jersey, but I was not good. And as you get older, it becomes less about playing for the enjoyment and more about playing to win, and the kids who suck gets yelled at by the other kids for sucking. That was me - sucky. Also, I was that kid in gym class who was always the second to last picked (usually there was one kid in a class who was worse than me.... actually, said kid was usually not worse than me, but just happened to be less popular and sometimes you'll take the skinny kid with no reflexes over the kid with cooties). Not helping any of this was the fact that I seemed to perpetually get knocked in the head with the ball. My mom used to buck me up with sotries about how, when she was in high school, she failed gym, but she was the class valedictorian so who cares?
On the flip side of all this, I love team sports. Love love love. Baseball, soccer, basketball, hockey, and I bet I'd love rugby if someone would explain it to me. But since the age of 15, the only sports I have even bothered playing were tennis and golf - solo sports. That is mostly because, if you suck at those sports, the only person you disappoint is yourself. I hated that look that the good kids on a team would give each other when you struck out, or popped up, or dropped the fly ball - it was just so much easier to be a spectator.
Our firm softball team was formed last year and when I heard there was a team, I wondered how I could weasel out of playing. At the same time, I like watching softball and wanted to be supportive. Also, I wanted a team jersey. Our team captain, a fellow associate, is a pushy young man and somehow I got railroaded into playing. Tonight was my first game. Wendy gave me these words of advice: "Don't get hit in the head with the ball. I know you like to do that."
During first year of law school Josh went out and bought a Nerf bat and balls and as a break, we would go out behind the school and just hit the ball around. It was a great stress reliever and a great motivator. I learned that I still remember how to hit a ball from when my sister taught me as a kid (in an unrelated note, my sister taught me all the really important stuff in life - how to write my name, how to tie my shoes, the alphabet, and how to hit a ball). So I felt vaguely confident that I could hit the ball, though I was pretty sure it would just be an out. But still, so long as I didn't strike out!
I really didn't want to play any defensive role, though - I am not so great with catching a ball with a glove. So one of the paralegals and I traded off with catching duties, which seemed the place where I would do the least damage. At my first at bat, I did indeed pop up. But I didn't strike out! That was seriously my main concern. It takes effort to strike out at softball, and I know I am bad, but I didn't want to be that bad. I wasn't the worst catcher ever either, and after a few innings, I was definitely getting a handle on using the glove.
My second at bat - one of our law clerks had reached first base, and there were no outs. So no pressure - I could make an out and there would still be two chances for the rest of the team to score a run. But I got a hit! I got a hit! Grounder towards third base and I beat the throw. Hooray! Eventually, thanks to the people on the team who are actually adept at this sport, I scored a run. The aforementioned law clerk and I were both thrilled that we had contributed.
During the top of the 7th inning, though, the batter took a big swing and foul tipped the softball.... right into my face. Umm, yeah, it really hurt. Right into my eye. I staggered around for a minute, afraid to pull my hand away from my face, until one of my cohorts pulled me off the field. Luckily, other than some quick swelling, I could still see. But I might have a shiner tomorrow. After consultation with the teammates, it was agreed I should take out my contact lens before my eye could swell shut. Fun. Then there was some conversation about how I shouldn't over-ice my eye because the vitrious fluid could freeze. Also fun.
I called Dad when I got home to tell him the news. He was, naturally concerned, and wished I had been wearing a mask. But when I told him I had gotten a hit and scored a run, he couldn't contain the excitement in his voice: "You did??? That's wonderful!" Dad loves sports too, and I think he always quietly, secretly wished he had had athletic daughters he could go root for, instead of a coupla nerds who stayed inside reading (one of whom was always fighting him for the sports section). He asked if I cried when I got hit. "Nope." "You didn't cry, and you got a hit. You're tough, kid."
Anyway. Growing up, I was not athletic. I played soccer like most kids in New Jersey, but I was not good. And as you get older, it becomes less about playing for the enjoyment and more about playing to win, and the kids who suck gets yelled at by the other kids for sucking. That was me - sucky. Also, I was that kid in gym class who was always the second to last picked (usually there was one kid in a class who was worse than me.... actually, said kid was usually not worse than me, but just happened to be less popular and sometimes you'll take the skinny kid with no reflexes over the kid with cooties). Not helping any of this was the fact that I seemed to perpetually get knocked in the head with the ball. My mom used to buck me up with sotries about how, when she was in high school, she failed gym, but she was the class valedictorian so who cares?
On the flip side of all this, I love team sports. Love love love. Baseball, soccer, basketball, hockey, and I bet I'd love rugby if someone would explain it to me. But since the age of 15, the only sports I have even bothered playing were tennis and golf - solo sports. That is mostly because, if you suck at those sports, the only person you disappoint is yourself. I hated that look that the good kids on a team would give each other when you struck out, or popped up, or dropped the fly ball - it was just so much easier to be a spectator.
Our firm softball team was formed last year and when I heard there was a team, I wondered how I could weasel out of playing. At the same time, I like watching softball and wanted to be supportive. Also, I wanted a team jersey. Our team captain, a fellow associate, is a pushy young man and somehow I got railroaded into playing. Tonight was my first game. Wendy gave me these words of advice: "Don't get hit in the head with the ball. I know you like to do that."
During first year of law school Josh went out and bought a Nerf bat and balls and as a break, we would go out behind the school and just hit the ball around. It was a great stress reliever and a great motivator. I learned that I still remember how to hit a ball from when my sister taught me as a kid (in an unrelated note, my sister taught me all the really important stuff in life - how to write my name, how to tie my shoes, the alphabet, and how to hit a ball). So I felt vaguely confident that I could hit the ball, though I was pretty sure it would just be an out. But still, so long as I didn't strike out!
I really didn't want to play any defensive role, though - I am not so great with catching a ball with a glove. So one of the paralegals and I traded off with catching duties, which seemed the place where I would do the least damage. At my first at bat, I did indeed pop up. But I didn't strike out! That was seriously my main concern. It takes effort to strike out at softball, and I know I am bad, but I didn't want to be that bad. I wasn't the worst catcher ever either, and after a few innings, I was definitely getting a handle on using the glove.
My second at bat - one of our law clerks had reached first base, and there were no outs. So no pressure - I could make an out and there would still be two chances for the rest of the team to score a run. But I got a hit! I got a hit! Grounder towards third base and I beat the throw. Hooray! Eventually, thanks to the people on the team who are actually adept at this sport, I scored a run. The aforementioned law clerk and I were both thrilled that we had contributed.
During the top of the 7th inning, though, the batter took a big swing and foul tipped the softball.... right into my face. Umm, yeah, it really hurt. Right into my eye. I staggered around for a minute, afraid to pull my hand away from my face, until one of my cohorts pulled me off the field. Luckily, other than some quick swelling, I could still see. But I might have a shiner tomorrow. After consultation with the teammates, it was agreed I should take out my contact lens before my eye could swell shut. Fun. Then there was some conversation about how I shouldn't over-ice my eye because the vitrious fluid could freeze. Also fun.
I called Dad when I got home to tell him the news. He was, naturally concerned, and wished I had been wearing a mask. But when I told him I had gotten a hit and scored a run, he couldn't contain the excitement in his voice: "You did??? That's wonderful!" Dad loves sports too, and I think he always quietly, secretly wished he had had athletic daughters he could go root for, instead of a coupla nerds who stayed inside reading (one of whom was always fighting him for the sports section). He asked if I cried when I got hit. "Nope." "You didn't cry, and you got a hit. You're tough, kid."
Monday, June 26, 2006
Bacon that will buckle your knees
I love steak. Rare steak. Medium rare, if it's closer to rare. It's probably my favorite food, if one were to insist that I choose just one. Despite this love, I have never been to Peter Luger, by all accounts the mother ship for steak lovers. That is, until Saturday.
Our IT guy at work had tossed out the idea of a trip before co-worker K had quit, and she had gone ahead and made plans for a group of us to go. Originally, the trip was planned for the same day as Kate's wedding, and so I thought I wouldn't be able to go. I was understandably pouty, and Philly kindly offered to go with me to Luger (he has been on many occasions and proclaims their hamburger to be his favorite above all others), but my co-workers rescheduled so that I could join. While I have a great deal of fondness for Matlock, I am not close with anyone else who was going, and so to some extent, I wish I had been there with Phil & Co. or the law schoolers, but whatever.
Long story short, we all met up at Matlock's prior to steak dinner, because he lives in Brooklyn Heights and it's a lot easier for the Jerseyers to get there than to where Luger is located (Williamsburg, near the Marcy Ave subway stop, which is not the easiest subway line to get to) so that we could all head over together. And not surprisingly, K wound up not coming, but that's neither here nor there.
We arrived at PL in time for our reservation, all of starving. We were seated on the second floor, and as expected, the decor looks like it hasn't been updated since the 50s and the place is really rather brightly lit. Unexpectedely, I found the waiters to be a gregarious bunch, all quite polite and nice, and while I had been warned that requesting a menu would be met with "attitude," we were offered menus by our waiter and there was no roll of the eyes when we accepted the offer.
Phil had told me to be sure to order at least one slice of bacon prior my steak. I had asked for a description, but Phil simply said that it was fantastic and he didn't want to say any more than that. As our IT Guy remarked, "This is bacon that will buckle your knees." It actually did. A thick slice of Canadian bacon, and I really don't know what else to say about it except that it was the best damn slice of bacon I've ever had.
Matlock and I split the steak for three, medium rare, as did another pair at the table and we all pretty much stopped talking when the steak came. For the record, there is a steak for two, but the steak for three was surprisingly manageable when you split two orders between four people. The steak is a porterhouse cut, dry aged and broiled. It comes out on a plate, gets tipped up so all the juices and grease accumulate and get spooned over the steak. Also, the steak is sliced for you, making the sharing process a heck of a lot easier.
The steak was, and forgive me for all the superlatives flying left and right, the best I've ever had. I simply cannot compare it to other steaks - its flavor, thickness, juiciness were in a class by itself. I do, however, wish we had ordered the steak rare. The medium rare was a little too close to medium in my opinion (though the filet side was actually quite good in terms of rareness).
We also had sides - creamed spinach (delicious, though really, it's hard to muck up creamed spinach), German fried potatoes (think hash browns) and french fries. All quite good. Dessert? Matlock and I split the chocolate mousse cake with plenty of schlag (fresh whipped cream) on the side. Again, outstanding.
Yes, I wanted to die by the end of the meal, though that was temporary. A few weeks ago, I ate so many onion rings in a sitting, that I felt ill for the rest of the day. The nice thing about great food is that no matter how much you stuff yourself, you don't actually feel sick at the end of the meal. Very full? Yes. Maybe a little too full? That's debateable. But later in the evening when I was playing poker back in Manhattan, I did not feel nauseous when the guys ordered pizza. So there you go.
I look forward to many trips back to Peter Luger (hopefully next time with dearer friends). The end.
PS - I'll have my Deadwood and Entourage commentary up tomorrow evening. For now, it's bed time (I think my body is still digesting steak).
Our IT guy at work had tossed out the idea of a trip before co-worker K had quit, and she had gone ahead and made plans for a group of us to go. Originally, the trip was planned for the same day as Kate's wedding, and so I thought I wouldn't be able to go. I was understandably pouty, and Philly kindly offered to go with me to Luger (he has been on many occasions and proclaims their hamburger to be his favorite above all others), but my co-workers rescheduled so that I could join. While I have a great deal of fondness for Matlock, I am not close with anyone else who was going, and so to some extent, I wish I had been there with Phil & Co. or the law schoolers, but whatever.
Long story short, we all met up at Matlock's prior to steak dinner, because he lives in Brooklyn Heights and it's a lot easier for the Jerseyers to get there than to where Luger is located (Williamsburg, near the Marcy Ave subway stop, which is not the easiest subway line to get to) so that we could all head over together. And not surprisingly, K wound up not coming, but that's neither here nor there.
We arrived at PL in time for our reservation, all of starving. We were seated on the second floor, and as expected, the decor looks like it hasn't been updated since the 50s and the place is really rather brightly lit. Unexpectedely, I found the waiters to be a gregarious bunch, all quite polite and nice, and while I had been warned that requesting a menu would be met with "attitude," we were offered menus by our waiter and there was no roll of the eyes when we accepted the offer.
Phil had told me to be sure to order at least one slice of bacon prior my steak. I had asked for a description, but Phil simply said that it was fantastic and he didn't want to say any more than that. As our IT Guy remarked, "This is bacon that will buckle your knees." It actually did. A thick slice of Canadian bacon, and I really don't know what else to say about it except that it was the best damn slice of bacon I've ever had.
Matlock and I split the steak for three, medium rare, as did another pair at the table and we all pretty much stopped talking when the steak came. For the record, there is a steak for two, but the steak for three was surprisingly manageable when you split two orders between four people. The steak is a porterhouse cut, dry aged and broiled. It comes out on a plate, gets tipped up so all the juices and grease accumulate and get spooned over the steak. Also, the steak is sliced for you, making the sharing process a heck of a lot easier.
The steak was, and forgive me for all the superlatives flying left and right, the best I've ever had. I simply cannot compare it to other steaks - its flavor, thickness, juiciness were in a class by itself. I do, however, wish we had ordered the steak rare. The medium rare was a little too close to medium in my opinion (though the filet side was actually quite good in terms of rareness).
We also had sides - creamed spinach (delicious, though really, it's hard to muck up creamed spinach), German fried potatoes (think hash browns) and french fries. All quite good. Dessert? Matlock and I split the chocolate mousse cake with plenty of schlag (fresh whipped cream) on the side. Again, outstanding.
Yes, I wanted to die by the end of the meal, though that was temporary. A few weeks ago, I ate so many onion rings in a sitting, that I felt ill for the rest of the day. The nice thing about great food is that no matter how much you stuff yourself, you don't actually feel sick at the end of the meal. Very full? Yes. Maybe a little too full? That's debateable. But later in the evening when I was playing poker back in Manhattan, I did not feel nauseous when the guys ordered pizza. So there you go.
I look forward to many trips back to Peter Luger (hopefully next time with dearer friends). The end.
PS - I'll have my Deadwood and Entourage commentary up tomorrow evening. For now, it's bed time (I think my body is still digesting steak).
Monday, June 19, 2006
Shut up, I'm hot
When I was in law school, one of my buddies recounted a story about how his overweight brother came to stay with him for an extended period. One hot day, said buddy brought a girl home and was horrified to find his fat brother sitting in the living room with his shirt off. When the buddy asked his brother to put a shirt on, the brother said, "Shut up, I'm hot!"
That is how I felt today.
Today is my last day of vacation, and as I considered going back to work, I found my relaxation waning. I am also still without air-conditioning because I am stupid, cheap and lazy.
When I returned from my sister's father's day barbeque, missing my mother, already stressed about work, berating myself for the things I should have done (but did not) over vacation, I proceeded to have full meltdown while attempting to make a decision about buying an air-conditioner on Best Buy online (every actual store I went to today was sold out).
Thanks, Wendy, for answering the phone and talking me off the ledge, and helping me to figure out what air-conditioner to purchase. Now all I have to do is remain cool till I get to my shitty air-conditioned office tomorrow.
That is how I felt today.
Today is my last day of vacation, and as I considered going back to work, I found my relaxation waning. I am also still without air-conditioning because I am stupid, cheap and lazy.
When I returned from my sister's father's day barbeque, missing my mother, already stressed about work, berating myself for the things I should have done (but did not) over vacation, I proceeded to have full meltdown while attempting to make a decision about buying an air-conditioner on Best Buy online (every actual store I went to today was sold out).
Thanks, Wendy, for answering the phone and talking me off the ledge, and helping me to figure out what air-conditioner to purchase. Now all I have to do is remain cool till I get to my shitty air-conditioned office tomorrow.
The Valley Ain't So Bad
Please consider this a joint Deadwood, Entourage post.
So, after last week's Deadwood, I was a little nervous - had the show lost its edge? It felt like a set-up episode and it was nowhere near as strong as "A Lie Agreed Upon," which kicked off season 2. My fears were totally allayed by this ep - strong characterization, humor, advancement of the plot, intrigue - everything an episode of Deadwood should have and I was reminded of why I think this is hands down, the best show on television. At Kate's wedding, her co-worker Matt and I stood around talking about the greatness of Deadwood and I am fully prepared again to throw my allegiance behind it.
I love the addition of Gerald McRaney (Major Dad) as Hearst - the new camp villain. I was completely taken by surprise when his sidekick Captain Turner grabbed Al from behind and Hearst stapped Al in the hand with a hammer!!! Unbelievable! And what did I love more than that? Bullock offering to go up and "finish the cocksucker off" right then and there. Who would have thought last March that we would see a Bullock/Swearengen alliance?
As always, we can count on Charlie Utter to spell out the episode's theme. The ep was called "I'm Not the Fine Man You Take Me For." While Charlie and Joanie stand outside the Ellsworth house, Charlie listen to Joanie beat up on herself and recounts how, despite the fact that Wild Bill was his dearest friend with a true and kind spirit, Bill himself had a tendency to believe he was a bad person. I found this scene especially touching, if only because of a) the closeness with which Charlie still carries Bill's memory and b) because I know I myself have had similar conversations with friends. Tonight, some of the people of Deadwood with good hearts doubt themselves (except for Sol Star who is adorable as ever). And I liked how Jane's story about the alleged hero Custer plays into this theme as well.
There is a flip side to the episode's title as well - George Hearst may have seemd innocuous at the end of last season and the premier last week, but he is most certainly not the fine man we might have taken him for. I am really looking forward to seeing how this unravels.
And can I admit something somewhat shameful? I am so pleased that Bullock is being a little less of a tool this season. And good work to Timothy Olyphant for managing to show that while he has committed himself to his wife, Bullock has not lost his love for the widow Alma. The scene where Bullock asked Charlie to watch over the Ellsworth house and find out how Alma does in surgery - surprisingly touching.
On to Entourage. While Deadwood may be the best rounded show, Entourage is decidedly the most fun to watch. Loved the references to Almost Famous, and as ever, Johnny Drama made me laugh out loud more than once. I love how this show manages to make you root for people with whom you have nothing in common. Vince continues to grow on me, and I am always secretly touched by how Vince and Eric's friendship reminds me of Kate and myself (as for who is E and who is Vince, it changes every episode). And while Ari is a scene stealer and I love him, I really don't think this show would be half of what it is without Kevin Dillon's Johnny Drama. A review I once read pointed out that he clearly bring a little self-knowledge to the role considering he is Matt Dillon's less famous brother.
HBO, you are my summertime television savior. Thank you.
So, after last week's Deadwood, I was a little nervous - had the show lost its edge? It felt like a set-up episode and it was nowhere near as strong as "A Lie Agreed Upon," which kicked off season 2. My fears were totally allayed by this ep - strong characterization, humor, advancement of the plot, intrigue - everything an episode of Deadwood should have and I was reminded of why I think this is hands down, the best show on television. At Kate's wedding, her co-worker Matt and I stood around talking about the greatness of Deadwood and I am fully prepared again to throw my allegiance behind it.
I love the addition of Gerald McRaney (Major Dad) as Hearst - the new camp villain. I was completely taken by surprise when his sidekick Captain Turner grabbed Al from behind and Hearst stapped Al in the hand with a hammer!!! Unbelievable! And what did I love more than that? Bullock offering to go up and "finish the cocksucker off" right then and there. Who would have thought last March that we would see a Bullock/Swearengen alliance?
As always, we can count on Charlie Utter to spell out the episode's theme. The ep was called "I'm Not the Fine Man You Take Me For." While Charlie and Joanie stand outside the Ellsworth house, Charlie listen to Joanie beat up on herself and recounts how, despite the fact that Wild Bill was his dearest friend with a true and kind spirit, Bill himself had a tendency to believe he was a bad person. I found this scene especially touching, if only because of a) the closeness with which Charlie still carries Bill's memory and b) because I know I myself have had similar conversations with friends. Tonight, some of the people of Deadwood with good hearts doubt themselves (except for Sol Star who is adorable as ever). And I liked how Jane's story about the alleged hero Custer plays into this theme as well.
There is a flip side to the episode's title as well - George Hearst may have seemd innocuous at the end of last season and the premier last week, but he is most certainly not the fine man we might have taken him for. I am really looking forward to seeing how this unravels.
And can I admit something somewhat shameful? I am so pleased that Bullock is being a little less of a tool this season. And good work to Timothy Olyphant for managing to show that while he has committed himself to his wife, Bullock has not lost his love for the widow Alma. The scene where Bullock asked Charlie to watch over the Ellsworth house and find out how Alma does in surgery - surprisingly touching.
On to Entourage. While Deadwood may be the best rounded show, Entourage is decidedly the most fun to watch. Loved the references to Almost Famous, and as ever, Johnny Drama made me laugh out loud more than once. I love how this show manages to make you root for people with whom you have nothing in common. Vince continues to grow on me, and I am always secretly touched by how Vince and Eric's friendship reminds me of Kate and myself (as for who is E and who is Vince, it changes every episode). And while Ari is a scene stealer and I love him, I really don't think this show would be half of what it is without Kevin Dillon's Johnny Drama. A review I once read pointed out that he clearly bring a little self-knowledge to the role considering he is Matt Dillon's less famous brother.
HBO, you are my summertime television savior. Thank you.
Friday, June 16, 2006
And one day you'll know where you are
I am on vacation this week, and I knew I had been bad about blogging when even Phil remarked about the lack of posting. Sorry.
Wednesday found me in the city. First stop - the Shake Shack to pick up lunch for Anhabelle and myself. Then to crappy Times Square to surprise Anh with lunch. We chilled in her office briefly, enjoying our coldish burgers (getting uptown took longer than anticipated) before we headed over to day care to visit Ben. I haven't seen Ben in nearly 6 weeks, and he has gotten much bigger. Interestingly, Ben has one of the only "normal" names of the kids in daycare - some of the names I'm pretty sure are made-up. But all the kids are pretty darn cute (not as cute as Ben, but still).
Next I headed up to Willis's law firm in the "civilized" (Anh's term, and can you blame her? working in Times Square sucks) part of town over on Park Ave. Will and I chilled in his office with it's creepy glass doors and did our usual schpiel. Will and I would like to be in private practice together, but realize this would be a pointless exercise - no work would get done and we'd just sit around drinking coffee, swapping stories.
I eventually made it over to West End to poker buddy Sharif's apartment. Reefy and I were both shut out of the Radiohead tickets when they went on sale on Ticketmaster, so we pooled out resources and got a pair together off of ebay. I got into Radiohead in college, thanks to roomie Janet. And interstingly, I'm pretty sure Philly decided I was okay when he asked me one day at lunch if I liked Radiohead and I answered with an enthusiastic yes.
I have never seen Radiohead live, so I was pretty damn excited. But first, Sharif made us some alcoholic fruit smoothies. Yummy. Anyway, back to the band. Totally lived up to the hype. I dropped a large chunk of change (the better part of my NJ tax refund) on this ticket - far more than I've ever spent on a single ticket before and it's a little hard for me to say at this moment if it was worth it. I think it was, though.
Anyway, I got to hear a lot of songs I love, including "The Tourist" off of OK Computer (my favorite Radiohead album) but they didn't play "Let Down" which is my favorite song off that album (other highlights of the evening for me were "Kid A," "Paranoid Android," "No Surprises" and "Everything In Its Right Place.") It's interesting now, to listen to this album that Janet played so many times in our room and wonder why I love that one song in particular more than the others. I haven't reached a clearly articulated reason yet, but I'll let you know when I do.
The evening ended at Ginger Man, which was once again quite good, and this time not colored by a burger coma. And in other, yet related news, Philly and Emily got engaged this week. Phil is one of those people in my life, because he has been so prominently featured in my blog, that people who have never met him will ask me how he is doing. So it seems apropos to end with that, and offer the warmest of congratulations for what I am sure will be a very happy life together.
Wednesday found me in the city. First stop - the Shake Shack to pick up lunch for Anhabelle and myself. Then to crappy Times Square to surprise Anh with lunch. We chilled in her office briefly, enjoying our coldish burgers (getting uptown took longer than anticipated) before we headed over to day care to visit Ben. I haven't seen Ben in nearly 6 weeks, and he has gotten much bigger. Interestingly, Ben has one of the only "normal" names of the kids in daycare - some of the names I'm pretty sure are made-up. But all the kids are pretty darn cute (not as cute as Ben, but still).
Next I headed up to Willis's law firm in the "civilized" (Anh's term, and can you blame her? working in Times Square sucks) part of town over on Park Ave. Will and I chilled in his office with it's creepy glass doors and did our usual schpiel. Will and I would like to be in private practice together, but realize this would be a pointless exercise - no work would get done and we'd just sit around drinking coffee, swapping stories.
I eventually made it over to West End to poker buddy Sharif's apartment. Reefy and I were both shut out of the Radiohead tickets when they went on sale on Ticketmaster, so we pooled out resources and got a pair together off of ebay. I got into Radiohead in college, thanks to roomie Janet. And interstingly, I'm pretty sure Philly decided I was okay when he asked me one day at lunch if I liked Radiohead and I answered with an enthusiastic yes.
I have never seen Radiohead live, so I was pretty damn excited. But first, Sharif made us some alcoholic fruit smoothies. Yummy. Anyway, back to the band. Totally lived up to the hype. I dropped a large chunk of change (the better part of my NJ tax refund) on this ticket - far more than I've ever spent on a single ticket before and it's a little hard for me to say at this moment if it was worth it. I think it was, though.
Anyway, I got to hear a lot of songs I love, including "The Tourist" off of OK Computer (my favorite Radiohead album) but they didn't play "Let Down" which is my favorite song off that album (other highlights of the evening for me were "Kid A," "Paranoid Android," "No Surprises" and "Everything In Its Right Place.") It's interesting now, to listen to this album that Janet played so many times in our room and wonder why I love that one song in particular more than the others. I haven't reached a clearly articulated reason yet, but I'll let you know when I do.
The evening ended at Ginger Man, which was once again quite good, and this time not colored by a burger coma. And in other, yet related news, Philly and Emily got engaged this week. Phil is one of those people in my life, because he has been so prominently featured in my blog, that people who have never met him will ask me how he is doing. So it seems apropos to end with that, and offer the warmest of congratulations for what I am sure will be a very happy life together.
I'm so in love with you/I'll be forever blue
Last Saturday, Kate and Bart got married. I was in the wedding. Blah blah blah. You already know all this, so I'll just include some photos and a brief commentary.
Seriously? I have never in my life seen Kate look so beautiful, and this is in eleven years of friendship. Yes, yes, everyone says that all brides look beautiful, but Kate looked especially gorgeous. I like the picture above because, aside from showing off her lovely dress, she looks so happy. And I didn't even have to say anything funny to get this shot - totally candid moment on her part. That's how happy she was to be marrying Bart.
After the ceremony, the very dopey photographer took our photos outside. He was slow. There was a gang of random local kids taunting us. No fun. But bridesbutler Jason got a nice shot of me, Pablo and Kate flipping off the camera. Then we got to go to the reception! Hurrah!
We get to the K of C in Washington Township and bartender Steve sets the bridal party up with some drinky-poos. Thankfully, Kate's sister Liz-Ann(ie) had the foresight to bring champagne in the limo so we could all have a nip.
Liz-Ann and I wore the same dress (though mine sadly did not come with a sweatshirt). Next to her is McKenzie - groomslady and fellow pale Irish lady.
Anyway, bartender Steve said that this was the first wedding he ever worked where the bride and her maid-of-honor were drinking straight scotch. That's cause we're classy, Steve. After we were introduced, I was told it was time for my speech. Gulp. But it went fine - luckily I had worked out most of what I was going to say the night before.
Then it was time for some dancing. Woooo!
Kate, her mom and dad share a moment while Bart and his mother dance. Kate's family has been my adopted family for years now - over the last few years, I have spent Christmas Eve, Easter and 4th of July with them. I have always considered myself very fortunate to have not only my own loving family, but Kate's as well.
Too soon it was over. Happily, we were all staying at the same hotel. Pablo and I were sharing a room, but strangely we were given a king sized bed when we had asked for two doubles. Pabs went to go ask for a switch. No switcheroo, but Paulito worked his magic and got our room comped! (Good thing too, as I apparently kicked him all night and he didn't sleep so well - sorry!)
Now the newlyweds are off in Jamaica... without Kate's very nice new pair of Ray-Bans because I lost them. Bad maid-of-honor! I miss them and look forward to their return (Kate and Bart's, though if the glasses showed up, I'd be happy about that too).
Bart, love, you're stuck with us now!! Ha! On the plus side, I totally think the next time I come to DC, we should do "A Little Respect" as our karaoke song.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I just made my first communion
(First off, sorry for the extended delay. It has been a combination of laziness, an active social life, and serious cable modem issues that make me want to whine loudly). Ahem. So, this lady here is Kate, the bride to be, light of my life. And with her little veil on, she really did look like she had just made her first communion, which is what she told everyone in NYC who asked her if she was getting married. On Wednesday, Kate and Bart will pack up the car and drive to New Jersey in preparation for the big day, which is Saturday. For Kate, I am missing the first day of World Cup and the Belmont Stakes, though with Barbaro out of it, who really cares?
People have asked me if I am having issues with Kate getting married - honestly, I'm not. It's all quite surreal and I have actually been experiencing sympathy stress about the whole event, but I am not sad or tweaked about it. I'm just happy for them. Last night when I called to talk with Kate, I wound up chatting with Bart for awhile and he walked me through all the stuff that Kate is stressing over. Some of it silly, some of it legitimate, but all of it understandable - and Bart, bless his heart, handles it well. You see, Kate can be crazy, and so can I. A sample conversation from last night.
Me: I dropped my dress off to be pressed this morning. It's wrinkly.
Kate: That's good.
Me: Yeah. But I got worried. What if they mess it up? What if they burn a hole in the dress? What if I pick it up on Friday and there's a huge iron mark on the dress.
Kate: That would suck. Also, that's a completely irrational fear.
Me: I know. I couldn't help it. It kept me up for a little while last night. Also, I started worrying that I would get a pulmonary edema and have to be in the hospital for your wedding, and how much it would suck to know the wedding was going on and I couldn't be there.
Kate: Yeah. I've had a complete and consuming fear lately that something will happen to my face. Like I'll get a black eye before the wedding.
So you see, we are crazy. The mildly endearing part is that at least we know we are crazy. My point in all of this is, Bart knows how Kate is, deals with it well, and loves her to pieces. So how could I feel anything but happiness about their marriage? And I don't feel anything other than happiness.
But don't get me started on how stressed I am about work.
Annnnyyyway, the point in all of this was to sum up the bachelorette party! It was a great time. Ruby Foo's, though not the best food in the world, was festive, had some nice cocktails, and was very appropriate for the situation. Gotham Comedy Club was actually hysterical, and it's always nice to go to a comedy show that is funny.
Karaoke was at a place called Muse, right near our hotel in Chelsea. By this point in the evening, things had gotten pretty sloppy. But I will say that Kate did sing "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and brought the house down, her co-worker Selene and I sang a raucous duet of Madonna's "Dress You Up" which was fun [for us, but not for anyone else], Kate and I got teary-eyed singing the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" (which is a personal favorite), and I'm pretty sure we all sang "Sweet Caroline" twice.
So now you know how a first communion gets celebrated.
Next week, I am on a much-needed vacation from work. My plans are loose, which I love, though I know there will be a trip to visit Anhabelle at work (and Baby Ben at daycare), a Radiohead concert (wooooo!!!!), a possible trip to see Shakespeare in the Park, sleeping, reading, and not working.
I'll be better about blogging. Ish.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
In the Continuing Quest for the Perfect Burger
Phil and the blog A Hamburger Today have raved about Shake Shack in Madison Square Park (here's AHT's review). On Sunday, Phil, Jeeves, Jason and I met up to partake of these alleged tasty burgers.
The Shack opened in 2004. It is, according to its website, a "roadside" foodstand. Here's the deal - you stand in line, order your food, wait for said food, grab a table and eat. Given the inexpensive prices, rave reviews, and quality burger, the lines can be quite long. But as Frank Bruni of the Times puts it, it's the Dairy Queen of Manhattan, and who can pass that up?
I arrived early - at about 7:20 and Phil was already in line - we were soon joined by our burger comrades, and let me say - as the weather was lovely, the company lively, and the smell of burgers, fries and shakes intoxicating, the wait did not seem as long as it was. How long was it? It took about an hour from getting on line to sitting down at a table with our food.
I had a Shack Burger, and it was certainly tasty - the meat quality, which AHT pointed out, is better than most of the inexpensive burgers. My one complaint is that all the burgers are cooked the same (medium), unlike the Burger Joint, where it's cooked to specifications. And while the "shack sauce" was good enough, I didn't think it was out of this world - in fact, it was maybe a little to tangy for me. The french fries would have been disappointing, except that I had cheese fries and I think the cheese was just what these fries needed - very tasty. And the black and white milkshake - heavenly.
A little too heavenly. I had that uncomfortable "I ate too much" feeling, but could not stop sucking down my milkshake. Phil made the mistake of ordering a "concrete" which is a frozen custard. Basically, it's like a very large and very serious DQ blizzard. Phil had the Shack Attack concrete, which was chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, valrhona chocolate chunks and chocolate sprinkles (Wendy, this was sooo in your wheel house). As Phil would say, this dessert was no joke. I had one bite and that was more than enough for me. After a double shack burger and fries, Phil did an admirable job on the concrete, but I think he was hurting after the fact. Jeeves had a Chicago dog along with a shack burger and a shake. I think the Shack lived up to our expectations, though Jeeves and I are both inclined to say Burger Joint might have a better burger.
Jason left us and we trudged up to The Ginger Man, and I would have been excited to go there under normal circumstances. GM is primarily known for its ridiculous selection of beers, but at this point a beer was about the last thing my stomach wanted. Phil and Rajeev kept asking if I was okay, but what I really wanted to do was lapse into a burger-induced coma. Instead, I sipped my Lindemann's Peche (delicious) and stared into space, occasionally throwing in my two cents about fantasy baseball, Phil's beard, and my tummy ache. After about an hour, I came to, but it was pretty touch and go there for awhile.
I really did like The Ginger Man, though - it had a really nice, laid back vibe, comfy chairs and the aforementioned beer selection. I would definitely return.
And as for the Shack, I would certainly return there again, so long as I had good company to stand in line with me. And perhaps I could exercise some restraint and lay off the cheese fries. Or the milkshake. But seriously? It was a really good shake.
The Shack opened in 2004. It is, according to its website, a "roadside" foodstand. Here's the deal - you stand in line, order your food, wait for said food, grab a table and eat. Given the inexpensive prices, rave reviews, and quality burger, the lines can be quite long. But as Frank Bruni of the Times puts it, it's the Dairy Queen of Manhattan, and who can pass that up?
I arrived early - at about 7:20 and Phil was already in line - we were soon joined by our burger comrades, and let me say - as the weather was lovely, the company lively, and the smell of burgers, fries and shakes intoxicating, the wait did not seem as long as it was. How long was it? It took about an hour from getting on line to sitting down at a table with our food.
I had a Shack Burger, and it was certainly tasty - the meat quality, which AHT pointed out, is better than most of the inexpensive burgers. My one complaint is that all the burgers are cooked the same (medium), unlike the Burger Joint, where it's cooked to specifications. And while the "shack sauce" was good enough, I didn't think it was out of this world - in fact, it was maybe a little to tangy for me. The french fries would have been disappointing, except that I had cheese fries and I think the cheese was just what these fries needed - very tasty. And the black and white milkshake - heavenly.
A little too heavenly. I had that uncomfortable "I ate too much" feeling, but could not stop sucking down my milkshake. Phil made the mistake of ordering a "concrete" which is a frozen custard. Basically, it's like a very large and very serious DQ blizzard. Phil had the Shack Attack concrete, which was chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, valrhona chocolate chunks and chocolate sprinkles (Wendy, this was sooo in your wheel house). As Phil would say, this dessert was no joke. I had one bite and that was more than enough for me. After a double shack burger and fries, Phil did an admirable job on the concrete, but I think he was hurting after the fact. Jeeves had a Chicago dog along with a shack burger and a shake. I think the Shack lived up to our expectations, though Jeeves and I are both inclined to say Burger Joint might have a better burger.
Jason left us and we trudged up to The Ginger Man, and I would have been excited to go there under normal circumstances. GM is primarily known for its ridiculous selection of beers, but at this point a beer was about the last thing my stomach wanted. Phil and Rajeev kept asking if I was okay, but what I really wanted to do was lapse into a burger-induced coma. Instead, I sipped my Lindemann's Peche (delicious) and stared into space, occasionally throwing in my two cents about fantasy baseball, Phil's beard, and my tummy ache. After about an hour, I came to, but it was pretty touch and go there for awhile.
I really did like The Ginger Man, though - it had a really nice, laid back vibe, comfy chairs and the aforementioned beer selection. I would definitely return.
And as for the Shack, I would certainly return there again, so long as I had good company to stand in line with me. And perhaps I could exercise some restraint and lay off the cheese fries. Or the milkshake. But seriously? It was a really good shake.
Memorial Day reminds me of....
Hot days like today remind me of when I lived one town over in Belleville with Liana in our un-air-conditioned apartment. Most of the time it didn't matter, except when it did. My apartment right now is also lacking in the air-conditioning department, a situation I plan on rectifying shortly. Anyway, back in the Belleville apartment, the people in the house next to our building would throw loud parties on holiday weekends, and it seemed like the cops were constantly being called to shut them up, or to split up the domestic dispute of my downstairs neighbors.
My current apartment is in a nice, quiet hood, slightly more upscale than B-ville. It helps that my downstairs neighbor (aka, my landlady) lives with a Nutley cop. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise this evening when I heard cursing and screaming from the street - one of our neighbors was involved in an altercation and it looks like Nutley's finest are just now leaving the scene. So, a little excitement in my quiet neighborhood, at the end of a holiday weekend.
My current apartment is in a nice, quiet hood, slightly more upscale than B-ville. It helps that my downstairs neighbor (aka, my landlady) lives with a Nutley cop. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise this evening when I heard cursing and screaming from the street - one of our neighbors was involved in an altercation and it looks like Nutley's finest are just now leaving the scene. So, a little excitement in my quiet neighborhood, at the end of a holiday weekend.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Rhona Mitra Syndrome
This pretty lady is Rhona Mitra. She's an actress - you might recognize her if you watched Boston Legal or Nip/Tuck. I think she's been in some movies, too. She is also the live model for the video game Lara Croft. Anyway, enough of that. the other day at lunch, Matlock told us that he has been watching Boston Legal, the first season, and that he really liked her. Ever helpful K then told us that one of the other associate's buddies dates her. This buddy is apparently short, a bit pudgy and not rich. He just had the guts to go up to Ms. Mitra in a bar and talk to her. And he has a "great personality."
Matlock was through the roof with joy, which I didn't understand, because suddenly it meant that he had a chance with her. He wouldn't shut up about it. On and on and on until finally when he said, "If I were with her, people would look at me and assume that I had a "great personality" because clearly there would be no other explanation for why she was with me," I responded with "Yeah. And they'd assume she had a really low self-esteem." I immediately felt bad - it was a mean joke.
But I think what got me going was the idea that when average guys (please note that when I say "average" I mean people who don't look like movie stars... and probably not your friends that you refer to as "my hot friend," cause everyone has one) hear about other average guys getting a hot chick, they assume they can do it too. Perhaps that's the attitude to take. But it suddenly seems like the average guy expects, ney, demands a hot chick.
Women don't think like this. First of all, we have no examples to follow. I tried to think of examples of very attractive Hollywood men dating average looking women. I came up with two. Matt Damon's wife was a bartender when he met her. But she's actually pretty cute. This isn't the greatest picture of her, but I've seen her looking downright pretty. And Tobey Maguire's fiancee, Jennifer Meyer is rather homely.... but she's also the daughter of the president of Universal. That was the best I could do. And when I hear about such things, I do think that said girl is lucky, but it never makes me think that I suddenly have a shot with a guy like that.
First off, average girls never think they could get a Brad Pitt. And even if average girl did get Brad Pitt, she would be wracked with neuroses the whole time about how out of her league he is and how all the beautiful women are making eyes at him. But not guys.
I told Kate the story of Rhona Mitra and she repeated it to her co-worker Matt. He said, "I like this story. It makes me think I have a shot with a beautiful woman." When I told Phil that an average looking guy would have no problem being with a woman like Rhona Mitra, Phil exclaimed "I'll be that guy!"
What is this confidence? If you got Rhona Mitra, do you really think you could keep her? I think the difference is that guys don't ponder such mysteries in advance. Guys think, "she's beautiful, I bet we'd have a lot of fun [wink, wink]." They don't consider the rest. Ah well, clearly it can work, and guys are the luckier for it - Rhona and her short, pudgy boyfriend live together now.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Megan, the Meth Lab Operator
One of the lovely parting gifts I got from Kate's bachelorette party was a cold. At first I thought it was just my allergies, and then I thought I could fight it off, but by Friday night, my nose was stuffy and I had to admit I had a cold. The over the counter stuff with phenylephrine wasn't doing the trick, so I knew I was going to have to go up to the counter and ask for the sudafed (or in my case, the cheap store brand alternative).
The reason you now have to ask for any product containing pseudophedrine is because it is one of the main ingredients in crystal meth. Wheeeee! It is also, at least for me, a lot more effective on a stuffy nose (the sudafed, not the meth). I guess meth lab operators like to go in and buy a crapload of sudafed, or they shoplift it, or they bring in a bunch of people to buy a few boxes at a time. And many states now restrict the purchase of sudafed for just this reason. The fair state of Jersey is one of them - you can't buy more than 3 boxes at a time.
So anyway, not all the pharmacies are making you show ID and shit. Target actually took down my name and address, while I was standing there sneezing and snotting all over the place, clutching a bottle of Vitamin C in my other hand. Because clearly, I am running a meth lab, and I need some Target brand non-drying sinus to make my next shipment.
It's not that I necessarily think these statutes are completely horrible, though I do think it's a nuisance and an invasion of my privacy to take down my personal information just because I have a cold and your stupid phenyl whatever product doesn't clear my nose. It's just that it seems like a complete waste of time. I'm pretty sure people who are running meth labs aren't buying their pseudophedrine one box at a time.
I couldn't find anything in the new statute that requires the pharms to take down the personal information on a person buying a single box, but I'll admit I didn't read too closely because I freakin' hate reading statutes in my time off. If they are required, if they aren't required, I come to the same conclusion: the meth lab operators are laughing at us with their gross mouths.
The reason you now have to ask for any product containing pseudophedrine is because it is one of the main ingredients in crystal meth. Wheeeee! It is also, at least for me, a lot more effective on a stuffy nose (the sudafed, not the meth). I guess meth lab operators like to go in and buy a crapload of sudafed, or they shoplift it, or they bring in a bunch of people to buy a few boxes at a time. And many states now restrict the purchase of sudafed for just this reason. The fair state of Jersey is one of them - you can't buy more than 3 boxes at a time.
So anyway, not all the pharmacies are making you show ID and shit. Target actually took down my name and address, while I was standing there sneezing and snotting all over the place, clutching a bottle of Vitamin C in my other hand. Because clearly, I am running a meth lab, and I need some Target brand non-drying sinus to make my next shipment.
It's not that I necessarily think these statutes are completely horrible, though I do think it's a nuisance and an invasion of my privacy to take down my personal information just because I have a cold and your stupid phenyl whatever product doesn't clear my nose. It's just that it seems like a complete waste of time. I'm pretty sure people who are running meth labs aren't buying their pseudophedrine one box at a time.
I couldn't find anything in the new statute that requires the pharms to take down the personal information on a person buying a single box, but I'll admit I didn't read too closely because I freakin' hate reading statutes in my time off. If they are required, if they aren't required, I come to the same conclusion: the meth lab operators are laughing at us with their gross mouths.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Coffee is for Closers
When I was in law school, my buddy Andrew used to always say, "Coffee is for closers." He would say that derisively all the time to anyone who couldn't close a deal, but it was really meant for a guy who couldn't "close the deal" as it were with a woman. It shouldn't require further explanation than that, but you'd be surprised by the number of people who tell me "I don't get it." Simply put - if you spend the night with a woman, you'll be having coffee with her the following morning. If not, you don't get coffee. Coffee is for closers.
I was reminded of that adage while watching Yankees vs. Mets this weekend. I don't entirely blame Mo Rivera for what happened on Friday. It took me over two hours to get to Blondie's on 2nd Avenue, thanks to dreadful tunnel traffic, and while in the car I listened to the Yanks gain the lead, only to have Randy Effing Johnson lose it. He did this not once, but twice.... because he sucks. Still, Mo couldn't hold onto the tie in the 9th, he gave up what probably would have been a double to Wright. Ugh. To make matters worse, there was a drunken Mets fan who kept chanting "Let's go Mets go!" Jeeves, who takes in stride the shenanigans of other bar folk, asked me what the drunkard was saying. I repeated, and he pointed out that it made no sense. "Let's go Mets go?" Yeah. Anyway, the Yankees staff thinks that the Unit's problems are all mechanical. If by mechanical you mean a brain malfunction, then I agree. The guy clearly needs to see a shrink. I've never watched a pitcher fall to pieces so much over having Jose Reyes on first base.
The next day, though, the sweet taste of victory when the Mets closer Billy Wagner blew the lead and allowed the Yanks to tie things up in the 9th inning (they won it later on). Wagner, who walks out to "Enter Sandman" (for you non-baseball fans, Rivera has been coming out to "Sandman" for years - it doesn't really bother me that Wagner uses it, except that I think it's completely unoriginal - can't the Mets closer get his own song? Why use the song that is so associated with another closer - a Yankees closer at that?), has been solid for the Mets, erasing memories of Looper and Benitez. It was a little satisfying to see him choke yesterday.
But what little satisfaction I got was quickly erased. A-Rod. I'm done with him. I want him to succeed because he's a Yankee. But you know what? He can't hack it in a pressure situation. Tonight, men on first and second, one out, the score 4-3 (Giambi had just hit a sac fly to drive in a run), A-Rod... hits into a double play. I knew he would do that, as soon as the announcer said, "And here comes last year's American League MVP." Emphasis on the "last year's" part, please. A-Rod can't hack it in these situation. His batting stats for when there are men on base are pretty pathetic. Say what you will about Johnny Damon, but he played hard tonight, and in fact the whole weekend. Maybe, coming from Boston where the fans are as (if not more) brutal, he's gotten used to performing in these situations. A-Rod hasn't, and still can't.
I'm so tired of bringing on expensive players from less stressful venues who suddenly become total mental cases when they get to NY. Suck it up! You're playing baseball! This isn't rocket science, or surgery or any other career where the weight of the world should rest on your shoulders. This is baseball, where you throw the ball and strike guys out, or you swing the wooden bat and drive in runs. It's that simple. Close the deal! Until then, no goddamned coffee for you.
I was reminded of that adage while watching Yankees vs. Mets this weekend. I don't entirely blame Mo Rivera for what happened on Friday. It took me over two hours to get to Blondie's on 2nd Avenue, thanks to dreadful tunnel traffic, and while in the car I listened to the Yanks gain the lead, only to have Randy Effing Johnson lose it. He did this not once, but twice.... because he sucks. Still, Mo couldn't hold onto the tie in the 9th, he gave up what probably would have been a double to Wright. Ugh. To make matters worse, there was a drunken Mets fan who kept chanting "Let's go Mets go!" Jeeves, who takes in stride the shenanigans of other bar folk, asked me what the drunkard was saying. I repeated, and he pointed out that it made no sense. "Let's go Mets go?" Yeah. Anyway, the Yankees staff thinks that the Unit's problems are all mechanical. If by mechanical you mean a brain malfunction, then I agree. The guy clearly needs to see a shrink. I've never watched a pitcher fall to pieces so much over having Jose Reyes on first base.
The next day, though, the sweet taste of victory when the Mets closer Billy Wagner blew the lead and allowed the Yanks to tie things up in the 9th inning (they won it later on). Wagner, who walks out to "Enter Sandman" (for you non-baseball fans, Rivera has been coming out to "Sandman" for years - it doesn't really bother me that Wagner uses it, except that I think it's completely unoriginal - can't the Mets closer get his own song? Why use the song that is so associated with another closer - a Yankees closer at that?), has been solid for the Mets, erasing memories of Looper and Benitez. It was a little satisfying to see him choke yesterday.
But what little satisfaction I got was quickly erased. A-Rod. I'm done with him. I want him to succeed because he's a Yankee. But you know what? He can't hack it in a pressure situation. Tonight, men on first and second, one out, the score 4-3 (Giambi had just hit a sac fly to drive in a run), A-Rod... hits into a double play. I knew he would do that, as soon as the announcer said, "And here comes last year's American League MVP." Emphasis on the "last year's" part, please. A-Rod can't hack it in these situation. His batting stats for when there are men on base are pretty pathetic. Say what you will about Johnny Damon, but he played hard tonight, and in fact the whole weekend. Maybe, coming from Boston where the fans are as (if not more) brutal, he's gotten used to performing in these situations. A-Rod hasn't, and still can't.
I'm so tired of bringing on expensive players from less stressful venues who suddenly become total mental cases when they get to NY. Suck it up! You're playing baseball! This isn't rocket science, or surgery or any other career where the weight of the world should rest on your shoulders. This is baseball, where you throw the ball and strike guys out, or you swing the wooden bat and drive in runs. It's that simple. Close the deal! Until then, no goddamned coffee for you.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
And a 90% of sugar being poured on her
Tomorrow evening is Kate's bachelorette party. The months of planning, schlepping around NYC - it all comes to a head tomorrow night when a bunch of federal government employees invade the city. Kate called my task tomorrow night "herding cats." True, true.
I asked Kate what she intended to sing at karaoke - she said she wasn't sure, that she never knows till she's in the moment. "Do you think there will be some sugar poured on you?" I asked. "I'd say there's about a 90% chance of sugar being poured." She does love Def Leppard.
So I'll report back after I've recovered from tomorrow evening, at least with the parts that are fit for print.
I asked Kate what she intended to sing at karaoke - she said she wasn't sure, that she never knows till she's in the moment. "Do you think there will be some sugar poured on you?" I asked. "I'd say there's about a 90% chance of sugar being poured." She does love Def Leppard.
So I'll report back after I've recovered from tomorrow evening, at least with the parts that are fit for print.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
That bitch might be crazy, but he makes a decent action flick
When I was in high school, my dad and I used to go to the movies every weekend. It was a great bonding experience. Then I went to college, my sis got a dog, and even when I would come home for a visit, Pops would be off hiking with Lor and the dog. After that, we only went to movies when there was something Mom really wanted to see.
About six weeks after my mom passed, Pops asked if I would like to go to the movies some time. And this Sunday, that's just what we did - off to the Suffern Lafayette theater to see Mission Impossible III.
Well, all I can say is that Tom Cruise might be one of my least favorite people ever, but he's a decent actor and he makes a good action flick. I don't mean that Tommy Boy could pull a Heath Ledger and star in Brokeback Mountain, but he does make you forget that in real life he sucks, and that's pretty decent acting (I still have a hard time watching Russell Crowe in stuff because he's a such a real-life douche).
I currently hold all action flicks to the Batman Begins and Bourne Identity standard, and MI:3 did not match those two films. Still, it was strong. So first the good.
MI:3 was directed by J.J. Abrams, the brainiac behind Lost and Alias. Alias has a lot in common with the Mission Impossible franchise. I am a pretty big Alias fan, and as such, have a lot of love for Abrams. He loves women and he makes them kick some serious ass, and that is true about this installment of MI. The previous two films have tended towards weak, victimy women who get killed off, or need to be saved by Tom Cruise. Even the "weak" woman in this movie kicks some ass and saves the man for a change.
But I get ahead of myself. The thumbnail sketch without giving away too much. Tom's character, Ethan, is sort-of retired from IMF in that he just trains recruits now. He's engaged to a very nice lady who has no idea what he does for a living (played by Michelle Monaghan, who looks a little like Katie Holmes which grossed me out a bit, except that I thought she did a really nice job, especially at the climax). One day he gets a call that one of his recruits, whom he had recommended for field duty, has been kidnapped by the man she was surveiling. The recruit? Keri Russell (J.J. Abrams created Felicity). The bad guy? Philip Seymour Hoffman. Naturally, he has to go rescue her and then unravel the mystery. Then we've got Laurence Fishburn (looking pudgy, as my pops pointed out), Ving Rhames, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Billy Crudup (another real-life jerk who happens to be a good actor) and the ludicrously beautiful Maggie Q.
I know what you're thinking - Felicity in an action movie? For real.
Anyway, being a J.J. fan, there were certain... parallels I noticed in this film to Alias, which is the closest comparison one could make. J.J. loves to add gravitas to characters by explaining motivations. For the first time in the franchise, we get to see that Ethan really wants to live a normal life, but gets roped back in because he feels reponsible for his trainees. Blah blah blah. I could have done without that stuff. In Alias (for non watchers - main character is Sydney, a CIA agent, who is the result of a marriage between a CIA agent (dad) and a KGB agent (mom) - her mother is now a mercenary and eeeeevil... or is she?) a lot of time is spent on dysfunctional family dynamics and pathos - which is part of what makes it great. It's tough to pull that off in a movie though, and let's face it - the backstory here (Ethan just wants a normal life, but he feels loyalty to his team and his trainee) is just not that interesting.
But other parallels work to great effect. J.J. creates and directs wonderful villains - Hoffman was not remotely funny in this movie - he's just mean (kind of reminded me of Ricky Gervais's turn as a bad guy on Alias). The Times described Hoffman best: "With a sneer in his voice and a lazy slouch that telegraphs world-weariness of the most misanthropic kind, he creates an ice-blooded creature who seems as if he would like nothing better than to destroy the earth, and with as much human suffering as possible."
And Abrams really knows how to direct an action sequence - whereas Batman Begins tended to film too closely, thereby making it difficult to see what was going on, and Bourne Identity's shaky camera got tiresome, MI:3 does a pretty solid job of showing off its choreography.
Pops found the film rather convoluted and called me up with various questions after the fact. I thought it was clear enough, and I definitely enjoyed it. Big screen necessary? Probably not. I didn't lie in bed last night pondering details and the truth is that the characters just aren't interesting enough to hold one's attention after the move is over. But it was good escapist fun.
About six weeks after my mom passed, Pops asked if I would like to go to the movies some time. And this Sunday, that's just what we did - off to the Suffern Lafayette theater to see Mission Impossible III.
Well, all I can say is that Tom Cruise might be one of my least favorite people ever, but he's a decent actor and he makes a good action flick. I don't mean that Tommy Boy could pull a Heath Ledger and star in Brokeback Mountain, but he does make you forget that in real life he sucks, and that's pretty decent acting (I still have a hard time watching Russell Crowe in stuff because he's a such a real-life douche).
I currently hold all action flicks to the Batman Begins and Bourne Identity standard, and MI:3 did not match those two films. Still, it was strong. So first the good.
MI:3 was directed by J.J. Abrams, the brainiac behind Lost and Alias. Alias has a lot in common with the Mission Impossible franchise. I am a pretty big Alias fan, and as such, have a lot of love for Abrams. He loves women and he makes them kick some serious ass, and that is true about this installment of MI. The previous two films have tended towards weak, victimy women who get killed off, or need to be saved by Tom Cruise. Even the "weak" woman in this movie kicks some ass and saves the man for a change.
But I get ahead of myself. The thumbnail sketch without giving away too much. Tom's character, Ethan, is sort-of retired from IMF in that he just trains recruits now. He's engaged to a very nice lady who has no idea what he does for a living (played by Michelle Monaghan, who looks a little like Katie Holmes which grossed me out a bit, except that I thought she did a really nice job, especially at the climax). One day he gets a call that one of his recruits, whom he had recommended for field duty, has been kidnapped by the man she was surveiling. The recruit? Keri Russell (J.J. Abrams created Felicity). The bad guy? Philip Seymour Hoffman. Naturally, he has to go rescue her and then unravel the mystery. Then we've got Laurence Fishburn (looking pudgy, as my pops pointed out), Ving Rhames, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Billy Crudup (another real-life jerk who happens to be a good actor) and the ludicrously beautiful Maggie Q.
I know what you're thinking - Felicity in an action movie? For real.
Anyway, being a J.J. fan, there were certain... parallels I noticed in this film to Alias, which is the closest comparison one could make. J.J. loves to add gravitas to characters by explaining motivations. For the first time in the franchise, we get to see that Ethan really wants to live a normal life, but gets roped back in because he feels reponsible for his trainees. Blah blah blah. I could have done without that stuff. In Alias (for non watchers - main character is Sydney, a CIA agent, who is the result of a marriage between a CIA agent (dad) and a KGB agent (mom) - her mother is now a mercenary and eeeeevil... or is she?) a lot of time is spent on dysfunctional family dynamics and pathos - which is part of what makes it great. It's tough to pull that off in a movie though, and let's face it - the backstory here (Ethan just wants a normal life, but he feels loyalty to his team and his trainee) is just not that interesting.
But other parallels work to great effect. J.J. creates and directs wonderful villains - Hoffman was not remotely funny in this movie - he's just mean (kind of reminded me of Ricky Gervais's turn as a bad guy on Alias). The Times described Hoffman best: "With a sneer in his voice and a lazy slouch that telegraphs world-weariness of the most misanthropic kind, he creates an ice-blooded creature who seems as if he would like nothing better than to destroy the earth, and with as much human suffering as possible."
And Abrams really knows how to direct an action sequence - whereas Batman Begins tended to film too closely, thereby making it difficult to see what was going on, and Bourne Identity's shaky camera got tiresome, MI:3 does a pretty solid job of showing off its choreography.
Pops found the film rather convoluted and called me up with various questions after the fact. I thought it was clear enough, and I definitely enjoyed it. Big screen necessary? Probably not. I didn't lie in bed last night pondering details and the truth is that the characters just aren't interesting enough to hold one's attention after the move is over. But it was good escapist fun.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
The Place with the Panda
Mom: What's it called? Hunan Palace?
Megs: No, Ma. They're much more realistic. Hunan Cottage. Hunan Shack might be a little more accurate.
There is a place on Route 46 East, just over the border into Fairfield called Hunan Cottage. It's got a statue of a big, roly-poly panda in front of it. Last night I was talking about Chinese food with Mike and Gena and Mike asked me how my brother-in-law felt about eating out at Chinese restaurants. He wondered if perhaps my brother-in-law felt that Chinese restaurants in the States were unauthentic. While it is true that most of the time, my kooky brother in law would much prefer to make his own dumplings, there is one restaurant that we consistently go to, and which my sister and brother-in-law say is pretty authentic. Granted, they don't serve bugs (one of my sister's favorite things to eat in China), but a lot of their stuff is apparently very similar to what you would have in China, depending on the area.
Anyway, we started going to Hunan Cottage about two years ago. Cottage is completely nondescript from the outside (and also on the inside too) but we specifically started going there because they have soup dumplings. Soup dumplings, or steamed buns as they are typically called, are a Shanghai delicacy whereby the dumpling is filled with a meatball and soup. They are fantastic. Not sure if I have ever raved about Joe's Shanghai before, but that is the place where I first had soup dumplings. Wikipedia's brief entry on the restaurant describes the dumplings. While there are several places to get these tasty treats in New York, they are very hard to come by in the Jers.
As time has passed, though, it's not the soup dumplings that keeps my family going back (while the dumplings are solid, they don't hold a candle to Joe's). It's the Peking Duck. Simply out of this world. The duck comes with all the too fatty areas cut off, with the crispiest, tastiest of skin. Then the server makes a series of wraps with duck, Chinese veggies and duck sauce. The plate costs $25 and it easily feeds 5 people (assuming you are ordering one or two other dishes). The crispy fish there is also quite nice, and the Szechuan dumplings in peanut sauce - delightfully spicy.
I am inclined to believe that when it comes to Asian restaurants, the more Asians you see in there, the better it is. That holds true for Tawara (still the best sushi in New Jersey) and Yakitori Totto in Manhattan. That is definitely the case for Hunan Cottage, where nearly every table (especially on a Sunday at noon) is populated by Chinese families. And I have to say, (as is pointed out in the Times review below), I am glad that we have my brother in law to go with us - he always gets the skinny from the waiters on what the best specials of the day are.
Chengdu 46 gets all the attention for Chinese food in this area, but I think that for the money, the authenticity and the quality, you can't beat Hunan Cottage (granted, the decor at Chengdu is much nicer).
The Times actually reviewed Hunan Cottage a few years ago. I would rank it as better than good, but what can one expect from the uppity, bitter New Jersey section food reviewers at the Times.
Megs: No, Ma. They're much more realistic. Hunan Cottage. Hunan Shack might be a little more accurate.
There is a place on Route 46 East, just over the border into Fairfield called Hunan Cottage. It's got a statue of a big, roly-poly panda in front of it. Last night I was talking about Chinese food with Mike and Gena and Mike asked me how my brother-in-law felt about eating out at Chinese restaurants. He wondered if perhaps my brother-in-law felt that Chinese restaurants in the States were unauthentic. While it is true that most of the time, my kooky brother in law would much prefer to make his own dumplings, there is one restaurant that we consistently go to, and which my sister and brother-in-law say is pretty authentic. Granted, they don't serve bugs (one of my sister's favorite things to eat in China), but a lot of their stuff is apparently very similar to what you would have in China, depending on the area.
Anyway, we started going to Hunan Cottage about two years ago. Cottage is completely nondescript from the outside (and also on the inside too) but we specifically started going there because they have soup dumplings. Soup dumplings, or steamed buns as they are typically called, are a Shanghai delicacy whereby the dumpling is filled with a meatball and soup. They are fantastic. Not sure if I have ever raved about Joe's Shanghai before, but that is the place where I first had soup dumplings. Wikipedia's brief entry on the restaurant describes the dumplings. While there are several places to get these tasty treats in New York, they are very hard to come by in the Jers.
As time has passed, though, it's not the soup dumplings that keeps my family going back (while the dumplings are solid, they don't hold a candle to Joe's). It's the Peking Duck. Simply out of this world. The duck comes with all the too fatty areas cut off, with the crispiest, tastiest of skin. Then the server makes a series of wraps with duck, Chinese veggies and duck sauce. The plate costs $25 and it easily feeds 5 people (assuming you are ordering one or two other dishes). The crispy fish there is also quite nice, and the Szechuan dumplings in peanut sauce - delightfully spicy.
I am inclined to believe that when it comes to Asian restaurants, the more Asians you see in there, the better it is. That holds true for Tawara (still the best sushi in New Jersey) and Yakitori Totto in Manhattan. That is definitely the case for Hunan Cottage, where nearly every table (especially on a Sunday at noon) is populated by Chinese families. And I have to say, (as is pointed out in the Times review below), I am glad that we have my brother in law to go with us - he always gets the skinny from the waiters on what the best specials of the day are.
Chengdu 46 gets all the attention for Chinese food in this area, but I think that for the money, the authenticity and the quality, you can't beat Hunan Cottage (granted, the decor at Chengdu is much nicer).
The Times actually reviewed Hunan Cottage a few years ago. I would rank it as better than good, but what can one expect from the uppity, bitter New Jersey section food reviewers at the Times.
The Pizza's the Thing
I grew up in far northern New Jersey. So far north, in fact, that when I was in college and my boyfriend referred to his hometown of West Orange as being northern New Jersey, Wendy and I scoffed at him and informed him that West Orange was in fact, central New Jersey. I have subsequently changed my opinion on this topic, as has Wendy, probably because we both now live in Essex County.
Anyway, one of my deeply held prejudices in favor of my childhood county of Bergen (aside from the fact that the malls are just vastly better up there) is that you cannot get proper thin-crust pizza anywhere but Kinchley's Tavern in Ramsey. Some of you may recall that I have a dear friend from college, Lauren, who now lives in Kansas. Lauren is engaged to an old high school chum of mine, Bill (yes, I introduced them and I take full credit for their happiness, but if they ever fight, it's entirely not my fault). Bill loves Kinchley's and I dare say it is what he misses most about Jersey. Can't say that I blame him - Kinchley's is pretty great.
Anyway, some years ago I went to the Star Tavern in Orange, the heart of Essex County (the physical heart, not the emotional one). The pizza was good, reasonably priced, and the joint is a lot less.... grimy than Kinchley's, but still, the pizza was not quite as good.
So it was with some trepidation that I approached the pizza at Lombardi's in Cedar Grove with Mike and Gena last night. Mike and Gena have made Lombardi's their Friday night tradition as of late, and as Mike put it - "I eat as much as I could possibly eat and drink as much as I could possibly drink and I have never paid more than $30." Sounded like a good deal. Also, as you may recall from previous posts, Mike and Gena's taste in food is impeccable and I am always inclined to trust their stellar reviews.
For the record, this Lombardi's is not related to the Lombardi's in New York. The NJ Lombardi's does however also have a location in Fairfield (Mike and Gena prefer the Cedar Grove branch, though, cause it's a bit cosier).
I met up with Mike and Gena a bit after 8pm - the restaurant is located in a strip mall with the Food Town. As such, it's not a huge place, but it is packed with people, which is always a good sign for the quality of food. There is a long bar, with about half a dozen flat screen TVs behind it showing various baseball games. Clearly my kind of place.
We had a bit of a wait for our table - about fifteen minutes. Once we sat down, we started things off with a Lombardi's Plate appetizer (broccoli rabe sauteed in olive oil with garlic, sausage, hot and sweet peppers, slices of cheese and potato chips on top), some stuffed artichokes and a sausage platter of some sort. We followed this up with four pizza pies (I should mention that four of Mike and Gena's friends joined us, so it wasn't just the three of us eating all this food). Gena branched out and had the penne a la vodka. The pizza was razor thin, crispy, with bubbling slightly browned cheese, and a perfect balance of sauce with that. I loved it. It was much better than Star Tavern, and I think I might even prefer it to Kinchley's.
To top it all off, the place itself is filled with interesting sport memorabilia, and is better maintained than Kinchley's. The service is better too, though I must admit that might have something to do with the fact that Mike and Gena are regulars, and have a favorite waitress who takes excellent care of them - I never sat with an empty beer and when we were done with our meal, we sat talking for well over an hour without any pressure to leave. I guess I will have to cast off another Bergen County prejudice.
Let me take this opportunity to remind everyone that Zagat's survey for New York restaurants is currently open until May 14th. Remember - if you do the survey, you get a free copy of the book sent to you when it's published, so get judging!
Anyway, one of my deeply held prejudices in favor of my childhood county of Bergen (aside from the fact that the malls are just vastly better up there) is that you cannot get proper thin-crust pizza anywhere but Kinchley's Tavern in Ramsey. Some of you may recall that I have a dear friend from college, Lauren, who now lives in Kansas. Lauren is engaged to an old high school chum of mine, Bill (yes, I introduced them and I take full credit for their happiness, but if they ever fight, it's entirely not my fault). Bill loves Kinchley's and I dare say it is what he misses most about Jersey. Can't say that I blame him - Kinchley's is pretty great.
Anyway, some years ago I went to the Star Tavern in Orange, the heart of Essex County (the physical heart, not the emotional one). The pizza was good, reasonably priced, and the joint is a lot less.... grimy than Kinchley's, but still, the pizza was not quite as good.
So it was with some trepidation that I approached the pizza at Lombardi's in Cedar Grove with Mike and Gena last night. Mike and Gena have made Lombardi's their Friday night tradition as of late, and as Mike put it - "I eat as much as I could possibly eat and drink as much as I could possibly drink and I have never paid more than $30." Sounded like a good deal. Also, as you may recall from previous posts, Mike and Gena's taste in food is impeccable and I am always inclined to trust their stellar reviews.
For the record, this Lombardi's is not related to the Lombardi's in New York. The NJ Lombardi's does however also have a location in Fairfield (Mike and Gena prefer the Cedar Grove branch, though, cause it's a bit cosier).
I met up with Mike and Gena a bit after 8pm - the restaurant is located in a strip mall with the Food Town. As such, it's not a huge place, but it is packed with people, which is always a good sign for the quality of food. There is a long bar, with about half a dozen flat screen TVs behind it showing various baseball games. Clearly my kind of place.
We had a bit of a wait for our table - about fifteen minutes. Once we sat down, we started things off with a Lombardi's Plate appetizer (broccoli rabe sauteed in olive oil with garlic, sausage, hot and sweet peppers, slices of cheese and potato chips on top), some stuffed artichokes and a sausage platter of some sort. We followed this up with four pizza pies (I should mention that four of Mike and Gena's friends joined us, so it wasn't just the three of us eating all this food). Gena branched out and had the penne a la vodka. The pizza was razor thin, crispy, with bubbling slightly browned cheese, and a perfect balance of sauce with that. I loved it. It was much better than Star Tavern, and I think I might even prefer it to Kinchley's.
To top it all off, the place itself is filled with interesting sport memorabilia, and is better maintained than Kinchley's. The service is better too, though I must admit that might have something to do with the fact that Mike and Gena are regulars, and have a favorite waitress who takes excellent care of them - I never sat with an empty beer and when we were done with our meal, we sat talking for well over an hour without any pressure to leave. I guess I will have to cast off another Bergen County prejudice.
Let me take this opportunity to remind everyone that Zagat's survey for New York restaurants is currently open until May 14th. Remember - if you do the survey, you get a free copy of the book sent to you when it's published, so get judging!
Friday, April 28, 2006
Scorpions Rule
I did not have the energy this year to plan any sort of birthday shindig. So, I made dinner reservations with Phil & Emily, and was set to leave it at that. But then I got phone calls from Wendy and Lynn, who took me out on my actual anniversary of the day of birth. And an e-mail from Anh, suggesting a totally casual brunch at her house. I worried a little - Anhabelle has Benjy to look after and while I know her as one of the best hostesses since Marth Stewart (except cuter, with a better wardrobe and actually nice), I didn't want her to stress about having a bunch of the old law school peeps at the house.
But she offered, so I took her up on it. This past Saturday, I rolled out of bed, showered and put on a blah pair of jeans, a blah shirt and a pair of sneakers. That was my one big mistake. When I arrived at Chez Benjamino, the ladies all looked adorable! Dammit. I hate looking like the schlub.
But I digress, momentarily. As mentioned before, most of my friends in law school were guys. It was the first time in my life that the majority of my friends were guys, and thanks to them, I have developed a thicker skin to teasing, a deep and abiding love of poker and horseracing, and an appreciation for really disgusting jokes. Also, it was the first time in my life that I hung out with people who liked beef, roast pork, and bacon as much as I do. Through the guys, I became friends with their wives (though in some cases, they were girlfriends at the time). And rounding out the group so that I would not feel so solitary in my female status was Anhabelle (though she protests to the day that she was never a Scorpion).
So, I arrived, greeted by Josh & Cheryl, P & E (and my girl Rebecca), Mike & Gena, Anhabelle & Dave. And as usual, Anh outdid herself - homemade granola, french toast, orange yogurt, fresh fruit, an egg dish with cheese, mushrooms and potatoes, mimosas, and bacon. And don't think Josh didn't eye everyone else at the table warily, as though they were going to take too much bacon. For the record: Josh had 11 slices, I had 7.
"Aren't you excited to open your gift?" I was asked by both Cheryl and E at separate points. There was a large box by the fireplace. "Ummm. Sure." So open the gift I did, only to find a beautiful kate spade purse (see picture above). I was a little dumbstruck. Seriously - too much. I love handbags, but with the exception of a cute Coach bag that Kate got me for Christmas a few years ago, everything comes from Marshall's or Century 21. I've just never been able to afford something so... nice.
Life is really different since law school ended, especially when it comes to the Scorps. There is the kind of support you get from seeing someone every day of your stressful law school life, and a different sort of comfort you receive when you do not see those people, but know that they have your back. I have asked a lot of all my friends in the last couple of months and it seems almost shameful that when I have needed so much, they have all continued to give and give and give, all the way up to an awesome birthday gift. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Well, you are VIP.
Friday night's plans consisted of meeting up with Phil, his lady-friend Emily, and Jason, who was Rajeev's partner in One Louder crime until Jeeves became a law student and ceased to exist. I had dutifully made reservations for 9:30 at Zerza, a Moroccan restaurant in the East Village. Long-time readers may recall that I went to Zerza last year, but that was just for drinks and a hookah.
On that occasion, the food had looked excellent and it seemed like the sort of low-key place I would like to celebrate my birthday. So that was the plan.
Zerza takes up two floors and is quite small. The downstairs consists of a small bar (with a very pregnant bartender) and a few tables. There are lots of traditional Moroccan lanterns about (I really can't get enough of dim lighting. It's my favorite). Upstairs is a small dining room which, on our evening, accomodated two tables of 10, two tables of 4 and one table of 2.
When we entered, the downstairs bar was full, as were the tables. Clearly, the place is well-subscribed. I told the "host" about our reservation and he stared blankly at me and ran to find the owner. The owner seemed to look less surprised, and then disappeared to "check on our table." He came back about 5 minutes later - there was a party still at our table, but they had paid their bill and would surely be gone momentarily.
Momentarily turned into 10, then 15 minutes. And I was getting very cranky. Several years ago, something similar happened to me at Makeda's in New Brunswick. We sat at the bar for 40 minutes, were treated rudely by the hostesses, until I finally had a very polite, but firm hissy fit. Apparently the magic words at Makeda's are "We're leaving and going to North Star Cafe." I've never seen an owner swoop in so fast with free wine and a table.
But in these hard emotional times, "Polite but firm hissy fit" Megan has gone on vacation, and has been replaced by "Lame-o pushover who eventually stomps her feet and whines like a five year old" Megan. Philly mentioned an Indian restaurant down the street, but I really was looking forward to some tea and a hookah after dinner. Luckily I did not have to resort to stomping my feet - the owner came over and explained that the party at our table just would not leave, but another party would be leaving shortly and would we please have a drink on the house? Yes, we would. Drink in hand (and as Emily pointed out, everything seems a little better once they give you a drink), we now had time to critically assess the group at the bar - about six attractive women, all foreign, and three ugly, older and poorly dressed men. My guess? Mail-order brides.
We finally got our table, about 50 minutes after our 9:30 reservation, and we got a nice bottle of Moroccan wine on the house for our trouble. Everything else went off without a hitch - the service was great, with a sweet, earthy waitress, and the bellydancer came up around 10:45. (Apparently the douchebags who had our table and wouldn't leave had been waiting for the belly dancer.... they were still up there when we were seated, but left before the bellydancer).
We started off with the Meze Plate (hummus, zaaluk and spinach bakoula) and saganaki, which is a marinated and fried feta cheese. The saganaki was unbelievable. Up there with the Yakitori Totto chicken livers. I had the tagine marougia - short ribs - as my entree and they were really fantastic - soft and tender, and marinated in a sauce made slightly sweet by stewed prunes. Philly had the kefta tagine, which are spiced meatballs. They were nice, but I definitely preferred my short ribs.
We finished off the meal with a large pot of mint tea. Mom and I went to Marakech (also to Essouira and through the Atlas Mountains) right after I graduated college. In the evenings, we would sit outside after dinner and have amazing mint tea. You just can't get mint tea like that here, but this was pretty close. Our dinner made me think of that trip, of how much fun Mom and I had, and it was a nice, pleasant memory that didn't cause me any pangs of grief or loss.
Phil asked the waitress if we could get a hookah upstairs (no one else had had one, and it seemed like it might be the sort of thing one can only have in the bar area). Our waitress: "Well, you are VIP, so let me see what I can do." Yeah, we got our hookah - apple flavored to be precise.
And we shut the place down. Being VIPs, we weren't hustled out, so we left of our own volition around 2am. A year older, none the wiser, with a good meal and some very good friends - I would say it was a successful night.
On that occasion, the food had looked excellent and it seemed like the sort of low-key place I would like to celebrate my birthday. So that was the plan.
Zerza takes up two floors and is quite small. The downstairs consists of a small bar (with a very pregnant bartender) and a few tables. There are lots of traditional Moroccan lanterns about (I really can't get enough of dim lighting. It's my favorite). Upstairs is a small dining room which, on our evening, accomodated two tables of 10, two tables of 4 and one table of 2.
When we entered, the downstairs bar was full, as were the tables. Clearly, the place is well-subscribed. I told the "host" about our reservation and he stared blankly at me and ran to find the owner. The owner seemed to look less surprised, and then disappeared to "check on our table." He came back about 5 minutes later - there was a party still at our table, but they had paid their bill and would surely be gone momentarily.
Momentarily turned into 10, then 15 minutes. And I was getting very cranky. Several years ago, something similar happened to me at Makeda's in New Brunswick. We sat at the bar for 40 minutes, were treated rudely by the hostesses, until I finally had a very polite, but firm hissy fit. Apparently the magic words at Makeda's are "We're leaving and going to North Star Cafe." I've never seen an owner swoop in so fast with free wine and a table.
But in these hard emotional times, "Polite but firm hissy fit" Megan has gone on vacation, and has been replaced by "Lame-o pushover who eventually stomps her feet and whines like a five year old" Megan. Philly mentioned an Indian restaurant down the street, but I really was looking forward to some tea and a hookah after dinner. Luckily I did not have to resort to stomping my feet - the owner came over and explained that the party at our table just would not leave, but another party would be leaving shortly and would we please have a drink on the house? Yes, we would. Drink in hand (and as Emily pointed out, everything seems a little better once they give you a drink), we now had time to critically assess the group at the bar - about six attractive women, all foreign, and three ugly, older and poorly dressed men. My guess? Mail-order brides.
We finally got our table, about 50 minutes after our 9:30 reservation, and we got a nice bottle of Moroccan wine on the house for our trouble. Everything else went off without a hitch - the service was great, with a sweet, earthy waitress, and the bellydancer came up around 10:45. (Apparently the douchebags who had our table and wouldn't leave had been waiting for the belly dancer.... they were still up there when we were seated, but left before the bellydancer).
We started off with the Meze Plate (hummus, zaaluk and spinach bakoula) and saganaki, which is a marinated and fried feta cheese. The saganaki was unbelievable. Up there with the Yakitori Totto chicken livers. I had the tagine marougia - short ribs - as my entree and they were really fantastic - soft and tender, and marinated in a sauce made slightly sweet by stewed prunes. Philly had the kefta tagine, which are spiced meatballs. They were nice, but I definitely preferred my short ribs.
We finished off the meal with a large pot of mint tea. Mom and I went to Marakech (also to Essouira and through the Atlas Mountains) right after I graduated college. In the evenings, we would sit outside after dinner and have amazing mint tea. You just can't get mint tea like that here, but this was pretty close. Our dinner made me think of that trip, of how much fun Mom and I had, and it was a nice, pleasant memory that didn't cause me any pangs of grief or loss.
Phil asked the waitress if we could get a hookah upstairs (no one else had had one, and it seemed like it might be the sort of thing one can only have in the bar area). Our waitress: "Well, you are VIP, so let me see what I can do." Yeah, we got our hookah - apple flavored to be precise.
And we shut the place down. Being VIPs, we weren't hustled out, so we left of our own volition around 2am. A year older, none the wiser, with a good meal and some very good friends - I would say it was a successful night.
A Few of my Favorite Things
I had skipped The Pour for a few days, so you can imagine my delight when I checked in this morning and was treated to a post on lambic beers (or beers in general, but especially lambics). Philly first introduced me to the lambics last year at the Gaslight, where they had Lindeman's Peche on tap. Yummy. and as if that weren't enough, solidifying my love for Eric Asimov is this cute post about his crappy day and how he wanted an Orval.
Later on in the day, Kate sent me a link to this New York magazine article about This American Life - Ira and the gang are moving to New York! How exciting, and it explains why there have been so few new installments this year. Plus, TAL has signed a deal with Showtime. Anhabelle, now that there is actually the potential for us to run into Ira, the gloves are off.
Finishing all this off? My local McDonald's has finally gotten some ice cream and I got to have my first Oreo McFlurry of the season. Heaven.
Later on in the day, Kate sent me a link to this New York magazine article about This American Life - Ira and the gang are moving to New York! How exciting, and it explains why there have been so few new installments this year. Plus, TAL has signed a deal with Showtime. Anhabelle, now that there is actually the potential for us to run into Ira, the gloves are off.
Finishing all this off? My local McDonald's has finally gotten some ice cream and I got to have my first Oreo McFlurry of the season. Heaven.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Six Lawyers and a Linguist
I am officially obsessed with my terrible fantasy baseball team. I joined a league that Phil set up, comprised mainly of poker people, and yes, we are six lawyers and a linguist. That's even our league name.
I am in last place. The one comfort being that I cannot drop lower. But I find myself mulling over things that I never would have troubled myself with before. Before, it was hard to give a shit about any baseball player who wasn't a Yankee. Not I find myself losing sleep over such topics as "why is Ichiro sucking so badly? What could be wrong with him? Should I take Phil up on his trade offer? No, he'll come around." Or, "What the hell is up with the Florida Marlins bullpen? How could they blow that win for Dontrelle Willis? I needed that win!" I am not proud of the fact that I knew who won the Orioles game today because I wanted to know if Melvin Mora had gotten any hits.
The one bright spot - just like in the real world, fantasy baseball is a loooong season. I can be at the bottom now, just like the Yanks are "only" at .500. Of course, I fuss over the Yankees pitching staff and it's only April. It's going to be a long season - and that's a good thing and a bad thing.
I am in last place. The one comfort being that I cannot drop lower. But I find myself mulling over things that I never would have troubled myself with before. Before, it was hard to give a shit about any baseball player who wasn't a Yankee. Not I find myself losing sleep over such topics as "why is Ichiro sucking so badly? What could be wrong with him? Should I take Phil up on his trade offer? No, he'll come around." Or, "What the hell is up with the Florida Marlins bullpen? How could they blow that win for Dontrelle Willis? I needed that win!" I am not proud of the fact that I knew who won the Orioles game today because I wanted to know if Melvin Mora had gotten any hits.
The one bright spot - just like in the real world, fantasy baseball is a loooong season. I can be at the bottom now, just like the Yanks are "only" at .500. Of course, I fuss over the Yankees pitching staff and it's only April. It's going to be a long season - and that's a good thing and a bad thing.
The Kindness of Strangers
Today is my birthday. I had to go to work, and I slogged through it. I naturally worried about how I would feel today - my first birthday without my mom. I missed her, of course, but it was all entirely tolerable.
One of the things that made it perfectly pleasant (besides the lovely weather) was the kindness of my co-workers. When I started this job, I had one hope - that my co-workers would be affable enough for me to eat lunch with. And, with the exception of Matlock, who has proven himself a stellar friend and is at the top of my favorite people list, that's just what I got. My co-workers are all nice people, fun to eat lunch with and complain about work, and perhaps have the occasional drink across the street. But that's about it.
When my mom passed, I talked a good deal with Matlock, but not at all with the others. Grieving is terribly personal, and ergo embarassing to share with people who only know a small sliver of your life. Still, I was strangely touched to look over at my mom's memorial service and see my co-workers there. And I was grateful that back at work, there didn't seem to be any expectation for me to be any particular way - happy or sad. For the record, my role, aside from Matlock's setup man for tasteless jokes, is to walk around making fun of everyone else, followed by a damning self-deprecating remark. And that's what I went back to, with no strange looks.
Today I went out to lunch with some co-workers, and then K presented me with a beautiful chocolate cheesecake with chocolate covered strawberries on top - she made it herself. After work, we all went out for a beer before my dinner reservation.
I was touched. Perhaps that is silly, but when you spend a large chunk of your day with the same group of people, the normalcy of seeing them becomes a comfort. Birthdays are ignored, or considered irrelevent by so many. I have always personally enjoyed them, and felt the significance of making it through another year, and perhaps pondering changes for the coming year, ought to be acknowledged. And while my co-workers may not be the people I spend my Saturday nights with, and while I'm certain they have no idea that I am deeply appreciative of the kindness, I am just that - much obliged.
One of the things that made it perfectly pleasant (besides the lovely weather) was the kindness of my co-workers. When I started this job, I had one hope - that my co-workers would be affable enough for me to eat lunch with. And, with the exception of Matlock, who has proven himself a stellar friend and is at the top of my favorite people list, that's just what I got. My co-workers are all nice people, fun to eat lunch with and complain about work, and perhaps have the occasional drink across the street. But that's about it.
When my mom passed, I talked a good deal with Matlock, but not at all with the others. Grieving is terribly personal, and ergo embarassing to share with people who only know a small sliver of your life. Still, I was strangely touched to look over at my mom's memorial service and see my co-workers there. And I was grateful that back at work, there didn't seem to be any expectation for me to be any particular way - happy or sad. For the record, my role, aside from Matlock's setup man for tasteless jokes, is to walk around making fun of everyone else, followed by a damning self-deprecating remark. And that's what I went back to, with no strange looks.
Today I went out to lunch with some co-workers, and then K presented me with a beautiful chocolate cheesecake with chocolate covered strawberries on top - she made it herself. After work, we all went out for a beer before my dinner reservation.
I was touched. Perhaps that is silly, but when you spend a large chunk of your day with the same group of people, the normalcy of seeing them becomes a comfort. Birthdays are ignored, or considered irrelevent by so many. I have always personally enjoyed them, and felt the significance of making it through another year, and perhaps pondering changes for the coming year, ought to be acknowledged. And while my co-workers may not be the people I spend my Saturday nights with, and while I'm certain they have no idea that I am deeply appreciative of the kindness, I am just that - much obliged.
That was a Monday and I had conjunctivitis.
I got a call from Lynn this morning while I was driving to work. "Did you listen to NPR this morning?" she asked. "You're calling about the woman with the crazy memory." "Yes!"
On Morning Edition, there was a piece on a woman who is the subject of a study in the Journal of Neuroscience. And man, is she fascinating. My dad spent over thirty years working in a state psychiatric hospital and he used to tell me about one of his patients who, if you gave him the date of your birth, he could tell you what day of the week that was and what the weather was like that day. This woman can do that and she can tell you bizarre details about the day. April 4, 1994? She baked cookies. November 10, 1998? Her house smelled strangely like ham. It's not just those little details - she can tell you everything that happened in that day in her life because, in her mind, it's re-running like a home movie.
Interestingly, this strange gift does not translate to other areas - she was never good in history class and couldn't memorize much of anything in school. Anyway, hearing is believing - check out the story.
On Morning Edition, there was a piece on a woman who is the subject of a study in the Journal of Neuroscience. And man, is she fascinating. My dad spent over thirty years working in a state psychiatric hospital and he used to tell me about one of his patients who, if you gave him the date of your birth, he could tell you what day of the week that was and what the weather was like that day. This woman can do that and she can tell you bizarre details about the day. April 4, 1994? She baked cookies. November 10, 1998? Her house smelled strangely like ham. It's not just those little details - she can tell you everything that happened in that day in her life because, in her mind, it's re-running like a home movie.
Interestingly, this strange gift does not translate to other areas - she was never good in history class and couldn't memorize much of anything in school. Anyway, hearing is believing - check out the story.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
The Schmuckiest Guy in the Room
We're in week 12 of the Enron trial of Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling, and NPR has been doing a great job of covering it (here, here and here). This marks the second week that Jeff Skilling, former CEO of the company, is on the witness stand. He's currently getting grilled by the assistant US attorney on the case, Sean Berkowitz.
While the documentary Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room left me shocked and appalled at the complete lack of morals, the narcissism, and the greed in these men (and it's really too bad that Andy Fastow was able to plead out), I cannot help but be disgusted by the continuing hubris of Skilling. On the stand, Berkowitz hounded Skilling about why he, his wife and his girlfriend (he's a real class act) all sold their stocks before the complete tank. Skilling claimed it was coincidence. During the break, Skilling cracked to the judge that his brothers approached him and asked how come they never got a call about the impending crash (Skilling's brothers lost money on Enron stock). About half the court room laughed (Berkowitz did not look amused, apparently). Dude. You are on trial for all manner of accounting fraud, insider trading and for costing thousands of employees their life savings. Perhaps now is not the time to crack a joke.
I hope Skilling and Lay get what they so richly deserve.
While the documentary Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room left me shocked and appalled at the complete lack of morals, the narcissism, and the greed in these men (and it's really too bad that Andy Fastow was able to plead out), I cannot help but be disgusted by the continuing hubris of Skilling. On the stand, Berkowitz hounded Skilling about why he, his wife and his girlfriend (he's a real class act) all sold their stocks before the complete tank. Skilling claimed it was coincidence. During the break, Skilling cracked to the judge that his brothers approached him and asked how come they never got a call about the impending crash (Skilling's brothers lost money on Enron stock). About half the court room laughed (Berkowitz did not look amused, apparently). Dude. You are on trial for all manner of accounting fraud, insider trading and for costing thousands of employees their life savings. Perhaps now is not the time to crack a joke.
I hope Skilling and Lay get what they so richly deserve.
Now quiet, they're about to announce the lottery numbers!
I wrote this entry yesterday, but Kate called and kept me on the phone for two and a half hours. So it's a day late (and clearly a dollar short).
I am not a regular lottery player. But every now and again, when the jackpot gets big enough, I like to buy a ticket, as much for the imagination as anything else. Years ago when I waitressed at a country club, I bought a Mega Millions ticket. Mega Millions, fyi, is the multi-state lottery system between New York, New Jersey, Minnesota, Maryland and some other states I don't recall. It has currently "rolled" 12 times without a winner, thus tonight's jackpot is for $265 million.
Anyway, I digress. I bought a ticket back when I was a waitress and when I would feel particularly annoyed with the haughty clientele, the manager who was incompetent, but sleeping with the boss, or the 95 degree temperatures in the kitchen, I would imagine quitting my job after winning the lottery. Sweet, so very sweet.
I obviously did not win.
At the time, I would imagine quitting much like Dave Chappelle in the Oprah sketch. "Ding ding ding ding ding! Attention everyone! I quit!" as I kick over a garbage can. Or perhaps more along the lines of Half Baked: "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you. I'm out."
A part of me still imagines quitting in that way. But what I really enjoy is thinking about how I would spend allll that money. Kate and I used to have an agreement whereby we would buy the non-winner a car and send our ex-boyfriends t-shirts that read: "My ex-girlfriend won the lottery and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."
So, what would you do? I would definitely take some serious time off from working, though I think I would always wants to have at least a part-time job. I would go on my world tour, but I think I'd extend it to six months - Japan, Thailand, India, Australia, Botswana, South Africa, and I'd toss in a large chunk of Europe.
Also, I promised Phil over IM today that I would send him and Emily on a really cool vacation. And I'm pretty sure there would have to be a big trip to Las Vegas for some poker and black jack.
Alas, no win, so to work with me.
I am not a regular lottery player. But every now and again, when the jackpot gets big enough, I like to buy a ticket, as much for the imagination as anything else. Years ago when I waitressed at a country club, I bought a Mega Millions ticket. Mega Millions, fyi, is the multi-state lottery system between New York, New Jersey, Minnesota, Maryland and some other states I don't recall. It has currently "rolled" 12 times without a winner, thus tonight's jackpot is for $265 million.
Anyway, I digress. I bought a ticket back when I was a waitress and when I would feel particularly annoyed with the haughty clientele, the manager who was incompetent, but sleeping with the boss, or the 95 degree temperatures in the kitchen, I would imagine quitting my job after winning the lottery. Sweet, so very sweet.
I obviously did not win.
At the time, I would imagine quitting much like Dave Chappelle in the Oprah sketch. "Ding ding ding ding ding! Attention everyone! I quit!" as I kick over a garbage can. Or perhaps more along the lines of Half Baked: "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you. I'm out."
A part of me still imagines quitting in that way. But what I really enjoy is thinking about how I would spend allll that money. Kate and I used to have an agreement whereby we would buy the non-winner a car and send our ex-boyfriends t-shirts that read: "My ex-girlfriend won the lottery and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."
So, what would you do? I would definitely take some serious time off from working, though I think I would always wants to have at least a part-time job. I would go on my world tour, but I think I'd extend it to six months - Japan, Thailand, India, Australia, Botswana, South Africa, and I'd toss in a large chunk of Europe.
Also, I promised Phil over IM today that I would send him and Emily on a really cool vacation. And I'm pretty sure there would have to be a big trip to Las Vegas for some poker and black jack.
Alas, no win, so to work with me.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Ira, you've got some 'splainin to do!
I am so fed up with This American Life. What's with all the repeats? There have only been six new installments since the start of the year! Terrible! And to welcome us back from this shitty hiatus filled with repeats was a completely disappointing installment this past weekend called "A Better Mousetrap." Frankly, it was crappy.
Ira, you had better get your act together!
Ira, you had better get your act together!
Wow! It's amazing what a nice pair of wings will do.
I had off from work on Friday, and so I opted to join P & E, and their baby girl, Rebecca, on a trip to the Bronx Zoo. This was particularly exciting as it was Rebecca's very first trip to the zoo. She's certainly too young to remember this trip, but regardless, I now get to say "I was there when...."
Rebecca has just mastered the fine art of walking solo for short spurts, and she can say things that sound like "Mama" and "Dada" though I am not entirely sure she knows that Mama and Dada means only one thing each. When Connor was learning to speak, he thought many things were "ball" and "fishy." Anyway, most importantly, Rebecca says "Wow!" when she sees something she likes. It's pretty damn cute. She said "wow" a lot at the zoo.
Giraffes and cheetahs were a big hit (the cheetahs were actually running around and playing). The lions were napping, and the peacocks were quite loud. Unfortunately we didn't get to see the elephants - for some inexplicable reason, the monorail was not running and that is the only way to see the elephants. We also had to skip the bears and the tigers because it started to rain pretty hard.
The highlight for me was the new Butterfly Garden - an indoor greenhouse with thousands of butterflies just flapping around. There's also a rock pond with waterfall and Japanese koi. Anyhoo, we saw a Zebra Swallowtail, many Zebra Longwings, quite a few Julias and some Monarchs. As I remarked, I typically hate bugs, but it's amazing what a large and beautiful pair of wings will do to turn my opinion around.
It hadn't occured to me, but I really relate the zoo with my childhood trips there. My mom used to love zoos (especially tigers and elephants, they were her faves) and when I was a munchkin, she used to take me to the Bronx Zoo. I have a wonderful and vivid memory of my mom getting me to ride the camel (they still do that near the Asia Pavillion) and how scared I was to do it, but how much fun (and smelly) it was while I was up there.
Back at the ranch, E fed Rebecca some yogurt and apple sauce concoction, a large part of which wound up on her face. While I was holding the Beckster and trying to make her laugh, she put her little arms around my neck and hugged me, head smooshed into my shoulder, and thusly melting my cold, cold heart. It's the first hug she's ever given me. "Oh.... she got yogurt all over your sweatshirt," Emma said. It was worth it. Thanks for the hug, Beckers.
Rebecca has just mastered the fine art of walking solo for short spurts, and she can say things that sound like "Mama" and "Dada" though I am not entirely sure she knows that Mama and Dada means only one thing each. When Connor was learning to speak, he thought many things were "ball" and "fishy." Anyway, most importantly, Rebecca says "Wow!" when she sees something she likes. It's pretty damn cute. She said "wow" a lot at the zoo.
Giraffes and cheetahs were a big hit (the cheetahs were actually running around and playing). The lions were napping, and the peacocks were quite loud. Unfortunately we didn't get to see the elephants - for some inexplicable reason, the monorail was not running and that is the only way to see the elephants. We also had to skip the bears and the tigers because it started to rain pretty hard.
The highlight for me was the new Butterfly Garden - an indoor greenhouse with thousands of butterflies just flapping around. There's also a rock pond with waterfall and Japanese koi. Anyhoo, we saw a Zebra Swallowtail, many Zebra Longwings, quite a few Julias and some Monarchs. As I remarked, I typically hate bugs, but it's amazing what a large and beautiful pair of wings will do to turn my opinion around.
It hadn't occured to me, but I really relate the zoo with my childhood trips there. My mom used to love zoos (especially tigers and elephants, they were her faves) and when I was a munchkin, she used to take me to the Bronx Zoo. I have a wonderful and vivid memory of my mom getting me to ride the camel (they still do that near the Asia Pavillion) and how scared I was to do it, but how much fun (and smelly) it was while I was up there.
Back at the ranch, E fed Rebecca some yogurt and apple sauce concoction, a large part of which wound up on her face. While I was holding the Beckster and trying to make her laugh, she put her little arms around my neck and hugged me, head smooshed into my shoulder, and thusly melting my cold, cold heart. It's the first hug she's ever given me. "Oh.... she got yogurt all over your sweatshirt," Emma said. It was worth it. Thanks for the hug, Beckers.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Happy birthday tooooooo meeeeeee
Today is the one year anniversary of my blog. Go blog! You've grown up so fast! Sniff sniff. Hopefully we'll keep on doing this for many years to come. And by we, I mean me. Or, me and the Queen of England. She loves to blog.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Nice hat
Saturday was Kate's bridal shower, and if I had a photo of the paper plate hat I made her, I would post it. Sadly, the only photo of the hat that actually came out has me in it and I am strictly opposed to all me pictures. So you will have to envision the paper plate hat. It looked good.
Anyway, Sunday afternoon, Kate and I took advantage of the beautiful day and went into the city. After driving around the East Village for about ten minutes, Eagle Eye Kate spotted a place to park that I hadn't even noticed. Next stop? Hasaki! Hooray! We split the age tofu, which was disappointing, and honestly, I'm starting to wonder why I order it out when I know that no place can beat the age togu at Tawara. Anyway, Kate had the chirashi and a piece of uni, while I had a yellow tail roll, California roll and eel roll. All excellent. I'm not normally a fan of California rolls, by Hasaki uses real crab meat, so it's yummy.
We walked about, down to Astor Place, where we had some green tea lattes at Starbucks. I looked at all the students and remembered that sometimes, like on a fair spring Sunday, it's nice not to be in school anymore. Next stop, street fair, where Kate had some kettle corn and I eyed, but resisted, the mozarella arepas. Last stop: the East Village branch of Bar Veloce, where we both sampled the mango grappa. You may remember from our Babbo trip last year that Kate and I went to the Chelsea BV and had clementine grappa. That was what we really wanted, but apparently the infused grappa menu is constantly changing. Sigh. Anyway, our bartender was sufficiently impressed that we were drinking grappa that early in the evening (it was 6pm).
I had really wanted to take Kate to Angel's Share, which is right next to Hasaki - I had just been a week ago and was eager for Kate to try the Rye Manhattan. Sadly, they don't open till 7pm, so we'll have to save it for another trip.
Anyway, after our grappa, it was time for Kate to catch her train back to the District. As I am missing my mom something fierce these days, and with my dad in Canada, visiting his brother, I was especially sad to see her go. But as the Buddha said, nothing exists entirely alone, everything is in relation to everything else. So I went home to my cat.
Anyway, Sunday afternoon, Kate and I took advantage of the beautiful day and went into the city. After driving around the East Village for about ten minutes, Eagle Eye Kate spotted a place to park that I hadn't even noticed. Next stop? Hasaki! Hooray! We split the age tofu, which was disappointing, and honestly, I'm starting to wonder why I order it out when I know that no place can beat the age togu at Tawara. Anyway, Kate had the chirashi and a piece of uni, while I had a yellow tail roll, California roll and eel roll. All excellent. I'm not normally a fan of California rolls, by Hasaki uses real crab meat, so it's yummy.
We walked about, down to Astor Place, where we had some green tea lattes at Starbucks. I looked at all the students and remembered that sometimes, like on a fair spring Sunday, it's nice not to be in school anymore. Next stop, street fair, where Kate had some kettle corn and I eyed, but resisted, the mozarella arepas. Last stop: the East Village branch of Bar Veloce, where we both sampled the mango grappa. You may remember from our Babbo trip last year that Kate and I went to the Chelsea BV and had clementine grappa. That was what we really wanted, but apparently the infused grappa menu is constantly changing. Sigh. Anyway, our bartender was sufficiently impressed that we were drinking grappa that early in the evening (it was 6pm).
I had really wanted to take Kate to Angel's Share, which is right next to Hasaki - I had just been a week ago and was eager for Kate to try the Rye Manhattan. Sadly, they don't open till 7pm, so we'll have to save it for another trip.
Anyway, after our grappa, it was time for Kate to catch her train back to the District. As I am missing my mom something fierce these days, and with my dad in Canada, visiting his brother, I was especially sad to see her go. But as the Buddha said, nothing exists entirely alone, everything is in relation to everything else. So I went home to my cat.
The bravest are surely those
Liana Banana is in the hospital. It's nothing unexpected, just that her MS has flared up and her new doctor won't let her take the IV steroids at home like the old doc did. So for a few days, she's stuck with on the old folks ward of the hospital. Luckily, she downloaded Sonic the Hedghog to her cell phone. She writes about going into the hospital on her own blog. Specifically, she talks about her fear of staying in the hospital, and what it represents in terms of her disease.
She mentions in passing that she is not brave and this got me thinking in general about what bravery really is. I don't think bravery is the absence of hissy fits, the absence of crying, or freaking out. No, to me bravery is doing all of those things, and then doing the scary thing anyway. My mom was always scared of flying. She would start having a slow build panic meltdown a few days before we would fly, and it would culminate at take off, where she would sit in her seat, eyes tightly shut, forcing herself not to streak off the plane. The alternative would have been to never go to Morocco or Turkey or Russia or Ireland - she could have done that. Lord knows she loved Canada enough that she never had to get on a plane to take a trip. But she sucked it up and did it because she wanted to see those places.
Liana, unlike my mother, doesn't have a fun trip to look forward to when she gets through the scary part of being in the hospital. She has to deal with all the crap that goes along with being in IV 'roids. And on top of all that, she has the memory of what life was like before all this. And even though it would be understandable if she went to bed and pulled the covers over her head, with a smidge of cajoling from her family and her boyfriend, she came out and did what had to be done.
Thucydides said, "The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it." Liana, I am very proud of you, not only for having the clearest vision of what lies ahead, but for going out to meet it as best and with as much grace and dignity as you can. That is bravery.
She mentions in passing that she is not brave and this got me thinking in general about what bravery really is. I don't think bravery is the absence of hissy fits, the absence of crying, or freaking out. No, to me bravery is doing all of those things, and then doing the scary thing anyway. My mom was always scared of flying. She would start having a slow build panic meltdown a few days before we would fly, and it would culminate at take off, where she would sit in her seat, eyes tightly shut, forcing herself not to streak off the plane. The alternative would have been to never go to Morocco or Turkey or Russia or Ireland - she could have done that. Lord knows she loved Canada enough that she never had to get on a plane to take a trip. But she sucked it up and did it because she wanted to see those places.
Liana, unlike my mother, doesn't have a fun trip to look forward to when she gets through the scary part of being in the hospital. She has to deal with all the crap that goes along with being in IV 'roids. And on top of all that, she has the memory of what life was like before all this. And even though it would be understandable if she went to bed and pulled the covers over her head, with a smidge of cajoling from her family and her boyfriend, she came out and did what had to be done.
Thucydides said, "The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it." Liana, I am very proud of you, not only for having the clearest vision of what lies ahead, but for going out to meet it as best and with as much grace and dignity as you can. That is bravery.
Friday, April 07, 2006
The Great Costco Race
This Saturday is Kate's bridal shower, which I am technically hosting, though really her mom is the host since it's at her house. Anyway, one of my many tasks for this week was to head over to Costco and purchase some food/cake for the event.
I share a Costco membership with Wendy. When we signed up, we tried to convince them to give us two cards (we told them we were domestic partners) but they wouldn't since we couldn't prove we lived at the same address (serves us right, I guess, for trying to take advantage of Costco's DP policy). Anyhoo, since Wend is the one with the Amex, the membership is in her name and every few months we make the expedition together.
Well, this happens to be a busy work travel month for Wendy, and today was the day we set aside for the trip so I could get the precious, precious Costco cake. I got to Wendy's around 7:30 and we ate dinner, figuring that Costco closed around 9 or 9:30. In a moment of fear, I called Costco to find out what time they closed. The verdict? 8:30. It was currently 8:10.
I have jaw pain, probably because I have been unintentionally clenching my jaw when stressed, annoyed, etc. A pain shot through my jaw at the moment of realization that I would not be getting Kate her Costco cake. Costco cake was the one freakin' thing she had requested and I had fucked it up. And because Costco employees always check the photo on the membership card, and other than the fact that we are both pasty pale, Wendy and I look nothing alike, I could not just take the card and go tomorrow.
Wendy dragged me out the door - "We'll make it! We'll get the cake!" "Nooo, they won't even let us in the door." After being stuck behind the slowest SUV ever, Wendy in her little Geo Prism, honking her horn(!), and speeding to Costco, we did make it through the door. We ran to the back of the store, grabbed the cake, and then Wendy overheard an employee say that while they close the front door at 8:30, they allow people inside to continue shopping for awhile. Woohoo!
It certainly wasn't the relaxed shopping expedition we had planned, but I got a bunch of stuff for the shower, and Wendy got her 36 pack of Mountain Dew (23 cents a can!). We checked out and rolled our giant car through the door. "If you don't mind, I'd like to drive a little slower on the way home," she remarked. "Yes, please."
I share a Costco membership with Wendy. When we signed up, we tried to convince them to give us two cards (we told them we were domestic partners) but they wouldn't since we couldn't prove we lived at the same address (serves us right, I guess, for trying to take advantage of Costco's DP policy). Anyhoo, since Wend is the one with the Amex, the membership is in her name and every few months we make the expedition together.
Well, this happens to be a busy work travel month for Wendy, and today was the day we set aside for the trip so I could get the precious, precious Costco cake. I got to Wendy's around 7:30 and we ate dinner, figuring that Costco closed around 9 or 9:30. In a moment of fear, I called Costco to find out what time they closed. The verdict? 8:30. It was currently 8:10.
I have jaw pain, probably because I have been unintentionally clenching my jaw when stressed, annoyed, etc. A pain shot through my jaw at the moment of realization that I would not be getting Kate her Costco cake. Costco cake was the one freakin' thing she had requested and I had fucked it up. And because Costco employees always check the photo on the membership card, and other than the fact that we are both pasty pale, Wendy and I look nothing alike, I could not just take the card and go tomorrow.
Wendy dragged me out the door - "We'll make it! We'll get the cake!" "Nooo, they won't even let us in the door." After being stuck behind the slowest SUV ever, Wendy in her little Geo Prism, honking her horn(!), and speeding to Costco, we did make it through the door. We ran to the back of the store, grabbed the cake, and then Wendy overheard an employee say that while they close the front door at 8:30, they allow people inside to continue shopping for awhile. Woohoo!
It certainly wasn't the relaxed shopping expedition we had planned, but I got a bunch of stuff for the shower, and Wendy got her 36 pack of Mountain Dew (23 cents a can!). We checked out and rolled our giant car through the door. "If you don't mind, I'd like to drive a little slower on the way home," she remarked. "Yes, please."
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Bittersweet, Opening Day
It's opening day for baseball and I am so very happy. I won't harp about how much I love baseball or the Yankees right now, or how baseball signifies spring and summer and for me, represents everything good and pure about our country. I will say, though, that the Yanks had a 7-run second inning against Oakland. Hopefully they can keep it up.It does feel a little bittersweet, only because as I danced around my living room clapping and cheering for A-Rod's grand slam, I thought about how my mom would have stayed up late to watch the game, would have been doing the same thing, and would probably have called to cheer with me.
So I can think of no better tribute to her than an excellent Yankees season. Go Yanks!
Screw You, Jet Blue
Victory is mine! Got a letter today from Bank of America regarding the malfunctioning ATM - "the credit is permanent and we consider this dispute resolved." Because I was right and they were wrong! This does not cue evil laughter - after all the crap, I'm just relieved that it's a resolved.
But this reminds me of a story. This past weekend I went with my dad to have brunch with friends of his and my mom from college. Jeanie and Dave live on Riverside Drive and they are both scientists. Jeanie is very involved in tenants's rights in the neighborhood, and so everyone knows her and calls out to her when we walk down the street. It's fun, and a little old-fashioned, to see such a stereotypical neighborhood reaction in Manhattan. There isn't enough of that today.
Anyway, Jeanie and Dave's son, Tim, was over and the two of us set to work trying to convince Marj, one of my mom and dad's other friends, that she should fight a traffic ticket that she got. Tim told a story about how he fought Jet Blue and won.
Back during the blizzard in February, Tim got stranded in Austin, Texas. He spent an hour and a half on the phone (on hold, naturally) with Jet Blue, finally got put through to a person, and was promptly disconnected. When he finally got to talk to a person, they told him that the earliest they could fly him out would be two days thence. This would not do - Tim had work and needed to get back to NY. Jet Blue said they couldn't help him, so he bought (for an arm and a leg) a one way trip on Southwest. When he returned to NY, he called Jet Blue and asked them to pay for his ticket. They refused. "All right then," Tim said, "then you should know that I am going to start a blog. And every day on that blog I am going to trash Jet Blue. I'll collect stories about you."
What did this get him? His ticket promptly paid. The power of the blog, people.
But this reminds me of a story. This past weekend I went with my dad to have brunch with friends of his and my mom from college. Jeanie and Dave live on Riverside Drive and they are both scientists. Jeanie is very involved in tenants's rights in the neighborhood, and so everyone knows her and calls out to her when we walk down the street. It's fun, and a little old-fashioned, to see such a stereotypical neighborhood reaction in Manhattan. There isn't enough of that today.
Anyway, Jeanie and Dave's son, Tim, was over and the two of us set to work trying to convince Marj, one of my mom and dad's other friends, that she should fight a traffic ticket that she got. Tim told a story about how he fought Jet Blue and won.
Back during the blizzard in February, Tim got stranded in Austin, Texas. He spent an hour and a half on the phone (on hold, naturally) with Jet Blue, finally got put through to a person, and was promptly disconnected. When he finally got to talk to a person, they told him that the earliest they could fly him out would be two days thence. This would not do - Tim had work and needed to get back to NY. Jet Blue said they couldn't help him, so he bought (for an arm and a leg) a one way trip on Southwest. When he returned to NY, he called Jet Blue and asked them to pay for his ticket. They refused. "All right then," Tim said, "then you should know that I am going to start a blog. And every day on that blog I am going to trash Jet Blue. I'll collect stories about you."
What did this get him? His ticket promptly paid. The power of the blog, people.
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