Today I Wrote Nothing

Freedom never looked so free.

2012-01-23T11:11:00.001Z

See what I'm doing here? That's right. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Because I SURVIVED MY SEMESTER PROJECTS! And my world--for the next two precious, precious weeks--is all about The Nothing. My book stack a mile high? I'm gonna SMASH that thing. It's going to be so beautiful being able to read without feeling guilty about The Things That I Should Be Doing that I may just explode into bliss-pieces. My coffee cup is bottomless, my flat is clean, and my biggest source of stress will be about whether or not I want to tackle that new mega-recipe today or tomorrow. Even my LAUNDRY is caught up--that's how I rewarded myself on Saturday for a job well done. Hours and hours of delightful laundry and watching the overflowing hamper gradually empty like so many rain barrels in a drought. I feel like a million bucks.

I'm not going to lie, though--the work on these latest projects was actually...okay. It felt GOOD. Was it because the projects were far more difficult than anything we were expected to do last year, so were therefore more rewarding? Was it because the work I produced is something that doesn't make me want to crawl into a hole with embarrassment, maybe just hide under the bed? Or was it because Aya stayed over for a week and we worked from 8 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. every day and survived on a diet of energy drinks, wasabi peas, and Japanese pop music? I don't know! But not once did I think, 'I can't do this.'

Of course, it's hard NOT to have fun when we have Aya playing yeejay (that's my new term for a youtube-deejay). We played the below song at least ten times a day. It's awesome. You have to at least watch the first half of this video. It is SO. FUNNY. I can't decide my favourite part. It is in the first fifteen seconds, when the second singer leaps into the frame in slow motion, her hair floating in the breeze? Is it at 0:58 when the main singer swirls and her outfit changes? It's really impossible to say. But oh it makes me belly laugh every time:

I have no idea what this song was about. If you can tell, let me know. I would also like to point out that this group has a HUGE male following in Japan. Aya showed me a live concert clip and the audience was ALL guys. You might think 'yeah, of course,' especially if you watched this video, because it's like three and a half minutes of Long Leggery and those girls are hotness, but at the same time, I don't think you would ever see a girl band in America or Great Britain with a predominantly male following. (Or at least not a public male following.) I think (and do correct me if I'm wrong, this is only one tiny perspective) when/if the average western guy likes a girl band, he doesn't share it. You know, because it's not MANLY to love the Pussycat Dolls or the Spice Girls or Beyonce or whatever. That's GIRL music. Forget the fishnets and the cleavage--if a guy likes a girl group for her sex appeal, he is no man indeed. It's like guys think they have to uphold a certain standard of musical integrity. Or they'll like a girl group, but only 'ironically.' The only time you'll see a western guy admit to liking a female performer is if she's relatively unattractive, like Adele (because then it's about the musicality), or she's a hardcore rocker, like Gwen or Fergie. But if the girl is too sexy, forget it. No self-respecting guy is going to be like, 'I just got the new Britney album!' Unless they're Japanese. And then they'll go to the concert with all their buddies, because DUDE! Check out those legs!

Aya also taught me about Japanese Radio Exercises (or Radio Taiso), which is something every person in Japan knows. That's right. Every person. That's what Aya told me and Aya doesn't lie. She says they grow up doing this before school every day. Families do it together in the morning. 'To wake up,' she says. I'm not surprised. The mornings we did it, the injuries I sustained were enough to get my blood flowing:

And I know what you're thinking, because you only watched the first twenty seconds: Rona, this looks EASY. Any stretching done to piano music canNOT hurt you. Well. You certainly didn't see Part Two, designed for the younger Japanese set. When Aya and I would get to this half of the exercises, she'd be swooping around like a tiny, graceful ballerina, all stretchy and petite, while a half-beat behind, my giantess arms swung around like so many gorillas in the jungle, my floor-scraping knuckles knocking things from their shelves with every twirl.

It was awesome. I still like to do them.

Alright, off I go! It's time to READ! I may even indulge in a THIRD cup of coffee. I KNOW! Someone slow me down, I'm on a crazy train!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

It turns out German rest stops look a lot like American rest stops.

2011-12-21T15:47:00.001Z

Okay, so you know how sometimes you get on a plane and you think, 'This plane will land in the location I chose and paid for!' and so even though the plane may be delayed two hours before taking off, that's okay! You're going where you want to go!

Except for now. The gig is up, people. It turns out airlines can take you ANYWHERE THEY WANT TO. Like say you board a flight and you think it's going to Munich. That's the ticket you bought, after all. It says it right there, on the ticket! Munich! And everybody else around you is ALSO going to Munich, so you are definitely not boarding the wrong plane.

So you're feeling pretty gosh darn confident you are on your way to the city of your choosing until about ten minutes into the flight, when an announcement is made. 'Hey! We're not going to Munich. We don't really feel like it. But look, since you bought tickets to Germany, we'll at least drop you off in Cologne! Cheers!' This is like getting dropped off in LA when you need to be in San Francisco. Or Memphis when you're aiming for Tulsa.

This is exactly what happened last night. You can only imagine the uproar. But it's okay, they say! There are arrangements on the other side to get everyone to Munich! Sure, they aren't FLIGHT arrangements, but come on! You'll still get there! Plains, trains, or automobiles, you should get there anyTIME this week!

I know. I KNOW.

So we all get off the plane a short while later, bleary-eyed, disoriented, and not a little upset. We're shuffling around an empty deserted airport at one a.m. in the middle of nowhere and still not sure exactly how it happened. We are then gathered round the luggage conveyor belt and given our options: take a bus now and be at Munich in five or six hours, or take a train at 3:30 and arrive in Munich by 8. They strongly encourage the bus option for anybody who wants to get to Munich early.

In hindsight, this was a trick. They just wanted us to leave as soon as possible and quit hassling them with our thousands of interjected questions. Tricksy Germans!

So we all shamble on to the bus, like so much brain-dead zombie cattle totally confused and just wanting to be moving in the right direction. Or any direction, really.

We wake less than an hour later to the smell of burning. SMELLS LIKE BURNING! We aren't sure what it is--plastic? rubber? our bus's soul?--but it's rank and it's bad and it's clearly not going to survive the autobahn and we have to pull over and shut it off before it turns into a giant ball of fire. It will not be coming back to life.

OH YES. THE BUS HAS BROKEN DOWN.

Our night has officially gone from bad to THIS HAS TO BE A JOKE WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS? Everyone is laughing with hysterical delirium. We are never getting to Munich. We are all becoming friends in our shared disaster. One girl is pretending we are on a desert island together and fighting for survival and every human moment becomes part of the montage in the future movie about us.

The driver calls a second bus to come pick us up. It arrives nearly an hour later. But we aren't allowed to change buses yet. It seems the local police that have pulled over to watch the show want to make the second bus tow our bus off the highway due to some regulation that said passengers couldn't disembark on the autobahn. Eventually they give this up as it is clear we are all thisclose to throwing ourselves into traffic, anyway, in a mad attempt to find some other route--any other route!--to Munich so they finally let us get on the second bus. It is now around 3:30 in the morning.

The second bus is more modern than our current bus--maybe 25 years old instead of 30--and significantly more compact. My knees are up around my chin to fit into the seat. But it will get us there. Albeit slowly. Our new driver is a grumpy old man who likes to take a lot of breaks. 30 minutes here, 20 there, 10 there. We see all of Germany in rest stops. Our driver also likes to yell a lot, but the direction of his ire isn't clear. His honking at other vehicles wakes me on a number of occasions but eventually it becomes a soothing background because at least it means we are not pulled over taking a break.

We finally arrive in Munich at 10 this morning. Roughly twelve. hours. late. I nearly kissed the pavement.

On the bright side, the charming city of Munich appears to be pulling out all the stops as an apology for their airline and bus failings. Snow is falling from the heavens in great plump white swirls of plump swirly whiteness, the shops are all twinkling away, and every two feet is a stall selling sausages or sweets or gluwein or pretzels or dark baked bread. It's a lovely Christmas wonderland.

And just in case you wondered what Santa is up to this week:

I must take a bit of a nap now--soon two friends are arriving and we'll be off to dinner and more market fun times! Word on the street (actually, word from one of my new German friends from the bus this morning) there's a tiny market in the courtyard of the old palace that's excellent, and a medieval market where they actually dress in costume and serve your drinks in goblets, and a romantic market that's all super duper twinkly at night, and also an art market, and a charity market, and a * on and on and on *! I really can't wait. So much to do, so little time! And off to Salzburg for a day trip tomorrow!

I hope you're all having a good week and staying away from all major airlines!

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

Now to find my mittens.

2011-12-20T14:16:00.000Z

It's a big day! Notably, my last day at my computer for some time. Right now I should be packing for a night-time flight to Munich-town. This doesn't seem urgent, though. I mean, what do I need? Jeans, boots, coat? I can WEAR all that.

I'm really hoping the Christmas markets will be like that awesome one in Chicago that I went to years ago on my road trip (I still have my mug in the shape of a boot!) or the fantastic one I went to here in London a couple weeks ago, Winter Wonderland (motto: 'We look just like a German Christmas market, if you don't look too closely').

These are GERMAN crepes. Don't be so uptight.

They even had curry sausages. Also of German origin.

This is Anna. She is awesome. She is not German, but she totally could be with her rockin' Bavarian style.

Bratwurst. By far the best part of Winter Wonderland, other than Anna's hat. My love, my heart, get in my belly.

I can't wait for the shopping. I clearly need a wooden Santa that smokes when you light incense inside him and maybe an elf to sit on my shelf but one that doesn't report to Santa because he's gone rogue and also I think I'd like to try and find a snowflake ornament that's tucked inside a snow globe ornament inside a reindeer ornament all dangling from a sprig of holly in a wreath around the neck of a bigger reindeer ornament. That would be perfect.

I look forward to seeing you soon! I hope you have a very merry Christmas!

Love and hugs,
Esssss

That's right. Another post about hot dogs.

2011-11-10T14:03:00.002Z

"Stay hungry. Stay foolish." - Steve Jobs

I like to think that I follow Steve Jobs's advice every time I travel. The first thing I plan whenever I'm travelling to any given city is where I need to eat. If I'm lucky, my travelling companion will be interested in museums, boat cruises, and walks in famous parks, and our two lists will come together like magic. If that's not the case...well, I can't be held responsible. Now open up!

In Chicago, this food-centric tour took the form of donuts, hot dogs, and other such healthy, hip-loving delights. The Doughnut Vault being no exception. Everyone warned about the lines that stretch around the block and also how they close as soon as they sell out, but I got lucky--arriving at eleven, I was able to walk straight up to that tiny, tiny counter in that tiny, tiny hallway and load up. I can only assume there was nobody waiting because they all thought the Vault would be sold out and closed by that time. But there were four whole donuts left! A chocolate AND a gingerbread stack, all of which I bought and promptly devoured. That's right. I closed the place DOWN.

(This is what bliss looks like.)

This is also what bliss looks like: pig face at The Girl and the Goat. Imagine a maple breakfast sausage covered in shoestring fries and a perfectly fried egg: basically, all you could ever want in a meal. Also, GOAT CARPACCIO. I know! There was SOMUCHDELICIOUSGOAT on that menu. And not ONE was a curry, thank you very much. It was like I died and went to bleating heaven.

The next day I took my classy, ever-expanding self across town to wait in line for what was to become the best hot dog experience of my life: Hot Doug's. And I actually MET Hot Doug because he WORKS there and I made him take a PICTURE with me. And waiting 45 minutes was ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT. We went on Duck-Fat-Fries Saturday and while they were fantastic, the real star of the show was The Dog--I ordered the Bacon Cheeseburger Dog with Coca Cola BBQ sauce and maple-smoked cheddar cheese and I kid you not, IT REALLY TASTED LIKE A BACON CHEESEBURGER. IN A DOG. There was bacon and cheese INSIDE the sausage. INSIDE THE SAUSAGE! With every bite, cheese gooed out. SERIOUSLY. And if that doesn't make you realize you haven't lived, nothing will. It was, hands-down, the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. That is, until I tried my friend's Chicago Dog. Then THAT became the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. Which makes me think they're ALL the best hot dog I've ever had in my life. EVER.

I actually want to try every single item on this menu. Don't judge me.

And lest you think all I did was eat (uh), check out this architectural boat cruise! It went through the rivers/canals/allthosewaterways and a lovely old lady told us who designed all those gorgeous buildings and I learned a LOT.*

Like did you know one of the Batman movies was filmed here? I know! I remember all the good stuff. It is SO Gotham City. Look at that fog over the top of the tower. I didn't even photoshop that in.

I'll release you all from my Chicago tour now--two posts on it far surpasses how I usually cover a city. But I couldn't resist storing my food memories somewhere, and here is a much safer place than my head.*

Until we meet again,

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

*Mostly that I have zero capacity for remembering names. Which you may have already suspected if you've ever met me at a party.

On Highgate Wood, a new friend, the pleasures of fall, and the difficulties of self-pimping

2011-11-07T17:24:00.001Z

Remember back when I used to blog post all the time? Yeah. That was awesome. I was amazing. Don't spend too much time on that link; I think I used to be mildly illiterate if those posts are anything to go by.

In other tidings, I've made a new friend! She is GREAT. We met for the first time after corresponding through our blogs and it was like a blind date and I was all nervous that she wouldn't like me but then she was so much fun all my nervousness went away and now I want to hang out with her all the time but I'm totally playing cool so she doesn't think I'm stalking her. We spent an afternoon in Highgate Wood and it was such a beautiful fall day, all blue blue skies and red and yellow leaves and the light was so golden like an apple that I thought maybe I was in a different place like Vermont or Maine, and I was going to go home to my farm and my chickens and my jug of maple syrup and my barrels filled with something organic from my local market and then I would turn on some Philip Glass while I made dinner. That's how nice it was.

I think fall is London's best and my new favorite season. Normally spring or summer would be neck-and-neck and fall would be somewhere down in 'yeah, when I'm moody' territory, but this year spring didn't actually lead to summer, so I'm still a bit mad at both of them. And if I know London, winter is definitely coming. So right now fall is in the lead, if for no other reason than promises delivered. Go fall!

And honestly. Look at this:

I know!

My new bff! If she lived in America, she would totally listen to NPR. You can tell.

And then a ram appeared in the thicket.

Did I mention I have to create a personal brochure? I do. It's difficult for many reasons, not the least of which is that I'm not actually sure what I'm selling here. It's certainly not my ability to design furniture. And apparently the capacity to spot a designer chair from a mile away isn't something marketable. I'm also having trouble making 'retentively organized' sound artistic and sexy. I'm clearly going to have to start making things up...What would Jasper Morrison say...

I hope you're doing well! I miss you.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Esss

On Chicago, old friends, veal brains, and zoo porn

2011-10-07T12:02:00.000+01:00

Chicago. I love it. IloveitIloveitIloveit.

Me and Chicago, we go way back. Most of my past visits are a bit blurry thanks to my dementia and the fact that I didn't have a blog in those days to record things in, but I still have snapshots in my head that tell me I've been there so I'm going with it. Once in college, I went with my roommate (a native) and we snuck into the Signature Lounge in the John Hancock Tower because we were 19 and looked about twelve and wanted to see the view. I remember going another time with a volunteer group and tutoring inner city kids and seeing Cabrini Green pre-demolishment (we weren't allowed out of the van) and all the little girls I worked with wanting to know 'Why I ain't got no baby?' And then, years later, I road-tripped through.

But this time it was different--I wasn't staying with friends and I couldn't afford to be a lazy planner. I had to pay attention. Chicago became a whole new city to me because of this, and I absolutely fell in love. Not a little credit is due to a wonderful reunion with old friends at a 30th birthday party, around which this entire weekend was centered. (I never miss 30th birthday parties. Especially when the birthday girl is an award-winning black belt.)

(That's her. Behind the waffle.)

We had a blast together: we went to the Lincoln Park Zoo, had lunch at Hot Doug's (more on that in the next post because omg! hot dogs!), followed by dinner at the Publican (holy veal brains, batman! So...creamy...), and capped off the whole day with the Blue Man Group.

(Not pictured: Blue Man Group.)

Have you been to the Lincoln Park Zoo? If not, you should. It's free. I think that's the best part. I'm not really a fan of zoos in general (not because of anything noble, I just think animals are dull when all they do is pace and sleep), but I'll take a free zoo any day. Especially a free zoo featuring zebras molesting one another, which this one did. It was pretty much the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life. I couldn't get my camera out fast enough to capture the wholly one-sided amorous encounter, but I did get a snapshot of the aftermath:

This is what shame looks like.

It was fantastic.

I've got to go now--classes began this week and they are NOT messing around. Among other things, I have to research workstations* for a design project and make a giant poster on materials and processes. I know you're all going to clamour for a copy of that poster when I'm done, but I'm sorry to say it's not for sale. You're just going to have to figure out how to cast non-ferrous metals on your own.

I miss you tons.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss

*Does anybody happen to know a designer or architect in London that I can talk to about their workspace? Anybody?

You should see my shopping list.

2011-09-07T18:49:00.001+01:00

I'm going to America tomorrow. I'M GOING TO AMERICA TOMORROW!! I don't know if that's okay to say. I had a girlfriend come visit me here in London once and she spent half her time on Facebook pretending to be home so people wouldn't know she was gone and try to break into her house. I don't know what kinds of friends she has.

That said, don't break into my house while I'm away. I'm totally home.

But if I WEREN'T home these next couple of weeks, I'd be in Chicago! And then Tulsa! And then--* pitter patter *--SAN FRANCISCO! Did your head just explode? Mine did. Please, someone gather up my gray matter and push it back in. I am so excited!

All the things I am looking forward to:

A walk along Lake Michigan

My beautiful nieces!

Everything else.

And in closer-to-London news, I got a job! Well, sort of three. You know, when it rains and all. But two are unpaid, so I like to think those are just for 'fun'--one is that internship for the literary publicist, one is a potential readership for a book agent, and one is contract work as an admin assistant! (That's the paid gig, since we all know admin is my x-power.) And of course I cleverly timed everything to start at the same time as my classes, because what is life if not overbooked?

I would love to stay and talk but I really should get back to my trip preparation. I've done the laundry and cleaning and travel document organization, so now all I have to do is pack and eat all the food in the fridge. YES!

Big hugs and lots of love and see you soon,
Essss

On liking, loving, and assumptions of obsession

2011-08-24T12:09:00.002+01:00

A bookshop in Dublin, quote by Flann O'Brien

So I took down my last post because I may or may not be doing an internship with a literary publicist soon and the last thing I wanted was for them to google me and find me posting about experimental sushi hot dogs (I KNOW!) but now I'm in a position of having to write about something that makes me sound smart.

...

Maybe the absence of something embarrassing will suffice in the place of something meritorious; I'm drawing from an empty well here.

True story: once I told someone that I liked children's literature. Later, and unrelatively, I mentioned that I went to a sci-fi exhibit at the British Library. Ever since then, this person will preface any discussion we have of books with 'Well, I know this isn't a kid book or sci-fi, but...'

I love that.

It's like when you're ten and you draw a picture of Mickey Mouse because it's easy and makes you look talented and your family thinks because of this that you must love Mickey Mouse and so for the next five years everyone is giving you Mickey Mouse tee shirts and watches and pillows and radios for Christmas and birthdays and there is nothing you can say to stop it because the idea has taken root. (Not that this happened to me, but it totally did.) Once a person has a notion in their head about you, it is nearly impossible to change. I think the best you can do is hope to redirect. Perhaps with the person above who thinks I'm obsessed with sci-fi this means talking about a fascination with Jewish literature, or light pollution, or the wonders of peppers. That could sufficiently throw me across another train track. When I was young, I should've taken to drawing pictures of gold bricks and LP's. Who can say where I'd be now if I had derailed the Mickey train and replaced it with wealth and music taste?

Either way, I've got to build myself a new box soon, and hopefully one with more than two sides.

(Dublin again; it's a city that understands me)

Before I forget! I must apologize to subscribers of my feed. There's some sort of glitch that causes random posts from the past to come flying out of nowhere and back into your inbox. I think it's triggered by me taking down posts, but I don't really understand why that would be, so I don't want to conjecture too much. Suffice it to say, I'm so sorry for spamming you, please do delete these extra posts when they arrive.

I have to go now, but here's one last photo from Dublin; I'm off to Galway on Friday for a wedding and I hope it's as beautiful as this.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Esssss

That's right. Photographic proof that I know how to read.

2011-07-20T18:37:00.005+01:00

I am blessed to have particularly talented friends. Some of them, like Cindy Bridges and Annelies Z, cook beautifully. Others, like Leslie Goshko, are not afraid of standing on a stage in front of a roomful of people and making them laugh. Deee Trip. makes the most gorgeous fabric flowers you've ever seen. And Kyle Erickson writes poetry.

The latest gift comes to me in the form of a book. A hand-made book, lovely to touch and hold, of which there are only ten copies (gone within seconds of their release), of which I received lucky number eight. I didn't consider this my lucky number until yesterday, when I got this in the mail:

(Looks a bit like me, doesn't she?)

Kick Assonance is an anthology of four poets (Kyle, Steven Leyva, Christian Ericson, and Sei Shiroma, who I secretly fantasize about marrying so I can be Sharona Shiroma) containing evocative, moving work that makes things stir inside my little coal heart. Kyle also did the book illustrations, just in case you didn't think just being a poet was enough talent in one human. It's no small wonder his wife is a successful comedienne who has also performed on Broadway and--for kicks, mind you--has recently started a band. Meanwhile, I find great pride in being able to eat a shortbread cookie without dropping crumbs in my lap.

But look how smart I look when I'm holding a poetry anthology.

Needless to say, this book has raptured the better part of my day and now sits with pride on my coffee table, where I like to think it will impress any future house guests that I may or may not invite over with the express intent of showing it off.

I should go now; I need to work on some limericks if I'm going to have anything worth submitting to next year's edition. I think they'll really like where I'm taking this. A little 'teaser,' if you will:

Sometimes I like to kick assonance around,
Like a wall or a ball or anything sound
But then it kicks back
And throws me off track
And so I kick alliteration aground.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

Writing about thinking about books does not make a good blog post

2011-06-22T15:47:00.070+01:00

"For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business." - T.S. Eliot

It's dark right now, at 2 in the afternoon, the skies about to open as they do daily and have done for weeks. Every day the clouds blacken and roll, then crack and dazzle with sunlight, then pitch to black again. This cool summertime June is hardly a summertime at all, and the longest day has passed.

I just got The Wasp Factory for The Increasingly Morbid Book Club. Over the spring we* read The Killer Inside Me and The Collector (taking a break in June for Enduring Love! What??) because apparently one can never dive too deeply or too often into the mind of a psychopath. I clearly need to go in with a Sweet Valley High recommendation soon. But until then, has anyone read The Wasp Factory? Thoughts? I can't resist good black comedy, but I'm a wuss when it comes to the truly macabre.

Ego romp! Romp romp!: The other day I was thinking about posting every single book I read for, I don't know, the next year or so. Not in the sense of giving a review or anything, but more with the intent to see what full disclosure would do to my reading habits. Would my choices embarrass me if they were visible to everyone? (Yes, hi, young adult dystopian fantasy.) Would they embarrass me several consecutive times in a row? (There are six in the series!) And what would they say about me? (I have the attention span of a ten year old and I'm a total poser.) But (maybe) most importantly, would knowing that I had to tell what I was reading change the books I read? Would my vanity drive me to tackle those literary greats just so I can casually list 'War and Peace' in place of 'The Hunger Games'**, all no-words-needed, what's the big deal, Russian lit is how I roll for a good time, I don't even know who Scott Westerfeld IS. That I'd change my usual reading material for vanity is an appalling thought, but one that I must confront nonetheless. And while I'm 99.9% sure I won't actually start this List O' Embarrassment, still...it's personally challenging. If you'd be interested in trying this with me, though, let me know! We can give our experiment a clever name and create a blog badge*** to legitimize it and then we'll pretend like we're part of a literary movement because we're so cutting edge with our transparent lifestyles in today's exhibitionist culture.

On a completely unrelated note, I took this picture in Paris of two girls clearly having a great time together, and it reminds me of me and my sister:

We traded off on the ~~torment~~ fun times once I outgrew her.

Random, but...I'm having a poetry craving. I KNOW. I don't know what happened. It's probably because of this bleak London weather, you know how clouds make a person all moody. And I don't even know where to begin. I just looked in my shelves and all I have is one book by Neruda and Ginsberg's Howl. I also found (how often do I actually go through my stacks?) three copies of Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters, two copies of Nine Stories, and one copy of Franny and Zooey. This ratio makes sense: the inverse correlation reflects the order in which I give them away. (Godspeed, Franny. Go! Fulfill!) But anyway. I don't know what to do about this strange and persistent need to find and eat some poetry. Do I indulge it? And if so, with what? Or should I banish the whim altogether with a good zombie romance? Clearly that seems safer.

So I don't know. I need to think on that. In the meantime:

If you're a Vonnegut fan.

If you were a voracious reader as a child and you were as lucky as I was to have a mother who took you to the library every week and let you read anything you could get your hands on and this literary freedom made you who you are today. Also, if you love Sherman Alexie.

It must be book day. I should go find mine. (The Wise Man's Fear, Patrick Rothfuss)

Hugs and love,
Essss

*And by 'we' I mean 'they.'
**Which, by the way, is fantastic.
***I don't actually know how to do this. And of course you wouldn't need a blog to play. There's also Facebook, or Twitter, or Tumblr, or the Pioneer Woman Cooks.

A handful of Paris pictures and some hyperlinks you don't want to follow

2011-06-03T11:40:00.010+01:00

I don't have that many words today, and goodness knows I gave you enough yesterday--many apologies, I tried not to waxy wordy when I can help it--so I will do a post of pictures! Paris, to be exact; a sampler.

From top left, clockwise:
1. Aya-bee, being typically fabulous.
2. The Pompidou, tricky tranny hot mess fierce.
3. A picnic on the canal, not ours, but next to ours.
4. Musee de l'Orangerie--the perfect size, and you feel so smart.
5. Tea time at Laduree--breaking the heat of the day with pistachios and orange blossoms and strawberries and little golden napkins.

Much love and hugs,
Essss

p.s. I just went to Laduree's website for the first time so that I could get that link, and I kid you not, it's TERRIFYING. I felt like I was about to get attacked by fairies. Whatever you do, don't click on it if you want to sleep tonight.

On Roosters, Summer Vacation, and a Milestone Birthday

2011-06-01T12:23:00.014+01:00

"When the rooster crows on the dung heap the weather stays the same, or it changes." - German proverb

I'm home! I'm home! My travels are done, school is officially out, and the days stretch open before me. The first thing I have to do is process the past two months worth of photos from Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, Florence, and Athens, and then...it's Resume Time! I've got to dust that old thing off and start sending it around town. I'll admit I'm thrilled about entering the work force again. I'm sure that will wear off the first time I'm called into my boss's office about 'my overwhelming enthusiasm and volume,' but for now, I feel like the world is my oyster! What shall I do?? Where shall I apply?? Someone, quick, tell me.

In other news, D-Day approaches! On June 6, I turn the Big 3-0. I have to admit I'm not being very graceful, very 'Life Just Gets Better with Age' about it. I really thought--back when I was too young to think 30 was actually going to happen--that I would bound into this decade, breaking that winner's tape, flushed with the victory of wisdom and experience and ready to take on new challenges. But no, it turns out I'm not that mature. Immaturity is something I can still admit to in my 20's and receive some level of grace. As a 20-something, one is still considered somewhat naive, and decisions that don't look too far ahead are tolerated. But now! I will be in my 30's. No longer will women flap their hands dismissively at me, saying, 'Of course you say that! You have all the time in the world, you're so young!' And no longer will men laugh, 'Ahhhhh, I remember that energy. Now go refill my coffee, only one sugar this time, and then fax this report.' Nor will I automatically get the ignorance-of-youth free ride anymore. From now on when I'm ignorant, I'm just ignorant (though maybe I've always been just ignorant and will just now be facing the music). At 30, one is expected to be a mature, responsible human being, with a real career and a ticking clock and a purse that has a moisturizer with sunblock in it. There can be no more 'When I Grow Up' procrastination. Nobody likes to see a 35 year old still talking about some dream he'll fulfill when he gets big.

On the bright side, it will be nice to start lording all my lofty experience over all those 20-somethings, gifting them with the same dooms-day predictions I was privy to: 'You won't be able to eat like that forever!' and 'One day you'll break your leg doing that!' and 'Just wait until you get your first chin hair!' 20-somethings love that. It totally sinks in and makes a difference. I'll also say annoying things like, 'I just can't drink that much caffeine anymore,' and 'I need shoes with more support' and 'I can't sleep a wink with that fly in the room!' So that's exciting. I've also been practicing my 'Why are movies so LOUD these days??' moan for next time I'm in a movie theater, digging out my earplugs.

I guess there IS a lot to look forward to, now that I think about it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should go lie in the sun. I only have four more days to flippantly damage my skin. I'm just so young; I don't know any better. Premature aging and skin cancer are but strange threats on a distant horizon. You have to forgive me.

Big hugs and so much love,
Essss

p.s. Let me know if you need my address for my birthday present.

If I were aging in Paris, I'd just become more dapper. And discover an uncanny ability to complete a crossword.

FWHA!

2011-05-11T11:42:00.002+01:00

Hi friends!

Between recent travels and a mass of school projects due (oh happy semester end!), it's been a bit crazy in Rona-world as of late. And there's a lot to share with you: thoughts on and photos of Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, and Florence, and an upcoming visit from a San Francisco girlfriend that I am very excited about. But since today is not that day, I thought I would at least come say hi.

Hi.

This is how I'm gonna be dancing next week when everything's finished.

I hope you're doing well!

Big hugs,
Essss

p.s. On the title of the post: this is the noise I have been making today when stretching/leaving a thought process/getting up for a new cup of coffee/writing a spontaneous blog post/etc. It comes out like a vehement sigh and I think it is the sound of taking a break. FWHA.

Hugs again,
Essss

Life's a jolly holiday with Mary

2011-04-16T16:09:00.001+01:00

Have you ever mixed up the date your taxes were due with the date of the Oklahoma City bombing and thought you had until the 19th to get them done? Yeah. Me, neither. Except maybe something similar to that just happened, so I didn't do my taxes last week because I thought I could do them this weekend. And then when I realized what happened, I shot out of bed in a blind panic (realizations like this can only happen at six a.m. on a Saturday), my heart racing, the old familiar self-reprimand of 'Sha-roooooo-NA!' going through my head. But when I went online to see if I could file an extension, I found out that due to some obscure Abe Lincoln holiday in Washington D.C. last Friday, I now have until Monday to turn it all in!! That's right. MONDAY! How lucky am I?? My hide has been saved by emancipation. As usual.

Today I'm going to put a pretty picture in my blog before any other picture because facebook only shows the first picture when my blog is posted, and when that picture is a mangy cat or a really tiny picture of San Francisco, it ends up looking a bit rough. So here's one to make my blog look warm and welcoming:

Doesn't this remind you of Bert's painting in Mary Poppins where they go skipping around on carousel horses? That Bert! These trees are all the rage in Engrand-town in the spring. They make me happy.

This weekend is a manic birthday weekend--but not mine, which is lame. Other people's. There's a birthday party tonight at a place that I keep calling The Golden Egg, but that's not really the name, it's just what I call it because I can't remember the real name. But calling it The Golden Egg makes me crave wontons and there probably won't be wontons there. I should just skip the party and go out for Chinese food.

And then there's another one tomorrow. Again, not mine, and again, not involving Chinese food. Ridiculous, isn't it? People are so selfish.

But let's bring this back to my birthday, which I think we can all agree is what we really care about. My big 3-0 is coming up in June. D-Day, to be specific. I don't know what I'm going to do for it yet. I thought--five years ago, when I was living in SF--that I'd be doing this huge huge thing and it would be Super Magic Wonderful Good Times but now that I'm here in London, I'm at a bit of a loss. I should make this London thing work for me, and I don't know, maybe check on Wimbledon or horse racing dates or something. Then I can dress up and wear a big hat. That would be wonderful.

On a plus side, my friend Cassandra's 30th is in May and as a joint-celebration, she's flying out here! She'll already be gone by my birthday, but we'll have so many mini parties while she's here I'll have a nice stockpile to draw from.

And today, as a pre-birthday present to myself, I'm going to visit one of my favorite local shops and fondle all the silk flowers. You can never start celebrating too soon.

Big hugs and happy Saturday,
Esss

On mice warfare, stopping to smell the roses, and tell me what to do in Paris

2011-04-15T16:34:00.020+01:00

"I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value." - Hermann Hesse

The mice are still a problem. No solutions (that I have the stomach for) are working--the mice don't enter the catch-and-release traps and they aren't touching the poison, either, no matter what goodies I mix in with it. And even though I've long since mouse-proofed every item of food in the kitchen (for all intents and purposes, you may imagine it locked into safes suspended from the ceiling), they still insist on holding squeaky family reunions behind the fridge and using the countertops as one long, joyous chamberpot. I don't know why they're still here. I suspect it's just for the pleasure of witnessing my descent into madness at their capable paws. My hands permanently smell of bleach these days, as does every surface I think they may have touched. I wield my cleaning products like heavy artillery and have a box of matches the size of a bread bin that I'm fully prepared to use to set the kitchen on fire. They appear oblivious to the wild glint in my eye, the desperate hoovering, and the frantic disinfecting, as they cavalierly chatter on, throw parties, and wreak general havoc. But I refuse to give in, to give them the satisfaction of pushing me over the edge. I'm now pulling out the big guns in this war: professional pest control, my own personal mercenaries. At the very least, I'd be thrilled if these experts can plug up all the openings that are allowing the mice in, although I do hope they have some success in mouse-extraction, as well.

I hope they come with a terrifying cat.

In other news, last weekend in Pretty Little Seaside Hastings was chock full of one of my favorite things: Old People Looking in Windows.

I love the way they just get right IN there. Like a shop front is actually an exhibit that calls for full attention and study and conversation. (And really, isn't it?) I can't remember the last time I stopped at a window front and had a nice, long perusal of the wares on display. And yet there's an entire generation that goes nose-against-the-glass, examining the contents. I love it.

I actually went into this shop and got a tea plate and a handful of rusty forks, just because I could. All for a pound! Oh, man. It was great.

Okay, so this one wasn't * technically * taken in Hastings last weekend, but I can't resist putting it up because it totally fits.

Now back to my spring break research...if you have any tips about what Aya and I should do/see in Paris, Luxembourg, or Brussels, please let me know! We're totally winging it here. And anything awesome you recommend I promise to photo to death and then post on here, giving you all the blame. I mean, thanks.

Big hugs and love,
Essss

A quiet one

2011-03-30T18:49:00.013+01:00

I have an unanticipated free evening: a project was completed today and Friday's assignment can easily be done tomorrow, so for the first time in a long time, I'm finished with my work before 8 p.m. I feel positively buoyant at this gift of time, so rarely untainted by a niggling deadline. There's still light in the sky thanks to last weekend's time change, which serves to make the day feel earlier, the time more expansive. The world is my oyster! Should I take a bath and read? Watch an Audrey Hepburn movie? Watch an Audrey Hepburn movie while taking a bath and reading? I think I'll sit on the roof terrace for a while and be quiet and still while dusk approaches and then decide...

On a new blog feature, bowling, and Edinburgh Castle

2011-03-28T17:51:00.015+01:00

So this morning I helped a friend of mine install some widgets and plug-ins and other such funtimes on her blog and while skipping around internet tutorials, I discovered that I could install a third-party commenting platform to my blog which would enable me to respond in-line to comments! (I know--I just revealed how behind I am in the blogging world. Don't judge me. And wordpressers and typepadders, don't you dare gloat.) I scoped out review after review and finally decided to try one called Disqus. So if you go to leave a comment today, you'll see that it's a little different now, and I hope that's okay. If you find it difficult to use, please let me know; I'm happy to switch back to blogger's basic commenting system if that's the majority preference. Oh! And if you post as a 'guest' (versus, say, using your facebook profile), don't be alarmed when it asks you for your email; the information isn't displayed. I know, because I tested the new system by personally posting a dozen different comments with a dozen different log-ins, just to see what they all looked like.

Because I apparently have loads of time like that.

Did you know right now at the Barbican there's this exhibit called Beat the Champ involving bowling video games? Ranging in history from the 70's Atari to the most current playstation/x-box/whatever, this guy created a loop on each machine to make it play a recurring gutter ball on a giant screen. It's awesome. It's also crazy how different each one is--from the sounds to the graphics to the varying degrees of the 'you are a FAILURE!' message. Check it out:

She was really good. Even though she got a gutter ball.

And now one last thing before I go tackle my laser-cutting homework. Which of the two below do you like better? Both are of Edinburgh Castle and I can't decide if I like the building in it or out:

Although this one is the clear winner:

Big hugs, and I hope your day was as productive as mine,
Essss

On coronation chicken, springtime, and very little else

2011-03-24T14:42:00.011Z

I know this is incredibly unsophisticated of me, but I'm totally craving coronation chicken. I know. It's hard for me to say out loud. It's so outdated. And just now I caught myself googling recipes. And maybe--just maybe--I'll make it today for lunch and then eat it in secret and love every bite.

Omigosh. Coronation chicken was created by Constance Spry and a friend of hers! I feel so validated. I just learned about her in my design course on Tuesday. They Say she has single-handedly impacted the way that all of us decorate to this day, whether or not we're conscious of it. And when the Design Museum had an exhibit on her in 2004, it so inflamed the menfolk that James Dyson himself left the Chairmanship of the Board and Terence Conran--the founder of the Museum--also nearly quit. Isn't that crazy? All because of an exhibit on the influence of a society florist from the 50's. Maybe they were actually upset over her creation of coronation chicken. Someone should look into that.

I'm going to Luxembourg next month with Aya! We are going for spring break. One of our classmates, the Leggy Amarylis (see previous post), is from there so we're going to go stay with her and her family! I'm so excited. I can't stop thinking about the cheese. And Aya and I are spending a weekend in Paris on our way there, and a weekend in Brussels on our way back. And we're doing all our travel by train, which is SO NICE. I won't be stuck wearing nine layers of clothing (literally) to get my baggage weight approved, and I can bring back ~~cheese~~ food, and there's so much nice reading time on trains...* sigh * It's just the nicest way to travel.

Two days ago I was looking for some garden-esque pictures to use for a presentation, which led me to one of my old blogs, which led me to this picture that I took years ago, which makes me happy.

It's been so sunny and warm the past two days. It feels like spring and makes London seem like a completely new city, high-spirited and charming and not at all like the brown-and-gray depression-trap of the winter months. I feel high from the feeling of the sun on the back of my neck.

I'm defrosting my stash of corn tortillas right now! I'm going to make my friend and favorite food blogger Annelies's homemade tortilla chips. I can't wait. And then I'm going to spend the next two days eating chilaquiles and migas, also using her recipes. yumyumyumyumyum.

I shouldn't be hungry-blogging. Let's return our thoughts to Spring, in the form of Oxford, where I had the pleasure of spending a weekend a couple years ago:

Isn't it so charming and picturesque?

Ooh, I forgot the Dean made a scramble from the eggs straight out of his chicken coop. That was delicious.

Alright. I gotta go strap on the feeding bag. I'm starved. And I've got more school work to do. Or something.

Big hugs and love,
Essss

I can travel to other countries, but I can't take a bus across town.

2011-03-07T14:14:00.009Z

One should always be a little improbable. - Oscar Wilde

I was recently recommended a book called 'The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,' only I misunderstood the person and thought they said, 'The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wilde.'

It made sense at the time.

I need to go to the V&A today, but must admit to not wanting to make the lengthy journey there and back again. I just know I'll fall asleep on the underground and wake up feeling foggy and disoriented. I was encouraged to take pictures while I'm there to blog about it (this is how people motivate me now, and usually it works), but then that only serves to remind me that I'm behind on blogging my Stockholm pics and anyway, I've already done the V&A.

So...back to Stockholm! This will probably be my last post with anything Sweden-related, so quick-quick in list let me mention the highlights of my time there:

-the furniture fair and festivities around town for design week
-snow snow snow and wet nose toes and ice-crunchy mittens

-gastronomic delights: salmon and dill and red onions and gerkins and goat's cheese and sunflower seeds and anchovies and mustard and roe and herring and meatballs and lingonberries and hot dogs and oh I miss you already...

I should post the food photos--notably those of The Greatest Food Hall Ever--but a lot of that will depend on whether or not I photo any dead birds today and my blog path re-routes.

A-hem.

Without much further ado...Stockholm!

I don't think there are words enough for how ~~much it snowed~~ beautiful it was. Even with the storm that started on Thursday morning, when I took the bottom-right photo of the still-dry streets. I was touring with the school-friends below and we were about to embark on a 'scenic walk along the Soder cliffs' when it started to fall. 'Oh how charming!' we thought as the first flakes began to dust our pretty scarves. 'This will make the view from the cliffs so lovely!' And so we started walking. And it kept snowing, heavier and denser and oh so thick. By the time we got to 'the scenic views,' there was zero visibility ('Can you see Ostermalm?' 'I think it's that fuzzy mass across the water?'), Caio's Italian leather loafers were committing suicide, and we were windmilling across the icy footpaths.

It was fantastic.

'Okay, Aya, now let's play that Amarylis is Mommy and Caio is Daddy and you're Baby!'

I would like to point out that both Amarylis (Belgium-Luxembourgian) and Caio (Brazilian) come from modelling families. That's why they're so tall and gorgeous. Aya comes from a Japanese family, which is why she's so tiny and gorgeous.

The rest of the day was spent blissing in and out of warm design shops and boutiques, having a cosy, hearty lunch at a sweet little cafe, and taking one more view-laden walk. (small cough)

If you squint real hard, you may see the tower in the mist. This might've been a castle, or a museum, or a house of lords, or the most striking architecture in all of Stockholm. Either way, this is all we could see during our blizzard hike. That is, when we were able to blink the snowflakes out of our eyes. It was awesome. To me. Maybe not to the others, who were cold, wet, and bedraggled, coerced out by my promises of 'the best views of Gamla Stan!' My attempts at cheer were futile: 'Hey, forget that silly castle! I'm sure it's nothing! Look at all that ice in the water! Guys! Ice! In the water! Isn't that wild??'

I don't think they were impressed.

This photo was taken before the hike, when we were all still friends.

I should really be getting to the museum now. If I stall much longer, it will be closed before I arrive. Unless, of course, I just go on Wednesday...

Hmmm.

Big hugs and love,
Esss

On the Museum of Childhood, Playhouses, and Pippi Longstocking

2011-02-17T18:13:00.015Z

There is nothing in the world that can make you feel as childlike and ancient at the same time as a Museum of Childhood. I know, because I went to one today, and not only did I want to play with all of the toys, but I also wanted to push all of the small, screaming children out of my way to get to them.

Crossing the floor of the Museum of Childhood was like traversing a room full of kinetic ping pong balls--there was always something tiny and moving underfoot. Children were constantly bumping and flying into my legs/hips/purse and ricocheting off into new trajectories without even noticing I was their obstacle. It was kind of awesome. Half the time I was tempted to bounce them off of each other just to see where they'd end up. They were so much more fun than the shouting hordes of older children that frequent the other museums around town. (A-hem, Natural History.)

Look at this: two entire floors of antique toys and dollhouses and things to play with and explore. All free! All the time! It's part of the V&A even though it's located across town in Bethnal Green. Who knew??

Speaking of feeling ancient: the dollhouse that my sister and I grew up playing with was in the Antique Playhouses section. That's right. Antique. My sister and I played with it over twenty years ago. Which we won't dwell on right now. And it also turns out--going by the signage--that it was created roughly forty years ago. Just like most of the toys in my grandmother's playroom. This was one of my mother's treasures that my sister and I inherited. As soon as I saw it in the glass case, I dropped instantly to my knees to get a photo, bouncing away the children admiring its prehistoric qualities.

You see those two little yellow twin beds on the left? They were originally covered in a green styrofoam-esque substance. Our foam also disintegrated, leaving behind the same sticky residue you see here. We also had the same blue playpen upstairs, and the rocking horse, too. But no sewing table, which I had no idea I was missing out on until now. * stomping foot in the general direction of my mother, who I'll bet had it when she played with this the first time around * And the white column that the house pivots on? I used to pretend that was a ladder, which was way more fun to hop our no-legged dolls up than the stairs.

I was lucky to have that charming 1970's dollhouse. I realized this after seeing the awful, austure dollhouses that 18th century children had to suffer through:

I know, right? It's so sad. Each of these was the size of a bookcase, and so poorly decorated it was embarrassing.

Word on the street--and by the 'street,' I mean 'the placard'--was that these houses were often used to teach girls how to keep house and entertain properly. It's important to know which parlour is for serving tea to unexpected callers and which is to be used to showcase your talented children should they dare to come down from the nursery where their tutor is failing to keep order. It's no small wonder so many of life's finer nuances were lost once these tools went out of circulation and people started moving into flats smaller than their dollhouse's drawing rooms.

On a related note, I must tell you about Sweden's Junibacken (pronounced very, very roughly, 'Yuni-bawk-in'). It is a wonderland for anybody who has ever read or loved a children's book. Notably read or loved a Swedish children's book. 'Have I read a Swedish children's book...?' you may ask yourself, much as I did, prior to stepping foot in this place. Because it's not like when our parents were reading us our bedtime stories they would stop to explain, 'Now this one is by a British author, but the next one is Finnish!' Because seriously, we're five. We're just psyched the orphan has special powers. But yes, we have read a Swedish children's story: Pippi Longstocking! And if you were lucky, you may even have enjoyed Mumin. (I don't recall seeing this little guy as a child, though--my first exposure to him was via designer coffee mugs and trays and cushions at modern decor shops. Out of curiosity, do any Americans of my generation recall a Mumin book from their childhood?) The rest of the stories--The Brothers Lionheart, The Children of Noisy Village, Ronia the Robber's Daughter, or any involving a little boy named Alfons--were all completely new to me. My first exposure to them was here, at this children's fairy tale land, where all of the homes of these beloved storybook characters have been lovingly recreated, and you can run in and out of little funny-shaped doors and up and down tiny winding staircases, and get your rear stuck in itty-bitty velvet armchairs, and frighten small children who are running to enter a house at the exact same time that you're folding yourself out of the front door, roaring like a giant.

This is Mumin's house! Aya, Sofia, Lisa, Amarylis, and I had a pretend tea party in here. These sorts of rooms DEMAND pretend tea parties.

Aya makes this chair look normal-sized.

I also managed to cram myself headfirst into Rut & Knut & Lilla Tjut's house through this unnaturally small hole--looking for all the world like Winnie the Pooh stuck in the honey tree--before realizing there was a proper adult-sized door on the other side.

I didn't even try the stairs.

And then, after a magical story train where the train car left the tracks and turned into a sky ride and sailed over cities and villages, where beautifully-designed story scenes were laid out with the greatest attention to the tiniest details, and a voice told us the stories as they unfolded before our silent, awe-struck car, we arrived at our final destination: Villa Villakula, Pippi Longstocking's house. Words cannot describe the way my heart leaped when I saw it. I felt like I was eight years old again, futilely trying to braid my hair, secretly mismatching my socks, and yearning for a horse to ride to school. We squeezed up the little tower stairs and saw Pippi's attic bed where she slept with her feet on the pillows, and climbed on the Old Mule, and sat in her kitchen, and * sigh * Words fail me. It was just too sweet and amazing. I wish more than anything I had my nieces (Hunter and Peypey, 9 and 3) with me. They would've LOVED it. I now want to send them loads of these Swedish children's stories (of which you can get more copies of here than there) and then return with them someday.

I should have pictures of Stockholm -scapes (city- or land-) in the next few days, so stay tuned!

Big hugs, and may you do something childlike (or -ish) today,
Essss

Stockholm, and the tiniest suitcase ever

2011-02-07T12:21:00.000Z

I'm flying RyanAir for the first time tomorrow. I've heard horror stories about RyanAir. Like if your bag is even a millimeter too large, you get whopped with a mega-fee and are forced to check it in. And there's a fee if you do this, or that, and definitely the other. You have to print off your boarding pass at home. If you have to print it off at the airport, at an actual desk, with actual personnel, that'll cost you, too. £40, to be specific. All this explains why the plane ticket itself was only £28, and it also explains why I'm being uber-careful with my packing. I've measured my smallest carry-on suitcase to make sure it will pass muster, I've packed my mega-camera and my mini-messenger bag, and now I've got room left for...about a single change of clothes. That's okay, though, because I like to change clothes about as much as I like showering. So me and RyanAir, we might not be enemies after all.

And the destination? The Stockholm Furniture Fair and Design Week! It's going to be * amazing. * The entire city is full of exhibits and the island we're staying on--Sodermalm, at the recommendation of a local--is supposed to be the hippest part of the city. It's the grungy, edgy, indie part of Stockholm, where all the best shops and cafes and bites are located. YESSSSS! And last Saturday, I went to a bookstore and took macro photos of all the pages in the travel guides that had relevant tips and points of interest. (Yes, I'm too cheap to actually buy the guides themselves. Why, when I only need three pages out of each? And they'll be obsolete in a year?) (Also, is it bad that I totally think I need this? Just imagine the possibilities! Menu scanning! Recipes from cookbooks! Flyers and notices and excerpts from novels! And it fits right in your wallet!)

And now--with all this lovely info brimming at my fingertips--I'm working on a personalized google map with color-coded push-pins marking all the places to see. Red for design exhibits, yellow for food, blue for tourist-y places...it looks like a pile of confetti just exploded all over this thing. Soder is NOT going to know what hit it.

Big hugs, and see you soon!
Essss

On Mexico, Museums, and Millinery: It's Alliteration Friday

2011-01-28T17:28:00.052Z

These are absolutely mad pairings, but in an attempt to cover three weeks of activity in three pictures, some jarring must be done. You'll go from the peaceful tranquility of a beach to a cold and windy night in London in the span of about five seconds, and for that I apologize.

But here we go!

You see this lovely beach? This was my home in Mexico last week. It was * amazing. * The first day was gorgeous and blustery and all the consequent days were sunny and hot and just...perfect. They asked for nothing more than a good book in a lounge chair, which I happily obliged.

And then the return to London four days ago. I somehow thought that in my time away an entire season had passed (my vacation was that leisurely and drawn out) and that I would return to a balmy pre-spring 50-something, but instead there's been a recent cold snap and the wind is even more biting than before. My defences against it are woefully inadequate. I'm constantly finding chores to do around the house so as to avoid going out. (Errands wha? Look at that piling of ironing!)

On Wednesday night, though, I had tickets to see Stephen Jones at the Design Museum, and no cold front was going to keep me from that front row.

Despite the wind whipping off the Thames so fiercely that it made me understand why people curl up in the snow to die, I couldn't resist stopping to take a photo...I love Tower Bridge. It makes me think of princesses and castles and wedding cakes.

The event at the Design Museum was a conversation between Colin McDowell and milliner Stephen Jones. The closest I've ever come to a milliner is my sister, who knits fantastic hats. And Stephen Jones was a glorious piece of work. He and Colin (I'm totally on a first-name basis now) gossiped wickedly away about fashion industry peers, Stephen's design process, and who said what to who at that one show that one time and ohhhh was she mad! They kept stopping guiltily in the course of these stories--'oh, I shouldn't say this'--and then after a second pause, with a small laugh--'well, what can it hurt? So THEN she...' The entire audience was in stitches. And the whole thing made me want to sprint right down to his shop at Covent Garden and spend a thousand pounds on a hat for the races. The races that I don't go to, but will once I get my hat.

Isn't he dapper? He was also wearing some knock-out lavender shoes that I regretfully didn't get in this photo.

I've got to jet now, but here's one more picture for the road. Big hugs,

Esss

on middle school, the lake district, and yet more homework

2011-01-07T09:47:00.005Z

In the sixth grade hall of my middle school, now many moons ago, each of the teachers had decorated their classroom door. Some of them were clearly inspirational: 'Hang in there!' with a construction paper monkey hanging from a construction paper tree. Encouraging: 'Have a beary nice day!' With the requisite cuddly teddy with arms outspread. And then there was the door that I never understood. It wasn't inspiring. It wasn't encouraging. It wasn't even explanatory: 'Welcome to the Wonderful World of Math!' No, it was the following: 'With one foot in cold water and one foot in hot water, on the whole, you're average!' I tried to get it, I really did. But to this day its meaning (or perhaps intent is the better word) is lost on me. And because this door confused me, and because I spent every day looking at it in passing and trying to figure it out, it is permanently embedded in my memory. And random things will trigger it. Just the simple act of putting my foot in a bath of hot water now and I hear: 'On the whole, you're average!'

It's really nice.

Almost as nice as this container of extra crunchy Jif from Jenn that I am currently spooning to death. So...gooooood... * insert sound of Homer eating a donut here *

I think I like rain. But only aggressive rain--the sort of rain that streaks the window panes and makes a pattering sound and darkens the sky. This is good rain. Intentional rain. It's doing that right now, and between that and the gentle hum of the washing machine, soothing things are happening.

Though I don't need to be soothed as much as I need to write an entire research log on materials and processes in the woodmill and metal shop. The biggest problem with this task--other than lack of time and interest--is that all my note-taking while in these places happened on whatever nearby writing surface I could find--one of ten notebooks in my purse, on my hand, up the sides of handouts. So now I'm rifling through all these scraps and trying to make sense of things like 'cross-cut against grain, ripping cutting with grain, 40 mm, plinth, chamfered edge.' I don't even know if half of these are actual words.

Did you know that first year marks don't count at my school? I don't know if that's a UK thing or specific to my particular Uni, but I think it's bizarre. Also, unmotivating. Also, wonderful.

This is totally unrelated, but which of these two pictures do you like better?

I took them a couple months ago in the Lake District. Did I ever post those photos? I don't remember. This dementia is killing me. Just in case:

The best time to love the Lake District is on an early morning walk from the cabin to the village for a hot croissant and coffee at the one cafe that may or may not be open.

* sigh * To be there now. Big hugs, and back to work,
Essss

A trip down memory lane

2010-12-31T11:32:00.017Z

I've been feeling wildly nostalgic lately, no doubt due to the season. I find myself missing random things: bridges and fog and oysters and waterfront farmer's markets, wide open roads and diners serving biscuits and gravy, mountain ranges and soaring skies and pine trees...and I don't know, sunglasses.

So forgive me while I roll in it for a while in the form of old road trip photos. Which reminds me...I'm long overdue for a post on Vancouver...in fact, that will be my New Year's Resolution: finish Moonpies. Feel free to flagellate me if I don't. (No, really. I may need it.)

But in the meantime, some pictures of places that bring me back...

I know, right? Gets you right there.

Big hugs and love, and may your 2011 be full of quiet (and some noisy) grandeur,
Esssss

I feel smarter already

2010-12-07T16:49:00.006Z

I'll be the first to admit that my local library system isn't the greatest in the world. The book selection--council-wide--is poor, the books themselves are in pretty rough and grubby condition, and half the staff seems to be on a day loan from some sort of insane asylum.

But today they officially won me over. Do you know what they're doing for the months of December and January? A 'lucky dip' loaner! If you are willing to check out a book without knowing what it is--there is a box full of books wrapped in paper--you get a DVD voucher! I'd go for this even WITHOUT the voucher. What a fun idea! A mystery book! They say it is to get people to branch out of their usual reading and try something new. I think this is fantastic--it's creative, it's unconventional--it's all things a good library should be. I couldn't jump into that blue plastic bin fast enough.

And after much fondling and shaking and weight-testing my dozen options, I picked out lucky number 29.

I got home with my paper-wrapped book, eager to see what the Islington library thought would be a good out-of-the-ordinary read.

Um...alarming start, but maybe The Handmaid's Tale has undergone a recent reprinting or something! After all, the library surely wouldn't be encouraging people to read new books that wouldn't benefit our literary souls?

I kid you not.

I can't wait to do it again.

On Advent Calendars, Kerouac, and little else

2010-12-06T14:52:00.004Z

a small village in Scotland, photos taken a week ago

I've been on an advent calendar kick lately. It was sparked by a certain wonderful KatyKatyKaty who has sent The Care Package Beyond All Care Packages. It was chock full of hard-to-get American goodies like bisquick and cornbread mix and ohhhhhhhhhhh sweet macaroni and cheese and trader joe's your pumpkin bread mix makes me want to die inside of happy and in the midst of all this euphoria--that I have spread out all over the place because it thrills me to look at it and putting it away would be like hiding it under a bushel (no!)--was a super fun TJ's advent calendar full of yummy chocolate buttons. As soon as I saw it I was transported back to my childhood advent calendar, a colorful cloth one that hung right outside the kitchen door, with little pockets and wonderful treats inside, and how much it thrilled my sister and me to open a little door or pocket every night to get the goodie inside. I also loved counting it over and over to see if Christmas was getting any closer--only 22 days left! 20! 12! Still 12! STILL 12! 10! 3! ACK! HYPEROVERLOADIT'SALMOSTCHRISTMASDAY!

So now (thank you, Katy) advent calendars are on my accidental-radar, and I just saw this beautiful one from Portland crafter Shim + Sons that she made for her family (not for sale, alas how I suffer), and she's put activities ('make a gingerbread house,' 'go iceskating,' 'hot chocolate and peppermint sticks') in various slots along with the small trinkets or candies you typically see and I don't know why this has blown my mind but it has. It's such a great idea.

Just now for kicks I typed 'Martha Stewart advent calendar' into google, and roughly FORTY FIVE BILLION crafty advent calendars popped up. I had no idea you could do so much with baby socks and matchboxes. Awesome, Martha.

Schoolwork is still crazy. They continue to trust us to self-guide our workload, which means I piddle around until Go Time and then whip out a ton of really ridiculous work. You should see what I can do with white-out and graph paper now. I also made the mistake of taking a mental break after turning in my mid-term sketchbook while the homework itself did no such thing. Now it's like a fire-breathing dragon lurking behind me and I know my only hope this late in the game is to maim rather than destroy. Luckily I'm getting better at accepting mediocrity. (Progress?)

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Day Six chocolate elf to eat and some graph paper to destroy. I leave you with these (non-traditional, before you syllable-counters lose control) haiku by Jack Kerouac, sent to me by dear Okie. He says not to bother with most of Kerouac's poetry, but his haiku are magical. If this is anything to go on, I agree.

Big hugs,
Essss

In my medicine cabinet,

the winter fly

has died of old age.

Drunk as a hoot owl,

writing letters

by thunderstorm.

No telegram today

only more leaves

fell.

On the holidays and the power of the masses

2010-11-22T20:12:00.005Z

Omigosh, blog. Look at how good I was at updating ALL THE TIME and now two WEEKS have gone by. What the?? I'm going to blame it on the winter that has officially arrived in Londontown. It's a bone-chilling average of 5 degrees now (that's Celsius but I'm using here because it sounds fiercer) and it gets dark at four in the afternoon. FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON. Small children are still getting out of SCHOOL at four in the afternoon. And it looks like BEDtime. Needless to say, by the time I get out of school all I can think about are my sweats and wooly socks. Blog wha?

On the bright side, London loses its MIND during the holiday season. I think they string up lights as a mad way of compensating for all the darkness. I don't know how on earth I ended up at Oxford Circus during the busiest time of year, but I will NOT make that mistake again. But check out the giant Present in the Sky! Thank you, Oxford Circus, for the gift of insanity.

And Carnaby Street, in another shocking turn of events, has decided to kick last year's bizarre holiday decor of 'snowflakes' and 'Santa' and has gone instead for the ever-underappreciated, more traditional 'Holiday Solar System.' I think we can all breath a sigh of relief.

And unrelated to holiday festivities, I made it to the Ai WeiWei (which I pronounce as 'I wee-wee') Sunflower Seed exhibit at the Tate Modern! The guy had hundreds of ~~sweat-shop workers~~ helpers painting each of these ceramic sunflower seeds by hand. BY HAND.

Lest you not understand the scope of this, let's zoom out a little:

And a little more:

Can you believe the size of this? There are over ONE HUNDRED MILLION SEEDS. ALL. UNIQUE. It's supposed to be some sort of commentary on the relationships between 'the individual' and 'the masses' and what it means to be part of a society, but I left that soul-searching to the security guard while I attempted to steal one.

This is why they roped off the seeds. Originally you were supposed to be able to tread on them, but due to 'dust hazards,' they closed it off. I think we all know who 'dust' is. COMMON MAN, LEFT TO HIS OWN DEVICES. Interpret THAT commentary on the individual, WeiWei. You know what the power of them working together means? NO MORE SUNFLOWER SEEDS.

I must head off now--I have a soup to make and more homework piling up! (Always, always.)

Big hugs and love,
Essss

Only in America

2010-11-08T11:08:00.007Z

I GOT A PACKAGE! I GOT A PACKAGE! Words cannot express how happy this makes me. Sandwiched between Indian menus and cab cards was personal mail! I LOVE PERSONAL MAIL! And then when I opened it--and by 'opened,' I mean 'frantically shredded,' it JUST GOT BETTER: I received an item that can best be described as 'Only in America.' Jenn, * you * * complete * * me. *

This is a PEPPER grill. A PEPPER GRILL! For all those wonderful jalapeños that you love to stuff with yummy oozy things and bake. I know I'm not alone here in my pepper-filled-love. And while yes, technically I didn't know this * existed * just a few days ago, I now can't imagine how I ever lived without it. Prior to this I had to cross-section my peppers (think little jalapeño canoes) and it was always a big drippy mess, but now I can stick the peppers in upright! OH THE POSSIBILITIES! I think I need to have a party and serve nothing but peppers JUST BECAUSE I CAN.

It also doubles as a cookbook holder.

Speaking of international treats, Aya came over yesterday so we could work on our latest project together (more model-making, oh yes) and brought this lovely Japanese dessert!

They're chewy rice balls covered in this caramel-esque glaze that Aya made with soy sauce, sugar, and some corn starch. Hea-ven-ly.

I'm off now! Aya's returning to the wreckage that is our craft for a few more hours of slave laboring. * sigh * * but a happy one, because at least a friend will be here *

Big hugs and love,
Esssss

*This is a banner week. Mon amie, I got your picture of Elena! Now she is totally on glorious display on my favorite living room shelf, right next to the photo of me and you holding her at the farmer's market. She makes the room so bright!

Rambling, and some pictures of East Anglia.

2010-11-03T13:16:00.005Z

So many nice things have happened lately that I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by goodness. Like yesterday morning I had a great chat with an old friend, and over the past couple of days I've received a few 'thinking of you' nudges from people that I love, which means so much, and also I'm getting to do a lot of neat things here in London-town and beyond. It's just too much. I'm just waiting for something to happen--BLAMMO!--to disrupt it. Probably in the form of my drawing teacher.

Speaking of, I have an absurd amount of homework due tomorrow. These are my best blogging conditions.

I need a cup of coffee. Please to hold.

Today is the sort of wonderfully quiet day that wants soup made and something baked.

I really hope some sort of homework-related urgency strikes soon.

Over the weekend I got some lemon and thyme olive oil from this farm shop in Norfolk and yesterday I added it to the cold pasta salad I bring to school for lunch every day (ingredients: pasta, olive oil, a splash of white wine vinegar, a handful of cherry tomatoes, some crumbled feta or goat's cheese, and if I have them, some chopped scallions. Oh, and some cracked black pepper or red chili flakes on top. So easy so good!), and the seasoned olive oil made my pasta go from yum to YUMMMMMMMMMM. Officially addicted. Now wishing I got the mega-bottle rather than the sweet little artisan one. But it was so pretty.

Aya taught me the word for yummy in Japanese! It's 'oyshe!' Exclamation point required. I love Aya.

Omigosh, this is what I'm going to make today. Love love love.

That is, when I'm not hand-crafting a full-sized, wearable bird mask and wings. And writing a paper on cork.

These brownies will help. So will that carrot and orange soup.

Speaking of Norfolk, here are some pics from the weekend. It was An Authentic English Countryside Weekend Holiday, complete with fall colors, blustery beaches, lavender farms, and precious centuries-old villages.

And gnomes. Never forget the garden gnomes.

Hunstanton Beach

AND SANDRINGHAM! Okay, I had never even HEARD of this place prior to four days ago, but apparently it's just one of those things that Everybody Here Knows About Without Even Knowing How They Know, so maybe a lot of Americans know about it too and I'm just That Out of Touch, which let's be honest, wouldn't be much of a surprise. Anyway, Sandringham is the Royal Family's country hangout. You know, when they're bored with Windsor and Buckingham Palace. They come out here to do things like ride horses, and look at trees, and shop at the Sandringham Gift Shop, where they can buy postcards with their faces on them. Can you blame them? Look how gorgeous it is! It rivals any golf course in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

This is the gated entrance to the estate itself. They wouldn't open it for me, no matter how many times I sang my 'I've Come For You, Prince William' song:

I have way more photos to show you next time I have loads of homework to do, so get excited! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to work on this ~~soup~~ bird project. I'm thinking about doing a penguin just so the wings are suitably anti-climactic. We also have to take photos of ourselves wearing our contraptions, so you may see me squawking around this blog soon. Depending on how they turn out. (Shoving the cardboard out of sight under the kitchen table.)

Big hugs and love!

Esssssss

Oh yeah? Does a Philistine like stuffed birds??

2010-11-02T18:49:00.003Z

After class today I headed across town to the V&A and Natural History Museums--in part because they're AWESOME and in bigger part because I had to for my drawing homework. But let's not focus on that latter reason when the former makes me sound so cultured.

One of my favorite things about the V&A and the Natural History Museum--other than their free-ness and rad gift shops--is the fact that you're allowed to take photos. Of EVERYTHING. I always feel drunk with power when I can wield my camera in a museum without a small Asian security guard squawking at me. (I miss you, SFMoMa.)

This statue KILLS me. When I first saw it, I was like, 'SWEET! The Romans knew how to raise their young!' but then I looked at the sign and it was all, 'Achilles Getting Dunked.' SO not the same. Though I have to hand it to his mom. A for Effort, Thetis. HILARIOUS.

What up, Rooster?

Okay, so this is wild: did you know that in Victorian times, people used STUFFED BIRDS as art? And not just one on a branch, like the dead pet parakeet that little Jane couldn't let go of, or some owl that your mustachio'd husband shot while hunting the foxes with the hounds, but a FULL, WALL-SIZED windowed CABINET full of them. Like the one above, which dates at least as far back as 1819. This was one-sixteenth the size of the entire display. Victorians, you are tricky tranny hot mess FIERCE. Why buy hummingbird wallpaper when you can kill and mount a hundred real ones? And yet...I was strangely drawn. Like a hummingbird to a feeder right before its brains got blown out.

I've got to run now--I'm going to see David Mamet's House of Games at the Almeida tonight! I picked tonight's performance because it's captioned--and anybody who's ever had to endure a movie with me knows how I love my subtitles...! ('You just get so much MORE!')

Big hugs and love!

Esssssss

On poetry, art, and why my blog is wack-tastic right now.

2010-10-30T11:44:00.003+01:00

So I tried (am trying?) to get a custom domain to update my blogger address to just 'TodayIWroteNothing dot com' and now, four days later, the domain is still marked as 'not found,' and now my blog is all screwy. Apologies to those who have told me they've had trouble leaving comments--I'm sorry! (Notably because I need comments to survive.) (No, really.)

Now I'm going to compose a little poem about how this whole ordeal has made me feel:

Ode to My Custom Domain

I tried to get a custom domain
Only ten dollars, they said!
But now it turns out to be super lame
I should have just stayed in bed.

See if I try to upgrade again
It's been nothing but a big mess
I'm going back to the good old days
When whether to bathe was my only stress.

Thank you.

And now for something that makes me happy happy: the drawings I received to use for my homework! I know what you're thinking as you scroll through the below: 'Sharona, that it way better than anything you could ever produce.'

Katymylove drew this log(superfluous hyphen)cabin. I had NO idea that all this time she was hiding such mad skunk-drawing skills. And Katy, if you ever decide to retire as an opera singer, you should DEFINITELY consider architecture.

OMG WILD CARD!! This is from Maria, my new favorite Kansas-City-ian. It is 'a human, a book, and a treasure box.' All of my favorite things! Maria, * you * * complete * * me *

And last, but not least...it's Lealea's picture! Well, okay, not * really * Lealea as much as her friend Anna, who can wield crayolas like nothing I've ever seen. I don't know WHY my art teacher didn't put those on our supply list as a rightful medium.

Ladies, your prizes are on their way! My drawing teacher is going to be so proud...

Also, I bought bacon.

2010-10-27T18:09:00.000+01:00

On our way to the Modern Pantry for dinner! Today was nice: the sun broke through the clouds, a walk was taken, a pumpkin was picked out at a street market stall. A friend in town--notably an adventurous one--makes everything new.

I'll show you mood diary.

2010-10-25T12:07:00.000+01:00

I'm currently stalling on a load of homework for my drawing class, which is both labor-intensive and slightly too abstract for my puny, literal brain to interpret. We're to do strange, impenetrable things like 'observe' and 'respond' to things, but using our sketchpads. Like THAT makes sense. I'm more likely to tell you how I feel about something using interpretative dance than I am with a colored pencil. So I sit here with a giant blank pad in front of me, and the instructions to 'respond to a daily news story' and create a 'mood diary,' and I have NO idea what any of this means.

Some (small, fleeting) part of me recognizes that these sorts of assignments are intended to inspire creativity--you know, the less specific the instruction, the more freedom you have--but I worry that what I'm producing is all wrong, that I've totally missed the point. I'm not looking to create the Mona Lisa here, but I would at least like to know that smearing black paint all over this page in an angst-filled response to the news of 'tube strike' gets me a few points. I can't get a bad grade in this class; bad grades aren't what I do. I graduated top of my class in high school and college; I cannot fail a class in which we are instructed to make shoes out of cardboard.

And the strangest thing is that while I'm struggling here, the slackers in my class--the ones who won't do ANYthing until the tutor is standing directly over their shoulder demanding it--under supervision produce works of brilliance. Their sketchbooks blossom under their sullen hands, their one sketch outshining my forty in five short seconds. I'll see something that they've begrudgingly produced and be like, 'Oh, THAT'S what we were meant to be doing this whole time!' as I slide my arm over my drawing of a stick man beating a bus with a bat. A bat that looks like a penis, which isn't as much symbolic as accidental.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should get to work on this 'mood diary.' Capture THIS using nothing but color:

Dear chair: I still don't want to be your friend, but maybe you're not entirely deserving of death

2010-10-15T20:08:00.001+01:00

I'm slowly forgiving the chairs for their terrible, atrocious behavior last week. We're healing somewhat; making tentative friends. Not CLOSE friends, mind you. But we can say hi on the street now and it feels okay. The second years and third year in my group gave Aya and me some invaluable tips and the difference in our construction was like night and early morning.

In other related news, I have a school friend! Her name is Aya and she's from Japan and I love her. She's tiny. Like even by Japanese standards tiny. (She told us so.) And she's teaching me Japanese. So far I know the words for rhino, elephant, and bee. Apparently I'm headed for some sort of Japanese safari. Look how fantastic she is. This is her ALL THE TIME:

Aya-ya! Guess how old she is? You'll never guess.

This is another one of my new favorite people! You can call her Dom--it's short for Dominique, or Dom-Dom. She has got the greatest little English accent and she's about as tiny as Aya. It's like I'm collecting people that can fit in my pockets. She is also HYSTERICAL. Look at that face and tell me it's not someone who knows how to have fun:

I've got to jet now--it's the first time all week I've been able to make dinner before 9 p.m. and I am THRILLED. And maybe--I don't know, I don't want to go crazy here--I may even sit on the couch and watch the TELEVISION. I know, I know. I'm losing control.

Big hugs and talk to you soon!
Esssss

P.S. I've got a small job for the weekend! I'll be doing some marketing at my local taqueria's food kiosk at the London Restaurant Festival! I knew eating all those burritos would pay off...

Dear chair: I hate you.

2010-10-05T19:06:00.000+01:00

Having received no instructions, tips, or materials for model-making, two other first years and I tackled five miniature chairs this afternoon. Armed with nothing but toothpicks and some stolen wooden coffee stir-sticks from the cafeteria, we then went crazy with glue, fishing line, and tape. I'm not gonna lie when I say that what I have created is both shameful and pathetic. I won't hesitate to scrap them when this project is over (versus my usual sentimentality for all handicrafts however poor or sad), and I won't be lying when I say that I can very well see myself only designing furniture in the future than can be created with a bit of cardboard and a dowel-rod. Everything I do for the next three years will be some variation of a cardboard bench with legs. And shoot, maybe sometimes I'll leave the legs off. 'Modern functionality,' I'll say haughtily, throwing my hair over my shoulder. 'I do hope you are astute enough to understand what I've done here.'

We have an art class this Thursday (perhaps that is where they will teach us to build these models?) and the list of supplies we need (blue tac, thin thread, and a scalpel, among other things) leads me to believe that we might be building traps for small animals or perhaps practicing some minor surgery. That would be useful given the injuries I received today using dull scissors and a thousand rubber bands.

Yes. I used rubber bands to make my chairs.

I don't want to talk about it.

I'm taking my first break of the week (I know, I know, it's only Tuesday, but I DREAMT about chairs last night, so it feels well-deserved) and heading off to book club now. I didn't finish the book, but I did flip to the end to find out how it finished. So I feel pretty prepared.

More tomorrow, I hope!

Hugs big hugs,
Esssss

On my first week back to school

2010-10-05T08:34:00.000+01:00

Have you ever stood on the edge of a surf and felt sure in your footing when a wave roars in and WOOSH! You're somehow fully in the water and struggling to regain your balance? That's what this week is like, and it's only Tuesday morning.

My University courses began yesterday, and so far it's CRAZY. Crazy AWESOME. But crazy-busy. Wave-crazy. I'll write more on it when I'm not racing off to dress/catch the bus/sprint late into my first class.

Big hugs love and see you soon-soon!
Essssssssss

Big mean girls

2010-09-20T10:52:00.000+01:00

You know how when you're little and a girl's mean to you, your parents tell you all sorts of reassuring reasons why: 'She's insecure; she's just jealous; she's threatened by you, etc., etc.' And you try to take comfort in this, though it's hard to fathom why a cheerleader would feel threatened by a girl who wore her pants up to her armpits and had glasses so thick her eyes nearly disappeared behind them. But okay, if it's due to jealousy, then...maybe she wishes she too could read in the corner of the playground during recess and had arms so long that she didn't know where to put them.

But at this age when a girl isn't nice, it's different. Meanness takes on different shades of gray as an adult, and like a star, it can be difficult to see when you look directly at it. It isn't as straightforward as when you're young, when it's simply, 'Get off my monkey bars.'

There's one such girl here in London, part of a book club that I used to go to. Her mean is sly, the sort of thing where if you tried to describe it to someone, you'd come off sounding paranoid and crazy. For example, we'll be in the middle of a conversation when a mutual friend will come up to join us. Instantly she'll turn to them, cooing wildly and affectionately and asking them all about their day, putting her back to me and leaving me alone with my unfinished story: '...so...yeah...I thought the play sounded...interesting...' She also likes to exchange looks with other people while I'm talking, like, 'Are you HEARING this?' And just last week, I was telling her about an episode in which I couldn't get on the bus because I didn't have enough fare, so I joked that I 'shed a little tear then decided to top up.' She responds with (after exchanging a glance with someone): 'You CRIED?!' 'Um, no. I was kidding.' (Another exchange.)

See what I mean? I sound nuts. And the worst part is, she's absolutely the most wonderful person with everybody else; she's adored and adorable, spirited and fun. Everybody is constantly exclaiming about what a joy she is. So it's not like I can say anything to anybody without coming off like a complete loon.

Alas, we're thrown together often enough, I've just got to deal with it. And heck, maybe I AM just being paranoid, and I should give her the benefit of the doubt...we can all be rude if we aren't paying close enough attention...

Though I AM pretty good at the monkey bars.

A starlet, a pizza, a crazy London sky

2010-09-18T19:23:00.000+01:00

Happy Saturday, ya'll. I don't know what you have planned today, but mine has been nice and quiet--a skillet burrito for breakfast, a small errand to make me feel productive, and a day spent with my book and laptop. Just the way I like my Saturdays, really. I'm going to make a potato and thyme pizza for dinner; I hope it goes well. I'm trying to use up a bunch of nearly-done produce in one go--tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes, peppers--and what better way than throwing everything onto a pizza? It's either that or a quiche, right? I don't have mozzarella cheese, though, just gruyere. I know that could really mean pizza FAIL, but I'm going for it. Unless of course somebody leaves a comment in the next hour saying 'WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T USE GRUYERE! GO GET THE MOZZARELLA!' But man, that would mean I have to run another small errand, and that's not what Saturdays are about.

I've got another picture of my niece for you. I can't stop loving her face. Whenever I see her I have to take four thousand photos and she always humors me for the first two thousand and then the hand starts to flappin'. In her defense, I do get right up in there, and I * can * go for hours. Peypey, my other little niece, has equally-lovely leanings, but her two-year-old-perpetual-movement means I rarely get a usable photo. I get a pigtail, or a heel. This is why if you were to look through my photo archives, you'd see about a 6-to-1 Hunter : Peyton ratio. I don't mind, though; I'm sure once Peyton gets to an age at which I can tie her up, we'll even it out.

But Peyton--should you ever read this blog in the future--let it be said--from one second child to another--that there aren't fewer pictures of you because you're number two; there are fewer pictures of you because you're FAST. Unlike me, so wholly underappreciated...
* dramatic sigh for my therapist *

Oops, still here. Forgive.

My niece, with a flourish:

I KNOW. Like my sister, gone Hollywood.

Peypey stood still only this long because her sister was doing some sort of acrobatics on the swing set behind me. Then she was off to try her sister's tricks herself, despite her diminutive size. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see her become a cheerleader in a few years...

Now that I think about it, they're both like my sister.

And on another note, look at how my apple and red chili jelly from last week turned out! Isn't it beautiful??

Thank you, Marie, for the best recipe ever! It's ridiculously tasty. And so versatile! It can be thrown in with pork for a sweet/spicy kick, dolloped over a log of goat cheese as a snack or appetizer, smeared onto a slab of crusty bread--or let's be honest, just eaten by the spoonful...

Speaking of goat's cheese--I'm reminded of a funny conversation I had with my SF-roommate, a professional chef (and discovered hater of goat's cheese). A friend had emailed looking for goat cheese recipes, and forgetting my roommate's aversion to the monster, I went to her for ideas:

Me: Hey! What would you do if you had a bunch of goat's cheese?

Sara: Throw it in the TRASH because it tastes like GARBAGE.

I nearly cried from laughing. I always hear her voice in my head when I shop for goat's cheese now: 'Throw that in the TRASH, because it tastes like GARBAGE.' It's just too GOOD!

Speaking of too good, check out the identity crisis London suffers every day: neither sunny nor cloudy, just dramatically poised in between.

I must be off now, big hugs!

Essssssssss

On making jelly, blind dates, and my favorite nieces

2010-09-09T17:12:00.000+01:00

I have wonderful salt and pepper shakers*. I got them years ago at the SFMOMA store as a thank you gift for a graphic designer who had helped me out with a project. I ended up keeping them when he tried to receive payment by calling me 'honey' and 'sugar' and asking what we should name our firstborn. I decided to thank him with a card in the mail. And now I've got these wonderful shakers, bobbing happily away in front of me. * sigh * * affectionate nudge to my salt *

Question: is £60 too much for a watch repair? The cobbler/keymaker/watch-repairman said he will have to take the whole thing apart and put it back together, hence the price. Does this sound right/normal? And why do I have the sneaking suspicion that my mechanically-brilliant grandfather could've fixed it in five and a half seconds if I had thought to show it to him when I was home last?

I'm currently making apple and red chilli jelly! I made apple butter two days ago and have been loving it with English cheddar as my late-afternoon, I-can-make-it-to-dinner-without-chewing-off-my-arm snack, and I'm excited to try this apple jelly when it's finished. Right now the fruit is dripping torturously slow in a subtle attempt to test every single ounce of my patience. I can see why they say to leave it overnight, as to watch this thing all day is to court madness. And every website in the world on the topic of jelly-making says 'DON'T SQUEEZE THE JELLY BAG!' as part of the instructions, because apparently it will make my jelly 'cloudy' and 'destroy the human race' or something, but look at this and tell me it's not begging to be squeezed:

Just a little pinch?

But I'm holding it together. Now when I enter the kitchen and see it, I bite my fist and leave immediately.

I'm meeting a possible new friend on Monday! It was orchestrated through a mutual friend in San Francisco. I had blind dates like this last time I was in London--the girl and I would be put in touch via a friend, make plans to meet for lunch, one of us in a blue peacoat, the other wearing a yellow flower so we'd recognize each other, then we'd sit at a table in a hip cafe, making conversation and hoping to hit it off since our mutual friends swore we would 'absolutely LOVE each other.' And sometimes it'd click and we'd make plans again, and sometimes it was just nice and we'd go through the motions of trying for another meet-up but after three cancellations each, things would naturally fade out. I have good reason to hope this one will be a good match: she takes lots of pictures and she's cute and she's been funny in our digital communication. This is pretty much all I require out of my friends; that and a little bit of madness.

Speaking of madness, look at my darling nieces! These pictures are from my last visit home:

On the left is Hunter, a voracious reader and a formidable opponent in Bananagrams. She also tells a LOT of interesting stories. You should see the monologues my sister gets on video. It would put any theatre major to shame.

On the right is Hunter's mischievous little sister, PeyPey. And yes, she's holding her shirt up for this photo. That's just the sort of girl she is.**

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my Vancouver post.*** Until we meet again!
Essssss

*And that's not a metaphor.
**Awesome.
**Also, like her mother.
***hahahahaha

More on London life and what to do with a zillion apples

2010-09-06T15:55:00.000+01:00

Vancouver is a tricky tranny hot mess and while I have the photos finished on it, I'm finding the text more difficult. How many ways can you say 'SUPER DUPER AWESOME' before you start getting repetitive?

Instead of blog posting, I've had much success in stalling by goofing around Picnik, doing a load of laundry and ironing, changing my fb photo, and running to the post office, where I purchased yet more pyschedelic stamps with the old queen's head that I will no doubt never use.

In other news: I just discovered that Groupon's in London! Life as I know it is officially complete. Between that and my new subscription to Time Out, I am totally making life-as-a-local headway. I have worrying suspicions that I'm going to become one of those horrible rabid Yelpers while I'm at it, but I take comfort in the fact that Yelp is so new to London that it's not yet a ten-headed beast.

It's raining out. I have my kitchen light on in the middle of the afternoon because it's so dark. After a week of sun, this seems long overdue. And--could it be?--did I hear THUNDER? London, THAT is what I'm talking about.

Sidebar: do you ever go to the grocery store, load up on dinner fixings for the week, and then come home and order a pizza?

I just spent twenty minutes downloading an updated driver for my new wireless mouse (thank you, Grampa! I love it!) before finding out the reason my mouse wasn't working was because I was using it on a glass tabletop and it wanted a mouse pad. Awesome.

I just wrote a paragraph that didn't make sense (wrap your head around that), but not being willing nor able to hit the final 'delete' on it, I copied and pasted it into a document titled 'blog text,' where I keep miscellaneous notes and other such trash-can-text that I can't bear to part with. And while the document was open I saw a note that 'Navajo Indians add powdered milk to their Indian tacos while Plains Indians add powdered sugar.'

Yeah. That's the sort of useful stuff I keep in there.

On that note, we should wrap up today's show. And because it wouldn't be my blog without pictures that don't relate to the text...more random London! Bottom right is the local butcher, dear sweet old Maurice, third generation owner of E. Wood. Left of Maurice is a bushel of apples that I * personally * picked yesterday, making me pretty much the coolest girl I know. It also means that I'm in desperate need of apple uses--anybody have some good recipes or ideas?

2010-09-03T14:20:00.000+01:00

That's right. I DID IT. I POSTED ABOUT SEATTLE!

My first post from London-side!

2010-09-02T17:50:00.000+01:00

Okay, rather than tarry on any London postings because my road trip blogging is so grossly overdue, I have decided to ONWARD! this bad boy and do all my road trip postings on Moonpies. I'll just link to them here so you know when it's been updated. That's right--I'll be updating two blogs simultaneously. Says the girl who can barely keep up one. I am determined not to embarrass myself this time, though, and actually do it.

Totally.

My first four days back in London have been an absolute whirlwind of catch-up shopping (foodstuffs and cleaning supplies, not clothing, I'm proud to point out) and getting my iPhone to work with a UK service provider. After proving that I'm a master hacker by jailbreaking and unlocking it from AT&T's Death Clench of Horror, I then went to O2 and got a local SIM. And get THIS: my plan is not only a fabulous pay-as-you-go service meaning no nasty sticky contracts with the Spawn of Satan but also incredibly cheap. Guess how much my month's service is going to cost me. GUESS. Okay, I'll tell you. FIFTEEN POUNDS. That's right. FIFTEEN POUNDS, PEOPLE. That's TWENTY THREE U.S. DOLLARS. Do you know how much I was paying AT&T every month for the same service? While on a FAMILY plan? I don't even want to say it. It's just that grotesque.

Speaking of grotesque, how precious is London acting right now? Old ladies sweeping their gardens, bicycles with leather seats and wicker baskets, red doors and tassled lamps...it's all a bit too much:

I've got to skidaddle now--I've got Seattle pics to work on * cough cough * and other such fun times.

Until luego!
Esssss

Seattle, Vancouver, Glacier National Park, and Yellowstone

2010-08-21T16:12:00.000+01:00

...are all topics that I won't be blog-posting about today. Right now the Grand Tetons are right outside my hostel window, and down the mountain road is a place doing a chuck wagon breakfast, and there's Jenny Lake and waterfalls and mountains and OH MAN I LOVE YOU WYOMING.

I have loads to tell you--so many stories run through my head on the road, and so many things to write down--but how when I'm driving??--alas, so much gone--but anyway, surely something didn't slide away with the passing of highway stripes and mountain ranges and fingers crossed I'll be back soon to share.

Big hugs,
Esss

PortLAAAAAAAAAAND!

2010-08-16T17:45:00.000+01:00

Much love, this will be a bit rushed, I don’t have much time here—I’m at a wifi café in Vancouver and every minute I spend on the internet means that much less time touring…um…whatever it is Vancouver wants me to tour. And while admittedly I’m not too sure about the must-sees from a Vancouver-ian’s perspective, I have been handed recommendations from other friends who have been here, and they involve the likes of Stanley Park, some sort of bridge, a gas lamp district, Chinatown, Jericho Beach, and a pier called B.C. Place. Once I get a look at a map to see how much of this is possible in a day, we’re off!

But first…PORTLAND! Yes, that was SO two cities ago, and there’s gonna be a smash-up of Seattle right around the time I get to Idaho, but for now, let’s do it!

The wonders of Portland all here in a fast row: the Ace Hotel, Powell’s Books, the Pearl District and design shops and oh Oblation Press I miss you, all the tree-lined streets and the food coffee brew and how sweet everyone was... Portland was definitely a hipster town—almost like a city-full version of San Francisco’s mission district, except without the broken car windows and slumped slurring homeless and scrappy sidewalks. And lest my dementia causes me to forget our many loved spots, I shall list it here, because lists make good blog prose: there’s delish Stumptown Coffee, uber-hip Clyde Common, Departure’s rooftop lounge with gorgeous views of the city and yummmm tapas (think crispy pork belly with pickled watermelon and pumpkin seeds), and for brunch—the most important meal of the day--Pine Street Biscuits, Tasty n Sons, and Bumblekiss were all the sorts of places I wish I could tuck into my pocket and keep with me forever.

Must run now. I’m sure there’s a tower/waterfront/bridge/view awaiting us that we MUST go see and photograph to oblivion. But until we meet again…here’s Portland in pictures!:

Leaving San Francisco, and a circuitous route to London

2010-08-12T05:52:00.000+01:00

As some of you know from my first road trip, I have a car in my possession affectionately dubbed 'Grampa's Hoopty.' I acquired this piece of precious Oldsmobile when I flew from London to the States last October, landing first in Oklahoma then taking the scenic route to San Francisco. Now it is time for Grampa's Hoopty to go home.

But first...Hoopty wants to see the Pacific Northwest. That's just how he rolls. And our first stop? Portland, Oregon!

This was the view on the drive up: there was the 'town' of Pollard Flats (gas station? check! diner? check! rattlesnake in a cage? check! all under one roof? check! township, DONE.) and then Mount Shasta, which popped up out of nowhere and danced a crazy fool dance.

My road trip companions and I arrived in Portland after our twelve hour mega-drive on Monday night and now we're currently rocking the hip hip hipster Ace Hotel, OD'ing on Stumptown Coffee, and stalking Powell's Books. Basically, living the dream life. Pictures coming soon!

Big love and big hugs,
Essssss

p.s. I'm debating about double-posting these road trip stories and pictures over on Moonpies so as to give it a sense of round-trip completion. Do you think I should, or is it not worth the bother? Or do you have a better idea?

ACK!

2010-07-22T19:55:00.000+01:00

I GOT MY VISA I GOT MY VISA I CAN'T BELIEVE IT THEY GAVE ME A VISA!!

I just got an email from Los Angeles and THEY APPROVED MY APPLICATION. I KNOW. It's like they didn't even check my criminal record. I'M SO EXCITED!

I had a whole blog post worked out today, but now it's totally shot out the window. I'M GOING TO LONDON!!

I'm pretending like pictures of the beach will make me feel less anxiety.

2010-07-20T06:10:00.000+01:00

The beach at Land's End

Labrynth overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge

Cliffhouse Baths ruins

Lost in the fog

It's been a crazy few weeks around here--there's been a trip to North Carolina, a dozen books read while I try to take advantage of dwindling weeks left in the best library system in the world, a visa application, and now a visa wait. Do keep your fingers and toes and rosaries crossed for me. The next three weeks are going to be both ridiculously slow and nauseatingly fast--so much to pack, so many people to see, so many more photos to take. And then if my visa gets denied, a home to find. Fourteen days and counting until I know.

on bridges, babies, and balla-balla recipes

2010-07-09T03:29:00.000+01:00

Let's start with a few of my favorite things, shall we?

The fog over the Golden Gate Bridge

Mon amie's new baby, Elena, so precious and tiny and gorgeous and perfect and delectable

Watching the World Cup at City Hall

The Palace of Fine Arts

I'm constantly writing stuff down. All the time, on napkins and notebooks and nonsense, and then later I find all these scraps and scrawls and I have no idea what any of it means. Was this a book, a movie, a recipe, a band? Usually I can figure it out, but sometimes it remains a mystery. I like to think that someday all these snippets will be combined into a montage of my life and mounted the length of a city block. It will say big things about me, important things, it will reveal things about me that are currently unfathomable. It will say 'dementia.'

The other day when she was in New York, my favorite roommate Sara hung out with her good friend and one of the greatest chefs ever in the history of the planet, Shuna Fish Lydon. (Shuna Fish Lydon!) I blog-stalk her, I pretend like I'm going to try her recipes, I call her 'Shuny' while we're out getting pedis together. In my head. And when I found out Sara was meeting up with her during her recent trip to New York, I made her swear she would get a recipe for me--written on a napkin and signed and EVERYTHING. And SHE DID IT! When I got home from North Carolina and saw the lovely napkin on my desk with it's perfect fuschia handwriting, I nearly tinkled my pants.* It's so gorgeous. And I'm going to scan it in and post it here because it's too good to keep to myself. Try not to be jealous, though. I can't help it that Shuny and I are so close.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish this blasted book that's preventing me from reading my next blasted book. Hugs hugs and if you need anything, you just let me know.

*I totally tinkled my pants.

I'm a SUPERHERO!

2010-07-05T18:36:00.000+01:00

That's right. A SUPERHERO. With a LAIR. I've never felt so accomplished in my life. All thanks to the wonderful Jeremy...

The Talk

2010-06-20T19:07:00.000+01:00

I've been emailing recently with a young friend of mine in England, a bright and charming and tiny eleven year old who tells the greatest stories. Most recently she's shared the news that her form in school is now going through sex ed and she's absolutely embarrassed to pieces over it (as any self-respecting young girl would be). Right away I was transported to the time my mother had The Talk with my sister and me. I was in third grade and my sister was in fourth, and our mother--deciding it was better to warn us of our bodies' changes before they actually occurred and we lost our minds--checked out a picture book from the library. We sat down on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa, our young skinny legs sprawled everywhere while my mother's were tucked under her. And as she went gently through the pages, she'd explain what the diagrams meant, and ask us if we had any questions. I quietly absorbed the information until we got to the back of the book, where it transitioned into How Animals Made Babies. Dogs, cats, roosters, sheep, your typical barnyard reproductive fare. And this is where I got confused.

'But if it takes a boy and a girl to make babies, how do dogs make babies?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, dogs are boys.'
'There are girl dogs, too.'
'But...what about cats?'
'Well...there are boy cats.'

I don't think there are words to describe the way my world exploded in that moment. Menstruation? Fallopian tubes? Penises? Pah. BUT GIRL DOGS AND BOY CATS?! SHUT. UP. I couldn't stop talking about it for days. GIRL DOGS! BOY CATS! DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT THIS?!

I'm still recovering from the shock. And when my period started five years later, I barely noticed. My mother's job was done.

The Farmer's Table: off the ground and running like mad

2010-06-19T01:29:00.001+01:00

The past few weeks have been the launch of a little sum'in sum'in Alison and I are doing called 'The Farmers' Table' (or rather, we are like guest-hostesses while the Table's original creator, a certain dapper gentleman named Peter, is away holidaying on the shores of Lake Michigan for the season). The Farmer's Table--in a nutshell--is a sort of gathering place for friends at the Ferry Building Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings. We shop around the local farmers for the best cherries strawberries nectarines flowers cheese meat and then we set up a sweet mamma jamma spread with all of our goodies, adorned by the best chutney in town and bubbly Drinkwell soda, and our guests come laden with other treasures from their shopping--crusty bread or caviar or proscuitto, or in the case of the lovely Renee, the best organic, homemade quiches you've ever tasted. And as friends gather and the morning grows, it swells into this festive noisy food table friends chattering local affair. In other words: wonderful.

(The top right photo is of the red rings left behind from a colander of juicy raspberries.)

These mushrooms from Far West Fungi tasted like rain on top of a slice of heaven.

If you're ever around, do join us! Contact me for the Table's location and I'll make sure a seat is saved for you.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the Opera to see The Girl of the Golden West! I'm so psyched and I'm totally going to take pictures during the press party if I don't crumple under the weight of my need to look super hip, and then I'm going to post them here, and then I'm going to get in trouble for it because that's how I roll.

See you soon!

2010-06-18T03:54:00.000+01:00

It's been a good day today: I've gone to the grocery store and purchased cucumber and tomato and avocado and peach, and I've gone to the beach and buried my toes in the sand, and now I've drawn a bath and my book is right here and ready to join me in its bubbly depths and all is right in the world.

I'll see you tomorrow; I've got a lot to show you.

the fog rolling in at lands' end

2010-06-04T01:00:00.000+01:00

I can't stop thinking about hot dogs.

A story from one of my favorite parents

2010-06-02T17:44:00.000+01:00

So we’re driving down the freeway rocking out to the hit sounds of Lady GaGa, when, from the cheap seats (the third row), Autumn inquires quite out of the blue…."What’s a Disco Stick?”. Nicole and I turn to each other with a tinge of fear in how to respond. While there is some minor debate and interpretation on the internet regarding the exact definition of a Disco Stick, the general consensus is that it refers to a certain male anatomical part. We quickly devise a crafty answer, “Well, it’s a sparkly cane that you use when dancing to disco music.”…..silence….. Nicole and I thought we dodged a bullet…. Until….about a minute later of obvious deep thinking she says, “How do you ride a Disco Stick?”

22:01 on our last night in Tahoe...

2010-05-31T06:06:00.000+01:00

...and all the girls have their tea mugs in hand, and the dishwasher is humming, and the house is quiet...after a day of bbq'ing and board games and enjoying the warm sun and clear mountain air, we're settling into our books and our beds...

It's been a good weekend.

Out of town visitors, birthday brunches, and an Anza craft-o-bonanza

2010-05-26T04:17:00.000+01:00

It's been a crazy whirlwind of activity around here lately; there's so much fantastic-ness happening it's a bit impossible to breathe at times. Mostly from laughing, though, so it's okay.

The group from last Sunday's birthday brunch with Cassandra. All three of these girls will be part of the upcoming Tahoe Girls Weekend in honor of my almost-birthday! (June 6, in case you were wondering. And yes, if you insist, I WILL accept a present.)

The past two Saturdays have also marked the launch of The Farmer's Table, a little something that Alison and I are doing at the Farmer's Market involving fare from the market (think local cheese, bread, chutney, fruit, and sparkling Drinkwell's Soda) and all the friends we can hold at our table. It's been an absolute blast so far; I hope to have proper photos up soon.

And last week my favorite newlyweds were in town from Dublin, Ireland! (There is a Dublin, California, in case you thought my specification was unnecessary.) We went EVERYwhere: Bissap Baobab, the Monk's Kettle, Grace Cathedral, Nob Hill Cafe, and of course we inadvertantly crashed a party at Macy's while looking for the restrooms...Jessica got 'lost' trying to find us after she had used them and by the time she 'found' us, she was carrying a cosmo in one hand and an empty chicken skewer in the other. And this is why I love her.

And let's not forget Craft Day with the Anza Girls! We all met at the market, shopped some produce and tasted everything we could, and then headed to Stacey's for an afternoon of crafting, sewing, collaging, and other such creative things at which I was hopeless. (Thank you again, Stacey, for making my wonderful new lunch tote with matching picnic placemats! They looks AMAZING and EVERYbody thinks I did them. I correct them, of course...)

I'm just now going through my photos from all of these events, and while most aren't likely to see the light of day, I'm so glad I have them--if nothing else, they serve as a means of holding onto the memories. And now that my dementia is kicking in, I'm going to need them someday...

I hope to see you again soon!

Hugs,

Sharona

A song, a poem, and a sunset

2010-05-17T02:38:00.000+01:00

Three little quiet, Sunday gems from a dear University friend, Ana Maria Correa, who is a never-ending scholar, artist, poet, and translator of languages...

A song. Please listen.

A poem:

For the first time

you'll be aware of gravity

like a thorn in your heel,

and your shoulder blades will ache for want of wings.

Call yourself alive? I promise you

you'll be deafened by the sound of dust falling on furniture.

~ "Temptation", Nina Cassian (translated by Brenda Walker and Andrea Deletant)

And an interview with Jorge Luis Borges. To take a brief quote from the page:

“The task of art is to transform what is continuously happening to us, to transform all these things into symbols, into music, into something which can last in man’s memory… The work of a poet never ends...he's always working, even when he dreams.” In the same clip, Kral, standing outside Borges’ apartment in 1998, recalls visiting the writer there many years before. “Borges, who had so intensely loved books and for whom literature was alive, advised us not to read any book we didn’t enjoy,” he says. “Reading it by force did no good to the book, the author or ourselves.”

I hope you had a lovely weekend; I miss you.
Essss

Ocean Beach, sunset

On temping, pork, the polish, and ELENA CAMILLE!!

2010-05-11T05:47:00.000+01:00

You remember back when I temped at the Opera, and how awesome that was? Yeah. That was AWESOME. I could've danced all night at that place. Not that my current temp job isn't awesome. Because now I can harass my roommate all day, and that's rad. And I get to do loads of fun stuff, like populate slides, and test logics, and that's pretty...oh, wait.

In other news, Dinana has recently sent me a link to The Great and Secret Thing, which is this, and particular she wanted me to see this, and it is about Our Hero the Traveler. He is amazing and I now love this site and I think someday I may want to have blog-babies with it.

As you may already know, last week was Cinco de Mayo, which--much like St. Patrick's Day--is in the top Holidays of Other Cultures that San Franciscans Love Because It Means Drinking a Lot and Eating Awesome Food. And in classic style, it involved lots of conversations about where one was celebrating. I--as is my wont on such occasions--headed straight for the homestead, where Sara was slow-cooking the BEST PULLED PORK ON THE PLANET for the Tacos From Heaven. Have I ever mentioned how much I love living with a professional chef? I don't know if I have. And then the night after that, she made her own Carolina-style bbq sauce (vinegar-based with brown sugar, butter, molasses, and red pepper flakes) for THE BEST PULLED PORK SANDWICHES ON THE PLANET.

Yeah.

And then she grilled some sausages I got at last Sunday's Polish Festival, where the accordions were as rambunctious as the dancers, the sausage selection was rivaled only by the sauerkraut, and I got a jar of pickles the size of my head. It was wild, I tell you. WILD.

Almost as wild as this guy's mullet. I KNOW.

He's all business on the left...

And then...WHOA! PARTY ON THE RIGHT! My girlfriends and I were utterly mesmo. We couldn't figure it out: did it start as mohawk? a rat tail? a mohawk with a rat tail? Either way, AWESOME.

And last, but not definitely definitely definitely not least: DEEE HAD HER BABY ON SATURDAY!! That's right: the day before Mother's Day. WELL PLAYED, BABY GIRL. Please welcome with me to the world Elena Camille, Deee and Brian's little seven pound, eight ounce gem. I hope to have photos on here soon of her--if not ones that I've taken, at least ones that Deee has sent. I'm so thrilled she's here!

Hugs,

esss

On More Books to Read, Volcanos, and George Michael

2010-05-06T04:12:00.000+01:00

So I'm (inadvertantly) (still) on the (e)mailing list of a creative arts group I was involved with in London-town, and they've recently voted on reading two books together. In the interest of (e)involvement, I decided to join in. Of the two they chose, the one I wanted wasn't available at the library (at the time I stopped in), so I got the other: Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers. This is a book I've avoided for some time (what with it being by Eggers), but since I couldn't get the one I wanted, and there were like fifteen copies of Zeitoun on the shelf, I was like, 'Okay, fine. It's free, no harm done.' And so I got it, and it reads like a Reader's Digest Drama in Real Life, and every night I'm like, 'Where's the Humor in Uniform?' and since there isn't any, I'm really over it. And just now I looked at my library holds list, and lo and behold! The book I wanted is ready! So I'm going to try and head over maybe tomorrow after work to pick it up: The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ, by Philip Pullman. I'm psyched.

In other news related to London, Yotam Ottolenghi has published a new cookbook and it looks AMAZING.

And in the interest of volcano popularity, check out these pics of the Chilean Chaiten from a couple years back. I don't know how I missed these on their first run, but HOLY FREAKY ARMAGEDDON. This might replace tornados on my 'I know I should be frightened, but I'm sickly drawn' list.

And because anything involving a Bluth gets me every time:

Next time you see me (and ideally for more than two and a half seconds), I have news of an Asparagus Festival, a Polish Festival, a Weekend with the Babas, a new job, and Friday Night with the Girls. In no particular order.

OH! And Deee is so overdue, it's fantastic.

Hugs!
esssssssssssssss

On homework, militiamen, and then again homework

2010-04-15T04:04:00.000+01:00

So right now I'm totally stalling on this story I'm supposed to write about San Francisco for my niece Hunter, but I can't stall too long because she lives two hours ahead of me in Oklahoma-Town and needs to print it off sometime before bed tonight. It's a little tale about this paper-man she sent me named Flat Stanley (they claim he's a boy in the story, but I have NEVER seen a boy wear a tie like this), who I took around the ciudad for a few weeks. I initially questioned his sexual orientation (again, his tie) and thought about taking him to the Castro, but in hesitation that her teachers might not interpret his jazz hands the same way I did (nor might they be willing to share such lessons with a room full of second graders), I instead took him to other locales of the so-inclined: the SF Moma, the USS Hornet, Golden Gate Park. The pictures are a blast--again, you REALLY have to see this guy's tie--thank you, Hunter, for a brilliant coloring job--but a story seems to be what the teachers want, and I'm running short on words that are eight-year-old appropriate. As usual.

In other Oklahoma-related news, I just heard today that the state is thinking of forming a militia. Did you hear that? A MILITIA, my friends. And not just ANY militia, but a VOLUNTEER-LED militia. (Is anybody else thinking of Bastille Day or The Handmaid's Tale here?) I know my mother and sister would be appalled at the idea, but what about the rest of the state's voters? Friends, countrymen, ironically take up your arms. We've got a union to protect.

Okay, back to my Flat Stanley homework. Now that I'm doing this, I'm finding it hard to believe I ever made it through high school, let alone as valedictorian. It's KILLING me.

Hugs,
Esss

Not so sure about that selling point.

2010-04-09T20:00:00.000+01:00

While looking up hotels today for an upcoming business trip (not mine), I came across this fantasticness:

I don't know about you, but I don't want to stay in the bursting heart of ANYthing. Gross, Amsterdam.

On Russian madames, 30's lit, and the wonders of pork

2010-04-09T04:00:00.000+01:00

Does anybody else get Skype-spam? I do, and when it's not pharmaceutical offers (the dirty teases), it's lusty ladies (the...). My most recent proposition thoughtfully pointed out that perhaps European and American women are too arrogant for me and I need a sweet and caring Russian dame with 'royal blood and royal look.' I can only take that to mean she's got six fingers and a wandering eye, but I could be wrong.

How about this for a good time? On this day in 1950, Salinger's "For Esme--With Love and Squalor" was published in the New Yorker. And Nathanael West's Miss Lonelyhearts was also published, in 1933. I just picked up Miss Lonelyhearts in the bookstore for the first time last Saturday and within pages resolved it to my must-read list. It was heartbreaking. I'm going through a 1930's American lit phase, my to-do's overflowing with Thurber/Hammett/West/Fante/Lewis. I don't know where it's all come from--I never do--but alas, there it is. In the meantime, someone! Quick! Build me a time machine, I've got a dinner party in Connecticut to attend!

Speaking of dinner parties, my roommate has made Lidia Bastianich's 'polenta e fasoi' for dinner (a.k.a., 'beans and sausages with polenta'). It's chock full of bacon and sausage and ohhhhhhhhh red tomatoes and cannellini beans and bay leaves and sea salt. I've been smelling it for an hour and I'm about to chew my arm off with madcrazyhungrydesire. If living with a professional chef has taught me nothing else, it's that I need to marry me a woman who can cook.

And...between that statement and the Russian madames, rumors have officially begun. Awesome.

In other news: the right-handed mirror on Grampa's car has all but fallen off. I don't know how it happened; I just saw it a couple days ago. Don't tell Grampa, though, I fully intend to tape it back on.

It's time for me to depart. The sun has officially set to the point where my desk lamp is required. And Required Desk Lamp Time is a totally different zone than Oh Sweet Dusk Time. And lest my mood and tone shift, rendering all previous ramblings null and void, I should go.

I've missed you.

on the art of pin-curling

2010-03-22T03:46:00.000Z

Seriously. I was going to post tonight, but I totally don't have time. I'm going to attempt to pin curl my hair for the first time since the road trip. This is slightly nerve-wracking, because if I even mess up one curl, I end up with one long strand in the midst of a thousand tiny corkscrews. And ask me how difficult THAT error is to hide. And now that I'm actually working, I can't stuff it up into a hat. With pin curls, I either end up looking like the cutest little pixie just threw up all over me, or like someone who escaped from a mental ward. I'm hoping for the former this time, although the latter does have its value.

St. Patrick's what?

2010-03-18T02:43:00.000Z

So I forgot to wear green today, and not one person pinched me. I even tried bending over the dishwasher, but no luck.

I don't know how it is anywhere else, but in San Francisco, St. Patrick's Day is huge. I think it's right behind Christmas on the Most Beloved Holidays list. Everybody decks out--green clothing, clover pins that light and buzz, leprechauns everywhere. Menus showcase corned beef and cabbage and taps pour green beer. There's a buzz in the air and a lot of 'where are you going tonight?' A few people have asked how they celebrated SPD in London, but I don't remember even noting its passing, which leads me to believe they don't. Maybe because the English don't need an excuse to drink?

In other news related to crossing the pond, Lealea just sent me this awesome blog. This guy is like man-me, except more thoughtful and kind. When I move back to London, I can tell we won't be friends. But in the meantime, I'm totally going to blog-stalk him.

Now if you'll excuse me, my awesome roommate's corned beef and cabbage is done cooking and we've got some (non-alcoholic, Grampa) Boddington's to bust out. Between this and the newest disc of Veronica Mars that just arrived, it's going to be a good night.

Hugs,
esss

on staying home, book lists, and why people shouldn't be allowed to use stone lions as exterior decor

2010-03-11T03:48:00.000Z

I love being at home. I LOVE it. I love the quiet, open hours, I love the freedom of time and space, I love knowing that the time is mine and mine alone to spend as I will. Camped in front of the laptop? Reading in bed? Curled up on the couch with a movie? WHO KNOWS, IT'S MY NIGHT!!

Speaking of reading, tonight I'm going to re-post an interesting list of '12 Authors Every Man Must Know' from an article from Esquire that a friend sent me. And while I know that doesn't make this a * real * blog post because I didn't * technically * write it, I don't want to forget this list, and this blog is where I put things I don't want to forget.

12 Authors Everyone Should Know, by Esquire:

Saul Bellow

Everything you need to know about what propels the American male: "I am an American, Chicago born — Chicago, that somber city — and go at things as I have taught myself, freestyle, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent." The book to read: The Adventures of Augie March.

Raymond Carver

A car hits a boy. A woman licks whiskey off her lover's belly. Nobody captures the darkness and hopefulness of everyday America better. The book to read: Where I'm Calling From.

Cormac McCarthy

Because he tells a truth most don't want to hear: that man is capable of terrible evil. The book to read: Blood Meridian.

Zadie Smith

‘prose so kinetic, it seems to break-dance’ The book to read: White Teeth.

William Faulkner

Sometimes you must see the world through a fractured lens. The book to read: As I Lay Dying.

Flannery O'Connor

Because: "She would of been a good woman ... if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." We all would. The book to read: The Complete Stories.

Stephen King

No writer knows more about our current cultural fears — the cold-war anxiety of The Dead Zone, the post-9/11 fearfulness of Under the Dome — than Uncle Stevie. The book to read: The Stand.

Graham Greene

Have you ever felt as though you can't trust anyone, not your friends or your lovers, not your boss, your family, not your god, not even yourself? The book to read: The Quiet American.

George Orwell

Because he is angry, uncompromising, and unapologetically political. The book to read: Down and Out in Paris and London

Philip Roth

He understands that at base, we're a nation of fearful womanizers. Plus, he wrote the only great novel to end with a guy getting poked in the eye with a fork. The book to read: American Pastoral.

Norman Mailer

Because behind the grandstanding — the run for mayor, the head-butting of Gore Vidal — you can sense that Mailer was as much a fragile soul as the last great literary man. The book to read: The Executioner's Song.

William Shakespeare

We all come out of Shakespeare's pen — every one of us, every one of our stories of revenge, of ambition, of baleful and nectarous and incestuous love. The play to read: Henry V.

In other, totally unrelated news, did you know that in Japan they thought that the 'Sharona' of 'My Sharona' was a certain, unmentionable male organ? It gives a whole new meaning to my name. Also, it makes me want to go visit Japan. I anticipate a warm welcome.

And last, but not least, the Photo of the Day. RAWR!

Hugs hugs and oh so many more hugs,

Essss

on monster trucks, old men, and photo projects

2010-03-06T18:25:00.000Z

People love pictures of old men. Old men and black children in poverty-stricken situations. Maybe it's because they inspire fear and awe and guilty relief? I don't know. But what I do know is if you walked up to the average person on the street with these two pictures below and asked for a preference, they'd just love my previous landlord. They'd remark admiringly on the first photo, yes, but ohhhhh look at the wisdom and years lined in that man's face. Maybe he makes them miss their grampa. Heck, he made me miss mine, which is why I kept breaking things and calling him for repair.

In other news, I'm meeting Heather--in the first picture--for brunch today. I'm trying out Hard Knox Cafe in my neighborhood for the first time. I'll try anyplace boasting 'authentic soul food' at least once. Notably if they have a ghetto website.

SF is going through a soul food obsession right now. It's just about the hottest way you can describe something: throw in the words 'southern,' 'soul food,' or 'creole/cajun,' and you've got a hit on your hands. I'm thinking I'll have to open up a soul food joint when I get back to London and make some cha-ching. If there's one thing I've got, it's a love for biscuits. And I don't mean cookies, Eng-rand. You're about to get schooled.

Speaking of getting schooled, I went to my first Monster Truck Jam last weekend. And at the risk of losing your intellectual respect forever, I LOVED IT. And not ironically, either, despite the fact that I went with a group of San Francisco hipsters sporting trucker hats and American flags. We ALL loved it. (I don't think they were truck jam virgins, though--they all had favorites, like Blue Thunder, or Gravedigger, which made me ridiculously happy. Just when you think you know somebody, right?) But really, I had no idea that mass destruction and huge, airborne trucks could excite me so much. And you wouldn't believe my disappointment that nothing caught on fire. My transformation that evening from a rational, thinking person to a girl thrilled with a rolling truck was complete.

And on other, unrelated themes...San Francisco has once again been acting like a fierce hot mess, and I can't stop loving it:

In even further items of note, I cannot be more excited by the news that Neil Patrick Harris (or NePa, as he likes to be called) will be 'coming to Glee, going to be evil.' That's right up there with the recent addition of Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long blog to the instant Netflix queue on 'another reason to stay in on a Saturday night.' Although when the Saturday night offerings are this and this, that's a tough call to make.

Yesterday I got into a discussion with a friend about this photo project I did centuries ago, 30 Portraits in 30 Days, and I realized how long it's been since I've done something like that. I tried--a couple years ago--to create an alphabet book for my niece PeyPey full of SF landmarks A-Z, but it ended up being too open-ended and I fizzled out right around 'J for Japantown.' I need something attainable, with a very specific start-and-end date. Maybe I'll keep it open for now--just '30 Pictures in 30 Days'--and see what happens. Unless of course you have some ideas?

Really. You owe me one.

2010-03-03T01:50:00.000Z

So remember that trip to New York recently, when we spent that night on the town and saw Leslie's FANTASTIC comedy show about her wacky crazy awesome family, and we laughed until we peed in our pants? No? You don't remember that? Well, THAT'S BECAUSE YOU WERE DRUNK. So drunk you passed out, and I had to hold back your hair, and then later I had to console you and tell you that everything was okay, and not to worry because EVERYbody does that when they're drunk, even though really, NObody does that when they're drunk, but I didn't want you to feel bad. Listen, though: you can make it up to me. All of it. The only thing you have to do is VOTE HERE. That's right! Click on this link, cast your vote, and HELP LESLIE'S SHOW WIN THE FRIGID FESTIVAL AUDIENCE CHOICE AWARD! I mean, it's the least you can do. Especially after...you know.

p.s. Because you were just THAT WASTED, I thought I should let you know the show's name is Vodka Shoes (that should ring a bell considering what you did later), we went to the show on opening night, the 25th, and our zip code was 10048 while we were in New York. I LOVE YOU!

Wait. I have a blog?

2010-03-02T05:47:00.000Z

Holy cow, my friends. This blog is becoming a bit of a sporadic joke, isn't it? Posting once a week is totally not my blog vision. Either I've got to chin up and do a sentence a day, or just call the whole thing off.

There's a lot of random stuff happening round here in Rona Land. For example: I've had the same head cold for approximately six years now. I can't remember Life Before Kleenex. I can't remember when I ever stayed up past ten o'clock. I can't remember tasting food that's not coated in rooster sauce. Life is now a strange and fuzzy thing.

I took some photos of Heather last weekend, just for some fun portrait play. Don't tell her I put them up here since she hasn't seen any of them yet. Plus she'd kill me for pimping her out. Again.

Isn't she gorgeous? I pick beautiful models because they make me look good.

I'm going to get ready for bed now. It's almost nine thirty, and my narcolepsy/pizza coma is about to kick in. More pictures coming tomorrow of last weekend's Monster Truck Jam! And I've also got an update on the super awesome awesomeness of Leslie's latest show.

Cheers,

esss

santa cruz pics and oh my my

2010-02-22T03:09:00.000Z

I've just realized that as of late all of my photography on here has been food-related. And while this may indeed indicate a certain change in lifestyle and hip-size, it's not an ENTIRE representation of the Daily Livin' of Rona-Girl. Mostly. But not entirely.

Last weekend's trip to Santa Cruz with Tanya T was perfect. We went hiking in the mountains in the pursuit of mushrooms, we relaxed on the beach, we hit a few wineries (to try their grape juice, Grampa), and we just chilled. It was unbelievably nice. Even though I left my laptop in our motel and they had to ship it to me and I lived an entire week in the technical dark ages, where I had to spend my nights * talking * to people and * reading. * I was one step away from whittling soap by candlelight and talking about what a hard winter it had been.

The toddler twins I live with had their second birthday yesterday. It was wild. There was a puppet show, corndogs, and a helium tank. Which is basically all this girl needs for a good time. This is the cast of characters who attended:

These are the twins' friends. I KNOW. Have you ever seen this much diversity outside of a Fabric of Our Lives commercial? Also I would like to point out--if I may--the baby in the top middle. He's a total gangster. We're going to see him in a towncar one day wearing a dark suit and surrounded by foxy ladies. I hope he gives me a head tip even though I'll be roughly sixty by then.

I'm going back to work tomorrow! This marks my seventh day at a fantastic job with the San Francisco Opera. I'm going absolutely nuts over it. I hopehopehope it lasts for a long time not only because I adore it and look forward to going every day, but also because now the work bar has totally been raised and I'm afraid all future temp work is going to look * yawn * next to it. But how about this for one of the perks of temp work: your network becomes crazy diverse!

Hey! This is random, but I need advice. I'm in the market for a watch and don't know where to go. My old one--a fantastic plastic piece with dancing cows on it that I got at Octopus, the greatest shop in England ever--has officially called it a day. Now I live in a land without time and I feel slightly disoriented. Does anybody know a good place for watches of whimsical design?

Just now a freshly-bathed Timo came running up to me with a handful of hangers and I swear he looks taller than he did before his bath tonight. I mentioned this growth spurt to his mom, Sara, who calmly replied: 'We watered him.'

Speaking of bath time, I think tomorrow is a Shower Day. I can usually tell Shower Day is approaching when I comb my fingers through my hair and it stays in place. So that's cool. I just wish Shower Day didn't also happen on a Work Day, because that means I have to wake up at an insane hour. And I love my sleep. In fact, I love my sleep more than I love my personal hygiene, which is why Shower Day is so rare and I'm so well-rested.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some mad carbonara to chow on (have I ever mentioned how much I love living with a professional chef?) and I've got to finish whittling this clipper ship I started last week. I heart you.

A video montage and my reunion with my laptop

2010-02-21T03:41:00.000Z

So I totally left my laptop at my hotel in Santa Cruz last weekend because I'm awesome like that, and just got it back thanks to the hotel's awesome (seriously) customer service and the fact that they went to the effort to UPS it to me...I fully expected when I called them to hear, 'Nothing's turned up yet but we'll let you know!' But no, they had it and they were glad to hear from me, and they made the effort to get it back to me as quickly as possible. So I was thrilled. Santa Cruz Beach Inn. Remember that name so that if you ever find yourself down there, you'll know where to stay. There's nothing like an honest establishment to make you feel like your money is well spent.

Today we're going to have a special feature called 'Videos You Have to See.' They're just awesome, and funny, and I love them, and I get to share what I love because this is my blog and I'm powerful.

This one was created by my awesome college roommate, Leslie, who now does stand-up comedy in New York City. She won the Manhattan Monologue Slam, got the Excellence Award at the New York Fringe Festival, and her comedy show is hailed as a 'top pick.' This video premieres the subject of her next show. Meet the Goshkos, a classic American family:

Vodka Shoes Promo from Lgosh on Vimeo.

I grew up with this guy in Oklahoma. He now does comedy in L.A.:

How I Listen to Coldplay - watch more funny videos

And then we have the most humorous song I have ever heard on the subject of inalienable rights and English colonization:

And last, but not least...the man your man could smell like:

Thank you...and goodnight.

the ramblings of a lazy afternoon

2010-02-13T23:22:00.000Z

There's nothing in the world like the San Francisco Farmer's Market on a sunny Saturday morning...I got suckered in at the Cowgirl Creamery this morning and couldn't resist getting some fromage blanc with herbs, which then led me into the Italian deli for pasta shells in which to stuff it...and then of course I had to get some salami to go with my pasta...

I'm got a migraine ripping through my right temple right now. Would the invisible person with the knife just back off for a second?

Dinner party tonight! It's going to be in my old hood, which I'm psyched about, and with a bunch of San Francisco lesbian hot cops, which I'm excited about. This is a group I've been dying to break into. I don't know what I'm expecting, but I do hope to be cuffed at some point in the evening.

Blast. I started a load of laundry approximately sixteen hundred hours ago, and totally forgot about it.

I'm going to Santa Cruz tomorrow! Tanya T and I have two days full of mushroom hunting and beach bumming ahead of us, so that will be awesome. It's been too long since I've had dirt under my fingernails and sand between my toes.

I think I will go lie down and read now...it's a lovely day for curling up atop a plush white duvet and a stack of pillows...

my address book

2010-02-09T03:08:00.000Z

I've got a really ugly address book. I got it years ago for a birthday present. It was one of those presents that people give you who don't know you, like lotion and candles and velvet journals with matching pens. I didn't use it for ages, but then one day I needed to jot down an address some place other than a post-it note, so I was like, 'well, this will be okay for * now.* ' And here I am, years later, with a full and heavily-annotated address book that I STILL can't stand the sight of. It's got a black and white flower on the front and some quote in swirly script about friends being 'like windows through which you see out into the world and back into yourself.' I don't even know what that MEANS. But I do know it makes me want to hurl this book through a window, so apparently it's inspirational.

I know what you're thinking: 'Why don't you just REPLACE it, Rona?' And I'd be happy to--so very happy--but I never * remember * that I abhor it when I'm out and about. And it's not like replacing it is something URGENT that merits a single-minded quest from card shop to stationery shop to bookstore. Maybe I'll just SEE my new address book one day, the book I need/want/have always longed for, and that will be it, as neat and easy as you please, and I'll spend a glorious afternoon in a sunny window transcribing addresses in my best hand before setting this old thing on fire. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll still be glowering at these awful romantic flowers when I'm 80, with the book bursting at its spiral binding from stray stamps and postcards and penned updates scrawled up the margins, when the number of addresses I have for Deee has gone from four to sixty, and when I can no longer part with it for sentimental reasons.

Oh, NO. I have to get rid of this before it gets sentimental. Someone help me.

on white castle, rocking chairs, and male models

2010-02-08T03:26:00.000Z

So I'm watching the superbowl right now. And by 'watching,' I mean, 'eating nachos and doing a blog post while it roars mildly in the background.' Of course I pause when the commercials come on--they really ARE the best part of the game--but the rest of it? * no idea *

Sara, my professional chef super-rad roommate, made white castle burgers for a pre-nachos snack. That's right: a pre-nachos SNACK. I love it when burgers are an appetizer and nachos are a meal. And I'll bet you didn't know you could make white castle burgers at home. But you can, and I'm not lying when I say they're even better than the real deal. I ate at least three. Maybe four. Maybe even five, but let's not talk about that here.

Speaking of Sara's cooking: check out these bbq'd ribs we had for dinner the other night, along with baked beans-and-bacon and biscuits. It was heaven:

And tonight we're having Korean tofu soup. Also made from scratch. I'm so psyched I can barely handle it. I haven't had tofu soup since I used to tutor a Korean girl and got paid in food. And Sara's doing all this while feeding toddler twins, changing toddler twins, playing games with toddler twins, and navigating a kitchen with toddler twins around her ankles. I don't know HOW she does it. Pretty much all Young and I do is holler at her to get out of the way when she's blocking our commercials while scrubbing down the coffee table.

It was absolutely gorgeous out today--sunny, warm, all things that make California awesome. If it's similar tomorrow, I'm leaving this computer and heading to the beach and catching up on some reading. I'm checking out too many books from the library--for every book I finish, there are three more I want to try--and now I've got more piled up than I can possibly read. This is a GOOD problem to have, but one that has to be solved nonetheless.

Let me share with you--while I'm on the subject of amazing people--a couple more 'I can't believe she is my friend' stories: my friend Deee--while pregnant--has just re-designed an entire rocking chair for her nursery. She learned how to make the cushions in a matter of minutes, she primed stuff, she painted. Just LOOK at this picture of the before-and-after. Of course, I'm not REALLY surprised at her supreme hand-craftiness--after all, she WAS the inspiration behind our Wind-Up Bird business. But seriously. She's now accomplishing her mega-feats while a sixteen-inch-baby incubates inside her. She's building chairs and growing ears, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. And then there's TB, my Jamaican sweetpea, who not only just got an offer for a completely-covered ph'd from UC Davis for her work in mathematics-in-literature, but also got pulled up on stage last Saturday night for a dance with the guy in the middle of the photo below. I don't know what to be more impressed by:

I'll just leave you with this photo. You're welcome.

the resolution of pink hair, an art gallery, and oysters on the bay

2010-02-02T04:36:00.000Z

A lot's been happening around here lately, so I will write a list:

1. My hair. It has officially been * fixed, * at least, sort of. The only thing that would cover up the cherry blossom pink was brown and dark red. So...that's what I've got. I've never felt more mousy in my life, but it is what it is, and it's only for a season, so I'm not losing sleep or anything over it. I'm still leaving threatening illustrations tacked to the door of the salon, but fewer now, and with less red ink.

2. My dear friend Jeremy gave me a gift subscription to deviantART, which is a website art gallery full of amazingly talented artists. This site has everything: painters, digital illustrators, photographers, writers. And it's a very international crowd--I get just as much feedback from artists in New Zealand or Slovakia as I do from America. I get encouraging emails in Hebrew and Russian now, and Polish girls digging my stuff. There's not a single unkind sentiment in this community. So I'm loving it. Here's the link to my gallery, but you don't have to visit it or anything. I'm still working on it a lot, so I feel like this is more of a sonogram than a birth announcement.

3. Last Saturday--or was it the one before? What day is this? Who am I?--a friend and I went mushroom hunting at Salt Point, and it was AWESOME. Apparently this is all the rage out here, this harvesting-wild-mushrooms thing, and we came across a handful of other hunters out in the coastal forest and they had apparently been out there early early in the morn because their baskets were full and their hearts merry and their instructions plentiful. We found a ton of yellowfoot chanterelles and black trumpets and hedgehogs and pig ears (all mushrooms I learned that day). Then on our way back at sunset to San Francisco--our fingernails blackened and hands rough--we stopped by Tomales Bay for some oysters on the water.

I cooked my mushrooms that night by sauteeing them in butter with onion and pepper and serving them over a bed of angel hair pasta. And they were ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as these oysters.

4. It's been raining a lot recently. To the point where I can't remember why I ever thought San Francisco was brighter than London. But because of it, the ocean is looking like this:

This is the ocean in the morning.

This is the ocean at sunset.

So I'm okay with the weather, really. I think it's giving more than it's taking.

I'm going to bed now even though it's not yet nine o'clock because I'm a bit under the weather, and I'm at a good bit in my book, and there's nothing that sounds nicer right now than heavy blankets and a lamp. I hope you're doing well and I get to see you soon.

Hugs,

essy

This could only happen the day before a job interview.

2010-01-28T02:41:00.000Z

"It is good taste, and good taste alone, that possesses the power to sterilize and is always the first handicap to any creative functioning." --Salvador Dali

So if we're friends on facebook, you might have already seen the reports: my hair has recently suffered a bit of a mishap. And by 'mishap,' I mean, 'it's been dyed pink, and my colorist won't fix it for another week.' What exactly happened, you may ask? Well let's just say an inexperienced salon assistant shampooed my hair for approximately fifteen minutes in what turned out to be a sink full of red dye, and I emerged looking like beetroot and cotton candy had a love child on my head.

What makes all this even better? THIS HAPPENED THE NIGHT BEFORE MY FIRST JOB INTERVIEW. It couldn't have happened right before I went travelling on the road for two months. Or right after I quit my job and moved to London. No, it had to happen as soon as appearance mattered. Because that's how I roll. I like to throw obstacles in my path, and then trample them like so many bison on my cousin's teepee .

I pulled through okay, though. I did. Because I'm a bison. Also because the temp agencies I interviewed with were awesome, and also because I exacted my revenge on the aforementioned assistant in the form of some minor bloodshed and a call to INS.*

In the meantime, I'm on a strict deep-conditioning diet enforced by my colorist, and I'll be returning to the salon for a fix sometime in the next week. So if anybody's around in the interim and looking for a rave partner, let me know. My only plans right now involve ripping my jeans, tattooing the Virgin on my arm, and convincing my new employers that I won't pack a shiv in my boots or show up drunk to work.*****

*Kidding, of course. I prefer psychological torture. Which is why I'm leaving threatening notes** on the door to the salon every night.
**Kidding, of course. I can't write in Cantonese. They're threatening illustrations.***
***Really.****
****Okay, not really.
*****At least until I've been hired.

You want fame?

2010-01-20T06:32:00.000Z

So my friend Rosie sent me this employment ad. It is, of course, the perfect job. Can you IMAGINE the fun? But get this: in addition to the cover letter and resume, I must include a joke. Did you hear that? A JOKE. I know. And sure, I've got jokes. I've got a couple involving raccoons. I've got about eighty involving quadraplegics. But somehow...I don't think that's what they're looking for. So I'm halted before I even begin. Someone! Quick! Give me a joke!

In other news: London Yelp is celebrating its one year anniversary next Tuesday. And where are they celebrating? MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD IN LONDON. Yeah, I know. It kills me, too. They're doing an unofficial travelling dinner and pub crawl of ALL my old haunts. (Except for the pubs, Grampa. I didn't haunt those.) This makes me rejoice and ache in all the same spots.

Speaking of rejoicing and aching: the recent rain is making me photograph awful, sentimental things. Like leaves, and the houses across the street. I'm not kidding. Look:

I spent about fifteen minutes squatting on the sidewalk for these leaf photos. And all these people kept shuffling past me and without looking up I could tell they were all like, 'wtf, mate? That comes from a tree.' I was almost late to dinner at a girlfriend's house because of this blasted leaf. But I couldn't LEAVE it. It was too MUCH. Finally I took it with me, and I put it in my pocket even though it was all wet, and I gave it to my friend, and she promised to press it and I hope she does, because I love it.

And these houses! These are my neighbors! I took this from my living room WINDOW! Isn't that nuts? I swear these houses are more beautiful in the sun after the rain than any other time. But then, life in general is more beautiful in the sun after the rain than any other time. And this is why the rain needs to stop. Because I say crap like that when it's raining. And if it keeps thundering and crashing and doing all sorts of other wonderful things, you'll be seeing some awful poetry on here soon. And I apologize in advance.

Now for something legit from a real work of art (from which I got my blog title), Today I Wrote Nothing, an anthology of the works of Soviet absurdist Daniil Kharms--though apparently to even call him absurd is absurd, that's how good this guy was at redefining style--before he died in jail in the 40's for being...well...too 'strange' for the Soviets' tastes. Go fig:

The Meeting

Now, one day, a man went to work, and on the way he met another man, who, having bought a loaf of Polish bread, was heading back home where he came from.

And that's it, more or less.

On the many reasons you should hire me.

2010-01-18T06:04:00.000Z

So I just spent several laborious hours updating my resume so that I can get some temp work while I'm here in San Francisco. I examined my tab settings and hanging indents, I leaded and kerned heaven out of the text to make it all fit neatly onto one page, and I checked and checked and checked again to make sure my verb tenses and punctuation and heading and text styles were consistent. Finally satisfied that what I had before me was a full and flawless work, I hit 'send' to the temp agent with whom I'm in communication.

And then I realized that just two days ago I added my blog link to my email signature.

Oh, yes. I just sent my blog to a prospective employer. So that's awesome. Because if you come here, it looks like I play with toys all day. That is, when I'm not busy checking out my derriere in the mirror. So--just in case my possible temp company pays a visit here--I'd like to point out that in addition to these very edifying hobbies, I also enjoy the opera! At least I do when it's my friend performing, as in the below. And I also like live music! At least, when it's my friend's band and it's jazzy and funky and soul-y and super awesome and goosebump good. And sometimes, on Sunday afternoons, I go to barbeques and play pictionary and if you want, I'll show you how to draw 'walk like an Egyptian.' But I can't show you how to draw hippie hill, because that's harder.

I should also point out that I was my high school valedictorian. And lest you think that just means I peaked young, I would also like you to know that I know the word for 'sea turtle' in sign language. That's right. Imagine how often that comes in handy. Also, just for a good time, I like to visit orphans and make them balloon animals. But don't ask me to make you one. Because that's not what they're for. Also, I am a WONDERFUL roommate. And I have mad skills in the kitchen. I can make complex things, like monkey bread. Offices LOVE monkey bread. You will, too, once I bring you some.

There you have it: I'm pretty much the most employable person you'll ever meet. So you don't have to bother scrolling down to check out the rest of my blog. This post really says it all.

Meet the Puritans

2010-01-14T00:52:00.000Z

Today I would like to introduce you to some new friends of mine, the Puritans. They live in my roommates' dollhouse and you can tell they like to have a good time:

Mr. Puritan comes with a cell phone. He is a busy man with lots of business to do. He's also very stylish. Mrs. Puritan is busy, too, and her business is child-rearing. She wields her baby's bottle with nothing short of single-minded devotion.

Actually, it's pretty impressive that they have a child to rear given that they sleep in twin beds watched over by the kind-hearted gazes of Grandma and 'special' Uncle Johnny.

This is Baby Puritan, their lone offspring, who looks alarmingly like Grandma. She sleeps in the attic. This is perfect, since up here she can't possibly disturb any of the good times being had in the twin beds below.

I think we can all learn here.

And you can paddle all around it in your big canoe.

2010-01-13T03:33:00.000Z

Today a friend of mine sent me the following article: Fat Butts May Be Healthy. I can't imagine why he thought I'd find it of interest. * admiring my backside in the mirror *

Do you want to see the view from where I'm living? You can see the mountains of MARIN from here. And today was all sexy and rainstormy out and when I went to move my car for street cleaning, I almost died of a heart attack from the view and had to run back inside for my camera and then back out into the still wet streets where I stood in the middle of the road and shot shot shot and fell in love with the towers of Golden Gate Bridge and the hills of the Presidio and the easter egg houses and I kept causing cars to pile up but that's okay because LOOK AT THAT VIEW!

What's even more mind-blowing is how awesome my roommates are. They're snuggly, they don't talk too much in the mornings, and they like to share their food. This is just the way I like my people.

(They come with two grown-ups, but they're slightly more elusive to photograph. Like elves.)

Living in the Richmond is great. I'm surprised at how much I'm loving it. In my past San Francisco life, I always thought of the Richmond as another city altogether: 'I can't meet you for dinner way out there, are you crazy?' But seriously. San Francisco is only 7 miles x 7 miles. NOTHING is way out there. And now I'm ten minutes from the Ocean, and I'm ten minutes from Golden Gate Bridge, and I'm a half hour from Union Square on that tricky tranny hot bus the 38 Geary. Things aren't inaccessible at ALL. And at my doorstep? HOLY AWESOME ASIAN FOOD, BATMAN. I've got Vietnamese noodles, Korean bbq, tofu houses, Thai, and sushi sushi oh the sushi. There's also an interesting Russian and Irish population, which would be great if I were into pubs or the Russian Orthodox Church. Which I'm totally not, Grampa. Either one. And there's also Tommy's Mexican, the most famous margarita bar in the world, which would be great if I were into smooth and flawless tequilas. Which I'm totally not, Grampa. Tequila comes from the plant of the devil, the cactus. I go to Tommy's for the enchiladas. And the free chips and salsa so fiery my nose runs.

Oh, and the best part of living where I am? Golden Gate Park is RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET. Literally. ACROSS THE STREET. I'm within walking distance of the California Academy of Science, and the Conservatory of Flowers, and the Japanese Tea Gardens, and if I was prone to sleep-walking, I could easily stumble right into Stowe Lake, which I am determined to paddle around in one of those rentable paddle boats if I can ever find somebody to do it with me. Or maybe I should just go out and paddle alone, in one giant circle like a one-legged duck.

Alright, I'm gonna go now...the babas are in bed and the house is still and quiet and I think I'll go curl up with a book* and a mug of tea.

*I'm lying to you. I just got my Glee disc in the mail today and I'm totally going to zone out on it and re-wind all the singing and dancing scenes to watch them over and over again, just like I did the first time I watched Dirty Dancing and the final dance gave me goosebumps and I had to see the look of shock and awe on the father's face over and over again. I'll read later, like at bedtime.**

**I'm lying to you again. I'll turn on my lamp and open my book as though I'm GOING to read, and then I'll fall asleep before I can even find my spot on the page. Then I'll wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and my book will fall off the edge of the bed except toward the wall-side not the open-side and I'll be like, 'SON OF A!' and then I'll have to lean over to get it and then I'll whack my head against the wall and get all mad and so by the time my fingers fumble and find it and pull it out, I've vowed never to read in bed again. Until the next night, which will be different.

Oh sweet city mine.

2010-01-11T17:28:00.000Z

I am so excited to be here. My new blog, San Francisco, writing, taking pictures. It's hard to believe it's already been three weeks since my arrival. The city has changed so much since I left, and yet remains exactly the same: fantastic, beautiful, crazy crazy crazy, and so full of so many people I love that I feel like my heart will burst out of my chest. Last Friday I saw an old friend at the California Academy of Science (another new thing that happened while I was in London! And it's got a PLANETARIUM! And a RAINFOREST! And an AQUARIUM! With SEA MONSTERS in it!). She was already in the museum and I was in line when we spotted each other. We were both shrieking and jumping up and down from our respective sides of the glass doors when the lobby guards finally gave up and shooed me through the line, opening the door before me to sprint into the museum and into her arms. The force of our hug nearly spun us around, and not a word of our babbling made sense nor mattered. We were together again.

This is what it's like being back in San Francisco.

I'm off now to assist in a friend's kitchen making The World's Greatest Chutney. Then maybe when I'm done, I'll take a wander through Union Square to see the windows full of beautiful things and hear the humming of the cable car lines and maybe I'll even stop in a shop to touch a book or a scarf. Then it will be time to return home, to the fog and the tea and a good friend. And then tonight, it's Katy Time.

I'm back.