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

 

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

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

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.

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

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.