Friday, December 29, 2006

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Thursday, December 14, 2006

quotes of the day

*Another dispatch from the most over-qualified Target employee ever, my little sister:
You wouldn't believe how many old ladies in Target stop to talk to me about their hot flashes. Sometimes I really think somebody stuck a sign to my back that says "Tell Me About Menopause."

Aaaand the countdown to grad school begins...

*Because I tend to veer toward the lazy end of the human motivational spectrum, I love all the "best of" lists that come out around New Year's. They allow me to catch up on good music, movies, books, etc., without having to spend a year slogging through all the crap. And then by the time I'm done with all of those, it's almost January again. Beautiful. Anyway, the whole New York Times Magazine "Year in Ideas" article was fun to read, but I particularly enjoyed the bit on psychological neoteny, which is the "retention of youthful attitudes and behaviors into later adulthood," aka immaturity. roles have become less fixed in modern society. We are expected to adapt to change throughout our lives, both in our personal relationships and in our careers, and immaturity, as Charlton added, is “especially helpful in making the best out of enforced job changes, the need for geographic mobility and the requirement to make new social networks.” In fact, he speculates, the ability to retain youthful qualities, now often seen as folly, may someday be recognized as a prized trait.

Take that, Dad!

*MUG vs. Daily Candy: No contest.
Daily Candy on the new wine bar/restaurant Varietal, 138 W. 25th [6th/7th] 212.633.1800: puff, fawn, ooze. MUG on Varietal: ugly, bad lighting, noisy, unfriendly.

Another reason MUG is better: concision.

*From the dear, departed Fat Asian Baby:

[photo source]

We miss you, pookie.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

always have cheese when you need it, with virtually no waste

It's probably a good thing I still don't have internet access at home. If I did, I would come home in a post-fried chicken/beer/whiskey haze and write about my cat's latest crrrrazy shenanigans, like, every other day. At least. And then I might as well go out and buy myself something from the Quacker Factory. Like last night, after some fried chicken, beer, and whiskey, and, in this particular case, Battlestar Gallactica (thanks, R!), I turned off the light to go to bed when I noticed the suspicious absence of high-pitched whiney meowing. Sure enough, I'd forgotten to shut the door and the cat was nowhere to be found. I went into the hallway and asked my fellow basement dweller, who was cooking some kind of meat--probably goat (don't ask), if he'd seen old Walter. Nope, he hadn't. Then out came another fellow basement dweller, who said Walt was hiding above the walls of his room. Sure enough, the cat had run into his room and managed to wedge himself in the shoebox-size space between FBD's wall and ceiling at least 10 feet off the ground (I like to call our apartments "architecturally quirky"). Then I cursed the little turd, went back to my room, and Walt was there in 20 seconds. Sometimes to get guys to chase after you you just have to be a bitch. And now I'm comparing my cat to guys, which brings me back to the beginning of this post. And probably explains why I haven't made out with anyone except the alcoholic bartender in six months.

But I still wish I did have internet, because then I'd have more time to find heart-warming news stories like this. And finally give my mom a list of things I want for Christmas.

Friday, December 01, 2006

my marc jacob bag and frankie b jeans

One of my duties at the internship-cum-temporary-almost-full-time office job is posting and editing party listings. It would be tedious if not for the fantastic material I get to work with. It's also heart-warming to know that the illiterate children of the world will always have a future as party promoters. A sampler (unedited, obvi):

This stylish penthouse is the epitome of what a real nightclub is supposed to be. Stride by the limousines in your nicest get-up as you enter this stunning high-rise. There is a doorman in a suit, he will escort you to the first elevator. Forty-three flights later, you clear your ears to adjust to the altitude. Another elevator and then you find yourself amongst the celestial and the divine - scenesters strutting their Armani suits and Louis Vuitton purses, 737 feet above ground level. And then you ask yourself, how do you define class? And you look around and find over 737 ways to do it. Does it get better than this? Really.


New Year's Menu Appetizer (choice of one) Cashew dusted Maryland Crab Cake with a strawberry horseradish emulsion,wasabi crème fraiche Prada PurseRoasted pheasant, sun dried tomatoes, arugala, goat cheese,wrapped in phyllo with a champagne citrus beurre blanc (Choice of Soup or Salad) Lobster Bisque and a sweet corn ragu Butternut Squash with arugala pesto, aged balsamic Haystack SaladMixed greens, haricot verts, yellow was beans, oven dried to tomatoes, peaShoots, truffle vinaigrette Wedge SaladCrisp iceberg, red and yellow teardrop tomatoes, crisp bacon, roasted pear and Gorgonzola dressing, balsamic reduction, basil oil Entrees Herb Roasted Rack of Lamb
Wild mushroom orzo, balsamic thyme reduction Four Peppercorn Crusted Beef TenderloinParsnip pear puree, fennel tempura, grape Riesling jus Lobster Stuffed HalibutPuff pastry, julienne vegetable sauté, herb emulsion Pistachio Crusted GrouperPeruvian purple potato puree, pineapple papaya relish, ginger beet essence Dessert Chef's New Year's Selection

I always prefer my pheasant roasted with a Fendi purse, but Prada'll do, I guess.


You know a band is a great one when it can make the Roseland seem like an acceptable venue to have a concert. Despite an epic beer-getting adventure involving waiting in the bar line and then waiting in the bracelet line and then waiting in the bar line again, our crappy distant vantage point, and geeky out-of-shape white dudes getting their grooves on, I had a shockingly good time at the My Morning Jacket show. I really, really, REALLY want to marry a mountain man and move to Tennessee. Working two full-time jobs in New York and hooking up with a skinny alcoholic bartender is a close second, right?