crafts for lazies

I've always wanted to be one of those crafty girls, someone who can just whip herself up a nice decorative pillow or Wonder Woman sweater. It must be so satisfying to get an idea and actually make it happen, and to always have something fun and productive to do when you're not busy eating Jelly Bellies and reading about grade school classmates on Facebook.

Other than one sock monkey for my old friend Katie, I don't think I've ever really made anything on my own. I tried cross-stitching in junior high, got 95% done with my project (a St. Louis Cardinals logo for my dad), and left it sit in my closet until my mom finished it sometime when I was in college. I tried sewing when I went home for Christmas last year, got super frustrated, and, uh, my mom did almost all of it.

But I will never give up the dream! Here, my latest "effort":


Gina's Kwik-n-EZ Laptop Case

Supplies:
*broken thrift store heating pad
*foam (thanks to the foam experts at Howard's Foam and Fabrics Solutions of Rochester, NY)
*duct tape
*Velcro
*needle and thread

Step 1: Remove actual heating pad from decorative heating pad cover. Contemplate cutting it open to see what's inside! Discard.


Step 2: Fold foam over laptop. Cut two sections just big enough to cover each side. Apply duct tape liberally on three edges to create a sleeve.

Step 3: Cut a third piece of foam as wide as the others and a few inches long to form a flap over the open part of the sleeve. Duct tape to secure.


Step 4: Place foam pocket into fabric cover.

Step 5: Enlist mom to sew on Velcro pads.

Ta da!


(Dog not included.)

nice genes

Hey guys! Wanna join my new Facebook group? It's called "Everyone I Went to Elementary/High School with Has Babies Except for Me". I guess until I saw pictures of all those chubby li'l faces I could just go on believing that that phase of adulthood would never actually happen. Also, squeaky knees and wrinkles on my forehead when I give my signature "good god you have got to be kidding me" look. Alas, no more blissful ignorance for me. Sigh. Perhaps someday I'll pass along my spelling skills, irregular gait, and extreme moodiness to one or two very lucky individuals. Until then, my cat is getting the best damn litter money can buy! (Seriously, look into it. It'll change your life.)

brie de dromedary

One of the great perks of my job is getting to try new and/or interesting food products. Like curry chocolate, illegal Brie, and camel cheese. It is always amusing when one of these products makes the New York Times, and we get to watch as non-regular customers wander aimlessly around the store in search of sold-out local ricotta or cured pork jowl, and old ladies with Martha Stewart accents call us on the phone asking how to get to this faraway land of Brooklyn. Sometimes I wonder if my passion for customer service isn't really just passion for making fun of others. Anyway, back to the camel cheese.

I was pretty excited when we got the sample a few months ago. Because, um, CAMEL CHEESE. So how is it? Well, on the plus side, I appreciated the learning experience offered by the packaging. Let's just say that were I to make it to the final round on Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? and got the Africa map, I would be screwed (this was actually a legitimate concern of mine as a child.) Also, if I were ever in Africa and hadn't had a dairy product in weeks, I would probably be pretty happy to eat some camel cheese. On the negative side, um, nothing against camels or the fine people getting creative with their milk, but it just doesn't taste that good--basically like pureed low sodium cottage cheese covered in a bloomy rind. And for $30 a pound, which is more expensive than 95% of our other cheeses, I think it belongs in the novelty category along with Bacon Bars and Antipasto Lusso (aka "party in a jar").

So where can you get camel cheese? Sadly, nowhere. There was a shipping issue and it remains unavailable. But I hope they'll get it together soon. I very much look forward to whipping out the camel cheese when someone asks if we have anything low fat.

there's no place like home

I was just looking through some of my semi-recent pictures and got all sad that my parents don't live in Marshfield, Wisconsin anymore. That little town drove me nuts while I lived there, but good god was it entertaining once I got some faraway adult perspective. Last summer I made the nearly unbearable mistake of bringing my then-boyfriend home with me. The silver lining was that because we were so fundamentally wrong for each other, we always did lots of stuff to pass the time. So I got to play activity planner in the place that will always be closest to my heart. And with a little help from the "delete" button, my memories are nearly untainted!

Please ignore the lady in red for a moment and feast your eyes on the skinniest man I've ever seen, wearing an entire unidentifiable animal on his head cinched with an American flag bandanna.

This, naturally, was at the Styx concert.

Under a full moon.

Even a boyfriend jealous of your close relationship with YOUR SISTER can't ruin that one. Ahem. Moving on . . .

To Central Avenue, where the Senior Craft Shoppe sits nextdoor to Shockwave Video and Adult Entertainment.

And where, apparently, one can find the occasional local microbrewed beer tasting. Seeing my one-beer-a-night dad have more than one beer gets two thumbs up from me.

There is nothing like a day at the zoo! Especially if you are Miss Grizz.

In the context of last summer, all I have to say is, "Seriously".

Pictures do no justice to the majesty of this beast's horns.

"On the mega" would be a good catchphrase. For . . . something.

I can testify based on personal experience that there has been no work done on this mini golf course in at least 20 years.


Apparently Al Capone used to crash here when he was sneaking along the Yellow River. And now it's a wine bar. Yes, a wine bar. In Marshfield. Although they keep it real by serving barbeque potato chips as a bar snack.


The World's Largest Talking Cow has lost its calf. Sad.

You can't tell here, but this guy is looking with disdain at the camera. Sorry, dude. It's not every day you see a horse-drawn buggy that doesn't charge $50 an hour in these parts.


And last but not even close to least, The Rear End. I'd seen this sign a million times, but never once thought to venture beyond the thin layer of pine trees.


I don't know why I expected it to be more climactic.


Pardon the pun.

who's that girl

Today I learned how to spit wine into a bucket, next to other people spitting wine into the same bucket.

I feel like I have more to say about the industry wine tasting I went to today, but I also feel like I spit my brain into the bucket. Which has me thinking I shouldn't have even bothered to spit out the wine. Anyway. It was the first one I've been to, since waitressing and mongering cheese only vaguely qualify me as "industry." Nevertheless, I recognized a ridiculous number of people there. It felt like high school, where I knew everyone in my class, and often absurdly specific details about them, and no one outside of the marching band knew me. Or college, which was pretty much the same story as high school, only substitute crew team for marching band. And now, of course, it's the cheese shop and people I was friends with at my last job.

As I observed the purple-toothed masses from my cozy corner cheese table, it was like the Let's Remind Gina Of Her Lack Of Communication Skills Parade. All the people I thought about talking to but did not talk to because I would've had to re-introduce myself include: The guy whose restaurant was an Eater.com obsession and where my friend's ex-girlfriend works; the nice lady I used to wait on all the time and who once helped me pick a white Burgundy at her wine shop; a former manager with a former regular customer who tried to ask me out and didn't understand how I could be both single AND not wanting to date him and who later consumed six bottles of wine (not exaggerating) one night with a girl who was so drunk she didn't notice the large spider crawling across the table in front of her and which I was able to pick up with a napkin and stash in my apron pocket (ok, there probably would've been no point talking to him other than making him uncomfortable, which actually would've been kind of satisfying); the General Manager of one of my favorite restaurants who is best friends with the General Manager of my old restaurant; the tall white sommelier who dated my friend and ditched her for a tiny quiet Asian chick and always brought her in for very expensive bottles of wine but never finished them and left them for us; the bartender at my favorite restaurant in my old neighborhood whom I met through the dude I used to hook up with sometimes at 5am and re-met waiting on his birthday party and have seen around 85,000 times; the wine empire heiress to whom I once nervously served a funky Northern Italian red called Ros di Rol which she compared to an old Brunello (score!) as she sat on Table L3. I could go on, but I want to watch ANTM on my new favorite website before I hit the ol' hay.

The number of times I've forced myself to talk to someone and had the "oh! you're so and so who knows my friend so and so and you do x y and z"/"um, what's your name again?" conversation has ruined me for schmoozing. I don't know if I wish things were different. But I'm leaning towards not. Aside from the obvious fact that I would be a totally different and probably more sane person, if I were so focused on maintaining superficial connections, how could I have been so happy spending time alone with my bosses, talking to a regular customer/wine merchant with a genuine smile and without whom I never would've gained the courage to go up to a stranger and spit in his or her wine bucket, and reliving all those little stories whether or not anyone else remembers them.

gina is content

Oh, Internets. I have been working so hard. Hard like . . . a person with credit card debt in an understaffed cheese store. I'm actually off work today and it has been wonderful. Not to mention productive! In addition to increasing the size 10 butt-shaped dent in my favorite spot on the couch, I got my iPod replaced by a Genius, did some laundry, played the word "borzoi" for 58 points in Scrabulous, and ate half a bag of Cheeky Monkey Tomato Garlic Dipping Oil, which I'm considering having pumped into my body constantly via IV drip (the bag looks eerily suited for that, actually). And it's still almost an hour until America's Next Top Model comes on! 

sigh

Scene: This afternoon, towards the end of my hour-long walk around the still very new to me 'hood with my roommate's pit bull, approaching a cute guy walking a cute Boston Terrier.

Cute Guy Walking Cute Boston Terrier: Is he friendly?
Me: Yeah she's really friendly! Um but I mean not necessarily with dogs...
CGWCBT: Oh, nevermind then.

Alas, it appears my dreams of finding everlasting love via my roommate's dog are already dashed. At least she'll be a good bodyguard.

In other news, it is currently 9:52 p.m., the first time I've thought about cigarettes all day, and almost two weeks since I last had one. I am going to go ahead and give myself a nice pat on the back.

breaking!!!

God I miss Midwestern local news. [via Dooce]

In other equally important news, I had one of the best burgers in the history of burgers for lunch yesterday. You should be jealous. And then go to Prune. Preferably with me.

i think i just bought myself at least a few more months of not having to shave my legs

I used to have insomnia. Reeeeal bad insomnia. It pretty much went away after a hearty course of benzodiazepines and learning that the world will indeed go on if I haven't gotten my eight and a half hours. Of course, once in a while I can't sleep to save my life, and now I like it. What better excuse is there to scour Ebay for hours and decide I need to own a bunch of brass Victorian pendants shaped like bats and bugs (for my future career as a jewelry designer, of course), and discovering I've been seriously missing out on this particular Jezebel feature, Crap Email From a Dude, and making up for it by reading the whole mind-blowing catalog. If you have better things to do, at least just read this extra-sparkly gem. If not, you're welcome.

UPDATE: Whooooooo boy, this one might be even better. Bless.

so right

lolcats + schadenfreude = FAIL

Now I'm not so sad it's raining all day.

[via this guy's Tumblr blog thing I just learned all about on the Gawker]

the mystery unravels

Today a reporter for the Daily News came in to the Cheese Shop to ask if Heath Ledger ever used to shop there. Having once waited in line behind Michelle Williams at RiteAid, I felt uniquely qualified to comment on his untimely death, but I kept quiet. My coworker, however, informed her that Heath came into another neighborhood cheese shop and often bought a specific cheese. She wrote down both the name of my coworker and that of the cheese. If only someone else had been around to inform her that he did indeed come into the Cheese Shop a year and a half ago, and he bought an imported Spanish lemon soda...

I'm so glad I didn't go to journalism school.

if only i had a valentine...

I think I could look at stuff on Ebay nonstop from now until forever and never tire of it. While browsing through 99-cent lots of vintage earrings I stumbled upon this heart-shaped potato. 

Like the seller, apparently, I think this item speaks for itself.

hi, my name is gina, and i can justify anything

Greetings from my new computer/sepia-toned emo picture-taking machine! Spending two or three weeks' pay on a MacBook probably wasn't entirely in line with my new somewhat financially responsible lifestyle (probably neither is not knowing exactly how much money I make), but at least it's a more reasonable debt incursion than a $300 sweater or a last-minute trip to London and Paris. Also, before arriving at Tekserve I watched No Country For Old Men, so my anxiety levels weren't going up any higher anyway. And The Old Reliable Mac Shop, after talking you into spending $300 more than you'd planned, concludes your computer-buying experience with, "You just bought a computer, so you get free chocolate. Milk or dark?" I picked dark.

vosges - how to eat a truffle

The other day at work we received a box from Vosges: Haut Chocolat, about the size of a microwave. It contained a lot of packaging and four pieces of chocolate. Within the box o' chocolates were the Exotic truffles and several pieces of literature, including a document entitled "How to Eat a Truffle." Tonight I took one of these delicacies home to see if I could master this art. What follows is an exact copy of the instructions and photos of my step-by-step truffle-eating experience.

How to Eat a Truffle...

We suggest bringing the truffles to room temperature in order to taste the 'true' flavors of the spice, flower or liqueur. Vosges products contain no preservatives and no artificial flavors.

Firstly... read the story. This sets the stage. It allows you to paint the picture through your imagination to conjure up the expectations as to how the chocolate will taste and to where you will transcend.

See... there should be a glossy shine to the truffle, this shows a good temper: a tight bond between the cocoa butter and the cocoa mass.

Lick... the spice on top of the truffle, we always like to do this on the spice truffles because it gives us a hint of what is to come, a teaser...

Snap... quality chocolate should always be dry to the touch. If the chocolate is stored at ideal conditions between 63-65 degrees Fahrenheit when you take a bite you should hear a crisp, snap breaking through the outside to reach the creamy ganache inside.

Taste... we always like to bite the truffle in 2 bites. In the first bite you are just getting to know the truffle and in the second, you delve deeper searching out the flavors and nuances, you become immersed into the experience of the chocolate, your mouth and the sensations. The taste should have a long, lingering finish that is layered with its perfumed notes.


Well, I didn't transcend to Budapest, and I'd still rather just have a good chocolate chip cookie, but the truffle was pretty tasty. I encourage you to browse the Vosges website for other fine products, especially the Groove and Hip-Hop collections. I had one of those "I can't believe I just said that out loud" moments after reading the description of the former. It's so bad, in fact, that I really can't write it here. Ok, fine. The text said: "The Groove Collection is a multi-sensory approach to the culturally vital genres of music impacted by African Americans. Read the historical significance of each musical era, listen to a song and taste a truffle that reflects a popular ingredient of the time." I said to my coworker: "Popular ingredient of the time? Like what, fried chicken?" Yes, I've known I was going to hell since about age eight.

it's 3am and i must be lonelayhay

If ever there were motivation for a blog post, this would be it. McLovin AND Rob Thomas literally right outside my old front door. I can't decide if this makes me really happy or really sad to have moved.

Speaking of apartments, the new one is nice, what with it's natural light and built-in-shower and modern appliances and everything. My roommates are pretty fantastic, but I love having my own place. I am currently on a mission to make that happen, which involves financial responsibility and realistic thinking. So I'm spending below my means and shooting for a lease or ownership (HAHAHA) by 30. In line with this, I hardly ever go out adrinkin' anymore. Maybe once a week, and I'm home by midnight.

And now, before I get too bored and depressed, I need a new hobby. A cheap one. That makes me money. Besides writing, cuz I'm sick of thinking about how I should be doing more of that. Suggestions are welcome.

the movers are coming tomorrow and i have totally not started packing yet

Goodbye, Dunham Place.


Goodbye, Awesome Brick Wall.


Goodbye, Pile of Rocks at the End of Grand Street, Where Hipsters, Ricans, and Hassids Go to Drink From Brown Bags At Night.


Goodbye, Neverending Stream of Film Crews.


Goodbye, Neato View from Kent Avenue.


Goodbye, Marlow and Sons, Haven For SUV-Driving Hipsters and Home of Strong-Ass Coffee I Drank Nearly Every Day for a Year and a Half.

Goodbye, Gretsch Building, Home to Many an SUV-Driving Hipster.


Goodbye, Schaefer Landing and Water Taxi Terminal.


Goodbye, Site of Future View-Blocking 20-Story Condo.


Goodbye, Basement.


Hello, 2008, new apartment with modern amenities and WINDOWS, new roommates, Mia the pit bull, position of actual responsibility at work, Clinton Hill/Fort Greene, and, hopefully, a much more boring year than 2007.

e.u.i.

I was good today. Enjoyed some much needed reclining after a weekend consisting of 22 hours selling cheese, one date, and two holiday parties. Bought cat supplies and healthful groceries. Finished the book it's taken me way too long to read, considering how good it is. Sold another item via Craigslist in preparation for the move. Locked myself out of my apartment and bribed FAB to drive up with my spare keys while I read about Mary-Kate Olsen (I want to hate her, but I can't. I think she's kind of captivating and cool. Sue me.)

I rewarded myself with the last of Perplexa's leftover wedding wine and some Ebay action. The following items are ending soon, and I am the only bidder. I am broke as a joke, but I can get myself a Christmas present, or three, right?

Gold shoes. Vintage. Leather. Cheap. Why not.

I have no idea why I love this sweater so much.

I want to go live in the 1950's. For, like, a week.


I know I would like to save countless dollars! In every room of my house!

scrabulous, the new rorschach?

I am addicted to Scrabulous, Facebook version. I have, literally, been playing it all day. It's great because you never know when the person you're up against will take their turn (unless you're simultaneously on Gmail chat, on which I have also been all day) and so you do other things to waste time while you're waiting to waste time. It's not so great because my friends are smart and I've lost more games than I've won. But it's still a great procrastinatory (I like making up words, no matter what Scrabulous has to say about them) and entertainment tool. 

In the game I've currently got going with my friend Sarah, the following words have been played (mostly by me):

LOTIONS

GROINS

SEX

BANGER

WAD

DOM

HUNG

COOT

And in the game I just lost to Comeback Susie, I managed to connect CUNT and TWAT.

Yeah, it's been awhile.

If you're on Facebook, play Scrabulous with me!

pep talk

So, I think I'm ok. It'll be very sad (and a huge pain in the ass) to leave my apartment, and my morning coffee place, and my view of the Empire State Building from under the bridge, but I think I have a good place to move to, I think I might be getting a promotion/raise at work, and I know that, despite all the drama, I'm happier now, and for good real solid reasons, than I've been in a long, long time. I also think I just broke a world record for comma usage in a single sentence. Anyway, so that's that. Moving on...

two in one!

Aaaaah, nothing says "welcome home" like a 30-day eviction notice! After helping my parents pack up the house they've been living in for 20 years, I returned to Williamsburg to find two packages and a letter sitting outside my door. The guidebook I'm freelance editing for, yay! The t-shirt I bought on Ebay, yay! "Gina, We all got these notices on 11/29/07 from [scary landlord.] It doesn't seem to be an actual court order." Huh.

Apparently, he wants us all out by December 31st. Happy holidays!

The legalities regarding my housing situation are unclear, to say the least, and my fellow basement dwellers seem to think that this might be fightable via some legal aid thing for poor people, but based on my last experience with wealthy Hassidic landlords (not to, um, stereotype, or anything) I am not optimistic. Maybe I can get at least a month or two free rent before he actually kicks us out on the street? Maybe we can have a gigantic boozefest down here when that does happen? Maybe this is the motivation I need to throw away my bohemian dream and start thinking about someday making a decent living, with a lease and health insurance and vacation and all that?

Alls I know is I'm never complaining about being bored again. Good ol' Life will always take care of that.

i, like, i just ate chinese food earlier

The computer is rocking my world today. Which is fortunate for me, since there's nowhere else to go in my soon-to-be former childhood home without running into a roofer, floorer, and/or packer.

James Franco, you had me at Freaks and Geeks. This is just too good.

i'm cultured

At last, a Williamsburg gallery has some art I can understand and appreciate.

brr

Just got to Wisconsin. It is ten degrees here. I'm guessing Al Gore doesn't spend much time in the Midwest.

hallmark moment

This year I got invited to six Thanksgivings. I don't think I've ever given a second thought to the actual meaning of the holiday until now. I am a lucky, lucky lady.

Happy Bacon-Wrapped-Turducken Day*!


*Note: I will not be dining on bacon-wrapped turducken tomorrow. I stole this picture off the internet. But someday, someday...

i'm bored

Not in the I-have-nothing-to-do-right-now sense, or even the quarter-life-crisis-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life sense. I just, like, need a little something extra going on. My recent relationship sucked the life out of me, and now that I've gotten that life back, I don't exactly know what to do with it.

For once, I'm being kind of mature about things. This month I paid my credit card bill a whole day in advance! I've been exercising regularly and reducing my alcohol and cigarette intake, somewhat! I hardly ever watch television, except for a few special shows, and have been reading quite a bit! I've even taken a chill pill and let my current recipe-for-disaster work-related crush be nothing more than that. I'm totally not returning my rented DVD's on time, but whatever.

Go me! But I still feel the need to go work on a goat farm, and find new ways to spruce up my apartment, which doesn't even have four complete walls, and go to grad school for some useless degree, and move to Canada for the free healthcare and strapping gents, and become a food packaging designer/trashed furniture resurrecter/rock 'n roll flute player.

I know I need to just take some deep yoga breaths, appreciate my ridiculously fortunate job (tonight's quick-n-cheap tuna melt dinner featured fresh-baked seven-grain bread, pickled wax beans, Welsh sea salt, and four-year-old Grafton Village Vermont cheddar), and spend as much time as possible with my awesome friends. And maybe return my fucking movies*.

*Netflix is, sadly, not an option given my shared mailbox situation. I refrained from explaining this to a customer today who, when I asked if I'd find her recommendation in the documentary section, replied that I should just type the name of the movie in the "search" field.

miscellany

The Saturday before last Saturday, an Upper East Sideish lady came into my place of employment. Because she was so stereotypically obnoxious, I made sure to examine her black AmEx before smugly informing her that we only accept Visa and Mastercard. Serendipitously, today Gawker told of her upcoming novel about opening a restaurant in the Hamptons. I wonder if the "upscale food shop" in her "novel" was also sabotaged by her toddler son's apparent love of throwing products on the floor, rolling around on t-shirt displays, and screaming at the top of his lungs until he's fed some cheese. I also wonder if someone who can't tell the difference between fresh and cooked chorizo should be writing a food-related guidebook...

Speaking of food, I could not agree more with Frank Bruni's recent rant about the word "enjoy," a word that became dead to me one night as I was serving a fellow LES waiter who, when asked if I could clear his plate, responded with a smug, creepy, spine-tingling grin, "No, we're still enjoying." Though this is generally a case of the waitstaff being patronizing, there is also a flip-side. That is the customer name-asking, to which I now reply, "My name's Gina, what's your name? Oh, nice to meet you."

Somehow always speaking of food, my parents are leaving Wisconsin after 20 magical years. I'm truly saddened to be losing my childhood home, and I hope that their new residence in Chili, New York (that's pronouced like the words "chai" and "lie" put together), has the same amount of character. I'm sure it won't, being a suburb, but hey, at least there's a Wegman's.

stye me a river

Aaaand, today I've got a new entrant for the top prize in the "Most Obvious Lesson I Learned the Hard Way Embarassingly Late in Life" category.

Do not try on eye makeup at Sephora. Eye makeup that has been sitting out for days, weeks, months, who knows, coming into contact with air, grubby hands, coughing, and godknowswhat. DUH.

quote of the styles

It is with great shame that I admit the reasons for my weekly $4 Sunday Times purchase: the Style section, specifically for wedding announcements, and the Magazine for the crossword puzzle. Sometimes I go nuts and skim Travel and Real Estate too. Anyway, my favorite part this week comes from the Vows column. Jeff Greene, a 53-year-old "wealthy real estate developer who has homes in Malibu and Beverly Hills as well as a 145-foot yacht," expresses his joy over finally finding the love of his life, 32-year-old real-estater/Hampton party circuiter Mei Sze Chan, and concludes, "I just wish I had met Mei Sze 20 years ago."

Paging Chris Hansen...

i have been extremely productive today,

and Tinsley Mortimer is a genius.

after the cameras were turned off...

This video, though absurd, seems innocent enough.



Until you watch this one.

get your mind right

I do not understand this. Like, at all. It took me but two years of living in this fine city to learn the most important lesson I've ever learned (aside from love yourself before you can really love another, and put away the freakin credit card). And that lesson is, DO NOT WAIT IN LINE. Aside from the airport, the post office, and the DMV, I can think of no reason to wait in a line in New York. There are so many different things to do, and different versions of the same things, that lines are truly a waste of time and an unnecessary source of frustration and anxiety. You can't control when the Duane Reade cashier gets off the cell phone, or how many G trains go by before you finally see an F, but you can wait two weeks until the hubbub has diminished to get that burger, that burger that is probably not much, if at all, better than a zillion other places' burgers.

In other news, I am now friends with Tionna Tee Smalls! Well, Facebook friends at least. Still, yay!

the kitty likes it!

This morning as I sat at the computer eating my Icelandic yogurt and contemplating whether or not to go to yoga (not), my cat curled up next to me on the desk, making a nest out of a plastic Rite-Aid bag. Horrified, I immediately (ok, a couple hours later) went to the pet store to get him a proper bed. Lo and behold, he's already using it! I think I'm getting better at this cat thing...

who'da thunk?

One would think that simply knowing the natural color of raw salmon would prevent one from eating a piece of a salmon maki roll whose contents were more grey than orangey pink--you know, salmon colored--but if "one" in this case is "me", one would be wrong.

Without going into details, I'll just say that my grand plans for a day of errands, cleaning, exercise, and general productivity have been abandoned in favor of lying on the couch reading and sipping various ginger tea products. But this has turned out to be a blessing, because the book I'm reading is nothing less than mind-blowing.

Last night, on a recommendation from a coworker, I took home Zingerman's Guide to Good Eating by fancy-deli-in-Ann-Arbor owner Ari Weinzweig. So far I've read the olive oil and vinegar chapters, and I am downright ashamed that I've worked in a specialty food store for almost half a year and didn't know that the color of an olive depends on how ripe it was when picked, not the variety of olive (though it seems most of the hundreds of olive varieties are picked and sold at a certain degree of ripeness and therefore are generally found only in one color with some natural variation, and if there is no variation than the olive curers probably cheated and dyed them with chemicals), and that real balsamic vinegar only comes from two towns in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy and costs a lot of money (so that's why that one in the fancy box costs $90...), and the stuff you buy at the grocery store isn't even close.

Anyway, I'm really excited/frightened to read the rest. It's enjoyably and well written, and pretty much every single recipe is so simple and delicious-sounding that I want to run straight to Whole Foods.

Of course, that being said, I'm headed back to the couch to enjoy my Amy's frozen dinner.

as long as i get to go to the cheese board collective in berkeley...

In just six short hours I'll be poorly rested and off to San Francisco, for another wedding. I think it's safe to say that the "holy shit everyone I know is getting married and/or having babies" phase of my life has officially begun. This one's for a cousin I haven't seen since I was eleven, and will be attended by relatives I haven't seen for even longer and people I don't know at all. I'm already envisioning me and the family eccentric, my mom's older brother, whom I last saw when I was two but am told I'll get along well with and who was once a psychiatrist but now lives in the woods and builds furniture and always sent me the best Christmas gifts like Rocky the Real Fur Spring Raccoon and a life-size "The Scream" blow-up doll, drinking in the corner. God I hope he drinks.

dear alexa,

Ooooh, Night at the Roxy. Thankfully, I don't remember a thing about it. But I do remember the wee hours afterward at Abbey Pub, when you became my friend. We were sitting at the bar--you on my right, me in a beige J. Crew sweater, and, in our underage hands, drinks like Sex on the Beach courtesy of a bartender named Brian. I had no idea you'd become one of the most special people in my life, but I knew I had gotten really lucky in the roommate lottery.

That year you introduced me to so many wondrous things, including indie rock, thrift store clothing, coffee, Jewish holidays, hammentaschen, BUST magazine, and suburban New Jersey. You continue to inspire me today, with your post-college perserverance, your beautiful relationship with Dirk (let's just say my eyes were not tear-free when he spoke to you at the wedding today), and, most importantly, your happy and optimistic spirit. I hope you are always smiling too much.

Love,
Gina

thank god for yoga

I just paid a visit to the ladies' room (actually, more like the gentlemen's, since I share it with four dudes...aaah the luxuries of basement living) and noticed a fresh banana peel discarded at the bottom of the trash can. My questions to the mystery culprit: 1. Why do you have a banana peel in the bathroom? I'm all for multitasking, but "breakfast" and "morning dump" are not two birds I'd want to kill with the same stone. 2. Knowing that this trash is taken out infrequently (because we all obviously suffer from "surely, someone else will do it soon" syndrome), why would you put anything in there that will be rotten and smelly within a day? And 3., Why do I always have to buy the goddamn toilet paper around here???

And another one for the "other people are annoying" files. So I was just at my coffee place getting my, uh, coffee, when the baker girl parted the line to deliver a roasted pumpkin/squash pie to the baked goods area. She had already cut one slice into sample-size pieces and put it on a plate by the register. There were a good twelve or so bits of pie, and three people in front of me in line. By the time I got to the front, the samples were almost gone, and I observed the guy in front of me say "Wow, this is really good!" and take another piece. What makes you so special that you get two?? At work we frequently put samples out of new things, things we have too much of, almost expired things, etc. The purpose, of course, being for people to have a taste and consider buying them. I would estimate that at least 75% of people do not understand this concept. We've had people just about make a meal out of our samples. If you find this thing so delicious that you simply cannot control yourself in its presence, then, I dunno, perhaps you should buy it? Rather than eating the entire thing so no one else can try it? And causing us to lose money? Ugh.

i knew taking a nap this afternoon was a bad idea

So Blogger has this nifty new search feature whereby you type in a word and it brings up all your posts containing that word. I was taking a little trip down Blogemory Lane and decided to have a little fun.

Number of posts I've written in the last three and a half years containing the word...

ebay: 13

beer: 59

cheese: 53

Jesus: 31

cheese AND Jesus: 2

dog: 57

cat: 36

hate: 29

love: 127

(Phew! I was nervous about the results of those last two for a second there... Go me! I am a positive person!)

Britney: 5

toenail: 3

and: 593

Aaaaaand I am going to bed now.

ebay my heart

Vintage Hand Made Leather Purse Made of a Real Frog.


I can't decide whether this is cool or creepy.

...

Well...

...

If I bought it, would I actually use it, or just put it on my shelf next to my urinal/vase...

...

Hmm...

...



Creepy.

a poem

New York City!
Saturday night!

Home alone eatin' PB&J,
And drinkin' Amstel Light.

And I just realized that my PB&J has strawberry jam on it (imported from Armenia, thanks to my employee discount, although I think I like Smuckers more, what with its unnaturally gelatinous texture and added sugar), and I'm listening to the new Animal Collective album Strawberry Jam. There must surely be some deeper meaning here.

I bought Strawberry Jam even though their previous album Sung Tongs was too weird for me because Pitchfork said it was their most "accessible." Sucker. But it's really good, especially the songs "Peacebone" and "For Reverend Green."

Social life resumes next week.

and the nobel goes to...

Speaking of food packaging, I'd like to take a moment to commend the genius behind Go-gurt. Yesterday a snottily-accented British dude came in asking if we sold "drinking yogurt." I don't know whether I just had the tired-giggles, but based on my resultant coworker conversation, I think the world would be a happier place if everyone looked into the mirror each morning and said "gogurt" ten times.